#and he was in slacks and a plaid button up shirt and wore a pink apron at all times and didn't know how to cook to save his life

[mrpuppett]

.

#borb talks #had a dream that george was like some kind of 50s housewife or something and lived in this wes anderson esque pastel house #and he was in slacks and a plaid button up shirt and wore a pink apron at all times and didn't know how to cook to save his life #and his husband was never home and wasn't very nice so george watched a lot of television and fell in love with a talk show host... #my brain was cooking

[bear-cubs-art-things]

PART ONE LETS GOOOOOOO

Super nervous very nervous hngjbghngbg

I have no idea how England works so just. Bear with me as an American. Fhshshsusudhfjdndg (it's not like this takes place in any place in particular, and I'll do my best to make it as reminiscent to England/Britain as possible, but if there are any discrepancies please let me know :)) )

Okay!:

○°-_-*×-_-○°♡°○-_-×*-_-°○

It was very early on a Monday morning. The sun was barely up, merely a bold orange-pink stripe across a dark blue grey horizon. Birds softly chirped their morning song, speaking of (that is, if they COULD speak) endless blue skies and soft yet cold bread crumbs.

Houses could be seen. Nice, orderly houses, all identical as houses go. The only way one could be distinguished from the other were porch decorations on what could be called the porch. Then, of course, the house numbers.

In house 236, off the corner of Orchid Street and Daragon Fly Avenue, a slumbering teen stirs in his bed.

Downstairs, a quiet sizzling of bacon in a pan cooks on the stove, eggs in a carton sitting politely beside the stove a few inches away. A toaster spits out two slices of white bread, toasted of course. A man wearing a white apron and business work clothes hums a tune on the radio. This man is Mel A. Traunn.

Mel Traunn is an officer worker at a financial firm, with highly regarded banks across the country. He works with the big heads, the head men, the CEOs. He may be rather small on the business food chain, and probably not as high as he wants to be, but at least he can feed him and his son.

Upstairs, in a dark, tidy bedroom, slept Azira Fell, 15 year old boy and currently attending Eldritch High. He's short, with a wide, somewhat thick build, and soft. Currently, short, white (in all technicality, it was a very pale shade of blonde) was a mess atop his head. He was sleeping soundly.

Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep!

"Hrrng..."

Azira turned over, and felt around his nightstand for his alarm clock, turning it off once he did. Then he felt around for his glasses.

His glasses were small framed and circular, the kind of old frames those in the later 1800s would wear.

He liked the 1800s, actually. Their clothing was quite nice.

With some early morning bitterness (the kind when you have to get out of bed on an early Monday morning), and grogginess, Azira got out of bed.

It was the first day of school. You know how it is. Same routine of waking up at what felt like dawn, dressing in your most impressive outfits, and going to school only to neglect your studies.

Azira had a... put it this way, it wasn't exactly a stylish fashion sense by today's standards. He wore button up dress shirts underneath plaid sweater vests, slacks and shoes (may I add, his shoes were more in today's fashion than the rest of his wardrobe, though still worn out and one may say outdated). He owned a wristwatch as well, which fitted everything together. It was his father's, which is not to be confused with Mr. Traunn. (Traunn was actually his uncle, but since Azira had been living with him since early childhood, with no real recollection of his birth parents, it was easier and much simpler to call Traunn his father.)

Today, he wore a light blue shirt, with a plaid sweater vest of various shades of brown. He wore khaki slacks, and his slightly worn out black Converses (like I said, the only modern fashion item in his closet). He brushed his hair out, styling it up with some hair gel. It looked no more than a weightless tuft atop his head.

Traunn heard Azira's footsteps from downstairs- light, but still audible- and decided to make him a plate. Breakfast was still hot.

Azira went through his typical morning routine... brushing hair and teeth, deodorant, finding that one book to read at school (today it was A Tale of Two Cities), you know the drill.

The smell of bacon wafted upstairs, and Aziras stomach rumbled with hunger.

Azira grabbed his bag (a single strap satchel that gave off the vibe of some high end scholar) and went downstairs.

The kitchen was a homey one; kept clean and organized, and photos of Azira and Traunn were hung up on the wall. The counter was a polished white and grey marble, the cabinets a matching white. The appliances were a stainless steel silver, the floor a walnut wood.

The whole house, in fact, was a clean, white one. It wasn't exactly all white, but most of its furnishing and detail were on the lighter side. The walls were a light grey-blue, the trimming white, most of the furniture was white or pale cream. The only dark accent was the floor; it was the same walnut wood throughout. The carpet was a color between grey and beige, which could be either considered on the lighter side or the dark accents.

Azira took a seat at the island on one of the beige barstools, greeted by a plate of continental breakfast.

"Gooood morning," Traunn said.

"Good morning," Azira replied.

"Excited?"

Traunn was referring to the first day back at school.

Azira shrugged. "Not really."

"Aw, you gotta be at least a little excited!"

At this point, they were both eating at the island. The stove was off, and Traunn had taken off his apron. Not a single food stain.

"Ehh..." Azira trailed off, shrugging a little more.

"Not one to get excited over school?" Traunn teased.

"I like school," Azira started, "it's just gotten to the point where I don't get excited over it anymore."

"Mm," Traunn nodded in acknowledgement.

The two ate I silence briefly.

"Know who your teachers are?" Traunn asked.

"Erm..." Azira set down his fork and fumbled through his bag for his schedule. "Not really."

Azira found his schedule, and read through it once more. He nearly had it committed to memory.

First period, history. Second period, English. Third period, PE. Fourth period, chemistry. Lunch. Fifth period, art. Sixth period, study hall. Seventh period, algebra 2.

Not very spectacular or special.

The teachers' names and rooms were written on the schedule, under their respective subjects. So yes, Azira knew their names and where to find them, but aside that he didn't know them.

He slid his schedule over to his dad, and he took a look at it.

"Huh," Traunn said, sliding Azira's schedule back to him.

Azira put away his schedule, and caught a glimpse of the time on his wristwatch.

"Oh!" He got up with a start. He could still catch the bus, if he hurried.

He gathered all his stuff (his bag and phone) and hurried out the door. He was two steps out the door when he felt something was off

Wait a minute. He felt his upper chest, where a ring should be.

Oh how could forget!

He ran back inside and dashed up to his room to grab the ring.

The ring was his late mother's ring, made of gold and with beautiful craftsmanship. It had ornate details of flowers and butterflies. It was her most prized possession. Now it was Azira's. He never wore it on his finger, but instead kept it on a necklace chain and wore it as such.

He once more left the house, barely hearing Traunn's "Have a good day!" on his way out.

He knew that if he ran, he would make it to the bus stop on time. He still had 15 minutes.

He could make it. So he ran.

And just as his calculations predicted, he caught the public transit bus loading its last passengers for that stop.

he got on the bus, winded and slightly sore from running. He found an empty seat and sat down.

He was at least awake. And on a more negative note, slightly sweaty.

Definitely need to get in shape, he thought retrospectively.

The bus engine shivered and went along its way. The next stop was, more or less, 20 minutes away. The stop that Azira needed to get off of anyway. Then it was roughly a 15 minute walk from there to the school.

