#it's like a sheltered girl first time at the pub

[dollya-robinprotector]

I my opinion, Twitter DoL community are mostly Asian artists with their too-good-to-be-DoL drawings. But twitter is not where we can communicate wildly like Tumblr, I cannot yapping about fandom or headcanon stuffs there. I joined Tumblr purely to have fun and truly engage with the fandom, well at least the Western part.

That's why if you see me there, on twitter, it would only to show some drawings. I will keep sticking to Tumblr. This is where my children (PCs) and me(s) be silly.

You feel light-headed and don't remember clearly how you left the school's party. The boys sure as hell offered you a little too much beverage. Somehow you feel sore all over your body.

What time is it now...

(1) Next

You open your eyes to... whatever this shit is...

...Now what?

(1) Try to go back to sleep | Willpower: ??? | ++Stress (2) Escape the room | Athletics: Challenging 5%

(3) It is what it is... | Promiscuity 5 | +++Love | +++Lust

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader

a/n: hello!! this is my first fic i've ever uploaded so i'm pretty nervous, and i don't even know if anyone will read this but i thought i would contribute to the farleigh fics (also i'm obsessed with him)! this will be on an ongoing serious (hopefully) and i have a pretty interesting plot planned so stay tuned! i hope you enjoy and please leave feedback!!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: slight language

part 2, part 3, part 4

You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the eccentric summers at Saltburn. It was rich and sultry, it felt free, like all your problems disappeared, like the world didn’t exist outside of the dreamy castle and neatly trimmed hedges. It was just you.

Well, you wish it was just you. You loved Felix’s family, they were always so kind to you. At this point, you were almost part of the Catton family in a way. Every summer, you traveled to Saltburn after a long and exhausting year of school. It was like a reward, you got through the year, so now you get to kick back with the rich people. But the Cattons just had this way about them. They were so out of touch, sheltered in their little rich lives, never having to work for anything just because of a title.

You certainly weren’t rich. Felix convinced you to apply to Oxford University with him, although everyone knew he was going to get in automatically due to the immense amount of wealth his last name carried. You spent countless hours in secondary school making sure to get amazing grades, throwing away your social life and free time. You ended up top of your class, earning a scholarship to Oxford. 

It didn’t pay the whole tuition, but it helped, allowing you to have an average job to make some extra money before your first year. Now, it was your second year at Oxford, and you were comfortable.

For Felix, his time at Oxford was never exhausting or difficult. He preferred to spend his time partying, or at the pubs, drinking with all his friends. He never had to worry about his grades or schoolwork, because he didn’t have a scholarship to keep.

He always berated you for staying in every Friday and Saturday night, claiming that you always have your nose in some textbook. You didn’t like partying anyways, and you told him that.

“Please, just come out of your dorm for once. It’ll be fun, promise.” He used to beg, standing in your doorway. But you never ended up going, so finally he just stopped asking.

Besides, everytime you went out somewhere with Felix everyone assumed you two were dating, which earned you many cruel glances from almost every girl in the vicinity. You only saw Felix as a friend, a brother, in a way. He was always very empathetic despite his out of touch perspective on reality.

There was just one person you absolutely hated seeing every summer. Farleigh Start. Ever since you and Felix became friends, he hated your guts. You had no idea why. Maybe it was because you were the only other American around, since you grew up in the states before moving to England in your early teens. However, you couldn’t figure out why that would cause a rivalry between you two.

At Oxford, he always made fun of you for trying so hard. He just didn’t get it. He had everything given to him on a silver platter, a privilege of being close to the Catton family.

You tried to ignore him, but every single sarcastic or petty remark from his mouth made your blood boil with a rage you had never felt before. You couldn’t avoid him, because wherever Felix was, there was Farleigh. But at Saltburn, it was worse. You were forced to always be near him for two whole months and see that annoying little smirk on his face whenever he insulted you.

As you begin to organize your things in the guest room, you hear the shuffling of footsteps by your open door. You glance up from your suitcase, crouched on the floor, narrowing your eyes to see who is in the hallway. 

It’s Farleigh. Of course it is, you think. He stands at your doorway, leaning against the frame, his curly hair adding to his height. He has this stupid grin on his face, like he’s about to say something to insult you.

“I had a feeling you were here. Everything just felt… annoying.” He has a cigarette in hand, taking a drag from it after his sentence. “Can you not smoke in my room, idiot?” You stand up, pressing a hand to your forehead in annoyance.

“Calm down. It’s not gonna kill you,” He crosses his arms and chuckles at you. “Afraid of a little smoke?” He teases in a mocking voice. “No, I just hate the smell. Get out, you’re taking up space.” You wave your hand, gesturing for him to leave as you approach him, ready to slam the door in his face if needed.

“Oh, I think you’re the one taking up space.” He lets out another breath of smoke, causing you to cough as it practically falls right in your face.

“Alright. Funny. Now leave,” You glare up at him, your brows furrowed in frustration. He scoffs and finally turns on his heel, walking down the hallway to Felix’s room, you assume. “So boring,” He mutters under his breath, but you heard loud and clear.

You decide to ignore his last little comment, groaning and closing the door, returning to your organizing.

A little while later, a knock sounds on your door. You climb off of your large bed and swing the door open, greeted by Venetia.

You both squeal and she immediately wraps her arms around you, nearly knocking you off of your feet. You and Venetia have become very close, and she’s almost like an older sister to you. 

“Welcome back,” She grins, pulling away from the tight embrace. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” I reply, playing with a strand of her blonde hair. “Well, it’s been since last summer.” You two tried to stay in touch by texting or emailing every once in a while, but it was difficult with how busy you were.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She jumps on your bed and sits there like she’s waiting for you to tell her something. 

“What?” You ask, giggling at the way she’s looking expectantly at you. “Have you found a boyfriend yet?” She questions, smirking mischeviously. “No! No, I don’t have time for that.” You shake your head, hanging up a dress in your closet.

“Oh my God, you’re killing me! You say that every single time. Have you ever heard of, like, a hook-up? One night stand?” She exclaims. “That doesn’t take any time at all. No commitment. Just trying something out,” Venetia throws her hands up.

“Well, I don’t want to right now. I have no interest in it.” You return to your suitcase, grabbing a pair of shorts and folding them, desperately hoping to change the subject. 

You had experience in the things Venetia spoke about. Your first year at Oxford, you certainly lost control of a few things. You were just being young and dumb, confused and curious about what these college boys had to offer. It never brought you any real pleasure, just a distraction and a story to tell your girlfriends the next day at dinner.

You’d never had a real, long-lasting relationship either. It just didn’t interest you, especially since you were so focused on doing well in school and keeping your scholarship. Venetia stills insists on finding you a boyfriend or matching you up with a stranger.

“Look, I made that mistake my first year. Random dudes. I could’ve gotten an STD or some shit,” You throw the folded shorts into a drawer. “But it was fun, right?” She chews on one of her nails, watching you pace around the room.

“No. Not really. They didn’t do anything for me. Most of the time I was half asleep.” You shrug nonchalanty as Venetia laughs loudly. “Damn. Well, then you just found the wrong guys.”

“Then where do you find the right ones?” You ask, whipping around to face her. She shrugs. “I don’t know, they just kind of… flock to me. Like birds.” There’s a pause of silence before you both burst out in laughter. “Yeah, whatever.” You roll her eyes although you know there’s some truth to that statement. It was always effortless for her.

“I’m gonna find you someone. Trust me. You deserve the best of the best,” She grins and stands up, stepping out of your room. “I’ll see you at dinner!” She calls over her shoulder as she starts down the hall.

Dinner feels like nothing has changed. You all sit around the dining table having casual conversations about school and gossip while enjoying some traditional English food.

Unfortunately, you’ve been sat right across from Farleigh. You can barely glance up from your plate without catching one of his cold glares. You spaced out for a moment and as you zone back in, you realize the topic has shifted to relationships and dating.

Felix nudges your arm, pointing his fork at you. “What about you?” You glance over to him. “What?” You ask, unsure of what he’s questioning.

“Have you got a boyfriend yet?” He replies, tilting his head. You feel the rest of the table staring you down as you try to think of an answer. 

“Uhh, no. Not yet.” You lower your head down, hoping your hair will hide your reddening face.

“She’s incapable of that,” Farleigh interjects quickly. “I mean, it’s never been easy for her.” He chuckles slightly, amused at himself. You raise your gaze to him, trying not to show how his comments just affected you.

“Farleigh, don’t be rude.” Elspeth shoots him a glare and shakes her head. Felix pats your shoulder. “It’s alright, really. All the guys at Oxford are dicks anyway. Don’t deserve someone as kind as you,” You can tell he pities you and is trying to make you feel better.

You look back to Farleigh. “Farleigh, I don’t remember the last time you dated someone. When was it, like, two years ago?” You tilt your head tauntingly and wait for his reaction, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I didn’t know you paid so much attention to my love life,” He shoots back. He’s skilled at hiding his reactions and it kills you. 

“It’s just so bleak and desperate it’s hard not to notice it,” You pucker your lips to demonstrate fake sadness. 

“Alright, you two. Calm down,” Felix holds up his hands, shaking his head.

“I think that she’s just focused on school right now. As she should be, I mean, that’s why you guys are there. To get an education.” Venetia quickly comes to your rescue, seated on the other side of you.

“Right. Right, I agree.” Elspeth adds, nodding aggressively.

Your eyes meet Farleigh’s again, and this time its an even sharper glare with that familiar taunting and mocking vibe. You feel yourself burn up with rage. You try to hold eye contact with him but you end up glancing away due to the heat creeping across your face.

Later that night, you are walking through one of the many dark hallways of the mansion. You still get lost sometimes, despite the many summers you have spent here. You stop to glance out a window, marvelling at the vast courtyard and landscape beyond, pale moonlight shining down and casting large shadows.

You continue walking quietly, attempting to get back to your room, but for some reason you realize you are on the other side of the house. These hallways have never been easy to navigate, especially at night. You curse under your breath and shake your head, continuing in the same direction.

You pass a door that is slightly ajar, and out of curiosity, you pause and take a few steps back. You peer through the crack, and you swear your heart drops to your ass when you realize this is Farleigh’s room.

He’s sitting on his bed, reading a book. You’ve never seen him so peaceful. His face is relaxed, instead of the usual scowl or sneer. After a moment of you staring at him, Farleigh suddenly closes his book and reaches over to place it on his bedside table, causing him to glance in the direction of the door. He looks away, then looks back, doing a double take as he seems to notice your presence.

Fuck. You wince as you step back from the door, trying to make up your mind on whether you should try to escape or just deal with the repurcussions of your creepy behavior you didn���t even mean.

But your legs won’t seem to obey what your brain is telling them to do. You are just frozen, stuck in place as Farleigh opens the door all the way. 

There’s a moment of silence as he stares down at you, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, well, well. Look who showed up at my door,” He crosses his arms in amusement, a smug smile across his face. 

“I got lost. That’s all.” You run a hand through your hair while shaking your head. “And does getting lost also consist of watching me from outside my door?” He tilts his head. You shake your head quickly.

“No. That’s not what I was doing. Don’t flatter yourself,” You look back up at him and roll your eyes. 

“Right.” Farleigh nods, not looking very convinced. “Never took you for a stalker.” He adds with a taunting smirk.

You let out a sigh of exasperation, turning away and facing the long stretch of the hallway. “Okay, I’ll be going now.” You raise a hand to wave before starting down the hall. “Goodnight!” Farleigh calls after you in a singsong voice, making you clench your fists in anger.

You didn’t really remember when the hatred between you two started. You did remember, however, the evening you two met.

It was your first summer at the Saltburn estate, and you were still in secondary school. You were extremely nervous since you had to be on your best behavior around these rich people. What were you even supposed to say? Or do?

You and Felix arrived together that afternoon, and after a tour of the mansion from Felix and an hour or so to yourself, you were going downstairs for dinner.

You walked in to the dining room, standing close behind Felix, before taking a seat at the long table next to him.

A tall boy with dark, curly hair sat on the other side of you. You looked over and smiled at him. You assumed that this was Felix’s cousin, Farleigh, since Felix had shown you a few pictures of them together.

He looked expensive. His jewlery, his clothes, the overall aura surrounding him seemed rich. It made sense, since he was considered a member of the Catton family. Felix informed you that his father paid for Farleigh’s education and everything else as a way to say sorry for whatever family drama had happened. You couldn’t remember the long story.

“Farleigh! This is my new friend from school,” Felix said as he introduced you. You offered a small wave.

“So you must be the cousin I’ve heard so much about,” You said. Farleigh glanced at Felix with a confused expression. 

“She’s American?” He asked. Felix nodded and nudged you to continue talking. “Yeah, I grew up in the states. I moved here when I was thirteen,” You explained. Farleigh just stared at you, expressionless.

“Cool,” He said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t care about anything you just said. “So, are you two dating?” He asked, gesturing to you and Felix.

“Oh- No, no. Just friends,” You chuckled and Felix did the same after sharing a quick glance with you. You really were just good friends, you got along well, but no one believed it.

“Right.” Farleigh scoffed and rolled his eyes. Felix leaned in slightly and muttered, “Ignore him.” You couldn’t help but turn back to Farleigh.

“So, how did school go for you this year?” You asked with a smile. “Alright, I guess.” You could tell he was annoyed by your questions as he sighed and looked around. 

“Okay, be a dick, then.” You muttered, giving up on trying to make conversation with him. At this, he sat straighter and turned to you. “And what are you, some scholarship kid? How did you get into a school like Westminster?” He furrowed his brows and his tone became harsh.

“Oh, by being smart and passing the entrance exam. Not everything is achieved with just money,” You replied back, maintaining your composure effortlessly.

“And you would know that,” He responded in a lowered voice, but you heard loud and clear.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the rest of the family sat down at the table, meaning dinner was about to commence. All you could do was shoot knives at him with your eyes and hope he would notice. This was going to be a long summer. 

The next day you sit with Venetia on the grass by the lake. She convinced you to come out with her to tan, and you figured it might be good for you considering how pale your skin is from staying indoors all the time. You hardly ever got any sun besides walking around on campus, but right now you were enjoying the warmth.

You lean back, using your forearms for support against the grass. You still feel a bit self conscious since you can’t remember the last time you wore a bikini this risqué. 

“Why don’t you wear stuff like this more often?” Venetia asks, turning her head to face you. “You look like a model, seriously.” She grins and takes a sip of her drink.

You shrug. You glance out at the lake and admire the way the sun reflects off the surface, all the little ripples and overgrowth of leaves near the side. 

“There they are. Hey, you two!” You perk up at Felix’s voice. You sit up a bit to look over your shoulder, but your excitement is soon diminished when you notice Farleigh walking next to him. You quickly turn your attention back to the lake.

You feel someone’s presence behind you. You throw your head back, looking up to see Farleigh peering down at you.

“You actually got her to go outside for once? Shocking,” He chuckles. You follow him with your eyes as he walks closer to the edge of the lake with Felix. “Leave her alone, Farleigh.” Venetia replies in an agitated tone.

A few moments later, Felix is taking off his shirt and tossing it to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair, then promptly jumps into the lake. Farleigh follows suit, and you know you shouldn’t be watching. But just like last night, you can’t take your eyes off of him.

Your eyes trail down his back, and you notice his muscles flexing as he takes his shirt off. You subconsciously bite your lip, then remember it’s fucking Farleigh. You mentally curse at yourself before peeling your gaze away, trying to focus on anything but him.

For some reason, you can’t shake the image of a shirtless Farleigh from your mind. You wished he had turned around so you could see the front of him, or even– No. Stop! 

You decide to go inside before your thoughts get the best of you. You stand up abruptly, causing Venetia to look up at you.

“Where are you off to?” She asks, lowering her sunglasses. “Uhh… I’m just really hot. I’ll see you later,” As you start back, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder to see if Farleigh is watching you go.

You catch his gaze, and despite the heat, you shiver as his eyes trail up and down your exposed body. You can’t explain why your heart starts racing or why you want him to keep watching you. You hate him. You hate him, but you’re so curious about what it would feel like to have his hands on your waist or in your hair. You hate him so much, but you wonder how it would feel to be underneath him, completely under his control.

But you hate him, right?

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in April 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup [ @1dmonthlyficroundup ] which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #61 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🌼 When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo

(E, 79k, F1 au) In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

🌼 Colorful Hearts by Larrysmomfics / @larrysmomfics

(M, 20k, humor) In a world where orgasmic emissions change color depending on the person’s mood, Louis Tomlinson’s semen has only ever been blue. At the recommendation of his doctor he attends a support group for people with similar conditions. 

🌼 In a swirl of flashing lights by @lunaticcat009

(M, 15k, friends to lovers) Harry taps on Louis' window with a sad smile and they sneak into a closed carnival. A starry night of them running around the abandoned premises with their fingers intertwined ensues.

🌼 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 11k, exes) Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

🌼 defying stars by localopa / @voulezloux

(T, 9k, high school) the marching band au only one person (and that was me) asked for.

🌼 Half a World Away by @silverstuff50

(E, 9k, omegaverse) Bothy: A bothy is a basic shelter, usually left unlocked and available for anyone to use free of charge. Bothies are found in remote mountainous areas of Scotland, Northern England, Ulster and Wales. 

🌼 Where All Roads Lead by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(NR, 7k, neighbors) Harry's Christmas takes an unexpected turn when he discovers a misplaced holiday card in his letterbox. He never thought that braving the snow to return the card to its sender would be so worth his while.

🌼 Does it Ever Drive You Crazy? (Just How Fast the Night Changes) by xx_soup_xx

(G, 7k, strangers to lovers) Baker Harry Styles takes it upon himself to get his mysterious grumpy customer, Louis Tomlinson, to like Christmas by taking him on a disastrous first date.

🌼 Girl Crush by Hopeless_blue

(T, 7k, strangers to lovers) He used to be so close to fulfilling his dreams when he participated in X-Factor. But that was four years ago, and now, on a rainy day, he wanders the streets looking for a pub where he could sing sometimes. Charming bartender Louis is ready to give him a shot...

🌼 Why Don’t We Start Writing The Story Of Us by red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 6k, omegaverse) Alpha Louis and Omega Harry get off on the wrong foot, Louis has the worst timing, and Harry believes in second chances. Three times Louis asks Harry on a date and the one time Harry accepts

🌼 I Might Say Yes by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 6k, established relationship) the one where Harry buys a wedding dress on a whim. And his very doting boyfriend, Louis, is more than happy to indulge him

🌼 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 5k, 5 times fic) Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest.

🌼 Crimson Clover by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 5k, soulmates) Harry and Louis are soulmates, but one is already promised to another. When their plan to flee is discovered and they are separated, Harry falls gravely ill.

🌼 I’ll tell you something (I hope you’ll understand) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 2k, girl direction) Louis insists that Harry stay off her phone and in the safety of Louis' room rather than risk moping in her own texting her ex-boyfriend. When Harry agrees on one condition, Louis' safe night in could become something else entirely.

🌼 All The Way Home I'll Be Warm by @justanothershadeofblue

(T, 2k, friends to lovers) Harry & Louis jokingly send out holiday cards together as friends, and now everyone is congratulating them for finally getting together. A 5+1 fic, for Christmas.

🌼 beech tree in autumn by @juliusschmidt

(E, 1k, summer romance) Louis walks forward. Harry walks back. And back. And back. Off the two track, through the brush, until his heel bangs against the trunk of a tree.

🌼 hey stupid, i love you by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 1k, omegaverse) The one where self-proclaimed Valentine's Day hater, Louis, surprises his boyfriend on their first Valentine's together.

🌼 skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(G, 880 words, exes) It’s a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.

- Rare Pairs -

🌼 Finally, You and I (Collide) by @lululawrence

(NR, 14k, Zayn/Louis) the five times Louis was accidentally wooed by cookies and the one time he was purposefully wooed by brownies.

🌼 I Saw Several Angels in the Self Help Section by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 3k, ot5) Zayn and Louis are soulmates. They're also missing some soulmates. For extra flavour, it's Christmas.

[rhaegang]

Felix pining over masc Ollie. And then Ollie takes him into a pub bathroom and tells him he knows he wants him. Puts a hand on his shoulder and brings him to his knees. And then pulls out his cock.

Is this anything?

Suck It And See - first edition

So, Felix wasn’t sheltered. Venetia had loved To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar when they were kids. And he’d always known Farleigh had a little fruit flavor about him, so he wasn’t surprised, once puberty struck, to find his cousin fooling around with this, that, and the other.

That was fine by him, no judgement. It just wasn’t for Felix. The gay clubs they’d sneaked into with their immaculate fake IDs had solidified it for him early. The drag queens and the hot pants and the voguing and the disco diva worship—Felix just wasn’t into that stuff.

And girls? Girls always came easy. They had certain expectations of him, given his family and his face, and he didn’t mind playing into that for an hour or two at a time when he needed to do it. So, that was easy, and Felix liked easy.

On the other hand, Oliver had never had it easy, not in any sense. He’d been born up north in a large working class family, but his dad had passed when he was just small. His mum had done her level best to raise four kids with his pension and the insurance money, but Oliver had been the man of the house, so he’d started work while he was still a student. Then, he’d split his time between studies, work, and trade school.

Felix had no idea how someone could juggle all that and still find time to take care of himself, but Oliver obviously had done so. He was built like a boxer, lean but dense, and he had a few scars here and there that Felix had been dying to ask about for weeks—but he held off. It would be rude to pry, after all. Just, it was clear to Felix that Oliver could handle himself in a rough situation, and there was something about that he could not stop rolling around in his thoughts like a coin through his fingers.

And Oliver had such a strange calm about him, like nothing anyone said could shake him. Whether or not that was really true, Felix had no idea, but the projection of confidence alone was enough. He found himself admiring Oliver more and more when he shrugged off the shitty comments about his…non traditional path to scholarly life.

Yes, Oliver was a few years older than other first year students at Oxford, but that was because he’d needed to spend some time out in the real fucking world, earning every opportunity he had. None of Felix’s cohort could say the same (and if pressed, would say they didn’t find it impressive, but Felix thought they had to be lying).

The fact that Oliver never seemed interested in going along to the pub also didn’t help him to build social capital with his classmates. And that was something that Felix felt was his duty to correct. If everyone else could just get to know Oliver as he had—after a chance rescue where Oliver had given Felix a lift to his tutorial on the back of his motorbike—they were sure to be as taken with him as Felix was.

