#anyways. my skin is supposed to be a work of art I fucking crave it so bad

[crybabybat]

I need 8 tattoos IMMEDIATELY

[hotpinkhoshi]

the pact | distraction

pairing: jinyoung x reader (the pact universe)

word count: 2.5k lol what this was supposed to be a drabble

summary: while your toddler naps, jinyoung finds a way to make the most of your time alone together. 

warnings: sex, domestic af, jinyoung is a great dad and is 110% whipped for his kid and his wife!! this is also NOT edited in the slightest

“She can’t hear us,” Jinyoung said, his nose nudging your earlobe and making you shiver. 

You sighed as your hands traveled along Jinyoung’s back, head battling vagina over the probability of your eighteen month old daughter hearing you and waking from her nap. The baby monitor sitting on the kitchen island was practically taunting you, reminding you that Seohyun could begin crying at any moment.

“But what if she-” 

Any words you could have used to finish that sentence were immediately erased from your brain as Jinyoung pulled you to the edge of the counter, his bulge pressing into your core. 

Your sex life had gone down drastically in frequency just like everybody had warned you, but it didn’t make you want him any less. It was just near impossible to find the time between work, Seohyun, and keeping up with the never-ending errands of life. 

By the time the two of you made it to bed most nights, neither of you had the energy.

But today, Seohyun had gone down for her afternoon nap easier than normal. And it was Saturday, so neither of you had to work. It only made sense that the moment you’d turned around to tackle the dishes in the sink, Jinyoung had pulled his best moves on you. 

He’d wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you back against him, sliding your hair off your shoulder with his free hand where he placed soft but purposeful kisses along your skin. Immediately, you’d shivered and become putty in his hands. 

“You look so sexy in this dress, baby,” he whispered, his nose brushing against the most sensitive part of your neck. “All morning I’ve been staring at your legs, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

You hadn’t meant to look sexy—it was just that one piece of fabric was easier to throw on than attempting to find two clean, unwrinkled items of clothing to put on. And it wasn’t a seductive, curve-hugging dress anyway, just your most comfortable, trusty black spaghetti strap dress. 

Then you’d found yourself turned around and lifted onto the counter, dishes in the sink long forgotten as your husband sucked a hickey into your skin. In your head, you did some quick math to figure out just how long you’d have until Seohyun woke up and brought you back to reality. 

“Stop thinking,” Jinyoung told you with a press of his lips into your jawline. 

You sighed and rested your hands on his shoulders. “I’m trying.” 

“I’ll just have to work harder to distract you then, hm?” Jinyoung whispered as his hands trailed a path up and down your thighs, his fingers slipping further up the hem of your dress with each stroke upwards.

Jinyoung was dangerous when he knew what he wanted. 

He pulled your body even closer to the edge of the counter, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. Stealing your lips in a kiss, you both moaned as soon as Jinyoung began rocking his hips into yours teasingly.

One of your hands slipped into Jinyoung’s hair, gripping the soft strands still damp from his earlier shower he’d been forced to take after breakfast.

Seohyun hadn’t been a fan of the organic cereal Jinyoung had tried to give her, and he’d ended up with a half-chewed mouthful of her breakfast all over his face and shirt. Even though it’d been an accident and shouldn’t have been funny, you’d had to turn away and cover your mouth to keep from giggling. 

As always, Jinyoung had taken it in stride and simply wiped his face and shirt off before grabbing one of the probiotic yogurts that Seohyun did like from the fridge. Not without sending you a fake glare when he noticed your red face from holding in your laughter. 

When you started giggling again now at the memory, just as Jinyoung began peppering kisses across your collarbone, he tilted his head up to make eye contact with you.

“What’s so funny?” 

You bit your lip, sliding your fingers through his hair and twirling a strand around your finger. 

“Just thinking about this morning when our daughter projectile coughed your nasty healthy cereal into your face,” you told him. 

Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed at you as he pulled back, standing straight in front of you again. “Projectile coughing isn’t a thing.” 

You snorted. “Tell that to Seohyun. God, you should’ve seen your expression. I wish I’d had my phone to record the whole thing.” 

“You drive me nuts,” he told you, chuckling softly as his hands traveled further up your dress until he’d found the elastic of your underwear. “Just trying to be a good dad. Give our kid some nutrients to balance out the jellies and Goldfish that you sneak her when you think I’m not looking.” 

You lifted your hips as Jinyoung tugged your panties down your legs and off, smiling down at him when he dropped to his knees in front of you. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

“Liar,” he said with a laugh as he ducked his head down, placing a kiss to the inside of your leg, just above your knee. 

No matter how many times Jinyoung spoiled you like this, it would always make you sigh and shiver just the same. He was now an expert in the art of teasing and building up your pleasure until finally giving you what you both craved most. 

“But you love me,” you told him, tilting your head back to rest against the cabinet behind you as your eyes fell shut. 

Jinyoung hummed against your skin as he traveled further up your legs, kissing nearly every inch of your skin until he’d finally reached the apex of your thighs. 

“Mmhm, I do,” he said, just before leaning in to place a gentle kiss to your mound. Then lower, until his lips brushed your clit and made you jerk your hips up, desperate to feel more. 

Luckily, Jinyoung at least seemed to understand you had a time limit. Seohyun was a good sleeper but she was known for waking up from her naps refreshed after only forty-five minutes or less. It was the or less that you were concerned about. 

As soon as Jinyoung sucked your clit between his lips, you found yourself arching towards him, one hand grasping the counter edge while the other found purchase in the hair at the top of his head. 

“Oh, oh,” you whined, while Jinyoung delved deeper and lower, now working what you could only call magic between your legs. When he slipped two fingers inside to join his tongue on your clit, your toes curled and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to contain your moan. 

Honestly, you could barely register what exactly Jinyoung was doing after another few moments, your whole body was now on fire and more sensitive than ever after not having him touch you like this in weeks. 

“Baby, I-” you started, one hand still in his hair and now pressing him closer, “I can’t... I want...” 

But Jinyoung didn’t let up or stop. He wanted your release and he wouldn’t stop until the moment his mouth and fingers took you over the edge. 

His free hand came to steady your hips, lying his forearm across your stomach to keep you from writhing too wildly on the counter, while his other hand moved faster and faster inside of you. 

“Shhh-shit, fuck, Nyoung, please God-” 

Absolute nonsense fell from your lips as you drew closer to your climax and warmth began to spread from your belly all the way through your body to your fingertips. 

Finally the tension snapped and you arched forward this time, Jinyoung’s strong arm over your hips the only thing keeping you from sliding off. You fisted his hair, probably enough to hurt, your other hand back over your mouth to muffle your screams. 

Jinyoung didn’t slow down until he knew you’d had too much. Slowly, he backed off, fingers coming to a stop inside of you before slipping out. He sat back on his knees and adjusted his grip on you so that you could gently and safely get your feet back on the ground. 

“Holy mother of-” you managed, leaning back against the counter as Jinyoung stood back up in front of you with a pleased grin on his face. “You are way too good at that.” 

Jinyoung laughed, slipping his arms around your waist in a gentle embrace, quite the contrast from the way he’d just absolutely wrecked you without even taking his pants off. 

“Hmm, I think you might be a little biased, being my wife and all.” 

“If I hadn’t seen you the first time you had to change a diaper, I might think you weren’t bad at anything,” you teased.

Jinyoung’s mouth opened to defend himself but you were quicker, slipping one hand down into the loose grey sweatpants he was wearing to wrap around his length. 

He sucked in a harsh inhale and closed his eyes, his arms wrapping tighter around you to bring you closer. You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek before whispering into his ear. 

“Now, can we make the most of whatever time we have left until our toddler is back to demanding our undivided attention?” 

You could sense Jinyoung’s smirk as he turned his head, brushing his lips against your throat before he responded, “You don’t have to convince me.” 

Only a few moments passed before you found yourself bent over the island, your dress hiked up over your ass and Jinyoung behind you, pushing his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. 

You pressed your cheek against the cold countertop, your eyes on Jinyoung the best they could be from this angle. Biting your lip, you watched as he gripped his length, giving it a few strokes before he was lining up with your entrance. 

Both of you exhaled the moment he slid inside, a slow movement that allowed you to feel every single inch of him as your bodies became one. You wouldn’t ever get tired of this feeling. 

You reminded yourself that you needed to be as quiet as possible, considering Seohyun seemed to superhuman hearing and it didn’t usually take much to rouse her from sleep. 

But you couldn’t help the soft whine that fell from your lips the moment Jinyoung started to rock his hips back and forth in a perfect rhythm, his hands bunching up the material of your dress at your lower back. 

“Nyoungie,” you whispered, though it was more of a plea for him to move faster or harder, or do something. He was making you insane already, your body still sensitive from the incredible orgasm he’d given you just a few minutes ago. 

At the sweet pet name, Jinyoung groaned deep in his throat, squeezing the fabric in his fists even tighter as he picked up his pace. You watched as he tilted his head back in bliss and bit his lip, probably to contain his own moans of pleasure. 

It didn’t take much time at all for Jinyoung to start pounding inside of you just the way you’d wanted, the sound of skin-on-skin now filling the room. Even though it was dangerous to make so much noise, you weren’t about to ask him to stop.

You reached one hand behind your back until you found one of his arms. Grasping it firmly, you squeezed your eyes shut and swallowed back all of the noises you so desperately wanted to make to encourage him. 

Jinyoung leaned his head forward again, bending over you slightly as he let go with his other hand, choosing instead to nestle it between your thighs and circle your clit with his fingers. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, knowing that he was planning on bringing you to another orgasm before he found his release. “Baby, I don’t think I can... oh, my god.” 

Squeezing his arm even tighter, you gasped as he moved his fingers faster to match the brutal pace of his hips. He kissed across your shoulder blade, a mixture of dirty and affectionate words falling from his lips to your skin. 

“God, I love you so much. You feel so fucking good, so wet and tight, you’re so beautiful, baby.” 

The waves of pleasure started to crest for the second time that afternoon as Jinyoung worked his fingers in tighter circles, changing the angle of his hips ever so slightly to hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. 

Jinyoung soon let go of your dress completely as he bent over your body, hand feeling around blindly for your free one so that he could intertwine your fingers as he pumped inside of you. 

“Let go for me angel, come on, want us to come together,” he whispered, burying his face into the crook of your neck and nipping at your skin. 

It took all of your willpower not to scream just then as soon as your orgasm hit, your knees shaking as the intense pulses of your climax threatened to make your legs give out entirely. But Jinyoung was there, his body supporting yours as he reached his own end, emptying inside of you with a gravelly moan against your neck. 

His hips slowed, giving you a few more shallow thrusts before he finally slipped out of you, though he didn’t peel his body from yours for another minute. You smiled softly to yourself as you listened to his breathing gradually return back to normal, his heartbeat racing against your skin through his white tee. 

When he finally pulled away, Jinyoung helped you to stand up once more, turning you around to face him. He chuckled as he pushed your hair from your face after it had stuck to your skin from the thin layer of sweat across your forehead. 

“I love you, you know?” Jinyoung said, leaning close to nudge his nose against yours. 

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and tugging his sweatpants back up to his hips. “I love you too.” 

With the most perfect timing ever, there was suddenly a whimper from the speaker of the baby monitor, one that was shortly followed by a loud cry. You sighed and pressed your hands to Jinyoung’s chest, about to gently push him away so you could tend to Seohyun. 

“Hey, I got it. Go hop in the shower. Do one of your face masks too, or take a bath. I’ll hang out with little bear.” 

Your lips formed into a pout because yes, Jinyoung was a great husband, but he was an even more amazing father. And you could use some time to yourself. Especially a shower, considering you were a tad sticky after the quickie you’d just had. 

“Stop being so perfect, you’re making me look bad,” you told him, leaning in to press a few short kisses to his lips. “Love you. Thanks for the orgasms.” 

Jinyoung could only shake his head as he laughed at you, watching as you walked off towards the bathroom. He flipped off the switch to the baby monitor and headed off to Seohyun’s room, wondering just how he managed to get the two best girls in the world in his life. 

[joonspecs]

the princess, the guard & the voyeur

a ksj and jjk fic.

summary: You are a Princess. He is the nations’ Head of Guard. Both hold very highly estimable positions until they’re abandoned for the sake of love; but mostly for the sake of chasing a high, falsely revered to be the downfall of many – lust.

rating: m (smut)...

length: 2.8k

characters: Reader; Jungkook; Jin

warnings: pw/op... except there’s kind of a plot but not really lol; penetrative sex; unprotected sex (wrap your Willys before you do the sillys friends); cunnilingus; slight voyeurism; slight infidelity; slight possessiveness; JK is kind of dom-ish; dirty talk; both of them are Dom’s; degradation; slight humiliation; and others (I might have missed something’s)

a/n: it takes me a long ass time to muster enough courage to post my works; let alone RP fics... so please bear with me. i was gonna keep this in my word doc for further editing but i was just enabling my anxiety, so here’s hopefully the first of many fics ill be posting. comments make my day, feedback makes me improve but they’re equally appreciated. anyways, hope you enjoy. and stay safe friends x

a/n #2: There was an art/edit a fan made of JK with a metal hand inspired by the Winter Soldier, but I couldn’t find it anymore as it was a direct inspiration for this and I should’ve saved it! But alas! Yep just I guess try to imagine that lmao~

enjoy this very mild sin...

...

Nobody knows.

Nobody knows and you’d be consistently frugal to keep it that way.  It also didn’t help that you were Royalty- a princess, and he is, well, ultimately, he’s supposed to be in his own quarters. But that doesn’t stop you from finding any chance to see nor touch each other.

Round the corridors, in the hallways, on the stairs, in whatever vacant rooms, a simple scan around the premises proving bare of any other participants or onlookers and you’re locking lips and abandoning both your posts of being royalty and him, not.

Though you would both pull away achingly from each other despising the small moment interrupted at the merest indication of a sound or a murmur and discreetly, as if nothing had just happened before, continue their walk. Though there was nothing discreet about the smirks and knowing grins you both held without having to look at each other. Though the thrill of it would eventually catch up to you. This, you were sure, but nonetheless, you still chose to share his bed and he, well, yours. Always and undeniably.

On a cold, frolicsome morning, whilst laying on your side with your back facing him and Jungkook, with the back of his metal hand, tracing down your spine, sending currents of shivers through every follicle and cranny of your soul. You release a long sigh into the dawn, the latter part of your morning routine from your maids dismissed the night before. You wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Kook, you need to get to your chambers,” you mutter, while grinding your round bottom onto his hips and feel a streak of precum lather the crevice of your backside it makes you wonder how long he’d been awake to work himself up to such a charge that you were sure he was already red and leaking. The sensation alone unbridles your distaste for him leaving.

“One more doll,” he says as he wraps his metal hand around your middle and fits his warm, handsome face in between your neck and shoulder, “just in case I don’t see you at all today.”

You hum at the motion and scrunch your nose at the albeit delighting touch of his growing hair tickling your neck. They were always the grandest, softest thing, more than rubies or sheepskin that you’ve ever laid nor your eyes or your hands upon. You succeed in taking note of his grinding motions behind you, his growing hardness yoked between your cheeks while his hot breath at your ear takes hold of every string of your undoing.

“Jungkook,” you moan, the vapor of your sex from your previous coupling still heavy in the room and pressing heavy at your eyelids as your eyes roll in sinister need.

He moves from behind you, pulling your form at your hips to the end of the platformed, king bed, his palms anchored surely till your feet touch the fuzzy feel of the carpets tickling your toes. You feel his warm hands trace the length from your shoulder blades, down the curve of your arched back, over your upturned buttocks before grabbing a fistful of your ass, groaning at the lavish skin that pushed through the spaces between his fingers as he pulls your cheeks apart and an onset of cold air barely touches your dripping cavern, leaving you in shivers of anticipated pleasure, already brewing dangerously close to releasing.

“Let’s mess around just one more time sweetheart,” he whispers, pushing his girth in-between your butt cheeks and he moans at the touch of your softness surrounding his member. You whine as you feel a finger scoop at the pool of wetness from your dripping cunt and hearing a pop behind you. You take that moment to turn your head and find him sucking his forefinger, the other hand rubbing both your sopping slick all over his dick, the motion adding moisture as he continues to press his erect cock between your soft globes, the sight of it alone causing you to moan and drop your head to the mattress.

“Kookie please,” you whine, impatiently prying at loose ends of his teasing and hoping to every deity above he can cease his teasing for just a moment if only to impale your waiting cavern with his well-endowed length.

“Patience bunny,” he teases, this time grabbing a hold of your waist and hoisting you up onto your knees, parting your bent legs.

“You don’t have much time baby,” you plead, taking note of the time on the clock on the far side of your bedroom walls, as impatiently, you wiggle your bottom in the air, trying to stifle a giggle in hopes to tempt him.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he growls, placing both fists on the bed beside your bent legs and licks a stripe of your wetness from your swollen clit to your puckered ring. The mere slide of his tongue on your clit causing you to roll your eyes into your lids as you whine and eagerly swivel your lower back in desperate need of his fucking.

“Kook- “ you groan as he delivers a hard enough smack to your bottom it stops his full nickname being uttered.

“What did I say?” he asks as he tongues at your clenching asshole as his metal hand reaches forward to flick your clit. You fail to give him a reply and only opt to moan into the mattress before he reaches back and spanks your reddening ass again. Turning to look behind you and catching his devilish grin as you whine.

“To trust you.”

He pulls back and sinks a metal finger slowly into your dripping cunt; the coolness a stifling contrast to the heat you feel steeping to drop from the high of feeling your pussy being filled by his finger alone, and this time, he chooses to pop another smack to your other cheek, your noises of pleasure, mumbling the feeling, barely articulate and wholly incoherent as his lone metal finger began stroke within your walls and your moans double in volume before he growls. Something deep and guttural from hearing your cries at the mercy of his finger alone before gritting through his teeth, “Trust me what?”

“To trust you sir!”

“That’s what I wanna hear dollface,” he moans, withdrawing his soaked finger you’re your tightness and moaning at the dropping line of your slick onto the bed.

“Wish you could see how fucking gorgeous you look right now babydoll, here- turn to me and see how hard you’ve made me,” he says as he grips his cock in his metal hand, the coldness making him twitch. You quickly turn to see him stroking his dick, covered in black and gold metal and the sight alone makes your mouth water much more similar to how your dripping wetness as your lips open in abandon, your desire tangible when you bite your lip and peering up to meet his lust-heavy gaze.

You stalk toward him on hands and knees and lean forward to suck at his hanging balls as you hear him release a pleasure-filled grunt. You release and pull back to look up to see his head bent back with sinful moans releasing at his neck as he continues to jerk his dick. You place your mouth lavishly bound to the head of his cock, sucking at the velvety, slick skin there and before you lose any other part of your sanity, the one part of your brain that still soldiers to function tells you that you are running out of time. He has to get to his chambers really soon, but God no, not before he makes you cum one last time. So you release him with a loud ‘pop’ and he follows the sound as he reaches forward with his other hand to caress the sides of your face.

“My love, please hurry,” you plead, turning back around to present your waiting, ever dripping snatch. You feel his metal hand push at the tops of your shoulders, gesturing for you to lay your head down, the sheets, a feathers touch from your tight-budded breasts sending flocks of eye-rolling pleasure as you press flat on the bed. He grabs a handful of your locs, pulling hard enough the gasp that escapes your mouth catches tight at the bottom of your stretched throat. You moan and dare to arch your back any further, you might just break from the lingering release that lurks inches from when he would finally take you.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he growls by your ear, the warmth of his breath a stark contrast to his speech, and your body shivers with anticipation before he lowly chuckles and says, “I will do with you as I see fit, whore.”

There it is.

The very thing you search for in your suitors and discovering their shortcomings in the one thing you needed most. You crave to be put in your place. You yearn to be manhandled like a needy vixen, like a pathetic slut that if you had it your way, you’d wait hand and foot to be used like the damningly sex deprived whore that you fantastically implore of being.

And he gives you exactly that. Exactly what you need. The very thing that puts you so far from the spectrum of the elegant princess you poise deceivingly to be. No, you were far from that, and he had been the only one to notice it.

You moan strings of ‘yes’s as he fixes the head of his member at your opening and without mercy pummels his hardness into you with a stuttered grunt and begins to slam your buttocks to his middle with a loud smack, roughly pulling your wet cunt over and over and over and over and over and over his girth. Your assassin turned royal guard ever gloriously dominating in his pursuit to find both your release as every stroke of his impressive cock slides past your vagina walls and like a buzz in the pit of your stomach, one sheer thrust touches your sweet spot and oh do you truly scream.

“There! Oh, fuck! Right there please- oh God! Right there,” you groan and growl and grunt and moan and whine and every little sound you make in hopes to urge him further, as you suppress to coax more of him into your pussy with every push of your hips back onto his cock, your orgasm just merely dancing in circles above you.

“Right here baby?” he teases with a grunt, hearing your sweet, wicked noises knowing full well in all his cockiness the sins he can rupture within you. Biting and growling at your neck he whispers, “Right here doll? Look at you, so fucking primal, can’t get enough of this dick can’t you? Pushing back on my cock like the needy whore you are – hnnggh.”

“Mine,” you whine, his sweet, filthy nothings behind you making you roll your eyes as he reaches a hand back and delivers a slap to your ass. Waves of nirvana pour over you at the onslaught of pain-filled pleasure from the reddening touch and every tug at your hair as he pulls and pushes into you, every breath stolen from your lungs, every bruising stroke inside of you, every stinging pleasure brought upon your supple ass, has you reaching heights till you’re sure they’re reaching the very tips of your fingers and your toes.

“My doll, taking me so damn well in that tight pussy-Fuck!” he grunts, his breath racing over the shell of your ear as he slows his pace.

“Yes,” you whimper, every stroke against your greedy walls lewdly singing in sloppy, wet sounds as you bunch up the bed sheets in your hands, a tight coil starting to brew at the bottom of your spine.

“You love sneaking around when nobody knows what we’re really doing, and it excites you doesn’t it?” he whispers, all broken and raspy as he laughs darkly in your ear while pulling out to the head of his cock before slowly delving deep into you till he bottoms out, his heavy balls a breath’s touch from your clit.

You cry out and slam a hand onto the bed, your body quivering with tremor, the bare weight of his shaft fleetingly tangling you into a crashing high as he starts to pump faster but more shallow inside of you, pummelling deep until it ghostly reaches your throat. The sounds of your sex swishing and licking at each other’s skin.

“Jungkook! Please-“

“Yes, my love!”

“Please!” you groan, his thrust begins to dig deeper into your cervix you were sure he was bulging out at your stomach.

His hands are everywhere. Pulling at your hips, your hair, your ass, your thighs, your swaying breasts; tracing every inch of you in compensation for the length of time he has to wait to touch you again. And you always dreaded that part. Above most things, you dreaded that you couldn’t freely walk around with whom you were sure is the love of your life. But for now, you’d settle for stolen moments and hurried kisses if it means you can keep both your dignities. However, at this moment alone, the lewd sounds of your tryst echoing off the walls with your needy pleas and his shallow grunts for release and his grunts for very much the same thing, sneaking around had its utmost peaks; and you were savoring this exact one.

“Jungkook! Fuck! Baby!”

“Cum,” he growls, every vibration against your neck pulsating down your body to your weeping cunt. Release just frighteningly close that you send a small prayer for your lover to finish you right then and right there and God does he know all the right spots.

“Take. Every. Last. Drop!”

You moan abidingly, as your thighs begin to tremble, shaking as spurts of cum fill you slowly yet surely, your own release cathartically reducing you to tears as you clench tighter around his cock, making sure to take his souvenir for keepsakes, keeping your pussy drenched for days. You like to revisit your trysts later when you’re alone in your bed, dipping your fingers into your hole and feeling his load still warm and moist inside you.

~

Jin thought it strange that his wife-to-be wasn’t in her usual recreation chambers as early as she usually liked to be. So initially he thought that maybe she wasn’t feeling well. But then he thought that surely, she would’ve said something. But then again, he wondered if it was more than that, especially since after asking her maids whether this was some new routine she had taken to. They merely shrugged and mentioned her often late arrivals in the past few weeks, and it wasn’t something they usually bothered to think about. But then again there was that sordid idea his betrothed had conjured up, dismissing her guard’s when it was not ideal, especially for the protection of the Princess; and he was itching for a rather scalding conversation with the youngster’s brother very, very soon.

Anyhow, he’d visit his betrothed this morning, only to find that not one of her assigned guards were stationed at the entrance to her chambers. Suspiciously he narrowed his eyes and pushed through the thick doors and to his chief shock and surprise, finds the nation’s only worthy head of guards in her living room, shirtless and albeit, locking lips with the princess’ cunt as he strokes his own shaft.

A sight for sore eyes they were; he only wished they had retrieved him sooner. He has always loved sharing his things.

“Jin!” you squeal, noticing his wide shoulders push through the doors and stood stoic against the gold crested doors.

“Oh don’t mind me darling, the little brother and I like to share.”

He especially loves the look of pure shock on your face, as Jungkook releases your swollen pussy lips with a smack, rising from his bent position. The action blocks your sight of the handsome prince at the door, and with a grin on the guards’ own lips you feel another pair of hands caress the bottom of your feet.

~

fin.

[paintedvanilla]

paintedvanilla’s good omens fic recommendations

here we have something I’ve been too shy to make for a while because. to be straight with you. more than half of these are explicit. and well. yeah.

works listed in escalating rating order (general -> teen -> mature -> explicit)

everything is completed unless otherwise noted.

Title: Bowties

Author: dvldegg ( @caerdroia )

Rating: General

Word Count: 776

Summary: “Newt needs help tying his bowtie. Crowley makes fun of Aziraphale. It's just a typical weekend.”

My Notes: This fic caused me to overdose on domestic cuteness.

Title: anywhere i go you go, my dear

Author: chamaenerion

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,533

Summary: “After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley is reluctant to leave Aziraphale's side.”

My Notes: I will literally die i swear to god this has nervous and protective crowley and he’s clingy and overall I just wanted to scream I love him I love my boy and they’re so in love and they should always be allowed to be together

Title: Getting a Wiggle On

Author: Kedreeva

Rating: General

Word Count: 7,293

Summary: “Crowley's prank to leave Aziraphale with fake eggs to babysit does not go remotely as planned.”

My Notes: You’ve probably seen this concept floating around tumblr but this fic made me GENTLE because i have daddy issues and whenever people are like “crowley and aziraphale as parents” i have a fucking heart attack

Title: Adopt Don’t Shop - A Good Meowmans Fanfic

Author: lucky_spike

Rating: General

Word Count: 12,434

Summary: “Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.”

My Notes: I know some people think au’s like this are kinda weird but this one is so fucking charming to me idk??? I literally ate this shit up I love being gentle and reading about cats who are in love.

Title: Not Alone

Author: superqueerdanvers

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 937

Summary: “Crowley and Anathema are supposed to meet Aziraphale at the movies, but they can't find a parking place, and they have a heart-to-heart about disability.”

My Notes: I experienced feelings and also emotions while reading this and now i’m a different person

Title: bastard child of water

Author: smallredboy ( @smallredb0y )

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 15,622

Summary: “After a grave mistake, Crowley, a merman, is transformed into a human and exiled out of the sea. Issues crop up as he grows used to his new body, to his new friends and to his new job. But when a merman he's seen in passing pokes his head out of the water one afternoon, Crowley will fall for him and look for a way to regain his body.”

My Notes: THIS FIC MAKES ME LOSE MY SHIT i bribed dave with real life money to finish it and every day i’m thankful i made that decision because this fic is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. IT’S TENDER!! IT’S GENTLE!! IT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND!!!!!

Title: Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach 

Author: Nnm

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 99,423

Summary: “As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

His clothing was expensive and stylish;

He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;

His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”

He looked angry;

He was wearing sunglasses.”

My Notes: OH!!!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!!!! THIS FIC DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY!!!!!!! IT RIPPED MY FUCKING HEART OUT AND FORCED ME TO DEAL WITH #ISSUES AND JUST OVERALL TURNED ME INTO A DISASTER!!!! I READ THIS SHIT IN ONE SITTING!!! I WAS HOOKED!!!! EVEN NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT IS DEALING PSYCHIC DAMAGE!!!!!! PLEASE READ THIS!!!

Title: The Odd One Out

Author: RainyDayDecaf

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,948

Summary: “It takes being thrown into another universe and meeting other versions of himself to make Aziraphale realize there is something wrong with the way his Crowley treats him.”

My Notes: A product of the shit-script, literally had me feeling emotions but also giggling because movie!Aziraphale deserves to be LOVED.

Title: A Single Feather

Author: qwanderer

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,521

Summary: “Here's the thing. Demons must be good at improv, at hiding reactions, at carrying on no matter what. They can’t show a moment of vulnerability, not to each other, and certainly not to angels. They were supposed to be tough, untrusting, paranoid bastards, or else.

So Crowley had developed a highly honed skill of automatically bullshitting, boasting, and mocking while covering up his true emotions, and it was in full force now.”

My Notes: I’m a simple woman. I see a nesting fic, I click on it. And it makes me emotional and afterwards I have to lay face down on the floor.

Title: Untouched

Author: Etaleah

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,531

Summary: “A demon's life is a lonely one. What Crowley wants is so simple, yet he can never have it.”

My Notes: I will literally fly into the sun if I see the tag “touch starved crowley” i will scream at the top of my lungs. Somebody please hold this demon.

Title: Penance

Author: Blissymbolics

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,910

Summary: “And for a while, it’s enough.

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen.”

My Notes: Listen. This fic destroyed me, it made me tender horny and just overall ruined my night in the best way possible. I’m having a crisis over it as we speak. 

Title: Starved

Author: Fyre

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,351

Summary: “The first time the angel touches him, it’s as they descend from the walls of Eden.

It’s nothing, only a hand put out to steady him. A kindness. And yet a thousand memories from life below make Crawly flinch instinctively at the contact. It’s stupid, really, and he’s sure the angel doesn’t notice. He doesn’t stop to consider the fact that the angel’s hand was soft and for a moment, his skin tingled where it touched. Not right away, anyway.”

My Notes: AHH!! Crowley really said “I am touch starved please love me” like!! Imagine craving someone’s touch for SIX THOUSAND YEARS!! I’D GO BONKERS!! THIS FIC MADE ME GO BONKERS!!

Title: can you keep me close (can you love me most)

Author: taizi

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,268

Summary: “When his angel stretches out a hand, cupid’s bow mouth curved into a familiar smile, Crowley knows better. When he’s led to his own bedroom, pushed down amidst the silk sheets and hastily miracled pillows and a sinful duvet, when Aziraphale leans over him and the whole world seems to hang right there in his eyes, Crowley knows that this is not his to keep. It’s not for him to have this.”

My Notes: I can will and must LITERALLY EXPLODE the tension in this one is palatable and I snort hurt/comfort like cocaine.

Title: please, could you be tender?

Author: deadgreeks

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,262

Summary: “The first kiss is only the beginning of a relationship. Crowley and Aziraphale need to talk about things. That is not their strong suit.”

My Notes: I ache and I yearn for this type of content they are literally. They are LITERALLY… I’m going to burst into flames.

Title: The Quiet, Persistent, Gnawing Unease

Author: LillipopCop

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 20,850

Summary: “An exploration of the serious toll Hell's physical and psychological grip has taken on Crowley since his Fall.”

My Notes: Fics where Crowley experiences emotional distress own my ass.

Title: Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul

Author: Zolac_no_Miko

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10,573

Summary: “It was a compulsion that he couldn’t quite define. A burning in his blood, a tingle on the palms of his hands. A restlessness that drove him to art galleries, antique stores, and street markets, seeking some object that would please Aziraphale. Something beautiful, or something useful—something he would want to keep. It started with little things, small tokens that didn’t require a special occasion: an embroidered silk bookmark; a rare and delicate tea from the highlands of China; a steel pen and inkwell to replace Aziraphale’s quill pen, and then a fountain pen to replace that. And then things started to get out of hand.”

My Notes: Another nesting fic that almost wiped me the fuck out.

Title: Crown of Thorns [The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse] 'Verse

Author: irisbleufic ( @irisbleufic )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 275,000

Summary: ““D’you realize,” [Crowley] said, “that we never tire of things humans get bored with on the regular?” Aziraphale shrugged, lazily basking. “I’ve always assumed it’s that we don’t tire of each other.””

My Notes: Please for the love of god and all that is holy if you have not read this fic, read it. I consider it canon.

Title: fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

Author: mercuryhatter

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,726

Summary: “Pretty standard "there's a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated" stuff.”

My Notes: Yeah this is. Where I’m gonna start to get shy about my notes. It’s funny and it’s hot. Yeah.

Title: The Understanding

Author: Zetared

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 37,918

Summary: “Crowley is untethered. Aziraphale knows how to secure a knot. (He’s read many books on the subject, after all).”

My Notes: In which the underlying plot is a little strange but the overlying porn is very good.

Title: Come Fuck Me Hips

Author: AgentStannerShipper

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,471

Summary: “Crowley has had a fantasy about Aziraphale for centuries now. Too bad the angel would never take him up on it. Except, as it turns out, he absolutely would.”

My Notes: Everybody has read this and if you haven’t then you better because it’s. It’s good.

Title: If I Regard Iniquity

Author: elektratios

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,912

Summary: ““Aziraphale…” Crowley’s mouth worked a bit but no more words would come out. He cleared his throat. “Aziraphale, there’s no,” he gestured vaguely, “iniquity here.” He winced at his choice of words. “No-one is watching, no-one is judging. It’s just us.””

My Notes: I will literally dunk myself in the trash holy shit. It’s. It’s good.

Title: that pulse of my nights and days

Author: Ark

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,694

Summary: “Aziraphale laughs, the delighted, breathy giggle he gives after his second bottle of champagne. “Such a shame we didn’t come to this sooner,” he says, pulling back and—oh, naughty angel!—increasing the length and girth of his cock when he pushes back in. Crowley gasps, and Aziraphale—greedy, too!—tilts in to swallow the sound from his lips, flicks his tongue against Crowley’s as though chasing after the flavor of this elongated pleasure.”

My Notes: This one is uh. This is a dirty one. It’s good but it sure is filthy.

Title: A Home at the Beginning of the World

Author: stereobone

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,867

Summary: “"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."”

My Notes: Everyone has read this one too but for good reason because it’s fucking amazing and makes me wanna scream.

Title: The One In Which Crowley Discovers Wanking

Author: for_autumn_i_am

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,784

Summary: “It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol. The Antichrist had been born, and he put on lipstick and kitten heels to deal with it, but knew that the clock was ticking, and at times when time was slipping away, it helped to hold onto a bottle of gin.”

My Notes: It’s what the title says and it’s hot.

Title: Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Author: thehoyden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,484

Summary: “He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.”

My Notes: It’s uhhhhhhh… it’s hot!