Azira decided to read.

~~~

The school was a nice one. The exterior of the building itself was red brick, each one nearly fitted into its space. Cobblestone steps led up to the main entry doors. There was brilliant green grass, neatly trimmed and maintained. A raised garden bed were on either side of the steps, with flourishing flowers of many colors. The school was a university campus at one point, but then it was remodeled as a high school. It even had a library on campus that was it's own separate facility. The campus was expansive (more so, expensive).

Azira felt slightly overwhelmed every time he saw it. It wasn't the first time he saw it, but you can't help but feel as though the schools too big.

He walked through the hallway leading to his history class. They were wide and spacious by nature, but with all the students in the halls, it sure damn didn't feel like it.

Azira made himself small and unnoticeable. No one will remember you if you didn't stand out and make a presence. Life was easier that way.

He swerved and dodged his way through the hall, and eventually Azira found the history classroom. It was mostly empty, aside from a few desks with students in them. All of which were busy with their own entertainment... mostly playing their phones.

Azira found a seat close in the back.

He put down his stuff, and continued reading his book.

It felt like a second until the bell rang for school to start. It may have been about 5 minutes, and it had been, but time flies when you're occupied.

Nonetheless, the hallways got even busier as students scrambled to find their classes. Footsteps echoed a cacophony, and chatter was no more than useless noise. The world seemed to rush by in the doorway, between the students filing in the classroom and the students walking outside.

Azira paid no mind to anyone or anything. He simply kept reading.

The warning bell rang once, then again as classes began. The room, at this point, was quite full, both with students and with chatter.

"Okay!"

The teacher rose from his desk in the corner of the room, and the class hushed.

"Good morning, everyone," he walked over to the center of the room, in front of his whiteboard. A few "good mornings" echoed quietly in response.

Azira bookmarked the page he was reading and put it away.

"I'm Professor Wensleydale, and welcome to history class!"

Professor Wensleydale had light, nearly golden brown hair and dark brown eyes. He wore an outfit that screamed his profession - a white dress shirt, buttoned up to the throat, and khaki pants. He had dress shoes that were a common shade of mid-range brown, the kind you see oh so often in the men's formal wear section of a department store. The only splash of color was his tie, a subdued reddish-pink. Thick, round, black glasses sat on the nose of his pale, freckled face. He looks like the type of person who'd read thick books of law for leisure. Bookish, you'd say.

The whole class period was spent on a "get-to-know-you" activity, where you would research your name and write the origins of your name on a piece of printer paper. Azira was a little enthusiastic about this, since he was artistic by nature. He could draw very well, and kept a sketchbook (he has a collection of all his sketchbooks, in fact). Other than that, the class was mostly uneventful.

The bell for second period rang.

"Be sure to bring your posters tomorrow!" Professor Wensleydale called out to the quickly exiting students. "Make them colorful and pretty! We will present them!"

On to second period then, Azira thought.

The school floor plan, it should be noted, was a two story building, plus a library (also two floors) and a separate performing arts wing (technically it was a one story building, but there is an upstairs overheard light control for the theater spotlights). The science and history classrooms were, for the most part, on the bottom floor, plus the cafeteria (foods class is also here). Upstairs were the language arts, math, and non-performing arts electives classes (such as art, pottery, speech and debate, etc).

This is to say that Azira was going from the downstairs history class to an upstairs English class.

The class was half full, most of the desks in the back corner of the room were filled. A few in the front were also filled, but not as such.

Azira found another desk in the back. It was closer to the center of the classroom, but still. The room was filling up rather quickly

Azira didn't particularly notice, because he was reading. Again.

"Excuse me," a voice asked.

It seemed directed to him. Azira looked up.

A tall, thin figure stood over him. Well, over the desk in front of him anyway.

The figure had long crimson hair, wavy and pulled back in a loose pony tail. He wore dark, dark sunglasses, so dark Azira could barely make out his golden-yellow eyes. He wore a leather jacket, a grey tank-top, and baggy jeans with one of those black belts all the queer kids seem to wear. You know the ones. He also wore black boots with a slight heel.

He was good-looking, charming even. There was this energy around him that made him seem more intimidating than he let on, and he definitely looked like he didn't care about anyone's opinion about him.

Azira went warm in the ears.

"'S anyone sittin' here?" He nodded to the desk he was hovering over.

"N-no..." Azira answered quickly, and lowered his eyes back to his book.

"Hm."

The boy sat down at the desk, lazily draping himself over the seat.

Azira glanced back up at the boy. He could only see the back of his red head. He swallowed.

Warmth crept from his ears to his cheeks.

Oh dear...

Azira looked down at his book again, trying to shake off his blush.

The bell rang.

The teacher, Miss Device, stood up and took attendance. Each student said (or at least, something along the lines of) "here" as their names were called.

"Next..." Miss Device thumbed the next name on her roster. "Anthony Crowley?"

She looked up and scanned the room for Anthony Crowley.

The boy in front of Azira rose a nonchalant hand, silent.

"Right," Device thumbed the next name.

So that's his name, Azira thought. It suit him, if he was being honest. He definitely looked like an Anthony...

"Azira Fell?"

Azira looked up with a start, caught off guard.

"Here." Azira raised a hand to make his location within the class known.

He glanced back at Anthony. Then back down at his book. He thought it was best if he continued reading.

"So," Miss Device set down her roster, "We're going to a little activity in pairs, and I'm going to assign partners for you to work with."

She started assigning partners, which was simple and straightforward. The desks were organized in rows of five, and she assigned them within those rows. The first and second desks in that row were partners, the third and fourth desks were partners, and the back two desks were partners. The next row, the fourth and third desks were partners, so on and so forth.

There was one desk left empty, so everyone got a partner, with no odd groups of three.

As it turns out, Azira was paired up with Anthony. Wa-hoo.

The activity was another get-to-know-you activity, but it was the slightly cheesy questionnaire type. It was fun enough, one would think.

Miss Device passed out the papers with the questions on it, and everyone had started once they got their papers.

"So, who's gonna go first?" Anthony asked, turned the wrong way in his chair (sitting chest to the back of the chair).

Azira straightened up a little bit. "I suppose I will."

"Mmkay," Anthony looked down at his paper. "Question one; what's y'name?"

"Azira," He responded. "I can spell it if you want."

"'S all good," Anthony wrote down "Azira" under question one on Azira's desk. "Favorite color."

"I do like yellow quite a bit."

Anthony raised his eyebrows in interest. Or acknowledgement, either one. He continued.

"Favorite school subject?"

"Art, I suppose."

Anthony looked up. "You're an artist, I take?"

Azira nodded.

"Hm," Anthony nodded. "Favorite food."

"I don't really have a favorite."

"Well ya gotta have a favorite," Anthony looked up again, grinning. "Everyone has a favorite food."

"Well..." Azira trailed off, thinking of a meal he enjoyed most.

"Eh, don't matter," Anthony continued on. "How 'bout favorite hobby?"

"Reading," Azira said, before quickly adding, "And drawing too, if you'd like to write that down."

"Hmm," Anthony wrote down both.

There were more questions, about 10 in all, and Azira answered all of them. The rest of the questions included favorite movie/tv show, place, celebrity, book, and animal. They were, as aforementioned, cheesy, but who's one to judge.

It was Azira's turn to ask questions.

"Your name?"

"Y'can put down Crowley."

So he did.

Why his last name? Azira decided not to ask.

"Favorite color?"

"Eh..." Anthony thought some. "I think red. Red."

"Favorite subject?"

"Band, prolly."

Azira looked up with mild surprise. "You're in band?"

"Yeah."

"You don't strike me as the type."

Anthony smiled. "I tend to defy expectations."

"I suppose..."

The two went back and forth, answering the questions for Anthony.

Curiousity got the best of Azira.

"Erm, Anthony-" Azira asked.

"You can just call me Crowley."

"Yes- uh, Crowley," Azira folded his hands together somewhat nervously, afraid he was going to over boundaries with his next question. "Why do you prefer to be called by your last name?"

Crowley gave an amused snort.

"Funny story. Basically, when people want t' really vocalize their hatred or disgust f'r me, they resort to sayin' my last name. Like, oozing with vile hatred sayin' it. It kinda stuck. I like the ring t' it."

"Hmm..." Azira nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay," Miss Device stood up from her desk. "We're now going to share our answers."

She looked at the class. "Does anyone want to go first?"

~~~

The day went by fairly quickly. Each class was relatively easy to find, and come to find out, Crowley was in most of Azira's classes.

Azira was at home sitting at his desk, drawing. He enjoyed drawing, quite a lot, actually. He felt as though drawing was more of a way to explain many feelings at once in an abstract form, rather than writing paragraphs of diary entries. He did have a journal, but more or less to keep important notes.

He was drawing a portrait of a fictional character. Not any particular character, just one that came to his mind as he went along.

"Azira! Dinner!"

"One moment!"

He closed his sketchbook and put it away in a drawer. He would come back to it, for sure, to finish his drawing. He always does.

He thought about the day at school.

And with that, he thought of crimson hair and yellow eyes, and their unintentional beauty. The image of a what Azira thought was a handsome face came to his mind; the edges of his jawline, the large, slightly pointed nose.

He shoved those thoughts away. He didn't think like that, right? How embarrassing.

Azira went downstairs and sat at the table, where dinner lay waiting and hot.

A steak dinner with potatoes and green beans.

"How was school?"

"Good, I suppose."

Traunn had changed from a full suit to just his shirt and pants. He had already started working on his plate.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

