#but like. i feel the Ashton lifestyle is not one you can live more than a few decades

[utilitycaster]

For two totally different reasons though both obviously musical I'm thinking about two musicians who were in the punk/alt scene and write (semi) quiet indie songs now and I wonder if that's Ashton's future or if not, what it will be.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo x Stereotypical! Popular bitch! Reader

Okay, so this is a songfic... NSFW at it's most, a lime at it's least.

Not the songfic that has lyrics on them, but fics that are heavily inspired by songs. And this time, it's Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica.

I'm not that knowledgable with Emos to be fair... I'm only doing it in a way where the fic reads like a stereotypical late 90's and early 20's teen flick! I think. I hope.

Also, the bitch here means someone who sleeps around quite a lot, and not the mean type. Just wanna put that out there.

So, I do apologize if I offended someone ಥ‿ಥ

Like any song fic, I recommend listening to Emo Boy while reading.

Yandere! Emo name: Ashton

TW: stereotypical Emo, stereotypical popular bitch

Ashton always had a fascination with the Emo lifestyle. He loved the music associated with it, especially the people indulging in the lifestyle. He loved how emotional and in tune they are with their emotions and is not afraid to show who they are.

When the got the opportunity to study senior high school in a small yet lively town, he knew he had to grab it.

And when he finally got out of the grasps of his conservative family, he felt free.

No more people calling him demon worshipper, finally (although, now that he thinks about it, aren't the goths the one being called demon worshippers?)

So with black skinny jeans, long, dark black hair that covered his eyes, rings, piercings, chains, sneakers, and a graphic tee shirt, he knew he was ready.

But what he didn't expect was being ostracized by being Emo.

But then, don't people like him always get bullied?

With a grumble while sitting on his chair, all alone, he gripped his pen while in the middle of writing a poem.

"Nobody understands me." Ashton muttered, his dark eyes a stormy grey.

This school he's in is filled with stereotypes, he just realized. Mean Jocks and Cheerleaders, two faced popular bitches, pushover nerds, slobbery otakus, social outcasts... He wonders if his life is a real life teen flick.

So rather than dive into the complicated social hierarchy, he just sits in his seat, reading and listening to MCR and P!ATD just like a true stereotype.

His life filled with such deep melancholy as he trudged in this hormone filled prison that he calls a school.

Hmm. He should write that in his journal.

But then he woke up in his bedroom, his hair having a cowlick he can't put down.

Okay... That's weird.

Then, when he tried to tease and straighten his hair, it won't budge, forcing him to let it stay wavy/curly and covet his eyes just like that.

Then, his favorite graphic tee was eaten by rats...

And his sneakers were accidentally bleached...

Then, as if the day was mocking him, it was really sunny and hot, smiling and cooking him in his dark ensemble.

"What the fuck..."

He suddenly felt a foreboding dread inside of him.

When he got in the school and sat down at his seat at the back, he heard whispers of a new person transferring to this school.

The talk of the town, y/n, was now being speculated which clique they will belong in.

And when they rolled in a pink rover, the school crowd knew they're going to be in the popular rich kids.

Immediately, you integrated into the clique like it was a natural thing to do.

With your quite the revealing clothes, your bimbo/himbo like personality, and your knack for bedding people if you wanted, you got into the social hierarchy just like that. Labeled as the slut, you paraded around the school with that title with your newfound friends.

Trendy, social, quite the airhead, yet charming in your own right, and such a seductive figure too. Nobody can resist your charms.

Not even Ashton.

He tried to fight back the attraction he had with you, and your fashionable pink fit, and fluttery eyelashes.

But he can't.

The hierarchy said no, and his brain also says no.

Yet his heart sings yes.

And he always follows his feelings and his heart.

It was small efforts at first. Poems, love letters filled with such romantic words.

All slipped in your locker, in a cute pink envelop and a sweet sampaguita smell on it.

You knew who it was from, and you loved it.

"Are you really interested in that Emo boy in the HUMSS department?" One of your friends asked, sipping on a disguised flask of alcohol.

You and your friends are in the rooftop, hanging out and skipping classes. Gossip flies out of your mouths and recent "relationships."

"Yeah I am. He's cute and funny... And him being soooo in touch with his emotions is soooo hot." You said, a typical valley accent on your tone.

You twirled your hair and bit your lip, a hot feeling in your body.

You really don't know why you're so attracted to him.

"I just really want to see and feel how good in bed he is." You nonchalantly added, fanning yourself a bit.

Your other friends grimaced a bit.

"... Really? But he's so..."

"Dark."

"Weird."

"And so complicated with his words."

"He's also always alone and listens to those sad emo bands."

You huffed and cocked your hips to the side.

"Hey! He's emotional and deep!" You rolled your eyes. "Besides, I just want to fuck him. I mean, I haven't been with an emo boy."

You thought back to how Ashton walks away from you in those tightest skinny jeans, his ass round and his legs toned.

You wondered really as to why you're so... Desperate to fuck him. Because most of the time, other people are the ones who want to fuck you.

Frustration welled up inside you as you groaned.

"Yeah I truly wonder why myself." You grumbled.

You grabbed the letter from your back pocket, reading Ashton's poem for you.

I burn for you. Your lips so tantalizing, So pillowy and so sacred. It's something I, so lowly am I, Cannot dream of locking with mine. I do not need to know if you're the devil, Tantalizing as you are, Or the deity you claim to be in my dreams, Bringing retribution to my dark and dreary life. Your body so tempting, I want to embrace and bury myself within you. I want to claim and mark you as my own, My bleeding heart corrupting your alluring self. But I know I can't. So I only look at you with starry eyes, As you shine the most beautiful in a pedestal that I molded in your visage.

You understood the poem a bit, and it irritated you.

"What do you mean you'll not pursue me?!" You yelled, gripping the letter. "I can't believe he'll confess like this and not... Go for me?!"

Your friends chuckled and read the poem and was surprised to see how whimsical this confession of lusty attraction is.

"Wow... Okay, I give you my blessing to bed him." One of your friends said and you rolled your eyes and snatching the poem away from him.

"I know. And I'm trying." You spat out. "I need a stress reliever. Let's go shopping."

What you didn't know is that Ashton is listening to your confession, and is fighting the urge to take you then and there.

He smirked and tried to calm his fast beating heart as he slowly unbuckled his pants, lust filling him as he continued to replay your confession of wanting to fuck him.

Maybe next poem will be an invitation to his house.

The sound of bed creaking filled the dark room, along with the pants and moans of two people indulging in the desire of flesh.

"Hmm fuck... Ashton..."

"Y/n you're so tight..."

You moaned as Ashton continued to thrust inside of you, his throat audibly clearing as sweat trickled down his throat.

Your eyes trailed down his body, loving the feeling of being under this man.

The hot and damp air encased the two of you, giving a secure and secret paradise, away from the prying eyes.

"Harder Ashton!" Your raspy voice demanded, gripping his arm as he pushed your thighs to the sides of your torso, bending your back as he went deeper, faster, and harder.

"God you make me feral..." Ashton groaned out, feeling your walls squeeze around him stubbornly, not wanting to let go as he pushed you into a mating press in an animalistic need to bury himself deep within you.

The bed creaked violently, accompanying the orchestra of your moans and groans as you both desperately reached your high, and when he spilled inside of you, you knew that you wanted more.

So you kissed him on the lips deeply, interlocking your tongue with his as you both worked into getting into it again.

Yet, as Ashton smirked and gripped your thigh once more, ready to go, a stray perfume bottle rolled under the bed from the movement, a label on the bottle printed "love potion" on it.

A sweet smell of sampaguita permeating as a drop fell on the floor, glowing.

So if you don't get it, Ashton sprays the love potion on the poems he gives you, making you irrationally desperate for him as he is for you xx.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Happy Ending (2) Masterlist

part one

All The Mistakes I've Made (ao3) - mukeofficial michael/luke E, 33k

Summary: After spending over a week separated from Michael when he lost his passport in the States, Luke was relieved to finally be reunited with him. But after spending some more time with his best friend, Luke realizes his feelings for Michael are a lot stronger than he ever intended.

Always In Spring (ao3) - loveliketheweather luke/calum, background michael/ashton M, 17k

Summary: Luke and Calum’s friendship has gone through many highs and lows, and it’s so full of parallels and full-circle moments that it’s almost like the universe is set to make sure they grow, love and stay together.

Butterfly (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 29k

Summary: Luke is depressed and Ashton makes him feel loved (and maybe Luke returns the favour too). Also Malum. Yes.

can't find the sound under my tongue (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton M, 13k

Summary: One year, nine months, eighteen days. Luke and Ashton have been attached at the hip for one year, nine months, and eighteen days. Six hundred, fifty six days. Almost twenty two months. One could argue that no, it’s actually been months and years longer than that; but officially, their time together is bound by a date, one solid time where they said yeah, this is it. Despite being this far into a relationship, one punctuated by extended time on the road, living so intertwined, they still don’t live together.

Or, Ashton refuses to move in with Luke. Alternately, a fic inspired by black butterflies and deja vu

Don't Blink (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke E, 20k

Summary: Suddenly Luke’s skin is itchy underneath and his clothes don’t feel right. He’s sweaty and uncomfortable with how good it feels having Michael pressed up against him. It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Luke doesn’t know why he never realized that until just now. This thing they do, where they’re always in each other’s space, always touching, always wrapped around each other – it’s how Luke should be with a girl. Not his best friend.

Fast Car (ao3) - Migs ot4 E, 17k

Summary: Michael and Ashton have been married for a year when their sex life got in a way of their life long relationship. When Calum leaves for Europe they need to find someone else to fill in his place in their bed.

Goodnight Kisses? (ao3) - heart_is_gonna_flatline luke/calum N/R, 8k

Summary: Calum is invited to spend the weekend at Michael's house, and maybe his feelings for Luke get a bit out of hand.

How many omegas can you fit into 5 seconds? (ao3) - Little_Marquise michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/calum M, 573k

Summary: Luke has, as the only beta in a band, always felt a bit left out. While Michael and Ashton are fighting over who will win Calums heart, Luke feels like a piece of him is missing. The delayed piece of him finally catches up with his hectic lifestyle, when he presents as an omega during their Youngblood tour and everything goes absolutely crazy. Muke and Cashton

John Dough - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/calum/ashton E, 15k

Summary:The one where Luke is an erotica writer pining after Calum the mailman but, also, the small-town baker is pretty hot too.

Jumping before the Gunshot has Gone Off (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/louis E, 128k

Summary: (In which Michael’s hated Luke since they met, and Luke’s hated him back—except, somehow, they can’t stop having sex with one another. To make matters worse, Luke is dumb enough to go and fall in love with the man who hates him.)

Maelstrom (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum, mali/harry E, 225k

Summary: Ashton is struggling, Luke is hiding, and Michael and Calum just want to make things work. (And maybe Ashton and Luke fall in love too. Maybe.)

Rejects (ao3) - realmsoffreedom calum/ashton, michael/luke M, 79k

Summary: They try to save me, but I'm too far gone. And they called me crazy, so I played along. And you wanna change me, but I'm on my own...

Ashton, Michael, Calum, and Luke are the rejects of their school- outcasts, the victims of relentless torture and bullying. Damaged- unable to function normally, none of them have any hope for the future- in fact, all four of them regard their future as being six feet under, no longer living. But- relationships form, hearts break, and the mess that they're living only spirals further out of control, as everything gets significantly worse. Worse enough- that one of them could end up taking his own life.

Room Service - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/omc E, 27k

Summary: the one where Michael is a room attendant at a hotel and Luke is a hooker that frequents it.

Tempest (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, luke/ashton E, 314k

Summary: Calum’s best friends are falling apart, Mali is gone, and Calum just wants to be perfect.

that’s why you like it (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, bryana/ashton E, 69k

Summary: Calum starts doing workouts in the garden over the summer and Michael spends the whole time with his hand down his pants (until Calum takes matters into his own hands).

the light in your eyes (ao3) - cashcakeplz michael/calum, michael/luke, luke/ashton N/R, 137k

Summary: Or the one where Calum is beautiful and beaten, Michael is in love with his best friend, Luke is lost, and Ashton just wants everyone to be happy.

You Are The Moon That Breaks The Night (ao3) - thesoulsailor calum/ashton, michael/luke E, 120k

Summary: a drunk walk home is destined to change Ashton's life forever.

your string of lights is still bright to me (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, bryana/ashton, luke/omc E, 81k

Summary: Michael is struggling to be the father his daughters need. Until he meets Calum again.

[floral-poisons]

twst characters and their college majors

instead of a shower thought thing, this was a refilling-my-cup-with-water thought. wouldn’t it be fun to think about twisted wonderland characters and their college majors lmao. these are just my opinions! feel free to add anything and what other majors you think fit with the characters! for reference, i am in college. i’m a literature major. also riddle’s ssr card is so pretty!

NRC STAFF

dire crowley

unknown. no one knows. everyone suspects it’s something in education but the truth is, no one knows. his degree isn’t just hanging around his office surprisingly. everyone has a variety of guesses. crowley was most likely undecided for a majority of college and then chose a random major, let’s be real.

ashton vargas

sports medicine then went into education. definitely took care of plenty of sports teams before becoming a teacher.

mozus trein

literature. specifically, lit theory. he screams lit theory professor to me and it would be interesting how he teaches. probably more discussion based classes. but definitely a literature teacher who specializes in lit theory. probably add in a history minor too.

divus crewel

biochemistry. i know, i know. crewel is definitely more aligned with chemistry since alchemy can arguably translate to chemistry in our world. but i can see him being a biochem major.

sam

definitely some sort of cultural studies major. probably add a language minor and a business minor too. he’s thankfully not a business major and ultimately turned to business in the long run.

DIASOMNIA

malleus draconia

creative writing. now hear me out...it’s the vibes. sensitive artist who’s a loner and spends a lot of his time with his headphones in, writing. carries a notebook everywhere to write down inspiration. particularly really good with short stories and poetry. leads workshop. is the editor-in-chief for the school’s literature magazine.

lilia vanrouge

classics. he’s into the classics. he’s old. and he’s really diligent with his readings. is ahead of everyone and offers the most insightful knowledge and interpretation of the reading. would definitely be the cool ta everyone goes to. if he was a professor, he’d be a very chill one with some interesting stories.

silver

history and linguistics. double majoring because he’s simply built different. has a passion for both. really wants to make a con lang because he thought it would be fun. likes world history and was probably that history kid you remember from middle school. was tempted to go into the military but didn’t.

sebek zigvolt

architecture. i have no explanation as to why but he feels like an architecture major. really good at drawing for obvious reasons and also VERY good at math. everyone goes to sebek for math tips. leans towards interior architecture. i hate to say his designs would be minimalistic but it would be. hopefully someone introduces this man to color.

HEARTSLABYUL

riddle rosehearts

his mother absolutely forced him to go into pre-med. she had the whole thing planned out for riddle. bio major on the pre-med track. but riddle doesn’t like pre-med (plus organic chemistry completely demolished even him). eventually he leaves the pre-med track to pursue something else. probably goes to culinary school instead. really bad at cooking but becomes really good due to his discipline. probably becomes a pastry chef.

trey clover

culinary arts. there is no debate about this one. he would be really good at it too and would sharpen his skills with professional ones. probably a first generation college student too. leans towards pastries because he grew up learning how to work with pastries.

cater diamond

not in college. moved out somewhere to pursue a career on youtube and vlogging. he’s definitely an influencer and why would he need college when he already makes a living that gets him further than college could ever? he definitely has a tik tok. lifestyle vlogger, fashion hauls, dabbles in artistic makeup. has stated he would be in fine arts if he was in college. very talented and particular with painting.

ace trappola

english on a pre-law track. this man is a pre-law major. he likes arguing with people and would certainly be an interesting lawyer. he wouldn’t take anything seriously and probably doesn’t actually do his readings. he’s just really good at bullshitting and pointing to a random quote. probably wants to go into civil law. divorce law is a no no for him.

deuce spade

art history major. i don’t know how to entirely explain it but he definitely gives off a little bit of an art hoe vibe. probably really good at bullshitting his art history essays. would like to go into recreational work instead of museums and curation. has a specific interest in italian renaissance.

POMEFIORE

vil schoenheit

chemistry major with a literature minor (concentration in creative writing). he’s perfectly balanced with stem and humanities. got the beauty and the brains. believes it is necessary to be really well rounded. honestly his writing is really really good and everyone wonders why he’s a chem major when he could easily be a creative writing major. but also he’s really good at chemistry. probably does a lot of lab work and wants to work for a cosmetics company. most likely is an influencer on the side.

rook hunt

psychology major. specifically he’s interested in behavioral psychology. definitely has participated in multiple studies and wants to do his own research. probably becomes a ta for undergrad in grad school. really likes people watching simply because it adds to his experience as a behavioral psychology student.

epel felmier

agricultural studies. takes a lot of biology and chemistry classes in order to supplement his major in agricultural studies. first gen college student. got a full ride to the school so he only has to pay for room and board. really smart, probably got a really high score on his standardized test. can’t write for shit though.

SAVANACLAW

leona kingscholar

was an international relations major. probably in student government at one point and an ra. but after a year in college, he decided to take a gap year. speaks three languages fluently and took language courses. feel like his area of concentration would be europe but i can see him not knowing where he would want to go.

ruggie bucchi

economics major. can’t explain it but he feels like an economics major. probably talks about the stock market often and probably will become an accountant so he can play with other people’s money. is really good at stealing food, silverware, and dishes from the dining hall. the friend who knows how to budget and not waste anything too. first generation college student.

jack howl

veterinary medicine. interesting but i think it fits. specifically has an interest in house pets. the main issue is that he gets distracted from his readings easily and sometimes his notes are incomprehensible even to himself because he was up until 3 am reading 70 pages. had to take multiple biology and chemistry classes in order to meet his major requirements. first generation college student too and probably has a federal work study to complete.

OCTAVINELLE

azul ashengrotto

business major, obviously. definitely invests in crypto too during his time at college. probably talks about stocks and the market constantly. took one language course and became fluent in it on his own spare time. wears a suit. all. the. time.

jade leech

bio major specializing in environmental science. has a fascination with mushrooms and is in an environmental club. spends his time volunteering to help clean up gardens and teach kids how to garden. probably has a lot of plants in his room. dorms with floyd in his first year and then after that, azul joins them.

floyd leech

undecided but eventually goes into communications. definitely is a psychology minor too and joins the debate club. really good at debating and has definitely taken a few philosophy classes where he argues good points against other people. often times people have to back down from his arguments. definitely likes to argue too. rooms with jade in their first year and azul joins them afterwards.

