#save me london rich

[can-a-tuna-fish]

I made the mistake of drawing him one time and now he’s my favorite character what happened

[fans4wga]

"The studios thought they could handle a strike. They might end up sparking a revolution"

by Mary McNamara

"If you want to start a revolution, tell your workers you’d rather see them lose their homes than offer them fair wages. Then lecture them about how their “unrealistic” demands are “disruptive” to the industry, not to mention disturbing your revels at Versailles, er, Sun Valley.

Honestly, watching the studios turn one strike into two makes you wonder whether any of their executives have ever seen a movie or watched a television show. Scenes of rich overlords sipping Champagne and acting irritated while the crowd howls for bread rarely end well for the Champagne sippers.

This spring, it sometimes seemed like the Hollywood studios represented by the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers were actively itching for a writers’ strike. Speculations about why, exactly, ran the gamut: Perhaps it would save a little money in the short run and show the Writers Guild of America (perceived as cocky after its recent ability to force agents out of the packaging business) who’s boss.

More obviously, it might secure the least costly compromise on issues like residuals payments and transparency about viewership.

But the 20,000 members of the WGA are not the only people who, having had their lives and livelihoods upended by the streaming model, want fair pay and assurances about the use of artificial intelligence, among other sticking points. The 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists share many of the writers’ concerns. And recent unforced errors by studio executives, named and anonymous, have suddenly transformed a fight the studios were spoiling for into a public relations war they cannot win.

Even as SAG-AFTRA representatives were seeing a majority of their demands rejected despite a nearly unanimous strike vote, a Deadline story quoted unnamed executives detailing a strategy to bleed striking writers until they come crawling back.

Days later, when an actors’ strike seemed imminent, Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger took time away from the Sun Valley Conference in Idaho not to offer compromise but to lecture. He told CNBC’s David Faber that the unions’ refusal to help out the studios by taking a lesser deal is “very disturbing to me.”

“There’s a level of expectation that they have that is just not realistic,” Iger said. “And they are adding to the set of the challenges that this business is already facing that is, quite frankly, very disruptive.”

If Iger thought his attempt to exec-splain the situation would make actors think twice about walking out, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he handed SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher the perfect opportunity for the kind of speech usually shouted atop the barricades.

“We are the victims here,” she said Thursday, marking the start of the actors’ strike. “We are being victimized by a very greedy entity. I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly: How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they’re losing money left and right, when giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.”

Cue the cascading strings of “Les Mis,” bolstered by images of the most famous people on the planet walking out in solidarity: the cast of “Oppenheimer” leaving the film’s London premiere; the writers and cast of “The X-Files” reuniting on the picket line.

A few days later, Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC and Expedia Group and a former Hollywood studio chief, suggested that studio executives and top-earning actors take a 25% pay cut to bring a quick end to the strikes and help prevent “the collapse of the entire industry.”

When Diller is telling executives to take a pay cut to avoid destroying their industry, it is no longer a strike, or even two strikes. It is a last-ditch attempt to prevent le déluge.

Yes, during the 2007-08 writers’ strike, picketers yelled noncomplimentary things at executives as they entered their respective lots. (“What you earnin’, Chernin?” was popular at Fox, where Peter Chernin was chairman and chief executive.) But that was before social media made everything more immediate, incendiary and personal. (Even if they have never seen a movie or TV show, one would think that people heading up media companies would understand how media actually work.)

Even at the most heated moments of the last writers’ strike, executives like Chernin and Iger were seen as people who could be reasoned with — in part because most of the executives were running studios, not conglomerations, but mostly because the pay gap between executives and workers, in Hollywood and across the country, had not yet widened to the reprehensible chasm it has since.

Now, the massive eight- and nine-figure salaries of studio heads alongside photos of pitiably small residual checks are paraded across legacy and social media like historical illustrations of monarchs growing fat as their people starve. Proof that, no matter how loudly the studios claim otherwise, there is plenty of money to go around.

Topping that list is Warner Bros. Discovery Chief Executive Davd Zaslav. Having re-named HBO Max just Max and made cuts to the beloved Turner Classic Movies, among other unpopular moves, Zaslav has become a symbol of the cold-hearted, highly compensated executive that the writers and actors are railing against.

The ferocious criticism of individual executives’ salaries has placed Hollywood’s labor conflict at the center of the conversation about growing wealth disparities in the U.S., which stokes, if not causes, much of this country’s political divisions. It also strengthens the solidarity among the WGA and SAG-AFTRA and with other groups, from hotel workers to UPS employees, in the midst of disputes during what’s been called a “hot labor summer.”

Unfortunately, the heightened antagonism between studio executives and union members also appears to leave little room for the kind of one-on-one negotiation that helped end the 2007-08 writers’ strike. Iger’s provocative statement, and the backlash it provoked, would seem to eliminate him as a potential elder statesman who could work with both sides to help broker a deal.

Absent Diller and his “cut your damn salaries” plan, there are few Hollywood figures with the kind of experience, reputation and relationships to fill the vacuum.

At this point, the only real solution has been offered by actor Mark Ruffalo, who recently suggested that workers seize the means of production by getting back into the indie business, which is difficult to imagine and not much help for those working in television.

It’s the AMPTP that needs to heed Iger’s admonishment. At a time when the entertainment industry is going through so much disruption, two strikes is the last thing anyone needs, especially when the solution is so simple. If the studios don’t want a full-blown revolution on their hands, they’d be smart to give members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA contracts they can live with."

[yunhoszn]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside. 

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence. 

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life. 

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story. 

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes. 

And then your grandparents decided to retire. 

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time. 

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres. 

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later. 

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty. 

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh. 

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked. 

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable. 

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave. 

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention. 

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear. 

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops. 

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself. 

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives. 

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope. 

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again. 

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby. 

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.” 

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years? 

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good. 

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate. 

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache. 

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. 

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog. 

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought. 

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now. 

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore. 

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other. 

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency. 

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening. 

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else. 

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance. 

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet. 

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath. 

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.” 

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…” 

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague. 

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong. 

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects. 

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage. 

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine. 

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air. 

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own. 

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own. 

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. 

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric. 

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse. 

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain. 

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal. 

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen. 

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself. 

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple. 

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there. 

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide. 

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool. 

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now. 

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” 

“‘You turn me on.’” 

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad. 

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?” 

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs. 

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it. 

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it. 

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him. 

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release. 

I saw the way he was looking at you. 

I saw how you were looking at him, too. 

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho. 

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it. 

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place. 

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work. 

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to. 

And then you came here. 

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same. 

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role. 

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go. 

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches. 

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?” 

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters. 

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away. 

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else. 

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different. 

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you. 

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you. 

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop. 

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry. 

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top. 

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him. 

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief. 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special. 

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there. 

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets. 

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it. 

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure. 

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now. 

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own. 

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more. 

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat. 

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second. 

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again. 

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way. 

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand. 

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble. 

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams. 

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core. 

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips. 

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force. 

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth. 

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies. 

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts. 

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.” 

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created. 

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter. 

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day. 

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[bethanydelleman]

Something about this whole Lydia thing confuses me a little .

Why did Darcy act alone ? Why didn't he inform Mr Gardiner of his involvement since the start not after the situation is settled ?

When he asked Lydia to leave Wickham, why did he expect her family to receive her when the whole town knew ?

I kept reading posts about how noble Darcy is for asking her to leave him. But honestly just because he does not care about reputation does not nobody else does. Heck, the whole family would suffer from social isolation, he is basically ruining what's left of the girls's chances of marrying well. He is not destroying just his own chances of marrying Lizzie, but with almost any gentleman she would ever come across. What was he thinking ?

At least, while married to Wickham, she has her reputation restored and she can go to balls and parties, if she leaves him she would be banished somewhere far away and for the extroverted loud Lydia, this is HELL.

And if he wanted simply to recover her, shouldn't he bring a relative alone so they would help convince her, surely that would help.

Honestly, the only sensible thing Lydia had done is refusing to leave him.

Darcy acted alone because he didn't trust Mr. Bennet to be a responsible adult so he waited until Mr. Bennet had returned home before approaching Mr. Gardiner:

But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen; and Mr. Darcy found, on further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the departure of the former.

which, good judgment there, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bennet sucks.

As for the other thing, Darcy doesn't know what is going on in Meryton, he doesn't know that Mrs. Bennet is stupid enough to scream their bad news all over town. This whole affair could have been hushed up if Mrs. Bennet had half a brain cell. Lydia has family in London, they could have easily pretended that Lydia went to visit them.

Either way, I think in Darcy's mind, being married to Wickham is the absolute worst outcome for any woman. He hates Wickham and he knows all of Wickham's faults. To him, a sixteen year old being stuck with that sad excuse for a human being, forever, is worse than death or a cottage. Lydia didn't agree, but I don't think she's smart for that decision, she's short-sighted. And I'm pretty sure at this point that Darcy would marry Elizabeth either way, he'd probably prefer to not have Wickham as a permanent brother in law.

As for Lydia and the family's reputation, there must have been options or else Darcy wouldn't have given leaving as a choice to Lydia. He is very rich and very well regarded and everyone in Meryton now knows that Wickham is awful. So Darcy says she was kidnapped and is completely innocent and he saved her. Fortunately for the Bennet family, they never go to London, so this gossip will not spread far either way. No one knows who they are. Darcy marrying Elizabeth will give the Bennets the same reputation boost that it did in the original timeline. Lydia may need to lay low for a while, but having two very rich brother in laws can only help her marriage prospects down the line.

As for bringing a relative, I assume Darcy would have done that too if he thought it would help. As we know, it wouldn't have.

[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

Andrew Scott, Vogue: April 2024.

by Zing Tsjeng, Photos by Annie Leibovitz

Ripley, in other words, is the hero of the tale. “That’s why he fascinates so many,” says Scott. “There’s been so many iterations of him. I think it’s because people root for him.” Actors like Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper have tried the role; Matt Damon played him as an obsequious, lower-class naïf; John Malkovich, as a slimy, camp killer. Scott’s Ripley is different; a watchful loner escaping rodent-infested poverty, more at home among art than he is around people. Musician and actor Johnny Flynn plays his first victim—the monied Dickie Greenleaf—and Dakota Fanning is Dickie’s suspicious ex-girlfriend. “I find Tom quite vulnerable,” Scott tells me. “I don’t think he’s necessarily lonely, but I certainly think he’s solitary…. He seems to me by his nature that he just can’t fit in. He’s trying to survive.”

In Ripley, Zaillian extracts maximum Hitchcockian dread from every creaky footstep. But most sinister of all is Scott’s face, which exhibits a sharklike steeliness throughout. It’s a performance that exudes queasy force. Is Ripley a scammer, a psychopath, or both? “There’s so many things lurking beneath him that I’ve been very reluctant to diagnose him with anything. I never thought of him as a sociopath or murderous,” Scott declares. “It’s up to everybody else to characterize him or call him whatever they want.”

As we weave through tourists near the Tower of London, barely anybody notices Scott, save for a faint glimmer of recognition among mainly young women. He seems to draw reassurance from it. “I don’t like to think about it too much, if I’m honest,” he muses of fame. “I find it a little bit, er, frightening.” He is known but not blockbuster-recognizable, although he is in the upcoming Back in Action with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. What stunts did he do? “I can’t give that away, I’m afraid, or somebody from Netflix will come and shoot me in the head.”

What’s been on Scott’s mind the most hasn’t been acting at all, in fact, but art. As a 17-year-old, he was offered his first movie role on the same day he was given a scholarship to study painting. He chose acting, but has recently been thinking about Oliver Burkeman’s philosophical self-help tract from 2021, Four Thousand Weeks, which makes the case for focusing on the five things you truly want to accomplish. “For me at the moment, it’s like, What do you want to do? What do you want to say?”

He scrolls through his phone to show me his work. There’s a watercolor of a couple arguing in a restaurant in rich reds and greens, line drawings of friends and people on the beach, and two self-portraits. “It’s a bit weird,” he acknowledges of his depiction of himself, all bulbous forehead and Pan-like tufts of hair. His brisk, nervy lines are reminiscent of Egon Schiele or Francis Bacon, who turns out to be one of his favorite painters. “Well, God, I’ll take that,” he mutters at the comparison. He would like someday to go to art school. “I don’t ever regret it,” he says of acting. “But I suppose you just get to a stage where you think, What else? That’s one of the big painful things in life for me, where you can’t quite live all the lives.” As he gets older, he feels the tug toward revisiting old working relationships, including with Waller-Bridge: “We’ve definitely got things cooking,” he smiles. “I’d love to work with her again. She’s just a singular, wonderful person.” For her part, Waller-Bridge says: “I’d love to see him do a fully unhinged slapstick comedy character. Someone who is outraged at everything, all of the time.”

