#for only being 19k this really took a lot out of me

[yeyinde]

bos taurus | dogmeat series pt., i

mafia butcher Simon Riley x Reader

You don't question your brother when he sends you to drop off packages to his friends, but when the enforcer for the 141 shows up to teach the small-time dealer selling on their turf a lesson, you realize there are different ways to pay someone back with pounds of flesh.

(OR: your brother owes them, and Ghost is content to let you settle the debt. after all, if you wanted freedom, then you shouldn't have caught the eye of the butcher of the 141, should you?)

18+ SMUT. noncon. objectification. marking. kidnapping. threats of violence. unsafe sex (manipulation into unprotected sex). rough sex. size difference. breathplay. 10k of foreplay. light pussy slapping. overstimulation. mafia au.

SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

The goal is to be as quick and discreet as possible. 

In and out, he says, looping the baggie around his index finger. Inside, a snowfall of white powder settles at the bottom. 

Meth this time. Oxytocin the last. 

He ties it tight before giving the bag a quick shake, breaking up the clumps. Satisfied with the way it looks, he turns toward you. Levels you with a sombre look, the picture of a concerned older brother. 

You almost fall for it. Believe it. But the clouded, flat edge to his gaze undercuts his worry for what it really is. A farce. 

“And if it seems sketchy—”

—run.

But your knees are locked, soles glued to the pavement. You can't move even though everything is screaming at you to flee. 

The problem, maybe, is that there's nowhere to go. Escape cut off, filled by a body, a man—even though the idea, the mere notion, of thinking this behemoth as human, flesh and bone; blood and tissue, is laughable when he's so clearly a beast. A monster. 

He fills up your field of vision. Your line of sight was eclipsed by the thickness of his waist, the broad expanse of his shoulders. Thighs that are as wide as the trunk of a tree. Arms boxing you in. A prison of obsidian. A black shadow. 

In the panic that surfaces, surging to the top like an oil spill, you catch a pocket where he doesn't root. A small alcove between the bend of his elbow and the slot of his knee perched against the wall. Enough room for you to—

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.” 

His voice seems to shake the earth, rolling out of his broad chest like the low, brassy roar of a lion; a rumbling thunderclap. 

You feel sick—

The leather covering his hand is cold when it closes around your arm, grip tight. Bruising. Trapping you with just the slightest effort. 

“Go’ a problem, you and I,” he starts, and it's almost conversational. Might be, perhaps, if the clean, sleek outline of his gun inside the unclasped holster around his ungodly thick waist wasn't threatening you more than the grip he has on your arm. “How do you reckon we can fix it?”

You have a meagre twenty dollars in your pocket. Less money for them to take if things go awry. If they decide that the little girl standing in for her older brother was an easier target to rob—money and drugs—than to settle things fairly. Money, goods. Hand over hand. 

Just like the movies, he'd said. 

Just like the movies, you think when he leans in closer, bulk swallowing you whole. 

There is a pockmark in the corner of his crooked, misshapen nose and the crease of his eye. A scar, maybe. It's circular—almost perfectly so; a silver-pink moon on the angular ridge of his nose. Uneven, craggy, like crumpled printer paper. 

It looks almost like—

You think of the mark on your arm. Soot-stained. The smell of burning hair, tissue. The searing pain. 

“I–I can pay you—” you stammer out, tearing your gaze away from the ugly mark on his skin. A cigarette burn. It makes you shudder. 

He cocks his head slowly like a big, dumb dog, but there's something eerie in the ink spill of his eyes. The soft matte of a saltwater crocodile staring at you from beneath the murk. Calculative. Hungry. 

“Pay me?” He echoes slowly, dragging the words out mockingly. “D’you know ‘ow much trouble your brother is in? For sellin’ ‘ere of all places?” 

“No,” you swallow. It feels like your heart is stuck inside your throat. “I–I just—”

“Run ‘is errands,” he finishes cruelly but you can't deny it. “Ain't you a good little sister? Almost makes me wish I ‘ad somethin’ as sweet as you f’myself growin’ up.”

You don't answer. He doesn't seem to be looking for one, really; just empty words to fill space. To echo in your head, barbed wire around any sense of comfort you might have felt. Punishing cruelty. 

He has the upper hand, it says. He's the one who makes derisive jokes while you tremble in his grasp, and try to make yourself as small, as unassuming, as possible. Hiding from the predator in plain sight. Hoping he passes you over for something bigger, more calorie-dense; the effort to catch and consume you expends more energy than the return. Hardly worth it in the long run. The comfort of a risk-reward ratio, right?

But he's opportunistic, it seems. A snacking scavenger. 

Could eat, it says, like a basking tiger keeping a mouse trapped between his paws, letting it squirm and squeak as he slowly licks his lips. Not enough to fill its belly but enough to satisfy the gluttonous urge a predator has to eat. Sharpening its teeth on flimsy bones. Child’s play. 

It's a fitting image, especially with the way he arches over you, looms; fingers looped around the thick of your arm, holding firm, but not—

Not as tight as he could. 

It's a loose-fisted grasp. Lazy, almost. He knows you won't run—or, at the very least, knows you won't get far. 

You peel your gaze away from his, dropping it to the curve of his shoulders—the width of them is just as dizzying as his height; broad, muscular. Pulling it further down the length of his arm, covered in a thick jacket. Black corduroy. Ashes stain the cuffs. A bulky watch juts out from his wrist. Gold. Glinting even in the grey-blue gloom of an overcast evenfall. 

His muscles tense. Hand tightening around your arm, fingers digging hard. Rubbing muscle painfully against bone. 

A warning, maybe. Stop looking—

But something else catches your eye. Blood red. The colour of meat. A fresh kill. 

The back of his hand has a blooming rose. Petals spread out, unfurled. In the middle, a milky skull sits. Stencilled in boxy, yellow letters is ONE-FOUR-ONE—

You know what it means even as your mind whirs, gears turning, turning; plummeting into a tailspin, making excuses as it falls, dragging your heart down alongside it. An area code. Some special date. An inside joke. 

But you've seen the marking around town before. Heard whispers about them from your brother, his friends. 141, they say, and then: mafia. 

The real deal, he said, puffing around a joint his friend rolled. It's too tight. He scoffs, and rips it out from between his lips. Shitty roll, man, make another one—

Mob. Mafia. Gangsters. It seemed so extreme, Hollywood. Fiction, fantasy, all rolled into one. Tony Soprano. Ralph Cifaretto. Michael and Vito Corleone. Tony Montana. Larger-than-life men created on paper. 

You think your brother thought so too. Child's play. Grown men selling weed to kids for two hundred an ounce. Buying themselves sleek, black cars—G Wagons, Escalades, Cullinans—on the Xanax they sell at clubs, parties. Cocaine. Heroin. 

Nothing to worry about. 

Then his friend went missing. 

Sent out on a routine delivery to drop off cocaine to well-dressed men in suits outside of a local butcher shop. A normal, nondescript Tuesday. 

But he wouldn't answer his phone. Texts were being delivered, read, but no chat bubble appeared. Nothing sent back. Calls went straight to voicemail. He wasn't at home. Wasn't at his mum's. No one saw him. Heard from him. 

Your brother didn't call the police. Didn't report him as missing. 

It's just not what they do, he said. You don't involve them. Ever. 

The most shocking part of it was that no one saw anything. He just vanished. Disappeared—stock an’ all, your brother angrily spits—without a trace, picked up off the streets. 

If it was the police, someone would have said something by now. They're hardly discreet. And a rival—

Well.

The biggest problem was that your brother was blindsided by his own small-time success. An accumulation of little wins bolstered his confidence. Overfed his ego. This fallout was tunnel vision. A refusal to see the bigger picture. 

Or the storm clouds looming on the horizon. 

You'd heard of the 141 in passing. Little quips, anecdotes from the passel of friends that congregated around your brother—often getting high on the couch and watching old cartoons; sharing a joint back and forth between gossip. 

Through rheumy eyes, they'd talk about the real gangsters in town—much to the irritation of your brother—and swap tales of run-ins and feats they heard from a friend (of a friend, of a friend). Most of the guys were known already. Soap and Gaz are the biggest names that cropped up on the streets through reputation alone. Both fighters for a gym. MMA, mostly, but whispers of street fighting and extracurricular activities weren't uncommon. 

Liked the thrill of it, they said. But the worst was a man simply known as the Ghost. An enforcer for the 141—a fucking butcher, more like, Liam cut in, jaundiced eyes widening—the guy who took care of problems. 

“Can't be,” your brother scoffed, lifting off the couch to reach in his back pocket for his wallet. A small anthill of white powder poured into the glass table. “They don't get involved in our shit—”

And for the most part, you're sure that's true. Dealing to the same circle of people—outreach spread through word of mouth—seemed paltry in comparison to the scale of an operation that had a money laundering gym. But the problem was that your brother lacked common sense. His ego often got in the way of foresight. The shadow greed casts blocking out the bigger picture. 

Like—

Territory is territory—regardless of what's being pushed. 

You wish there was a modicum of surprise when his friend turned up. Barely recognizable. Sent right to the morgue as a John Doe. 

Most would see the marks on the man's skin—the distinct lack of blood—as an indicator to abandon ship, find the boss, beg for forgiveness, and maybe even try to strike up a deal. But—

That picture is hidden under his anger. Greed. Selfishness. 

He sends you instead. 

You're somethin’ they ain't expectin’, he said. Won't mess with you.

Right. 

He catches the realisation dripping down your brow—beads of sweat gathering at your hairline; anxiety, fear, churning your stomach—and hums. Cocks his head to the side. 

“Was expectin’ ‘im t’show up, though—” he murmurs, hand tightening around your arm. The pressure, the sting, is eclipsed by the gnawing sense of dread biting viciously into you. “Told ‘im if I caught ‘im sellin’ on our streets again, there'd be trouble. Thought we ‘ad an agreement after ‘is friend. But—”

His eyes cut to yours. It feels like a knife to your guts, sinking into soft tissue. A pain you can't breathe around. 

Won't mess with you, you think, and then viciously—sadly—he knew. Was warned by them and still sent you out. Let you take his place for whatever comeuppance they decided he deserved. 

It should shock you. You almost wish it did. Desperately clinging to the threads of surprise that slip through your oily fingers, grasping onto the nothing but empty air. Numbed to the resignation that trickles in. 

Of course he would leave you here to save himself. Letting you fend off whatever they threw at you alone. Leaving you trapped between a brick wall and a wall of a man. 

The excuses are there. They pool on the tip of your tongue—it isn't me, don't do this, it's my (stupid, selfish) brother you want, not me—but you swallow them down and try not to wince at how quickly they dissipate when you do. It doesn't matter in the end because whatever you have to say won't negate the drugs in your backpack. The empty house you'll lead them to—your brother probably squirrelled away somewhere until this blows over. Half-hopeful you'd call him and say everything is fine, the deal went smoothly. You're on your way back. Or that the debt he racked up with them is settled by you. 

It's half-hearted when it slips out again, caught between resignation and dread. A brittle whisper. A prayer—

“I can pay you. Whatever he owes, I can—”

He's already shaking his head. 

“Too late for that, birdie. ‘sides, I don't want your money.”

He moves back, rocking on his heels to put a small measure of distance between your bodies. In that scant space, he drops his gaze, sweeping it over you. His eyes darken.

When he pivots them down, catching yours, you can't stop the shiver that crawls up your spine. 

That calculative gleam is back. 

“But I think we can work something else out.”

Something else turns out to be ushering you into the backseat of an old Ford pickup. 

The door whines when he opens it. Rust flaking off, falling to the ground by your feet. Your mind reels. Spins comparisons to falling snow, dried blood. 

He hauls you in with his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, thick thigh sliding between your own to boost you up. The protest—a mindless, reactionary squeal at being manhandled—only makes him chuff. A brief flex of his fingers around the skin of your neck is the only warning he gives before it pulls away, and wraps tight around your waist. His thigh flexes, muscle drawing taut as he shifts his foot up to the running board, lifting your feet off the ground and seating you fully on his leg like a child.

(In his hands, you feel like one, too.)

The motion makes you slip, back glueing along his broad chest with a shallow thump. You feel the rumble of his laugh trembling up your spine before you hear it. 

“Careful,” he drawls, oiled with amusement. “Might slip.”

Anything you could say in response is choked back when he bumps the corded steel of his thigh into the seam of your legs, pushing tight to your clothed cunt. His intention is unmistakable this time. Unignorable. And with the rasp of filtered, balmy air against your crown; the pull of a groan when you rock back into his groin, the noise still slicked with mirth, you feel a knot of dread spool tight in your belly. 

Something else is dragged back to the forefront, coiling like wisps of smoke around you. 

And you knew. It's shocking, you think, but not necessarily a surprise. To call it a dichotomy would be lying to yourself, and so, you settle against it. This notion that what he wants—wanted—is flesh. Not money. Not retribution. 

Not to talk things out like you'd hoped he’d try (grabbing onto the idealistic thread, holding it tight to your chest); bringing you in and forcing you to convince your—stupid selfish greedy—older brother that quitting was the only option. Dangling you—baby sister—over his head in an appeal to his emotions. Familial bonds. Love. 

That thread is cut. Snipped. 

Probably severed when they first came to him with an offer. No strikes against him and yet—

The idea of using you to make him bend was expunged from the drawing board. It's not even a plan b, or c, or z. 

And—

You knew. Have known. Maybe that's why it's so easy to swallow around the panic when it lances through your chest, climbs up your throat. You can think and feel and breathe around this dagger in your back like it was there the whole time and you've only just noticed it now. 

Nothing but a small, whispered oh in the roiling polyphony of your emotions. 

It sits there as he manuevers you into the passenger seat of his truck, your head spinning around the indescribable sensation of being woefully cognisant despite the paralysing fugue pressing against the bubble of stark awareness that keeps it at bay. It manifests itself as a numbed sort of shock. Or more accurately—

Indifference. 

Defeat. 

His hand brushes your cheek, the snag of dry leather against humid skin tugs uncomfortably at your flesh, stinging as they dance down to your jaw, the delicate line of your vulnerable throat, skimming over the curve of your breast—

And it's too much. Too present. Too real. 

Autopilot. Dissociation. Derealisation. All of these concepts slip past the bubble of hypervigilance, skidding the surface like a pebble thrown over a lake. Out of reach as he unashamedly gropes you, barely making an effort to mask his actions as just buckling you in. 

You pretend, though. Curl your fists around the sides of the seat, fingers digging into the worn foam. Head lulling back on the headrest. Eyes fixed out the window as he walked around the front, head and shoulders still visible in the windshield despite the height of the truck. It makes your heart leap, stuttering in your chest as the absurdity of his size is brought back into focus. Too big, you think. Grossly so. 

There's a moment when you think about running. Toying with the idea of sliding your hand over the lock, pulling the door open when he's too busy on his side to notice. It'll give you an advantage—a head start. Enough time to slink through the dense forest of concrete buildings lining the industrial zone, and into somewhere safe. Help, a behemoth is chasing me—

But the door clicks. Swings open with a squeal of rusted metal just as your fingers twitch toward the handle. Hope evaporates with each lurch of the cab as he climbs inside, metal creaking under his weight when he settles in the seat. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see his head tip. Chin angling toward you. Staring. Assessing. 

When he speaks, you feel the words like cold fingers dancing maliciously down your spine. 

“‘pected you t’run.” 

It's said idly enough. Nonchalant. Tone even, if a little cruel, and you wonder if this is some test. One that you passed—and failed—in equal measure. 

He doesn't look away. It takes less effort than you wish it did to peel your lips apart, to breathe in the stale, mulch scent of the cab—something overgrown, rotting, and damp—and mumble:

Where would I go?

It seems to amuse him. He hums around a mouthful of mockery before turning away, pawing at the ignition. Gloved hand curling over the wheel. 

“Smart girl.”

You don't feel very smart. In fact, you feel very small. Stupid. Maybe you should have taken a stab at it—running. Tried, at least, to save your own life before the jaws of the beast closed over you like an iron bear trap around your ankle. Fought like hell. Clawed and kicked and screamed. 

When most kids read the back of a cereal box, you learned about secondary locations. You know better than this. 

But the truck sputters to life in a belly-deep rumble, hacking up soot into the air as he pulls the lever into DRIVE. The fight inside of you—however ephemeral it might have been—dies inside the smoke spilling out of his exhaust. Gone so quickly that you begin to wonder if it was even there at all—

Must be, you think, eyes listing outward. Keen. Mapping the twists and turns—a futile effort in the end: he doesn't bother hiding where he's taking you, and you've been down these old, grim streets more times than you can count. 

It doesn't surprise you much when he turns down the street leading to the butcher shop. An old relic that still carries the marks of a booming farming town before it fell victim to industrialisation. Concrete skyscrapers in place of lush cornfields. Warehouses over old barns, ranches. Cattle, meat, produce—it all used to be a mainstay here but now hides under layers of steel. 

The dark windows of the small shop gleam with hazy smears of neon blue, red, when you pull up, catching on the array of rowdy bars across the street. All clubs that belong to the 141. A playground of drugs, sex. More money than you'd ever see in your lifetime. 

It's an uncanny juxtaposition to the quiet, assuming street right across from it. Barber, butcher, accountant firm, antique store. All dark inside and bathed in the smeared stream of glimmering neon as lights flash in the fading glow of twilight. 

He pulls up to the curb in front of the shop. A bold move if the streets weren't so empty. Lifeless. The clubs won't be open for four more hours. Everything else follows the same nine to five as the rest of the world. The shops closed an hour ago, and everyone in town seems to know not to linger here after dark. 

The air seems to stagnate in your lungs when he cuts the ignition. Slips the key into his pocket. 

“Don't get any funny ideas in tha' pretty little ‘ead o’yours.” 

“Funny ideas,” you echo, toneless. Flat. It rolls out with your exhale. Words that might have been smarter to swallow down. “Like following a stranger to a butcher shop?” 

“Lippy little thing, ain't you?” He scoffs. The truck creaks when he shifts. “Ain't go’ no one t’blame but yourself. Told you what would ‘appen if you kept sellin’ in our territory. You should ‘ave known better.”

“That was my brother.” The words slip out before you can stop them. “Not me—”

“‘ow am I suppose t’know that? You were sellin’ where I told ‘im not to—” he has the gall to shrug. Spit these careless words at you like it wasn't life or death. “That's all there is to it, birdie.”

“That's not fair—”

The truck groans under his weight, shaking from side to side as he leans over to push his door open before turning back to you, rolling his eyes. 

“Life ain't very fair, is it?” 

The acerbic words are flicked out from between his teeth; an apathetic, droning curl clinging to each syllable. He doesn't care. Won't. What happens to you next is your choice, and yours alone. 

And he's just doing his job—

“When I get out of ‘ere, you ain't gonna do anythin’ funny—”  

His hand lashes out. Gloved fingers close over the thick of your throat in a blink. Fear lags by a beat, giving him enough time to sink his fingers over your neck, and when it catches up—heart rabbiting in your chest, thudding in your ears; roaring as your pulse thunders beneath the press of his thumb—he’s already got you in his hold. The width forces your chin to lift, stretching up to accommodate the curl of his hand around you. 

Trapped like a rabbit. Cattle to the slaughter. 

He tilts his head down, keeping his eyes on yours as he forces your crown into the headrest, chin lifted up. It's uncomfortable. The curve of your neck cuts off your airways. Constricts your breathing to shallow gasps. An ache grows in your nape. 

The swell of panic, fear, in your eyes makes him hum. But there's nothing echoing back. An absence of light in the deep, placid pits. It looks like still water. A stagnant lake. 

It's unnerving how dispassionately expressive his eyes are. Wild, wild. Vats of ink. Pools of obsidian. Ringed in red-lined ivory. Long, ashen lashes dusting over the smears of charcoal under his eyes. Sleepless nights, maybe. Fatigue. The corners are tattooed with coal, leaving behind a thumbprint in the crease. 

But empty. Barren. No light.

Like black holes. Eating everything around it. Devouring all that gets too close, but giving nothing in return except a bottomless crater in the bruised-plum nebulous of space around it. 

You're not sure you like it. You can't look away. 

But in staring back so hard (getting pulled in deeper and deeper), you catch the twitch in his left eye. A shallow spasm. It throws off the symmetry when he blinks, one eye a sliver of a second behind. Desynchronized in a way that seems so—

Unlike him. 

Disjointed. 

You blink in response. Perfectly synchronous. 

His lid twitches again. Just once. Brief. Pale, pink eyelids drop, unveiling a nebula of indigo veins on the smooth, thin surface as they roll down to half-mast over his eyes, now narrowed slightly in contemplation. Thought. 

Whatever is happening in his head can't be good. It causes a ripple over the lake. Little rings rebound outwards. 

He looks away first. A quick slide of his eyes to the corners, glancing out of the passenger side window. Whatever catches his attention is unknown to you. The anchor on his hand around your throat keeps you still. Immovable.

(Every instinct in your body compels you not to look away from him because nothing outside could ever be scarier, more dangerous, than him.)

A second later, he breathes in through his nose. The fabric of his mask is pulled into his nostrils from the force, forming little black holes under the crooked arch. 

You hadn't really given much thought to his appearance outside of big, massive. But there's a strange asymmetry to the slopes and valleys beneath the balaclava. Trying to map his face, fill in the blanks with just black cloth and vague, lopsided outlines, is impossible. There are too many gaps. Too many missing pieces. You can only wonder, then, what he looks like under it. 

Monstrous, you hope. 

It's just a coincidence that he looks at you the moment the thought passes, but you flinch like a naughty child getting caught doing something you shouldn't when the heavy, dour weight of his impenetrable stare is levelled at you once more. Your heart stutters. It's loud in your ears. In the truck. 

You wonder if he can hear it just as loudly as you do—

Another blink, and his gaze flickers down, settling on the gap between your lips, watching the little tremble they make with each shallow hiccup of air you greedily suck in. His head tilts to the side, eyes never leaving your mouth even as he leans down, masked lips brushing over the beading sweat gathering on your hairline. 

It's a brief touch. A taste. You tremble when he pulls back, fingers tightening around your flesh. 

His eyes are lavascapes.  

“Are you, birdie?” 

You almost forget what he's asking. The conversation hidden between the scant beats it took for him to measure your worth with the blistering intensity of his stare, and the tumult of your feelings still looping around each other in your belly. Knotting up tight into a ball. There's fear, of course there is. 

But the rest—

You'd rather not think about. 

The grip on your throat eases just enough for you to shake your head no to whatever he is asking. Doing anything funny, you think, scrambling at the tangle of memories flipping past, trying to connect the pieces to a puzzle you've already forgotten. 

It must be the right response. Or maybe it's another question like before, a test where there’s no right answer. 

Run, stay. 

Smart and stupid. 

But it seems to appease him—marginally. His eyes crease. Tightening. His other hand folds over your throat, sliding until his palms kiss the sides of your neck in a near-perfect symmetry. 

Something frissons across the blank, placid lake of his expression. Another ripple. A shudder. He leans in for a moment, nose touching the apple of your cheek, and when he breathes in, it’s sharp, reedy. Cold air ghosts over your skin. Long, pale lashes flutter when you swallow. 

He hums quietly under his breath before peeling back. The flatness to his gaze is back; a cold, impenetrable distance widening like a chasm as he uncoils around you. You almost fall for this—this indifference. An icy nonchalance. But you've been eating the minuscule quirks of him just as ravenously as he's been devouring yours. 

There is something there. A fracture, maybe. A splinter. 

But what leaks through from the other side isn't anything close to warmth. It's—

Hunger. 

The shift in your throat draws his molten gaze to your neck, still wrapped tight in his firm grip. Your reflection blooms in the vat of black; eyes wide, all white. Pupils narrowed to a pinprick. Mouth slack, corners tugging downward from the pressure of his hand. The tilt of your head. His thumbs press under your chin, pushing you back further until it feels like your neck might break—

He stops. Shifts. You puff out a shallow breath. 

What looks back at you is unremarkable in the murk. A sliver of fear. A slip of unease.

Eye of the beholder, you think when his breath chuffs out shallowly through the mask. When that hunger is ground down to a raw, esoteric fissure hairlining the black of his eyes. The widening expanse of his pupil. 

You wonder if it's your fear that itches under his skin, dredging up something predatory in his hindbrain. The urge to chase. To bite. 

But the nearly indiscernible flicker of his gaze has you brushing that idea aside when it snags on the expanse of his hand coiled around your throat. Easily swallowing it whole with just his palms. 

You're not a small thing, but the indomitable size of him makes you feel insignificant. 

You think he feels it, too. 

His fingers flex over your nape, stretching. Pulling. It pushes the flat of his palm into your throat, ridges crushed against your trachea. But you can still breathe. It's shallow. Hoarse. A touch painful. Dizzying in a way that makes you feel like you're on a rollercoaster. A teacup ride that just spins and spins and spins—

The gap closes. A sliver of air snakes down your throat. Muscles flexing, shifting. Struggling to swallow around the pinch of his hand. A harrowing task when you feel the gloved fingers link to the first, then the second knuckle, tying together in a too-tight, impossible, noose around your neck. Thumbs overlap. Fingers slide into place. It forms a chain of his hands with no gaps between them. Not a single sliver of skin shows from under the leather of his gloves. 

He makes a sound when they meet—a nasal groan in the back of his throat, mouth clenched shut so the air has no choice but to tear through his nose. It's raw. Fractured. The devastating moan of a tiger nuzzling at its meal. 

Your vision blurs. A black fog presses into the edges, seeping over the arch of your peripherals. Dripping down slowly over the hazy smear of the man. The way the ochre sun peeks over the angular roof of the accountant's office illuminates his back and casts swaths of shadows over his front. Drenching him in murk. 

Despite the flickering darkness shuttering over your sight, you don't blink. Even as the tears prickle at your eyes, they stay open. Fixed on him. Black holes, you think, watching as the fever marbling those obsidian pools recedes. Cools. 

He makes that noise again. Softer this time. A purr from deep in his chest. A breath. And then he peels back. His hands go slack. His shoulders slumping back into the lax, easy spread from before as you gasp hard, nearly choking on the flood of air that roars down your throat. 

Your cheeks feel hot for a moment, and then cold. Icy. You don't have to touch them to know that you're crying. That the deluge clinging to your lashline spilt over, dripping messily to the collar of your shirt. 

The placid lake is back. In the stillness, you heave. Mouth hanging open, chin quivering. His thumb lifts, slides over the curve of your chin. You don't feel it. Numbed, maybe, by the brief kiss of hypoxia. But you see it. Watch as he slides it up to the jut of your lower lip, the black, angular tip tickling over your skin. He follows the seam between skin and lip, tracing it to the corner of your mouth. It's slick. Drool pools in the crease, dribbles over the top of his finger. His eyes drop when he mops it up, catching it on the pad. 

He makes another noise. An arid rasp bubbling between the soft tissue behind the roof of his mouth and the back of his tongue. It's ugly. The shiver you try to fight back slinks through. 

His hand peels away from your neck, movements lax. Slow. The unwinding gait of an idling tiger in no real rush, no hurry, because there's nothing in the frigid Arctic that can touch him. 

You watch him with flared eyes as he brings his thumb to his clothed mouth, and rubs your spit into the fabric of his mask. 

His eyes don't break away from yours once. 

Your spit doesn't stand out against the black of balaclava, but the idea of it burns through you. Throwing you headfirst into a dazed stupor. Dizzy. Confused. 

Satisfied with whatever it was supposed to mean, he clambers out of the truck before coming around to your side. Distantly, you're sure this is what he meant by funny ideas when he passes the headlight, head straight and eyes gliding around the empty street. An opening to run. You know where you are. It would be easy to flee. Hide in the construction zone just ahead, tucking yourself into the tightest corner you can find until help arrives. 

Help, though. 

Officer, please. I got caught selling meth in the mob's territory and now they're going to skin me alive. Please hurry—

Right. 

They'd rather help bury your body than get in the way of the mafia. Gangland violence isn't their concern unless it tumbles out into the street. Fat wallets keep even the most compassionate person quiet. Willing to turn a blind eye. 

You'd be thrown in a cell. Or dropped off at their doorstep. 

Either way—

You won't be coming back alive. 

There's nothing to steel, harden, when he pulls the door open, your nerves long since ground down to fine powder. Nothing to fight against, either. He hauls you out of the truck, hands firm on your skin. Bursting blood vessels easily between his fingers. Barely any effort at all to crack your bones. 

The moment in the car seems miles away when he pulls you in front of him, hand curling over your nape. Any flicker of humanity rendered out when he pinches you tight and shoves you forward. Dragging you back to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck, leading you down a narrow set of stairs to the basement where pale white carcasses hang from hooks on the ceiling. He laughs when you tense. When your heels dig into the brown-stained linoleum. 

Ain't gonna hang you, he mocks, fingers dipping punishingly into the sides of your neck. “Not yet, anyway—”

It brings little comfort when he drags you to a room in the back, kicking open the door with the toe of his boot before pushing you inside with a nudge against your nape. 

It's dark. Walls covered in stains; mould, mildew. Something you hope is just rust. A single mattress is shoved into the corner; sheets stained with sweat and grime. Tinged a pale brown. Two pillows sit at the top, lopsided and matted with use. Threadbare. A twisted, black heap of fabric sits at the bottom. Wisps of cotton poke out from the cigarette burns. 

A pair of muddy, black boots sit against the wall at the end of the bed. A basket of clothes—jeans, black shirts, black sweaters—is piled on the wall across from the door. 

The room smells of stale sweat and old cigarettes. 

You don't want to be here. The thought is abrupt. Immediate. Unease prickles along your nape, warmed and damp under his gloved palm. Between the look of the room—the floors stained the same suspicious brown, the rumpled bed in a corner—and the smell, you know this is not a place you want to stay. To be trapped inside with a man cut from Everest; whose hands are more dangerous than the sharp end of a knife. 

He must feel the tension brimming beneath your skin; the spark of adrenaline surging through your veins. The clamp of his hand on your nape digs in tighter. Holding firm. 

A breath tumbles out, thickening with mockery. “Like I said,” he leans down, pressing the mountainous width of his chest into your spine. The accentuation in your size difference, how big he is in comparison to you, makes you feel like prey. Small. Brittle, thin. He eats you whole. Spares nothing for later. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” 

Another nudge and you're pushed further into the room. He leans away, foot shoving back on the door until it snaps shut with a noise that cuts through the gossamer that spun around you, bifurcating reality from dream. The haze is wafted away, and all that remains is a barren room with a lumpy mattress, the smeared stain of rotten blood coagulating on the floor, and his body boxing you in. No escape. 

The rumble of his chest shakes loose the cobwebs spooling across your thoughts. A brush of humid air ghosts along the line of your jaw, dampening the skin below your ear as he leans in close, too close, and purrs: 

“Go on now. Strip for me.” 

Each scrap of clothing you slowly roll off of your body is exchanged for a slip of information about him—who he is (Simon Riley, the name rumbled through the split between his teeth; a low, brassy purr as his eyes gleam in the dark, drilling into the expanse of skin unveiled to him)—and what he wants—

Nothing, he tells you, lifting one massive shoulder up in a half-hearted shrug. Jus’ what's owed to me, pet. For stickin’ my neck out f’you. 

You don't think he did. Not really. But you're harshly reminded of the unsubtle threat. The gun balanced on his massive thigh. So wide, so big, it seems to make it look smaller in comparison. Tiny. A toy. 

Child's play. 

It's made worse, somehow, as he lounges. Sprawls out on the bed, legs spread, pulling taut on the jeans that stretch around the thickness of his upper thigh, bunching around his calves in a half-tuck inside his black boots. Arms flexing. Folded over his broad chest. He rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbow, showing off an impressive tapestry of harsh, faded black ink. Crisscrossing lines. All asymmetrical. Guns, barbed wire. A bullet with a wide, toothy grin—

All of it knits together; woven into a tangled mass of muscle. Of man, hidden under scar tissue. Rope burns on his wrists cut so deep that the skin is permanently dented in. More cigarette burns hidden inside the mess of ink. Jagged lines—from a knife, maybe; bullet wounds. 

His skin tells stories of a terrible life. Ink spills over the worst of them, but they're visible under the fading charcoal. A series of burns—acid, fire, chemical—and raw, torn skin. He looks like he's been mauled. Pressed into the cold metal of a wood chipper until chunks of flesh were taken out. But even with these deep gouges, craters of missing tissue, he's big. Bulky. Soft—like a tiger. Predatory muscle tucked away under a thick layer of fatty tissue. 

The pillowed pouch of his belly, the softness around his biceps—

It belies the danger underneath. The steel. 

But as scary as it is, it has nothing on his eyes. 

Glinting in the dim room. Dark pools of obsidian that follow each movement with an almost clinical keenness. Sharpened to a razor's edge. 

They might be pretty, you think, if they weren't so intense. So liquid. His eyes gleam like wet ink, languidly rolling along his lashline as you clumsily shed your jacket, your blouse. Shoes, socks. Pants. Until you're in nothing but your panties.

Swallowing around the influx of panic that flutters like little birds beating their wings against the soft walls of your throat, you slip your fingers into the hem, now or never, and—

And you hesitate. 

There's a difference between undressing willingly and doing so to save your life. It should spurn you on—survive, survive, survive—but you freeze at the apex. The summit is within reach. 

You know what happens when you climb it. Cross over the invisible threshold. 

What you've been trying to ignore this whole time, ever since he shoved you into the room with a huff, taking his perch on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, but in such a terrifying state of vulnerability, nearly nude, you can't any longer. Can't avert your gaze to the stained linoleum in a thinly veiled effort to keep from glancing at the thickening bulge lying prone against his thigh. 

His—

Well. 

You knew what he wanted when he grabbed your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pursed, puckered for him to run his finger along the inseam. Prying your teeth apart. Rubbing his finger over your tongue, eyes dark—full; black holes pulling, tugging you in, dragging you closer to the event horizon framed in a ring of arsenic—and locked on to the sight of his gloved knuckle disappearing into your mouth. Wanting. Hungry. 

You knew. And now—

Committing to it is legions above what you’re mentally prepared for. Nausea brims, churns your stomach. Unease curdling inside of you like rotten milk. 

You don’t want this. But you don’t have a choice, do you?

That notion, the idea, prickles along your nape, raising the fine, peach-fuzz there until it stands on end. 

You freeze. Movements still as every muscle in your body tenses. Coils. You can't do it. Can't—

A huff is dragged out of his chest as he sits up, knocking the gun carelessly to the mattress. His eyes daggering, sharpening into needlepoints, as he stares at you. 

“Gotta do everything f’myself, do I?” 

A grunt and he’s up. Pulling himself to his feet with nothing but the flex of his abdominal muscles. 

There's no reprieve. Not a moment graced to gather your bearings before he crosses the distance between you. Once a comfort, a chasm, now conquered in a single stride.  

The tips of his gloves are cold when they brush over your skin, sliding down the slope of your waist until they meet the hem of your panties. The last piece of modesty you have—

But he doesn't wait.

You're aware that this isn't a non-consensual thriller where the lead looms over the hapless love interest, eyes blazing with passion and need. That each interaction is drenched in a thick, palpable tension tethering the two together. Urges coalescing. Threads pulling taut, magnetic, dragging them closer and closer to the brink until they tumble over. 

This is reality. And he doesn't stare into your eyes with an all-consuming desire as he slowly removes that last scrap of fabric keeping him from devouring you. No. 

His skin-warmed fingers push under the elastic band with a rough shove, curling into the fabric until it tightens across your pelvis and thighs, and then he huffs, annoyed, and pulls. Pulls—

Until something gives. 

The lace yields to the tension in his flexing bicep, and scrapes over your skin as it rips apart in his hand, threads snapping. Popping. 

It hurts. Stings. You hiss, but the noise is ignored when he peels the ruined scrap of fabric from your legs, shoving it into his back pocket with a grunt of satisfaction. He looks back to you, eyes rippling like the dark, ink-black surface of a lake during nightfall, and coos, mocking and mean—

“Not s’hard, was it?”

He leans closer to you, a hand skimming up your spine before his fingers curl around your nape, keeping you still for just a breath before he pulls you into him with too much force. Your hands lift, palms slapping against his thick stomach when the movement nearly topples you over and threatens to break your nose on his chest.

“Makin’ me do all the work when y’supposed t’be payin’ me back? Ain't very nice o’you, is it?”

He touches you like he's taking stock of your worth. Grabbing a heavy, rough palmful of your beast in his hand, squeezing. Testing the weight, the softness, how supple you were between his fingers like he might with a piece of fruit. Meat. Prodding into the flesh, feeling the ripeness there. Gauging whether or not it was a piece he wanted to keep. 

It's demeaning. Humiliating. He treats you like cattle; presses into the elasticity of your muscle, examines every inch of your skin for blemishes. Scouring for imperfections. There's no softness in the way he grabs handfuls of your body—squeezing your breasts, pushing them together, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger; pinching your belly, your sides, your waist; curling his fingers under your thigh, lifting it until it hitches over his waist, cunt exposed and pressed tight to the bulge trapped in his jeans. Your ass is handled rougher than the rest. Each cheek sitting in a hand, squeezed and punched and spread embarrassingly wide. 

He ruts into you as he does it. Pushes the thick, fat length of him into your belly, rolling his hips against you with a heavy, ragged puff of air. 

He feels big. 

Everywhere, of course—it’s not so much his height, but the absurd width of him that really digs into your hindbrain, crossing all those intricate wires until they're tangled up, knotted together. Seeing his thigh, the same scale as a tree truck, slotting between yours—a mere branch by comparison—makes your belly flop. Turn over itself.

The muddled wires spark. Heat pools between your hips.

He could crush your head between them like a bear pushing its paw down on a watermelon. 

It's fear and heat. 

The two work in tandem, forming a seamless cohesion, as they flit down your spine, brimming up the urge to sink to your knees, the need to roll over and show your belly. A paradoxical desire to both run and be chased. 

You're not sure if he's tendering your meat to eat later or if this is the usual type of foreplay he engages in, but once satisfied you're softened up enough for him, he shoves his fingers between your thighs with an abrasive hum that reverberates through his belly, tickling your palms. 

“Tired o’waitin’,” is what he says when your head jerks up, eyes widening in shock. Terror. Horror. “Don't look so surprised,” he huffs, dryly. Voice a rough scrap over your cheek. “What'd y’think was gonna ‘appen?”

“Wait—” but he doesn't. 

His fingers twist, pushing through your folds to graze your clit. It isn't gentle. It's sudden, quick. You gasp more from shock than pleasure; the rough slide of leather feels strange on your flesh, and your head is too muddled to separate fear from bliss.  

Despite that, your body heats. Reacts to his touch. Your lower lip wobbles. You bite back another sound that crawls up your throat when his knuckle catches on your clit again, the pressure just shy of too much. 

The burn, the fever, melts the unease. Shallow gasps spill out. Your cunt clenches, fluttering around nothing—throbbing, growing sticky, slick; achy and empty—when he starts to glide his digit between your folds. Little sawing motions drag each groove and stitch of his gloves over your pebbled clit, each thrust of his hand between your thighs making heat pool between your hips. It's done so clinically, so detached, like his hand rubbing over your leaking pussy was nothing to him. An action to get done, a task to complete. 

It's the shame of that, the embarrassment, that makes you want to weep. Your fingers dig into his chest, nails pulling uncomfortably on the pleated bumps of his jacket as you grip the fabric right between your fists, clinging to him like a newborn fawn—all wet-nosed, teary-eyed; knobbly knees threatening to buck. 