He cajoled and insisted and finally pleaded for an entire week before Oliver dropped the biggest shock possible: he did not care to come out to the pub with everyone because he had another place he liked to go, one that was better suited to him, given it was a gay bar.

There’s no way, Felix had thought. Oliver was such a…a man, in a way Felix had difficulty expressing. It was simpler to articulate what he meant by pointing to examples, classic and iconic bastions of masculinity in film and history. They were taciturn, yet able to feel deeply. They were protective, and they were providers. They were logical and patient and fair, morally upstanding. They were cowboys and kings—they came, they saw, they conquered. They were real men, as was Oliver.

There was nothing about Oliver that was fruity. Not his voice nor his walk; not the way he dressed nor the way he cut his hair. It was true he wasn’t especially tall, barely standing higher to Felix’s chest than a girl would. And it was true his boyish cheeks couldn’t grow a proper beard despite him being nearly twenty-five, and his huge blue eyes featured thick fans of dark lashes, but those were all physical traits out of his control. Not evidence of any inclinations whatsoever.

The fact that he had been admitted to Webbe on scholarship because he had earned a regional award for a small collection of his poetry also did not make him gay, despite what Jake had snickered into his lager one time. Many great poets through history had been, sure, but more had not. And Oliver wasn’t only a poet. He was a tradesman with rough broad hands he used to work, not hand over Daddy’s credit card while sitting on his arse like fucking Jake.

“Are you having a laugh with me, Ollie?” Felix had asked, too stunned to temper his shock with a grin and a wink like he might have if Oliver had said anything less unthinkable.

“D’you find something I said funny?” Oliver had asked in return, his lilting voice calm as ever, though Felix thought there was a hint of a challenge to it.

“Wh-no, no of course not, mate, Christ no, I’m not like. A homophobe or anything—”

“Don’t mistake me, Felix. I go there because I prefer to be around other men. I prefer men, but I’m not homosexual.”

“…wait. Tell me, how does that work?”

Oliver had sort of blown Felix’s mind that afternoon, to be honest. He’d had no idea there were men like Oliver, men who preferred other men, but who weren’t like, queer. Felix had been so sure, after seeing the rainbows and the glitter and the fishnet shirts, that he wasn’t queer either, so the thoughts he sometimes had about other men had to be inconsequential, idle musings of a sort every bloke had.

But if he had known it was possible to be ‘not gay’ and yet have an interest in other men—and that was the key element wasn’t it, Felix was interested in men, like Oliver—

Ah.

The next several weeks were an especially difficult time in Felix’s life.

Once the pieces had come together for him, it became impossible not to look at Oliver and imagine. Wonder. Want. Felix found himself daydreaming about it, even though he had no idea at all about how being with another man would work, if he like, considered it in theory.

Would they use their hands? That didn’t seem too gay. Plenty of boys exchanged a little touch and tug at school, after all. Felix personally had never, not even with his best mate Eddie, but mainly because he hadn’t wanted things to get awkward after.

If not hands, surely not anything like, in the back alley. There was no way that wasn’t gay. Felix had tried to picture Oliver bent over, another man’s cock pushing into him. Taking him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine a man like Oliver like that. And in the reverse, any attempt to imagine Oliver bending another man over, opening him up, giving him the ride of his fucking life—

Too far. Too much.

Which just left mouths.

Which, in turn, left Felix obsessing and staring at Oliver’s mouth in a way he desperately hoped went unnoticed. It was a bit soft for a man, he supposed. Soft and full, and a lovely cupid’s bow of a top lip. Much more agreeable to imagine Oliver’s mouth on his dick than Oliver’s cock inside him. Not that Felix had been the other man in any of those scenarios. But, if he had to imagine it.

“You and your little dinner club going to the pub later?”

Felix dropped his pencil from his mouth where he’d been alternately chewing the eraser and rubbing it over his bottom lip.

“What?”

“I asked if you and your posh schoolmates are planning to go to the pub tonight.” Oliver was so gracious about repeating himself. He didn’t even give Felix any shit for being out of it.

“Probably. I mean, we go most every night, so I imagine that’s ‘the plan’, yeah.” Felix glanced down at his notes. He’d barely annotated anything in the text. He couldn’t actually recall if he’d read any of it. It seemed barely familiar.

“Think they’ll mind if I join?”

“Seriously, Ollie? You’ll come out with us?” Felix was instantly present and engaged in the conversation. He couldn’t wait to have a drink with Oliver, to see what he was like after a little social lubrication. He was keen to find out if drunk Ollie might be a bit touchy-feely, like Felix himself was.

“It’s been how many months now we’ve known each other?” Oliver asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve kept me company in the library plenty of nights, haven’t you? Been like my own shadow, lately.” It was quick, a flick of his eyes down and then up. Felix didn’t think anything of it.

“About time I meet you where you’re at, I think.”

“Brilliant!” And Felix couldn’t stop himself from leaning over, leaning into Oliver’s space and the sphere of the scent of his TOBS shaving soap. It was the middle of the afternoon, so Felix had not been drinking, which meant drunken touchy-feeliness was not an excuse he could use to explain why he smacked a playful kiss to Oliver’s cheek.

His only excuse was that he would have done it with any of his mates at any time, no big deal, but that he did not because they were too insecure in their masculinity to allow it. Oliver had nothing to be insecure about, and so did allow it.

“We’re usually there by nine o’clock,” he said as Oliver stood to pack up his things. “I’ll see you then?”

“You’ll see me then.”

By eleven, Felix became aware of something he had not factored into his daydreaming. Despite his smaller size, Oliver could handle his drink remarkably well. When it was, in fact, remarked upon, he deflected with some dark joke about alcoholism rates Up North, which had gotten a shitty laugh out of Jake and Farleigh but mostly nervous ones from everyone else.

Felix was no slouch, either, and he had a lot more body to metabolize the alcohol with, but keeping up with Oliver had him teetering on the edge between pleasantly drunk and outright smashed.

At least, Oliver was proving to be an affectionate drunk as Felix had hoped. He only realized after a hand kept settling on his knee and a fond smile was thrown at him that Oliver could have been a belligerent drunk. He could’ve been the sort of drunk who liked to get into a scrap and cause trouble, which Felix wouldn’t have been prepared to handle. But no. That was childish bullshit behavior, and Oliver was a grown man.

Grown enough to know when to slow down, too. He returned to the booth with water, pouring a cup for Felix first.

“Best flush the engine before you go throwing more jet fuel in it, mate,” Oliver said, then poured water for himself as well. He tapped his cup to Felix’s. “If you wanna remember tonight, anyway. And I’m guessing you might.”

Weird thing to say about a random Thursday, thought Felix.

He then completely forgot Oliver’s comment about remembering until about twenty minutes later, when he was unlocking the door of the toilet after an especially satisfying piss. The moment Felix slipped the bolt out of its catch, before he could take hold of the doorknob to open it, it was opening from the other side.

“Back up,” Oliver told him. He then pressed into the small bathroom around the half-open door, immediately slid the bolt back into its catch, then turned. He put his palm flat in the center of Felix’s chest and pushed.

Felix’s elbow smacked the side of the sink basin and his shoulders hit the wall. It was a single occupancy bathroom, just the sink and mirror and wastebin and toilet, with a dry mop and mop bucket shoved into a corner. In those limited confines, Oliver seemed much bigger all of a sudden.

“You’ve been acting off lately, Felix.”

“No, I haven’t.” Excellent defense.

“Yes. You have.” Oliver’s corduroy chore coat must have been too warm without the chill of any windows or drafts. He shrugged it off and hung it on the pole of the mop. “But it’s all right. I know why.”

“I’m…not saying that I have, because I haven’t, but you do?”

Oliver put his hand back on Felix’s chest. Then he slid it up, his calluses catching on the soft merino of Felix’s jumper. He let it settle on Felix’s shoulder, his thumb tapping against Felix’s pulse while Oliver seemed to consider his words.

“You want to fuck.”

“D-doesn’t everyone? Like, at uni, generally?”

Oliver’s wide eyes narrowed up at him.

“Us. You want us to fuck.”

Felix felt his heart slap down inside his shoe, then ricochet up into his throat.

Busted, he thought, and it was almost giddy. Because of the drinks.

“I’m not really sure why I’m entertainin the idea, myself,” Oliver continued, his flushed face looking quite serious and pensive. Sort of silver screen drama a la The Wild One. It was a very sexy sort of look on him. “You’re really not at all my usual type.”

“What? That’s bollocks, Ollie, you can’t mean that.”

“I can’t? Why’s that?”

“Because…”

“Ah. Because you’re everyone’s type, is that it, Felix?”

“It sounds so narcissistic when you say it like that,” Felix said, his lower lip poking forward. “But yeah.”

“Give me your hand.”

Felix was doing as he’d been told before Oliver even finished speaking. Oliver took Felix’s hand in one of his much smaller ones. He turned it over and dragged one fingertip along the middle of his palm.

“Soft hands. Long hair. Your little bracelets and earrings and all that. More femme than I like. In most cases.”

“Wait. Wait, what, femme? Me?”

“No? You saying you’re not a soft boy, Felix?”

“Fuck you, mate, I’m a grown man, not a boy—”

“So you can take it like a man, is what I’m hearin.”

The hand on Felix’s shoulder pressed down then, at the same time that Oliver twisted Felix’s wrist in some way that made him gasp in pain. Maybe it was shock more than pain but pain was part of it, part of why Felix folded to his knees in front of Oliver, his back to the wall, Oliver’s body between him and the only door.

There was a pause. A void where all the air seemed to leave the room.

“You’ve never done this before. Am I right?”

Felix couldn’t breathe, but he could nod.

“You want me to go easy on you?”

He could shake his head.

“Mh. You gonna show me what kind of man you are, then?”

“W…what if it turns out I am…soft?” Felix whispered, his lungs burning.

“…I like havin fine things, from time to time. I know how to handle them careful, like.”

That was terrifyingly reassuring to hear. Felix closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

“Please,” he said. “Before I lose my nerve.”

He heard Oliver’s zipper opening.

“I don’t think you will. I think you’re gonna be tough for me. I think you’re gonna take it so good…won’t even cry.”

Cry? Is that…why would I— Felix’s eyes popped open.

“Holy fucking hell, Ollie.” He heard Oliver laugh above him. “No. No, not funny. You’ve got a medieval siege weapon in your tatty old boxers, it’s no laughing fucking matter from where I’m standing—”

“Kneeling.”

“From where I’m kneeling, you prick.” Felix had nearly just choked to death on his own saliva, and Oliver wanted to argue semantics. “What am I meant to do with all this? What do those…other men do with this?”

“You’ll just have to suck it and see.”

And then Oliver’s hand was in his hair, gripping hard, pulling, burying Felix’s face in his groin. Dark, wild curls that smelled like sweat, a bit like warm fur, which god, they sort of were, and Felix didn’t realize he was panting like a dog until he had that thought. He just couldn’t get enough oxygen to his brain. That had to be why it had gone all white and gauzy and quiet in his head.

His nose was in another man’s pubes. There was another man’s cock literally fucking twitching against his cheek. If he stuck out his tongue, it would stroke against another man’s balls. So he did, and it did, and what he tasted was the pure, concentrated, flavor of a man, of Oliver.

Felix moaned.

“Come on, Felix. Sooner you get me off, sooner we can go back to mine and get you proper fucked.”

Too far. Too much.

“God, yes.”

Or not.

(to be continued????????????????)

[down-one-juice]

Print and Palms - Morpheus x reader SOULMATE AU!

Summary: A little Godling finds her way back to Preston over the long years she has roamed, visiting the grave of a dear friend. Her little visit is interrupted though, as her and an endless are bound.

Words: Around 3k

Warnings: Blood, Swearing.

AN: This is the first fiction I have written since college, please be nice to me! Comments are really appreciated! Also its a Slooooooooow Burn because in this chapter, they have yet to meet. But in the next chapter, they shall!

---------

There you now stood, on the edge of the world it seemed.

Watching from the top of the old bell tower in the centre of town, you peeked beneath the awning above you. All bustle and hustle below. Rain angrily flew sideways at you, sticking your hair to your cheek, occasionally landing a drop from your brow onto your chin. Women and men dressed in their warmest clothing Scurried away towards the shelter of a pub or home. Umbrellas, gloves and heavy skirts to fight off the chill.

Your garb mimicked theirs. The woollen skirts layered over you. But you did not feel the chill, you already felt gutted and cold from the inside. For you were at this bell tower to honour a promise. You could almost see it from here, the mountains now cleared of any fog that may have been there before the rain. What was once a fresh mound of dirt a mere 300 years ago, now fell into a flat landscape.

“Hello Perrin,” you whispered towards the mountains.

A sincere sadness plagued your heart, You had missed the last visit to his grave 300 years ago. Not that you were able to say it was an accident. You had merely tried to pretend you were human. That is what they do. They mourn and move on, create distance between the one that had died. As after all, even a great wizard needed to greet his death like a well-earned slumber. But, after 50 years you realised something. Humans do not spend the better part of a thousand years with the ones they love. You needed to honour the man that picked you up when you scraped your knees running with the hounds. Or the man who had hidden you when you had torn the heart from a man the first time.

Ah, to be 13 again.

Even when you had lost control, tearing flesh from man and woman. Howling and biting for the throats of the innocent. He had taken you in by the hearth. Swaddled you and washed the blood clean. Soft and stern like only a father of a disobeying child would be. A child who did not know why they disobeyed so.

That was the time before the amulet hung by your breast. He was the reason you were in control. You had returned the favour well, helping him through 17 wives and what must have been scores of little spawn.

You wanted to be able to tell him of his descendants. Where to start? You still kept an eye on a select few, the ones that had more of his blood running through them than most.

“That small one,” you started suddenly,” with the red hair, Ronny? He found his soulmate. He was ordering his coffee, looking though his wallet for a tip for the jar when the girl asked for his name. She was sweet looking; not too tall. And then they locked eyes.”

You sighed and leaned onto the pillar beside you. A soulmate was a beautiful thing. It meant that the universe and the realms had converged in such a way that you were near enough to feel them.

Perrin had never found his, nor had you. Two with such a long life, surviving with the knowledge that the universe preferred you alone.

For those that are mostly or all human, It’s a warm feeling. They can feel what the air is like to breath from the others lungs for a brief moment. Then it turns into a warm and comforting hum. That’s the way others had described it to you.

Love was apparently pleasant and warm. Or, at the very least, human love. Kind and simple.

You watched as a print had made its burn onto the skin behind Ronny's ear. No doubt where his new loves hand would fall many times as she kissed his freckled face.

Why you had been so long without a soulmate was baffling. Most of the time, even immortals found their own. If they tended to be mortal, Death made an exception. They’re ‘record’ seemed to be lost, and they mistakenly were taken to the wrong realm it seemed.

Lightening cracked, illuminating the large manor beyond the treeline. Wind picked up as you waited for the thunder to hit. In those seconds the wind seemed to still. You looked back at what was now a grave.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tears seemed to jerk from your eyes as a single sob ripped into your chest, rattling the amulet that was tucked beneath your collar. And the flood gates opened. The next sob was met with the crash of the thunder, wind flew through the bell tower, finally warning you it was time to go.

Yet, you couldn’t. Not yet.

“Five more minutes, old friend. I owe you that much.”

Years passed.

You travelled far and wide, half a century had passed before you felt the pull back to Perrin and his resting place.

You had finally made your way back to the town that was once small and meek, now booming with wealth and prosperity thanks to the attraction that became the Burgess house. It had always made you queasy that thing, it seemed to call to you, then shun you away with the same breath.

A warning and a plea.

Perrin had often told you to not meddle in the affairs of folk that believed they had more power than they did. It wasn’t worth risking those that would bring a godling to harm.

But yet, you had always wondered about the rumours the poor folks in the pubs spouted at you.

“A devil.” They would slur. “An’ if yer’ not careful, he’ll gobbl’ you up and ne’er spit you out!”

You had felt bad for most of them, they would never know what a true devil was. Although some of the ones that were on the handsier side you hoped would taste a portion of the devils wrath. For now, you sat at the pub at the bottom of the street, as you had so many times. Every so often flitting back in when you were confident that you would not be sought after as a witch and burned at the stake.

Again.

Now you stood before the stone building, holding an old leather bag and watching the flapper women gleefully run towards cars awaiting to take them to the Magus. It was still slightly familiar, it had not been quite long enough for the building to shake the last of the century off just yet. The doorway still held those designs from the last visit, although it seemed several layers of paint had been slopped over them.

You sat by the door, shrugging off your obnoxiously large, old coat, which was by now more patches than the real deal, harshly shoving it between you and the hard seat back as a cushion. Slipping into the seat you placed your bag by your feet, pulling an old notebook bound in leather from its innards.

“’ello, miss!”

You glance up at a kindly older gentlemen, his eyebrows slightly unruly. His nose was large, almost as though a cauliflower had been plopped in the centre. Above that his glasses fell slightly askew, doubting they did much as he was still squinting at you merrily. He was dressed cosily, a vest and woollen jumper hugged him tight. Though it did nothing to hide the finger marks that peeked from the sleeve. What would have been a bright scarred colour was now a dull grey.

A lost soul, you thought.

“Just a pint of the freshest you have, please,” You answered.

He seemed to understand and cheerfully chatted to another at the bar as he poured. You went back to the notes. Reading over a few runes that you had found in some abandoned building not far from here. You could see what they were going for. A few tweaks and they may have successfully summoned something.

As you saw the movement of the barkeep turn back towards you, the sky exploded.

Blue and black shook the windows angrily. Sand and grass flew through doors that were flung wide open like mouths. A few of the lights on the streets shattered and sparked, only to blacken the streets moments later.

Chaos erupted. A few that had been holding drinks nearer to their mouths spat glass and ale mixed with red. You had been thrown to the floor, napkins and coasters flying past your head.

What was this power? This anger that you felt screaming through every part of your being. You clutched at the amulet under your shirt as your heart seemed to pick up to match the heartbeat in the wind. Closing your eyes for a moment before you managed to scramble to your feet. The wind still pushed at the backs of your knees. Almost as though willing you to bend before it. To kneel.

You watched as others started to come to a sense of realisation that the world wasn’t ending. Burgess house was probably at it again. They all did their best to close windows and doors. Bundle the injured up and out to the back where windows were less frequent. Others just continued to drink. To grumble out a harsh:

“Always knew those doors were shoddy.”

But they couldn't feel it, couldn’t grasp the absolute rage that had freed itself into the room. It was still ebbing and flowing and screaming. Even if the wind had flown on to the next victim.

You cautiously approached the ghost of what was once a window, glancing upwards at the path that was well paved and still well lit, compared to the dark streets outside the door that were missing bricks. You watched a gust pick up the leaves and branches at the entrance. Framed by beautiful arches of life that seemed to answer the call. You knew it was through there. The Burgess estate.

Perhaps it was time to venture past those borders and visit the Magus.

A small tingling on your chest made you look down. Black grains sank beneath your skin, your breath caught and you stumbled back to your chair. Hearing the kind old man calling out politely as you felt your hands go numb. Your nose felt cold and your knees fell stiff.

The necklace chain you had worn for centuries seemed to scream away from your neck as pain ripped through your back. The power you had felt just before punching through to your heart as a scream tore its way from your throat. You could barely afford to breath as a pain as hot as a branding iron slashed at the base of your throat.

You finally fell, finding the strength to open your eyes, you curled in on yourself. You could just make it out, golden sand flowed from what seemed to be the glow of fire in your neck. The tears that blurred your vision seemed to evaporate as soon as they found your lashes.

You began to question just how much more you could take, the sand felt cool on your skin as the fiery feeling raged on.

You did not know how long it lasted, nor did you wish to know, but the calls and shouts from the pub patrons were mere buzzing in your brain. You knew there were hands on you. Knew there were people clawing through the sand to clear you from it. And yet all you could feel was the presence of anger and power that ripped you to shreds.

As soon as it started. It ceased to be.

The smouldering ache left almost immediately, but in it’s stead it left a wanting. You felt as though you had ice on your throat that you would never be able to warm. For now, a welcome contrast but in the coming years, it would prove maddening.

You gasped and threw yourself away from the sand beneath you. Scurrying backwards on your hands with a new found energy. Panic induced adrenaline seemed to be a hell of a drive. When your back hit the bottom of the bar you stalled, eyes wide and panting. In the middle of the room was now a pile of sand that seemingly glowed under the light.

Dragging your gaze from a very human shaped mark on the floor you looked at the people hovering around. Concern, disgust, fear. One woman even had a hat pin aimed in your direction.

The new silence deafened you, and you found the energy to try and stand. Clumsily you stumbled to your things, attempting to grab your bag and coat before you, so gracefully, ran away. You could hear the people around you starting to move again and you wanted to be gone before some poor police officer was sent this way.

Your skin felt like ice and you just wanted to be away from here. Before you could escape, however, you caught your reflection in the window of the doors. Your eyes were red, small splotches of blood hung by your lash line and nose.

And a hand print had snugly found it’s way around your throat. The skin around it still angry and bright. Your breath caught in the back of your throat.

You needed to get the fuck out of here.

Not far away from where the pub now shook, the Endless sat, statuesque and tall. All muscle and bone, seemingly as healthy as when he first fell. Alex dared not venture past the frame of the door. Not this time. He simply peered through the bars, avoiding the light that would catch on the beings prison and cast shadows over the floor.

There he was, the dream.

Shrouded by the glass that could not quite allow him to hear well enough to make out the goings on upstairs. To hear the fact that above them, the Magus laughed and rejoiced with those that buckled beneath his feet. This was a natural occurrence for Alex, staring at the pale man whilst he heard the guards bicker about something stupid.

He was in awe of this monster, as he always had. But awe can be overshadowed by fear. As much as the Magus, his father, believed it would finally bestow him his brother back, Alex could not be so sure the creature would comply.

And that’s all he was now. A creature in the silence that seemed to breathe slower and slower as the years passed. His bird like torso almost still. Almost as though he had forgotten that he needed to to breathe.

Alex could hear a ruckus from up the stairs. No doubt another fight had broken out after too much liquor and swapping women. The old stairs behind him flew dust down at his feet. A wind that didn’t exist scraping over the ancient walls near his face. Roderick was probably up to no good again. At least, that’s what Alex had hoped.

He was not able to think on the subject any longer as he turned his attention back to Dream. He had slightly moved from his position. Now his face basked slightly upward and his eyes cast to the ceiling. Furrowed brow and pursed lips as his eyes seemed to melt into starlight.