As we round the pavement and the Tate Modern looms back into sight, he recalls a poster he received in 2017—a monstrously large graphic that detailed every week in a human life span. “It’s your entire life if you live to 80—you have to fill in all the bits that you’ve already lived,” he remembers in awe, “a visually terrifying gift.” What did he do with it? “I didn’t hold on to it for too long.” Easy come, easy go: We finally finish our loop around the Thames and, as Scott disappears back into the throng, anonymous just the way he likes it, it occurs to me that the actor has many lives to live yet. ■

[soracities]

oooh please tell us what writing rules are garbage I would love to hear more

it's not that they're garbage, which isn't what i said, just that they annoy me and even then what annoys me is not the "rules" themselves (because i do believe they can be useful depending on what you're writing) but when some of them are put out as the only way to write something as if storytelling is a one-size fits all approach, as if you can reduce the millenia-long history of literature into a fail-proof formula that will work for all writing across all cultures with no room for experimentation.

i think there are as many ways to tell a story as there are stories and how you tell something and the kind of language you use will vary depending on what language actually means to you as a writer. hemingway and faulkner both famously took digs at each other for their styles (even though i think there was a lot of admiration between them) but they are also two very different writers with two completely different approaches to language and how they use that language to say the things they want to say: neither is inherently better, or more right, than the other--their approaches were just right for them; if faulkner wanted to write using the "older, simpler, better" words hemingway loved, he would have. if james joyce wanted to depict dublin the way dickens depicted london, he would have done so. but they didn't.

someone once posted an excellent breakdown by jeff vandermeer of the different writing styles employed by different authors which i was silly enough not to save at the time, but in it he gives an overview of the structure of their sentences, and how complicated or "rich" the language is, without pitting one style against the other. and to be honest, i think writing advice that encourages you to examine and look at that relationship with language, and what it holds for you (and others) and why, is probably more helpful than blanket statements like "stay away from ambiguity" or "avoid long sentences" because neither of those actually mean anything--a sentence is a vessel but it's also a tool, like a hoghair brush or a palette knife; the value of its impact is not an essence that exists in and of itself, but entirely dependent on how you use it, otherwise all literature would just read the same way.

strict adherence to a particular form or structure within a language does not automatically make for better writing, especially not when so much literature actually consists of, and is built from, works and authors actively rebelling against those same traditional forms and structures (but which is also not to say that those forms and structures are inherently useless, either). you can say that long sentences "risk distraction" or are "ineffective" but then where does that leave someone like laszlo krasznahorkai, whose prose runs on like some kind of breathless, hypnotic incantantion for 20, 30 pages without a single full stop in sight? or a book like solar bones by mike mccormack which is made up of a single sentence going on for 200 pages? i'm not saying long sentences can't be boring or tedious, but in all honesty so can short sentences--so can any writing that follows the "rules" to the letter. if something is poorly written, the "rules" matter very little; if it's well written, they matter even less.

all that said, telling people to "avoid long sentences" is not inherently a bad thing because i think the core of it is wanting to ensure your writing remains clear, which is a fair point--but it's an issue, to me at least, when it turns into one of those dictums or pronouncements that actively narrows the potential range language can actually have. clarity is not always about length, or whether or not you cull all of your run-on lines--mihail sebastian drew a very nice distinction in one of his novels when he said "[is] there’s a single way of being clear? A notary can be clear, or a poet, but they don’t seem to me the same thing". a long sentence can be clear, but its clarity exists on different terms to a sentence that is five words long, because its relationship to its content is different. and at the end of the day, that relationship is really what it's about for me and it's distinct to each work and its author.

writers use the language and form they use that best allows them to say what they want to say. no one in their right mind is going to dismiss zadie smith for not writing like angela carter or angela carter for not writing like hemingway or hemingway for not writing like beckett or beckett for not writing like mallarmé. robert frost and sara teasdale were no more correct than the beatniks were. i love pared down, beautifully concise prose, but i also adore books that relish in language and all the various, multi-coloured layers of it, books that eschew (traditional) plot and books that question their own form and the reality of that form, and books that tell a story as straightforwardly as possible.

to be honest i think one of the most formative things i came across, years ago now, was this piece by gary provost, which really sums up the whole notion of "writing rules" for me:

this is not about do's or dont's. it even breaks the first writing rule i learnt in school ("never begin a sentence with 'And'"). but what it does is center an intimate understanding of language, where it can go and how it can get there, and what you want that to do. that's where it's at for me!

[locklyle1kanij]

I’m gonna make a list of my fav Lockwood and co fics in the hope that someone will see this list then reblog it and say “wow good choices! You should really check out this fic!”

(PLEASE I NEED FICS) (Warning these are basically all mainly Locklyle fics just letting you know)

(okay obviously we need Policy 8 on this list!)

“Policy 8” written by by: The_Biscuit_Agreement

Ongoing

Plot Summary :

Policy 8 was established in the hope of encouraging the birth of increasingly powerful agents. All agents 18 and over must accept the marriages DEPRAC assigns them. Agents between the ages of 16-18 can volunteer to enter the programme or else be forced into it due to minor illegal behaviour.
Lucy Carlyle volunteered. Anthony Lockwood was forced. In an effort to protect the two teenagers from being turned into pawns in the games of the rich and powerful, Barnes ensures Lucy and Lockwood are married. But just because they aren't stuck as pawns, doesn't mean the teenagers aren't forced into the same dangerous games.

“As London Burns” written by: ScienceFantasy93

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

An AU About locklyle in the middle of world war two with Lockwood fighting as a RAF pilot and with Lucy as a news reporter. (very angsty) (idk what else to say about it tbh… BUT I LOVE THIS FIC!)

“The bones of our past written” by: moon2pluto

Finished (but has a sequel that’s ongoing)

Plot Summary:

Just a few months after the destruction of the bone mirror, the team of Lockwood & Co. has another big case to tackle:
When Lucy gets a letter from her little sister, begging her to come back and help her with a haunting doomed to kill them, she doesn't need long to make a decision, and neither George nor Lockwood are going to let her face this alone. To not get any unwanted attention in her hometown, Lucy and Lockwood agree to take a closer look disguised as a couple while George is busy researching. But when the haunting turns out to run much deeper and wilder than any of them thought, and other players enter the game, one question arises: Will Lockwood & Co. also make it out of this case unscathed?

(This one’s my all time favourite)

“The hidden archive” written by: BrooklynBooks

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Ghost possession doesn't happen often, but fatality rates are high. Even if an agent does survive, there are the aftereffects to worry about. After surviving a possession, Lucy Carlyle struggles with recovery, delving ever deeper into the memories of Visitors and, in the process, stumbling into the world of blackmarket Sources. Meanwhile, George Karim races to learn the truth behind ghost possession in order to protect Lucy and save future agents. And Anthony Lockwood must face his own past with the London underworld if he wants to save his friends and himself.

“Connections” written by: The_Biscuit_Agreement (I’m sorry i’m so obsessed with their fics lol)

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lockwood forms a psychic link with a dead young agent and the group try to use it to work out how the agent died with disastrous consequences.

“Crushed” written by: itripandfallalot, Salvoirfaire

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

A bad case and broken leg leave Lucy no choice but to return to Portland Row until she recovers. Lockwood is definitely not using this as an opportunity to persuade her to come back for good, because that would be unfair. And he never plays dirty.

“Because everything is the same until, very suddenly, it isn’t” written by: Netflixcapricorn

Finished

Plot Summary:

What happens when the only way out of this mess is a fake marriage?

(Here’s a warning, extremely angsty)

“Lucy takes the long way home” written by: agents_cxrter

Finished

Plot Summary:

Lucy might have left Lockwood and Co, but she can't get Lockwood out of her system.

(So many annoying emotions in this one like WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!!?!)

“This is going to end badly” written by: The_Biscuit_Agreement

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

When Fittes Agent Lucy Carlyle is cornered by relic-men alone in the woods, she is rescued by an unlikely source: Anthony Lockwood, run-away and relic-man. When Fittes gets tasked with trying to track the young man down, Lucy finds herself in an interesting position.

“Perfectly Incandescently Happy” written by: OceanSpray5

Finished

Plot Summary:

After the death of her best friend, Ms Lucy Carlyle is given the opportunity to be sponsored for the 1815 London season by Norrie's aunt. Instantly compared to the Diamond due to their astonishingly similar looks, she befriends Lord Lockwood quite unexpectedly yet is left wondering if she was a fool for believing he'd look twice at a mere country girl.

(This fic is literally the cutest thing to exist… if you exclude the angst lollll)

“No One Cares About The Nightwatch” Written by: Nomolosk

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy Carlyle is a Listener, a failed agent, a runaway, and now works the nightwatch in London. One might think her life a failure from start to last- but Lucy has goals. She will get a grade four certificate, and reapply to all the best agencies, and her life will get immeasurably better.

However, firsthand experience of the treatment most people give the nightwatch, and a chance encounter with Lockwood and Co. have her reevaluating those goals... maybe she can do some good before she moves on...

“The Injury of Finally Knowing You” written by: booknerds_unite

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Anthony Lockwood, the only surviving male monarch from the Lockwood line, has six months to find a wife or Parliament will make a case to keep him from the throne. Lucy Carlyle has just arrived at the palace to work as a maid and to escape her horrific mother. They were never supposed to meet.
On the night of Lockwood's birthday celebration, their paths cross and nothing will ever be the same.

“What lies between the lines” written by: The_Biscuit_Agreement

Ongoing

Plot Summary

When she arrived in London, Lucy Carlyle took up a job at the British Archives, spending her days determining which love letters, suicide notes and other collected paperwork could one day produce a visitor. It's a taxing job, made easier by king archivists and the presence of young agents doing research nearby. As Lucy becomes close with some of these young agents, she starts to receive love letters herself and finds herself using her under-utilised talents to try to work out who might be behind the notes.

(at this point just go through all of The_Biscuit_Agreement fics tbh… There all perfection)

(okay i’ve read a ton more really good Lockwood and Co fics but i feel lazy now so maybe i’ll post a part two of fic recs later)

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

can you do kendall roy fluff + only one bed? ☺️

Forced Proximity.

i. Only One Bed

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. oh my GOD i love this man. i am a kendall roy defender until i die. i am a kendall girly first and a human being second. (okay so admittedly I wrote this before watching episode 8... ken, me and you are gonna have words.)

Pairing - Kendall Roy x Assistant!Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 881

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Another day, another business meeting.

You're in London, this time around. You and Kendall jumped on a flight at the drop of a hat, jetting across the world to appease yet another rich white man. It was part of your job description, after all. Wherever Ken goes, you go. Just him and his best assistant against the world.

You've been awake for what feels like an eternity when you finally arrive at your hotel. You'd made sure to book two conjoining rooms, as always - Kendall likes to have you close. Just in case, he says.

You practically run to the front desk, desperate to shower and jump into a fluffy white bed. The universe, apparently, has other plans.

"So that's room 414 all ready for you, ma'am."

Her English accent doesn't soften the blow of the shock as much as you expected it to.

"Wait... what? Sorry, I'm sleep deprived. I booked two conjoining rooms."

"It says here you only booked one."

"Please," you beg. "I definitely booked two. Do you at least have another room available? I'll just book it now."

She clicks away at the keyboard, acrylic nails hitting the plastic rhythmically.

"I'm really sorry. There's an event happening, it's this huge wedding and the bride is some sort of celebrity and literally every room is full."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, ma'am."

And that's how you found yourself apologising profusely to Kendall while dragging your luggage down a never ending hotel hallway.

"God, could this day get any worse? I'm so fucking sorry, Ken."

He stops walking and turns to face you directly.

"It's fine. Stop stressing, please. You're making me fuckin' nervous."

You sigh with relief, and join him in his laughter. You can survive one night, surely.

You swing open your door, to be met with the sight of the biggest hotel bed you've ever seen. Bed. One bed.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Kendall stays silent, slight smirk on his face. He always thinks you're at your cutest when you're mad.

"God, Ken, again, I'm so sorry. I think the universe hates us."

"You've only figured that out today?"

He chuckles, and the sound calms you down ever so slightly.

"Look, honey, we can sleep top to tail, or I'll sleep on the floor, or in the fucking bathtub. But we're both exhausted, and standing and staring at the bed isn't helping."

He's right. Fatigue is plaguing your bones, practically seeping out of your pores. You need to lie down.

"I'm not gonna make you sleep on the floor, Ken. That's the biggest bed I've ever seen. There's room for the both of us."

He can't argue with that.