SCARABIA

kalim al-asim

international relations. i said it. this kid is an international relations major. probably takes multiple languages and is fluent in at least 4. parents are probably diplomats and therefore he’s a diplomat’s kid. rich. never seen without jamil. his parents wanted him to go into international relations and he’s not exactly mad about it. has trouble picking an area of concentration though because he loves to explore the world.

jamil viper

psychology. it’s safe and it doesn’t really make him noticeable. but secretly, i feel like he would be into the fine arts. so he probably goes for a fine arts minor. but for the most part, he’s basic. definitely rooms with kalim and has to wake him up every morning so kalim doesn’t miss his 8 am. kalim just got unlucky with booking classes.

IGNIHYDE

idia shroud

computer science major and really good at programming. wants to program for video games one day. probably ends up releasing a demo for his game at some point in college. doesn’t go out much. lives on caffeine and red bull energy drinks. lots of all nighters and prefers to order in instead of going out (contactless delivery baby). also probably the guy who takes an uber everywhere (not because he’s trying to show off his money but because public transportation has too many normies). you would have to drag his ass to the dining hall because he’s going broke by ordering in so much.

[takemealivelh]

midnight city || gang!luke

gang!luke, rival gangs, mentions of drugs, alcohol and violence. smut. 2k. part 1.

feedback is appreciated

he wiped the blood off his knuckles. the feeling of beating the shit out of someone is a rush of adrenaline. it’s like getting high on coke, but he doesn’t deal with that shit. he’s known many people who do hard drugs and then end up in trouble, or dead. he appreciates his life so much. luke likes being the leader of the diamond forsaken. a mafia that dedicates its time to drug transactions and occasionally prostitution. luke doesn’t fuck with that either, at least not recently. he met this girl in a bar and he’s been thinking about her for over a month. they’ve been on a few dates, and the sex has been great. she has a great sense of humor and he can tell she’s got street smarts, which he likes. he couldn’t fathom the idea of being with someone who gets scared about his job.

“you good, bro?” ashton, luke’s right-hand man, looks over at the bruises and leans against the sink of the bathroom, lighting a joint. their day is done and it’s time to go party. luke beat the shit out of a dude who didn’t give them their money and he threatened to go to the police. there was no way they would let him leave the storage unit without a warning. luke choked the man and broke a few ribs. he’s used to the job. it’s not like he was always like this. he used to have big dreams about forming a band and become a good musician. but he fell into the wrong crowds, and now here he is. dealing drugs and other sketchy businesses. everyone in la who knows about their mafia, knows not to fuck with them. they would end up dead. the police don’t do anything, they know how dangerous they are.

luke dries his hands with a paper towel and runs his fingers through his golden locks. “yeah,” he says. he’s never walked out of a fight with anything more than a few bruises. he does boxing on his free time, so he knows how to throw a lethal punch, and knows how to avoid poor kicks.

“i heard the grey lilies will be there tonight. i swear to fucking god those girls... i would bang every single one of them, but... you know...”

the grey lilies were a girl gang. they dealt drugs, too. that’s why they were a rival to the diamond forsaken. they never got into a physical fight, but there were many times they were about to. having the best clients was a problem for the male gang, but at least they had more people wanting their goods. but still, luke was pissed that they had a quality over quantity problem. he’d grown accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle. a good place to live, the most delicious takeout, and fancy cars. 

“for real?” luke looks over at his friend. he hides his excitement. sure, the grey lilies were trouble. but their top dealer, jackie, was the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen. their dates had been fun, exciting, thrilling. the idea of a secret hookup with their enemy was another rush of adrenaline. one that he actually preferred, if he was being honest.

- 

it’d all started at one of the parties. luke knew jackie, or at least he knew her face and what she did for a living. he was jealous she did so good with clients. she was charming as fuck. they didn’t mean to show up at the same place at the same time, but sometimes the gangs coincided. “did you get the dresnners?” she’d asked him as she took a seat on the stool next to him. her caramel-colored hair was in a ponytail and her eyeshadow was pastel blue. she wore ripped jeans, an oversized white t shirt, and high-heeled boots. the look suited her. she looked like the vocalist of an 80s inspired punk band.

luke scoffed. he knew what she meant. they had been fighting over the dressners for weeks and they decided to go with the grey lilies. that night, the diamond forsaken got blackout drunk. “no, but you did.” he finally said, looking down at the glass of vodka in his hand. 

“yeah,” she chuckled and ordered a beer. luke had always thought jackie was pretty interesting, but they’d never talked. not much, at least. just a few words here and there, mostly passive-aggressive shit. but the bickering was also part of the job. that night, though, that night neither felt like fighting. they were already buzzed. jackie took a swig of her beer and looked at him. “you wanna go outside? i got a joint. it’s legit shit, this.” she smiled.

it’s not like he frowned, but something among those lines happened. but fuck it, he thought. “sure. lead the way.”

they went to the terrace of the bar and lit up the joint. luke coughed a little and she laughed.  “i told you it was legit.”

-

luke and ashton walk into the club like the kings they are. everyone stops to look at them. but shortly, they resume their activities. which mostly consists of getting drunk and high. the two men make their way towards their usual booth. michael and calum are already there. calum’s with his girl. a black beauty who gives incredible head, his words. luke takes a seat and drinks the beer in front of him, swiftly drifting off the conversation to look around. he hasn’t seen the grey lilies, but he hopes they get here soon. bathroom sex sounds good right now.

“how was the guy?” michael asks as he throws a couple of fries into his mouth. ashton tells him that luke did a good job in silencing the motherfucker. “three ribs? man, that’s dark. but cool.” he laughs.

everyone seems to stop talking again, and luke shifts his gaze towards the door. the grey lilies have arrived. they look like a grunge band. their leader, lea, wears combat boots and net tights. but his eyes are focused on the girl whose moans keeps him up at night.  she looks gorgeous in that oversized that jacket that seems to swallow her whole, but still barely covers her ass. he wonders if he looks okay, sexy. he didn’t have time to change, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. his motorcycle jacket has a few stains, but at least they’re not blood.

jackie finds him staring and she puts on a smirk. she pats the pocket of her jacket to let him know that she’s got weed on her. they rarely ever not get high together. that makes her wonder if this, this between luke and her, is just a side effect of the drug. but she doubts it. she actually likes him, even if she despises his friends. they all seem idiotic to her. luke notices the action of her hand and he immediately looks down at his drink. “imma go to the bathroom.” he announces, even though no one is hearing. they’re too into the story about the miami trip calum and his girl took last weekend.

luke stands up from the booth and snakes through the crowd. he catches a glimpse of jackie, who’s making her way towards her regular booth. “meet me outside in five,” he texts her. he watches her check her phone and smile down at the screen. 

-

“they’re gonna kill us if they see us together,” jackie says as she pulls out the joint from her pocket. she knows the grey lilies hate the diamond forsaken. they think the other gang are all egocentric assholes. she used to think that, too. but she met luke. and he’s actually a sweet guy. he’s really smart, too. the strategy they use to get more clients astounds her. but it’s nice to know that the grey lilies have the better clients.

luke watches her light up the joint and he leans against the wall outside of the club. it’s dark outside and the air is cold. there aren’t many people in the terrace, but he doubts anyone will say anything about them being together. getting high together. “then we’re just gonna have to keep it a secret.” his smile is shy, and jackie thinks he’s the most adorable man. even if he has bruises on his knuckles from probably beating up some shady guy. she passes the joint and luke takes a drag. “you wanna come to my place later? i got some cds i wanna show you.” they’re both big music nerds, and he loves that. they sit on the floor of his room, high out of their minds, and they listen to oasis, jane’s addiction and red hot chili peppers. 

“i don’t know. lea wants to do some kind of after party tonight. and i kinda want to be there.”

luke nods his head, he’s sort of disappointed, but it is what it is. he knows the gangs come first. it’s all about loyalty. that’s why he’d be fucked if anyone of the diamond forsaken members came out right now. but he knows they don’t smoke, except for calum occasionally -rarely, actually. so he’s not worried. 

“come here,” jackie smiles as she plays with the zipper of his jacket. they’re incredibly close and she can feel the smoke coming out from luke’s mouth. she kisses him softly, licking his bottom lip. with eyes closed, luke feels stars bursting inside his lungs. he really likes her. “give me that,” she orders and he hands her the joint.

they keep smoking until there’s nothing left and they stare into each other’s eyes. jackie isn’t one to maintain eye contact, but she feels safe with luke. even if he’s forbidden fruit.

-

the men's bathroom is empty. they had to sneak in so the others couldn’t see them. luke made an excuse about going to the bar to get more drinks even if the counter was crammed. jackie said she was going out for a smoke. it’s all hands and sloppy kisses as they lock the door of one of the stalls. luke bites his lower lip as his back is pressed to the white door and jackie drops to her knees. “you gonna make me feel good?”

“imma make you feel so good, baby,” she grins and unzips his pants. he’s already hard from all the making out in the terrace. so it’s not surprise that his cock springs up as soon as his briefs are pulled down to his thighs. jackie licks the tip and he shudders. he’s gotten a fair amount of blowjobs in his life. the first one from one girl that attended his school and she thought he was going to be a musician one day. but nothing compares to jackie’s mouth. her tongue slides down his length and he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. she’s ecstatic that she can make him squirm in front of her. she likes being in control, even if it doesn’t always happen. luke can be pretty dominant in the bedroom. taking her from behind roughly and choking her. jackie puts his cock in her mouth and she starts bobbing her head to the rhythm of the loud bass coming from the other side of the bathroom door. luke appreciates the little detail. his senses are heightened and it feels like she’s one more instrument adding to the song.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath as he feels the tip of his dick hit her throat. she takes him in so good. she’s an angel. luke looks down and he sees her eyes staring up at him, a subtle smirk on her lips. “you’re- you’re-” he’s trying to say something but his brain doesn’t work. the pleasure is too intense. he hits his head against the door and closes his eyes once again. he’s about to cum. exactly at the same time he hears someone come into the bathroom. fuck. “stop, stop,” he whispers to jackie and cups her face to get her off his dick. she looks through the slit of the door and sees someone she recognizes washing their hands.

“shit,” she mouths. “michael.”

-

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[allsassnoclass]

blood on my shirt, heart in my hands

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin

Rating: Teen and Up

Key Tag(s): Vampires, biting, blood

Word Count: 2912

Read on AO3

This is a sequel to my Halloween vampire Michael fic, which can be read on tumblr here or on ao3 here

—

Michael finally agrees to feed from Ashton

—

Michael has set himself up in the living room with a video game by the time Ashton wakes up and stumbles out of the bedroom.  It’s not too late, but the sun has fully risen, a few beams peaking in the windows around their blinds, paining Ashton in golden light.  His hair is messy and he’s rubbing at his eyes, wearing nothing but boxers with a trail of hickies faded against his neck and chest.

Hm.  Michael should probably redo those soon.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Michael says, returning his focus to the video game.  Ashton flops onto the couch next to him, leaning heavily on his shoulder.  Michael immediately begins leaching his warmth, even through the hoodie he’s wearing.  Something great about Ashton is that he’s always willing to keep Michael warm.

“Morning,” Ashton says, voice a little gravelly.  “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” Michael says.  “I’ve been out here for a while.”

Ashton hums.  Michael turns and presses a kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in.

“Did you eat?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah.  Tastes like shit this week, though.”

“Well, you can always take a bite of me if you want,” Ashton says, heaving himself up and stretching.  Michael watches him wander to the kitchen.

Ashton has been saying stuff like that for a long time, but Michael still hasn’t taken him up on it.  He knows that Ashton wants it, and they’ve had a few more serious discussions about the prospect of Michael feeding from him, but there’s always been something holding him back.  It’s not that Michael is scared of hurting him anymore, because they’ve both done a lot of work on getting Michael to trust himself and to trust Ashton to know his own limits, but every time Michael tries to agree he feels a lump in his throat.

The last person he fed from was named Harry.  He was human and adamant about not being turned, but Michael didn’t mind.  He loved him and was fully prepared to spend the rest of Harry’s time on Earth with him, and he thought Harry was prepared for the same.

Two months after Michael fed from him the first time, Harry disappeared.  Michael freaked out thinking something awful had happened, possibly because of him, but when he managed to track down Harry he found him perfectly content with another man.  He never tried to reach out again.

He still wonders how Harry explained the two tiny scars on his neck left by Michael’s fangs.  His saliva has a healing agent that will help close the wounds, but scars from feeding never fully fade, no matter how old they are.  If Michael did the same to Ashton, he’d have that permanently on his body.

Ashton has never given him reason to believe he’ll run away, though.  If anything, it’s Ashton who keeps making the first moves towards permanency.  He had Michael meet his family.  He first brought up the subject of them living together.  Michael may be the person who wanted a dog, but Ashton is the one who actually started looking at the ones in nearby shelters, trying to find the one that will suit both of their lifestyles perfectly.  He not only has integrated himself into Michael’s life, but has integrated Michael into his.

Ashton knows that the fangs will scar, and he still asks.

“Okay,” Michael says.

“What?” Ashton calls.  “Did you say something?”  He reappears in the doorway, mug in hand.

“I said okay.  If you’re up for it today, I’d… appreciate getting to feed from you.”

The mug slackens in Ashton’s hand.  He blinks a few times, chest shuddering on his breaths.

“You really want this, don’t you?” Michael asks.  Ashton flushes and nods.  Michael smiles and drops his fangs, and Ashton almost drops the mug, fumbling for it right before it crashes to the floor.  He barely recovers.  Michael can’t stop himself from laughing at him.

“Shut up,” Ashton says, entirely red.  “Are we--now?”

“No,” Michael says, retracting his fangs so he can talk normally.  “You need to eat first and have some water.  If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

“Okay, yeah.  Are you sure?  Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah,” Michael says.  The word comes out easily, the lump in his throat dissipating with Ashton’s reaction.  He’s ready for this.

Ashton crosses the room in a few long strides and kisses him firmly.

“Thank you,” he says, then kisses him again.  “Okay.  Breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Michael confirms.  Ashton beelines back to the kitchen, renewed spring in his step, and Michael scrunches into his sweatshirt a little more, smiling as he presses play on his game again.

-/-

They ultimately decide to do it in the afternoon.  Ashton doesn’t eat much for breakfast and Michael needs to be sure that he has enough substance in him not to pass out.  Ashton assured him that he typically doesn’t even get woozy when he donates blood, which prompted an entire conversation about whether his blood has any inhuman properties, but Michael stayed firm.  Besides, he did feed from the magic store concoction earlier in the day, and while it wasn’t quite as much as usual he would’ve been too full if they tried anything before noon.

By 2:30, the thought of drinking from Ashton is making him salivate.

“Ash,” he says.  Ashton must hear something in his voice, or just know him really well, because he immediately turns off the tv and faces Michael expectantly.

“Are you ready?” Michael asks.

“Yes.”  Ashton chuckles a bit, just a small huff of a laugh.  “I’ve been ready for months.”  Michael rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but do you feel up to it now?  You’ve eaten enough and kept hydrated?”

“Yes, Michael.  I promise I’m ready.”

Michael nods once.  This is happening.  Holy shit, this is really happening.

“Sit back and get comfortable,” he commands.  Ashton immediately complies, rolling his shoulders out and leaning into the sofa cushion.  Michael watches him take a few breaths, relaxing his muscles with every exhale, and when he seems as lax as he’s going to get Michael plops down on his lap.

“Hi,” Ashton says, hands immediately coming to his hips to hold him in place.

“Hi,” Michael says, brushing their noses together.  He kisses him long and slow, the type of kiss that implies they have all the time in the world to continue, and Ashton relaxes that last little bit under him.  Michael almost wants to keep doing this for the rest of the afternoon, but he has a chance to taste Ashton in another, better way, and that’s what finally makes him lean back and break the kiss.  When they part, he runs a hand through Ashton’s hair, then lets his thumb trail down from behind his ear to the base of his throat.  Ashton tilts his head, granting him clear access.  Michael watches his Adam's apple bob when he swallows.

“So,” Michael says.  “This is going to hurt.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Stop being a smartass,” Michael says, smacking his arm lightly.  “I’m literally stabbing you in the neck with two sharp points, then draining you of stuff you need to live.  We have to talk about this.”

“I know,” Ashton says soothingly, running his hands up and down Michael’s thighs.  “Thank you for being so thorough.  I’m listening, I promise.”

Michael nods once and tries to steady himself.

“I think we need a safeword.  I’m not going to take much, but if it hurts too much or you’re starting to feel faint, I need to know.”

“Okay,” Ashton says.  “What about garlic?”

“Garlic is good,” Michael says.  “You’re going to remember it?”

“Yep.  Besides, nothing will take you out of the blood sucking mood like thinking about garlic.”  He has a point.  Garlic makes Michael feel sick.  He nods.

“You can also pinch my side if you’re too woozy and can’t find words.”

“Like this?” Ashton asks right as Michael feels a sharp pain in his side.  He jolts away.

“Ow, yeah.  Exactly like that.”

“Okay,” Ashton says.  Michael nods again, staring at the part of Ashton’s neck that he’s going to bite into.  It’s smooth and tan, right next to a faded bruise low enough to be hidden by the collar of his dress shirts at work.  There are a few different arteries and veins there, and he has to be careful to get the right one and close it properly afterwards or Ashton could bleed out.  He doesn’t exactly want to test the limits of his immortality.

“Hey,” Ashton says.  “You good?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods, making himself meet Ashton’s warm hazel eyes again.  He’s gazing at Michael steadily, an easy and familiar look on his face that reminds Michael of the centuries they’ve both lived.  There’s an understanding with Ashton that he can’t find with many other people, highlighted more the longer they spend together.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Ashton says.

“I know.  It’s just… a lot.  It’s a big step.”

“I’m honored you want to take it with me,” Ashton says.  “I know it means a lot to you.”

Michael nods.  They’ve talked about the ritualistic, biological, and traditional significance of a vampire feeding directly from a live person, and Ashton knows it’s a big deal.

“Are you scared?” Ashton asks.

“No.”