“S–stop—” you mewl when the monotonous rhythm melts into something harder, more intense. Heart thudding in your chest, heat burning you up as he turns his hand, palm up, between your sticky, shaking thighs. He rubs his hand back and forth, curling his middle finger up when he passes your hole, tip pushing against your leaking rim. 

The friction aches. The stretch stings. The leather feels strange, foreign when it pries your folds apart and dips inside of you. 

You don't like it. It's too much—

He makes a sound—a tut—when you pull away from him, standing on the tips of your toes until the blunt curve of his finger slides out of you. He sucks his teeth in a mockery of disappointment before digging his fingers, hard, into the sides of your neck. A warning. You whine. Whimper—

It goes unheeded. And when you press your thighs tight together, shivering at the slip-slide of your skin rubbing against each other, he growls. The noise is inhuman. Animalistic. 

Your act of deviance comes with a swift, bruising punishment. 

His fingers tighten on your neck once again. A warning squeeze as he reaches down with his other hand, grabbing your hip. It keeps you still, immobile, as he bullies his boot between your feet, kicking your legs apart. You're not expecting it. When you stumble, he huffs in amusement. Can't hold yourself up? Want me that bad, huh? Needy fuckin' thing, ain't you?

You don't get a chance to respond. His palm splays wide over your hip, leather creaking as he flexes, stretching his fingers out, tapping some soundless beat out against your skin. Touching you like he's owed the privilege. The right. And in many ways—

Go’ a problem, you an’ I

—he does. 

Brute strength, and an unmatched, almost laughable, dearth in your physicality ensures that he has the upper hand—even without the gun he left on the mattress; darker and flat, a full matte compared to what you were expecting. 

(They're always so shiny in movies, aren't they?)

The threat of it—dull as it might be—roots you to the spot as he slides his hand down, thumb brushing over your belly button, dipping in; pressing until your stomach starts to ache—

It peels away when the whine wells up, sloping down, down. Teases your mound with the tips of his fingers, gentle swipes along the sensitive seam of your belly and pelvis, the sensation is an odd tickle that pulls at your navel, pulses at the apex of your thighs. You mewl—a slow, soft thing that barely makes it out from between your teeth—and he lets his hand drop. Palm flat against the soft flesh of your mons, fingers reaching, spreading, until they curl over your folds. Index and ring finger tucked tight into the hollow bend of your pelvis and thigh. The tip of his middle rubs gentle strokes over the skin above your clit. It's a whisper of pleasure. The idea of a touch. 

Mindless, your hips flit, following his hand—

“Needy.” 

It cows you. Douses you in icy shame. There's barely any mockery in his even, observant tone, but you feel it unfurl over your shoulders all the same. 

He doesn't give you a moment to think, to let the ripples of humiliation take over, forcing you to pull away, hide. His fingers trail over your hood, the pebble of your clit. The sensation, the cool undertone in the leather of his glove, is unlike anything you'd felt before. The thick stitches in the fabric catch on your flesh, nerve endings flaring in pleasure. Heat blooms in your belly. 

It feels good. 

You gasp, head tipping back. His hand winds around your waist when your knees buckle, catching you with a rasping huff—

“Feelin’ good, ain't you?” He pulls you tight to his chest, finger rubbing circles around your throbbing clit. Your cunt clenches, empty, and you whine, needing something more. Something to fill the ache inside of you—

His finger slips. Slides easily between your folds, parting your lips around the thick of him until he reaches your drenched hole. The sounds it makes when he taps his finger against your fluttering core makes your toes curl. Has heat blistering over your cheeks, down the slope of your neck. 

It makes him groan. The low growl makes you throb, clenching in needy little pulls, pulses, as his finger dips into the slick dripping out of you. 

“Suckin’ me in,” he grunts, and pushes his finger inside, thrusting up to the last knuckle. Palm tapping against your folds as his index and ring finger close to give him more room to sink deeper into you. The messy, slick squelch is loud, rolling over the mewling gasps that tumble from your lips. 

Heat floods your belly at the belly-deep groans he lets out when you squeeze around him. 

“Stranglin’ my fuckin’ finger, birdie—” 

He leans down, knocking his forehead against the side of your face. It's more intimate than you were expecting. Jarring. The proximity plays a twisted game inside your head—the urge to run, to roll over coalescing into a paralyzing tailspin. Rooting you to the ground when the warm, damp knit of his mask grazes your cheek. 

The intimacy of his head on yours is eclipsed when you can feel the shape of his mouth through the fabric. 

It's softer than you expected. A plush, fleshy give when he presses his lips against your skin. And—

A gap.

On the side of his mouth, there's a gouge. A pockmark. You feel the gap, the absence, of his flesh when he rolls it over your cheekbone. You try to read the asymmetry of his face—mapping all of these misshapen parts; his mauled lips, the crooked nose that digs into your skin and leaves behind a tacky smear of condescension when he breathes out through his nostrils in a heavy puff of air—and convince yourself that you're doing it so you can bring these patchwork pieces to the police later. 

Survival, you think, your head tilting back as he noses down your neck, tickling along your skin. 

(And when your cunt flutters around the rough, thick drag of his finger petting along your walls, you add: a bodily reaction. That's all it is.)

He takes another lungful of your scent before he rocks back on his heels, pulling away from you. Straightening up. Looming above you once more. 

“Now—”

He pulls his finger out of you slowly and you try not to whimper at the empty feeling that brims up. The way your hips rock toward him, seeking and eager. Wanting.

Needy, just like he said. 

Just a bodily reaction—

He holds his hand up to the dim light flickering over his head, fingers spreading apart as he takes in the glossy shine of his middle finger. 

The gleam of it makes your ears feel hot. Shame pools in your belly as he makes another noise—a groan, deep and low, in the back of his throat. Eyes darkening as his pupils bloom, eclipsing his irises in an endless pool of black. They flicker toward you, listing half-mast in a way to leonine, so predatory, that it shudders through your bones. Run, run—

His hand flexes around your waist when you twitch. A warning. A threat. You tremble when he leans in, masked lips brushing over your cheek once more. Breath ghosting through the fabric, tickling the inside of your ear. 

He smells of war. Of fire and brimstone. Napalm and nitroglycerine. You want to close your eyes, look away, but you can't. His proximity alone roots you to the spot. Turns you into a prey animal, frozen on instinct alone as he prowls around, creeping closer. Maw stretching wide, drooling dripping off razor-sharp canines—

“Let's see if y’worth all the trouble.” 

—and he bites.

Knocks his palm into your sternum, roughly shoving you down on the mattress.

His hands fall to the button of his jeans. “Ready?” He asks, but doesn't seem to care about your answer. Opts, instead, to fall to his knee beside you. It pulls on his zipper, tugs it all the way down with a sharp, metallic sound that cuts through the stagnant air as each ring of teeth is pried apart. 

You can't help it. You look. Dragged there by something primal, magnetic—the morbid curiosity to see the monster for yourself as it tries to take a bite. 

And almost immediately, you wish you hadn't. 

The spread of pale skin, dark curls jutting out from the split of his jeans, makes everything feel more real, and moving fast. Whiplash quick. Happening in a blink:

The shift of fabric as he pulls the mask up over his lips, letting rest on the crooked bridge of his nose. A flash of his mouth, mangled. Mauled. Full of ugly, pale pink scars. A gap where tissue once knit his upper lip together. The bite of crooked teeth as he brings the sticky, wet tip of his glove to his mouth, sinking in. Pulling. Tugging. The roll of skin—a rose, a gun, a skull—all encased in barbed wire; thick rivers of blue-green veins. 

Another pull and it's free. Dangling between his teeth for a moment as he reaches up and shoves the jacket off his shoulders. Rolling and thick. Wide. A broad chest. Soft belly. There's an inch of flesh around the expanse of him—biceps, thighs, calves, chest, stomach, shoulders—but it's a buffer for the corded, streamlined muscle beneath. A layer of fatty tissue. 

Like a tiger, hiding its dizzying musculature beneath a thick, loose pelt. 

When he moves, it flexes. His shoulders roll; muscles bunching together, pulling taut under soft skin. The jacket slides off. Falls to the ground behind the mattress. Forgotten, discarded. The glove is next to go. Dropping from between his teeth, landing just beside your ankle with a muted thud. 

He follows after it. Ink spilling over his lashline as his eyes drop, staring at the roll of his skin tucked on the outside of your thigh. Trailing up to your knee. Your hip. The split of your cunt beneath your other leg; knee tucked to your chest. 

A flash of something, a flicker, is the only warning you get before the back of his hand is nudging the glove off of your skin, replacing it with the rough, calloused grip of his palm. 

You jerk at his touch, flinching back—

He's intimidating above you like this. Leaning back on his haunches but still as tall as you are standing up. The sheer absurdity of his height—his width—is dizzying. Gives you vertigo when you look up. 

His throat shifts when you move. A swallow. Coarse stubble grows down the column of his neck, dusting over his lower jaw, chin. The rest is swallowed by the balaclava bunched around his crooked nose. 

He's not—

He's not handsome. 

A smattering of crisscrossing scars, burns, skin pocked and gouged out in deep pockets along his flesh—the slide of a knife carving away at him, you think; digging down to his marrow—all take away from any sense of modern attractiveness you might feel for him with his broad, jagged nose and full lips. 

But there's something rugged about him. Untamed. Wild. Appealing in a dangerous way. 

You don't know if you would have let this happen under different circumstances. If this minacious beauty of his would have worked on you enough to want it outside of this awful, almost unfathomable trade. 

He's too big. Wouldn't even fit inside of your house—

The graze of his thumb on your angle knocks the thought loose, and you're dragged back to the heat of his hand. Rough and coarse; palms slightly damp from the glove. It tugs on your flesh as he draws it up, a rubbery sort of pain as it catches on the soft, dry skin of your ankle. Your shin. 

He follows behind a second later, pulling himself into the mattress with a huff, knees shuffling forward as he crawls over you. The jostling rocks your body. Makes your breasts shake as he lumbers on the bed, hand still sliding up, up, until his fingers curl over the bend of your knee. 

The bed dips under his weight. Your body sagging, rolling into the divot beneath his knees. Tucked under him. Loomed over. He stares down at you through the cutout of his mask, eyes liquid in the gloam. Pools of melting, dripping obsidian. Black holes. Event horizon—

You look away before it drags you in. Submissive. Softened under the harsh burn of his flat, wide stare. He chuffs when your nose brushes over the thin skin of his wrist, mouth sliding over the thick, pulsing vein stretching down from his inner arm and curling into the bend of his hand. Your lips purse, and he makes that noise again. 

Quietly amused, and—

He shuffles forward until the backs of your thighs are pulled over his, spread out on his lap. Bare. Open to him. 

And he looks. 

And looks. 

Hungry, you think. Quietly amused and hungry—

The notion is wrenched out of your head when he shifts his weight. Watches the folds of your pussy open for him as he pulls your knees wider apart, head dropping between his massive shoulders, gaze drilling into the split of your thighs. Gasping at the sting, the sudden stretch, does little to deter him from shoving your leg down until the outside of your knee touches the bed. Muscles straining. Pinching. It hurts; hipbones twinging in agony. 

But the embarrassment burning through you singes all the pain. 

You're spread open under him. Bare. Legs tangled around his waist, stretched wide around the width of him. Ankles knocking into the hard plains of his lower back each time he shifts. 

“Fuckin’ hell—” he grunts. Snarls. The word ripped up from the back of his throat, forced through the twisting channels of his nose. Nasal and ugly when it scrapes out between his teeth. “Gonna ruin this pretty pussy, birdie.”

It's a threat. A promise. You twist, mouthing your protests into the warm skin of his wrist. 

There's something about his voice—that airy, brassy tone—that strikes a chord deep inside you. Makes heat pool between your thighs, leaking out in a syrupy mess—

His hand peels away from your knee, sliding down your sticky, damp inner thigh until his knuckles graze the sensitive slip of skin sitting between your outer lip and hip. That ticklish, belly-fluttering sensation blooms in your groin as he rubs his scarred knuckles over the crease, catching the slick gathered there on his thick, meaty thumb. 

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he groans, shifting his fingers until they cover the whole of your cunt, cradling you in his hand. He holds you like that for a beat, eyes locked on the way you're swallowed up by the broad stretch of his palm. 

The rough drag of his skin over your folds feels good. An all-encompassing heat spreads over your tender flesh from the curve of your ass to the bump of your mons where his middle finger rests, almost touching the strip of skin between your loins and your belly. Held in his grasp. Cradled in his palm. 

Your thighs twitch. A shallow jerk as your knees try to bend over his hand, but you can't. With his thumb and pinkie tucking into each crease between your outer lip and leg, it keeps you from closing your legs. Hinged by the wide, flat cup of his palm. 

And it shouldn't bludgeon through you the way it does. All heat. All want. Need. A growing ache you can't think around. 

(bodily reaction, you think even as the image of his hand—big with thick fingers, scarred knuckles; streaks of faded, ashy ink etched into milky, veined skin—laying over your pussy, swallowing it whole, sears into your mind—)

“Can feel your little cunt,” he grunts, feeling the pulse, the little throbbing pulls of your muscles as they twitch at the sight. The feeling. Clenching down around nothing. “Greedy little thing, ain't you, birdie?”

Anger paints his words as he rasps them out. A teeth gnashing, jaw clenching frustration that needles into the scorn, the fury, forced out between the tight seam of his crooked teeth. 

You don't understand it. Can't, maybe. 

But it's tucked away as quickly as it appeared, shifting into an ugly, mocking derision. Dry. Acerbic. His teeth flash, lip pulling upward in a sneer—a snarl—before he hums, sliding his hand down. The drag of his damp, rough fingers over your swollen folds has your knees falling open wider around his thick thighs, baring yourself willingly to him. 

Want it bad, don't you? He mocks, and the sound of his voice alone has your pussy clenching tight, belly fluttering around the abrasive scrape of his tone. Brassy and full. Gritty. You whine, hips inching up—

His hand peels off of your slit. The rush of cold air drags another whimper out of you, hips pushing up to chase the heady, molten feeling of his skin on yours. And he's amused by it—a laugh echoes out, crackling in the hollow of his throat at your desperation—but you're too achy, too hot, to feel the simmer of humiliation nipping the apples of your cheeks. 

He's not even making a real effort to pleasure you, to make you feel good, and yet—

Your hips twitch toward him in needy, mewling cants; please sits on the tip of your tongue, cradled between your teeth. Slips out on a shaky, breathless gasp when he meets you on the next buck of your hips, palm slapping over your wet slit. 

The crack echoes through the room. Rough, dry skin on soaked flesh. 

And it shocks you more than it hurts. The sting is there, of course, but it's just an afterthought to astonishment. An eye-widening disbelief masking the way your cunt smarts, throbbing from the slap. Nerves muffled behind the burn in your eyes, the searing heat pooling in your sinuses. 

Wrenched open, unblinking as you stare up at him, your eyes begin to sting, to water. You blink, and feel something hot trickle down your cheek. A tear. His eyes snap to it. Pupils narrowing to a pinprick as he watches it slide down your face, little droplets clinging to your jaw. 

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tilting his head as he tracks the teardrop. “Better behave.” 

Behave. Like he's admonishing a child and not an adult. 

It morphs; rots. Becomes yet another thing you shouldn't feel feverish over. The slick, sticky feeling grows between your thighs as your cunt flutters at the humiliation of it all. 

And deeper—maybe—the bastardized sense of care—

(Punishment is affection in its own, special (awful) way and you've been aching for something just like it, haven't you—)

It's pushed down. Swallowed. And you know in the back of your head that if you keep eating these feelings, you're going to be sick. But you can't stop. Barely breathe around the idea of them sometimes—

“Tha’s’it,” he coos like he knows. Sees them bright and burning behind your irises. Little flickers of need, a smouldering want that you'll never grasp at yourself. 

So he gives it to you. 

The rough slide of his hand, all scarred and dry and calloused, scrapes over your slit once more. A full, flat stroke upward until your clit bumps into the ridge of his palm. Then down, down—

His fingers spread. Ring and index prying your folds apart as he pushes up once more, opening your seam to slip his middle finger through the slick, sticky mess that drips out of your burning cunt. 

“Gonna be good f’me?” 

The slide of his fingers drags the tip up to the bump of your clit. You stare down at it, fixed on the jut of his ink-black knuckles threading through your folds. The crease of his nail as he slips his fingers up higher, pad pushing over your pebbled clit. They're dirty. Grey-black under his nails. Congealed with dirt. Blood, maybe. 

Your stomach churns even as your hips lift. Eager, searching. Hating yourself each second of it. It's gross. Disgusting. 

You want his dirty, thick fingers inside of you—

“When I ask a question—” the tip circles over your clit. A shallow roll that pools heat between your thighs. “I expect an answer.” 

“Y–yes,” you stammer out, hips flexing against his hand. Seeking more of that white-hot bloom of pleasure he brings with each pass of his finger. 

“Good girl—” and you hate how it burns you up from the inside out. “Wasn't s’hard, was it?”

The retort is bitten back with the slow swipe of his finger drawing tight, small circles around your clit. His fingers are rough, scarred. Too dry. The abrasive drag over your soft sensitive flesh makes you whine—a drawn-out whimper nestled between clenched teeth. 

It's too much. 

Too harsh. Too sharp.

He rolls your clit under the pads of his fingers in jerking half-circles. Puts too much pressure on the bundle of nerves than you ever would—your touches are always soft, sickeningly sweet; gentling your flesh until you cum—and the sting, the burn, of it makes your toes curl. Body burn. 

It's good. 

And that's the problem. 

It shouldn't be. His touch shouldn't make you so wet, growing slick and sticky between your spread thighs, bare to his hungry, prying gaze. Shouldn't make you moan. Hips twitching with each stroke of his fingers—

And then he peels away from you, but the time to mourn the loss of his touch, the fear of losing this trembling ember pleasure, is snuffed out when he presses his wet, slick fingers against the inside of your knee. The touch is intentional. Insistent. He makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat before pushing it down to the mattress. The twinge of pain swallowed up as quickly as it forms when he drops to his elbows between your thighs, forearms curling under your legs, and tugs you sharply into him. 

Heat floods your belly when the backs of your thighs press tight to his broad, muscular shoulders, but it's nothing compared to the sight of him on his knees between your legs. It's so obscene you nearly weep—

And then he leans down and licks a long, broad swipe of his tongue over your cunt. 

You hadn't expected it, maybe. His mouth on your pussy, his broken, jagged lips sealing over your pebbled clit. Going down on you seemed too intimate for what he was after. His end goal. It does nothing for him at all—

You realise your mistake when he dips his tongue into your hole and his hips jerk forward. Unconscious. Eager. Seeking. The shifting drags his jeans down his hips, and his cock slips free. 

Most of the cocks you've seen—in porn, pictures, art—jut out from the person's groin. standing at attention, the nasty comments used to say. Jokes whispered on the playground. But his falls. Droops down between big, folded thighs. Skin marbled in shades of red, peach. Deep gouges dot his upper thighs, some sinking deep enough to reach bone. More scar tissue than flesh. 

—than man.

It looks raw. Fresh. Some injuries not too dissimilar to the Wagyu hanging in the front of the storeroom, on display and oh, so out of place in a town where the richest man must be just a hair above the poverty line. 

On paper, anyway. 

You swallow, avoiding his gaze as he pauses, dark eyes watching you with his mouth pressed against your seam. Unmoving. Still as a predator between your thighs, cock visible between the bow of his torso, jutting sickeningly from mangled legs as you gawk at this hideous thing that makes several, half-hearted attempts to spring up towards you, spitting clear, milky liquid all over with each jerk. Tugged down by its own weight. Too heavy to fight against gravity like the rest of the cocks you've seen have done—

Normal cocks, you amend. Textbook. 

His is anything but. 

Ugly, you think again, stomach churning. Roiling. Obscene. An odd thing considering what you're looking at but all too fitting with the way it droops, big, flared head drooling pre-cum all over the bed in long, dangling stands that prickle over your jaws—half nauseous, half hungry, too. Saliva pools in your mouth even though the sight of his cock scares you. Fills your belly with dread. Misery. 

It looks like a bruise. Skin smeared with purples, reds. Patches of pink. Long, thick veins run up from the fattened, full base to the divot of his frenulum. Thick. It hangs low. Drips. 

He raises slightly and shoves his hand down between his thighs, big hand curling over the fat base of his cock. His grip is tight around himself, and he strokes up, from base to tip. It squeezes more precum from the flushed, fat head, and dribbles between your spread thighs in a thick, pearlescent puddle. 

It makes your mouth dry. That twinge in your jaws coming back. Festering. You wonder if he'll make you take that thing in your mouth. Choke you on it. Taste his precum—

“Fuck,” he snarls into your cunt, hand jerking over his cock. “Keep lookin’ at my cock like tha’, birdie—”

You gasp at the rough grunt, the way it seems to tremble through your sensitive flesh. More, though, from the way he sounds. His voice brassy, rough. Unkind, but the words bloom a fresh heat behind your navel. 

His voice does things to you. Things you're not allowed to like. 

Those thoughts are knocked from your head when he bows down again, eyes still fixed on you, and seals his wicked mouth over your cunt. It's hard to compare it to anything else other than being devoured. Eaten in the truest sense of the word. 

His tongue splits down your seam, tip digging into your slick hole. A groan bubbles up at your taste—the soft, fluttering clench of your body trying to drag him in deeper. Needing him deeper. A huff of air ghosts over you, dipped in the same derision as earlier but the harsh slap of skin on skin, his hand working furiously over his cock, makes you acutely aware of how much this affects him. 

“Taste good, birdie,” he grunts, and then sucks your fold into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and teeth until the skin is tender, swollen. “S’fuckin’ good—”

Your breath catches when the crooked arch of his nose presses taut to your clit. Pleasure twisting in a dizzying pirouette inside your belly, winding tighter and tighter—

His nose jerks up on your clit. Lips moulded to your seam, you hear him rasp eyes on me, birdie. Don't fuckin’ look away—

The rough snarl trembles through your body, sinking its teeth into the coil until it snaps under its jaw. Your knees snap around his head as your release locks your joints tight. His name, Simon, a hoarse cry on your lips. You barely have time to bask in the ripples of pleasure throbbing through your body before he rips away from you with his teeth bared, and his chin wet. 

“Fuck—!” he snarls again, shoving your knees apart as he lifts his massive body up from between your thighs. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gotta be inside your tight cunt—”

He towers over you, grinding his cock into the apex of your thighs. The drag of his cock—a little damp from being stuck inside his jeans all day; balmy—against the dry skin of your belly makes you shudder. Shivering beneath him as he huffs through the mask. Head bowing. Dipping to look at the way his cock slaps down on you. Cockhead nudging above your belly button, dribbling a small puddle of pre-cum that gets smeared into your skin when he rocks back on his haunches. 

His hand wraps around the thick base of his cock once more, squeezing tight as he grips himself above you. It makes the head swell, engorged with blood. Thickening in his hand as globs of pre-spend leak out onto your belly. That feeling in your jaws comes back—nauseous and wanting. 

He leans back with a hum. “Like my cock, eh, birdie?” 

The crass words bring a fresh bloom of heat simmering in your veins, creeping up your collar. Like doesn't really cover what you feel when you stare at it—his inked hands running along the long, veined shaft—and the unsettled feeling in the pit of your belly rears when he nudges forward, the weeping head of his cock bumping your mound. 

It's humiliating how much want floods through you just looking at it. At him. Disgust, dread, desire. 

You don't answer. Not that you really need to—

Your silence is loud enough. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, the rasp thick in his throat. “M’gonna give it to you, pet—”

And he does just that. Slips the head of his cock down the slope of your mound, letting it graze your clit until you're panting, whining softly for more, and pulls it over your slit until his pre-cum is smeared over your drenched folds. You know exactly what this is even without glimpsing the ugly burn of his possessive desire smouldering in the back of his eyes—ownership. Greed. Hunger. It revels in the stain on your skin, from belly to slit; his, all his. Outside and soon—

In. 

It shocks a creeping sense of worry into you. “Wait, what about a condom—”

He snorts, ugly and caustic. “What about ‘em?” He taunts, and it's flat. Playful. 

“You should—”

He drags his gaze away from the pearlescent smear of his spend on your folds, your clit, and the even, placid look in that stagnant lake tells you everything you already knew. 

“I've never—” you start, wincing at the kernel of fear lacing your hoarse words. “Not without a condom—”

It's the wrong thing to say. Near cataclysmic. He drops his head back with a groan that rumbles out of the slope of his throat, sounding like the rip of a chainsaw. 

“Firsts for everything,” he purrs, and he nudges your entrance with the bare, weeping tip of his cock. 

“But—”

His hand lifts, catching your jaw in the too-wide span of his palm. The force makes your teeth clack together. 

“Need me to gag you, birdie?” 

You swallow. It's not much of a choice. Gagged and fucked raw, or—

Just fucked raw. 

No gag. No condom. You fight back a shiver and wish it was all just from fear. 

“No,” you murmur, like you have a choice. “No gag.”

“An’?” 

“Um. No–no condom, either—”

It's not enough. "What are you gonna let me do to this pussy, birdie?"

You know what he wants. What he's angling for. But there's a line, you think. A delineation between unwilling participant, coercion, and giving into the need that slinks down your spine, and rots inside your belly.

(Being forced to ask for it isn't permission, but what happens when you want it more than your next breath?)

The shame can come later, you think, and feel yourself give in. 

"Cum—cum inside me—"

“Good girl, birdie.” 

You hate what that does to you. How eagerly your body reacts to the dark possessive curl in his eyes when you do something he likes. 

He nudges your entrance again, this time with purpose. Intent. A heavy pressure pushing on your rim. Too tight, you think, and the sting of the first inch he feeds—forces—into you burns, pulsing behind your navel. His tip isn't even in yet, and it's already too much. 

You think about telling him so, offering up your mouth instead, but he leans down on his forearms, and catches your lips in a bruising, biting pantomime of a kiss. A blood-soaked parody with more teeth and tongue—sinking into your lips, nipping hard until the skin splits; catching all that spills with his tongue. 

With his weight pressed against you like this, there's nowhere to run when he cups your throat in his hand, winding the other up above your head, forearm tight on your crown to cage you in. And then he shifts. Bears his hips down on yours until the fat head of his cock pops inside of you. 

Your squeal is chewed up between his teeth, swallowed down with a rumbling groan. 

Caught beneath him, trapped, he works himself into you demanding, heavy thrusts. Each inch burns more than the last. A stinging stretch that brings tears to your eyes. It's already too much and it's not even half. Barely even the tip.

“Can't—” you slur into his wet, demanding mouth. “No more. I–I can't—”

The breath rushes out between his teeth. Your watery eyes drop to the divot above his canine. A permanent snarl. A condescending sneer. 

“You can,” he says decisively, words ground out from between crooked teeth. He presses them to your cheek, nipping at the skin under your eye. Possessive and wanting—

(Hungry for something you can't name—)

“And you will.” 

—Or maybe you just don't want to. Can't look at the thunderous need draped over his mangled, battered face without thinking of the rumble in your chest that echos back against his thundering call—)

Stupid, foolish thing—

The dark promise of his words isn't a threat until his hand tightens around your neck, nails grazing your skin, and he adds, all of me, birdie as he grinds his hips into yours shallowly. Broad chest expanding with each ragged inhale. Cementing his taunt with a steel edge as you try not to come undone beneath him. 

You'll take every fuckin’ inch—

He pulls back until only his glands stretch you open, and you know what's coming when his fingers grip the sides of your neck tight. Holding on. Anchoring you to the bed as he nudges his forearm tighter between your skull and the wall, a protective hold. 

Before you can tense up, bracing for it, or even cry out no, please, don't, you can't take it, he huffs, and then slams his hips forward, splitting you open on the fat stretch of his thick, too heavy cock. 

Maybe it's hysteria, delirium, but the blunt press of his length against your tender, sore walls balms the ache, the sting. The deeper he pushes, the less it hurts. A paradox that leaves you whimpering under his hand, heels digging into the broad stretch of his waist as you struggle to decide if you want to kick him away or pull him closer. 

A war you don't have the power to win when he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that shakes the fragile tendons surrounding your heart. Fear, misery. Pleasure, pain. It admixes. Coalescing into a dizzying sense of fullness, unbearable pressure. Catastrophic in its heaviness as your mind reels, struggles to come to terms with the gut-wrenching, heart-aching uncertainty of how you're supposed to go on without having him seated as deep inside of you as he can get. You've never known emptiness before him. Before now. Mere seconds ago. 

And now, the thought of it leaves a palpable hollowness itching behind your ribs. Festering. Rotting tissue and bone. 

“Simon,” you choke, sobbing his name out under the firm press of his hand. “Simon—”

But he knows. 

His arm curls over your head like a crown, and you can easily forget the pinch of each thorn when he holds you tight. Protectively. Possessively. Securing you in his arms before he lifts up, palm sliding over the mattress, touch tender against your cheeks, and then settles it on the indent of your knee. Widening you for him as he spreads his thighs under yours until you're opened up for him. 

Those dark eyes are dragged down to the split of your legs where his cock disappears into your slick, swollen cunt. You follow it down, gazing at the impressive width of his stomach bowing over you until they land on the jut of skin pushing out from a messy smatter of damp curls around the base of his cock. 

The coarse hair of his groin unfurls as it sticks to your wet lips, and he rolls his head back over his shoulders he heaves through the too tight stretch of your walls over his length. You feel the pulse of him inside of you, thudding like a heartbeat. It blooms molten under the feverish weight of his lidded, dark gaze. 

“Fuck, birdie,” he rasps, and it's scorched. Charred. “Look at you—”

As the world is condensed, narrowed down to nothing but the near impossible stretch of his cock seated as deep inside of you as he can get, he leans down, scarred, mangled lips brushing cruelly over your ear, and whispers, see? Told you'd take me. 

Every fuckin’ inch. 

Your hand jerks to your belly, fingers dancing over your navel as if to feel him there, bulging from under your skin. Nearly hysterical as you try to come to terms with the pulsing, white-hot ache of him inside of you, slowly acclimating to his girth, his length. 

He grunts when he sees what you're doing, eyes flaring as your fingers skirt around your navel. 

“It's—” you shudder, gasping for air. “It's too much, Simon, I can't take it—”

He rolls his hips with a groan. “m’cock too big for you, birdie?” 

His usual cadence is flat, droll, but an unmistakable sense of masculine pride, a deep, egotistic sense of satisfaction, drapes itself over his brassy words. Glueing to the scorching rasp of his voice in a way that makes you unerringly certain that he likes it. Likes that his cock is too big for you. That it hurts. 

“Y’can take it,” he prompts, forcing more of himself into you until something snaps. Splits. Makes room. Carves out a space for him to fit. 

The brief flash of pain is soothed when he's seated deep. That same paradoxical balm making itself known as he flattens his hips into yours with a noise—half a grunt, or a growl; a lazy, pleasure-soaked snarl. You're not sure what it is, but the sound knocks the air from your lungs, igniting inside of you like a spark inside a tinderbox. 

It's only when his balls are flush against you that the same masculine pride brims up again. Primal. Animalistic. The urge to present your soft belly rears up suddenly, and it's only stifled when he grunts again, looking down at you with lidded, black eyes. 

“Now, be good and let me fuck your tight cunt.”

He's not looking for assent. Nothing you could say at this moment will sway his mind one way or the other. There's a nasty spool of determination welling up like blood on a pricked finger. Beading up to the surface in a clean, neat droplet as he rolls his broad shoulders, and shuffles into a comfortable position on his haunches between your spread thighs. The motion jostles his cock in a way that makes your breath hitch with each jerk. 

It's not painful. Not particularly. But you're overwhelmed by the sensation of utter fullness in a way you've never experienced before. Each grind of his cock against your overly stretched walls deeping that incipient feeling of anxiety brewing in your belly that one wrong move and you'll tear. He's just—

Too big. 

And despite his claims—or rather, in spite of them—you don't think you can do it. Don't think you can take him. It's too much. It feels like being turned inside out and then put back into place. An uneasy sense of discomfiture blooms with each too-tight, too-sharp tug of his cock pulling taut on your rim. 

Almost deliriously, you think you can feel the pulse of his cock inside your goddamn throat. 

“Simon—” you start on a tremulous breath but he cuts you off with a hum. 

“Relax.” 

You can't. Can't—

“Fuckin’ hell, bird,” he rasps, leaning down suddenly until his face was pushed tight into the curve of your neck, breath shallow on your thudding pulse. “Stop squirmin’ ‘round me like tha’ or I'll cum right fuckin’ now.”

Your heart stutters. Gallops painfully in your chest. His words make you dizzy because for as much as this feeling of him, his cock, inside of you dances on a delicate precipice of being more than you can feasibly handle and somehow the most incredible thing you'd ever experienced before, you hadn't considered how he'd feel. 

Inexplicably, it pleases you. 

There's something so strange—so extraordinary—about bringing a man like him, like this, to his knees. Pleasuring him by just heaving through the white-hot stretch of his cock inside of you. Making him bury his head in your neck, groaning about how he was gonna fuckin’ bust, pretty thing, fuck—

It was a powerful feeling. 

Unwarranted, maybe. But incredible, nevertheless. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, and you feel his throat work around a thick swallow. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gonna fuck this pretty cunt so fuckin' hard until you beg me stop—”

And he does just that. Rears back from your neck, and settles again between your thighs—quicker this time. With an urgency that makes you whimper when his cock grinds against your walls hard enough to bruise. 

When he finally pulls out until only the flared head of his cock remains, you knot a fist into the thin pillow, clinging on, and latch the other onto his hip as if that could somehow stop the vicious promise in his eyes about poundin’ you into the goddamn mattress. There's a flash, a brief flicker of his eyes, and then he thrusts back inside of you with a grunt that makes your belly clench, and your back arch. 

True to the promises he gave, it's brutal. Violent. 

Any pleasure you feel is leached through osmosis. A tether bound around his own. 

His arm is shoved under your back, angling your pelvis up. Thighs dangling over the thick spread of his own, ass seated in his lap. He drives into you, thrusts deep—grinds his hips until your moans break into hoarse screams, whimpers. Makes your eyes roll so far back, all you see is black even when you blink your eyes up at him. 

He carves a spot deep inside of you with each delirious piston of his cock, pounding into you with brutal thrusts, and then holding tight when his balls slap against your ass. Digging the head of his cock into the seal of your womb until it aches behind your navel. Each breath feels like glass in your lungs—

“Tha’s it,” he slurs in your ear, mouth damp against your skin. “Take my cock so good, pretty birdie. Little pussy was made for it, weren't you? Tight cunt all mine—”

His gruff words tug on that tether until you're wrapped around him like a bow. Following him down this endless spiral as he slams inside of you over and over again, cooing in your ear about the sounds you made for him, pretty cunt so fuckin’ wet f’me, birdie, hear tha’? all f’me—

“Cum f'me, birdie. Want this pussy cummin’ ‘round my cock—”

“Can't—” you gasp, arching into him, desperate and needy. It rides a line between pain and pleasure; a needlepoint you wobble on. “Need—”

You try to reach down, to touch your clit, but grinds his hips into yours with a snarl. “Cum ‘around my cock, birdie.”

“Touch me—”

“Fuckin’ hell—”

It edges on too much. Pain and pleasure teetering on a knife's edge, split apart by a line the width of a razer. Looping and tangling around each other until you can't differentiate between the two. But it makes sense, you suppose, staring up at him arched above you like a black cloud of smoke. All hunger and fire. Consuming, devouring, everything in its path. A wildfire. 

Butcher, you think again when his hand wraps around your throat. A mimicry of what he did in the truck, forcing your eyes on him. Your life tucked neatly against his palm.

These hands take lives. It's what they're made for. All scarred, and thick. Scar tissue and bone. Muscle and cartilage. Meant to render meat of cattle. Slaughterhouse in the shape of a man. Consumption personified. 

But where there should be fear, all you feel is an echoing sense of hunger. Leatherbound to each other, maybe—

The look that passes over his eyes as he stares down at you, cupped in his palm, seems to fit perfectly into the fractured gaps inside yourself you try so hard to ignore. And what doesn't—

Well. 

He'll make room to fit. 

You reach up, curling your fingers around his thick wrist. His eyes flash, but he doesn't slow his thrusts. Doesn't stop. Just watches as you peel his hand away from your neck, bringing it up to your mouth. 

On his palm, there's a piece of skin that's unblemished compared to the rest of his worn, burnt hands. A strip just big enough for you to sink your teeth into. 

And you do. 

“Fuck, Birdie—!” The snarl is ripped from his throat. His thrusts grow harder, sloppier. Each bit of strength in his muscled hips and thighs is used to pound into you until your vision blacks out. It hurts. Aches. Your heels slip down, catching on the broad expanse of his lower back. And you tighten them around his waist, pulling him closer. Deeper. “Fuck, Birdie, fuckin’ cunt was made f'me, wasn’t it? So cum on my cock. Now—”

Whining, you shake your head. “Can't. I can't. I need—”

You don't get to finish. With a huff of anger, he rips his hand off of the mattress, leaning back on his haunches, and shoves his hand between your thighs, scarred fingers stroking over your pebbled clit. It's rough. Sloppy. His anger hums through his body, skewering into you as he glared down, gaze swinging like a pendulum between the split of your thighs where his cock disappears into your swollen cunt, his fingers rubbing over your clit, and back up the hand around your neck, the tears staining your cheeks. 

There's an edge to his thrusts. A viciousness in the way he pistons his hips into you. Dark eyes catching every flicker—each wince, gasp, moan, whine all meticulously catalogued and exploited. He finds the spots that make your hips jerk, twitching both toward and away from him. Angling into the ones that have your eyes rolling back into your head, drool dribbling past your slack lips as you gasp his name out into the dank, humid air. 

It smells of sweat, sex, and him. Something brutal, bloody, and dark. Rotten leaves. Charred forests after a rain shower. Dangerous. Tinged with a slight acrid, chemical stench—benzene, oxidizing iron. It drips down your throat, and drenches your lungs. Staining you from the inside out. 

And he exploits that, too. Leans in, and breathes heavily against your upper lip, your cheek. Drowns you in his scent. His sweat beads along his jaw, droplets raining down over your brow. Soaked in his essence. Unable to see, smell, or touch anything that isn't him. 

With his hand over your mouth, teeth sunk into his palm, all you can taste is him, too. Leather. Gun oil. Blood. 

The ravenous look in his eye sharpens, turning into deadly points. 

“Such a pretty fuckin' bird.” He rasps, the words shattered, mangled in the back of his throat. They carry the scent of blood when you breathe them in, and you wonder if he forced them through glass. Pushed them out with his bloody fists. 

You bite down harder in response, keening through the white-hot pain of his cock spearing deeper than before, stretching you past your limits. The taste of blood on your tongue, the rasping snarl pulled from his chest, his fingers toying with your clit, push you over the edge once more. Again and again, and again, and—

His hand peels away from your oversensitive clit, dropping down to the mattress beside your face. He follows quickly after several impossibly deep thrusts that shove you higher up on the mattress, pressing in until his balls sit flush against your ass, cockhead battering against your cervix, and he groans—deep and liquid—when he comes, spilling inside of you. Rooted deep, cock twitching, Simon drops to his elbow beside your head, smothering you under his weight as the tension in his body bleeds out. 