“Always freaks me out when he moves.” One of the guards grumbled with a clink of a coffee cup. Just out his eye line he knew that the men were lounged quite comfortably. Against the Magus’ wishes.

The other let a grunt in response as he stood, footsteps edging close to the glass ball.

“’es stopped now, eh?” He could make out a shoulder coming into view, and Alex ducked up a few of the steps, trying not to crunch the stone beneath his dress shoes. The silence that followed seemed to be enough of an answer as the shoes clacked back towards the table.

Alex felt the floor seemingly fall from under him as he slipped, the guard let out shocked “OI!” as it seemed they had felt the same. Alex's’ attention immediately turned to the door again. Scrambling back to his knees he peeked back through the bars as the glass prison seemed to fill with some sort of wind. Impossibly harsh, throwing the Endless about against the walls.

He didn’t seem too phased as he let the current take him left to right, he seemed amused almost. Intrigued. The guards started to scramble, talking about Roderick and if they should go get him. Alex at this point wasn’t scared of being found, all he could do was watch.

Because the Endless lord started to SCREAM.

The first sound he had uttered in such a long time. His voice had not been used for such an age that it seemed to not quite reach it’s peak. It was hoarse and pained, Alex shot upwards, tempted to throw the gate open and barge in. Still wishing no harm onto him.

The dark hair fell over his eyes that now screwed shut as he clutched at his right hand. A golden light spreading over the palm, the muscles rippled through his chest and back. Changing what was once a relaxed canvas of skin, into a map of veins and tendon.

The glow seemed to fill the prison with warmth that the cellar had not felt in a long time. Alex could feel it on his face and hands as they clutched at the metal. But alas, the light was short lived as the glow was snuffed out by red.

Blood began pouring through his palm, by the bucket load.

The screams were higher now, more desperate as his toes disappeared into the thick warmth. By the time it had stopped, Dream had slumped backwards, trying to find footing as he tired. His feet were now gone. He sloshed as he attempted to stand, below his ankles were hidden from view.

He seemed to trip. Putting his hands out to steady himself, his right hand pressed against the glass. Alex’s eyes almost burst from his skull, his heart dropping with them. For there, in the Endless’ palm, was the print of another. Smaller, slightly more curved and delicate than his own.

I’ll be damned. He thought. Even the fucking Sandman gets one.

The riot came to an end and he heard one of the guards grunting to climb to his feet. It was time to leave. Turning on his heel, not without sparing one last look at the burn on the beings hand, and ran.

[quill-pen]

Thinking about how Connie is pretty calm and kind 98% of the time (if not a bit clumsy and slightly weird), but I'm picturing the first time the 1843D girls see that mask slip, because nobody is perfect.

She keeps her detox pretty quiet. She holds it together for a long time. The cravings. The manic episodes. The migraines. The clawing rage.

One time, she comes back from the coffee house after a horrible shift and walks to her room. Without thinking, she starts grabbing things and just SMASHING them, all while screaming and cursing. She stomps on the debris, sobs, then runs to the bathroom, scratching her arms and seething.

Bess, Addie and Gal find a trail of blood drops to the bathroom, where she is huddled over a toilet. Sweating. Retching. The medicine cabinet is nearly ripped off the wall.

"Go away. Don't look at me like this." Her voice barely sounds human.

She would feel awful for them seeing her like that. Nobody has EVER seen her like that, even her mother.

I was wondering if/when a scenario like this would come up.

The girls would, obviously, be alarmed. Especially Addie, as she hasn't experienced much of this before due to her rather sheltered upbringing. Bess and Gal though, they've seen the harsher side of life.

Absolutely nobody is leaving Connie alone. Not like this; not in this state.

"Addie, go get one of my nightgowns," Bess says. Then she turns on Nurse Sullivan and immediately goes to the cabinet to see what, if anything, has been taken and if they potentially need to get Connie to a hospital. When she notices Addie still standing frozen, she snaps, "Adelaide. Nightgown. NOW."

Addie snaps out of it then and goes running off to find one.

As Bess takes care of deciphering the medicine situation and then getting the first aid kit, Gal goes to Connie. She's familiar with addiction. She's seen and dealt with it in the pub. Her father was a functioning alcoholic. She kneels beside Connie, pulls her hair back, and gently but firmly grips her shoulder. "We 'ere, lass. We gotcha. Wha' d'ye need us t'do?"

It's a long night, a hard night, but the girls are all in, because they're family now. It's them against the world together. "What happened?", "How did this start?", "Why didn't you tell us?"--those questions are saved for a later time. Tonight, none of those answers matter. Tonight is about helping Connie get through and letting her know she's not alone, and she never will be again.

[saneijeijei]

Once upon a time in a fairytale

"I'm sorry, but this is some kind of mistake, Lady Eckart! There's no way I can be the missing daughter of the Eckart family!"

"Why not?"

"All my life that I can remember, I have lived here - in this small village. I've never been to the capital, and… look at me! I don't look like you at all!"

The Duchess raised her right eyebrow skeptically, not even knowing what to say to such a loud comment. There was an awkward silence.

"Lady Penelope is not the duke's own daughter…" a servant whispered behind the guest.

The young woman blushed to the ears, realizing what nonsense she had just said.

"I'm sorry--"

"You really are a copy of your cheeky brother," grinning, Penelope waved her hand, beckoning the servants. "Wash her. We are going to the capital tomorrow."

Vivi is a country girl from a small village located near one of the main trading cities of the empire. She didn't remember herself until she was seven, she didn't have a name, she didn't know where she came from, and almost all her life it remained a mystery, although many orphaned children told her to forget and not to remember the past, convincing her that it certainly wasn't as happy as she imagines. Unable to find her parents, the girl was sent to an orphanage. Vivi quickly adapted to her new home and behaved openly and friendly with everyone, which is why others quickly became attached to her and did not allow anyone to offend her. As a teenager, Vivi started helping adults take care of other children and run the household. Thanks to the help of the nanny and the townspeople, as well as the gossip that the children spread, Vivi got a job at the Town Hall.

But no one canceled hard work. Vivi had to combine work in the village and the town hall with a shelter. Sometimes, she couldn't feel her legs from fatigue and barely reached her room.

One day, an abandoned mine is reopened and prepared for operation. Workers from the village are recruited there, which was joyfully celebrated in the pub for getting a new job. She came to help the hostess with cleaning the rooms that she rented out for the night to travelers or small traders.

After taking a short break, she stood against the wall and listened to the rumors. As it turned out, the mine was bought by a very rich and noble lady. The men burst out laughing, saying if this young lady was crazy enough to buy a dilapidated mine that had ruined its previous owner, or if she was so stupid in pursuit of money that she even bought this.

"Hey, Vivi, be careful when that woman comes here! They say that aristocrats, seeing a beautiful commoner, can severely punish her because of envy!" one of them exclaimed waving a mug.

"Don't pay attention, Vivi, these fools, as always, talk the first thing that comes to their mind" After hearing the loud laughter of the company. "You'd better behave as usual when she arrives. If you curry favor with her well, she can pay you well and you will finally buy yourself that pink dress from Madame Du".

That evening, when Vivi returned home, she collapsed on the bed. She imagined how she would walk around the village in her new pink dress and go to the festival in it.

After falling asleep, Vivi could not even imagine what her meeting with Lady Eckart would turn out to be.

[altarrot]

HUNGER HURTS TO KILL. / VOL 5

[ ♡ ] pairing: simon "ghost" riley + fem!reader

[ ♡ ] warnings: references to past drug use, sexual content, bathroom sex, oral sex (male receiving), references to blasphemy, religious guilt.

[ ♡ ] series masterlist.

ACT 5 - SIN | PART 5/7

Over the course of events; a cramped pick-up truck, a stay in a motel with a near-death-bleeding-out experience, back in the truck, and now on the road hundreds of miles away from hometown — you feel like you're losing it. Hysteric. Your sense of reality is starting to blur, unlaced from your previous condition of living. You find purgatory in his presence, in his truck, but he reassures you're just homesick. 

At the end of the day, he wasn't a good man. He was a criminal of war, a reason of infidelity, and near-murderer. But for the first time, ever since you were a young girl, you had seen him differently — you were seeing a man differently more than normal. They're usually pressuring, stern, archetypes of monsters in the real world; Ghost serves more as a symbol of an ideal man, dull yet affectionate at command. 

Naive and incapable to survive out in the real natures of the world, you give yourself to him ungrudgingly, discovering a shelter of safety and rapture when with him. He's one of the first to not only be in love with your body, but loves you for your actual identity and kind nature, presumingly. Uncertainty had always clung to you, even when it came to him, an unsure man of many secrets. All you knew is that he was violent, tender, and private. 

That's why one of the stops for the day was a pub; off the highway, nearing the late-afternoon, way too mature for your liking. It was his own way of cooling off, de-stressing off the responsibility of carrying both of you on. You sat on a barstool of chipped wood, a shot glass at your elbow, and Ghost under the bleeding lights of flashing signs at the walls. Shallow conversations are carried between him and another man — they seem close, old chaps, high-school friends perhaps, and he has a girl at his hip. 

Your hunched figure straightens and you prod at the shot glass. Ghost chuckles, a deep raspy one at the man with the girl at hip, then he takes notice to you. 

"You haven't met her, haven't you?" Ghost refers to you. 

"No, I thought you were married." the man said. "Who's the younger lass?" 

"Left the wife, too much of a bother," he said, "She's my new girl." 

The man's eyes widened but decrease in size when he stretches a hand to you; a tattoo near his wrist, fewer than the ones Ghost adorned on his left skin. 

"Nice to meet you, lassie," he said, taking your hand in his, "Soap—or Johnny, Ghost's friend." 

You shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, how'd you find him?" 

"Coincidence." 

"Ah." 

"Why are you two so far down the state?" Soap asks, "Last time I've heard, he was settled in some small town upstate."

Ghost clears his throat. "We're on a runaway, needed a fresh start." 

"And the missus doesn't care?" He interrogates Ghost. 

"She doesn't want anything to do with me," he shakes his head, taking a pour of his drink, "Neither the kid." 

"You're making yourself sound like a scumbag." Soap said. "How'd you find her?" 

"Town preacher. She was the preacher's daughter." 

"Didn't take you as one to be interested in religious gals," he smacks Ghost on the back with a free hand, "Good for you." 

He's more energetic than Ghost was, naturally friendly and welcome. Who knew that two complete polar opposites could be friends, some sort of best friends, even in the military; that's what you picked up from their back-and-forth rambles. He's a majority of smiles and one to lead on conversations easily. Easing off the conversation and slipping back into your area of thoughts, hysteria, you allow your perspective to wander the pub. 

In the corner, in a crowded booth of solitude and abandonment, there's four people — divided equally, two men and two women. They're younger than you were, not young adults like you, but rather teenagers; senior year, junior year even. One of the girls has a packet in a hand and holds it out in front of the rest of the people at the table. The plastic pouch's remains are poured out onto the wood of the booth's table, white and shining under the feeble bulb, a solid card is pulled from one of the boys. 

It was stupid to do that sort of thing here. Especially with people beginning to crowd in at the strike of rush hour, but they're fearless, taking turns at the smothered powder; index fingers pressed to one of their nostrils while the other swallows up a bit of the white, leaving a portion for the others. Memorials of behind the church, trying that similar category of substance but at a needle to the arm at the same age, reappear at the sight. Memorials that you begged to forget, to forgive to God. 

You could barely contain yourself behind the church, so what made you think you could contain yourself now? Without help, without constraint, you were arranging in your mind. Arrangements of reliving that memorial. 

"Honey?" 

His voice is soft, smooth like a polished plane top. Ghost. 

You whip your head back around. "Huh, yeah?" 

"Did you hear me, love?" 

"What'd you say? Sorry." 

"I said meet me in the bathroom in a bit." he whispers out the side of his mouth, "After I deal with him." 

-

These situations seem to unravel in nostalgic reels. Scene after scene, they repeat; same situations, different settings. (That were abnormally almost alike.) 

You're forced on your knees under some green light of the pub, in the bathroom, it glows on your face like a nuclear radiance. The green light is accompanied with a shadow as well, Ghost's looming shadow of a drunken figure. Nearby is a rectangular window that's right at the left side of the wall, unable to reach and too small to fit anything through it except the night's air. He compelled you to the last stall, hand at your scalp and pushing you to the midpoint of his jeans. 

His breaths are dense like a weight from his few sips of alcohol and a cigarette slipped to his lips. You sit shameful and in a pleasuring position; hands on your thighs and head sloped upwards. Your identity itself is unknown, not yet permitted to itself, but an amalgam of many girls that could've been in the same posture you're in. Bodies of beauty and loss painted in a sexual light. 

Guilty, pent-up, you claw and slide your fingers to the zipper of his jeans — the metal rod coming down while you work at his belt, throwing it to the side of the toilet while you shove the garments of his lower half down. More sin runs in your veins than blood, chastening yourself for bringing yourself to stare at that powder; to bring up the delight of the memory of a needle stabbed to your skin. Desperate, your lips hunger at his blunt head, no longer struggling to take his full length; only a few bobs and it's prodding at the back of your throat. 

He breathes, throwing his head back with a palm splayed at your head. "Fuck, sweetheart, where'd this come from?"  

A gag sputters at your widened mouth, your fingers raking at his thighs in response. Tears split down your caved-in cheeks as he permanents a firm clutch at your hair. He's grunting and has one arm finding purchase at the sprayed tiles of the walls, blinded by the greens of the lamplight when his head is met at a position that appears to look snapped. You find yourself acting as scandalous as ever, the most scandalous you've ever been. 

Picturing it, it's almost a reality, realistic; the dead preacher's daughter caught sucking the married lieutenant's cock. It would cause a stir in the town, like flies to a rotting animal's carcass, your bloodline in decrepit and decaying — and just because you wanted to act like a little whore, going around and resisting her religion with some man that had her easily persuaded and on a hook.  

Heat upsurges to your face and mobs your ears, a familiar suffocation birthing to life. His head rubs up at the tissue that's at the back of your throat, vowing that it was bulging out the outer layer of skin. Your hand under the aging gauze flexes and twitches, struggling to continue nailing at his thighs. There's a gnawing at both of your naked knees at the dirtied tile of the bathroom, denting the skin and impairing it.

The more you jolt your head and attach your lips around each prominent vein, tongue running up the slit of his blunt head, his impulsive act is to improve in volume and spasm at the barriers of your mouth. His hand at the wall slaps and fingers crook into the cracks, torturing himself with the mask at his head and emerging heat; the mask acts as a hazard, nearly at a loss to breathe normally.

With one, final thrust around his girth — his hand pushes your head away, heavier gags grappling at your throat while his cum is shot and splattered across your face; you take it like a sacrament, open and willing. He lets you off, leaving you to lean on the locked door of the stall, your fingers shakily stealing at the liquid at your face and staining it on your fingers, tongue lapping at it. His knees are bent, his arms lengthened out and at the walls, head hung low between them. 

You've never seen him more vulnerable, less dull. Drops of tears still spill at your cheeks despite not choking on him anymore, your face contorted and coming to be buried in your knees that pressed at your chest. Quiet wails stifle into your legs — heart weakened and preyed to a pulsating ache. You feel miserable, humiliated. You didn't know why you kept crying, but at the same time you did; it was variability, something between your failing image of a human being and being weighted down by the memory of powder at your nose. 

You were clearly failing, though. Zero fabrications. It was too far along to turn back now; go back and visit your mother, your hometown, revert back to a preacher status while you never see Ghost again after he ultimately leaves town and divorces his wife. The problem was that you didn't want to just leave him, not this soon, not when you had these visions of being his replacement of a wife, with him forever. 

"Shit, are you crying?" he asked, collecting breaths. 

"You have eyes." 

“Too rough?”

”No, no—it’s not that.” you mumble, "Do you still like me? Like, really like me?"

"That shouldn’t even be a question."

You shake your head. "Nothing. I've just been doing some thinking."

Lie by lie, they're imperfect, worse to cover-up — but as of this time, your words weren't really a lie. It was more of a severance allied with a lie and a truth; that you've been doing some contemplating but the only lie was his retort. 

Ghost reaches out his ragged hand of rooted veins and drawn discolorations of scars, his entire hand fits at your face and pushes your head back up to him, thumb at your cheek while the others dance at your jaw. His single thumb feels of your tears and swabs them of their salted liquid. You heed to his touch of manipulation and descend into lands of scarred skin, a fleeing and sputtering breath whining from you. 

Finishing with the finale of tears that rest of your face, he keeps his hand there — at your face, but your eyes fall out of uneasiness. "No, honey, back up here." he said, his words shrewd and easy to your naivety. "Look at me." 

Orbs of uneasiness focus like lens on him again; a domineering entity at your front. 

"You know that I love you, right?" 

You shyly sniffle. 

"Yes." 

He pets at your face again. "So don't give me any of that questioning shit—I know, you know, that I'd love you forever. That's why you're here with me, that's why you sacrificed everything to be here with me." he said, "And I swear on my life on that, understand?" 

Your head nods. 

"Good," he extracts his arm back, using it to pull his jeans and rest of cloth back up, finishing with the sound of a zipper, "Get yourself cleaned up and meet me outsides, yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

-

Late hours of the night is when the world seems to pitch and mangle into the worst of your fears; The existent reality, one that you were warned where men acted as wolves while women as lambs. Endangerment. For once in your life though, you feel some rebellion, some glory that you could convince yourself to enjoy in like how you've seen. In the gaze of the off-the-road abandonment, you're at a sick freedom. 

It's a cloud of your nightmares, of your sins, where things went to die. You bit the skin around your nail when looking around the pub now shrouded of night-activity, of more people. More teenagers were hauled in by secret, some adults as well. Some wrecked at each other's faces in the phone booth with pinning and lips-on-lips, like they were in desire to swallow each other, eat each other. 

More powder summons at more booths, in your sight while nobody really cared for it anymore. Blown off their minds and dozing into the condition of a drug-lost station, it pings at your head while the remembrances are brought back to you once again, forced down your throat. Ghost is nowhere to be seen; perhaps somewhere off with Soap and his wife in a corner, acting adult-like, mature without your unfitting, solid spirit there. 

The drink at the shot glass, which you swore not to take, was burning down your throat, strangling your throat in an irresponsible manner. Multiple burns of shots. Your mind spins on a carousel, head in your rubbing hands while a sigh—a groan is fit through the strangulations. 

"Are you alright there, miss?" 

A hand at your shoulder, an unfamiliar voice of masculinity, a stranger. 

You swing your head back, slowly blinking, the stranger in lines. "What?"

"I said, are you alright?" the lines repeat, "You seem too, uhm, tipsy." 

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine." 

"You here alone?"

You dumbly respond, swept over of dizziness, amnesia — possibly. 

"Yeah, just me, always me." 

"Oh, well, okay," it said, "You mind if I sit here with you?"

"Don't care, go." you mutter. 

Flesh rubs at your eyes at an effort to form a person out of those lines. More slow blinks occur but your vision restores to an original state, your hands drag to at the lap of skirted lace, brows furrowed at the now made-out man that sat in front of you; where Ghost was supposed to be. (But to your forged amnesia, you were just too stupid to say take notice to it.)

He was a brunette set of hairs, most of it greying, and older than Ghost. He kept a decent build but in total — was just an average kind of guy, a bit of creep that tingled at your spine once you got a greater glimpse of him, regretting your drunken agreement to his request. A smile of dimples is at his face while you only frowned, annoyed, you kind of wanted to leave and tell him to piss off. 

His eyes shine under the light, smile on his lips. "You from around these parts?"

"No, I'm not... upstate." 

"Traveling?" 

"You could say that." you sink into a fist, sighing. 

"Upstate, uhm, I've been up there," he expresses with a stutter, "Been around a couple times, seen pretty girls like you." 

His attempts at flirtation were admirable but weak, nothing charming, it just came off in a creep-like-sense.

"Not much up there." you said

"You a Christian girl too?" 

You tense at his words, eyeing him in suspicion. 

"What? How'd... you know?"

His eyes no longer shine, his drink is at the table, his expression plain and difficult to perceive. 

"Because I've attended your masses, listened to your sermons," he said, "You're that preacher's daughter, aren't you? You're the one that your mother has been holding up missing posters to store-fronts, seen with that man in a mask."

You collect yourself off your stool, stumbling back a little with a breath. "Mister, I don't know what you're talking about—" 

"Don't try lying to me," he breathes, heavy and daunting of whiskey with his palms slammed at the table, "I've seen you all now—I can go tell everyone back there that you're on the run, sleeping around with a married man." 

His words shrink you down, causing you to fluctuate in fear, body trembling and begging for a savior in the moment. You needed protection, a physical protection — his sworn protection. Where even was he? Where was Ghost? And why did he fabricate that protection, right when you needed him most? (God, you sounded pathetic.) 

"That's what you are," he spits, "A lowlife, sinning, blasphemous whore. What would your father think?" What would he think of his precious, innocent girl acting in such a way like this?" 

"Shut up!" 

Their eyes are everywhere— his, your mother, your father— you're left unable to run, to hide away from their judgements. You were descending down spirals of hallucinogenic terrors knowing that it was aware, they were aware, aware of your sinning accomplishments and hidden tracks. Those accomplishments and your faulted feelings were sure to be the traitorous consequences of your faith, forever stuck in a purgatory wasteland of these blasphemous deeds. 

You've went against everyone, especially the preacher. Your father. No matter how hard you scrub of the memory, no matter how deep you bury the ditch, you cannot escape the creeds of your father; the sins he was originally bound suffering to, passed down a generation to you. Your body rots, collapses inside and out, the weight of awaiting penalty heavy to bare. You're tormented, losing it, distant—

"Whose this?" 

The voice is no longer a stranger. It's full of warmth, of that rasp, and like a home. You look into the voice, finding a face of familiarity. 

"The fuck are you doing with him?" Ghost rasps to you, a finger to the man, "And she's with me, what are you doing with her?" 

"She said she was alone." the man replies. 

"Clearly not." 

The man cuts his concerns off the rope. "Do you know you're running around with a wanted woman? Someone who went against her faith and turned to whorish deeds?" 

Ghost pulls you to his side with a strength, your arm coming to wrap around his left bicep, face smashed right into it and clinging like a child.

"You know her personally?" he asks. 

"Yes, I actually do." the opposing one out of the two men said, "I've attended the masses she's lead—disappointing to see what she's turned into." 

"That's not personal, mate, really just the opposite of it." 