Title: A Bolt From The Heavens

Author: coloursflyaway

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,235

Summary: “Aziraphale is going to show Crowley just how much he is loved. Through touch.”

My Notes: I will LITERALLY collapse on the floor… it’s too much for me

Title: Say Amen

Author: SinningPlumpPrincess

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,967

Summary: “Despite being in a relationship, they still long and yearn for each other.

Despite being in a relationship, Crowley can't get over that Aziraphale loves touching him.”

My Notes: I’m a very simple woman. I see a fic tagged “dry humping” and I click on it.

Title: Praise Be to Crowley

Author: FishingforCrows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,306

Summary: “A simple comment from Aziraphale gets an unexpected reaction from Crowley. Aziraphale is curious to see what happens if he repeats the same comment in the bedroom.”

My Notes: It has praise kink crowley how am I not supposed to find it hot.

Title: Tea for One

Author: Kaesa

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Summary: “Crowley doesn't have a lot of complaints about sex with Aziraphale, but he can't help being miffed when Aziraphale stops just to have another sip of tea.”

My Notes: A two for one: funny and sexy

Title: rest yourself with me

Author: sabinelagrande

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,380

Summary: “Crowley has a wonderful invention that he's just dying to try.”

My Notes: It’s funny and it’s hot what more could you ask for?

Title: let the rivers fill

Author: focusfixated

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,996

Summary: ““Darling,” Aziraphale answered. “I’m here.” His hand stroked through Crowley’s hair, teasing out the snarls of red that tangled around his fingers, matted with sweat and knotted where Crowley had thrashed his head against the pillows. “Can you turn over for me, love?” Weakly, Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and he saw the angel blushing, as if now, suddenly, of all things, he had succumbed to reticence. He was sat back on his knees, and the soft accordion folds of him were dewy with sweat and moonlight. His heart constricting somewhere in his useless chest, Crowley turned over, and spread his legs.”

My Notes: I see overstimulation and I fucking floor it. Please never stop writing fics where they have limitless stamina.

Title: sweet just like frustration

Author: teatales

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,174

Summary: “Crowley danced on the line between self-serving and selfless when it came to Aziraphale. He would do anything, anything for the angel. Anything he asked, anything he suggested, anything he needed but didn’t say aloud. But Crowley was also a terribly, desperately greedy thing. And oh, how he wanted. Wanted Aziraphale with every damned fibre of his infernal being. Wanted to be good for him; so, so good that he would never want to leave. Crowley wanted to be the best, his only, his everything. As much as he wished to lie there in exquisite rapture - he was nothing if not lazy - he needed to at least attempt to communicate all that he felt. To make Aziraphale feel even a quarter of what he experienced. He had to try.”

My Notes: Just LOOK at that summary. How can I read that summary without being expected to fucking faint. Jesus christ!!

Title: The Human Way

Author: battle_cat

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,780

Summary: “They're finally about to fuck on the bookshop couch and Aziraphale wants to know what Crowley wants.”

My Notes: I SEE A FIC WHERE CROWLEY DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS AND IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE AZIRAPHALE HAPPY AND I BURST INTO FLAMES

Title: We Waited Long Enough

Author: syrupfactory

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,170

Summary: “After a few months of (finally) officially dating, Aziraphale is a little hurt when Crowley seems amused by his eagerness for sex. Why? Because Aziraphale actually wants way, way more. Fortunately, that's a fun problem to solve.”

My Notes: THEY EACH THINK THE OTHER ISN’T AS INTERESTED IN HAVING SEX AS THEY ARE AND THEN THEY HAVE MARATHON SEX AND I’M SWEATING.

Title: As Advertised on TV

Author: Mr_Customs_Man

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,045

Summary: “Everything that Crowley knew about sex, he learned from watching movies. As fun as movies are, they don't provide a comprehensive sex education. Needless to say, he has some misconceptions in regards to the act.”

My Notes: This is NOT a sexy fic!! It is sad and it wrenches my heart and I WORRY. Crowley please communicate your NEEDS.

Title: until you say it out loud

Author: attheborder

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,293

Summary: “And Aziraphale is realizing now, to its fullest, something he’s suspected for nearly as long as he’s known Crowley: the demon is no silver-tongued devil. He is no weaver of words, no smooth talker. It would fit in with his image, certainly— shouldn’t a man-shaped being dressed like an oilslick have speech just as dark and slippery— but there’s very little of either of them that’s as it ought to be, really.”

My Notes: This fic ignited me and I burst into flames. You’re probably starting to see a trend in what I like to read.

Title: Coitus Interruptus with Paperwork

Author: mountagrue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,780

Summary: “The one where Azira Fell (directly onto Crowley's dick, did not pass go, did not fill out the appropriate forms).”

My Notes: Scream this is funny and horny Aziraphale falls and immediately gets to dicking down his demon while Gabriel suffers the aftermath. 

Title: What Crowley Wants

Author: crookedashes

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,022

Summary: “Aziraphale wants to give Crowley what he wants most. It goes a bit sideways.”

My Notes: I die for this content can they communicate like normal people for FIVE MINUTES? Ft. Crowley feeling inadequate and me flying into the sun.

Title: All The Rest

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,416

Summary: “If it weren’t for Aziraphale’s persistence, they wouldn’t have had a sex life at all, and Crowley was a demon, for goodness sake! Aziraphale didn’t understand it. (Aziraphale has the communication skills of a doorknob. Crowley isn't any better.)”

My Notes: Aziraphale and Crowley are like *has horny communication issues* and i’m like *nuts*

Title: and in this way their love rewrites the universe

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9,503

Summary: “They've been desperately in love for a year since the world didn't end, and they've been making little miracles happen for each other. Crowley's latest? A date outside of London, at a drive-in movie theatre in the South Downs. Yes, they have sex in the Bentley.”

My Notes: IT’S SAPPY IT’S TENDER IT’S HORNY IT’S ROMANTIC THEY INVENTED LOVE!!!

Title: sanctuary

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,779

Summary: “It's about making a home together. It takes some getting used to, to take all this longing and transmute it into love, into something shared, but Aziraphale is here to help him get used to it. Especially on a stormy day in the cottage.

What better way to spend it than making love over and over and over?”

My Notes: I am literally a mess I read fics where they’re madly in love and want to stay close and I explode

Title: The Skin And Bones Of You

Author: entangelednow

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,001

Summary: “In which Crowley has spent six thousand years wanting something he doesn't think he deserves. It's only natural to assume he won't get to keep it.”

My Notes: I swear to god i will SCREAM!! IT’S TOO MUCH!! PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING CROWLEY AS INSECURE.

Title: love like the dawn

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,755

Summary: “This is sleepy, romantic, domestic morning sex in the South Downs Cottage. Crowley's still getting used to a love this good, the way it remakes him, the way it remakes the world.”

My Notes: I can’t with this like they’re just so in love I’ve lost the ability to breathe this fic stole my lungs and left me for dead

Title: to sleep, perchance to dream

Author: starkhasheart

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,023

Summary: “Crowley has a kink. Of course Aziraphale is going to indulge him.”

My Notes: Uhhhhhh it’s. Uhhh. Consensual somnophilia is uh… yeah.

Title: on the same page

Author: Chekhov

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~85,746

Summary: “Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less... appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is... until they have to pretend to be married to each other.”

My Notes: THIS ONE ISN’T FINISHED YET BUT IT’S A HUMAN AU AND EVERY UPDATE MAKES ME FOAM AT THE MOUTH

Title: be mine

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,994

Summary: “It's their first Valentine's Day together, and Crowley is trying to pick out the right present.”

My Notes: I SCREAM I actually did not realize how many of this authors works I had bookmarked and HOLY SHIT!! THEY ARE JUST SO IN LOVE!! AHHHHH!!

Title: do we get what we deserve

Author: Smalls

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,064

Summary: “Crowley had not been a particularly good angel.

Unfortunately, Crowley had never been a particularly good demon either.”

My Notes: Cannot lie this had me openly sobbing on a Friday morning and left me emotionally raw

Title: Renting Crowley

Author: Amorous_Flammetta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,018

Summary: “Crowley acts out Aziraphale's Victorian-era fantasy of taking a rent boy home for the night. Their little game includes costumes, champagne, dirty talk and explicit sex!”

My Notes: ITS A RENT BOY FANTASY BUT IT’S ALSO TENDER AND LOVING AND IT HAD ME SWEATING AND MADE ME EMOTIONAL

Title: do me right and do me wrong (give it up, give it up)

Author: seashadows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,828

Summary: “Crowley copes with attention starvation, tries out some new hobbies, and discovers that asking for what you need is better than the alternative.”

My Notes: I’M GOING TO FUCKING EXPLODE THIS ONE MADE ME SCREAM LIKE I JUST CANNOT HANDLE IT ATTENTION STARVATION WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME

Title: For The Longest Time

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20,370

Summary: “Crowley kind of misses the pining when it's gone. Aziraphale comes up with a solution.”

My Notes: It was hot and funny and lasted just long enough to really make me antsy for the conclusion.

Title: Clementine

Author: Mussimm

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 49,073

Summary: “The seaside neighbours AU exactly one person asked for.”

My Notes: HUMAN AU WHERE THEY LIVE BY THE BEACH AND FALL IN LOVE AKA BE STILL MY BEATING HEART

Title: Gentle but Intoxicating, Nervous but Tender 

Author: ShortInsomniac98 ( @devilsss-dyke )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,868

Summary: “Crowley x vulva-having reader. // It wasn’t what you’d expected when you agreed to come home with him. What you’d expected was a maybe a quick, clumsy fuck, then out the door. Not some nervous but tender man who stammered out an, 'Is this okay then?' This was much nicer, much sweeter.”

My Notes: No comment besides uhhhhhh [sweats]

[nelllraiser]

catakitrophe | bex & nell

LOCATION: the vural residence PARTIES: @inbextween & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: bex arrives to meet nell for ice cream. nell has other plans.  CONTAINS: domestic abuse (mention)

Nell, though pushy, was an easy person to get along with. Bex had never imagined she’d make friends with someone who witnessed her destroying-- well, not her, but close enough-- school property, but Nell hadn’t seemed to mind. And she hadn’t told anyone, so that was really good enough for Bex at the moment. She couldn’t deny she was lonely. Her parents tried to control every aspect of her life, including which friends she socialized with, but this somehow felt like something they couldn’t, something they didn’t know about, and Bex liked that idea. She could remember all the times she’s snuck out of the house a teenager, unlocking her locked window, and scaling down two stories. Her knees had always been scraped and bruised, but her parents dismissed it because she “had always been a clumsy child”. And she’d been happy enough to let them believe that. 

There were plenty of things Bex was happy to let her parents believe that weren’t true, but having something completely secret was still new. Ever since she’d been outed, she’d felt as if everything she wanted to keep for herself was suddenly bared in front of her. But Nell was, well-- different. No one but them knew about what happened. And so, despite Nell’s pushiness and her insistence that what had happened was magic-- and maybe, just maybe a teeny, tiny eency part of her believed that-- Bex found herself at the other girl’s house, staring up at the arched roof of the cabin like home. It was such a large house, hidden back here partially in the woods, glowing with something almost other-worldly. It took her a minute to raise her fist and knock, stepping back from the door and smoothing the frills of her dress down as she waited. Fixing her hair just as the door opened. “Hi! Hello! I-- I made it! It’s me, Bex. Your house is so big, I sort of didn’t expect it. Am I late?”

Apprehensive was the best way to describe how the week had gone for Nell while she was waiting to take Bex out to ice cream. The initial excitement of meeting a new witch had somewhat quelled in the face of realizing just how badly she could fuck this up. Bex needed guidance, a steady hand to show her the path of magic, and the last time Nell had tried to teach a form of magic hadn’t exactly gone...smoothly. Regan had balked when the witch had tried to teach the banshee how to glamour, panicking when Nell had made her fake wings disappear. Then the door to instruction had been shut, and Nell was determined not to make the same mistake with Bex. Beyond that was the worry that she might be ostracizing Bex by teaching her. Surely the right thing to do would be to hand Bex over to her old coven, and into the hands of witches who’d taught literal generations— Nell being one of them. But it was plain to see that Bex already struggled with control in her life, and Nell couldn’t help but think about how her mother was still on the board the coven, no doubt eager to get her hands on any fresh and young witch that came to learn. That was a fate Nell wouldn’t wish on anyone, so it seemed it was up to her. 

Brushing her doubts away, Nell clung to the excitement of seeing Bex again, greeting the girl with an eager wave and smile. “Hey! No! You’re perfect- I just finished feeding Taki, actually. I think he’s excited to meet you.” She’d already instructed the overgrown cat to be on his best behavior, and to do his best not to let loose any fireballs or soot sneezes in the presence of their visiting witch. Nevertheless, she wanted to let Bex get acclimated first before introducing a cat with eyes of fire. “Yeah- technically it’s my sister’s house but we all live here. Both my sisters and me.” Corpsey, Bea’s reanimated corpse, had been carefully hidden away as well amongst other alarmingly magical things, but there was still a healthy air of mysticism around the home as Nell waved Bex inside. “I can show you him before we get going for ice cream if you still wanna see him.”

“You have two sisters?” Bex said, astonished and excited. She’d always wanted a sister-- or even brother. Growing up alone in that big house of her parents’ had been lonely, and all the weight of their expectations had been firmly placed on Bex’s shoulders because of it as well. She glanced around as she stepped inside and looked down at Nell with a smile. “What’s that like? Living with them? Is it nice? Are you parents not in town?” She shuffled around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself, when Nell offered to let her meet Taki. “Oh! Yes! I’d love to! I’d love to meet Taki. I haven’t met many cats before, actually. People mostly have dogs, and my dad never let me have any pets growing up. Or...now.” She cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her head. Why was she nervous? Well, she supposed she was sort of always anxious. She stood behind Nell and waited for her to show them off to her cat, unable to help the nerves bubbling in her stomach. 

“Yeah! There’s Bea and Luce. They’re both older than me. I think they’re out somewhere right now, though.” To be honest, Nell had specifically chosen a time that she’d known her sisters wouldn’t be present for, wanting to have Bex all to herself for the moment being. “It’s fine living with each other. I mean obviously we fight sometimes, but it’s also nice not having to tiptoe around them like you might have to do with a normal roommate. And I can get into their closets whenever I want,” Nell finished with a grin. She was built smaller than her two sisters, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find ways to make their garments work if she really wanted to wear something of theirs. Magic was also good for temporarily resizing things if need be anyway.

The question about her parents made Nell internally wince, and she did her best to hide the tenseness that claimed her shoulders for a split second. “No, they live in White Crest. I was born here and grew up here, too.” There went Bex anxiously babbling again, but it was precious in a way that endeared Nell to her. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling Taki’s gonna like you. I’ll get him now for you.” Then she was calling the cat in a singsong voice mostly for Bex’s benefit. Normally she would have simply tugged on their mental bond to let him know he was needed, but with Bex present she was currently employing a strategy of ‘the less magic, the better’. Almost instantly, a black cat that had absolutely no right being as large as he was came down the stairs of the home, tail high in the air in a cat greeting. In truth he was an Ovinikk, a Shiba Inu sized beast, and Nell’s familiar...but Bex certainly didn’t need to know that. “Bex, this is Taki,” Nell said as she bent down to give Taki a pet. “And Taki- this is Bex.” The Ovinikk looked up at the new witch with a slow blink before settling himself on his back haunches, tail swishing curiously while he waited for Bex to make the first move.

“I always wanted a sibling,” Bex admitted, sighing fondly as Nell explained her living situation with them.It sort of sounded like an impossible dream-- living with people you didn’t have to tiptoe around. Not that Bex wasn’t grateful for all her parents had done for her, but she was finding it increasingly more difficult to hide her true self away from them. She felt...suffocated. Her throat dried up at the thought and she had to swallow hard to make it go away, concentrating back on Nell and the situation at hand. “You were? I was born here, too! And I guess technically I grew up here, but I went to a boarding school and even when I was here during the summers and holidays, my parents didn’t really let me off the grounds, so I only went into town on weekends with them or my nanny.” She realized she was rambling again and cleared her throat, giving an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry. Right. Yes! I’m ready to meet him!” She kept her eyes on Nell, trying not to be too nosy by looking around the house, but finding herself unable to quell her curiosity. The place had so many plants and art and objects hung on the walls, it was like something out of the ‘New Age Home Decor’ magazines her mom scoffed at. It was definitely a home someone who claimed to be a ‘witch’ would live in. It made Bex wonder if Nell’s sisters were also ‘witches’. But before she could think on it more, Nell was introducing her cat and Bex turned to look-- and almost jumped out of her skin, taking a large step backwards when she saw the massive black cat and its burning eyes. Wait, were they actually on fire?? A pot next to the door shattered as Bex inhaled sharply. “His-- I’m-- I’m sorry. He’s so-- big. How is he so big?” She looked at the shattered pot, then to Nell. “Are you-- is he okay? What’s wrong with his eyes?”

“Well- let me know when you’re really craving one, and you can borrow one of mine in a heartbeat. Especially if it’s when they’re annoying me,” Nell quipped with a crooked grin, her words easy. Plus it wouldn’t hurt for Bex to have more contact with witches in her future. “Really? How long were you at boarding school? That’s probably why I don’t remember you from public school or anything,” Nell mused aloud, vaguely wondering if Bex’s parents knew more about the girl’s magical prowess than she’d originally thought. Maybe that was why they’d sent the girl far away? “Sorry- I know he’s big.” The pot shattered and Nell barely flinched, though she did let a momentary grimace slip through her expression. This was only further proof that Bex was wound far too tight, a literal ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. She needed to learn how to harness her emotions before something more troublesome than a pot or computer exploded.

“It’s alright! It’s just a pot.” Her hands were open palmed and stretched in Bex’s direction, as if she were trying to make sure a skittish and wild animal would stay calm. “It’s his breed- they’re all big like that.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “He’s perfectly happy! He’s just a very special cat.” The end of Nell’s words had a hint of a coo to them, always enjoying complimenting her familiar. Taki enjoyed it too, his whiskers twitching intelligently as he preened under his witch’s pride. “His eyes are another trait of his breed- that’s all.” Nell gave Taki a meaningful look, as if willing him to appear as non-threatening as possible. Their bond rang true as the Ovinikk flopped heavily onto his side, exposing a fluffy stomach to the pair of them. “You can pet him if you want.” The pot was still broken in the corner, and Nell wondered if this might be her chance to dip Bex into the world of magic that wasn't just breaking and destruction. “You know...you can fix the pot- if you want. It’s not hard, and it won’t hurt or anything.”

Bex stayed in her corner for a hot minute, observing the cat, and taking in Nell’s words. There were a lot of really strange animals in the world, it made sense that there were giant cats. Her eyes stayed trained on the large creature as it flopped over and slowly, she unfurled herself from the corner and took a step closer, glancing between Nell and the large cat. He looked so soft and fluffy, like velvet fur. She could remember digging her hands into a big, fluffy dog’s fur she’d met as a child once, and not wanting to let go. Only losing her grip when her mother pried her from the poor dog. “What um--” she felt her voice wavering and had to swallow again, staring wide-eyed at Taki. “What b-breed is he?” She was trying her best to stay calm, she didn’t want another pot to explode-- not that it was her doing or anything, of course it wasn’t! It was just the tension in the room, a total coincidence-- and possibly freak out the cat, or Nell. Slowly, she made her way over and bent down, still a fair distance from him, reaching out her hand to pet his back. “He’s so soft…” It almost felt strange, but if she didn’t look at his strange, glowing eyes, or the rest of his large, maned body, she could pretend he was a regular cat. Her eyes drifted back up to Nell. “I went to boarding school my whole life, until University,” she finally answered, not wanting to look back at the cat in case she had another freak out. Hands shaking, she stood back up and smoothed them down the front of her pants. “Fix the-- but I didn’t-- that’s not-- do you mean like with glue or something?”

Nell paused a moment before answering Bex’s question, realizing she was going to have to make a decision on exactly how truthful she was going to be when it came to the more magical things in her life. But the girl seemed to accept the explanation of a different breed, so perhaps Nell could test the limits a little. “He’s an Ovinikk,” Nell replied carefully, wondering if the other girl had ever heard a name such as that in her life. A part of her felt as if Bex might go home to Google it, and be apprehensive about the myths and legends she’d find. If she did, the best Nell could hope for was that Bex wouldn’t think she was insane, and still be willing to come back and learn. “He really likes his ears scratched,” she offered with a small smile, happy to see her familiar and Bex getting along. Taki stretched as Bex pet him, basking in the attention he was receiving. Initially, he hadn’t been too happy to learn of another human coming along and stealing away his witch’s attention, but if she kept petting him...perhaps she could stay. “Not with glue,” Nell began delicately, desperate not to scare off Bex. “But...fixing it like the computers were fixed. And the same way they got broken.” Maybe if she kept names out of this, it would all be a little less scary and detached— and easier to accept and explore.

“Ovinikk?” Bex repeated, raising a brow. She’d never heard of that breed before, but she hadn’t heard of a lot of breeds before. So she took the explanation at face value, and decided to look into it later. Because there was probably something weird about this breed that could be explained online, like why its eyes looked like they were on fire. She glanced back over at Nell as she bent down once again to scratch Taki’s ears as instructed. He seemed to be liking the attention, and she felt herself relaxing a little the longer she pet him. Her eyes fell on the shattered pieces of the pot as Nell started to explain. Without taking her eyes off, she tensed up a bit. “That-- that’s not possible,” she said quietly, still not looking up at Nell or down at Taki. Kept her eyes trained on the shattered remains. Could she really mend instead of break? Was that even possible? All she’d ever done her entire life was ruin and destroy. Was she really able to fix anything? “...Is it?” 

“Mhm,” Nell hummed her confirmation, trying not to linger too long on the foreign name. Hopefully Bex wouldn’t think it too strange. “That’s him.” While Bex scratched at his ears, Taki began to purr, apparently already reconsidering his bitterness of no longer being an only child if the new witch was going to give him this much attention. As Bex’s hope began to blossom before Nell’s very eyes, a stab of sympathy ran through the summoner. It was like watching a dying man chancing upon an oasis in the middle of a desert he’d been crawling for longer than he could remember, already having given up hope that he might ever find refuge. “It is possible,” Nell continued gently, still well aware that Bex was an unpredictable creature, and easily startled. “I could show you if you want. Putting them back together isn’t as easy as breaking things, but it’s definitely doable.” That just seemed to be the way of life, and magic followed a similar course. And a small pot would be the perfect place to start— small and simple. 

Bex paused her petting to look up at Nell, well aware of the pot still broken across the room. She didn’t want to admit that it had broken because of her, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny that all the strange things that happened around her were because of her. Hadn’t that been why her parents were so desperate to send her away? Strange things happened in White Crest, especially around her. Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal, and all they ever wanted was a normal child, a normal daughter. She couldn’t give them either of those things, though, could she? Slowly, she stood back up. “And you...can show me how?” she asked quietly, almost shamefully. She was tired of breaking everything-- of breaking herself, her life, her parents’ trust. She wanted to mend something. She wanted control of something in her life. Even if it wasn’t something she wanted or understood or even believed.

“I can show you how, and teach you how to do it yourself. It’s not like riding a bike or something, though. It takes focus and determination. But it’s also just as simple as wanting something, and letting yourself have it.” Nell forced herself to stop talking, worried she might lose Bex at any moment with all her hippy witchy talk. Thankfully she’d at least had a blink of experience with speaking to someone who waslearning magic later in life as opposed to being reared on it in the form of Winston. Unfortunately on the opposite hand Nell didn't have the luxury of Bex believing in magic as her childhood friend did. Nell edged closer to where the pot had broken before sitting herself in front of it, patting the floor alongside her as an invitation to Bex. “Come sit with me, and we can get you fixing things in no time.” Looking up at the girl, Nell began her first line of questioning. “So when things...break- how do you feel leading up to it?”

Wanting something and letting herself have it. Now there was something Bex knew absolutely nothing about. Because the one time she’d given in to letting herself have what she wanted, her business had been blasted around the school publicly and her parents had found out and it had been probably one of the worst days of her life. Still, she stuttered forward towards where Nell patted the ground, glancing back at Taki once, and finding herself wanting to stay with the strange cat much more than she wanted to sit on the floor next to Nell and “fix” a pot with “magic”, or whatever she was going to call it. Still...she couldn’t deny her own curiosity. Whatever had been going on around her, if Nell had a way to fix it, then Bex wanted to know. Because she wanted it to stop, she wanted to be able to fix her messes. Maybe then her parents would be proud of her. Maybe then they’d tell her she was good enough. She sat down slowly and looked over at Nell. “Umm-- usually scared o-or anxious. Or upset. Or paranoid. Or confused. Or--” she paused, frowned, “--pretty much anything but happy or excited. No, actually-- it happened when I was excited once, too. All the windows shattered in the house because I was really excited about going somewhere with my parents and then they said it was my fault so we couldn’t go anymore and they lock-- put me in my room for the rest of the day while they got the windows fixed.” A pause, as she realized she hadn’t taken a breath in a second. “Um...So, yeah. Mostly when I’m anxious, I guess?”

Nell nodded as Bex spoke, not surprised by what she was saying in the least. Magic could be triggered by most any strong emotion, but if one felt as if they were in danger, whether the threat be physical or something intangible— magic was more than ready to take to the defense of its vessel. “The problem is- you’re letting your emotions control you. People always talk about controlling emotions as if you’re supposed to dampen them down, or get rid of them entirely. But that’s not what it is when it comes to things like this. You can let yourself feel the emotions all you want, but you just can’t let them overwhelm you. You can give them a path to take, guidance through sheer will that results in you taking hold of them rather than the other way around. If you try and smother the emotions then they just get stronger, bottling up until-” Nell motioned towards the broken pot, figuring that was a good enough representation of the metaphorical bottle literally bursting open. “But you can make them work for you.” She leaned forwards to gather the bigger pieces of the pot closer together, putting them in a little pile in front of Bex. “Think of how you felt when the pot broke, and let yourself feel it again but gather it within you. And then you just...let it out. You let them out to make way for the new feelings that will come after the pot’s been fixed. You take hold of the little spark you feel when things break around you, pair it with a strong intention to fix the pot, and let the emotions power that intention. There’s no room to wonder whether the pot’s gonna be fixed or not. It just will be, and you’re gonna make it that way. The anxiety, the fear- all that stuff has to go so there’s room for what comes after, and you use those feelings to fix the pot and let the new stuff come in.”

Bex sat and listened while Nell talked. She was trying her best to absorb what Nell was saying, but a lot of it made it into her head rattled around like cymbals. She had no idea how to make sense of them, no one had ever taught her how to manage her feelings before. Pushing them down was how she managed them. But she had to try, right? If she wanted any chance at normalcy, she had to try. If she could fix her messes-- or better yet, figure out how to stop them from happening in the first place-- then she could stop worrying so much. She actually just...be normal. Or as normal as someone like her could get. Whatever was causing this-- and it surely wasn’t magic-- would be over. It had to be. 

“Okay, I-- I think I get it,” she said slowly, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position and looking down at the broken pot pieces. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what Nell told her. She tried to recall the feeling of fear and anxiety when she first saw Taki. On how strange he had looked, on how not normal it was to have a cat that large with eyes that looked like actual fire. She felt it hiccup in her chest and than spread through her entire body, the more she thought about it. It made her fingers tingle and her tongue feel numb. She felt a rattling inside of her and tried her hardest to focus on fixing the pot. Fixing her mess. Fixing the problem she created. She felt a rush of something inside of her, like energy, like warm cocoa when you drink it on a cold night and can feel it sinking into your stomach and spreading through your body. And when she opened her eyes next-- the pot was fixed. “Oh hashem!” she exclaimed, excitement pouring out of her as she pointed at the fixed pot. “How’d that-- Did I do-- It worked!”

Had her explanation been too muddled? Or maybe it had strayed too close to the hippy dippy witch-talk that was the true root of most magic. It wasn’t Nell’s fault that the very essence of their abilities was tied so strongly to intentions, life, and its emotions. Either way, Nell was only tentatively optimistic as Bex confirmed her understanding, believing it too good to be true that her first lesson might actually stick. But as the pieces of the pot fused together in perfect conjunction, not a seam or crack to be seen on its surface— Nell’s heart soared, and wasted no time in joining Bex’s celebration. “You did it!” she exclaimed with a jubilant laugh, arms thrown over her head with exuberation. “It worked! Oh Bex- this is amazing. That was amazing! You did so well! I knew you could!” Gone was the tentative nature of her previous teachings, wild abandon taking its place as joy and pride swept aside any sense of speaking carefully so as not to scare Bex out of this whole ‘magic’ thing. There was no time for such things when the witch had done her first intentional magic! This was a momentous occasion in any witch’s life, perhaps even more important than uttering one’s first words, and Nell had been privy to the gift of guiding Bex through it and bearing witness.

Nell’s excitement made something flutter inside of Bex that she hadn’t felt in a long time-- someone was proud of her. She’d done something to make someone happy and excited and before she knew it, she was bubbling with tears. Amazing, she had said. Something she had done was amazing. And she tried not to think too hard about what it was that she had done, because now another thought was rising in her throat and oh hashem-- what had she done!? Bex’s happy tears turned into a gurgle and she dropped the pot and it shattered again and she shrieked, “I’m sorry!” And then next to them, the lamp flickered on and off, and on the shelf next to it, books fell from their spots. “I-I’m sorry! I don’t know what-- I didn’t mean to-- This isn’t real, right? This isn’t real.” She pressed her hands over her ears, too much noise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” She knew it couldn’t be true, she knew it couldn’t be that easy. She always destroyed more than she fixed. That was just who she was.

The tears that fell from Bex were the very definition of bittersweet. One on hand- Nell was overjoyed that she was finally finding release, the gentle crying seeming to have something of a cathartic effect on the girl in front of her. On the other hand...it was heartbreaking to see how something so simple as fixing a pot could give Bex cause for such desperate relief. Bex deserved better than to carry around such a weight on her shoulders, a heaviness that seemingly broke her whether it was being added to in the event of a magical accident, or lifted when she managed to fix her mistakes. But just as quickly as Bex’s joy had come it seemed to shatter before Nell’s very eyes along with the pot. “No, no- it’s okay! Really, it’s alright!” Nell paid little attention the mess Bex was making, not concerned in the least when she’d be able to fix it with a simple spell. Still...Nell didn’t exactly want to encourage the destruction of the house, so she reached out to place a careful hand on Bex’s shoulder, trying to calm the girl. “What if we just go outside? My garden’s out there by my greenhouse- and we could do some meditation.” Hopefully that would calm the younger witch, and it doubled as another lesson in magical application. Not that Nell would mention that particular tidbit. “We could do dynamic meditation- that’s what I always did. I’m really shitty at sitting still so it’s like meditation where you move. Not like the boring stuff where you just sit there.” Hopefully the movement would also help to relieve Bex’s anxieties. 

Whatever had happened, Bex wanted out. Away. And Nell was offering that. She had put her hand on her shoulder and she didn’t even seem to be noticing all the stuff that was breaking again. Bex felt like her entire body was shuddering as she tried to concentrate on what Nell was saying. A garden, meditation, moving. She just nodded through her stupor, trying not to think about what had just happened here. Not about Taki and his weird eyes, or the broken pot, or the fact that she’d done something that had fixed it. And oh, if her parents knew what she’d done, what a mess she’d just made, they’d be so disappointed. She was nodding again through her shuddering and as they stood, she clung to Nell as if her life depended on it. She hated this, every moment of it. Why couldn’t she just be normal? Be good? Be right? Why couldn’t she just be what they wanted her to be? The disappointment flooded her chest and she tried her best to hold onto it and not let the energy explode out of her like her fear and her anxiety often did. “Garden is good,” she finally managed to squeak out, “I like gardens.” And it was one of the things she was allowed to like, and so a sense of calm followed the admission, and her grip on Nell’s hand loosened. She stole a small glance back towards the house and thought that, maybe, just maybe, having control wouldn’t be so bad.

[fanfic-corner]

A-Spec Across Fandoms

23/10/20 - I know I have already done an a-spec post for Destiel fics, but it is asexual awareness week next week, so I thought I’d read a load of fics with ace characters from a few different shows I like! We have some Supernatural, some Doctor Who, some Sherlock, and a couple from Good Omens. Happy ace week!

Supernatural

broken when I’m lonesome by SailorChibi on AO3. (7,015 words).

Tags: Asexual Castiel, Demisexual Dean, Panromantic Castiel, Biromantic Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Has a Sexuality Crisis, Angst, Fluff, Touch-Starved, Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Castiel is Not Oblivious, comments that could be taken as ace-phobic.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: After being saved from hell, Dean's old methods of coping aren't working anymore: he's not sexually attracted to anyone, and he's not interested in sex no matter how many times he climbs into bed with hot, naked women. Sam is convinced that his brother is just depressed, but Dean knows this goes deeper than that. He still craves the intimacy that can make him feel safe. Fortunately, Castiel is there to both understand and provide.

Notes: This fic really hit home. I’m not sure if it is because almost every person I have ever talked to has had some form of this conversation, but it was still cute.

La Vie A Plus by K_K_TiBal on AO3. (6,260 words).

Tags: Punk Castiel, Asexual Castiel, College/Uni AU, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, College Student Dean, College Student Castiel, Pining, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Art Student Castiel, Love Confessions, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Tattooed Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you're going with it.

Notes: The angst is strong in this one! Again, I feel like many aces have had this conversation or that fear that people (allos, especially) may not want to be with them.

Exposed to What You Hide by SailorChibi on AO3. (1,890 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Hunters, Creature Castiel, Procubus Cas, Asexual Castiel, Established Relationship, Hidden Relationship, Assisted Suicide, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: "We think Cas is a procubus," Sam blurted out. Then he winced and yelped when Charlie kicked him under the table. "Ow!" "Smooth, Sam," Charlie snapped. Dean looked back and forth between them, realizing that they were both 100% serious. "A procubus." "Basically it's the sexless version of an incubus or a succubus," Charlie explained before Sam could. "It's... it's a demon that kills people by sleeping with them." She was chewing on her thumbnail now, eyes big and apologetic. Sam had done one better pasting on a truly epic kicked puppy expression of apology. "You think Cas is killing people by cuddling with them," Dean said, just to be sure. 

Notes: Well that took a bit of a turn. I’m not sure why, but I love fics where Cas keeps bees, it was just so cute to see him that happy! (Even if he was crazy. Shut up).

Consolation by Trell on AO3. (1,195 words).

Tags: Aromantic, Aromantic Relationship, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Asexual Character.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: In which both of them are ancient, and neither of them are in love with each other.

Notes: Okay, I would first of all like to say that I do not ship Cas and Ten. I was kind of curious though, and clearly whoever wrote this ships Destiel and Ten/Rose. That being said, I am here for some angst; poor Cas and his unrequited love, and poor Ten because all his friends are dead.

Doctor Who

don’t hold this war inside by WishingTree on AO3. (1,824 words).