“You’ve got your anxiety face on,” Ashton says.  He presses his fingers against Michael’s forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles there.  Michael rolls his eyes.

“I’m not scared.  I’m a little nervous, which is different.”

“What are you nervous about?” Ashton asks, returning his hands to Michael’s hips.  It’s one of his favorite places to rest his hands, a grounding weight when Michael is standing in front of him or sitting on his lap or laying next to him in bed.

Michael tries to find a reason and comes up empty.  He knows that Ashton is aware of his limits and will tap out if he needs, and he knows that he’s not going to take more blood than Ashton can handle.  This is a step he’s prepared to take with Ashton, and more importantly he wants to do it, longs to finally know what Ashton tastes like in this way.  Ashton wants it, too.  They’ve both communicated clearly about it, and he knows they’re on the same page.  There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“I think it’s habit now,” he says.  “I’ve been so scared to do this for so long, and even though I know it’s going to be great and I want to…”

“I get it,” Ashton says.  “What do we need to do to get rid of that?”

“Just fucking do it,” Michael shrugs.

“Sweet. Be my guest.”

Ashton bares his neck again, ready and willing.  Michael brings a hand up to brace him on the other side, just so he won’t flinch away involuntarily.

“Keep still,” he says, then drops his fangs.  Ashton’s pulse jumps, blood rushing under Michael’s hand.

“Calm down, Ash.  It’s okay.”

“I know,” Ashton huffs.  “Do it.  The anticipation is killing me.”

“Pushy,” Michael mumbles.  He leans down, nosing at Ashton’s neck, tracing along the carotid artery.  He lets go of the normal restraint on his senses, hearing each thump-thump of Ashton’s heartbeat and his breaths.  Dozens of smells fill his nostrils: the blood in Ashton’s veins, the soap from his shower, the fabric softener that makes his t-shirts so soft, and that particular sweatskinAshton smell that makes Michael’s head spin.  He brushes his lips against the pulse point, relishing in the way it makes Ashton’s breath catch.  The first gentle scrape of fangs makes him shudder beneath him.

Ashton is always so sensitive around his neck.  Michael wants to play with this, to see how thoroughly he can undo him before finally taking the bite, how much he needs to tease before Ashton becomes a mess and finally swallows his pride to beg, but he can also smell the blood now and hear it pumping and he needs to bite.  He has a god at his mercy, willingly submitting to him and offering what he wants, and he’s finally going to take it.

Ashton makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat when the fangs break skin.  Michael feels it more than he hears it, a slight reverberation accompanying the blood dribbling from the artery.  Michael sucks on the wound, catching as much in his mouth as he can, knowing he should savor it but also needing none of it to go to waste.  This is Ashton’s blood: sweet and metallic and warm and alive and so, so precious, tasting like the good kind of late night and laughter and familiar hands resting on his hips.  It will not get spilt carelessly.

“Michael,” Ashton whines.  He hums, squeezing Ashton’s bicep to let him know he’s present.  Ashton repeats his name like a mantra, but he’s not telling him to stop or pinching his side, and it sounds like music this way.

The feeding itself lasts just under a minute, as any longer risks vergining into worrisome territory with the artery he picked.  Michael swallows what he can, then licks over the fang marks, picking up more blood and starting to seal them off.  In a few seconds, the blood stops flowing, and Michael mouths around the bite to ensure that anything smeared on Ashton’s skin gets consumed.

Ashton adjusts his grip on Michael’s hips, panting.  His heart is still beating steadily, rapid and just barely weaker than usual, and Michael presses one last kiss to the bite mark before he leans back to fully assess him.  Ashton blinks up at him a few times, shell-shocked and dazed.

“How do you feel?” Michael asks.  He cups Ashton’s jaw with both hands, maintaining eye contact.

“You have--you--”  He gestures to his lips.  Michael wipes his thumb around the corners, sucking the spare blood into his mouth, one last treat from the feeding.  Ashton stares at him the entire time.

“Ash,” he says.  “You have to tell me how you feel.”

“Fangs,” Ashton says, still staring.

“I’m not going to get them to retract for a few minutes this soon after a live feeding, big guy.  How out of it are you?”

“Not too much,” he says.  Michael isn’t convinced, but each breath Ashton takes in seems to center him more, kickstarting whatever is leftover from his godly powers to get his mind and body working properly again.

“I’m going to get you some water and a snack.  Stay here, okay?”

“Where would I go?”

Michael ignores him in favor of planting a kiss on his forehead, then heads to the kitchen.  When he returns Ashton is still boneless against the sofa, lolling his head to the side to watch him approach.

“I’m still not dizzy,” he says after he sips some water and takes a bite of the granola bar under Michael’s watchful eye.  “I’m a deity.  It takes more than that to affect me.”

“You lost a lot of blood in a short amount of time.  I’m not taking any chances.”

Ashton gives him an unimpressed look, but takes another bite of his granola bar anyway.

“How was it?” he asks, faux-casual.

“Amazing,” Michael breathes, leaning back against the cushions with the taste still on his tongue.  It’s something he won’t be forgetting within the next millennium.  “You taste so good, Ash, like… I don’t know how to describe it, except that it was both exactly what I thought and completely unexpected at the same time.  I knew it would be good, but fuck, I never imagined it could be like that.”

Ashton’s lips quirk up, and when he offers his hand Michael threads their fingers together.  Ashton brings his hand to his lips and kisses the back of it.

“You know, in my religion the act of eating was considered extremely important.  Our followers would often eat lavishly as the most important part of worship, believing it opened them further to our blessings and favor.”

“Did it?” Michael asks.  Ashton nods.

“There’s nothing more intimate than eating with someone, I think.  To be the source of food is even more so, whether you make the meal or… contribute in other ways.”

“More intimate than sex, even?”

Ashton smiles, then nods.

“Yeah, more intimate than sex.”

Michael leans forward, figuring that Ashton has recovered enough to be on the receiving end of another long, slow kiss.  When they part, Michael finally feels fully centered again and his fangs retract easily.

“I can’t feed from you again for a while, like eight weeks or something.  We need to give you time to fully recover.”

“I know,” Ashton says, pulling him closer.  Michael settles against his side, leaning down to plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this,” Ashton says, “and for taking care of me, even if I don’t need it.”

“Well, I do want to keep you around,” Michael says.  “You’re my live blood supply now.”

“And I will be as long as you want me.”

“Forever, then.”

“Forever.”

Michael smiles and buries his face in Ashton’s shoulder.  When he glances up, he can see the scars from his fangs clear as day, angry and red.  He used to think vampire bites looked like awful, ugly things, but this one isn’t.  This one looks more like a promise, one that Michael knows they both intend to keep for the rest of eternity.

[begluketostay]

don’t wanna fall in love (c.h.)

summary: you don’t want to give him your heart but he already has it

author’s note: haven’t read the entire thing yet through and edited, so there may be some mistakes. just wanted to get this out there because i’m tired of staring at it :) also, ironically, i listened to the song wicked game by chris isaak on repeat while writing this but couldn’t name it that bc i named my last oneshot after wicked game by the weeknd oops

word count: 4038

You remember the night you met Cal.

He was all smiles and chubby cheeks and drunken happy dancing as you all celebrated the birthday of a friend.

You were used to meeting famous people - living in Los Angeles had made the glamour and shininess of celebrities wear off, and while you were starstruck your first couple years there, you were used to it now. Having friends in the music business gave you the in to meet so many people, and you often found they were just like everybody else, only they had a lot more money and the freedom to do whatever the fuck they wanted.

So having a half-drunken hookup with Calum wasn’t anything significant at the time. It was just like hooking up with anyone else.

Except that he actually called you like he said he would afterwards.

And then he started inviting you to more parties and kickbacks and hangouts.

And then you actually started getting kind of… attached.

It was foolish of you. While celebrities were like everyone else to you, they were different in one way: they were undateable. You’d sworn off ever getting into a relationship with a celebrity, especially any musicians, because you knew the paparazzi and the traveling and the pressure and the fans would be too much. It just wasn’t the lifestyle you wanted to commit yourself to forever.

That’s why you can’t stop feeling a twist in your stomach as Calum gets closer and closer to you, arms nearly touching as you’re all bunched up in the corner talking at another one of Ashton’s house parties. Luke says something dumb and everyone is laughing, but your head is somewhere else, fixating on the heat of Calum’s skin barely brushing yours and hoping that no one here can read minds or else you’re screwed.

Calum presses his elbow into your side, looking at you with his brows furrowed. “You good?” he mouths over the music, concern on his face. You’re normally pretty talkative, but you haven’t said a thing during this conversation.

You nod, taking a sip out of the beer in your hand and trying your hardest to focus on the discussion at hand as Luke and Sierra argue over who got the most drunk at Ashton’s last party.

“I’ll be right back,” you say before you sneak away to the kitchen, finishing off your beer and throwing it in the trash and opening the fridge to get a new one. You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself.

You know Calum is off limits to you, that it will only end in heartbreak for the both of you, and that you can’t let that happen. But it’s so hard to focus when he’s around you, and it’s almost like you’re starting to forget what would be so bad about getting your heart broken by him. You’d have the pleasure of having him for at least a little while.

A deep breath and another sip of beer has you feeling composed enough to go back and rejoin the circle of your friends, but they’ve dispersed now and you’re left trying to track down someone you know in the packed house.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, lifting you up in the air and swinging you around. Your squeals stop as soon as they put you down, and you already know that when you turn around you’re going to find a head of bleached blonde hair and full lips turned up in laughter.

“Cal!” you swat him, rolling your eyes. “You could’ve made me spill my beer,” you pout.

“Ah, but I didn’t,” he points out with a smirk on his face. “I’m talented at what I do.”

You smile unamused, shaking your head at him.

“You alright though? You looked a little out of it earlier,” he mentions.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Long day at work,” you shrug, “but I didn’t wanna miss the party.”

He studies you, seeing the tired lines under your eyes and wishing that he could make them disappear. He knows how hard you work and how important your job is and thinks that it’s so badass that you do what you do. He thinks it’s badass that even though you have such a hard job, you can still outdrink the rest of them and light up the room when you walk in.

“Wouldn’t be a party without you,” he nods. “That’s why I noticed ya when we first met. You were the life of the party.”

You can see the truth in his eyes as he speaks and it makes you want to melt into him. He makes it so hard to resist him.

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, bumping your shoulder against his playfully.

After a while, people are starting to leave, slowly trickling out until it’s only those who are close friends left in the living room, sitting on the couches and so deep in conversation that they don’t even notice the room emptying out.

“I’m not ready to go home,” Calum sighs, looking around. “I get a little lonely after drinking so much wine. Not totally sure I should be going home and sitting in the dark,” he admits, eyes flickering to yours to try and gauge your reaction.

You kick the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to decide if you should offer him to join you tonight, not sure if it would be a good idea. But when you look up and see those chocolate eyes, genuine hesitation and loneliness in them, you don’t care if it’s a bad idea anymore. You want to protect him from all things sad.

“You could come to mine for a bit?” you suggest, biting your lip. “We can watch a movie or something maybe,”  you shrug. His eyes light up with warmth at the offer. He nods.

“Alright.”

--------------------

You pop open a bottle of red wine as you and Calum settle on the couch, pouring each of you a glass to sip on as he searches for something to put on the tv. His arms flex just slightly each time he clicks on the remote and you can’t peel your eyes off of him. You look up and realize he’s turned towards you, asking your opinion on a show, and you know he’s caught you staring by the way the end of his sentence just kind of fades out. His eyes are latched onto you now.

The air feels like it’s thickening around you and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him. It was much easier when the two of you weren’t alone in the silence of your empty apartment.

“You’re something else tonight,” Calum bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. “God, you know exactly what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you?” you ask.

“Make it feel like all the air is sucked out of the room,” he admits. “Like I can’t breathe.”

You adjust yourself in your seat, looking down at the floor. You know where this is going to go, and you’re not sure you can handle it if it does.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Ever since I met you. God, you don’t even realize how you are,” he laughs. “You light up the room when you walk in. Can’t ever keep my eyes off you.”

He’s spent weeks thinking about your drunken hookup, wishing he had been softer and sweeter and savored your lips on his body. Wishing he’d gotten you out of the dress you’d been wearing and been able to see you and feel you all the way. There were so many things he’d have done differently now.

“You don’t care that I’m famous or that I have money or any of that shit. You still call my ass out and put me in my place and drive me crazy,” he chuckles. “I’ve been trying to make moves for weeks now and you keep pulling away from me and acting like we’re just friends, but I... I can’t be just friends with you.”

You bite your lip, not sure how to answer him. You know that what you want, more than anything in this moment, is him.

But it’s not that simple.

Your last heartbreak was so hard to get over. It took months and months of tears and distractions and drunken nights out at bars and fake smiles to get you to a point where you could even live your life normally again. And you already liked Calum more than it was healthy, way more than you’d ever liked any boy this early on.

You knew if you gave in, if you let him in, that he would have the total power to absolutely wreck you. He’d be able to crumple your heart in his fist and throw it away. It was terrifying.

And you knew how much he’d be on the road, especially having just released an album. As soon as he’d get back home, he’d have to be busy in the studio. Every time the two of you would go out, there would be pictures and camera flashes and crazy fans. You’d have to put your social media on private and remember how to calculate time zone differences and become best friends with facetime and heartache.

The soft, hesitant touch of Calum’s hands against your face bring you back to the present. The calluses on his palm are rough against your cheek and you fight off a shiver as your eyes go to his. There’s a softness in them, and you’ve never seen Calum look so… afraid.

“I really like you,” he murmurs. “I know it’s scary.”

You nod in agreement. It is scary.

He hasn’t dated anyone in a long time. It wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to or he didn’t have the opportunity - there were plenty of decent girls that he’d crushed on over the years. But he didn’t want to put them through the pain of dating him. He knew that there were a lot of unfair things that came with a relationship with him. He felt guilty and ashamed asking someone to deal with all the baggage of loving someone always on the road.

You nod.

“I know it’s not fair of me to ask you for anything. I know I’ll be gone a lot and it’s not ideal. But I really like you.”

You sigh, closing your eyes as his fingers trace patterns on the skin behind your ears comfortingly. He’s so soft and safe and cozy, even when his shirt smells like beer and his heart is racing.

“I don’t wanna fall in love,” you whisper. Your eyes are still closed at your confession, and you feel so small and vulnerable. “I know you’ll be able to break my heart and I know I won’t recover if you do.”

He shifts and pulls you closer to him until your face is in his neck and your knees are curled up in his lap. No words are exchanged as the two of you sit in the quietness of your living room, breathing in each other’s air.

“I won’t break your heart,” he murmurs against the top of your head. His hand is moving up and down your back slowly, heating your entire body with every movement. “Wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I did.”

“No one ever means to break someone’s heart,” you say.

“I know,” he kisses the top of your head.

And then he kisses the top of your ear, and your cheek, and his hand lightly grips your chin and tilts you up to face him before he kisses you right on the lips.

He’s soft and sweet and the opposite of everything he was the last time he kissed you. There’s no rush now, and you’re both filled with red wine instead of vodka, soft and sleepy as your lips meet over and over again.

He pulls you into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lets his fingers trail up and tangle themselves in your hair. You let yourself relax into him, his tongue parting the seam of your lips and you open your mouth to him, letting him explore you. Instead of rough tongues battling for dominance like last time, it’s a timid exploration. He wants to memorize what every part of you feels like.

One of his hands lowers until it slides down into the back pocket of your jeans, cupping the curve of your backside and holding on tightly. You arch your back against him, and he moves his mouth from your lips to your neck, pulling you close until your chest is pressed flush against him and his teeth nip at your throat.

Ever so slowly, he plants kisses all the way down your throat, soft and light against your skin, until he reaches your collarbone, leaving little marks against you as he goes.

“Please,” he whispers against your skin, and you can feel every movement of his lips brush against your chest. “Tell me you want me.”

“Cal -” you start.

“No,” he whispers, cutting you off. “Don’t think about anything else. Think about right now. Do you want me?”

You grasp at the short hair on his head, pulling on it to raise his head to look at you. You nod, and that’s the only answer he needs. He reaches behind you and grabs the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head swiftly before he reattaches his mouth to your chest, suckling the skin exposed by the top of your bra as you hold him close. Warm fingers dig into the skin of your back, feeling around for the clasp of your bra and unhooking it. Slowly, gingerly, he slides the straps down your arms and drags the fabric off of you.

There’s a breeze across your chest and you feel even more exposed and vulnerable, but it feels right to open yourself up to him like this. He lips close around a nipple, tongue swirling it over and you throw your head back, mouth open as you hold back soft whimpers.

His hands are moving all over you, desperate to feel every inch of you before you change your mind. You reach down and yank his shirt off to you and press your bodies together to feel the warmth of the skin to skin contact, lips meeting once again as he reaches down to unbutton your jeans. Legs still wrapped around his waist, he stands and rushes to your bedroom, barely able to get the door open in his frenzy.

You’re laid down on the bed and he’s hovering over you, unzipping you and pulling the jeans carefully down, pressing soft kisses on the skin of your legs as it becomes exposed. Once the fabric is finally off, he makes his way back up, stopping to press his lips softly over the center of your underwear, just barely enough pressure for you to feel it, but it’s enough to send goosebumps across your body.

Lips meet again in a tangled frenzy, soft and slippery and yearning for each other, and you don’t even take the time to breathe between kisses anymore. It’s getting frantic and desperate and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep your hands off of him. Your nails scratch down his back as his mouth engulfs you and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close as he can possibly get you.

“You want me?” he asks again, breathless and lust-filled. You nod again, but that’s not enough for him this time. “Say it,” he commands. “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you breathe.

“How badly?” he continues.

Truthfully, you want him so badly it feels like you could burst. So you grab the back of his neck and try to pull him back to you, hips lifting upwards desperate for contact. He pulls away, unsatisfied.

“How badly?” he repeats, pushing your hips down against the mattress.

“So bad, Cal,” you sigh. “Please - just c’mere,” you practically beg, still trying to pull his face back to yours.

Content with that answer, he kisses you again, but his hand is snaking down and teasing you over your underwear with light, delicate touches. You moan out, and his pants get a little tighter just from hearing you.

His fingers dance over the skin of your inner thighs, leaving ghosts of traces where you want him most until you’re almost writhing beneath him.