"Still," he shrugs, "She's a missing girl, anyways, and her community is waiting for her, her mother." his adjustment on the stool is driven to two limbs and stood on the ground, "Let me have her, will you? You can come along too if you like, it's just one other part of your big journey." 

"She doesn't know you, I don't know you, so I'm not giving her up to some lunatic." 

"I'm just returning her to original state." 

Ghost presses his head to yours. "Let's go, love, eyes on me—and keep up." 

He has a distaste of wasting his time; so that was his reason for no longer keeping conversation with the insanity of a man, his arm to your shoulder, a majority of him in control of navigating away from the man and through the crowds of people, pushing past in a silent hurry. You rest your face into his jacketed arm, the scent of cigarettes on it, comforting down from the matter of unlucky circumstances. 

To your luck, the man does not keep up, and is lost in the bunches of teenagers and crowds. His recorded verses of vulgar nicknames for you and berating insults resonated through the structure of the pub. Labels of Innocent between Whorish and Blasphemous. It's a flux of bemusement, what really were you? — innocent? or a whore to the Devil?

[hakureiryuu]

part 1

episode 2, and I just noticed the episode titles that call the flashback b plots minisodes. what's that about?

not-quite-a-liveblog ahoy!

crowley looks so effing weird in this outfit?? maybe it's the glasses, they're so anachronistic, almost steampunk.

I actually thought he was talking about isaac or something here lol

birds flying away after crowley firebombs the goats lmao

saying that eve was the first human birth implies that she is adam's daughter???? which I guess makes about as much sense as a single breeding pair populating the planet, we all know how much inbreeding that would take.

(side note: I remember this Flood adaptation movie that had emma watson in it. noah wanted to kill off all the humans and just let the animals survive. he said while watson was pregnant that if her twin kids were boys, they could live and humans would just die out. but if they were girls who could grow up to be mothers, he would kill them. and I'm like, implying that their father/grandfather/uncles would be the ones impregnating them? nevermind the incest, what about the age gap??? but anyway)

ofc when gabriel claimed to be an expert in human birth I immediately thought of mary, but that hasn't happened yet. I mean it makes sense that this idiot would think eve counts, but couldn't he at least make it to cain??

there's something to be said about this story and elspeth's story connecting virtue with economic status. aziraphale appears to think about that when it's pointed out, but takes entirely the wrong lesson from it, as we see with elspeth later.

"but no one would ever find them- actually that's a great idea" it reads as aziraphale not wanting to deal with gabe's bullshit rather than agreeing with it, as though he hasn't done variations of the same thing for years. I still laughed tho XD

oh hey, "every day" was gonna be the original opening song for the first season! what a cute reference that will likely have little to no further relevance!

this was the point where I was like "why the hell is crowley just hanging out in that same alleyway all the time? wait a goddamn minute, did shax take his apartment?!"

it's so cute how maggie takes aziraphale's social cluelessness in stride.

the jukebox at the resurrectionist is just like the bently turning cds into queen, what a cute reference that will likely have little to no further relevance!

trumpets sound, archangels approach.

saraquel miraclling a ramp lmao

gabriel's attempts at flyswatting never work!!!!!!

I'm assuming all those newspaper clipping say "every day" etc? for some reason? someone correct me if I'm wrong, I would really love to know.

also why is he DRAWING gabriel? later he just needed it to show someone, but why not take a picture? I'm sure you have an ancient camera where you have to hide under a blanket lying around somewhere.

shooing motion miracle at the pub, hahaha

I was a good deal sus of this plan to ship nina and maggie when nina already has a partner, but that was before I realized lindsay is a piece of shit. still, it's not like they know that either! ineffable homewreckers, they are.

everyone's talked about how crowley's first thought re: romance is taking shelter from the rain 😊

but my asexual brain is somehow always teetering over the gutter, so when he said "get them wet" I blinked a bit XDD

JANE AUSTIN WHO???!?

"you think you know someone..." "she had balls!" "what?"

actually it wasn't a what, it was a well. as in "well that's not relevant to my point" like, sir, did you know this already? in what context??

meanwhile back in job's era they're having a bit of a tense discussion. this is explicitly after the flood so it makes sense that aziraphale absolutely does not believe that crowley wants to kill some kids. I wonder why lying is such a big theme in this episode? I haven't been able to really boil it down yet.

aziraphale's smug grin really breaks the tension though XDD

jemimah is adorable. the others are the product of rich parents.

these two are playing chicken with children's lives, but hey, it's about the trust 😌

"can I be a blue one?" I love her

aziraphale discovering food is so deliberately gross, why this?

so many complicated feelings from both of them about god actually talking to someone.

god's pronouns are she/they, approved.

crowley says see you in hell but the next day when sitis is about to flip god off he says actually let's walk this all back pfffft

"reach into his robes... no, higher."

when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they share a very special hug...

aziraphale stating flat out with no equivocation that gabriel was awful is such a huge step forward for him 😊

(while pausing to write this I noticed that john hamm is credited simply as jim, love that for him)

this is the 2nd time aziraphale has insisted "our" in the face of crowley's "my" I'm sobbing

good omens inside good omens, gomensception

aziraphale really took that "see you in hell" seriously though huh.

the gentle, simple way he says "I don't think you'd like it" hurts me and heals me.

"you're not like me because you're a demon, you're like me because you don't want to toe the party line." y'know lining up their meetings - the wall of eden, the ark, and now this - must paint a very interesting picture of aziraphale for crowley. we always thought that crowley fell for this angel nigh immediately and spent the rest of time orbiting him. now I think aziraphale fell into crowley's orbit, and crowley gradually learned more and more contradictory (and therefore interesting) things about him. like the shelter of the wing, it's all reversed in this season.

[genshinlover101]

Request for a vacation to Watatsumi Island with reader and their s/o? (Ayaka,Yoimiya,Thoma and Kazuha)-like say they haven’t been able to spend much time together due to work or personal matters so this use this vacation as a time to bond better together and just relax cjsndbdend am in love with that place sm just imagined would be the ideal place to live in :3

Taking Them on a Vacation to Watatsumi Island

Characters: Ayaka, Yoimiya, Thoma, Kazuha x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: Trust I’m a sucker for Watatsumi Island too <3 I remember seeing the shrine for the first time and I was in legit awe

I just wish I wasn’t dumb and could solve the puzzles :,)

• Ayaka’s poor sheltered soul can barely travel to Inazuma City without being escorted, let alone Watatsumi Island. If she needed to communicate with Lady Sangonomiya she would simply send a letter.

• Ayaka adored the food. She’s only had food native to Narukami Island, and with the help of the traveler, pizza. So she’d be super interested in the food that inhabited Watatsumi.

• Ayaka never had a friend let alone a lover to lean on or take her anywhere. So when you took her to all the restaurant hot spots in Watatsumi Island she’d clap her hands in excitement.

Ayaka had plenty up her sleeve as the eldest daughter of the Kamisato household, the poor Shirasagi Himegimi would never see the end of it at Narukami Island. Therefore you took her on a vacation on the island furthest from it, where no one would recognize her and she could be just an ordinary girl like she always wished for.

Her mouth practically drooled over all the Unagi dishes within the pub at Bourou Village. Although Unagi meat wasn’t native to Watatsumi, it was certainly bountiful on Watatsumi, and plenty rare on any other island. You could only get quality meat from this local joint you took her to. 

She prepared herself for the wonderful smell wafting from the Grilled Unagi Fillet the chef had cooked her. You noticed her hesitation at first. You questioned why she was holding back, but then you remembered your girlfriend had never gotten the privilege to disregard dinner-table etiquette. “Go ahead, dig it Ayaka,” you giggled. “After all, I bought it specifically for you.”

Ayaka’s eyes glistened as she took the biggest bite she’s ever taken in her life, disregarding the lady-like expectancies. Bystanders glanced over judging the sight of sauce dripping down her mouth. “This is wonderful!” she exclaimed, consuming more than she could handle in one sitting. 

“Slow your roll Ayaka, remember to chew thoroughly. We have all the time in the world,” you said. This poor girl had so much stress on her from the Shogunate. Not only did she have to pose as an ally to the other two commissions, but she had to single-handedly lead the resistance on Narukami Island in the most covert way possible. You wondered how such a nice girl as herself got wrapped into such a task. “Just wait till you try the Unagi Chazuke,” you smiled, hoping it would lift some of her burden off her chest.

• Yoimiya has had a couple of requests for fireworks in Watatsumi, but she’s never delivered it by hand. It was always by boat from Ritou. So this trip would be quite interesting for her.

• Yoimiya would be super into the translucent jellyfish that floated around Watatsumi. They would make super unique firework shape, and were a fresh change from her normal fish shape.

• Yoimiya would point at the little jellyfish in the air, absolutely mesmerized at how they flowed and their beauty. She’d get excited when you told her there were more equally beautiful scenes to experience on the island.

Yoimiya stood dazed at the edge of a cliff, staring endlessly at a nearby floating jellyfish. You hadn’t seen her so infatuated with anything other than her own fleeting fireworks. Even you were somewhat amazed by these fascinating creatures. “How do they float? We’re not even underwater are we?” 

You shrugged paired with a bewildered look. “My guess is that it’s a special atmosphere of Watatsumi Island.” She followed a specific unbothered jellyfish. Most of them quickly swam off when you two got close, scared of you. But this one seemed calm as if it hadn’t noticed you approaching.

She tip-toed behind it, observing its translucent body in awe. Then suddenly she stepped on a conveniently placed tree branch causing a loud snap and the jellyfish to unfortunately flee. She watched it float away with yearning. “When we go back home, I’m designing a firework after these little cute guys.” 

You smiled at her innocence, you took her on this trip to forget about her work. She specifically had a lot of stress as she helped many citizens within Inazuma City avoid the Vision Hunt Decree and her base of operation was her own business. She was risking everything for the sake of acquaintances that she barely knew. Yet here she was brainstorming ideas for a new design. 

Even the Shogun hated the idea of temporary beauty, and Yoimiya’s whole brand stemmed from that very escaping feeling that a firework brought. You wish you could’ve provided more support for Yoimiya, but this vacation was the only thing that you could offer her. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s so pretty and much different than that gloomy Narukami Island. It’s perfect,” she complimented you, giving you a big goofy grin to wipe all your worries away.

• Thoma has many letter delivery jobs from the Kamisato siblings. But never would they expose him to the dangers of the journey to Watatsumi. The farthest this lad has gone was from Mondstadt to Narukami Island.

• Thoma loved the culture on Watatsumi Island. Even though both Narukami and Watatsumi were islands of Inazuma, each had a different culture as one acted against the Shogun.

• Thoma being a man of multiple cultures was very interested in everything and anything he hadn’t seen before. The food, the structures, even the wildlife. You’d take him everywhere and he was just like a little child.

Thoma happened to be the best candidate to travel with, not only was this man neat and tidy, but he knew how to swindle a good deal if he wanted to. You remember the moment you landed in your small hotel room in Bourou Village he began unpacking and organizing, even cleaning the dust the cleaning ladies had left on the desk stand. 

“Come on Thoma,” you whined. “It’s been an hour already, we should go get some lunch. Unwind and relax with me, that’s why I brought you here.” You bargained. You ended up snatching Thoma from the Kamisato household during his busy season, all the housekeepers were doing this spring cleaning after all.

“I know I know, but if I may I want everything to be perfect for the remainder of this trip.” He was such a nit-picky guy, you rolled your eyes and took the sleeve of his shirt before he could grab another product infused with bleach to clean the bathroom.

“Listen Thoma, I brought you here to relax.” You looked him straight in the eye and he remembered the fierce spirit you held and why he was scared of it. “Now I have a scheduled tour for us at Sangonomiya Shrine and if we miss it I will be incredibly upset.”

You could hear Thoma gulp in fear as he held his hands up defensively, he knew his dashing charm that courted you before would not work this time. So begrudgingly he followed you outside of the room. Little did he know this would be his first taste of a new culture, and he would soon grow addicted to it, completely forgetting his cleaning duties of your temporary room.

• Kazuha has explored Watatsumi before on his own. Especially cause his go-to for when he’s in need of shelter is Gorou. But he’s never gone to enjoy a vacation with a lover for any matter.

• Kazuha would be more into the sightseeing, whether it was an actual listed tourist attraction or just the scenery of the sun setting over Sangonomiya Shrine.

• He was very poetic, he’d love to just sit with you on a grassy hill and write little haikus about the sheer beauty. Even making little tunes in his head about the vibes that the scenery gave him.

Kazuha was always on the run, he never got a break. Especially during the Vision Hunt Decree, this man was never safe from the Inazuma Shogunate, so a trip to a beautiful island was exactly what he needed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to a place more exciting,” you apologized. “I know you’ve seen sights probably far beautiful in Liyue, but it seemed like we both needed a break from everything that’s been happening.”

You stood atop a random hill full of grass that appeared frosted over with a blue tint, basking in the absolute glory of the view. “It’s quite alright, I owe you more for just bringing me here,”  Kazuha inhaled and exhaled, allowing himself to take in everything this island had to offer. “After all, I probably wouldn’t have escaped the Shogun if it weren’t for your quick thinking.”

You smiled at him calmly, it was rare that the two of you got to enjoy such a peaceful time together. Usually, it was war and more war much to Kazuha’s dismay. All you wanted to do was relax with your boyfriend after breaking your back for the resistance. 

A leaf from a tree dangled and floated down gently right into Kazuha’s hands as if nature itself was calling for the traveling samurai. He held the leaf in between his two palms and placed it against his pursed lips, you just observed calmly. The man blew softly as he made multiple ear ringing chords through it. The notes themselves were raspy and unrefined, but the tune was pleasant to the ears and tranquil.

Kazuha had always been a poetic man to make musical instruments out of thin air, but you never thought he could turn a leaf into a woodwind. You looked off back into the sunset, listening to the sweet tune next to the man you loved, you could use this type of vacation more often.

[mosylufanfic]

All You Need is Leverage

I have nothing to say for myself but that @hedgiwithapen made me do it.

All You Need is Leverage

Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire, was very far from either Pemberley or Derbyshire. At the present moment, he was exiting a part of London that he hardly would have acknowledged to exist only a month before. And yet he had lately become a regular upon its streets.

His thoughts were fastened on a low, squalid boarding house some three or four streets behind him, upon the smirking man and the silly girl who refused to listen to reason.

(Some of his thoughts lingered upon a certain young lady, not the silly girl, in a country village known as Meryton . . . but he would not acknowledge that to himself, any more than he would once have acknowledged the streets he now walked.)

The rain started to come down harder, and he pulled his greatcoat around his shoulders, peering from beneath his hat to find the pub that had become a regular way-station between George Wickham's abode and his own lodgings. Ah, there. He quickened his pace.

The Leverage Arms had nothing to recommend it on outward appearance. Just another corner public house, with the same beer and ale and solid, hearty food as any other pub. Yet there was a shine about it. The beer was a touch better quality, the food very good indeed.

While it had been crowded both of the nights, the atmosphere had never been anything but refined and congenial. Indeed, he'd seen two would-be combatants settle down with a mere look from the barmaid.

He ducked into the doorway. It was crowded tonight, people taking shelter from the rain, so unseasonable for August.

He caught the eye of the barkeeper and ordered a pint and a steak-and-kidney pie. It had been the same one every night, a lean young man of African extraction. 

"Right you are," the man said. He leaned over. "The private parlor is available, sir, if you like a bit of quiet."

"I would," Mr. Darcy said, pleased. "Thank you."

Like many old pubs, this one was a rabbit warren of smallish, dark-paneled rooms, and it was quite possible to have a private meal if you so chose. The room the barman had spoken of was smaller than most, but a merry fire crackled. 

His food arrived and he was just starting to tuck in when the door opened. "I beg your pardon," he said coldly. "This is a private parlor."

The man looked around. "So it is, so it is," he said in a strong Irish accent. "Fine place to have a private conversation." He settled himself into the chair across the table from him.

"Sir," Mr. Darcy said at his very coldest. "I -"

The door creaked again, and a hard-faced man stepped in, leaning up against the wall next to the door. He nodded but said nothing. 

Mr. Darcy shifted his weight, wondering if he was about to be robbed. And he had thought this a decent establishment. 

 "The name's Ford," the first man said, "Nathan Ford." He took a deep draught of the drink he held.

The cheek of the man, introducing himself in this forward manner. 

The door creaked again, and the barmaid stepped inside, followed immediately by the barkeep. Ah, excellent. "Sir, these men have intruded upon my private room. I must demand you remove them.”

But the barkeep merely smiled and leaned up against the wall, next to the barmaid and the hard-faced man.

One more creak of the door, and Mr. Darcy was ready to call for the constables. But the person who stepped through this time was clearly a lady of gentle birth, perhaps even noble. Instinctively, he rose to his feet. 

"Do forgive us for intruding upon your solitude in such a forward manner," she said, gliding forward and settling herself into the last chair. "We desired private speech with you, Mr. Darcy.."

Though her gentility was obvious, he had no notion who this person was. Although it now seemed clear these strange people were her servants. 

"Forgive me, ma'am,” he said, taking his seat once more, “but I don't seem to recall our introduction."

"No," she said without further explanation. "You may call me Mrs. Devereux."

Mr. Darcy blinked. Devereux was the family name of the Viscount Hereford. 

"Allow me to present Mr. Nathan Ford, late of the clergy, Mr. Alec Hardison, the proprietor of this establishment, Mr. Eliot Spencer, late of his Majesty's army. And Parker."

She was introducing her servants to his acquaintance? His head spun, trying to make sense of the situation. He grasped onto the only thing he knew for certain. "I am sorry to say, ma'am, that I find your man Ford impertinent in the extreme."

"So he is," she agreed, with remarkable placidity. "I beg you will forgive him. Not because he deserves it, mind you, but rather if we embark on the topic of Mr. Ford's manifold flaws, we should be here all night."

"Here now," Ford murmured, and took another drink.

As if he had not spoken, Mrs. Devereux continued, "And we have other topics at hand."

"Such as?"

"Our sources tell us you are prevailing on a certain Mr. George Wickham to marry the lady in his . . . care."

He regarded her, stone faced.

She raised her brows. "Sir, you must know that in matters of reputation, time is of the essence. The longer this present state of affairs continues, the more likely that the lady - and her entire family - will be irrevocably ruined in polite society. Yet Mr. Wickham remains immovably obdurate."

"I fail to see how that is any business of yours."

"In a word, sir, you require leverage." She smiled beatifically. "Fortunately for you, we are in the business of providing - leverage."

-

A little over a fortnight later, Darcy stood in a church and watched Mr. George Wickham marry Miss Lydia Bennet, and felt the relief ease through his body. When they were pronounced man and wife, and Lydia had giggled her way back down the aisle on the arm of her reluctant groom, he let out his breath. It was done.

For better or for worse, indeed, they were married, and the scandal would begin to blow itself out with the influence of a wedding ring.

He began to follow them out, then saw the group of five unusual persons who had been of so much assistance in effecting the marriage. He stopped at the end of the pew. "I must thank you for your assistance," he said. "I make no doubt I should still be arguing with Wickham were it not for you."

"It was a small thing, I assure you," Mrs. Devereux said, rising to her feet.

As he offered his arm to escort her from the church, Mr. Darcy had his doubts about that. After their first meeting, he had taken their advice and stayed away from the squalid boarding-house for two days. On the third day, George Wickham had all but thrown himself into Mr. Darcy's arms and begged to accept his offer.

"Perhaps I was too hasty, old boy," he'd said carelessly. "Be nice to have these little matters cleared up, and I'm sure I shan't mind being married. Might be a laugh."

This had been such a marked departure from his previous position that Mr. Darcy had very nearly tested him for fever. But he had put matters in motion immediately. 

Now, curiosity overcame him. "Do you mind if I ask - I beg your pardon. But how did you effect such a change in Mr. Wickham's mind?"

"Easy enough," Mr. Ford said. "He owes - owed, I should say - a great deal of money to a Mr. Moreau." 

Mr. Spencer smiled wolfishly and said in his broad Yorkshire accent,  "All it took was a little reminder that such a man would not forget such a debt."

Mrs. Devereux nodded. "The temptation of immediately extricating himself from that tangle overrode his plans of marrying rich down the road. You see that nothing could be easier."

"Mr. Damian Moreau?" Mr. Darcy recognized the name, for it had been prominent on the list of the debts of honor Mr. Wickahm owed, listed first, boldly, and underlined. Clearly a very pressing debt indeed. Or a very pressing man.

"The very one,” Mr. Ford said. “By the bye, Mr. Darcy, might you have Mr. Moreau's direction?"

"Certainly." He took out his commonplace book and retrieved the sheet of foolscap, handing it over. 

"We've been tracking him for our own purposes for some time now. Mr.Wickham was something of a breadcrumb." He checked the list and his brows contracted. 

"It seemed to be a office of business," Mr. Darcy said. "I'm not sure Mr. Moreau was on the premises."

"It's a further breadcrumb," Mrs. Devereux said. "We thank you."

"Is this why you offered assistance?"

"It certainly helped. But Mr. Darcy, you must indulge my curiosity in turn. This was a great deal of effort on your part for a man that you appear to despise."

"He is known to be connected to my family. It was a matter of honor."

"Mmm." Her smile looked more knowing than he was comfortable with. "Are you sure it wasn't anything to do with the lady in question? Perhaps her family?"

He looked down at his gloves, readjusting their fit. "No, madam, I am unconnected to the Bennets in any way."

"Well, connection or no, I am sure they will be most grateful for your service. Particularly her sisters, for their chances at respectable marriages would have very much jeopardized by their sister's heedless action."

"I do not mean that they should know anything about it," he said firmly. "Mrs. Devereux, Mr. Ford, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Hardison, Miss Parker - "

"Just Parker," the girl muttered, as she had every time he addressed her in the short time they had been acquainted. 

"I am in your debt. If I can render any small assistance in any affair of yours, please do not hesitate to call upon me." He gave them his card. 

"Thank you," Mrs. Devereux said, tucking it away in her reticule. "But you can help us most by passing our name along to anyone who might need it."

"I would be pleased to, but I am yet uncertain of the exact nature of your business."

She slipped her arm from his and turned to face him. "It cannot have escaped your notice, Mr. Darcy, that this country is full of people with no defense against the rich and powerful, if they should choose to impose upon them."

Mr. Darcy shifted uneasily. "I have always considered it the duty of wealth and power to look after those less fortunate."

"Very high-minded. I will say, our sources tell us that you live up to that ideal yourself. And yet, does everyone?"