Tags: Asexual Yaz, Pre-Relationship, Asexual Character.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “It’s just - I’m scared,” she finally manages. “Scared?” the Doctor stills where she’s been trying to roll up the sleeves of her coat, shoving the material of one arm over her elbow and asking, “Scared of what?” Yaz doesn’t answer, can’t answer, and the Doctor goes to reach for her, aborting the movement halfway and only managing an awkward swaying motion. “...Scared of me?”

Notes: Thasmin is a ship that, had I not stumbled across it on Instagram, would never have thought of on my own. Much like Sabriel, however, now the idea is in my head, I ship it! Also, the author in this fic manages to perfectly capture the Doctor’s personality, which is quite an impressive feat.

Whatever fits my skin by lloydsglasses on AO3. (1,481 words).

Tags: Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Cross-Generational Friendship, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Canon Gay Character, LGBTQ Character, Aromantic, Pride.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “So, does that happen to you a lot?” Bill asks once they’re safely back in the Doctor’s study, each cradling a mug of tea. “Getting snogged by gorgeous women as a thanks for saving their lives.” The Doctor sets his teacup down gently on the desk, mouth pursing in distaste. “Far more often than I’d like.”

Notes: Oh my god that was so (fucking) cute! Now I want more fics of characters going to pride. Maybe for next June. Also, I’m just saying that I hated Nardole and nothing you can say to me will make me change my mind.

Take It, Leave It (But you’d better believe it) by lloydsglasses on AO3. (760 words).

Tags: Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Cross-Generational Friendship, Asexual Character. Aromantic, Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: “I told my foster mum that I’m gay. Now she keeps trying to set me up with guys." 

“Ah,” says the Doctor, with a frown. “That seems… counterintuitive.”

Notes: I’ve always loved Bill and Twelve’s relationship, and this is such a cute scene! It is a crime we haven’t got more River Song content, by the way.

Crescendo by tenscupcake on AO3. (6,013 words).

Tags: Fluff, Asexual Character, Romance.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: As her relationship with the Doctor slowly develops into something a little more than friendship, Rose starts to wonder what's holding him back. But one fateful night, he confesses something that makes her realize she never had any reason to worry.

Notes: Beautifully written! I don’t think I’ve ever read a Ten/Rose fic before, but I have always shipped it and it is adorable.

Sherlock

The Important Bit by Solshine on AO3. (9,984 words).

Tags: Asexual Sherlock, Platonic Relationship, Amarriage, Same-Sex Marriage, Bromance, Domestic.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.

Notes: Oh, this is absolutely one of my favourite Johnlock fics now. Absolutely adorable (because I love domestic Johnlock okay), I nearly cried, and now I want all the art of Sherlock with a fancy old cane!

the art of getting by (isn’t really so artsy at all) by stupidmuse_hatesme on AO3. (6,521 words).

Tags: Asexuality, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, Romance, First Time, First Date, Slash.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: “He's treating things like they're normal! Things are not normal.” Sherlock drags his hands from his mussed up hair and covers his face. “You aren't helping much,” he mumbles into his palms. “I hope you know that.” The skull only grins from his perch and says not a word. “Really, you're supposed to do more than just--sit there.”

Notes: John is so unbelievably sweet in this, but Sherlock was bit OOC.

what does the world get by coloredink on AO3. (2,302 words).

Tags: Asexuality, Asexual Sherlock, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: A women's magazine quiz leads Sherlock to investigate the nature of love.

Notes: A cute lil’ fic about exploring your (in this case, lack of) romantic and sexual attraction.

Surprisingly Simple by heeroluva on AO3. (855 words).

Tags: Asexuality, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, First Kiss, Touching, Fluff, Cuddling and Snuggling. My Rating: 3 stars. Description: In which John is asexual, and Sherlock never asks. Notes: Pretty cute, and it is always nice to see a character who is just cool with it, without some massive explanation. I can dream.

Good Omens

An Honest Surrender by Kedreeva on AO3. (4,107 words).

Tags: Ineffable Husbands, Post-Apocalypse, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, First Kiss, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soulmates, Soul Bond, Aziraphale’s True Form, Crowley’s True Form, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: "For six thousand years," Crowley said, voice cracking, "I have wanted something I couldn't have, because I asked the wrong questions. But I'm asking the right one now. The only one that matters." In which Aziraphale follows Crowley home after the nonpocalypse.

Notes: Seriously, reading Good Omens fics always makes me so relaxed and sleepy it is unreal. I need to read them more often. Anyway, this is such a cute explanation for the final episode, and I loved it!

You’re the Only Prayer I Need by Kedreeva on AO3. (5,507 words).

Tags: Ineffable Husbands, Wingfic, Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Wing Grooming, Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexual Relationship, Snake Crowley, Love Confessions, Trust, Non-Sexual Intimacy.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Crowley had, in the six thousand years Aziraphale had known him, shed his skin exactly twice that Aziraphale knew of. Both times he had disappeared without a trace, having retreated somewhere very safe and very, very unknown to hide while he was so vulnerable, and Aziraphale had never thought to ask beyond that information. Everyone was, he had supposed at the time, entitled to their secrets. The problem was that he had stumbled directly into this secret now, and there was hardly a graceful way out of it.

Notes: The sheer level of trust is adorable, and I’m always here for snake Crowley.

A Little Less Celestial by Kedreeva on AO3. (2,360 words).

Tags: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual, Sharing a Bed, Ineffable Husbands, Literal Sleeping Together, Wingfic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Aziraphale accidentally falls asleep, and Crowley teaches him sleeping isn't so bad, really.

Notes: Oh my God, this was so calming to read in a way I really can’t describe? Also, now I want a bookshelf bed.

Just One Yesterday by Kedreeva on AO3. (1,952 words).

Tags: True Form Crowley, True Form Aziraphale, Ineffable Husbands, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Post-Apocalypse, Time Travel, Time Loop, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Missing Scene.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Crowley and Aziraphale didn't stop the apocalypse on the first try, but you know what they say... try, try again.

Notes: I could not tell you the plot of this, but that image of Crowley’s true form was beautiful (and the artwork was phenomenal!).

So, there we have it! I hope you enjoy them, and have a nice week. By the way, if you have instagram, please would you consider following @justaceofficial? They are trying to get funding for a TV series which focuses on an asexual main character, and they ran an asexual advent running up to this week!

[calumrose]

Trigger [Police/Gang!AU] Chapter 6 || C.H

A//N: Viola, I present chapter 6! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, it was only supposed to be small but... whoops it’s over 9k! Anyway, here’s more Calum and Eloise in all their cuteness (and raunchiness - that’s your warning!) Enjoy! 

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Eloise Gray and Calum Hood, not two people you would ever think to put together. What started as a ploy for power turned into a romance, resulting in the realisation that loving your enemy may not be such a bad thing after all.

Previous Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 

His lips were sinners. God, they were that good.

Eloise could barely hold herself together as his swollen muscle worked against her, every crude sound it elicited echoed throughout the silent room. Her hand involuntarily found its way into his hair, fingers tangling in his dark curls as his tongue worked wonders on her core. Head pressed into the mattress, Eloise fought the urge to look down and watch him, knowing the glint of his eyes as he peered at her would only encourage her to stampede to breaking point.

She didn’t understand how she wasn’t embarrassed, never attempting to hide herself from him as he discarded each item of clothing from her beautiful body. He never once made her question herself as she lay in front of him, only ever fuelling her ego with sweet names and amorous affirmations.

She was practically begging for him, begging for him to keep going, begging for him to bring her to the point where she would crumble. God how was a man this good.

“God, Calum,” She gasped, throwing her head back against the mattress. The sound of his satisfied groan was music to her ears, as was the sound of every moan that fell from her lips to him. It was a mixture of sounds they wanted to hear forever.

Calum watched from his position, knees bent as he knelt at the edge of the bed, his tongue savouring every inch of her taste, her back arching in pleasure, completely bewitched at the sight of her losing every ounce of self-control right in front of his very eyes. He took a mental snapshot of every moment, drinking in every gasp, every moan, every quiver that rattled throughout her body as he worked his tongue against her sensitive folds.

“God, you’re so pretty like this,” He remarked breathily, his hands grasped her thighs to keep them open, to keep her ready for him, revelling in the way she presented herself to him, in the way she blossomed, and waited for him to bring her to exactly where she wanted to go. The groan he released vibrated throughout her entire body, her fingers tightening in his curls, his dark hungry eyes watching as Eloise’s glazed ones met his as his tongue licked along the expanse of his lips that glistened like gloss in the light with the taste of her. “So goddamn pretty.”

Every swipe of his tongue, kiss of his lips, every soft touch had Eloise’s toes curling as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Her stomach coiled with every touch, every look. His eyes travelled along her body as it shook for him, his eyes admiring the sight of her neck that was littered with markings he had caused, the excitement of knowing they would only darken over time elicited a growl from within him. The sound was overwhelming in Eloise’s ears, her heartbeat thundering as Calum’s talent only heightened her nerves, her body craving to feel the burst of pleasure it so desperately desired.

His arms only pulled her thighs closer to him, her whole body shifting further down to the bed as he pressed his tongue further into her, embedding the muscle as it worked into overdrive, pushing for the release that both of them were trying to reach. The room was filled with whines, gasps, and shaking moans as she neared so close to her climax, her head pushing back against the mattress as she gasped for air, letting out a struggling, “Oh, my g-god,” when she felt as though she was at her peak. “Shit, shit, shit, Calum, I’m- “

Her free hand was thrown over her mouth as if an attempt to silence her outcries in the quiet house, her body shaking, eyes closing as her body embraced the overpowering blow that Calum was delivering.

“Cum for me, doll,” Calum encouraged, his muscular arms lifting her hips as he straightened up, tongue never leaving her as his lips encased the orgasm that erupted within her. The new angle only heightened her senses, the overwhelming strength of the orgasm causing Eloise’s eyes to see fireworks, her mind hazed as her toes curled, her blunt nails tugging on Calum’s hair only causing him to groan against her and she released right there and then all over his tongue.

Calum released his grip on her, lowering her hips, with a final kiss to her sensitive clit, being ushered back up to where the pretty brunette lay with a gentle tug of his curls. He didn’t give it a second to wait before he crawled up her body, lips following the saliva trail he had left behind when he first began his descent down her body. A journey he would make a thousand times over if she wanted him to. He knew he would never get tired of her body.

His plush lips ventured back along the sweet skin of her neck, his hands slowly travelling over the swell of her breasts, a destination they never wanted to leave, his fingertips tugging her nipples teasingly as his connected their lips in a slow, sucking kiss, the taste of her dancing along his tongue.

He was completely obsessed with her, in every sense of the word. He wanted to know every inch of Eloise like the back of his hand. The way she felt, the way she sounded. The way she tasted had his tongue tingling, a taste he only wished to be blessed with every day. And still, he knew that would never be enough for him, even having her morning, noon, and night would never be enough to suffice Calum’s dying desire for the girl who lay open for him.

“I want you so bad,” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes fluttering as she reached a single hand forward and pulled on the waistband of his boxers, silently urging for him to remove the constraints. Her whine felt like a punch to his gut, feeling his length twitch at the sound. Her chest rose and fell with shallow shaking breaths, her body urging for her to continue, her body urging for him.

Eloise couldn’t hold back at the fact that she practically drooled for him, the sight of him stood in front of her, completely bare once he tossed his boxers to the side, completely bare and ready for her. She couldn’t fight her eyes from scanning down his figure, drinking in the sight and admiring every single inch of his body. The art that danced along his skin; his collarbones and arms only fuelled the fire, the toned chest, compelling thighs, and perfectly sculpted face were only a small list of the reasons why she felt as dumbfounded as she looked, of the reasons why she was so starstruck by the god of a man who stood before her.

The mattress dipped slightly as he crawled back onto the bed, his lips connecting with her skin once again as he journeyed his way back to her lips, the connection between them practically searing like a bonfire. Each kiss leaving scorching burns in their wake as they lost themselves in one another, the feeling of Calum’s hardened length pressed against her bare thigh caused her heart to beat erratically, as if it were moments away about from bursting.

“Utterly perfect,” Calum rasped, lips capturing hers as if to try and solidify his statement, realising how breathless she had him, how absolutely numb he felt to anything other than her in that moment, his front pressed flush against hers, their skin smooth against one another’s touch as the impatience between them grew with every passing second. “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

“Then have me,” Eloise let out a whine, senses overwhelmed at the thought of Calum and having to wait any longer to feel him, her hands grasping his face as if he was a delicate rose, the lines of his jaw resting in her palms, as his chest pressed against her shaking one. Their eyes met in a fiery dance, brown staring into brown, as they hovered over one another, lips merely inches apart, as she drank in every feature of him, cherishing every beautiful thing she could see as she watched the man above her. “You can have all of me, Cal. I want you.”

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing within the silence of Calum’s bedroom as their blood pumped throughout their veins, and hearts pounded against their chests. They were entangled with one another, eyes never drifting as they tried to remain as close as their bodies would allow, realising that such a thing would never be humanly possible.

Realisation hit Calum like a truck, the thought of a rubber between them only bringing a hint of disappointment to his chest before his train of thought was interrupted by the familiar sweet song of Eloise, “I’m covered. ‘M on the pill.”

He swore his heart jumped and confetti cannons were shot in his chest as the words she spoke registered in his brain, his forehead dropping to the space on the bed next to her, lips pressing against the crook her neck, a groan laced with nothing but pure arousal escaped his mouth at the thought of feeling Eloise without any barrier, any filter between them as they got lost in each other’s bodies.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” The smirk was almost painful, the thought in his head being voiced as it fluttered within his chest and mind where the thoughts of Eloise basked. His strong hand reached down between them, gripped his base, and allowed the tip to brush against her sensitive folds briefly, the soft audible whine that escaped her lips only encouraged him, the smirk remaining strong along his lips before he slanted them over her own in a hot kiss; full of adrenaline as he got lost in the beauty that was Eloise.

With a swift movement of his hips he allowed himself to sink inside of her, the sensation of her body wrapping itself around him forcing him to release her lips momentarily, foreheads pressed together as the two let out conjoined groans at the new feelings that burned within them.

Eloise couldn’t fight the gasp as she rolled her eyes back at the staggering way of how he filled her so completely, buried to the hilt, to the point where she could already feel her stomach coiling at the sensation that had begun to build. God, she would never feel something like this anywhere else. And he felt the same, dragging his lips along hers as he released shaking breaths, his heart caught in his throat as he held himself up above her, arms shaking at the sensation that was this woman who was wrapped around him.

Both of them took a moment to process what was happening, to bask in the level of intimacy that neither of them had taken a step towards that first night of meeting, the new level that they had undeniably craved ever since. It took for Eloise to clench, for her eyes to roll euphorically at the sensation of Calum being buried so far inside of her, for Calum to make a move, breaking every slither of control he had within himself as he pulled out, barely leaving much of himself in her warmth before he snapped his hips forward, the sound of their skin connecting being a sound that only spurred him on.

The pleased moan that escaped Eloise at Calum’s rough movement motivated Calum to pick up the pace, his lips helplessly kissing her for what felt the hundredth time that day, but still revelled in the fire her lips ignited just like it was the first time he felt them all over again. It was all tongue and clashing teeth, rushed movements mixed with the burn that was coursing through their bodies as the waves of pure ecstasy overpowered their ability to breathe and the control over their bodies, the sensation that erupted within Eloise only being made more enjoyable at the gentle scratch of his stubble against her soft skin.

Eloise’s legs moved to wrap around his hips, her ankles locking together at the base of his back, letting out a soft, “Feel so good, Cal,” as the new angle allowed for Calum to push himself into her further, speed only picking up, and had Eloise hurdling straight for the edge. Calum had his face buried into the crook her neck, unable to comprehend a feeling as euphoric and overwhelming as this, an experience he knew he never wanted to end. “God, I’m so full.”

She really was going to be the death of him, he knew. Calum’s lips kissed her collarbones, painting new markings along her supple skin. He had to find the strength to push himself up, his torso hovering above her, hand grasping onto the back of her thigh, blunt nails leaving crescent shaped marks as his hips never once missed a beat, his entire body overwhelmed with the emotion and the feeling of just how well he fit with her, as if she were his missing piece. “You were made for me, baby,” He groaned, the praise that fell from his lips couldn’t be stopped, as he embraced everything about her. “A perfect creation, just for me.”

The moan that left Eloise only proved that she believed that. And she believed that in its entirety.

It wasn’t much longer before they were both meeting their final destinations, stomachs coiling almost painfully as their muscles convulsed at their fast-approaching orgasms. Eloise couldn’t hold back her release, not once Calum let his hand fall from her thigh to keep himself propped up, his free hand travelling down to rub fast, but loose, hypnotic circles over her clit with the calloused pad of his thumb, as he let the urging words slip from his swollen lips, “C’mon baby, let me see how pretty you are. Let me see just how pretty you are when you cum, Eloise.”

Eloise didn’t think she had it in her to force her eyes open at his enticing words, her eyes looking up and finding the beauty that was Calum above her, bringing her the kind of sensual bliss she didn’t know was possible, the man who ignited her body in a burning fire, one that caused every single nerve throughout her body to stand at full attention. All it took was for her eyes to connect with his and that was it. She was breaking in the best way possible.

Calum’s movements continued, speed never slowing, as he encouraged her to ride out the high, the warmth she embodied as she released only spurred him on, reaching his own orgasm at a speed he didn’t know how to control. The echo of skin slapping against skin and the combination of their moans captured the moment perfectly, filling the air with nothing but the pleasure they let themselves get lost in.

The kiss-swollen lips of Eloise parted in a powerful gasp as Calum continued his movements, his body yearning for the sensation he felt within her sensitive core, urging himself to remember the moment of how her name felt falling past his lips in an overpowering euphoric groan when his own orgasm finally caught up to him, washing over his entire being, and she feels him in all his glory as he deliciously spilled every ounce of himself inside of her.

Breaths were heavy, limbs were tangled as they lay together in the messy sheets, basking in a moment they knew they would never forget, in a moment they knew had changed everything for the better.

*****

19 Days Left

The sheets felt softer than the last time she found herself tangled in them. The colour of the curtains no longer puzzled her, neither did the colour of the floor, or the dog toy that had been moved to below the windowsill since she was last here. Everything was the same; still memorable. The only difference this time compared to the last was a big one. The stupid smile that spread across her face at the thought of the sleeping man next to her, his arm hooked securely around her waist as she lay in his bed, only widened as she remembered the night’s events.

The thought of him cherishing her was one she knew she would never forget, neither would the thought of how perfect he looked above her, felt inside of her, how he spoke to her was even perfect. She wanted to slap herself for feeling like a lovestruck teenager, unable to stop the rerun of the night as it played vividly in her mind. Eloise, come on!

She couldn’t help but to look at his arm, eyes picking out the ink that was scattered along his skin, her finger inquisitively coming up and running along it, tracing the lettering and over the outline of the different pictures as she smiled at the smooth feeling of his skin against hers. Eloise’s mind flashed back to what led to the events of last night, holding back a sigh at the memory at the feeling she remembered of how she felt like she was sat in a confessional, admitting to her wrong-doing and begging for forgiveness. She messed up, she knew she had hurt him, and she had only hurt herself when she learnt that the feelings he had felt towards her were genuine, them stemming from a place of kindness with nothing but good-hearted intentions, and she had quite literally taken his heart and played with the strings.

She knew it was never supposed to get to this point. Not for her anyway. She wasn’t supposed to care if Calum felt genuine towards her, she wasn’t supposed to care if he fell in love with her or not, she wasn’t supposed to catch real feelings because it was all for personal gain. It was all for a game of money. She was in pretty deep, and quite frankly she wasn’t worried – well, she was – but not about what happened to her. She worried about what Scott would say, about what Han would say. She was betraying them big time; she knew she would never be forgiven for that. She knew she would never be forgiven by them like she had been by Calum; the two other men in her life being a lot colder and having a lot more conditioning to be naturally angry. She was going to lose them; she was willing to accept that to a certain extent but that didn’t stop it from hurting still.

Thoughts travelled to the man who slept next to her, brown eyes watching as soft snores drifted from his parted lips, back rising and falling beneath the duvet, hair sticking up all different directions – much of that being her own fault – as it spread against the pillow. He was like a perfect picture, something that was to be treasured and never disturbed. He was almost too perfect to be touched, to be seen as real, but he was. He was real and he was with Eloise.

What are we? – She asked herself, letting a soft sigh fall from her lips as she lay there and watched a sleeping Calum, the sight being one she felt as though she would never get bored of watching, it filling her body with relaxation as she matched his breathing, finding herself counting each one silently. She knew they weren’t a couple; in all honesty she didn’t know what exactly would class them as a couple. Did they have to officially agree to that? But she knew they weren’t just seeing each other. Surely there was something in-between right? Was there a name for two people who felt a connection after a few days, one of them having lied to the other since the start, confessing to said lie, forgiving them, and then sleeping together? No? Okay.

It wasn’t something that she had the urge to discuss, not wanting to hear a dreaded response of nothing – that being physical or verbal. But it was still something she craved to know, something she didn’t think she would feel so desired to understand. They weren’t friends. She knew that much. But were they lovers?  

“You’re awake,” A sleep-laced grumble distracted Eloise from her thoughts, her eyes falling to feel the brown ones peeking up at her through thick eyelashes, a sleepy smile on his lips as he noticed his arm that was stretched out across her waist; it not moved since they fell asleep the night before. Eloise couldn’t not notice the subtle surprise in his voice when he saw her, the sound resulting in her own smile itching at her lips at the sight of the pretty man who lay in the bed. “I thought you would’ve been out for the count for a few more hours.”

“Unfortunately for you, sleeping beauty, I’m a morning person. I can barely sleep past ten on a good day,” She chuckled, adjusting herself so she sat up against the headboard, her soft hand coming up and combing through his curls, her lips pursed ever so slightly as she gently combed out the tugs with her fingers, feeling comfort in the small moments she could share with him. It was so comfortable, so quickly, so easy. His eyes watched her from where he lay, brown eyes searching those of Eloise as he treasured this moment.

It was as if there were no barriers between them, as if it had always been like this, as if it had always just been the two of them with no tension, no lies, and no associations that stood between them. It felt as if they had been like this for months, as if it had always meant to be. And that warmed Calum’s heart, to see Eloise so content as she focused on her hands in his hair, the little glint of concentration in her eyes as she focused on removing the knots as gently as possible, as if her hands didn’t hold the ability to destroy lives if she so wished. It was a softer side she had, one that not many saw, one that Calum felt he had begun to see from the start, it only showing itself more and more clearly with every moment he spent with her.

The involuntary soft moan he let slip was one that caused a fond smile to spread along Eloise’s lips, the sound only proving to her that he enjoyed her touch, the way her fingers worked as they curled through his hair. She remembered when her mother used to brush her hair, when she used to play with her hair, having always loved the feeling and would let her mother do it for hours. It was something that everyone enjoyed, even if they didn’t want to admit it. The soft tingle it created within the body being one that Eloise missed, a soft comfort it brought to her that she no longer could feel.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” She spoke softly, twisting a soft curl around her finger as she brushed them away from his face, her expression soft as she sat up against the headboard, hand never stopping as it continued to rake through his mop of curls. It wasn’t a mistake, she was sure of that, but she wanted to know what he thought. Did he come to regret the decision after sleeping on it? Or did he bask in the glow the thought of the night gave him inside; the burning butterflies that danced within his stomach? “Or would you rather just- “

“What about it?” He interrupted her, eyes glancing up as he perched his chin in his palm as he pushed himself up, using his bent arm beneath him to support himself. She was even more beautiful in the morning, he noted. He had saw her in the morning before, but this was different. He was with her, fully engrossed in the moment they were sharing together. There was no rush of anyone trying to escape, there was no awkward moments of trying to remember what happened. There was nothing but pure admiration as they remained in bed and shared hopeful gazes and soft touches.

“Anything, I guess,” She shrugged, her cheeks turning a light rosy shade as she looked down at the space between them, tearing her eyes from his for a moment. Why did she feel so shy all of a sudden? “Like, what happened,” God, she felt like an idiot. She really was acting like a lovestruck teenager with a painfully sickening crush. It was like being back in high school.

“I’m not sorry if that’s what you mean,” The confidence he spoke with was dizzying to Eloise, he was so sure of his answer, the smile on his lips was enough to make her want to repeat the sins of the night before all over again. Pull yourself together, she warned herself silently as she rolled her lips into her mouth, meeting his dark eyes as she tried to prepare herself for her own response.

“Me neither,” Her blunt nails gently grazed his scalp as she slowly pulled her hand away, abandoning his mop of hair before she readjusted herself on the bed, crossing her legs as she attempted to sit comfortably. Her fingers grasped the bedsheets, pulling them up to cover her bare legs in an attempt to protect them from the chill coming from the window. Although with the heat that Calum was creating, she didn’t need to worry about being cold. “I don’t regret any of last night.”

“’M glad to hear it.” He hummed, staring at her helplessly with a boyish smile spread across his lips. That fucking smile. It was going to get Eloise in so much trouble. Eloise’s eyes subtly drifted to his chest, noting the black ink she could make out from their positions, the artistry being something she always admired regardless of who it was attached to. It was something she had always considered doing, but she never had the money and never had the time. So, it was put on the backburner until a later date. Although most things that Eloise placed on the backburner ended up being forgotten, a distance wish that she would never go back to. The art reminding her of having a choice, rekindling the memory of what it felt like to live before she was tied down, it only fuelling her desire to feel that memory once more.

And Calum was her chance.

“I’m tellin’ you, you better make a breakfast as good as that beef you made when I first came over. You’ve set yourself at a high standard and I really don’t want to be disappointed,” Eloise pointed lazily at him, smiling at the memory of the dinner they shared that night; the food being something that she knew she would never forget, it was that good.

“I’m not makin’ any promises,” He laughed as he pushed himself up, sliding out of bed, stretching his arms out and releasing a deep yawn. Eloise’s eyes fell to his shirtless body, watching as every muscle twisted and bulged as he stretched; biceps curling, shoulders tensing, thighs making their presence known as he stood there in nothing but his boxer shorts in front of her. She could feel her mouth-watering at the sight, having to mentally remind herself that he wasn’t a piece of meat; no matter how tasty he looked. “But I can try my best. Anything specific takin’ your fancy or should I surprise you?”

The raise of her eyebrows was enough of an answer and he laughed, slipping into a pair of athletic shorts, and left the bedroom with a soft acknowledgement of, “Surprise it is.” Before he disappeared into the kitchen to make a start, leaving Eloise in the comfort of the creased bedsheets, alone and warm. She let out a loud exasperated breath, her chest finally feeling light as she released the weighted breath she had been holding, her mind running in circles as Eloise tried to figure out what was happening in that moment. She felt like she was dreaming, as if she were flying, it felt impossible to be living.

It was feeling like that that made her realise why she never walked away every single time she thought she should have. Last night, Eloise was trying to convince herself that she should have walked away from Calum at the very beginning, leaving his house that morning and never going back. She felt like when Han questioned her whereabouts, she should have said that he didn’t want to see her; she should have been stern. She felt like she should have picked a different victim. But when she smiled at the butterflies she felt when she was around Calum, when she felt herself laugh with him, she knew she couldn’t have done it with anyone else. She knew she couldn’t do it at all.

It’s what led to her sitting in his living room the night before, confessing to the twisted plan of the Gypsy Kings, admitting to participating with the cruel intentions, only to realise that the fake feelings she was pretending where her real ones all along; undeniably. The sight of him made her weak at the knees, made her feel guilty for ever having any form on unkindness intended towards him, made her unable to feel anything but pure admiration and infatuation for him. The little things he did; how he smiled, how he laughed, how his hair fell limp in the morning, how his fingers tapped on the steering wheel of the car in even total silence, made her realise why she stayed every time, why she could never make herself walk away and why she felt what she did for the man who unintentionally captured her heart.

The wooden floors of Calum’s bedroom felt cold against her feet, her legs carrying her around the bed and to the bedroom door. Her hands gripped hold on Calum’s shirt that he had discarded on the floor last night, tossing it over herself and nodding how it came to the perfect length as the hem resting halfway down her thighs. He wouldn’t mind right? She pulled open the bedroom door, the familiar hallway greeting her eyes as she spotted the large windows, the sunlight beaming through them due to the sociable morning hour. Her eyes caught sight of the familiar photographs along his walls, the beautiful canvas at the far end catching her attention for a few extra seconds before her brown irises fell on one familiar photograph. She stared at it with less surprise this time round, and instead of her lips trembling at the anxiety of discovering his job, she smiled at the sight of him in his blue uniform, a hint of reassurance washing over her and she thought of how proud he was of what he did, of who he was. And his family must have been too.

Bacon. She could smell bacon, and man it smelt awesome. Her eyes practically hit the back of her head in euphoria at the realisation of what the smell was. Her mouth instinctively salivating at the thought of greasy bacon, it being something that she always enjoyed. It was impossible to mess up bacon. Well, she hoped. She walked into the open plan area of the house, smiling at the sight of Calum stood over the stove, his back facing her as he focused on the meat that was frying away in the pan in front of him. He looked at peace when he was cooking, his muscles were relaxed apart from the one in his brow, constantly furrowed in concentration as if to make sure he didn’t mess up what he trying to cook.

She made her way into the kitchen, smiling fondly as she perched herself up to sit on the kitchen counter next to the sink, her head tilting to the side as she admired the sight of him. He stood in his dark blue shorts; hands occupied as he hummed along to whatever song what was playing on the radio by his window. It sounded like typical breakfast radio, the upbeat voices of the presenters trying to boost the moods of many early risers as they made their way to work, filling the kitchen before they dispersed and a recognisable song in the charts played in their place, filling the room with music.

Her brown eyes fell to the couch on the far side of the room, smiling as she recognised the familiar lump of fur that lay curled up on the cushion, big eyes meeting hers from the other side of the house. “I think he’s upset with me,” Eloise couldn’t hold back the giggle, disrupting the silence and tearing Calum’s attention away from the pork in the pan and the voices on the radio as his eyes turned and met the familiar cocoa ones that belonged her. She pointed over to where Duke lay on the couch, chuckling fondly at the recollection of she first met the pup. “I think I stole his bed last night, whoops.”

Calum couldn’t hide his chuckle at the realisation, smiling as he turned back to pan with a shake of his head. “He’ll get used to it.” He chimed, using the tongs in his hand to remove the cooked pieces of meat from pan before placing another few strips on the heat, a loud sizzle erupting from the connection between raw meat and burning metal.

“And why would he?” She asked knowingly, smiling at the thought of this becoming a regular occurrence. A genuine regular occurrence. Eloise found herself liking the idea of this becoming her new normal; being in the kitchen in the morning with someone cooking for her, a dog wandering around minding its own business, and having nothing but happiness cloud the room as the two people in it enjoyed one another’s company. It was a secret dream that Eloise didn’t talk about too often; usually only when she got drunk enough but the sad kind of drunk. She did have one dream that she denied herself; one where she with someone, someone she loved dearly; someone who loved her, and they grew together, owned a home together, and raised a family together. It was something that she secretly wanted but had written it off long ago, the mere idea becoming a joke to her. It was never going to happen for a girl like her and she was more than willing to accept that.

“Bacon’s ready if you want some,” His voice spoke up, head nodding towards the plate of piping hot bacon that sat on the counter, ignoring her question, both of them knowing exactly what he meant, “You’ll find the butter on the bottom shelf in the fridge and the rolls are in the cupboard next to it.” His hand pointed behind him towards the silver appliance, head quickly turning to glance at her as a smile graced his features, the sight of her in his shirt finally sinking in and catching his eye.

Calum swore he felt his boxers tighten at the view if front of him, his throat drying as he tried to compute between his brain and his body, trying to control himself. It was just a shirt, he told himself. Just a shirt. Cheeks flushed, Calum coughed a little to clear his throat, blinking rapidly a few times before turning his head and focusing back onto the hot pan in front of him. It’s just a shirt, Calum. He had to remind himself that he had seen her naked for crying out loud, why was seeing her in his shirt causing him to have a somewhat similar reaction? Oh yeah… Okay, don’t think about that, that’s not helping.

Eloise noticed his reaction; the way his cheeks flushed, and the way his Adam’s apple bopped as his eyes cascaded down her figure – as subtly as possible – so he could drink in the woman who stood in his kitchen. It made her feel as though she wanted to shy away like a child but there was something inside her that craved having his eyes on her, as if there were no other place where she wanted them to be.

It blew her mind when she thought about it; how every single feeling she had felt since the moment their lips connected last night suddenly made sense of everything. It had opened her eyes and let her see what was right in front of her since that very night. Eloise couldn’t help but wonder if this is what her parents once felt; a self-embrace as you looked on at someone who made you feel as though you were suffocating but in the best way. She wondered what it felt like for them, hopelessly lovestruck, with nothing but eyes for one another, she wondered what would have happened if her dad didn’t live as he did. Maybe they would’ve been happier, maybe they would still be alive.

She knew her mother would be proud of her for listening to her heart, always knowing that her mother pushed for her to follow the steady beat of the organ and to do what she felt was right. Her dad, on the other hand, was the tactful thinker; always planning ahead of what his next move would be in all walks of life. For so long, his method made sense to her but it was what had caused her to become so unhappy in the way she lived, something that she hadn’t fully come to realise until her heart spoke up, until her mother helped her.

Eloise took her place at the counter beside Calum, smiling to herself as she buttered a few rolls and made the bacon sandwiches. It blew her mind how so quickly she had accepted what she felt; how normal this felt. And she knew, she was going to enjoy every second that she could get before she would have to face the reality of what this admission brought forward for the both of them.

Warm arms slipped around her waist as a tender presence was felt behind her, soft full lips finding the crook of her neck like they had last night as Calum held her, distracting her from the mundane task she was trying to perform. He was good at that already: distracting. “Bacon smells good,” She commented, closing over a roll and placing it down on a small plate to her left.

“You smell pretty good too,” He hummed, pulling her tightly against his chest, erupting a giggle from Eloise as she smirked at his remark. His eyes trailed over the skin of her neck; bruised from his lips and the assault he struck upon the blank canvas last night, his mind remembering the path he had paved out along her body, the urge inside him burning with desire to walk it again, and again, and again. He wanted to walk that descent for the rest of his days.

“Take your stupid breakfast and sit down,” Eloise scoffed playfully, her head shaking as she handed him his plate before making her way over to his dining table, feeling how his arms dropped from her as he took the plate before joining her.

She couldn’t ignore how his knee brushed her own every few minutes, as if he were reminding himself that she was still there, real, and not just in his imagination. The breakfast was good, Eloise sucking the salty grease from her fingers after picking up a piece of bacon that had slipped from the confinements of her bread roll. She could feel the burning eyes from across the table, unable to hide the pouting smirk that she wore at the expression on his face she caught in the corner of her eye. She knew what she was doing.