The two mostly ate in silence for the rest of the meal.

~~~

Azira lay in bed, awake even after he was supposed to be asleep. He was just staring at the ceiling. Crowley's face flickered in and out his thoughts.

Wavy locks framing the face. Dark sunglasses hiding barely visible yellow eyes; you really had to look to see em. A grin that radiated smug energy. Surprisingly enough, a band kid. I wonder what instrument he plays...

He really did try not to think about it. But, God damn it, what was the point in trying.

He was thinking on how he would see him again tomorrow. Admittingly, he was looking forward to it. Even just a glance at him, he was looking forward to it.

Well... this certainly isn't unfamiliar territory.

Bugger, Azira thought as he turned over to try and get some sleep. Here we go again.

He closed his eyes, and sleep came to him.

#fhshdjdjsjdjsjdjfhdhdhdhdhg #I'm not much of a writer but I try XDD #good omens #good omens au #hs!au #high school au #ain't no way I'm gonna tag characters 💀 #hs!go #high school!good omens #God I'm so cringe 🤣🤣 #also if the endings a bit wonky it's because I couldn't just ramble on and on its long enough already. #fuck I'm horrible at this (I'm getting better every time I wrote hush) #RHDHDHSJDJDJFJDJFIFJFUFJ

[pink-imagines]

change of style

request: Hey, I was wondering if there was a chance is we could get a reaction out of Deku, Bakugo, Todoroki etc of the reader coming to school dressed an E-Girl or a Soft Girl or something like that 😂

a/n: since they do have a dress coded school, i decided to change your request just a bit! i don’t know how to implement the aesthetics into the uniforms without breaking some sort of dress code i added cottage core to this too, to mix it up a bit!

warnings: fluff and slight sexual tension but no nsfw

masterlist

Izuku Midoriya.

It was all Toru’s idea. And though it was supposed to be a prank on Izuku, but it felt more like a prank on you. You didn’t really know how the conversation got there but suddenly the girls were going to dress you in cottage core attire to see Izuku’s reaction on you going out of your comfort zone a bit. A few in the class were going out that day to the park for a picnic, since the weather had been so nice lately. So they put you in a light blue, angelic-looking, dress that Momo just had lying around for some reason. The dress ended above your ankles, so you could still see the brown leather shoes which you matched it with. In your hair they put a matching light blue bow on the back of your head. To keep warm you put on a creamy white knitted cardigan, which Momo made on the spot when you asked about the slightly chilly breeze. Ochaco was in charge of putting on make up, so she went out to grab some of her stuff. When she came back she only put on very light, natural make up. But with a bit extra blush on the apple of your cheeks and on the tip of your nose.

Once it was done you looked yourself in the mirror. You looked right about ready to go to your cottage in the forest to take care of your cats and water your flowers... and you kind of... liked it?

Either way it was time to go, and the girls made you carry the picnic basket to really complete the look. And right before you were going into the common room, Mina leaned into and whispered: “Kind of looks like a wedding dress, don’t you think?” Your cheeks heated up at just the thought of that.

“Mina!”, you squealed as you watched her run away cackling.

You walked into the room last, kind of hiding behind the other girls though everyone could still see you... you stuck out like a sore thumb. Some of the girls had put on dresses too, in solidarity... well mostly because it was hot outside and you begged them to do it. But it was the fact that you looked like you belonged in a fairytale that made you stand out.

“Why are you so dolled up?”, Kirishima asked with a big smile. You were about to say something when Mina and Ochaco slapped their hands over your mouth.

“Just ‘cuz!”, they smiled.

“I take it that they forced you, then.”, he chuckled. You gave him a nervous nod. Kirishima was in many ways like the big brother you never had. He was actually the one who helped you get together with Izuku, since both of you were to nervous to say anything about it.

“It’s alright, it suits you.”, he smiled, “I’m sure Midoriya will be all over you.”, he teased.

“Shut up!”, you slapped him lightly on the arm and tried to ignore the blush creeping up on your face again. Your eyes looked around the room to try to find Izuku, and Kirishima seemed to notice.

“He’s just been out training, we’re gonna wait for him here.”, he looked to the rest of the group, “Hey! Why don’t the rest of you go set the things up at the park and Sero and I will wait for Midoriya?” Everyone agreed and the group got moving.

Once the stuff was put up in the park, right by the lake and the big oak tree, you saw Sero, Kirishima and Izuku walk towards the group. You were sitting on the rock by the lake, drinking a bottle of water to stay hydrated in the heat of the sun. When you saw him your heart skipped a beat. His curls were still damp, since he probably didn’t have time to dry his hair fully after his shower. And even though he was wearing what he usually wore there was something different... maybe it was the lighting... or the way he was looking at you. His eyes were slightly raised in surprise and his jaw was slack with his lips parted slightly. You stood up, forgetting what you were wearing as you were just happy to see him, and sprinted up to him. His slack jaw tensed up as he started to smile brightly.

“Woah, woah...”, he chuckled as you practically ran into his chest, making him stumble back a bit. Kirishima and Sero snickered as they kept on walking.

“Hi.”, you grinned.

“Hi.”, he replied sweetly, “You look... very pretty.” A pink tint dusted across his cheeks as he said so.

“Thank you.”, you smiled and took his hand, “You’re very pretty too.” The way your cheeks grew tomato red made him snort to try to contain his laughter.

“Let’s go, princess.”, he smiled and started to walk to the rest of the group with his hand still in yours. Princess... that’s a new one. You decided on the spot that it was your new favorite.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Everyone knows that Katsuki has a huge soft spot for you, but not a lot of people know that he’s not as mean as he acts and looks. At least not to you, again; he had a bit of a sweet spot for you. Yes, he could still have one hell of an attitude and he definitely had anger issues... but the important part was that he was trying for you. So he already had a soft spot for you, so of course your friends wanted to get a real reaction out of him. What if we turn the soft spot even more soft? They put you in a short, light brown, plaid skirt that flaired out and accentuated your hips. Along with that they put you in one of Katsuki’s white button ups, which you had stolen from him because it smelled like him (and you might’ve slept in it), and over that they layered a knitted sweater in a shade of light pink which was tucked into the skirt. Mina gave you a pair of her chunky white sneakers to pair with the outfit.

“You look so cute!”, Ochaco exclaimed as Mina started doing your make up.

“Guys, I don’t know if I can go out in this... he’s probably not going to react anyways.”, you sighed.

“I did not put in this much effort for you to back out now.”, Jirou stared you down.

“Exactly.”, Momo and Tsu nodded.

“Even if he doesn’t react, you look very cute!”, Toru assured you. After the girls pleaded with you, you decided to go through with it.

You walked over to the common area, where Katsuki was trying to read his book while Denki and Kirishima was playing videogames on the same couch. The way he furrowed his eyebrows to try to focus better was somehow the most adorable thing you had ever seen in your life. You looked back at the girls who were watching you from the stairs up to the dorm rooms. With a sigh, you started walking past... he didn’t even look up from his book. You looked back at the girls again and Ochaco mouthed “Plan B” at you, so you started walking to the kitchen. The thing was that you really wanted no one else to see you like this except for your boyfriend... and if you called on him, Kirishima and Denki would look up too... but you did promise the girls...

“Hey, Katsuki!”, you said from the cupboards as you tried to reach the top shelf, “Could you help me get a glass?” Katsuki looked up from his book and took a double look at you. After just a few seconds his face was completely red. After not answering for a while it caught the other boys’ attention and they looked over at him. When they saw that his face started to resemble Kirishima’s hair they looked over at you, though you didn’t notice since you were still trying to reach a glass. Denki let out a low whistle, without thinking, and at the speed of lightning a red pair of eyes stared him down. You finally looked over at them, with blushing cheeks. Katsuki was walking over to you as Denki stared at him like a scared puppy. Katsuki positioned himself behind you, one hand on your waist and one hand reaching up to grab a glass for you. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered:

“Is that the shirt I’ve been looking for?”, he pulled at the collar of the white button-up.

“Maybe...”, you whispered back, quite enjoying the attention you were getting from him.

“Well... you do look really fucking good in it, but I’m gonna need that back. Come to my room later?”, he let his hand slowly slip down from your waist before taking his hand completely off of you.

“Okay.”, you choked out, now it was your turn to blush like crazy.

“Great.”, he smiled and walked back to the couch to get back to reading, “What the fuck are you looking at!?”, he shouted at the guys and they quickly looked back to their game. Well... it worked.

Shoto Todoroki

You and Shoto weren’t a very open couple, in the means that you didn’t show each other off that much. It didn’t mean that you didn’t appreciate each other, you were just both kind of awkward about it. People didn’t even know that you were dating until you casually said something about it a few months ago, even though you had dated for over a year suddenly everyone wanted to see you two together.  That’s why you were here now, in Jirou’s room. Some of the girls were looking through her warderobe for your outfit.

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?”, you sighed as you got more comfortable on Jirou’s bed.

“You don’t usually dress like this, so...”, Mina picked up a skirt, “We think that it’ll get a reaction out of your boyfriend.”

“Why do you have to get a reaction out of him?”, you flop down on your back.

“Because it’s not fair that only you get to see the super cute stuff you two do.”, Toru argued.

“Isn’t that what a relationship is, though? Being comfortable with each other?”, you sighed.

“Don’t you want to show him off a little, though? You’re dating one of the most attractive boys in UA.”, Ochaco sat down next to you on the bed.

“... maybe.”, you muttered.

“Then let’s get going, we don’t have all day!”, Momo exclaimed happily.

You actually found something that you would be semi-confident in. It was a short, tight, plaid skirt and a studded black leather belt. The skirt was dark blue and black, along with a bit of white. The top, however, was a bit harder for you to accept. It was just a black tube top, but it was very cropped and that was a little too much for you. So you went to your room and grabbed the jean jacket that Shoto had let you borrow and you had just forgotten about giving it back. When you came back Mina was ready with make up in her hands and Jirou showed you a pair of leather boots which you could borrow. With a sigh you sat down in front of Mina and let her to your make up.

After your make over the girls followed you as you walked down the stairs to the common area. You were supposed to go with Shoto to get cold soba together, so he was waiting for you there. He looked up as he saw you walk down the stairs and his jaw dropped to the floor as his eyes widened.

“Ready to go?”, you smiled innocently.

“Um... yeah... yeah, let’s go.”, he nodded.

During the entire date he didn’t look away from you, he didn’t even care if someone else was looking at you. He just wrapped an arm around you or took your hand in his. Almost like he was saying: “you can look but she’s all mine”, which if you were being honest felt a little bit nice...

When you got back at the dorms you were smiling like crazy, and even Shoto wore a small smile on his lips. You said goodnight and Shoto was about to walk up the stairs when you stopped him.

“Wait!”, you exclaimed, “Your jacket.”, you took off the jean jacket and handed it to him. This was really just an excuse to see him for a bit longer.

