#but there's no way ivy would ever use those words so oh well

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 23

Story: clone sister (original) Prompts: Remembering medication — Art on fridge — Warm toast

Lily eased herself into the chair at the kitchen table with a sigh of effort and propped her crutch against the wall. Technically, she was supposed to be using two crutches to get around, but she kept on knocking things over, so in the house she preferred to just use one and grab onto counters and doorways for support.

“What can I get you, sweetie?” her mom asked. “Tea? Toast? Eggs?”

She'd finally stopped hovering anxiously every time Lily tried to move around, but she compensated by bustling around even more than usual, doting on Lily like she was staying home from first grade with an ear infection again.

“Toast is fine, Mom,” Lily said, watching helplessly as her mother had already begun to butter two more slices of toast and poured out a steaming cup of tea. “Don't you have to get to work soon?”

She checked her watch, then bustled around faster than ever, setting down Lily's breakfast in front of her, grabbing her purse and keys, and chattering away a mile a minute about when she'd be getting off work, exactly what leftovers were in the fridge for her to heat up for lunch, and then she hurried over to kiss Lily on the forehead. On her way out to the garage, she paused and said, “You help your sister while I'm gone today, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then, with the grumble of the garage door opening and closing, she was finally gone. Lily picked up a piece of toast and munched on it thoughtfully, wondering what she was going to do today. She still had another week of leave from work after her injury, but the time was beginning to feel a bit long.

The smallest sound brought Lily's attention over to Ivy, who stood peeking at her through the slats in the chair at the other end of the table. Lily smiled. “Looks like it's just you and me, kid. Again.”

Ivy smiled back. It was hard to believe she used to find Ivy kind of creepy, rather than utterly adorable.

Only when Lily lifted her cup of tea to her lips did she realize what was missing. “Shoot, I forgot my meds.” She sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. It was so arduous to go up the stairs like this; she'd been planning to hang out in the living room for a while before making the trek back upstairs in the afternoon.

“I will get them.” Ivy scurried off, almost before Lily could even register what she'd said.

While she waited, Lily's eyes strayed to the fridge, covered in artwork just like always. After years of nothing more interesting adorning the fridge than shopping lists and the occasional note when someone was going to be home late or something, the surface was once again covered with childish crayon drawings and watercolor paintings. Most of them were almost exact copies of simple drawings like a flower or a house with a smiling sun overhead—things their mother had demonstrated for Ivy to show her what to do with her art supplies.

But there was a new one on the side she hadn't seen before, almost hidden under a flyer for the church rummage sale. With just a little maneuvering, Lily managed to reach out and snag it off the fridge, though the magnet went skittering away across the floor.

Lily was still holding the picture when Ivy returned, rattling loudly with an armful of orange pill canisters. “Oh, I didn't need all—um, thank you.”

Ivy carefully placed each canister in a row in front of Lily's plate, turning the labels so Lily could read what each of them were. Lily picked up the two she was supposed to take with breakfast, then set down the drawing where Ivy could see it. “Did you make this?”

Ivy glanced up at her, then down at the drawing, and nodded slightly. The stick figures were in the same style as the ones Ivy always drew, but instead of standing stiffly with huge smiles like the ones their mother had shown her, she'd drawn the one with yellow hair with a big round O for a mouth as it gaped at a boxy grey shape that could have been a car.

Flying in from nowhere, wearing a bright blue cape like a superhero, was a bigger stick figure with brown hair. A superhero swooping in to save a little girl from an impending car crash.

“That's you, isn't it?” Lily asked, tapping the little girl with yellow hair. “And is that...?”

“I asked Father what a hero looked like,” Ivy said solemnly. “He said they usually fly and wear capes. I do not remember you wearing a cape, but I wanted to draw it correctly.”

Lily's throat hurt like one of her pills had gone down the wrong way, even though she hadn't taken either of them yet. She pulled Ivy close to her side and whispered, “I like your picture. I like it a lot.”

[illbegottenfaith]

handwritten - theo nott x reader

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class

a/n - came up with this quick idea to release some pent up creative energy while mulling over lucky pt 3. will prob make this an ongoing series for small ideas I can’t get fully fledged fics out of. easy to write, easy to read, enjoy!

tropes/warnings - fluff, a minor hinting at angst, newstudent!theo, estranged friends to lovers

word count - 1.5k

Monday, 10.07 am, Charms

Hey. You might want to pull your nose out of that disgusting textbook for once.

We’ve been over this. Just because you don’t understand something it doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. It’s very disrespectful.

What is disrespectful is you not paying attention to our year’s hottest new commodity - emphasis on the hot. I must say, he fills out that uniform quite nicely.

I’m sure he does.

C’mon, you’re not even a little bit curious? Just a peek?

Y/N? Hellooooooo? 

Oh my god. I know the guy.

???

What is he doing here? Last I heard he was being homeschooled.

Know him how??

We went to the same primary school. We were…friends.

Riiiight.

Don’t get any ideas. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. And he looked very, very different back then. Had a ratty sort of face. I can still kind of see it, actually.

Oh, Y/N, how could you say such awful things about his beautiful face! Oh dear, that bone structure…

Quiet, you. He’s really…grown. He’s so much taller now.

You know what you should do? You should offer to help him catch up.

On five years of school?

Oh, please, he was homeschooled. He had to have learnt some things. Who is he, anyway?

Theodore Nott.

Now that’s an Old Money name if I ever heard one.

Ivy. Be nice.

So? Is he? Old money, that is.

I…suppose so.

Are you sure you two were friends?

Yes. It’s been a while, that’s all. I just…wow. I can’t believe he’s here. Like, right there. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

What happened?

He moved. I was starting at Hogwarts. We lost touch, it happens.

But now he’s back! Yay! Did you see those sinfully blue eyes of his?

Ivy, you have a boyfriend.

I know. Ivan agrees, by the way.

That he’s hot?

Yes.

He’s sitting on the other side of the room. When did you have time to discuss this??

Just now. Right in front of you. What did you think all that eyebrow-waggling was about?

I thought you were having a stroke. Merlin, the two of you are perfect for each other.

Don’t change the subject. He’s not gay, is he? Your friend? All the hot ones usually are.

I wouldn’t know, now, would I? I haven’t heard anything about him in years. Ivy, leave him alone. Please don’t harass the poor guy, sexually or otherwise. And quit it with the notes. He’ll notice.

How??? Has he got eyes on the back of his very nicely shaped head? He’s busy with Flitwick anyway.

Trust me, he’ll see. Nothing gets past Theodore Nott.

Monday, 2.15 pm, Potions

Well?????

Well, what?

The chat!!! Your chat!!!!!! With Mr. Theodore Nott!!!!!!!!

You have to quit it with the caffeine. You’re far too excitable after lunch.

The chat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was fine. It was…nice.

Uh-huh.

He goes by Theo now.

Okay. I’ll pretend I care about that.

It was all very casual, very superficial. It was really just us exchanging pleasantries. Oh, right. He asked me to accompany him to Quidditch tryouts.

You??? But you hate Quidditch.

I know.

Please tell me you didn’t say that.

I didn't. I just said I didn’t know much about it.

And?

He said that didn’t matter. He just wanted me there for moral support.

Then what was with all the turning red halfway through? You looked like you were going to combust.

Was it that obvious?

Ivan had some pumpkin juice ready, just in case.

It was nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. He called me his good luck charm.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re going to rip a hole through the parchment.

AWWWWW

So?? Did you say yes??

I said I’d think about it.

BOOOOOOOO

Come on, Vee. He’s been flying since before he could walk. He always talked about joining the big leagues, you know. He knows everything there is to know about Quidditch, so of course he’ll make the team. And it’ll have nothing to do with me.

But he doesn’t even have any friends yet :(

That’s because he hasn’t talked to anyone yet.

Y’know, Romilda Vane wanted to know why he was talking to you of all people.

What’s that supposed to mean??

Eh, you know. You can be a little…snippy.

I am NOT snippy.

There it is. The snippiness.

Whatever. It’s all so pointless. Come Thursday evening, he’ll have joined the Quidditch team and he’ll be hanging out with, y’know, those people, and we’ll be ancient history. He’ll make plenty of friends. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Okay. If you say so. Also, at lunch, I finally tried that thing you’re always talking about, “applying myself,” and I found this article on his dad in the library. From 6 years ago.

Don’t you want to know what the article said?

You could have mentioned he was a death eater, you know.

I don’t care about that, by the way. You used to be friends and that’s good enough for me. But, Y/N, he was arrested six years ago. And you haven’t talked to Theo in six years. But there isn’t any kind of connection between those, is there?

Y/N?

Do not make me throw this at you. I know how you feel about paper cuts.

Tuesday, 3.03 pm, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Where’s your friend?

?

You know. Who you’re always passing notes with in class?

You noticed?

Hard not to. It makes you all fidgety and annoyed.

Yeah, well, Ivy’s an annoying person.

I’ll take your word for it. What do you have after this?

Transfiguration.

Wow. That’s one of the harder ones, isn’t it?

Er, depends on who you ask, I think.

Still brilliant as ever, then.

Shut up. I’m not half the swot I was in primary school. 

I never thought you were a swot. You were just…enthusiastic.

That’s sweet of you to say, Theo.

Huh. I thought I’d always be Teddy to you.

We’re not ten anymore, Theo. I can say your name perfectly now.

That’s good. So, have you thought about it?

Thought about what?

The Quidditch tryouts. You’re the only person I know here so you have to say yes.

I don’t know. Some of the girls look pretty interested in getting to know you.

What?

Nothing. I guess I could swing by for a short while.

That’s my girl.

Thursday, 8.37 pm, Common Room

SO?????

He got in. Obviously. Was there ever any doubt?

Did he run up to you? Did he hug you? Did he pick you up and spin you around???

Witch Weekly is a bad influence on you.

Details, please.

He hugged me. Kind of. Nearly tackled me, he was so excited.

you are SO his good luck charm!!!!!!

Friday, 11.17 am, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Witch Weekly?

It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend.

Right.

Really, I am. Ivy’s a fiend for these but she has this Charms test coming up that she absolutely cannot fail.

I believe you. ‘Top 6 Magical Contraceptives for the Modern Witch’ doesn’t sound like your kind of reading material.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only having a little fun.

I’m not embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?

Erm, no, but you’re very red. Do you need to see the Healer?

I’m fine. It’s just hot. And no one calls Madam Pomfrey ‘the Healer,’ by the way.

Ah. I see.

Is there a point to all this? Did you need to ask something?

Oh, right. What are you up to on Saturday night?

Saturday? Dunno…wanted to take a crack at that Transfiguration essay.

Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 8.

Oh?

It’s nothing. A couple of the guys on the team wanted to celebrate with drinks at Hogsmeade. Everyone’s bringing someone, and I thought it would be nice if you came. Being my good luck charm, and all.

Oh, Theo, you probably don’t know this since you’re new and all, but going down to Hogsmeade is only permissible on certain weekends. And only start a couple of weeks into the term, so not yet.

Did you just -? Oh my god, you did. You laughed at me. You laughed at my note. Out loud. You’re lucky you’re in Slytherin, you know. Snape usually goes absolutely ballistic if anyone interrupts his lesson.

I’m sorry, I forgot what a stickler you were. I just - I didn’t think I’d miss it.