You both get ready for bed, taking your respective turns. You never realised how intimate a nighttime routine can be. You feel like you're seeing a side of your boss that's reserved only for him.

You both slide into a side of the bed, making sure to put an adequate distance between you. You roll so your backs are facing each other, to save any awkwardness. Kendall turns off the light, and settles down.

"Goodnight, Ken."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

You fall asleep the minute your head hits the pillow.

You're awoken by breathing. Not the steady, rhythmic breathing of someone asleep. No, the half panicked, willing-himself-to-sleep kind of breathing.

"Ken?" you whisper. "Are you awake? What's wrong?"

You turn to face him, and make out the shape of him lying on his back in the dark.

"Fuck, did I wake you? Sorry, honey. Just can't sleep."

"You're exhausted. Thought you'd be out like a light."

"Can I tell you something?" he questions quietly.

"Anything."

"I haven't been sleeping."

"For how long?"

"Months. Maybe like a year? I don't know. I go through phases."

"Have you talked to someone?"

"I, uh, tried to. But they wanted to give me pills. I didn't wanna take them, so."

You roll onto your back, mirroring his position. In the dark, you reach out and grab his hand that rests on the bed between you.

"Proud of you," you whisper. "Can't have been easy to say no."

He doesn't know what to say, so he simply laces his fingers with yours, and squeezes a little tighter.

"Do you think it's because you sleep alone?" you ask quietly after a while.

"Honestly? Maybe. I got used to having Rava for so long. Then Naomi. I always sleep better with someone else."

You inch closer to him, using your interlocked hands as leverage. You move so your arms are pressed against each other, your head resting on his shoulder.

"So do I," you whisper. "Don't know if it's the breathing, or the body heat, or just not being lonely. Whatever it is... you have me."

"Yeah?" he asks breathily.

"Yeah."

With that, he pulls you in to him, arms wrapping around you. You rest your head on his chest and exhale.

You settle into the comfort of the warmth of his chest. The smell of your shampoo slowly calms Kendall, his heart slowing and evening out. Within minutes, his breathing becomes steady and rhythmic, body fully relaxed. You join him in slumber almost instantly.

When you wake in the morning, Kendall tells you to only ever book one room from now on.

[saintvainglorious]

10 Best Black Sails Fics I Read in 2023

In honor of Black Sails' 10th anniversary, here's a list of my top 10 favorite Black Sails fics I read in 2023, in order from shortest to longest. Most Black Sails fic rec posts I've seen are now around 2 or 3 years old (though not all, bless @jaynovz and your #jay's esoteric rec lists tag) so nearly half of the recs in this list spotlight newer fics. It's amazing to see fantastic fics still being written and updated years after the show ended - y'all are keeping this fandom alive!

I didn't read that much Black Sails fic this year, comparatively speaking, so I'm sure there's plenty of newer gems that I missed. All the fics in this rec list are Silverflint unless otherwise stated.

1 - Gone To Port Royal by Apetslife (G, 3k) - a delightful oneshot from Gates' POV where they all go to a pirate afterlife. every scene is perfect. endlessly re-readable and never fails to make me smile.

Definition of Valhalla 1: the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received 2 : a place of honor, glory, or happiness: heaven

2 - i’ll be seeing you by youatemytailor/@annevbonny (NR, 19k) - this is THEE post-canon Silverflint reunion fic. the anguish, the rage, the quiet jokes, the tenderness, it's all devastatingly in-character. particularly the chapter 5 climactic unspooling leaves me in awe upon every reread.

Silver is out of his chair and across the room before he knows it. He has a grip on the barkeep’s shirt before he knows it, and he’s pulling him up, hauling him eye-level, only to head-butt him to the ground again. The barkeep’s mouth is thrown open in a wail, but there’s no sound, Silver thinks, no sound at all, save for the blood rushing in his ears as he looks at the other man on the ground, watches him roll to his side with a groan. Flint, Silver thinks, and nothing else. It beats around the knife in his gut like a drum. Flint. And then Flint is looking at him.

3 - The Dark Lord Proprietor by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 19k, Silverflintham) - a fuckin hysterical supervillain AU. Thomas has amnesia, Flint is pining, Silver tries to get them back together. what could go wrong? could not stop cackling.

A year ago, James Flint was in a stable relationship and was within spitting distance of taking over London. Now he’s single, with a dubiously loyal henchman, a lairmate determined to learn his every weakness, and a Secret Past with the new supervillain on the scene. And thanks to a new government program, it’s all a race to the bottom.

4 - the cross dimensional nassau bar of getting izzy hands laid by FortinbrasFTW/@fortinbrasftw (E, 19k ~WIP~, Flint/OFMD Izzy Hands) - a Black Sails OFMD Flint/Izzy Hands crossover. the very best kind of smut-as-character study. funny, gripping, and endlessly re-readable.

The first thing Izzy realizes is he looks absolutely fucking furious — which yeah, alright, fair enough. He’s got shorter ginger hair. A beard like Izzy’s but kept neater. Earrings like Izzy’s but worn simpler. Bleeding like Izzy but, well, maybe a bit less. And he’s handsome. Izzy realizes it suddenly and slowly somehow all at once. Bit like a bloody painting even. The kind you saw up on walls in rich folk’s houses. Only, well, no painting had eyes like that, did it? You’d have to be mad to keep a painting with eyes like that in your home. They were bright and clear and looked — honest-to-fucking-Christ — ready to set the whole damned world on fire. Izzy's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night takes an interesting turn thanks to a completely different sort of pirate captain.

5 - frail and fragile bars by Ajaxthegreat/@francisthegreat (E, 21k) - Silver realizes, post-shark date, that he's in love with Flint. an instant, iconic fave fic. SO many delicious scenes and quotes that live rent free in my head. just read it, you won't regret it.

“I think you fuck,” Silver says. By which he means, with great intent: I think you are human. I know you are human. I see you.

6 - the whole estate of mortal man by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (T, 43k) - Creature Silver AU where he'll grant wishes in exchange for souls. first read this fic in 2020 and cried. reread it this year and cried again. the nature of the AU intersects so cleverly with Black Sails' themes, and the end result is devastating.

Silver has a limited memory, an unlimited lifespan, and a need for human souls. He spends months trying to buy Flint’s.

7 - our feast is but beginning by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 55k) - Flint teaches season 1 Silver how to cook. they're definitely not dating. no, really. this writer writes dialogue so in-character that it cuts like a knife. features sensual cooking, Flint being a queer mentor for Silver, fun genderfuckery, and Them Being Real Tender.

Flint should walk away. Silver can figure out how to feed the men, it isn’t his problem. But roasting a pig is so easy, and when was the last time he had a hand in creating something rather than destroying it? Anyway, what else is he doing, with Billy taking the crew in hand with such annoying competency? He absolutely does not think about why he is reluctant for this interaction with Silver to end. “Go get another pig,” he says before he can reconsider. “Do exactly as I say.”

8 - With Strange Aeons by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 60k, Silverflint + Flinthamilton + Jackanne) - Came for the Silverflint, stayed for the Silverflint but also for holy fuck Jack and Anne are sent to Savannah and break out of there with Thomas to battle literal Cthulhu. How can you NOT read this. I don't typically read Flinthamilton, but by god Thomas is amazing in this.

After the disappearance and presumed death of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, Max smuggles Jack and Anne to Oglethorpe’s plantation. Thomas learns that not only do the three of them have a friend in common, but he is not the only one whose dreams are haunted by a strange city and a terrifying name. Meanwhile, Flint and Silver try to escape an island trapped in time, impossibly built and impossibly old. Along the way they’re forced question reality, each other, and themselves. And in his house in R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

9 - The Salt and the Sea by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 60k) - a between season 2 and 3 recovery fic. i still remembered months after reading that chapter 4 in particular left me undone. a harrowing journey into the ruins of post-leg loss Silver's mind, plus exquisite hurt/comfort.

John Silver was always able to make the best of a situation. If this particular situation had started to feel complicated, well, a vast fortune ought to prove clarifying. Whatever he might have imagined he’d seen in Flint, the reality was they had used each other. And he had been set to walk away on top. Except now he couldn’t. Now he was trapped.

10 - the straight walk home by vowelinthug/@vowel-in-thug (E, 73k, Silverflint + Jackanne + Maxanne + Billy/Vane) - A western AU and one of the best long fics in the fandom. Excellent comedy, amazing AU twists on our favorite characters, found family vibes, nail-biting action, and a fucking fantastic climax. Also, I can't believe this fic got me invested in Billy/Vane.

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez...

[buckrecs]

Hi Sera! I’ve been wanting to ask for recs for a while but every time I think of something you’ve already posted it, but I am a bit obsessed with this right now so I thought I’d ask anyways(you are a gem and do so much for the bucky girls on this hellsite and I love you for it!)

Have you got any Brother’s Bestfriend/Best Friend’s Brother Bucky recs?

Brother’s BFF / BFF’s Brother Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

i follow you (pretend you want me to) by @buckys-black-dress

your best friend’s older brother who has never once given you a second glance finally does one day when he seems to be fond of your new tattoo. it throws you for quite the loop, to say the least.

The Number One Rule by @justkending

Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left. But don’t worry, the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized?

Untouched by @buckyalpine

A series of discovering all your firsts with your brothers hot best friend.

Save Me From Myself by @fatecantstopme

You and your boyfriend get into a fight and he beats you. You go to your brother’s house for support only to find his best friend and roommate, Bucky Barnes, instead. Bucky is furious when you tell him what happened and he takes care of you.

This Must Be A Dream by @lunarbuck

You've been best friends with Becca Barnes since third grade and have been pining over her older Bucky just as long.

super rich kids by @traitorjoelite

kids with too much money, parties every night, and an incident with your best friend's brother is just the norm on the upper east side.

The First Birthday by @eviesaurusrex

It’s not his first birthday after Hydra, but the first birthday he thinks he actually wants to celebrate—only because of YN.

it’s really you (that’s on my mind) by @heavysoldat

inseparable since middle school, it was no surprise that you ended up falling for your long-time best friend. what was surprising, was who you actually ended up with at the end of the day.

Miss America and the Heartbreak Prince by @fangirlovestuff

Your brother’s best friend, Bucky Barnes was a serious pain in your ass. Shame, since he used to be so nice when you were younger. Too bad he’s changed now in high school. Or has he? All it takes is some detective work, milkshakes and pranks for you to finally figure it out. 

Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader by @itsapeterthing

You’ve known your brother’s best friend Bucky Barnes since before you can even remember. As the two of you get older, your relationship grows from one of teasing friendship to an everlasting love. Despite all odds and decades apart, you never fail to find each other every time.

Not as Subtle as You Thought by @marvelousmarvelimagines

You and Bucky have been hiding a relationship from your brother successfully for several months now. Bucky’s getting tired of it though and wants to tell Steve. Are you willing to risk that? 

About Time by @vanillanaps

Coming clean about being in a relationship with your brothers best friend is never easy—or is it?

A Secret by @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo

You’re Steve’s younger sister and secretly dating Bucky and Steve finds out.

Brother vs Boyfriend by @marvelous-imagining

I Will Always Pick You Up by @eviesaurusrex

Usually, Bucky would pick her up wherever she is, but today, with a night out with some of her fellow Avengers (and her brother), it wasn’t possible that her secret boyfriend could come and pick her up, would it?

Hands Off by @buckysgoldenheart

You’re Steve’s cousin and he has some rules when it comes to you that Bucky isn’t a fan of. Mainly, that he can’t have you.

i wanna be yours by @noctumbra

you’d support him no matter what. he was yours at the very end. and you were his. 

On My Mind by @targaryenvampireslayer

You haven't seen your Brothers Best Friend in far too long. Neither of you can wait. Sexy challenges ensue.

[mjwhisperer]

𝚂𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚜 𝙸 𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎

*Part 1*

Smut

2007

Los Angeles/ London

Word Count: 7k

The condo was steeped in an almost hypnotic quiet, a peaceful hum that only came with the late hour, the kind of silence that invited deep thoughts and lingered long after the chaos of the day had subsided. Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas of deep indigo, the stars twinkling faintly, while the moon hung full and low, casting a silver sheen across the still, rippling waters of the pool. A soft breeze barely stirred the trees, leaving the night undisturbed. The children were asleep in their rooms, their soft breaths the only sign of life beyond your own presence.

You stood in the kitchen, the cool tiles grounding you as you leaned against the counter, cradling a steaming cup of tea in your hands. The warmth from the cup seeped into your palms, offering comfort against the cool air of the condo. Your black satin robe clung to your body, the fabric smooth and weightless, brushing your skin with every movement. Michael's initials, 'M.J.', were intricately embroidered in gold on the robe, the letters glimmering faintly in the dim light, a constant reminder of him.