“Thank you but...”, he wrapped the jacket around you again and kept his hands on your shoulders, “... I think it suits you.” He pulled you in by the collar of the jacket and placed a kiss on your lips ever so softly and longingly. You kept your eyes closed for a bit after he pulled a way, which earned you a chuckle from Shoto. He gave you a little peck to your lips and this time it was your turn to chuckle.

“You looked very cute today...”, he leaned his forehead against yours, “... but don’t feel the need to dress up for me. I love you no matter what.” That was the first time he’d ever said he loved you.

“I love you too.”, you whispered as you rested your palms against his chest, “... no matter what.” He gave you another quick but loving kiss.

“Keep the jacket.”, he whispered against your lips. You watched him hesitantely pull away from you and start to walk up the stairs.

“Goodnight.”, you said.

“Goodnight.”, he replied.

Once you were in your room you threw yourself on your bed after kicking Jirou’s shoes off your feet. A squeal escaped your lips as you thought back to what just happened. A buzz from your phone interupted your wandering thoughts. Just hand me the clothes tomorrow, here are some pics ;)

It was Jirou. Along with the text a few pictures followed... of you and Shoto right now in the lobby. A smile spread across your lips as youmade sure to screenshot all of them.

--

permanent taglist: @theoceanphoenixhasrisen | @raven-r0ses | @darkbeautyswife | @sondering-thoughts | @gowoneandonlyone | @bnhabadass | @queenblackcat | @jayetheanimefreek101 | @witchy-anna 

#deku x reader #my hero academia #deku fluff #deku imagine #Deku x you #Izuku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #Midoriya #midoriya x reader #katsuki #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo #bnha bakugou #bakugo x reader #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #bnha todoroki #Shoto #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

the final battle crack fic i wrote in its entirety

since this is the last opportunity before we find out what actually happens 😭this is just utter hilarity so i didn’t want to put it on AO3 lol

contains spoilers for ep 7, some things that happen in the ending of the book, and my speculations for the show’s finale (some are totally crack, but some are more legit possibilities)

As the blimp approached Nomansan Island, Mr. Benedict took stock of the situation. He had with him three women who all looked out for blood in their own individual ways, one secret agent (hopefully alive) on the island, and four very smart children who were presumably with him. He considered that he should probably not assume they are all together; knowing the children it was highly likely they had eluded him in order to conduct a dangerous mission. His stomach twisted at the thought. 

Number Two was navigating the blimp. Her face was set in an expression of stoic determination, and the pockets of her jacket bulged with contents unknown to him. She was chewing angrily on a piece of beef jerky as she rotated the steering wheel. Good, good. At least one of his companions looked none too out of the ordinary. Rhonda had hastily compiled a battle outfit consisting of a facemask covering her mouth and nose and a fashionable looking tracksuit. She carried a backpack filled with spray paint that she had brought “just in case” and was now informing Miss Perumal of her experience participating in direct action protests. 

“It is an ethical stance, you see, because the conscious does not allow one to do nothing– no matter how small that action is,” she said. Mr. Benedict smiled. He loved seeing the strong character Rhonda possessed shining through.

Miss Perumal looked every inch the schoolteacher she was. She wore neat black slacks, a pink sweater, and coordinating jacket. Her shoes were flat but still made a satisfying clicking sound, indicating a small protrusion at the heel. She appeared composed enough, but Mr. Benedict could sense the anger emanating from her, the determined wrath of a mother whose child is endangered. He made a mental note to thank her at a later date for being such a wonderful teacher for Reynie. If they survived, that is.

Number Two shouted from the helm that they were nearing the island.

“Where shall I chart our course?” she asked, with all the seriousness of a military general. Mr. Benedict examined the horizon. A large tower was in sight, practically begging for invading air travellers to notice. This must be the tower the children had told them about over morse code. It was undoubtedly their target.

“He’s built us a veritable lighthouse, my dear Number Two. I propose we follow its shine.”

It was at that moment that a sizable commotion could be heard from the surface of the island. They had, unsurprisingly, been noticed. Students stared and pointed while adults who appeared to be security details shouted frantically into radios. There was one particularly large group of these adults who surrounded a quite familiar face.

“Milligan’s been captured!” Number Two cried.

“Milligan’s alive!” Rhonda countered.

“Yes, yes, that is...quite the development...oh dear,” Mr. Benedict said, swaying slightly. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, rubbing the plaid fabric of his shirt. “I’m alright, Rhonda, it’s passed.” 

Seeing as the concept of stealth was now off the table, they prepared to make a calamitous entry. Number Two lowered the blimp into a clearing near the tower and adjacent to the pavilion in which Milligan was being held. It appeared that his imprisoners had been in the process of moving him somewhere to be held or interrogated when the arrival of the blimp proved a delay. When they were about fifteen feet away from the ground, Rhonda took out her spraypaint and shot a stream of fuschia directly into the eyes of Milligan’s captors. Blinded, they fell to the ground, and Milligan seized the opportunity to pick the lock of his chains using the zipper on his pants.

“I don’t remember this being part of the plan, sir!” he shouted upwards, pausing periodically to land punches into the men who were now attempting to prevent his escape without the benefit of their eyesight. 

“Reevaluation became necessary!” Mr. Benedict returned. “Where are the children?”

“That I do not know. I left them after allowing myself to be captured as a distraction. I can only hope that they have prevailed.”

At this point, the blimp had touched down on the ground, and its four passengers disembarked. They made haste towards the tower. Miss Perumal took the lead, and when more security agents appeared, she glared at them with such deadly force that they blanched and stepped out of her way. Upon reaching the door to the tower, she found it locked, and stepped aside for Mr. Benedict. He examined the panel and entered a password. The door opened.

“How did you do that?” Miss Perumal asked.

“Nathanial always used that password. Even when we didn’t have any real vaults to guard, and he was just telling me stories about being a secret agent. Really, though, you would think for your megalomaniac mind control tower you’d want to be a bit more original, but– no matter.”

With an astonished chuckle, Miss Perumal continued in her march up the tower stairs. Her shoes clacked ferociously against the tile. At last, they made it to the top. Mr. Benedict was rather out of breath, and Number Two pulled a water bottle out of her pockets, which he accepted unblinkingly. This door did not have a passcode, and so Milligan kicked it sharply, watching with a satisfied sigh as it fell to the ground.

“That’s called the old-fashioned way,” he said.

The sight inside was extraordinary. Sticky was seated in a strange contraption. A helmet that looked rather like an egg was attached to his head. Nathaniel– god, it was really him, his brother– was seated in a chair facing Sticky. Reynie was standing behind Mr. Curtain next to the room’s large window, and looked to have been halfway through removing its screen. Outside the window, Kate hung dangling from a rope attached to the adjacent flagpole, with Constance tied to her back. Her face was one of utmost terror. All of them had paused in what they were doing to stare in shock at the busted down door and the five adults who stood behind it. 

Mr. Benedict took a step into the room, looked at his brother, and promptly collapsed onto the floor. The others were prepared to fight Mr. Curtain, but he made no moves towards aggression. He simply sat in his chair and stared at his brother, now laying in what looked to be a painful position on the ground. His eyes looked strangely devoid. A moment passed, then he seemed to come to his senses, and he flared with anger.

“Snakes and dogs!” he barked, his voice a cuttingly malicious sting. He understood himself to be surrounded. He pressed a button on the seat of his chair.

“What are you incompetent fools doing here? And why would you let him fall like that?” he screamed, looking at Mr. Benedict. He then promptly turned an alarming shade of white, apparently realizing what he had just said.

“I mean...of course you will never defeat me! One of you is already down for the count, and I haven’t needed to lift a finger! My security agents will be here shortly. I have just summoned them with this button.”

Miss Perumal strutted up to him, looked him directly in the eyes, and slapped him hard across the face. He spluttered.

“How dare you endanger Reynie! You should be ashamed of yourself, you pathetic excuse for a father and an educator!” 

Mr. Curtain had shut down again. He did not appear to be taking in any of what Miss Perumal was saying, but this did not deter her. She continued yelling until Reynie ran over to her and wrapped his arms around her. She quieted down in the interest of not hurting his ears. 

“We’ll see how well those security people do with paint in their eyes,” Rhonda quipped, choosing to ignore the scene that had just occurred. Mr. Curtain startled.

“Wait, with what?”

It was at this point that Mr. Benedict stirred. He felt a sizable bump on the side of his head, and his muscles ached as he made to sit up. Number Two ran forward and pulled him up into a standing position. He would have to ignore the pain he was in.

“Rhonda, if you would be so kind as to assist Reynie in letting our friends through that window, I would be much obliged,” he said. He then leveled his gaze at his brother. He stayed awake this time.

“You haven’t gotten any better at taming those curls, Nicky,” Mr. Curtain said coldly. Mr. Benedict swayed at the invocation of his childhood nickname, but held steady. Number Two kept her hands placed steadily on his shoulders.

“You haven’t thought of any new passwords.”

“Touche.”

“What is going on here? Why...why has it come to this, Nathaniel?” Mr. Benedict asked, his voice cracking. There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“You know as well as I do that nothing in this wretched world is owed to us, brother. You’ve got to take what you want. You’ve got to take power. You’ve got to take control. Really, I’d be surprised you were content to live for so many years as some obscure scientist who nobody really respects. Then again, you were always the soft one.”

The window had now been opened, and Kate and Constance heaved themselves inside. Constance strode directly toward the chair in which Sticky was still seated, openmouthed.

“Move aside, George Washington,” she ordered. He rose obediently. Constance fitted the egg helmet around her head and sat quietly for a moment. She seemed to be taking in the situation. Then, without warning, she screamed.

“RULES AND SCHOOLS ARE TOOLS FOR FOOLS!”

“I’M AFRAID OF YOUR FACE!”

“NOW WE HAVE WAITED FOR THIRTY CONSECUTIVE MINUTES TO SEE SOME OLD DIRTY EXECUTIVE!”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Number Two took this moment of great distraction as an opportunity to shoot Mr. Curtain with her slingshot. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The longer that Constance screamed, the weaker she appeared. Eventually her shouts were more like determined moans. The machine that the egg was attached to crackled and sparked, and finally, it seemed to combust. There was a nasty sounding mechanical noise. A small fire started in the ceiling, which Kate quickly contained. Constance had overwhelmed the machine. She fell over, hardly awake, and Mr. Benedict rushed to her side.

“I believe that it is time for our escape, friends,” he said, making his way towards the door with Constance in his arms.

The group made their way down out of the tower, preparing for the fight that would no doubt ensue as they attempted to escape the island. Rhonda paused as they reached the outside of the tower. She grabbed her spray paint once again and aimed at the tower wall.