Calum couldn’t help but bask in how good that moment felt, the simple act of sharing a breakfast together filling him with a fulfilling feeling that he felt as though he had always searched for. His eyes watched Eloise as she ate, wishing that he could spend every morning like this; in peace and in happiness with her. Her eyes met his, the hairs of his leg brushing against her own limb as he slid it to rest against her soft skin, her touch bringing a comfort to him as they sat together. He knew they had things to talk about, but he couldn’t help but want to ignore them for as long as possible, to enjoy every moment he could have with her with no interruptions. And she wanted the same, badly, but they both knew they couldn’t avoid the elephant in the room much longer.

It was time to bite the bullet and ask themselves the burning questions.

“How are we going to handle this?” Eloise was the first to speak, taking the first swing at the invisible wall they had silently put up to forget about what brought them together, her knee knocking against his gently as if to try and make sure the same comforting aura remained between them. “They can’t know about us, no one can. Not until this over.”

Instinctively Calum nodded, he knew she was right. Nobody; no cops, or gang bangers, could know about them until this was over. Of course, Han and a few members knew about them already, but no one knew about them. And that was how they needed to keep it. As far as anyone else was aware, everything between them was fake when it came to Eloise, and nobody could think otherwise.

“Doesn’t mean we need to act any different though,” He let a shrug fall from his shoulders, large hand reaching out and capturing hers in a soft hold, turning the limbs over so he could laced his fingers between her small ones, a soft smile being shared between them at the pure sight, “You just need to give them the fake intel on our investigations like we agreed, mislead them into thinking that you’ve pushed us in an opposite direction, so they think they stand a chance,”

Eloise couldn’t tear her hand from where their hands joined, the size of his compared to her own was almost laughable, it consumed her small fist with ease. His hold was warm, comforting, dizzying, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She had grown up holding guns, knives, liquor bottles, and endless numbers of dirty money bags in the palms of her hands, and she knew that with the simple touch of Calum’s palm in hers that she would choose to not touch anything else as long as she lived. He was truly breaking her, breaking down every wall she had built over the years, making his stand as the one who could free her heart.

When she sat there, holding his hand, she felt as though she could breathe, as if she was living, truly living, like every cold restraint she had tied around her heart over the years of feeling afraid, of being alone, were breaking when he looked at her, with every simple smile she felt like her heart could beat again, it could beat freely as she drank in every beautiful second that she shared with him.

The way her heartbeat vibrated within her chest reminded her of a time when she last felt truly alive; a time where she last felt whole. The photograph she found on her Instagram that day at the café, the last happy trip her and her parents had taken together before everything fell apart. She labelled that day as the last one she remembers smiling with nothing but love, the day that makes her heart bleed with pain at the knowledge that she’ll never experience that day again. But being with Calum reignited that feeling of warmth in her heart that she felt, reminding her what it was like to forget the pain she had become so engrossed in.

It was all she had ever wanted; to be able to forget and to be able to embrace memories that she could associate with nothing but positive feelings.

Maybe Paige really was right… Maybe Eloise was falling in love.

But wasn’t it a bit quick? Eloise couldn’t even be sure that it was how she was feeling. Maybe it was just the effects of their night playing with her heart? No, definitely not. She decided to push the thoughts to the back of her mind; a box to delve into another time.

“They don’t need to know what doesn’t concern them, just let them believe whatever they want,” Calum spoke kindly, eyes detecting the undeniable paranoia that itched across her face. It scared her a bit, or better said; they scared her. She had never been afraid of any of the Gypsy Kings before, but that was before she got romantically involved with a cop, especially one that she was supposed to use to their advantage. “El, just tell them what you need to in order to keep them happy. You just need to keep them happy until that shipment comes in, and then let us do the rest. And until then, I’ll keep the cops off your backs, okay?”

They had a plan. Eloise had kept herself awake half of the night once Calum fell asleep, reciting it in her head, drilling it into herself as if to try and convince herself that it would actually work. Of course, it was going to work, it had to work. They had laid together and figured out what they needed to do in order to construct the downfall of the gang Eloise once considered to be her family.

They were to continue as expected, Eloise would report back to the Kings about her progress with Calum, hand them false information regarding the NYPD’s knowledge of the shipment, claiming that she’s attempting to set up a diversion to distract the police so they can follow through with the capture of the shipment. Eloise would keep Calum in the loop with the details regarding the deal, keeping the tip offs as anonymous letters he would mysteriously find that he could use to strengthen the precinct’s case against the gang.

They had planned for Calum and whoever else he would bring to wait a mile or so out of the boat yard, to wait until a certain time or for a code word to be spoken to indicate that Eloise was ready for them to rumbled. They’d discussed the possibility of her wearing a wire, the details still being hazy as she wasn’t sure if what was the best course of action.

Calum had worked out an escape plan for Eloise, explaining that if she had the chance, she needed to run and hide, expressing his feelings regarding the idea of her being in prison. He had made her aware of a broken fence at the southside of the yard – being familiar with the area – explaining that she could sneak out through there and try to get away. He assured that he would try to prevent her from being snatched up by the police, wanting her to have her chance at freedom instead of being locked in a cell for the rest of her days.

He didn’t want that for her, and neither did she. But he knew it was better than her being shot. Well, he thought it was. Eloise knew, deep down, that she wasn’t going to survive prison if she was put there. No snitches ever lasted long once the word got out. Eloise knew she had two options; she either ran or she didn’t make it out of that boat yard alive. Calum had instructed Eloise to never stop running if she managed to escape, telling her to run and get out of New York as fast as she could, to go somewhere no one would know to look and to start somewhere new, to start again.

It’s all Eloise had ever wanted; to see somewhere new and to have a fresh start. She thought about it more often than not, but now she couldn’t see herself doing that. Not without Calum being included in that new beginning. God, she was getting too attached too quickly. She felt so stupid for thinking they could do that, that they would be able to run away together and build a life somewhere that no one knew their names or knew of her past.

But hey, a girl could dream.

Eloise queried about proof, asking about what she would do if the Gypsy Kings wanted proof of her work with Calum; something to back up what she says, to assure them that she was doing as she was asked. “They’re gullible but not entirely stupid,” She informed him, a soft sigh leaving her chest as she saw the gaze Calum had on her. He looked so helplessly smitten, a lopsided boyish smirk on his face as he watched her lips move with every word; a sight he loved.

“We can arrange a run in or something, make it seem as though we’re out on a walk or we’re on a date and you run into a familiar face in the street. I’ll even let you hold my hand and I can act incredibly loved up if need be, and we’ll play it from there,” His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly, “Honestly, El, you worry so much. We have time to work everything out, we’ve got weeks left,” He was right; the shipment wasn’t arriving for a few more weeks, so they had time to fill in the cracks and build on their plan. Eloise had time to lie, but this time for the right reasons.

She couldn’t stop the teasing smirk on her lips as she let out a coy, “I’m not sure much acting will be required on your part,” Her playful giggle was a sound he wanted to replay, a sound he wanted to save for those lonely nights when he couldn’t sleep. As much as he didn’t want to admit so quickly; she was right. He was so helplessly smitten with her and he didn’t know how to stop, nor did he want to.

Calum tugged her hand gently towards him, requesting for her to move closer to him with a quiet, “C’mere.”. Her eyes never left him as she stood to her feet, moving around the table, arms moving to wrap around his neck as she adjusted herself as she straddled him on the dining chair, the warmth that his hands radiated through the fabric of his shirt that she wore ignited the spark in her stomach again, every nerve ending within her body standing up attentive as she focused on his fingertips, one hand sliding down her waist and resting rather comfortably on the side of her thigh. The textured skin beneath his fingers created an almost uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, his hand moving so his fingers weren’t brushing against where her scar sat. He didn’t ask about it; sensing it wasn’t something she was ready to disclose with him yet. The combination of their hot skin felt like a fire dance, both of them unbearably close to one another and yet both fighting to resist the urge to lose themselves within one another for a second time in the same twenty-four hours. God, the things that boy could do with the simplest look.

The difference in Eloise was almost monumental, a change that she never thought would happen, the speed of such a transformation unsettling her ever so slightly. She had gone from being a closed book, a locked chest at the bottom of the ocean with no key in sight. She was so apprehensive when it came to her feelings before; locking them away until they clawed at the cage to get out momentarily before she found control again and regained stability once more, but since Calum stole her table at the bar that night, she found the security around her emotions beginning to chip away.

From what started off as a mere throwaway fling – a failed one at that – to a game for selfish personal gain, to where they stood now; it was something that knocked Eloise for six. It was all supposed to be fake, something she would forget even happened in a months’ time but in reality, it was an experience that had changed her life. From how she started with a simple sexual attraction to a good looking stranger in a bar, she had developed true feelings and what felt like an emotional connection; one that she knew she wouldn’t feel anywhere else to the man who’s heart she could hear beating in her ears as she sat with merely inches between them.

Her fingers snuck into the back of his hair, fingertips curling around the locks that coiled at the nape of his neck, a gentle smile across her lips as she just looked at him, admiring everything she could see as she sat in the silence. Voices in her head fought for pride of place, a million questions being thrown around that she tried so desperately to ignore.

Would she come to regret letting her heart make this decision; to allow herself to become an open book and allowing for someone, especially someone who she was supposed to have a hatred for, to read every metaphorical word that itched across her skin as it told her story? There was no definite answer, not one that Eloise could feel confident in giving herself, but that didn’t stop her from silently begging – praying – for it to never be the case.

The way his blunt nails were dragging along her thigh were distracting, the tickle from his fingers sparking a smirk from her as he slowly pushed the fabric of his shirt up, eventually allowing it to bunch at her hips as she sat perched in his lap. With a raise of her eyebrows she quipped, “And what do you think you’re doing?”. She pursed her lips a little, the slight action urging Calum to kiss her again, the internal battle he was having with himself over if he should just carry her straight back into the bedroom was painful, the urge feeling as though it was primal.

Eloise’s dark eyes watched as his Adam’s apple worked in his throat, the expenditure of his neck tempting her to coat it in colourful markings again like she had the night before, the light bruises beginning to take their true form as the colours contrasted against his brown skin. There was no other way she wanted to spend her time, other than being wrapped up in his sheets, dead to world as she lay with him. She wanted to forget the plan ever existed, her eyes only focusing on the god in front of her.

“I think it’s about time I show you just how beautiful I think you are,” His let the words fall in a mesmerising breath, as if he didn’t even give himself time to think them over, it being the first thought that came to him when he looked at her. “I want to cherish every single inch of you,” The whisper was deep, the little pause between those three words that rang in Eloise’s ears not going unnoticed alongside the hint of a groan lingering in his throat as he rolled his lips into his mouth almost painfully, the animal inside of him stirring at the sensation of her sitting on top of him. His desire to ravish her was too strong that he couldn’t fight it any longer, just like he couldn’t last night, he couldn’t hold himself together around her, not once he saw that side of her.

Eloise bit back the moan that fought to leave her, biting her tongue to try to silence it, as if to try and fight the effect his words had on her. Although she knew, there was no way in hiding what he did to her, knowing he could feel it just like she could. The sensation of his fingers playing with the elastic of her underwear only spurred her on, causing her to work harder to prevent the pleasurable noises that Calum wanted to hear so badly. The only sound she could muster the strength to make was a simple whimper, her voice shaking as her eyes slowly closed and her lips connected with his own.

“Then prove it,”

She knew she was done for; a complete mess of limbs and noises at the hands of a man who knew exactly how to treat her. And she couldn’t feel better about it than in that moment.

---

Tag List: @steviemae​ @elsysoza​ @treatallwithkindness​ @oopsiedoopsie23​

[lovingxreader]

Is It Because I’m A Woman

Chapter One: Woman

Rated M

Word Count: 1.8k

WARNING!!!! This chapter includes strong language, mentions of sexual encounters, and abuse

You can read this without having to watch the show!~

A/N: hello everybody! This is my first time writing for the show, I hope everyone enjoys it! Also sorry if it’s a bit rusty It’s been a while since I’ve written something so hopefully it isn’t too cringy. Anyway like and comment and tell me what you think and ENJOY!!!!

Suddenly I was thrusted out of my bed and onto the cold wooden floor. Sitting up I whipped my head around to see who had disturbed my sleep. My foster father stood over me before wrapping his fat fingers around my forearm. He yanked me to my feet before using his free hand to grab a hold of my curly tresses. I yelp as I the familiar sharp pain as he pulled my hair forcing me to look him in the eyes. “What the fuck are you doing sleeping? You ungrateful bitch, there is work to do and you dare to sleep!” He yelled before throwing me to the floor as I landed with a clatter. “Get up and stop being Pitiful and get to work. I’m not housing and feeding you, just for you to be a lazy cow!” He snarled as he left the room slamming the door shut behind him. This was how it’s always been, day after day, morning after morning ever since I was a little girl. As soon as I could walk I was taught how to cook and clean because as my father would say ‘it’s what women should do.’ I became a slave to a man I was suppose to call father. We lived in a fairly large house out on the outskirts of the city within one of the greatest kingdoms on the continent. He owned a store front in the market and a small workshop behind our house where he would work at his forge. When I was but a baby, my foster father found me swaddled down by a river when he was traveling. He took me in, fed me, and treated me as if I had come from his own loins. That was...until my elven ears started to take shape. From then on he treated me as if I was nothing more than some beast. I was taught the art of blacksmithing by the same man that when he realized I could make him coin instead of burnt venison. He made a living from my hard work and burnt hands.

Over time he went from being barely able to forge a spoon to suddenly being one of the best smiths on the continent. He was taking fame from my work and plagiarizing it as his own. Travelers, peasants, and royalty alike would come to the store to buy forged items from my father. When the coin should go to me and the supplies I use, instead it goes to gorging himself with ale and whores in the brothels. Despite the abuse and him using me as his personal cash cow, he would allow small grace moments where he would let me sit outside during the day and let me soak in the warm rays of the sun. The rest of the time I spent inside the lantern lit shop where I forged my creations by the blazing flames.

The workspace where I worked wasn’t drastically messy but definitely could have been cleaner. But even with the clutter, it was organized to a system that allowed me to work swiftly as I could. Once I was in the workshop my father wouldn’t interrupt me as he could hear the pounding of the mallet hitting the hot metal on the anvil. The only window (if you could even call it such) was in the roof which I had caused by accidentally catching it on fire while I was still learning. That same night when I made that mistake he ripped down my blouse, held me down and branded my shoulder with his family crest. Forever I will bear the scar of his family as if I was some cattle. At that point as I laid there in agony with tears streaming from my eyes, I truly lost hope of ever being free.

It was one of the small moments when father was still busy being pleasured down at the whore house early in the morning, that was when I was able to sneak out and explore the city. During the day when it would be buzzing with life, he kept me secret and locked in the workshop. I was walking through the empty streets, the morning mist still hanging low in the air. This particular morning had been a bit chilled so I adorned my dark woolen cloak. With each step I took it brushed against my ankles where the length of my skirt had gotten too short to keep them covered. From under the hood my platinum blonde curls cascaded out like a golden waterfall, it ending at my waist. In the dim rays of the sun slowly rising, the light passing through the mist illuminating my pale skin. With each step I enjoyed the sound of my boots on the cobblestone as I listen to the sound of the quiet city. I stopped for a moment to listen as I hear the sound of horses hooves and what seems like the endless chatter of a man swiftly approaching. Glancing around attempting to find a spot to conceal myself, I dart into a nearby alley between two buildings waiting for the rider to passby. “Can’t we stay for a bit longer Geralt; I’ve heard many ballads of the women from here being Exceptionally beautiful.” the man in colorful clothing with a lute on his back spoke as he walked beside a chestnut colored horse and it’s dark cloaked rider. My eyes widen as I saw him. From his broad shoulders to his enchanting golden eyes, it shook me to my core. His ghostly white hair peeking out from underneath the hood framing his sharp jawline and strong bone structure. I was in awe of him. Suddenly the rider halted his horse and glanced around as if somehow, he could feel me watching him from my hiding spot in the alley. “Do you see something?” The colorful clothed man asked as he looks up at the rider before glancing around himself in a more nervous manner. Then it happened, I caught his gaze. His amber eyes staring into my own crimson ones. I felt so naked as if I was a frightened deer standing before a hungry predator. Breaking from the trance of the rider’s gaze I moved from my hiding spot and bolted away from the two, my feet kicking up dust as I make my way back to the shop and the safety of my forge. As soon as I got to the door of the workshop I try to control my rapid breathing as I wait to hear the sound of horse hooves and footsteps following after me, but there was nothing but my heavy breath. Stepping back into the sanctuary of the shop, I removed my cloak and adorned my smock as I knelt down to start the fire just in time for father to come barging in for his morning degrading.

I was standing by the fire tossing in more enchanted fire salts when father bursts through the door holding a fairly damaged sword. “This one comes first. The ugly bastard of a witcher is paying a pretty coin for your work.” He spoke before he struggled to carry it to my workbench before turning and slamming the door shut behind him. Sighing deeply I wiped my dirty hands onto my apron as I approached the table. The blade indeed was heavily damaged, not only was the tip broken off, there was body damage on the blade and it was stained with what looked like dark blood. The leather straps on the blade’s handle were also worn down from how the owner held their hands on the handle. Picking up the sword I used both hands to lift the heavy weapon placing my hands where this ‘Witcher’ would put theirs. I marveled at the large size of the owners hands were from just the parts that were worn down on the leather. The weight of the sword itself was quite hefty as I held the sword in one hand. Turning on my heels I made a stance before taking a deep breath and attacked the air with a fluid motion as if fighting with a blade was easy. Rolling my shoulders back to stretch them, I set the blade back down and removed the leather straps before separating the blade from the hilt and sitting it within the white embers of the fire.

My arms were heavy and my feet in pain, my father had come into the shop after closing the store to bring me my meal for the day before leaving for his nightly visit to the brothel. This time it was a somewhat moldy loaf of bread. I sat on my stool picking off the pieces of untainted bread to consume. I watched the flames dance as they continued to burn brightly. Looking up I could see the stars through the opening in the roof as I rested my aching feet on a shorter stool. Grabbing a nearby cloth I used it to wipe the black coal and ash from my face. I desperately craved a hot bath as I could feel the gritty texture or dirt on my skin. Standing once again I went over to the fire, using tongs to grab the blade. Once removing it from the fire I brought it over to the anvil. Every time I pulled a piece of metal from the fire, I think of the branding on my shoulder as I try to stay focused to ignore the dull pain of the scar. Grabbing my hammer I began to pound on the searing hot metal, shaping it back to its original form ridding it of its imperfections. Between my constant rhythmic pounding and the roar of the fire I didn’t hear the sound of someone approaching till suddenly the door opened and in walked two men. There I was hammer still raised in the air as I stared at the same colorful man with the lute and the cloaked black rider from the morning. The man with the lute gawked at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression while the other stared plainly at me. I stood frozen in my spot as the one in colorful clothing spoke. “You’re a woman?!”

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: For the first time since I started this whole writing adventure, my posting schedule has caught up with my writing and I’m currently working on part 8, with a possible part 9.  The end is in sight, y’all.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]  [PART 7]

Part 8 

Beg for Forgiveness

The great thing about telling people you aren’t available for a whole week was that no one will come looking for you when you want to be alone.  That meant that Evie could stay home and let herself cry without having to pretend everything was okay around her co-workers or anyone else.  It also meant she could ignore her phone and keep it turned off.  As a person who wore her emotions on her sleeves, she just wanted time to work through this without interruption.

There was a part of her that hated that she, a woman in her late thirties, was crying over a man like a simpering college co-ed. That she was feeling so broken hearted over Maxwell Lord of all people, a man she wasn’t even dating!  At least not dating in the traditional sense.  And they had only known each other the better part of three months.

Her brain kept screaming at her that he called her a whore, a bitch in heat.  He had been unnecessarily vicious to her, even manhandled her to the point that she was bruised.  Her fingers brushed her upper arm and she could feel the tears forming again.  She ought to hate him with her whole being.

But she didn’t.

Yes, it had only be about three months, but she felt everything so deeply and rather quickly, too.  And she had thought he felt it as well based on how he acted most of the time.  She always found herself thinking that everything about what they did together felt right to her, like she was supposed to be laying next to him, talking about their day.  That when she had been at the zoo, she couldn’t help but think a gorgeous hand carved wooden lion would have made a perfect addition to his desk. Those little things people who care for one another do for each other.

She dated periodically over the years and had a few serious relationships. Her last one ended when she found him in bed with a woman she never met before.  That relationship had been almost four years and yet the sadness she felt now was miles beyond what she had felt then.  It’s why she let herself have these long moments in bed and let herself cry.  

She laid in bed for hours before she forced herself up and into the shower.  As she let the warm water cascade over her exhausted body, she forced the last words out of Maxwell’s mouth from her mind.  She’d allow herself another day to mull over this before she formed a game plan. Although, she couldn’t be sure what that game plan was quite yet.

---***---

You get a taste of the high life and then just go running around, throwing yourself at people like some common whore?!”

“I saw you throwing yourself at Eric!  Rubbing up against him like some bitch in heat!”

The stubble along Maxwell’s jaw and cheeks was itchy, but the whiskey he had been drinking continuously since Thursday numbed him to any sensation but his self-hatred as his words continued to echo in his brain.  It was Sunday morning and he had been trying for almost three days to get ahold of Evie, but her phone went directly to voicemail and she never answered her texts.

He had been out of his mind with worry but the folio on his desk told him she was safe at home and exactly where that home was.  He stared at it, almost as if he could, through some weird psychic connection, will Evie to call him.  He knew that wasn’t possible, of course and he had sat on the information since Friday.  

Maxwell debated with himself on whether he should go to see her or not, but every time he thought he should, he held back.  For the first time in a long time, he was scared.  Scared that she’d hate him, but a small part of him was scared that she would be willing to forgive him because he felt unworthy of her love no matter how badly he craved it.

He pulled himself out of the chair in his study and wandered into the kitchen.  Marnie had left him something to eat, but he had no appetite.  Instead, he stood there, staring aimless out the window while leaning against the counter.  Things felt off-kilter since she left and if he was being deeply honest with himself, it probably was before she entered his world.  Instead, she had been this force that seemed to just pull everything together and it had been so impactful over the last few months that if she never came back, he wasn’t sure what his life was going to look like without her.

Looking at the clock, he realized that if he was going to do something, he had to decide now.  Stop being a damn chicken shit and go see her, that voice inside his head screamed at him.  He pushed himself off the counter and went upstairs to shower.  If he was going to see Evie, he wasn’t going to smell like a bar or look like death.

She deserved better.

---***---

Evie sighed as she stood in her kitchen, the fridge wide open. Nothing stood out to her and she wasn’t very hungry anyway.  With a groan, she closed the door and wandered into the living room.  From the large windows, she could see her dog, George, running around the yard, chasing the birds and she smiled briefly.  

She debated getting him from the kennel early, not wanting to talk with the chatty lady who owns it, but she needed his puppy love right now.  He had been excited to see her, as always, and he snuggled against her as she laid in bed crying the last two days.  But the beautiful fall day was too much, and he bounced out of the doggie door to do his patrol around the yard, leaving Evie alone inside.

She still felt restless and she wandered through the house, not really looking at anything.  Her home was on the outskirts of the city, located on the Hudson River, and she called it her haven for nearly a decade now.  It was a small, two-bedroom clapboard home with large windows and all its original woodwork meticulously restored by Evie and her father.

But today, this cozy space felt less of a haven and more like a cage. As she continued to pace, she debated joining George outside and doing some raking, hoping the physical exhaustion would overwhelm the emotional.  But before she could do anything, she watched as George paused and began barking, running towards the side fence.

Just as the dog began his vocalizations, she heard a car door slam outside.  Knowing that no one knew she was home yet, she walked to the hall closet and dragged out her trusty baseball bat.  As she turned around, a knock sounded on the door and she stopped, confused.  What burglar knocks on the door?  When she heard the knock again, she walked over to look out the side window.  Her jaw dropped when she saw Maxwell standing on her porch.

He was here.

And she was relieved.

She yanked open the door and stood there gawking at him, the surprised look on her face hard to hide.  Prim and proper suit-wearing Maxwell Lord was standing on her porch wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt.  She had never seen him so casual and she stayed with him for four days.  He was clean shaven, though, and later she would be a little sad not to see his beard once she learned of it.  She could see hints of exhaustion around his eyes, his laugh lines deeper than usual.

He stood there, looking sheepish and unsure of himself as Evie looked at him.  But he smartly kept his mouth shut and patiently waited for her to tell him to go or to stay. Despite everything, there was nothing particularly awkward about their silence and after a beat, Evie jump and opened the screen door, waving him in.  He saw the bat in her hands as he stepped inside and raised an eyebrow when he looked at her face.

“I’m a single woman living on my own.”  She shrugged before propping it against the wall to be put back later.

“I’m glad you have it.”  That deep voice she loved so much seemed to seep through her and Evie felt a little shiver skitter across her skin.  She closed the door behind him as he stood in her living room, looking around.  It was quaint, filled with books and photos of friends and family.  He noted she loved textile art as he continued to take it all in.  Everything about it felt warm and inviting, making Maxwell feel like he could sit in here, next to her, forever.  He then spotted George through the window and smiled.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”  He walked closer to the window.  George had gone back to his patrols after the weird man disappeared.  As they looked out, they watched him as he stood, staring through the fence as a boat lazily passed by on the river.  “Why didn’t you bring him with you?  I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Yeah, that’s my baby.”  She walked up beside him and tapped on the window.  The dog jerked his head up and looked towards the house, his curled tail wagging.  “I didn’t want to impose, not everyone likes dogs in their personal spaces.  Besides, he has a best friend at the kennel, and I felt they could use some time together.”

“What is he?”

“The shelter said he was a shar-pei mix.  But he’s pure-bred dumbass most days.”  They watched as he turned towards the house, running straight into a tree. They both started to laugh, and the dog backed up and walked around before bounding across the yard and in through the doggie door.  

George ran up immediately to Maxwell and began sniffing him, the tail still wagging.  He bent down to pet the dog and was rewarded with several licks to the face.  He laughed and kept petting George before the dog decided he needed a nap and ran to the bedroom.

“I’m assuming you’re here to talk.”  Evie’s voice was low, and Maxwell grew serious again as he stood up.  He towered over her and something about it sent little quivers to her belly.  He nodded and she nodded back before waving at him to follow her into the kitchen.

He sat at the table and watched as she moved comfortably through the space, putting together drinks and food before setting them down.  She sat across from him and he could see how worn she was, and it cut through his heart, compounding his guilt and sadness even more.  She didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t deserve her.  They sat there for a moment; hands wrapped around steaming mugs of tea. She spoked first.

“Why would you even think that let alone say it?”  Evie sat back as she crossed her arms and looked at him.  She saw him wince and his head dropped lower as his shoulders curled in.  She was surprised to see him so. . . beaten down.  This man, who exuded power and confidence, sat across from her looking and sounding worn out.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You got that right.”  She sipped her tea as he nodded.  He looked up and she could see how haunted his eyes were, her heart clenching because she knew that same look was in her eyes, too.  His body language told her that he was sorry, but she needed to hear it from his mouth.  He sighed deeply.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for hurting you.”  His eyes flickered down to the bruise on her arm, exposed thanks to her short-sleeved shirt.  “I acted like a jackass and treated you terribly.  You didn’t deserve it.  And I’m sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry, Evie.  I’m so fucking sorry.”

The rawness of his voice carried the wetness of tears and she could see him looking up at the ceiling, trying to will them away.  She could feel a lump growing in her own throat at the scene. Before she could say anything else, he kept going.

“I don’t know why I did it, why I felt so jealous.  But the idea of you being with someone else when I want you all to myself gets me twisted inside. I’m pretty sure I love you, Evie.”  Her jaw dropped and she nearly did the same thing with her mug had it not been for the table.  He rushed on.  “I know that’s no excuse for the way I behaved!  I’m not excusing that!  But I had to tell you.  I needed you to hear it.  I don’t expect you to love me back, which would probably kill me, but I really need for you to know that I’m sorry, that I love you, and that I want you in my life.”

Maxwell looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking, although he wasn’t sure which of the eight hundred emotions running through him was causing it.  He clasped them together, hoping to still them as the silence from Evie dragged on. It was so quiet; he could hear George snoring in the bedroom and the clock in the living room ticking away. He so desperately wanted to look up at Evie, but something told him to keep looking down until she said something.

Evie stared at the blond hairs on the top of Maxwell’s head, almost glimmering in the afternoon sun.  She was sure he could hear her heart hammering in her chest.  He loved her.  He loved her.  He loved her.  It was like her brain stopped processing everything after he said those words and her heart clenched painfully in her chest.  He fucking loved her.

She slowly got up from the table and walked around to him, getting on her knees.  His head was still bowed, and his eyes closed, as if bracing himself for bad news. When she placed her hands on his, he still didn’t open them.  She had never seen him so emotional and it crept into her heart.

“Max.  I love you, too.”

[originalpistol]

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐦𝐲 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠. — Part One

Lace flowed down to plank wood flooring, and spilt on down for a foot or two of train. The brims of my lips were full with various little hemming pins, all so I could make the appropriate alterations. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood so firmly in one spot, despite my feet begging to be free of the heels. Nope. There would be no rest in sight. At least, not for the near future. My mind was busy rambling over and over last week’s events and just how everything had played out. Part of my soul still remained cautious and in disbelief of it all, but yet here I stood. Tacking in pin after pin to hold the dress in the perfect placement for when I was ready to lead it away, and into the sewing cabinet. Baby blue eyes scanned across the mirrored board I had many measurements spread across, nodding to myself once more as I slipped another pin from between my lips, into my fingers, and right by my thumb right through the soft — damn near silken, fabric. Weaving the pin into place, and securing it with a final thread of fabric against the shoulder. Draping it down to sit perfect against the shoulder of the mannequin at hand. They would slouch slightly, but never enough to reveal too much skin. Classy. Effortlessly classy. For a moment I pulled away from my project to look over it, eyes narrowing in suspicion and critique of my own work. Everything would be perfect, and without flaw by the time I was done. Oh, but time was ticking. Even as I worked away day after day, hour after hour. Refining each and every aspect of this dress. Adding subtle changes, and even some dramatic ones. I’d went from loving the way it looked soft and delicate to craving something more extravagant. More length. More crystal organza, more finely made textures. Something for every bride. How in the 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 hell had I managed to get into this? Surely to God people were going to be floored when they saw a 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 line come from one of the biggest names in lingerie. The question rose in my mind quicker than I’d been able to stop it, and I hadn’t given much time to the whole idea. Hell, I didn’t pay it enough mind to even stop the sweeping motion of my needle and thread. Closely, and precisely, guiding the needle in against the smallest stitch. Over and over until I’d mastered the perfect design. I was laying a pattern for Swarovski to follow with their intricate beading of crystals. Each dress would dawn a new take on an old classic. News of my collaboration with Elie Saab and Oscar de la Renta caught on like wildfire amongst a desert dry forest in the heat of July. Each dress was created with a particular vision, and each dress would hold its own place amongst the lineup of weddings. Some were season-specific, while others were indicative of an era in time. One doesn’t downplay a classic. No. We are here to pay homage to the times that have passed, and to restore them to a more refined glory. These dresses were all inspired. Each piece was something new, and each one held a certain key to my heart. I’d dedicated months upon months to the core design before I would even remotely allow the other designers to spill their own creativity into the designs. Not even a sketch was released. All anyone knew was the letter I’d sent over. Handwritten, and forwarded by person to be hand-delivered. Everything was reminiscent of a step-back in time. I wanted these dresses and this collaboration to drip in the essence of the beauty in simplicity. ✦✧✦ ✧✦✧ ✦✧✦ My dearest Oscar, I write to you in hopes to achieve something wonderful. Something no one expects. I hope to restore the light of a time passed to the overly sensitized world at hand. To bring something back that was once a simple dream. You’ve touched some of the most delicate fabrics in efforts to create the best designs in wedding couture. You’ve mastered the art, and I hope to do the same. This fall, I plan to release a line of wedding dresses unlike any prior. With the skillful design I’ve created, and the whimsical guide of Elie’s details, and your fabrics; this will be the crowning moment. You’re probably wondering why I, of all people, have decided to do this. And maybe you think you know. I doubt if you do. The reason is simple: Every bride deserves to have something that speaks to her soul. Most women settle on their dress for something similar to what they desire the most. Why? Well, because while this dress might have the sparkle she craves, that one mirrors the perfect amount of tulle to train ratio. After all, isn’t the fabric more important than the embellishments? For her — the truth is no. But she will settle for yes. It is close enough. I refuse. In February you and Elie will receive instructions on how you’ll not only travel to my studio, but everything else of importance to your stay. Plan for a few months, at the least. I won’t accept no as an answer. When this letter is delivered, I will assume it as a yes. Much love and regards, Alice. ✦✧✦ ✧✦✧ ✦✧✦ Both he and Elie were given the exact letter, with a few minor changes. They both knew me far too well to challenge my stance on this collaboration. Once I set my mind and focus to something? It will be mine. They would see the signature of my first name as a comfort, and as a symbol of our close relations. It was rare that I let anyone call me by my first name, and especially as I grew to a higher stature within the realm of business and high fashion. There was no need for semantics or intermingling of feeling, not as far as I was concerned. This was much of why I was regarded to as cold or standoffish. I simply wasn’t one that cared too much for feelings or anything that would stand in my way of getting what I wanted, or where I wanted to be. Nimble, agile, fingers tempted the tip of the needle to edge between the layers of a well-defined ruffle of silk and lace. I’d slipped to my knees in efforts to truly capture the design I planned to embody with this dress. Different from the last, in every way possible. Down to the stitching. None of these pieces would hold the same fabrics, or even the same similarities. This is why I’d found eight young ladies who were planning to make their walk down the infamous aisle sometime in their near future. I brought these women in, interviewed each one for hours on end, and eventually came out with a sketch in mind of what I would do. Though none of them knew to expect their perfect dress to show up in their closets, let alone to be snatched from the real world, and thrown onto a runway in front of millions of designers, and couture-hounds alike. See, the whole catch to my plan was that in order for these women to receive their dream gown would be their cooperation in walking the runway. Some would succeed, and others? They would fall through the cracks of their fragile minds as nerves came out to play. Those ladies are nothing more than a weak representation of a woman. I’d simply roll my ocean inspired eyes, and scrap their sketch from the book that lay in my leather clad lap. Let my gaze fall on the crumpled paper rather than the girl. She wouldn’t be worth the time to give another look. Instead, my dismay and lack of interest was more than enough to settle any questions she might have. 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕. Black fingernails slowly tapped down against the course cartridge paper at hand, giving way to the thinning of my patience. Not only in the ladies, but in the process as a whole. Only one dress was finished. It was now mid-June. I had eight ladies locked in. None of which would know that it was their dress that was looming in the balance if they chose to back away from the runway when their time came. Hell, the only way any of the others knew that was the plan was by the way I scraped the dress’s sketch in entirety. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d heard the audible crumble of a dream from the gasp that spilt by the hopeful lips of a bride. Did I get joy from the shattered hope? Hell yes. But did I care enough to even deliver the pathetic tribe of bride’s their sketches, anyways? I could. Maybe that would be the least I could do considering the sheer amount of man-hours I’d taken from their lives to create a design all their own. All to leave their precious dresses a compromised mess on the guest-office floor. I wouldn’t dare let them set foot in my office. Jesus, no. Either way? These ladies had their chance at a once-in-a-lifetime gown. It was on them that they couldn’t check themselves when it came to their own mental measurements. “Sucks to suck, I suppose,” Southern reflects built into the sentence at hand, and a smirk rode along my lush lips. There wasn’t even a small hint of sarcasm resonating behind each of these words. Nope. in all seriousness I’d stood to my feet, and nodded one of my employees to gather the remaining sketch from the floor before it landed in the hands of a vengeful bride. We all knew how emotional women tended to be when a wedding was in the mix — how fucking classic. For the life of me, I couldn’t wrap my head around being a bitch at the cause of a wedding .𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐𝘩. Rip the band-aid off, and get it over with, princess. The impulsive reaction to roll my eyes was something I couldn’t and wouldn’t refrain from. So, naturally, I let my head doddle back against slender shoulders, let out a disgruntled sigh, and rolled my eyes. Nothing new here. Perfectly manicured fingers began to tap down against the marble table top, mind dwindling on what I was going for next. Crush another soul? Nah. A few a day was more than enough. Slowly, I thumbed through the sketchbook at my fingers. Each page was filled with a few small ideas of swatches, or drawings pertaining to the one dress at hand. There was a different book per bride; Per dress. Nothing about these pieces was easy. There were challenges hidden within each and every design. Sure, some were complex while others remained simple to the touch, yet they were all a challenge. Though I did love a genuinely good boggle of the mind. They always brought out the best pieces. A small smile curved into place against my lips the moment I thought about having each and every piece of my collection complete. Without a second thought, I sprung to action. Slipping the shading pencil from behind my ear, and between my fingers as I found the correct page. This would be where I worked on the bodice of Alicia’s dress. Alicia. Boy, there really was nothing too special about her. She was rather plain. Dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and with a personality about as exuberant as a rock’s. It was sad, really. However, I could see where her ideas blossomed. They weren’t cohesive to say the least, but they allowed me enough wiggle room to be able to create a true masterpiece. This particular dress was beginning to grow into a personal favorite. A skirt created purely out of a glimmer encrusted lace, and followed through with a sateen tie securing the bottom of the waistline, and cinching her inward. Something to allow her to look smaller in stature. At her request. Brisk strokes of the lead against the thick paper resulted in a slender design. Something with bones in it, but undetectable to the naked eye. No one would openly know of this bride’s struggle with her own self-reflection. As far as I was concerned? The only one who would know of this would be the fingers whom built the dress, and the one who wore it down the damn aisle. On to the neckline. I tinkered around on several ideas for this particular design. Would I leave the shoulders bare and exposed, or would I place small sleeves to cusp the tanned skin? Neither. I decided to wrap the same sateen around her neck as if it were a gentle fist slipping around the slender exterior. Something sensual to the eyes, and yet leaving a mystery beneath. Giving her freedom for any surprise she hoped to give beneath. Sleeveless dresses made that hard. Once the draft of my design for Alicia was done, I made a conscious effort to pen in the number 8. Eight dresses down. Eight that have been completed from my side of the sketchbook, and from my hands? This book would travel to both Elie and Oscar for their creative input. By the end of this, we would easily have every page bruised with scritches and scratches of the design. Perhaps to the naked, untrained eye, you wouldn’t see anything more than a mess strewn across the pages. Probably. But between the three of us? This show should debut as one of the best. A show that was truly bound to top any prior to, and probably would outweigh others to come. Nothing new there, when it came to things I created. A deep sigh parted my soft, lush lips, and I found myself flipping the pages of the leather-bound book closed, and slipping it inside my bag. Now, to hand this off to the boys. Light echoes of my heels touching base with the wooden floors filled the empty office around me; I loved that noise. I always had. I could remember being a little girl and demanding to wear heels, or the closest thing to it. The house was always filled with some clacking noise or another. Somehow, someway, I was going to feel like I was somebody. Crazy how wearing heels could bring on that semblance. Heels made me feel like I could take over the world. — Maybe, just maybe that was why I owned so damn many. Locks of caramel brown hair flowed heavenly against my slender shoulders when I pushed my way through the arched glass doors. A single handprint coming into view when I did, and I didn’t bother to knock when I stepped into the threshold of their corridor. Both of them were to their own vices, one studying over what seemed to be a different set of sketches, and the other was focused right to an easel and a wooden palette. There had to be eighteen color mixtures spilt against the grain, and something about that caused a small smile to spill out against porcelain features. The way all of our minds work so differently, but yet we could all come to a harmony? Beautiful. The respect both of these men had earned from me was to a level very few were ever able to acquire, and a piece of me hoped I had managed to gain this from their perspectives as well. It wasn’t until Elie reached a single hand out that I was brought right back to the moment at hand, and a sly little smirk prompted itself in among my pink shaded lips. “Damn, you really think I’m just going to hand the sketches over that easily? Good try. No. You 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 are going to hear what I have to say, and then you can have the sketches to do with as you will.” Every reflect of my tone was laced with a strict implication. This show was my baby. My process. My idea. “Hmm,” Oscar hummed out of chapped lips that were shrouded in a line of stubble that faded against his neck. “You’re just as difficult as Christian regarded, my dear. But exhilarating, nonetheless, hmm?” Those words seemed to be coated with a fatherly affection, and something in that seemed to ease me. One swift nod was given in his respect, Elie nodded his own approval of my conditions to which I would show them. Without the smallest hesitation I made myself at home on the ottoman that sat only a foot or two shy of both men, letting my gaze wander over them for a moment or two longer. “In this book there are 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 dresses. Each and every dress is to be worn by the bride that will walk in it, and every dress will be exactly as she envisioned it. There will be no flaws. There will be no settling for one thing over the other. You two will take every little note I’ve given, and you will transform. I have designed each skirt and bodice. Fine details and embellishments; that is your specialties. Right hand moves in accordance with the left, boys. I want no changes made to the base of the dress.” “Seven? There are supposed to be 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭..?” Elie questioned, raising a single bushy brow in my direction. “There 𝐚𝐫𝐞 eight. You have seven.” Every word that spilt past my lips was certain and calculated. “Alice. Why are we only to have seven if there are eight to be completed? You cannot hand us a partial portfolio of sketches.” Oscar seemingly argued towards my words, and I hadn’t been able to help the eyeroll. “In due time. You both will see the eighth dress. Independently. Of my own volition. As for now? Complete the first seven, when that is done I should have my segment of the eighth dress completed.” No, I hadn’t withheld the last dress as a way of buying myself any time. Not in the slightest. It was actually a quite different reason, if I was being completely honest with myself, but it was a reason I was inaudibly terrified to admit both to myself and to anyone else on the face of the earth. Fᴇᴀʀ — This was something I was foreign to both in mind and emotion. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d allowed myself to feel any sense of fear, and there was something in that fact alone that sent my mind into a mild panic. Though I sat still right in front of both of these men, and kept every hint of emotion beneath the perfect premise of a woman; saving my face for my own mirror. A confident smile spelled its way across my lips as I handed over both the bag and the sketchbook full of my designs. Oscar went in for his usual hug, but instead was met with a firm handshake and a warm gaze. The same was given to Elie as I knew far too well what would follow the endearing touch of a hug. You could tell by the way I remained rather detached from the exit that there was a story looming in the depths of my mind, and perhaps haunting the trenches of my heart. Before I knew it, I was standing outside the glass doors, fingers shaking in the memory that deemed itself important enough to shroud my accomplishment. Every goddamn dress was completed from my side of the sketchbook. Every pin was perfectly placed, and everything was exactly how I wanted it, but yet here I stood with the weight of what felt like the entire ocean on my small form. I was drowning. Was this going to be a continual hindrance in my life? Would I always be plagued with the hurt and fear that riddled its way through each and every bone in my body? Looks like it’s time to shut yourself off from both mind and heart, Alice. Time to go void. Fuck emotions, right? E x a c t l y. Broken glass crashed to the ground only seconds before, and now? — 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔, 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Key of Love

@bnha-halloween2019 | Day 9: Horns | Bakugou x Koge | Teen | Cursing, Mildly Suggestive

Art Challenge: Accessories

a/n: Wow I literally came up with an entire AU with this one and ngl I’m in love with it. If I had the time or the motivation I’d make a whole fic, buuuuut this is all for now! Main art blog @hvalrossart

“Give me that fucking key already! A whole year I’ve been dealing with your bullshit, and I’ve already met the requirements!” 

“Nuh uh, not true. You haven’t said the words. You couldn’t take the key even if wanted to give it to you.” 

Koge hung the key in front of Bakugou’s face, letting it swing about a bit on its chain. Just from being close to the increasingly frustrated male demon, the gold began to glow a dangerous bright red, threatening to burn any who touch it. Too tempted to try, Bakugou reached his clawed fingers up towards it, feeling his skin tingle with the warning as the key only flared hotter. With an annoyed growl, he smacked the petite female’s hand away, glaring down at her with his fiery crimson eyes. “Don’t fucking taunt me with it, bitch! This whole thing is fucking stupid!” 

“Don’t let Master hear you say that.” Koge brought the key back up to her ear, clipping it to her earring to keep it safe. “Besides, it’s not stupid. If you want that position, all you gotta do is say it. Three little words that we both know is true. So just let it out. Spill your guts.” Koge smiled, placing her hands on her hips. “Though, I suppose it won’t matter, ‘cause you have to really mean it.” 

“I know the rules! Fuck you piss me off sometimes.” Bakugou turned his back to her, reaching up to grip onto the lock that fashioned the heavy collar around his neck. He wanted to just rip it off so badly, but it was fastened by a powerful magic, one that he didn’t have the ability to break. All that could remove it was the key. 

With a sigh, Koge came up behind him, tenderly running her hands up his strong bare back, digging her fingers into his hair to massage his scalp right around his horns. “Don’t be mad at me, Katsuki... I didn’t decide the rules. This hasn’t been easy for either of us.” She could resist a smile as he leaned his head back into her touch, a low growl escaping him as he struggled between relaxing and staying angry. “I want you to have that position... To have that army that you deserve. To torment and destroy as you please. But this was masters conditions... For you to truly know how to destroy it, you have to experience it for yourself.” 

“I have.” Bakugou glowered down at her over his shoulder, the tiny female’s smile making his skin boil. “How has everything I’ve done not proved it?” 

“It’s not enough.” Koge let her hands trail back down, her eyes following them as her fingers traced the form of his muscles. “Not according to him... There’s no point in arguing about it, you know what you have to do.” 

Turning to face her, he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, the frustration never leaving his face. “Utsuro... I don’t know how.” 

Koge couldn’t stop the furrowing of her brow, giving a small shake of her head as she shrugged his hands off and backed away. “You make me think that I’m not worth it... That my love for you is meaningless-” A gasp escaped her as she was suddenly pressed up against the wall with extreme force, both of her arms pinned up over her head with his hands grasping her wrists. His palms were like fire against her delicate skin, though she refused to show any sign of pain or submission, glaring up at him as he towered over her menacingly. 

“Don’t fucking say shit like that, you little imp.” Bakugou snarled, forcing his leg between hers so she had less chance of escape. “You are fucking worth it. Your worth everything and so is the way you feel about me. But how can I say it? With the risks--” 

“Everything is a risk down here, Katsuki. If it kills me, then it kills me, but it will only do that if you aren’t genuine!” 

“What if it’s only lust I feel for you, huh?” He released one of her arms, instead gripping onto her chin. As he spoke, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip, his cravings for her only intensifying with the thought of her body. “What if it’s all superficial and I just don’t fucking know it? Then what? You’re fucking dead and I lose everything.” 

“You have to trust me, Katsuki.” Koge placed her now free hand on his chest, able to feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palm. “I know it’s real. And if you just say it... Everything will be better.” 

Bakugou knew that he should be calmed by her words, but all they did was make him more frustrated. He couldn’t do it. Those three simple words were something that seemed so mundane, that humans used without a single sense of true emotion behind them. And they could change everything for him, for better or worse. He could gain everything, or he could lose it. How in the hell was a demon like him supposed to feel love, anyway? He thought that it wasn’t even possible, for his hundreds of years of living and working along side this woman who was now the focus of his entire world. 

But still, no matter how badly he wanted to let the words spill from his lips, he couldn’t. For once in his entire existence, he was scared of something. 

Love was terrifying. 

Unsure of what else to do or say, Bakugou kissed Koge passionately, instantly making her crumble at his mercy. With the release of her other arm, she wrapped them both around his neck, a small squeak leaving her lips as he scooped her up, keeping her firmly against the wall. For now, this was all that he could do, to hold and pleasure her endlessly, all while the words screamed in his mind like the raging inferno that boiled within him. 

I love you. 

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Need A Best Friend

anonymous said: Hi there, love! I was wondering if you could do some fluffy Rami x reader where they were really close in college and she is brutally OBSESSED with Queen. (Fast forward to filming BoRhap) Rami brings her on set and finally confesses the feelings he's had for her the whole time as Freddie. (Freakin' love your writing ❤️)

“Rami, you know I don’t like surprises!”

Rami rolled his eyes playfully, rubbing the sleep from them as he shifted a bit in the backseat of the car that had picked you both up bright and early to take you out to Rockfield Farm. He’d flown you out to London on the premise that he missed you and wanted to show you the secret project he was currently working on. You’d said yes, on the conditions that he didn’t make you sleep on the bed while he took the couch or chair – or worse, the floor. You knew Rami like the back of your hand, and many-a-night in his dorm you’d had to argue with him for hours on how it was his bed, not yours.

“Y/N, you love surprises more than anyone I know. Don’t even try that with me.” Grinning sheepishly, you glanced over your shoulder at him as the England countryside whirred on by the window, and Rami felt a stirring in his heart that had been mainly dormant since waking this morning, only fluttering once upon realizing the domesticity of brushing his teeth side by side with you in the bathroom.

“You got me,” you giggled, and as your eyes turned back out the window, he found himself wishing that an alternate version of those words was true now more than ever.

“Late night at Ridgway. C’mon. Rami. Late. Night. At. Ridgway.” You were in Graves Res Hall, pushing on a sleeping (or trying, really) Rami who’d made the mistake of copying his dorm key so you could get in whenever you wanted. You’d done the same, of course, but right now he was regretting it as he sat up in his bed, groaning softly and stretching before hugging his legs.

“What time is it?” he croaked, checking the alarm clock next to his bed to find it was just past midnight, the 12:10 staring him back in the face. Looking up at you and blinking blearily, he found you grinning dopily, only outlined by the aggressive red light from the clock. Even then, he could tell you were just a tad tipsy, your eyes glazed over as you leaned all your weight on the bed, waiting impatiently. “Late night at Ridgway? Do they even have that on Monday nights?”

“Absolutely!” you replied cheerily, holding out a pair of sweatpants and slides for him. “And I’m craving waffles, so let’s get a move on, Malek. It’s only open for another hour and some change.”

“God, why do I put up with you?” he teased gently, taking the grey sweatpants and starting to pull them on as he hopped off the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as you kneeled down in front of him, holding out the slides so he could put his feet into them, and an unrelenting blush accompanied the baffled expression when you looked up at him from where you sat (see: wobbled) back on your heels. The point of view was too suggestive for his liking, especially in the dark at 12-something in the morning, and your silly grin as he watched you was heartwrenching. So, he cleared his throat and put his feet in the slides quickly. “Can I at least go to the bathroom before we leave?”

“I suppose I can let ya do that,” you groaned playfully, climbing back to your feet before falling back into the beanbag chair nearby with a small ‘oof.’

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking off for the bathroom at a hurried pace.

The morning light that started to filter in through the window as you drove was giving you a glow as Rami watched you gaze out over the changing landscape, the rolling hills and lush greenery interspersed with some very dark mud that was a product of last night’s rain. You were ethereal to him, an Elysian being that was somehow stuck in the back of a crud-covered Ford Focus with him, a hopelessly devoted man who’d been crushing on a girl for close to 18 years.

“Are you excited to see what I’ve been working on? You’ll shit a brick.” Rami’s voice lulled you out of your trance, and you turned to face the tawny-skinned, curly-haired man you’d grown to love as your favorite human.

“I wish you’d just tell me,” you pouted, and the way your bottom-lip jutted out was dangerous to Rami’s will. Ignoring the tremble in your plump, peachy, lower lip, he instead met your eyes with his own observant green ones, giving you a knowing smile.

“No way in hell.”

“Rami, gun to your head, stop showering or stop brushing your teeth?” you asked lazily, leaned up against one of the trees in the expansive lawn on campus. It was a pretty nice day for April, so you and Rami had elected to leave Bower and instead study on the lawn since finals were rapidly approaching. Lately, it felt like you’d been cooped up in the Fine Arts building, so it was a welcome relief. Rami laid on his stomach nearby, sprawled out with a book that had him invested until you’d distracted him moments ago out of your own sheer boredom.

“Oh, God, stop. That’s so gross,” he groaned, burying his face in his book for a moment before sitting up again and sighing melodramatically. “Showering, if I had to choose.”

“Really?” you asked, peeking over your book at him and catching his eye and he propped himself up on his elbows again. His hair was short, buzzed after a recent attempt at a perm he didn’t need anyways, and he looked completely put on the spot as he caught you staring at him questioningly. “Interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about it?” he asked, crossing his olive-skinned arms over one another as he furrowed his eyebrows at you, his book of no interest to him now. He had a pretty girl’s undivided attention, and it was doubly as exciting that it was you, his best friend and someone he’d grown to be quite fond of lately.

“I don’t know, I just… you’d be so stinky.” Your nose wrinkled a bit at the thought, an action that was fatally adorable and made Rami grin a bit as he looked down at his book, not really reading it.

“Yeah, but rotting teeth? No thank you.” Looking up again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you really gonna choose no teeth over stinky pits?”

Another nose wrinkle. “No way in hell…. Would you rather control your dreams or be able to rewatch them whenever you want?”

He quieted, looking off in the distance as he vaguely recalled a dream in which he’d had the opportunity to kiss you. He did it. Nerves that crippled him in real life weren’t a hindrance in the dream. A soft smile came to his lips, one you couldn’t read even if you tried.

“Rewatch them whenever I want.”

“You know, I kind of regret not splurging and studying abroad at Harlaxton while I had the chance,” you mused as Rockfield Farm drew nearer and nearer, Rami still delighted with your apparent obliviousness to the whole situation. He knew you knew about Rockfield/Ridge Farm. Being best friends with the biggest Queen fan alive was quite a daunting task when you had to keep your work on the film pretty much under wraps. “Just think England’s got so much culture.”

“I thought about it too, but it wasn’t feasible,” Rami lied, looking down at his phone for a moment to hide the shame in his eyes. He didn’t go because you didn’t. The moment you’d ruled it out as a possibility due to money being tight, Rami threw away his application.

“It’s fucking upsetting,” you mumbled, curled up on Rami’s cramped dorm bed with your head resting on his thigh, staring at the CD/radio player that was doing its best to crank out a bootlegged version of A Night at the Opera. His hands ran through your hair uneasily, knowing that anything could set you off at any moment. You had just realized that you couldn’t afford to study abroad next semester, and you were really banking on being able to do so because you’d be just a few hour’s drive away from the birthplace of your favorite band of all time – Queen.

Rami’s steady humming and gentle way with your hair was easing the sadness out of you, but there was still a hint of grief on your face as you closed your eyes, sighing softly. “This isn’t the only chance for you to ever see England and London, Y/N, it’s okay.”

“But what if it is, Rami?” you whined softly, sniffling a bit as the very real possibility of absolutely flopping in your theater studies hovered over you. “What if I become a nobody actress and never get the chance to leave this stupid little state?”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He frowned, pushing your hair back out of your face, and gave you a disgruntled look. “You are not going to fail, you’re going to be the best god damn actress out there – they’ll be begging you to come to London and you’ll probably have to buy a ticket for poor old Rami here just so he can see it.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned, but a laugh was evident in your voice as you rolled over, hiding your face in his shirt and trying to stifle laughs as he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“So what if I am? It’s still the truth,” he countered sassily, making you whine again as you hid your face more in his shirt, refusing to respond again and just sitting in silence with him. The soft sound of ’39 filled the quiet room, sending a pang through the hearts of both of you for different reasons.

Now you were getting impatient. Rockfield was less than a mile away, but you were thoroughly baffled at your surroundings. “Really, Rami, are you taking me out here to kill me and take my riches? I didn’t make that much money from my stint on my last show, so you’re not gaining much here.”

But Rami wasn’t quite listening, knowing that he needed to get into the zone soon so he could be ready to switch over into Freddie once he walked on set. “Hey, when we get there, Kelli’s going to take you over to catering while I start getting ready. Uh, try not to hurt yourself.”

“So confident in my abilities,” you teased, watching as Rockfield’s vaguely recognizable barn/studio came into view, surrounded by a multitude of vehicles, trailers, and the likes all swarmed by various personnel. “Hey, this is… No fucking way.” Realization dawned on you, registering quickly on your face, and your jaw went slack as you looked over to Rami, who was wearing a cheesy grin.

“Surprise?”

“Rami, no way in hell!” you reiterated, practically squealing as you grabbed onto his arm. “I thought this project was toast when Sacha left a few years ago, you didn’t fucking tell me you were the replacement! I fucking hate you! Oh my god, Rami, I’m so excited, I love this for you!”

“So many mixed signals,” he laughed, patting your hand with his gently, but you had a vice-like grip on his arm as you stared in awe at the set you were approaching, knowing that this was Rockfield Farm, one of the iconic studios that Queen had utilized for A Night at the Opera. And you knew that Brian or Roger had announced literally years ago that a movie was in the works, but some friends that you shared in the industry had let it slip that Sacha left over some disagreements. However, you’d never imagined that your best friend was the one to pick the role up.

“Rami, you are playing Freddie fucking Mercury and you didn’t tell me!” you gasped, gently pushing him away and staring at him in shock. “My favorite band of all time and I…. God, I want to hate you so much but I’m so freaking stoked for this I might pass out! Oh my god. This is so exciting! I’m so proud of you!”

At it again with the mixed signals, you excitedly grabbed his hand and squeezed it between yours, staring through the windshield as you approached the barn. While you watched the situation unfold, Rami watched you, hyperaware of how soft and warm your hands were around his own. It took him back to the first time he’d held hands with you, far before he’d realized how head over heels he was for his best friend.

“Lucky for you, you got paired up with the cutest girl in class,” you teased as you walked back to the other side of the stage, preparing to start your dialogue practice over yet again. Rami had broken character, laughing about a line that called him a Mona Lisa because of the way you’d said it. Now he was reclined back on his chair again, rolling his eyes playfully at your brash comment.

“I said I was worried about getting through the lines, that has nothing to do with your relative hotness.” He fingered through the short script for a second, then groaned out and looked over at you with an amused expression. “But damn it, we really are the cutest ones in class, aren’t we?”

He barely knew you at this point, the both of you only recently having befriended each other over this particular class – something about body language and physicality, how to convey your emotions not just through language. So the harmless flirting really was harmless, a way to ease the tension of trying to figure out a dialogue with an acquaintance. You knew Rami was from California, but you’d never seen his dorm and didn’t know he had a twin. He knew you were just recently 19 as of last week, but your shared apartment remained a mystery, and he couldn’t even name your hometown if he tried. You were basically strangers, yet to meet up outside of class, but there was a strange quality to your relationship that made it different – somehow, it was easier joking with each other than it was with any of the other friends you’d made since moving to Evansville a few months ago.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” you laughed, tossing a crumpled up sticky note at him before checking your watch and whining melodramatically. “Shit, our reserved time is up.” As if on cue, the rehearsal stage doors opened and another pair of students walked in, eyeing you as if they vaguely remembered you from class but wanted you out of sight immediately. Exhaling quickly and pushing your bangs back out of your face, you nodded to the exit. “Let’s bounce, maybe we can go grab some coffee and run through lines without you laughing like a hyena.”

“I do not sound like a hyena!” he gasped, clutching at his chest playfully but rising from the chair anyways and retrieving his bag from the side of the stage. Hopping off together, you chatted amiably as you made the trek across campus to the coffee shop, where you both grabbed a quick drink before settling in on the lawn. Rami stretched out casually as he leaned against the tree behind him, and you sat cross-legged, facing him and reading from the script in your lap.

And this time, you managed to get through the lines without an issue, even adding in a few notes as you went along for your interpretations of what should be happening physically at certain points.

“The whole point is, like, physicality, but we don’t want to overdo it, right?” you asked as you penned something into the margin, then took a sip of your coffee and took his hand with the other. Lacing your fingers into his, he watched on in subdued surprise as you squeezed his hand, then quickly switched to just clasping your hand around his. “So, when Marvelli is like ‘ahhh you’re the love of my life you’re the best even though you just called me mona lisa,’ I feel like-“ you had to pause as Rami giggled once, a knowing smile coming onto your face as you rolled your eyes. “I feel like he should grab Angie’s hand, but do we wanna go for the fingers interlocked thing, or just the classic hand hold sweaty hand thing?”

“I have no idea what you just said,” he admitted, still confused by your hand grasping his gently, and you groaned before demonstrating the same two hand-holds again. Finally, it clicked, and his mouth went into an o-shape as he nodded, trying to think about which one wouldn’t be too much and not how soft your hands were, because holy fuck they were soft and she’s kind of super cute so this is great. “Fingers interlocked.”

Rami back then would have never guessed he’d be here, now, holding your hand as he helped you out of the car and straight into the mud at Rockfield Farm. Never would that scrawny little college freshman had thought he’d be on his way to get his Freddie Mercury makeup done, hand in hand with the same girl since that day, day one.

“Don’t fall!” he laughed as you slipped in the mud a bit, gripping onto his hand for dear life, and you sent him a grateful look before finally making it to concrete, where you were both reluctant to let go. But after an awkward moment of not letting go, an assistant was quick to swoop Rami up and he had to drop your hand, a mild sadness filling his features as he promised that he’d be in the third trailer down.

“Y/N?” a young woman’s voice asked you, scaring you out of your thoughts as you watched Rami trek off towards the trailer. Jumping slightly, you put a hand over your heart as you turned to the woman with the headset on, who was giving you an apologetic smile. “Sorry to scare you. I’m Kelli. Big fan. D’you want some breakfast? Rami said you’d probably be starving, so he made sure to order your favorite kind of donuts. Straight glazed, right?”

“He knows me too well,” you laughed softly, dropping your hand to your side and sending him one last glance as he disappeared into the trailer. Lingering for a moment, the creeping thought of Rami preparing so much for you to be here for just one day made a blush appear on your cheeks. “Yeah, I’m starving. Lead the way, Kelli!”

“Sweeeeeet Caroolineeeee!”

“Fuck Phi Kap!” you cheered, grinning deliriously at the blasting music as you leaned against Rami, who was attempting to navigate his way out of the bar while being just as drunk as you. He was singing along loudly, desperately wanting to stay behind and party all night but knowing that catching a cab after last call would be next to impossible. So he dragged you outside, drunkenly singing along to the music that was now muffled by the brick exterior of the building. It was chilly for a spring evening, a breezy kind of cold that alleviated the intense heat that radiated off of both of you.

“Oh, good, there’s one!” Rami slurred excitedly, pulling you over to a cab that was waiting in idle for the inevitable crush of students once it hit 1:30. Opening the door, he let you climb in first before half-falling in after you, rambling off the address of your apartment to the driver.

“Oh, fuck, I love you so much,” you giggled, throwing your arms around his shoulders and leaning on him heavily as he tried to buckle up. “You’re my best friend foreverrrr!”

“How much have you drank?” Rami laughed as he got the damned buckle into the slot finally, moving his hand to rest on your arm while you fell to rest your head in his lap. Your eyelids were still heavy with liquor, practically closed despite your best efforts to fight the feeling of the cab's soothing movement forward.

“My entire life, or just tonight?” you giggled in response, and as you looked up to Rami with low-lidded, bleary eyes, he decided he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“Just tonight, dork.” He grinned even wider, rubbing your arm as you made a face of deep thought, tapping a finger to your chin for extra effect and humming curiously. His heart skipped a beat when you took his hand from your arm, lacing your fingers into his and grinning impishly. God, he would never get tired of that smile.

“S’hard to tell…. I’ve been drinking.” With that, you squeezed his hand and grinned even wider when he burst into laughter. The car began to spin a bit in your vision, so you closed your eyes and giggled as you kept his hand tightly interwoven with yours, his grasp being the only thing grounding you to reality. “I want pizza. Can we order pizza and watch a movie, please please please please?”

“It’s your apartment!” he reminded you, watching your pleasantly serene smile quirk upwards at his voice. “It’s a plan. Might have to skip our 8 am, though, I think Thirsty Thursday has fucked both of us.”

Pizza it was. You ordered a simple pepperoni and downed so much water, you got waterlogged by the time the pizza got there. When Rami went to go get it, he came back to you zonked out on the couch. You were fast asleep, snoring softly, and curled up in his jacket that he’d lent to you when you said you were cold in the cab. Gently shaking your shoulder, he crouched down next to the couch and sat the pizza on the coffee table.

“Hmph?” The quiet noise of question came out of you when he shook you another time, and your eyes blinked open sleepily to see Rami peering at you, looking a bit guilty but still mildly drunk. “Ramiiiii,” you murmured happily, a crooked smile gracing your lips, and he sent back a wide smile in return. “Cuddle with me.”

“Pizza’s here, dweeb,” he teased gently, helping you sit up and getting you a paper towel before handing you a piece. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sitting next to you cross-legged and blowing on his own piece.

“Oh, okay,” you mumbled sleepily, blowing on the pizza a little bit as you fell into his side quite lightly, leaning against him and only shifting a bit when he draped his arm over your shoulder. “You’re my favorite, Rams. You’re so sweet…. You’re so nice to me!”

“Aw, don’t get all soft on me now,” he joked playfully, giving your arm a soft squeeze.

“Soft! You’re so soft,” you rambled on, ignoring his attempt to quiet you, but he didn’t try again as you rose in volume. “And you’re so great and so talented, and I love being your best friend because you get me, you know?! You really get me, and you don’t act like I’m crazy for wanting to be an actress. You’re so…. so supportive! And you’re seriously the best. I can’t imagine life without you. You’re like…. The best puppy dog ever. So loyal. And you kind of look like those ones with the eyes, you know, the Boston Terriers!”

“A Boston Terrier?” Rami repeated, smiling a bit at your mini-vent session about him to him. “I’m not sure whether that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment.” Looking down at you, he found you smiling drunkenly and watching him with wondrous eyes. He decided it was a compliment.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” Gwilym asked, looking genuinely interested in what you had to say. You’d known him from a previous project that you’d both auditioned for, so it was a delight to see him in full Brian May ensemble, holding his script in one hand and a scorching hot tea in the other. Brits and their tea.

“I met him freshman year of college in some theater class, ’99. So… about 18 years? Give or take?” Gwilym’s eyes lit up with an appreciative look, and he smiled wider as he nodded, still listening. “I sat next to him because he was the only one that laughed at my jokes.”

“They were all awful, believe me,” Rami suddenly interjected, coming up from somewhere behind you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I laughed for your sake, darling.”

“Uh, I think you’re a big fat liar!” you laughed, bumping his hip gently with yours and eyeing the Freddie mustache/teeth combo. “I see you’re in Freddie mode now, because you’ve never called me darling before. Every nickname that starts with a d usually ends up being dweeb, or dork, or dumbass-“

“I do not call you a dumbass!” he gasped, recoiling and pulling his arm away from you in shock.

“You do so! But only when I deserve it.” He rolled his eyes, sending you a knowing look before turning his attention back to Gwilym, who was eyeing you both with a thoroughly invested expression.

“Uh-huh,” Gwilym drawled out slowly, licking his lower lip before grinning even more. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go grab something for breakfast before I starve to death all day. Cheers!” Carefully and quickly hugging you, he was then off in search of catering as you and Rami instead stood huddled together under the awning of one of the houses, close enough to feel each other’s body heat in the crisp morning air.

“You know Gwilym?” he asked, turning to face you and hugging himself loosely, the red and white fabric of his sweater looking puffy but a little itchy and acrylic. You nodded as you traced your eyes along the collar for a moment, then looked back up to him. A slow grin spread across your face at the sight of him, wig and makeup and all.

“We both auditioned for something,” you answered offhandedly, reaching up to fluff the wig a tiny bit. “Look at you! My god, you’re a spitting image!” After a pause, a softness took over your features, one that made Rami’s heart race as he watched you quietly, afraid that his heartbeat was audible even over the chaos of crew getting the set ready. “Freddie would be really proud, I think. I couldn’t think of anyone better to carry on his legacy.”

“Thank you,” Rami replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as you dropped your hand back to the coffee you were clutching in one hand, using it to warm yourself. You still watched him with the same soft look, so pure and unadulterated in its basis element, that he couldn’t mistake it for anything other than affection. And in that moment of vulnerability, despite the literal hundreds of people surrounding you, Rami released the floodgates after 18 long years. “Hey, um, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you right now of all times, with-“ he gestured to his get-up in general “-this on, but do you remember that night that we went to the bars, and you passed out on your couch while we were waiting for pizza, and I woke you up anyways because I knew that you’d want pizza right then instead of eating it in the morning?”

The question took you a bit aback, and you furrowed your eyebrows for a moment, thinking hard before nodding. “Yeah, what was that, freshman, sophomore year? And you told me to be careful about burning my mouth but I did it anyways because I’m an idiot?”

“And you got sauce all over your couch when you spit it out,” he laughed, looking off in the distance and grinning before taking a deep breath and looking back to you. “The Boston Terrier thing. Did I imagine that, or were we really that drunk?”

“We were definitely drunk, but I will say that you remind me of a Boston Terrier even when we’re sober, so you did not imagine it,” you answered, giggling a little but seeming unsure of where this was going.

“Thank god, because that makes what I’m about to say make a lot more sense.” Watching him carefully, you noticed one of his hands reach out and you took it automatically, his fingers interweaving with yours and just holding you as he spoke. “When you said you couldn’t imagine life without me that night, I thought a lot about whether I could see life without you. And I really couldn’t and that made me sad to think about it, kind of like a puppy would be sad if the owner left. So, in some sort of twisted, convoluted way, that made me realize that I was absolutely nuts about you. Crazy. Devoted. Like a dog loves its owner to death, I- I guess, it made me realize that I love you. A lot. Not in the just a friend way.”