Please, Theo, forget the drinks. I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you break so many rules. You’ve been here less than a week!

Guess you’ll have to keep an eye on me. Make sure I stay out of trouble.

Exactly.

Great. See you Saturday at 8.

[draguuula]

TAKE MY EYES.

synopsis: mammon tries to verbally tell you he appreciates you. kinda angst but full of soft comfort for all my therapist mcs. wrote this when i was at school and just finished... Σ(×_×;)! not proofread... again.

golden flecks drowning in an azul pool glanced at your form from across the picnic table. you had chosen to sit outside despite the slight chilly breeze as it was peaceful and quiet in contrast to the usual bustling atmosphere inside of the R.A.D. cafeteria.

his eyes searched your form with your back turned to him whilst you hummed in thought to yourself, thinking of what snack to get from the vending machine. he squinted harder. why did he feel so strongly about you? it wasn't even the sappy need to wrap you in his arms, he noted, no - not like the dramas he watched with satan and asmodeus. at least, not just that.

his features softened as he looked down at his hands with a thoughtful gaze. he just wanted oh so badly to let you see yourself the way he saw you with his own eyes.

the way your eyes would light up at seeing even the smallest or cheapest phone charm to match with him, or the way you would grin at him and his brother's antics whenever there was always some curse or mystery happening around the house of lamentation...

he wanted to protect that peace you brought to him - he needed to.

you noticed him awfully silent as you stalked back over to your shared table, and he only noticed your presence once you slunk back into your seat. no words had to be spoken as a heavy silence lingered in the air. all day, he had stayed uncharacteristically quiet just like now, lost in thought; a sort of epiphany, if you will.

"mammon, i'm here if you want to talk."

"that's the issue," he responded a bit too quickly, his cheek pressed against his palm as he huffed. he rested his elbow on the wooden table and glanced to his right at the wild ivy clinging to the sides of the R.A.D. building, anything to avoid your confused gaze. your never-ending understanding, caring, and compassionate gaze.

"you're always ready to talk," he sighed after a silent interval, furrowing his brows as a shadow downcast over his eyes. he seemed to be rather frustrated with something, his white lashes fluttering (ironically) heavenly over his cheekbones before he closed his eyes. it was only then as you took in his discontented appearance that you noticed a tint of blush highlighting his cheeks ever the slightest.

"...yes? is that not what one does to hold a conversation?" you cheekily responded, shooting him a closed eyed smile. at that, he opened his eyes and finally stared at you directly. the eye contact was fierce, and you wondered what his determination behind that look was.

"i'm serious, y/n. why... why don't ya ever talk about yourself, huh? yer always going on and on about wanting to be there for us, but... ya never... talk about yourself," he tried to explain his concern in the kindest way possible, scratching his nape. it was hard to get the gruffness out of his voice when he was embarrassed to be the one who called you out on it, yet he knew he'd take the job any day seeing as he was your first man, after all.

"oi. what i'm tryna tell ya," he crossed his arms now on the table, yet one of his hands reached out to find its way over to yours. "is that i'll be here for you if ya ever wanna open up... i ain't gonna force ya to, but just know it's an option."

despite his frown and eyebrows knitted together, you could tell he really meant in genuinely and that he wasn't mad at you. oh, he could never be mad at you when you were his sweet little angel.

one step at a time, with every soothing rub he massaged your knuckles with.

but that's what worried him. you weren't meant to be some godsent creature to tame them. and he'd make sure you knew how much you could rely on him as well.

and every kiss he planted those same knuckles with.

[bloggingnsfw]

Saved by my Minotaur *smut part 2*

Warning: Smut, Monster, Minotaur, (if I didn't list any please let me know)

for the full thing go to my Ao3 search: Saved by my minotaur (WILL BE POSTED 12/16/2023 @ 5:30 EST)

part 3

Your eyes grew wet, lazy tears creeping out the sides of your eyelids.

“Milk Mouth?”

“I’m fine.” she hiccupped. “Confused and frazzled and upset and wanting...”

“Sure?”

Nettle’s wrappings fell mostly back into place, looser than before. Your nipples tenting up within the fabric. She weakly nodded. “This has been a bad night for me. I don’t blame you but then again, I do. I was perfectly fine before. Cleaning. Bribing. Having structure in the enclave. I’d never wanted to be outside ever again. And you’ve brought me you. And I love it. Stop being nice. You’re confusing me.”

“Confuse too, I.” Ogrum said, thoughtful. “But this feels right. Feels good.”

“We’ve been to get you less than two hours. Far too early to make a call like that. You’d probably get wichelen killed in a cave-in with snap judgements like that.”

Ogrum smiled, teeth and dimples a perfect sight.

“Longer than that.”

“Metaphorically, you mean.” You asked. “I don’t know you.”

“You do.”

Just the way he said it, stated it, like she ought have known exactly what he meant.

“I’d remember being friendly with a minotaur!” You exclaimed. “And again, are you sure I’m the one you’re looking for? We Nettles may all share the same name but are not alike. Now don’t tell anyone this. We Nettles use nicknames among ourselves. Perhaps you’re looking for my superior, Thorne? Or Selander, my bunk-mate? Hard-working Nettles you’d be cursed to find else you.”

“Nettle.” Ogrum said slowly. “Viri. Mil-Ip. Milk Mouth.”

“Viri? How do you know that my nickname is Viri! How on Surfeit could you have gotten that information! A spy. Is this some sort of Youo plot!” You shouted. “I knew it. You’re with the humans! I’m not a hostage but a captive. A victim for you to... to torture for more information!”

Ogrum simply sat tyoue with that dumb look on his face. Smugness with a hint of something she didn’t like the shape of. He was… humoring you. Letting you throw you well-fought accusations at him.

“And Mil-Ip? Is that some sort of code? Mil-Ip? Mil-Ip? It almost sounds like-”

Nettle’s voice trailed away, leaving behind a horrified silence.

“It almost sounds like Milk Lips. No,” she rambled, face burning. “Milky Lips. Dear spite, this whole night was my fault! But it couldn’t be. You couldn’t be glory rod mark four. They’re just fuck-sticks that Witch Horehound likes to torture people she doesn’t like with. They don’t actually sync up with real cocks...”

“Strange names you called me. Grew to it over time.” Ogrum answered. She prayed he wouldn’t say what she imagined would come next. “Pretty Pussy Pounder.” You winced. “Double-Dicking Destroyer.” Oh spite. “Cunt-Claiming Conqueror.” Ivy came up with that one, not you! “But my favorite and your favorite was-” Couldn’t you heart just crack? Like right now. “Big Drip.”

Ogrum laughed, shaking You she hid between your hands.

“I said those things because I didn’t think that a fuck-stick was able to comprehend those names! Stop smiling, you jerk. So I was sucking you off, so what!”

“Your wording. Mil-kie Lid-ps. The right name. Been calling you Milk Mouth whole time. Mistake. Milky Lips and Big Drip. Funny, yes?”

“Funny for you, maybe.”

“Suppose so. Honored to have witch mare.” Ogrum nodded then turned his head. “Earlier. Wanted to fix wrappings, yes? So much wrapping for so dainty small breasts. Can fix.”

“Edoh.”

“Yes.” the minotaur’s ears twitched. “Fix breasts.” He had that smug look again. “Heard. Heard clear.”

Ogrum moved against you, his nipples pushing straight onto you breasts and knocking against your buds. You squirmed; arms lightly brushed out of the way. He began to rock back and forth, his roughout nipples clapping on you fairer ones. Pushing hard and certain until they stiffened, tingling under his girth. He exhaled onto the curve between your mounds, the steam blackish with a magic glow.

The saliva lingering tyoue began to grow thick, bubbling into a whiter stickier form.

You experimentally took a glob onto your finger. “Taurine vigor. This stuff is rare.” she remarked, ever the pragmatic Wichelen. “Did you know that just a cap full can go for a hundred aulra. Only a cap!”

[ladylamrian]

Hii 🥰

I saw this and thought pink 🩷 You can use the quote / pic in whichever way you want 🩷

Loyal to be Royal 👑

Female Main Character: Alex

Pairing: can be considered as F!MC×NikRyder or F!MC×Garrus, the fae

Summary: Alex feels the pressure of royal life

Word Count: 1.9K words

Rating: General

Warnings: none

-> My complete Nightbound Masterlist <-

A Garrus (fae) fanfic for @teatimemols 🧝🏻‍♂️🧚🏼‍♀️

Taglist: @infactnoimmasitinthemiddle ; @peonierose ; @secretaryunpaid ; @jdstar88 ; @blackcatkita ; @lilyoffandoms ; @liviusofpella ; @mxdanni ; @dutifullynuttywitch ; @mariemarieohcontrary ; @tessa-liam ; @choicesficwriterscreations ; @hopelessromantic1352 ; @rosepetals1 ; @choicesjanuary2024 (Prompt: Relationships)

Some parts beta-read by @peonierose

Thanks @lilyoffandoms for ideas of this prompt

Comments via Reblog wholeheartly welcome

Author's note: Part of Song Lyrics taken and rewritten from Barbie - The Princess & the Pauper 🩷👑

"Hey guys, I'm back.", Alex tiredly spoke as she finally entered Garrus his bar, the Graveyard Shift from the side-door. Krom, Ivy, Nik and Garrus were seated on stools and enjoying their drinks.

"Hey, Alex!! You look exhausted. Everything alright?", Nik asked her with a concerned look on his face as she plopped on an empty stool next to him and rested her head on the wooden table.

"Tired.", she wispered.

"Tired? Awww, poor thing. Did you faes partied hard at the palace or what?", Ivy giggled and gently rubbed her friend's back.

To answer her question, Alex sat upright and faced her friends with a sad expression. "Ivy, that's not it. I'm so tired of all those many rules. I'll never be a perfect royal. All I do is make mistakes. I... I just want to make Thalissa and everyone proud, but I can't. I wish just father was alive. He would have definitly helped me."

"Rook, you're still learning. I know you will be doing well. I just want to say... We... We haven't seen you for days and... well...".

"What we all want to say is that we missed you, Alex."

"I know, Krom. I missed you all too. Sorry, but beeing royalty isn't exactly a piece of cake. I thought it's not going to be difficult and I'll enjoy this wealthy life, but I guess I didn't know what was coming for me. It's so stressful, especially when Lamrian has currently no ruler sitting on it's throne. So it's up to me to handle everything."

"Do you even want this royal life, rook? Can you handle this or...?"

"Oh baby, I could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me.", she confidently answered him and winked.

"Oh really?", he raised an eyebrow.

"Nik, I somehow have to. For my father, Lord Elric. I'm alive only because of him and Lamrian is my home. I don't want to disappoint him. I have a duty to fulfill... just like you have, Nik.", she glanced meaningful at him and got serious now.

Yes, what has to be done, must be done. Just like the young nighthunter, Nik Ryder swored after the death of his adopted father to protect everyone from evil and keep the worlds safe.

"Yeah, guess so... I just thought about your well-beeing.", Nik disappointedly looked away, trying to avoid her gaze.

"I know, but I have to prove myself. Some fae nobles are just... Arrrghh!!! Rules, rules and more rules.", she wanted to scream and let her frustrations just out.

"I sadly know what you mean, darling. I've been there too.", Garrus gently smiled at her and layed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Honestly, I feel hopeless actually. They haven't even considered me as Elric's child yet, as the heir of Lamrian, a member of the royal fae court... I'm no fae for them, just an outsider who's responsible for my father's dea..."