“Nathaniel Curtain looks washed out in blue?” Number Two read, “Really, Rhonda?”

“It is true. He cannot pull off that suit,” Constance mumbled.

Everyone laughed, and the society basked in the knowledge that this was the end of their mission at last.

#the mysterious benedict society #tmbs #mbs #mbs disney spoilers

[haloud]

two-body problem

Michael and Alex have been tiptoeing around their new relationship, afraid to break the ice if they step too far too soon, but what starts as a light game--Michael teasing Alex at the bar--turns into something far more.

A malex getting-back-together fic. [rated e]

read on ao3

-

Alex wrapped his lips around the neck of his beer bottle and took a furious swig.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Maria said, slamming two new bottles down in front of him. “I thought you guys were done avoiding each other! Take these over to him already, stop moping all over my nice clean bar.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” Alex protested, only to be silenced by a withering look.

“You’ve been sitting here for over an hour watching him throw himself all over the pool tables trying to get your attention. Either you’re making him wait on purpose, or you’re completely clueless. Either way, I’m putting myself out of your misery.”

“He isn’t—”

“Oh my God, Alex Manes, not only do I have intimate knowledge of Guerin’s flirting tactics, but I am literally psychic. Go!”

The Pony’s dim yellow lights, half halogen half neon, gave the bar a smoky quality, a twilit mystique that swirled and eddied with Michael’s movements. To any other bystander, he may not have been the center of the room, the center of light, the single solid point around which the cosmic symphony pivoted, but to Alex he was all those things and more, and also the bastard who’d spent the better part of two hours draping himself over flat surfaces in soft, well-worn jeans and a t-shirt that kept riding up, smirking at everyone he talked to, running his fingers around the edge of his glass and licking condensation off his thumb.

Bastard.

Alex stalked away from the bar and around the perimeter, staying out of Michael’s line of sight as he lined up his next shot and let it go with the satisfying clack of billiard balls together. He wasn’t wearing his hat, sparing Alex that much of his infuriating cowboy magnetism, but that only meant he had full view of those curls. For the hundredth time that night, Alex raked his eyes over Michael’s body, from his wild hair to the broad shoulders beneath his jacket to the curve of his ass in his old, well-worn jeans—there was a fraying hole right in the crease of his thigh, worn all the way through so the white of his back pocket poked out a little—down his long legs to his boots.

As he watched, Michael stuck his ass out on his next shot, tongue fixed between his teeth. Clack, and then Michael straightened up again, glanced over his shoulder to the bar…then slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Looking for someone?” Alex said, stepping up onto the dais.

Michael whipped around, head and chest pointing Alex’s way faster than his feet could keep up.

“Alex!”

“Well, you found him. Did you…need something?”

Alex dragged his eyes the length of Michael’s body yet again, taking his time, letting Michael feel eyes on him: the thing he’s been baying for so loud and needy all night. And Michael goes still under Alex’s watchful eye, only leaning back against the pool table to give Alex more to look at.

The suggestion is that Alex could step forward, slot a thigh in between Michael’s legs, lean past him to take the cue and take a shot of his own. His heartbeat would pound through his shirt when Alex’s chest pressed to his chest. His hair would tickle Alex’s cheek; his breath would be hot and gentle and quick on Alex’s ear.

“Well?” Alex prompted, leaning away instead, quirking an eyebrow and tilting his head.

“Uh-h, uh…”

He could drag this out. Make Michael squirm the way Alex has been squirming since he dropped in to say hi to Maria and get a drink. But Michael was entirely a tomcat who didn’t know what to do with a bird once he caught it, and his cheeks flushed pink so prettily already, and Alex was tired of waiting.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

There was no need to check behind him to see if Michael was following; his feet clomped clumsy and eager after Alex, close enough to his back to feel the heat radiating from him. They stumbled out into the parking lot, Alex dragging Michael, hand clamped around his wrist, Michael leaning and letting himself be dragged, laughing all the while, a double-ended physical pull on the both of them.

Across the gravel lot, past the pools of streetlight, Michael’s warm body pressed him into the cold metal of his car with a desperation that Alex could only echo back to him, yanking him in as close as possible with grasping hands on his belt, in his jacket pockets; he gasped when his cold fingers hit the bathwater-hot skin of Michael’s neck, scrabbling up into his hair to twist and tug and cling as they kiss. In the midnight cold, he was so hot, scalding every time Alex’s tongue dipped inside his welcoming mouth, branding everywhere their skin touched.

“Unhh-“

Their hips ground together, pushing groans from each of their mouths into the other. Michael had been teasing Alex for hours, but he was the one hard and aching behind his zipper. Alex shoved his hand down between them to rub at the bulge in his jeans

Soaking in him in sips like this wasn’t enough. Alex needed to bathe in him, to breathe him in like steam, to drown.

He tightened his grip on Michael’s hair to pull him back and away from his neck and gasped, “Let’s get out of here.”

Michael scrambled to agree, hauling himself into Alex’s SUV as soon as he pushed off from the door and hurried around to the drivers’ seat, catching Alex’s keys with his TK when he dropped them. By the time they had the car started and Alex peeled out of the parking lot, both of them were cracking up with laughter.

A zipper buzzed from the passenger seat, making Alex jerk his head away from the road for just a second, just long enough to see Michael take his dick in hand and give it a stroke, hissing as the freezing air hit his overheated, sensitive skin.

“What are you doing?” Alex demanded, grabbing his own crotch to relieve the pressure.

“I’ve been aching for hours, I just need…”

“And whose fault is that?”

Michael whined, and Alex whipped a glance at him again long enough to register his eyes going even more blown and black.

Alex seized the moment. “You can hold yourself, but you don’t get to jerk off until I’ve got you where I want you.”

“Aye aye, Captain…”

As strangled as his voice sounded, when they stopped at a light and Alex chanced another look, Michael had his eyes closed, head tipped back in the golden shaft of a streetlight, broad hand gripping his cock, thighs tense but body loose and lax against the seat. In the bare light, his mouth was red and swollen, and his breath steamed the window in even curls as he controlled his breathing.

His zipper buzzed again when they hit Alex’s driveway, and he was out of the car and heading for the door before Alex had the car off. He followed at a more leisurely pace.

They were on his turf now. Michael could claw at the door all he wanted, but he wouldn’t get inside until Alex let him. He’d do whatever Alex wanted—and right now, Alex wanted to kiss him again, walking forward until he couldn’t anymore, Michael’s body trapped against the door, legs falling open as wide and slack as they could and keep him standing.

Once upon a time, Alex wouldn’t have trusted Michael’s trust in him, would have doubted it or doubted himself and turned it away no matter how much Michael twisted and turned and begged. Those days—weren’t past, entirely, everything was a work in progress, but—

“Open the door. With your powers,” Alex said, biting and sucking his way across Michael’s neck.

He dug his fingers into Michael’s ass to hold him steady, bending him back when the door swung open, Michael’s fingers clinging helplessly to the front of Alex’s shirt, soft, hitching cries muffled into his shoulder. Alex nipped sharply at his ear to scold him for the hiding, kneading his ass roughly—Michael’s back bowed to press their bodies together, one of his legs hooked around the back of Alex’s, entwining them—one of Alex’s fingers caught the hole in his jeans, and he slid it inside, hit skin, dug his nail in, and even through two layers of denim felt Michael’s cock twitch at that one bright point of pain.

“Inside,” Alex panted. “Bedroom, now.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Alex didn’t bother turning any lights on until Michael was in his bed and underneath him and he jerked at the lamp-pull to light him up. He was even more gorgeous close-up than he was across a crowded bar; even more gorgeous when Alex had him all to himself than when he was in public, out of reach. Alex shucked off his own jacket and undershirt before attacking Michael’s jacket—and froze when he had it open and recognized what Michael was wearing.

“Is this…my shirt?”

The yellow-and-navy plaid—he hadn’t seen it in a while and figured it was lost in the back of a drawer somewhere. But here it was, on Michael’s body, and Alex—

“Yep.” Michael popped his lips at the word and chased it with a hazy grin. “Don’t know if I can pull it off like you can—” he slid one hand up Alex’s stomach to his chest, and Alex caught it in his own, pressing it against his skin.  “—But what do you think?”

With his other hand, Alex toyed with one of the buttons, all the desperate heat fallen away, nothing but gentle adoration left in its place. It was too easy to imagine the shirt dropped or flung away, fallen down between Michael’s bed and the wall, left and forgotten until Michael fished it out and kept it, wore it.

It was an unforgivably lonely thought. Even if Michael only meant to tease now.

Alex lifted his hand up to his mouth to kiss his fingers, lingering over once-broken knuckles, then cupped it against his cheek and leaned into it, his favorite feeling in the world, those hands so rough but so gentle against his skin. Michael’s face was as impossibly soft as Alex felt.

“I think,” Alex said, “You should take your pants off.”

Michael obeyed quick and easy, popping open his button and fly and shoving his pants down one-handed, but he couldn’t get them all the way off with Alex pinning down his thighs. His cock was still half-hard and bobbed forward, and he gave himself a couple strokes. God, he was a sight. Tousled hair bronzing the pillow, red kiss marks decorating his skin, naked except for Alex’s shirt, cock red and aching, and for the first time it really sank in that all night Michael had been strutting around commando, peacocking for Alex’s pleasure.

Still one-handed, Michael plucked open the buttons of his shirt, but when he lifted his shoulders to shrug it off, Alex let go of his other hand to use both his own to press him back down.

“Leave it on.”

Alex flicked the halves of his shirt open and just drank in the sight of him for a moment before stroking both hands down from his collarbones, over his nipples, over the planes of strong muscle to grip his hips.

“You put on quite the show for me tonight. Do you think you have to work that hard to get my attention?”

“Just wanna give a satisfactory performance,” Michael purred, shimmying his hips as if testing how far Alex would let him go.

To stop his squirming, Alex jerked him closer, hard. He slid across the sheets and between Alex’s legs, shirt rucking up behind his back; Alex raked his nails across his treasure trail—Ah!—and said, “You don’t ever have to perform for me.”

“I—”

“Never.”

Michael’s eyes, wet and gold and dilated-black, looked up at him through clumped-up lashes, under a furrowed brow, and his mouth popped open, then shut again. In place of a response, he arched his hips up to grind against Alex’s still-clothed groin, biting his lip in a way that just begged for more.

And Alex would give it to him.

He swung off straddling Michael to stretch out beside him instead, taking pressure off his knee, then hauled Michael’s leg over his own hip and knocked his hand away from his dick to replace it with his own. Face-to-face, Alex had to kiss him again, licking over his bottom lip, their mouths moving together for long moments before they fell apart again, Alex rolling his thumb over the tip of Michael’s cock and making him gasp.

“What do you need?” Alex rasped into the hot space between them. “What had you putting on a show tonight? What do you need from me?”

“I—I—”

“Anything.”

“Just—you. Everything. Whatever you’ll give me. It’s been…”

“Too long.”

“Y-yeah.”