He could not refute this. "So you consider yourselves the defenders of the downtrodden?"

"Let us say we have a particular set of skills among us that allow us to sometimes, in some ways, make things right. So if you ever hear of someone who has been shamefully imposed upon, and has no hope of justice from friends or the law, do send them our way." She put up her parasol and took Mr. Ford's arm. "Good day, Mr. Darcy."

FINIS

[meetmymouth]

AUBADE ; HARRY STYLES

WORD COUNT: 12k

warnings: smut, smoking, alcohol consumption.

thank you @harryandhockey​ and @burberryharold​ for beta-ing this baby, you guys are the sweetest angels! 

When the doorbell goes off for the third time that night, she groans and tosses the lipstick on her bed, then makes her way towards the door. Through the stained glass, she sees a tall figure and rolls her eyes.

“Look, this is the third time- oh. It’s you.”

The blonde raises her eyebrows, “Who were you expecting? Also wow, I feel so welcome, thank you.”

“Sorry,” the door closes behind Charlotte, and they walk inside.

Once in the tiny kitchen, kettle already on, she takes time to coat her eyelashes with mascara.

“Who did you think I was, that was quite the welcome.”

“Couple of girls kept knocking on the door. Something about a survey. I’ve no idea. Hey, can you help me put this on?” She takes a necklace out of her jean pocket and hands it over.

It’s Thursday, which means happy hour at their local pub and after that, they’d take N31 towards Camden to listen to a friend of Charlotte’s, an upcoming indie artist. She usually didn’t like going out on weekdays since she worked 8 to 4 and she would need to wake up at 6AM sharp to get ready and leave her flat for her Friday shift. But ever since Charlotte started working for the touring musician Harry Styles, they saw each other twice- once when they toured England and the second one being right before Charlotte left for tour. Being close friends since school, it was safe to say that she felt her absence and missed her friend dearly but were also so proud of her for everything she’d achieved.

So when Charlotte came home during their break, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her friend and if it meant spending her Friday shift hungover while cleaning up animal urine and puke from all kinds of animals, then so be it.

“There,” Charlotte pats her on the neck after she clasps the necklace and she turns around, hand reaching to turn the kettle off.

“Ta. When are we leaving? And do you think I should go for my Adidas or the boots?” She points at the heeled boots, half white half black by the kitchen entrance and Charlotte follows her gaze as she sips the hot beverage.

She looks at the boots, then her, then the boots again, “The boots for fuckin’ sure. They’re sick- where’d you get them?”

“Depop,” She lets out a chuckle, “Think they’re Topshop, ‘m not sure. Should we leave? Y’know I walk dead slow and now that I’m wearin’ the boots…”

“You really do...go get your shit, I’ll wash this.”

They’re gathered around a round table, the green paint of the wooden table beginning to chip, and everyone’s got drinks of their own, G&T being the most popular choice. There are only five of them, Charlotte, her, Phoebe and her girlfriend Jamie, and they’re chatting about anything and everything until Charlotte turns to her, straw between her red lips.

“So-”

“Oh dear, what have you done,” she cuts her off and earns a glare from her, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Phoebe and Jamie cross their arms as if they’re getting ready for their usual bickering.

“Fuck you,” Charlotte sighs, “I didn’t do anything. I just invited some more people to Julien’s show and wanted to...kinda ask if that’s alright with you”

“Oh,” she looks around the table, finding the other girls looking at their phones and she turns to Charlotte, “It’s fine. Who are they?”

Phoebe snorts at that and her eyebrows raise in question. She gives Phoebe a look, but Charlotte’s quicker as she throws a damp tissue at the blonde and Jamie laughs when it lands back on Charlotte’s lap. “You know Sarah from the band?”

“Oh, yeah!”

She remembers meeting Sarah at Charlotte’s new flat after she moved to London, the brunette bringing a cute snake plant and a weird- but cute tea set as a housewarming gift and they got on well. They talked about plants, Sarah giving her tips on how to keep certain plants alive, and she asked her lots of questions about her experience being a woman, especially a drummer in the music industry. Sarah was very soft spoken; she spoke as if she was talking to a baby, but she always made sure to maintain eye contact when she was having a conversation with you, listening and nodding when appropriate so that you felt special and...understood. She was lovely, which was why she found it weird how Charlotte was acting awkward about her joining them tonight.

“And her boyfriend, Mitch, of course,” Charlotte adds and she nods, motioning for her to keep going. “And Harry.”

“Harry Styles?”

“Oh boy,” Jamie whistles.

“Obviously,” Charlotte sucks on her straw, slurping her drink, “Yeah, him,” she repeats, this time softer.

“I...why?” She chooses to ask, surprised as she’d like to think Harry Styles as this unreachable, ever-so-busy person who wouldn’t be interested in a night out like this. She turns to Phoebe, and then Jamie, and they respond with a shrug as Phoebe goes back to cuddling into Jamie’s side.

“What do you mean why?” Charlotte places her drink on the table, “It would be rude not to since I asked Sarah and Mitch.”

“Well, I just mean, isn’t he busy?”

Jamie whistles again and sings her name, “You got a crush, babes?”

“Nonsense, never even met the guy- which,” she looks around the table, “-is one of the reasons why I was confused. Anyway, it doesn't matter,” she shrugs and turns to Charlotte, “I’m not bothered, Lotts, it’s totally fine.”

“Y��sure?”

She gives her a nod, “I just find him intimidating and don’t think he’d be into indie, that’s all.”

It was true. Despite having not met Mr. Harry Styles, deep down she knew he’d be intimidating because he was so good looking and well, just like most people, she loved One Direction. She was a big fan, she even got told off by her stepmother once when she was younger because apparently the tape she used to hang her One Direction posters was ruining the walls. She often referred to them as twinks, and she didn’t even know what it meant until she was older. She remembers how she got made fun of at sixth form because one of the girls found her old Tumblr and told everyone about it. Harry’s never been her favourite though. Not because she didn’t find him attractive, not at all. It was because he was too attractive and was everyone’s favourite so whenever asked, she’d shrug and tell people how she found Louis funny, and then Zayn because ’he’s the hottest’.

Long story short, despite her friendship with Charlotte, she’d never met Harry, never had the opportunity to attend one of his shows because she was either too busy or they were playing in a different country and she simply couldn’t afford it. So tonight would be the first time they’d get to be in the same place and to say that she was nervous would be an understatement. And her, she always thought she was awkward. Way too awkward for social gatherings but she liked going out regardless, drinking cheap alcohol and dancing to shitty songs in an equally shitty pub. She loved being a student. Loved the freedom the title had given her. What’s your occupation, she’d get asked from time to time. Student, she’d say without hesitating. She was a student. She didn’t have to be anything else for three years. Sure, she was also working part time at an animal shelter but for the most part, she loved being a student. That’s how she met Phoebe, and then Jamie. In a way, she was their matchmaker.

She remembers meeting Phoebe last year when they had a class together. She was the first person to smile at her in the overcrowded lecture theatre and she remembers thinking how nice Phoebe’s green fringe looked. Meeting Jamie though, was funny. Phoebe usually got weird when they joked about it since she met Jamie before Phoebe did on Tinder, even went on a date with her, and then right before she was about to ghost her, she thought of how similar Phoebe and Jamie were. It was then that she made Phoebe go on a date with Jamie, and after a month of pining, they got together. Even though they were similar, she always thought that they actually completed each other, Jamie being the logical one and Phoebe encouraging Jamie to let loose from time to time and live in the moment.

Charlotte reaches and boops her nose, “He’s a musician, he loves all kinds of music. He won’t eat you, babe. He’s nice, I promise.”

Phoebe knocks on the wood, getting everyone’s attention, “Can we get a picture with him? An autograph?”

She feels a throbbing pain in her feet, toes in particular once they’re in and they wait for Phoebe and Jamie to buy their drinks, knowing she’d wake up with blisters in the morning. Charlotte takes out her phone and presumably texts the others, letting them know they were already here. She felt nervous. Nervous because she always thought she was rubbish when it came to meeting new people; they either thought she was too intimidating or rude but in reality, it was only because she always felt anxious meeting new people and would rather stay quiet than talking nonsense.

She takes time to analyse her outfit, a pair of black mom jeans and her boots, oh the boots who were currently grilling her feet. Then she tries to adjust her lace bodysuit, all of a sudden feeling super self conscious about the ”revealing” outfit. She adjusts the top, hoping her tits weren’t out before, and sighs when she touches the oversized blazer, rolling up the sleeves a bit more since it was beginning to get warm, too warm for her liking inside. Considering how she often felt self conscious about her arms, she felt more comfortable with the blazer over the sexy bodysuit.

“So,” she starts, eyes studying the crowded bar before her gaze stops at Charlotte, “Are they here?”

Charlotte looks up from her phone and nods, leaning her head on her shoulder. She feels her arm going around her waist and smiles, nudging her head with hers and she looks up, giving her a smile of her own. “What’s up, blondie?” she asks, hand coming up to ruffle Charlotte’s fringe.

She sighs, “Just tired, to be honest. I’m glad I wore trainers.”

“At least one of us is happy about their shoe choice.”

They watch as Phoebe and Jamie walk towards them, the brunette handing her a tall glass as Phoebe hands Charlotte her own drink. “When’s she on?”

Everyone turns to Charlotte, “Half an hour, maybe?”

“When are your friends coming? It’s getting quite...stuffy in here,” Jamie looks around and Phoebe nods, hands going around Jamie’s waist to pull the brunette into her.

“I texted Sarah and she said Harry was parking the car- oh, I see Mitch.”

They all look around, and she spots the tall guy with long hair, walking towards them with Sarah and Harry behind. She gulps and tries to look away, praying that no one takes notice of her sweaty forehead and shaky hands.

As the trio walk towards them, she takes a moment to examine Harry, and his outfit. Even in the dimly lit bar, she’s almost sure the high waisted trousers he has on are navy, and he’s got a tan...or a beige shirt tucked in them, chest on full display and she notices a cross necklace, looking as if it was made for his pretty neck. She clears her throat as quietly as she can and looks down but not before she takes a peek at his shoes, and she almost snorts at the choice of red boots he’s got on, noticing how everyone had trainers on while the two of them had what looked like very uncomfortable boots on.

To be honest, she thinks, he looks pretty good. She looks around them, noticing how most guys had jeans and ugly trainers on whereas Harry looked like he made quite the effort with his outfit but she also knows that even if he turned up in jeans and ugly trainers, he would still look amazing. Damn Harry Styles. Was she blushing?

The three of them are in their space now, close enough so she can make out Sarah’s overpowering perfume, and she clears her throat once again when Charlotte embraces Sarah first, then Mitch. Before she can watch her hug Harry, Sarah’s in front of her.

“Hi,” she smiles, going in for a hug, “It’s so nice to see you again. It’s been a while,” she says and her voice comes out muffled since they’re still hugging and she hopes her hair smells decent because Sarah’s face is pressed against her neck and hair.

“It’s nice to see you too! How have you been?”

“‘Been alright, I suppose!” She beams at her and turns to the man with long hair, “This is Mitch.”

As Sarah introduces everyone with Mitch, she feels Harry’s eyes on her, though she can’t turn her head and meet his gaze because that’d be rude seeing how Mitch is about to reach and give her a one armed hug. Alright then, she thinks, they’re a hugger. Then, it’s Harry’s turn. She looks at him, seeing how his eyes are focused on Phoebe and Jamie as he gives them both a warm smile before Charlotte starts talking again, introducing everyone to Phoebe and Jamie, then everyone turns to her, and she feels her face heat up seeing how everyone’s attention is on her now. She knows it’s her turn.

Harry takes a step forward and her earlier thoughts are confirmed when she can finally make out the colour of his trousers. “Hey, ‘m Harry,” he gives her a smile without waiting for Charlotte to speak, “Nice meeting you,” he comes closer and wraps an arm around her, engulfing her in a hug but it’s definitely different from Mitch or Sarah’s hug. It’s tight, much warmer and he’s got both arms around her, palms flat against her back as he rubs her back.

And of course she responds with the same warmness and hugs him back, “Hiya,” she introduces herself, and once they pull apart, he repeats her name and it sounds like poetry, something so personal and...erotic. But maybe, she thinks, maybe it’s just his deep voice making her feel that way.

Despite the moment they shared, if she could call it that, felt like hours, it was merely a minute. And it wasn’t like in the films where they hug, everything around them slowing down as the people watch in awe. No, not at all. When she looks around, she sees that everyone’s been already mingling, Phoebe and Jamie smiling at each other while they sipped their drinks, and Mitch is nowhere to be seen, possibly at the bar getting drinks.

Harry turns to Charlotte with a grin, “So is she any good, should we replace you with her?” He says, nudging her with his hip.

That sort of makes her smile, seeing Harry so carefree and friendly with the people who are essentially working for him. Even though she doesn’t know Harry Styles like they do, like Charlotte does, she knows he considers these people to be his friends and colleagues rather than his employees. It’s also fun seeing him this friendly with her best friend, and she feels proud, as she always does, knowing Charlotte has made herself great friends and that she clearly enjoys working with these people.

Charlotte nudges him back, “She’s great, I wouldn’t mind being replaced by her. Oh, there she is,” she points at the stage, and everyone turns to look at the pink-haired girl on the tiny stage with a sleek looking acoustic guitar on her side. As the others start talking about Julien, she finally takes the opportunity to look at Harry. Once their eyes meet, he gives her a smile, dimples on full display, and she swears she could see him blush when he looks down after she beamed at him. Even if he did blush though, he recovers quickly when he’s offered a drink and he mutters a thank you to Mitch, then lifts the slice of lime off the rim of his glass and sucks it into his mouth and she deems it as a good time to look away.

And she does, when she feels Sarah close, and she turns to her, Sarah welcoming her with a smile, “How’s uni? It’s your last year, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” she clears her throat, “It’s alright. Exhausting, but alright.”

“You’re working too, right?”

“Yeah, I work at an animal shelter.”

“It must be exhausting.”

“It is,” she gives her a nod, “I work three days a week and I also have classes so I only have Sundays off. I’ll probably leave and focus on uni after Christmas break though, I have my dissertation next semester.”

“Oh, cool! I miss being a student,” she purses her lips and turns to Harry, who had been listening to their conversation, his pretty fingers, most of them adorned with equally pretty rings, wrapped around the tall glass, “You probably can’t relate, H, can ya?”

He rolls her eyes but laughs regardless, “Piss off.”

Despite the chatter around them, it’s not ridiculously loud so they can carry a conversation without having to shout. They fall into an easy conversation, everyone joining in, and all of a sudden a pink neon light falls over them and they all turn to the stage. Julien starts singing, and all the chatter around them dies down, some people already starting to sing the words back at her.

She looks away from the stage for a minute and catches Harry’s gaze from across the room. They’re close enough for her to make out a few droplets of sweat on Harry’s forehead, and their eyes meet as he gives her a smile, eyes sparkling with mischief, then brings the glass up to his mouth. She watches as his top lip rests on the rim before he lifts it to his mouth and when she looks up, she sees him still looking at, gaze unwavering and mouth curled upwards in a sly smirk. She was caught. She was caught and he looked like he was loving and devouring every second of it.

Julien takes a break, promising to come back with a brand new song from her upcoming EP, and there’s a group of people making their way towards the exit, presumably to have a smoke and get some fresh air.

“Where’s she gone?” Charlotte huffs, eyes searching the room for the pink haired girl.

“She’s over there,” Phoebe points at Julien and they all turn to where she’s pointing at, spotting Julien near the bar with a drink in hand.

“Is she flirting?”

“She’s got groupies already?” she says after she takes her eyes off of Harry and everyone laughs.

Charlotte comes closer and nudges her shoulder against her, “You’d know, wouldn’t you?” “Be quiet,” she nudges back, and their group falls back into their conversation except Harry, who keeps staring at her and she gulps, hands reaching to feel her blazer pockets.

“Right,” she mutters, “It’s time to poison myself. I’m going out for a fag,” once she feels the bulge in her pocket, she turns to Charlotte, “Send me a text when she’s back on, yeah?”

“I’ll come with.”

She looks up at Harry, surprised, but nods, waiting for him to follow her outside. Even though she tries her best not to make eye contact with anyone as they leave, she’s aware of them watching them, everyone in their group equally surprised, but they keep walking, Harry following quietly behind. Once they pass the smelly bodies, they’re finally outside, the wind licking her face once she steps out and she tries to hug herself closer, seeing how the thin blazer’s not doing a good job at keeping her warm.

Harry wishes he’d brought a coat.

They’re quiet as he follows her to a quiet corner, only a few people turning their heads their way, presumably recognising him, and they stop near a brick wall and she takes her tobacco out of her left pocket. She looks up, catching him staring at her ring-clad fingers wrapped around the dark green packet, and she clears her throat, making him look up at her. They share a smile, both feeling at ease with the comfortable silence between them. She spots a wooden bench near and sits down, hands already working the packet open. When she starts tearing the tobacco apart, Harry can’t help but note how quickly she’s working it between her fingers, and he’s almost certain she’s been doing this for years.

“Want one?” She asks and he saunters forward, coming to stand in front of her with hands in his pockets.

He shrugs and she takes that as a yes, fingers pausing their work on the tobacco to take out something that resembles a cigarette and it’s only when she pushes it from the bottom that Harry realises they’re filters. Placing one between her lips, her fingers dip into her pocket once again to retrieve some papers and Harry finds himself unable to look away from her lips and how pretty they look with something between them.

He looks down at her lap, where the packet of tobacco is, seeing her fingers work swiftly as she fills the thin paper, and despite knowing better not to glamorise something as horrible and disgusting as smoking, he takes his time to admire the way she pushes down the tobacco with her index finger, presumably trying to fit and secure everything inside the paper. Taking the filter from between her lips, she places it inside the paper, at the very end, and her fingers start rolling.

Oh fuck, he thinks, knowing what’s about to come. Unable to look away, he watches as she brings it up to her mouth and licks a long stripe along the paper, and despite the lack of lighting around them, his eyes make out her pink tongue moving along the paper and it doesn’t come as a surprise when he feels a sudden twitch in his trousers at the unholy image before his eyes.

“There,” she hands him the rolled up cigarette, “Hope you don’t mind that I licked?”

He wants to laugh because of course he doesn’t mind. In fact, he quite enjoyed it, according to the knot in his stomach and his twitching cock in his underwear. He enjoyed it so much that he now couldn’t stop imagining her mouth doing other things, preferably dirty things with, or to him.

“Nah, it’s all good, thanks.”

“No probs. Didn’t take you as the smoking type,” she lets it slip out.

“I...don’t smoke, really. Only sometimes. When I’m drinking. Which…” He looks at the cigarette between her fingers, “...isn’t that often.”

She notices the nervousness that tinges his words, and it makes her feel better knowing he’s also as awkward as her. “Fair,” she sends him a smile and repeats all the steps on her own rollie, putting it between her lips just like Harry, and she takes her lighter out of the same pocket. She lights her own first and reaches to light his, and he sort of bends over until his cigarette reaches the lighter. They both take a hefty drag of their cigarettes and she blows the smoke out first, Harry watching her pursed lips as he lets out his own next, both of their cigarette smoke swirling in the air and joining in together.

He takes it out of his mouth and lets his arm dangle on his side, cigarette between his fingers, and watches as she takes another drag before fumbling with the packet on her lap, putting everything back in her pocket haphazardly.

“Do you go to uni in London, or?”

“Westminster, yeah,” she takes another drag and notices how Harry hasn’t taken another one of his since.

“Nice,” he says and a grin stretches over his face, “Charlotte talks about you a lot.”

“She does?”

“Yeah, all the time. If I didn’t know about her boyfriend I’d say she was in love with you,” he laughs and gestured to the lighter in her hand and she lets him take the lighter from her hand, watching as the flame lick at the cigarette between Harry’s lip and he takes a long drag. “I mean, we...the band feel like we already know you. It’s sweet, how much she cares about you.”

“Well, I’m pretty hard not to love, you know.”

He blows out the smoke, a chuckle escaping his mouth, “That right?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking great.”

“Well, I-”

He gets interrupted by her phone going off and a pout forms on his face. She huffs, looking around, then throws the cigarette on the ground despite the sign and he does the same, not feeling bad in the slightest. “We going in?” He asks, like a lost puppy waiting for his owner’s command.

“I guess. Is it bad that I don’t want to? Like...does that make me a bad friend?”

“Nah. I...I kinda wanted to stay here too. I was enjoying our conversation.”

She sends him a grin, eyes mischievous, and stops walking, “You telling me you weren’t bored to death by my dry ass conversation?”

“Dry? You opened up and talked about your narcissistic behaviours, that’s not boring, darling,” he smirks and she rolls her eyes, hand reaching to slap his chest and it feels easy, like they’ve known each other for years. “Alright, alright, ’m just messing with you.”

She starts walking again, a few steps ahead of him, and he follows, passing three girls with phones up to their faces.

It’s easy, he thinks, it’s easy with her.

People in the bar begin to leave one by one, and it’s only their small group and a few others left, some of them still sipping their drinks and the others talking and laughing. Some even come up to Julien, who’s sipping her water from a reusable water bottle as Charlotte keeps snapping pictures of her, and they all congratulate her, telling her how excited they are about the EP. She’s all smiles, fringe sticking to her forehead due to sweat, and her long arms are equally sweaty, dressed in a tight black dress with striped knee high socks adorning her long legs, and a pair of platform Mary Janes.

“So,” Harry says, folding his arms across his chest, “Do you have any plans for October?”

Mitch snorts across him and Julien tilts her head, puzzled, “Erm...I’ve no idea, to be honest. It’s months away and God knows I’m shite at thinking ahead. That’s why I’m friends with this lot,” she gestures to their tiny group, causing Charlotte to snort and Julien continues, turning her attention to her who’s playing with the hem of her blazer,  “This one though...”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Oi, what’s crawled up your bum, eh?” Julien turns to Harry again, catching how his gaze flickered over her body, then her face instead of looking at Julien and she finds herself smirking at the tension between the two.

“We’re thinking of putting a show together for Halloween. I have a bunch of new and upcoming artists in my mind that I’d love to see perform that night. Would you be interested?” Harry’s attention is back on Julien and he watches as the girl gasps, eyes widening in excitement.

“Shut the fuck up!” She yells, almost dropping her water bottle and they all laugh, Charlotte reaching to flip her on the forehead and she slaps her freshly-manicured hand away, “You’re not taking the piss, are you?”