The kitchen was bathed in a soft, amber glow, the only light coming from the pendant above the island, casting long shadows across the marble countertops. In the adjacent living room, the television played quietly, flickering with muted colors as the news reported on Michael's arrival in London. Of course, it had made headlines—everything about Michael did. You adjusted the volume, not wanting to risk waking the kids, their exhaustion from the day's adventures ensuring they slept soundly. You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering how carefree they had been, splashing in the pool under the afternoon sun, laughing with pure joy.

After a moment, you lazily reached for the remote and flipped through the channels. A flash of skin and suggestive movements filled the screen before you hurriedly turned it off, heat rushing to your cheeks as you glanced around, even though you were alone. Now, the kitchen was left in near darkness, save for the dim golden light above the island, wrapping the room in warmth and intimacy.

You took another sip of tea, the herbal notes soothing your throat, though it did little to ease the hollow ache in your chest. Michael had been gone for only a day, but the absence of his presence seemed to fill the room. The weight of the silence felt heavier without his voice, his laughter, his energy. It wasn't like the long months when he'd be on tour, but even a day felt too long.

The soft hum of the house was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone on the wall. Startled, you set your cup down and quickly crossed the kitchen, pulling the phone from its cradle, your heart leaping with anticipation.

"Hello? Jackson residence," you said softly, already suspecting who was on the other end.

"Hi, beautiful," came Michael's voice, rich and familiar, instantly calming the restless energy that had been stirring inside you. His tone was warm, like honey, and just hearing him sent a wave of comfort over you, smoothing out the rough edges of your loneliness.

A slow smile crept across your lips. "Hi, baby. What are you doing up so late? It's six in the morning over there," you said, glancing at the clock, the early hour in London playing on your mind.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, his voice a mix of exhaustion and that signature softness. "Jet lag's got me, but I'll be alright. I just couldn't let the night end without hearing your voice. If I didn't call, I knew I'd hear it from you tomorrow."

His chuckle was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. You could picture him so clearly in your mind—tired, yet smiling, his hand running through his dark curls.

"You already know," you teased, shifting your weight and crossing your arms, leaning against the counter as if he were right in front of you.

"Of course I do," he quipped, his tone playful but laced with affection. "Why wouldn't I?"

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it, but your voice softened. "How was your flight?" you asked, knowing he was probably used to the endless travel but wanting to ask anyway, needing that connection.

"My flight?" He paused, as if he hadn't really thought about it. "Oh, it was fine—nothing I haven't done a hundred times before. Just long, but nothing unusual."

"And how are the kids?" he asked, his voice dropping, that protective edge creeping in. "Were they good today? Well, yesterday for you."

"They were perfect," you said, smiling at the thought of them. "We spent the day swimming in the pool, and Bill took us around town for a bit. No paparazzi this time, which was a nice change. I still kept their faces covered, though. You know how you are about that."

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice turning tender again, soft like a whispered secret. "I wish you all could've come with me. But I promise, when I'm back, I'm all yours."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You bit your lip, the anticipation stirring in your stomach. "I'd love that," you whispered, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "But I think the kids might want their dad first before you get near me."

Michael groaned playfully, the sound making you laugh. "You're impossible," he muttered, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"And you love it," you shot back, your grin widening.

"I do," he admitted with a sigh, before his voice turned low and suggestive. "So... where are you right now?"

You glanced around the quiet kitchen, the dim light casting a warm glow on the polished surfaces. "In the kitchen," you replied. "Just finished my tea."

His voice hummed through the phone, and instantly, a shiver danced down your spine. It was like honey—smooth, slow, and rich with promise. "How about you take this conversation to the bedroom?" he purred, each word dripping with a quiet intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The thrill of it was instant, your breath catching in your throat, anticipation crackling in the air like static. "I don't want anyone overhearing us... just in case things... change."

Your pulse quickened at his suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks. A slow smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back slightly, basking in the moment, enjoying the delicious tension building between the two of you. The playful tone in his voice sent your heart racing faster. You raised an eyebrow, savoring the game. "What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Jackson?"

A low, almost growling chuckle rumbled from him, making your skin tingle. "You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice dropping to a level that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, thick and full of unspoken desire. His words were soft but heavy with the kind of promise that made your skin flush.

You chuckled, your lips curving as you leaned against the counter, fighting the heat that had already begun to coil in your stomach. "Alright," you relented softly, playing along, though your own excitement was quickly becoming impossible to hide. "Give me five minutes, and I'll call you back," you said, already knowing he wouldn't let you off that easily.

"Why five?" he quipped, his tone smooth as silk, completely in control of the moment. "Why not thirty seconds?"

You bit your lip, barely able to suppress the smile creeping across your face, your heart pounding faster in your chest. "Michael, don't start."

His deep chuckle came again, sending another delicious ripple down your spine. "I'm just teasing, baby," he said, the affection in his voice thick and unmistakable. "But go ahead, hang up... I'll give you two minutes. No more."

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "You're so irritating, but I love you," you said, your voice softening at the end.

"I love you more," he said quietly, but with an intensity that made your heart ache with longing. "Now hang up."

You hesitated for just a second, not wanting to lose the sound of his voice, but the excitement bubbling inside you urged you forward. You placed the phone down, the soft click of the receiver louder than usual in the silence of the kitchen. Without wasting a second, you darted down the hall, your bare feet padding softly over the cool, polished wood floors. Each step felt like you were moving toward something inevitable, the air around you thick with anticipation.

The house was quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying your hurried movements. You slipped into the bedroom, the door closing behind you with a quiet click. The room was bathed in shadows, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft, golden glow over the bed. You moved quickly, reaching for the bedside lamp, dimming the light to a soft, warm glow that barely illuminated the space. The shadows danced along the walls, the atmosphere now thick with intimacy.

You moved to his side of the bed, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his pillow. His scent—woodsy and musky, with a hint of the cologne he always wore—lingered faintly on the linens. You clutched the pillow to your chest for a moment, the weight of it grounding you, filling the emptiness of the room that was too big without him.

Sliding onto the bed, you sank into the soft mattress, feeling the comfort of the familiar space surround you. You tucked his pillow beneath your head, your body relaxing slightly as his scent enveloped you. The anticipation, however, only grew stronger, your heart racing in your chest as you waited for the phone to ring.

And then, it did.

The sharp trill of the phone sliced through the stillness, and you grabbed it without hesitation, bringing it to your ear, your heart leaping as his voice washed over you. "Someone's eager," he teased, his tone laced with mischief, though the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, shut up," you shot back playfully, though you couldn't keep the smile out of your voice. "I just miss you, that's all."

He sighed softly, and you could hear the longing in the sound, could feel it echo in your own chest. "I miss you more, doll," he said, his voice deep and velvety, every word dripping with sincerity. "I've been lying in this bed thinking about you since I got here."

You shifted slightly, reclining further into the bed, your fingers brushing over the cool surface of the photo frame on his nightstand—the picture of you both, caught in a moment of laughter, frozen in time. "Yeah? What about me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been thinking about your smile," he began softly, his tone tender and slow, as if savoring every word. "Those big, beautiful eyes of yours. God, I miss them. I miss the way you look at me, how they light up when you're happy. I miss your voice... You have no idea how much I miss hearing it, even when you're just talking about the most random things. You've picked up that habit from me, you know."

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you listened, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace, filling the empty space in the room.

"And your lips," he continued, his voice dropping lower, turning more intimate. "I miss your kisses... your hugs. Everything. I hate being so far away from you."

His voice was heavy with emotion, the longing thick between you, so palpable it made your chest ache. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining him there beside you, his hand reaching out to pull you close, his warmth wrapping around you, his breath soft against your skin.

"I hate it too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "It feels so empty without you here."

The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken—the two of you just breathing, connected through the distance, the miles falling away as the intimacy between you filled the space.

"I promise," he finally said, his voice low and resolute, "the second I get back, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'm holding you to that," you replied, a soft smile on your lips, though the ache of longing remained. You wanted him here, now, the need for his touch overwhelming.

"You better," he murmured, his words carrying a weight that transcended the miles between you, bridging the gap with a promise that lingered in the air. Even though he was far away, the distance felt irrelevant. His presence wrapped around you, almost tangible, as if he were standing right there, his breath warm against your skin.

A stillness settled over the conversation, the silence between you thick with unspoken desires. The only sounds breaking the quiet were the soft rustle of sheets and the synchronized rise and fall of your breaths, as if the very air between you had become shared, intimate. It was as though the entire world had shrunk, leaving only this moment, suspended in time, where the space between you was charged with electricity.

Michael's soft, deliberate throat clearing pulled you from the cocoon of silence, his voice vibrating through the phone and sending a shiver down your spine. "What are you wearing right now?" he asked, his tone low, edged with curiosity and something deeper, something darker.

Your fingers absently traced the delicate gold thread of his initials sewn into your robe, the texture grounding you, keeping you tethered to him despite the distance. "My robe," you answered, letting the words slip from your lips as though they were of no consequence, your tone casual, playful.

"Which one?" he pressed, his voice carrying a soft insistence, a desire for more.

"The black one," you replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you imagined the way his breath would catch. "With your initials on it."

A low hum of approval reverberated through the line, a sound that spoke volumes, his appreciation clear without needing further explanation. "And underneath?" he asked, his voice dipping, the question soaked with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

"Nothing," you teased, the single word slipping out like a carefully drawn breath, soft and laced with just the right amount of provocation.

His response came immediately, a deep, throaty groan that sent a flush of heat through you. "Fuck..." he breathed, the rawness of his voice painting a vivid image in your mind—one of him, miles away, his body reacting to your words, the evidence of his desire undeniable. You could practically feel him, the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles, all brought to life through the intensity of his voice.

"And you?" you asked, your hand instinctively curling around the edge of the phone, fingers pressing into the cool metal as if it could somehow pull him closer.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice a soft, hushed breath against your ear, intimate and vulnerable.

"Mmm, I like that," you purred, your tone dipping into a sultry whisper, every word dripping with playful seduction. "I packed you something in your bag. Have you found it yet?"

The line went quiet for a beat, the soft sounds of his shifting body filling the void. You imagined him, sprawled across the hotel bed, his body tense with curiosity. "What did you put in my bag, baby?" he asked, the question carrying a note of surprise, mingling with something more primal.

"Go look," you said, your voice low, controlled. Slowly, deliberately, you loosened the satin belt of your robe, letting it fall open as the cool air kissed your bare skin. With a soft click, you switched the phone to speaker, setting it down beside you as your body sank deeper into the sheets.

The sound of sheets rustling on his end reached your ears, followed by the muffled thud of footsteps as you imagined him rising from the bed. You could picture it all—the way he moved, each step deliberate, his anticipation growing as he neared the bag. The soft sound of his rummaging cut through the silence, and then, there it was—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, appreciative groan.

"Oh god..." His voice was filled with astonishment, the realization sinking in.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips, your teeth grazing the tip of your nail as you savored the sound of his reaction. It was intoxicating, knowing how you could affect him even from afar.

The sheets rustled again as he returned to bed. "Baby, why would you do this?" His tone was a mix of amusement and disbelief, the kind that hinted at both appreciation and helpless surrender.

"Because I knew you'd miss me," you replied, your voice laced with playful affection, every word deliberately chosen. "So I packed you something special."

"And it was... your panties." His voice had dropped an octave, the words heavy with the realization, with the weight of the small red lace now resting in his hands.

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed, a teasing lilt to your voice. "Is that a problem?"

He let out a slow breath, the sound almost tangible through the phone, as if you could feel his chest rising and falling with it. "No. I'm fine with it."

"Good," you murmured, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Now... what are you doing with them?"

His breath hitched, the silence that followed thick with tension. "Nothing yet," he admitted, his voice lower, rougher. "They're just... lying on my chest."

The corner of your mouth quirked into a smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across your thigh. "Mmm, and what do you intend to do with them?" Your words hung in the air, a challenge, a coaxing invitation.

His breath grew heavier, every exhale more labored, and when he finally spoke, his voice was threaded with longing. "Wrapping them around me... thinking it's you."

You closed your eyes, the image flashing even clearer behind your eyelids—the vivid picture of Michael, your panties wrapped tight around his hardened shaft. The thought alone made your pulse quicken, heat pooling in your core as your hand drifted lower, fingers teasing along your skin, mirroring the ache deep inside you.

His voice, low and rough with concern, broke the silence. "Baby... you're breathing hard. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you lied softly, the word slipping out effortlessly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you, every syllable soaked in the heady mix of anticipation and desire.