Their relationship, fragile and new and older and stronger than bedrock, still moved in fits and starts, and they’d been more friends than not for the past few weeks as they tried to work this thing out between them. Too long. How long had it been? How did they make it so long, and why?

Frantic to make up for wasted time, Alex kissed him again, stroking his cock faster. “I need you too,” he gasped, words so simple, base, vital they tore out of him, and he released him on the upstroke to reach back to rub at his hole, see how far Michael wanted to go tonight—

“Michael.”

His fingers hit slick. Michael’s ass was wet with lube, hole slacked like he’d been fingering himself on and off all night—he’d need more, but Alex wanted to torture him with it, suddenly, spend all the remaining hours of the night working his fingers in and out of Michael’s body, slow and quick and hard and gentle until Michael was sobbing and coming dry.

“Wanted to be ready for you,” Michael said, grunting when Alex breached him with a fingertip, rolling his head against the pillow. Alex palmed the scruff of his neck, rubbing the tense muscle there. “I kinda thought I might get you to haul me off to the bathroom of the Pony. Stuff of wet dreams ‘n shit.” He gasped again, hips flexing forward and back like he was already getting fucked, even as Alex just traced the pad of his finger in a circle. “Or maybe I just liked it—open and ready for you in the middle of a crowd—you could just bend me over and mmmnnn…”

He dissolved into a moan as Alex pressed one finger in inch by inch, into his blazing-hot core.

“I like it too,” Alex said. “Fuck, Michael.”

It was hard to breathe, hard to think with the heat and smell of Michael all around him. Alex had no grace left in him as he tried to haul his own pants off; Michael might’ve helped with his powers a little bit, nearly whimpering with need for skin on skin. When he was naked, Alex took both their cocks in hand and stroked them together, devouring Michael’s mouth again and again until they dissolved into sloppy breathing, hearts pounding side-by-side, eyes open to watch each other.

“I want you to fuck me,” Michael blurted.

“Yeah? Good. Good, I want that too,” Alex said, rubbing Michael’s back, pressing them even closer together. “Get the lube out of the nightstand for me.”

He did, and Alex drizzled it over his fingers and reached back to rub at his hole again, two fingers this time, stretching and thrusting and fucking into him. Michael’s eyes finally slipped shut, mouth falling open, losing himself in the sensation, shuddering when Alex stroked his prostate, thighs trembling around Alex’s hips.

“Michael—”

“Ah—ah—ah—ah—”

“So good. You’re so good.”

They shifted together so Alex could line up and push inside him. The angle still wasn’t perfect—Alex rolled his hips and without better positioning or better leverage couldn’t manage more than shallow thrusts—but he wasn’t willing to move, wasn’t willing to be anything other than face-to-face, eyes locked on Michael in rapture, fluttering behind his eyelids, tongue between his teeth, every tiny shiver of muscle.

“What do you want?” Alex said. “Tell me more. Tell me everything. I want to hear it.”

Instinct bound them together from the start—instinct, gravity, with or without intention, the same force that held the stars in their positions in the heavens—but the words were something newer, a muscle that needed working, and all Alex wanted was to work. On this, toward something better.

“I want—I want—”

“That’s it.”

“I want to be yours,” Michael cried, the words clawing their way out of him and latching onto Alex, Michael curling his fingers into Alex’s skin, holding on so tight. “I want to stay here with you; I want you to keep me—”

Alex’s thrusts stuttered, rhythm of his hips broken like the rhythm of his heart, wild and uncontrollable. He wrapped a hand around the back of Michael’s neck again, squeezing tight, pulling him in, burying his face in his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

“I will. I promise you, I will.”

Michael’s voice cracked. “Alex…”

Curling around him, Alex didn’t answer and focused on fucking him, pumping pleasure through his body every way he knew how, Michael’s nails in his back, sweat curling at his temples. Alex brought him off with single-minded focus with his hands and mouth and cock, until Michael broke over his name again and came onto his stomach.

Michael’s muscles clenched around him when he pulled out, his nails tightening in his skin, too, his eyes still desperate when Alex flopped onto his back to breathe the cooler air above them, each exhale punctuated with a little laugh. It took a minute or two before Michael laughed with him.

“Fuck me,” Alex chuckled. He was still rock hard, but he just wrapped his hand around the base and ignored it for now, until he’d made sure Michael was okay.

“Uh, other way around,” Michael laughed, scooting closer to tangle their legs back together. Alex hadn’t even gotten his prosthetic off. More importantly, though, Alex reached for him, massaging his thighs as the aftershocks rolled through him, until the shaking stopped.

“Are you okay? We got a little more intense than I expected.”

Michael nodded, enough to assuage any actual fear Alex felt, but he didn’t elaborate. He rolled onto his back and lifted his knees to his chest and said, “Talk later. We’re not done yet.”

“If you’re too sensitive—”

“I’m not.” Michael reached for Alex’s cock, and Alex hissed when his calloused, warm hand closed around him. “I want you to fuck me. Use me. Come in me. I want you.”

Well-fucked and flushed, he was even more gorgeous than before, Alex’s shirt splayed open, hanging from his shoulders, his hole on display by his lifted hips, red and open and eager. Alex sat up, moved over him, bent to kiss it just to hear Michael yelp. The taste of lube was more than worth it for the high, babbling noises Michael made as Alex laved his tongue against that well-used skin.

Then Alex sat up and pulled Michael’s hips into his lap, legs falling open around him, and fucked back inside, thrusting hard and fast, splaying one hand out across Michael’s vulnerable stomach, pushing up to twist his nipples (--Ahn!--) until he had both hands curled around his shoulders, inches from where his lifeblood pumped in his bared throat.

Michael bit his lip, so “Let me hear you,” Alex gasped, kneading the sweat-slick muscle in his hands. And Michael did, opening his lips and throat on a throbbing whine, a sound of pure pleasure, pure sated need, that more than anything else, more than the tight, hot muscle gripping his cock, more than the beautiful, pliant enthusiasm Michael bled, had him coming deep in Michael’s body with a few more artless pumps of his hips.

When Alex pulled out a second time, Michael let out another groan, grasping for Alex’s hip like he could hold him still, hold him inside even a moment longer, but Alex laid out next to him again instead, cuddling him close, cupping his chin in both hands to kiss him.

Every line, every hair, every pore and freckle on Michael’s face was precious. Alex scattered kisses across his eyelids, across his cheeks and forehead. He had nowhere else to put the love too great to fit inside his body; there was nowhere else it belonged.

Minutes later, when they both could speak again, Alex repeated his earlier question. “Are you okay?”

With postcoital clarity, Alex twinged a bit with doubt at the marks he’d left all over the canvas of Michael’s body. Loving that fiercely, losing control when Michael gave up his own, freeing the thing in his chest he’d spent a lifetime starving and caging…it was new. And not something he’d expected out of tonight when Michael was just being playful at the bar trying to rile him up.

“Never better,” Michael rasped. His lidded eyes glittered every bit like they glittered in the sun in the back of his truck when they were seventeen and Michael made him feel like the only boy in the world who was loved.

“Yeah?”

Alex traced his fingers up and down the line of Michael’s spine. He needed to get a washcloth to clean Michael up, take care of him, but he wasn’t ready to move yet.

“Yeah.”

“It—I—wasn’t…too much?”

“Never.” Michael lifted himself up on one elbow so he could leverage himself even closer; he twined their fingers together and pulled Alex’s in. “I didn’t know the night would end like that either, but, hey, chemicals reacted, baby.”

Snorting at Michael’s sleazy smirk, Alex said, “Okay, dork.”

“You love me.”

And abruptly, Alex was serious again. “I do.”

At that, Michael hesitated, like Alex thought he might. His eyes dropped away to the vicinity of Alex’s chest.

So he repeated, “I do, Michael. So much.”

“I love you too.” His eyes flickered back up to Alex’s and away again.

“And you can trust me,” Alex blurted. “I know I haven’t always been trustworthy in the past—”

“Alex, no.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not torturing myself with it, I just…know. But I-I want to be worthy of the things you want from me. Please don’t be embarrassed for wanting them. Or for saying them out loud. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, actually.”

Michael finally relaxed as Alex babbled, and the visible release of tension from his shoulders loosened the knot in Alex’s chest, too.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because—it’s all true. Every, uh, every humiliating bit of it.”

“It’s not—”

“Shh.” It was Michael’s turn to interrupt with the reassurance. “It’s kind of embarrassing to tell your not-quite boyfriend that you want to be kept.”

“It’s not. Not to me.”

Alex lowered his eyes, and he slid his hand from the back of Michael’s neck around to the front. Carefully, he watched his own thumb roll little circles against the apple of Michael’s throat, and as he watched he pushed down gently.

“There are so many ways I want to keep you,” he said. He felt Michael gasp, air passing under his touch to reach Michael’s lungs, oxygen to his veins. “You might not like all of them.”

“I would,” Michael spoke, the vibrations buzzing through Alex’s fingertips and up his arm. “I would. I do.”

His hand circled Alex’s wrist, a warm, loose manacle holding his hand steady, not pulling it away. Slowly, Alex fit all his fingers around Michael’s fragile throat, holding him in every vital inch, not squeezing, only applying the slightest pressure so Michael could feel him.

Michael’s head lolled back, weightless, giving all his trust over—it was as heady as the scent of rain and musk soaking off Michael’s skin—Alex drank it in and got drunk on it. Something out of Alex’s worst nightmares turned into something even more powerful in the gentleness it required. Only Michael made him feel like this; only Michael was himself and every hurt he’d ever felt living and shielding and loving outside his body, and vice versa. A binary system.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Alex said, raw. “I don’t want to be a not quite anything, anymore. I want us to figure this out together for real.”

He let up even the tiniest, barest pressure he’d exerted, but he left his hand where it was.

“Not quites are old news,” Michael agreed fervently. “Half-assess and past tense, too. I’m in if you’re in. All in.”

Alex nodded, even though they were so close together it made their foreheads tap, adding a silliness to the gesture that brought a smile to Michael’s face, and Alex fit his thumb into the line beside his mouth it created.

“I’m all in. No more sleeping apart. No more wondering if we should call or text. I never don’t want to hear from you.”

“No more second guessing or avoiding each other at the grocery store so it doesn’t get awkward.”

Alex winced at that, and at himself. “You noticed?”

“Your handsome face can’t hide behind a soda tower, babe.”

“Damn.”

Laughing, Michael said, “And more asking for what I want, no more trying to provoke you in our friend’s bar…”

“I don’t know…” Alex grabbed his ass hard enough to make him yelp. “Maybe we can give that one another go sometime.”

“If Maria doesn’t make my life a living hell laughing at me for it, that is.”

“Only then, for sure.”

Alex rolled Michael onto his back to kiss him again, pinning him to the bed, where they intended to keep each other for a very long time.

#malex #malex fic #rnm fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #rated e #for e-motional sex #my brand

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

Harry Styles x OC

Warnings: drinking

Summary: Mixtapes. We all love them. We have a different one for a different mood. A different moment in time. For Harry and Summer, they become the soundtrack of one beautiful summer in California and the definition of their relationship. Because the people you love never really leave, they're only a mixtape away.

Part One

Let me start at the beginning. I never would have met him if it wasn't for my roommate Halley.