Harry laughs, “Am definitely not. I love your vibe. That’s actually one of the reasons why I asked Charlotte if I could come tonight,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair, the strands gliding easily between his long fingers.

“Yeah,” Charlotte smiles at Julien, “He’s on a hunt. He thinks he’s one of those talent agents. Just say yes, Jules, it’ll be fun.”

“Holy fuck. Yes. Fuck, yes. Of fucking course, yes!”

They all laugh when she lunges herself at Harry, arms wrapping around his neck, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, fuck I could literally kiss you right now but I won’t, I’ve been watching you both undress each other with your eyes all night,” arms still around Harry’s neck, Julien turns her head towards her, whom Harry’s been looking at all night, and gives her a wink before breaking their hug. “So, do I have to do anything? What do I have to do? Fuck, I’m so bad at this-”

“Hey,” Harry interrupts, “It’s fine. Relax. Are you signed with anyone? Have a manager?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m with Gleam, my manager, Alana, she’s sick that’s why she wasn't here tonight.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Just give me your phone number and your manager’s contact details and we’ll sort everything out. Hey- relax, it’s gonna be fun!” He reaches and gives her shoulder a squeeze.

“I called an Uber,” Sarah says after her phone goes off, “And it looks like…” she taps on the screen a few times, “Hassan is here.”

“We could’ve gotten maccies,” she says, pouting, as her head rests on Charlotte’s shoulder.

Sarah sighs, cuddling closer into Mitch’s side, “We’re leaving for Brighton tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, Sarah’s making us wake up at, like, five,” Mitch grumbles.

They all start walking towards the exit, Julien and Harry in the back talking about the show as Charlotte links her arm with her as they follow behind the others. As they walk, she remembers how Harry arrived with Sarah and Mitch, meaning they shared a ride, and she turns to look at Harry who seems to be in deep conversation as he waves his hands around.

She feels hot all of a sudden, remembering how neither of them wanted to go inside earlier, how good he looked and how his voice sounded, deep, so deep, when his attention was only on her and not the girl on the stage or his drink or the people around them. As selfish as it sounds, she wanted all his attention on her, she wanted him to only look at her, see her, think of her, and she feels foolish because they only met tonight, and their conversation earlier didn’t last that long.

Once they’re outside, everyone sighs, almost in relief as the fresh air fills their lungs, and everyone bids their goodbyes to Sarah and Mitch, then Phoebe starts complaining about how uncomfortable and tired she was.

“That’s it from us, folks, my wife needs a shower,” Jamie pinches Phoebe’s cheek as Phoebe blushes, swatting her hand away.

She turns to Harry for a second and he’s just standing there, arms folded with an expression she’s unable to read, and Julien laughs, muttering something about catching a black cab since she now has money to waste.

Everyone leaves and it’s only them, and Charlotte comes closer to her as she nudges her hip with hers, “Hey. Is it cool if Harry gives you a ride? Tom’s picking me up.”

She panics and gives her a puzzled look. A car ride with Harry. Alone. Just the two of them.

She swallows, “How come you never mention it?”

“He just texted me, we’re driving up to Manc. Will you be okay?” She reaches and strokes her cheek, then turns to Harry, as if the question was directed at both of them.

“Well, yeah...I mean- I’ll call a Bolt or something-”

“It’s fine, I can give you a ride,” Harry says, hands now in his pockets. He looks like he’s cold too, considering how he’s only wearing a thin shirt and his chest is on full display, letting the breeze softly lick at the flesh.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother, I can take a Bolt. Really, it’s fine.”

“I insist...whereabouts is your place?”

“Ehm,” she sniffs and her eyes look for Charlotte for a moment, and when she spots her, she’s watching them despite the phone pressed against her ear. “Marylebone.”

“Great! That alright with you?”

She looks at Charlotte again, the short haired girl failing to meet her gaze, and she turns to Harry again, lips pursed, “I guess- I mean...sure. Okay.”

Harry beams at that, the dimple on his left cheek widening with the smile, and she wants to reach out and touch it, place her finger there. She doesn’t though. Instead, she gives him a smile and looks down at her boots, feeling all giddy inside with the realisation that she’d be alone with Harry for a while and it would also be away from any prying eyes, in the warmth of his car.

Charlotte comes back and reaches for her, giving her a big hug as she buries her head in her neck, and she involuntarily breathes in the smell of cigarettes and Charlotte’s personal favourite, Chanel no. 5.

“Text me when you’re home, yeah? And text me if you need anything...he’s nice, I promise,” she whispers the last part, as if she’s letting her in on a secret, then reaches for Harry to give him a hug.

“Drive safe,” she says, walking backwards, “I mean it.”

“I will. Precious cargo, am I right?”

Harry opens the door for her and waits for her to get in, her lips form the words ‘thank you’, and once they’re both inside, seatbelts on, Harry sighs and tries to fix his creased shirt. She watches his hands, the rings catching the light coming from a lamppost outside, creating beams, and she notices the single, nearly-chipped gold nail polish on his left pinky.

“So…” they both say at the same time and he laughs, shaking his head, and a few strands fall to his eyes.

She chuckles too, eyes falling to her hands on her lap as she fiddles with them. “I think we’ve been set up,” she mumbles and looks up at him, finding him watching her carefully with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh.

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m usually not this dumb.”

“Maybe you wanted play dumb, hm?” He gives her a smile, causing her to scoff, and he surprises them both when his left hand reaches to stroke her cheek, making goosebumps appear on her skin and she swears she could hear her breath hitch at the warm touch, feeling hot all over.

They stare at each other, his hand still on her cheek, and she swallows, “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Is this okay?” He asks, gesturing at the touch, voice as soft and smooth as honey.

She nods, because it is. It is more than okay and if it were up to her, they’d already be kissing, tasting each other’s dirty, sweaty skin and touching each other all over, feeling each other’s bodies...she wanted all of that.

She swallows again, his gaze shifting from her face to her neck, then lower and lower until it reaches her boobs. They look divine, he thinks, despite the lack of lighting in his car, they look absolutely gorgeous, sort of spilling out from the lace material and he gulps, hand beginning to make its way down to her neck. He rests it there as long fingers caress the side of her neck, discovering a few moles there, and he looks up at her, only to find her eyes fixed on his lap. He looks down to, the slight tent not coming as a surprise, and he gives her a grin, the other hand coming to rest atop his bulge.

“Hm?” He hums as he waits for her answer despite knowing what she would say.

She clears her throat and looks around, seeing the almost empty parking lot all dark except the stop sign near the exit, and turns her attention back to Harry.

“Yes. It’s okay.”

“Mmm,” his fingers curl around her throat, thumb stroking the flesh there, “Thank you, love. Can I kiss you?”

“You can...Please,” she practically moans when his thumb presses a sweet spot on her neck and he gives her a smile, hand reaching to unbuckle both of their seatbelts with a click.

It doesn’t happen that fast. First, he gives her a look, almost as if he’s trying to remember where her lips are and the nose, then her eyes...he keeps looking, and looking, and he brings his hand up to her mouth, resting his thumb on her bottom lip as her eyes shift downwards with the movement. While he watches her, she takes her time to watch him, his face, and she feels something bubbling inside her, much like the bubbles that rise to the top when you open a coke bottle.

Pressure, she thinks, pressure and the need to devour him. Thus, without thinking too much, she reaches and grabs him by the nape of his neck, his hand falling atop the car seat as their lips meet, both of them hungry for each other’s touch as their teeth clash and Harry lets out a hiss when she bites his bottom lip, suckining it into her mouth.

His hands go up to her cheeks, pushing her far enough to look into her face and eyes in particular and he smiles, the inside of his palms feeling the soft peach fuzz on her face. When she lunges forward to continue their kiss, he stops her, thumb stroking her cheekbones as she lets out a huff, and he chuckles, “Slow, baby, slow. We’ve got time. I want to feel you, taste you as much as I can, yeah?”

She nods, letting him stroke the side of her face some more and feel her skin against his soft hands before he starts leaning in, this time slow, so slow that it feels like hours to her. Before she closes her eyes, she catches a glimpse of his pink tongue dart out to lick his lips, and he finally captures her top lip, sucking it into his mouth softly and she melts under his touch, her mouth pursed as she starts responding with her own kisses. Their lips, she feels, fit together like a puzzle piece.

Harry’s tongue swipes across her bottom lip and she opens wider, letting him lick into her mouth further. It’s hot, wet, and she feels herself getting wetter and wetter as the smooch noises grow louder with each kiss. His hands are now cupping both of her cheeks, and as he presses wet pecks on her parted mouth, one of his thumbs travel down to her mouth and he stops their kiss, and she opens her eyes, giving him a puzzled look.

He shushes her, lips pursed as he does so, and her eyes watches the movement, wanting to feel them all over her body now that she knows how he feels and tastes like. He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, then into her mouth and pulls her closer to him. He shuts his eyes and tilts his head when she closes her mouth around his thumb, sucking it like a lolly, and his cock twitches in his trousers again as he watches the way she sucks on his flesh, humming around it as if she’s having the most delicious meal of her life.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “Y’like playing with me, don’t you?”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she takes his thumb out of her mouth with a pop and she holds him by the wrist, placing his hand on one of her boobs and Harry lets her warm hands and the feeling of lace overpower him as he gives her boob a squeeze, then travels his hand down to where he supposes her nipple is and brushes a thumb over it, a beaming grin stretching across his face when he feels her pebbled nipple under his thumb.

When he looks at her face, she’s biting her lips, eyes shut, and he bites his own lips as he traps her covered nipple between his thumb and index finger, tweaking it gently which causes her to breathe out a moan, toes curling involuntarily inside her boots. He tugs at it, then his hand travels up and he looks at her, as if to ask her permission for what he’s about to do. And she nods, of course she does, and she feels her upper torso getting sore from the position they’ve been in but she lets it go, reaching for his hand near her boob and places it on top of his, encouraging him to keep going.

With her hand on top of his, he slides the bodysuit down from the top, and he feels his cock twitch in interest so he has to bring his other hand down to press against his bulge over his trousers in hopes of relieving some of the tension. He plays with her nipple, tweaking and squeezing it between his fingers before finally leaning to capture the pebbled nipple into his mouth. “God damn, your tits...so fuckin’ hot, baby,” he bites her nipple and she shudders, back arching in pleasure. “Wanna do everything with you...wanna fuck you- wanna fuck these tits,” he whispers against her nipple, now wet with his spit, and his hot breath sends chills down her spine.

It’s warm, his mouth, so warm and wet around her hard nipples and she lets out another moan, arms wrapping around his neck and she tries to press against him closer. “Fuck,” a moan leaver her mouth, “Please, Harry, fuck me. Do something, just- ‘m so wet.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Jesus,” he presses a kiss to her nipple before he frees her other boob from the fabric, “You’re so fuckin’ hot. Got me so fuckin’ hard, just look at these gorgeous tits, baby. Bet your cunt’s even more gorgeous, hm?” He whispers, hands already on the other boob, squeezing the nipple and he watches as it hardens, looking so pretty and puckered for him and he gets his mouth on that one too, licking across the nipple before he bites it into his mouth.

“Can I take this off, sweetheart?” He touches her shoulder, squeezing her there over the blazer, and when he sees the hesitation in her eyes, he travels his hand up to her neck and strokes it there, “Y’don’t have to, darling. However you’re comfortable.”

“No,” she says ever so softly, “It’s okay.”

He smiles at her as she takes the jacket off and throws it somewhere at her feet. Harry grabs her by the neck and brings her in for another kiss but this time, it’s slow. And sweet. Slow, sweet, and warm, so warm that she feels it in her chest, in her stomach, and it reaches everywhere, the kiss warming anything and everything inside her. He swipes a tongue across her bottom lip before pulling away, and places both hands on her boobs, squeezing them, mouth popping open as he watches them in awe.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he brings one of his hands to the front of his trousers and the heels of his palms press against the bulge, but instead of giving him some relief, the touch makes him hiss, wishing for something softer, warmer.

“Can I fuck you? I need to fuck you, please, sweetheart,” he whispers and she nods, tongue darting out to lick her dry lips and he nods as well, looking around inside the car, swiftly examining the tinted black windows before he turns to her, “I hate that I’m about to fuck that pretty pussy in the backseat of my car instead of a comfortable bed but I need it so bad, sweetheart, I need you,” he licks his lips, “That okay?”

“Yes...more than.”

He helps her move to the backseat, boobs still hanging from the top, and he joins her in the backseat quickly. They’re closer now, nothing serving as a barrier between them, and with the way they’re facing each other, she can make out a tiny pimple on the side of his nose as well as a little mole on his forehead. Her gaze falls to his bulge again, and he’s already fumbling to get them off. With a swallow, she shuts her eyes so she doesn’t see Harry watching her intently, dilated pupils fixated on her sweaty skin, her lips in particular.

He leans in and presses an open mouth kiss to her damp skin, the touch making her open her eyes.

Take it off” she whispers, voice as sweet as honey, “Come on, I want you to fuck me,” she breathes against his hair, his head now in the crook of her neck, and she feels him nod, his hands coming to rest atop hers.

He fumbles with the button with shaky hands, her hands coming to rest on Harry’s waist and he sighs in relief when he hears the zipper. He lowers his trousers along with his underwear clumsily, the pile of material pooling around his ankles. He’s hard and leaking already, the tip an angry shade of red, and she takes a few seconds to admire the thickness of his cock and how pretty it looks, his dark, coarse pubic hair making her mouth water as she imagines deepthroating him, nuzzling the hair at the base of his cock.

Harry looks up and she’s got one hand on her boob while the other rubs herself through her jeans, presumably feeling aroused with the way the fabric is feeling against her pussy. A low, choked ‘fuck’ leaves his mouth following a growl as his long fingers begin unbuttoning the beige shirt and she watches, bottom lip trapped between her teeth with fingers rubbing herself.

Once it’s unbuttoned, he’s quick to get his hands on her jeans, eyes briefly searching for something in hers before he starts unbuttoning them. She stops him and bends over to take her boots off and he watches her back, hand reaching involuntarily to travel his fingers down her spine, stroking her waist before he bends forward to place a kiss on there as she keeps fumbling with her boots. Once they’re off, he’s quick to help her get the jeans off too, and he throws them in the front seat, smiling when she hears her giggle.

“Alright, Miss Giggles?” he says softly, palm resting on top of her thigh as one of his hands reaches and strokes the side of her face, fingers playing in her wild strands of hair.

She bites her lip again, giving him a nod, and he brings her face into his, lips pressing a tender kiss to her chin before he opens his mouth slightly and grazes his teeth across the flesh, and he presses a final, loud kiss there before he pulls away with a pop, leaving her chin all shiny and wet with his saliva. He lowers his eyes and spots her thong, fabric too tiny and flimsy to cover all the areas of her pussy, and he lets out a groan at the sight, hand immediately reaching to touch what’s under her little thong.

“So pretty, darling...so, so pretty,” he murmurs and she watches with parted legs as he positions his middle finger against her pussy over the black lace, thin, so he feels just how warm and wet she is between her folds. This makes him pause to look down at his cock, just to make sure he’s not about to spill all over the carseat since he feels the pleasure at the tip of his cock, ready to explode right then and there. “How can anyone ever resist you, hm? This pretty girl…” with one hand still between her legs, he reaches with his other hand and ghosts his thumb over her nipple, his other hand working her thong as he pulls it to the side, “...this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, making her eyes lull shut at the compliments.

She parts her legs wider to give him more room to work with, and he grins as he looks up at her hungry eyes, knowing what she’s asking for. And god, is he about to give her what she wants. The way she looks, not just half naked but from the moment he’d caught a glimpse of the grumpy girl across the room, it’s been driving him insane. Not that she was rude or looked bored, but she looked cute, kinda nervous, as if she too was as uncomfortable as Harry by the prying eyes and tipsy chatter around them.

From the moment they were introduced, Harry knew she didn’t particularly like to be looked at. Maybe he was being judgmental, or reading too much into things, but he got the impression that she was sort of nervous to be around people, especially new people. He tried his hardest not to be some weirdo, an utter creep who kept looking at the beautiful girl across him but truth be told, it wasn’t the first time Harry had seen the girl’s face.

He knew of her, stories about her, from Charlotte, and saw numerous photos and throwback videos of them on Charlotte’s Instagram, but he would never actually admit to the fact that he’d clicked on her tag on one of Charlotte’s posts, and scrolled through her feed for hours, giggling from time to time at her silly captions and numerous pictures of a Golden Retriever and a black cat cuddling.

Yes, he might have found her interesting, took a few screenshots of her posts where she proudly displayed her favourite reads, immediately ordering everything on there, and a few funny memes, but now with his middle finger circling her clit, he would never, ever admit any of that to anyone, ever.

“Harry,” she breathes, and it sounds sort of harsh, rough even, the reason presumably being a mix of the cigarettes she’d been smoking and the way his finger teasingly, slowly moves over her pussy. “Harry…” she says again, melodiously, fingers curling around his wrist and he looks up with a grin, eyes almost evil, dark and pupils dilated from hunger bubbling up inside him.

He retracts his finger and brings it up to his mouth slowly, her eyes watching him like a hawk, and his pink tongue darts out, licking a long stripe up his middle finger and he truly devours the savoury taste, eyes finding hers as he sucks the finger into his mouth. “Taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Want me to play with that beautiful cunt, hm? Give it my full attention?”

“Yes, please, I need it so bad, I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Yeah?” He asks, ever so softly, “How long?” He presses, his middle finger once again placed between her wet folds, and she wraps her fingers around his wrist.

There’s a bloom of pleasure in her voice when she lets out a shaky breath, a stuttered ’yeah’ because she doesn’t want to give in to Harry’s teasing game, and he leans forward, capturing her chin with his mouth as he bites the flesh while the pads of his finger massages slow and deep over her swollen clit.

He feels the spongy bit under his touch, “Tell me you’ve been thinking of this too,” he breathes against her wet chin, then brings his middle finger down to her hole. It’s wet, so fucking wet when he drags his finger back up and circles her clit faster than before which makes her legs kick out in pleasure, one hand grabbing harshly at her boob as the other go up to Harry’s soft hair and she pulls, fingernails scratching his scalp while doing so. He groans against her skin and drags his finger down to her slick little hole again, circling around the wet, soft muscle and he pushes his finger in, her cunt making a wet, lovely sound as he does so as his eyes fall to his throbbing cock.

It’s so hard, an unpleasant feeling blooming inside, so he takes his finger out of her hole, making her let out a tiny whimper as she clenches around nothing with the sudden loss of his touch. Harry brings his finger up to his mouth, and his pink tongue darts out to lick, mouth closing around to devour the slightly salty slickness.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks as his hand goes to stroke the side of her neck, goosebumps appearing immediately at the touch. She shudders, unable to respond and Harry’s voice is softer this time, “Can I, baby? Will you let me fuck your pretty pussy now? I need it so bad, sweetheart, so fucking bad. See how hard I am for you? So fucking hard for you, baby.”

“God,” another shaky breath, “Please, I’m so wet and horny- I need it, Harry, please.”

“Need my cock, yeah? Need me to fill that little hole? Stretch your tiny little hole, darling?”

“Fuck- please, I- please stop teasing me, I need it...please, fuck me.”

Harry feels something, a prickly sensation inside him, his groin tightening, and he knows it’s her dirty mouth and sweet face to blame. He looks down at his cock, hard as rock between his legs, and grabs her by the waist, pulling her on top of him with ease. “There, sweet girl.”

He lets out a hiss when her warm pussy makes contact with his cock and she bites her lip, leaning forward until their sweaty foreheads meet. “Your pussy’s so fuckin’ warm. Shit, we need condoms,” a strong arm wraps around her waist and she gasps when he leans forward so suddenly. His face is buried into her boobs as he tries to retrieve his wallet from one of the compartments in between and she watches him struggle, unable to control a tiny laugh escaping her mouth.

“Well,” Harry mumbles, warm lips making her skin feel all tingly, “This is lovely...mmm,” a few kisses are pressed between her boobs, then another open mouth one on her left nipple, and they’re finally back to their previous position, condom package between Harry’s lips as he rips the top, never once taking his eyes off of her while doing so.

“Ready for me?” He gives himself a few lazy pulls, thumbing at the tip while she watches, one hand kneading her boob. “Hm? Ready to take my cock?” He moves his hand slowly, up and down, causing her to swallow.

“Yeah...fuck yeah. Please, fuck me.”

He looks up at her as the rubber works its way down his cock, and she joins her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he brings his cock to her cunt, earning a moan from her, her warm breath licking at his face ever so softly. He grunts, voice strained with pleasure when he feels how warm and wet she is at the touch of his cock and slides it against her warmth before he brings it down to her tight little hole and pauses there.

“Y’ready, sweet girl?” He nudges their foreheads together and it’s sweet, so sweet despite the position they’re in, and she nods, feeling their damp foreheads stick together, and Harry gives her a bright smile, dimple appearing on his left cheek.

And he pushes it in. With his thumb pressed against the tip, he pushes his cock inside her, the tightness squeezing his already sensitive cock as if she doesn’t want to let him go, as if she wants to keep him inside of her forever and ever.

“God, such a tight cunt, baby. Squeezing me already, hm?” He murmurs into her mouth, “Easy, darling...slow. Slow, yeah? Want to feel you properly,” his hands go up to her hips, holding her there to still the movement of her hips, and her arms loop around his sweaty neck, fingernails scratching the back of his neck and he hisses, face moving forward to press a bruising kiss on her parted mouth.

Once she calms down, hips stilled, his strong arms begin moving her up and down and they both moan, quick breaths leaving their mouths and mixing together just like how their bodies are almost joined together, two becoming one, and Harry starts moving his own hips so he can fuck into her as she helps her by moving her own hips up and down, slowly, just like he’d asked her to, feeling his cock stretching her tight hole with his every move. There’s a honking outside and both their movements still for a second, and a muffled chuckle leaves her mouth, arms tightening around Harry’s neck.

Their eyes meet, Harry’s mouth turning upwards, “What’s so funny, Miss Giggles, hm?” He murmurs as his hips speed up again, their skins slapping against each other as his cock strokes the insides of her walls ever so softly, sliding in and out of her.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking big, I- I knew you’d be big but...fuck, you’re so good, so fucking good, Harry,” she moans, earning a grunt from him as she meets his thrusts, her hands sliding down to Harry’s shoulders and squeezing his smooth skin briefly before she brings her palms down to her chest.