Michael's deep chuckle rolled through the phone, sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "You're lying to me, baby. Where's your hand right now? Don't tell me you've got me on speakerphone," he teased, his voice both a challenge and an invitation, knowing full well the effect he had on you.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly in return, the sound low and breathy as your hand trailed down further, teasing the edge of the heat pooling between your thighs. His voice, dark and full of promise, made the ache between your legs more pronounced. "You are," you whispered, letting the sound of his name roll off your tongue like a secret you weren't ready to share.

"And where's your hand?" he pressed, voice softer now, but weighted with something more—desperation, hunger.

"Where you should be," you whispered, breath catching in your throat as your fingers finally dipped lower, brushing against the slickness between your thighs, the sensation sending a shudder through you.

"God..." he breathed, his voice thick with longing, his own desire palpable even through the phone.

A wicked smile played on your lips as you closed your eyes again, imagining the way he must look, laid bare in his hotel room, miles away yet so close in your mind. "You wanna do me a favor, baby?" you murmured, sliding your fingers between your slick folds, teasing yourself with slow, deliberate strokes.

"What's that, baby?" Michael asked, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles over your clit, your breath coming quicker. "Can you suck on my panties for me? I just want to hear it."

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an intensity that sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His sharp inhale was loud in your ear, followed by a low, almost disbelieving chuckle. "You're nasty... but anything for you, baby. I was gonna do it anyway."

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he picked them up, turning the delicate fabric inside out. The sound of him flicking his tongue against the crotch of your panties reached your ears, slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. His groans were deep, guttural, the wet sound of his tongue working against the lace sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Fuck..." you breathed, eyes squeezing shut as the image of him filled your mind. His bare body sprawled across the bed, hair tousled, the sleek, straight strands falling into his face as he sucked on the red lace. You could practically see his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his lips working against the fabric, lost in the taste of you.

"Keep going," you whispered, voice barely audible as your fingers slipped inside yourself, the slow slide making your hips lift off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, your body aching for more, for him. Each thrust of your fingers matched the rhythm of his heavy breathing, the sound of his mouth working against the lace of your panties sending a fire through your veins.

Michael groaned again, the sound reverberating through you, spurring you on as you pumped your fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster, the wetness of your arousal coating your fingers. Your breath hitched, the pleasure building with each thrust, each flick of his tongue that you could hear through the phone.

The sound of his breath, ragged and uneven, crackled through the phone line, each exhale dripping with a hunger that matched your own. His voice, low and hoarse, vibrated through you, like a live wire connecting every nerve in your body to him. "I want you here... I want to taste you," he growled, his words more than a plea, but a command wrapped in longing. The weight of his desire had your entire body tingling, the pulse between your legs quickening with every passing second.

"I want you inside me, Michael," you whispered, your voice barely steady, the words trembling on your lips as your body responded to the mere thought of him. You could feel the ache deep inside, the emptiness begging to be filled.

"Yeah?" His voice came out in a rasp, edged with the kind of desperation that sent shivers racing across your skin. "How many fingers do you have inside of you, baby?" The question was thick with intent, a challenge you were more than willing to meet.

"Two," you moaned, pressing your fingers deeper, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coat them. The stretch was delicious but still not enough, never enough when what you truly craved was the fullness only he could provide.

"Add one more for me... Do it for me, baby," he coaxed, his voice dark and intoxicating, each word making the air between you feel heavier, saturated with an unspeakable tension.

You whimpered, your free hand trembling as you slid a third finger inside, the sensation making your toes curl and your breath catch in your throat. The feeling was almost too much, yet still far from the overwhelming fullness you yearned for. You could picture him in vivid detail—his thick, hardened shaft sliding in and out of you, your slick arousal coating him with each thrust, the sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

"I bet you're soaked right now," he continued, his voice growing darker, rougher. "I can practically taste you, baby... Imagine my tongue, leaving a wet trail all over your skin, starting between those thighs, teasing you, licking every inch until I'm at your lips." His words painted a vivid picture that had your entire body trembling in response. You could almost feel his mouth on you, the warmth of his breath as his tongue slid over your slick folds, the pressure building as he devoured you.

A broken moan escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, your free hand tracing up your body, fingertips brushing over your hardened nipples, imagining it was him, his tongue laving over each sensitive peak. You sucked two fingers into your mouth, running them over your chest, imagining his hot breath there, his lips marking every inch of you as his.

"You don't know how bad I wish I could be buried deep inside you right now," Michael growled, his voice thick with lust, each word dripping with raw desire. "Feeling you clench around me, taking every inch of me, pulling me deeper until there's nothing left."

"Oh, Michael," you moaned, your body arching involuntarily as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rolling in time with the rhythm, chasing the edge of pleasure that was building inside you. The sound of his voice alone was enough to push you toward the brink.

"Just like that, baby... moan my name again," he demanded, his voice so close, so intimate, that it felt as though he were right there with you, his breath hot against your skin.

"Michael..." you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your body trembling under the weight of your own desire.

"One more time, baby. Do it for daddy," he coaxed, his voice dripping with control, but barely masking the urgency, the need that threatened to unravel him.

"Fuck... Michael!" you cried out, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave inside you, crashing over every nerve, sending you spiraling higher and higher, every muscle tightening in anticipation of release.

The sound that came through the phone next was primal—a deep, guttural groan that made your skin prickle with heat. You could hear it—hear him—the slick sound of your panties sliding over his hardened shaft, his hand moving faster now, each stroke sending him closer to the edge. "God, I need you," he growled, his voice raw and broken as he worked himself harder, the sound of fabric and skin filling the air between you.

"I want you more, Michael," you gasped, your voice breathless as your trembling body succumbed to the relentless pleasure. Your fingers curled deeper inside, your slick arousal coating them as your hips rose to meet each thrust. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs trembling, your heart racing. You could feel the tightness building within you, the edge of release teasing you, just out of reach.

On the other end, Michael groaned, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through the phone and into your core. You could picture him—two hands wrapped firmly around his hardened shaft, his fingers squeezing the base as he stroked himself with your panties, the fabric soaked in your scent driving him wild. Even with thousands of miles between you, the connection between your bodies felt tangible, as if you could reach out and touch him.

"Keep going, baby. Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, the deep timbre sending shivers racing across your skin. "Think of me, baby."

Your free hand traveled to your breast, fingers teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, rolling it between your fingertips. You could feel the way his hands would replace yours—the rough pads of his fingers tracing over your soft skin, his lips brushing against your heated flesh, his teeth gently tugging before sucking your nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. The fantasy alone had you gasping, the ache between your legs intensifying.

You shifted your legs, raising them higher, propping yourself up so that your slick arousal dripped down your thighs and onto your satin robe, staining the fabric dark as the sensation overwhelmed you. Each movement of your fingers inside you was like lightning, your body pulsing with need as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

"Michael... oh Michael, I need you so bad," you moaned, the sound almost desperate, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought to hold onto the edge just a little longer.

"Shhh, baby," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Don't get too loud. We don't want to wake anyone." His chuckle was low, but you could hear the strain in his voice, the need beneath his playful warning.

You bit your lip, stifling another moan as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rocking in time with each thrust. The wet sounds of your movements filled the room, mixing with his breathless moans on the other end of the line. "Michael... I'm close," you gasped, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

"Hold it, doll," he groaned, his breath catching as he stroked himself harder, faster, the slick sounds of his hand moving over his shaft echoing through the line. "Just a little longer." His voice was low and strained, barely holding back the need that threatened to overtake him. "Oh, baby..." he whimpered, the sound of it sending you spiraling even further into your own desire.

You closed your eyes, your mind conjuring the image of him above you—his bare skin pressed against yours, his muscular body slick with sweat, the heat of him enveloping you as he thrust into you, deep and hard. You could feel the weight of him, the way his body would cling to yours, the rough pads of his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you through each pulse of pleasure. His forehead would rest against yours, droplets of sweat dripping down onto your skin as his breath fanned across your lips.

"God, I want you so bad, girl," Michael groaned, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel your mouth wrapped around me... to watch you take me." The fantasy spilled from his lips, his voice cracking with desperation. "Stick your fingers in your mouth, baby. Think of me."

Your free hand slipped from your breast, your fingers finding their way to your lips. You slid three fingers into your mouth, imagining the heavy weight of his hardened length pressing against your tongue, the warmth of him filling you. You bobbed your head, your lips parting around your fingers as if it were him, your tongue teasing the imagined veins that pulsed against your lips.

"You sound so good, mama," he groaned, his voice rough and broken. "Fuck... keep going. I'm so close."

Your fingers moved faster inside your aching core, your body arching off the bed as you rode the edge, your hips rising with every thrust. The tension inside you was unbearable, your body trembling uncontrollably as Michael's voice—low, commanding, desperate—pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

"I'm right there with you," he breathed, the sound of his strokes faster now, more frantic. "I can feel you, baby... I can feel how tight you are... so fucking wet." His voice trailed off into a moan, his breath ragged as he chased his own release.

Your breath came in ragged, erratic gasps, the heat coursing through your body like a wildfire, spreading from the center of your being and radiating outward. Each time your fingers curled inside you, a fresh surge of pleasure rippled through your core, the pressure building and threatening to overwhelm. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the frantic movements of your hand as you hovered on the precipice of release.

"Michael... I can't... I can't hold on anymore," you whimpered, the desperation in your voice palpable, your body trembling with need. The edge was so close, and yet you teetered there, suspended between the pleasure that burned inside you and the sweet, shattering release you craved.

His voice, low and rough, drifted through the phone like a dark melody, wrapping around you and sending shivers down your spine. "Let go, baby. Don't fight it. I'm right here with you. I want you to cum for me," he coaxed, each word sliding over your skin like velvet, igniting something deep inside you.

You could feel your body surrendering before your mind even had time to process it, the wave of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal surge. Your hips bucked wildly, your fingers finding that perfect spot inside you, the one that shattered the last remnants of your control. "Oh God, Michael!" you cried out, voice muffled as you buried your face in the pillow, trying in vain to muffle the moans that spilled uncontrollably from your lips. The pleasure was all-consuming, like a storm you couldn't outrun, your body trembling, spasming with the intensity of it.

Through the haze, you could hear him, his breathing heavy, uneven, punctuated by low, guttural groans. "Damn, baby... I'm right there with you," he growled, his voice thick with raw desire. The unmistakable sound of his hand working up and down his shaft reached your ears, the slick, rhythmic motions driving your already over-stimulated senses wild. "You're driving me fucking crazy... I'm so close... so fucking close." The urgency in his voice made your pulse quicken, your body aching for him even though you'd just found your release.

You could hear the strain in his voice, the primal sounds of him chasing his own pleasure. "Fuck... I'm cumming," he groaned, his words fractured by ragged breaths, the deep, guttural sounds of his climax filling your ears as you imagined him spilling over, his hot seed coating his hand. "Look what you do to me... shit..." His voice trailed off, heavy and hoarse, the sound of him coming undone sending another wave of longing through your body.

"Michael..." you whispered breathlessly, your body still trembling, the aftershocks of your release making your limbs feel weak and heavy. Your fingers, slick with your own essence, slid into your mouth without thinking, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue as you savored the sensation. Your eyelids fluttered closed as the pleasure ebbed, leaving behind a tingling warmth that suffused your entire body.

"Fuck, baby... I wish I was there," he rasped, the sound of his voice thick with the aftermath of his release, still dripping with hunger. "I need you so bad."

The satin robe you wore clung to your damp skin, the smooth fabric cool against the feverish heat of your body. You shifted on the bed, the empty space beside you a painful reminder of how far away he was. "I need you too," you murmured softly, the words barely a whisper. "I hate being apart from you... it's not enough."

There was a pause, the soft rustling of sheets on the other end of the line signaling his movement. "I'll be right back," he said, his voice still gravelly but laced with tenderness. "Stay on the line." You heard the sound of water running, the faint clink of glass as he cleaned himself up, while you lay there, your body humming with the lingering buzz of release. The quiet of the room felt oppressive, the emptiness of the bed like a gaping void in the absence of his presence.

When Michael returned, his voice was a soft caress. "You still there, baby?"

"Yeah... I'm still here," you answered, turning onto your side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the pillow beside you, the place where his head should've been.

"You okay?" His voice was laced with concern, the warmth in it wrapping around you like a security blanket. "You sounded like you were gonna pass out on me."

A breathless laugh escaped your lips. "I'm fine," you assured him. "Just... wishing it was real. That you were here."

"I know, baby. I know." His sigh was heavy, laden with the same ache you felt. "But I promise you, as soon as I get home... I'm giving you everything. All of me. Every inch, over and over. Until you can't take it anymore."