“Please,” you whimper again, and it spurs him on enough to finally add some pressure, pushing down and rubbing on the little bundle of nerves right below the only fabric you’re wearing.

He yanks your underwear off impatiently now and lets his fingers explore the most secret part of you, feeling the wetness on your outer lips before spreading them and collecting more of the juice on his fingers. You’re moaning and he’s moaning and you’re both lost in the exploration of your body.

He reaches a hand up slowly and sucks on his fingers, tasting you for the first time. You watch as his lips pucker around his fingers and he takes them out, holding them up to your lips right after for you to do the same thing. It’s strangely arousing, tasting yourself and his mouth at the same time, and it feels so intimate.

When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he presses his forehead against yours and kisses the tip of your nose so lightly. “So pretty,” he murmurs, and the moment is so soft and tender and it feels like time has frozen and then suddenly his fingers are back against you and moving in fast circles until you’re left unable to breathe.

“Oh my god,” you gasp when he slowly plunges his fingers into you, moving around and stretching you out. He’s slow and steady, curling his fingers and testing different methods until you grab onto his arm, nails digging into the skin, and moan loudly, mouth thrown open and back arched, and he knows he’s found the right spot.

His arms are flexing deliciously, muscles and veins popping out, as he continually hits that spot inside you with his fingers, watching eagerly as you become more and more unhinged and desperate beneath him.

You’re still holding back, and he can tell. “C’mon,” he mumbles against you. “It’s okay, I’m right here. Let go,” he encourages you, and it’s what you need, because you’re becoming undone and gasping and groaning and writhing and he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life than this.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead and you slump against the mattress, skin growing sticky with sweat.

“Cal,” you whisper, reaching for him until he brings his lips back to yours. You wrap your arms around him and feel his skin beneath the palms of your hands, craving his touch. His pants are still on, but you’re determined to change that as you reach to undo them, attempting to pull them off his hips, but he stands up and gets them off himself. Much faster that way.

He’s rock hard from the show you’ve put on and desperate to get inside you. He pushes away your hands and positions himself right above you, lining himself up.

“I wanna do it right this time,” he says seriously, looking you in the eyes and swallowing. “Wanna go slow. ‘S that okay?”

You close your eyes, so ridiculously turned on by the fact that he wants to go slowly and carefully with you, heart fluttering at the effect this boy has on you. You nod and moan as you feel him against you, coating himself in your juices before slowly pushing in. You feel every inch of him as he lets his hips move forward, both of your mouths hanging open as you take it in.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groans lowly, stopping once his entire length is inside you and breathing. You’ve never felt this full before. He pauses there for a moment to allow you to adjust to all the stretching before he starts to move, pulling his hips back before rolling them forward again.

He reaches for your hands and pins them above your head, fingers intertwined as he continues his movements, rocking in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

This is the opposite of the last time he had been inside you. Before it was frantic and drunk and sloppy, but this time it was calm, careful.

You feel so safe with him, engulfed in his body as he shows you how much he wants you in the best way he knows how. Your foreheads press together and your arms wrap around his back, pulling his chest up against yours as you both lose yourselves in each other, panting and crying out as you reach your highs.

He rolls off of you, pulling you to the side to curl up next to him, not wanting to break the contact between you even though you’re both covered in sweat. When you look at him, you agree that it does feel like all of the air is sucked out of the room, just like he said.

You know it’s too late to keep your heart out of it now. It’s already too late. You know that you’ll break your own heart if you try to stop what’s already started now, so you have no choice to give in.

“Don’t break me,” you whisper against him.

“Never,” he smiles softly, kissing the top of your head and closing his eyes, happy with you in his arms.

------------------------------

You smile at your phone as Calum’s face pops on the screen, your nightly FaceTime waiting.

It’s been hard with him on tour, especially with your relationship being so new, but it’s been okay so far. You miss him at night, having gotten used to him staying over each night for the few weeks before he left, and he misses waking up next to you in the morning instead of in a new hotel bed, cold and alone.

The FaceTimes were holding both of you over for now until he flew you out for one of the shows in the next few weeks.

“Hey,” Calum’s bright smile filled your screen, camera way too close to his face. “There’s my girl,” he smiles softly, proud to be able to call you that.

“Of course,” you respond, pushing the hair out of your face as you look into the camera and examine yourself. Your eyes look happier. You can tell. “What are you up to?”

He raises the camera and shows the room he’s sitting in, plopped on a couch by himself as the boys are messing around in the background. “Just got to the venue for tonight, we’re just setting some things up,” he says. You can see Luke and Michael play fighting behind Calum and laugh.

“Seems like you guys are having fun,” you chuckle as Michael falls to the ground overdramatically.

Calum nods as he looks over at his friend, but gets up off the couch and moves out of the room, walking to what looks like an empty concrete hallway. “Yeah, it’s fun,” he says, “but I miss ya. Wish you were here to make it more fun.”

“Just a couple more weeks,” you sigh.

“Thanks for putting up with me traveling and the phone calls at weird hours and the sporadic texts,” he mumbles, still feeling guilty.

“Hey,” you coo. “Don’t apologize. It’s worth it.”

You know in your heart that it is worth it, that he’s worth it and your relationship is worth it. You’ve fully accepted that he has your heart and all the power to break it, but you trust that he won’t.

And Calum knows as he looks at the sparkle in your eye and feels his heart pang in his chest that he won’t ever break your heart.

He knows that if he breaks your heart, his would break as well. So for now, you’d just have to trust each other and finally let yourselves fall in love.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

First off, love your writing, IT MAKES ME FEEL THINGS😭😭 but…

Can we please get more of yandre emo boy Ashton I JUST READ IT AND IM DROOLING SCREAMING CRYING GIGGLING AMD KICKING MY FEET😭🧎‍♀️🤪🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

THANK YOU❤️❤️🤭🤭🤭

(If not that’s okay, ignore this bae🫶)

Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo and his beloved popular bitch

Ayo, thank you for the compliment! I'm glad my writings made you feel things (I don't know what though LMAO)

Actually, I'm not planning to follow up Ashton, but hey, at least it would break my writer's block (lol it's just laziness) so here ya go!

Sorry that it took days though 😔

FOR THIS ONE, I RECOMMEND READING THE FIC FIRST BEFORE THE DRABBLE (this one).

Read the yandere emo fic here!

💌Little Ashton was misunderstood a lot as a child. He never really liked the same things the other children liked, and he had this morbid curiosity with death and occult.

💌Of course, this undoubtedly scared his family, making him out to be some sort of psychopath.

💌This irked Ashton of course. He's just... That. He still loves his parents, and nothing would change that.

💌But the fact that they're so conservative that it's actually bringing Ashton down is what drove him over the edge to find a school far, far away from his family.

💌A small, quaint town, yet filled with teenagers. It was kind of a nightmare when Ashton found out, but he gritted his teeth and thought that maybe, with the current years, maybe they won't judge him. Maybe.

💌So, he indulged more in his Emo lifestyle. He religiously listened to green day, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance...

💌He even got into writing poems as a way to put out his feelings that he never got to tell other people.

💌 He's actually very sensitive with emotions and feelings. So technically, he should be a great friend candidate, right?

💌But once he got into the school year, that's when he knew, that his life would be living hell. Stereotypes left and right. Mean cheerleaders and jocks that ostracized his choice of clothing, snobby rich students that turn their noses on him just because he's not that rich, geeks and nerds that keeps getting in his way, thinking he's one of them.

💌"Fuck. Get me out of here. Nobody understands me."

💌He didn't realize himself, but he's also slowly being a stereotype. Always alone, writing poems, and being unnecessarily nihilistic.

💌Until of course, one day, you transfered. You, your pink rover, and your slutty little outfit.

💌God, just looking at you and your charming personality made Ashton hard fall for you.

💌He wants you. So bad.

💌So he dabbled back into the occults. He found an old book in an abandoned "witch's hut" that he went on a mad hunt for weeks. Apparently, the witch that lived there was a matchmaker witch, who gave love potions to those really desperate.

💌At first, Ashton didn't believe it. Especially that it involves sampaguita, a flower not native to his town. How did the witch even get the flowers?

💌But there he was, mixing and creating the potion under the moonlight and putting your hair and his in the pot. Creating a love potion that smelled like the sampaguitas he had to smuggle in.

💌He wrote you letters everyday, obsessing and hyper fixating on your allure and beauty. Confessing over and over again on paper that looks old and aged with writing that looks like it came from a fountain pen. With a spritz of the love potion, he would put it in your locker.

💌God, who knew that it would work?

💌Day by day, he watched you read the letters. At first, you were disgusted (much to his dismay) but slowly, you started to read the letters with a neutral face, then a smile, then with a squeal and then a desperate plea for him to come and fuck you already.

💌Maybe putting his... Semen on your love potion got you desperate for him carnally, rather than romantically.

💌But no fretting, he would just make you fall for him.

💌And as you moan and scream out his name as he pounds into your tight hole like the feral, fuck machine he is,

💌He was pleading to the moon to see his bleeding heart and bare soul to make you his.

💌And if the moon won't allow it,

💌Well, it's nothing more love potions won't do.

💌"my beloved, why don't you drink this sweet tea I made? Why is it pink and smells floral? It's a new tea from Japan. Sakura, from what I know. It's glowing? Nonsense, love. It's probably just the lighting."

💌"Now drink up, don't let a drop go to waste."

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 17  (Calum Hood AU)

DESPITE THE STARTLING realization that I might in fact be in love with Calum, I didn’t act any differently.  I didn’t hover or cling to him like annoying, love-struck girls would.  In fact, I was almost more distant, using it as a safety precaution in case he caught on to my intensifying feelings.  One night I casually suggested we sleep apart, even though the thought pained me.  Calum’s reluctance was a comfort, but even still he ended up agreeing.  That was one of the longest nights of my life; I laid for hours just staring at the ceiling, wondering if Calum felt as empty as I did without a warm body laying next to mine.

Things at the house were also just better all around.  With Ashton and Hannah on good terms again, the group was tentatively back together.  I interrogated Hannah for answers on what had happened, if their relationship was slowly reforming.  She dodged most of my tougher questions, insisting that they’d put aside any bad blood for the sake of the group.  I didn’t entirely buy this; something definitely happened, but for whatever reason Hannah wasn’t ready to tell me.  I didn’t demand any more details, seeing as I was withholding plenty myself.  Hannah thought Calum and I were just fooling around, no strings attached.  While that was what was supposed to be going on, my feelings lately had confused things.  By no means was I going to tell a soul what I felt, but even keeping it inside still made the whole thing feel different.  I leaned deeper into Calum’s kisses, I held his gaze longer when he rocked inside of me.  My body was communicating all on its own, and I just hoped Calum didn’t catch on to these subtle changes.

After a particularly hot and passionate night together, I was frantic to go off to work.  Calum’s heady pants still echoed in my ears, the burn of his fingers still lingering on my skin.  As I sat on the edge of the bed lacing up my sneakers, I felt warm lips press into my neck, and goosebumps raised immediately where he kissed me.

“Back for more?” I joked, not looking over my shoulder.  I’d woken up before him to get ready, leaving him peacefully asleep, or so I thought.  He swiveled his body to sit next to mine on the bed, shoulder bumping my own.  Calum was clad only in black athletic shorts, his toned torso on teasing display.

His nose nestled into my neck, making my lashes flutter.  “I can be quick,” he whispered in a sultry tone, and I pushed him away with a snort.

“I think I’ll need more time to recover after what you did last night,” I reminded him, feeling the residual ache between my legs.  Calum left me the sore in the best way possible, and all day I would have a reminder of his body’s wicked tricks.

Calum smirked at me, flopping over onto the mattress with his hand over his abdomen.  He looked beautifully relaxed, jawline framed by the morning light, his eyes drowsy but content.  I’d never seen him so happy, and for a second I wondered if it was more than just the sex that made him feel this way.

“How long’s your shift?” he asked, eyes closing with a yawn.  I grabbed my bag off the floor and shouldered it with a sigh.

“Long,” I said simply, not looking forward to the strenuous hours ahead.  With community college tuition looming, I asked Mack for as many shifts as I could get, just in case I felt tight on money.  I’d rather have more than enough than barely enough, even if it meant working excruciating hours.  

Calum frowned.  “You’re working so much lately.”  There was an edge to his voice, like he disapproved.

I ran a hand through my hair in aggravation.  “What else am I supposed to do?  My life is getting back on track, and that means more bills to pay.”  I tried to stifle the resentment bubbling up inside me; Calum lounged around day in and day out, doing what he wanted when he wanted to.  Week after week he tore open the checks his mother sent, tossing them carelessly onto his desk.  Usually this didn’t come between us, but with my increased schedule I couldn’t help but feel bitter about his lazy routine.

Clearly a similar thought crossed his mind, and his frown deepened.  He didn’t say anything else, instead taking on a guarded expression.  He was so hard to read sometimes, and when I wanted him to open up he just shut down.  I had no idea how he felt about me going back to school; part of me thought he didn’t care, but another part wondered if he felt insecure that I was growing up and making a life for myself while he wasted time doing nothing important.  I wished he would tell me if he felt this way, but of course he never did.  We didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t surface level, which was fine when we were in our peaceful little bubble.

But I had to live in reality, which meant popping that bubble more frequently.  I couldn’t let Calum distract me from my more important goals, and he just had to learn to deal with my busy lifestyle.

As I was tying my hair into a messy ponytail, Calum suddenly asked, “When do you get off?”

“Seven,” I answered.  “It’s a ten-hour shift with only one lunch break.  I might drop dead from exhaustion.”  A second passed, and I chewed my lip as an idea popped into my head.  “Want to get dinner after I’m finished?”

For some reason this caused Calum to lean up, his posture stiff and his expression incredulous.  “What?”

My brows knit together, puzzled at his odd reaction.  “Dinner.  I’ll be starved after my shift, so I thought you could join me.”

His frown turned into a glare.  “Like a date?”  He sounded defensive and mocking, which didn’t help my already exacerbated mood.

“What, we can’t eat a meal together?  Is that against some hook-up rule or something?”  I couldn’t control the annoyance in my voice; why did Calum always have to complicate things?

“I don’t know, dinner just seems like a weird thing to do.”  I had no idea what he meant by ‘weird’, and his unreadable expression didn’t help me figure it out.

“Whatever, Calum,” I refuted.  “Forget I asked.”  I was already late for work and had to catch the bus, so I didn’t bother staying to bicker any longer.  Admittedly, it hurt that he was so against the idea of us spending time together outside of the bedroom.  I’d suggested dinner as more of a friendship thing than anything else; after all, there was a time when the two of us actually liked one another.

I didn’t realize Calum had followed me until I reached the front door, but his arm blocked me from opening it.  He’d thrown on a shirt and shoes, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

Fuming, I crossed my arms and demanded he move.  “I’m late for work, Calum.”

“No, you’re late for the bus,” he countered.  “So let me drive you, and that’ll solve the problem.”  For such a considerate offer, he didn’t sound too nice about it.  His scowl seemed permanently etched on as I followed him to his car.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, not even the sound of the radio to alleviate the tension.  Calum’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, and I leaned as far away from him as possible.

Sensing my irritation, he asked, “Are you gonna be pissed at me for the whole day?”  He sounded accusing, which only made me more infuriated.

“No, Calum.  I’m not gonna waste that much time on you.”  Realizing how harsh the words sounded, I backtracked.  “I just thought we could eat some stupid grilled cheese sandwiches together and maybe do something different for a change.  God forbid I want to spend time with you.”

More silence, so I thought the conversation was over.  But then I glanced over and saw an odd look on his face, almost resembling guilt.

“So it’s not a date?” he reiterated, and I let out an enormous sigh.

“I literally just want to eat food, and not do it alone,” I insisted, so beyond done with this conversation.  But Calum seemed satisfied with my answer, and eased up his tight grip on the wheel.

“Okay, so I’ll pick you up.”  He met my eyes as he pulled into a parking spot near the cafe, stopping the car and filling the air with quiet.  I tried desperately to see the thoughts swirling behind his level brown gaze, but it was a hopeless task.  At least he wasn’t hostile anymore.  I sighed again, hoping my annoyance was well communicated so he knew not to pull this shit again.

“I’ll see you later,” I told him before closing the car door.  I stalked towards the coffee shop, grabbing the strap of my bag for support as I refused to look back.

Roger knew something was up the minute I started working.  I moved angrily as I made the coffees, sighing every so often and grimacing rather than smiling at the customers.  It would be a long day.

“Who pissed in your morning coffee?” he joked after a particularly bad exchange with a customer.  The guy had demanded I remake his cappuccino because it “didn’t taste right”, and when my polite apology wasn’t ass-kissing enough for him he accused me of being a miserable, lazy youth.  I seriously contemplated throwing the hot coffee in his face, but reminded myself I was working these stupid shifts for a reason.  My future.

“Just having a bad day, I guess,” I replied vaguely, but this didn’t satisfy Roger.

“Trouble in paradise, eh?  What’s he done now?”

I couldn’t help but smile at how Roger always jumped to my defense, always blaming Calum when things went wrong.  “I told him I was working late and suggested we get dinner, then he flipped out because he thought I meant it as a date.”

This intrigued Roger, who raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.  “Interesting.  He could be using reverse psychology.  I’ll bet he actually does want to go on a date, but wants you to think that he doesn’t.”  Roger tapped the side of his head.  “Smart cookie.”

I laughed, beginning to wipe down the counters after the first morning rush.  “I’m a psychology major and I still can’t figure out what goes in his mind,” I joked.  “I just thought it would be nice to do something together.  Other than what we always do.”  At my insinuation, Roger giggled like a schoolboy.

“Ah, yes, the sex has reached the boring stage, has it?”

I shook my head firmly.  “No, not at all.  It’s still great, just...”  I exhaled sharply, frustrated with the whole situation.  “I really thought it was just gonna be dinner, but then he had to make it weird.  And he was being weird about me working so much, too.  I don’t know what his problem is lately.”

Roger nodded along to my rant, considering the dilemma.  “Well, that’s obvious at least.  He feels left behind.”

I waved the rag excitedly.  “That’s what I thought!  I mean, he doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, and I have every idea.  I thought maybe he was jealous or insecure, but he’d definitely rather die than tell me this.”

“He’s a guy like that.  We don’t like feeling inferior, and when we do we totally deal with it the wrong way,” Roger informed me.  “He doesn’t know how to process these complex emotions so he’s shutting them out.”