Your teeth stick to the divots in his hand, and the sensation of ungluing them from the wounds you gave him makes you shiver. Slowly, you roll your tongue out, chasing the drops of blood, and breathe heavily through your nose as he burrows deeper inside of you, chest shuddering over yours. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, hips jerking into yours with a slap that echoes through the room. “Little tease, ain't you?” 

Even with his cock softening inside of you, it's still thick. Fat. Stretching you open as he yawns out above you, bloodied hand dropping down to cup your neck again, forearm resting heavily between your breasts. He raises slightly on his elbow, black eyes glinting in the shallow dark of the room. Piercing as they drill into your sweat-slicked face. 

It aches when he moves. When he presses his hips harder into yours, the muscles in your legs throb as his broad waist splits them apart. Your feet dangle, sliding uselessly down his back, over his ass, before coming to rest curled around his thighs. Melting into the mattress, tender and sore and all chewed up—

You feel like a massive contusion instead of a person. A pestle. His. 

The thought makes you shiver, and his eyes flash in triumph like he knows. 

The feeling of him pulling out of you draws a whimper from your lips. The drag on your sensitive, bruised walls is a strange mix of tender pleasure and pain. He chuckles at your mewl—dark and low; the sound of nightmares, you think. Crackling sap on charred wood. 

You try to pretend it doesn't make you shudder, but the way he hums in response dashes the feigned oblivion before it can form. All you can do is heave on the bed, and watch him through narrowed slits as he leans back on his haunches once again, head cocking to the side. His dark eyes fixed on the split of your legs. The ache in your cunt growing sharp under his molten stare. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, the shallow groan pulled out from between clenched teeth. You wonder if the mangled curse was unintentional. Ripped from his throat before he could clamp his jaws around it—a crack in the facade. A hairline splinter in the indomitable mask he wears. 

Your heart lurches. None of this makes sense, but your head is too muddled, too syrupy, to think much at all. A quandary for later when he throws you from his bed with a harsh slap on your ass and a and don't think about doing this ever again. 

But you don't think you can move. “Give me a minute,” you start on a trembling breath. “And I'll—”

His brows move but his eyes stay fixed on your sore cunt. You can feel him leak out of you, spilling on the mattress in thick globs. The sensation makes you shiver. 

“You'll what?” 

It looks like he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from you, reluctance forming a cold, angry crater between his brows. The brunt of his ire—white, burning—makes you want to supplicate yourself at his feet, roll over on your belly and show the beast you mean no harm. 

(Run, and run far—)

He huffs. “You'll what, birdie?”

It takes a minute to find your voice through all the panic clogging your throat. “I'll leave, um—”

He peels away from you with a loud, rough snort, and drops to his his elbow beside you. Hands curling possessively over your waist, fingers tight. Unyielding. 

“Not goin’ anywhere, birdie. Told you, didn't I? You're mine.” 

“I'm—”

“Go to sleep.” 

He pulls you roughly to his chest until your head is pillowed on his shoulder, and then rolls on his back, keeping you cushioned at his side. You try to move, but his arm wedges under your neck, curling over your shoulder. Trapping you to him. 

The panic wants to come now. To rage against the shackle of his embrace, to run home and scrub your skin until it bleeds. But the exhaustion collapses over it all until your eyes feel too heavy to hold open. Too painful.

As you drift, aimless and dreamless, his voice cuts through the fog. “Gotta learn ‘ow to cum with nothin’ but my cock inside of you sooner or later, birdie. Or you won't be coming at all—”

It sounds like a threat. A promise. You fall asleep with the words echoing in your head, his arm an anchor around your waist. 

He wakes up hungry. 

A gnawing in his belly pulls him from the thin doze he fell into after fucking you three more times—with your face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air for him to rut against like a beast; teetering over his hips, the spread of them too wide for your thighs to split over leaving you precariously unbalanced and shifting your weight above him as neither knee sat comfortably on the mattress; and on your belly with him crushing you to the floor under his bulk. The memory of which makes his spent cock stir, twisting limply against his damp, sticky thigh. Matted down with drying cum, sweat, the slick wetness of being buried inside your messy cunt. 

Filled now with his cum. 

He groans low in his throat as he thinks about it. The sloppy way you let him take you over and over again until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, passing out before he finished. Letting him fuck his cum inside of you as you whimpered in your sleep—

Perfect little thing, aren't you? So good to him.

Simon can't remember the last time he fucked someone, much less when it was this enjoyable (an understatement, of course; in the back of his head, wheels spin round and round as he tries to come up with a plan to keep his cock buried inside of you at all times while still doing his work—), and the overflow of unquenched lust churns in his belly. A hunger he can now slake on your willing body. In the silence, he purrs—

But the effort, the exertion, dredged up a different need inside him. 

Simple hunger. An appetite. 

He could eat—

his eyes slant toward the top of your crown in the dark, and he amends it, quickly, to: in more ways than one. 

He'll go home in a minute. Make himself a steak from the prime cut he butchered a few days ago, leftovers that no one had any qualms about when he took several pieces home with him. 

(and really, why would they argue with the butcher who keeps their wallets fat and their bills paid?)

It was left on the counter earlier before he got the call that your brother was making another move. Now a perfect room temperature as it waits for him to come back. Cook it the way he likes—

Rare. 

The perfect grill is a nice char on the outside, but bleeding red on the inside. Basted in duck fat and garlic. A sprig of rosemary in the pan, but not touching the meat. Just enough to give the juice that earthy, sweet flavour. Let it rest for ten minutes under foil with the rest of the fat poured over it from the pan. Served as is with maybe a dash of salt and pepper on the side. 

Simple. But incredibly difficult to perfect, he finds. 

Everyone tries to make it fancier than what it needs to be, but at the end of the day, meat is meat. And going from picking scraps from the garbage outside of the Italian butcher on the corner to ordering his own pretentious filet mignon still gives him a sense of unease. Whiplash, perhaps. Nothing to something—how about that, Tommy? 

Maybe that's why he prefers to raise and butcher his own cattle. A never-ending supply of meat for him to sink his teeth into even if this whole thing goes belly up and he's back to begging for morsels on the corner. Tommy hiding in the shadows with a baseball bat waiting to ambush the richer men who happen to feel altruistic that day. 

This practice bled over into his current occupation, too. The basement of that same Italian butcher shop he used to sneak expired sausage from out of the bins is now his home base of sorts. A money laundering front of the 141. Headquarters for them to congregate in secrecy upstairs. And here—

A torture chamber for those who tried to cross them. Strung up on meat hooks like the cattle they eat, the ones he feeds them, until he makes up his mind on what he wants to do to them. 

It's where you should have been, he supposes, thumb brushing a spot of dried blood on your shoulder, right below a nasty bite mark on your forearm. The ring nearly black from the clotted blood pooling in the indents. It matches several others on your thighs—top, insides, back—and neck, belly, collarbones, sternum. All chewed up. Marked by the butcher. 

In working for the old Italian man who ran the shop when he was eighteen, he learned that most of the butchers preferred to mark their carcasses when they came in. A little x on the fat to signify they'd be the ones carving up the prime meat. 

He didn't think you could handle his knife, so he gave you his teeth instead. But the implication is clear. 

His. 

It's overkill considering his reputation, and the claim he already had on you. Because even before this, back when he saw you through the window of his shop as he was moonlit as a legitimate butcher and businessman instead of the enforcer, the brute, everyone already knew he was, his interest was clear. You were off-limits. His to deal with. 

And while Price refers not to get involved in small-time street dealers, the warnings Soap and Gaz impressed onto your brother should have been the end of an irritating situation and not the beginning of a fuckin’ headache. But no. He had to push. And push.  

Until Price gave the order to take care of it. 

And that he did. 

(With the added benefit of killing one bird and keeping the other in a pretty cage.)

Price probably won't like his solution, but Simon racked up enough favours to keep a little pet of his own. Been a good boy for a long, long time now, and he supposes he's owed a bone. 

Or a sweet thing tucked tight to his side having passed out some two hours ago after he slaked his dizzying thirst on you over and over again even though it doesn't feel like it's been enough. 

It's rare that he has an appetite for people. Even rarer that he lets this meagre hunger consume him like this. But there's something about you that makes his teeth ache in the same way they often do whenever he's hungry for meat. 

He wants to devour you. Consume you. Eat you alive and save nothing for anyone else to taste. 

(So—

Price will just have to let him keep you, won't he?)

The mattress vibrates under him. His phone buzzing with an incoming text. He reaches over, pulling it close enough to read the notification on his screen. It's from Soap.

All her stuff is on your porch. 

He hums, but doesn't reply. Simply opts to drop his phone on his belly, and tug you closer to his broad chest. He'll wake you in an hour, and the stirring in his groin tells him it'll be for another round. Maybe he'll take you in the freezer. Make you cling to the hook hanging down from the ceiling as he fucks you like that. He has a pair of ties for ox, lamb legs, that he can loop around your wrists and heft you up on. 

It'll hurt, he's sure. The binds weren't designed with comfort in mind, but he can easily bear your weight as he pounds into you from below, your pretty legs wrapped tight around his waist. 

The image, the thought, alone has him thickening against his thigh. He reaches down, gripping the base tight in his hand as he pulls you even closer, burying his nose in your crown. 

At the very least, he wouldn't be lying when he told Price he strung you up. 

Three rounds—on your back, your hands and knees, perched above him like a pretty goddess he stole away from a temple—and he still isn't satisfied. Fuck. He breathes in your scent and doesn't think he ever will be. 

He'll get you out of here, take you home. Make you the steak he likes for a late dinner, rare and simple—the same one he gave your brother weeks ago when he dragged him into the shop, strung him up on a hook, and demanded payment for his disrespect. 

Who'd have thought that his payment would be you? 

(fitting, though, since he'd had his eye on you for a while now—)

He nudges you when his phone chimes again with another message doubtless from Soap telling him all your things have been tucked away. Matters dealt with. 

“C’mon,” he grunts, running his hand down your spine. “We’re leavin’.”

You blink at him slowly. “Leaving?”

He nods. “Get dressed.” 

You're quiet as he turns, reaching for his jeans left in a heap beside the mattress, but he hears the hitch in your throat. The click when you swallow. Unbothered by it, he turns, giving you his back as he wedges his feet inside the trousers, pulling them up his legs. 

The bed shifts behind him. “I—I can walk back to my brother's—”

The hope in your voice is a delicate thing. Fragile like fine china. A pretty, vulnerable tchotchke meant to be seen, admired, but not touched. Not handled roughly. 

Unfortunately for you, he's never had much of a gentle touch. 

When he throws a glance over his shoulder, he's not surprised to find your arm folded over your bare breasts as you kneel on the mattress, your palm resting flat between your parted thighs, wrist and forearm covering the slip of heaven between them from his greedy, prying gaze. 

It paints a startling picture, he finds. One with you looking thoroughly ravaged. Taken. But presenting it in a soft sort of sensuality meant to make a man feel both hot under the collar and like an unrepentant voyeur. 

Pretty bird, he thinks, and feels his cock stir. 

He rises swiftly, hiking up his jeans around his thighs as he goes, and then turns to you with a heady desire to crush that gossamer of hope between his greedy hand like a silken cobweb that will stick to his fingers. 

“Not goin’ to your brothers,” he says, pushing his tongue against his cheek to stem the ache burning in his muscles. 

You shiver, eyes growing wide, frenzied with fear as you stare up at him. The shift of your throat when you swallow makes pre-cum dribble out of his fattened cock. He's never really had much of a taste for it, but he's overcome with the urge to see you cry—

“Where are we going?”

Amid the ache in his loins, the flickering fantasies of your pretty, lachrymal face gazing up at him helpless, hopeless, and needy, he catches the edge of panic when you speak. The razor-sharp tremble of fear. 

But buried amongst it, hidden in the bruised look you give him as he towers over you with his cock bulging in his slacks and his eyes burning with want, he finds a keen sense of eagerness amongst the rubble. Agog, almost. 

And fuck. If that doesn't do something awful to him. 

“What?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side as your breath grows shallow and your eyes wide. “Did you think that was enough to pay your debt, birdie?”

“What? You can't—”

“Don't like it—” he lifts his shoulder up in a cool, indifferent shrug, enjoying the dismayed expression that falls over your brow more than he should. “—go to the police.”

“The ones on your payroll?” You spit, eyes flaring wide like an angry cat. “You—”

Several things might have continued in place of your choked, angry sob, but it's swallowed down as pragmatically as it was the first time he cornered you earlier today. And as beautiful as your ire is, he finds the cornered look on your face to be much more pleasing. Prettier. 

“C’mon, bird,” he mocks, holding his hand out toward you with a tick of his lips. “All your stuff is at home. Don't be stupid.” 

“Stupid?” You gasp in indignation, but there's a bruised look in your eyes. A wounded thing that makes his breath hitch in his lungs for reasons he can't really ascertain, but just knows that he likes it. Likes it a lot. “This is—insane.”

Again, he shrugs, but the indifference this time isn't the same manufactured callousness meant to inspire fear. The conversation is stale already. Grating on him. He's not used to having his orders ignored or questioned. What he says usually goes—either through association or reputation, or just the fact that no one has ever come close to filling the same measure of space as he does—and questioning him like this makes him feel too much like a boy, and not enough like the living ghost he pretends to be. 

“You can't do this. It's not right.”

An appeal to his humanity. Cute. He huffs, reaching down to fasten the button of his jeans. The sound the zipper makes cuts through the room. “You're mine, birdie. Better get used to it.” 

Catching your eye as he says it was only meant to reignite the kindling fear you have of him from extinguishing. A scared prey animal was a better pet than an angry one. But the look on your face catches him off-guard. 

It reminds him of a flightless little bird shivering in a child's shoebox. Tiny broken thing his mum warned him not to touch or its mother would abandon it to die on its own. 

“Until the debt is paid off.”

A statement, not a question. He shrugs, but doesn't respond. Tilts his head toward the door. “Let's go.” 

His lack of reassurance doesn't soften the flint in your gaze, but the prospect of recompense seems to spurn you on. Another wishbone of hope to cling to. And despite himself, he lets you keep it. Lets your little finger wrap around the delicate bone for comfort because as much as you might think there's a fifty-fifty chance of getting the bigger piece, he has no intentions of letting something like that get in the way of his appetite even if you do. 

(And his hunger has always been particularly voracious, hasn't it?)

“Come, birdie. Gotta get you home, and fed, don't I?” 

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Action AUs (Giveaway Winner Post)

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let me know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

hi @onboardsorasora thank you SO MUCH for your request, and congratulations again for winning the giveaway ❤️ we are so sorry that this took such a long time to get to you... unfortunately the mod team have been rather busy with all sorts of things: wedding planning and driving lessons and travelling abroad and writing copious amounts of smut. we hope this was worth the wait ❤️

Daniel/Max

nsfw: I struck a match and blew your mind by @33max | Not Rated | 4.1k

Max is a getaway driver and starts to work with Daniel on jobs. I loved the pacing of this fic. There's so much detail and progress within this and the author really did a great job of picking which parts to highlight for the plot progression. I loved Max's commitment to Daniel.

“I am, I promise. I think it’s just a broken rib or two.” Daniel says, and his hand comes up to squeeze Max’s shoulder from the backseat. There is blood on his knuckles. “C’mon Maxy, be a good boy and get us out of here.” So Max does. He gets them out of there, but he feels sick. Not because they almost got caught, but because he knows that if Daniel really had needed to go to the hospital he would not have been able to leave him there. He would have let them both get caught over leaving Daniel alone and hurt on a hospital doorstep.

nsfw: strangers by bloodmoonforme | E | 37.9k

Daniel, a detective, is on a not-quite-dead-end murder case when they bring in Max from out of state to help him solve it. They have history and havent seen each other in four years. I loved the tone in this so much. The author has a very coherent narrative that build just right, its really intriguing. I also love how the reader almost solves the case too. Not only the murder case, but the /what happened to Max and Daniel/ case that gets revealed throughout. Its a truly well written fic with a lot of action and feelings!

He gets up, his stomach feeling heavier and colder by the second. There's something creeping all the way from his fingers, up his arms and to his belly, a prickly sick thing. Then he looks towards the center of the room, marked by a well-worn rug. Daniel stands there, alone in Esther’s bedroom, standing in the half-light. He's there, and suddenly he’s not.

nsfw: Bite Down and Taste Red by @mysticalbreadcollective | E | 46.5k

Max works in a bar, and Daniel is the Mafia Boss who keeps buying drinks. This story is absolutely captivating - from beginning to end, it is so beautifully written and paced, with just enough angst to make things truly delicious. Daniel is so much fun here - hot and charismatic and so very head over heels for his bartender!

He finds out that Max speaks several languages, and he’s from a place called Hasselt, which means absolutely nothing to Daniel. He’d looked it up later, on the map on his phone, squinting at it. Compared with the US, its miniscule. He can’t imagine Max being born in a place so small. When Max is so – much.

Carlos/Lando & Daniel/Max

i'll race you for pinks by @chubbydinosaur | M | 30k

Lando is brought on to a heist by professional criminal, Carlos. Sparks fly. This story is such a fun ride - as always, this author perfectly balances humour, emotion, and high stakes action, and it makes for a thrilling read. Lando is so disarmingly charming in this - I adored him!

Daniel/Lando

til the bone crush by @clementiaes | T | 19k

Pacific Rim is perfect for Formula 1 AUs, and this is one of my favourite examples. Daniel and Lando are paired as Jaeger pilots. Both are coming off of other drift partners with baggage - Daniel from Max after Max’s career ending injury, and Lando from something that could have been a relationship with Carlos, had Lando’s insecurities not buried it before it started. Lando is prickly, closed-off and miserable at the start of this story, convinced he is unlovable. This story is about him gently and gradually being opened up to the realisation that people love him, and that he deserves to be loved.

The point is, no one is getting tired of you any time soon,” Daniel says. “Seriously, who even told you that?” Lando looks down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “No one. I just — I know I’m not easy to get along with.” Daniel frowns. “You deserve to be happy,” he says, finally. “You know that, right?” Lando looks down at his knees. “Look at me, Lando,” Daniel says, but Lando doesn’t. His shoulders are starting to creep back up near his ears again. Daniel’s moving before he quite knows what he’s doing. He gets one hand on Lando’s shoulder and one on his chin, turning his face so that he’ll look at him. Lando sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide, but to Daniel’s surprise, he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t know how you got it into your head that you’re like, unlovable, or something, but it’s not true,” Daniel says. “Really. You think you can believe that for me?”

Charles/Sebastian

He Is All, And He Is More by @effervescentdragon | M | 15k

In this AU of The Old Guard, Sebastian and Charles are immortals that meet on the battlefield during the Crusades. They kill one another over and over, until they reach a tentative understanding. Their relationship deepens over the centuries. It can be difficult to write characters as ancient and make them feel ancient, and Akira really does. I love the tentative way they negotiate one another, and the understanding they gradually come to. Battlefield enemies to lovers is quite the relationship arc.

"And if we only met a thousand of years from now, you would still be wearing red.” “Why?” Sebastian shrugs, a grin evident in the dark. “Your red string dictates it. Fate, or something. Destiny. Red suits you. You look good in red.” Charles bites his tongue. “So do you.”

Lewis/Nico/Sebastian

on golden sands by sionisjaune | T | 6.2k

Lewis Hamilton is planning the heist of the century and he wants Sebastian Vettel on his team. The target - Baron Nico Rosbergs car collection. Sounds simple on paper but reality never is. Oceans Eleven heist!au. Who doesnt love a good heist!au? This author writes some of my favourite sebcedes, the characterisations are spot on and the vibes are at turns wholesome and rancid. Perfection in a fic!

Rosberg greets Seb at the gate, behind the windshield of a pale blue Bentley. The paint job sparkles in the golden sunlight, and the hood ornament gleams chrome. The gates roll open at his whim with an ear-splitting, metallic sound. Rosberg beckons animatedly from behind the wheel, and Seb gets the message that he should leave his car and join Rosberg in the Bentley for the ride up to the house. […] Before Seb can slide into the passenger's side of the Bentley, Rosberg has to shoo a pudgy English bulldog into the backseat. It clambers, ungainly, over the console and waddles into the back, collapsing in a happy, wrinkly lump on the leather seats. “Who’s this?” Seb asks, watching long strings of drool ooze from the dog’s flabby mouth onto the pristine interior of Rosberg’s classic Bentley. Seb once saw an R-type Bentley much like this one go for two and a half million at auction. “This is Roscoe,” says Rosberg, long-sufferingly. “The result of an unfortunate affair.”

Charles/Pierre

Hic Svnt Leones by @cerona10 | M | 32.6k

Charles is different to how Pierre remembers him. The world-building in this fic is second to none - it’s absolutely stunning! The world feels so full and alive, and it’s easy to get completely sucked in. The way they build in exposition is so clever and natural feeling, and the action is exhilirating and fun to read. Perfect!

His shadow isn’t his own, not anymore. It shakes and shimmers, fighting against its own shape. His shadow’s head twists and breaks before mending itself into that of a horse, neighing and trashing, a single horn jutting out from its forehead. Its jaw unhinges and it begins breathing heavily, drool escaping its mouth like a waterfall.

Fernando/Lance

nsfw: Venus Flytrap by @pitconfirm | E | 25.7k (wip)

Professional criminal Fernando Alonso is recruited for a job. His mission: seduce Lance Stroll. This fic is RED HOT. From the very first few sentences, Fernando exudes this confidence that is so much fun to read. Contrasted with Lance - pouty, privileged, and surprisingly vulnerable - the dynamics are gorgeous. This author is so fantastic at dialogue and pacing, and this fic flows so beautifully. I can't wait to read more!

Once they reach the games room, it’s easy to spot him among the crowd. For the past few days, Fernando has been memorising every freckle on Lance’s skin. He could recognise him from just the curl of hair on his tender nape, but the most striking thing about Lance is his demeanour—elbows rested on the roulette table while he boredly holds his head in his hands, huffing in disappointment when he loses again. His carelessness stands out starkly against the opulent golden trims and old paintings covering every wall. A boy like Lance doesn’t belong in a place like this, but money talks.

nsfw: green light, red wine (and i don't feel fine) by @vicsy | E | 18.8k (wip)

Fernando is the Mafia boss who owns the club that Lance Stroll - son of his biggest rival - wanders into. This story is SO HOT. The tension between them is palpable, and they bounce off each other so well. You get the feeling that both of them are underestimating each other, and it makes for so much delicious tension. Amazing!

There aren’t many opportunities Fernando deliberately missed in his life. He wouldn’t be on top if he did. Right next to him, clad in a tight white t-shirt, sits an opportunity for a power move, the one Fernando would take all the way.

[themculibrary]

Bucky/Clint Road Trip Fics Masterlist

Americana is for Lovers (ao3) - ccbytheseashore M, 8k

Summary: Please tell me you are still alive, read Steve's text.

In Virginia, Bucky replied.

The hell are you doing in Virginia?

Would you believe me if I said trying to find a foam sculpture of Stonehenge?

Tony said to make sure his car comes back in once piece. Please don't shoot each other.

Clint and Bucky set off on an adventure to find an infamous work of Americana history, but find literally everything else (including love) instead.

Aw, Blood, No (ao3) - Reremouse (TheBelfry) M, 19k

Summary: Being turned into a vampire was never part of Clint “Mr. Actual Ray of Human Sunshine (sometimes)” Barton’s life plan. But they say life is what happens while you’re making other plans, and when an Avengers mission to take out a Hydra base goes disastrously wrong, Clint comes out of the fray undead.

Unfortunately for Clint, SHIELD has guidelines to deal with agents who have been turned into vampires: bring them in, or take them out. Fortunately, Bucky is both well-versed in vampires (Hydra—what are you going to do?) and evading SHIELD. Fortunately, Bucky is both well-versed in vampires (Hydra—what are you going to do?) and evading SHIELD.

And sometimes “I’m your hostage. Get moving,” is the way Bucky says “I love you.”

blank passivity (i'm hiding my shit-eating grin) (ao3) - WHYISEVERYNAMETAKEN T, 21k

Summary: Upon being handed a mission that includes a tiny car, a cross-country roadtrip, and also, oh yeah, the Winter Soldier, Clint can honestly say that he's not having a great time. Adding in the fact that Barnes doesn't even want to talk to him has Clint preparing himself for the longest drive of his life.

(Clint is also pretty sure that Captain America hates him, but that's neither here nor there.)

OR

If I had a nickel for every time [Bucky took a picture with a beaver], I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice -Dr. Doofenshmirtz

crying wolf out to the moon (ao3) - shatteredhourglass T, 3k

Summary: Clint decides it's a good idea to drag Bucky on a road trip on the day of the full moon. Bucky's too weak for Clint to deny him anything, even if it is in fact, a goddamn terrible idea.

drive ‘n whine (ao3) - hawksonfire G, 1k

Summary: Bucky’s been stuck in the Tower for too long, so Clint does something about it.

Liminal Spaces (ao3) - thepartyresponsible M, 20k

Summary: “Clint,” Steve says, and it’s that same no-bullshit, do-or-die, I really, really mean it voice he used to trot out in the last few innings of close games in high school. “Bucky’s not gonna fly. He’s not going to drive himself. He can’t— I need you to drive him here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Clint says, and hangs up.

Runaways (ao3) - madetobeworthy G, 1k

Summary: Sometimes Bucky needs to be gone, and sometimes Clint goes with him. They don't need to speak, just listen to the radio as the car devours the miles ahead of them.

see the stars come out of the sky (ao3) - veryrach M, 11k

Summary: “Arrested, yeah, I remember. How the hell do you have ten grand in cash - no, you know what, don’t tell me, forget I asked,” Clint says resignedly. “So let me get this straight. You want me to drive all the way out to Niagara Falls, pick up what I’m sure is a totally legit random bag of cash from somewhere, use it to bail you out, and drive all the way back.”

In which Bucky helps Clint help Barney. There’s a road trip, slightly inept fumbling of the emotional and physical varieties, and a bit with a dog.

the search for clint (ao3) - pherryt G, 2k

Summary: It’s a long road Bucky’s on, and he can only hope Clint is at the end of it.

The Start of Something (ao3) - kookykoi T, 1k

Summary: Bucky had the bright idea of going on a road trip. Clint had the brighter idea of going with him.

worse than a motel 6 (ao3) - spiralsystem T, 7k

Summary: Nat and Clint are assigned to take down the remaining Hydra bases on the outskirts of civilization, the ones that the others clearly don’t have time for. Oh well, road trip for Clint! Until Nat, Clint, and the one person Clint Really wanted to avoid, run into each other at the shadiest motel Clint has ever seen.

you’re my best friend (ao3) - pherryt G, 9k

Summary: Clint and Bucky need to go on a road trip to get to their next mission which Clint figures is the best way to get to know Bucky even better. It goes better than planned!

[ilyfynn]

mmu nation i enlist your help in giving me something to do instead of listening in biology. yes i am a halex stan and these are all secretly an excuse to write more halex. 19k is not enough. behold: my first ever poll

more info about each below (proper infodump) (I know I say that I dislike all of them but just choose)

the below all contain halex

modern murder - so I took one look at an extracurricular GCSE class (mine) and went HOW FUN WOULD IT BE IF I MADE THEM MURDER EACH OTHER because they are So Mean and I don't like it. so i jiggled the dynamics around a bit and ended up changing all the characters so now I'm left with a murder au. I planned it across a while but did most of it at 1am, and especially considering I only really write shipping fanfic idk how it is for a murder. however I plan to write all of these someday so as I actually Came Up with an idea I will persevere if needs be

flower shop au - now this was entirely an excuse to write a flower shop au because it would be so freaking cute if alex sent hazel flowers like. LIKE. can you see my 2am vision here. but ofc it's mmu so I had to mysterify it and ngl the mystery I made is kinda trash but. CAN YOU SEE MY "i-planned-this-all-in-one-go-at-12am" VISION????? overall I don't mind this au but I think there isn't much purpose to it so that's why I dislike it somewhat

5+1 - alex-centric halex au. honestly an excuse to make him fall in love again because oblivious alex for the WIN. I probably will write this one first if this poll ends up being of no use because it's plain Pining and I love that

time loop x hanahaki - now this one is one to have an excuse to make myself cry. I really like making characters die, and I really like halex, so I try to make it work whilst being realistic. unfortunately the plan for this one only exists vaguely in my head and my mind and I have disagreements about how well it would work when executed, especially since the scene I've chosen requires a lot of thinking behind the scenes (I suck at that)

do a songfic: I am notoriously good at coming up with songfics that seem really good to me but are really just awfully executed. I'm thinking message in a bottle by Taylor

come up with another one - fake dating au????? I'm thinking that because probably the most impressive and glorious fanfic I've ever read was a fake dating. love love LOVE it. though it would have to be a very long and well thought out one because I'd want to make it Perfect. additionally it would take aaaaaaaaaages to plan but when I do write it I want it to be the peak of my experience in the hyperfixation (it won't because I'll probably have thought of a better au by then)

in conclusion I dislike most of these but will write them anyways. please excuse how I hate my writing too, ARGH I need to work on that. thank you for reading I infodumped very heavily here (I pin the blame on a looooong day)

[mygnolia]

a lil rambly :(( but!! a heartfelt message to ygs 🫶

thank you alll truly from the bottom of my heart for all the notes, feedback, asks, replies, and likes for my recent works from this month

i genuinely would have NEVER expected to receive as much love as I did for the recent fics and socmed texts ive done!! ive had this blog ever since 2021-2022 tumblr that was full of longfics, drabbles, all written works that always require a crazy amount or work and time and don’t get me wrong, starting my own smau (2 now) has made me realize that coming up with a plot only through dialogue is hard- and it’s a very new concept for me!! but they’re so fun and it’s so easy to develop my humor within these characters.

that being said, i never gave up trying to write longer things- but it came with a lot of fear. with enhypen’s concert back in april, i dived back into writing and stanning in general- and was worried people wouldn’t like anything i had to put out 😓😓

i wanted to write this because one of my posts reached 1k notes which is an incredible feat for me!! when i posted emerald fire, it was the first fic on this blog and it didn’t do well nor did it receive any feedback, and i was heavily discouraged from writing or posting it’s cupid, stupid! because i was worried my work would have been futile and no one would care. (they’re both over 19k and both took weeks of writing and planning) it’s literally at 900 notes right now which is insane!!!! and all of your comments- it really really does inspire me to do better and continue writing- it’s really fun to develop these plots and express myself on here again :))

and for the three laws of motion, for my recent teasers, for my smaus, in so grateful ive been able to have you guys read and enjoy what my silly little brain conjurs up :((

and for my moots, i appreciate all our interactions!! im v scared to talk to you guys because you all seen very cool with ur cute themes 😓😓 but seeing you on my dash makes me happy :)) i wish the best and LETS KEEP TALKINGGG!! abt anything rlly!!

thank u thank u thank u!!! kisses for all of you- you’re the best!!

[goodthoughts001]

RAKING it in ! Not yet but it's coming to a table near you. Online Casino Malaysia

Quick update on my break from Online Casino Malaysia. I'm back playing intermittently and really find that I’ve improved as a player in every aspect. Tilt still exists within and can do it's devilish damage but it's under control, hand reading skills have improved 10 fold and my luck is probably above average at the minute.

Mmm keep looking at the £25/50 10 seated NL on betfair it looks soooo juicy, however the odd multi and no more than 3 x 6-pacs a day for the moment. I say no more than 3 because I tend to find that more than 2hrs is too much at the poker table when focussing on a game. Multi’s I tend to not take notice too much of the table before the 1st couple of hours and music, TV etc are all good distractions.

At the minute Strictly (NO CASH) poker although I’m like an addict that thinks hey I’m clean I could play a bit of cash now I know I’m not ready yet; still e few creases to iron out. Losing 19k in a short period of time is a pisser but the manner in which it is lost is where I have learned a few things. Firstly, and undeniably even in the cold light of day I was on a miserable run of bad luck and bad cards (fact). However, secondly as a result I was not playing appropriate poker and one hand springs to mind which was the pinnacle of my tilty crap play.

Quick reflection coming:

I had witnessed dozens of premiums being busted and was pretty pissed to say the least, not alcohol BTW just playing pissed off (not good). I’m playing the 10/20 NL 10 seated cash and winning about £1500 so I have with my buy-in £3500 on the table and in late position I get dealt AA. Yes the best preflop starting hand possible, I remember when I got it thinking ooooh dear, anyway everyone folds round to ‘Rhaegar’ a Rock/solid player who frequents the Crypto tables who raises 4 x BB to £80. I feel I have to name the player here so that anyone who knows him will know what a Muppet play I made here. I smooth call and no other takers, see a flop 6 7 J Rhaegar bets £120 and I’m not messing here I re-raise to £240 to see where I am LOL. Rhaegar re-raises to £800 and I think SET SET SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET and proceed to re-raise all-in for all my stack – my AA will not be beat, it cant be beat, it’s lost too many times! Rhaegar calls with 6 7 and his 2 pair stand up as quick as I stand up to bang my head against the wall.

What have I learned from this and all the bad beats, A LOT. A lot about me in particular and a lot about poker which won’t be much to most but to me is a lot. I learned that OK I suffered terrible bad luck on occasion but had I not tilted the money I saved could have helped me earn it back. I lost 3k I didn’t need to here which is 1.5 buyin’s on 10/20 and if I add it all up I could have probably played through the bad run and came out on top like the top players do. Just an insight to my thinking here since having time out but obviously I could write forever with the amount of thinking I’ve been doing.

Back to now:

This blog has been a real reflection of my poker playing career and being able to look back on previous posts is a real eye opener and insight into the sometimes crazy view I have of events, especially when I was in 'Zombie' mode. In 'Zombie' mode I didn’t think it was tilt, it was everything else in my life the girlfriend, Kids, Dog, someone phoning me whilst in the middle of an important pots everyone but me basically. Playing like a twat was easy, it came natural. I looked for any reason I could to call instead of considering the opposite and well played like a twat. Also, I took the game serious and didn’t like the view one bit TY.

The only reason I have played the last couple of weeks is that a friend told me to check my account I may have some rake back and when I looked I had been credited with £300 so I though Ok I’ll have a dabble like the old days ‘bit of fun’ play. The account now has £3575 in it and I think Toshiwonka is back looking for some scalps!!!

The racehorse I bought MrToshiwonka 2yr old is doing really well and we have entered him for the £200,000 Super sprint @ Newbury in July so fingers crossed I’ll be in the winners enclosure with a bottle of the finest.

Good luck as always to anyone reading and be disciplined! LOOOOL

I would recommend a break to anyone feeling like the games against them it works wonders. I’ve lost a stone of poker weight as well. Only another 4 to go.

[morifinwes]

Lauraa I finished all the fics, apart from decay (currently reading that now) and I love it sm! Especially the lip gloss one lmao the whole thing was so hilarious to me XD but also like the concept of lwj wearing lipgloss is >>> -yibobibo

@yibobibo then i'm going to rec you some more!! the lip gloss one was !!!!! ajsksks yes!! lwj wearing lipgloss is just so!! good!!

modern

this one is the painful one i talked about:

visitations by var_abelasan (12K, wip, divorced wangxian, post divorce, most of this is angst, uhm lowkey don't but also do want wangxian to end up together, it's messy, the jiangs & lans are shitty, wwx was in prison (brief mentions of that but it's kind of a major plot point), mxy & xy are the little brothers he never wanted but wwx picked them up anyways)

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry." 

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine. 

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

 

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae (3K, partly deaf!wwx, lwj notices, nobody else does though, idk wwx is like made out of fucking steel or some shit)

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

light by redkosmos (10K, blind!lwj, which causes angst, but they manage it, best friends to lovers, fluff, lwj being insecure and feeling like a burden, college au kind of? but it doesn't matter too much)

The realization slowly dawns on him.

He can never again see the brightness of Wei Ying's eyes, the way they crescent when he smiles, never again see the rich black of his hair, the mess of it in the early mornings, never again see the beautiful tan of his skin, the beauty of the scars and marks adorned on it, how he wears his clothes, how it hugs his frame beautifully, how he looks like he's adorably swimming in cloth when he wears Lan Zhan's, and-

(Lan Zhan loses his vision in a car accident and learns to cope with it.)

don't leave me by trippinonskies (19K, brief very brief mention of lwj cheating, he doesn't but wwx is afraid lwj is cheating on him or just wants to break up with him, (he doesn't), marriage proposal, lwj acting distant = wwx's insecurities show up, fluff, angst and comfort)

Lan Zhan! Where are you lost today?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, at the end of his patience.

Lan Zhan looks a little guilty as he looks at Wei Wuxian, “Sorry, just a lot of work to deal with.”

Lie.

If there is one thing Lan Zhan can’t do, it’s lying. Especially to Wei Wuxian. But he doesn’t question Lan Zhan. He just accepts the reply, too scared to know that he is right. Too scared to know the truth.

// or where Lan Zhan is too hung up in planning the perfect proposal and ends up accidently ignoring Wei Wuxian making the other think that he wants to break up //

want you closer by xiaobucephalus ((3K, HORSES, only in the background tho, but wwx is an equestrian vet, which is so fucking valid bro, the lans own horses, a sick bunny, lwj the bunny parent!, super cute, dark bay throughoutbred chenqing is honestly so valid)

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed again, his voice warming the chill of fear that had settled in his chest. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get into your hutch for a while anyway.”

safe in your thoughts by anonymous (20K, it's a cherry magic au???? (i haven't watched it, but you have i think?), horny lwj but only for wwx (always for wwx))

Wei Wuxian learns three very important things on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday.

One, that Lan Wangji is ridiculously funny, which Wei Wuxian had known before but what Wei Wuxain hadn’t expected was Lan Wangji to be funny at his brother’s expense.

Two, that Wei Wuxian had finally gone mad, absolutely mental at the ripe age of twenty seven because nothing else would explain the third thing he had learnt.

Third, and the most unbelievable of the lot, that Lan Wangji wants to fuck him.

iura by yoo_im_finally_writing (1K, only added bcs op is right and wwx would've the cutest german accent, it's more fun if you understand german so hit me up if you want translations for the german sentences)

Wei Ying calls in the middle of the night to talk about German law, and Lan Zhan tries very hard not to fall asleep. Or at least, not to let Wei Ying notice he's falling asleep. (As best friends do.)

breathe in the air, the last of its kind by wereworm / @neverdoingmuch (27K, getting together, jealous!lwj, but also kind of supportive, brief mention of cheating bcs of miscommunication, no actual cheating tho, college au, lwj pov)

Following Wei Ying’s line of sight, Lan Wangji can barely prevent a smile from crossing his lips when he sees the short row of rabbit statuettes placed at the front of the display. Silver, with bright gems for eyes, they look elegant yet lively and animated.

“A-Yuan would love one of those,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost as if to himself.

Lan Wangji frowns; the rabbits, while cute, don’t seem like a suitable gift for Wei Ying’s A-Yuan.

...

It’s only when he glances back at the rabbits and notices what has been placed on display behind them, that the pieces fall into place. They’re engagement rings, there’s no doubt about it. Lan Wangji feels his heart sink – Wei Ying isn’t just dating A-Yuan, he wants to propose to him.