We lived in Monte Nido, about three miles from Malibu. I had just graduated from Berkley and was looking to become a freelance photographer. Halley did the temp thing, it paid the bills and we could still have fun.

I woke up to 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' blasting from the boombox in the living room. Halley had just broken up with her boyfriend and I knew she was hurting, but I despised the song. It was overplayed in my opinion.

"Hey," she whined when I walked out of my room and over to the boombox, shutting the music off. She was in the kitchen, baggy misfits shirt hanging off her slim frame, black hair tousled and looking like she hadn't brushed it in weeks. I rolled my eyes, walking over to her and catching the plate she slid across to me. A bagel with cream cheese and a cup of coffee. The perfect morning.

"I'm tired of you moping babe. We gotta get you out of the house." She grumbled, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Maybe I should call him," she started towards the phone hung on the wall. I ran, beating her to it and slamming my hand over it. "Summer!" She said slightly annoyed.

"No. Not doing that." I grabbed her hands, tugging her back towards the kitchen. "Know what we need?"

"What?"

"A night out." I said, bumping foreheads with her. "When's the last time we went to a show together?" She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. "Exactly. There's a new band supposed to be playing downtown at The Dome tonight. We should check it out." Halley chewed on her bottom lip for a second before nodding, giving in.

"I could use a girls night." I grinned, high fiving her.

I've always communicated best through music. There's something about a song that can just get what I'm feeling across in a way that words can't. My mom used to say I was born with music in my soul. We used to dance around the kitchen, Fleetwood Mac's Rumors on vinyl, blasting as we croaned, singing of heartbreak and hope. It was deep. It always has been.

Halley went to work, another gig at a vet's office and I grabbed my roller blades and headed outside, Walkman in my pocket, Dinosaur Jr's 'You're living all over me' blasting in my ears. I took off towards town, heading to the record store.

Big and Easy Cassettes and Vinyls had been around since the late seventies. It was my place, and my mom's. Even when she got sick I would drive her over and we would pick an album, just one new one to listen to on the way home. We'd come across a song that was too good plenty of times and would go around the block to finish it. The place was my home away from home.

The Psychadelic Furs 'Pretty in Pink' played over the speakers when I walked in. A couple people lounged around.

"Hey! Summer! What's happenin'?" Willy, the owner, waved at me from behind the register. He'd been a hippie back in the day, even lived at the Haight. He wore small circle rimmed glasses that were tinted and his afro was always a mess. He grinned at me as I made my way over to him.

"Hey man! Got anything new?" He nodded, pulling a box out from under the counter, the label on ot reading 'New Shit'. I opened it eagerly, looking through the tapes.

"How's Halley doing?" He asked.

"She could be better. We're going to a show tonight at The Dome." Willy nodded.

"Yeah? My buddy Mitch plays in the band. His girlfriend Sarah is drums."

"Really?"

"Yup. Could make a call. Get you guys backstage." I couldn't contain my grin.

"Thanks man." I grabbed a couple tapes, holding them out for him to charge me. He shook his head.

"On the house. This time."

"Thanks Willy."

"No problem. Tell Halley I said to have a good time. I'll call my buddy, let him know you're coming through."

Halley and I have always had a preshow ritual, but since she was working when I got home I started without her.

I put on my new cassette, The Cure 'Disentigration' and hummed along as I started making drinks. I was halfway through my third margarita when she came in the door.

"Hey!" She shouted. I laughed when she began dancing towards me and I handed her her drink.

"Willy knows someone in the band. He's gonna get us backstage."

"Are you kidding? That's fucking great!" Halley screeched jumping up and down. We danced around the living room drinking and singing the wrong lyrics. It's always good to hype up before you go out. Remember that.

We started getting ready around eight thirty, both of us slightly buzzed. I grabbed my favorite t shirt. An oversized Clockwork Orange shirt that was black and had the logo on the front in orange, a red plaid long sleeve and torn up Jean's with my mom's old converse. I'm not one for makeup much but I put brown eyeshadow on to make eyes look a bit sunk in, mascara and dark red lipstick. I let my black hair fall down over my shoulders and put on my favorite sunnies.

Halley was a bit more punk than I was. She wore a black mini skirt, ripped see through black mesh shirt with a black tank top over it. Her favorite dog collar around her neck and heavy eyeliner and lipstick, her favorite Doc Martens laced up her ankles, ripped stocking covering her legs.

"You look hot." I acknowledged, winking at her teasingly.

"Tell me something I don't know." She laughed.

"Show starts at ten. You wanna walk?"

"I'm up for that."

The Dome was the local bar. It was only about a mile away and we hoped the walk would sober us up as we went. We talked and laughed, excited at the prospect of hearing new music. Music had been the thing that brought us together in the first place. Our mutual love for Depeche Mode and Peter Murphy. It always seemed to me that music was the only thing that brought people into my life and kept them there.

We got there early enough to see people coming into the bar. We weren't sure if they were there for the band or for drinks. We didn't really care. We were young and looking for fun.

"I hope they're hot." Halley said as we took our seats at the bar. I laughed, rolling my eyes at her.

"The one named Mitch is taken. He's dating the drummer so you better hope you don't fall for him." She snickered at me.

"Hi ladies, what can I get you?"

"Two Jack in Coke on ice?" She looked at me and I nodded my approval. The bartender nodded, heading back to make our drinks. That's when I saw Willy's unmistakable afro making his way through the crowd and towards us.

"Hey ladies! Lovely to see ya." He kissed Halley on the cheek and then me before leaning against the bar beside us.

"Heard you can get us backstage tonight." Halley said, wiggling her eyebrows. Willy nodded.

"Sure can. Already told Mitch I was coming. Just gonna bring you girls back with me." I opened my mouth to say something else but the feedback from the stage caught my attention just as the bartender came up with my drink. I took a sip, watching as the lights dimmed and everyone's attention turned to the stage.

The band filed out. Three girls and three boys heading towards the stage. The guitarist had shaggy black hair and a full beard, dressed in bell bottoms and a baggy white tee. But it was the singer who caught my eye.

He wore beige slacks and a black button down tucked in, the first few buttons unbuttoned, a couple of tattoos poking out on his chest. His brown hair curled slightly but was slicked back and the rings on his hands glinted as he grabbed the mic stand. He was outrageously handsome.

"Oh my." Halley whispered. Oh my was right.

"Ello." My heart dropped into my stomach when he spoke, a thick english accent greeting my ears. "My mama's Harry. This is Mitch, Sarah, Ny Oh, Adam and Charlotte. We don't have a band name yet, maybe one day. But we hope you enjoy." Everyone laughed at his comment. "This song is called 'Ever Since New York.'"

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as the song began. It was beautiful. My mom would have liked it.

"Tell me somethin'" his voice was sweet, carried along the melody that the band played. I opened my eyes, watching as he swayed to the beat of the music. Everyone was quiet, enraptured by this young man's voice.

"Wow." I heard Halley say behind me, I couldn't have agreed more. It wasn't dancey, not in the way that you could get up and shake your ass. No, it was the kind of song you listened to at home in the evening, with your lover perched on the counter while you stand between their legs, dinner cooking on the stove. It was comforting. It was....home.

When the song came to a close I was breathless, a weight placed on my chest, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

A few songs in and he began a heavier song, one that we could dance to. He called it 'Kiwi'. Halley and I got up, dancing with Willy and laughing as he screamed into the microphone. I felt free, laughing with my friends and feeling like we were the only ones in the world.

I looked up at the stage after I flipped my hair to see him, Harry, eyes locked in on me. I held his gaze for a moment, blushing when he smiled at me before breaking eye contact. I smiled, turning back to my friends and feeling the music once more.

"Thank you all for a lovely evening." He said when the show was over. Willy gently took me and Halley by the arm.

"We can head back now guys."

The backstage area was small. Not a whole lot of room, but enough for the small indie bands that usually played. Halley and I stood to the side as Willy walked up to Mitch, shaking hands with him.

"These are my friends. This is Summer and Halley." We smiled, shaking Mitch's hand. He introduced us to the rest of the band but the singer, Harry, wasn't there.

"He's in the loo." Sarah said, a kind smile on her face. Halley started a conversation with Adam while I spoke with Sarah and Mitch. They were so sweet and kind.

"Hey, who's your friends?" I felt my stomach churn. Harry walked back in the room, a bottle of water in his hand as he eyed me and Halley.

"Friends of Willy. You've met him before." Harry shook Willy's hand before turning to me.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand.

"Summer." I said. He smiled.

"I like that. 'S pretty." He held my hand for a moment too long, eyes locked on mine once more. Halley interrupted us.

"Hey, you guys got a place to stay?" Mitch shook his head.

"Nah. We were gonna crash in the car." I looked at Halley with wide eyes. I knew where she was going with this, she seemed so cozy with Adam already.

"No. No. You guys can stay with us. Crash on the couch or the floor. We're cool with it. Right Summer." I blinked, inside I was furious. I hated being put on the spot like that.

"Yeah." I said dryly. "Sure."

"Cool. We'll pack everything up then." Halley grinned.

"It's kinda small but there's room for everybody." Halley said as she opened the door to our apartment. I cringed inwardly. We hadn't even cleaned up, but the band didn't seem to mind. Everyone sat down in the living room while Halley and I went to grab extra blankets.

"You know I hate when you spring shit like this on me." I glared as she handed me a blanket and pillow.

"Oh shut up. Adam's cute and hey, I saw you and Harry having a moment."

"We were not...he was just greeting me." I said flustered. She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, they're our guests. Be hospitable."

We all sat around for a while, drinking and talking. Slowly everyone began to fall asleep, Harry and I being the only ones left awake.

We talked for what felt like hours. He told me about his parents, their divorce and his mom and step dad. His sister. How he knew he wanted to be a musician from a young age and when he met Mitch it felt like a sign from the universe. I listened intently, enthralled with the man before me.

"Tell me more about England. I've always wanted to go there." I was on my belly, propped up on my elbows while he sat on the couch. We'd been engrossed in our own conversation for so long that we hadn't realized everyone else fell asleep.

"Where I'm from is quite picturesque. It's a beautiful little town. Maybe one day, if you ever go to England you can come by."

"Maybe." I laughed. "If my photography ever takes me there."

"You have to have faith in yourself love. You'll do it." I was glad he couldn't see me blush in the dark. "I'm glad you came to the show." He said after a moment of silence between us.

"Me too." He shifted, laying back on the couch.

"This is probably weird. But I was wondering....would you like a cuddle? I hate sleeping alone." I was taken aback. But he seemed serious, green eyes looking at me curiously. I couldn't say no. How could I?

"Sure." I said, climbing up on the couch. I laid my head on his chest, slotting my body against his, he wrapped his arms around me, lifting his leg slightly to keep me up on the couch. I felt him nuzzle my head, he was smelling my hair.

"I like this...you smell nice." I didn't reply, only smiled, burying my face in his chest as we drifted off to sleep.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #solo harry #hs fandom #hs imagine #hs fanfic #hs2 #hs1