“Rami,” you murmured nervously, a brilliant pink blush spreading across your cheeks as you glanced around at everyone passing by you, completely unaware that your best friend had just full-on told you he loved you, after years of you thinking that you were the one secretly pining over him. “Why- I just…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he quickly added, looking a bit anxious as he searched your face for any sign of acknowledgement besides red-hot embarrassment. “I just wanted to finally get it off my chest. I thought being away from you for work would make it different, but I still do. I still love you. And I-“

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” you almost whined, pulling him in for a crushingly tight hug as he froze up for a second, not expecting that reaction. But then he relaxed as he realized you weren’t appalled, at least, so his arms snaked around you, one hand resting on your back while the other ran over the back of your head, his chin coming to rest on top of it. “I thought I was the one with a hopeless crush on you, damn it!”

“Wait, you thought that you were the one with the whole unrequited love thing?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look down at you incredulously. “You’re like, an eleven. How could you even-“

“You’re out here acting like you’re not a solid eleven as well,” you chastised gently, looking up at him with a fake-warning look. “I can’t believe that I was so freaking stupid for not telling you I loved you senior year, after graduation. I thought I’d never see you again, and that it wouldn’t matter!”

“Jesus, are you telling me that I could have told you in 2003 and we would have felt the same then too?” he groaned, looking slightly distressed as he put you at arms-length, looking you over. “I’m an idiot. Actually… we’re both big idiots, I guess.”

“I kind of like the part where you’re the only idiot, though,” you pouted teasingly, only able to hold the insulted look for a moment before you laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “Well… now what? Can I delete Tinder?”

“You use Tinder?” he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow in question and gaining a scoff from you.

“Well, I sort of have this problem where I have this friend who didn’t tell me they liked me until just now, so I was sort of casually dating in the hopes-“

“Okay, I get it, I get it!” he cut you off, laughing as he roped you into another hug, mainly to muffle your voice against his sweater. “You know, I’m not the only one who didn’t-“

“Let’s just forget about that and say we’re… a thing, now, yeah?” you suggested, your voice a bit muffled but still clear against his chest. He figured you could probably feel his heart racing, but he made a noise of agreement and kept you there anyways, just running his fingers through the side of your hair and cursing the fact that his fake teeth were hindering the whole kissing idea right now. Then, you tensed up, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you, following your line of vision to find that Gwilym and the real Brian May were coming straight towards the both of you, muffins in hand and identical smiles on their face. “Oh my god, Rams, pinch me.”

“No, because you’re not dreaming, dumbass,” he teased gently, letting you out of the hug as he turned to face the two men who were just yards from you. “Also, that’s mean.”

“I totally told you that you call me dumbass,” you commented, although there was no real conviction in your voice as you turned to face one of your biggest idols, huddling up against Rami for support. My boyfriend, you thought, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. My boyfriend is about to introduce me to Brian May. Jesus, what a dream.

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[artificialqueens]

intents wicked or charitable (trixya) 8/10 - beanierose

AN: thanks as always to validation station for cheering me on, and stutter for looking at this over and over again and being gentle and kind each time.

(read on ao3) | (find me at katiehoughton)

[one.] [two.] [three.] [four.] [five.] [six.] [seven.]

a practical magic au for the spooky season. there’s a curse on any man who dares love you? love a woman, instead. | 5,141 words

The nearest bar is a town over but Trixie keeps driving until she gets to the next town after that. The chance that she’ll see somebody she knows is much too high. Everybody in the whole town has been laughing at her behind her back, and if she has to face them right now she will start screaming. She feels it building at the base of her throat, and if she lets it out she doesn’t know how she’d ever stop.

Since she left Los Angeles, she’s only gotten drunk that one time in Katya’s kitchen. She’s out of the habit, now. Katya doesn’t drink, and Trixie doesn’t like to drink in front of her. She’s had the occasional glass of wine with dinner, but even that she hasn’t indulged in since they-

Well. Since they what?

Trixie hasn’t ever been courageous enough to put words to it, to ask Katya to commit to a label. She’s been pretending that she’s the sort of casual, low-maintenance person who doesn’t need to use words like relationship and girlfriend, but she isn’t. In her head, she’s been thinking of Katya that way, but for all she knows Katya doesn’t see her like that. For all she knows, Katya has a whole string of dumb, impressionable women bobbing along behind her like buoys on a line.

Trixie settles herself on a stool and gets a concerned tilt of the head from the bartender. Her hair is wet. Once she got Cash settled in the cowshed with his brother and spent a long time kneeling in the hay petting Guthrie’s nervous head, she took a shower.

She brushed and flossed and swilled mouthwash twice. Her mouth still tastes artificial, like mint, and she keeps working her tongue around her teeth. Trixie asks the bartender for his recommendation and orders that. When it comes it’s some kind of cocktail that’s pink and way too sweet, and it tastes awful in her toothpaste mouth, but she drinks half of it down without pausing for breath.

Her stomach is empty. On the stove the crockpot had burned dry. She’d come in the mudroom door and smelled it right away. It’s supposed to be foolproof, and she has a fucking Michelin star. Trixie had pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and allowed herself to bend double for just a minute. Dolly had been looking for her dinner, hanging her head over her empty dish and whining insistently. Trixie fed her, turned off the crockpot, dumped her whole ruined dinner into the sink.

She sucks down the rest of the cocktail until she hits ice and her straw makes that awful, dry sucking noise. The alcohol is beginning to hit her now and she takes her first deep breath in hours, lets it all out in one long shuddering exhale.

The bartender has already prepped a second drink for her without her asking and he slides it wordlessly along the counter to her. After her shower she looked at herself in the mirror over the sink for a long time; she knows it’s bad. Her face is swollen and pink, her eyes glassy.

All of the Verbena products that Katya’s ever given her — the ones from that very first time they met and the things she’s tucked into Trixie’s coat pockets for her to find later — had littered the countertop. Trixie swept them all off into the wastebasket.

Katya certainly has a cabinet full of potions that would make her feel better. Now that she’s thinking about it, she’s sure every product Katya has ever given her has been imbued with a little magic. She could probably just press her hands to Trixie’s raw cheeks and think very hard about it and make the redness and the swelling disappear. The indignity of that, the shame of the imbalance between them, brings a fresh rush of hot tears. She keeps thinking she’s cried herself out and then her breath shudders in her chest and another wave hits her.

Being alone in the house had unsettled her. She’s let Katya in to her life, the tiny world she was inhabiting all by herself, and now the solitude she used to crave just makes her skin prickle. Sitting by herself at the bar is not that much better, but the alcohol is helping.

Mortification still burns in the pit of her stomach. Everyone in the whole town has been looking at her with pity, and Katya most of all. Trixie circles her finger around and around the rim of her glass. She used to be able to make it sing, but it’s been a while since she’s tried it and all she can manage is an unpleasant squeak.

“Can I get a sidecar, and a glass of water for her? Thanks, Will.”

Trixie turns to see Violet, the femme fatale from the grocery store, arranging herself delicately on the stool next to Trixie’s. Her hair is down from its ponytail and pinned up at the front in two victory rolls that accentuate the taut pull of her face, her sharp cheekbones and the V of her cupid’s bow.

Out of her uniform polo, Violet’s waist is waspish to a degree that makes Trixie nervous for her. Sitting beside her at the bar, even two towns over, is making Trixie feel pudgy and too big for her skin. The first time the two of them met, Trixie had been unmoored by her feelings for Katya and the wet ends of her hair had dripped onto the floor of the grocery store. Now her hair is wet again, and there’s a chasm in her chest. Trixie works the knuckles of two fingers against her breastbone and doesn’t meet Violet’s eyes.

“Thank you for calling Betty a hateful bitch. She fucking is.”

It seems a peculiar way to open the conversation. Violet accepts the champagne saucer from the bartender and holds it delicately by the stem. She takes a careful sip, somehow managing not to slurp or get the sugar from the rim of the glass stuck to her lipstick. Trixie feels like she’s encountered an apparition and has to blink a couple of times to shake it off.

She’s annoyed to be babied, but she drinks a little of her water anyway. She feels it hit her stomach. It’s so empty that it’s aching, clenched like a fist and drawing the rest of her in tight. Another wave of nausea crests up and she breathes slowly through it. She really doesn’t want to get sick again. Not in front of Violet.

Violet sets her glass down, carefully so as not to spill it, and folds her hands neatly in her lap. It makes Trixie nervous, and when she’s nervous she talks.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t hate Katya.”

It gets a laugh out of Violet. Like every other time, it’s startling. It’s like she suddenly remembers that she’s a three-dimensional person and not an art installation and she tips her head back, her mouth open wide.

“They don’t like, hate her. They’re afraid of her.”

There’s a bruise blooming furiously purple at the base of Trixie’s spine, from pressing herself against the cabinets as Katya approached her. It hurts when she leans on the back of the barstool. “For good fucking reason, don’t you think?”

“Are you scared of her, Trixie?” Violet arches one perfectly carved brow.

That’s the worst part. It’s the most humiliating part. Trixie doesn’t care about the magic. She’s not upset that Katya is a witch, and she’s not afraid of her. She was ready to stand by her when there was a chance she might have killed somebody. This isn’t worse than that.

“No. I guess not.”

Violet takes another sophisticated sip of her drink. She doesn’t put it down this time, instead gesturing at Trixie with the glass. “That’s what I thought, you bitch.”

They don’t know each other well. Trixie’s seen Violet around town a few times, and she came in to Verbena once while Trixie was there, but this is the first time they’ve been alone together. It isn’t like her, to be so loquacious with somebody she barely knows, but the alcohol and the ache in her chest have left her vulnerable.

“I never had enough information to be scared. I didn’t know I was supposed to be. She didn’t even give me the courtesy of letting me know that that should cross my mind.”

“Wait, what?” Violet sets her glass down, and this time a little of her drink does slosh over the rim and onto the countertop. “What do you mean you didn’t know? Oh my God. Oh my God. You only just found out? Bitch, I’m dead! That’s like, so major.”

Violet’s voice is loud enough that a few people nearby have turned to look, and Trixie feels the insistent bloom of embarrassment in her pink cheeks. It’s not busy enough tonight that she’s worried about it, but she’d prefer not to be overheard.

“I’m the only person who didn’t know, apparently,” she mutters.

“Well yeah, you dumb bitch. We’ve all known her for like, her whole life. It’s whatever. Like, we’ve all seen it for ourselves. You haven’t? Not even when you’ve been fu-” Trixie’s cheeks flame and she glances down at her lap. “Okay. Damn.”

Violet snags the bartender down again and asks him for a couple bags of chips. They seem to know each other, because he questions her about her dog — Trixie didn’t even know she has one — and she asks after his wife. Trixie sits sullenly like a chastised child and works on her glass of water.

She doesn’t really feel like eating, but Violet opens both bags down the middle and sets them on the counter between the two of them. A wave of longing for Katya surges up from the pit of Trixie’s stomach so suddenly that it takes her by surprise and she bites the inside of her cheek.

“It’s different with you two. You shop at her store. You defend her in public.”

“I fucked her,” Violet says calmly.

Trixie’s water goes down the wrong way and she chokes a little bit. It’s very undignified. The spluttering hack of her lungs would be embarrassing if she had any energy left for that. Violet lets her cough it out, wordlessly hands her a couple of paper napkins. When it’s over, she shifts to cross her legs at the opposite ankle. Trixie looks at her long nails, her tiny waist, the way her hair moves in one glossy sheet when she moves her head.

“A couple of times,” Violet gives Trixie the most disinterested, apathetic shrug. “It was no big deal.”

“You- when was this?”

Violet rolls her eyes and chews delicately on a couple of chips. The wait is excruciating. Trixie picks at her nail beds, bites the swollen inside of her cheek. Obviously, there’s a lot she doesn’t know about Katya, but she doesn’t want to believe that she would actually…it seems impossible.

“She didn’t like, cheat on you, you dumb whore.” Relief drops heavily over Trixie so that her shoulders sag. “It was before she was even married. We were both…figuring some things out. You know what I mean?”

“Did you date?” Violet levels her with a look. “Right. Sure. I just- you defended her.”

“Trixie, I’m a lesbian.”

Hearing it said so plainly sends a small thrill through Trixie, even though it isn’t the first time she’s heard it. She’s said it herself, lots of times to lots of people, but it’s different here. Violet seems entirely unbothered, and Will the bartender is right there but he doesn’t even look up.

“You think I don’t like, understand having a secret? You think I don’t get what it would be like to be an- to be an outcast?” She waves one hand flippantly. Trixie keeps getting stuck on those nails, dark red and shiny and filed into stiletto points.

“Oh please, look at yourself,” Trixie scoffs. “You’d never be an outcast, you femme fucking bitch.”

Violet’s eyes widen and she tilts her head. It makes one perfect curl tip forward over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know. I saw you checking yourself out in the napkin holder, you whore.”

That gets a laugh, Violet’s mouth open wide again. Trixie sees the pink dart of her tongue against her white teeth and it makes her think of Katya, because everything makes her think of Katya. Violet shifts in her stool and crosses her legs at the knee so the toe of her absurd heel just barely brushes Trixie’s shin.

“No, I know I’m everything. Mama, please. How could I not. It’s just…interesting to hear that you think that.” Violet reaches out and rests her hand at Trixie’s forearm. Her eyes are even more sultry than usual so that they’re hardly even open.

“I’m sorry, what’s this?”

“Do you maybe want to work through your frustration?”

Trixie screeches, can’t help herself, and snatches her arm out from underneath Violet’s grip. She shunts her barstool backwards for good measure, to put an extra inch or two of space between them. “No! Oh my God! It’s just a compliment, it doesn’t mean that I want to fuck you. You lunatic.”

“You think I’m hot but you don’t want to fuck me?” It seems to dawn on Violet quite slowly. Trixie finishes the last of her water, traces her fingertip around and around in the salt left on the foil of the chip bag. “Oh! Ohhhh. You’re like, really in love with her aren’t you?”

“It fucking sucks,” Trixie says, and is horrified to feel the burn of tears again. Now that she’s rehydrated a fresh wave is threatening and giving her headache.

Violet doesn’t seem at all shaken at being shot down by Trixie. She can’t imagine what that must be like. Trixie’s pretty confident; the descriptors attached to her throughout the years have run the gamut from self-assured to arrogant bitch. Violet is a different creature entirely.

“Well yeah, you dumb bitch. That’s like, what love is like.” Trixie drops her head into her hands. “It makes your heart race. It turns the world upside down. Whatever. But if you’re not careful, if you don’t like, keep your eyes on something still, you can lose your balance. Know what I mean?”

“Yes. Yeah,” she mutters without lifting her head to look at Violet.

A cool, bony hand comes to rest at Trixie’s shoulder. It makes her flinch in spite of herself. She has only been touched by Katya for such a long time. She is only interested in being touched by Katya, even now. It’s a peculiar thing: she wants Katya to be here, to be the one comforting her, but she’s the reason that Trixie is hurting in the first place. The cognitive dissonance is making her feel a bit untethered to reality, like at any moment she could float up to the ceiling.

“It’s like, you can’t see what’s happening to the people around you. You can’t see that you’re about to fall.”

Trixie straightens up, then. Her forehead feels hot. “You think I didn’t notice the witch in my bed because I’m such a dumb lovesick idiot?”

“Girl, I get it. I know what it’s like. She’s pretty captivating.” Violet’s grinning now. She drains the last of her sidecar and nudges her empty glass over towards the bartender.

“It’s so embarrassing.” Trixie pinches the bridge of her nose hard. It doesn’t really help to stave off her headache, but it does give her an excuse not to have to look at Violet for just a moment.

Clearly, she’s a regular here. Will has poured out a soda for her without needing to be asked, and he offers one to Trixie as well. She declines, because she really needs to eat something more substantial than half a bag of chips before she drinks anything else at all.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Violet presses her lips together and rakes her eyes over Trixie very slowly. “Not about that, anyway. This wet hair, mama.”

“Fuck off.”

Violet grins at Trixie around her straw. It’s humid in the bar with body heat and alcohol and Trixie’s hair is frizzing as it dries, but Violet is still sleek and shiny. It’s like she’s been encased in resin or vacuum sealed.

“She told me that she hoped she would never fall in love. That she used to whisper it to herself when she was a little kid. Sitting at the top of the stairs watching her aunts helping people with potions and all that shit, I don’t know. Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“When we first met, you said something about a curse.”

“Oh, yeah. People say that there’s like a curse on her family. That any man she loves is destined to die. It’s just because her parents died and her aunts were spinsters and then when Michael died…people are gossipy and bored and fucking dumb. That’s all it is, Trixie.”

“Yeah, but if the magic is real-”

“Even if there is a curse,” Violet cuts in and lifts one hand. She has a gold ring just above the knuckle of her middle finger, and a red indentation in her pointer finger. “It’s on men. I don’t think you should worry about that. You’re not gonna die.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. You said the curse is on the people that she loves, right? I’m safe.”

Violet very suddenly loses all of her decorum and honks out a laugh. Both hands fly up to her hair and she skims her fingers delicately against the tight pin curls like she’s worried they might have come loose with that outburst.

“Trixie, you dumb fucking bitch. She’s head over heels for you. Sometimes when I’m working nights she comes into the store and just sits at my register and like, talks and talks and talks about you.”

“She does?”

They spend most of their nights together. There have been a few times when Katya has needed to be up extra early to accept a delivery, or Trixie has had a moment of claustrophobia, and they’ve spent an evening apart. She’s wondered, those times, what Katya’s doing while Trixie soaks in the bathtub with the radio turned down low.

“Yes.” Violet sighs. There’s a tiny smudge of dark eyeliner just below her left eye. “God. I know more about the two of you and your relationship than I ever needed to.”

Trixie clears her throat. She’s spent the whole day feeling foolish and chastised, and a small childish creature in the pit of her stomach wants to go home and pull the sheets over her head.

“I didn’t know that.”

“She’s not so great with the emotional honesty stuff. Not since Michael. It’s hard for her to like, open up or whatever.”

Violet has finished her soda and she shunts the empty glass down the bar towards Will. She declines the offer of another and folds her hands neatly together in her lap again. She meets Trixie’s eyes, insists upon it, but hers are warm and kind.

“But I know she cares about you a whole lot. Her face lights up when someone even mentions you, it’s disgusting.”

Trixie has chewed on the inside of her cheek so much that it’s raw and swollen. She probes at the sore spot with the tip of her tongue.

“I thought she was…” There are things she hasn’t gotten the chance to say yet. And even though she so desperately wants to speak them into existence, Katya deserves to be the first person to hear it. Not Violet. “I care about her so much. I just don’t understand why she couldn’t trust me with this. I trust her. I trusted her.”

Violet slides off her barstool in one fluid motion like water poured from a tall glass. She holds out her hand to Trixie, and when she doesn’t take it she clicks her tongue and grabs Trixie by the wrist to haul her to her feet.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“My car-”

Violet puts a couple of folded bills down on the bar and calls out a goodbye to Will. Now that she’s on her feet Trixie is a bit woozy and she’s glad for Violet’s arm hooked through hers.

“I’ll bring you back in the morning to get it. You look like a fucking nightmare, mama. Let’s go.”

It’s kind of nice to be on autopilot for a little bit. The ground rushes up to meet Trixie with each step that she takes and she clings to Violet, allowing herself to be babied. She’s not entirely cooperative when Violet tries to get her into the passenger seat. When the door is closed she slumps against it, her cheek pressed to the cold of the window. The engine makes the whole car vibrate and Trixie feels it into the roots of her teeth. Whenever they hit an uneven patch of road she’s jostled, her head lolling back and forth.

She doses off a little bit. The cold of the car is sobering her up, but she still feels pleasantly outside of herself. Violet doesn’t play any music or the radio and the silence makes it difficult to tell how much time is passing. She cuts the engine, and the sudden cessation of movement makes Trixie’s eyes open. She grunts and immediately closes them again, covers them with a hand for good measure.

“Nuh-uh. No. I wanna go home, Violet.”

“You can’t like, ignore her. Be a grownup. Tell her what you told me.”

Trixie huffs a sigh and peels one eye open. “That I think you’re hot?”

“No, you rotted bitch!” Violet is uncomfortably loud in the intimate confines of the car. “That you care about her. That you love her.”

“I did tell her that.”

“Tell her again. Tell her while you’re not crying.”

Violet leans across Trixie and opens the passenger door. She hadn’t really noticed it getting warm in the car but the middle of the night cold is rushing in unpleasantly now. Trixie gets out, because Violet has unbuckled her belt for her and is shoving on her arm and she’s going to fall on her ass in the snow if she doesn’t.

There’s a whisper of movement inside as Trixie trudges up the driveway. She didn’t have the presence of mind to put her coat on earlier this evening and she’s shivering in just her sweater after only a couple of steps. It’s sobering her up. The front door pops open before Trixie even makes it up the porch steps and Katya comes out to grab her and tug her inside.

It’s warm, because Katya’s house always is. There’s a fire burning in the grate and Katya brings her all the way into the living room and sits her down on the couch. She fusses with a blanket, tucking it around Trixie, and she eases her boots off for her so that she can curl her sock feet up onto the couch cushion.

Katya kneels at her feet. Even in the firelight, Trixie sees the red tip of her nose and her swollen eyes and satisfaction twists in her stomach for just a moment. It’s swiftly replaced by a grief that rushes through her like a saline flush. She doesn’t want Katya to hurt; even just a few hours’ distance has clarified that for her.

“Trixie, honey, what are you doing?” Katya says very softly. For just a moment she’s a stranger, and then she gets those twin creases between her brows that Trixie loves to kiss off her.

Trixie is grouchy and petulant and it spills out in her voice. “Violet is an agent of chaos.”

It startles a laugh out of Katya. She looks very small, kneeling on the floor. It reminds Trixie of the last time she was drunk. Trixie frees a hand from the blanket and lays it on the couch cushion close to Katya’s head. She takes it immediately and threads their fingers together, rests her cheek to the back of Trixie’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Trixie nods, but Katya doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “You’re good?”

She feels suddenly weepy again. Trixie scrapes a clumsy hand through her hair and encounters a knot that makes her hiss a breath through her teeth. “It sucks that even when you’re the one who hurt me, you’re also the only person I want to see. I really hate you for that.”

“You’ve been feeling drawn to me, haven’t you. Since we met.”

Katya sounds exhausted. She’s still resting her head against the clasp of their hands and her lashes brush Trixie’s skin with each slow blink. Even in the wan light of the late evening, even from this angle, even after so much sorrow today, she is still so beautiful that Trixie can hardly bear to look at her.

There’ve been a couple of times when she’s tried to bring it up, tried to ask Katya if she feels the same tug low down in her stomach, the same sharp, curved hook. The problem is, Trixie allows herself to be easily distracted. She’s a talker, and she’s needed reassurance, but Katya will slide a knee over Trixie’s thighs or curl her fingers at Trixie’s ears and the words just don’t seem so urgent anymore.

“Yeah, I have. You’re a banshee.”

Katya turns her head to kiss the back of Trixie’s hand, a little scrape of teeth to show that she really means it. “That’s not what banshees do, baby.”

“Are they real too?” If she had the energy, if she weren’t exhausted and hurting and still a little drunk, Trixie might rear up from the arm of the couch. She stays slumped, and she doesn’t press the issue when Katya doesn’t answer.

“The reason that you have been — the reason that you’re here — is because I sent for you.” Katya’s eyes are closed now, like she doesn’t think she can make it through her explanation if she has to look at Trixie. “When I was a tiny little girl I worked a spell, so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities that I knew couldn’t possibly exist. But here you are.”

She sounds so achingly sad that Trixie can’t bear it. From the moment they first met, Trixie has wanted Katya. She made herself wait, because she knew that they had something worth being careful with. She isn’t about to waste all of that hard work.

She slides off the couch, bringing the blanket with her, and lands half in Katya’s lap in a messy knot. Katya’s arms come around her and she arranges them both, frees the edge of the blanket where it’s gotten trapped beneath Trixie and threatens to tip her over.

It’s not exactly comfortable, but Katya is warm and smells like herself. Trixie lets her heavy head rest at Katya’s shoulder. “You’re saying what I feel for you is just one of your spells?”

“Yeah.” There’s a wet lump of sorrow in Katya’s throat that she has to cough to clear. “It’s not real, honey.”

“Yeah well all relationships have problems,” Trixie says.

It makes Katya laugh a tiny bit. She’s got one hand cradling the back of Trixie’s head now. The floor is uncomfortable, making Trixie’s ass go numb, but she’s so tired that she can’t imagine trying to move.

If Katya has been thinking that this entire time. If Katya has been certain that Trixie doesn’t really love her, that she’s bewitched-

Trixie can’t bear that.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t know for sure.”

She sounds so resigned to it. Trixie can’t stop thinking about Katya, awake and alone in the middle of the night with Trixie out cold at her side. Katya, wondering when the curse is going to take Trixie from her. Trixie struggles to get to her knees so she can look at Katya properly. Her eyelashes are all sticking together and her eyes are dark and enormous.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them,” Trixie says. Her voice is firm, no wiggle room for argument. As she says it, she imagines that it’s made true. “And I don’t.”

“Trixie-”

She touches her thumb to Katya’s chin. “You know what? I wished for you, too.”

Katya’s whole face crumples and her mouth opens on a sob. Trixie reaches for her and gathers her up, rocks Katya against her chest like a small child. She’s crying soundlessly and without moisture, dry sobs wracking her whole body and making her jerk violently in Trixie’s arms.

I don’t want you to die, she says over and over.

Trixie holds her until she exhausts herself, and a little longer after that. Katya has one hand fisted in Trixie’s sweater so that the wool bunches up and exposes the bare skin just above the waistband of her pants. The fire has burned out in the grate and it’s chilly in the living room now. Trixie gets the blanket around them both. She thinks about moving them back onto the couch, or to the bed, but Katya is curled up tiny like a pillbug.

“I’m not gonna die. I’m way too stubborn.”

It doesn’t earn her the laugh she’s looking for. Instead, Katya straightens out and puts some distance between the two of them. “I don’t think it’s safe. For you to be here. For you to be near me. I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Katya, I’m sorry, but this is bullshit. I believe you. I believe in you. But I don’t believe you’re cursed.”

Trixie swipes impulsively at her cheek with the pads of her fingers, but they come away dry. She’s done crying for tonight. The suggestion that she can’t make decisions for herself, that she loves Katya because of a spell cast twenty five years ago, has rankled her. Katya is refusing to look at her now. Trixie wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her, wants to put her to bed and stroke her hair until she falls asleep.

There’s an angry purple vein in Katya’s forehead that Trixie has never seen before. Katya catches her looking and touches a self-conscious hand to it. “I think you should go.”

“I can’t go. Your side piece has me trapped here.” Katya’s eyes fly to Trixie’s at that and her mouth drops open. Something small and vindictive inside of Trixie is glad for it, hopeful that Katya is ashamed the way Trixie has been. “She’s gonna take me back to the car in the morning. So I’m sorry babe, but we have one last night.”

[ladynuwanda]

Invisible to the Eye - Michael LangdonXFemale Reader one-shot (word count: 4,4K)

(This was a request by my darling @alexcornerblog, basically the first ever request that I’ve received, and I loved doing it! It’s about Outpost!Michael, Reader is a Grey that works for him. As she conquers her fear for her new boss, she might find out that the cold exterior hides a lonely boy who’s in need of affection just as much as she is. It contains some sweet, sweet smut... I hope you enjoy!💖)

(edit, 26th of July 2019: beautiful art by my darling @hecohansen31, thank you ever so much for your kindness, sweetie...  🌸)

Being invisible was just part of a Grey’s job, I think. That’s probably why they decided to dress us in grey to begin with, to make it easier for us to blend into the background (but the ridiculous dildo-bun hairstyle they made us wear, I’m pretty sure served only for humiliation purposes). We were just supposed to keep the Outpost running, doing post-apocalyptical hard work. It sucks, but it’s still better than the alternative. They saved only those they thought could make a contribution to society... and those who could pay for it, or course. So basically if you’re rich you’re a Purple, if you’re useful you’re a Grey. You’re a very smart servant pampering rich people... but it beats being dead, if you ask me.

I mean, it was bad. Venable was insufferable, life in the Outpost was all about rules and fear. But all the time she kept telling us we were the “lucky ones”, and maybe she was right. Just shut up and do your job, and you get to live... it can’t be that hard. Unless you’re Mallory. Mallory had it far worse than the rest of us. Miss Vanderbilt seemed to think that, because Mallory had worked for her before, she could ask her to perform the most absurd kinds of tasks, things you would never ask a stranger. While she kept rubbing Mallory’s face on the fact that she was the only reason Mallory was in the Outpost at all, overlooking the part where she made her kickass assistant a Grey, while making her hairdresser’s grandmother was a Purple. Honestly, rich people! But the cool thing about being invisible is that, as long as you don’t neglect your work, you can do whatever you want when no one’s looking. And no one’s ever looking. So, if you’re an asshole to one of the Greys, you shouldn’t be surprised if one of the others would eventually use your toothbrush to scrub the toilet. That’s just cause and effect, really.

They wouldn’t even notice that the jell-o cubes that got to the table were slightly smaller than the ones that left the kitchen. And I’m sure not one of the Purples had any idea about the Greys’ late night candle-lit jell-o scrap party in the pantry. It was the only time we could let our hairs down, literally as well as figuratively, and just chill. Laughing off the hardships of the day, talking about the things we missed from the “life before”... sometimes coming up with pranks, like switching the tubes of haemorrhoids ointment and toothpaste’s places in the bathroom drawers. Dinah Stevens screamed something fierce the next morning, when she tried to brush her teeth with haemorrhoids ointment (or was it the other way around?). We had to bite into our own tongues all day, to keep ourselves from laughing whenever we’d see her. Our cheek muscles were aching from the effort to keep a straight face. Totally worth it.

I was still working really hard on staying invisible, but apparently not hard enough. When Cooperative big-shot Michael Langdon showed up at the Outpost and asked for an exclusive chambermaid, Venable decided I was the best choice. Apparently she thought I was both efficient and discreet. How adorable. So why did it feel like I was being punished, instead of rewarded? To say he was intimidating would be an understatement! And even though he requested a “Personal Grey”, I had specific instructions to never be in the room at the same time he was, unless it was absolutely necessary. I was supposed to keep everything tidy and neat while he was walking around the Outpost, terrifying everyone else, bring in his meals and take the trays away. Keep my eyes down and never talk to him, if I could help it. Easy! It’s not like I was dying to make friends with the man, anyway.

No, I wasn’t blind. I was very much aware that this was the most handsome man I had ever seen. His face looked like it had been carved by the angels themselves, for crying out loud! But I wouldn’t use the word “attractive” to describe him. Quite the opposite, actually, everything about him seemed carefully designed to keep everyone else away. It was like he had an wall made of ice around him all the time, and no one was ever allowed in. So, he seemed blissfully ignorant of my existence, and I was more than happy to have my existence ignored by him. It was a nice little non-verbal agreement we had. Until, of course, it wasn’t. I was taking out his tray, one night after dinner, while he was working on his desk when, out of the clear blue sky, he talked to me, like this was something he always did. The sound of his voice made me jump out of my skin, and I had to muffle a yelp by pressing both my hands to my mouth. He acted like he didn’t notice.

“Working for me, you’re gonna end up seeing and hearing things that are not supposed to be seen or heard by anyone else. I trust you’ll keep my secrets. If you play your cards right, little grey mouse, there’s sure to be a ticket for the Sanctuary with your name on it. If you don’t, well... then I’m gonna have to make sure you wish you had died in the blast. Am I being clear?”, I nodded stupidly, “Good. Tomorrow morning I wanna wake up to find actual flames at the fireplace, instead of the usual embers. And you’ll be holding a cup of fresh brewed coffee from my personal stash, understood? That would be all for tonight.”, he carelessly waved me away, without ever looking at me.

With a small curtsy, I left the room as fast as could, nearly forgetting the tray I was supposed to take. He had coffee? Actual coffee? No. That’s not what I should be focusing on. He can take me to the Sanctuary! All I had to do was keep my mouth shut about his personal subjects, and brew him coffee. Ok, so no more late night Greys’ parties in the pantry for me. I was sure gonna miss my friends, I kinda felt like a traitor for trying to secure my place in the Sanctuary while leaving everyone behind... But I was the only one whose neck was on the line, here! I don’t even wanna think about what he would do to me if he felt betrayed in any way. His secrets were my secrets, now. And if he didn’t have any friends, then neither did I.

I headed straight for the Greys’ quarters, but I was too anxious to sleep, knowing I’d have to be up before His Majesty the next morning. Mallory was kind enough to give up her little stolen slice of jell-o to stay with me, while all the other Greys were in the pantry. She was trying to talk me into sleep, so she crawled under the covers in my bed with me, our heads covered by my bedsheets while we carried our conversation in whispers, sharing my pillow. It’s the kind of cutesy sister/confidant cliché you’d only find in a Jane Austen novel, that I would never have even considered taking part of in my “life before”. But somehow it seemed appropriate in this scenario... and, I had to admit, not at all unpleasant.

“So what’s your new boss like? Is he nice?”

“Mallory, you’ve seen the man... he’s a nightmare!”

“It’s not a proper nightmare until they call you up in the bathroom to wipe their assholes clean...”

“Ew! Good point. I don’t think he’d ever do that, tho. He’s too... Dignified.”

“A dignified boss. I wonder what that’s like...”

“I’m serious... if I so much as walked into the room while he was leaving the bathroom, I’m pretty sure young-Lucius-Malfoy there would simply Avada Kedavra my ass, just to spare himself the embarrassment...”

“He’s the one who decides who gets to go to the Sanctuary, tho... Are you telling me that if he asked you for special favours, you’d be able to look straight into those deep blue eyes and say no?”, the way she said the words “special favours” made me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

“How d’you know his eyes are deep blue?”, I faked an exaggerated gasp, “You dared look into his eyes? Bold move, Mal.”

“Yeah, that’s me... I’m a motherfucking daredevil.”, we both giggled at her deliberately dull tones, that made clear she meant the exact opposite of her words, “But you’re changing the subject...”

“I’m not changing the subject, Mallory, I’m ending the subject... I should try and get some sleep, I have to be up before our-lord-and-saviour tomorrow.”

“What the hell for?”

“Something about tending to the fireplace...“, I assumed his personal stash of coffee was one of the secrets I was supposed to keep, “Apparently his highness doesn’t like it when he wakes up and the temperature of the room matches that of his heart.”

“So you’ll be there while he’s still asleep... it will be a good opportunity to take a long, hard look at him. Who knows, you might even find out what kind of pajamas he wears... if any.”

“Good Night, Mallory.”

I barely slept a wink, and was already in Langdon’s bedroom before sunrise. The room was actually quite chilly, so I tended to the fireplace right away, then brewed him his coffee. The heavenly scent hit my nostrils and I almost cried tears of joy. I told myself I was taking a small sip just to make sure it tasted right, not because I craved coffee or anything. And it fucking tasted like Christmas morning. I stood next to the bed, the cup in my hands, waiting for him to wake up. Mallory’s words from the previous night still echoing inside my head.