Or: the five times Lan Wangji thinks that A-Yuan is Wei Ying’s boyfriend and the one time he learns the truth.

paint smears on sunny days by snowshadowao3 / @angstsexual (53K, getting together, art teacher!wwx, single parent!lwj, they're rich if i remember right, wwx & lwj are both good with kids!!!, this is so good actually, fluff)

To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

He comes close, though.

By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

“Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.

(Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

no bunny compares by gusucloudbunny (4K, god this is cute, fluff)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cornered his friend one week before his birthday. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow at Wei Wuxian, not exactly sure how to answer that question in a truthful manner that didn’t involve confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Wei Wuxian is on a mission to get Lan Wangji the perfect gift for his birthday. What Wei Wuxian doesn't know is that the only thing Lan Wangji truly wants is him.

wei wuxian's week of realizing things by photojenny (12K, i have read this multiple times, i always forget what happens, idk why but my notes say it's good, the tags say drunkji makes an appearance and i'm always up for that)

"Lan Zhan, do you like Mianmian?" asked Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji blinked, and stared. It was not the first time Lan Wangji had questioned the perceptiveness of the boy he had a crush on. Wei Wuxian had been smart in the class they had taken together. Yet time and time again, Wei Wuxian had tested the old wisdom that there are no stupid questions.

---

Lan Wangji must figure out how to confess when Wei Wuxian is the most oblivious person he's ever met.

are you my wisdom tooth? because i'd like to take you out by yellowcarnations (1K, crack, fluff, lwj stop flirting with a stranger, even if he is your husband, drunkji but make it to max level)

Lan Zhan wakes up and he has no idea where he is.

There are bright lights and his jaw hurts, he doesn't who this man next to his bed is but oh he might be in love, maybe, probably, definitely.

–

based off that guy-forgets-who-his-wife-is-and-hits-on-her vid but its wangxian.

beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (3K, fluff, lwj is like "he, he likes me right? he likes me" and everyone is like "yes, yes he does")

“Wei Ying’s heart monitor,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wen Qing blinks at him. “Yes?”

“It beeps.”

“That’s… what they generally do, yes.”

“The beeps change,” Lan Wangji continues, “when others are around.”

*

Wei Ying’s heart only sings for Lan Wangji.

canon

obedient and bellicose by thunderwear (19K, lwj is cursed by the lan elders, they notice too late, fix-it fic kind of?, lqr being a good uncle and lxc is a good brother, wwx accidentally uses the curse but he doesn't know about it)

It took Lan Wangji a long time to realize he was cursed. Too long really, anyone else would have noticed so much sooner. The problem was, he liked following the rules.

Ella Enchanted AU that no one needed but I wanted.

hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (10K, amnesia, fluff, wwx taking care of lwj, so much fluff and softness, angst too but not that much)

The issue is, Lan Wangji brings his thoughts back before they stray too far, that it is impossible for someone to be in his bed, unless Lan Wangji himself invited them. He has not. He would remember doing so, and besides, all his night clothes are still on and there is no headache to imply that he was inebriated last night. No, the situation is simple.

There is someone in Lan Wangji’s bed. It is impossible for anyone to be in Lan Wangji’s bed, and yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped the stranger.

or lan wangji wakes up, and wei ying is there. he doesn't understand how or why, and he can understand even less why his hallucination of wei ying is so insistent on bathing him, and braiding his hair, on holding him and fixing his clothes. why the hallucination of wei ying seems so happy to see him.

teach me the way by likeafox (58K, rogue cultivator!wwx, horny wangxian, lwj wants wwx to teach him how to be a good lover, ....wwx is a virgin, the porn is the plot, but there's less of it than i thought)

"I do not wish to leave my future spouse… dissatisfied with my intimate knowledge,” Lan Zhan says, very seriously. “I am hoping to find an instructor, to better prepare myself for such matters."

Wei Ying feels his mouth drop open. He's pretty sure the Second Jade of Lan just told him he's a virgin who wants to learn how to do sex good.

Rogue Cultivator Wei Wuxian is the stuff of local legends. Some of those legends are even true! The ones about his tremendous experience in bed, on the other hand, are not so true. Which becomes a problem when Lan Wangji, on the verge of an arranged marriage and worried he won’t know how to please his future spouse, enlists Wei Ying's help to teach him the art of love-making. Wei Ying's great at improvisation, though, and is pretty sure he's got this sex mentor thing under control. What could possibly go wrong

other aus

of god: my love unholy by tunnelodfawn (3K, tw blood / war, dark!lwj, god!wwx, kind of poetry)

Lan Zhan takes everything as a sign from his god. The blood staining his fingertips—a holy anointment. He sanctifies himself through blood. The strings of his guqin gleam red in the sun—a divine blessing. This is an instrument of destruction. A single note—a cry of power—and in this note the voice of his god unravels the earthly threads tethering man to earth.

The Yiling Patriarch blesses Lan Zhan with war. Wei Wuxian blesses Lan Zhan with agility. Wei Ying blesses Lan Zhan with love.

The base of the Yiling Patriarch’s shrine is the home of Lan Zhan’s knees. He worships. There is something of the blasphemous and the unholy in his prayers. He prays not for victory but for the sight of Wei Ying. Bless me with your presence, he begs.

Or, wherein, Lan Zhan bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine—the worshipper and the god—with blood.

the river and the sea by sasamelons / @sasamelons (7K, soulmate au, arranged marriage (wangxian with each other), they're both kind of dumb but i love it)

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, wishing to just be left alone. "I am looking for my soulmate," he ground out.

"Oh."

It took Lan Wangji a few moments to realize that Wei Wuxian had stopped following him. When he looked back, the other boy seemed to be frozen to the spot, eyes wide and lips still parted. He quickly looked away when he saw Lan Wangji looking back. "I see. Well, have a good trip!"

--

At six years old, Lan Zhan met his soulmate on the streets of Yiling and promptly lost him again.

At sixteen years old, Lan Wangji met his betrothed and was determined not to like him.

[finitepeace]

fics i read this week:

 I read some bucky x natasha fics: 

Head Is Not My Home by taralkariel

Summary: The Black Widow is a legend. Legends aren't made cheap.

Shaken by the events of Civil War, Natasha Romanoff goes back to familiar ground to hide. To hide and remember how she became the Black Widow. How Natalia Romanova would do anything to save her father-figure. How she was one of 28 ballerinas with the Bolshoi - no, one of 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room. How the only thing that made her feel human was a man with a metal arm.

(A story to show what really happened in the comics Red Room and how it could fit into the MCU)

19k words in 12 chapters, not rated (maybe T&up?), bucky nat up to IW, i think.  it’s not very dark themed <3,

tell me baby, do you recognize me? by xocean

Summary: "You're a liar." Natasha is shaking. "You're a heartless, lonely, lying murderer."

He doesn't even blink. "We both are."

The Winter Soldier's game is up, and Steve's not letting him go this time. Enter the only person who doesn't want a part in this shitfest: Natasha Romanov.

Or, as James Buchanan Barnes remembers her: Natalia Romanova.

63k words in 10 chapters (from 11), angst.

 and an IronDad x SpiderSon fic: 

This B.S. Better Be Worth It by losingmymindtonight 💙

Summary: Originally, Tony's plan had been to just surprise Peter with the fact that he would be on campus for a semester.

He’d never actually expected Peter to sign up for his class.

7k words in 4 chapters, tony acting like a dad (and awesome professor)

 as usual, the rest are Stony fics:  

American Dream by NobodysBloodyPrincess

Summary: Tony is trying, but try as he might he just can’t find the silver lining of this particular disaster.

After all, what happiness could possibly be derived from the knowledge that the perfect little girl in his arms is now motherless? What relief could be drawn, when his boyfriend of ten years, the love of his life really, is probably, currently, right at this moment in the arms of ‘Peggy’ his new fiancé?

13k words, no powers au, tony-centric, stevetony has broken up and tony adopts a kid, steve is depicted a bit insensitive (idk what the word, like unable to read the room?) here. 

Where Our Restless Monsters Sleep by Mizzy 💙

Summary: Years after Tony Stark saved the universe, the Avengers realize there’s a major problem: his body has gone missing. And he isn��t the only one. Fallen heroes all over the galaxy have had their graves pillaged.

An old foe is stealing the bodies of fallen warriors, but for what nefarious reason? There’s only one solution. To find out why it’s happening, Steve’s gotta die.

He probably shouldn’t be so eager to do that.

233k words in 12 chapters, post endgame resurrections (?), gladiator trope, lots of action scenes, and THERE’S MORGAN x STEVE INTERACTIONS!!!!! 

The Culling of the Stars by dirigibleplumbing

Summary: Tony dies saving Steve's life on the courthouse steps. Now Steve is left with the fallout of their Civil War, expected to take charge and preserve Tony's legacy. He doesn't know how he can do it alone—not when he can't stop thinking about Tony, or keep track of the days, or even feel.

9k words, comic book’s civil war not MCU’s, angst but gnidne yppah 

Together, Always by Sapphic_Futurist 💙

Summary: He swallows hard, a prickle of tears in his eyes because this is his husband.

This is Tony Stark and Steve’s husband, and Steve gets to have this. He gets to have this for the rest of his goddamn life.

30k words in 3 chapters, embodiment of stony’s “together” T_T, read the tags if you want to be spoiled lol if not then enjoy! (and I don’t regret not reading the tags tbh) 

And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live by shinkonokokoro

Summary: Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none

Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.

59k words in 29 chapters, non-power au, kid clint and peter as steve’s brothers

i stole the keys to this guy by kellifer_fic

Summary: Where it was Nick Fury's idea, but he didn't mean it like that

6k words, fake dating into real dating 

Home Is Where the Time Machine Is by Wordsplat 💙

Summary:Steve and Tony's daughter accidentally falls back in time, and learns that impossible time travel phone calls can and will be made just to ground you, big brothers are awful snitches, and parents used to date other people. The past blows.

23k words in 5 chapters, domestic, stony being married 

don't know why it took me so long to see by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

Summary: “Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”

Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”

- In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognizing his boyfriend past a mask.

11k words, tony being peacefully oblivious while the whole world isn’t. 

I Started a Joke by Naferty

Summary "Tony?"

"Who the hell is Tony?"

102k words in 11 chapters, tony is the winter soldier 

Take Two  by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Steve loses his memory but he gets the feeling he's lost a lot more. Who exactly is Tony Stark to him and why won't he come out of the basement?

24k words, i just love it. 

Sunrise Over the End of the World by Sapphic_Futurist

Summary: When Dr. Strange arrives at an Accords Committee Meeting and warns of the coming of an alien megalomaniac set on destroying the world, the Rogues are pardoned and Tony finds himself exactly where he never wanted to be. Back at the Compound with Steve, who still can't take a hint and won't leave him alone.

--

In which Tony is broken and Steve finds redemption.

35k in 11 chapters, explicit, civil war fix-it up to infinity war 

Far Away And Long Ago by Ragdoll (Keshka) 💙

Summary: Steve steps into the past and discovers that hope held on a pedestal is as insubstantial as smoke. Then he sees Tony. And that's when things get complicated.

Full summary contained within.

18k in 4 chapters, mature, seems like abandoned WIP :( endgame fix-it au when steve returns the stones... 

Something More Than What They Are series by  Sapphic_Futurist

An exploration of love, denial and propensity for change.

38k in 4 works, explicit, Steve and Tony are married during the civil war madness but seems like their love is not enough to stop it from happening or reconciling T_T 

the marks you choose to leave behind by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Stane faction has been around for many years, long before Tony was bitten. And since he was forced, his life has been nothing short of misery and pain; a prison he will never escape. As a low member of the faction, his only hope at survival is to remain a loyal pet to Ezekiel. So when Ezekiel mentions the growing threat of the Avengers of the Undead, and the dreaded Captain, Tony is adamant to step up and do what he can. It’s also his last chance to see the outside world before he’s bonded to Whitney forever.

But what he finds instead is an unlikely companion with golden eyes. A strange werewolf by the name of Steve.

35k, general, vampire tony/werewolf steve, based on earth-666 

La La Love by Wordsplat

Summary: "To be perfectly clear, Tony always knew that Stephanie Rogers was the best thing that would ever happen to him."

4k words, teen up and audiences, female Steve, highschool au, awkward tony

Meet Your Heroes by Wordsplat

Summary:Tony gets rescued by a highly concerned, very handsy Captain America. This is confusing for a number of reasons.

4k words, identity porn AU, 

Hashtag Finally by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Tony doesn't ever actually ask the Avengers to move into his house, steal his wifi, eat all his food, and become the best family he's ever known. They do it anyway.

15k, teen&up, domestic avengers a.k.a. tower life, hyperactive Clint lol, super cute, everyone are stony supporters

Thanks For the Memories by Wordsplat

Summary: When Tony is sent crashing-all too literally-into the 1940's by an alternate-universe Loki's spell, neither Tony nor Steve are prepared for the consequences.

9k words, time travel au, secret pining 

[diyeoracha]

fanfic recommendations

for @kittensocute bc i heard “atsukita” and “iwaoi” in reference to fanfiction and i am There

i took your “i love slow burn or slow build fics... so i like relatively shorter burn fics (20-30k). If its a 10k oneshot slow burn hELL SIGN ME UP” and absolutely ran with it.

i listed my fav iwaoi fics (17) with a longer word count (longest is 80k) that are all mostly either canon compliant or divergent with only two straight up AUs. none of them feature heavy nsfw content and most if not all are tagged as friends to lovers lmao. feel free to read the my thoughts or just go into them blind!! and they’re all in order of how much I absolutely adore them :^)

now atsukita is not a big ship *sobs* but here are some of my favorite fics (7) of them! a lot of them are shorter bc i guess that’s just. what happens when it’s a small ship LOL. 

the formatting in this is fucked if you open it from ur dash but if it’s on my actual blog it should be fine!

Iwaoi

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

thoughts: my absolute absolute absolute favorite iwaoi fic. the characterization, the fact that oikawa’s a bastard but because he and iwaizumi are older (late 20s i believe), it feels more realistic and sad rather than oikawa being a bitch for the sake of it. spoiler alert it’s slow burn and pining and mostly oikawa not realizing his feelings. this world building is pretty cool bc iwaizumi is the professional player while oikawa is an entomology professor! also i love non-linear narratives bc of This fic. there’s mutual pining in this fic but it’s really really really subtle to the point where you dont even know if oikawa likes iwa. this made me cry like twice.

sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

thoughts: the tone in this is So similar to the courtship ritual that I liken this as an alternate story even though it’s still oikawa’s pov. professional player oikawa and regular guy iwaizumi and oikawa is just. bumming around at iwaizumi’s place and naturally he messes up but things happen.

told before and told again

word count: 4k

thoughts: i looked through literally all the tags i could’ve thought of for this and nearly cried when i found it agian. outsider POV!!

In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

thoughts: oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and they blur the line between roommates/best friends and being fwb. this is an iwaizumi pov and the pining is obvious on his end. as a iwa stan the tone made me feel weird bc it makes it seem like iwa cares more abt oikawa than he cares abt himself but. its a good fic

i grew up, you grew down

word count: 19k

thoughts: this is also SO funny bc basically oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and becomes his stay at home wife and a bunch of shit happens like people think that oikawa is dating ushijima and oikawa basically loses it every time. here’s one of my favorite quotes:

“Oikawa also bought a new ultra-strength vacuum cleaner he’d decided to name Ushiwaka out of sheer spite, because it sucked all the air right out of the room. Iwa-chan didn’t think the joke was that funny when Tooru told him, which was frankly very hurtful and insensitive.”

Mint

Word count: 19k

thoughts: iwaizumi is moving and oikawa planned a perfect last hangout and it goes to shit featuring matsuhana. oikawa pov where he pines more than iwa which is something i can get behind!! and this was written in 2015 and iwa’s moving bc of a sports medicine program so iwaizumi stans know and love him sm ;;

Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

thoughts: same premise as mint LOL except they’re on a trip together and there’s more non-linear narrative!! this one is a little more mature in tone than mint i would say (funny how people just like splitting them up and throwing them in different countries huh)

with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates and they’re both obviously and really pine-y for each other and everyone sees it but them. srsly. they’re sleeping in the same bed. like my god

Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women’s volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

thoughts: so funny. so sososoosso genuinely funny. the tone is so snappy and iwaizumi honestly just sounds like a confused teenager (which he is in this) and it gets extra points for including a lot of american culture that a lot of the other iwaoi college au ones don’t include for like. obvious reasons lol.

Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates thats abo but it’s like. mentioned twice. whiny and possessive oikawa makes an appearance in this but it’s done really well

things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he’s in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only for a little while.)

thoughts: high school getting together!! my second iwaoi fic ever and this one is just. so sweet. just an unsure oikawa realizing iwaizumi might be more than someone he wants as a best friend. this fic is honestly really really lovely.

galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

thoughts: ok this fic was so funny. theyre uni roommates and matsuhana just come fuck shit up and they all act like idiots together even though they go to different schools. and this really throws me back to university days.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count: 19k

thoughts: pro! oikawa and iwaizumi haven’t been close for a while until oikawa invites iwaizumi to go to the games with him. there’s a lot of frustration and pining and actually talking about feelings (aka iwaizumi losing his mind and getting advice from people like akaashi)

when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

thoughts: this was actually my first iwaoi fic which is funny bc the author doesn’t even like oikawa much and i didnt even ship anything in haikyuu before i read this fic and now im in iwaoi hell. oikawa is really frustrating in this in that it’s basically a really good character analysis on how oikawa comes off as a Mean person all the time bc he’s manipulative and there’s some explicit content

shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates with oikawa admitting his feelings first back when they were in middle school and iwaizumi putting that thought on the backburner until. obviously. things happen.

Desperado

word count: 80k

thoughts: one of my favorite aus. it’s all from kyoutani’s perspective and it’s almost so au that they’re original characters (if that makes sense). basically iwaoi matsuhana are ex-grifters except iwaoi are estranged and daishou somehow brings everyone back together. excellent world building and reading the pov from someone not involved with the iwaoi drama was refreshing

sing with me a song of conquest and fate

word count: 26k

thoughts: a mythical kings au that’s just. so pretty. iwaizumi ends up becoming oikawa’s servant for some reason and the world building is a+ because you can feel the trust and frustration from both of them build

Atsukita

dreams of me and you

word count: 10k (incomplete)

my second atsukita fic that rly sent me down atskt hell ;; what is essentially post-break up when atsumu gets signed to msby and he’s just Pining and sad for the most part. but the established relationship pre-break up was written really nicely because it just fits my hc of them just being domestic and atsumu being blatantly head over heels

take me home

word count: 4k

i read this this morning and it wrecked me. domestic relationship atsukita?? sign me up

No time like the rest of my life

word count: 19k

mythology au with kita as a regular person and rest of inarizaki as fox spirits! it’s cute and the world building is absolutely lovely but it is an au so they might seem ooc but their core character values are still there

wild blue yonder

word count: 6k

literally full of similes and metaphors and it’s more of an abstract read i guess? but it’s so beautiful and soft and this is exactly how i imagine their relationship

reap and sow

word count: 8k

atsumu confesses and kita ignores him and it’s a couple years after the fact and it’s mostly just weirdly domestic almost roommate like except for the fact that atsumu makes it clear he likes kita LOL. they’re really in character for this!

weightless souls

word count: 2k

pillow talk before atsumu’s first game! the atsumu pov and voice is amazing

if we were both alone

word count: 7k

now this was actually my first atskt fic that sent me down this rare pair hell. it’s an explicit chat fic (both tropes i usually try to avoid) but atsumu types like me (except for the nsfw parts alksfjd) so i guess i like. feel appreciation LMAO.

if you do read like any of these fics pls let me know so we can discuss

♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[washymylifeaway]

SakuAtsu Fanfic recs

Edit: minor changes (grammar and stuff) cause I rushed this :’)

EDIT: PT 2 IS OUT

OKAY so I meant to make like a long list of MULTIPLE VARIOUS ASSORTED ships but as I was making it I realized I had WAY too many SakuAtsu fics. Like TOO MANY AHHHH. Anyway, I decided that for the sake of everyone, I should just make a separate post LOL oops I’m sorry but I’m so far into SakuAtsu hell it’s not even funny :))))))))) I tried to keep things short so I could not BORE you while reading this post LOL, but also THERE WILL BE A PT 2 because I cut myself short in order to get this out for.....

THE BEST BOY SAKUSA KIYOOMI’S BIRTHDAY I LOVE HIM AND EVERYONE ELSE SHOULD TOO :DDDDDDDDD

As per usual, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for each fic before reading and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

Some of my FAVORITE writers CHECK TAGS AND WARNINGS PLS-

astroeulogy // I LOVE their works and they write BEAUTIFULLY AHHHHH!!! My fav? Possibly Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (T) 6.7k, but all of them are SO good! (My love for mythology really be showing here hehe.)

DeathBelle // this writer is on SO many of my posts cause I ADORE the way they write and characterize!!! My fav? Burden of Blame by DeathBelle (E) 91.2k but you already knew that LOL. I love the other ones too, but mafia? UGH.

hatsuna // ahjfsdjfhkasj need I say more? There isn’t a lot BUT the ones there are so so good! My fav? Pas De Deux by hatsuna (T) 19k surprise :D I love this one for their interactions but also Omi’s childhood! It’s really good (and you don’t even need to understand ballet) <33333

bastigod // again another writer you will be seeing in other posts because their writing gives me LIFE AHHH. My fav? my love, take your time by bastigod (T) 9k again you already knew this, but I LOVE THIS ONE ahagdhls. I have reread this one so many times oops hehe :)

volchitsae // I LOVE THIS WRITER, like some of my favorite SakuAtsu fics are from this writer, like favorites of ALL TIME. Please go read their stuff because I love it so much. My fav? take me to the limit, hold me down there by volchitsae (E) 3.8k this was the fic that got me into their writing, and oops I’ve fallen and I can’t get up haha leave me....

awkwardedgeworth // THE FICS THIS WRITER MAKES AJKASDLK. I love them and everything they make omg!!! My fav? This was SO hard but Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (T) 20.8k cause I’m basic LOL but your flame will not survive in this cold tundra was a close second :’)

TBH, there are more that I don’t have time to get to (I started this a while back but then pretended like it didn’t exist for a while LOL) but these were the ones here hehe :) I could honestly make an ENTIRE fic rec list from these writers alone and it would be WAY too long, so for the sake of everyone,,, MOVING ON

Fics (in no order, but also I’m missing a bunch I LOVE but like I said TIME CONSTRAINTS AHHAHAH RIP)-

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or, the fine art of emotional recognition) by pseudoanalytics (E) 13.7k // this fic made me laugh so much, starting from the fact that there needed to be clarification (which was, after finishing, understood LOL) that this was indeed NOT a fic with a foot fetish.

Routines (and How to Break Them) by cajynn (T) 1.6k // this fic makes them SO CUTE ugh the fluff ajsjkfhajh. I love how Atsumu just slips into everything Omi does (like a snake) ITS SO ADORABLE AHHH.

sense of purpose (or, what comes next) by pseudoanalytics (T) 3.6k // this fic was so HEARTWARMING!!! It made me kinda sad though cause I’m just that kinda person (and I don’t like to think about the past LOLOLOLOL), but the ending was !!! SO !!! CUTE !!! and I love the ending notes (me too Osamu, me too)!

crushed by citruslemonade (strawberrycitrus) (E) 4.2k // I feel like it’s a crime if I don’t mention this fic LOL and it’s very quick and funny! We all want to be the watermelons in this fic and no I don’t take criticism. No thoughts just Miya Atsumu’s thighs :’)))

Clipped To You by littleboat (T) 8.1k // (cp) okay first of all THERE’S ART, second I love Omi in hair clips <3333 It’s really funny with lots of ~pining~ Atsumu and there’s cameo’s of other players,,, it’s just a great time :D

bet on it by selenophim (T) 13.3k // this is a ~classic~ literally I keep seeing this fic because I like to stalk the relationship tags (LOL) and since it’s so good, I keep seeing it (also LOL). This may be SakuAtsu, but this is Osamu supremacy, again I don’t take criticism LOL.

Just as much by Sapphirine (NR) 16.1k // this is peak gay panic as demonstrated by one Miya Atsumu hehe. This fic is so FLUFF but also PINE! I’ll just be sitting here with my 851 million microorganisms to keep me company cause I’M SINGLE LOL.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (T) 10.4k // nothing to see here, just Sakusa saying things that make Atsumu’s heart stop ;) I love ~caring~ Sakusa so if you do too, read! But also hello? Perfume drop please,,,,

see this through by basilleia (T) 17.7k // I am shamelessly a HARDCORE Atsumu wears glasses fan, once again, I take absolutely no criticism! Again some ~caring~ Sakusa heheh but also love the twin dynamic in this one!

dogshit (first comes the fall) by kitcassiachan (E) 15.8k // PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS! ngl this was one of the first fics I read for this ship and GOD did it get me hooked onto bottom Sakusa agenda (it really hit different). Of course, I’m not promoting the way this relationship happened (don’t have hate s*x), BUT I have nothing to say other than I had no regrets. RIP (not actually but you’ll get what I mean LOL) Bokuto and Ushiwaka for that matter.

let's get physical by rosegoldwriting (T) 4.3k // I really like medical stuff (you’ll see later LOL) BUT even if you don’t still read it cause IT’S FUNNY OKAY. We gotta love boys day and STD’s~~ (also don’t be stupid like him and get hurt to see hot doctors :))))

all i do is crave by newamsterdam (E) 12.7k // were we waiting for me to bring a 5 + 1 to the table? If so, here it is! We do love the olympics and oblivious Astumu~~

lay it on me (no, really) by ayushi_writes (T) 4.2k // please the way I was hesitant to read it at first but then the ‘being very fond and caring in a homie way haha’ made me read it LOL. The fluff (and Astumu being caring because that is another one of my favorite things to read hehe) in this is almost worth the awkwardness that made me want to go put my head into a hole like an ostrich LOLOLOLOL.

ink blossoms by entrechat (T) 8.1k // I think this fic IS SO CUTE OMG. I love the way Omi sits in the shop to draw was ADORABLE and making them do that to get tattoos? Smart af (and v respectful we stan). Also, I love flower meanings :D

crimson colored lotus by sieges (M) 16.5k // (cp) this was a demon slayer AU LOL. TBH I haven’t watched DS, but you honestly don’t really need to in order to read this LOL. It’s explained really well and the writing is AMAZING! It’s not a linear fic, but you can read it in order if you so choose.

where i want to be by tookumade (G) 8.8k // THIS ONE ahhhhhh so cute I love it. Omi trying SO hard in this relationship and Atsumu being so understanding. I love it here :’)))))

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (T) 19.7k // I LOVE THIS ONE not only cause I love professor AUs (I do, I LOVE THOSE) but also it’s just some great writing :D I really love their interactions and the misunderstanding killed me ahhhhh.

If you were wondering, I already have 50+ fics (yes I counted but no I’m not done looking so there will probably have to be some cuts D:) lined up for pt2 AND I took out series in another post, so yeah this is why it’s a cursed draft hahahaa..... I hope you enjoyed cause SakuAtsu is my life and blood.

[sarahlevys]

SO YOU WANT TO GET INTO TWYLEXIS

(a fic rec post - last updated 10/31/2021)

11/25/20: I have been talking to a lot of people about The Good Ship Twylexis, and when @earnmysong asked me for some fic recs, I could not resist! Below are some of my favorites, organized by length. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list, and is simply composed of some of the ones I’ve read. I hope you check them out!

10/31/21: Nearly a year later, the fandom has grown by leaps and bounds! I've been able to add many excellent Twylexis fics to the below list. I tried to keep these recs focused on fics in which they are either the only ship or a substantial part of the narrative, so while there are many fics nowadays that have Twylexis as a side pairing, those will not be listed below. Now that we can be more choosy, I've also removed fics that featured Twylexis as part of a throuple or moreple (so that I can hopefully do a fic rec list for that specifically in the future!)

So I see Alexis is getting back out there. (Short Reads)

in the middle of the deep blue night – T – 577 – by @hullomoon

Alexis is all alone at the party, that is, until Twyla joins her.

in the hack – G – 2K – by thingswithwings

After Ted, and before the Next Thing, Alexis joins a curling team. She's great at it, because, what, like it's hard?

Icarus had the right idea – T – 4K – by Luthor

In which Alexis convinces Twyla to take her to the beach, and has an okay-time I guess. 

never saw you coming, never be the same – G – Podfics! 15 minutes in total – by DelilahMcMuffin, GoLBPodfics, & Amanita_Fierce

Three different perspectives from Twyla Sands and Alexis Rose's first Pride spent together as a couple.

to be your harbor – E – 4K – by @doublel27

Twyla uses some of her money on things that are special to her. Alexis is special to Twyla. Luckily, Twyla is precious to Alexis.

and it's just around the corner darling, 'cause it in lives in me (no, I could never give you peace) – T – 3K – by beepbedeep

She’s what people call the worst, most pointless kind of celebrity, a socialite, and she does it better than anyone else. It’s good, she knows it’s good, she’s serving her purpose, playing her part perfectly, and if she doesn’t really know how to be alone with herself, how to handle the actual weight of her life when the gossip blogs get bored and the photographers stop showing up for a while, that’s fine.

i knew from the beginning (it was you from the beginning) – T – 1K – by @anniemurphys

Twyla and Alexis celebrate, at a distance.

i took an arrow to the heart – G – 3K – by @sarahlevys and @landofsonlali

Twyla calls Alexis in celebration of the fourth anniversary of their friendship, and the conversation shifts to their feelings for each other. Together, they start to explore the intricacies of love and relationships.

aflame – T – 4K – by @pretendtofly

Alexis has a few days left in Schitt's Creek after the wedding and Twyla wants to spend them all together.

could be your baby, ride the same whip (oh no, no, there's no slowin' down) – T – 3K – by @turningtimeinthetardis

Alexis doubts anything too surprising will happen when she and Twyla decide to go on a little shopping spree (such as they can afford, that is) at one of Elmdale’s boutiques. Maybe they’ll encounter some truly hideous blends of patterns, but nothing stranger than that.

After all, if there’s one thing Schitt’s Creek and the surrounding suburbs can offer, it’s quiet predictability.

I weigh a hundredandfuckingsomething pounds (that makes me almost good) – G – 2K – by beepbedeep

Her legs don’t look good, but half of the girls she knows have legs that look even worse, smiles that are even more shark-toothed or arms that are even less toned, and she reminds herself that these are just the rules', that she knows the rules and knows where she’s failing, but other people are failing more.

shining, shimmering, splendid – G – 1K – by @davidbrewer

Twyla finally starts spending some of her lottery winnings on things that make her smile, and learns how much she loves to travel. Who better to show her around the world than Alexis?

ask 'em my questions and get some answers – G – 1K – by @lilythesilly

Alexis and Twyla meet at Disneyland.

a handprint on my heart – T – 4K – by averita

Five times Alexis and Twyla visit each other.

Merry Go Round – T – 2K – by Perkalil

In her first days in town, Alexis is in a rough place; she finds kindness and compassion in the local cafe waitress.

feel you on my skin – E – 1K – by @hullomoon

Alexis notices what Twyla's wearing. She has a lot of feelings about it.

you make everything good – G – by @rosedavid

Twyla has to go and visit her gaggle of cousins for two weeks, and Alexis is pouty about her girlfriend leaving for so long.

didn't ask for this – you freely gave it (so now i watch your mouth for the both of us) – T – 6K – by @turningtimeinthetardis

Alexis chops her name down to three letters like it's nothing.

Twyla thinks about it a lot.

putting roots in my dreamland – G – 4K – by @lilythesilly

A twylexis flowershop au.

(but if baby, i'm the bottom) you're the top – E – 3K – by @sarahlevys

Five times Twyla tops Alexis, and one time she lets Alexis top her.

three o'clock – E – 2K – by @schittyfic

Two tipsy girlfriends thirst over the hot, bearded guy across the bar.

shivers – E – 5K – by @anniemurphys

Alexis has a long day in an airport, and Twyla wants to take care of her.

This Stupid, Wonderful, Boring, Amazing Job – G – 1K – by @lilythesilly

A cute lil 'The Office' AU.

in calm or stormy weather – T – 4K – by @anniemurphys and @landofsonlali

On National Siblings Day, Alexis spends the day with her favorite brother Patrick, and David bonds with Twyla.

all i need is to see your face – G – 1K – by @wild-aloof-rebel

Alexis has doubts. Twyla knows how to soothe them.

got a fistful of four leaf clovers – T – 1K – by iphigenias

Two weeks before Christmas Alexis calls David.

“So I think I like someone,” she says.

all i want is you – T – 1K – by @landofsonlali

alexis is too restless to cuddle and worries about being a good partner to twyla who loves cuddling. twyla reassures her.

Fifty Shades of Gruyere – E – 2K – by @schittposting

Alexis and Twyla eat cheese and fuck.

I dreamt about you last night – G – 930 – by sonichallows

Alexis has a romantic dream about Twyla and tells her about it the next day.

Mistletoe – T – 2K – by in48frames

Alexis and Twyla go ice skating.

--

Twy, what are you doing here? You could be anywhere, doing anything. (Medium Reads)

Twyla's Cafe Podcast, An Alexis Rose Production, Produced by Alexis Rose (with help from Twyla) – T – 6K – by @whetherwoman

Twyla and Alexis start a podcast, and accidentally have some feelings along the way.

Crystal Clear – G – 6K – by @imalittlebitgogirl

Twyla and Alexis meet at a Winter Solstice celebration and bond over being newcomers...with more connections than they first realize.

take me out (and take me home) – M – 7K – by @anniemurphys and @landofsonlali

When Twyla’s Thanksgiving plans fall through at the last minute, Alexis flies back to Schitt’s Creek.

know that i’m yours (to keep) – T – 8K – by @anniemurphys

Five times Alexis and Twyla talk at Café Tropical.

And one time they talk somewhere else.

I Offer You My Heart – G – 10K – by @landofsonlali​, with art and podfic by @sunlightsymphony

Twyla is the owner of a coffee shop in Schitt's Creek and Alexis is a frequent customer, featuring pining, flirtation, and a whole lot of beverages and baked goods.

Oh Please, Not Now – T – by in48frames

“Oh,” Twyla says. “Yeah. Schitt’s Creek is super haunted."

Ladies Night Inn – T – 15K – by @imalittlebitgogirl

What if Twyla had accepted Alexis' invitation to a ladies night in her motel room after she and Mutt broke up?

i'm your moonlight, you're my star – M – 14K – by @sarahlevys and @anniemurphys

Twyla and Alexis spend the holidays together.

and the stars look very different today – T – 12K – by @hullomoon, with art from @hagface

Teaming up with a group of talented women, Alexis plans her next job

Hide Your Diamonds, Hide Your Exes – T – 8K – by @middyblue

Alexis may or may not be a diamond thief. Twyla is the FBI agent tasked with finding her.

heaven is a place not too far away – T – 8K – by @sarahlevys

Alexis' soulmate mark – the ability to sing – triggers when she moves to Schitt's Creek.

Pretty Follies – T – 9K – by @treepyful

Alexis and Twyla team up to play matchmaker for Stevie and Ruth.

Unfortunately, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Everything That We'd Ever Need – E – 12K – by @middyblue

5 times Twyla went skinny-dipping and 1 time she wore a dress.

Rollin' With the Homies – T – 9K – by @sarahlevys

The Clueless AU.

Phasers Set to Stunning – T – 9K so far (WIP – 2/4 chapters published) – by @kindofspecificstore

Patrick wins passes to San Diego Comic Con, and takes his best friend Twyla with him. Alexis Rose, rising star of Galactic Sunrise Bay, is attending for the first time and has her eyes on a super cute cosplayer.

--

I was thinking we could have a little ladies' night at my place. (Long Reads)

you and i and nobody else - E – 124K so far (WIP – 7/10 chapters published) – by @sarahlevys​ and @anniemurphys​

Twyla Sands and Alexis Rose meet on Mutt’s season of The Bachelor.

Maybe If You Stayed – E – 14K – by @fraudulentzodiac

“Years down the line, this is the moment she will look back on as the moment she should have known she was in love.“

your body’s poetry (speak to me) – E – 19K – by @anniemurphys

Ballet AU.

I’ve Only Ever Wanted Fire – M – 26K – by @sarahlevys​, with art from @rhetoricalk

Written for the prompt: Twyla is a real estate agent specializing in properties that are haunted or possessed. Alexis is looking for a new apartment.

Silence Lay Steadily – E – 44K – by @davidbrewer

A ghost story loosely inspired by The Haunting of Hill House.

like glass from sandy ground – M – 18K – by @middyblue

Five times Alexis ran from grief, and one time she didn't.

Taste of a Poison Paradise – M – 15K – by @lilythesilly

Be gay do crimes but make it a Harley Quinn AU.

Half of My Soul, as the Poets Say – E – 20K – by mixtapesandsunsets

Yes, she imagines telling the Alexis of two years ago, who had felt so untethered sitting next to Twyla outside these very rooms. You believe in fate. Your fate is right in front of you, Lex, you just need to reach out to meet it. It’s her. It has always been her.

[deancas-fanfiction]

A Daydream Away - Chapter 4

Word Count: 19k+

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

also available on ao3

Dean awoke to his phone buzzing on the nightstand next to him. He squinted against the morning sun filtering into the room. He could feel that it was still early but he carefully reached for his phone nonetheless. Much like the day before, Cas was practically entangled with Dean. Today he was pressed against Dean's back, with their legs intertwined. Cas' arm was resting over Dean's waist. It all felt very possessive. That thought sent a thrill through Dean. Cas has always seemed like a possessive bastard but knowing he felt possessive over Dean unlocked a lot of complicated feelings that made Dean nearly blush.

The phone buzzed again, and Dean reached for it, careful not to move so much as to jostle Cas. He managed to reach it with his fingertips and dragged it to the edge until he could grab it. Dean unplugged it and saw he had a few texts from Sam.

'I found a potential lead last night at the staff happy hour. Call me tonight and I can fill you in after I finish some research.'

'Don't forget about your dinner reservation tonight at 7. Go to the main lodge and they'll direct you.'

Just as Dean was starting to type out a response, one last message came through. 'Hope you lovebirds are enjoying your honeymoon. Make sure you use protection' followed by a bunch of heart and kissy face emojis.

Dean rolled his eyes and typed out a bitchy response but ultimately assured Sam he'd call him before their dinner reservation. After sending the message, Dean glanced at the clock and saw it wasn't even eight. If they got up now, they may even make it to breakfast in time for the cinnamon rolls Jake and Amy raved about.

"Cas, wake up," Dean half-whispered, shaking him. Cas remained unmoved and fast asleep. "Cas." He said more urgently this time. "Get up." Still no movement. Dean tried a new tactic and shook him a little harder.

Cas frowned and rolled away from Dean, grumbling to himself but still fast asleep. His hair was sticking in different directions and his shirt was bunched up, revealing a tan expanse of skin on his lower back. Dean poked him a few more times but Cas was unmoving and snoring lightly.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to just get the damn cinnamon rolls himself. He wasn't going to miss out because Cas is a grumpy bastard in the morning. To soften the blow of attempting to wake him before 9, Dean started a pot of coffee in the cabin's kitchen for Cas to enjoy when he awoke. Then he threw on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and was off towards the lodge.