She strokes the hair on his chest, admiring the way his cross necklace sits proudly there, amongst his now damp chest hair, and she brings her palm to one of his nipples, thumb stroking the slightly darker nub and he lets out a groan as goosebumps appear on his chest and nipples.

“God,” she breathes and Harry can smell the fruity-sour alcohol on her breath, and his mouth pops open when she tweaks his sensitive nipples. “I love your nipples,” she moans again when his cock brushes that sweet spot inside her and he does too, arms tightening around her waist, and she tweaks his nipples again, this time harder as her hips speed up, ass slapping against his meaty thighs and she keeps jumps up on down on his cock.

As she does so, her boobs too move, bouncing up and down with her every movement and Harry reaches with one hand, capturing one of her nipples between his fingers as he tweaks left and right before letting it go, watching her skin prickle at the touch.

“Shit, y’feel amazing, just wanna keep you forever,” he groans, low and delirious, fingernails digging into her waist as he thrusts into her, “So fuckin’ tight around me...so tight and snug. I want you- want this everyday. Wanna be able to touch you, kiss that little face everyday, fuck this beautiful pussy...so good, darling, you’re so fuckin’ good, letting me fuck that sweet cunt in the backseat, hm? Are you good,” he breathes her name into her mouth, then bites her bottom lip, earning a gasp from her when his thrusts become particularly rough. “Are you a good girl?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m good, I’m so good, please- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum please keep fucking me, keep fucking me hard, Harry- keep going,” she speeds up her movements, Harry’s cock sliding in and out of her as wet, dirty sounds fill the car and he curses under his breath, hips lifting off the seat to meet her strokes.

“Are you close?” He manages to ask, a low grunt in his voice.

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she brings one hand down to her pussy and begins rubbing her clit, moaning when she touches the little nub and then, with her other hand, she reaches for Harry’s face, thumb stroking the side of the smooth skin before she places it on his bottom lip and presses hard, making him part his mouth. She pushes it in, eyes lulling shut at the feeling of his warm tongue as he sucks on her thumb, hips continuing their movements as he fucks her cunt with quick, rough thrusts.

When she opens her eyes, Harry’s watching her, sweat glistening on his forehead and she brings her finger down to where Harry’s cock meets her warmth and rubs the top of his cock, moaning when she feels the vein there. She brings it up to her clit again, all wet and warm, and she rubs harder with rough strokes as Harry juts his hips forward a few more times. “I’m gonna cum, fuck- I’m gonna fuckin’ cum, baby,” his grip tightens on her waist and she places her hands on his shoulder, squeezing there.

“Come on me, I want it on my tits,” she mutters, fingernails digging into the smooth skin of his shoulders and he lets out a grunt, pulling out quickly as she gets down, Harry’s legs parting immediately so she can get between them.

And she does, gets on her knees between Harry’s parted legs as he takes the condom off, hissing at the feeling as he tosses it somewhere on the floor, and he begins stroking his now-wet cock as she thumbs at her nipples, kneading her boobs before pushing them together. His wrist works harder and quicker at the sight and he finally comes undone, his warm cum spilling onto her boobs, decorating her soft flesh with white stripes and she looks down, watching with sparkling eyes.

“God, fuck,” he breathes, letting his head tilt back, “You’re something else, y’know that?”

She hums, sending him a grin as he gives himself three more lazy strokes before he lets go of his cock and watches the spattered cum against her skin separate with the movement when she lets them go.

“Got some on your top, sorry, love.”

She looks down, then swipes a thumb across her skin and brings it up to her mouth. Pushing it in, she sucks around her digit as she tastes the salty-sour taste and Harry watches, all wrecked and fucked out.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re so naughty...come up here,” his ring-clad fingers reach for her wrist and he helps her sit next to him.

He reaches the little pocket behind one of the seats, taking out some tissues as she watches him take out a few and clean her up as much as he can. Then their eyes meet, both sleepy and wrecked, and he lifts his hand up to her cheek, stroking it, and she leans into the touch, making him smile. “You’re lovely,” he mumbles, hand still on her cheek.

“You’re lovelier.”

He chuckles as she fixes her top, “You really are. Really lovely.”

“Stop it, I’m not good with compliments.”

“Well,” he shrugs, reaching for his trousers on the front seat, “I said what I said. You hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m kinda thirsty. Aren’t you?”

As they lean against the bonnet of Harry’s car, now parked outside a McDonald’s, there’s a comfortable silence between them as they sip their waters, bodies close to each other, close enough for Harry to smell his faint cologne on her skin.

“You cold still?”  He turns to her as she takes a bite of her chocolate muffin, and he follows as a few crumbs land on her chest.

“I’m good. Feel very warm...ed up,” she chuckles, thumbing at the corners of her mouth.

Harry groans, nudging her with his shoulders and she nudges back, harder, and he gasps, “Oi, be nice. I’m feeding you.”

“Soz. Guess I owe you like...what is it, a fiver?”

“You’re a very mean girl.”

“I’m the nicest. I’m good,” she gives him a grin, earning another eye roll from him as she takes another sip of her water before placing it on the floor, “Seriously though, thanks for the muffin.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m kinda bummed you turned down the nuggets but…maybe next time?”

“Next time?” She asks, crossing her arms, trying to warm herself up despite her promise from earlier.

“Well,” he clears his throat, hand going up to his necklace, “I’d love to see you sometime. Again. Preferably for longer than an hour and...you know, just us two? Hanging out?”

She smiles and leans forward, taking him by surprise when she presses their lips together. It’s a sweet, slow kiss, and his hands grab the back of her neck, pressing their faces closer as they kiss. Her hands find his waist and she gets on her feet, coming to stand between his legs without breaking their kiss, and she loops her arms around his neck, smiling when he moans at the feeling of her fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He tastes the muffin, the chocolate, and himself, and as foolish as it sounds, he wishes there was a way to be closer to her somehow, closer than they already are at this moment. She pulls away, their foreheads pressing together as they smile at each other.

Harry scrunches his nose and smiles, bringing it forward so their noses touch, “What was that for?” He whispers, hands tight around her waist as he hugs her closer.

“Just felt like it...just felt like kissing you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like kissing you. I liked kissing you a lot tonight.”

He smiles, nose booping against hers once again, “I liked kissing you a lot too. I’d like to kiss you a lot tomorrow. And maybe the day after that.”

“That’s fine by me. You can kiss me tomorrow...and the day after that,” she whispers, pressing their bodies together.

Harry closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as she watches with curious gaze, eyes crinkling with a smile.

“What are you doing,” she whispers, and he shushes her, smiling when he opens his eyes to find her staring with her eyebrows raised, “What are you doing?” She asks again and he squeezes her waist, forehead pressing against her once again and he leans in closer to press a tiny kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“I’m listening,” he whispers, lips almost touching hers as he speaks.

“Listening? What are you listening to?”

He strokes her cheek, “A song.”

She raises her eyebrow again, “What song? I can’t hear it. Are you- you’re not actually serious, are you?”

“Ssh, it’s a song. Listen,”

“Har-ry,” she groans, pressing her forehead on the crook of his neck, “What is it?”

Harry smiles, arms hugging her closer as she presses a tiny kiss to the side of his neck, “Aubade.”

SEND ME YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT AUBADE AND PLEASE REBLOG THE FICS YOU’VE READ AND ENJOYED TO SUPPORT AND MOTIVATE WRITERS <3

[hogarthwrites]

take me all the way (request)

pairing: Sam Drake/Reader (m/femme!reader)

genre: smut

warnings: graphic sex

words: 2,835

summary:

You and Sam realize you have Feelings for each other.

note:

this was a request by @howboutwedont!! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

It wasn’t a lie when you said you were excited to go to this party. After all, it’s been a while since you’ve had time to go to one. The past few months were busy with research and traveling from one place to another with your business partner, Sam. You sighed at the thought of Sam; it felt like the more time you spent with him, the more your feelings for him grew.

The feelings started on the plane to Cork, with Sam making you laugh and telling you stories of his other adventures that usually involved a jungle: a pirate treasure in the jungles of Madagascar, being held hostage in the jungles of India. The cliff sides of Ireland was definitely a new experience, and his excitement and the way Sam’s eyes sparkled when he talked about it stirred something inside you.

Meetings in pubs and being suspended on ropes, catching each other didn’t help and you found yourself thinking about him more each day. Eventually you even found yourself thinking about Sam on lonely nights in your bed.

You shook away the thoughts, scared Sam might hear them as he sat on the other side of the room talking to a group of people you didn’t recognize. He made eye contact with you and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Please don’t come here, please don’t-- You were mid-thought when Sam excused himself from the group and made his way to you, leaning against the wall as he smiled at you.

“You seem lonely,” he said, leaning in so you could hear him over the loud music.

“I’m not lonely,” you stuck your tongue out. “I’ve got…” You gestured to the people around you drinking and laughing. “I’ve got friends.”

“I can see that,” Sam chuckled. “You don’t mind if I keep you company, do you?”

“Oh, get in line, buddy.”

Sam laughed and stood in front of you. “Seems like I’m the first one here.”

“Lucky you,” you poked his chest. “I love this song.”

You bobbed your head to the beat as Sam watched. Truthfully, you were suddenly so nervous around him and you didn’t know what you wanted to say. You let the music lead you, moving along to it as Sam followed.

I hallucinate when you call my name...

His hand was on your waist as you moved along to the beat, giggling as he pulled you closer. You found yourself face to face with Sam, blood rushing to your cheeks as he looked at you softly, making you feel like you were levitating.

“Is this alright?” He mouthed.

“It’s…” You gulped. “It’s getting kinda hot here. I need…”

You pulled away from him and made your way to the door, fanning yourself as the cool air hit you. Get it together, girl.

Sam had followed you, your jacket in his hands. “Are you okay? If I overstepped anything, just let me--”

“No, it’s cool,” you let him help you into your jacket, something he always did. “There was just too many people in there.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to part from him just yet. “I live near but I kinda just wanna take a walk around. Come with me?”

The night was still quite young and cold enough to make your hands shiver as you walked with Sam, lost in conversation. It felt normal and right but every time his hand brushed against yours, you felt a burst of adrenaline rush through you. You wanted to hold his hand badly, but you weren’t sure if he felt the same way about you.

“Looks like rain,” Sam looked up at the dark sky, clouds blocking the moon.

As if the universe was listening to him, you felt a droplet fall on your cheek. “Oh!”

He laughed. “Let’s find some shelter?”

“I don’t live far, come one,” you grabbed his hand and led him to your apartment building, going in just as the rain picked up.

Sam whistled as he looked out the window on the way up to your place. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“You’re lucky I bought popcorn this morning,” you smiled at him. “Maybe we can watch a movie.”

“A romcom, I hope.”

You were glad you cleaned after you did groceries that morning. You never really expected to have Sam Drake sitting next to you in your living room, looking around and taking in your decor. For some reason, he seemed enthralled by your living room.

“We have No Strings Attached, Friends with Benefits…” You muttered as you went through the romcom section on Netflix.

“That one,” Sam pointed at When Harry met Sally...

“Classic Meg Ryan. What a dame, huh?”

“I remember seeing that at the movies.”

“Geez, how old were you when this came out?” You put the movie on.

“Um,” Sam looked up as he calculated the years in his head. “Eighteen.”

“Wow, you’re old,” you nudged him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nudged you back. “Let’s just watch the film, huh?”

“Okay, old man,” you stuck your tongue out at him and he flicked a popcorn at you, hitting your forehead before it landed on the carpet. “Hey! You clean that up.”

He flicked another popcorn at you and you flicked one back at him and it hit him on the nose.

“Fuck around and find out, Sam.”

“Okay,” he chuckled and reached over to tickle you, something he knew you always hated.

“Sam!” You giggled as you doubled over onto his chest. “Sam, stop!”

“Fine,” he was smiling when he stopped and you found yourself in his arms, looking up into his warm brown eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

You pulled him in and kissed him softly. Sam tasted like beer and nicotine and you loved it. You felt as you were levitating again as the kiss deepened. Every little kiss, every time he ran his tongue against your mouth, you felt a bit more drunk in your feelings.

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms tight around your waist. You began moaning into the kiss, and alarms went on in your brain.

“Sam,” you pulled away and his lips met your neck. “Wait, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” He whispered in concern.

“Um,” you gulped as you slid off his lap and sat down next to him. “I'm a virgin.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You're kidding.”

“No, I swear to god,” you bit your lip. “Sorry.”

“What? It's nothing to be sorry about,” Sam took your hand. “We don't have to if you don't want to--”

“But I do!” You pulled at his hand.

He gave you a worried look.

“I've loved you for so long, Sam. I think I know when I was aware of it, but I can't remember how it even started,” you said and his expression changed into surprise. “I never thought about having sex with anyone else until, well, you came along.”

You felt your cheeks suddenly heat up. “That sounded awful. Sorry.”

“No, I--” Sam’s voice was low. “I feel the same way. I can't get you out of my head and it's driving me nuts. I don't think I've wanted anything more than to hold you, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“But are you sure I'm going to be that guy?” Sam asked.

“Never have I ever been more sure of anything,” you gave him a little peck on the lips. “I want to be with you, Samuel.”

You were on top of him again in a passionate kiss, feeling the growing bulge in his jeans under your panties as you began grinding on him. His hands were on your thighs, daring to slide up under your dress.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked between kisses.

You nodded enthusiastically and he pulled you in for another kiss.

“Maybe we should do this in the bedroom then,” he said, resting a hand on your hip.

Sam helped you up, giving you small kisses as you walked him to your bedroom where he closed the door behind him. His hands were all over you as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you, a tender look in his eyes.

Your heart was beating hard despite the growing wetness in your underwear, but as Sam’s lips were on your neck again, your mind went blank. You purred under his touch, the soft, hot kisses on your neck, his hands cupping your breasts.

He started undoing the buttons in front of your dress then sat up to admire how you looked under him.

“Like what you see?” You propped yourself up on your elbows, taking your dress off so you were just in your underwear.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Sam took his shirt off.

His lips were on your neck again as his hands roamed your body more, expertly undoing your bra. You gasped in delight as he made a trail of kisses down your chest to your now exposed breasts, pinching and sucking at your nipples.

You closed your eyes and you felt him pull your panties off, feeling nervous again. You tried to cover your tummy, suddenly so aware of how naked you were.

“You okay?” He asked as he kissed you again.

“I guess I’m just a little scared,” you breathed. “Can we turn the light off?”

“Why?” Sam sat up.

“I’m just a little conscious.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he tenderly touched your cheek. “You don’t know how bad I want you.”

“Oh, Sam,” you pulled him in for a kiss and he gently cupped your cheek. “Keep going. Please.”

“Okay,” he smiled as he pulled away. “I’ll make this feel good.”

“Promise?” You giggled as he made his way down between your legs again.

“Mhmm,” he licked your clit and you softly moaned in response. “Good girl.”

Sam took his time sucking and licking at your clit, enjoying how you would respond to everything he did. You pulled at the sheets around you, arching your back to push yourself onto his mouth more. He chuckled as he sucked on your clit and you moaned out, your toes curling in pleasure. It felt so much better than your fingers or the clit sucker you bought out of curiosity. By the time he was done, you were a writhing, moaning mess, cumming while he gave your clit a harsh suck.

“My god,” you panted as you looked at him. Sam was looking up at you, wiping at his mouth. “You really know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I’m not done just yet, baby,” Sam kissed your navel.

You winced when he kissed your belly.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered. “I really won the lottery with you, huh?”

“Don’t even joke, Sam,” you sat up and pouted.

“Who says I’m joking?” He pulled you in to kiss you. “What’s not to love, baby?”

His lips were on your neck again, making you putty under sweet kisses and hot touches. Your fingers lingered on the curly hair on his chest, following the trail down his stomach. He was a lot more muscular than you thought, but he still had a little belly roll as he bent over to give you kisses.

Sam groaned when your hand reached his jeans.

“I’m hard as concrete right now,” he chuckled into your neck. “I need to get out of these jeans.”

“Let me help you,” you pushed him down on the bed and got on top of him.

“Wow,” Sam breathed as he looked up at you and you blushed.

You fumbled with his belt and the button on his jeans and Sam bucked his hips in excitement as you unzipped him. You pulled his jeans off along with his boxers, gasping as his cock sprung up. It was almost like how you imagined and you took him in your hand.

“Just like that,” he muttered as you slowly moved your hand up and down his length. You watched as the tip of his cock glistened with his precum and you were curious enough to give it a small lick, eliciting a moan from Sam.

Wanting to take it further, you took him in your mouth, the taste better than you imagined it to be. You softly sucked on the tip of his cock, innocently looking up at him. Sam had a wild look in his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed. You took him in your mouth deeper.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” He asked.

You released his cock with a little popping sound from your lips and you blinked up at him. “Maybe you just really like me, Sammy.”

“Oh, you don’t even know,” he sat up and took your hand. “Come on, baby. This isn’t about me.”

“Oh? What is this about?” You smirked.

Sam fully kicked off his jeans. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

He kissed you hard as he climbed on top of you again. He made sure you were comfortable, piling pillows under your head before he went back to worshipping your body. His lips latched onto your nipples as his fingers moved down to your pussy.

“Is this okay?” He asked as he slid a finger in.

You nodded and he slid another finger in.

“How does that feel?” He found that sweet spot and softly rubbed it with his fingers.

“Really good,” you breathed and he continued to finger you.

You moaned hearing how wet you were as he kissed you again. His fingers felt so good inside you, you began to imagine how his cock would feel. When he pulled his hand away, you pouted.

“You ready, sweetness?” He smiled.

“As I’ll ever be,” you bit your lip. “Just… Just be gentle.”

“Of course,” he said tenderly as he lined his cock with your entrance.

You closed your eyes in anticipation, but to your surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought. Sam pushed his cock inside as much as he can then stilled, letting you get used to it. You took a few deep breaths, the discomfort fading away as Sam kissed you.

“Am I hurting you?” He whispered.

“No.”

He softly thrusted and you winced.

“Are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “Just keep going.”

Sam adjusted his hips and when he thrust again, he hit that spot from earlier and you finally felt good. You moaned and Sam took it as a cue to continue thrusting.

“Just let me know if I hurt you, okay?” He said before kissing your cheeks.

“It feels good, Sam.”

He sat up, holding onto your hips as he continued to make love to you. All discomfort forgotten, all you could focus on now was how Sam was looking at you and how good he made you feel.

“Oh, Sam,” you sighed.

“What is it, baby?” He slowed his hips and leaned over to cup your cheek.

“You’re amazing.”

Sam laughed as he peppered your face in kisses. “You’re so fucking cute.”

He thrust into you hard and you moaned out in pleasure. His lips latched onto your neck as he fucked you harder, desperate to make both of you cum. The sound of his grunts and groans by your ear filled your tummy with butterflies and soon enough you were moaning his name as you came.

“Fuck,” Sam groaned, the movement of his hips becoming more erratic. “Fuck, baby, you’re so sexy.”

He quickly pulled out and soon you felt the warmth of his cum all over your thigh. You looked up at Sam, both of you out of breath and still high on pleasure. He gave you a lopsided grin as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Can we do that again?” You joked.

He chuckled and collapsed on the bed next to you. “Won’t you let an old man rest first?”

You cuddled into his arms and kissed the tip of his nose. “Then we can do it again tomorrow?”

“Anything you want, gorgeous.”

Sam gave you a soft kiss and you both lay in satisfied silence. You played what just happened in your mind over and over again, feeling giddy every single time.

“I hope…” Sam started. “I hope that was okay. No regrets?”

“Are you kidding?” You took his hand in yours. “That was better than I thought it’d be.”

“Guess I still got it in me.”

“You sure do,” you kissed him.

“Maybe we could go out together tomorrow,” Sam wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Like a date?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Figured after all that, you’d want to be my girlfriend maybe.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind that Sam would’ve wanted that with you.

“Girlfriend?” You repeated. Sam’s girlfriend.

“What do you say?” He was rubbing circles on your waist with his thumb. “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

“Hell yeah, Sam,” you giggled and kissed him.

“Cool,” he smiled.

“Sam,” you rested your chin on his chest. “Can we please have sex again?”

[fablesofkitkat]

pov: you, the miser. Shigaraki, the crazy

can the world cease to exist? pt.2

part 1

warning: self-destructive thoughts PROCEED WITH CAUTION

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

- Radiohead

Time has already run its ruinous path and everything good is over before it even begins.

-Lang Leav

You leaned on the brick wall in a sketchy alley after wandering around for hours. Perfect. The downpour slowly soaked through your clothes and you try to find the motivation to move, to get out of the rain. When did this start? When did this indifference to the world and to yourself started?

A sound of a door opening had your attention. You see a gangly boy– man, with weird hand on his face. You see through the gap between the hand's fingers; his red eyes stared at you for a few seconds. The stranger scratches the back of his head. You notice the people behind him, inside of what appears to be a pub.

"You–" The stranger started, and you meet his red gaze once again. "The girl who wants to die. Did you find another bridge to jump from?"

Oh. You remember him the weird random dude who wanted to destroy the world. Shigaraki Tomura. "Hello, comrade."

"Comrade?"

"We share the camaraderie of hating this world." You explain, sighing in... annoyance? You shut the thought.

"This alley is known for people disappearing..." He drawls.

The rain continued to pour down on you but you kept still. "Exactly what I was hoping for."

Shigaraki scratches at the itch on his left hand. "You're gonna get pneumonia."

You ignore him and leans your head on your drawn up knees, curling yourself up into a ball. You looked pathetic.

Shigaraki scratches at a spot by his shoulder. Then, with a temper of a child, slams the pub's door in a fit. The dark, purple flames on Kurogiri, crackled in question, looking inquisitively at his ward. Shigaraki huffs in a tantrum. "I was nice to her."

Kurogiri remained silent.

"I tried to get her inside!" The decay quirk user scratches his neck this time. It was a tell that lets Kurogiri know how affected his ward was about this... fixation. Kurogiri knew that Shigaraki had the tendency to be obsessed on things (like videogames) and it is a helpful distraction whenever All for One wanted them to lay low. However, this was the first time his ward was fixated on a person besides All Might.

"You did not offer her shelter from the rai–"

Shigaraki lets out a frustrated growl and opens the door again. He stomps his way to you. "Get inside or I'll kill you."

You raise your head and stared at him incredulously. For a few beats, you relish the sound of rain and the way your chest heaved as you breathe.

"You know I wanna die."

"..."

"You're not very good at this." You say; there was a persistent tickle at the corner of your lips.

"...at what?"