Your laugh was soft, but the hunger in your voice was unmistakable. "That's the problem, Michael. We never know when to stop."

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "And I don't plan to. Is that really a problem?"

"Not at all." You pulled the covers over your bare skin, the coolness of the fabric a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your body. "I love it when you can go all night."

"You know I won't stop until I'm completely worn out, right?" His voice dropped an octave, the playfulness in his tone sending a thrill through you.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache settling in your chest. "I love you," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with raw emotion.

"I love you more, baby," he murmured, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around your heart. "You heading to sleep?"

A heavy sigh escaped you, your fingers brushing over the empty sheets. "I don't know... I haven't been sleeping well. I usually stay up till four... thinking about you."

The line was silent for a moment, then you heard him sigh, his concern palpable. "It won't be like this for long. You want me to stay up with you?"

Your throat tightened, the weight of your exhaustion and longing pressing down on you. "No, baby, it's fine. You need rest," you insisted, though your voice betrayed the crack of emotion lingering at the edge. You wanted to let him go, to give him the rest he deserved, but the ache of wanting him close made it impossible to lie convincingly.

"Don't lie to me," he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet, a firm but gentle command that wrapped around your heart. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. Even if the line goes dead, I'm not going anywhere."

A warmth bloomed in your chest, his words soothing the ache just enough to breathe a little easier. "Okay," you whispered, surrendering to the comfort he offered, your voice barely audible, but laced with a gratitude you couldn't put into words.

The silence that followed wasn't empty, but rich with the weight of unspoken emotions. You could feel his presence across the miles, like he was lying right beside you, the soft rise and fall of his breath matching yours. It was a strange comfort—knowing that even separated by distance, he could still make you feel like you weren't alone.

"Hey..." he murmured after a while, his voice low, soothing, breaking the quiet.

"Hmm?" You swallowed thickly, your throat still tight with the tears you were trying so hard to hold back.

"Close your eyes for me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his words slow and deliberate, like he was coaxing you into sleep. "Soon as I'm home, I'm all yours. No more of this phone stuff."

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see you. "Okay," you whispered back, the words shaky as you fought against the tears that were threatening to spill over. The tenderness in his voice made your chest ache even more, the distance between you feeling impossibly large.

"Don't cry, baby. I can feel it," he said, his voice laced with love, his concern wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I'm right here with you."

"I know... I'm trying not to," you admitted, your voice trembling with vulnerability. It was always so hard to keep yourself together when he spoke like that—soft and gentle, yet strong, like he could take all your pain and carry it for you.

Another silence settled over you both, but this time it was different, peaceful even. The sound of your breathing blended with his, slow and steady, the rhythm of it calming the storm that had been raging in your chest all night.

Then, just as the quiet began to feel too heavy, his voice cut through again, this time in a soft, familiar hum. You recognized the melody immediately—The Lady in My Life.

"Is that what I think it is?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears still threatening to fall.

He chuckled, the sound soft and intimate, like he was smiling too. "Yeah, baby. It's your favorite. Thought you could use a lullaby."

You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the comfort of his voice as he hummed the tune at first, before slowly easing into the lyrics, his voice gentle and soothing, just like it had always been. Each word wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, making the distance between you feel insignificant, like he was right there, singing to you from the other side of the bed.

The ache in your chest began to fade, replaced by the steady thrum of love that radiated through his voice. As he continued singing, the weight of your emotions lifted, the exhaustion that had been tugging at you all night finally winning. Your breathing slowed, your body relaxing into the bed as sleep began to pull you under, his voice the last thing tethering you to consciousness.

Michael stayed on the line, listening to your soft snores, a tender smile curving his lips. "Goodnight, angel," he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made his chest tight. "I love you. I'll be home soon."

He stayed there for a moment longer, the sound of your breathing calming him as much as his voice had calmed you. Then, with one last glance at the phone, he ended the call, the line going dead. But in your dreams, he was already there—holding you close, just like he promised.

[unboundprompts]

Motionless In White Prompts

-> requested by @whitelightremains

-> writing prompts from Motionless In White songs. feel free to edit as you see fit.

"I found myself by losing hope. I lost my way to find a home." - Disguise

"I hate that I made you the enemy." - Another Life

"Sometimes I fear the worst in me is the best you'll ever know." - Headache

"We don't have to feel alone." - </c0de>

"I can feel it in my veins, laced with gold but rich with pain." - Legacy

"I've got blood on my hands, no guilt on my conscience." - Brand New Numb

"Love is lost like words." - Creatures

"You will not put out the fire that burns in me." - Disguise

"I don't give a single fuck about your thoughts and prayers." - Thoughts & Prayers

"All the rain is full of ghosts tonight." - London In Terror

"Am I man or machine?" - Holding on to Smoke

"I swear that I'm gonna be fine." - Headache

"Don't pray for me when you're the one to blame." - Thoughts & Prayers

"I will fear not my death or destiny, because death fears me." - Legacy

"All those summer nights still burn inside my lungs." - Cobwebs

"The absence that haunts you won't hurt much longer." - Catharsis

"I feel a sickness for a home I've never been." - Holding on to Smoke

"We're broken and bleeding in the name of love and I hope that we meet in another life." - Another Life

"I wanna break free from my humanity." - Brand New Numb

"What could be more beautiful than death?" - London In Terror

"Wish upon the stars, but they won't save you tonight." - Abigail

"Everyday I must practice to fake this smile on my face." - Creatures

"The past is the past, and I'm letting it kill me." - Cobwebs

[allwaswell16]

Hi Anitra! I was wondering if you had any favourite omega!louis fics?

Ohhhh I have so many...I'll try to narrow it down to five for you...

where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting / @polkadotlou

Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off. Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it. If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now. As it is…Louis feels like shit.

Or the accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

Moon Dances Over by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.

He also knows that that means he’ll be one of the first to pick tonight, as the most beautiful omegas are blessed to pick their mates first. It’s considered a huge honour, since the guppies they’ll eventually birth will certainly be beautiful as well, bringing favour on the whole clan.

Louis has a stubborn streak, though. He’s always been rather a fan of mating for love, and there’s someone he’s had his eye on for a long time now.

Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2

I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

Cameras Flashing by @juliusschmidt

With his breakout single platinum three times over and his second album still selling out in stores around the world, Louis Tomlinson has made it to the top. However, his position as Pop Heartthrob of the Decade is threatened by the edgier, more artistic Zayn, who happens to be releasing an album a week after Louis’ upcoming third. Louis needs something groundbreaking- scandalous, even- to push past him in the charts. Much to Louis’ dismay, his PR team calls in The Sexpert.

Consulting with PR firm Shady, Lane and Associates pays the bills so that Harry Styles can spend his down time doing what he really loves: poring over data. On weekends and late into the evenings, he researches gender, presentation, and sexual orientation, analysing the longitudinal study that is his father’s life’s work. That is, until his newest client, the popstar with the fascinating secret, drags him off his couch and frighteningly close to the spotlight.

As the album’s release date approaches, will Tomlinson and Styles be able to pull off the most risky PR scheme of the millennium and beat Zayn in sales or will the heat of their feelings for each other compromise everything?

Bonus: My favorite omega Louis I wrote lol

If I Loved You Less by allwaswell16

Beautiful omega Louis Tomlinson is set to make his come out in London society and determined to find a mate in his first Season. With the help and protection of his oldest friend, Lord Niall Mendes, he takes Society by storm.

Being a wealthy and titled alpha means Lord Harry Styles has grown used to avoiding unmated omegas...until now. This Season he finds himself at every Society event just for a chance to speak with the omega with the flashing blue eyes.

Louis has the aristocracy at his feet and all the suitors he could hope for, but his secrets may ruin his chance at a love match.

[sitp-recs]

Hello! Not sure if you'll respond but I thought I'd ask about it anyway.

Would you happen to know of any fics with a very complex characterization of Draco and Harry with a bit of gut wrenching situations? Preferably older D&H after the war. I'm even open to tragedy, even cheating(?) and just something that is out of the ordinary. I know I'm shit at explaining this but, I'm just like, craving a fic that has adult problems, where one/both of them are at a moment of life where things are complex. Maybe H left D a while ago and married someone else, and then after a few years he sees him again and is just lost in a haze of "what if I hadn’t?" or "what to do with myself now?" because getting back with him isn’t easy? I'm sorry for this weird messy ask but you are the first person who came to my mind who I thought could help me out? Sorry for rambling so much! It's definitely alright if you can't find anything like this of course! Have a great day!

What an interesting ask, anon! I’m a bit picky with gut-wrenching themes but I do love myself a thought-provoking, mature fic. It’s about the implications and complications amirite 🤌🏼 this list is a personal take so I’m not sure it is what you’re looking for, but here are some fics that came to mind when I read your ask. Pls mind the tags before jumping in. I’d be very curious to see what my followers rec too!

Kissed by Pie (M, 12k)

Draco Malfoy was attacked by a rogue Dementor on the night of his Azkaban release. He self-exiled to Muggle London and opened a late-night chocolate shop called Kissed.

Poor Unfortunate Souls by DoubleApple (E, 19k)

Draco is a potioneer. Harry is trying to save his sex-challenged marriage. Everything is a mess, but at least there's an octopus in the lobby.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Stain of Silence by brummell (E, 28k)

After the war, Draco serves out his sentence in Harry Potter's house.

He Who Must Not Be Normal by lettered (E, 41k)

Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life. Which makes you think this story has something exciting like body-swapping, but it doesn’t.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

REVOLVEVLOVER by firethesound, zeitgeistic (E, 46k)

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for. It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

Nightingale by michi_thekiller (NC-17, 60k)

God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages. -Jacques Deval

Super Rich Kids by trishjames (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k)

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

Danse Russe by Frayach (E, 140k)

True Love. Soul Mates. They're just words until put to the test. Harry and Draco have a bond that was forged in the hell of the post-war years and pulled them both back from an abyss of nihilism and self-destruction. Nothing can break it, or so they believed. But True Love can demand sacrifices too great to bear and deeds too terrible to justify.

Plus 2 fics I haven’t read but can vouch for the authors as I’m very familiar with their work:

Unhook the Stars by jad (E, 70k)

Seventy-thousand words of pornographic discourse between two boys-turned-men that still haven't learned how to communicate like normal people – with words.

Freedom to be by Quicksilvermaid (E, 170k)

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect.

[matildhba]

A Little Life: Fragrances

I saw someone (@bookwormthrowaway - hope you don't mind the mention) commenting on the scene related to that parfume scene, so I thought I'd make a post about it.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means an expert,they are just scents that somehow remind me of certain scenes and characters from the book. Also this is just my opinion. If you think differently, let me know.

I'll start with Jude, describing scents that I associate with him, giving recommendations for men, then for women. I'll repeat the process with Willem.

Mention of Fragrance in the Book

[ Willem would always bring him something from wherever he’d been working, and when he came back from The Odyssey, it was with two bottles of cologne that he’d had made at a famous perfumer’s atelier in Florence. Willem explained how he’d had to describe [Jude] to the nose—what colors he liked, what tastes, what parts of the world—and that the perfumer had created this fragrance for him.

He had smelled it: it was green and slightly peppery, with a raw, aching finish. “Vetiver,” Willem had said. “Try it on,” and he had, dabbing it onto his hand because he didn’t let Willem see his wrists back then.

Willem had sniffed at him. “I like it,” he said, “it smells nice on you,” and they were both suddenly shy with each other.

“Thanks, Willem,” he’d said. “I love it.”

Willem had a scent made for himself as well. His had been sandalwood-based, and [Jude] soon grew to associate the wood with him: whenever he smelled it—especially when he was far away: in India on business; in Japan; in Thailand—he would always think of Willem and would feel less alone. As the years passed, they both continued to order these scents from the Florence perfumer. ]

For Jude, these words would describe his fragrance:

Green and peppery perfume

Raw and aching finish scent

Unisex vetiver cologne

Woody and spicy fragrance

Earthy and green perfume

Vetiver-based scent

Men's Fragrances :

Grey Vetiver / Tom Ford

Top notes: Citrus (grapefruit, bergamot)

Heart notes: Vetiver, Spices (nutmeg kind of, pepper)

Base notes: Woods, Amber

Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford has a fresh, citrusy opening, followed by the distinctive earthy and woody scent of vetiver. As it lingers, the fragrance develops into a warm base with notes of woods and amber, creating a well-balanced and timeless aroma.

This perfume makes me think of Jude spending hours on end in his office, never missing a day of work, solving cases, defending in the courtroom, saving those big ass pharmaceutical companies.

Vetiver/Guerlain

Top notes: Citrus (lemon, bergamot), Spice

Heart notes: Vetiver, Woody

Base notes: Tobacco, Leather

Vetiver by Guerlain has a fresh, citrusy opening with notes of lemon and bergamot, followed by a prominent earthy and woody vetiver scent.