Sure enough, Jake and Amy were correct -- this was the perfect time to grab breakfast. There were few couples and families milling around, otherwise most of the tables were empty and there was no line at the buffet. Dean grabbed two to-go boxes and filled them with eggs and bacon for himself, pancakes and syrup packets for Cas, and of course a few of the large mouthwatering cinnamon rolls set up by the coffee station. He was attempting to close the lid on the full box when he made eye contact with Amy.

"I see you took our advice to get the cinnamon rolls," She smiled and grabbed one for herself.

"You two made them sound so good, how could we resist?" Dean flashed her a victorious smile as the lid gave in and finally shut. "Besides, Cas has a total sweet tooth, there's no way we would ever leave without him trying them."

"Yeah, Jake is the same way. If it were up to him, he would have pure sugar for breakfast. Before we started dating, he would have mountain dew and twizzlers for breakfast."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "That sounds like a college student's wet dream."

Amy threw her head back and laughed. "Precisely! I'm going to use that. The man is in his thirties, sometimes I think he even forgets that." She shook her head, a wistful smile forming on her face. "He wanted to have a candy buffet at our wedding. It took forever to talk him down from that idea."

"A candy bar sounds awesome," Dean pointed out. He paused and looked at her expression. "Oh God -- you don't mean as dessert, do you?"

"No, he wanted that for the dinner buffet!"

Dean laughed loudly. "That's something Cas would do. If we had a wedding -- I mean, a large wedding -- I'm sure he would have preferred if we just serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. They're his favorite."

"That's actually adorable. And it would make for a cheap reception dinner."

Dean nodded in agreement as he poured coffee in a to-go cup in case the cabin coffee isn't up to Cas' standards. "Careful, if he were to hear that, he would totally hold that against me and be all pissy we didn't actually do that. Then I would have no choice but to tell Jake his candy-dinner-buffet is genius."

"Okay, okay truce! I won't say anything about the sandwiches." She responded, laughing.

Dean returned her smile. "Good thinking. You wouldn't want twizzlers and mountain dew as your wedding dinner."  He grabbed the to-go boxes and coffee carrier, carefully balancing them in his arms. "Well, I better bring this back to Cas before the cinnamon rolls cool down. I know he'd want to experience them in their warm and gooey glory."

"Of course, enjoy! Tell him I say hi and that's it -- nothing else at all relating to sandwiches." She winked.

Dean playfully rolled his eyes and slowly made his way back to the car, without catching sight of Sam. Probably for the better anyway, he'd likely make some kind of dick comment about bringing Cas breakfast in bed. Which -- okay, may be true. But that's only because Cas refused to wake up this morning and he didn't want to miss out on the famous cinnamon rolls. And sure, if he was with Sam, he wouldn't have brought him anything back and would have just said "you snooze, you lose, Sammy. You can eat oatmeal and yogurt like the rest of the late sleepers."  But that was part of being the older brother -- you get free reign to be a dick sometimes.

And! Cas is his fake husband! This is totally something a married couple would do for each other, Dean reasoned. So it's not weird or a romantic gesture. And okay, maybe there was a moment last night after they went sledding down the hill. At least, to him it felt like there was a moment where he wanted to kiss Cas and Cas -- well, it seemed like Cas wanted that, too. Or maybe it was just part of the case. There's really no way to know, except y'know, talking about it. But that sounded about as appealing as eating one of Sam's "nutrient rich" meals, whatever the hell those consisted of. All Dean knew was that it was mostly of veggies and no meat, so he didn't want any part in it.

Regardless, Dean wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. If he was imagining something between them, he'd never be able to recover from the embarrassment. Besides, he didn't want to ruin their friendship. For the first time, Cas has agreed to stay with them, and Dean refuses to do or say anything that would make Cas uncomfortable, thus driving him out of the bunker and away from Dean. Not for the first time in the last few days, he bitterly wished he knew what was going on in Cas' head.

By the time Dean returned to the cabin, Cas was sitting up in bed, blurry eyed with a frown etched on his face.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Dean chirped, setting the food down on the bed.

"Do I smell coffee?" Cas grunted.

"Sure do. I put a pot on and brought you a cup from the lodge. Here you go," He handed over the cardboard cup and settled next to him on the bed. Cas' frown eased as he began gulping down the coffee. "I tried waking you so we could get cinnamon rolls, but you were not having it."

"Sorry," Cas said sheepishly. "I don't even remember."

"You and your damn sleep," Dean muttered, opening the cartons of food. "Good thing you have a really thoughtful husband who ventures out into the frozen tundra that is northern Minnesota to obtain cinnamon rolls."

"Yes, good thing." Cas agreed softly. He tipped his cup back, draining the remaining of his coffee.

"Jesus, Cas. It's been like two minutes."

"It's good coffee. If you want me to also be a 'thoughtful husband,' then you should be thankful for my high caffeine intake first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, I remember that time we ran out of coffee at the bunker. You were on a warpath. Sam hid in the dungeon because you nearly called him an 'abomination' again."

"Yes, Dean. I recall. I already apologized to your brother for that."

Dean took a bite of bacon, amused. "Hey, I thought it was funny. I'm just glad you didn't turn on me, too."

"You're the one that went to the store to supply me with more coffee."

"Jesus, you make it sound like I'm your dealer or something."

"You may as well be," He pointed out, grabbing Dean's cup of coffee and taking a long drink of it.

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your damn breakfast. Those cinnamon rolls better be worth the trouble."

Cas opened his mouth, surely to respond with some sassy comment but at the last moment thought better of it and took a large bite of the cinnamon roll. The sound that emitted from his mouth was absolutely sinful.

"Oh my God, Dean." He moaned. "This is amazing."

"You want a room for just the two of you?"

"What do you mean?" Cas tilted his head as he chewed thoughtfully. "We have a room, we're in it right now."

"I -- never mind, Cas. It was a joke. It's that good, huh?"

"Yes, you must try it." He tore off a piece of his cinnamon roll and held it up to Dean's mouth. "Eat it." He ordered.

And wow, okay. The demanding tone from Cas was really working for Dean. He hesitantly leaned forward and took the piece into his mouth. His tongue momentarily brushed against Cas' finger and he swore that he saw Cas' pupils dilate. Huh.

"Yeah, 's good, Cas."

Cas looked pleased with himself and continued eating it in silence, the only sounds in the room were his small moans as he finished it off. Dean felt dazed and forced himself to finish his own breakfast.

"Dean, you have --"

"What?"

"Just, let me -- you have icing on your mouth." Cas leaned forward so he was in Dean's space and slowly dragged his finger along Dean's bottom lip. Against his lip, the pad of his finger felt calloused and rough. Cas' gaze flickered to Dean's lips before they focused on Dean's eyes.

Wait. Is he going to -- ? Dean's brain immediately stopped working as Cas held his gaze and put his finger in his mouth, sucking the frosting off it. Holy fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Dean knew his mouth was agape and he probably looked like an idiot but he couldn't find the strength to care. Cas basically licked frosting off of him. His pink, plump lips were wrapped around his long finger and Dean's brain not-so-helpfully supplied a lot of fantasies relating to that.

Cas pulled his finger out of his mouth and went back to drinking Dean's coffee with a little smirk on his face. Asshole.

"I, uh -- I'm going to take a shower." Dean mumbled and hurried out of the room.

Dean hurried from the room and locked himself in the bathroom. He leaned against the heavy oak door and took a deep breath. Was it his imagination or was Cas flirting with him? Why else would he suck the icing off his finger like that? Sure, Cas used to have that whole 'innocent angel' going for him but now he's human and he actually acts like it. Probably Dean's bad influence, but whatever. The point is Cas had to know what he was doing, right? No one in their right mind would clean icing from their friend's face and then lick it off if they didn't want to be more than friends.

The worst part is that it was really fucking hot. Dean was already struggling to suppress his feelings for Cas and that nearly pornographic display was really not helping. But maybe he didn't need to actively suppress those feelings, not if Cas felt the same way. But did he? Dean still couldn't be sure. If Cas truly was messing around or didn't understand the connotation of his actions, then Dean would be fucking mortified. Regardless, he couldn't keep sitting around waiting for something to happen between them. So he'll push their boundaries a little and see how Cas reacts. Hopefully then he'll get a better idea of where they stand.

Dean rolled his eyes at himself for how complicated he's making this. If only he felt comfortable straight up asking Cas, but that's never been his style. At last, he peeled himself from the door and turned on the shower. He undressed and briefly considered taking an ice-cold shower to calm himself down, but he changed his mind. Turning the temperature dial to hot, he decided to address his not-so-little problem. After all, he would need to have his mind clear if he was going to read Cas for any indications of his feelings.

He stepped under the shower and nearly groaned as the hot water washed over him. The water pressure was excellent and soothed his sore muscles. His thoughts immediately turned to Cas as he began to stroke himself. The image of Cas’ pink lips sucking on his finger filled his mind as he expertly flicked his wrist around the tip. He imagined those lips around him instead and within no time he was groaning Cas’ name as he spilled into his fist.

---

Dean and Cas spent their afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. Once Cas became human, Dean compiled a list of movies that Cas needed to watch. Most were movies that came out after Metatron uploaded all of the pop culture references into his mind so that way Cas could truly watch something for the first time. However, Dean snuck a few of his favorites onto the list like the Harry Potter series, Lord of the Rings, and a few spaghetti westerns. When Dean saw there was a Star Wars marathon on tv (another series on the list) Dean declared they would be having a lazy afternoon until it was time for the bourbon tasting.

This brings them to where they are now: sitting with their backs against opposite arms of the couch, legs tangled together under a large shared blanket and the box of chocolates from their honeymoon package sitting half eaten between the two.

Cas grabbed another piece of chocolate out of the heart shaped box, humming happily as he chewed.

"Which character is your favorite?" Cas asked, as he swallowed the candy.

"Han Solo, hands down."

"I should have known."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Dean. The parallels between you and his character are so obvious. You have the whole 'I'm better off alone' thing going for you, even though deep down you're really caring and would do anything to save your family."

Right. Cas has always been able to read him perfectly. "Whatever, man. Han Solo is cool. And Harrison Ford is a good looking dude." Dean snuck a glance at Cas to see if he'd react to that.

"I suppose," Cas acknowledged, tilting his head as he surveyed Dean. If anything, he seemed curious with a glint in his bright eyes.

"So, uh - let me guess. Your favorite character is Princess Leia?" Dean ventured.

"Actually, yes. She's always out for the victory of many, rather than personal gain. Leia is very brave and independent, too."

"Yeah, I can see why she would be your favorite. It's like you -- always working towards the greater good."

Cas smiled at Dean and his eyes crinkled around the corners. He looked so happy and so human in this moment that Dean was almost tempted to just blurt out his feelings for the man. Almost.

Instead, he threw a piece of chocolate at Cas, which he caught in his mouth, looking very pleased with himself. "You're a dork," Dean said fondly, rolling his eyes.

"I know."

"Did you just Han Solo me?"

Cas looked amused and just turned his attention back to the movie. That asshole totally Han Solo'd him.

- - -

By the time the movie ended, it was nearly time for the bourbon tasting. Dean forced himself up from the couch that had no business being so comfortable, so he could get dressed for the day. He quickly threw on some dark jeans, a t-shirt and a blue button down, which he left open. Deeming it satisfactory for the day, he threw on a coat and waited by the door for Cas to be ready.

While he waited, Dean shot off a text to Sam asking how research was going. Sam immediately responded with 'slow' and an eye rolling emoji. Dean was about to reply and rub it in Sam's face that he gets to go drink bourbon while Sam is stuck reading tomes, but it was at that moment that Cas came out of the bathroom. He was clad in black jeans that were mouthwateringly tight and one of Dean's Zepp shirts. He had become so accustomed to Cas' pristine suit and tie ensemble that sometimes seeing him dressed so casually in Dean's clothes, nonetheless, causes Dean's brain to stop working.

"Am I underdressed?" Cas asked, eyeing Dean warily. "Should I throw on a button down like you?"

"God, no." Dean said, internally wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. "I mean -- it's just a bourbon tasting. You don't have to dress up or anything." Besides, it would be an absolute crime to cover those arms. They were tanned and muscly and Cas should always wear t-shirts to show them off because damn. Dean so badly wanted to run his hands along them, feeling the muscles flex under his touch.

Cas threw on his jacket, interrupting Dean's train of thought. God, it's like he reverted back to a 14-year old's body with the way it constantly responds to Cas.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Cas confirmed, sliding on his Grand View mittens with a soft smile.

The bourbon tasting wasn't very crowded. High-top tables filled the room but only about seventy-five percent were filled. Dean and Cas grabbed a table towards the back of the room so they could keep an eye on everyone. Each table only had 2 chairs which were facing towards the front where the speaker would be. Dean realized this must be another 'couples only' event. The room was dimly lit with dark wood paneled walls, making it feel very warm and intimate. Small table lamps were on each table, along with two flights of bourbon glasses with 5 shot glasses each.

"Cas, are you going to be able to handle this? 5 shots of bourbon is a lot, this shit is strong. I don't want to have to carry you out of here."

Cas sat in the chair to the right and rolled his eyes. "I can handle my liquor just fine, Dean. You've taught me well."

"Hell, I suppose that's true." Dean joined him, sitting in the remaining chair. He scooted his chair closer to Cas and rested his arm on the back of Cas' chair.

"Right," Cas murmured. "We better get in character." He leaned in against Dean's side and rested his hand on Dean's upper thigh. It was enough inches above the knee that it certainly wasn't an innocent placement. His hand was a welcome weight on his thigh and Dean moved his arm so as to rest his hand on Cas' shoulder. He got a small smile in response, letting him know that was okay so Dean rubbed his thumb in circles against it. A soft sigh escaped Cas' mouth which was frankly adorable.

"Did Sam say he found anything else about his lead?" Cas asked, leaning into Dean's ear. Goosebumps prickled along his neck in response.

"Not yet," Dean muttered. "He said he's doing research but hasn't found anything concrete. We'll give him a call after this, we'll have some time to kill before our dinner reservations."

Cas nodded. "I feel like we haven't done much to help move this case along. I do not want Sam to feel like he's doing all of the work."

"I know. But we knew we were unlikely to get any information from guests. All we can really do is try to lure whatever it is and go from there."

"I suppose." Cas chewed on his bottom lip and Dean wanted nothing more than to release his bottom lip and kiss it. Maybe bite it, then smooth it over with a swipe of his tongue. What kind of sounds would Cas make?

"Dean."

"Hmm?" Dean dragged his eyes from Cas' lips to his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, leaving only a small ring of blue.  Another look he wasn't used to reading on Cas.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"We need to move the case along. Kiss me."

Right. The case. That's why Cas wants to kiss him. No other reason. Dean sighed, a little dejected. He was hoping to avoid this because he knows once he does, it's going to be torture knowing what it's like to kiss Cas without being able to do it again whenever he wants.

"Are you su--?" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence because with a frustrated growl, Cas grabbed the collar of Dean's shirt and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. It started chaste.  A dry press of their lips, soft and warm and innocent. Then Cas sighed into Dean's mouth and made a small sound in the back of his throat. And that made Dean absolutely feral.

His fingers pressed into Cas' hips as he licked into his mouth. He was warm and tasted like honey and chocolate. The smell of his aftershave surrounded him, and it was all just so delicious. Their lips perfectly slotted together, and the kiss was slow and languid, like they all had night and could take their time exploring each other. Dean always imagined their first kiss would be frantic and rough, filled with the unresolved sexual tension from over the course of ten years. He never imagined it could be so sweet, yet so hot. It was everything he'd been waiting for and so much more. Except that it still wasn't enough. He needed more -- he needed to feel Cas against him, he needed to explore every part of him and kiss him so hard that he becomes dazed and all he can do is chant Dean's name like a prayer.

Distantly, a door slammed shut, reminding the two that they were in a very public place, and not in the privacy of their cabin. They jumped apart, flushed and hearts pounding. Dean stared at Cas, his lips were parted, red and swollen, as he breathed heavily.

Dean momentarily closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he tried to calm his body down. The last thing he needed was for someone to see he was rock hard at a bourbon tasting. He peeked at Cas, who looked just as debauched.

"Jesus, Cas." Dean groaned. One kiss and he was completely hooked. How the hell would he ever be able to look at Cas and his mouth and not think about kissing him?

"Sorry," He nervously licked his lips. "I may have gotten carried away."

"You -- ? No, man. If anything, I got carried away. It's just -- ah, it's been a while since someone kissed me like that. That's all."

Cas nodded, his small smile back. "I'm glad I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Dean laughed humorlessly. In reality, it just solidified his attraction for the guy and he's pretty sure that kiss is going to be the thing that ultimately kills him. "If anything, we just made sure we're target number one."

Something flickered on Cas' face, but it was gone before he could get a good read on it. Before he could analyze too heavily, the speaker greeted everyone and began giving an overview of the brands of bourbon poured out in front of them.

Dean half-listened as he introduced himself and gave his credentials. He told Cas it had been a while since he'd been kissed like that, but truthfully had he ever been kissed like that? He didn't think so.

"The first glass in front of you is Old Forester 1897. From Kentucky, Old Forester is known for making affordable high-quality bourbon," The man explained. "Tasting this first glass, you should note rich vanilla with roasted coffee notes and spiced overnotes. This one is big and bold, with a dark caramel finish. Take the next few minutes to try this one and discuss it with your partner. I recommend trying it in sips, focusing on each of the flavors I mentioned. Enjoy!"

Quiet conversation broke out in the room. Dean sniffed the amber liquid and his mouth nearly watered. Typically, he drinks the cheap stuff because that's what is always around. So, having the opportunity to taste some high-quality bourbon put Dean in an instant good mood. Any awkwardness from the kiss quickly faded and Dean was grateful for the distraction.

"Cheers," Dean said happily. He clanked his shot glass against Cas and drank it all in one go. It burned down his throat into his chest and instantly he felt the warmth spread through him. And now that the guy mentioned it, yeah, he could taste the hint of caramel.

"You were supposed to sip it." Cas frowned. "Not drink it all at once."

"It was just a recommendation, Cas. You can drink it however you want."

Cas didn't look happy with Dean's answer and took another sip of the bourbon. Dean watched as Cas' throat swallowed the bourbon and suddenly he was regretting drinking it all in one go. Watching Cas savor the drink made him wish he had something to distract himself with.

He quickly tore his eyes away from Cas' mouth for the millionth time that day. "What do you think, Cas?"

"I like it. It makes me feel...warm."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, bourbon will do that to you. It's the best drink to have in winter for that exact reason."

The bourbon man clapped his hands together to gather everyone's attention. "I see most of you have finished the 1897, so I'll move forward onto the next one. This next one is perfect for the colder months - "

Dean lifted his eyebrows at Cas as if to say see, I told you so. Cas smiled and turned his attention back to the speaker.

" - it is another Old Forester bourbon, but this one is the 1910. It has notes of cherry, dark chocolate, maple syrup and a hint of spice. For those of you who prefer sweet to spice, this is the bourbon for you." He continued sharing trivia about the Old Forester brand and the barrels used to make these bottles. "Now that I've given you all time to clear your taste pallets, enjoy the 1910!"

Dean focused this time on savoring the glass instead of drinking it in one large gulp. He had to admit, Cas was right. When he took the time to savor the flavors he could actually pick up on the cherry and dark chocolate. Before all he tasted was the burn of it.

"I really like this one." Cas announced. His cheeks were a little pink from the alcohol which Dean thought was endearing as hell. "I like the maple syrup flavor."

"When we get home, I'll have to introduce you to the finer bottles of whiskey I've been saving for a special occasion. You'll love it."

Cas titled his head. "But you said you're saving it for a special occasion?"

"Hell, Cas. We saved the world and we're all together. It can't get more special than that."

"I suppose not."

The rest of the tasting continued the same. The speaker would explain the bourbon they were tasting and include some interesting facts (all bourbon is whiskey but not all whiskey is bourbon) and sometimes some gross ones (like before there were strict FDA regulations, distilleries used to include substances like tobacco spit and dirt in their whiskey barrels for flavor) and by the time they finished their fifth and final glass, Dean and Cas were feeling the effects of the bourbon. Cas more so, his speech was a little slurred but he could hold himself upright just fine. He was in that perfect tipsy zone and Dean wasn't far behind him.

The lodge offered a free shuttle service for everyone back to their cabins so the guests wouldn't have to stumble back to their cabins in the cold. Dean happily took them up on that service because he knew he wasn't in the right state to drive. The shuttle was a small bus with only a few rows of seats. They grabbed a seat in the back while a few of the other couples from the class climbed in.

With a low rumble, the shuttle started and lurched forward. It headed along the road towards Dean and Cas' cabin, making stops along the way for the other guests. Cas leaned into Dean's side and sighed happily, nuzzling his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder.

"Mmm, 's nice." His voice was muffled against Dean's coat. "You're warm."

"You're drunk."

"Just a little," He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Dean's breath hitched. Was this part of the act or was this Cas with his guard down? He leaned more into Dean and gripped Dean's arm. To any onlooker, there would be no doubt they're a couple. That thought sent a little thrill through Dean, secretly pleased by that idea. Who knew he was so possessive?

The bus stopped at the access road leading up to their cabin, so Dean nudged Cas and ushered him off the bus. They stepped out into the cold and Dean felt it sober him up a little. Cas must have felt the same because he was holding himself up straighter and his eyes seemed a little less cloudy. They trudged up the road leading to their cabin and Dean grabbed a hold of Cas' hand, noting the small smile which formed.

"Should we call Sam?"

"Yes, good idea." Dean pulled out his phone with his free hand and dialed Sam's number. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. "Did he reject my call?"

"That seems very out of character for Sam."

Dean tried again. On the second ring he picked up, sounding out of breath. "Dean?"

"Dude, did you reject my call?"

"Uh, sorry. I was - uh in the middle of something."

Dean and Cas exchanged a confused look. "Why are you out of breath? I know you're not running in this weather."

"No reason. I just -- what's up? Are you guys alright?"

"Dean and I drank bourbon at the tasting and now I feel really warm," Cas announced.

"Are you guys drunk?" Sam sounded amused.

"No!" They both said in unison.

"Just, tell me about the lead you found."

"Oh, right! I don't really know much yet. But last night at happy hour the staff was talking about local legends and there was this one that targets young people in love. I don't remember the name of it, but it sounded like it fit the bill. The locals didn't know much that sounded helpful so I'm having Donna look into it."

"That sounds promising," Cas agreed. "Do you remember any other details?"

"Not any that are helpful. I had to really sift through a lot of stuff that isn't our kind of thing. You know how these legends get so twisted over the years."

"Well, keep us posted if Donna finds anything."

"Yeah, will do. Just hang tight until --"

A loud crash echoed over the phone and a woman's voice carried through, saying something intelligible.

"Sam." Dean warned. "Who's there with you?"

"Um --"

"So help me -- if you are with another woman I'm going to be pissed. Eileen is so beyond your league and the fact that you're even willing to risk that..."

"Shit." Sam sighed over the phone. "Switch to facetime."

Dean did as Sam said and was greeted with Sam's anxious face. "So uh -- Eileen is here." He turned the camera and was greeted by Eileen smiling sheepishly.

Cas signed something to Eileen and she laughed in response. Dean focused the camera back on his face so Eileen could read his lips. "What are you doing in Minnesota?"

"My hunt in Iowa wrapped up early, so I came up here to join Sam."

"I thought your hunt was in Ohio?" Cas questioned.

Eileen had a look that was equal parts sympathy and panic on her face as she handed the phone back to Sam.

"Sam, what the hell? Was Eileen not actually on a hunt?"

"No." He admitted. "She wasn't."

"Then why the hell did you send us on this hunt when you two could have done it?"

Now Sam just looked uncomfortable and Dean suddenly realized what was going on. "You've got to be kidding me." Sam opened his mouth to respond but Dean cut him off. "Nope. Not discussing this with you. Not now, not ever. We have to go, keep us updated on the case."

"Bye!" Eileen yelled from the background before the screen went black.

"I don't understand what just happened." Cas said, looking genuinely confused. "What did Sam do?"

"He set us up! To take this case when he and Eileen could have done it."

"But what did he set us up with?"

"Each other, Cas." Dean said strained.

"Oh." He squeaked and blushed furiously.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe he wasn't going to kill Sam after all.

[scottspack]

SO YOU JUST FINISHED THE UNTAMED AND YOU WANT TO READ SOME FIC

Congratulations Jen @jlf23tumble on finishing The Untamed (tomorrow)! Now that you’re done with the show (tomorrow), you can finally dive into the wide and wonderful world of untamed fic!!! I’m ecstatic to be personally curating your reading experience! LET’S BEGIN!

I’ve started off with a list of 5 fics I think you should read in this specific order to 1. get some resolution from the end of the show and 2. get you acclimated to untamed fics! Then, I’ve listed a bunch of fics in different categories for your perusal to read at your leisure! This is an unbelievably long post holy shit brace yourself.

I’m like fairly certain that all of these follow the tv show canon BUT also its very typical for authors to combine many aspects of all of the different forms of canons to their liking. Therefore, I feel like I need to give a quick explanation of a couple things from the novel that show up frequently in fics that idk if you know already or not:

In the book, when Wei Wuxian is resurrected, he is brought back in Mo Xuanyu’s actual body and has his face and everything. Mo Xuanyu was pretty young when he died, I wanna say maybe 17 or 18??? and he was also short and pretty and flamboyantly gay. This is where the references to their crazy height difference come from, but again, I think I tried to include mostly fics that skew more heavily to the tv version where WWX keeps his same body and he and LWJ are more evenly matched physically.

Its novel canon that LWJ smells like sandalwood incense and has golden colored eyes. This is mentioned in like almost every single wangxian fic ive ever read, even if the author said they were strictly adhering to show canon lol

At the end of the novel wangxian run away together and elope! Obviously in the show that’s not how it goes down, but I think a couple of the fics I’ve recced might mention it in passing. (Oh also when they elope they make a pact to fuck “everyday,” a concept that might be mentioned as well.

Obviously, we have to kick it off with some fics that both reunite wangxian and give more resolution to the actual show. If you’re like me, it both took you a while to get all the way through the show AND took 100% of your brain power to remember all of the characters and plot lines. If that’s that case: these fics should be helpful in serving as a kind of emotional refresher for the show to wrap up some loose ends and to dive deeper into some of the things the show glosses over for one reason or another!

1. A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (Wangxian, E, 21k) 

The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

I found this fic on someone’s blog when they said that it was the definitive fic to read directly after finishing the series so i saved it, read it directly after finishing the series, and felt COMPLETE. Beautifully written, seamlessly fits with canon, and has a super fulfilling resolution. The perfect way to kick off reading untamed fic!

2. One Rogue Spark In My Direction by hansbekhart (Lan Wangji/Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan, E, 5k)

He’d thought, in Yueyang, that they’d seen something in each other, something familiar. That maybe they’d recognized something in him. But it’s been many years, and many things have happened since, and he’s guessed wrongly at other people’s hearts before. Lan Wangji looks back down at the table, at his steaming, bitter tea. He’ll beg if he has to.

In “A Lot Of Edges Called Perhaps” Wangji mentions that he has had sex before and this is the in-universe story of that time and WHEW BABY!!!! AHHHHHH!!! While this fic is like, almost pure smut, I think there is a ton of value to it in terms of emotional perspective on how fucked up LWJ was after WWX’s death. Also, it’s very hot.

3. Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Laz Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

This is a fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui from when he rescues Sizhui from the Burial Mounds until they bring WWX back to the Cloud Recesses after he’s resurrected. It made me cry about 18 times and I consider it fully canon in relation to the show. I think this gives a lot of emotional depth to the Wangji/Sizhui family relationship that is very important in most fics, so this acts as a good base since the show doesn’t really talk about it too much.

4. Your Name, Safe In Their Mouth by astrolesbian (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, G, 10k)

“You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned.

“I’m all right,” he croaks.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

or: lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

The Wei Wuxian and Sizhui bonding fic that I so desperately desperately needed to read. Since we got the emotional depth to Wangji/Sizhui in the last fic, here’s some emotional resolution for Sizhui and his other dad!!!!!!!!!! Scratched the very particular itch of “but have they REALLY talked about what it means that they’re reunited after 16 years???”

5. climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng, & Wei Wuxian, T, 15k)

Jin Ling had begun to suspect years ago that there were parts of his family history that had been crossed out; long streaks of black where Wei Wuxian had been. The truth is more like whole books being brought up from their hiding places again.

Or: Jin Ling tries to figure out what family means, now.

OKAY!!!! Last emotional resolution before I send you on your way to explore! This is the emotional resolution for the other half of WWX’s family. Featuring just a FUCK TON of family feels and a lot of TALKING that this fucked up family needs so damn bad. *chefs kiss* muy delicioso! ALSO i think this is a good introduction to a lot of the naming conventions that are used frequently in untamed fic that took me a while to pick up on!

WHEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now that you’ve gotten some post-show catharsis in the form of a few extremely well-written fics, it’s time for a full rec! I’ve divided it up into seven categories: long fics, smutty one-shots, 3zun (lan xichen/nie mingjue/meng yao) fics, fics about the juniors, family fun fics, some miscellaneous fics, and then some yizhan RPF! I wouldn’t have put any of these fics on here if I didn’t think they were worth reading, BUT! I did mark my particular favorites with asterisks to demark the crème de la crème of the bunch. SO! LET’S DIVE IN!

EPIC TALES (LONG AND/OR IMMERSIVE)

My Age Has Never Made Me Wise by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 63k) ***

“We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

“Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Or: The story of a marriage.

I LOVE THIS FIC. YOU MUST PROMISE ME YOU’LL READ THIS FIC. The absolute best kind of slow burn and I think such an extremely accurate representation of the canon material. I’m always surprised by the authors in this fandom’s ability to write shit that is so concretely grounded in the universe. This could and should be a real companion novel. Amazing. I love it. (Also I know you said you’re not into fics that are long just to be long and I think this fic is the exact opposite of that, it’s long but for good reason and has such an insanely satisfying payoff that it’s completely worth dedicating a few hours to!)

The Year of Drought by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 24k)

Wei Ying could not be contained by the walls of the Cloud Recesses, alive again and overflowing with it, bursting like a dam in spring with the force of two lives unspent. And so he had to go. Lan Wangji understands that—he understood it when Wei Ying told him of his plans, looking at Lan Wangji above the rim of his cup with an apologetic smile, like craving freedom was something to apologize for.

Wei Ying would go, and Lan Wangji would see him off; this has always been the only way it could be.

Or: In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji waits.

The previous fic but from Wangji’s perspective. Absolutely required reading if you read the other one. Wangji baby.......i love you.....

further than the grave by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 32k)

There is something about grief that turns Lan Wangji numb. He cannot be certain if it is not some kind of defect inside him that makes him so. But just as he grieved his mother’s passing with dry eyes and a stone in his chest, so he grieves Wei Ying: quietly, frozen inside, without tears. Beyond the Jingshi window it might be spring, but Lan Wangji’s body and mind are still held within the winter’s grasp.

As the anniversary of his leaving seclusion approaches, Lan Wangji ponders the nature of grief and healing.

One last fic from the same verse as the previous two, this talks about Wangji post-WWX’s death and then them dealing with the past post-marriage. Its just as good and immersive and amazing as the previous two parts, but this is the only untamed fic that actually made me gasp out loud and if you read this and can guess what it was we will be best friends forever. (There are two other fics in this verse that are also good but these three in particular are god-tier in my eyes.)

Vagabond by xantissa (Wangxian, E, 66k)

Wei Wuxian comes back to Cloud Recesses after a year of wandering the world, hoping to start a relationship with Lan Zhan. He doesn’t expect to come into the middle of a case of sleeping sickness mysteriously killing people, nor does he expect what follows, putting everything he holds dear on the line once again.

OOOWEE CASE FIC! CASE FIC! This is truly the twisty turny intense and INTERESTING type of fic from this fandom that blows my mind. This could fully be a stand alone novel its that good and there’s that much to it. Another one that isn’t long just to be long, it has so much PLOT!!!!! REAL GOOD SHIT!

Seldom All They Seem by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 25k)

or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

A canon-divergent fic exploring “what if Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were betrothed from when they were young like Yanli and Jin Zixuan?” It’s extremely good and very compelling and also made me cry multiple times. (The confrontation in the rain doesn’t get any easier even if they’re betrothed!)

Half Cloak & Half Dagger by Fahye (Lan Xichen/Meng Yao, E, 13k)

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and smiles. "I'm considering a problem."

"Can I be of any assistance with it?"

He drops a kiss on Lan Xichen's chest. With the nail of one finger he lightly traces the characters for irony on Lan Xichen's side. "Not this one, er-ge."

A follow-up fic set in the “Seldom All They Seem” universe but focused on xiyao. Has hands down the best written characterization of meng yao in any fic ive read so far. I continuously come back to this fic just to read the absolutely genius way this author writes the Head Bitch In Control of the cultivation world.

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (Wangxian, T, 20k)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

I kept avoiding this fic, even though it was really high up on the list of most popular fics in the fandom, bc the premise sounded pretty goofy BUT I finally bit the bullet one day and AHHHHHHHH!!!!! Very very very cute and fun, made me smile like an idiot throughout the entire thing. Heartwarming and very well written!!!

never let me go by yiqie (Wangxian, E, 69k)

Wei Wuxian has certainly hoped so ardently in his two lifetimes, for so many different things, in so many different ways, that he could have summoned the demon to his front door with his bare hands. His eyes wander to Lan Zhan, settle on the back of his head, the blue-black curtain of his hair. Oh, how he has hoped.

Another extremely good and super immersive case fic. If you ever just want to sink really deep into an untamed fic, this is a great one for it.

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (Wangxian, E, 24k)

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian repeats. His heart clenches. He wants—but he’d really meant to have this nightmare stuff down before they met again, so he wouldn’t find himself relying on Lan Wangji’s nearness. He’s not supposed to go back yet. But he’s so tired, and his will crumbles. “Yeah,” he says. “All right. Take me back to Gusu with you.”

You want hurt/comfort? I gotcha hurt/comfort RIGHT HERE!

shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi (Wangxian, E, 25k) ***

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice slow and a pitch too quiet. A second later Wei Wuxian understands why. “I cannot hear.”

Or; Lan Wangji is cursed into internal isolation. Their ability to understand one another remains as unwavering as ever.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I have been thinking about this fic nonstop since I read it. It is…..fucking incredible. One of the best qualities of wangxian is that they’re so in tune with each other and able to work so cohesively with little communication and this fic is like “what if we take that and DIAL IT UP TO ELEVEN” and i was like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I hope that you will come and meet me by feyburner (Wangxian, M, 28k) ***

The second time Lan Zhan said Wei Ying, come back, Wei Wuxian did.

okay so this is literally getting added to the fic rec one day before i send it to you because i just finished it and WHEW BABY!!!!! YES it is just another wangxian post-canon reunion get-together fic, BUT 1. i cant get enough of that specific brand of fic and 2. ITS SO GOOD. ITS. SO. GOOD. achingly tender and incredibly soft but also funny and sweet and very in-character! i love it!

THE BONE ZONE (WANGXIAN SMUT)

Sweet Night by corteae (Wangxian, E, 10k)

It was like coming back to life again, like being restitched into existence, cell by cell, nerve by nerve. From the surface of his skin to the marrow of his bones, everything new and purposeful. Like being pulled back from oblivion into an embrace of pure light. A feeling of absolute asylum.

That’s what it felt like, to realize Lan Wangji was in love with him.

An in-show au of “what if they just admitted they’re in love and fucked during episode 43?” Soft and romantic and hot!

the crucial point by dissembler (Wangxian, E, 7k) ***

Months after parting on the mountain, Lan Wangji makes up his mind, plots his course on a map, and has faith.

I LOVE THIS FIC! Very realistic and sweet wangxian reunion fic from wangji’s perspective. Has so many good little details and is very true to their characters. Good shit. Great.

Stainless by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"I'm starting to feel," says Lan Xichen, "that this was a counterproductive suggestion."

Wei Wuxian looks down onto the pristine, tranquil cold springs of the Cloud Recesses. Sitting in the water, their bare shoulders rising like dumplings carefully spaced in a steaming-basket, are a large number of Lan disciples.

"They seem to be doing better," he says, encouragingly. "If they--oh, no, I see what you mean."

At the near bank, someone has pressed someone else against the rocks and is kissing them frantically.

What is getting into a new pairing if not an excuse to read sex pollen in new and exciting ways!

To Recklessly Confess by la_dissonance (Wangxian, E, 8k)

Lan Wangji has a fantasy. Wei Wuxian gets several clues.

The “what if they just fucked in episode 43” au but from a different angle.

all the depths of me, real by northofallmusic (Wangxian, E, 15k)

Wei Wuxian is dealing with a curse a little worse than he'd like to let on, and Lan Zhan is a little less than willing to let it slide.

Another “what if they just fucked in the show” fic, this time set when WWX has the curse on his leg and Wangji has to carry him back to the inn. 

Every Day, Learning More by phnelt (Wangxian, E, 6k)

The pink was high on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. “I mean I haven’t been able to… that I can’t. Not without you.”

Lan Wangji stared. “In this body, the whole time you’ve had it -- you’ve never…”

Wei Wuxian kicked his heels into Lan Wangji’s back. “I just said that!”

I knew at least one of these was more book verse than show! WWX hasn’t been able to jerk off in his new body, LWJ helps him out :-)

the meaning of the ritual by newamsterdam (Wangxian, E, 8k)

“Lan Zhan… wants to bed me?”

The hand on his chest is shaking, slightly. “Mn.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian breaths out.

There’s something— something powerful, about that. Lan Wangji wants to bed him. Lan Wangji wants to sleep with him. Lan Wangji wants to touch him, and kiss him. The immovable, implacable Second Master of Lan, with a face and principles both carved from jade, wants him.

“Is this a fantasy of yours?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Forcing all the demonic energy out of me with your—”

Lan Wangji claps a hand over his mouth. “Silence, now.”

When the entire cultivation world turns against the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian makes a risky gamble— he'll agree to participate in an ancient ritual for cleansing the spirit, so that his character can no longer be called into question. The catch? He has no idea who his partner for the ritual will be.

This is also book-verse! As the tag says “Let Lan Wangji Fuck the Yiling Patriarch”!!!!!!!!!!!

Hurricane by gdgdbaby (Wangxian, E, 6k) ***

"Haven't you heard?" Nie Huaisang replied, clicking his tongue, though he was clearly pleased that he could be the one to break the news. He leaned in to announce with a dramatic flourish: "Lan Wangji just took emergency family leave this past weekend."

WANGXIAN AS SPIRK STAR TREK PON FAR AU!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEWOO WEEWOO WEEWOO!!!!!!!! This was actually recced to ME by CHI and I have not stopped thinking about this fic for a full month. It’s like author gdgdbaby sat down one day and was like “Tumblr user Liv Scottspack deserves everything she wants in this life.” and then wrote this fic. Thank you author gdgdbaby, I love you.

WORLD’S WORST THROUPLE (3ZUN)

The body is a blade by rheawrites (3zun, E, 2k) ***

In which Lan Xichen is taken by surprise, Nie Mingjue takes what he can get, and Meng Yao gets what he wants.