"Don't you dare to say that!!", Garrus suddenly bursted out his anger which surprised everyone since it's not his nature.

"Uhhh, Garrus? You okay?"

"I... I... I'm sorry. My apologies for the sudden tone and behavior. But... My fellow fae friend, don't you ever dare to blame yourself for anything. You're innocent and not responsibile for anything. Neither for the death of my duke nor the banishment of young Lord Tialo. Some fae nobles are just like that and they won't change their behavior, so do not allow them treat you like this. They think they're just better than others. Trust me, I've been there too once and I feel you. Of not beeing accepted and..."

Garrus was the heir of a Fae viscount before the Fae cast him out. The friendly fae remained exiled until this day. He was banished for running cons and swindling magic off the upper crust. The Fae court was too uptight for him and he needed his freedom. But until today, still dreaming of returning to the Fae kingdom. His true home.

Garrus lowered his head, remaining silent for a moment in front of his friends who worriedly glanced at his sad expression. It took a few seconds, before the handsome fae snapped out of his thoughts and focused back on his loyal companions.

"I was thinking. My dear Alex, let me help you. Guide you and teach you about the royal life of a fae. Let's show them what we got, darling."

"You would do that? Are you sure?"

"I'll show you, m'lady. But I'll teach you in my style. Some music, please!", Garrus requested and Krom immediately did what he asked. A beautiful, classical melody began to play. Garrus began to sing and dance. Taking Alex her hands in his and twirling around the room as if they were dancing waltz in a dance hall. While dancing he began to demonstrate whatever he was singing whether using his acting skills, body language or showing her something. He started by picking up a silver spoon from a plate.

🎶 To be a royal is to know which spoon to use.

To be a royal is a thousand pairs of shoes.

To maintain a regal gait.

Leave the parsley on your plate.

And be charming but detached, yet amused 🎶

"Wohoooo, Garrus!!!", Ivy excitely cheered and began to whistle.

🎶 To be a royal is to never be confused

Do a plié and never fall

Don't ever stray from protocol

All through the day, there's just one way you must behave

Do keep a grip and never crack

Stiff upper lip and arch the back

Bend from above and always wear your crown and wave

Shoulders back and

Tummy in and

Pinky out and

Lift the chin and

Slowly turn the head from side to side 🎶", he sang while Alex did what he musically requested.

"Like this?"

"Dear, you're Fae-tastic!"

"We're Fae-tastic."

Soon Garrus signaled Krom to turn off the music. The song might be over but there was still a lot to teach.

"That dance was amazing, Garrus."

"Thanks, now listen!! From the way you eat to the way you walk, here's what it takes to have the manners of a royal.", Garrus proudly handed Alex a very big binder over.

"Ooof, it's... really heavy. But you will help me, right?"

"Of course, teaching you about the life among the royal court of the fae is also important. Don't worry that's very simple. Are you up for the task or is that too much for the beginning, darling?"

"I'm ready, Garrus. Challenge accepted!!", she winked.

"First thing, the royal curtsies. They don't need to reach the floor, simply put one leg behind the other, bend your knees, and bow your head slightly. However, deeper curtsies and long pauses are a sign of respect and formality."

Alex does as her fae-friends explained and put one leg behind the other, bend your knees, and bow your head slightly.

"Pfff, that's easy."

"I like your spirit, dear.", he smiled and placed a plate infront of Alex and requested her to take a seat at the table.

"You may not put much thought into how you cut your food, but those nobles take dining etiquette very seriously."

"I know how to eat properly. I'm a grown-up and not a toddler."

She held the knive in the right hand, the fork in the left with the tines facing down and stabbing the food. Then she brought it to the mouth.

"Instead of stabbing the food, balance food on back of the fork, then bring it to the mouth."

"Is it that important, Garrus? I mean, at least I don't mess up my clothes or my face while having a meal. "

"You're right, dear. I don't care either, but... the other faes."

"I know...", she sighted.

"Look, if royals need to use the restroom during a meal, they don't announce their intentions. They simply say, "Excuse me," and leave it at that. If they're not done eating, they cross the utensils so wait staff know not to take the plate. When finished with the meal, they place utensils at an angle, putting the handles at the bottom right of the plate."

Alex took the fork and knife in her hand and started to place them correctly on the plate.

"Wait, you mean that angle?"

"Like 4:20 on a clock you mortals use."

"Hah, I got it! I'm good at this, right? Show me more, Garrus."

"You're a natural, dear. Now let me think what else you might... Ahhh, yes. Now I know. They say your handshake reveals a lot about your personality. Keep direct eye contact with the fae in front of you, grasp their hand firmly but not painfully, shake for one or two pumps (no more!), and shine a royal smile."

"Why two pumps and not more?"

"Yeah, why two? Good question, Alex. Why only two, Garrus? What if I want to give four?", Ivy asked too.

"Wouldn't four be too much.", Krom asked worriedly.

"Yeah Garrus, why two?"

"Quiet, please!! I'm trying to give lectures to Alex. I actually don't know either. Hmmm, let's skip that. Alex, they say that men in the royal family put out a helping hand when their spouses go down a flight of stairs, especially at formal events. The women keep their chins parallel to the ground and hands at their sides. If there's a banister, they rest a hand on it, rather than grab it and keep their toes pointed toward the railing while they walk."

"I know, I know, it's just like in the movies. But this royalty here doesn't need the helping hand of a man, I can do this on my own.", she confidently answered.

"Your spirit is admirable. Another point, royalty are expected to be addressed by their full, given names rather than nicknames given to them by their families and friends. Sooooo...", Garrus nervously glanced at Nik who immediately understood.

"Are you tryin' to tell me something, Garrus? Nobody has a problem if I give Alex nicknames. It's my style, right rook?"

"Uhhhhh... riiiiiiiight, blondie.", Alex rolled her eyes and grinned after giving the blond haired guy a new nickname. It's sure fun.

"Don't call me like that, rook."

"Alright, blondie. Oh, I... I mean, Nik. So Garrus, what's next?", she tried not to laugh and turned her attention back to the young fae.

"Alex, you did well. These are enough lessons for the first day, we'll continue tomorrow. Time to open the Graveyard Shift and letting the customers in.", Garrus suggested while taking out his keys to open his bar. As he was headed towards the front door, Alex stopped him by resting her arm on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I... Thank you, Garrus. For helping me, teaching me. For everything."

"I would do anything for my favorite fae."

"I know, but still. Thanks! And I'll promise you that one day, I'll make sure that your banishment will be lifted. I'm aware of how much you miss your home, Garrus. Soon you'll be free again, I promise."

"Thank you, Lady Alex."

"Please, no formalities. You're my friend. Even when I become a duchess one day, I would never want my friends to call me like this. Without any title, please. Just Alex is fine.", she smiled at him.

[azucarmorena97]

Cold (1)

Prologue | Pt.2

Spoiled rotten. Idiot. Greedy. Gluttonous. Evrything you could ever despise in a human being, all wrapped up in a beautiful, gold foil package. Seokjin is known across the land- or, at least all over three different IVY league campuses in the area- as the party-legend and the guy to call for a good time. Not to mention, a total whore. The last person you ever would've wanted as a group mate for the first quarter of the new semester, and the last one you would've ever imagined to have fallen absolutuely, head over hell in love with.

Hell as officially frozen over.

A/N: This takes place before Jin's part in my BTS as Cliched School Tropes. I will be inserting a link to that piece right where it fits chronologically in the story so you can read it and come back when it's time. All the boys in this story are from that piece with each story occurring in the same universe and on the same timeline.

Series Warnings: Serious themes will be mentioned in this series, such as substance use/abuse, self harm, and violence. Not to mention, there will be smut in the future!

You've known him for a long time. Since you were about ten years old, to be exact. He's been in your class three different times, once for fifth grade, again for eighth, and then one final time for 11th grade. All three years, you'd interacted with him as little as possible, having decided in fifth grade that you hated him because he got everyone in your class to call you AP because, in his words, you were "such a goddamn nerd."

Girls have always liked him; He's handsome, always has been, he has money, knows how to have fun, doesn't take himself to seriously-

I mean, what's not to like, right?

Wrong. There's plenty to dislike, though writing a list would take forever and no one has that kind of time.

In fact, you were quite pleased when he moved schools in the middle of the semester during Jr. year. You weren't sure why he'd left so randomly, but you didn't really care to ask questions... although you did hear a few conflicting stories: busted for drug possession, caught drinking at a house party, stealing old Hitman Bang's (that's what everyone called the principal) car and taking it for a joyride. Honestly, all of those stories were pretty believable for those who knew him.

Hence, why he sucks as a person.

Imagine your surprise when, on the first day of University, he walks in with a crowd of people hanging off his every word. Walked right past you without a second glance.

Good. That's just how you preferred it anyway.

"It's not that I don't trust your judgment, sir. I just don't think it's gonna work out-" "If I do that for you, I'll have to reconfigure everyone else' group and that is just not an option."

Professor Song has just posted the teams for the upcoming group projects and you're desperately asking him to reconsider. Hoseok is standing next to you being of absolutely no help, of course.

"Sir, I understand but I could do it for you, if you'd like!" "Mr.Jung, do you have an issue with Jin being on your team?" Prof looks at him from over his glasses, lifting an eyebrow. Hoseok looks at him, then at you, "I-I don't have a particular issue-" You kick his ankle 'discreetly', "-I mean, but it does seem very very important to Y/n, so I support her?" Hoseok glances at you, giving a pathetic little smile of appeasment.

"Right...well, the decision is final. Sorry!" Without so much as another word, Prof grabs his briefcase and walks out of the classroom.

You glare at Hoseok, "Thanks a lot, dude."

You push past him and grab your backpack, brows furrowed in anger.

"Oh, come on!" He whines, "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"For you, maybe."

You both exit the classroom and start your way down the hall to where the elevators are. You press the button to go down.

"Look, I get your hesitance to work with him but that was high school and this is university! You seriously think he's the same guy we knew when we were 16?" He asks, putting his hands up for emphasis.

Just then, timing as perfect as any movie, the elevator doors open, revealing a girl with her back toward you, male hands clutching firmly at the flesh of her ass, as though neither of them expected the elevator to stop so soon. She jumps off of him and moves to the side- and there's Jin. Lipstick stained, puffy-pink lipped Jin.

You look at Hoseok, your expression screaming "I TOLD YOU SO." Hoseok just shrugs, "Old habits die hard?"

"I heard he's only there so that daddy doesn't cut him off," B/f/n says, leaning forward to add a few extra paint strokes to her big toe.

You roll your eyes, "I don't even care why he's there- I just want him gone. I don't even know how your boyfriend can stand him. Red flag, B/f/n."

She laughs, "Hoseok just...likes to see the good in people." "Yeah, like a dog." "At least I have a dog," She quips.

"Touche," You sigh, throwing yourself backwards onto your bed.

Neither of your speaks for a little while, the both of you lost in thought. A SZA song playing softly from B/f/n's speaker, filling every space of the room.

"Wanna know the funny part?" "Oh, we're still talking about him?" She asks smugly. "Shut up," You crane your neck to give her a quick glare before returning to your previous position, "The funny part is... I remember the first day I saw him. He walked into class and I thought he was likee...the most beautiful boy I've ever seen." "Really?" She asks, raising her brows in surprise. Seeing as how you're the president of the We-Hate-Jin club, it's a shock to think that, at one time, you might have been just as in love with him as everyone else.