I smiled.  “You don’t need to tell me twice.  Classic defense mechanisms, disconnection from his feelings...”  I trailed off, suddenly feeling guilty.  I shouldn’t psychoanalyze Calum, not when I knew how much he hated that side of me.  But I couldn’t help it when he was being so difficult.

Resting my elbows on the counter, my smile faded into a worried frown.  “What do I do, Roger?  I thought we were in a good place, but lately it just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Roger suggested.  “Give it a little more time.  But if Calum doesn’t start making some changes, cut him loose.  You’ve got better things to deal with than his emotional immaturity.”  Despite the harsh criticism, I knew Roger was right.  Whatever I felt towards Calum didn’t matter if he was jeopardizing my future, and I couldn’t keep dealing with his detached feelings when it made me so exhausted.

For once I actually dreaded the end of my shift.  I had no idea what mood Calum would be in when he picked me up--or if he would even pick me up at all.  I wouldn’t put it past him to abandon me, especially if he wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.  

I ended up cleaning the whole dining area twice, and even resorted to re-mopping the floor which was practically sparkling already.  Roger played along with this for as long as he could, but even his patience was wearing thin.

“We got off half an hour ago, Scarlett,” he criticized, snatching the mop out of my hand.  “I’m going blind from all the sparkly-clean surfaces inside this cafe.”

I sighed, placing my hands on my hips.  “I know, you’re right.  I just...when I’m nervous I like to fix things and be productive, so cleaning--”

“Yeah, yeah, your fatal flaw is that you care too much and you clean all the time.  I swear, you act like you’re the worst person alive when those are barely flaws.”  Roger’s tone was light, but I couldn’t help but look deeper into his joke.  Did Calum think that I didn’t believe I had any flaws?  Caring too much is barely even a character flaw, but that’s what he threw in my face constantly.  Maybe he thought I put myself on a pedestal above him, and that’s why he felt so insecure.

I decided I would try to be less condescending and more open when it came to Calum’s feelings.  I only hoped he would actually appreciate this effort, and maybe start making some positive changes of his own.

The sun was bleeding into the sky as it set below the horizon, casting a pale orange glow about the earth.  I glanced around outside the cafe, searching for that signature red mustang that always made my heart skip a beat.

Sure enough, it was parked right across the street, and Calum was leaning casually against it.  He looked good; typical black jeans and sneakers with a big red flannel over a band shirt.  My face broke into a surprise smile; I remembered wearing that shirt just a few nights ago.

When I approached, Calum’s brows raised disbelievingly.  “What’s with the face?” he questioned, referring to my dumb grin. 

I shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t exactly sure if you’d show up.”  It was an honest answer, and I didn’t think lying or placating Calum would help either of us.

His lips twisted into a sardonic smirk.  “Of course I showed up; I would never miss our date.”  He said this with obvious bitter sarcasm, but the crinkles around his eyes softened the delivery.  I rolled my eyes, amused by his stubborn refusal to get over the whole “date” thing.

“I’m starved, where should we go?”  I’d eat just about anything right now, but a grilled cheese sounded particularly mouth-watering.

“Luke says there’s a new diner open by the music shop.  Says it’s more upscale than the truck-stop places we always go to.”

I nodded, pleased with the idea of trying out a new place with Calum.  This felt like something regular friends did, and although Calum and I were definitely out of the ordinary, I enjoyed it nonetheless.

The diner was fairly packed when we got there, but we managed to snag one of the last open booths.  There was no question about what we’d order; as soon as the waitress showed up, we asked for two grilled cheeses.

I sipped my coke and gazed out the window at the bustling city streets.  My muscles relaxed into the cushioned booth as the day’s stress lifted from my shoulders.  Work was taxing, as always, but worth it in the end.  

Neither of us minded the quiet, since we were so used to each other’s presence.  A few times I felt Calum’s knee brush mine under the table, and my lips twitched at this subtle motion.

“Why’d you get out so late?  Mack ask you to stay longer?”  Calum twirled his unopened plastic straw between his fingers, and for a second the movement mesmerized me as I thought about his skilled fingers.

“No, I just wanted to clean the place up.  I didn’t have to stay.”

Calum scoffed lightly, and I worried I said something wrong.  “Always so selfless,” he muttered, but I couldn’t detect if he was joking or not.  “Do you ever do anything wrong?”

The question was rhetorical, but I took the opportunity to open up a little and show Calum that I could be vulnerable.  “Yeah, all the time.  What do you think me lying to everyone was about?”

He frowned, unsatisfied by the answer.  “You lied out of loyalty to a friend, that’s hardly wrong.”

“Okay, then I leech off all of you by living rent-free.  I’m cheap, I’m a cheap-skate.”  I was grasping at straws, anything to show that I didn’t think I was some perfect angel.  And I didn’t.  I knew I was flawed and I hated that Calum thought I wasn’t; that would just set him up to be disappointed when he realized I wasn’t as amazing as he thought.

Calum just rolled his eyes at this attempt.  “You whine about feeling bad every day, that’s hardly being a leech.”

Sitting back with a defeated sigh, I demanded, “Well, what do you want me to say?  I’m showing you everything I do wrong and you’re denying all of it.”

“Because you don’t do anything wrong.  You’re so kind it makes my teeth hurt, and there’s never a doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re genuine.  You’re perfect, Scarlett.”  He said this matter-of-fact, like I was a little kid he was explaining something very simple to.

I ignored the way his final sentence made me feel.  You’re perfect, Scarlett.  Did he really see me that way?  Was I perfect to him?  Or perfect for him?  I hoped it was the latter, and bit my lip to hide my inner turmoil.  Calum danced along a very thin line all the time: the line between what we were now, and what I secretly wanted us to be.  What kind of friend-with-benefits says you’re perfect?  I tried to convince myself he didn’t mean it, that it was supposed to be mocking, but the sincerity in his eyes was telling me otherwise.

Thankfully, the waitress interrupted us with food and gave us both an excuse to change the subject.  As soon as she left, Calum and I collectively cringed; the sandwiches were cut down the middle.

Calum exhaled gravely, shaking his head.  “Gonna have to tell Luke this place isn’t so great after all.  I mean, they really fucked up here.”

I laughed, pretending to push my plate away.  “Get that waitress back here, we’ll set her straight.”  As we both joked over the grilled cheese, any intensity or confusion from before was banished.  The meal was quickly over, and I won the argument for which of us would pay for the food.  While we got up to leave, Calum grumbled about having to take me out again so that he could pay and make us even.

When he said this, I had to hide my blushing smile.

The night wasn’t too cold, and we decided to walk for a little bit before driving home.  Our hands swayed close to one another’s, and I willed Calum to twine his fingers with my own.  But the backs of our palms grazed a few times, and he made no move to change this.

As we passed by a familiar building, I pointed it out to Calum.  “That’s one of the places Hannah and I looked at.  The apartment is actually pretty nice, but there’s god-awful green bathroom tile that makes me nauseous just looking at it.”

Calum smiled vaguely, his expression distant.  “You can’t live there, the location is awful.”

I knitted my brows together.  “It’s right by the coffee shop.”

He shook his head.  “Yeah, but way too far from the house.  We’re never gonna see you guys if you live there.”

I chuckled, looking down at the pavement as we walked.  “I think you just don’t want me to move out,” I concluded.

Calum’s smile tightened.  “Yeah, who else would constantly wear the shirts that are supposed to be mine?”

My shoulder nudged him jokingly as I teased, “Admit it, you love seeing me in your tee shirts.”

He paused in walking, and my grin faded.  Had I been too serious?  Was using the word love a mistake?  Panic welled up in my chest, and I feared I ruined an otherwise perfect evening.

And then all of a sudden his phone began to ring, and I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.  Saved by the bell, I thought, wondering what would have happened if we weren’t interrupted.

Calum fished through his pocket for his phone, pulling it out and glancing at the screen.  His expression immediately darkened, and my stomach sank upon seeing this.

“Who is it?”  It was a stupid question, because I knew he wouldn’t answer.  Calum squared his shoulders and started walking, leaving me to hurriedly catch up to him.

“No one,” he snapped when I reached him, anticipating my badgering questions.  “Drop it, okay?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then remembered the promise I’d made to myself earlier.  Don’t be condescending.  So I kept my mouth shut, and instead focused on keeping up with Calum’s long strides.

He glanced at me a few times, surprised I wasn’t trying to get answers out of him.  Once I met his eyes, and saw the deep thought hiding behind his brown orbs.  I wished he’d let me in on what he was thinking, but I settled with not knowing.  

A minute passed, and then his phone chimed, indicating the caller had left a voicemail.  We both tensed, but I didn’t expect him to listen to it.

So I was surprised when he whipped his phone out and brought it to his ear, stopping again to listen to the message.  I stood a few feet from him, keeping enough distance that I couldn’t eavesdrop on the call, even though I was dying to know who it was.

I watched Calum’s face as he listened, taking in the subtle narrowing of his eyes, the lowering of his brow in shock.  His lips parted, and all I wanted to do was kiss away the storm brewing behind his eyes.

The voicemail ended, and Calum shoved his phone back in his pocket.  But this time when he tried to continue walking, I stopped him, stepping in front of his chest and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Calum,” I started gently, lifting my eyes to his.  He avoided my quizzical stare, breathing hard.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?  You can tell me.”

He pushed a hand roughly through his hair, glaring everywhere but at me.  “It’s nothing, Scarlett.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” I defended.  “But maybe you should since whoever it is makes you feel this angry.”

Finally he turned his angry eyes on me, and I inhaled sharply at the fury I saw there.  “Fine, it was my mother who called.  Satisfied?”  He pushed me aside in order to storm off, and I was too stunned to move for a moment.

But then I jogged to catch up, breathless and confused.  “Your mother?  What did she want?  I thought she only reaches out through the checks.”

Calum looked ready to boil over.  “She does, but apparently she felt the need to call me.”  He appeared to be fighting over his next words, before finally stating, “She wants me to come home for a visit.”

I took a minute to let this information sink in.  Instinctively I was thrilled; his mother reaching out was a promising sign that their fractured relationship could be healed.  But then I considered the ramifications of her request.  She wouldn’t just ask out of the blue if something else wasn’t going on.  And she had to know that Calum wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy when it came to family stuff, so why not go about it delicately, not so sudden and shocking?

I tried in vain to read Calum’s expression, finding nothing but frustration and anger.  It pained me to see him so tense, but I didn’t just want to coddle him, I wanted to help him.

“Why not go?” I proposed softly, trying not to set him off.  “It might be good to see her.”

Calum snickered at this, and I winced.  “You’re shitting me, right?”  He sounded harsh and mocking, and I struggled to hold my ground.

“I know you’re confused and hurting,” I said firmly.  “But you don’t have to take it out on me.  I just want to help you.”

“Of course you do, because I’m your favorite little charity case,” he retaliated.  “Give it a rest, Scarlett.  I don’t need you smothering me.”

Fuming, I folded my arms and didn’t shy away from his steely gaze.  “No, Calum.  You can be an asshole and you can bitch about whatever you want, but don’t you dare take it out on me.  I’m just suggesting you patch up your relationship with your mother, or at least give it a try--”

“What makes you think you know what’s best for me?” he snarled.  “You don’t know me, you have no right to tell me what to do.  We’re not even friends, so why do you care?”

I huffed in disbelief, pressing a hand to my forehead.  “Why do I care?  Maybe because I’m not an emotionless husk who has no idea how to express his feelings!  We’re sleeping together for God’s sake--”

“And that makes us what, a couple?  You think you’re my girlfriend?  We’re not even friends, Scarlett.”  

Each word cut me like a knife, voicing the exact anxieties that had been eating away at me for weeks.  “I know we’re not, which is why I wanted to go to dinner and spend some freaking time together!”  I was embarrassed at how high my voice had gotten, how pathetic I sounded when I was trying to defend myself.

Calum chuckled darkly.  “I don’t want to be friends with you.  You always do this, you always force your way into other people’s problems because you think it involves you when it doesn’t.”  His hard eyes met mine.  “You’re nothing more than a good lay, and I can get that anywhere.”

I tried to remember how to breathe as I watched his figure get smaller and smaller, walking farther and farther away from me.  Each step he took was a stab to my heart, until he was out of view and I was left bleeding alone in the street.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Lover of Mine - A. Irwin

Written for the lovely @twinkyjohnson and @killerqueenishere.

Sorry if it isn’t very good! It took a long time to write, and I lost inspiration half way through, got it back, and lost it again for the ending *sigh*. Hope you both like it!

Original Story by Sarcastically-defensive17

They had only been together for a few months - Ten months, twelve days, 4 hours and 9 minutes to be exact - but everyday Y/N would wake expecting a message of goodbye from her lover, or an empty bed.

She couldn't help the thoughts. She was just built that way.

The conversations in her head would get old quickly. I wonder if he still wants me. He's a rockstar, he could have anybody. Why isn't he sick of me yet?

Lover of mine, maybe we'll take some time.

He was distanced, more than she was. She refused to ask any questions for fear of rejection, so she let her admiration of him cloud her peripheral.

She had tunnel vision for him, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

Ashton adored the woman who often shared his bed. Many nights spent laughing until their sides would ache, or talking about things he would usually keep secret.

He knew where his heart belonged, he was just scared of giving it to her completely.

Both of them had been burnt too many times in the past but, while Ashton hides his heart beneath a suit of armor, Y/N wears hers on her sleeve. She is blinded by her infatuation with the man she is happy to call hers.

Kaleidoscope mind gets in the way.

They're both so terrified of losing the other.

I hope and I pray, darling, that you will stay. Butterflies lies, chase them away.

Y/N knew that she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't help the jealousy she felt when Ashton was so open with others, and so closed with her. She couldn't help the countless nights spent staring at her form in the mirror questioning if she was good enough for her celebrity boyfriend.

She didn't know, but every she was in Ashton's arms, dancing around his lounge room, laughing at a joke, cuddling while watching a movie, sitting with him as he teaches her the drums; he was yearning to give her more.

More that she deserved. He just didn't want to lose her because of his busy lifestyle.

Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you

But then every time he would look into her eyes, his worries would melt away and he would want to give her everything.

He was just scared to see her leave.

Y/N had seen the positives and negatives of the limelight in her time with Ashton, and before that. She had been friends with Calum long before she was introduced to the drummer who caught her eye.

She knew a minority of the fans could be harsh, but she also knew that most of them simply wanted the guys to be happy.

She just couldn't help but think Ashton wasn't happy with her.

I've seen the red, I've seen the blue. Take all of me deep to where your secrets hide, where we've been a thousand times.

She felt as if there was so much she didn't know about her lover. But there was also so little he was comfortable telling her.

She didn't know much about his family, or his life before the band. Or his past relationships, or the causes for his trust issues. He figured if he told her, he would lose her.

Y/N was an open book with Ash. She gave her all to him, and she only wanted the same in return. But he was terrified.

I'll never give you away, 'cause I already made that mistake.

It took another two months before he started to open up. He told her about his childhood, his struggles with his father and his issues with depression.

It broke her heart to hear of her happy boyfriend once being so hurt.

He was terrified that the information would make her walk out, but instead she kissed him.

"I am always going to be here for you, Ash." she whispered to him.

They drifted off in his bed that night, but she whispered the three words he had been longing to hear when she thought he was asleep.

When I take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right.

In that moment, he decided he would give his all to the woman. He wanted to be the man she deserved.

She knew she shouldn't have said it, for fear of him hearing, but she couldn't keep it hidden anymore. Hell, she wanted to tell him every day how much adoration she held for him, but she didn't know if he was ready to hear it.

Would he say it back? Would he be uncomfortable? Did he even feel the same way?

I'll never give you away, 'cause I've already made, already made that mistake.

He found Y/N a few weeks later standing in the bathroom. He watched as straightened up after brushing her teeth. She moved clumsily. It was a running joke between the two of them, that while Ash had the grace of a swan, she was like a baby deer taking its first steps.

He loved it about her.

She had left the en suite door open, and he took a seat on the bed while he waited. She hadn't noticed him, but he watched as she observed her skin; checking for any blemishes.

He adored every movement she made. She was his favourite movie, and he could watch her do the most unexceptional tasks with complete interest.

Which is also how he noticed the way she lifted her shirt and twisted her body to gaze at her stomach. The way she pulled the skin on her neck to tighten it. The way she pinched at the flesh of her thighs. Especially, how tears began to fall from her eyes.

It was only when he stood to walk towards her that she noticed his reflection in the mirror. Her tearful eyes widen and the door closed behind her.

All he could hear was the sound of the shower afterwards.

Lover of mine, I know you're colourblind. I watched the world fall from your eyes.

His mind instantly went to the memories of time he spent doing the same. When they made it big, he grew very insecure about his body. Fans were always commenting on his looks, so he felt as if any change would make them unhappy. He worked hard to stay in shape because of the pressure the media would put on him.

Hell, he got caught in one photo with a less than impressed expression on his face because it had been a bad day, and the paps ate him alive for months.

He dealt with it, and now he's more comfortable in his own skin, but he couldn't stand the thought of his girl dealing with it.

He wanted her to know how beautiful he found her. How he adored every inch of her.

How much he loved her.

All my regrets and things you can't forget, light them all up and kiss them goodbye.

He waited for her in the lounge room, and put her favourite vinyl on the record player, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons' best hits; because she could never decide which record was her favourite, he bought her the best hits. She has played it to death.

As soon as she walked in, hair still dripping water, he pulled her into his arms and spun her around the room. He beamed when a giggle fell from her lips and laughed when she stumbled on his feet.

They were both horrible dancers, but that's what they both enjoyed about it. They could be themselves.

He was determined to make her as happy as he could.

He made the decision later that night to breach the topic he was scared of.

"Baby, are you okay?" he was stroking her arm as she curled into his side. The sound of Frankie Valli echoed in the background, as they restarted the record multiple times.

"I'm fine," she smiled, but it didn't reach anywhere near her eyes. Her voice was quiet, and it made his stomach clench in guilt.

He somehow felt as if it was his fault.

Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you.

"Y/N," he tilted her chin up to face him and he locked eyed with her, "I saw you in the bathroom earlier. You can tell me if you're not okay."

A sigh left her lips, and he watched as she shook her head from his grasp. Her hands had a slight tremble.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he brought her face back in line with his. He felt guilt wrack his body, he didn't mean to upset her. "You don't have to talk about it, I just want you to know that I'm here for you."