This was the first 3zun fic I ever read and whew baby, got it in one! It’s actually a slight AU but it gets their characterization so right and is a very fun read. One of those fics I go back to frequently because it does so much with so few words.

shang tiantang by fuckwarlock (3zun, E, 4k)

They wanted so much, and with the way A-Yao gasps at the saber-calloused hand unfastening his belts, he does, too. The night air twirls with the scents of osmanthus and cinnamon and melon. Lan Xichen smiles, leans in, and ghosts his lips over the crook of A-Yao’s neck. What kind of brother would he be if he didn’t give A-Yao what he wanted? “I think it’s your turn to ascend, A-Yao.”

The Venerated Triad celebrates the Mid-Autumn Festival the best way they know how.

Truly the only way the venerated triad works is if meng yao gets Destroyed :-)

Favour and Fate by soulgusttheguardian (3zun, E, 8k)

There have been times in Meng Yao’s life when he couldn’t help but wonder how he came to be in his current situation. Found himself reflecting on the choices leading up to whatever misfortune had befallen him that day, and pondering why fate hated him so.

Granted, there had also been times when he couldn't help but wonder just what he had done to earn the favour necessary to be rewarded with certain things...

The current situation he found himself to be in, however, was definitely the latter.

More of the same! Truly I personally can never get enough of the 3zun dynamic in smut fics its just too goddamn motherfucking GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

the stars do not take sides by everyearning (3zun, E, 4k)

Mingjue isn’t sure he’s ever seen Xichen do anything other than treat the boy like a porcelain doll and it’s laughable to him, to think of Meng Yao as something breakable, instead of the sharp, deadly object he is.

Okay one last “Destroy Meng Yao” 3zun fic! Enjoy!

never as alive as we are right now by ThirtySixSaveFiles (3zun, E, 12k)

Three perspectives on three sworn brothers, at three different times in their relationship.

(Or, three times 3zun got it on and some of the feelings they had along the way.)

Wait actually I want to end the 3zun fics on this one because it has true Emotional Resolution at the end and I think they deserve a little healing.

BABY BOYS. BABIES. (THE JUNIORS)

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui, T, 20k) ***

“And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

A MUST-FUCKING-READ!!! Jin Ling gets it in his head that as sect leader he should get married and sets his sights on Lan Sizhui. I cannot stress enough how FUCKING CUTE this fic is!!! Sizhui being the best boy! Jin Ling having more uncles than he knows what to do with! Jiang Cheng being the worst at relationship advice! It’s so fucking good it love it so much.

Anyway, Here’s Wuji by kakikaeru (Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, T, 18k)

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Lan Jingyi comes of age.

A Jingyi-central fic about Jingyi growing up and falling in love and being a hero and being the second best boy of my heart right after Sizhui. Not only is this fic sweet and romantic but it’s another one that explores a lot of interesting things within canon and all of the supporting characters are written very well and are just as interesting as second best boy Jingyi.

Ok, JiuJiu by kakikaeru (Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen, T, 16k)

Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials.

"I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl.

Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

A follow up fic to “Anyways, Here’s Wuji.” I LOVE the Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen dynamic of Jin Ling having been raised by Jiang “I keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die” Cheng AND being hopelessly charmed and smitten with Ouyang “President of the I Love Love Romance Novel Book Club” Zizhen! I LOVE IT! EXTREMELY CUTE!

Lan Sizhui's Guide to Courtship by Kimblydot (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, T, 23k)

In which Jingyi is a little oblivious, Sizhui is patient (and should have said something in the beginning), and everyone else is resigned to watching them dance around each other for far longer than necessary.

(Or: five things Sizhui tries to do in his courtship, and the one time Jingyi realizes there was one happening in the first place.)

I’ll stop describing fics about the juniors as being “cute” when they stop being SO FUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

His Merit All My Fear by violettressed (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, G, 16k)

It’s too late for any of Hanguang-Jun’s rabbits to be awake -- one of the sundown chores for young disciples is to herd them back into their hutch -- but the rabbit field is as good a spot as any for quality sulking, so Lan Jingyi makes his way there.

Someone has beat him to it.

Lan Jingyi stares at Hanguang-Jun. Hanguang-Jun stares passively back.

When Lan Sizhui is swept away with the Ghost General, off on a new adventure, Lan Jingyi is the one who returns to Cloud Recesses alone.

Not only another extremely cute Sizhui/Jingyi fic BUT one that includes a Wangji/Jingyi friendship??? Incroyable! *chefs kiss*

spirit running wild by idrilka (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, E, 17k)

He doesn’t know, exactly, when the friendship he shared with Sizhui over the years has changed into something that’s made Jingyi finally understand why Hanguang-Jun always wears that expression whenever he looks at Senior Wei. There hasn’t been one single moment that he can point to and say, yes, this is where it started, because the thing about falling in love with your best friend is that it happens gradually, until it’s impossible to tell which step has been the deciding one.

Jingyi goes to Baling with a crush.

Written by the same genius that wrote the first three fics I made you read so you know it’s good. Its truly the childhood best friends to lovers of it all! Sizhui is adorable and Jingyi is a mess! *muah!*

FAMILY FUN TIME (NO ROMANCE, JUST FEELS)

Grow by cafecliche (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 14k)

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

What I expected to be a goofy, silly fic turned out to be extremely emotional and made me FULLY CRY! It’s a very moving fic about Sizhui coming to understand himself and Wei Wuxian a lot better AND features all of the juniors arguing over who’s turn it is to hold 6 year old Wei Wuxian. A true win/win of a fic.

To The Act of Making Noise by words-writ-in-starlight (Lan Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

Another very moving and heartwarming fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui and Sizhui figuring out Wangji’s past and then eventually reconnecting with Wei Wuxian. It’s cute and soft and Sizhui is my best boy!

History (Proud To Call Your Own) by words-writ-in-starlight (Wen Ning, G, 5k)

“A-Yuan? Um—Lan-gongzi,” Wen Ning corrects, trying to set a good example. The children are young, seven and eight, exactly a dozen of them lined up in two crisp lines of tiny blue and white robes. Wen Ning can feel them staring at him, even though most of them have already mastered that Lan trick of neutrality. The smallest, a little girl with liquid dark eyes, is clinging to her nearest shijie’s sleeve and half-hiding. “Can I—what can I do for you?”

Wen Ning gets himself recruited for services, while he and Sizhui are visiting Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian gets a fan club.

Set in the same universe as “To The Act of Making Noise,” a very cute fic about Wen Ning finding his place in the post-canon world and being proud of Sizhui and being the world’s best substitute teacher. As the official Wen Ning Fan Club President, I had to include this.

the stone-filled sea by yukla (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 9k) ***

He forgets how quickly Wei-qianbei changes faces, sometimes. Like pulling a theater mask over a bruise—color over color, a diversion with the swipe of his hand.

Lan Sizhui navigates a world that hates his father, one endless wave at a time.

Oh man oh man. I will never get enough of the fics where Sizhui (and the rest of the juniors) get ANGRY on Wei Wuxian’s behalf!! That’s their dad and their teacher and their friend and they will DEFEND HIM!!! YEAH BAYBEEEEEEEEEE!!!

PICK & MIX (MISCELLANEOUS)

This Side of Paradise by greenfionn (Wei Wuxian/Wen Qing, E, 3k)

Wei Wuxian does some very quick math in his head that goes something like this: He is pretty sure he’s in love with Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan is not here and likely never will be here - Wen Qing is here, not to mention very hot and let us not forget, actually interested in sex with him - there’s a solid chance he goes genuinely crazy or dies, or both, in the next few months and really, who wants to die a virgin?

Listen.......the fic premise is “Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, noted bisexuals, figure life sucks enough at the Burial Mounds, they might as well have any fun they can before they die” and........I Am Looking Directly At It. It features Wen Qing bossing Wei Wuxian around and Wei Wuxian’s canon he-wants-to-be-pregnant kink. It’s........I liked it.

palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, M, 15k) ***

The realization strikes Song Lan like a bolt of lightning: Xiao Xingchen laughs, and he wants with a sudden, stunning desperation to kiss the mirth from his beautiful mouth. How, precisely, he is meant to manage that—that, he has no idea at all.

Or: introspective meditations on touch, trust, and the problem of desire.

I Am Baby and for some reason cannot handle how sad the entire Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen storyline ended up so I rarely read songchen fics, and when I do they’re always soft pre-canon fics like this one. Luckily there are some very beautiful and moving pre-canon songchen fics!!! I love you fandom!!

purpose and ritual by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 8k)

Song Zichen has beautiful hands. He's a powerful swordsman, strong and skilled, unfairly impressive and unreasonably handsome. He is devoted and self-disciplined and he takes direction like a dream. And he doesn't touch people—no one at all, if he can help it, except for Xiao Xingchen.

The poets might call him a saint, but Xiao Xingchen is so very, very human.

More of the same :-)

born to sweet delight by la_dissonance (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 10k)

Xiao Xingchen lightly jumps into the center of the pool, the water a shock that cools his sticky, heated skin, and does nothing for the heat building inside him. When he surfaces, pushing the hair out of his face, he finds Song Lan's gaze and meets it. Between them, everything goes both ways. What Song Lan will offer, Xiao Xingchen will freely give too.

Or, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan meet, pledge their lives to each other, and then fall in love.

This is about the angstiest I will go for songchen and its still absolutely Baby Soft lmfao!!!!!!

Pin it down by rheawrites (Jiang Yanli/Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixuan/Nie Mingjue, E, 2k)

“Yanli, I did not lie on our wedding night. You are the only woman I have gone to bed with. But… there was a man.”

“Oh?” Yanli blinks up at him. She does not appear horrified, or betrayed, which is surely a good sign.

Jin Zixuan swallows. “It was Sect Leader Nie,” he says quickly, as though that will make it easier.

“…Oh,” says Yanli, and her eyes are dark.

-

Jin Zixuan tells his wife a war story. Or, two thousand words of Jin Zixuan getting railed.

Have you ever looked at Jin Zixuan and been like “I bet that mf likes getting PEGGED!!!!!!!!” Well here’s the fic for you. 

*YIBO VOICE* DIDI LOVES YOU! (YIZHAN RPF)

never really over by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

The thing is: it would be good to see Xiao Zhan again — if Yibo could just trust himself to be normal.

Author gdgdbaby is the yizhan master, so here are five of my personal favorites of their fics, starting with this post-filming reunion fic that was the first yizhan fic I ever read and HIT real good after having just finished the show myself.

pedagogy by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 17k) ***

Yibo opens his mouth and says, "I want to learn," barreling past the rapid rise of Xiao Zhan's eyebrows. "To last longer. Will you teach me?"

Quick-fire Yibo comes too easily and Xiao Zhan helps train him to last longer :-)

you’re the reason that i just can’t concentrate by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

Xiao Zhan hears about it from Yu Bin, which probably should've been the first warning sign.

Yibo was only 20 when they filmed the untamed, which lends itself perfectly to fics like this.

a truth so loud you can’t ignore by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 5k)

It's their last day of filming in Hengdian when the secret comes out.

If yibo has to be a fictional virgin than SO DOES XIAO ZHAN!

if you would only let you by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 32k) ***

"Well?" Yibo demands. Past the severe frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, a flicker of the old him slips through, the persistent boy who shoved his way into Xiao Zhan's space without a second thought and made a home for himself there. "Are you coming or not?"

Xiao Zhan's heart twists. He forcibly settles it back in his chest. He's only told Yibo no once in his entire life, and it was already the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Okay," Xiao Zhan murmurs, quiet but decisive, and thumbs his phone off. "Let's go."

Like I said, all gdgdbaby fics are incredibly good, super well written, and very hot, but this one does stand out from the bunch for being a Full Epic Romance! This is one of Chi’s favorite fics so that should speak to it’s quality!

baby, who’s counting by nobirdstofly (Yizhan, E, 12k)

Xiao Zhan gasps, trying to rein in another peal of giggles. “What do I owe you anyway?”

Yibo shrugs one shoulder, and his smirk deepens. “Haven’t decided.”

Xiao Zhan’s still staring at him, laughter gone in his dry throat, when he hears someone yell for a reset. Yibo’s eyes are so, so dark, and he hasn’t stopped watching Xiao Zhan this whole time. Xiao Zhan swallows, nods, and pushes every dirty thought out of his head.

(Or: Yibo bets Xiao Zhan he'll break first during a take, Xiao Zhan loses, and it's all downhill from there.)

Ah sex bets, who doesn’t love sex bets!

Mystery Dance by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 16k)

"That? That's your confession?" Yibo's toppled onto Xiao Zhan's side and is clutching his shoulder, trying not to fall over. "That's pathetic!"

"Oh, what, you can do better?" Zhuocheng is pretty flushed and there's a challenge in his voice that Yibo just can't walk away from.

"Hell yeah, I can. Hit me, Yu Bin." Yu Bin cheers and refills Yibo's shot glass. "All right!" Yibo downs the shot, gags only slightly, and says, "Everyone! I'm a fucking virgin!"

WHAT’S better than a Yibo virgin fic? A SECOND YIBO VIRGIN FIC!

This author also writes extremely good yizhan threesomes so here’s three of them!

Some Nights by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Xuan Lu (Jiang Yanli), E, 2k)

Xuan Lu opened her legs to him and Xiao Zhan wasted no time diving in. He pressed his mouth against her pussy, licking her out steadily as her thighs trembled around him. She was nestled between Yibo's legs and if Xiao Zhan looked up, not only could he see the planes of her body, her small breasts going up and down with her breathing, ribs expanding, her tipped back head and open mouth, but Yibo, gaze boring into Xiao Zhan's as he ate Xuan Lu out.

The entire cast is hot and there is no reason they shouldn’t ALL fuck! Not one reason!!!!!!

gege loves you by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Wang Zhuocheng (Jiang Cheng)), E, 7k)

"We are very sorry," Xiao Zhan murmured as he unbuttoned Zhuocheng's jeans while Yibo kissed his ear, "for how we've been acting."

"Is this how you apologize to everyone," Zhuocheng panted, hands already going for his zipper to help Xiao Zhan along, "or am I special?"

WHEW LORD!!!!!!!!! WHEW!!!!!!!

Talking in the Dark by mrsronweasley (Yizhan (Side Xiao Zhan/M/F), E, 14k)

Xiao Zhan has a light-hearted romp of a threeway with some friends, then makes the mistake of telling Yibo. It goes down.

A non-yizhan threesome BUT features jealous!yibo which is a ton of fun.

Finally, a couple AUs!

With Joy and Purpose by feenwitch (Yizhan, E, 30k) ***

Yibo has been alone for approximately five Earth years when Xiao Zhan crash lands on his planet.

YIZHAN ANDROID AU!!!!!!!! This is a very star trek-esque universe which is fun, but the fic itself is also CRAZY interesting and moving and beautiful!!!!!!!!! It’s A LOT! This was a rec from Nina, so thank you Nina!

Bound With a Same-Heart Knot by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 59k)

London, 1892. Xiao Zhan, a promising young attache at the Chinese embassy is tasked with showing the new ambassador's son Wang Yibo around London. The inevitable happens.

Victorian AU! I actually think you already read this, but included for posterity.

AND SCENE! This is the result of two months of daily fic reading, having 50 tabs of fic open at any given time, reading truly anything and everything, and Loving The Untamed. I’m SO EXCITED you’re diving into fic for this show and I can’t wait to talk to you about all of them and to have someone to scream with! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

[softboywriting]

The Perfect Arrangement

Summary: When your father, the king of the southern kingdom, arranges for you to marry the werewolf prince of the northern kingdom to create an alliance, you are less than thrilled. The last thing you expect is to actually fall in love and find a better home than you left behind. Will things go as planned, or will this alliance come crumbling down around you? Will you choose love or your family? [fluff] [royal au] [werewolf au] 

Word count: 19k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Astoria is beautiful this time of year. The trees are all turning bright shades of orange, red and yellow. Under any other circumstances you'd be thrilled to be visiting such a beautiful place. But now, today, you're driving toward a future here. A future you didn't choose for yourself and one you cannot change.

Your dad, the King of Highwater, made a lot of enemies on his way to the throne. You were only a baby when your family took the royal position in the Southern kingdom. Twenty three years later and he's trying to make amends with those he turned against. But to do so he needs allies and there is no ally more powerful or larger than the Northern wolf kingdom of Astoria, and what better way to solidify an ally than to marry into their family.

When you were eighteen your older sister, the favorite child, married a man in the east who was set to take the throne of the Eastern kingdom. Danielle was always the pride and joy of your family. She was the prettiest, smartest and highest sought after woman in the South. Your parents doted on her, gave her everything. Danielle was a princess through and through and you...well you just did your own thing. You didn't have to worry about being princess like, and that was just fine. You hated all that proper royal hullabaloo and stayed out of it. Until now.

Two weeks ago your dad announced during a dinner that you would be sent to Astoria and expected to marry the prince. It came out of nowhere and completely shook your world. Never did you think that your dad would try to marry you off for an alliance. It's wasn’t unheard of but...you weren't a princess. Well you were technically, but you weren't a princess that anyone wanted to be a queen one day. You tried to fight your dad on it, arguing that you were not the way to go with the alliance, that you had no idea what you were doing. He gave you a choice. Don't marry into the North and put all of your people at risk, or do it and create an alliance. You couldn't risk anyone's life, so you took the deal.

So now you are in the back of a car on an eight hour ride from Highwater to Astoria. You've never met this prince before, your kingdom didn't generally interact with the wolves of Astoria. Your father was never keen on the wolves, which surprised you even more when he said he wanted you to marry one. Their king is supposedly a hardened man who rules with an iron fist and takes no shit, having been the king in Astoria for more than thirty years. You're terrified of what the prince maybe like. You've heard his name is Shawn but you didn't go exploring much farther. You have no idea how old he is, what he looks like or what he has done. You were too nervous to look into anything. Now you sort of wish you had, not knowing is absolutely so much worse.

The car winds through the hills of beautiful trees and old brick homes. The castle looms in the distance, a gorgeous white stone structure. Your new home. The car enters locked gates and circles a large courtyard minutes later and stops before a set of steps where there are two people waiting for you. Your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest.

The two people walk down the steps and you can see it is an older middle aged woman, beautiful as can be, the queen no doubt, and a young man. He is handsome, stunning as he walks the queen down the steps with a hand on her arm. He's tall, lean but fit and as he gets closer you can see the resemblance between him and the queen. He must be her son, but surely he isn't the prince you're meant to marry. He is far too gorgeous not to be married. He can't be the prince you’re meant to marry.

You step out of the car and grip your bag strap across your body nervously. "Hello," you smile at the two before you. The prince is just as handsome as you thought, not perfect, no, but far more attractive then any of the men you’d met in Highwater.

"You must be the princess." The Queen says stepping forward and holding out one delicately manicured hand. "I'm Karen, the Queen of Astoria."

You introduce yourself, and she smiles sweetly. "Thank you for having me."

"Of course. We're excited to have you, Astoria hasn't had a princess in this castle since I was young. A human princess will be a breath of fresh air around here." Karen guides the man beside her forward. He hasn't said anything, just eyed you silently. "Shawn, you haven't introduce yourself."

Shawn. This was the prince, the man you would call your husband soon. He steps forward so he’s standing before you a foot or less away. He is so much more than you expected. Breathtaking honestly. Surely this is a mistake.

"Princess." He takes your hand and kisses it, eyes locked on yours in a very commanding gaze. "It's nice to meet you, I’m Shawn, Prince of Astoria."

"I- yeah." You shake your head and look away from him. He’s too much, you’re screwed. "Thank you?"

Shawn raises his eyebrows and the Queen chuckles. "Come, let's get you settled in," Karen says, putting her hand on your shoulder and rubbing softly. “We’ve got dinner prepared and everything.”

______________________

Dinner is wonderful, and the Queen is an incredible lady. The King didn't make an appearance and you are told he is out of the kingdom for trade negotiations with the West. The night is winding down, you had arrived late in the evening as it was. Shawn was quiet for the majority of dinner, watching you carefully and you couldn't help but feel uneasy but not unsafe. He seemed distant and unsure, thought you couldn’t blame him. He was in the same boat as you were.

“Shawn, why don’t you show her to her room?” Karen says as she finishes her after dinner tea. “I’m sure she’s tired from traveling. Right dear?”

You nod and fold your hands in your lap. It was so strange to eat with people who were not your family. You feel like every move you make is under scrutiny. Nobody trained you for this, nobody showed you how to be a proper lady. You really hope you’re doing a good job.

Shawn pushes back his chair and walks around beside you. “Follow me.”

You get up and Karen smiles and gives you a little wave. “Try to realx,” she chuckles “Astoria welcomes you.”

“Thank you,” you nod and Shawn puts his hand out for you to take. You put your hand in his and he walks you out of the dining room.

The halls of the castle are a delicate blend of modern design and historical architecture. The structure is clearly old, having stood for decades no doubt. It’s not at all like Highwater castle which was far more recent in terms of construction. But Highwater was not nearly as old as Astoria.  

"This is our room." Shawn says as he opens a set of large double doors. He steps in and you follow so he can close the door behind him. He goes to the dresser and casually starts to take off his watch and bracelets.

You turn to face him in the expansive bedroom suite. "Did you say our room?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why...why are we sharing a room?"

Shawn turns and pulls his shirt off over his head, revealing his trained chest and you can't help the blush that creeps across your cheeks. This had to be a fever dream, you must be sitting in the garden back home experiencing sun stroke. "Wolves share everything with their partners. It's important to building a bond."

You go over to the side of the massive bed and look at the plush rug covering the dark polished wood floor. There are little scratches, like claw marks in the polished wood. You swallow, putting the thought of why claw marks would be there out of your head. Shawn was fine. A little closed off perhaps but he didn't seem inherently dangerous. You were not your dad. You wouldn’t assume things of wolves, it wasn’t fair.

"I guess I can sleep on the floor."

"You can sleep on the bed." He shucks his pants and you really try not to look over at him, not quite used to the familiarity of changing in front of one another, but you do look. He's got a lovely ass, muscled and rounded just right in his fitted red boxers. You look away.

"Why would you sleep on the floor?" he asks as he stretches his arms across his chest.

"I'm not comfortable sleeping with someone I've just met?"

"I'm your fiance. You're going to sleep with me a lot."

"But...nevermind." You shake your head. He just didn't get it and you assume it's because he had different socialization as a werewolf. You open the top drawer of the dresser you figure is yours. Inside is your pajamas, unpacked and put away by the cleaning staff you assume. You take your clothes and head to the attached bathroom, closing the door behind you.

The bathroom is beautiful. It was as if there wasn't a single less than outstanding part of this castle. Shawn's bathroom, no, your bathroom, is black and white themed. White tiled floors with swirled black and white marble counters. A marble tub and black tiles along the walls and floors of the shower. Even the towels match the theme, and it's all lit by a skylight overhead with ivy growing around the edges of it. This bathroom was straight out of a home design magazine and you couldn't be more thrilled.

The freestanding tub is definitely inviting with its curved back and gold fixtures. You could spend hours in that thing reading your favorite books. Maybe living in the Astoria castle wasn't going to be so bad, for sure it has been a massive upgrade from your place back home.

You change into your pajamas, a pair of polka dot shorts and a t-shirt. It wasn't really fitting for the cool northern weather, but you hadn't exactly known what to expect. Though you should have remembered that the North was always colder, and didn't usually get much warmer than seventy degrees in the summer months, and it was fall.

You know you have to go back out there and face Shawn. You look into the mirror at your reflection and sigh. How on earth did you end up here with a prince like Shawn? Surely you did something right, some Gods must be smiling on you. You fix up your hair a bit and splash your face with water. You can do this. You can make the best of any situation if you put your mind to it.

Shawn is asleep in the bed, arm over his face, when you open the door to step out. He's on top of the blankets, legs open, one knee bent up and to the side with his arm over his chest. He looks so comfortable and relaxed. Must be nice. You grab a pillow and make yourself comfortable on the floor. It was going to be a long night.

_____________________

The first thing you learn about Shawn is that he's so damn quiet it's almost unnatural. Well. It is technically. In the first week he scares you at least a dozen times. It's not on purpose, but you think he gets a thrill out of it because he always does this face, just a little hint of a smirk like he is testing you or something.

On your eighth day you discover the library and the garden it lead to. The library is huge, floor to ceiling with books of all sorts. It would seem the family has collected them for many years. You love reading. It was an escape to worlds you could only imagine and dream of, and they made you feel things you were sure you'd never experience. Though now you think maybe with Shawn you will get to experience some of those things.

You grab a book, a romance novel from a shelf labeled "Karen's favorites" and head out into the garden. The plants are still thriving, the flowers long gone but ivy and greenery living on around the trellises and arches. You stroll along, admiring the stone work that lines the raised beds. Each brick looks carefully carved with roses and peonies and leaves. You reach the center of the garden and there is a large sundial in a pond with benches surrounding it.

The air is nice, the sun comes out to warm your face as you take a seat. Peace and quiet. You open your book and start to read, legs crossed under you as you try to get lost in the world in your hands.  

Growling puts you on edge. At first you ignore it, thinking it's nothing more than one of your mom's dogs. But then you realize you're not home and this is a kingdom of wolves. A cold chill runs through you as you close your book and look around the garden. There is no one else as far as you can see. The growling stops and you aren't sure if that's a good thing or not.

Suddenly you see movement, a dark and massive figure to your right and a huge dark brown wolf soars over the bench from the raised garden bed behind you. It lands in the pond and you let out a terrified yell, gripping your book for dear life. The thing is absolutely massive and you are sure it's going to hurt you.

"Go away!" You shout, holding up the book in defense. "I'll scream! They'll find you!"  

The wolf splashes forward and you watch as it reaches the edge of the water. It's then it begins to lower it's head and curl into itself. Before your eyes the wolf becomes a human with wet dark hair plastered to his head.

"You took that pretty well." He looks up and you realize it's Shawn. He shakes his hair out and runs a hand through it.

"Shawn!" You drop your book and literally melt into the bench. "I thought you were going to kill me or something."

He chuckles. "No, I won't do that. You've never seen a wolf before have you?"

"No. Not like that, well, like you."

"I'm about as big as they come, so don't worry about seeing anything more terrifying." He stands up and water pours down him. He's naked as the day he was born and you get a full view of his goods. Apparently he has no modesty. “Also, if you see another wolf like me in the castle, please scream. Let someone know, draw attention to yourself.”

"I was about to scream because of you, so no problem."

Shawn walks over to you, wet feet slapping on the smooth stone pavers of the garden path. You keep your eyes trained on his and he squats down in front of you. "You scream immediately. Understand?" He waits for you to nod and you do. "There shouldn't be any other shifted wolves here. Ever. I'm an alpha so I can shift like that, and only alphas can. If there is another alpha in this castle, aside from my dad, you let me know. Please?"

"Y-yeah." You swallow thickly, no longer concerned about his nudity then you are about the way he's speaking. This was obviously some sort of test, or maybe a warning?

He lays his hand on your thigh and squeezes gently. "You can go back to reading now. I'll be in a meeting for most of the day." With that he stands and goes for the path that lead back toward the castle.

You look down at your book on the ground. Reading didn't seem appealing at the moment. You are still reeling from whatever the hell just happened. Clearly you had a lot to learn about wolves and this seemed to be just the tip of the iceberg.

____________________

"Tell me about your family."

You look up from your book to see Shawn where he's sitting not too far from you in the library. You're in a central area with couches and a desk for studying. You never heard him come in and you definitely didn't hear him approach the sitting area.

"My family?"

"Yes."

You close your book and set it aside. "What exactly do you want to know?"

Shawn stands and walks along the book shelves, pacing lazily as he speaks. "Your dad, what's he like?"

"He's okay. Kind of a jerk, but I just stay out of the way."

"Does he hurt you?"

"No. Gods no. He is very stubborn. Pig headed. His way or the highway y'know?"

"Mmmhmm." Shawn stops and leans against the desk. "Your mom?"

"She's okay too, very much like my dad."

"Do you have siblings?"

"One. My older sister Danielle. She's married to a lord already. She's not the greatest, really full of herself."

"You don't like your family much?"

You curl into the blanket you've laid across your lap earlier. It's very warm and almost looks handmade. "It's complicated, but no not really."

Shawn walks over and takes a seat beside you and lays his hand on your covered feet. It's very tender and possibly the gentlest you've seen him since you met. "You're not like other princesses I've met. It's not a bad thing. I was just curious as to why, that’s why I’m asking about your family."

"I wasn't raised like a princess. I mean I am one, I know. But Dani was the golden child. She is the whole package, pretty, smart, sought after. Our parents put everything into her, teaching her how to be a proper lady and educating her on everything from piano lessons to how to eat properly. I was just left to my own devices most of the time. No one really cared what I did."

Shawn smiles softly and your eyes widen. This had to be the first real smile you've seen and it's beautiful. "You just did what you wanted huh?"

"Yeah. I learned pretty quickly that my parents didn't pay attention to anything I did while Dani was around."

"And what did you do?"

"Mostly I explored the courtyards and went to the library. Sometimes I'd hang out in the woods behind castle or just wander around town."

Shawn smiles. "No trouble making?"

"No." You smile and he smiles bigger. "Though one time I did sneak frogs from the fountain in the courtyard into my mom's coat pockets because she made me mad."

He laughs, full on laughs and you can't help the giggle that comes out of you in response. "You're cute, bold, and cute."

"What about you? Do you have siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. The only kids I knew growing up were the staff’s kids. My parents let them bring them to work sometimes. It was great, but you know how it is. People grow up and they grow apart.”

“Yeah. I didn’t have a lot of friends.” You shake your head and sigh. “My parents didn’t think I should play with the kids in town.”

“Wow. They kept you in the castle?”

“Usually. Danielle was my friend until she got older and started to really understand that she was a princess. I swear when she turned thirteen her whole demeanor changed and that's when I started hating her.”

“I’m so sorry.” He looks down. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

“No, no, it's fine. It’s over now right? I’m here, living a whole new life. Astoria is a fresh start. What about you? I’m sure you’ve got some stories me from your childhood."

"Another time." He pats your legs and stands up. "I have some business to attend to right now. I'll see you tonight."

"Oh. Okay, yeah." You watch as he walks away, leaving you alone with your books. He was an enigma, but one you were slowly starting to unravel.

_____________________

Shawn doesn't come to bed that night. You wait up, expecting him any time after ten. You even take a bath for the first time in that tub of yours. You had held off, unsure when would be a good time not to be interrupted and to be honest you were nervous because it was so exposed, right in the middle of the bathroom. If Shawn walked in, which he didn't seem like he'd ever really do, he would be able to see everything. The bath had been just as amazing as you imagined. You curl up on the bed instead of the floor afterwards and read for a few minutes before falling asleep.

You dream of Shawn. He's a wolf, bigger than he was in real life and you ride on his back through the woods. There's something in the distance, a fire it seems. He's running towards it but you want to turn back. The trees end abruptly and before you is the castle you grew up in, burning to the ground. You grip his fur tightly and make no move to do something about the fire, as if you could do something anyways. A noise from behind startles you and you turn with Shawn to see a large wolf approaching from the dark forest, it lunges and you wake up, sitting up right in the dark bedroom.

The bed remains empty. You push back a blanket across your lap. You don't remember covering up before you fell asleep and the lights had definitely been on. You can't shake the feeling that somehow the wolf in the dream and your burning home in Highwater we're omens of some sort. They felt too real.

You crawl off the bed and your feet land on the cold floor. Your rug is gone. The cleaning crew must have taken it to wash. You grab your robe from it's hook by the dresser and head for the door. The moment you lay your hand on the curved handle, a voice breaks the silence of the room.

"Where are you going?"

A chill runs down your spine and you squint in the darkness to see where the voice was coming from. "I'm going to the library."

A light comes on and you see Shawn sitting on the floor beside his side of the bed. "At two in the morning?" He sounds rough.

"I had a nightmare. I just need to read for a bit and I'll be tired again. Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"I'm on the floor because you were in bed." He pushes himself up and walks over to the door with you. "I thought I'd let you have some good sleep for once. I know you're still not comfortable sleeping with me."

"Oh. Well you can go back to sleep. I'm just going to the library like I said."

"I'll come with."

"It's just the library. It's fine."

Shawn puts his hand on your lower back and guides you out the door. "I'm going with."

The library is dark and Shawn goes for the lights, finding them with absolutely no trouble though they are along the wall to the left from the main doors. You can’t help but wonder how he does that. You go for your book you leave on the table between the sitting areas. You purposely leave a sticky note on it so the cleaning crew won't put it away. Shawn goes to a couch and flops down, feet hanging over the end as he crosses his arms and closes his eyes. You take a seat on an armchair beside him and open your book.

An hour passes, the large clock near the entryway chimes as it strikes three in the morning. Time flies when you're engrossed in the romantic world of life on a ranch with a hot new ranch hand. Shawn is snoring away and you wonder why he felt the need to go with you if he was just going to sleep. You aren't tired yet but you decide to go back to the bedroom. Shawn stirs when you get up to put your book back on its table. He says nothing and follows you back to the bedroom.

"I'll take the floor." You say softly as he falls on the bed face first.

"Just sleep on the bed." He mumbles into the comforter. "I don't bite."

"You might." You go to your side and crawl on, one knee sinking into the plush mattress.

Shawn pushes himself up and crawls under the blankets, laying so he's facing you on his side. "I won't even touch you without permission."

You lean back into the pillows and look over at him. His sleepy eyes are half lidded and golden amber colored like they were the first time you saw his wolf form. He’s so...interesting.

"Can we talk tomorrow?"

"I'll see. I have meetings with my dad all day."

"What are your meetings about?"

Shawn shifts against the sheets and pulls his pillow down to wrap his arms around. "Governing stuff. Really boring."

"Should I go to these meetings too?"

"No. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, honey." He growls softly. "Go to sleep."

Honey. Your stomach flutters. You lean over him and turn off his bedside light before settling down under the fluffy black comforter. You aren't going to sleep well, mind not yet off the dream despite reading and now his pet name is also running through your head. This sucked.

_____________________

"What're you doing today?" Shawn asks as he gets dressed a few days later.

You look over from the bed where you're still curled up. You and Shawn have started sharing the bed and it's much better than the floor. Go figure. "I don't know. Probably just going to read or maybe hang out in the kitchen with chef Marty. There isn't much else to do."

"Do you want to do something with me?"

You're surprised. He always seemed so busy. "Like what?"

Shawn turns around as he rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt. "I thought we might go practice dancing."

"Dancing?"

"Yes. For the announcement ball? My mom told you about it right?"

"Well yeah but I have to dance? I don't really know how."

He chuckles. "I'll teach you. Wear something comfortable and meet me in the ballroom in a few minutes."

You roll over in bed as he leaves. Great. You couldn't dance, well, you could a little bit. But in general you could barely walk without tripping sometimes. Oh well.

You meet Shawn in the huge empty ballroom after putting on a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt, not bothering to do your hair or anything else. It's crazy how Shawn looks like he belongs in the place. Always well dressed, looking like a real prince. You feel like you must stick out.

"You came," he smiles and your heart flutters. His smile is so damn beautiful. "I thought I was going to have to dance alone."

"You don't have to dance alone, but you will have to teach me a little."

Shawn turns on a radio he's got sitting a few feet away and a beautiful piano ballad begins playing, the acoustics of the ballroom making it louder and seem like it's a live piece of music. He walks up to you and puts his hand on your waist, taking your other in his free hand. "Follow my lead."

You swallow thickly at the closeness. He smells so good, you're not sure what he wears but it's absolutely intoxicating.

"Breathe," he laughs, rubbing his hand up your side. "You're going to pass out and we haven't even started."

"Shit, sorry." You shake your head. Focus.

Shawn leans in close, looking down at you, eyes locked on yours. "Here we go." He steps to the right and you follow easily, letting him guide you to start.

The song picks up and you follow along naturally as he spins you and leads you around with his hands in yours in a very waltz like dance. You can't help but laugh and he does one last spin that ends with you against his chest.

You lay your hands on his chest as he holds your hips. "I can't believe I did it."

"You did." He smiles. "I can't believe how well you did since you said you can't dance. You most definitely can by the way."

"I'm surprised too. Maybe you're just a good teacher."

"Or maybe we're really good partners."

You flush as he leans in and presses his forehead to yours, heart beating wildly. "Can we do it again?" You ask softly.

"I'd love to. How about something a little faster?"

"Alright." You smile nervously and he pulls away to go to the radio. An uptempo dance melody comes on and he takes your hands.

"Follow me." He steps back and you step forward in time with the music, footsteps getting increasingly faster as you go back and forth, side to side, hips turning as you change hands. You stumble a few times but he patiently starts over and guides you along.

Once you have the main steps down, he pulls you in and spins you so your back is against his chest. His hands slide down your arms and he turns you out again before the goosebumps can fully form on your skin. He does this two more times until you flow with him easily.

You slide into him as he pulls you in again, this time face to face. His hands go to your hips and he guides you back and forth with him. Your eyes are locked on his and it's insanely intimate. You can't speak, can't breath. He grabs your hips and lifts you up and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist. He holds you up with one arm as he guides you back against the column of the balcony overhead.

The music keeps playing but the two of you have stopped, frozen in time against the cool marble pillar. His breathing is heavy and so is yours. Your chemistry is undeniable. The tension is so thick you could suffocate.

"I wanna kiss you," he whispers, voice lower than usual.

You nod and he leans in, mouth warm against yours. His hand goes to your neck and he tilts your head up a bit. You grab his hair, and he growls into your mouth. A moan escapes you and he slides you down against the column, body trapped between his warmth and it's cool surface.

He breaks the kiss and you stare at each other. A smile creeps across your face and he breaks out into a little laugh. The two of you part ways, Shawn stepping back while you remain against the marble. He rubs the back of his neck and you bite your lip.

"You're a good dancer," you say softly and he chuckles, looking over at you and then down at his feet.

"You are too."

_____________________

You wake up a few days later to find a small package on your pillow. A rectangular box wrapped with a silky black ribbon. You sit up and look around the room. There is no sign of Shawn. The box has your name on it so you pull off the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a book. You turn it over in your hands and smile. The back cover describes a princess falling in love with a non royal werewolf and their forbidden romance. How similarly perfect for your current situation. You open the front page and there is a sticky note inside.

I picked up this book in hopes you would like it. I can only hope to be as good of a man to you as the wolf in this book is to his princess. Their romance is incredible and touching and everything I hope we can be someday. -Shawn

"Good morning."

You look up and Shawn is leaning against the bedroom door frame. "Good morning," you hold up the book. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I thought you might enjoy it. I can take you to the book store one day if you like."

"Really? I'd love to go."

He walks across the room and sinks on to the bed. "I have a meeting this afternoon but I'll take you soon okay?"

You nod. "I can't wait."

_____________________

The next day Shawn finds you in the library by the window seats overlooking the garden. He walks over carrying one of your jackets.

"What's up?" You ask, looking over your book.

"You wanna go to the bookstore?"

“You’re serious?” Your eyes light up and you uncurl yourself from the window seat.

He holds out your jacket for you. "Yes, I promised you I would. It's chilly so I figured you might want this."

You pull it on and zip up the front. "I need shoes." You wiggles your toes in your socks and he chuckles. "I'll be right back!" You run across the library to the hall that leads to the stairs to your bedroom.

When you come back Shawn is waiting for you outside the library doors. He smiles at you and offers you his hand. You take it and he walks with you to the front doors. The two of you drive to the bookstore in downtown Astoria City. The second he parks the car you're gone, running into the small shop. He follows close behind, as you begin to walk the rows of books. It feels like it's been forever since you were in a place like this. The familiar smell of new pages, binding glue and fresh ink is like home to you.