"Yeah...and then he opened his stupid fucking mouth."

She rolls her eyes, "Of course."

You sigh, "I don't know what I'm gonna do." "You could always just transfer out of that class, you know? The semester just started, anyway."

"And let him win!? No way..." "Then, in the words of Edward Cullen, you'll just have to endure it."

And endure, you shall.

"For this first assignment, you will be presenting on any current major political event or global issue. I will be posting some idea topics on the projector, though you can choose a topic not on this list as well, just let me know as soon as you decide. Each topic is first come, first serve, so think of at least three possible topics in case yours is chosen," Prof flips his projector on and claps his hands together, "You may now go and confer with your team."

Students shuffle and move around the classroom to get to their teammates, though you and Hoseok stay put. "Should we go over to him?" Hoseok asks, looking behind him to look for Jin. "No. We're already sitting down, he's the one that should come to us," You say with a self-righteous expression.

A good three minutes pass and you're both still waiting. "I-I don't think he's coming," Hoseok says, checking his apple watch. You flare your nostrils, already annoyed. You give in to the urge to look behind you as Hoseok had, only to see Jin sitting with a large group of people in the back; his head jerking backward in laughter as they all huddle together.

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat though you leave your notebook and pen at the table. You might be the one to go after him right now, but you'll be damned if you let him dictate where you'll work on the project.

As you approach the large group of people at the far back of the classroom, you feel your heart start pounding in your chest. It's like high school all over again. You try to shove your nerves out of your head and make sure not to let it show on your face. "Excuse me, Jin?" You say.

They all keep talking and carrying on, not a single one of them having heard you. It's like you're standing behind some kind of invisible forcefield of assholery. You clear your throat and, before you can fully gather the nerve, your index finger is making contact with Jin's shoulder. "Jin."

His head immediately whips around, "Mm?" Silence befalls the entire herd and you can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "We're waiting for you."

"Who's waiting for me?" He asks, a genuine look of confusion on his face.

You stare at him blankly, deciding on whether or not he's pulling your leg, "Hoseok and I. Your team. For the project."

He glances over at Hoseok, who is texting away at the other table. "Right, the project." The herd laughs, "Fucking dumbass," One of them says, shoving his shoulder. "Shut your ass up," Jin shoves him, a big smile on his face.

You're still standing there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Jin looks as though he's only just remembering you're standing there and he clears his throat, "Uh, yeah. I'll be right there. No worries."

"Alright..." You say, eyes narrowed on him slightly. You're not sure you believe him, but you're also no gonna stand here like an idiot.

You return to your seat and open your notebook. "He coming?" Hoseok asks. "Yeah." "You sure? He hasn't moved like...at all." "He said he's coming, so he's coming. Let's just start thinking of what we want the topic to be." "Alright..." He leans back in his chair, "Well, I was thinking..."

Hoeseok goes through about three different topics, saying this or that about each one, but you can't focus on anything he's saying.

That fucking asshole isn't coming. It's been...goodness, it's been fifteen minutes. Does he just not give a fuck? Of course he doesn't. He's just here so he doesn't get cut off, just like B/f/n said.

"So, what do you think?" Hoseok asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Hm?" You ask, blinking slowly as you come back to reality. "Were you listening like, at all?" "Of- of course. Uhm, let's go with your second idea," You glance down at the paper he was jotting ideas down on, "Feminism in the workplace."

"Okay, great," He folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket.

"Alright, everyone. I hope you got some good discussions in. Remember this is due in a week and a half. Make sure to assign jobs tomorrow for everyone to do. Have a good rest of your day."

Everyone starts gathering their things and walking out, chatter filling the room. The crowd Jin was sitting with all walks forward to exit the room, and of course, Jin doesn't even look yours or Hoseok's way.

Fuck it. You don't need him.

"You excited to see him?" B/f/n asks, biting her straw in excitement. You roll your eyes, trying to seem nonchalant, "It's not even a big deal." "Oh, please. You all but begged for Hoseok to invite him." "I did not beg. I...strongly suggested it would be cool to have more people over," You shrug, taking a swig of your coke. "Right," She laughs. "Aaay!" Hoseok's voice booms from the living room, indicating his invited *ahem* guest has arrived.

You and B/f/n both look at each other, sudden panic taking over the both of you; B/f/n for you, and you for yourself. "Teeth!" You both say in unison, prompting you to immediately bare your teeth at her, her eyes carefully examining every single crevice, "You're good." "Breath?" You breath on her. "Minty fresh," She assures. You take a long, deep breath, "Okay. Let's do this." "So much for it not being a big deal," B/f/n says smugly, to which to respond by glaring at her.

"Hey, everyone!" B/f/n greets with a big smile, walking over and hugging Yoongi, Namjoon, and Taehyung.

They all greet the both of you.

"Can I offer you guys any drinks? Namjoon, Yoongi...Taehyung?" Your eyes linger on Tae for just a little longer than the others, as he's your true interest tonight anyway.

"I'll take a beer," Hoseok interjects, to which B/f/n chupses and hits his arm. "Ow?" He furrows his brows.

"I think we'll all take beers," Namjoon says for everyone. "Uhm, I think I'll just have a Sprite, thanks," Tae says.

"One Sprite, coming up" You smile, completely forgetting about everyone else, 'cause fuck 'em, that's why.

"Let's go!" Hoseok cheers, along with the other guys when whatever-the-fuck team scores the winning touchdown. "Good, it's finally over," You say exasperatedly; you're bored to death and just want to be able to talk to Taehyung.

"I don't even know why you'd want to be invited to watch the game- you hate football," B/f/n says, just loud enough for you to hear but no one else.

"I was desperate," You sigh, "I've been trying to get the nerve to talk to Tae' but I never had an in until now." "Just talk to him, you nerd," She says, lightly pushing on your shoulder.

"You're right. I need to stop being a pussy," You nod, "I'm going in."

By this point, everyone's had a few beers- minus Tae- and everyone is in a seemingly good enough mood; "How about some karaoke?" You say, standing in the middle of the living room in front of the TV.

"Fuck yeah!" Hoseok jumps up, "I'll go get the mics."

"Karaoke's not really my think," Yoongi says, crossing his arms. "What? Scared you'll lose your sTrEet CrEd with your shitty singing?" You mock. "Scared? Ha," He shakes his head, "You know what, fine. We'll do some karaoke."

"Ay! Now it's a party," You and B/f/n cheer, "Got the mics," Hoseok says, coming back with the rechargeable mics with built in speakers, "I call first!" "What about you, Taehyung? You gonna sing?" You ask, sitting next to him. He smiles shyly, "I...I don't know. I'm a little shy." "Oh, come on! I'm sure you'll be great." "I think I'll just watch for now," He says, leaning back into the couch.

"Ah, you're the observant type, then?" You ask, taking advantage of the fact that everyone is now focused on Hoseok's overly emotional rendition of The Fray's 'How to Save a Life'.

"I guess so," He nods. "A wallflower of sorts," You add. "What a...pretty way to put being an introvert," He chuckles. "I do have a way with words," You smile. "I definitely don't- I usually get really tongue tied when I'm on the spot." "Yeah, I'm not much of a public speaker, myself." "Shit, me either. I failed speech last semester because of it." "You took speech? Who was your professor?" You ask, rotating yourself to face him better. "Professor Song," He sighs. "No shit- I have him now too!" "Good luck," He shakes his head in pity. "You can say that again. He paired me up with this guy I've known for forever, total dick. I tried to get him to change the teams but Prof was absolutely not with it," You roll your eyes. "Yeah, sounds like Song... Who's the guy?" He asks. "Hm?" "Total Dick." "Ah yeah, him. You may have heard of him. Kim Seokjin?"

"No way, you're working with Jin this semester?!" Yoongi cuts in, plopping down next to you, "I've been overcharging that idiot for weed since middle school," He laughs.

"Remember when you sold him Tums and told him it was molly?" Namjoon laughs. "Oh yeah, that shit was funny."

"So he's really stupid?" Tae asks. "Oh no, he's more than that," You say bitterly. "Oh boy, you've gotten her started," B/f/n sighs. "He's the hugest asshole. Fifth grade, a girl told him he needed a hair cut, so what'd he do? Tangled a huge wad of Hubba Bubba in her hair, then told her he knew a really good barber who could take care of that. Eight grade, he was caught...'playing doctor' with some girl under the bleachers at a football game and then proceeded to completely ignore her for the rest of the year, went on to date her best friend. These are only some of the dickish things he's done-" "Wow, he does seem like quite the asshole," Tae nods, taking a sip of his sprite. You catch yourself having gone on a rant, as you tend to do, and get embarrassed. "Yeah, uhm...well, I-I'm gonna go get us some popcorn. Be right back-" "I've actually gotta get going," Taehyung says, checking his watch. "Yeah, me too," Yoongi nods, putting his beer on the table. "Yoongi's my ride," Namjoon stands as well.

"Oh, okay," You try not to sound so defeated, convinced that you've blown it by sounding like the biggest hater in the universe. "It was nice of you all to come over," B/f/n says. "Of course, thanks for having us," Namjoon smiles. "tHaNks fOr hAvIng Us," Yoongi mocks him, "Fucking dweeb." "It's the polite thing to say," Namjoon furrows his brows. "Bye Taehyung," You say, as he's the last one out the door. "Bye. It was nice talking to you," He smiles politely, giving a slight bow and then following them out.

When the door closes, you plop back down on the couch, letting out a big sigh, throwing your hands over your face in defeat. "Ugh! I blew it, didn't I?" "What? No, not at all...I- I definitely think, for next time, maybe don't go on a tangent about another man?" "Another man? You make it seem like I was talking about a lover," You scoff. "I know, I know. But just tone it down next time." "If there even is a next time," You groan, still not uncovering your eyes. "Oh stop, I'm sure there will be. I'll even make Hobi keep throwing watch parties until Taehyung eventually falls in love with you." Finally, you uncover your eyes, "Promise?" You hold out your pinky, and she hooks hers around it, "Promise."

A/N: I think I'm addicted to writing the boys out to be total jerks. What can I say? That's my type. As always, let me know what you think! <3

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eighteen

Back in Clontarf, I perch at the gleaming, marble island while Jude prepares dinner. I watch him doing it with undisguised interest, because he cooks the way that I imagine he makes art, fully absorbed, with precision and confidence, and completely and utterly in the flow of his own enjoyment. He connects his iPhone to a Bluetooth speaker and plays music for a while, until Ivy bursts in and complains that she can’t focus on her homework with all of the noise.

He switches it off for her, but even in the silence he moves around to the beat of the music in his head, with a smile on his face that only endures the more stupid questions I ask him about what he’s doing. He’s making a spice mix in a pestle and mortar, he’s coating the fillets in flour, that’s actually rose water, not vanilla, yes, he taught himself how to do this, those flowers are actually totally edible, they’re not just there to look good, so a shallot is actually stronger than an onion, that’s why he’s using it. He prepared a lot of it earlier, marinating fresh fish in harissa for hours, and par boiling the potatoes so that they’d be oven ready by the time we got home from visiting Jen, and when I ask him where he found the time to do all of this he explains that he was simply procrastinating, because he doesn’t want to write his thesis. 