It was, indeed, a good opportunity to take a long, hard look at him. He seemed harmless enough, peacefully sleeping while lying on his stomach. As the room grew warmer he had kicked the blankets off himself in his sleep, so he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers now. He really was beautiful. Long, muscular legs and powerful arms lined with delicate veins, his hands under the pillow on either side of his head. His sleeping face looked so much younger, it was almost sweet. His rosy lips were slightly parted, and he had an innocent set to his eyebrows... Before that moment I had had the impression he was a little older, that his beautiful face was a little harder, with sharp angles... and that permanent cold sneer. Now everything about him seemed so, almost overwhelmingly, soft... I felt slightly dizzy at the sight, and realised it was because I had stopped breathing.

I was looking at his lightly tanned back, and I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like running my fingertips over that smooth skin, feeling the warmth from his body, tracing the graceful lines of the muscles... when his eyes fluttered open. I handed him the cup with my brightest smile “Good morning, Mr. Langd...” - “Don’t.”, he cut me off mid-sentence, holding up a finger to my face, and drinking the coffee he took from my hands without looking at me, as usual. What a lovely man. With another short curtesy (almost my trademark, at this point), I left the room, feeling somewhat relieved that I might not have to see him again before it was time to draw him his bath, that night.

Of course, that perspective was mostly wishful thinking on my part. The reality was that I was about to spend what felt like the whole day going in and out of Michael Langdon’s bedroom. Taking his meals, fetching him a book in the library, fetching him a different book in the library because he changed his mind while I was gone, walking people to and from their interviews with him... by the time I was actually drawing his bath, I could not believe that this day was really over and that I was finally on my last task. I was about to leave the room as he entered, like I was supposed to, when I heard his voice behind me, through the wall of ice that separated him from the rest of the world, “I don’t think I said you were dismissed.”

Ugh. What now? I tried not to look so desperate to get away as I turned around “It’s about time I had someone to wash my hair for me”, I lowered my gaze to the floor as he began untying the belt of his bathrobe “Why are you blushing, grey mouse?” his voice was dripping with sarcasm now “Does the sight of a naked man offend your delicate sensibilities?” was he seriously mock-pouting at me? Really? “Oh, grow up.”, he sneered, finished undressing and entered the bathtub, lying back and closing his eyes with a sigh. How did he do that? He was stark naked, I was fully dressed, and yet... I was the one feeling vulnerable and exposed. I tried to make myself busy, arranging the silver rings he had left on the counter by the bathroom sink into their velvet cases, thinking about the conundrum in which I found myself.

Which one was better (or less bad): should I avoid any kind of eye contact with his, erm, “manhood”? Act like I just couldn’t see it, for some reason? Or was he expecting me to fully acknowledge its existence? Maybe compliment him on his length and girth, whether I meant it or not? Maybe I don’t have to do anything so extreme, either way... I could just, you know, sneak a pick. That sounds reasonable. Not very mature, but you can’t have it all... Ok. I’ll do it. I will! Just one glance, I can do that. Come on! It’s just a penis, for fucks sake, it’s not such a big deal... Oh. Oooh, yes. Yes, it is. It’s a very big deal. It’s a huge, gorgeous - and somewhat veiny - deal. Like... congratulations, mama, it’s most definitely a boy! I was almost tilting my head to the side, losing myself in the view, when the sound of his voice startled me back into reality “my back’s not going to wash itself, you know...”, I looked at his face terrified of the gaze I would find there, but fortunately he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

I kneeled on the floor behind his back, grabbed a sponge and proceeded to scrub him nervously, doing my best not to touch his back with my actual fingers, just the sponge. “Gently”, he groaned through gritted teeth. I had to take a few deep breaths before allowing myself to run a soapy hand to his back. I remembered my own thoughts from that same morning, how I wanted to feel his warmth, his smooth skin... and now that I was, I shouldn’t be surprised do feel my own body responding to it. The red hot sensation up my spine, colouring my cheeks, the way my breathing was getting heavier... The sudden realisation that my hands were soaked in the same water as his naked body actually hit me like an electric shock.

Running my fingers over his muscles I could find a couple, or more, spots that felt very tense to the touch. Without a second thought I rubbed a thumb over one of them, trying to ease the knot, and I froze waiting for his response. He gave a relieved sigh and leaned his back slightly against my hands. I smiled a little to myself and kept rubbing his back, feeling his tension slowly dissolve beneath my fingers. I also gave him a scalp massage, after washing his hair, but for completely selfish reasons: I wanted to see that soft look I had seen in the morning back on his face. That angelic expression he had in his sleep... I felt like I needed it again, more than he did. By the time I was brushing his freshly washed hair, the man was all but purring in delight, like a cat. I had never seen Michael Langdon look so relaxed and, even though it was probably the most foolish thing I could do, I couldn’t help relaxing a little in his presence, running my fingers and the brush through his sweet smelling, silky golden curls.

He wanted some tea before bed and at this point I was no longer surprised that he had a secret stash of tea, as well (I was inclined to believe that there was no way he was living on the jell-o cubes I brought him, alone). He was sitting on his bed with a book when I handed him his cup of melissa tea and, for the first time, he brushed his fingertips over mine, ever so gently, when he was taking the cup from my hands. I looked up, startled by the unexpected touch, and found his glowing blue eyes fixed on mine. He held my eyes on his for a while longer, his plump lips forming a delicate smile, his cheeks flushed pink from the warm bath, and I felt my heart doing a somersault when I heard the words “thank you” coming from his lips, his eyes burning into mine. I had no idea he even knew those words! Feeling myself blush bright red, I managed to mumble an awkward “good night, Mr. Langdon” and fled the bedroom like the place was on fire.

I closed the door and pressed my own back against it, breathing hard. What the hell had just happened? And, now that I was outside, why did it feel so agonisingly difficult to put some distance between myself and that bedroom? When I finally felt that I could move my legs beneath me, I headed for the Greys’ quarters and found Mallory waiting for me again. I told her to go meet the others because I was too tired, I said that I was probably gonna sleep immediately, there was no reason for her to miss the “scrap feast”. But the truth was that I couldn’t bear talking to Mallory, or anyone else, at that moment. Not when I was so uncomfortably aware of my flushed cheeks and the slickness between my legs. I was furious for letting myself get so hot and bothered over Michael Langdon. I felt betrayed by my own body that such a man could have that kind of effect upon me. But at least I didn’t lie to Mallory, I really did fall asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

The next morning I went into his room even earlier and left the cup of coffee on his bedside table, so I could be out of there before he woke up. Less than an hour later I was notified that, after careful consideration, my boss had decided that “it was counterproductive” (his actual words, apparently) that I should return to the Greys’ quarters every night. From now on, I’d be spending my nights in his bedroom. I even tried to relish on the perverse joy of seeing Venable reduced to being my boss’s carrier-pigeon - and how utterly offended she looked that he would dare make the mighty Wilhemina Venable lower herself to delivering a message to a Grey - instead of delving into the implications of the news she’d just given me.

I was spending the night with Michael Langdon. In his bedroom. At his request. We‘re practically roommates. Oh, my God, we are roommates. And there is only one bed. (Now... where have I heard that before?)

After our newly created nightly ritual of back rubbing and hair brushing, I left his cup of tea on the bedside table and turned to the chaise-longue that was by the wall. I laid myself to sleep without a word, I wouldn’t dare look at his face, I didn’t want to see whether he was relieved or disappointed. I don’t think I could bear either one, to be honest. But, as much as I tried, I just couldn’t fall asleep. I was still fully alert when, a few hours later, I heard Michael Langdon tossing and turning on his bed, mumbling in his restless sleep “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to... I’m so sorry... I’ll be good, I promise... I want to be good... just don’t leave me... please... I don’t wanna be alone... not again... please... I can be good, I know I can... don’t leave me all alone...”

I went to the bed and tried to wake him up as gently as I could, with my hands on his shoulders, repeating his name. He sat up abruptly, his sweaty forehead narrowly missing mine, his round eyes looking wildly around the room until they fell on my face. He looked at me in panic, he seemed younger than ever with tears rolling down his cheeks, his chest heaving with every breath. “It was only a dream, Michael... Mr. Langdon”, I don’t know why I said that, I just needed to break the silence with something. Anything! Before I’d start crying, myself, under the weight of his agonised stare. He knew what I had heard, what I had seen. His mask of composure was long gone and could never be put back into its place. Not before me, at least.

For a second I couldn’t quite read his face, and I was afraid he was going to choke me to death for witnessing his moment of weakness. But instead, he did the last thing I could have expected: he scrunched his face like a child and cried even harder, burying his head on my chest. He threw his arms around my waist pulling me closer, a little too tight, my body shaking with his violent sobbing. There was nothing I could do except run my fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head. And wait. Wait for him to cry all his misery out. He eventually fell asleep, all curled up on himself, while I was spooning myself against his back. I wanted to run my fingertips over the small “666” iron-branded behind his ear, that I had noticed the first time I brushed his hair, but for some reason I knew I shouldn’t. So I just passed my arm under his and placed my hand on his shoulder, he crossed his other arm over his chest so his hand could hold onto mine. I fell asleep feeling the sweet scent of his hair, nuzzling the back of his neck, our legs entangled.

By the time I woke up, I had been sleeping on my stomach, on hand resting on the pillow before my face. My position mirrored Michael’s, except that his hand was not on his pillow. Instead, his fingertips were ghosting over my hand and he was already wide awake. It was only when my eyes met his blue gaze that he dared holding my hand. His warm blue eyes remained on mine for a while, and he pulled me closer by the hand he was holding, turning us both on our sides, facing each other, and placed his soft lips on mine, involving me in a warm embrace. His kiss was surprisingly gentle, the sweet caress of his tongue on mine felt almost like a dream, and yet there was a certain hunger about the way he pulled me even closer and ran his hand through my hair.

He removed my hideous grey nightgown, and his lips and hands found my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple making me gasp. He moved his soft, wet kisses to my stomach, hooking his fingers on the waistband of the ugliest pair of grey panties ever created by mankind. He pulled it down slowly, like it was the finest lace-lingerie, his eyes always searing into mine with burning desire, so I found myself fumbling to get rid of his black boxers, and straddling his hips. I cupped his face in my hands, and he did the same with my butt-cheeks, as I eased myself on him, very slowly, savouring every inch as he filled me up, my eyes never leaving his. At least until I felt him hitting that tender spot inside me, sending a jolt of pleasure through my whole body as a shaky sob escaped my lips, I felt myself clenching a little around him, and I closed my eyes in delight. My hips were riding his, ever so slightly, as I adjusted to the way he was stretching me out... that unique, delicious, stinging sensation in my core. His mouth was on my breasts again, suckling one nipple. Without warning, his grip got tighter and he turned us both around in a swift, graceful movement, so that now he was on top of me, between my legs.

He rocked his hips against mine, thrusting into me in languid, fluid motions, that reminded me of the gentle caress of waves on the shore. He really was powerful and intense like the ocean, and I was lost in his eyes, gladly drowning myself in that ocean. So when the wave of pleasure from my orgasm washed over me, it caught me completely off-guard. I heard an animalistic groan that, very surprisingly, was coming from my own lips as I arched my back, digging my fingernails on the smooth skin of Michael’s back. He smirked, satisfied, at the trembling mess beneath him that was me. But apparently the way I was tightening myself around him was too much for his self-control, and he found his own release soon after I did. He threw his head back in ecstasy, his eyes tightly shut as he spilled himself deep inside me. His body collapsed on top of mine, shaking violently, a groan that could match my own muffled against the curve of my neck.

He raised himself on his elbows to look at me, gently tangling his fingers on my hair. His eyes were like blue flames bringing the warmth of life to my soul, that ice wall that used to stand between us completely shattered and forgotten, and now I could see him clearly, every aspect of him: The lonely boy, the powerful man, the gentle lover, the merciless judge, the angel, the demon... And now he could see me, too. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had felt truly seen, specially when I had spent most of my time trying so hard to be invisible. You spend long enough being treated as less than human, as a little mouse, and you might as well start to believe that’s what you are. But he could see me now. He was looking at me like I was so much more, like I was some kind of goddess he was in awe of. He leaned over to place his soft lips on mine once more, his tongue delicately parting my lips in search of my own. And I heard the hollow crack of my heart breaking in half right at the moment a burning question crossed my mind, searing white-hot like a lightning bolt:

How does one go back to being invisible, after being seen by Michael Langdon?

[dinomight]

all the stars in all the skies: a playlist for Home and a Half by @echodrops

the chain - fleetwood mac // sorrow - the national // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex // child i will hurt you - crystal castles // constant craving - the cat and owl // run boy run - woodkid // female robbery - the neighbourhood // sleepsong - bastille // small things - ben howard // iron - woodkid // greens of june - neko case // mars - sleeping at last // iscariot - walk the moon // human - daughter // body - mother mother // i come with knives - iamx // all these things that i’ve done - the killers // an angry blade - iron & wine // all the stars - the wailin’ jennys // i’ll be good - jaymes young // slow wake up sunday morning - mountain man // someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic // it’s alright - mother mother // this is home - cavetown

Song explanations under the cut!

First I’d like to clarify: I’m not insane. I’m just a huge ass dork for this fic. (For a lot of things, really, but irrelevant.) HaaH is one of my favorite written works ever, fanfiction or not, so I really, truly should not have been surprised that this playlist ended up being so much longer than I meant for it to be, and it probably could’ve been even longer if I’d let myself keep going. In my defense, I can’t art, so this is one of my only ways to show my appreciation.

Anyways, I’m not gonna wax poetics about how much I love this story because we would be here all day and this post is too long as it is, so down to business: this playlist is very loosely structured. It’s hard to give the songs a significant order when only a few correspond to specific moments or lines; most of them I chose to focus more on bigger picture themes and concepts from the story. So the order isn’t that important, I just organized them so they’d transition relatively smoothly sound-wise and tried to keep similar concepts together. Additionally, I did use both quotes from the fic and the songs in some of my explanations, so fic quotes are bolded and song lyrics are in italics. Some of these are short, some are a bit longer, some are just the quotes because I didn’t feel the need to explain further, but hopefully all of them give a good idea of why I chose the song. I thought about just posting the playlist by itself, but I felt weird not explaining the thinking behind it, so uh, here it is I guess? 

1) The Chain - Fleetwood Mac: The best song in existence. Objectively speaking, of course. The first time I heard this while thinking of HaaH though, it just fit so well, and I haven’t really been able to un-associate the two since. (Not that I want to lol) It just has such a desert vibe to it that matches with the story, and I think it represents Keith’s desperation to avoid rejection from the team so well. It’s like...if I were to picture a trailer for HaaH, this is the song I would hear in the background, y’know? 

2) Sorrow - The National: This one’s a bit of a weird one because I can’t quite put into words why this is on here. Like, I added it back when I was just throwing some songs together for background atmosphere while reading HaaH, but when I was working to make this into something more thought out, I couldn’t bring myself to take this song off. So here it is, I guess. 

3) Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex: This one is here more for its sound and atmosphere, not really the lyrics. It just sounds like...nostalgia, I guess. Like it’s supposed to be reminiscing about something comforting, but it’s not quite there because the pain of the present is keeping you rooted. The way I hear it, it’s like Keith is thinking about his mom and her love and comfort, but it’s tainted by the loss of all of that. (I might be slightly insane. I’ve come to terms with that.) 

4) Child I Will Hurt You - Crystal Castles: I don’t know how else to phrase this so I’m just gonna say it: this song gives me the heebie jeebies, just like Keith’s flashbacks to his earlier times with the Garrison. I swear, every time he says replacement mother or father it gives me chills. Or makes me want to cry a bit. It just feels so wrong, and that’s why I picked this song, ‘cause it gives me the same feeling. The music is so soft, like it was supposed to be a lullaby, but the lyrics and the feeling underneath is...disturbing. Plus, “Hide all that you could / Done for the greater good / It’s later understood” reminds me all too well of the Garrison scientists and what they did to Keith. 

5) Constant Craving - The Cat and Owl: So while I was searching for songs to add, it suddenly occurred to me that despite the fact that one of Keith’s major problems is that he can’t put his thoughts and feelings into words properly, every single song I’d added did exactly that. And so began my search for some instrumental songs that unfortunately only turned up this one, mostly because I realized this playlist was getting far too long lol. Though now that I’ve thought about it, an all instrumental HaaH playlist would be an interesting challenge. Hm. I already knew I wanted to add Constant Craving as a sort of representation for Keith’s own craving for love, acceptance, and family, but when I heard this version I knew it was right. Keith knows he desperately needs all these things, but he can’t put it into words, can’t communicate it right. It’s made even better by how well known the original song is, because you can feel the familiarity in it, feel what’s missing and what should be there, but it’s different at the same time, like that absence has created something strange, something off-kilter from what it should have been. Plus it’s sorta a lullaby version, which I like since Keith’s childhood is an often reoccurring topic. 

6) Run Boy Run - Woodkid: Seems to me like there’s a lot of shit Keith’s been running from. (also...running makes me think of “escaped from the Garrison”. Escaped. Escaped. ESCAPED.)

7) Female Robbery - The Neighbourhood: There’s some really fucked up stuff in Keith’s past in addition to the whole Galra thing, and he really does not want the team to find out any of it. This song makes me think a lot about that. 

8) Sleepsong - Bastille: “You go to sleep on your own / And you wake each day with your thoughts / And it scares you being alone, it's a last resort” & “All you want is someone onto whom you can cling / Your mother warned of strangers and the dangers they may bring / Your dreams and memories are blurring into one / The scenes which hold the waking world slowly come undone.” ...yeah.

9) Small Things - Ben Howard: Another song that’s on here more for the sound than the lyrics, though the lyrics could possibly fit. I just love the dreamy, suspended feeling that this song exudes and how well it fits with the feeling that Keith’s flashbacks and memories give me. 

10) Iron - Woodkid: “But Keith was gone—every reflex retuned for battle, every nerve sparking under his skin, and all there was fight, win, refuse to be killed.“ - “I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest / I'm ready for the fight, and fate” So the lyrics don’t *exactly* match up, but the underlying themes are there, I think, and the atmosphere of this one was more important to me anyways. The intensity of it just screams fighting and death and red to me. 

11) Greens of June - Neko Case, k.d. lang, Laura Veirs: “Just in the moment / Everything's changed / My dark disposition / Has been rearranged” The arrival of the kids is certainly not a very happy time considering the circumstances, but it brought a change that Keith desperately needed, one that will hopefully help him actually be happy. (My other reason for choosing this song is, for whatever reason, it also gives me desert vibes.) 

12) Mars - Sleeping at Last: “We let the end goal blind us to the means. We’ll have to re-evaluate before we take on any more missions. If violence is our go-to method of beating the enemy, we’re no better than the empire ourselves.” -  "Lay your weapons down! / They're calling off the war / On account of losing track / Of what we're fighting for." The team has taken up an immense and necessary duty to protect the universe, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get caught up in the grey areas of war, and it doesn’t mean they get to come home without scars. 

13) Iscariot - WALK THE MOON: Broganes, anyone? For real though, this song is about betrayal between two people who are essentially brothers (specifically Jesus and Judas but I didn’t pick it for the religious references). While I don’t think Shiro is gonna see Keith being Galra and hiding it as a personal betrayal, Keith clearly does. “How long did he have left before…Before Lance said he’d known all along there was something wrong with Keith, before Pidge threw his hypocrisy back in his face: no secrets between paladins, huh? Before Allura turned her back on him. Before Shiro couldn’t, and Keith had to meet his eyes, watch betrayal dawn white-star bright and burning.” Ah. That sweet, terrible angst.

14) Human - Daughter: “Underneath the skin there's a human / Buried deep within there's a human / And despite everything I'm still human / But I think I'm dying here.” I think this song works on two levels. One, you can take “human” to be quite literal and interpret it as Keith’s desperation to hide his Galra heritage and keep pretending that he’s entirely human, even though it clearly has awful emotional repercussions for him. Two, you can look at “human” with a metaphorical lens to talk about how even though Keith seems like a cold tough guy on the surface, underneath that is a complicated mess of emotions and trauma, and not being able to properly deal with all of that is killing him. 

15) Body - Mother Mother: One of the things about HaaH that I find most interesting is Keith’s relationship with his body. Between the whole Galra form vs human form, the fact that his human form is not how he was born, and everything that the Garrison did to him...it’s a goddamn mess. Hence, this song. can I please give this boy a hug 

16) I Come With Knives - IAMX: First and foremost, I had to include this song for the irony, because Keith did, in fact, come with a knife. However, I also included it because I really like how on the surface, it can be written off as just another angsty emo song, but if you take the time to really listen to it, it’s filled with genuine emotion and hurt. (Almost like a certain knife-wielding alien boy I know...)

17) All These Things That I’ve Done - The Killers: I have a few different reasons for why this song is here, but the main one is pretty much “I got soul, but I’m not a soldier”. I mean...yeah. That screams Keith to me. He’s driven and angry and passionate and willing to fight so hard to protect the people he loves, but...that doesn’t mean he’s emotionally okay with being a soldier, even if the rest of the team seems to think otherwise.

18) An Angry Blade - Iron & Wine: Another one that immediately earned points for Keith irony in the title. Seriously though, I love the tone of this song for Keith. It’s got desert vibes to it, and maybe it’s just because my hearing isn’t fantastic, but I like that the lyrics are a bit hard to make out. You really have to listen. (Again, almost like...hmm...) Plus: “You’re an angry blade and you’re brave / But you’re all alone”

19) All the Stars - The Wailin’ Jennys: I swear I didn’t just pick this for the title. It was a little bit for the title though, sue me. Nope, it was more for “So open wide your wounded heart / Feel yourself be blown apart” because for the love of god, Keith, please open up a bit more to the people around you. On a more serious note, I was also struck by “You don’t know me / You know one side of a story” because it’s true for both Keith and his mother. The Keith part is obvious--the team, with the exception of Shiro, only really sees the Keith that’s on the surface. But it’s kinda true for Keith and his mom too, right? He’s missing so much information because of his spotty memories. Up until the kids arrived, it seems like he didn’t even consider the idea that she might be, y’know, not evil. So...yeah. Also “All the stars in the sky / Say goodbye say goodbye” because I didn’t need my heart, it’s fine, it’s okay, I’m not crying over a fictional character and the death of his alien mother, there’s just dirt in my eyes--

20) I’ll Be Good - Jaymes Young: “But if there was a way to stop the blood flowing down his glove, the sound a sword made when it struck bone, the way her breath came in pieces between the shocks her sobs, then he definitely would have... “ - “I've been cold, I've been merciless / But the blood on my hands scares me to death / Maybe I'm waking up today”

21) Slow Wake Up Sunday Morning - Mountain Man: “It's lucid dreaming; he knew it wasn't real, not anymore, but still he couldn't focus his eyes, couldn't see past the fall of her hair in the pale morning light...” - “The light / It moves / Across this room / Like it could reach us, honey” & “We are already there, it seems / (I know I can't stay in this place)” I don’t quite know how to explain why I connected this song with this moment beyond the whole early morning thing but...this moment was an especially emotional one for me. It felt like something Keith wanted to hold on to, wanted to go back to, but just like the sun continues rising, the world keeps moving, regardless of whether we want it to or not. 

22) Someone to Stay - Vancouver Sleep Clinic: “You were alone left out in the cold / Clinging to the ruin of your broken home / Too lost and hurting to carry your load / We all need someone to hold” I just...yeah. There’s not much I need to say about this one. Just Keith and the kids, man. 

23) It’s Alright - Mother Mother: Whenever I listen to this song, I feel like I’m getting a hug. Since I cannot project myself into fictional stories and hug the characters myself, I instead gift this song to Keith. Please, someone give this boy more hugs. Please.

24) This is Home - Cavetown: “Get a load of this monster / He doesn't know how to communicate / His mind is in a different place / Will everybody please give him a little bit of space / Get a load of this trainwreck / His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet / But little do we know the stars welcome him with open arms / Oh / Time is / Slowly / Tracing his face / But strangely he feels at home in this place.” <3

This got way too long, so to anyone who actually made it through all of that, I sincerely apologize. >.<

[missytearex]

To Read List - Larry - Part 6

Chasing the High by Rearviewdreamer

Louis never thought a week away from his job could change things so much.

or

Louis is a therapist in a rehab facility and Harry has been court ordered to stay there for six weeks.

Perfect Sky by haloeverlasting

Deep, deep down, Louis knows Niall hadn’t meant to do this. He knows that this really was a last minute conundrum Louis had found himself in. Louis could’ve muddled the dates just as easily as Niall could have misremembered them. This hurts for other, more difficult reasons.

This hurts because it was supposed to be Louis’ honeymoon.

Louis meets Marcel at the lowest point of his life. A few poorly timed jokes, and a cigarette (or twelve) later, Louis starts to think love’s not a sham after all.

If we meet sometime in the after years, my darling, I trust I will find your love still mine. by lucidlou

1970s AU.

The boy at the dinner table isn’t as much of a stranger as Louis thought, and somewhere between the diners, concerts, and the way the moonlight falls just right, the summer is enough time for realizing just that.

falling, catching by tsuneni

Harry’s jotting down some more notes when he feels a thud on his right shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, thank God, because when he turns his head to the right his suspicions are confirmed. The boy has fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder.

When Harry lets out the breath he had been holding, the sleeping boy pushes his nose further into the burgundy fabric of Harry’s sweater, and wraps his arm around Harry’s waist.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

-

Or; the one where Harry likes poems, soft sweaters, old novels, and that one boy in his Romantic Poetry course that keeps falling asleep during lectures.

The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by HelloAmHere

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.

“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

*** OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

I Follow Rivers by harrys

It’s 8:25 when he rushes in, with his strong legs clad in striped trousers, a sleeveless turtleneck, and platform oxfords.

He’s waiting for his coffee two metres away from Harry and scrolling through his phone quickly, with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. Harry decides to take a chance and clears his throat.

[Alternatively: Louis writes for a fashion magazine, Harry writes for a music magazine and dabbles in poetry. They like the same coffee shop, as well as each other.]

take my pure (and wash it all away 'til I'm cured) by resurrectdead

And Louis decides, as the boy slowly starts backing away with that cheeky grin lighting up that whole stupidly beautiful face, that he should sue him for emotional abuse just for the fact his pecs stretch the fabric of his shirt like that alone. He really should. He might even win the case. Fuck.

or: they're all 19. louis is a twink, harry is a frat boy hunk. harry for some reason wants his makeup done for pride, and louis is just trying so very hard to stay clear of all alleged fuckboys this year.

blind from this sweet, sweet craving by missandrogyny

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

Better Than Words by Ambereen

All Harry Styles had ever wanted out of life was to become a recording artist. A musician. A vocalist. A performer. He'd heard it referenced in a number of different ways, from strangers, from members of his family. But the point remained, whatever you wanted to call it, he wanted to be it. He wanted to get up on the stage, stand in the spotlight, and sing his heart out to whoever wanted to listen. He wanted to touch hearts and change lives and make people smile.

There was just one small problem standing in the way of all that.

you put your arms around me (and i'm home) by britishlovers

Louis snorted, laughing quietly. "Am I really so fun to hang out with that you wished we started talking months ago?" Harry was quiet for a few seconds before he answered. "You make me feel normal," he replied quietly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. At that, Louis dropped his soccer ball on the ground, rounding on Harry, bringing both of his hands up to cup the curly haired boy's cheeks. Harry stiffened, shocked at the sudden change of contact. "Harry you are anything but normal, in the most amazing ways possible." he said quietly. Harry's heart rate picked up, and his light blush become a bigger blush, he thought Louis could probably feel it where his hands were cupping his cheeks.

or the one where harry is blind but louis loves him anyway

i come alive when i hear your voice by thepriestthinksitsthedevil (stubliminalmessaging)

Harry let out a satisfied sigh and sat back in his cushioned office chair. He looked down at his laptop and tapped his fingers against his bottom lip in contemplation. He was fairly pleased with what he’d finished so far on his latest project; he just needed to fine-tune some bits and then send it off to his management for their approval. He sent his coworkers an e-mail giving them commenting rights on the document for any constructive criticism they might have, and cringed when his stomach let out an unholy gurgle.

Aka: Harry the mute songwriter falls in love with the single dad working at the bakery down the street from his studio

murmur by reveries_passions

"The sun warmed their skin, dried any and all remnants of Louis' tears, made Harry's curly hair glow. The sounds of the city below seemed to disappear; it was just them, overlooking everything, the only two people in the world who understood each other."

in which louis is a little bit empty, harry is a little bit new to all this, and, coincidentally, they're both just about as deaf as two lonely teenagers can be.

Run Until You Feel Your Lungs Bleeding by whisperingwind

Harry’s hands tremble, carelessly ripping each of his paintings, one by one, until his studio is littered with not only remnants of his masterpieces, but his despondency. "You don't love me." he accuses, tugging on the roots of his hair. "You never loved me. You pity me! And to make it worse, you told everyone that you pity me! You promised you would never..." his voice fades as soon as his cries intensify.

Louis can't manage to say anything. His eyes wander, gazing over each item that once made Harry happy, and he shakes his head. Harry spent years building the ambiance of his studio and it's been destroyed in mere minutes, thanks to him. "Harry I...no, that isn't true. Whatever you think you heard, I swear to god isn't true. I care about you more than - "

"Get out!" Harry screams, pointing to the door. His chest heaves with sobs. "You said it doesn't matter that I can't walk. You said I'm the most incredible person you've ever laid eyes on. Why did you lie to me?"

Or, Harry is an angry, starving artist isolating himself from the rest of society due to his disability. Louis is a pop-star pretending he doesn't care about anything, but when it comes to Harry, he cares too much.

Show Me Life Like I've Never Seen by Rearviewdreamer

Louis never expected to leave the small art studio three blocks down from his job with anything besides the painting he caught a glimpse of and simply couldn't forget.

there are no atheists in foxholes by suspendrs

“Do you think we’ll ever see it again?” Harry asks after a minute. “London?”

Louis blinks, looking down. They very well could spend the rest of their lives on this island, and they’re both very aware of that. Everyone probably already thinks they’re dead, anyway. Their flats are going to be sold, and their families are going to have funerals, and life is going to go on without them. Even if they do get rescued, it’s already been days. The news of the shipwreck has definitely reached London by now. They don’t know if there’s been any effort to look for survivors, but they also don’t know how far away from the wreck they are, or how far people are going to go to look for them, or if anyone even knows that this island is here and, like, it’s very possible that they’ve already looked and stopped looking for survivors, and no one knows they’re out here-

“I don’t know,” Louis says, before he can start spiraling. “I hope so, but I don’t know.”

Or, the sea takes everything from Louis, but it gives him back more than he ever could’ve asked for.

Accidentally On My Way To Loving You by larrymylove

“So,” H said, “Who are you.”

Louis froze. The fork nearly slipped from his hand. So this was it then. The jig was up. Louis would have to admit that he’d stumbled into the wrong party and that, after seeing H, hadn’t wanted to leave. Louis would be kicked out, never to see H again. And who could blame him. He sounded like a total creeper. If the roles had been reversed....Louis wouldn’t blame H for never wanting anything to do with him ever again.

Louis arrives at the wrong party, and finds he never wants to leave.

18 by aclosetlarryshipper

Harry hates Golden Boy Louis and he's pretty sure the feeling's mutual. It's too bad they're forced into parenthood together during the home ec baby project.

Featuring accidental fathers, an improv performance gone wrong, and an altruistic game of spin the bottle.

Metamorphosis by momentofclarity

And for Louis, Harry is light and wonder. Someone who doesn’t sigh exasperatedly at his antics, who likes the way Louis’ mischievousness sometimes gets the better of him. Someone who holds him through anxious nights and kisses him softly through gloomy mornings.

Then there’s the fact that Harry is absolutely ridiculous and Louis hasn’t even come close to getting over that.

This is the extraordinarily ordinary AU about two boys extraordinarily in love.

Falling All In You by dimpled_halo

“There’s a contest for a chance to meet Harry Styles and spend a day with him in the studio and go out to dinner. So we signed you up.” Niall flashes a satisfied grin as if he just gave Louis the best news of his life, when in reality he’s only just succeeded in confusing Louis. “Wait. Who’s Harry Styles?” Zayn scoffs. “You can’t be serious. You were only obsessed with him and the band he was in. One Direction? You used to have all of their albums and would make us listen to them any time we were around you.” Louis’ memory comes back to him as he remembers how obsessed he was with the boy band. It isn’t the proudest time of his life, but they were actually pretty good, and the guys were all hot as fuck. They were what contributed to Louis’ sexual awakening in realising that he was, in fact, very gay. “Wait. But One Direction...aren’t they broken up now or summat?” Louis asks. Even though there was a time when he was in love with the band, he sort of outgrew them and hasn’t been keeping up with them for years.

Or- Louis wins a contest to meet Harry Styles even though he doesn't consider himself a fan. What he doesn't expect is to win over the popstar's heart.

Shine Like Silver by asphodelknox

Sometimes what you never thought you needed is exactly what you need. Sometimes it's right in front of you. Harry find love when he's broken and abandoned, in the one place he never thought to look. Although once he figures it out, he's really not surprised.

Can't Wait To Consecrate This Wondrous Mess by graceling_in_a_suit

Harry wants to paint his nails. Louis has nail polish. It's a match made in heaven.

I'm Half A Heart Without You, Baby by homosociallyyours

When the adoption they've been planning falls through at the last minute, Louis does his best to help Harry through the aftermath, almost forgetting that it will be just as hard for him.

With Roots in the Wind by AlwaysAqua

Sometimes the language of flowers speaks volumes.

Let the Poets Cry Themselves to Sleep by graceling_in_a_suit

“My dearest God of Figs, I devote myself to you. Please accept the offering of my flesh, my body, and my soul, and in return bless me with your fertility and… fig trees,” Harry said, at first confident and then a bumbling mess. “If you offer me your flesh, your body, and your soul, are you not offering me your hand in marriage?” Louis asked cheekily.

Greek mythology AU. It's a fairytale with gods, husbands, and figs.

To Whom It May Concern by theweightofmywords

He was the ease in his chest after taking a deep breath. He was the tears that spilled in sadness and anger, as well as the relief that came after. He was the tether that kept Louis grounded when his head spun with insecurity and worry. He was the warmth Louis felt when he was happy.

They had never met, but he didn’t think there was anyone in the world he missed more.

You're like a Sponge (Abrasive and Colorful) by LadyLondonderry

Harry LOML Styles: Hey, can you recommend your fav shoe stores? Heels Abroad is closing and I know you know some good places

Butterflies have erupted in Louis’s stomach. This is the first time Harry has ever texted him. He glances down at the beat up old Adidas he wore for his run this morning. Harry thinks Louis knows some good places? He trusts Louis’s opinion on something?