"It's okay Ash," her voice was shaky. She had no plans of letting him in on this,  but she had no choice because she stupidly left the door open. "I just... I want to be enough for you, but I don't think I am."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, and his heart sunk as the world tumbled from her lips.

He sat up properly, turning to face the woman completely. Her eyes didn't meet his, despite his soft grip on her chin.

"Baby, why would you think that?"

He could see the tears begin to well up in her down-turned eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her into his arms, but she closed her own around her knees.

"You could do so much better than me, Ash. Sometimes, I don't know, I just wonder if you don't feel for me as much as I feel for you, and then I realize that you could have any girl you want. I guess, I'm kinda just stuck in my head," the tears escaped her eyes and slid down her cheeks, only to be brushed away by Ashton's large hand. "Too many maybe's going through my head."

"Y/N, you have no  idea how much I really care about you, do you?" He asks, incredulously.

She simply shook her head no. If she were to think of it too much, she would be reminded of the many times he refused to open up to her and her heart would ache at the memories.

"Baby, I adore every bit of you. Every flaw, every perfection, every single part of you is magical to me."

She finds it hard to believe him. She was fed compliments over and over again in her last relationship, and her ex still managed to break her heart. Cheating on her multiple times and betraying her trust time and time again.

She trusted that Ashton wouldn't cheat on her, but she couldn't trust that she cold be good enough.

Take all of me, deep to where your secrets hide, where we've been a thousand times.

"But you could have so much better than me, Ash. You could have anybody-"

"And I've chosen you, Y/N." He puts one hand on her cheek, pulling her face towards him, but still far enough away that he can look into his eyes as he says the words he had been dying to let out, "I love you so much, Y/N. And I don't think anybody else on this planet could make me feel the way you do."

I'll never give you away, 'cause I already made that mistake.

"You - you do?" Her mouth gaped. She knew how she felt about Ashton. She loved him more than she should, but she was sure he didn't share the intensity of the feelings.

"Baby, when I look back at all of my choices," he takes in a shaky breath, a smile working its' way onto his lips, "the smartest thing I have ever done, is ask you on a date over a year ago."

A few more tears escape from her eyes, and she tangles her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her in a crushing hug. It was amazing, how his words managed to halt her insecurities.

They both knew it wouldn't be a permanent fix, but for now, it was exactly what she needed. Reassurance that he wanted her in his life.

He'd be damned if he let her think for a minute longer that he didn't.

When I take a look at my life and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right.

"I love you, Ashton."

"I love you too, baby."

I'll never give you away.

[ukulelecal]

The Big Easy (Photographer!Ashton)

In which Ashton and Ellie explore New Orleans.

Pairing: Photographer!Ashton x OC

Warnings: language

A/N: sooo today in my snapchat memories a one year ago today thing came up and apparently, one year ago today, i was in new orleans for spring break! and i was like, damn, i miss it, and then this idea came into my head lol. since i’m struggling with writing the whole photographer!ash backstory, i figured i would just do this so you guys can meet the oc i made, ellie, and get a little taste while i figure out everything else lol (so yes there will be more photographer!ash and ellie, if you guys want!!! so lmk lol). this is my first fic with an oc so i hope you guys enjoy this 3.1k words of fluff!! love you pumpkins x 

-

“Ready to go, pretty girl?”

Ellie finished tucking her top into her skirt before turning around to face Ashton, an easy smile on her face. She always seemed to be smiling around him, always peaceful and calm. He was her rock in her crazy lifestyle as a touring musician. He kept her grounded and was always there to support her. 

“I’m ready.”

He reached for her hand with a dimpled smile, and the two headed out the door of the hotel room, making their way to the elevators.

“First stop is Cafe du Monde for breakfast, I hope?” Ellie inquired as the elevator descended, peering up at him with a cheeky grin. Ashton chuckled and nodded in response, adjusting his camera that was slung around his neck, like always.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Ever the foodie, Ellie fell in love with beignets the first time she visited New Orleans on tour, and she always made sure there was time in the schedule to go to Cafe du Monde every time. 

It didn’t take much for Ashton to figure out how much Ellie loved the city. When they stopped there during the first tour with him as her photographer, she gushed endlessly to him about how excited she was, telling him stories of the shows she had played there in the past and all the fun things she did if she had downtime. When he was with her, there wasn’t much downtime at all, so he decided it was time for them to take a vacation to one of her favorite places. She didn’t have to worry about playing shows or doing promo; it was just Ellie and Ashton. 

The couple exited into the street from the lobby, and frankly, there was nothing spectacular about the French Quarter of New Orleans in the morning. It smelled and there was garbage that covered the ground from the copious amount of partying that happened every single night. The mess always got cleaned up and the smell faded away decently fast, but it wasn’t pleasant at the start. Ellie scrunched up her nose as they carefully stepped over everything on the ground, willing herself not to breathe too deeply.

“I hope I’m not this gross when I’m drunk,” Ashton grumbled with a disgusted look that matched Ellie’s. She giggled, gently nudging his shoulder with hers.

“I promise you aren’t,” she assured sweetly. “You’re a very affectionate drunk, actually.”

“And you’re very giggly and loud,” he teased, with loving intention, of course. Ellie rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him once again.

Soon enough, Ellie and Ashton approached the infamous Cafe du Monde, the smell fading away the further they got from the heart of the big party area. It was crowded, like it usually was, but both of them were quickly on the lookout for a table. They were lucky to spot another couple just getting up to leave, and they quickly made their way over to snag the table.

“That was pretty good, huh?” Ashton wondered aloud with a grin, taking the seat across from Ellie. 

“We definitely got lucky.”

A waitress was quick to come over and clear off the table, and Ellie’s mouth practically watered at the sight of the beignets that other customers were already enjoying.

“Alright, are you two ready to order?” The girl asked, glancing at them expectantly.

“Want to split an order?” He mumbled to Ellie, who nodded in response before he turned back to the waitress. “We’ll do one order of beignets, please, and I’ll take a large iced cafe au lait.” 

“I’ll take one, too,” Ellie piped in. The waitress bit back a smile, clearly recognizing the singer but not saying anything. 

Ashton pulled out some cash to hand to the waitress before Ellie even had the chance, and the girl quickly scurried off to put the order in. 

“We didn’t get to come here when we were here on tour,” Ellie commented, hands resting on the table as she picked at her nail polish, a habit of hers. Ashton immediately reached to grab one of her hands. He always did when she started to pick.

“Yeah, and Luke had to come here to get beignets to go for you,” he chuckled, and Ellie shrugged innocently. What would a trip to New Orleans be without beignets? Thankfully, the sound tech had been more than willing to run out and grab them for her. Needless to say, Ellie was a very happy camper when she went on stage that evening with a tummy full of sugary goodness. 

It didn’t take long for the food to come out, and the grin on Ellie’s face had Ashton practically melting. He lived to see her smile, and it always made him smile too. 

He was sure he could never love someone as much as he loved Ellie Sullivan.

“Hang on, pretty girl,” he mumbled when she quickly reached for one of the three beignets on the little plate that the waitress had placed on the table. He gestured to the camera slung around his neck, and Ellie knew exactly what he wanted to do. Being a photographer, it was natural for him to want to take pictures of everything. He found so much beauty in the world and felt it deserved to be captured. Once he met Ellie when he was hired to be the photographer for her world tour, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, she became his muse. He took countless pictures of her, not just on stage, but in every setting. Sometimes she posed for him, some were candids, and he loved every single one of them. Some made it to the Internet for the world to see, while others were kept between the two of them, intimate and special. 

“Let me see that, ‘I finally got my beignets’ smile,” he continued, focusing the shot as she let her natural smile get even wider, tilting her head to the side, and Ashton couldn’t help but grin lovingly from behind the camera. He quietly hyped her up and gave her encouragement as he always did when he photographed, as well as suggesting poses when she seemed lost.

He took many pictures of his favorite girl, some featuring her holding up the beignets or pretending to take a big bite from them, before he finally put the camera down and they dug into the food. 

“Fuck, they’re so good,” Ellie moaned, cherishing the flavor. They didn’t have classic beignets like this in LA, so she always thoroughly enjoyed them whenever she was in New Orleans. 

“I think we’re going to have to come back here for dessert after dinner tonight, yeah?” Ashton suggested, and Ellie nodded excitedly. She was always down for some beignets, no matter what the time of day was. 

After they finished, the two left the restaurant with their iced coffees in hand, ready to explore the city further. They walked hand in hand over to Jackson Square, where many people sat out on the grass to relax in the sun. It was a beautiful day, and Ellie gladly breathed in the freshness of the air. 

“It’s so pretty here,” Ashton mumbled, and Ellie turned her head to find that he already had his camera out, snapping pictures of the gorgeous scenery. She couldn’t help but fish out her phone and take a few photos of him, in his element. He was always the one behind the camera, but she saw him the same way he saw her; beautiful, deserving to be captured. Her pictures weren’t quite as good and skillful as his, but with him in the foreground, she thought it was nearly impossible for it to really be a bad picture. 

“Can you stand by the fountain for me, baby?”

Ashton’s voice snapped her out of her trance as she looked at the pictures she took, and she didn’t bother arguing as she put her phone back in her purse and moved to the spot. Whenever she tried to argue about him taking her picture, he would always give her puppy dog eyes and a pout that she could never deny, so she always posed for him and let him do his thing. 

He took a few pictures from different angles, loving the view of the St. Louis Cathedral in the background. He stood up from where he had kneeled on the ground when he was satisfied, making his way over to Ellie with a smile.

“My pretty girl,” he mumbled softly, cupping her face in his hands. Ellie closed the already minimal distance between them without hesitation, hands finding his broad shoulders. His camera poked her chest from where it hung from his neck, but the feeling was familiar and she hardly even noticed anymore. 

“Love you, handsome,” she murmured as they pulled back, back to grinning.

“Love you, too.”

Ellie and Ashton let their hands fall before they interlaced again, walking around the square a bit more. Ashton couldn’t resist snapping a few more pictures of Ellie with the greenery before they moved on. They weren’t in a rush to see everything right away, as they had a few days until they had to head back home. 

The couple slowly meandered through the streets of the French Quarter, throwing out their empty iced coffee cups along the way. There was always something to see there, something to be looking at, and they loved the constant engagement. 

They eventually passed a shop that sold masquerade masks, and Ashton cocked his head towards the door.

“Want to look in there?”

“Sure,” Ellie agreed simply, and Ashton held the door for her and let her step inside.

The walls were lined with all sorts of masks. The colors and designs varied greatly, as well as different levels of extravagance. There was so much to look at, it was nearly impossible to focus on just one thing. 

“It looks like Mardi Gras threw up in here,” Ellie giggled, slowly starting to browse the masks with Ashton by her side.

“I think that’s the point, baby.”

One particular mask caught Ellie’s eye. She held it up to Ashton with a grin.

“This one reminds me of you.”

It was an ivory white color with gold feathers and details, a big golden sun right at the top. Ashton reminded her of sunshine, and the  mask just seemed so fitting. He smiled sheepishly, taking the mask from her hands and trying it on.

“How do I look?” He asked dramatically, striking a pose. Ellie giggled, reaching up to adjust the mask slightly so it was straight on his face.

“You look amazing, babe,” she answered mid laugh. The bright colors were a contrast against his dyed black hair, and she thought it looked nice on him. “It suits you.”

Ashton glanced at the wall for a moment before picking out a bright blue one, covered in sparkles.

“I think this one suits you, pretty girl. Matches your nail polish.”

She placed the mask on her face and copied him, striking a pose. He laughed, quickly reaching for his camera. He took lovely photos of her pulling silly faces, both of them giggling throughout one of the many mini photo shoots they had. 

“Now I want one of both of us,” she announced with a pout, reaching for her phone again, but Ashton stopped her short.

“I can take it on here, and I’ll send it to you once I get them on my computer.”

Ellie agreed and positioned herself next to him. He held up the camera backwards, and Ellie could never figure out how he could manage to get both of them perfectly in the shot without seeing the screen, but he was the professional, not her. Both smiled big for the camera, and he took the photo.

The two eventually left the mask shop after deciding to forgo buying the masks they tried on, and continued to wander the streets of the French Quarter. They ducked into multiple other shops to see what they had. There were souvenirs, art, voodoo, anything one could possibly think of. Ashton was itching to take some mysterious photos in Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo, but there was a strict “no photos” rule, much to his disappointment. 

Thankfully, New Orleans was a very photogenic city. There were plenty of other places for him to indulge in his art, and he had an absolute field day. The architecture that was purely New Orleans amazed him, and he took numerous pictures of Ellie standing in front of the unique buildings. A few fans recognized Ellie and came up to say hi, and Ashton gladly took pictures for them. 

The sun had begun to set, and the couple started to get hungry for dinner. It didn’t long for them to decide on The Gumbo Shop, and they started to make their way there. 

“Stop right here, pretty girl.”

She gave him a pointed look, trying to bite back the smile forming on her face, but she was sure she was failing at that.

“How do you still have any space left on your camera to take more pictures? Seriously, you’ve taken, like, a million just today,” she commented, and he chuckled and shook his head.

“I have room for more, trust me. Just stand right here for me, yeah? Perfect.”

There was a fence behind you with vines and greenery growing in and around it from behind, pink flowers growing on them. It was a pleasing sight, and the pale pink of Ellie’s skirt matched the flowers wonderfully. Plus, it was golden hour, and he adored the way she shone in the setting sunlight. Ashton kneeled on the ground, camera at the ready.

“Smile, pretty girl.”

She tucked her hands behind her back and angled her body slightly, softly and sweetly smiling at the camera. He adjusted the angles and the focus to get the shots he wanted, and Ellie switched up her poses. She was so used to modeling for him, she could usually figure out what he wanted her to do before he said it.

He eventually stood upright and let the camera hang again, opening his arms for her to come to him.

“So fucking gorgeous, sweetheart,” he mumbled, wrapping her in a hug and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She melted into his embrace, resting her cheek against the bare skin that his slightly open shirt exposed. Ashton never failed to make her feel special, make her feel beautiful, and he treated her like a person, not a celebrity. It was one of the many things she loved and appreciated about him; he loved her for her. 

“Can I take one of you, handsome? Please?” She asked, glancing up at him with wide eyes. Ashton was very protective of his precious camera, but Ellie was one of the few people he trusted enough to take a few photos with it. He grinned and nodded, planting one more kiss to her forehead.

“Sure, baby.”

He removed the camera strap from around his neck and placed it on hers, making sure she had it before letting go.

“Remember which button it is?” He questioned, and she nodded. There were far too many buttons and knobs on the device in Ellie’s opinion, and Ashton knew what each of them were for, but she could make do with just the one that took the pictures.

They switched spots and Ashton stood in front of the fence. He wasn’t used to being in front of the camera, and he was a little awkward when it came to posing, but Ellie didn’t care. She loved it when he let her take pictures of him; it was kind of fun to be in his shoes for a moment, get a taste of what he did everyday. 

“You look so good, babe!” She cheered after she took a few, smiling widely at him. He only chuckled and shook his head as he made his way back over to her, taking the camera back.

“Thank you, but I much prefer taking pictures of you, pretty girl,” he mumbled, reaching for her hand yet again.

After a delicious gumbo dinner and a stop back at Cafe du Monde for dessert, they decided to call it a night and head back to the hotel. They would hit the bars another night.

While Ellie popped into the shower, Ashton got comfortable on the bed with his back against the headboard and his laptop sitting in his lap, camera next to him. He knew Ellie would want to see the pictures as soon as possible, so he loaded the pictures onto the computer right away.

They had just finished loading when Ellie came out of the bathroom, wearing one of Ashton’s shirts and a pair of panties. She was just finishing putting her wet hair into a braid as she made her way to the bed, crawling in next to him.

“Did you get the pictures up?” She asked, glancing at the screen. He nodded.

“Yep, they just finished.”

Ellie excitedly cuddled into his side and rested her head on his chest, ready to see all the photos taken that day. Ashton slowly scrolled through them, both of them examining them. Some didn’t come out great, as to be expected, but others were beautiful, and they would look even better once Ashton got around to editing them. 

“You’re so talented, babe,” Ellie sighed contentedly once they reached the end. 

“The pictures wouldn’t look nearly as good if you weren’t in them, pretty girl,” he mumbled sweetly, shutting his laptop and moving it to the bedside table. “Doesn’t matter how good the pictures are if I’m not taking a picture of something worth photographing.” He pressed a swift kiss to her forehead before standing up to get himself ready for bed. 

“You flatter me,” she teased, crawling under the blankets to wait for him.

“It’s the truth!” He called from the bathroom, and Ellie sighed happily again.

A few minutes later, Ashton emerged in just his boxers, crawling back into bed, and Ellie was quick to snuggle into him again. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he reached to turn off the lamp, cascading the room in darkness. 

“Had so much fun today, Ash,” Ellie whispered, pressing a kiss to his bare collarbone. “Thank you for taking me.”

“Of course.” He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, but kept a firm hold on Ellie. “I had fun, too.”

“Goodnight, handsome.”

“Goodnight, pretty girl.”

Ellie and Ashton fell into slumber, ready for another day full of good food, fun sights, and many, many more pictures. 

[calpalirwin]

Drunk In Love

Summary: Part of the “I wish you would write a fic where” requests in which Ash asks why the reader is cautious hanging out with his friends. And it's cause of how much the reader has to explain they don't drink but people never respect their answer. So Ash tries going sober for x amount of time in solidarity and realizes just how much alcohol was prevalent in his life. And the reader is worried they're accidentally manipulating him but Ash can't thank them enough for not drinking and for the social experiment they inspired.

A/N: Always be respectful of people’s choices regarding drinking (and most other life choices as well). Also sorry this sucked lol. The easing myself back into writing for fun is proving to be difficult.

Content: Pressures of drinking

Word Count: 1.4k

And away, and away we go!

__

“Hey, love, you ready to go?” I asked, bounding down the stairs. I paused in my tracks, frowning as I looked over at her, still lounging comfortably on the couch.

“I was just going to stay in. But have fun, and send everyone my love!” She flashed me a bright smile before turning her attention back to her show.

I sighed as I walked over to her and hopped over the back of the couch to land next to her. “Well if you’re not going, neither am I,” I decided.