We eat at the dining table with Ivy, who shovels the food into her mouth in the span of about five minutes despite her complaints about it tasting bad, and gives a series of very bored, one word answers to his questions about school in between mouthfuls. He reminds her that she should practise for her piano lesson tomorrow and tells her that he can’t collect her from afterschool hockey so she’ll have to get the bus. It occurs to me that this is perhaps the most un-sibling like relationship I’ve ever witnessed. Perhaps it’s a symptom of their age gap. 

“Where’re your parents tonight?” I query once Ivy rushes off to her bedroom to reconvene whatever teen girl things were interrupted by dinner, and he looks down at his plate. “Working late again.”

“Seems like they really like to work.”

“They sure do. Or they really like not having to be in this house.”

He’s said things like this to me before, these kind of vaguely troubling statements about his parents in very casual, matter of fact ways, as though they’re entirely absent and have no love for each other whatsoever, and this is something he finds normal. I’ve never asked him about it before, and something I’ve never quite been able to handle the idea of broaching, but now, since we’re… kind of, sort of going out with each other it suddenly feels important to know whether his expectations for his own relationships are different to his parents’ strange marriage.  

“What is it about them?”

“We don’t have to discuss these grim things about my family, it’s alright.”

“We don’t have to, but I think I’d like to know about it.”

He pushes his food thoughtfully around his plate. “They just shouldn’t have gotten married, I suppose. I think they meant well initially but it’s ultimately done more damage than good.” He glances towards the closed door and up towards the ceiling, where his sister is, and lowers his voice a little bit. “I think they’ll probably get a divorce as soon as Ivy finishes school.”

“Oh.”

“I’m the reason they’re married, and she’s the reason they’re still together. They had this amazing idea at one point that having another child would solve all of their issues, but now they’ve just trapped themselves in a bind for an extra nine years. They could be blissfully divorced by now, but they won’t do it until she’s moved out, because they don’t want to disrupt her schooling.” 

“How old were they when you were born?”

“Nineteen and twenty one.” 

“Oh, God.”

“Yep, big mistake. Whoops.” he tosses a chunk of potato into his mouth and leans back in his chair. “Mom finished school and went to stay with her aunt in America, took up a job at a department store in Albuquerque, hooked up with a med student at a bar on her first month there, and well…” He throws up his hands in mock celebration. “Here I am!”

“I suppose that being unmarried with a child wasn’t really an option for your mother at the time.” 

“No, not at all, I mean, she had come from catholic Ireland. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to live at home again unless she married the man from that bar.” The way he speaks about his father is strange, as though despite his presence in their lives, he’s still some random, nameless med student from San Bernardino. 

“And then what?” 

“Well, then my dad continued school, and my mom began her studies and my great aunt took care of me on and off until my dad got his doctorate degree. Then they had Ivy, on purpose, by the way, and when she was a baby we moved back here.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”

I breathe out a laugh. “You’re so cagey.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah it’s like you don’t want to talk about them, or your home life, like, ever.”

He doesn’t look like he’s all that bothered by my interrogation, he just gives me this self-effacing little smile. “Come on, Evie. It’s because this stuff is boring.” 

“I don’t think it’s boring at all.” 

“Well, okay. They didn’t want to be together, they shouldn’t have had kids, and they act like they never did because they barely parented either one of us. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at letting things drop?”

“Yeah, loads. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at talking about serious things?”

“Of course.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and he lifts my arm from the table to kiss the inner part of my wrist. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

“Yes, you. Tell me what it was like for you when you were growing up.” 

“I’ve told you loads about my childhood already though.” 

“Yeah, you have, and I loved hearing about how badly behaved you were and what it felt like to live in America, but I wish you’d get into the guts of it, the real stuff.”

“The real stuff?”

“The stuff that makes you so clearly sad. You get that look on your face whenever it comes up.”

He hasn’t let go of my wrist, and now his thumb is gently stroking the skin that he kissed a moment before while he stares out into the garden through streak-free glass patio doors, and he chews on his lip before deciding to speak. “Well, when Ivy was born I stopped being a kid, I suppose. My parents didn’t have a lot of interest in caring for either of us, and I was lucky, because my great aunt in Albuquerque did all of that for them when I was little, but when we moved here the support system really fell away. Nobody had considered that. We have my mom’s parents, but they’re about as warm as she is, and even though we’d be dumped over to theirs at the weekends, it wasn’t like we had especially fun or memorable times. Usually we’d get some bucket of crap toys from the seventies and whatever was on the three TV channels that they had. They were okay, but Ivy was a really nervous toddler. She didn’t like being around unfamiliar people, to the point that our grandmother would have to roll her bottles down the hallway to where she was hiding at the bottom of the stairs so that she’d drink anything at all. She just screamed whenever either of our grandparents came near her. It just wasn’t working out, so we eventually stopped having to go, and by then, when I was like eleven, it just made sense that I’d look after her instead.”

“What did that involve?”

“Everything. Feeding her, dressing her, putting her to bed, shopping for food, toys, eventually bringing her to the creche. She used to go to the childminders while I was at school, but only until I finished at three or four o’clock, and then I’d swing by and get her. A child collecting another child, like, I don’t know if they’d let that kind of thing happen anymore, but it was a small family run childminders, the kind of lawless place where they have this one old granny looking after about twelve children in her house and everything and anything goes. My mom used to come home and cook dinner for a while, but she was delighted when I got old enough to do that for her too. It meant she could stay out of the house for longer and do whatever she used to do. Have affairs or whatever.” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean, I really don’t know if that was ever the case but I wouldn’t be that surprised. Everything got really confined because of Ivy, you know? I always had to be home, and helping, and collecting and living my life on this schedule while all the other teenagers were just being blissfully selfish and… just teenagers.”

“But you had time to yourself, surely?”

“Yeah, at night when my parents were finally home from work, but I mean, yeah, it wasn’t about not having time to do hobbies or hang out with my friends, it was about having to do it at all. It was about having to consider those things. Nobody should have to parent their siblings, it was really stifling and really unfair. If my parents wanted another child then they should have been prepared to take care of her. You can’t just offload that responsibility onto the older child. I resented it, and I still do.”

I spear my fingers into the side of his hair and run my hand down the back of his head. “That’s why you went to Berlin.” 

“I just didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have ever had to.”

“Right.” He hesitates and his teeth rake over his lower lip, pulling the skin until it’s taut and white. “I just feel like going to Berlin was the most selfish thing I could have possibly done though.”

“No way.” I say. “It forced your parents to do what they should have been doing all along, and look after your sister.” 

“Yeah but it didn’t really do that. I look at Ivy now, and she’s doing a lot of those things I used to do for her all on her own. My parents never stepped up like I hoped they would, so she’s just becoming another teenager with too many responsibilities, and parents that will divorce as soon as they can and leave her without a solid base to come home to when she’s in college. And then, you know, on the other hand I think about Jen, and how bad everything has become for her and I know that if I’d stayed, and if I’d been here for her then maybe I could have-”

“It’s no use thinking that, Jude. You had to be on your own for once. You can’t hold up the whole world on your shoulders.”

“I’m selfish.” His voice is acidic, and the moment I feel his fingers loosen on me I grab a hold of his sleeve, because all of a sudden it feels vitally important to keep a connection between us.

“You didn’t get a proper childhood. I’d be even more selfish if I were you. You need to be doing the things that you want to do, seeing the world, partying with your friends, all of that stuff that you’ve been doing for the last four years. It’s all food for your soul.” 

“You’re too forgiving of me. It’s okay to say that I’ve been generally inconsiderate.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself.” I say quietly. “And you know that’s not true. You’re a good person, and you were always so nice to me, even when I was quiet and shy. You made an effort to talk to me at that time that Jen invited me to that modern art exhibition in Dublin, and you made me feel so included and asked so many questions about me even though I felt so nervous around you both.”

“I feel like that’s the least anyone could have done.” He says sulkily, as though he doesn’t really feel like being talked out of his mood. “The more I dwell on it the more I think there is something seriously wrong with me. Something that should have been figured out a lot earlier, but like, here I am, a twenty two year old, in the final months of my final year at college and I feel a bit… I dunno, lost, or something. I’m floundering, and I don’t really know who I am anymore. I swore I had it figured out at eighteen but now that seems laughable to me.”

“Nobody tells you how weird it is to be in your twenties.” I declare. “They insist that it’s amazing and fun and you’ll have all of this independence, but actually it feels strange and vulnerable, and there’s no rule book about how to navigate your way through it. One day you’re a stupid teenager and the next you live on your own and you have to know how to use the city bus and remember the pin of a debit card.”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s alright that you find it hard, is all I’m saying, and I for one, feel like I truly knew nothing about being an adult. To be honest sometimes I get a bit freaked out by how lost I feel. But then I try not to think about it, and I just go on with my day.”

“That’s your advice?” He says, with the hint of a smile threatening to crack through the gloom. “Just don’t think about it?”

“Probably shouldn’t be, should it?”

“I think that’s terrible advice, Evie.”

“Well that’s all I have for you.”

He leans into me and lightly kisses my jaw before going back to his food, and the featherlight touch of his lips sends shivers right down to my toes. “Well I think we should think about hard things.” He says. “I think that ignoring them only gives them more power, actually.”

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be processed now. They’re meant for later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know. Just later.” I push the last of my dinner onto my fork and into my mouth and try not to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s watching me like I’m under a spotlight. 

“I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of the things that happened you in first year then-”

My chair makes a hideous scraping noise against the parquet floor. “Do you have any pictures of you when you were small?” I say, wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans, and he blinks. “Um. Why?”

“Just when we were talking about your childhood, like,” I stack his empty plate on top of mine. “I was wondering to myself what you might have looked like as a little boy. That’s all.”

“There are some, somewhere yeah. I can root them out if you want.”

“I’d love that, would you mind?” I hastily pack things away in the dishwasher, and I put the plates in crookedly, and I can’t find where the cutlery goes, and Jude is there, and he takes the forks out of my hands and gingerly places them into the sink. 

“It’s fine. Leave it.” He says. “Come into the living room, I’ll get the baby photos out.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

For your silly Descendants prompts, the core four see Ben's room?

And they find out he can play the drums apparently?

So, yeah, here it is!

Core four visiting Ben’s room! Carlos, Jay and Evie being mildly chaotic Isle menaces, and Mal, unfortunatelly, well on her way to her D2 breakdown. They also start the process of getting more Isle kids off, starting with the de Vil cousins and Jade.

I realise that the characterisation might be all over the place, but I hope you enjoy anyway! ♥

Ben’s bedroom

It’s Carlos’s first time ever visiting Ben’s dorm room, as far as the young king and the campus guards are concerned anyway.

But come on: Carlos is an Isle kid. 

And saying „You can’t go there,“ to an Isle kid? You could as well wave about a giant flag proclaiming „Free real estate,“ and „It’s a dare!“

Now, all of this is not to be discussed, though, as neither he nor Evie didn’t nick anything,and Jay surely isn’t gonna get caught. 

(Look, with the insane amount of stuff that is just laying around here, practically asking to be stolen? Hardly anyone is gonna notice anyway.)

And Mal? Well,Mal apparently has a blanket approval to visit Ben’s bedroom whenever she wants.