It makes me think of cleanliness, and somehow of the apartment on Green Street, also of that scene after Jude is beaten by Caleb, and Harold comes and cleans up the apartment. He mentioned that the apartment is very clean, full of cleaning products, and the whole place gives the impression that it is inhabited by someone with an organized and enviable life, with carefree parties and without regrets or insecurities. This fragrance makes me think of someone who lives there.

3. Terre d'Hermès

Top notes: Orange, Grapefruit

Heart notes: Flint, Pepper, Pelargonium

Base notes: Cedar, Vetiver, Benzoin

Terre d'Hermès features initial citrusy notes of orange and grapefruit, followed by a heart of flint, pepper, and pelargonium, and settles into a base of cedar, vetiver, and benzoin.

This fragrance reminds me of being in the woods, of the house Malcolm was building for Jude and Willem, and their visits there—walks in the countryside, a peaceful enough life. Perhaps even a bit of the early years on Lispenard Street, although it smells a bit too rich for that.

Women's Fragrances;

We are still with fragrances inspired by Jude here.

Jo Malone London's Earl Grey & Cucumber:

Top notes: Bergamot, Black Tea

Heart notes: Cucumber

Base notes: Musk

Jo Malone London's Earl Grey & Cucumber is a refreshing and aromatic fragrance with bright and citrusy notes of bergamot and black tea. The crisp heart of cucumber is complemented by the base notes of musk, creating a clean and elegant scent.

This fragrance reminds me of Harold and Julia's house in Truro and the vacations spent there, the walks on the beach, and swimming in the pool, the scent of the grass after a fresh rain.

Diptyque Vetyverio:

Top notes: Mandarin, Grapefruit, Lemon

Heart notes: Geranium Bourbon, Nutmeg, Clove

Base notes: Vetiver, Woody Notes.

Vetyverio by Diptyque is a vibrant and sophisticated fragrance with citrusy top notes of mandarin, grapefruit, and lemon. The heart features geranium bourbon, nutmeg, and clove, adding warmth and spice. The base, characterized by vetiver and woody notes, completes the composition with an earthy and refined essence.

The description makes it a bit dirty, but I consider that the feminine version of Jude would best fit with this. It brings to mind an intelligent, reserved person who takes long morning walks, that specific morning air – chilly and fresh, while still maintaining that vetiver base described by Willem.

Miller Harris Vetiver Insolent:

Top notes: Bergamot, Black Pepper, Elemi

Heart notes: Iris, Lavender, Amber

Base notes: Vetiver, Tonka Bean, Moss

Vetiver Insolent by Miller Harris is a distinctive fragrance with lively top notes of bergamot, black pepper, and elemi. The heart reveals a blend of iris, lavender, and amber, while the base notes of vetiver, tonka bean, and moss create a sophisticated and slightly rebellious character. The overall composition is fresh, offering a modern take on vetiver.

I associate this with a busy life, visits to the office (strangely, yes, it reminds me of the specific smell of the hospital, but it's more due to a personal connection than anything else), hurried afternoons, the onset of spring, and the freshness of the air.

For Willem, these words would describe his fragrance:

Warm wood fragrance

Amber wood scent

Oriental wood perfume

Sandalwood fragrance.

Men's Fragrance :

Tom Ford Santal Blush:

Top notes: Indian spices, Cumin, Cinnamon

Heart notes: Australian sandalwood, Benzoin, Virginia cedar

Base notes: Amber, Vanilla, Woody notes

Santal Blush by Tom Ford is a warm and spicy fragrance with a blend of Indian spices, cumin, and cinnamon. The heart features the richness of Australian sandalwood, benzoin, and Virginia cedar. The base notes of amber, vanilla, and woody elements create a sensual and luxurious trail, making Santal Blush sophisticated and alluring.

It makes me think of autumn, Willem's favorite season – leaves falling, the scent from cafés lingering in the air, the coffee Willem stopped to drink, and the fresh aroma from it. The pastries made by Jude late at night while Willem stands beside him, the feeling you have when you finally get home, staying in bed for another 5 minutes in the morning.

Santal 33 by Le Labo :

Top notes: Cardamom, Iris

Heart notes: Ambrox, Violet, Sandalwood

Base notes: Cedarwood, Leather, Musk

Santal 33 by Le Labo is a distinctive and unisex fragrance with intriguing top notes of cardamom and iris. The heart introduces ambrox, violet, and sandalwood, creating a woody and floral accord. The base notes of cedarwood, leather, and musk contribute to the overall warmth and sophistication, making Santal 33 a modern and memorable olfactory experience.

If 'Santal Blush' by Tom Ford mentioned above smelled like home and comfort, this one certainly does not. It takes me with thoughts of leaving home for extended periods, to the first scent Jude would smell after Willem finally came back. To film promotions, airports, interviews - in general, to that hectic, famous, and rushed life that Willem had.

Diptyque Tam Dao:

Top notes: Rosewood, Cypress, Myrtle

Heart notes: Spices, Woods, Patchouli

Base notes: Sandalwood, Cedar, Vanilla

Tam Dao by Diptyque opens with a blend of rosewood, cypress, and myrtle, offering a fresh and aromatic introduction. The heart notes introduce a combination of spices, various woods, and patchouli, adding warmth and complexity. The base notes of sandalwood, cedar, and vanilla create a creamy and comforting finish, contributing to the overall sophisticated and serene aura of Tam Dao. The scent is often celebrated for its smooth, balanced, and unisex appeal.

This one takes me in between the two fragrances mentioned above, not quite at home but not entirely in the professional life either. It makes me think of the visits that Jude and Willem had in France, India, Rome - especially Rome. And I believe this perfume would also fit well with Jude, always reminding me of those bits towards the end, where Harold and Julia are with Jude in Rome, how Harold seeks Jude in every person, in every corner.

Women's Fragrances;

Creed Original Santal

Top notes: Orange Tree Absolute, Jamaican Ginger, Sicilian Lemon

Heart notes: Lavender, Peppermint, Rosemary, Pinkberries

Base notes: Mysore Sandalwood, Virginia Cedar, Vanilla, Siam Benzoin, Ambergris

Creed Original Santal is a luxurious fragrance with a citrusy and spicy opening featuring orange tree absolute, Jamaican ginger, and Sicilian lemon. The heart unfolds with a blend of lavender, peppermint, rosemary, and pinkberries. The base, characterized by Mysore sandalwood, Virginia cedar, vanilla, Siam benzoin, and ambergris, creates a warm and inviting essence, offering a rich and opulent olfactory experience.

Honest, although the scent takes me all around the character of Willem and what it represents (but in the feminine version, of course), this is not my favorite fragrance. I don't even know how to explain why; I've only smelled it a few times because my sister wears it, but it felt suffocating to me. Let me know if any of you have ever tried it.

2. Herba Fresca Aqua Allegoria Guerlain

Top notes: Green Tea, Lemon, Mint, Petitgrain

Heart notes: Green Notes, Lily of the Valley

Base notes: Green Musk

Aqua Allegoria Herba Fresca by Guerlain opens with a refreshing blend of green tea, lemon, mint, and petitgrain, creating a crisp and invigorating start. The heart notes introduce green elements and the delicate floral note of lily of the valley, contributing to the fragrance's natural and airy quality. The base notes of green musk provide a subtle and clean finish, enhancing the overall freshness of Herba Fresca. This fragrance is often celebrated for its light and uplifting character, making it a suitable choice for warm weather or those who appreciate green and citrusy scents.

I associate this type of perfume with those good girls, the "girls girl" type, which you surely know. Those kind and beautiful girls who are ready to go the extra mile for others – it also reminds me of Willem, of course. I don't know if this is more of a subconscious association, but I had a high school classmate who wore only this scent throughout all 4 years, and I loved her for it.

3. Burberry Her Blossom

Top notes: Mandarin, Pink Peppercorn, Plum

Heart notes: Cherry Blossom, Peony, Violet

Base notes: Musk, Sandalwood

Burberry Her Blossom opens with a vibrant combination of mandarin, pink peppercorn, and plum, creating a fruity and energetic introduction. The heart notes feature the delicate and floral accord of cherry blossom, peony, and violet, contributing to the fragrance's feminine and romantic character. Musk and sandalwood in the base provide a soft and comforting finish, rounding out the overall composition. Her Blossom is often described as a youthful and charming scent, suitable for those who enjoy sweet and floral fragrances.

Something more feminine, but still capturing the woody undertone that Jude associated with Willem. The only issue I noticed is that it doesn't last long. I sprayed three pumps on my wrist as a sample, and in 3 hours, the scent was very faint, almost nonexistent. I don't know if it's just my skin or if it's a general issue. I left it on because it smells fantastic and gives me the vibe of the character.

Affordable Fragrances

Not everyone can afford Tom Ford and Jo Malone every day, so here are some budget-friendly alternatives. While I believe in investing in a good perfume that lasts longer, I understand the appeal of more affordable options for frequent use.

I haven't tried all of these myself, but I've read the descriptions and reviews from others, so I hope you find in them what came to my mind when I smelled and thought of them.

Men's Affordable Options

Davidoff Cool Water:

Notes: Sea Water, Mint, Green Notes, Lavender, Coriander, Rosemary

Description: A refreshing blend opening with sea water, mint, and green notes, followed by a floral heart of geranium and jasmine. The warm base of cedarwood, musk, and tobacco creates a timeless and versatile fragrance, often associated with a clean, oceanic scent.

Lomani Pour Homme:

Notes: Bergamot, Lavender, Lemon, Rosemary

Description: Citrusy and herbal, Lomani Pour Homme opens with bergamot and rosemary, featuring a heart of geranium and clary sage. The base of oakmoss, cedarwood, musk, and amber gives it a classic and masculine character, suitable for various occasions.

Women's Affordable Options

Bodycology Pure White Gardenia Fragrance Mist:

Notes: Citrus Accord, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lily of the Valley, Musk

Description: A bright and citrusy mist with a floral heart of gardenia, jasmine, and lily of the valley. Musk in the base adds a soft finish, creating an overall feminine and refreshing essence.

Bodycology Pure White Gardenia Fragrance Mist:

Notes: Citrus Accord, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lily of the Valley, Musk

Description: Opens with a bright citrus accord, revealing a floral bouquet of gardenia, jasmine, and lily of the valley. Musk in the base enhances the overall femininity, designed for light and refreshing everyday use.

Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden

Notes: Caraway, Fruity Rhubarb, Lemon, Orange Zest, Bergamot, Cool Minty Peppermint, Green Tea, Sweet Jasmine, Spicy Carnation, Fresh Fennel, Musk, Oakmoss, Amber

Description: A vibrant blend of citrus and fruity notes, featuring green tea, minty peppermint, floral jasmine, and spicy carnation. The base of musk, oakmoss, and amber provides a comforting finish, making it a popular choice for clean and energizing scents.

--------------------END-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The method Willem used to create a specific perfume for Jude is a real one (even though it's as expensive as hell), describing the person to the perfumer, detailing their personality, favorite colors, the parts of the world they're connected to, and their tastes. I want you to know that this is also how I've been searching for fragrance recommendations.

Also, that was my favorite moment in the book because my dad, who practically has a job creating custom perfumes, made one for my mom before proposing to her. I don't know, but this idea has always sounded to me like the ultimate gesture of love for your partner. Ugh Can you belive Im still not over this book ? Me neither..

Let me know if I made any mistakes in the names of the perfumes, images, or descriptions, and tell me if you have any other questions. I hope you found this helpful!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Heyyyyy any lists and recs for Victorian Johnlock?? Thxxx sm I love all the work u put into this

Hi Nonny!

You know what??? I haven't put up a new list in AGES, but I don't have personal updates of my own recs, BUT I also REALLY NEED a list for this weekend, so GUESS WHAT??? You're the ask that I'm going to just tag-search my MFL list and make a Part Two :) So PLEASE NOTE I haven't read any of these and I'm not 100 on if they are Victorian AUs or ACD Canon. I just go based on what people recced to me or what I saw tagged.

If anyone has any fics that they wuold like to suggest, please do add them below! Enjoy!