"Good afternoon Prince Shawn!" A small older guy behind the counter says excitedly, waving at the two of you.

Shawn waves back and smiles. You grab his hand and drag him toward the romantic suspense section. "What can I get?"

"Anything you want."

"Anything?"

He laughs softly. "Yes, anything."

You start grabbing books, not even looking at their descriptions. You don't care, you will read anything by the authors you're grabbing. Shawn offers to hold some and you begin stacking them in his arms. He raises his eyebrows as you add more and more to the pile.

"You're sure?" You ask, holding one more book in your hands and staring at the stack he's holding. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Enjoy yourself." He carries the books to the counter and asks the clerk to start totaling them up and bagging them.

You sit down on the floor and browse the very bottom shelf. Shawn sits down behind you and you grab a few titles and hug them to your chest, falling back into his lap. He laughs, staring down at you and your books.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "I figured you needed some more books. I noticed you had started to reread them."

"You noticed that?"

He nods. "I've been reading a few myself, between meetings and after you've fallen asleep."

You giggle at the thought. "Prince Shawn is reading romance novels?"

He flushes a bit and rolls his eyes. "I figured it's something you enjoy, I should try it out too."

You sit up and look at him. He really did that. He really decided to start reading your books because you enjoyed them so much. "That's so sweet. I-I wish I could return the favor."

Shawn stands and helps you up with your last few books. "You don't have to worry about that."

"No, I want to know what you like."

"Well, I like playing piano, and I like taking long runs." He walks with you up to the counter and smiles at the clerk while he hands over his card and you place your last few books on the counter. "I like to read, before you came I did read as well."

"Well, I suppose I'm not too good at any of those things besides reading."

"No worries. I don't expect you to learn to play piano or start running with wolves overnight." He grabs your bag off the counter and you glance into it. There is at least fourteen titles in there.  

You thread your fingers into Shawn's free hand and he kisses your knuckles. "Thank you. These will keep me busy for days."

"Anything to make you happy, Princess."

You flush and he swings your hands together as you leave the shop to return to the castle. You are happier than ever. You have new books and your relationship with Shawn is getting better every day. You don't feel like this is arranged at all. It feels like you and Shawn are just dating..

_____________________

For the next few days Shawn gets up very early, usually waking you up in the process and saying good morning with a kiss on your cheek. He always leaves, dressed in his pajamas and then appears a few hours later and heads for the shower.

Curiosity gets the best of you after a few days and you want to see where he's going. You wonder if he's shifting, since once he came back completely naked like he did when he shifted that time in the fountain.

On Wednesday you decide to follow him, camera in hand to try and get a picture of his wolf form. You're curious, you can't help it. He makes his way to the lower level at the back of the castle, past the garden and out a set of doors that lead to the private garages. You hang back, watching him from the window as he strips off his black tank top and shorts. Your suspicions turned out to be correct. He shifts into his wolf form, just as big as you remember, and walks into the treeline.

You zoom in on your camera and snap a picture. You stare at the little screen, enamoured with the way the sun highlights the red and brown colors in his dark fur. You want to touch it. Suddenly, fear grips your stomach. Why would he leave every day to go into the forest? Was he meeting someone? Another wolf? Was he really just running? Why was he doing this now?

You step away from the window and head back into the main part of the castle. You didn't mean to upset yourself like this, you just wanted to see him shift again. Now you're all in your head.  

A couple hours go by and you see Shawn pass the library doors that you've left open. You decide to wait until he showers and gets dressed in his regular clothes to ask him what he's up to. It's not long after he passes the doors before you feel something on the back of the couch you're curled up on and you look up to see Shawn leaning against it, his big hands spread out across the cushion.

"Hello?"

"Why were you following me?"

You swallow thickly. Of course he noticed you were tailing him. "Uh...um."

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering what you were doing every day that required you to come back and shower."

He chuckles and walks around to sit on the coffee table in front of you. "And what did you find out?"

"That you are shifting and going into the forest to run I think, because you said you like to do that. I was just curious."

"You're curious? About what?"

You flush. "About you?"

He folds his arms over his chest and his arms look huge. You try not to let the thought of him picking you up like he had when you danced go to your head. Goodness he was so big and you know he's ridiculously strong. "You want to know why I've been going out running every morning?"

"Yeah."

"It's getting close to a full moon. I just need to stretch my legs and burn off some energy." He runs his hand over his hair. "I can...I can bring you along if you want?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're curious right? I want you to be comfortable with me in both forms. I know we've spent a lot of time together like this but not so much when I've been shifted."

You set your book aside. "When are you gonna go next?"

"We can go right now if you want. I'll show you where I go in the forest. I think you'll like it."

You stand up and he offers his hand to you. You take it and you feel warm, butterflies in your stomach. Every time he touched you, you felt incredibly alive. This isn't at all how you expected this conversation to go. This is much better.

____________________

If someone told you weeks ago that you would be running through an Astorian forest in fifty degree weather with a wolf at your side, you would have called them crazy. But here you are.

Shawn runs ahead as you start to get tired. Running isn't your forte. You watch as he bounds across fallen trees and boulders. It's the most carefree you think you've seen him yet. He doubles back and circles you, bumping your back with his head to get you to move faster.

"I'm tired," you laugh, pushing at his massive head. Standing, he comes up to your chest. His size was no joke and he could easily overpower you if he wanted, but he won’t. "I'm not running anymore."

He nudges you again and you stumble forward.

"Shawn." You grab his huge face and it's the most surreal thing as you stare at him, knowing behind those eyes is the man you're falling for. "I'm not a wolf, my stamina sucks."

He turns and walks ahead, leading you off the path. There's a cluster of rocks and you can hear water trickling somewhere close by. Shawn disappears and you hear a splash. When you get to a gap in the rocks you see Shawn, human again, treading water in the middle of a large spring.

"Oh wow, this is amazing." You lay your hand on the smooth damp rocks that enclose the water. "Incredible."

"I knew you'd like it. I come here after running to chill out for a while and just relax." He swims over to the edge. "It's warm. Come on in."

"I didn't bring a bathing suit."

"Who needs one? Just strip down and get in."

You pull off your sweater and push down your jeans. Being naked in front of Shawn wasn't something you'd done yet despite your growing closeness. Of course you've seen every inch of him, but he had a very different view of modesty. You still changed in the room with your back to him or in the bathroom.

"I'll just wear my underwear and bra." You put your clothes off to the side and Shawn swims over to look up at you. He smiles and you flush, knowing he's definitely checking you out. "What?"

"You're hesitant aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"I can turn away if you want to get naked and get in so I can't see anything."

"I'll be fine."

"But you'll have to walk back in wet underwear and it's cold out here."

You sigh. He has a point. "Okay, turn around." You undress completely and get in the warm water beside him, sinking in and going under for a moment. He turns, eyes low as he takes in what he can see of you and you flush. "What now?"

"Are you still curious?"

"About what?"

"Me." He floats closer. "I'm curious about you."

"O-oh."

Shawn pushes a wet strand of hair off your forehead. "Let me know if I'm being too forward. Are you uncomfortable?"

You shake your head. "I'm not used to attention like this...and we haven't really done anything since we kissed when we were dancing."

"I know. Can I touch you?" He asks and you nod. He puts his hands on your waist and runs them up and down. "You can touch me too."

You lay your hand on his chest and it's solid, warm, and you take note of little freckles scattered across his skin. He's broad, much bigger than you, and being this close and naked is so different then when you were dancing. It's intimate in a different way.

"I didn't think I'd like you," you confess suddenly, eyes trained on his chest.

He chuckles. "Why?"

"Because arranged marriages don't usually work out."

"I know I took a while to open up, and that's because I didn't want to rush you. I really think you and I are good together though, great actually."

You smile and laugh to yourself. "Your mom said that too."

"Mmm," he slides his hands up your back and you arch forward, breasts hitting his chest. "Have you heard of the term mates before?"

"Like soulmates?"

"Yeah, something like that," he smiles into his words and you flush. "It's a special bond for wolves, and is what I'm pretty sure humans base the idea of soulmates on."

"Mates for wolves can be humans?"

He nods and cups your face. "Yes, definitely."

You slide your hands down his chest and he cups the back of your head, pulling you against him. You slip your arms around his middle and he lets out a soft hum. The two of you stay in your comfortable embrace for a while, enjoying the new found closeness with each other. You're glad your dad sent you to Astoria, if he hadn't you never would have met Shawn.

_____________________

The next day you decide today you're going to leave the castle and explore Astoria's shopping district on your own, eager to learn more about your new home. The trip to the bookstore was enough to get that itch for exploration in your bones.  On your way to the front doors you pass a guard who stops you just as you get there.

"Princess, you need an escort."

"An escort? Why? I'm just going in town."

"Prince Shawn's rules."

You sigh. "Okay, well, who can escort me?"

"Prince Shawn."

"Really? I can't take a guard with me?"

The guard shakes his head. "No ma'am. We're under strict orders. You can't go out without protection."

"Why?" You cross your arms. You don't like being trapped.  

"That is not for me to discuss Princess."

You turn away and head for the library. There was a gate you could get out of in the garden. You would go into town one way or another and you sure as hell were not waiting for Shawn to take you anywhere. He was in meetings all day again.

Sure enough the garden gate is guarded too. You roll your eyes and take a left to a trellis that you can climb just out of sight from the gate. A few carefully placed steps and you're on the back lawn of the castle, free to explore the town as long as you sneak around the guards out front.

Half an hour later and you're walking through the streets of Astoria City. The place is busy, bustling with life. There are vendors everywhere as if there is some sort of open air market going on. You wander around taking your time at each stall. You didn't bring any money, in fact you completely forgot your purse. It's fine. Window shopping was just as satisfying.

You approach a booth selling bracelets made of copper like the ones Shawn wore. They're gorgeous, shiny rose colored and intricately designed. You wish you could get one for Shawn. He'd probably really like it, and it would be a sweet gift in return for the books he got you. Just as you pick one up that has a braided design on it, a hand lands on your side and you jump.

"Beautiful isn't it?"

You turn and see a man with dark hair smiling at you. He's close to your age and not bad looking. He's big like Shawn and that makes you worry about what type of wolf he is. "Yeah. It's nice." You place the bracelet back in it's display and pull away from the man's touch to the other side of the booth.

"Would you like one?"

"Ah, no. I'm just browsing."

"Browsing alone?"

You pick up a necklace with your fingertips, admiring it's inlaid obsidian centerpiece, the stone of the royal family. You want to seem disinterested in the man's conversation so he will leave. He's making you extremely uneasy.

"A princess shouldn't be alone."

You swallow thickly and turn to look at him. He's gone, replaced by a woman who is looking at a bracelet. Your eyes dart around the crowd and you don't see him. This couldn't be good. You place the necklace on its stand and leave the booth, hightailing it back to the castle as fast as you can in the throngs of people.

Arms wrap around you just as you slip past the gates and before you can scream you hear a familiar voice. "What are you doing out here?" It's Shawn.

"I-I just wanted to get out of the castle."

Shawn keeps his arm around your back and walks the rest of the way with you up the driveway that leads to the castle's front courtyard. "I can't believe you snuck out. Well, no, I can. You realize that you put yourself in danger?"

"You can't trap me in the castle."

Shawn growls, pulling you aside in the main hall and holding your shoulders firmly. "I'm not trapping you. There are wolves in this kingdom who will try to take you. You're not in Highwater anymore, you can't go unnoticed here."

"Take me? Why?"

"Because you're my fiance. There are people who would do anything to get the upper hand on family right now. Dad and I are undergoing negotiations with other wolves in the north beyond the forests. They’re wild, part of Astoria but never following my dad’s rule. We’re trying to come to terms with them. That's why I have meetings all the time."

"Why didn't you tell me before? Why don’t I know these things?"

"I wanted to protect you, I didn’t want to drag you into all the political bullshit but clearly I just put you in further danger." You look around and Shawn holds your face. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing, I'm just nervous."

"Oh." Shawn lessens his hold on you and drops his hands to your arms. He looks worried, genuinely concerned. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be angry with you. You didn’t know. Please, just...just stay in the castle."

"Okay, I will. For now, but I want to explore soon."

"I promise you I'll take you out again." He cups your face and it's gentle, a loving caress. "Promise you won't sneak out or try to leave without me again until things settle down?"

"I promise."

______________________

Two days later you wake up abruptly to Shawn pinning you down to the bed. Immediately you panic. You thrash under him and he holds fast until you start crying, begging him to let go of you. At that he releases your arms and sits up, thighs bracketing your hips.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes!" You shove him and he doesn't move. He's so much bigger than you and it sucks. "Get off me."

"You were screaming in your sleep and when I tried to wake you up, you started attacking me." Shawn runs a hand over his hair. "I didn't want you to hurt yourself. I was freaking out."

"Oh. I...didn't realize."

Shawn crawls off of you and lays on his back. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry. I just had a horrible dream. It's fine, just a nightmare."

"Talk to me about it."

"I don't remember."

Shawn turns his head to look at you and you look away. "You're lying. Why don't you just tell me?"

"I'm not lying."

"You are." He lays his hand on your arm. "You always look away from me when you're lying. You never look me in the eye. What is the big deal if it's just a dream?"

You sigh heavily. "At the market the other day I saw a wolf."

This gets his attention and he rolls onto his side to fully face you. He looks irritated already. "Like shifted or something? Because there isn't a lot of alphas in Astoria."

"No not shifted. He was big like you and he approached me in a stall I was checking out. He knew I was a princess and I was alone. I think he was chasing me in my dream."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were already mad at me for sneaking out and I didn't want to make it worse."

Shawn gets up and goes to the window that overlooks the garden. "That wolf was probably from beyond the forest. Remember what I said about someone possibly wanting to take you? What did he say to you?"

"Not much, he just asked me about the bracelet I was looking at and asked if I wanted it. He asked if I was alone and then said princesses shouldn't be alone. After that he disappeared and I left."

"Fuck." Shawn closes the curtains. "He is probably looking for a way to get into the castle. How did you sneak out that day?"

"I went through the garden, over a trellis."

Shawn pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. The tension is rolling off of him in waves and you can't help but feel like you've really screwed up somehow. "We need to alert the guards and have them start searching the castle."

You twist your hands in your blanket and swallow hard. "Why? What is going on? Did I do something wrong?"  

Shawn walks over to you and sits on the bed. He takes your hand and you can feel that he's burning up. He was always warm when he slept and he was generally warmer than you, but this was something different. "That wolf knew you had to of snuck out of the castle if he knew you were alone. He got close to you to get your scent so he could find out how you, a princess, got out without being noticed. He was looking for a way in."

"Oh. I fucked up huh?" You tremble, your dream coming back to you. A man shifting into a big gray wolf and chasing you through the castle, running as fast as you can to get to a hiding place, not knowing your way around suddenly. "I'm so sorry Shawn. I didn't know...I just wanted to go out."

"It's okay." He brushes his hand over your hair. "It won't be the first time someone sneaks in. We'll take care of it."

"What if he's already here? What if he takes me?"

"I would never let that happen. I'll protect you to my last breath." He wipes some tears that fall down your cheeks. "I swear I'll keep you safe."

"Thank you," you mumble, hand in his and he leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"I'm going to go alert the guards. Stay here and lock the door." He gets up and puts on a shirt from his dresser. "And I know it might be hard but you should get some more sleep. I'll see you when you wake up okay?"

"Y-yeah."

"Lock it after me."

You get up and go to the door, holding it open for him. He pauses and lays his hand on your cheek, kissing the opposite one before going out for you to lock the door behind him.  

_____________________

The search for intruders comes up empty over the next three days and you're glad. If something had happened you don't know if you would be able to live with the guilt of knowing it was your fault. You wander around in the afternoon, looking for Shawn since you hadn't seen him since last night. He didn't say good morning or anything which was odd.

You hear the sound of a piano playing somewhere near where you're exploring. You think it might be coming from the grand hall. Sure enough there is Shawn sitting at a huge piano, playing a soft melody. Was there anything he couldn't do? You know he said he likes to play, but he just seems so perfect already it is unreal.

"Hey," he looks over at you as you cross the vast empty room. "What're you doing here?"

"I came to find you. You didn't say good morning."

As you get closer you take in his appearance. He's in a sweater and some jeans. He rarely dressed so casual unless he was planning on shifting, and he actually looks super soft and cuddly.

"Sorry. I've been in my head for the last few days."

"Because of the wolf at the market?"

He nods and scoots over on the bench for you to take a seat. "It really worries me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"It's fine."

There's a silence between the two of you as he plays a few notes. You feel like you've fucked up. Even though nothing has happened, you feel like Shawn is mad at you.  

"You smell really good today." He says softly out of nowhere.  

"Thanks. I don't think anyone's ever told me that."

"You always smell good." He looks over with a little smile. "It's a big deal for us wolves. Scents are everything."

"I'm glad I don't stink then."

He laughs and you duck your head and smile. "Can I tell you something else?"

"Sure?"

"I like when you wear my clothes."

"You noticed that I took a shirt the other day?"

He nods. "Like I said, scents are a big deal. When you walked into the dining room for breakfast I about pounced on you."

"Over a shirt?" You giggle.

"No, over my scent on you. It just drove me wild for a moment."

"Oh. Well, you smell really good too. I like your cologne that you wear everyday."

He plays a few keys and mumbles, "I just really like you."

You flush and look away to stare at the white keys. "I really like you too."

_____________________

Your family would be arriving soon for you and Shawn's announcement ball. It's a huge formal event that includes dancing and a dinner for both parties families and other important figures in the kingdoms. You aren't particularly excited to see your parents, it's been really nice being away from home and being paid attention to here in Astoria. At home it had been nice to do whatever you wanted, but your parents didn't actually seem to care about you and when they did pay attention it was usually to criticize you. Here, Shawn is definitely into you and you're very much into him. Even his parents really like you and you love the castle.

The worst part of your parents coming to visit is that they will be bringing Danielle. Just her, not her husband as far as you know. You almost want to rub it in her face that you got Shawn. Even if it is arranged, you do actually have real feelings for him. He's much more handsome than her husband Jackson and overall a better man. You're sure she'll find some way to make everything about herself though.

You walk into the grand ballroom and take in the incredible architecture. You and Shawn had danced together in there not too long ago and you smile to yourself as you remember. There are a few staff members setting up tables and chairs for the guests who would be there in a few days time, but other then the tables obstructing the view, it's absolutely breathtaking. You walk around the outer ring, a balcony overhead. It reminds you of the ballroom from beauty and the beast and you wonder if the wedding will be held there. If not you might ask if it can be.

You go up to the center steps leading to a landing that goes out to a balcony that overlooks the garden. There are big double doors open and letting in the fall air. You step out and run your hand over the smooth stone railing and look down at the trees and plants that are starting to fade. Most of the leaves are gone and fallen, cleaned up and bagged a few days ago. You had grabbed a few to make a collage with before that happened though. It's hanging in the bedroom now, and Shawn loves it.

There is movement below you and you try to see what it is. There's something in the far area by the gate, slinking low to the ground. It's large and a flash of gray fur between the bricks makes your stomach churns. You know what it is. A wolf. As soon as it registers in your brain, the wolf looks at you.

You turn and look for the staff members in the ballroom but they're all gone. You start across the room, jogging quickly as to get away from the balcony to find Shawn as soon as possible. By the time you reach the big wooden doors you hear footsteps. Claws on the stone floors. You tug the left door open and start running.

"Shawn!" You scream, running as fast as you can. There is no way you're looking back. You don't need to, you can hear the wolf behind you. "Shawn!"

You take the main staircase two steps at a time and doing so bites you in the ass. You misstep and go sprawling on to the landing at the bottom, stomach colliding with the ledge of the last step and head bouncing off the floor. The big gray wolf stalks towards you, teeth bared and growl echoing in the entryway.

"Shawn!" You yell, coughing as the force hurts your chest from falling. You pick yourself up to run but your knees are skinned pink and raw. They feel tight and are resistant to moving and you're dizzy, vision spotty.

From the top of the adjacent stairs you see what looks like Shawn. He's shifted and running but he's not quick enough. White hot pain burns through your back and you collapse, head hitting a step. The last thing you see is a gray wolf standing over you growling before you black out.

You wake in your bedroom, the sky through the window is bright orange with the setting sun. You aren't sure how you got here and you're not sure what happened. You vaguely remember seeing a wolf that wasn't Shawn in the ballroom. No. Outside? Everything is fuzzy.

Beside you, Shawn is curled up, hand over yours at your side. Was it a dream? You move to sit up but you can't, a tight binding around your chest prevents you from moving very much.

"Shawn?" You wiggle your hand in his and his eyes open, gold and dilated. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. "Are you in pain?"

"No. I'd like to sit up though."

"You should just stay laying down for now." He leans up on his arm and pulls the blanket down your body and lifts up a white tee you're wearing. Your whole mid section is wrapped in gauze but somehow you don't feel any pain. "I'll have to change your wrap soon."

"What happened to me? I remember a wolf and I fell, and then my back burning and then nothing."

"A wolf broke into the castle. I'm not sure if it was the one you saw at the market but it chased you. He knocked you down and you were clawed in the process. I wasn't fast enough to get to you before him." He closes his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey," you lay your hand on his cheek. "I'm alive. That's what matters. I'm okay."

"I failed you. I promised I would keep you safe and I failed."

"Shawn. I'm okay. I don't even hurt right now. You fought him off didn't you?"

He looks down and nods. "I did, I tore him apart. But you...I'm sorry."

You guide his face up to yours and he looks broken. His eyes are searching yours, desperate to make this right. "You still saved me. That's what you should focus on."

"And I'll keep saving you." He lays his hand on your stomach. "This will never happen again."

"Nothing can be predicted."

"I know, but I can do my best to prevent a future breach." He sits up and crawls off the bed to walk around to your side. "I should check your bandage. Can I carry you to the bathroom?"

"Can you lift me?"

He smiles and chuckles softly. "You're cute." He slides an arm under your knees and one under your shoulders, lifting you up with ease. "You'd be amazed at how much I can lift, remember when we danced?"

"Yes." Your cheeks heat up. "Of course."

"I carried you with one arm, remember?" He chuckles softly.

"Oh yeah..." you smile softly. "I'm constantly amazed by you."

"I could say the same."

_____________________

Shawn is incredibly gentle with you. He sits you on a stool in the bathroom and carefully unwraps your torso from the cotton bandages. When the cool air hits the wounds you feel a tingling pain and cold wetness on your back.

"I'm going to wipe it down okay?" Shawn says softly, showing you the wet towel in his hand. "I promise I'll be careful. If I hurt you please tell me."

You nod and he goes to work, gently wiping your back clean of whatever was on there. It doesn't hurt as he's cleaning but when he's done you can definitely feel an ache. "It's starting to hurt."

"I know." Shawn picks up something off the counter and brings it around to show you. "I'm going to put this on you."

"What is it?" You take it and turn it over in your hands. It's a small jar, round and unlabeled. "Ointment?"

"It's a healing salve. Wolves use it when they get injured with silver."

"I don't understand."

Shawn takes the jar and opens it, walking back around behind you. "Werewolves are allergic to silver. If something silver cuts us or comes in contact with our skin for an extended period of time, it prevents our bodies from healing."

"So you just have open wounds?"

"Yes. But this salve will heal them and numb the pain."

"I wasn't hurt with silver though? And I'm not a wolf."

Shawn swipes some across your back with his finger tips. "I'm aware. It heals your body quickly as well. It’s like an all purpose ointment."

"Oh."

He finishes and grabs a roll of gauze to wrap your middle with. You keep your arms up while he secures the bandage and helps you get a clean large shirt on. When he's finished he holds your shoulders and stares down at you, still taller than you on the stool. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Stop apologizing. I'm going to be fine."

"But your parents will be here soon, and the wedding. You're going to be bandaged up. It's my fault."

"No one can see the bandages. It's not like my face got hurt. I’m sure I’ll be healed over in a week or two. Everything will be fine."

Shawn lays his hand on your cheek and cups your jaw. "I'm glad you don't hate me."

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because I couldn't protect you and I swore to you I would."

"Shawn. Stop." You lean into his hand. "You've been nothing but good to me and so what? Like I said I'm not dead. If you hadn't been there when you were I may have gotten seriously injured. I could have ended up somewhere with someone much worse and gotten hurt and been left to die. I could be miserable. I'm not miserable here, in fact I think I'd rather be here with you than ever go back to Highwater."

"Really?"

You stand with his help and move a bit to get accustomed to the stiffness of the bandaging. "Yes really. Here I am cared for, loved and appreciated. Your parents really seem to like me too. Back home I would go days without seeing my parents and when I did they had nothing to say to me but how I wasn't as good as my sister."

"Your parents sound horrible." Shawn wraps his arm around your shoulders and walks with you out of the bedroom to the hall. "You really want to have them visit before the wedding?"

"Not really, but what choice do I have? Our dads are making alliance negotiations. I'm the biggest pawn he has, though I don’t know what he expects me to do."

Shawn stops and comes around in front of you and holds your shoulders. "Do you want to marry me?"

"Yes."

"I know we've really been hitting it off and getting close and everything but...if you’re marrying me just for the alliance I don’t know if we should do it. I know it’s the arrangement but-"

"Hey," you cup his face and he looks at you with soft eyes. "I would still want to be with you even if the alliance fell through."

Shawn takes your hands and holds them in his delicately, kissing your knuckles. "I feel the same way." He presses his forehead against yours and you close your eyes. "Let's head down to dinner? I'm sure Mom will want to see you."

_____________________

"How is your back darling?" Karen asks half way through dinner. You look up, startled at the sudden conversation starter. The majority of the meal had been silent.

"It's good. Shawn put some ointment on it and it doesn't even hurt."

"The healing balm." She smiles. "He's all too familiar with that himself."

"Mom, please."

You smile at a clearly embarrassed Shawn. "Tell me more?"

"It's nothing."

Karen balks. "Nothing? He nearly died is what he did." You raise your eyebrows and Karen folds her hands readying herself to start telling Shawn's story. "When he was sixteen he picked a serious fight with a boy from the East. The son of a lord there and he nearly lost. The Eastern boy brought a silver dagger and got Shawn right in the lower stomach before Manny broke it up."

"Mom." Shawn holds his head in his hand. "She doesn't need to know what a dick I was."

"Oh psh." Karen rolls her eyes. "Anyway, that salve saved his life. He's got a nice scar to show for it too. Rare for wolves, but it's there."

You look to Shawn with wide eyes. You didn't really peg him as the type to pick fights. "Where is this scar?"

"My stomach, by my hip bones. I'll show you later."

"I'm surprised I haven't noticed it."

Shawn rolls his eyes. "I don't like to flaunt it. It's kind of embarrassing because it never would have happened if I wasn't being a dick."

"Everyone makes mistakes." You take your last bite of chicken on your plate and shrug. "I've done plenty of dumb things too."

_____________________

Two days later you decide to take a bath. Showers were good and all but your body aches and you just feel like you need a hot bath. You undress in the bathroom, carefully unwrapping the gauze from around your chest and wincing as it sticks to your wounds.

"Need help?"

You turn and Shawn is in the doorway in his pajama pants. "I-I got it."

"Let me help." He says softly, crossing the room and taking the balled up wrap from your hands. "I'll be careful." He unwinds the last few feet of gauze off your chest and sets the bandages in the trash.

"Thanks."

"Are you taking a shower?"

"A bath actually."

Shawn goes to the cupboard where the extra towels and first aid supplies are kept. He digs around for a second before bringing out a paper bag. "Start the water and I'll mix this up."

You get in the tub and turn on the water, sitting in the center of it so your tender skin doesn't touch the back. "What's in the bag?"

"It's a blend of herbs for body aches and wounds. Another thing wolves use when burned by silver or after fighting."

"Oh."

Shawn crosses the bathroom and sprinkles a good amount of the mixture in the bath. He swirls it around and you can see dried flower petals and little bits that look like oatmeal. The water turns a soft purple color and you relax as best you can without being able to lean back.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"You don't need to."

"I'd like to." Shawn cups his hand in the water and pours it over your back. It feels wonderful as the warm water flows over your tender skin. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind." You yawn big and he keeps pouring water over your back.

"Do you want to try sleeping without the wrap on tonight?"

"Can I?"

He leans forward on his knees and touches your back gently. "I think we should probably let it breathe. You'll have to sleep on your stomach."

"That's fine."

"I'll stay up and make sure you don't roll over."

"Shawn, no, you need to sleep too."

"Shh." He pours more water over your back and you hang your head down, enjoying the sensation. The rest of the bath is quiet and he lets you finish up while he changes the bedding so you could sleep on fresh sheets after you were all soaked and clean. When you walk into the bedroom all dressed up in one of his tees and a pair of sweatpants you find he's made a little nest for you to lay in.

"What's this about?" You chuckle as you crawl between the pillows flanking either side of your half of the bed.  

"It's roll guards." He flops on his side. "So I can sleep for a while and not have to keep a close eye on you at all times."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He leans over and kisses your head. "I'm sure you will be too."

_____________________

"That outfit isn't very flattering."

You look up from the book you're reading and standing before you is your sister. She's got her hair down and it's longer than you remember. She is also pregnant, a few months by the look of it.

"Danielle?"

"Yeah it’s me? Why are you wearing old jeans and a huge sweater? You're a princess and you should be dressed up for your future family. Do you let them see you like this?"

"It's just my clothes." You stand and she towers over you. In heels and pregnant. This woman never took a break. "What's wrong?"

"You look like a commoner. A dirty farm girl or something."

You look down at yourself and pull your sweater out a bit. It was one of Shawn's from the back of his drawer. You figured he wouldn't miss it too much and since it was big and roomy you were more comfortable without your bandages. "But it's comfortable."

"Ugh." Danielle rolls her eyes. "How did mom and dad ever pass you off as a princess to these people? Oh wait, they're animals, no wonder you fit in."

You ball your fists up and walk away from her without another word. You can't believe she's here already and if she is here then your parents must be as well. You stalk down the hall to the main entrance and sure enough your parents are standing there talking to Karen and Manny. You turn and go to the hall that leads to the kitchens. You want to find Shawn because dealing with your family alone is not going to go well.

Shawn is sitting on a counter in the kitchens eating a bowl of cereal laughing at something Marty, the head chef, said when you walk in. He knows something is wrong right away because he drops his bowl in the sink and walks over to you.

"You okay?" He gives you a once over real quick. "You look freaked out."

"My family is here." You cross your arms. "And Dani already came to insult me in the library."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know! She hates me. I guess I look like a dirty farm girl but that's okay, because apparently you're an animal."

Shawn growls. He pulls you into a hug. "Danielle can leave if she's going to call us animals and insult my fiance."

"Yeah, good luck. My parents will defend her to their graves." You wrap your arms around his back and he sways you gently. "I would say we should get revenge but she's pregnant."

"Someone is having a baby with her?"

"Yeah. Unfortunate bastard."

Shawn drops a kiss on your head and looks out the doors behind you. "I guess I should meet them huh?"

"I guess."

"Do I have to be nice?"

"That's up to you."

He growls and you pull your head from his chest. "Well let's go then."

_____________________

Dinner is a shit show. Your parents can't seem to talk about anything but Danielle and her baby on the way. You would think you weren't even getting married in a week. You're invisible as always.

"So we are just ecstatic that were going to be grandparents!" Your mom, April, says, beaming at Danielle. "We always knew someday that Danielle would have a baby. She’s just too stunning not to carry on the bloodline."

Shawn clenches his jaw and puts on the biggest smile. "Never expected much from your younger daughter then?"

Your mom looks over at Shawn and you look up from your food to asses the tension filled room. Shawn just keeps smiling as he awaits an answer.

"What does that mean?" April asks fake politely.

"You don't expect grandkids from us?"

"Well, I hope not."

Karen sets her glass down a little loudly and clears her throat. "Excuse me? You hope not?"

"Well a human and a werewolf have no business having children. It's just unnatural."

Shawn lets out a loud growl that clearly puts your family on edge as they shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Unnatural?" Manny asks over a sip of his drink. "What's unnatural about cohabitation of races?"

"You know, come on Manny." Your dad, Thomas, chuckles nervously. "It's just not right. The children would be ....well, wolves just shouldn't intermingle with humans. It's always been that way."

"You sent your daughter here to build an alliance and you think so poorly of wolves? What do you think will happen when they have a child? You think she’d going to birth a puppy dog? My people are shapeshifters, we are not animals."

Thomas clears his throat and you stare at him, waiting to see how he talks his way out of this one. "We sent her to create an alliance, yes. But as for children, and intermingling of races, I have my opinions and you have yours."

"You expect my people to live and fight alongside a man who thinks nothing more of them than animals?"

"I expect them to uphold our agreement."

Manny scoffs and shakes his head. "Thomas, I think you need to find a better way to win my favor and alliance. Our deal is off."

"What?! I sent my daughter here to make sure we wouldn't have any issues! Your alliance is critical to me, my people could be attacked and we would have no defenses! I'm offering you my youngest daughter and crop shares!"

"Then offer me something better Thomas. My people will never obey me if I ally with a man like you for just a marriage and minor crop shares. Your alliance is nothing to me, and everything to you. I can get southern agriculture through other means. Thinking your daughter's hand would be enough to over rule your inherently racist mindset was a mistake."

Thomas stands and so does Shawn and Manny. "This is your fault girl!" He points at you, red in the face. "You were supposed to seal the deal you little bitch! What have you been doing here?!"

"Thomas!" April shouts, standing up as well.

Karen lays her hand on your shoulder, as if ready to protect you from your dad.

"I didn't do anything! You didn’t tell me what exactly I was supposed to be doing here. You sent me here for a marriage that I still don’t quite understand! What do you gain from me being here? What do you gain? Wait, I know! You got me out of Highwater and out of the castle because I’m a disappointment to you aren’t I? I’ll never be Danielle and I never want to be! Losing this deal is your fault!" You stand and look around at the angry wolves before you and you’re shaking. Years of pent up emotion is coming out right now and you’re not going to stop it. "If anything you ruined this yourself because you’re an asshole and everyone hates you!"

"Don't you talk back to me! I am your father, I am your k-"

"You are not my king!" Your voice falters and you hate it. "I will not return to Highwater, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I renounce my title as princess."

Shawn moves close to you and puts his arm around your waist, heat rolling off him in droves. "You can stay with us." He presses a kiss to your head. "Stay with me. You're safe here."

"You're a traitor to our house!" Danielle exclaims. "You’re leaving to ally with a foregin kingdom. You could be sentenced for-"

Karen rises and sets her hand back on your shoulder, rubbing soothingly. "Astoria is a kingdom of non-extradition. She is safe here from outside law."

"Your move Thomas," Manny says calmly. "Make a wise one or you'll have another enemy before dawn."

_____________________

Shawn comes to bed late that night. You can't sleep until you know what's going on. Never in your life had you stood up to your dad like that and now the alliance deal was off and it did feel like it was your fault. It wasn't, no, it was the fault of your parents and their small mindedness of wolves.

"Hey," Shawn says softly as he enters the darkened room. "Are you still awake?"

"Yeah."

His weight sinks in the bed a bit and you roll towards him. "Are you worried about the argument at dinner?"

"How could I not be?"

His hand finds yours and you let him thread your fingers together. "You don't need to worry. I swear I'll keep you safe here in Astoria. I know the alliance deal is off and I guess that means we aren't technically engaged, but I won't stop caring for you."

"Oh..."

"What?"

"We aren't getting married in a few weeks anymore? All the planning your mom and I did, it's all for nothing now? I'm supposed to go to a dress fitting in a few days. I thought we agreed we would stay together in the event the alliance went bad?"

Shawn puts his arm over your stomach and you lay your hands on his warm skin. "You seriously want to marry me still?"

"Yes. How many times do I have to say that I want to be with you? I've gotten used to the idea that we’ll be mates, and I’ll get to wake up to you everyday, and I'll be the princess of Astoria. I never wanted to be a princess, but Astoria is wonderful and I'm really happy here. It's like...it's like I'm living in one of my favorite books but it’s real and you’re real. I’ve never felt more at home and more loved before and I don’t want to lose that.”

"I'd absolutely love for you to be my mine, alliance or not. I definitely think you and I are meant to be together. I don’t want to lose you either.”

You play with his arm, running your nails over his skin. He lets out a low rumble and you grin to yourself. You explore a bit more, hand going up his arm over his shoulder and to his head. You hesitate, fingers poised in his hair. He takes the initiative and leans his head into your hand. Your fingertips meet his warm scalp and you scratch gently, working up and down through the mess of hair on the top of his head.

Shawn lets out a tiny groan, more of a sigh almost. He curls the arm on your stomach around you and pulls you closer, careful of your back. He holds you flush against his chest and you melt into his warmth. He presses his face into your neck as you keep up your scratching. There are tiny little noises coming from him, things you'd never hear if he wasn't pressed against your neck. Little groans and whimpers, half caught in his throat growls. He is putty in your hands and you had no idea he could be so easily broken down.

"Shawn?" You ask after a few minutes, he has started to mouth at your neck, wet tongue leaving warm stripes up and down your skin. "Hey." His attention is making you feel warm, the idea of his tongue on your body going much farther than you should be thinking.

"Yes?" He growls, literally growls and you don't know why but that brings a whole new wave of arousal across your stomach.

"I think we should probably sleep."

"Mmm yeah, but you smell so good." He presses his nose against the back of your jaw. "It's going to be hard to sleep." He runs his hand over your stomach, fingers flexing across your skin where your shirt has ridden up and your bandage ends. "So soft."

You giggle as he tickles you with his fingertips and he chuckles. "Shawn, quit!"

He slides his hand away and rolls onto his back beside you. You instantly miss his warmth. "I'm going to shower." He says and gets off the bed. You watch his figure cross the dark room and he pauses at the bathroom door as the light comes on. He looks back at you before going in and closing the door.

Your heart is racing, pounding out of your chest. That was a very intimate exchange. Now all you can think about is his hands on you, his tongue, his body over yours. You have to stop. He's already aroused and you aren't going to help by being turned on still when he comes out of the shower.  

_____________________

You and Shawn head down for breakfast late in the morning, knowing that everyone would be up as well. You know Shawn was up late after his shower because he left the room and didn't come back for a few hours. You're sure your family was up too, well, maybe not Danielle because she never did care about anything but herself. Chances are she doesn't give a fuck about the alliance. She's an Easterner now anyways.

"Look who finally showed up." Danielle says with an eye roll. "I guess I can eat now."

"Sorry?" You roll your eyes in return.

"What took you so long? Because you sure didn't clean yourself up before coming down here."

Shawn wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your cheek. "We were having a little fun.” He grins against your ear. It’s not true but he’s trying to rile her up and her expression says it’s working. “Besides, it's our home, if you don't like how we present ourselves you can leave."

Danielle scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I'd love to."

"Let me call you a cab, or maybe a b- witch like you prefers a broomstick?"

"Excuse me!" Danielle's eyes go wide and she looks to your parents as they walk in from an attached parlor with Shawn's parents.

"What's going on in here?" April asks, eyeing you suspiciously. "Are you bullying your sister?"

"Are you f-"

Shawn cuts you off. "We were just talking. She'd like to leave she says."

"You can't leave until we finish our business here," April says and takes a seat beside Danielle who just huffs and mumbles something under her breath about having someone come pick her up.