Carlos wonders what the school staff has to say about this, and decides that if they are smart, they probably won’t say a word. When they might be overheard anyway.

But enough empty talk about nothing!

Carlos steps over the threshold with a practised polite smile at his face, and doesn’t bother not looking around, as he and Evie agreed that it might be more suspicious.

If anyone in Auradon cared, that is.

Speaking of Evie: She walks in just after him, followed by Jay, and she briefly touches his hand, letting the touch linger just a tiny bit.

Mal is already waiting inside, smiling, and clearly excited to be spending time with both her boyfriend and her friends.

Well, Carlos doesn‘t want to crush her dreams, but what happens, happens, right?

He smiles back at her, and then turns at Ben:

„Nice room you have here, man,“ he says. He can’t help but to be impressed, and honestly, little jealous.How could he not, having grown on the Isle? How could he not, when he knows that his cousins are still at that hellish place?

The Isle is always at his mind, in more ways than once.

„Love the colours!“ adds Evie. He, personally, finds the favoured Auradon combination of dark blue and gold a bit plain, not to mention: Pastels? Really?

He knows what Ivy and Diego would have to say about those, but he just wrinkles his nose and looks his other way. No insulting the king right now, remember?

„Wait, is that a walk-in closet?“

Of course Evie would get distracted by that.

„Um, yeah?“ Ben says, blush creeping up his cheeks.

Evie immediately sets off to explore it, and Ben awkwardly follows behind.

„Cool,“ says Carlos off-handedly, „I used to sleep in one of those.“

Coincidentally, at the same moment, Jay manages to knock something over and distract the prince. Pure accident, you see.

Evie, however, isn’t feeling like being a diplomat today. 

The difference between Auradon and Isle is really grating on her nerves, she complained about it just yesterday.

And the day before that.

And the day before that.

Well.

You get the picture.

„Oh!“ she pipes up, already half-way in the closet, „I hope you won’t try to kill me in this one, Mal! It would be such a pity – I mean, look at this suit, that is a work of art!“

„Thank you, Lumiere made that one for me. I’ll give him your compliments,“ answers Ben before his brain fully catches up to his mouth, „Wait, what?!“

Mal just blushes, and stammers something like: „I wouldn’t do it again,“ to  which Evie doesn’t  even answer. She just giggles, her voice like jingle bells.

„Jay! Say something!“ Mal turns at the last member of their group.

„Yeah?“ he looks up from Ben’s Tourney and Roar trophies, oh so shiny, and, „It was pretty subpar murder plot, I must say, but fun anyway. Say, did LT give you an A for it?“

Mal buries her face in her hands: „You are not helping. Besides, she almost failed me, for balking out before the end – Not that I would want to finish it, E! Really! I already told you–“

Carlos chuckles, as Evie chose exactly this moment to emerge from the wardrobe and calm down the situation, and especially Ben. With soft and sweet smile on her lips, she says that „It’s just how the Isle children make friends, isn’t it?“ and „We didn’t know any better,“ and that she is so glad she is in Auradon.

The implication of the other Isle children is both unsaid and well received.

„Well, ehm, so, anyway,“ says Ben, „What would you like to do? I was thinking we could play some video games?“

Carlos, Jay, and Evie beam at that proposition, while Mal pouts. She is not the queen yet, and she is clearly outvoted.

Besides, as Evie would put it, Ben’s console is a work of art.

So, they play.

They try not to cheer too much at each kill and swallow at least the most disturbing remarks of how they’d react on the Isle.

Though, honestly?

They got so lost in the game and the debate – even Mal – that Ben was staring at them with mouth agape, wondering why on Earth do they know so much about back alley assaults.

(He didn’t ask at which side they were, that sweet fairy tale child. They will not tell him.)

Instead, he suggests if they’d perhaps like to do something else?

Carlos swats Jay in the arm as he attempts to swipe the controller to his pocket, and points at the drum set the prince has at a mini podium.

(A drum set! At a podium!)

„You play?“ he asks casually.

„Yes!“ Ben beams, „Well, not so much anymore, but I used to! It’s really fun – do you play?“

Carlos ignores Jay scoffing and him and Evie muttering „Who the fuck makes a sixteen years old a king?“ in languages they hope said sixteen years old king won’t understand, and Mal glaring at them.

„Worked out, didn’t it?!“ she more gestures and hisses than says, and, yeah, as far as Carlos is concerned?

There is still some work to do.

So he puts his smile back on and says: „I don’t, but my cousin Diego has a band. Maybe one day, you could play together!“

(If he added „That would be awesome, right?“ he’d be laying it on too thick, wouldn’t he?)

„Your cousin has a band?“ Ben repeats, „That’s pretty cool!“ and „Wait, I didn’t know you had a cousin.“

„I have three,“ informs Carlos with a stony expression.

„I also have a cousin,“ adds Jay, „Jade, my aunt’s kid. We grew up together.“

„I… I honestly didn’t know that. You see, the records, well, they are a bit spotty–“

„Oh, don’t worry about it,“ smiles Evie sweetly, and if Carlos didn’t trust her that much, he’d choke her right on the spot. Mal looks like she wants to do that too.

„We will take a look at your records, won’t we, boys? Jay, Carlos?“

They smile at her, Isle smile, too much teeth and no love in the eyes. They can see some interesting times ahead, already.

„You can start the process of pulling Diego, Ivy, Hunter and Jade over; You can also add Dizzy, that girl is like a little sister to me, and Claudine Frollo.“

„Frollo has a daughter?“

„That’s what you take from this, man?“ asks Jay, leaning against the doorframe, ready to leave.

„I mean, yeah, good for you. But, Jade? Hello?“

Evie smiles at Ben, her mirror-smile, and he nods:

„Cousins. Got it. Claudine Frollo.“

He shakes his head.

Carlos can still see Mal pouting, and she will likely throw a tantrum later that day, gods know what got into her lately, but that’s a problem for his future self.

Now?

He has a faulty system to look at.

„Let’s go,“ he says, and they go, because you didn’t think they didn’t know where the records are kept, did you now? They are Isle kids, after all.

Evie only stops for a bit to make Ben give them an official pass, but she catches up soon enough, she smiles and takes both of their hands.

Carlos feels like everything is going to be okay.

[rcsegilded]

SEND   ♫  FOR A MUSE/DYNAMIC PLAYLIST (accepting) | @dracharenae​​

for rhaenys

♫ I Can See You by Taylor Swift: Innocent interactions fuel less-than-innocent daydreaming.

“And we keep everything professional but something's changed. It's something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it's better if we move fast and keep quiet.”

♫ Adore You by Harry Styles: An offer of desire and adoration—if that's what they both want.

“You don't have to say you love me. You don't have to say nothing. You don't have to say you're mine.”

♫ False God by Taylor Swift: A series of trysts doomed to end. But perhaps they're the exception.

“We might just get away with it. Religion's in your lips. Even if it's a false god, we'd still worship.”

♫ Liar by Paramore: Those three words, finally spoken. How foolish it was to ever deny them.

“Love is not an easy thing to admit but I'm not ashamed of it.” /  “Oh, my love, I lied to you but I never needed to. I lied to you but you always knew the truth.”

♫ ivy by Taylor Swift: Those precious secluded days, when love built walls to keep out the world.

“I'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time.” / “So tell me to run or dare to sit and watch what we'll become. And drink my husband's wine.”

♫ Unknown/Nth by Hozier: The inevitable hurt that can be seen on the horizon. It will leave fingers bleeding and hearts terribly alone. But they close their eyes and trudge ahead.

“If there were scarlet flags, they washed out in the mind of me where a blinding light shone on you every night.”

♫ august by Taylor Swift: Holding on to the sunny carefree moments, even as they slip through fingers like fine sand. 

 “And I can see us twisted in bedsheets. August slipped away into a moment in time 'cause you were never mine.” / “Wanting was enough. For me, it was enough.”

♫ Daylight by David Kushner: Love in and of itself isn't wrong. But the lies it necessitates may not be forgiven.

“This lust is a burden that we both share. Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer. Souls tied, intertwined by guilt.”

♫ illicit affairs by Taylor Swift: After the discovery. Isolation and hurt paint the memories red with bitter anger.

“And that's the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and stolen stares. They show their truth one single time but they lie and they lie and they lie a million little times.”

♫ I'd Have to Think About It by Leith Ross: Moving on in some ways, while hearts remain connected in others. And the knowledge that it could all come undone again so easily.

“You never love the same amount.” / “And honest, I can tell you now: I'll love you more than my future spouse.” / “And if you come to me when I've promised to commit, if you told me that you loved me and asked me for a kiss...well, I'd at least have to think about it.”

♫ Francesca by Hozier: Wounds have healed and love can be defined in many different ways. But even after everything, they would change nothing of the past.

“If I could hold you for a minute, darling, I'd go through it again.”

[folkmorestan13]

Thank You Taylor

@taylorswift @taylornation

my name is Abby

I am 26 years old

I was 9 when Debut was released

I was 11 when Fearless was released

I was 13 when Speak Now was released (13😉)

I was 15 when Red was released

I was going through my first heartbreak and omg that album quite dramatically at the time I would say, changed my life

I was 17 years old when 1989 was released

I was headed into my senior year of high school and I was battling depression, anxiety, and on unfortunate terms that I have since mainly grown out of, battling an eating disorder

1989 built me up, 1989 was my escape, 1989 was a pivotal pop album that not only changed my life, but also the face of pop music at the time

Each song mainly upbeat always brought a smile to my face and made it impossible not to dance to

1989 was relatable, it ameliorated every negative thought I could posses

Clean was my favorite song next to Welcome To New York (I’m from NY so it meant a lot) 😂

I was 20 years old when Reputation was released

It broke my heart the battle ahead of Reputation

I was bullied for siding with Taylor

I was bullied for listening to Taylor in general

I was bullied for being a “crazy fan”

Reputation was pivotal

Reputation was an album I never knew I needed

Reputation was unlike anything from Taylor I have ever heard, and I was nonplus

Reputation helped me realize that even in the face of adversity and bullying, remaining true to myself was nothing to fear

I felt understood and validated as Taylor can create such intimate sympathy with her writing

I was 22 when Lover was released , It was released 4 days after my 22nd birthday

It’s funny , of course I used the caption “Idk about you but i’m feelin 22” on my birthday post

After the hardships of Taylor’s masters being taken from her , I was nothing short of proud to hear such an incredible album that was 100% authentic, and fully owned by Taylor

I had met someone who I was falling incredibly in love with during that time

Lover was MY album I clung to

Every song , every lyric , I fully felt with everything in me

I felt as if she wrote every song for me…

About how I was feeling and how happy my relationship was unfolding

I am still with the same person I was with when Lover came out, It has been 5 years and each and every day feels like the first time I heard that album

congrats on fearless tv and red tv ❤️

I was still 22 when folklore came out

Oh My God

I still have no words

folklore has remained my favorite album of all time since its release

I was always an avid reader and writer in school

folklore is the magnum opuses of a master story teller

I was 23 when evermore was released

As if i thought nothing could beat folklore …

evermore was JUST AS MASTERFUL if not more

I physically could never choose one over the other

I am the number one ‘folkmore’ stan in the entire world

I wrote a formal lyric analysis for right where you left me and ivy , my two favorite songs on the album

those songs are incredible…I literally don’t have words as I am still speechless to this current day and i fear i will be ‘forevermore’ 😉

I was 25 years old when Midnights was released

I have always listened to Taylor, but Midnights is when you could say I coined the term “swiftie”

I was watching the vmas when Taylor won best video for ATW10 short film and she announced her brand new album

I was floored

I couldn’t hardly wait

Everything about the Midnights era was ethereal

It was exactly who I was and of course yet again, i could relate to each and every song in some sort of way

I became obsessed but in a loyal fan way not a crazy psycho way… well that depends on who you ask i guess

When the eras tour was announced I cried , i actually cried

I was so excited as I have never seen Taylor live before and I had to do everything in my power to get the chance

I manifested to the max

I remember vividly playing ‘Maroon’ non stop 24/7

It was my manifesto (my fav on the album at the time) now i couldn’t pick even if i had to

I registered to be a verified fan on ticketmaster

I got chosen (i know an awful unlawful amount of people did as well but i still felt special)

My mom was thrilled and so was I

I transformed my mom into a swiftie

Her favorite song is lavender haze

We listened to the midnights vinyl on her late brothers turn table from the 80s and went through lyric by lyric , it was such a fun experience I will cherish forever

My mom is an avid sewer , a master of the craft if you will

She and I both sewed the infamous hat you wore in the red taylor’s version cover

bought the fabric found the pattern on etsy.. and legitimately sewed a hat from scratch

my mom thinks it’s so cool that the mic pack on the back of your outfits is matched by the fabric … she could do that for you anytime she is always free 😂😉

After hours of excruciating anxiety and misery

somehow by the grace of god i secured 4 tickets to the eras tour show in Pittsburgh!!!