"Convincing me to live." You answer and when he finally scowled, you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

His frown only deepened. "For a person who wants to die, you sure look carefree."

You cut your laugh short and sighed, standing up and walked past him and into the pub.

---

"You remember my name, right?" Shigaraki asks.

You noisily slurp on your coffee mug, trying to warm up. Two things you noticed about the pub: one, Shigaraki seemed pretty well known here, and two, it doesn't advertise as a pub. You didn't even know it was a pub until the door swung open. Pretty sure everyone except her, are regulars and Shigaraki seems like the owner.

"Why don't you use it?" He asks, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I have a policy that I don't call anyone by their name anymore." To not get attached. You reply politely. You looked at the bartender, busily wiping glasses.

You turn to Shigaraki and frowned at his action. He was scratching his neck with both hands; his nails leaving red marks on his dry skin, and flakes of dead skin fell off.

You sigh tiredly,  and reached out for the ointment in your pocket. You hand it over to him. "Here, you should apply this whenever it gets itchy."

He catches your eyes as his face hardens, his jaw muscle tightens, and his eyes glow like they're burning. He takes off that weird hand from his face. "Why?"

Why apply ointment? or why do I carry this ointment?

You let out a huge sigh, not wanting to answer his question. He just kept on staring at you, wordlessly; he kept on scratching the itch on his neck and the back of his hands alternately. You move to take his hand but he jerks away.

You raise an eyebrow. "Don't be scared, I don't bite."

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing as how you're not using the ointment, you want me to demonstrate how to use it." You give up trying to catch his hands and instead, leaned over him, uncapped the small tube, raised your right hand while peering at him in silent question.

He nods slowly.

Your fingertips gingerly touched his throat and Shigaraki felt his throat go dry. Literally. The skin on his throat was dry. Your brows scrunched in concentration as you applied the cream carefully. His adam's apple bobbed before he spoke, "You gave one to me at the bridge."

You hummed. "Psoriasis. Skin asthma."

"Ah."

Shigaraki's hands hung uselessly to his side, involuntary twitching alternately. Kill. He stares at your face, as you leaned away from him and went back to annoyingly slurping coffee from your mug. All of your movements and facial expressions have a tension to them, like pretending to be alive. The urge to kill dissipates. This makes him laugh. You dumbly watch as he slams his head on  the table repeatedly, laughing at a joke he wasn't sharing.

"Do you want a pet turtle?" He blurts out of nowhere. Maybe a Nomu one.

You choked on your drink; you let out hacks like an old man choking in air. He waits for you to settle down and then continues, "If you're responsible with a thing's life, it'll make you change your mind."

His own suggestion only makes him laugh like a lunatic. The people inside the pub shoots curious glances at your table to which you shrug in answer. When he meets your eyes, you couldn't help but gradually join him in his laughter.

---

"Don't you know, a person who's depressed likes to joke around? While a person who's crazy likes to laugh."

"What a pair we are."

---

part 1 <previous next> part 3

[yoonia]

!!Some sneak peeks of my upcoming WIPs!!

Below is an updated list for my WIPs, some of the projects that I’ll be working on slowly while I’m finishing the impending one that may still remain from this list. Updating status and posting schedules will be updated regularly on my Schedule Post :) 

➬ Title | Bad For You: Undercover - A Spin-Off

➬ Character | Taehyung x reader

➬ Summary | They say only the strongest women can love men like him. You thought you could take the challenge, but what happens when life and everything around you challenge you back?

➬ Genre | Stripper!au, Stripper!Taehyung, Smut, Angst, Mature theme

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

➬ Character | Yoongi x reader x Jungkook

➬ Genre | Polyamorous!AU, Smut, Angst

⟶ Summary | Yoongi never knew that he did not only take your heart and soul when he walked out the door, but Jungkook’s as well. He had left the two of you behind by making you both believe that he was giving things up all due to his fear and insecurities. Little do you know that nothing is truly that simple. And it never really would.

⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18/Mature

Teaser available on Patreon!

➬ Title | Wish You Were

➬ Pairings | Jeon Jungkook x reader

↳ Genre | Unrequited/First Love!au, Summer Trip!au, Angst, Smut, Fluff, partly inspired by Before Sunrise/Before Sunset movie series

↳ Summary | You met him during one summer trip at freshman year, and you had thought that you would never experience a love so deep as your summer love. Ten summers had passed, and you are starting to believe that he would forever remain the one that had slipped away. With only one last chance to revisit that part of your past, you decide to take that one last trip, tracing your footsteps while reminiscing every moment that will forever stay in your memories. But fate has always been so wicked and cruel, because he is suddenly there, like a mirage that comes to taunt you, luring you away from the reality that you cannot possibly escape from. And you find yourself lost in your ways, when you realise that you are not the only one who had been searching for the summer love that you both had left behind.  

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

➬ Title | Only Us

➬ Pairings | Jungkook x reader x Jungkook

➬ Genre | Smut, Sexual Tension!au, Mafia!Jungkook, FBI Agent!reader, Twin!Jungkook

➬ Summary | The only memory you have ever had about the Jeon twins has been nothing more than a distant observation made by a nerdy high school girl looking up to the two most popular boys at school. Just like your high school life, you had left any thoughts of them behind as you spend years building up your career and chasing your dreams. Little did you expect that you would find yourself standing in front of your boss and have him reminding you of them. Much less to have him assign you to spy on them.

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

↳ Warning | Jungkook, but there’s two of them.

Teaser available on Patreon!

➬ Title | Take It Slow

➬ Character | Kwon Hyuk / DEAN x reader

➬ Genre | Bartender!DEAN, Pub!au, Author!reader, virgin!reader, smut

⟶ Summary | Writer block sucks the most, and who knows better about it than you? Often times, you would find yourself wandering to the local pub, flirting and chatting up the cute bartender who had secretly become your muse for a long time just to get the words rolling. Tonight, you might need to do something more than just listening to him speak or seeing his smile.

⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18/Mature

Teaser available on Patreon!

➬ Title | The Bedroom Hymns

➬ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader

⤑ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Faerie au, Angst, Mystery, Smut

⤑ Summary | Being the only daughter of the Wicked King has kept you living in a sheltered life. Never once you were given the chance to see the world beyond the walls of your father’s old castle, and yet, it had never stopped you from hearing all the dark rumours of your father’s indiscretions which had left you to continue living in the shadows. When the day comes for your father to send you to live in his castle by the sea, he left you with a new rule set in place. You are left with a set of keys, one which would lead you to travel through the thousand magical doors inside his castle, but you are to never leave through the front door or to step foot through the golden door at the end of the hall. 

(A twist from Bluebeard. Spoiler: the Wicked King is Bluebeard himself)

⤑ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

⤑ Warnings | Dark topic, explicit sex (more warnings will be added as I continue writing this)

⤑ Estimated word count | 10/20k words

❥ Title | The Whispers in The Mist

❥ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader

⤑ Genre | Ghost!Yoongi, Reincarnation au, Angst, Mystery, Smut

⤑ Summary | He first came to you through your dream, luring you to find him, only to always wake up with his shadows fading with the rising sunlight. But when you can still feel his presence in the daylight, when you keep finding traces of his existence wherever you look, you start to wonder if perhaps he is more than just an object of your lucid dream. Perhaps what you have been seeing at night are your forgotten memories, and he is finally here to help you unravel every part of it, until you could finally remember who he really was.  

⤑ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; Dark topic, sacrilege, explicit sex scene (more warnings will be added as I continue writing this)

⤑ Estimated word count | 10/20k words

Teaser available on Patreon!

❥ Title | Sweet Temptations

❥ Pairings | Taehyung x reader x Jungkook

⤑ Genre | Brothel!au, dom!Tae, switch!reader, switch!JK

⤑ Summary | As an avid supporter of anti-Valentine’s day, you’ve decided that perhaps paying a visit to your regular dom at House Of Lust would be the best way to ignore the festivities happening around you. Except that your favourite lover boy is in the mood to celebrate, and he has the perfect gift prepared for you to unravel.

⤑ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; smut, explicit sex scene (more warnings will be added as I continue writing this)

Posted!

➬ Title | G.H.O.S.T: The Hacker’s Tale — Carousel side story

➬ Pairings | Hoseok x OC/female reader (feat. Yoongi/Jungkook)

➬ Summary | Always have an escape plan. Jung Hoseok has always been the curious boy, too smart for his own good, and has lived on the edge for as long as he could remember. Living in the shadows, he had operated under the name “G.H.O.S.T” and nobody had ever managed to catch his trail. All except for one man, who had not only given him a chance for redemption, but also a reason for him to survive, and you, the shadow that he had overlooked for a long time, but always ready to come out into the light before he gets far too deep into his own darkness.

➬ Genre | Hacker!Hoseok, Assassin!reader, Detective!Jungkook, CEO Yoongi, angst, suspense, mystery

↳ Ratings & warnings | +18 / M for Mature; Dark topic, mentions of murder/attempted murder, guns and weapons, nothing much yet otherwise, but I’ll be adding more as I continue working on this one.

↳ Estimated word count | 20k words

Teaser 1 is available on Patreon; read teaser 2 here

© Yoonia, 2022. All rights reserved — Unauthorized use and/or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited.

[sopxhiea]

Moirai

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Y/N happens to be the niece of a powerful man and Alfie can’t help but want to see more of the young girl kept hidden behind doors.

Warnings: Age gap.

“Are you flirting with me?”  ‘You finally noticed?’

The room is quiet.

One half of it is occupied by men wearing traditional hats while the others don’t wear one at all. Words have been said and now, it’s time for the last stroke. The guns wait quietly at the palms of the nervous men, it’s deal or death.

Then the chatter breaks out.

The men shake hands, fake smiles plastered on their grumpy faces as they get on with it. The room is lively now, opposite to the previously grim state it possessed. The windows are open as they pat each other on the back, relief washing over most.

There’s a middle aged guy in the middle, the one who seems to be the boss. He’s wearing no hat, just a simple suit and a tie to go with it. His rings tell who he is as some of his jewels glisten under the afternoon light.

All along, Alfie watches.

There’s flour on his shoe soles, it leaves the impression of dust on the floor here and there. His jewels are heavy, gold under the burning sun that manages to make its way through the open blinds. He smiles at the guy, the boss, as a sign of respect.

The deal is done.

The other men silently start to leave the room now that the deed is closed, the guns are hidden and the celebration calls. The bosses get to informal chatter while the room gets emptied, the men who were so close to killing one another are now headed to the closest pub.

The secretary whispers something to the boss’ ear.

He nods, saying something to the lady Alfie can’t quite catch in a foreign language. The secretary nods back and smiles, she soon disappears as some of the men start hovering around. The room is not entirely empty yet.

Then, you come in.

You’re holding a stack of papers in your left hand, the rings decorating your small fingers are similar to the ones on the boss’ hands. The sun rays illuminate your face in a gentle manner, your hair resembles the colour of fire while the light kisses the strands framing your face.

A couple words leave your mouth as Alfie watches.

You tell something to the boss, your small frame looks even smaller next to the men around but they all seem to get on with their business, it seems as though they recognise you.

And they recognise that you’re not to be fucked with.

The boss nods, a childish smile on his lips at the sight of you and you mirror back his expression. The boss’ eyes catch Alfie’s eyes on you, he hurries you back inside but you catch the jew’s eyes and the way they glisten in a room full of gangsters.

The boss makes his way towards Alfie, much like how they were standing a minute ago.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Solomons.” he says, his voice is low but loud enough for Alfie to hear. He nods.

“You as well, mate.”

They shake hands for the last time and Alfie is out.

------

An envelope arrives at the messy desk.

It stands out, from how clean and crisp it looks due the peculiar light blue color. Alfie doesn’t remember fucking about with the kids around so he gathers it’s a joke.

From who, he doesn’t know.

He proceeds to open the envelope, a white invitation greets him as his eyes scan the paper. It’s the man from last week, the gangster he made a deal with. He knows him to be stubborn but popular and the envelope inviting him to the party he’s throwing next week proves Alfie right.

He’s ready to dismiss the idea.

Then, he remembers.

He recalls the things he’s heard about a secret jewel of sorts this particular man has. It’s much more precious than a bag of balkan sapphires. 

It’s you.

He’s sure of the things he’s heard. He knows you’re the niece, even though you look nothing like your uncle. You’re his secret, someone your uncle vowed to protect from the ill this city of London brings.

His fingers trace the ink on the paper, it’s handwritten. He’s too old to chase dreams, he thinks, his spontaneous nature is left back in his younger days. It would be interesting, he gathers but much too unlike him. 

He then calls for Ollie to cancel any appointments for next Friday.

------

The tall halls are decorated with silk curtains that extend to the living room where the booze is kept. The corridors are full, not only with people but their chatter and the tiny glasses of alcohol in their hands. All he hears for a while is useless talk until he spots the boss.

He gathers joining the party will give him some recognition with the bourgeoisie, not that he needs it.

He greets the familiar man and indulges in useless informal talk about the weather and so on. A small comment made on the modern decoration and he’s off wandering around the halls.

He doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for.

It’s not you he came here for. He’s here on business, as Ollie’s managed to convince him to attend a social party for the first time in many moons. He sees familiar faces, faces he’s come close to shooting but he manages to give them a small greeting before wandering around again.

You’d been intriguing to say the least, the last push he needed to come to this bore of a party.

An hour later, Alfie finds himself next to some other familiar faces, ones he’s not keen on shooting any time soon. He jokes around and watches them wash down drinks, one by one as time passes.

He’s too busy talking shit to one of the guest’s faces to realise that you’re going around the place to say hi to people.

You don’t want to, that’s a given but as your uncle suggested, there’s things to be done when you’re the one throwing the party. You smile at each and every word that comes out of the strangers’ mouths as your uncle takes you around the place and shows you off unlike any other time. 

Your hands play with the fabric of your airy dress. It pools down around your knees while your rings caress the light green material. A laugh comes out of your painted lips at one of the jokes the guest has made, your uncle is watching you closely right next to you, making sure you behave the way he asked you to.

You didn’t want any of this, you think, but it was handed to you anyway.

Your uncle’s hand meets your arm as he gently pulls you around the next table to introduce to his guests. He’s proud, you can tell but you just seem bored at this point. Nevertheless, you paint a happy expression on your face and look up to meet the next guest.

And you meet the eyes of his.

Even though your uncle would speak to differ, you weren’t as sheltered as he thought. You did things he wouldn’t approve of and danced in a way that would bring shame on the man. 

But you seemed perfectly innocent to Alfie as you smiled.

He shook your hand, his large one engulfing yours but both were decorated with rings and jewels. Your uncle began speaking about the new deal Alfie and him had made but Alfie wasn’t even listening, he was way too intrigued by the creature in front of him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Solomons.” you spoke once the conversation your uncle was having with himself was finished.

Alfie’s eyes glistened.

You remember him from that day in the office but not because you were scared. It was simply because you were interested.

“Pleasure’s all mine, luv.” he spoke, lowly but you’d heard his words unlike your uncle who was too busy dragging you around the place to meet everyone.

And you play the part of the innocent niece all too well next to the only man you call family.

-----

French paintings, a crowd in front of a golden statue as a young man talked about some posh aristocrat, gold on the walls, quiet chatter and the sound of a hushing voice.

Alfie didn’t know when this all happened.

It’s later in the night, the booze has been consumed along with large portions of food he would not touch. He’s spent the night with Ollie on his side, much like how he usually spends most work events. You’d come by once, asked him and the other guests if they were enjoying themselves and left not too long after.

He could see the annoyance behind your eyes.

He didn’t know it to be true but he felt it. You seemed bored with all the fancy decoration and useless chatter your uncle had insisted on. The names of the guests were long forgotten for you anyway.

Except his.

He didn’t fit here but you figured, you liked that about him.

Everyone invited to the party was wearing a fancy dress they weren’t keen on using again, expensive jewels dangled from their limbs as they made talk about the paintings around or just how lovely your dress was.

You’d just smiled.

You weren’t a big fan of parties like these but your uncle had asked you a favour and he was loved enough by you to put up with the useless evening. Besides, one of the guests turned out to be interesting.

He wasn’t pretentious, he hadn’t touched the food properly and spent his time talking shit around. He was having some fun, you could tell from the way he laughed at the posh society’s faces.

Alfie stood there next to the small crowd as the young lad kept talking about a painting he once saw in Vienna. He wasn’t interested but manners were something he was still getting used to when the time and place called for it.

Then your uncle spoke about you, your interest in art and even showed the guests a couple pieces that were done by you. There were a few audible gasps of admiration rising from the crowd as they took a good look at the large canvases wrapped with gold.

That’s when he saw you.

You were walking in the corridor next to where the gallery was, heels and the hem of your dress in your right hand while you shushed the big beast next to you, the dog seemed to be following you obediently even though he was practically your size.

Alfie left the gallery and the crowd and instead followed you.

He figured it was a better waste of his time.

You didn’t let him know that you knew he was following but instead walked outside to where the house opened up to the large crops around, green all over the place while you pulled your dear dog’s leash. Your dress swished around your knees while you walked barefoot on the concrete surface until the concrete was replaced by grass.

He followed you through the trees, a little bit further from where the house’s lights where.

That’s when you abruptly turned around.

“Why are you following me?” you asked, a devilish smirk on your lips while he came to the realisation that you knew he had been following you, no matter how quiet he’d tried to be.

“A fuckin’ ‘ello would be nice, luv.” he spoke, his eyes gave his surprised state away even though he tried to act collected and calm.

“I don’t care for that.” you spoke under your breath but he caught it, you could tell from the way his lips turned into a small smile.

“Name’s Solomons.” he spoke, eyes challenging as he spoke. He wasn’t sure if you remembered his first name after all the names that had been introduced to you this evening.

“I know who you are.” you said, letting the dog’s leash go as he started running around the big yards of grass. Alfie’s eyes watched the free creature for a minute before realising you were speaking under your breath. “Alfie.”

You nodded at your own words as you said his first name. You remembered.

“I’m a bit too old for ya’ to be addressin’ me on a first name basis, lass.” he said, walking right behind your form while you started to walk the trail you did to reach where the horse farm was. It was a big piece of land, after all.

“How old do you think I am?” you spoke, out of frustration since it seems like he was not taking you seriously, you looked younger than you were.

“Barely twenty.” he spoke and watched the lights flicker in your eyes. 

He was very close to the correct answer.

“How old are you?” you spoke, trying to find out more about the only interesting person at the party.

“Thirty five.” he said, in a way that made you think that he didn’t want you to know he was almost twice your age.

You looked at him from head to toe then. Not in a way that made him uncomfortable but as a way of confirming that you understood the age difference between him and you.

“Your uncle, yeah, he’s in there ravin’ about your paintings and all.” he spoke, trying to get words out of you when he realised you weren’t very talkative. You spoke when the occasion called for it.

“Oh, is he? you spoke, staring right into the stranger’s blue orbs.

“Yeah, fuckin’ prasin’ you and some European school you went to.” he said, watching the way your eyes turned to him with a more suspicious glare.

“French.” you spoke, trying to find out what he was getting to. He knew you were foreign since your uncle liked to speak his mother tongue in meetings every now and then but a conversation was a conversation.

“You’re not from around here then?” he spoke, knowing you weren’t from England let alone London. He could tell from the way you spoke.

“I thought you already knew that.” you spoke, eyes gleaming with interest as you spoke. He was not the usual gentlemen who’d come over to the forest to seduce you, he had questions and he actually listened.

“I did, yeah.”  his voice was clearer in the woods, it sounded more like what you imagined it would if he were to wake up next to you in the morning, although that was just a distant thought in your mind.

“Ya’ don’t look like you’re from around here either.” he said, sparking interest in you since he was talking about your looks. No one had said anything about you not looking like a local before.

“How’s that, Mr. Solomons?” you said, amusement dancing in your eyes whilst he drank your young form, you were much too pretty to be from around here. There was a spark to you that the ladies of London were envious of.

“You’re far too fuckin’ gorgeous to be from this shit hole.” he said, not really measuring his words since you didn’t seem to be doing that either. You chuckled out of surprise but then realised, he was telling the truth.

“Are you flirting with me?” 

You asked, bewildered. Due to how powerful your uncle was, most men were intimidated and not only that, but they came to realise your quick wit and clever mouth were also something that came with the arrangement. They liked the idea of the forbidden fruit which was why there had been many that had asked for your hand before but you were far too independent for that/

‘You finally noticed?’

He said, he wasn’t scared of your uncle. He wasn’t scared of many things for that.

“I’m not much good when it comes to that.” you spoke, you didn’t have a lot of experience in flirting and all that. You would usually let the guy know you were interested, have a quick fuck or a fling and be over with it. No one stayed long around you anyway.

“Well, that seems fuckin’ perfect, eh?”

he spoke, making you turn back to face him while the mansion’s lights were still visible. You had been walking back the whole time and the path from which you left the mansion was clear now. You could see the concrete steps.

“What do you mean?” you spoke, eyes glossing over his.

“’m not much good either.” he said, watching the way your eyes lit up for a split second. He was amusing to say the least.

You chuckled then, your dog was long gone and running around the corps. He’d be back when he was hungry but you realised that it had been over an hour of you walking around the garden with this stranger. It didn’t feel like he was a stranger to be begin with but you managed to convince yourself to ignore the way his eyes would roam all over you every now and then.

Your bare feet met the concrete and you saw your uncle, talking to the guests about you again. A low sigh left your lips, one that Alfie recognised to be from frustration but you had to do what you had to do. You turned to Alfie then, knowing that this was nice while it lasted but your uncle was probably angry at you for leaving the party for so long. 

It was time to say farewell.

“I’ll see you....when I see you.” you said, smiling at the end of the sentence since you knew you wouldn’t be seeing much of the charming man any time soon.

“I’ll be around, lass.” he said, not missing the way you looked at him from head to toe one last time. A gentle smile found your lips and you walked back to the mansion.

Alfie left not too long after that, finding the party boring without your presence.

It wasn’t until two days later, when your uncle was out on business, that one maid left a note on your drawer. It was in a light blue shade, similar to the one you’d chosen for the invite of the party. 

You walked towards the drawer, seeing the hand written note inside the envelope but before you had the time to process, you read the words your kind stranger had left you.

It was an address in Camden, you figured it was for you to come around and have a chat. He seemed keen on doing that.

But where the address would lead you, you didn’t know.

-------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter/if you want to be tagged!! <3 Since school started, i’m less active on here so please forgive the absence but i do have works lined up!! <3