The kitchen staff brings in breakfast and begins to set up around you. It's a fairly large amount of food and you're not sure if it's all going to get eaten. Marty only knows how to cook for werewolves. If the food doesn't all get eaten, it goes to the staff for their families so at least you can feel less guilty about not finishing it all.

“How are things with the wild wolves?” Thomas asks as everyone begins to eat.

“Excellent. We made an agreement.” Manny says smugly. He knows why Thomas is asking and it’s because he thinks that he has a shot at negotiations if Manny is under pressure from outside forces.

“Good, good. Glad to hear it.” Thomas sounds drier than an empty bucket in the western desert.

A few minutes later Shawn bumps your hand with his. You look over and he’s grinning. "It's going to snow soon."

"Really?" Your eyes light up, glad for the change in conversation, and shift in the tension filling the room. You've never seen snow before, the south didn't get below freezing. "Can we go out in it?"

"Yeah of course. I'll go out and catch the first snowflakes with you when it does."

"Promise? Even if its the middle of the night?"

"I swear."

____________________

Your parents and Danielle leave without coming to an agreement with Manny. Things didn't get any worse, so Highwater isn't on bad terms with Astoria, but they are not allies either. You know your dad won't give up anything major and the only thing it seemed Manny would accept was open trade and expanding Astoria's border to grow more crops in the southern region. Your dad's dislike of wolves would never allow him to do that, and he would never approve of losing land to Astoria.

Two days after their departure you find yourself sitting in a boutique in Astoria City, waiting for one of the assistants to bring you dresses to try on.

"So you and Shawn are still getting married?" She had been visibly surprised when you came to find her this morning to go to the appointment.

"Yes. I haven't told my family yet since they left, I kind of don't want to."

"I understand. They're not at all like you. I was shocked when April said she hoped you never give her grandkids with Shawn. The way they spoke about us, it reminds me of when Astoria was still a small kingdom of wolves that people didn't understand." She sighs. "The way humans treated us was absolutely disgusting. To think that some people still have such a closed off mindset in this day and age."

"Yeah, I'm still nervous though."

"Why? Well, I mean anyone getting married is nervous."

"The seriousness of it all is a lot to handle."

The attendant brings you three long white dresses with silk accents. They're bulky looking and you already don't like them. "This is our most traditional dress style. All three are by a designer here in Astoria and-"

Karen holds her hand up. "Can we see some more non traditional dresses? Maybe some colors as well?"

"Colors?" The attendant looks to you and back to Karen. "For a royal wedding?"

"Yes. Our bride to be here is not your traditional type, and this won't be a traditional wedding."

"Yes ma'am." The attendant hurries off with the white dresses.

"I don't mind white." You say softly and Karen shakes her head. "It's really okay."

"No. Astoria is entering a new age and with it should come new traditions. I want it to be your choice, and your wedding, not your parents and not following any traditions you don't want to follow. I want you to be comfortable and not worried about it being some uptight affair."

"Thank you." You smile and look down. "It means a lot more than you know."

Karen pulls you into a side hug and leans her head on yours. "You're like the daughter I never had and the carefree princess I never got to be. I want the best for you."

____________________

"You're not technically a princess anymore right?" Shawn says as he walks out of the bathroom towel drying his hair, a second towel slung low around his hips.

"I guess I did renounce my title." You shrug and stand up to stretch, setting your book aside and staring at him. No matter how many times you saw him naked or nearly naked, you don't think you'll ever get used to it. "I guess you're going to be the prince who married the common girl."

He chuckles. "Not quite. You'll be a princess again when we get married."

"How? Marrying royals doesn't change your title."

"I'll coronate you. At the announcement ball tonight, I'll make you the princess of Astoria. I have a tiara picked out already." He smiles shyly and you flush. "It's a new too, not one of mom's."

"You chose it?"

"Yeah. Last night."

You walk over behind him and wrap your arms around his chest, pressing against his back. He's damp and smells like warm vanilla and spice from the shower. "Thank you."

"What's this about?" He chuckles, laying his hands over yours.

"I've never gotten a tiara before, and I've never felt like a princess."

Shawn turns around in your hold and plays with your hair. "Do you want to feel like a princess? Were you ever jealous of your sister?"

"I-I guess I was a little bit."

"I'll treat you like a princess." He drops his forehead to yours. "I'll give you everything you ever wanted."

"I don't want much." You giggle and he bumps your noses. "You've given me more than I've ever dreamed about having."

"I haven't given you much?"

"Love? Attention? Affection?" You run your hands up his bare back. "Protection."

"Oh." He rubs down your back in return. "I'm not sure about that last one."

"You're still beating yourself up about that? I'm nearly healed over. You took care of it."

"I know." He closes his eyes. "I still just can't help but feel like I failed you."

"Shawn." You hold his face, making him look at you. "Do you need me to forgive you? Do you need me to say that?"

He nods.

"I forgive you. I forgive you for everything you feel guilty for."

"Thank you," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. "You have no idea how much it helps."

"I'll forgive you everyday if I need to."

He lets out a little half laugh. "No, this is fine."

"Good." You kiss his nose. "Let's get ready for the announcement ball."

_____________________

You step into your dress and pull it up over your shoulders. It’s beautiful, a flowy long black dress with quarter sleeves made of soft lace. There is just enough tule beneath the skirt to give it shape while providing your legs room to move. It was one you picked out with Karen the day the two of you went dress shopping for the wedding. She had recommended getting one for the ball as well since you’d hadn’t gotten one yet.

One of Karen’s assistants, Millie, helped you get your hair and make up done but she had to leave before you got into your dress. You reach back, hand not quite touching the zipper. You can’t finish without someone to zip up your dress. You gather up the skirt and head for your bedroom, you know Shawn is probably getting ready still. He can help.

You knock on the door and wait. Sure enough the handle turns and there is Shawn, standing before you in a fitted black tux, jacket open and blue shirt half buttoned underneath. He looks so good, absolutely outstanding. You realize this is a sort of peek at what he’ll look like on your wedding day and you get jitters in your stomach.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching a curl falling from your temple. “Can I help you darling?”

“I need my dress zipped,” you flush, dropping your skirt and pointing to your back.

“Come in.” He opens the door and you shuffle in until he can close it. He walks over to you and runs his hands up your exposed back. “Your back does look really good.”

“Thanks.” You glance back and him and he’s smiling. “I wouldn't have healed so well if it weren’t for you.”

“Mmm,” he traces a faint scar from the deepest scratch. “The salve and all those herbal baths really made a difference. Your skin looks gorgeous.”

“Shawn,” you giggle and he pulls the zipper closed, looping the top little button to prevent it from pulling open while you danced later.

He wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your head. “I can’t wait for you to be my princess.”

“I thought I was already?”

He chuckles. “You’re right, I can’t wait for everyone else to know you’re my princess.”

You pull out of his hold and sit on the edge of the bed. “You should finish getting ready.”

_____________________

Your stomach twists into knots as you walk down the stairs from the upper balcony of the ballroom, hand in hand with Shawn. Below you can see all of the most important figures of the Astorian government and their families. There is no one from Highwater, not a single soul and that's the way you wanted it.

"Are you nervous?" Shawn whispers against your ear.

"Extremely."

"Don't worry. You'll have a good time. These are your people now."

The two of you reach the landing at the bottom of the stairs and stand beside Manny and Karen. A man announces the king and queen first and they step down, bowing to the crowd.

"I announce to you Prince Shawn Peter Raul Mendes, heir to the Astorian throne and his fiance..." The man looks at the sheet and over to you before he announces just your name and no title. He is clearly perplexed by the lack of title considering only days ago you were most definitely a princess.

Shawn steps forward and takes the microphone from the man and thanks him for his work. "Lords and Ladies, governors and governesses of Astoria, you'll notice my fiance is no longer a princess." He looks to you and takes your hand. "She has renounced her title and association with the royal family of Highwater."

A soft murmur breaks out across the quiet room and you feel nervous.

"I'd like you all to join me in coronating her as the Princess of Astoria." He grins and people begin to clap. A man walks up with a small white pillow that has a gold tiara adorned with diamonds and obsidian accents on it. It's absolutely stunning. Shawn lifts it off and steps up to you, the delicate adornment in his hands. "Bow your head for me."

You lean forward and Shawn places the tiara gently on your head. You raise back up and look at him as everyone begins to clap, the room explodes in cheers for you.

"How does it feel, Princess?" Shawn whispers with a smile.

"Weird?" You giggle.

He leans in and kisses your cheek. "Get used to it honey."

The rest of the ball is amazing. Everyone takes the time to meet you and congratulate you and Shawn on your engagement. It's incredible, feeling so involved and accepted by the people in charge of your new home. A woman named Alice, the daughter of the head of agriculture, hits it off with you right away.

"So how did you and Shawn meet?" Alice asks when you sit down beside her to take a rest for a bit.

"Um, well...it started out as an arrangement."

"Really?! I never would have thought the royal family would do that here in Astoria."

"It's kind of a long story, but I'm glad I came here. I'm glad I met Shawn." You look over where he's laughing at something with a group of people and you smile. "He's absolutely incredible. I'm so lucky."

"You really love him don't you?"

"I do." You let out a little laugh and pick at the table cloth, it was the first time you've really admitted that to anyone, even yourself. "I really do."

"That's amazing." Alice sighs. "Are you two going to be mates?"

"I think so."

"Are you going to make it official?"

You raise your eyebrows. "We're getting married? Is there more than that?"

Alice grins big. "Well since Shawn's an alpha, he'll claim you."

"Claim?"

"Do you know nothing about wolves?" She asks and you look down. She sets her hand over yours. "I didn't mean to sound so rude. I'll explain."

"Thank you."

"So basically, for a lack of better terms, Shawn's going to want to fuck you senseless."

Your eyes snap to hers and you flush hot. "Alice!"

"What? That's what wolves do! Mates are compatible pairs who are bonded physically. Usually resulting in a baby."

"A baby!?"

"Shh, jeez. You're so loud." Alice looks around and leans in close. "How did you think mates worked?"

"I-I don't know. Shawn didn't really explain it to me, he just said it was like soulmates."

Alice snorts. "Soulmates. That invisible bond that humans supposedly have to another human they've never met? Yeah. Right. Wolves take mates physically. Once he's...inside you...you'll always have his scent on you."

"I-"

"Shawn probably didn't say anything about it because he didn't want to freak you out. He's probably planning on it happening naturally."

"As opposed to unnaturally?"

"No, as opposed to planned."

"Oh."

"Anyway, yeah. But you're getting married and you love him. So a baby is naturally the next step right?"

You nod. Honestly you hadn't thought about kids. Not since the conversation with your family about Danielle. The look on your parents' faces when you tell them you are going to have a child by Shawn...oh the horror. Serves them right. Hell, they'd probably be appalled if you told them you were still marrying Shawn despite the alliance. Who cares though? They left you here where you wanted to be. You have no loyalty to them.

"I need to go talk to Shawn." You excuse yourself and walk out onto the dancefloor to find your fiance.

Shawn actually finds you before you find him. He pulls you aside behind one of the pillars and takes your hands in his. "How's it going?"

"Good. Um, actually, can we talk about something?"

"Anything."

"I was talking to Alice about being mates and-"

"She told you." He sighs softly. "I swear to you I won't push you into anything you don't want. If having a kid isn't what you want, I can just say you're my mate. I'll use condoms. We don't have to-"

"Shawn." You grab his face. "Relax. I just wanted to know if that's the only way to be mated."

"Yeah. I mean, it's okay. I should have told you. I know we haven't discussed the whole sex part of our relationship n detail and honestly if you don't want to ever do it, I understand. I won't think any less of you."

You smile softly and just stare at the nervous man before you. He's so sweet. "I want to have sex with you, for the record. I do trust you and I plan on marrying you next week after all."

"Oh good." He sighs in relief. "Because I really want to as well."

You let out a laugh and he chuckles along with you. "Well now we've settled that. Will you dance with me?"

"Any time." He takes your hands and steps out from behind the pillar. "I'll lead the way, princess."

____________________

The day before the wedding, you and Shawn are separated. It’s some sort of superstitious tradition. You don't like it and you spend most of the day trying to stay calm. You got the bedroom at least, your room with Shawn, so you had everything to remind you of him. All day you spent being fussed over and you’re exhausted.  It's after midnight but you can't sleep. If you just had Shawn you could relax.

You roll over for the dozenth time in an hour. Something in the window catches your eye. A flashing from across the garden. You crawl out of bed and pull back the curtain to get a better look. Across the garden in the window parallel to yours, Shawn is standing there. He's got a flashlight and he is literally signalling to you. He stops once he sees you and you pull open the latch on the window. It's just wide enough for you to squeeze through. You fall down onto a hedge and slide behind it.  

There are two guards in the garden at all times and you have to avoid them. You sneak around, staying low as you skirt the outer edge of the dying hedges. Keeping out of sight was hard since most of the greenery is gone now. It's also freezing cold outside and you are in your thin polka dot pajamas. There is a guard between you and Shawn's window and you aren't sure how to get rid of him, until you see a loose bit of paving stone on the ground. You grab the stone chunk and throw it toward the fountain. Your plan works and the guard goes to see what it is.  

Shawn has the window open when you get to it. He hauls you up off the ground and you collapse on the floor of his temporary bedroom.

"You are absolutely insane." He laughs, staring at you on his floor. "I didn't think you'd sneak out the window! I was just going to try and talk in morse code."

You stand and brush yourself off. "I'm quite good at sneaking, not so good at morse code so that would never have worked. I'm absolutely freezing now."

Shawn latches the window and wraps his arms around you. His warmth seeps into your bones and you melt under his touch. "I couldn't sleep without you," he mutters into your hair.

"Me neither. I'm so nervous I can't relax."

"Me too."

The two of you walk to the bed and you crawl on it with him in front of you, pulling you into his chest. "We aren't supposed to see each other you know? It's bad luck supposedly."

"I don't care." You press your face into his shoulder. "I need you. Traditions be damned."

He runs his hand up and down your back. "I need you too."

"I think I can sleep now."

"Good. Not so nervous?"

"No. Well, just a little maybe."

He chuckles. "I promise tomorrow will go by easily. It's just you and me. Don't worry about anything else."

"I know."

He noses your hair and you relax. "You're my best friend. I can't wait to be your husband."

"You're my best friend too." You hold his hand over your chest. "I love you."

Shawn growls softly, curling around you tightly. "I love you too."

_____________________

Snowflakes. Little white glittering snowflakes catch your eye as they fall against the large glass windows behind the justice as he reads out your vows. You know you should be paying attention to what's being said, this is your wedding after all. But the snowflakes are something you've never seen, not in real life and they are all you can focus on.

Shawn squeezes your hands and your eyes snap to his, tearing away from the windows reluctantly. He gives you a look as if to ask what you are doing. You look back to the windows and then to him and he gets the idea.  

"Snow." You mouth silently and look outside again.

A grin spreads across his face and he pulls you toward him, interrupting the justice and pulling you up the steps to the balcony of the ballroom. "I'm so sorry Justice Holland. But I made a promise and it's time to follow through."

You step out onto the balcony into the cold air. The little flakes fall onto your face and arms and you giggle. "It's snowing!" You grin, looking up at the sky.

Shawn tilts his head back and catches some snowflakes on his tongue. "I promised you I would catch the first ones with you."

You stick your tongue out and giggle as the cold little bits melt on you.

"Shawn, we need to finish the ceremony." Justice Holland says as he approaches the two of you.

Shawn wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. "I think we got the point." He brushes some snowflakes from your hair. "We just need to kiss."

"But-"

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. It's perfect. The wind picks up and blows a swirl of snow around the two of you and you both laugh as it chills you to the bone. The justice looks resigned as you walk back into the ballroom.

"I pronounce you Prince and Princess of Astoria. Long may you love and reign in happiness and joy." Justice Holland sighs softly.

The crowd erupts in cheers and you and Shawn walk down the steps smiling and covered in snow. You couldn't be happier than this. A romance and love you never thought you would have is beginning before your very eyes. You couldn't be luckier.  

_______________________

One year later

"Princess, I have news for you." Shawn sing songs as he walks into the library.

You look up from your book and quickly tuck it into the pillows on your window seat. "What's up?"

"Your father has stepped down from the throne of Highwater. He's realized he's outnumbered by the Astorian forces and our western allies. We're taking Highwater as of this morning."

Your eyes widen. For months your dad has been in negotiations with Manny for land and trade since the south had officially begun to fall apart under his rule. Things escalated with the bad blood between the two rulers and your dad declared war. It was a fruitless attempt to bully Manny into agreeing to his negotiations. Thomas had no idea the size of the Astorian forces or their allies. Today marked the end of that war, no bloodshed needed. Your dad had obviously come to his senses once he realized he could never win against the Northern and Western alliance.

"The south will be Astorian land, Highwater is ours."

"Ours?"

Shawn smiles and sits beside you. "Ours as a kingdom. My parents will be going to the castle to meet with the members of government there and decide what to do. We'll control Astoria proper until things are sorted out."

"That's insane." You laugh, shaking your head. "I can finally show you Highwater! I...I actually have some news for you too."

"Yeah?"

"Well," you smile and bite your lip. "Remember how we talked about remodeling the old nursery?"

Shawn raises his eyebrows. "Yes. I said as soon as you are pregnant we could do that."

"We should start remodeling then."

"But I just said-" his eyes go wide. "You're pregnant!"

"Yeah! Six weeks the doctor said. It's a rough estimate but yes!"

Shawn lays his hand on your stomach. "This is perfect. We can raise it in both of our home kingdoms." He closes his eyes. "This is the best news ever."

You take his hand and he leans in close. "Remember when you promised to give me everything I ever wanted?"

"Of course."

"I think you've made good on that now. I couldn't ask for more."

He presses his forehead to yours and bumps your noses together.

"Thank you for the happily ever after I never thought I'd have. I love you."

He presses a soft kiss to your lips and rubs your stomach gently. "I love you too princess. I love you too."

End

------

Than you so so much for reading! I know this was long but i hope it was so worth it :) Big shout out to everyone who’s helped me write this and gave me feedback in the process. I can’t wait to write more and bring yall more stories! 

Please Reblog if you read, enjoyed, or just want to save for later! 

Thank you again. You’re all amazing and so supportive. - A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | July 2020

Happy 28th! As always, my undying love goes out to all the amazing authors this fandom still has. You are all incredible! Thank you for sharing your work with us ♥ Here are all the 21 fics I read and enjoyed this month:

⋙ The Murmur of Yearning | MediaWhore | historical - no smut - arranged marriage past rape/non-con - implied/referenced dubious consent - minor character death - slow burn - 93k Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised's families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late's husband's closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home. Luckily he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

⋙ Donor-Conceived | jaerie | a/b/o - omega/omega - friends to lovers - intersex omegas - pregnancy kink - unplanned pregnancy - fertility issues - miscarriage mentioned - male lactation - lactation kink - 31k When Harry receives the worst news of his life, it's now or never if he wants to carry a child of his own. Without an alpha, it's a daunting idea. But after it's a go, he finds another omega having a child from the same donor and become fast friends. It is only logical that they raise the boys as half brothers, making sure their sons keep up the relationship with the only connection to their anonymous father. It seems like the perfect plan but life doesn't always work out that way.

⋙ Just a touch of your love | anonymous | a/b/o - touch-starved - past abuse - past rape/non-con - miscommunication - anxiety attacks - 12k “What if something happened to you? What would I say to Niall?” “Nothing, he would have to wait to see my corpse on the news like everyone else.” Deadpanned Harry. Louis’ gasp was all the answer he got. Ok, so that might have been a bit too much. With a calmer voice, he said, “It’s really fine. I’ve walked to the tube countless times, I can handle myself. Just go home and tell Niall to stop mothering me.” Louis was finally walking by his side and gave him a sideways glance before talking. “He doesn’t know, does he? Of your, uh, condition.” Harry tensed and his breath became erratic, but he didn’t say a word. Louis continued. “His nose probably hasn’t picked it up, and you’re lucky Liam’s also a beta, but it took me a minute to confirm it. Your scent is gettin’ so…” He seemed to struggle to find a word. He didn’t finish the sentence, but the emotion in his voice made Harry’s tummy churn. -- Or, Harry is a touch starved omega trying to get through it on his own. Louis happens to be the only alpha around to realize it and offers to help.

⋙ We're Not Who We Used To Be | jaerie | trans female character - trans Harry - childhood friends - friends with benefits - transitioning - gender dysphoria - body disphoria gender identity - first time - self-medicating - reference to depression - 7k Louis comes back to his childhood home and sees an old friend who has changed quite a lot since the last time they saw each other.

⋙ Sincerely, Yours | anon | strangers to lovers - military - 25k Prompt:Historical AU where Louis is a soldier on his way to first deployment and Harry is working at a diner. They meet there when Louis is waiting for the bus, Harry tries to cheer Louis up and agrees to write to him while he's deployed because Louis doesn't have anyone else to write to. People kinda make fun of Harry for writing to (and falling for) a virtual stranger but otherwise everything is great until Louis stops writing. AKA travelin' soldier by the Dixie Chicks but gay and with a happy ending.

⋙ Ever Since I Tried Your Way | anon | historical - 1940s - 1950s - farm/ranch - internalized homophobia - hurt/comfort - emotional hurt/comfort - fluff - smut - gender exploration - body worship - 26k Harry had been kissed before, but never like this. He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt. In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

⋙ sleeping on our problems | falsegoodnight | a/b/o - college/university - mpreg - friends with benefits - angst - slow burn - hurt/comfort - 67k I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down. There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word. His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared. - Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

⋙ in a world alone | falsegoodnight | a/b/o - Swan Lake AU - historical - royalty - magic - curses - friends to lovers - slow burn - mpreg - 51k Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him. Because the swan is gone. And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen. - A Swan Lake AU

⋙ The Baby Whisperer | jacaranda_bloom | strangers to lovers - prior mpreg - neighbours - fluff - smut - kid fic - 19k Harry’s newborn baby is having trouble sleeping and nothing he does seems to work. Tired and alone and at his wits end, Harry is at a loss until a new neighbour arrives to turn his world upside down. OR the one where being neighbourly takes on a whole new meaning.

⋙ was in no hurry, had no worries | defencelouis | strangers to lovers - car accidents - smut - daddy kink - 21k The year is 1999 and Harry can’t stop dedicating songs to Louis on the radio. Or the one where Harry hits Louis with his car.

⋙ Strong Enough | jacaranda_bloom | enemies to lovers - exes to lovers - angst - smut - divorce - 21k “So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad it’s Liam that's dragging the subject out from the shadows and into the light. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. Liam takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?” Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

⋙ What's It Gonna Be? | zeldasayre | high school - 37k Louis looked thoughtful for a moment. “When are you meeting with Clare again?” “Thursday,” Bebe said, looking over at him, the ice clinking in her glass as she stirred it with a long spoon. “Why?” He grinned, narrowing his eyes. He took a long, dramatic pause, sipping his lemonade, and then said, “Scheming.” aka I've watched Shura's "What's It Gonna Be?" music video one too many times. ((Or, Louis and Bebe, best friends since childhood, have crushes on two of the most popular kids in school, and in an attempt to increase their respective chances, Louis befriends Harry Styles, quarterback of the football team, while Bebe befriends Clare Uchima, head cheerleader. Only... the plan... doesn't go exactly as planned.))

⋙ There Goes My Life | anonymous | older larry - colleagues with benefits - mpreg - unplanned pregnancy - smut - lactation kink - 8k Metallic taste in the mouth, check. Aversions to favourite foods, check. Nausea without throwing up, check. A heightened sense of smell, check. Sore and sensitive nipples, check. It had felt as though Harry had been ticking off boxes from his own mental checklist and every new addition brought him closer to an existential crisis. Pregnant. Everything over the last few weeks began to make sense; thoughts he pushed from his mind because he was too busy, and to be honest too scared, to think about. Getting knocked up from a few-night’s-stand was something that happened to teenagers and/or uni students, but certainly not to a forty-year-old Member of Parliament such as himself. *** Or, the one where Harry is single, a Member of Parliament, gets knocked up and has to deal with navigating motherhood in his forties. And Louis? Well, his life is about to change forever as well. This is a tale about colleagues with benefits and the consequences that can come with that.

⋙ Mother I'd Like to * | anonymous | implied mpreg - MILF Harry - 4k “What’s up, dad?” Oliver asks Louis, standing in front of Harry in a way that hides his friends from the view. “Is there something wrong with your mom? Your friends are staring a lot.” Oliver goes beet red at that. He groans and hides his face on his hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” --------------------- Written for the prompt: Harry’s and Louis’ son is like 16, so he is hanging out with his friends and his friends are teasing him about how hot his mother (aka harry) is, just like the 1D boys always did with Harry about Anne. The son feels super uncomfortable and Louis is super confused why these little teenagers boys always stare at Harry’s body when he is cooking for them whenever they visit until he finds out they think of Harry as the hottest milf in town (more humor than actual sexual references pls, this is supposed to be more funny than awkwardly sexual :D)

⋙ An Invincible Summer | Brooklyn_Babylon | farm/ranch - historical - 1940s - period-typical homophobia - adoption - minor character death - epilepsy - homophobic language - smut - 44k Never content to stay in one place for long, a few months down south researching for his novel seemed like an idyllic, slow-paced summer to Louis. He wasn't ready for the blistering heat, the backbreaking work of watermelon picking, or how stifling the attitudes in rural Georgia would feel. And he definitely hadn’t anticipated falling in love with the farmer’s son. The summer of 1946 would turn out to be everything worth writing about.

⋙ a trail of honey through it all | faeriestyles | strangers to friends to lovers - mild violence - D/s undertones - 27k The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him. Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

⋙ The Recklessness in Water | LarryOn | light angst - smut - 50k Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

⋙ baby blue | soldouthaz | cowboy AU - famous/not famous - angst - hate to love - enemies to lovers - smut - hurt/comfort - minor violence - 39k Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head. He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin. “Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

⋙ with no way out and a long way down | we_are_the_same | royalty - soulmates - strangers to lovers - fluff - angst - no smut - emotional hurt/comfort arranged marriage - 31k Prince Harry is ten when he receives his soulmark.

⋙ adjudication | bottomlinsons | royalty - historical - enemies to friends to lovers - enemies to friends - love letters - betrayal - slow burn - light angst - arranged marriage - 75k Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years. But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

⋙ Something to Prove | trysomecats | a/b/o - enemies to lovers - mpreg - smut - 9k Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

[twopoppies]

Hiiii, i dont know if you’ve done this before but i wanted to ask if you have some ficrecs but with Harry’s pov?? (it could be both too tho Louis’ and Harry’s) Lately i’ve been reading a lot of fics in louis’ pov and i loved them ! but i think it would be nice to read fics with harry’s pov and to see how authors develop his character, also with a happy ending and without a mcd please 🥺 i love your fic recs so much, thank u in advance 💕

Hey there! Sorry this took me a bit – life (and fandom) has been a little nuts. I love this request because I actually notice that too – there do seem to be more fics written from Louis’ POV. I’m not sure if I ran the numbers if that’s actually true, but it feels that way. The thing I think is the most interesting is how much the characterizations change from year to year. Anyway, let’s see what I can suggest:

💚 Secrets, Santa? By @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 19K) disaster gay Harry in all his bumbling, endearing glory still manages to make his incredibly hot boss (Louis) fall for him. This one has snappy dialogue, great internal monologue, and scorching smut. I’d expect nothing less from this author.

💚 no one's gonna know by jishler / @snowjosh (E, 9K) This author always does such a wonderful job of writing an established relationship fic where there’s so much warmth and expression between the characters, while also showing how much lust and passion there is. This is chock full of edging, exhibitionism, and dom/sub dynamics and it’s such a good read.

💚 gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon / @twopoppies (E, 33K)

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist.

What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way.

Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for.

Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

💚 where the tide takes you, I will follow by @pinkcords (E, 40K) First of all, I’m so happy this author is writing again! Second, everything about this was just lovely. The slow, dreamy tone of their writing fit the setting and the way Harry and Louis fell into each other so, so well. I love how descriptive their writing is without being flowery or pointless. The smut scenes were toe-curlingly sexy, and gave us beautiful insight into both of the boys. I just wanted to live inside this fic.

💚 your eyes on me (make me) by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry (E, 3K) Harry has a bad day at work, his roommate Louis talks him into feeling more... relaxed. I always love this author. They make even a wanking fic sound like poetry.

💚 I Love My Hands Around Your Neck by @fournipplesau (E, 6K) Hello... this was really hot. I just loved the dynamic between the two of them—you really get a sense of the difference between them when they play and how they interact when they’re not. Also, just really hot. Did I say that already? Yeah.

💚 Faking It by TheCellarDoor (M, 46K)This one is so sweet. I loved Harry's internal monologue... his insecurities and thoughts that he'd made Louis uncomfortable because he liked, him made me cry. Louis is so soft and supportive. It’s just a lovely fic.

💚 But If This Ends by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense (E, 107K) This author referred to this fic as their “depressed vampire” fic while they were writing, and it is that. But it’s also a unique story with beautifully fleshed out characters, plot twists, and super hot smut. Go check it out! (Link is to a download)

💚 Tiptoe Through Our Shiny City by graceling_in_a_suit / @graceling-in-a-suit (T, 8K) This one is quirky and charming, with great banter and a fun premise. It’s also one of the only fics I’ve read where Harry is demisexual. I really enjoyed this one.

💚 you’re writing lines about me by snazzyasalways (T, 4K) This is gorgeously written on that Dreamy, poetic style I happen to love. Louis is a blind poet, Harry is a baker, Harry falls in love with Louis’ words, then with him.

💚 this is my jam by @disgruntledkittenface (M, 5K) where are all the gay bathhouse fics? This is the first one I’ve read in this fandom and I loved it. This author beautifully captured a sense of the times, the atmosphere, and the character’s connection and humanity in under 5K, and you really should read it.

💚Everything You Do by jishler / @snowjosh (E, 7K) This is my favorite of a 3-part collection (all of which are good), and wow. The author explores gender struggles in way that is incredibly tender and emotional, while still writing a super sexy fic. Loved this one.

💚Diamonds and Pearls by superglass (NR, 7K) Absolutely gorgeous writing. Tender, delicate, dreamy. Set in NY in the 1980s, so read the tags. I just really loved this one and look forward to reading more of this author’s writing.

💚And Touch Me Like You Never  by runaway_train / @runaway-train-works (E, 36K) I really enjoyed how this author handled Harry’s confusion and growing attraction and eventual sexuality crisis. That, along with the angst and very sexy smut, made it a really good read.

💚 call you mine by @falsegoodnight (E, 13K) Vampire Harry sets out to prove that being bit by a vampire is much better than Louis thinks it is. Sexy friends to lovers goodness!

💚 Forever, Uninterrupted by sparkk (E, 9K) Written in Harry’s POV, this one is sexy and emotional, with great dirty talk and some serious jealousy on Harry’s part. I really enjoyed this one a lot.

💚 an entire desert in our hourglass by tofiveohfive / @sunflowrsix (E, 20K) I told the author when I read this, that I really appreciated the pain they wove into this story because they did such a good job making the emotions relatable—even with a pre-apocalyptic setting—so the feeling cut even deeper. Such a good read. And even though the tags said there was a happy ending (which there is), I still cried buckets.

💚 give me forever for a while by mercutionotromeo (E, 5K) This one involves a collar, but in a slightly different way – this time it’s kitten play. I always love the way this author writes their smut and this one is full of dirty talk and soft dom Louis using Harry.

💚 redder than the devil by mercutionotromeo (E, 5K) This short fic has so many kinks and so much smut that I probably could add it to 10 different rec lists. I love this author and hope they keep gifting us with their writing.

💚 Hello Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights) by objectlesson (E, 3K) Baby boyfriends discovering kinks. Lingerie, embarrassment, feminization….plus really good writing. (Link is to a DropBox download)

💚skip a beat and move with my body by crybaby (E, 6K) Harry, Louis, Zayn. So, Harry and Louis are roommates. Harry kinda sorta pays his rent by sleeping with Louis. And anyone else he wants to share Harry with. It’s filthy and I kind of love it.

💚 once bitten and twice shy by @pinkcords (M, 19K) First of all, for a first fic in this fandom, I thought this author really did a nice job with their characterizations. I especially liked the way they captured Harry’s anger and humiliation and stubbornness. There’s a beefy epilogue as well which I haven’t had a chance to read!

💚come and lay down your shoulder by HappyPrincess / @pattern-pals (E, 4K) This was such a nice mix of sadness, neediness, and being with someone who understands you and whom you understand. Like, you know them so well, even if you’re not together anymore.

💚 Only Write By The Moon by orphan_account (E, 5K) This is basically pure smut, but this author has such a beautiful way with words…even smut sounds poetic.

💚 deleted your number (so i can’t call you) by tofiveohfive / @sunflowrsix I think this author does such a great job with writing realistically about breakups and the emotions that are involved. Things aren’t just suddenly solved -- there’s still anger and hurt and a realization that better communication is needed. It’s just very refreshing to read. And of course, I cried.

💚 sonic sounds by orphan_account (E, 6K) So, so smutty and such a sexy exploration of kink discovery.

💚 the best part of me (was always you) by @moonshinelouis-archive (E, 6K) Gorgeous writing. The descriptions of heartbreak and missing someone and still loving them were really well done. And I cried. Of course.

💚 into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo (E, 11K) I love the way this author captures the overwhelm of teenage lust and pining in this one. And at the same time, there’s something so gentle about the way the two of them are with each other.

💚Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction (E, 154K) This is such a wonderful, intimate characterization of Harry – you really get to see so many sides of him and this author writes them all so well. It’s action packed, funny, deeply moving, and has such a satisfying ending. 

💚Under The Hide of Me by Blake (E, 3K) I know, I know. I rec this one often. But it’s just that good. There aren’t many fics that make me feel this much in just under 3,000 words and it’s such a beautiful portrayal of this version of Harry. 

💚Caught By the Sun by metal_eye / @metal-eye (M, 19K) Sometimes you just stumble on a fic that moves you deeply and makes you feel a lot and sits with you after you’ve finished it. This was one of those fics for me. It’s beautifully written in a quiet, poetic way. It’s thoughtful, and intimate, and full of memories that are both melancholy and beautiful in all the right ways and at all the right times. And it’s a fic that’s not been read nearly enough. Do yourself a favor and make time for it. 

💚Take from me my lace (and lipstick too heavy for summer) by @metal-eye (M, 2K) Just pure poetry, like everything this author writes. This short fic makes me want to just stop every few lines to savor the words. I love the gentleness of the way they write about Harry and how vulnerable he comes across. Just lovely. 

💚gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon / @twopoppies (E, 33K) This one is mine, so here’s the summary:

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist.

What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way.

Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for.

Somehow he still manages to turn Harry’s world upside down.

💚Divine Intervention by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites (E, 6K) This author is always a favorite and this short little fic really has stayed with me. There’s something very touching about it, but of course it’s all wrapped up in steamy smut because, hey…this author wouldn’t give you anything but. 

💚Your Best Fake Smile by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf (GA, 6K) This is a wonderfully written character study that does such a great job of really capturing both the feeling of deep depression and the soul of the location in which the fic takes place. It’s tightly written in the best possible ways – not one superfluous word. 

💚For Reasons Wretched and Divine by @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 95K) Yes, I’ve recc’d this one because it’s so well written. One of the (many) things I love is how subtly the author shows the difference between the POV of high school Harry and adult Harry. Beautiful writing (always)

💚gorgeous (it makes me so mad) by resurrectdead (E, 30K) this one is just a lot of fun: great banter, disaster gay Harry, tattoo artist Louis, great smut…it’s a good time. 

💚Never Mind the Furthermore by Anonymous (E, 7K) Pining, phone sex, canon divergent, did I mention pining? And excellent dirty talk. I mean….maybe not an in depth character study, but it’s a really well written and sexy fic. 

💚You Come Beating Like Moth’s Wings by supernope (E, 81K) Don’t kill me, but I read this one years ago and my notes are useless, but I do remember loving it at the time. Plus, this author has written a handful of other fics I’ve really liked, so I’m once again trusting past me.  

💚Red Brick Heart by hazmesentir (E, 98K) Uni AU written back in 2013, so the characterizations may feel a little dated, but it’s still such a good read. Plus, it’s got the whole OT5 and Little Mix gang as friends/suite mates!

💚maybe by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry (GA, 2K) I adore this fic. Yes, it’s really short, but it’s so moving. The author manages to capture that scary feeling of knowing you need to take a risk because this could be something really special. Bonus points for “older larry”.

💚The End Should Be A Good One by bananasandboots / @anylessreal (M, 43K) I really like the way this author writes the complexity of emotions that come with heartbreak and reconciliation in this one. It’s really moving and, oh what a surprise, it made me cry! 

💚the moon made me think of you by anabsolution (E, 16K) I read this one ages ago so my notes only say that I loved it, it’s sweet, sexy, and fluffy. Past me is really annoying. LOL! 

💚to hell with romancing by @bottomlinsons (E, 8K) This one is canon divergent and completely quirky and hilarious. Harry’s internal monologue kills me every time I read it. 

💚we wreak havoc with our hearts by flimsy (E, 9K) This canon divergent fic is mostly pining and smut, but Harry’s hurt and longing come through so well. 

💚honey is it time to spin by alongthewatchtower (NR, 4K) Well, I wouldn’t say this gives you a developed characterization so much as it’s just plain filth from Harry’s POV. But I’m throwing it in anyway because, well…I LOVE this author and this is my fic rec. LOL! 

💚down in atlantis by polka_stripes / @polkadotsvstripes (E, 9K) I love the unique way the time lapse is broken up in this fic and the way this Harry looks at his world and how it changes as he gets to know Louis. It’s just lovely writing and another one of those fics that more people should read.  

💚take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots / @anylessreal (M, 46K) Following Harry as he pieces his life back together in this amnesia fic is just heartbreaking (needless to say, I cried), but it’s beautifully written.

💚kiwi by @fondleeds (M, 24K) honestly I have trouble putting down anything this author writes…they just build a setting and detail characters in a way that I find really compelling. This one maybe feels slightly OOC, but it’s such a good read I didn’t care at all.  

💚Through Eerie Chaos by mediawhore / @mediawhorefics (GA, 102K) I adore this fic and yes I know I keep reccing it, but I don’t care. It’s an all time favorite and the way this author writes Harry is one of the reason the love story and the ending work so well for me. So…read it. LOL! 

💚The Melody You Never Heard by bananasandboots / @anylessreal (E, 30K) Another fic I read ages ago, but I like so many of this authors fics, so I’m going to trust past me who noted, “Great banter, great pacing, hot smut, great characterizations. Very well written”.

💚You Drive Me Crazy (I Just Can’t Sleep) by objectlesson (E, 19K) This author does xfactor Larry in a way I love so much. This one, from Harry’s POV, gives you a taste of his longing and confusion and overwhelm written in the most palpable way. 

💚 You’ll Breathe Me In (You Won’t Release) by LoadedGunn (E, 95K) Also known as The Driving Instructor fic. This has some of the best pacing I’ve read in a fic, some really well written BDSM smut, and characters I just really enjoy. I know it’s not for everyone. Read the tags.

I have a bunch of others that I probably have recc’d a bunch of times or which are just PWP or which have dual POV, so I left them off. I hope this gives you a bit of what you’re looking for!