“Ash…” she told me, hitting pause on the remote. “You should go if you want to. See Mike’s new place. Hang out with everybody.”

“I want to go with you,” I told her honestly.

“And I want to stay in.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you never want to go out with me? Are you afraid of the press?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Your life doesn’t scare me, Ashton.

“Then what is it?” I pressed, raking my hands through my hair to stem my growing irritation. In our three months of dating she had never once gone out with me. It was starting to make me wonder why she even bothered to come over at all if she was just going to sit on my couch while I went out with friends. “Is it the guys? Did they say something wrong? Do you not like them? Do you not like me?”

“What? No! Ash, of course I like you! And your friends are great!”

“Then how come you never want to come out with us?” I asked, my voice small. Fuck, I hated feeling vulnerable. I hated that I questioned everything constantly. I hated that I felt I needed to question everything all the time. Why would she only go out with me when it was just the two of us? Why did it bother me that she didn’t want to join in on nights out with my friends? Was it really a bad thing that she was encouraging me to go out without her? Was it really a bad thing that she preferred to spend time with me alone?

“It’s not that I don’t want to go out with you guys, Ash. It’s that…”

“What?” I practically begged. “Talk to me, love. Please. I’m going crazy over here.”

“I don’t drink, Ash.”

“So?” I was confused as to what not drinking had to do with choosing to not go out. 

“So,” she sighed. “People give me a hard time for it. They say I haven’t found a drink I like yet. They call me uptight, and say how I need to loosen up, or that I need to stop being a little bitch.”

“Who says that?” I asked, my jaw clenching.

She waved her hand dismissively. “People, Ash. Just in general. Look, I’ve been dealing with it for four years. I don’t feel like I need to justify why I don’t drink. So I just prefer not to put myself in situations where I know there will be drinking. That way I don’t have to deal with the judgement.”

“Baby, I-” I faltered. I didn’t know what to say. Did we really live in a world where people judged you more for not drinking than for drinking? Did she judge me for drinking? “Can I ask why you don’t drink?”

She nodded and offered me a small smile. “It’s a personal choice I made after I’ve seen what drinking can do to people.”

“If I promise not to drink, will you come with us?”

Her hand squeezed around my fingers. “That’s not it at all, Ash. I’m not bothered by other people drinking. I respect their choice. I’m bothered when they don’t respect mine.”

“What if I promise not to let that happen?”

She laughed. “What are you gonna do, tough guy? Beat people up for me?”

I puffed out my chest and flexed the muscles in my arms. “If I have to,” I grinned.

She laughed again and placed a soft kiss to my lips. “Alright. Give me a couple minutes to change.”

~~~

“Hey! You guys made it!” Calum greeted, clapping me on the shoulder and giving her a hug. “C’mon, let’s get you guys a drink before Luke drinks all the tequila.”

“Uh…” I stuttered, rubbing at the back of my neck. Damn, not even thirty seconds into the night…

“Luke can have it,” she laughed. “I’ll just stick with water.”

Calum’s eyebrows quirked up. “Drew the designated driver straw?”

“Something like that,” she laughed more.

We moved to follow Calum to Michael’s kitchen where people were crowded around, making their own drinks or making small talk. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I whispered low in her ear.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Cal just gave me my out.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized anyway.

“Hey! You’re here!” Michael cheered, his green eyes already glossy. “Better hurry before Luke drinks all the tequila.”

“But when I taste tequila!” Luke sang loudly from where he leaned against a counter, a bottle of tequila held tenderly to his chest.

“Nobody wants your nasty ass tequila, mate,” I teased Luke before turning to Michael. “We’ll just stick to water.”

“Playing designated driver?” Michael hiccuped as he produced the water while Luke cried to his bottle that I didn’t mean what I had said.

I nodded, taking the waters from my friend and passing her one of them.

Michael raised an eyebrow the same way Calum had only moments ago. “Well if you change your mind, you guys are welcome to stay. Plenty of rooms.”

“Thanks Mike,” I clapped a hand on his shoulder.

~~~

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized for what felt like the millionth time as we lounged together in Michael's backyard.

“Ash, it’s fine,” she responded in kind. “I’m glad I’m here. Mike’s new place is awesome.”

“But-” I protested.

“Shh,” she shushed me. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

I wanted to keep protesting that she shouldn’t have to deal with any assumptions, but I ultimately decided against it.

~~~

“Hey love, you ready?” I asked. It had been about seven months since Michael’s housewarming party. In that time, she had continued to deflect on nights out, and I had stopped drinking myself. I figured since today was just a hang out at Luke’s this time, she would be willing to go with me.

I grinned when I found her at the door, car keys in hand. “Been waiting on you,” she teased before tossing the keys through the air towards me.

I snatched them and grinned wider. God damn, I loved this woman.

~~~

“Hey! Glad you guys made it!” Luke greeted.

“You act like I don’t know where you live,” I laughed.

“Whatever,” Luke laughed with me. “Guys want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” I told him.

“Still on that sober streak?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it a streak.”

Luke nodded. “Right. Not a streak. Lifestyle choice.”

I made to follow Luke deeper into the house to the kitchen but her hand wrapped around my arm, holding me back. “You’re sober?” she hissed.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Since Mike’s party.”

She did the math in her head. “Since I told you I don’t drink, you mean?”

“Yeah… why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, Ash. I’m proud of you. But… I mention all the shit I deal with for not drinking, and you decide to become sober the same night? That’s…”

“Eye-opening?” I suggested when she faltered.

“Manipulative! Ash… I didn’t tell you because I’m bothered by your drinking. I told you that other people drinking doesn’t bother me. It’s when they expect me to because they do that bothers me.”

“Love, you’re not manipulating me.”

“Oh, so it’s a coincidence then?!”

I pulled us off to the side as her voice began to climb higher. “Would you stop? I’m a grown ass man. I can stop drinking if I want to.”

“I’m just saying that the timing seems sketchy to me, Ash. If you want to stop drinking, I’m all for it. I’ll support you with anything, you know that. But I want you to do it for you. Not me.”

“I am doing it for me! Look, I didn’t realize how often I get asked if I want to have a drink until you pointed it out. I always thought I was careful about my drinking, but I didn’t realize it controlled my life the way it does. And yes, it took you pointing it out for me to notice, but stopping it was my choice. You didn’t make me do anything.”

“Ash… I-”

“I know. You don’t want to manipulate someone into not drinking the same way you don’t want people to manipulate you into drinking. But, love, that’s not what’s happening here.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

__

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[insanityclause]

Zawe Ashton, Charlie Cox, and Tom Hiddleston sit down at a back table of a midtown Italian restaurant and launch into it.

“I don’t know …” “I think I’ll have the …” “Are you getting a starter?” “If you get that, I’ll share it with you.” “Whisky at lunchtime?”

“We’re not doing this on purpose,” Hiddleston assures me, although their staccato rapport bears an uncanny similarity to dialog that Harold Pinter—in whose Betrayal the three are currently starring—might have drafted. “Sometimes, you just find yourself recreating his rhythms.”

I hadn’t actually assumed that there was anything staged about their chatter. It seemed more like the results of months of close collaboration and a natural intimacy. The current Broadway production is a transfer of a West End show from last year; the three actors have been performing together since March, but their association began earlier than that.

Back in October of 2018, Hiddleston and Ashton participated in an Intelligence Squared debate pitting Tolstoy against Dickens. Hiddleston dramatized the part of Levin from Anna Karenina, Ashton played Kitty. (In an odd convergence, we discover that my father also participated in the debate.) Cox’s take when he discovered that the other two actors had met on a panel debating the virtues of two nineteenth-century intellectual giants: “This is going to be the worst four months of my life. Can we just talk about Friends?”

But the two men also go way back: In 2011, Cox—best known for his turn as Daredevil in the Marvel franchise—took Hiddleston to an Arsenal game at Emirates Stadium, arriving to pick up the 6’2” actor in a Fiat cinquecento. “That’s smaller than a smart car,” Cox clarifies for those (like me) unfamiliar with the ‘90s-era Italian hatchback. Cox is an avid Arsenal fan—he even bought a house in the north London neighborhood of Stoke Newington to be close to the stadium—but when I ask Hiddleston if he shares the same allegiance, he speaks with the measured care of someone sensing the rabid scrutiny of a million Premier League fans. “When I was younger, in the 1980s,” he says, “I supported Liverpool, but I would never elevate myself to the level of a Liverpool fan.”

Photo: Courtesy of Marc Berner

We seem to be moving backwards through the actors’ acquaintance, not unlike the movement of the play itself, which begins with the cold dregs of an affair, and moves in a reverse chronological order through its more heated center and inception. It’s hard to talk about Betrayal without emphasizing this ostensibly experimental aspect of its construction, but as we speak, it occurs to me that this is in fact often the way that people tell the story of their relationship to one another: first comes the lunch order, then comes the January football match years ago, then the casting, and so on.

I had assumed that this version of Betrayal, when it first appeared in London, was part of a season of Pinter plays performed at The Pinter Theater in London and directed by Jamie Lloyd, but it turns out that its origin was more fortuitous. Ashton and Hiddleston had been brought in to perform a scene at a gala commemorating the playwright’s birthday, and at the conclusion, Pinter’s widow, Lady Antonia Fraser, turned to Hiddleston and said: “It was wonderful, that scene, perhaps you’d like to do the whole thing?” And then they were off—led by Lloyd, who, Hiddleston says, the actors inherited “match fit” from his season of directing the Nobel Prize–winner. Cox was tied up when he was first approached to play the third point of the tortured love triangle, but when he became available, he leapt at the opportunity. “I just googled ‘Betrayal word count,’ and then said: I’m in,” he jokes.

Continuing the backwards momentum, I leapfrog further, discovering that all three actors grew up in London: Ashton in Hackney in north London, around the corner from the house where the playwright lived most his life—“There’s no membrane between me and Harold,” she jokes—Hiddleston in central London and then Wimbledon, and Cox south of the river, in Victoria. Between the three, they’ve covered a lot of the capital’s geography, and so I ask them about the role that the city plays in Betrayal, a fourth factor in the love triangle, the characters traversing the city to reach the secret Kilburn flat where they’re conducting the affair or visiting posh Hampstead houses. Does anything get lost in translation among American audiences? “We never get a laugh with Kilburn, and we never will!” says Ashton.  “It’s such a London-centric piece. Especially in our production, which is more conceptual in design, you’re asked to imagine a lot.”

But if the three performers are London-bred (and based), they have taken to their New York residencies. Hiddleston lives near Central Park, a location he chose so that he can run there every day: “The first time, I thought there was a race on—turns out, people just run in New York.” (Though he ran the London marathon once, he’s not planning on repeating it in New York—“probably wouldn’t be able to do the show afterwards,” he muses.) Cox has settled for the time being in Tribeca, where his routine is structured by preschool drop-off for his three-year-old daughter, Elsie, and weekly visits to the Russian and Turkish baths. Ashton is busy preparing for a production of a play of her own, for all the women who thought they were Mad, which has its U.S. premiere at Soho Rep later this month. She rattles off a list of shows she’s seen or would like to see—Ain’t Too Proud, Slave Play, The Inheritance, and all three chime in with exuberant appreciation of the energy of Broadway—“the density of the lights,” as Ashton puts it, “the collective energy of all the people in the vicinity.”

“I love entering the theater through a stage door that’s the door for three other theaters,” says Cox, and Hiddleston, too, seems to appreciate the on-top-of-each-other architecture of Broadway theaters. “Before the show, I open my window, and I can hear the audiences coming in for Ain’t Too Proud,” he says, “and the usher telling them to ‘step this way.’”

“I keep getting told off for being too loud when I leave,” Ashton interjects. “It’s clearly a quiet part of Phantom of the Opera. But even that’s delightful.”

With such palpable enthusiasm, and since we’ve also covered the beginning (birth, childhood) and the middle (their friendship, the play), I ask them about the (hypothetical) end: Gun to their head, if they could only do film and television or theater for the rest of their life, what would they choose?

Reluctant silence, followed by some grudging admissions: “In terms of the lifestyle,” Cox says, “I don’t think it gets better than the theater. I spend all day with my family. On a Thursday, I leave the house at 6:30. I get out of bath time.” And then there’s the iterative rewards of performing the same lines night after night: “There are changes you get to make over the course of a run, you can subtly shift your performance to make it richer.”

“We’re in a play that was written a long time ago by a legendary playwright,” says Ashton. “And we’ve brought something fresh to it. You can do that in theater.”

Hiddleston takes the longest to weigh in. “I know in my bones, I feel like a creature of the theater. But I’ve had very meaningful experiences on film sets as well. But we’re very happy.” Ashton interjects: “Rehearsing this play was one of the happiest experiences of our lives.”

The three actors are unlikely to be able to perpetuate this mutual contentment beyond the play’s run. Hiddleston is scheduled to begin work on Loki after spending the holidays back in London with his family. Ashton will be busy with the two productions through the fall, and Cox is unsure of his next project. (Dealer’s Choice, he answers quickly, when asked about his dream role: “I’m just about getting to the right age to play one of the characters.”) I suggest they find another wrenching play about love gone awry to keep them content. “It's true,” says Hiddleston. “I remember doing Othello in London, and people in the audience would be in floods of tears. And then they'd come backstage and we’d all be laughing. There’s a cognitive dissonance.”

An assistant arrives to inform them that it's time to prepare for the show. And so all three stand up and depart, more than happy to perform their nightly tragedy.

[tomhiddleslove]

Zawe Ashton, Charlie Cox, and Tom Hiddleston sit down at a back table of a midtown Italian restaurant and launch into it.

“I don’t know . . .”

“I think I’ll have the . . .”

“Are you getting a starter?”

“If you get that, I’ll share it with you.”

“Whiskey at lunchtime?”

“We’re not doing this on purpose,” Hiddleston assures me, although their staccato rapport bears an uncanny similarity to dialog that Harold Pinter—in whose Betrayal the three are currently starring—might have drafted. “Sometimes, you just find yourself re-creating his rhythms.”

I hadn’t actually assumed that there was anything staged about their chatter. It seemed more like the results of months of close collaboration and a natural intimacy. The current Broadway production is a transfer of a West End show from last year; the three actors have been performing together since March, but their association began earlier than that.

In October 2018, Hiddleston and Ashton participated in an Intelligence Squared debate pitting Tolstoy against Dickens. Hiddleston dramatized the part of Levin from Anna Karenina; Ashton played Kitty. (In an odd convergence, we discover that my father also participated in the debate.) Cox’s take when he discovered that the other two actors had met on a panel debating the virtues of two 19th-century intellectual giants: “This is going to be the worst four months of my life. Can we just talk about Friends?”

But the two men also go way back. In 2011, Cox—best known for his turn as Daredevil in the Marvel franchise—took Hiddleston to an Arsenal game at Emirates Stadium, arriving to pick up the 6-foot-2 actor in a Fiat Cinquecento. “That’s smaller than a smart car,” Cox clarifies for those (like me) unfamiliar with the ’90s-era Italian hatchback. Cox is an avid Arsenal fan—he even bought a house in the north London neighborhood of Stoke Newington to be close to the stadium—but when I ask Hiddleston if he shares the same allegiance, he speaks with the measured care of someone sensing the rabid scrutiny of a million Premier League fans. “When I was younger, in the 1980s,” he says, “I supported Liverpool, but I would never elevate myself to the level of a Liverpool fan.”

We seem to be moving backward through the actors’ acquaintance, not unlike the movement of the play itself, which begins with the cold dregs of an affair, and moves in a reverse chronological order through its more heated center and inception. It’s hard to talk about Betrayal without emphasizing this ostensibly experimental aspect of its construction, but as we speak, it occurs to me that this is in fact often the way that people tell the story of their relationship to one another: First comes the lunch order, then comes the January football match years ago, then the casting, and so on.

I had assumed that this version of Betrayal, when it first appeared in London, was part of a season of Pinter plays performed at the Harold Pinter Theater in London and directed by Jamie Lloyd, but it turns out that its origin was more fortuitous. Ashton and Hiddleston had been brought in to perform a scene at a gala commemorating the playwright’s birthday, and at the conclusion, Pinter’s widow, Lady Antonia Fraser, turned to Hiddleston and said, “It was wonderful, that scene, perhaps you’d like to do the whole thing?” And then they were off—led by Lloyd, who, Hiddleston says, the actors inherited “match fit” from his season of directing the Nobel Prize–winner. Cox was tied up when he was first approached to play the third point of the tortured love triangle, but when he became available, he leapt at the opportunity. “I just googled ‘Betrayal word count,’ and then said: I’m in,” he jokes.

Continuing the backward momentum, I leapfrog further, discovering that all three actors grew up in London: Ashton in Hackney in north London, around the corner from the house where the playwright lived most his life—“There’s no membrane between me and Harold,” she jokes—Hiddleston in central London and then Wimbledon, and Cox south of the river, in Victoria. Between the three, they have covered a lot of the capital’s geography, so I ask them about the role that the city plays in Betrayal, a fourth factor in the love triangle, the characters traversing the city to reach the secret Kilburn flat where they’re conducting the affair or visiting posh Hampstead houses. Does anything get lost in translation among American audiences? “We never get a laugh with Kilburn, and we never will!” says Ashton. “It’s such a London-centric piece. Especially in our production, which is more conceptual in design, you’re asked to imagine a lot.”

But if the three performers are London-bred (and based), they have taken to their New York residencies. Hiddleston lives near Central Park, a location he chose so that he can run there every day: “The first time, I thought there was a race on—turns out, people just run in New York.” (Though he ran the London marathon once, he’s not planning on repeating it in New York—“probably wouldn’t be able to do the show afterwards,” he muses.) Cox has settled for the time being in Tribeca, where his routine is structured by preschool drop-off for his three-year-old daughter, Elsie, and weekly visits to the Russian and Turkish baths. Ashton is busy preparing for a production of a play of her own, for all the women who thought they were Mad, which has its U.S. premiere at Soho Rep later this month. She rattles off a list of shows she’s seen or would like to see—Ain’t Too Proud, Slave Play, The Inheritance—and all three chime in with exuberant appreciation of the energy of Broadway. “The density of the lights,” as Ashton puts it, “the collective energy of all the people in the vicinity.”

“I love entering the theater through a stage door that’s the door for three other theaters,” says Cox, and Hiddleston, too, seems to appreciate the on-top-of-each-other architecture of Broadway theaters. “Before the show, I open my window, and I can hear the audiences coming in for Ain’t Too Proud,” he says, “and the usher telling them to ‘step this way.’”