Louis gulps, and then coughs up toothpaste, hastily spitting into the sink. Everything depends on this. Harry - Harry Styles - has texted him! Louis can’t mess this up. He has to be perfect. He has to have great shoe store recommendations. He feels giddy. This is it! A turn in their friendship! The toothpaste-y grin firmly on his face, he picks up his phone again just as another message comes through.

Harry LOML Styles: Sorry, wrong person

Oh.

Or, Louis's flirts look an awful lot like insults.

where your lips land by BriaMaria

A love story told through Louis' tattoos.

... or the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.

From the poem: "I put new ink where your lips have landed/I cover your kisses with reminders" -- TKG

Feeling Hazy (In the Ballroom of my Mind) by dimpled_halo

The doors to the ballroom open and violin music fills Harry’s ears, his skin prickling as he tightens his hold on Liam’s arm. All eyes fall on him as he makes his grand entrance next to Lord Payne, Earl of Wolverhampton. According to the media, they’re the couple of the century, but little do they know they’re not really dating. Harry tugs on his collar, the tightness around his neck almost too much. He’ll never get used to being Prince of Cheshire. Not only are wearing his royal garments a pain in the arse, he also hates all of the attention it garners.

There’s only one person’s attention Harry really wants.

What Our Souls Were Meant To Do by Rearviewdreamer

All Harry’s father wants is for his son to marry as soon as possible and give their family another heir. All Harry wants to do is fall in love.

Thursday by dinosaursmate

Harry’s long curls were tied up in a bun, which looked lovely. Harry threw Louis a smile as his sister found them a table, and almost instantly he got back up and approached the bar. “Hey.” Harry lifted his hand in a short wave. “How’s it going?” “Yeah, good. You?” “So… you busy after work?” Louis grinned. “Nope.” “You wanna do something?” “Sure,” Louis said. “I‘d love to do something.” ----- Louis keeps busy juggling work, hookups, and looking after his flatmate. That is, until Harry comes along, and Louis finds himself living for Thursday. 

Life Was a Song, You Came Along by rainbowninja167

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them. It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

The Actor by Velvetoscar

Harry Styles, the newest, most talked about actor of the 1890's, has taken the London stage by storm, eliciting rumors and scandals alike in the wake of his sold-out performances. So when he's set to lead in Zayn Malik and Niall Horan's newest play at the Savoy Theatre, a comfortably successful establishment owned by Paul Higgins and his son Liam, Louis Tomlinson is only all too eager to work as his personal valet.

From here, a star is born. Or maybe a universe, really.

Glow by dolce_piccante

Alien AU, with a hint of Royal AU. A summer barbecue at the Tomlinson's is interrupted by a naked visitor from a peaceful planet far, far away. Can an alien and a human survive a summer together for the sake of the human race?

The Dead of July by whimsicule

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

come on jump out at me by yoursongonmyheart

“you know, i offered for you to fake out me, but, i don’t know anything about you other than you being my biggest celebrity crush probably since posh spice.”

louis almost chokes on his chicken, “jesus christ,” he sputters.

harry takes a swig of his beer with a smirk. “i was very disappointed when you didn’t say i was your celebrity crush after you came out.”

louis almost cries. “you know i did plan on it. then i ran into you narrating taking a piss and talking about my ass and i thought ‘wow this kid does talk some shit’ and decided against it.”

harry barks out a laugh, his ears tinged red. he takes a bite of his pizza. “i suppose i do have no filter while high.”

louis rolls his eyes, “bit of an understatement, mate.”

harry giggles, “whatever pal,” louis screams internally.

----

Or, the one where actor louis tomlinson and one direction superstar harry styles try to fake a sex tape to help harry get out of the closet and they both get more than they bargained for.

For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) by green_feelings

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

runnin' like you did by olaveya

“Should we tell him?”

When Lauren is met with everyone either nodding their heads or shrugging, she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious by now.” She stalls, sounding ominous and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is obvious by now?” Louis asks. He’s starting getting anxious. “I swear to God, spit it out. Stop being so damn cryptic.”

“I—We think it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with Harry,” she states simply and shrugs as if she isn’t telling him he’s in love with the second—Nick being the first—most annoying person on the planet.

or, a college au where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles

knock knock, i love you by beautlouis

“Well,” Louis says, searching for something to relieve this tension. “I think if a bloke gets kicked out of his stats exam for a knock knock joke, he deserves to hear the punchline, yeah?”

“Oh!” Harry says, beaming. “I forgot where we left off, what was it again?” He looks overjoyed to be exchanging a shit joke.

“Ah, you said knock knock, then I said who’s there, and then you said Noah,” Louis supplies helpfully. He hates that he's actually curious about the rest of the joke. “So, Noah who?”

“Oh,” says Harry, in a much different tone, dragging out the syllable. He looks bashful now. Louis cannot keep up with this boy, it's going to kill him. “Right, well.” He shuffles his feet. Fuck, what kind of knock knock joke gets a boy nervous? “Noah a good place we could get something to eat?”

[Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.]

Sound Like a Song by allwaswell16

In high school, Louis Tomlinson lit up Harry’s world like nobody else, even if Harry did most of his pining from the safety of his tightly knit circle of friends. Ten years later, Harry is ready to make some changes. He’s tired of having so many regrets and not taking charge of his life, and he still hasn’t forgotten how brightly Louis shines. He’s about to get a long awaited second chance.

Or the one where Harry helps out at a farmer’s market and gives Louis free vegetables.

no better place than right by your side by velvetnoodle (goldfishsunglasses)

louis' in the maldives for a friends destination wedding when he meets harry at the reception. they agree to a no-strings-attached hook up: no last names, no phone numbers, no personal info, and no promises. only, the universe has other ideas.

aka the one where harry just won't leave louis alone (but he really doesn't mind)

From Christiania with love by sweariwouldnt

It's Louis' first field training day as a future police officer. It doesn't quite go to his plan.

Or, maybe, it goes exactly to some bigger plan.

All The Small Things by GMTYUniverse

Louis places a hand on Harry’s arm, and gives him a little reassuring squeeze which coincidentally provides him with a great opportunity to feel how firm his biceps is. An image of a sweaty Harry working out swiftly enters his mind, but he wills it away as he starts talking.

‘I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want you to join, God’s honest truth. Please don’t feel obliged, though.’

Harry snorts at that, then sends Louis a bright smile. “Then I’d love to come with you. I’ve always thought it’d be a really cool thing to go and see.”

He tries to hide his satisfied grin from breaking out, calming himself as he nods instead and lets go of Harry’s arm.

‘Great. You’ll have to tell me about it when we’re in the train, I’ve got no idea what it is we’re actually going to see. Is it just miniature buildings? Like a maquette?’

Harry grins at Louis’ questions. “You didn’t read the leaflet the ground stewardess gave you, did you?”

‘Not a single word’.

Or: The one where Louis & Harry meet and go on a shared adventure to miniature Netherlands due to a faulty plane, Louis' restlessness, Harry's excitedness and a healthy dose of fate & infatuation at first sight.

A Dangerous Night (To Fall In Love) by FallingLikeThis

“Hey, Harry!” Louis greets, walking up to Harry with a sunny smile.

Any other time, that smile would lift Harry’s heart even as it made it race. He could let himself get lost in it, would probably catch himself more than once hoping, wishing for it to be more than a smile aimed at a friend. He’d relish the moments he could forget that that’s all he is to Louis. Any other time, he’d be selfish and let himself entertain those thoughts. But this is not like any other time. Tonight is the beginning of the end.

or

Harry has visions and sees the destruction of Pompeii before it happens. Now, how does he tell his best friend what's to come?

In you, I see the dreams that I have always longed for by littleshoran

When Louis' parents find him a suitable wife to rule the country with, he has no idea how to let them know that he would rather not. Everything clears up a bit once the handsome brother comes into the picture.

The Finding Sea by angelichl

They met at the ocean, in a way. It makes sense for them to fall in love at the ocean too.

Harry is in love with his best friend. They go on vacation together.

- Fort Myers, Florida. -

We'll Paint the Town by kotabear24

For the Larry abroad prompt: Kleinfeld's, New York. This is a Say Yes to the Dress fic.

In which Louis can't flirt, Lottie does all the work, Harry just wants to get her in a damn dress, and Niall is an aggressive affirmer. It ends well for everyone.

Take It To The Limit by taggiecb

Louis Tomlinson enjoys the simple life. He has his house, his family, and his friends all in the tiny town of Petty Harbour, Newfoundland. When he isn’t spending the winters plowing out the residents and keeping Liam and Niall company at Payne’s pub, he’s out on the open water doing the one thing that he loves the most, fishing.

Harry Styles is a traveler. He lands in the tiny town to try to find himself. What he finds instead is a beautiful blue eyed man who seems to have everything figured out.

But even a brick house can be damaged by a storm if it’s big enough. Can Louis’ perfect life and their relationship survive the tumult that’s coming?

You've Got This Spell On Me by lovelarry10

My prompt location was: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, Orlando.

Louis has been living in Florida for 3 years now, and loves his job working at Universal Orlando Resort, particularly in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. He's on a countdown to finally head home to Doncaster, but the arrival of a curly-haired boy from Holmes Chapel throws Louis' last few weeks in the Sunshine State into complete disarray...

Feeling Hazy (In the Ballroom of my Mind) by dimpled_halo

The doors to the ballroom open and violin music fills Harry’s ears, his skin prickling as he tightens his hold on Liam’s arm. All eyes fall on him as he makes his grand entrance next to Lord Payne, Earl of Wolverhampton. According to the media, they’re the couple of the century, but little do they know they’re not really dating. Harry tugs on his collar, the tightness around his neck almost too much. He’ll never get used to being Prince of Cheshire. Not only are wearing his royal garments a pain in the arse, he also hates all of the attention it garners.

There’s only one person’s attention Harry really wants.

Can't Wait To Consecrate This Wondrous Mess by graceling_in_a_suit

Harry wants to paint his nails. Louis has nail polish. It's a match made in heaven.

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by LetTheMusicMoveYou

Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight.

Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing.

(Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

never shut us down by togetherwecouldbealright

Tumblr!AU.

Louis is an insecure mess and he hides behind his blog. Harry's a boy with a personality too bright and he's everything Louis thought he would hate. They end up falling in love.

Unintended by Cherrie

He watched as the guy threw his head back and giggled looking like a still shot from a romantic comedy. Fuck, he was beautiful. Of course he fucking was. Louis was short and stout there was no way he could fucking compare to that ethereal creature. Fucking Nick. Not only he had to cheat, but he had to do it with the most beautiful man on the planet.

Promises We Made��by thekindofworld

Its been five years since Harry and Louis broke up; they were seventeen and nineteen and it was messy to say the least. Cue Louis, who is worked off his feet making clothes for celebrities, Harry dropping his debut album, Niall who likes to avoid his insecurities by dragging Louis on Holiday, Zayn and Perrie as Louis' right hand stylists, and Liam who wishes Harry would just tell him about his ex-boyfriends before he contacts them about working for him.

Its either going to be a disaster, or the perfect timing they've all been waiting for.

Whiskeyed Me Off My Feet by Snowy38

It was the twenty-eighth time he'd been in....the guy with the stunning smile. The fact he also had incredibly beautiful eyes and this mischievous little purse to his lips when his eyes crinkled was a small detail. The fact he had lovely features and the longest eye-lashes Harry had ever seen-well that was a minor observation. The fact he was kind of small and would fit perfectly in Harry's arms?

He had a lot of interest in that, definitely.

But he was with someone. The beautiful one was taken.

Well, of course, Harry arched a brow cynically. He was beautiful, of course he was going to be taken.

For You, I Give My Soul to Keep by Justalittlelouislove

Louis is presented with a challenge that changes his life forever.

Talk Dirty To Me by BriaMaria

They were both naked. And that seemed, again, like a catastrophically bad idea, but here they were anyway. Naked. In the dark. Only a few feet apart.

It hadn’t even been a discussion. The minute Harry flipped the lights off, they’d both shucked out of their clothes as if they’d been on fire.

“Alright darling,” Louis said, his hand wrapped loosely around his own cock. “Just remember, start slow. Lots of descriptions. Light on the hygiene, heavy on the compliments. You’ve got this.”

As if Harry were about to compete in some kind of athletic game. __

Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it's a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway.

Baby I got the power by rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife)

“That’s not actually half bad, you know?” “What?” Louis asked, furrowing his brows. “Yeah like it is silly, sure but so is this whole idea,” Zayn added. Liam made an affronted sound. “No offense Liam but you have to admit. It is a bit silly. But Power Rangers and nostalgia... Louis really has a good idea right there.” “I’m a little offended by that, Zayn, I’ll admit but you might be onto something there.”

Or where they dress up as Power Rangers and Harry is the Pink Power Ranger.

Far Afield by QuickedWeen

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

Poison Me With Love by dimpled_halo

Gemma hums for a couple of seconds, and then, she gasps. “What if your flat is haunted?”

“Gemma, that’s not funny,” Harry says.

“No, I’m serious. I was just watching a show about it the other day. There’s, like, spirits and stuff that roam around different places. Maybe one of those spirits lives in your flat.” She says it like it’s such a common thing that Harry rolls his eyes. His sister would be watching shows like that, but Harry doesn’t appreciate that she’s telling him all this, not only because Harry is already spooked, but also because he lives alone in a flat that has weird things happening to him, and the last thing he needs is to be losing sleep over wondering if there’s some sort of spirit living in his home. * Or- There are strange things happening in Harry's flat and he's determined to figure out the cause.

Dusk Till Dawn by larryandgaystuff (cnd8544)

The witch/soulmate au no one asked for, published as part of Cocktober 2k17.

Got This Feeling In Our Souls by lululawrence

Louis sat up, awoken by something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He scrubbed at his eyes, unsure if he was actually still dreaming or if he was awake. He didn’t dream often, but when he did they were always vivid like this. Louis opened his eyes and squinted through the darkness before jumping back, his heart racing.

Dream or not, there was a person sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. The chair that usually was only used by Charlie while Louis slept.

“Who the fuck are you and how did you get in my apartment?” Louis asked, voice a bit more squeaky than he’d like to admit. Suddenly there were two flashes of green, and the world went black again.

Just Around the Corner by FullOnLarrie

31 Days of Smut Prompt Word: Eerie

Louis' routine life is interrupted by the repeated appearance of... something. A ghost? A stranger? A hallucination?

Fallen treats by sweariwouldnt

Harry hates both Halloween and Louis Tomlinson. He does, however, love his little sister a lot. Hence why he puts on his ears and his tail and joins her, her friends and their big brother for a round of trick or treating.

My Arms Are Hungry For You by afirethatcannotdie

“Sorry, don’t tell me you’re actually a fan of the Red Devils,” says another voice, and Harry looks beyond Nick to see a guy standing there, taking long sips from a bottle.

“I-I am,” Harry stutters, pulse racing at the sight of him. His face is covered in white makeup, and he’s wearing a well-fitting white shirt, black pants, and a long black cape, a set of fake teeth in his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re actually a vampire.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis meet at Nick Grimshaw's Halloween party and things go better than anyone could have expected.

Beep the Horn by kikikryslee

“Listen, I’ve tried to be helpful," Niall said. "But it's been three years. It’s time for you to make the move. There’s only so much encouraging I can do before it starts to get repetitive. And annoying.” “I feel so loved,” Louis deadpanned. “Of course we love you, Lou,” Zayn said. “We just need you to tell Harry how you feel so you can stop feeling so down on yourself.” --- Or, the one where Harry dresses as Miley Cyrus for Halloween, and Louis is the tiniest bit in love with him.

it's all fun and games until by louisandthealien

This is happening, he thinks dazedly, more than half hard in his jeans. Harry’s finally coming onto him, and they’re also about to summon a spirit.

or

“It’s the middle of the night and the ouija board just said we should fuck.”

Lips So Good, I Forget My Name by callmemal

On Halloween night, Harry and Louis try something new. As it turns out, Harry's insistence on baking the trick-or-treat goodies for the neighborhood kids is a sexy, filthy treat for them, too.

I'll be your trick if you'll be my treat. by happilylouie

Harry and Louis have been married for a while. Lately they have a problem in finding time for each other. As they plan to attend Niall’s Halloween Party a bit of trouble and dirty deeds occur.

Halloween Night by larrymylove

Harry and Louis spend Halloween night in. Just something absolutely cute and fluffy because I'm in a Halloween mood tonight!

Everyone's Waiting for the Next Surprise by crimsontheory

"Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?"

Harry jumps and almost drops the bottle he's holding in his hands and whips around to see Spiderman leaning up against the doorjamb to the kitchen. Harry can't see his face due to his mask, but he knows this guy has got to be deadly attractive if his body is anything to go by. He’s clad head to toe in a skintight spandex suit that hugs him in all the right places. His thighs are so thick, Harry wants to put his face in between them. And what the hell are these shots doing to him?

He stumbles a little when he reaches out to place the bottle back on the counter. And when did he become such a lightweight? He gently strokes along the bottom part of his banana costume that's sticking out between his legs and lowers his voice as best as he can. "I am very excited to see you. Banana's got a thing for men who are also spiders."

Or the one where Harry goes to a Halloween party dressed as a banana and meets Spiderman.

Tricking and Treats by embro

Louis takes his sisters Trick or Treating and just so happens to knock on Harry's door.

A Boo-tiful Relationship by lucdarling

Louis is hopeless in the kitchen and his daughter is demanding a smorgasbord of spooky treats. He gets help from the most unlikely teacher.

Turquoise Pumpkin by littlepinkbow

Louis is just trying to do the best he can for his daughter and along the way, he meets the most mesmerizing man.

Some Day My Prince Will Come by whitechimes

Based off of this prompt: Everyone thinks we came to this party as a couple because our costumes match what’s your name AU

or

Snow White and Prince Charming meet at a party.

it's only you that matters by togetherwecouldbealright

“I never used to care for Halloween, but now it’s my favorite holiday and, fuck, there’s no one else to blame except for you. You’ve made not only Halloween, but every day of the year better for me because I get to spend each and every one of them with you.”

The one where Harry and Louis meet on Halloween and Halloween somehow becomes their thing.

no grave can hold my body down by soleilouis

harry and louis find themselves stuck in an old haunted house. it may or may not be the fault of three friendly matchmaker ghosts.

Alone in a Sea of Stars by panda_bear21

He shifted his helmet, where it was still in his hands, watching the fluorescent lights shine off of Harry’s hair and reflect off his skin. Louis knew he would have to let Harry leave, but before doing so he licked over his dry lips, asking genuinely, “So are you going to follow me back to the ship again tomorrow or…?” Harry smiled in reply, dimples going all soft and sweet. “Going to wait until right before you close the doors again so you have no choice but to keep me.” Louis felt his skin warming and a small laugh bubbling up from his chest, as he bit down on his lower lip to stop his smile from growing. He cleared his throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I could probably kick you out right now if I wanted.” The thing was, Louis knew he wouldn’t. He could wait at least ten more minutes before he let Harry leave. Maybe even twenty.

Based on the prompt: Louis is an astronaut who is sent to Neptune and really he expected to find a few old rocks but instead he found some kid who claims to be ten thousand years-old

A King Beside You by stylinsoncity

When the aliens invade, the last thing Louis expects is to fall in love.

Beautiful & Strange by graceling_in_a_suit

Over the top of Niall’s cackles, Louis heard Zayn say: “I think it’s…. A spaceship.”

Louis and Niall turned to him in bafflement. Zayn put his hands up in surrender. “What! It’s clearly floating, so it’s not a rock, and it’s not made of wood or plastic or metal.”

Louis didn’t even bother telling him that, no, of course it’s not a spaceship, this isn’t the x-files.

OR: A story in which Harry is an alien looking to be found, and Louis does the finding. (And vice versa.)

Won't sleep (orphan_account)

Roswell!AU: After a situation at the pub escalates, Louis almost dies, but Harry is there to bring him back and nothing is ever the same again.

"Niall, Isabel and me," Harry says, voice strained and trembling around the edges. "We’re...not from around here." Louis frowns. "Where then?" Harry’s hand is unsteady as it detaches from Louis’ hip, his fingers trembling as he folds them towards his palm - all but one which he uses to point upwards. Louis raises an eyebrow. "Up north?" he asks. "Like, Scotland?" Harry shakes his head and lifts his hand further. "Iceland?" Another shake and the finger goes higher. Something niggles at Louis’ brain but he refuses to acknowledge it, his mind shying away from the mere possibility. "Greenland?" But he already knows that that’s not it either. He sees Harry gulp and raise his finger just that tiny bit more. "You can’t mean- You- No." An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Louis, threadbare and shaky. "Are you telling me you’re- you’re an-an a-" He can barely bring himself to say it. "An alien?" Harry’s face is pinched, his eyes wide as he gives a jerky nod.

through struggles, to the stars by thedeathchamber

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right. A Star Trek-inspired AU.

My Sweet, Sweet Love. by LouisFeels

Louis is an angel. Harry is a demon. They fall in love. Its forbidden.

Two different versions of the universe by Hazzalovescarrots

Harry is a demon, captured by hunters. but not just any hunters. Angels. Louis is his angel.

A bit of happiness by hilarry13

Harry is a new angel, given a task to help a troubled kid, Liam, but a certain little Demon keeps getting in the way.

Run Like the Devil by benzos

Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s something.

Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy?

“I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”

*

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

we've got unfinished business by suspendrs

“Maybe we have a ghost,” Harry suggests, frowning when Louis laughs. “Lots of people have them, you know.”

“Harry, ghosts aren’t real,” Louis snorts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Harry pouts for a moment, until he hears Louis shriek on the other side of the door.

Or, there’s a ghost in Harry and Louis’s apartment that seemingly just wants them to date.

You and Me and the Devil Makes Three by moodlighting

AU. Louis moves in next door to Harry. Louis has a ghost, Harry has an extra futon and a crush.

Across The Lines by alex4968

With a camera in hand, Louis sets off on the road trip of his life to explore the most famous haunted houses of the UK. Things don't exactly go to plan.

The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by HelloAmHere

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.

“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

*** OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

They Never Quite Leave by kiwikero

When Liam Payne inherited his great aunt's mansion, he never expected it to be haunted. With the help of famous ghost hunters Harry and Niall, Liam is hoping to evict the ghost and sell the house once and for all.

There's just one problem: Louis has been in that house for a hundred years, and he doesn't much feel like leaving.

Alternatively; come for the ghost sex, stay for the feels.

Darkest Night Hour by YesIsAWorld

After spending thirty-five years hiding out with his face buried in ancient vampire texts, Louis comes back to New York City. While Louis is adjusting to city life in the modern age, Zayn just wants his clan to finally win at trivia nights. Louis needs to make a major decision and he's running out of time. The last thing he expects is to meet someone like Harry, who might be the solution to all of their problems.

Carnelian by thewherethefislouisface (theycallmelolo)

“It’s a donor matching center for humans and vampires.”

“Vampires.” Louis snorts. “Like pretend vampires, like for people who think they are vampires?”

The humor clearly lost on Zayn as he answers calmly, “No, real vampires.”

“There’s no such thing as vampires.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking with me or something.” Louis flicks his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m not.” Zayn speaks, his tone harsh and deeper than Louis remembers. “There are vampires all around you. We are quite civilized beings. We have careers, business, and we enjoy nights out on the town just like humans do. We aren’t savages. We blend in with the rest of the world. However, no advancement in science has fixed our one problem that makes us different than humans...We still need blood to live and we love it fresh from the source.”

OR

Louis finds himself donating blood to the most beautiful being he's ever seen.

I Will Never Rust by stylez

What was Harry meant to say? Yes Louis, I’d date you. I want to make you come repeatedly so that must mean I have a thing for you yeah? No. Because it doesn’t mean that, because Harry refuses to get attached to anyone he wants to fuck.

or

Harry wants to suck more than just Louis’ blood but Louis refuses to sleep with Count Dickula.

Among the Humans by thecheshirepussycat

A gothic, modern day vampire romance between a young human named Louis Tomlinson, and Harry Styles, ancient vampire and gentleman.

Creatures of the night come with more trouble than they wish to make it seem.

Bad Moon by jacinth

Knowledge is the key to all. One could render even the most dangerous enemy powerless without even lifting a finger if they know the right buttons to push. Louis wants to be one of those people. And he will be, as soon as he figures out how to outsmart Harry, who keeps locking him in fucking janitors closets every time something goes down because he's 'in the way'. But that's a whole other big bag of worms isn't it?

Out of the Wild by jaerie

Louis has spent most of his life as a wolf in the wild, Harry has spent most of his life as a human in the city. Their worlds collide during the audition process for the hottest new singing competition. What happens next should have expected.

But Please, Don't Bite by shyserious

"Melodic little jingle sounded from a bell hanging over the doorframe and warm indoor air curled heavily around his shivering body for the first time in months. Harry suddenly felt a sting in the corners of his eyes and had to force down a broken sob. Fuck, he was a mess. Such a mess. He had to focus."

what's inside your imagination (is as real as anything else) by suspendrs

“Hey!” Niall shouts suddenly, scaring Harry nearly out of his hat. “We like your costume!”

The ghost turns to glance at Niall, producing a hand from under the sheet and giving him a thumbs up. Harry can’t help but laugh a little more, the casual gesture adding to the entire vibe of the sunglasses-wearing ghost.

The ghost looks at them for a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the crowd again, and Harry sighs. “I love Halloween,” he says thoughtfully.

Or, Harry's a witch who likes to pretend he's a human pretending he's a witch, and Louis's the human in a not-so-clever costume that keeps catching his eye.

Always Darkest before the Sunrise by LadyLondonderry

Salem, Massachusetts, 17th century.

“You have attacked without need and without mercy, you have used arts so dark they are of the Evil One, and for that you cannot be allowed to walk free.”

What?

Harry starts struggling. It’s no use, he’s not even doing it with any sort of rational plan, the whole town at this point stands between him and freedom, but the words leaking from the preacher’s lips are filling him with a bile more sickening than he’s ever known.

“Harry Styles, ward of the church no longer, you are under arrest for the use of witchcraft against the innocent townspeople of Salem, Massachusetts.”

Love Potion Number 9 by noellehenry

Harry is a witch, albeit a clumsy witch. His spells never work out quite as he expects them to and his potions are at least hazardous. He is, however, talented in the kitchen: his pumpkin pie cupcakes are heavenly. He bakes them as a welcome gift for his new hot neighbour...

Down Comes The Night by graceling_in_a_suit

Harry Styles is a not-at-all-magic resident of 23rd Century London in possession of a very weird cat, an occult store, and the budding friendship of an attractive homeless man named Louis.

There's a miracle afoot.

Bewitched by Snowy38

"I've got Louis."

He didn't mean it to come out that menacing but the naturally deep lilt of his voice wasn't helping. The female on the other end of the phone gave a hysterical squeal.

"Please! Don't hurt him!"

Harry frowned, lip protruding sullenly in mild offence.

"I'm not-I'm not going to hurt him," he argued.

"What do you want?" The woman cried, voice wobbling with emotion.

Harry frowned.

"I want Louis," he answered because wasn't that much already obvious? Maybe Louis' family were just really thick.

Work of Magic by Bekita

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

The Sweetest Incantation by smittenwithlouis

Harry has been alive for decades, and yet he's never been as confused and dumbfounded. He's a witch, for God's sake. Can't get much weirder than all the magical things he's experienced throughout his lifetime. Never in a million years, however, would he have expected to be mere inches away from a hybrid. Or: Harry is a witch who's still working on developing his powers and Louis is a werecat who falls into his life and turns it upside down.

What Happened to 'Never Say Die'? by kiddle

The 80s were one of the best decades to be a teenager in America. Just ask anyone who's seen a John Hughes movie. Louis would beg to differ. At least today he would, while he was stuck cleaning out his family's basement - part of his grounding after a senior prank gone wrong. But when he finds a box containing details of the biggest unsolved crime in Luna Hills, he and his friends decide to sneak out for one last adventure before they're all off to college. That is, as long as the mayor, who also happens to be Louis' mother, doesn't stop them before they discover the truth.

Or, a coming of age American AU inspired by classic 80s movies like The Goonies and Stand By Me where everyone has a secret and no one wants to get caught.

my heart, in deadly rhythm by impetuous

There exists somewhere a very, very small list containing the names of people who don’t want Louis Tomlinson dead. Harry Styles may or may not be one of those people.

(or a Spies!AU in which Liam is the Wade to Louis' Kim Possible, Zayn seduces people for intel, Niall is an expert at blowing things up, and Harry is more than a bit famous in his particular field... or infamous, actually. And Louis? Well, Louis just wishes people would quit trying so bloody hard to kill him all the time.)

Dance Like Warriors On A Battlefield by whoknows

Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.

As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

Another Day Gettin' Into Trouble by whoknows

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

Make A Run, Cause Some Rebellion by whoknows

As a general rule, kitten hybrids are small and disinterested in what other people want them to do, slightly evil and at least a little manipulative. Louis prides himself on being all of those things to varying degrees, but especially on being uninterested in what other people tell him to do. He’s still human goddammit, despite his pointy ears and penchant for curling up in the sun and taking naps.

He’s going about his daily business, knocking things over where he sees fit and leaving a trail of mess in his wake. As exasperated as it makes Liam he’s used to it by now, having shared a flat with Louis for almost three years now, and if Louis whines enough he’ll even clean up after him. It’s a great life, really.

With the exception of Liam’s stupid, broad shouldered, entirely too big mate, the one who always comes over to watch sports with him. Louis hates that guy. His hair is always greasy and he brings weird hipster beer with him when he comes that tastes like shit. And he won’t even let Louis have any of it, either. The only reason Louis even knows what it tastes like is because one time he stole a bottle from the fridge and fled to his room before Harry could catch him.

Been Gone Way Too Long by whoknows

“This can’t be happening,” Louis says, banging his hand against the window. “This seriously can’t be happening right now.”

Things like this only happen in the movies. Things like this don’t happen in real life. There’s no way that he’s seriously been snowed in. There’s no way that the heating is broken. There’s no way that it’s going to take upwards of twenty-four hours and probably a lot longer for the storm to break and someone to come and rescue them.

“Just sit down, Louis,” Harry sighs from somewhere behind him. He sounds miserable, like he’s already feeling the cold.

Louis whirls around and points a finger at him. “Did you plan this?” he demands a little hysterically. He regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but he thinks he’s got a valid point. It’s not like this storm just came out of nowhere - it has to have been on the news for a couple of days, at least. Plenty of time for Harry to have canceled this excursion.

Back Where I Belong by whoknows

Harry’s trying to have a conversation with Nick, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three months, but the way Nick’s eyes keep darting over his shoulder every few seconds is quite distracting.

It’s ironic, because at least a quarter of the reason that he’s even talking to Nick in the first place is because he needs a distraction. He’s all too aware of exactly what’s going on behind his back.

Nick is the one who finally brings it up. “Do you think he’s doing it to spite you?”

“He’s definitely doing it to spite me,” Harry answers tightly, resisting the urge to crane his neck around so he can see. He clutches his drink a little tighter, trying to keep his tenuous control over his own movements.

Something in the World Today by whoknows

It shouldn’t be a surprise, the first time that Louis drops to his knees in front of Harry. It shouldn’t be, because it’s been something that Louis has needed for a long time. It shouldn’t be, because he’s been crawling out of his skin for weeks on end. It shouldn’t be, because Harry always makes him feel better. It shouldn’t be, because he’s needed this even when he didn’t know that he needed it.

Somehow, it still is.

End of the World Tonight by whoknows

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

Ain't No Tellin' Who's In Charge Here by whoknows

The thing about Louis’ and Harry’s dynamic is that while Louis is the instigator of 99% of the foolishness, Harry will always come back at him with something ten times dirtier than whatever Louis had thought up. Of course, Louis can’t let that go, so he does something else, so Harry has to do something else, and then it’s a vicious cycle that continues until one of them makes a plea for a truce.

It’s like that even when they’re at home. Sometimes it’s like that especially while they’re at home, because Louis gets bored easily and Harry is just such an easy target. The point is that the kind of foolishness that Louis is known for doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, so when Louis lets himself into Harry’s bedroom at 5:30 in the morning to annoy Harry into waking up before he goes for a run is completely normal and to be expected.

Except that it turns out not to be so normal.

As Wicked As Anything Could Be by whoknows

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

where your lips land by BriaMaria

A love story told through Louis' tattoos.

... or the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.

From the poem: "I put new ink where your lips have landed/I cover your kisses with reminders" -- TKG

and marshmallows by BriaMaria

Louis Tomlinson’s ass was wet. Well the whole back of him was wet, but it was really, really seeping through the thin jeggings that he swore to Lottie were jeans. In this moment, though, lying spread eagle in the snow bank that was his front yard he admitted that they were indeed some kind of useless fabric that wasn’t denim.

“Ummm.” The voice was deep, hesitant and came from the little walk leading up to Louis’ house. Fucking fantastic. Someone to witness his misery. “Are you alright?”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut hoping that the person would just go away.

--

The one where Harry has a personal attachment to Louis' house, and Louis can't stop picturing the beautiful stranger dancing in his kitchen.

For Your Eyes Only by BriaMaria

Harry and Louis had never broken the two-week rule before. When they did, we got If I Could Fly and Home.

When The Stars Come Out by BriaMaria

Louis was about to reassure Harry further when Gemma bounded back over to him, slipping a hand around Louis' waist. Harry’s eyes followed the movement. And then that lip gnaw again. Christ. How was he supposed to survive this weekend?

He turned his attention to Gemma as her palm came to rest right above his heart. Laying it on a bit thick, dear. Or at least that’s what he hoped he’d conveyed with the simple tilt of an eyebrow.

In response, she went up on tiptoes and laid a noisy kiss on the hollow beneath his cheekbone. Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry, who watched the scene play out with a blank expression. Once Gemma dropped back to the ground, Harry shifted away from them, his gaze dropping to his feet.

[Or the one where Louis pretends to be Gemma's boyfriend for her horrid cousin's wedding but fate is a nasty jerk and throws Harry in his way.]

An Ever-Fixed Mark by larryandgaystuff (cnd8544)

Louis has zero chance of passing Literature. At least without a tutor who knows Shakespeare well enough to recite it as if those words were his own. And he finds just that, and a lot more, in Marcel.

The course of true love never did run smooth. But is it worth it?

Just Stop Your Crying (It's a Sign of the Times) by larryandgaystuff (cnd8544)

My own imagining of the inspiration for Sign of the Times. Featuring boys in love, even after all this time.

Petrichor by larryandgaystuff (cnd8544)

Louis moves back home after graduating from college and finds out that Harry hasn’t changed much in the ways that matter and neither have his feelings for him. His hair is longer and his voice is deeper and he now owns the bakery where they worked as kids. But his eyes are just as bright and his dimples are just as beautiful and he’s still everything Louis wants. Niall and Liam basically help them both get their shit together because what else is new.