VICTORIAN AU Pt. 2 (MFLs)

See also:

Victorianlock

ACD Canon

Long ACD Canon (MFLs)

Granada Holmes Fics (MFLs)

Victorian Meets Modern Johnlock

Regency AU (TO READ) [I know it's a different era but this is so that people know I have a list for "a similar era"]

2 Bits by Ewebie (M, 717 w., 1 Ch. || TABlock/Victorianlock || Shaving Each Other, UST/URT) – It was the quiet moments. The peace behind closed doors and drawn curtains. At the end of a case. At the end of a long day. At the end of their ropes, but away from society’s prying eyes. That was the foundation upon which the rumors were spread. Part 11 of the Tumblr Shorts series

Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes! by Holmes_WatsonACSAneroxiaDalt (G, 1,665 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian AU || Established Relationship, Love Confessions, Light Angst, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Hurt Sherlock) – During the journey, Holmes was overcome by a million overwhelming feelings. Today is his birthday. His birthday. And Watson, dear Watson, his sun in the sky, his purpose in life, had not achieved this. Maybe he forgot, but he couldn't blame him. A story were Watson forgot the birthday of Holmes. Or not?

The first time I ever saw your face by Vanimelda4 (G, 2,164 w., 1 Ch. || 1895 Victorian AU / TABlock || PODFIC AVAILABLE || POV Sherlock, Fluff and Angst, Meta Fic) – "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

The Picture of Sherlock Holmes by CarmillaCarmine (M, 3,306 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Dorian Gray AU || Angst, Paris, London, Travel, Painting, Major Character Death, Opera, Captain John, First Meetings) – Sherlock Holmes, a rich and frivolous man, after a lifetime of debauchery finally falls in love. His heart chooses Captain Watson.

Detectives, balls and proposals by Winxhelina (T, 5,365 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Femlock || Genderbending, Disguised Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Falling In Love) – The adventures of Miss Sherlock Holmes and her friend Miss Watson. My attempt at writing Victorian Femlock after reading way too much Jane Austen and ACD. In which there is a ball, a case, a murder and a falling in love...

The Soldier And The Demon by LipstickDaddy (G, 8,998 w., 6 Ch. || Victorian / Demon AU || Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Soldier John, Demon Sherlock, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Johnlock/Kuroshitsuji AU - 1879. Captain John H Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers is dying from a near-fatal gunshot wound in the Kandahar desert; until a demon saves his life. There’s a catch, though; one day, his saviour will eat his soul.

Iris by Leloi (E, 11,302 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Time Travel, Mpreg, Infertility, Virgin Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Omega Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) –John Watson was quickly learning to hate the Victorian Era. It wasn’t just the lack of proper medical care… Although that was a rather large component. It was the filth. It was the misery and the lack of regard for human life. Ok… So maybe the lack of proper medical care was a major component. It was difficult being a 21st century medical doctor stuck with 19th century technology. There was some sort of time travel involved. The really strange part is that there was a past version of himself living with a past version of Sherlock Holmes. Ok… So maybe that wasn’t the strangest part either. He seemed to be stuck in an alternate universe.

The Reawakening of John Watson by  221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (E, 20,463 w., 14 Ch. || Historical 1800s American/Victorian AU || Artist Sherlock, Writer John, Angst with Happy Ending, Bisexual John, Period Typical Homophobia, Sensuality, Experienced Sherlock, Pining, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Flirty Sherlock, Frottage, Outdoor Sex, Trust Issues, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension, Colorado / London, Rimming, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs,  POV John) – Trying to escape his troubled past in England, John Watson has started a new life in the American West. When he meets the handsome artist Sherlock Holmes, a smoldering attraction is sparked, complicating his quiet, carefully guarded existence. Maybe taking a risk with Sherlock is exactly what John needs to feel alive again...

The Inferno Club by SwissMiss (E, 20,841 w., 1 Ch. || BDSM Omegaverse AU || Alpha / Alpha, Victorian Kinks, Case Fic, Public Sex, Wax Play, Pain Play, Collars) – "I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every time." The real story behind The Adventure of the Illustrious Client.

An Unexpected Proposal by black_tea (E, 21,699 w., 6 Ch. || Victorian Omegaverse Johncroft || Beta Sherlock, Alpha Mycroft, Omega John, Bonding, Courting, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Protective Mycroft) – John returns home from Afghanistan to find himself in a difficult situation. It's not easy being an omega without a mate in Victorian England. Though highly competent, most can't seem to see past his status. To make matters worse, he no longer has access to the suppressants handed out by the army. However, a chance meeting puts him in contact with one Sherlock Holmes and leads to something even more unexpected. Suddenly John has the prospect of a better life, if he can only bring himself to take it.

You’ve Got Mail: A Johnlock Victorian AU by MorganeUK (G, 37,112 w., 17 Ch. || Victorian AU / You’ve Got Mail AU || Friendship, Dev. Rel.) –  In 1881, Doctor John Watson, veteran of the second Afghan war, inherited a small but prosperous bookshop from his uncle. Against all likelihood, he embraced his new life joyfully and lived happily among his books and... other projects.This is, until the day a nearby store, Holmes & Brother, decided to add a book department to their already enormous store... Unable to find a way to stop his little shop from succumbing under Holmes’ expansion, Watson needs to find help! And who’s better than his dear epistolary friend! Part 6 of the Rom-com adaptations...

The Adventure of the Lost Boy by mydogwatson (T, 38,530 w., 11 Ch. || Victorian AU || Victor Trevor, Neurodiversity, Romance, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Time Jumps) – Sherlock Holmes makes his way through life as an outsider in Victorian England.

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself. 

All Our Gifts At Once, or, the Young Sea-man by tiltedsyllogism (T, 48,119 w., 9 Ch. || Victorian Little Mermaid AU || Sacrifice, Pining, Angst, Realistic Fairy Tale, Bittersweet, Botany, Gardens) – John Watson, storyteller and shipwright's son, walks way from his entire life in Portsmouth to follow the mysterious Sherlock Holmes to London.

Vows Made in Wine by love_in_mind_palace (E, 59,837 w., 16 Ch. || Victorian Handmaiden Fusion || Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Plot Twists, Mystery, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent) – John Watson, a low born young man from the slums of London appears in the farthest corner of country to work as a valet for the young master living in the secluded mansion. Secrets, betrayal, conspiracy. A love blossoming in the most unfortunate circumstances.

The Courtesan by delightful_fear (M, 67,865 w., 20 Ch. || 1860′s Victorian / Prostitution AU || Medical Examination, Alternate First Meeting) – Desperate times call for desperate measures. John takes a job as a live-in doctor in the most exclusive brothel in London, never thinking he would fall under the spell of it's most infamous consort, Sherlock Holmes.

Concurrence by Calais_Reno (M, 70,876 w., 23 Ch. || Historical / Time Travel AU || Mental Institutions, Modern and Victorian Settings, Period-Typical Homophobia, Alternate First Meeting, First Person POV Sherlock) – “How did you come to be in this place?” I have no idea what possessed me. Perhaps the sheer exhaustion of transport had weakened my filter. Or maybe it was simply that as I looked at the young doctor sitting opposite me, his face calm and professional, but bored (Shares a flat with a mate, who is seducing his girlfriend. Down on his luck. Evidence: clothing and shoes are good quality, but worn. Had to pawn his bag, but could have gotten more for the watch. Sentimental…) I had a sudden whim to give him an interesting story. I decided that Dr John Watson would at least have something to tell his flatmate tonight when he arrived back at his shabby little flat. Or maybe his girlfriend, if she hadn’t left him yet. And the truth was even more interesting than anything I could make up. Part 1 of the Concurrence Universe series

Observations on Sentinels and Guides in Victorian London by  RyuuzaKochou (T, 89,181 w., 13 Ch. || Victorian Sentinel / Guides AU || Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Romance) – A Victorian era AU where Sentinels and Guides are members of everyday society. Starring Sentinel! Holmes and Guide! Watson.

The Stories in Our Veins by victorianpining (E, 101,717 w., 29 Ch. || Dracula Crossover / Victorian / Vampire AU || Unreliable Narrator, Blood and Injury, Blood Drinking, Gaslighting, Mental Instability, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with Happy Ending) – You hold in your hands a leather-bound book inscribed with the title The Stories in Our Veins. No author is named by the cover. On the first page, the following passage has been written in an elegant, cursive hand: A confederate who foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate. Sherlock Holmes in “The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier,” written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1926.

Fin de Siècle Series by Calais_Reno (M, 102,149 w. across 20 works || Victorian AU || Alternate First Meeting, Friends to Lovers, Alternating POV, Misunderstandings, Period-Typicall Homophobia, Love Declarations, Grief/Mourning, Victorian Attitudes, Marriage of Convenience, True Love, Loneliness, Hurt/Comfort) – Holmes and Watson meet and commit themselves to one another, in spite of laws that make their relationship illegal. Holmes confronts Moriarty at Reichenbach hoping to end his influence in the government; he falls, but does not win. Moriarty's machine continues. While Holmes tries to make his way back to England, Watson, believing Holmes dead, suffers the consequences of their opposition to Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's successor. Finally reunited after several years, Holmes and Watson work to end the corruption that has taken over Britain's government.

Riptide Lover by jinglebell (E, 114,090 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Merfolk & Victorian AU || Mermaid Sherlock, Human John, BAMF John/Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Mild Gore, Dubious Interspecies Consent, Stockholm Syndrome, Dark Romance, Dubcon and Morality, Rough Sex, Abstract Mentions of Rape, Size Queen, Switchlock, Foot Fetish) – The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all...

WIPS / SERIES WIPS

Give Him a Mask by AStudyInAlgedonics (T, 10,382+ w., 2/6 Ch. || Sentinel / Guide AU || WiP || Alternate TAB, Sentinel Sherlock, Guide John, Drug Use, Not Nice Mary, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes doesn't zone. Until he does, coming back from his near-exile, so hard that he strips John Watson's shields and draws him into the Victorian enigma of the Abominable Bride Emelia Ricoletti. But what he claims is a simple experiment in the mind palace proves to be far deeper waters than Sherlock meant to plumb, and if John can't break away from the script Sherlock's set him to, this strange zone may drown them both in the dark of the Reichenbach cauldron...

To Belong Series by DrFish (T, 19,400+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Victorian / Mythical AU || OctoJohn, Scientist Sherlock, Attempted Kidnapping, BAMF John, Protective / Possessive John, Developing Relationship, Being Lost, Size Difference, Capital Punishment, Happy Ending) – William Sherlock Scott Holmes failed to graduate the University of Cambridge class of 1877. Adrift in London, he accepts a post as assistant naturalist on a scientific expedition to the Western Pacific Ocean aboard Her Majesty's Sailing Ship Frontier. Events do not proceed quite as planned and Sherlock finds himself cruelly cast away by his shipmates. Perhaps he will find salvation in the company of a most unlikely sea creature.

20,000 leagues under the sea: A Victorian Sherlock AU by MorganeUK (G, 30,544+ w., 15/? Ch || Victorian Steampunk AU || WiP || Scientist Sherlock, Submarines) – The Holmes Brothers are living under the sea, protected from the world violence and general stupidity… Alone, with only a small crew, they explore the world inside their submersible. Perfectly satisfied and unaware of their loneliness, until they meet Captain Lestrade and Doctor Watson from the Royal Navy.

This Land We Have Chosen by redscudery (E, 86,309+ w., 16/19 Ch. || WiP || Victorian Canadian Farm AU || Farmer John, Prostate Milking/Massage, Mutual Pining, Colonialism, Demisexual Sherlock, Complicated Relationships, Slow Burns, UST, Awkwardness, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Virgin Sherlock, Canadian Politics, Angst with Happy Ending) – It’s 1866. John Watson is a former army doctor who served in India. He left the service after a mysterious traumatic incident and has been farming in the backwoods of Canada. Sherlock Holmes is an avid botanist and possible hysteric who is a very loud thorn in his brother Mycroft’s side. Since Mycroft wishes to run for Parliament during the first Canadian election, he knows he needs his troublesome younger brother out of their hometown of Carleton before he can precipitate any scandal—and what better place for a botanist than a backwoods farm? Especially when it’s run by someone who just might be able to treat Sherlock’s hysteria? Part 2 of the The Backwoods of Canada series

Untitled Nobility Series by hannahrieu (E, 95,770+w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Victorian AU || Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Angst, Mutual Pining, First Time, Friends to Lovers) – John is a servant in Halidon Hall until a tragic accident forces him to leave his home and join the army. After being wounded in battle, he returns to England and finds work as a valet for the Earl of Cornwall's second born son, Sherlock Holmes. Very lightly inspired by Mr. Bates's limp in Downton Abbey.

Fallen Through Time by susandwrites (E, 102,041+ w., 39/? Ch. || Outlander Fusion / Victorian AU || WIP || Time Travel, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex/Fingering, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Floor Sex, Breath Play, Light BDSM, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Switching, Romance, Sex to Love) – Inspired by my love of Outlander, but not exactly an Outlander AU. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, finds himself in Victorian London while investigating a murder. The first person he meets is Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and his world is irrevocably altered.