“I keep getting told off for being too loud when I leave,” Ashton interjects. “It’s clearly a quiet part of The Phantom of the Opera. But even that’s delightful.”

With such palpable enthusiasm, and since we’ve also covered the beginning (birth, childhood) and the middle (their friendship, the play), I ask them about the (hypothetical) end: Gun to their head, if they could only do film and television or theater for the rest of their life, which would they choose?

Reluctant silence, followed by some grudging admissions. “In terms of the lifestyle,” Cox says, “I don’t think it gets better than the theater. I spend all day with my family. On a Thursday, I leave the house at 6:30. I get out of bath time.” And then there’s the iterative rewards of performing the same lines night after night. “There are changes you get to make over the course of a run, you can subtly shift your performance to make it richer,” he adds.

“We’re in a play that was written a long time ago by a legendary playwright,” says Ashton. “And we’ve brought something fresh to it. You can do that in theater.”

Hiddleston takes the longest to weigh in. “I know in my bones, I feel like a creature of the theater. But I’ve had very meaningful experiences on film sets as well. But we’re very happy.” Ashton interjects: “Rehearsing this play was one of the happiest experiences of our lives.”

The three actors are unlikely to be able to perpetuate this mutual contentment beyond the play’s run. Hiddleston is scheduled to begin work on Loki after spending the holidays in London with his family. Ashton will be busy with the two productions through the fall, and Cox is unsure of his next project. (Dealer’s Choice, he answers quickly, when asked about his dream role: “I’m just about getting to the right age to play one of the characters.”) I suggest they find another wrenching play about love gone awry to keep them content. “It’s true,” says Hiddleston. “I remember doing Othello in London, and people in the audience would be in floods of tears. And then they’d come backstage and we’d all be laughing. There’s a cognitive dissonance.”

An assistant arrives to inform them that it's time to prepare for the show. All three stand up and depart, more than happy to perform their nightly tragedy.

-

[ Link to the original article is in source below. ]

[maryxglz]

Zawe Ashton, Charlie Cox, and Tom Hiddleston sit down at a back table of a midtown Italian restaurant and launch into it.

“I don’t know . . .” “I think I’ll have the . . .” “Are you getting a starter?” “If you get that, I’ll share it with you.” “Whiskey at lunchtime?”

“We’re not doing this on purpose,” Hiddleston assures me, although their staccato rapport bears an uncanny similarity to dialog that Harold Pinter—in whose Betrayal the three are currently starring—might have drafted. “Sometimes, you just find yourself re-creating his rhythms.”

I hadn’t actually assumed that there was anything staged about their chatter. It seemed more like the results of months of close collaboration and a natural intimacy. The current Broadway production is a transfer of a West End show from last year; the three actors have been performing together since March, but their association began earlier than that.

In October 2018, Hiddleston and Ashton participated in an Intelligence Squared debate pitting Tolstoy against Dickens. Hiddleston dramatized the part of Levin from Anna Karenina; Ashton played Kitty. (In an odd convergence, we discover that my father also participated in the debate.) Cox’s take when he discovered that the other two actors had met on a panel debating the virtues of two 19th-century intellectual giants: “This is going to be the worst four months of my life. Can we just talk about Friends?”

But the two men also go way back. In 2011, Cox—best known for his turn as Daredevil in the Marvel franchise—took Hiddleston to an Arsenal game at Emirates Stadium, arriving to pick up the 6-foot-2 actor in a Fiat Cinquecento. “That’s smaller than a smart car,” Cox clarifies for those (like me) unfamiliar with the ’90s-era Italian hatchback. Cox is an avid Arsenal fan—he even bought a house in the north London neighborhood of Stoke Newington to be close to the stadium—but when I ask Hiddleston if he shares the same allegiance, he speaks with the measured care of someone sensing the rabid scrutiny of a million Premier League fans. “When I was younger, in the 1980s,” he says, “I supported Liverpool, but I would never elevate myself to the level of a Liverpool fan.”

We seem to be moving backward through the actors’ acquaintance, not unlike the movement of the play itself, which begins with the cold dregs of an affair, and moves in a reverse chronological order through its more heated center and inception. It’s hard to talk about Betrayal without emphasizing this ostensibly experimental aspect of its construction, but as we speak, it occurs to me that this is in fact often the way that people tell the story of their relationship to one another: First comes the lunch order, then comes the January football match years ago, then the casting, and so on.

I had assumed that this version of  Betrayal, when it first appeared in London, was part of a season of Pinter plays performed at the Harold Pinter Theater in London and directed by Jamie Lloyd, but it turns out that its origin was more fortuitous. Ashton and Hiddleston had been brought in to perform a scene at a gala commemorating the playwright’s birthday, and at the conclusion, Pinter’s widow, Lady Antonia Fraser, turned to Hiddleston and said, “It was wonderful, that scene, perhaps you’d like to do the whole thing?” And then they were off—led by Lloyd, who, Hiddleston says, the actors inherited “match fit” from his season of directing the Nobel Prize–winner. Cox was tied up when he was first approached to play the third point of the tortured love triangle, but when he became available, he leapt at the opportunity. “I just googled ‘Betrayal word count,’ and then said: I’m in,” he jokes.

Continuing the backward momentum, I leapfrog further, discovering that all three actors grew up in London: Ashton in Hackney in north London, around the corner from the house where the playwright lived most his life—“There’s no membrane between me and Harold,” she jokes—Hiddleston in central London and then Wimbledon, and Cox south of the river, in Victoria. Between the three, they have covered a lot of the capital’s geography, so I ask them about the role that the city plays in Betrayal, a fourth factor in the love triangle, the characters traversing the city to reach the secret Kilburn flat where they’re conducting the affair or visiting posh Hampstead houses. Does anything get lost in translation among American audiences? “We never get a laugh with Kilburn, and we never will!” says Ashton. “It’s such a London-centric piece. Especially in our production, which is more conceptual in design, you’re asked to imagine a lot.”

But if the three performers are London-bred (and based), they have taken to their New York residencies. Hiddleston lives near Central Park, a location he chose so that he can run there every day: “The first time, I thought there was a race on—turns out, people just run in New York.” (Though he ran the London marathon once, he’s not planning on repeating it in New York—“probably wouldn’t be able to do the show afterwards,” he muses.) Cox has settled for the time being in Tribeca, where his routine is structured by preschool drop-off for his three-year-old daughter, Elsie, and weekly visits to the Russian and Turkish baths. Ashton is busy preparing for a production of a play of her own, for all the women who thought they were Mad, which has its U.S. premiere at Soho Rep later this month. She rattles off a list of shows she’s seen or would like to see—Ain’t Too Proud, Slave Play, The Inheritance—and all three chime in with exuberant appreciation of the energy of Broadway. “The density of the lights,” as Ashton puts it, “the collective energy of all the people in the vicinity.”

“I love entering the theater through a stage door that’s the door for three other theaters,” says Cox, and Hiddleston, too, seems to appreciate the on-top-of-each-other architecture of Broadway theaters. “Before the show, I open my window, and I can hear the audiences coming in for Ain’t Too Proud,” he says, “and the usher telling them to ‘step this way.’”

“I keep getting told off for being too loud when I leave,” Ashton interjects. “It’s clearly a quiet part of The Phantom of the Opera. But even that’s delightful.”

With such palpable enthusiasm, and since we’ve also covered the beginning (birth, childhood) and the middle (their friendship, the play), I ask them about the (hypothetical) end: Gun to their head, if they could only do film and television or theater for the rest of their life, which would they choose?

Reluctant silence, followed by some grudging admissions. “In terms of the lifestyle,” Cox says, “I don’t think it gets better than the theater. I spend all day with my family. On a Thursday, I leave the house at 6:30. I get out of bath time.” And then there’s the iterative rewards of performing the same lines night after night. “There are changes you get to make over the course of a run, you can subtly shift your performance to make it richer,” he adds.

“We’re in a play that was written a long time ago by a legendary playwright,” says Ashton. “And we’ve brought something fresh to it. You can do that in theater.”

Hiddleston takes the longest to weigh in. “I know in my bones, I feel like a creature of the theater. But I’ve had very meaningful experiences on film sets as well. But we’re very happy.” Ashton interjects: “Rehearsing this play was one of the happiest experiences of our lives.”

The three actors are unlikely to be able to perpetuate this mutual contentment beyond the play’s run. Hiddleston is scheduled to begin work on Loki after spending the holidays in London with his family. Ashton will be busy with the two productions through the fall, and Cox is unsure of his next project. (Dealer’s Choice, he answers quickly, when asked about his dream role: “I’m just about getting to the right age to play one of the characters.”) I suggest they find another wrenching play about love gone awry to keep them content. “It’s true,” says Hiddleston. “I remember doing Othello in London, and people in the audience would be in floods of tears. And then they’d come backstage and we’d all be laughing. There’s a cognitive dissonance.”

An assistant arrives to inform them that it's time to prepare for the show. All three stand up and depart, more than happy to perform their nightly tragedy.

[irwinkitten]

second chances | l.h

pairing: plus sized reader x soulmate!luke notes: SURPRISE BITCHES. consider this another git to you. It’s soulmate!luke. Y’all have made my birthday so god damn wonderful so I felt like giving you a gift. enjoy it and thank you guys for being so fucking wonderful. this is the final day of fic week. Small masterlist of fic week can be found here warnings: none word count: 2k

---

‘Luke Hemmings overheard telling people to ‘f*** off.’

‘5 Seconds of Summer vocalist, Luke Hemmings caught with a new girl.’

‘Luke Hemmings getting into verbal arguments with journalists, one almost resulting in fists.’

The headlines were something different most days. Living in LA had taken its toll on Luke and he felt like he was just spiralling. The constant pressure to be that perfect frontman, to be that image that people had given him since he was a teenager.

His eyes stared at the words which sat on his chest, above his heart, feeling the pit of sadness and anger bubble up as he read the words, over and over.

‘You won’t love me, not like this.’

The soulmate theory had been in circulation for so long, that Luke had looked up every theory and tried to work out if he could try to meet his soulmate sooner. He’d been desperate at eighteen and surrounded by people who pulled him in with the wrong crowds.

And as he got swept away with the success of the band, the highs of his lifestyle, the girls that surrounded him, he lost himself, covering the tattoo just to stop the questions from the girls he brought back to his place. When he had settled into a relationship, he knew it was toxic form the get go. He knew she wasn’t right for him but he tried so hard because he didn’t want to think about the words directly above his heart.

When she found the words, it was the biggest fight they’d had and he could feel his mind struggling every day, not relief, no break from his thoughts. Circling and vicious, he knew he was falling. The day that she left, the door slamming in her wake, silence echoing around the house he knew he couldn’t be alone. He knew he needed to pull together. So he went to the one person who he knew wouldn’t judge or berate him for his choices.

“You know you’ve always got a home with me, Luke.” Luke had fallen into Ashton’s comforting embrace, the relief of not having to hide overwhelming him and he could feel everything just snap at his control. Ashton’s eyes held no judgement as his youngest bandmate and the closest he had to a brother, broke down before him.

Over the days and weeks, Ashton helped Luke move into his place, bringing Petunia with him as he tried to pull himself together. He kept slipping back, finding himself on nights out, new girls hanging off his arm. They didn’t care for the words on his chest, they knew he would never be anything more than a one night stand.

But as he pulled himself back, that was when she came into his life. He never noticed her at first, her thick thighs in tight fitting jeans, the curves of her stomach always soft and jiggly, especially when she laughed at one of Ashton’s jokes. She was a friend of Ashton’s, never having really spoken to Luke, small nods of communication trading between them.

And then it happened when he stumbled in drunk. She was still there, saying her goodnights to Ashton and Luke finally spoke to her.

“Goodnight, love of my life.” Had fallen from his lips and he watched as her eyes widened for a second, a sharp breath escaping her. It took her a second before she finally gave him a pained smile.

“You won’t love me. Not like this.” She nodded to his state, but his mind couldn’t focus on anything else as a sharp pain hit his chest, a low whine escaping as his hand automatically reached up to his chest where it was. Her eyes widened once more.

She was gone before he had a chance to stop her and Ashton came back from the living room confused as to why Luke was stood in the doorway, his body leaning on the frame for support with tears in his eyes and hand clutching his chest.

“Luke?”

“It’s her,” he gasped out, “she’s my fucking soulmate and she’s gone.”

Her words rang though his mind as he desperately tried to figure out what she meant. And the more he thought about it, the more his dreams began to fill of her, only able to imagine what it would be like to touch her curves, to grip her thighs and pull her closer.

He felt like he was eighteen once more, researching the soulmate theory, the dreaded question of ‘what if my soulmate doesn’t give me a chance?’

His eyes skimmed the answers, all of them saying the same thing.

‘Fate will bring you together regardless. But it will be tough because for whatever reason they’re saying no to the bond, fate will put things in place to help you reconnect.’

And with that pain that seemed to burn his chest so often, he began to write. And as he wrote, the cathartic process began as he worked through every emotion that he’d had to deal with, his chest still aching but it was fuelling his words, his inspiration.

He knew that she had avoided coming around, and he understood that. As he began to pull himself back together with the help of Ashton after admitting he needed proper help, finding himself in therapy as he began the process of moving back to his place.

He never asked after her. He was too afraid of the answer. But Ashton always found ways of letting the one he considered a brother know that his soulmate was okay. That she was doing okay.

He avoided telling Luke of the nights she had called Ashton in hysteria because the tattoo was so painful that it felt like it was being burned off her skin.

They did the first promotional tour, and she was there at the airport, her hands twisted together. She said her goodbyes to Ashton first, his arms firm as he hugged her tightly. Luke watched as he whispered something in her ear and Luke could see her face duck down, but the emotion he couldn’t see.

But then she turned to him and made her way over, his eyes taking her in. And he felt his heartbeat get a little bit faster. She looked every bit of a powerful woman, her head high as her eyes met his and he could see the determination in them as she got closer.

She stopped mere inches from him, and his fingers lifted up, the backs of them stroking her cheeks, both of them jumping at the jolt that seemed to shoot through his body. He didn’t waste his time then, cupping her face in his hands as he leaned down to kiss her. Her arms snaked around his neck in return, fingers sliding into his locks of hair as his lips parted, his tongue dragging across her bottom lip. Her lips parted at his request and he could feel his chest swell.

He finally understood her words.

“I don’t care,” he whispered against her lips whilst letting hii hands resting on her hips, squeezing the flesh gently, “fuck what everyone else says because I’ve not felt like this before and I don’t want to let you or it go.”

“There’s the soulmate I was looking for.” She hummed playfully and he grinned, his lips pressing against hers once more. It was more natural the second time, her body pressed against his. He could feel her every curve against his body and he could feel his chest swell with affection for her.

“I don’t want to let you go now.” He could hear the calls of his name from his bandmates, the noted time of their flight being yelled seconds later.

“Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” She urged, and he couldn’t help himself as they shared another kiss, his lips trying to memorise hers, her taste in the few seconds they had. He’d never tasted anything sweeter than her lips and he knew that he’d be addicted to her.

As the tour began, he could see the articles written about the photo that had been posted of their kiss, headlines trashing her size whilst questioning his sanity. And he could feel his anger burn in indignation for her. But she laughed and told him not to fret.

“Sugar, those words mean jack shit to me. They can call me all the names in the world, I’ve heard ‘em before. And anyway, the only words that matter to me are those sweet ones that leave your mouth.” She was teasing him and he groaned in response, making her laugh the sweet laugh that had him hooked.

“I know, but why the fuck should they mock you for your weight? Why can’t they mock you for the fact that you’ve never seen an episode of Bob’s Burgers?” Her lips had curved into a smile over facetime, her eyes lighting up at his complaint.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve watched one episode. Just didn’t like it.”

“How can you be so perfect for me, yet be so imperfect with your TV show preferences?” He groaned , his face half buried into his bunk pillow. It was late and she could see the tiredness in his eyes, but the familiar haunting look that she’d seen him wear when they first met.

“Talk to me sugar.” And he did. He trusted his soul into her care and he knew she’d take care of it, just like he cared for hers. He talked until she could see the haunting look begin to lighten until it was gone and his words were becoming slurred, his eyes growing heavier.

As he pressed his face into the pillow, his tired mind disconnected and before he could control his mouth,

“Love you kitten.” Had fallen from his lips before his eyes had shut completely, the phone tilting forwards as his grip went slack. Her face was a look of shock as she comprehended his words, ending the facetime before she decided to go to bed herself. That was when she realised that her feelings for him were really reciprocated and life wasn’t being cruel to her like the kids she’d grown up with had been.

On the month break between the tours, she picked him up from the airport, her teeth chewing her lips nervously. She’d never brought up the fact he’d said ‘love you’ to her. She was still terrified. But when she saw him come through arrivals, his tired eyes meeting hers and his pace quickening, her worries melted away as his arms wrapped around her midsection, a nervous squeak escaping as he lifted her off her feet, his lips meeting hers.

He placed her on her feet quick enough, knowing her discomfort, but his lips didn’t move from hers for a single moment, finally moving away only to pepper her with soft kisses.

“Luke!” She whined between her giggles, trying to pull away, making him grin as he continued this before she relented and kissed him once more.

“Can’t help that I missed you soulmate.” There were startled gasps and the two of them shared a look.

“Cats out of the bag.” She murmured and he shrugged.

“If that doesn’t show that I have a thing for you, shall I post that beautiful photo you sent in your lingerie?” He whispered and laughed when she ducked her head in embarrassment, her face pressed against his chest.

“You dare Hemmings, and I will end you.” She threatened, making him laugh as he wrapped his arms around her, hands sliding down the curves of her ass before resting in her jean pockets.

“I could never do that to you, you know that right?” He murmured, his eyes conveying the seriousness of his words. She found her breath stolen by the intensity of the baby blue eyes that she’d come to love so much.

“You promise?” The words didn’t mean to sound so timid, so scared. But he understood.

“I love you.” His words were loud enough for her ears and she couldn’t stop the smile from growing across her lips at them.

“I love you too.” She breathed, his lips curving up to match her own before his lips met hers in a much more softer kiss, slow and addictive.

She’d been his salvation in a time that he was lost. And he knew that he’d never let her go, not for anything.

---

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