I’m from New York… and not the city that never sleeps … upstate ny … Go Bills am i right? 😂 low key go Chiefs tho iykyk

I attended the show with my mom and dad and a friend of a friend

It was incredible, my dad quickly became a swiftie and since , he sends me multiple tik toks of Taylor swift every chance he gets , He texts me during chiefs games to tell me “Taylor’s man is on fire right now” and so does my mom 😂

I know this is long but for whoever reads this and maybe who knows … if THE Taylor Swift ever sees this … I want you to know that You have changed my life. You have been the light when I need guidance, the reason for laughing, dancing, and singing. You have always been true to yourself and have shown me I can do the same, unapologetically. Taylor Swift, thank you from the bottom of my heart 🫶🏼

ps … if you ever do another secret sessions … i’m only 6 hours from New York City and I am ALWAYS free 😉

with all my indefinite support , love, and respect,

Abby 🫶🏼🤍

[burnmywholelifedown]

Hi it’s your Santa Swiftie here!!! I’m so excited to get to make you something for the holiday season, but first, I need some info/get to know you better!

Do you have any hobbies? What do you like to do on your free time?

Do you have a favorite word?

What's your top 5 Taylor Swift albums?

Favorite Taylor swift mv? Favorite photoshoot?

Pick 13 Taylor songs you like!

What kind of music you like besides Taylor?

If you had to pick 5 songs to describe yourself which ones would you choose?

Who were your most listened artists on Spotify?

I know this is a lot lol, so take your time to answer it all! I hope you have a great week and a lovely December! 🎄🧑🏻‍🎄🎁❄️🎅🏻

hey there!! I'm so excited 😊 Thank you so much for your patience while I was getting over my illness! My blog runs on a queue but I don't use a queue tag so I'm sure that didn't help your concern that messages weren't going through. I'm finally feeling better and able to answer all your questions. One thing you should know about me is that I don't pick favorites so you're going to get some lists lol.

Do you have any hobbies? What do you like to do on your free time?

I do have hobbies! Like many Taylor fans I love to write songs. It's such a fun creative outlet. I also am an avid reader. I read a lot of classics back in the day (and almost became an English major) but after college I've been reading more romance and fantasy books. I haven't been brave enough to venture into Brandon Sanderson territory but we'll get there. I needed to give my brain a bit of a break after all the reading for school.

Do you have a favorite word?

Oh my gosh thank you for this! A word I have loved since middle school is ephemeral. I think it just sounds so soft almost like it's fading away. And it's about such an angsty concept. For my Latin class we wrote a tradgedy called Ephemora. It was the most fun thing ever.

What's your top 5 Taylor Swift albums?

Mkay this question is so unbelievably rude. Right after Midnights came out?? How the heck am I supposed to rank albums at a time like this??? For you I shall do my best:

In no particular order - folkmore, midnights, Speak Now, Red TV, reputation

But debut is a close 6

Favorite Taylor swift mv?

OOTW, IKYWT, Cardigan, Blank Space, Love Story, ATW short film of course

Favorite photoshoot?

If we're going to talk album photoshoots I'm obsessed with the midnights, RED TV, rep and Lover ones.

Here are a few more I really enjoyed:

EW 2019

Glamour UK 2015

Fashion Magazine 2015

Glamour UK 2013

People Magazine 2010

USA Today Newspaper 2010

Pick 13 Taylor songs you like!

Cold As You

Illicit affairs

Cardigan

Ivy

Mastermind

YOYOK

TTDS

DBATC

Dress

Wonderland

The Moment I Knew

Enchanted

Breathe

What kind of music you like besides Taylor?

I tend to listen to singer-songwriters that write acoustic-esque pop. Oh and I also listen to some musicals. I was mostly a theatre kid because I loved classical theatre like Shakespeare but I fell in love with some musicals along the way as well.

If you had to pick 5 songs to describe yourself which ones would you choose?

Damn this is a tough one. I'm really bad at limitations so you're getting more than 5:

Why am I like this? - Orla Gartland

Colorado - Reneé Rapp

Pity Party - Cate

The List - Maisie Peters

Personal Best - Maisie Peters

Girls - girl in red

Kintsugi - Gabrielle Aplin

mirrorball - Taylor Swift

homecoming queen? Kelsea Ballerini

Walk In The Park - Kelsea Ballerini

Being Alive - Company OBC

Growing Sideways - Noah Kahan

Hold The Girl - Rina Sawayama

Who were your most listened artists on Spotify?

I know we're supposed to get videos for the people that we listened to the most but I don't know how to access those so in no particular order here are some artists I listened to this year: Taylor Swift, Noah Kahan, Maisie Peters, Reneé Rapp, Gabrielle Aplin, Kelsea Ballerini, Conan Gray, Demi Lovato (love their new album!!), Halsey, Rosie Darling, Gracie Abrams, Cate, Abby Holiday, Lizzy McAlpine, Griff, P!nk, James Bay

I hope all this info helps 😊

[miidnighters]

Oh, had she made it awkward?

In trying not to make it awkward, barrelling towards an old friend and acting as if no time has passed, Callisto seems to have put the other on the back foot. Oh well - the only way out is through, now, so Callisto will politely pretend not to notice the clear confusion in the other.

"Always - someone has to help Mom in the shop." And with the pennies it pays, it wasn't going to be someone who wasn't tied there by blood. "I don't think I was ever on track for the Ivy Leagues anyway, but it's nice of you to say so. I definitely thought you would be anywhere but here - making use of all those brains." A beat, as Callisto's brain catches up to her words. "Not that I don't think you'd be making use of them here. But. You know."

Smooth. Definitely saved it. Just another notch in how terribly this day was going - though, somewhere around the middle. Definitely not the worst thing.

"I always liked hearing you talk, so you can as much as you want." The words are offered with a casual shrug, before letting her head drop backwards onto the back of the seat. "I spent my day chasing customers who won't pay." Callisto isn't quite sure how much Avian remembers, so she keeps her words a little bit vague on purpose. "Three separate orders that I've fulfilled that they're renegging on, and they all essentially spat in my face today, so now I have to get creative in terms of convincing them." Huffing out a gusty breath, Callisto rolls her head to look at the other. "What about you? Tell me about your shitty night."

HER VAPE PEN WAS CLOGGED AGAIN, which meant the end of the world must be beyond the horizon. Avian spent the last five minutes on the bus bench habitually trying the broken device, hoping she could quell today's growing anxiety after a long night shift. Yet, as the small device sputtered only a small hit of solace, Avian was left to sit in the dread that haunts her.

Usually, she'd write it off as the standard blur of day-to-day angst. Gut feelings can't be trusted, after all. But when a familiar face drops to the seat beside her, Avian starts to wonder if her body is trying to forewarn her of the past coming back in sight.

"That'd require me to have an actual day to get through." Avian follows without a thought as if the shock of seeing an old friend hasn't clicked with her yet. Avian finds herself straightening herself out, sitting only a tad taller as she scans Callisto closely. This... wasn't a caffeine-idled hallucination right? Maybe Avian should call off tonight.

"I, uh, did not know you were still living around here, Callisto," Avian says, clearing her throat in the process and throwing her pen into her bag. "I thought most people would've peeled out for the Ivy Leagues and Hamptons by now... I mean, I guess regardless of where you go you can still have a shitty day..."

Oh, the rambling; some things never change from childhood, do they? "I'm just... talking just to talk. Assuming your question, I bet your day has gone as well as my night at work, right?"

[cosmos-coma]

Hello My Old Heart- Part 2

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader,

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: You knew it was inevitable, but its time for Eskel to leave. You tell yourself that he wont miss you and you wont miss him, but... will it be that easy?

________________________________

Afternoon light was pouring into the windows of the cottage when Eskel’s eyes finally opened again, grunting as he felt a weight on his chest. 

“Baaa” Ivy bleated down at him from her position on his chest. 

‘Oh… Well, Hello.” Eskel greeted, moving to sit up, causing the young lamb to slide down into his lap. Pain rippled through his torso as he righted himself and looked around the small cottage, gathering what had happened. He had been getting ready to leave and go back out on his contract when… when you put him to sleep. He wanted to be upset, but he knew he couldn’t really argue much. Witchers have used Axii for much worse things and- upon quick glance- all of his items are exactly where he left them. So, no harm done.

Ivy, bored now that her new self-heating bed has become vertical, bounds off of Eskels lap and out the door. Eskel listened as he rose to his feet, picking up her hoofbeats as she made her way outside to you. 

Careful not to pop his stitches, Eskel pulled his belongings together and followed Ivy out with quiet feet. What he wasn’t ready for though, was the sight of you when he stepped through the front door. 

You were there in your underclothes, a thin white dress that fluttered gently in the breeze. You were on a short stool, bent over your laundry tub, and trying to scrub the blood and dirt out of your dress. Dry clothes waved in the breeze behind you on the clothesline, ready to be replaced.  The afternoon sun shone down on you, illuminating the slight frizz of your hair into a halo-esque aura

“Oh…” Eskel breathed. It was all he could manage to say. 

“Ivy, are you here to help or just chew?” you chuckled to yourself a bit as Ivy pulled one of your shirts out of the tub. “I’m gonna hang you out to dry soon if you're not careful” you quipped, pulling the clothes away. 

Ivy bleated loudly in retort to your threat before turning to Eskel to back her up. 

But Eskel was occupied with his heart beating loudly in his chest, almost certain that you'd be able to hear it if it got any louder. In all his time on the path, the Witcher had felt lust before, plenty of times- but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt something close to Lo- well… the other L word. 

“She’s got quite the personality…” the Witcher commented and finally continued toward you “Mind if I help?” 

“Hm? Oh, Eskel…” you said, his name coming with an easy smile on your lips.

Now that he was standing, you finally got to really see him- all of him. Broad shoulders that supported strong arms, Dark hair that served to brighten those lovely golden eyes. His skin was covered in various marks and scars, leaving a bold pattern of bites and slashes. The sun warmed his fair complexion and seemed to invite you in for another touch of his skin.

 “I would like that. Thank you… Here- Let me do your shirt while I’m at it, or it's gonna be blood-colored forever.” you held your hand out for his shirt. Though it seemed your mouth was moving faster than your brain was, because you were not thinking far enough ahead. 

When Eskel took off his shirt for you to wash you were certain that your brain had turned to soup in that exact moment. His pendant fell and rattled gently against his chest in your presence. Strong arms and a stronger chest- even an enticing little happy line trailing over his softer belly towards…. NO.

No. Focus Y/n this is NOT the time. You’re not falling into this shit again. 

“Um… uh, thanks- Thank you…” your words stumbled out. “If you really want to help the dry clothes need to be taken down…” You handed him an empty basket.

With a nod the sweet-hearted Witcher went on his way, taking down dry clothes and folding them before putting them away.

You rubbed the stained shirt furiously against the washboard, working out the frustration you had with yourself… and yet…

Your eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards him; the gentle smile he seemed to have in your presence, the way his hands move about carefully, not with the heavy touch you would have expected from such a man. His footsteps were quiet and intentional, not unlike the elk that pursue the forest. For a man in a career of killing, he seemed to have a rather soft presence.

You had always wanted someone you could live a gentle life with…

And that's when you felt it. Your old heart was beating behind its rock walls. 

Your heart had been so still for so long that you hadn’t even been sure it was there anymore. But now there’s a beat. It’s quiet and it's weak, but oh boy is it there, and it's beginning to rattle its cold stone walls. 

With a soft blush now adorning your cheeks, you looked back down at your working hands and continued washing. 

Eskel, ever the kind soul, even went so far as to bring your laundry inside before coming out to help you wring out and hang the new load. You both worked quietly and comfortably beside each other, occasionally brushing fingers and mumbling half-hearted apologies. 

Though like all things, everything has an end, and before long it was time for Eskel to head out.

“Take care, Eskel… Don’t go getting hurt again, alright?” You joked, a light chuckle falling from your lips.

“I’ll do my best… Until next time?” He asked, smiling down at you from his seat on Scorpion. 

A pause came over your expression before you smiled once again. “Right. Until next time…” you replied. 

You didn’t try to ignore the small pang in your heart as you watched him leave, you wanted yourself to feel it. You wanted it to serve as a reminder- a fraction of what you’d inevitably feel if you let your old heart go too far. 

Quietly you sighed and rested your head on the door frame as you watched him and his horse get smaller and smaller in the distance. 

You knew deep down that soon enough he’d forget. 

He’d forget this cottage…

His time spent here…

 and eventually so will you.

___________________________________________

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[like-rain-or-confetti]

Hi! Is it okay to ask for a Riddler, Catwoman, Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Poison Ivy with a trans man S/O fluff/comfort who is an anti-hero please? IHave a good day :)

Nothing made you more pissed off and aggressive than anyone demeaning your masculinity. Rightfully so, it was a sore subject. Many used it as a way to get to you and it was your partner who had to pick up the pieces.

The Riddler: You kicked at the floor under your desk. "You going to tell me what has you sulking or are you determined to put hole in my carpet with your foot?" Edward asked you. "I try to do good things right?" You asked. He was quick to respond. "Yes and its very annoying because you end up in my way. Why?" "Well im considering just ending the whole 'doing good' thing and moving straight to murder on sight- no second chances." Edward narrowed his gaze. "If only I could believe that but I'll ask why?" You huffed. "Because of snarky comments along the lines of me not being a real man." You spat. There was a moment of silence. "Did you kill them?" Edward asked. "No." You replied. "Then you're a better man than me." Edward retorted. You turned to look at him. "What did you just-?" "You heard me." He replied. "You know I don't like repeating myself." Despite his harsh tone, he walked towards you and put his hand over yours, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "Don't let those mouth breathers out there make you think you're anything less than you are. You are worth more than they ever could be."

Catwoman: "Hey handsome." She didn't receive a response. That was her first hint something was wrong. "Bad day?" She asked lightly as she sauntered further into the room. "Something like that." You grumbled. "You know, I like you all moody and attractive but only when im not concerned something is wrong." She turned you to look at her. "Would you like me more if I was a man?" You muttered coldly. There it is. She knew immediately what had happened. She wouldnt let you doubt, not even for a second. Selina cupped your face, making you look at her. She shook her head with a small smile. Borderline giving the impression that she was laughing at you. However before you could pull away from her firm grip, she spoke and her words told you otherwise. "But you are." She said simply before kissing you.

Harley Quinn: "Hi pretty boy!" She grinned at you. You huffed. "Uh oh, someones Mr grumpy-pants!" She sang. "Not in the mood, Harls." You sighed. "Did something happen?" "Nothing out of the usual." Harley's nostrils flared. "More stupid remarks?" She asked. You hummed again. "You bet." After a moment, she skipped forward. Harley climbed onto your lap, wrapping her hands around your neck, leaning closer to you. "You're my pretty boy and I'll kill anyone who tells you otherwise. Got it?" You slowly nodded and she pressed another kiss to your cheek. She smiled and rubbed away the slight lipstick mark on your face. "Now give me names." She reached for a nearby notepad and pen on the desk. "Now."

Two-Face: You were angrily grumbling to yourself which got Two-Face's attention. "Everything okay?" Harvey asked. "The next shitty comment I get about my identity. I'm just putting a bullet through them once im done kicking their fucking teeth down their throat." You snapped. "What was said?" Harvey asked. "That im crazy if i think i could ever be a man." "Scum." Harvey replied gruffly. "I could deal with him if you want." You paused. "I can handle him but I absolutely wouldn't mind your help." "Hell yeah." Harv smirked. "Gotta clean up the streets some way, right?"

Poison Ivy: You came back to Ivy ranting and raving. Whilst you sounded livid, she knew it was coming from a place of hurt and insecurity. She listened to you. Waiting for you to get it all out before speaking in a soothing voice. "Their idea of a man was always rather flawed." She said as she ran a thumb over a leaf. "Naturally, the blind could see you better than such characters. They hardly amount to any opinion of value." She sauntered over to you, lifting your chin up. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are above everyone in this city. I know you are. I see it in you. You are nothing short of a wonderful man."

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

[photogrivy]

Ivy was no stranger to a wandering eye. From the minute she’d hit puberty, her skin crawling from the lingering gazes of men three times her age, she’d understood the weight of what it was to be a woman. She soon became accustomed to the slimy touch of those who hadn’t understood the meaning of the word no, to the stench of booze seeping from their pores, their cigarette stained, yellowing teeth bared as they claimed her as their own. Ivy knew how to shrink inside herself, to switch off the part of her brain that kept her here and present; she knew how to numb herself to the world around her. She couldn’t justifiably say that any good had ever come from those truths, but they had taught her some valuable lessons. Her past had taught her how to weaponise her womanhood, how to use it in her favour to get what she wanted. She’d watched men whimper under her stare, watched them crumble from just one touch. 

It was because of all of this, because of Ivy’s ability to read a man, her capacity to use their attraction to her best advantage, that she was able to notice the older gentleman’s reluctance to even so much as look at her. She watched as he bashfully tilted his gaze away from hers, not wanting to let his gaze roam. Ivy might not have always enjoyed the attention in the past, when she’d been young and fresh faced, slightly naïve to the cruelties of men, but she was old enough now to have some agency over her body. She had enough awareness about her to understand that his aversion to admire her wasn’t a lack of attraction – no, anybody with eyes and a functioning sex drive could see how great her ass looked in skinny jeans – but a sign of respect. He was older, classier perhaps, and thought he was being gentlemanly by not ogling his young customer. Well, either that or he thought Billy would have him out on his ass if he was caught flirting on the job (not that Billy would be one to talk). 

“Oh, I think I can just about manage it,” Ivy smiled, tapping the tip of her nose with her index finger, as instructed. As she aimed her head to the sky, she let her finger trail down her nose, brushing along her lower lip. Soft, tender touches that she knew had the strangest ability to send men wild.  

Turning her attention back to the bookseller, she listened intently to his questions, quietly endeared by his accent, warm smile and desire to help her out. That was until he’d queried over whether the friendship she’d referenced was strictly platonic. A snort escaped her so monstrous, so unladylike, that another girl might have fled in embarrassment. Ivy was aware of what an overwhelming mess of vulgar sounds and crude remarks she was, she knew that they were the very foundations of her being; besides, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d been buying her innocent, delicate flower act in the first place. 

“No, definitely just a friend,” Ivy laughed, feigning a shiver at the mere thought. “Wardo is gorgeous in the way that any 6”3 white man with brown eyes is gorgeous. If he wasn’t Wardo, I’d climb him like a tree. But he is, and that’s gross, and I’d rather throw myself into a vat of acid with Louis Denver than gift Wardo love poetry.” 

Eyeing the small gap between Hunky Sex God and the bookshelves encasing him, she gently shimmied past him, uttering insincere apologies as their bodies pressed together in her efforts. Making her way down the aisle, her finger trailing along the alphabetized spines of their bestsellers shelf, she stopped at C, a grin on her face. 

“This, for example? I’d love to get him this, but I think he’d set me on fire,” she laughed, flicking through the pages of the book she held, Scotty Carter’s gorgeous face staring back at her on the final page. 

At that little utterance under her breath, Harlow figured he must only be getting redder and redder. He'd let that one slide, giving this stranger the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she hadn't meant for him to hear that, although, from the looks of her, she didn't look like a lady who did a whole lot of things by accident. Harlow could never fathom how anyone could be so forward. And yet, he was met every day by embolded men and women scribbling their numbers on the bottom of the reciepts they handed over. Harlow had never been that forthcoming. Every relationship he'd ever gotten into had been an accident. Harlow had hardly known he was in one before his significant other had a drawer of stuff at his house and a toothbrush in his holder.

The woman in front of him gave a little twirl, showing there were no blood nor bruises to be seen. He tried not to stare as she did so, his eyes trailing towards the ceiling. She was a good looking girl, there was no doubt about that. But miles too young for him, no matter what hopes the girl seemed to be harbouring.

"Well, no limbs lost, it seems." he teased, "but can you do this?"

Bringing his index finger to the tip of his nose, Harlow tilted his head back to the ceiling. He'd been asked to do the same thing himself being pulled over on a Texas backroad in his younger and more rebellious years. It was typically a test of sobriety, but Harlow figured it worked just as well in this situation.

Chuckling to himself, Harlow dropped his hand back to his side.

"A little lost?" he teased, "you're definitely in the poetry section, miss."

As she explained her predicament, Harlow nodded in understanding, his mouth making a soft 'o' shape. And well, who was he to leave a girl in a book-related dilemma? Glancing just over her shoulder, Harlow's eyes landed on the counter he usually spent most of his days camped out behind. It was a slow day, and the few customers he had seemed content to flick absent-mindedly through a paperback and nurse their coffee.

"Aw, shucks. Well, I suppose I've got some time to spare for ya." he said, flashing the young woman a smile. "This guy friend is strictly a friend, huh? Or are we looking at romantic poetry, here? A well placed poem can say a lot."