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter two - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: mention of sex, language, and drinking

author’s note: If you haven’t read the first chapter I would do that or you might be a little lost, you can find it here.

I blink slowly as the light infiltrates my mind, the warmth of the morning sun enveloping me in a cozy hug. 

I groan as I stretch before the foreign scent of vanilla and tobacco rushes over me, and the burn in between my legs reminds me of last night.

Shooting up I look around the foreign apartment, remembering where I was as memories from last night flood my mind.

I blush, I’ve had many hookups, but none like that.

I look for Harry, but find the bed empty, and the apartment quiet. I pull the duvet around me and step off before I stop in my tracks, already feeling the soreness in my hips, and the intense burn in my center.

I waddle out to the kitchen where a small plate and cup where resting on the counter, a folded note with my name scribbled on it rested peacefully beside it, but still no Harry.

It feels like my heart might explode as my eyes graze over my name in what I assume is his handwriting.

I settle down on the stool, and pick up the note, unfolding it gently. 

Dear Anna, 

I am terribly sorry I couldn’t stay until you woke, but duty calls and I had to leave. The plate in front of you is all yours, I had leftovers from this morning and didn’t want them to go to waste, or for you to go home hungry. I had the most amazing night with you, and I have come to the decision that you have definitely made it up to me for ruining my shirt ; ) PS. help yourself to anything you’d like 

All the love, H

I smile like a love struck teen at his words, blown away by how unbelievably sweet this man was.

I look down at the plate below me, my stomach growling as I scan over scrambled eggs and a few waffles, a cup of orange juice sitting beside it. I dig in, and I practically inhale the food even though it was cold from sitting out.

My phone buzzes, and I practically jump out of my skin.

Oh shit!

I had completly forgot to tell my friends that I was not coming home last night, they must think I got murdered or something. 

I scramble off the stool, and over to where my handbag was resting on one of his gray sofas, and hold it up to my ear. 

“Anna!” 

“Hi, Paige, I’m sorry, I totally forgot to tell you that I was not coming home” I say swallowing a mouthful of eggs. 

“Yeah, no shit! I’ve been so fucking worried” 

“I’m so sorry, but I’m okay” I try to explain, she really was like our mom sometimes.

She lets out a heavy sigh, “Thank god, when are you coming home?” 

I wasn’t exactly sure what part of the city I was in, but I made up a guess a went with it. 

“I’ll be home in under an hour” 

“Good, Harper wants to go to the movies later” I can hear the slight tang of annoyance in her voice, and I try to hold back a laugh, Paige hated going to the movies, always saying that we can just watch it at home.

“Okay, sounds good, I’ll see you later” I laugh as I hear chatter start up on the other end of the phone.

“Okay, love you”

I roll my eyes, “Love you”

I hang up and let out a breath, walking back towards his bedroom so that I can get dressed and head home. 

His room looks like a mess, pillows laying on the floor, clothes sprawled about, the sheets on his bed pulled so that the corner of his mattress is showing.

I take a deep breath, god damn.

I find the black lace of my underwear and start to slide them on, gasping as my eyes settled on my skin.

My inner thighs had soft purple hickeys scattered all around the skin, some also present on my stomach and chest, the worst one being on my collarbone.

“Holy shit” I whisper to myself, my fingers poking at the ones on my thighs, but my jaw goes slack at the barely visible marks on my hips.

The shape of finger tips were etched into the skin of my hips like a shadow, barely visible, but definitely there, a reminder of where his large hands hand been.

My hand flies up to cover my mouth, stifling the laugh that rises out of my throat.

Why the hell do I think that’s funny?

I shake my head, sliding my underwear the rest of the way on, and clasping my bra back on my body, I look for my dress for a few minutes before remembering it was out in the living room, so I grab my shoes and head out.

I look at my reflection in the huge windows and frown, my eyes tracing over the soft purple hickeys on my collarbone and chest, my dress hardly covering any marks on my upper body, how the hell am I going to cover them?

You just had to mark me up Harry.

Then my eyes settle on the fabric of Harry’s dress shirt from last night, laying carelessly on the floor, and I shrug.

Hope he doesn't mind.

I pull it over my shoulders, rolling up the sleeves and tying it up, buttoning it up to cover my collarbone.

That’s better.

I start to walk towards the door, my heals clicking as they meet the wooden flooring of his entry way.

Then, my eyes settle on a piece of paper taped on the door. 

Also, if you turn the lock before you leave, the door should lock when it closes, there is some money on cabinet to your left if you don’t have any for a cab

 My heart starts to swell again as my eyes flash to the money placed on the surface of the cabinet beside me.

I leave the money there, and I do what he says and I turn the lock before I head out, hearing it click behind me. 

Walking back out of the apartment I can’t help but be mind boggled and how fancy everything is, from the bouquets at every corner, to the detailing on the doors as I walk out, everything is so elegant and sleek. 

The cab ride back to my apartment was almost thirty minutes long, which if it weren’t for the music fest causing traffic at every intersection, I’m sure it would have only been about fifteen. 

As I walk through the door, and I hear the chatter in the living room of the apartment I shared with Harper, Evelyn, and Paige, I brace myself for the interrogation session.

When the door clicks, the conversation stops.

“Anna?” 

“Yeah?” I ask, coming out from around the corner, their eyebrows all raised.

“Spill the tea” Evelyn demands, crossing her legs under her on the couch.

“There is nothing to spill, it’s pretty fucking obvious” I set down my bag on the messy counter and slip out of my heels. 

“Yeah, but you’ve never come home past six before” Harper chimes in.

“I was tired” I shrug, “Had a busy week”

“Oh sure, tired from the week” Harper says sarcastically, giving a look at Paige and Evelyn. 

“You’ve also never wore their shirt home” Paige adds, pointing to the dark dress shirt I was in, and I tug up the collar again, hoping they couldn’t see through me. 

“I was cold” I brush off their glances, but Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Bullshit” she calls out, getting up from the couch.

“Guys, I’m done talking about this, can we please just move on, it’s not like I’ve never hooked up with someone before” I plead, cautiously eyeing Harper as she walks over to me. 

“C’mon, just show us” she pouts, and Paige and Evelyn nod enthusiastically from the other couch. 

“Then will you guys shut up?” I ask, crossing my arms. 

They all nod, and Paige crosses her heart. 

I sigh, undoing the dress shirt and slipping it off my shoulders. Harper’s mouth hangs open as Evelyn and Paige gasp. 

“Holy shit!” Paige exclaims, stumbling over the couch to come investigate, Evelyn trailing behind her. 

Harper pokes at my skin, and I roll my eyes, heat flushing to my face.

They should see my thighs if they think this is intense.

“So he is good with his mouth?” Evelyn comments, and I smack her arm as Harper and Paige bust out laughing. 

“Guys! Can we please move on?” I groan as I pull the shirt back on. 

“Fine” Paige giggles while Evelyn rubs her arm.

The next few days they keep proding for more information and poking fun at me, starting to call him “hickey boy”

Harper was very proud of that nickname, I however was extremely embarrassed.

When Tuesday rolled around, and I had come home from several job interviews, I was surprised when my friends were all giddy when I walked in the door.

“What?” I ask, eyeing them suspiciously as they all grin at me like five year olds waiting to open their presents on Christmas morning.

“We are taking you out” Paige says vaguely, and I quirk my eyebrow at her.

“You’ve been working so hard these last few days, and we want to take you out so you can let go of all that stress” Evelyn explains, and I sigh.

“I don’t know guys, I’m pretty tired”

“Nonsense!” Harper exclaims, “C’mon, let’s go out and forget about everything for a few hours”

I sigh, rubbing my head, “Fine”

They squeal and jump up, already talking about what they are going to wear.

I roll my eyes, a smile on my lips.

A whopping two hours later we are finally heading out the door, hopping into Harper’s old car and starting it up. 

I settled on an over sized T-shirt and jean shorts, trying to go for a more casual look, plus there was still a few faint marks left from my night with Harry. Harper wore a cropped black tank top, and a pair of plaid pants with a belt and chain, her combat boots complementing her legs nicely. Evelyn wore a jean skirt and neon pink tube top with her hair in a high pony and huge hoops on her ears. Paige however, wore a simple sundress, her converse giving the look a very high school love story vibe, but she looked stunning none the less. 

They decided that trying out the music fest this year would suffice my apparent need to let go of stress.

We filtered through traffic, parked several blocks back, and headed into the fest within the next hour, chatting and enjoying each others company. Evelyn pointing out several hot guys along the way.

What can I say, she can’t help herself. 

The festival was loud and crowded, several people yelling and cheering anytime the lights would flash, or if they just felt like it. 

When the music did finally start up, it was like a raging pit of beer and sweat, everybody jumped around and screamed, especially when a hardcore rock band came on stage, but after about an hour and a half, the crowd settled and it simmered back down to just cheering and dancing. 

The bands and musical artists would shuffle through, only a few minutes between each act, and between the cheap alcohol and Harper cracking jokes at any body who dances funny, I was having a blast.

Of course anytime with them is the best time.

The stage lit up, signaling the start of another performance, and we watched as a man strolled casually on stage, his band already set up behind him.

My eyebrows crash down in confusion when I recognize the brown head of hair that frames him like a halo.

No way in hell.

“Hello New York!” that smooth accent rolls over the crowd, and my heart stops.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

My eyebrows shoot straight up, and my mouth falls open, like one of those scenes in a cartoon.

“Anna?” Paige turns to me, but I can’t even look her in the eyes, I can’t look away from him.

This is a dream, definitely a dream, it has to be.

“Pinch me” I blurt out, feeling the confusion that now radiates off of my friends as Evelyn takes a hold of the skin on my wrist and pinches me.

Shit.

“Anna, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Harper points out, their faces now circling me, fading in and out of my vision as I try to keep my eyes on him.

He looks good, of course he does, but the loud suit catches my attention.

Is that floral?

Whatever it was, he looks like an angel in it, like he seems to always do.

Evelyn’s hands grab my face, and she makes me focus on her, “Earth to Anna!”

“He-...” I point weakly to the stage, feeling my head spin.

They follow my finger to the stage, watching as he dances under the microphone, his voice filling my ears.

Voice of a fucking angel, of course.

“What?” Paige looks at me like I have lost my mind. I point again, my heart stammering in my chest, and my mouth dryer than the fucking dessert.

“That’s him” I whisper, and my friends share worried glances, before Harper slaps a hand over her mouth.

“No fucking way Anna! That’s hickey boy!”

I cringe at the nickname she insists on giving him, and I smooth my hand through my hair, giving a nod.

“No way” Evelyn gasps, and Paige’s jaw just drops. Harper bounces up and down with excitement, and they all shuffle around to get a better look at him.

His voice rolls over the crowd again, rumbling straight through me, “I’ve never played this one before, just wrote it actually, hope y’enjoy it”

“One, Two, Three, Four!” he shouts.

Then the guitar and drums hit, and the crowd goes wild, while I’m just staring at him completely in shock.

“Don’t know where you’re laying,” his voice holds that same subtle gravel that I remember, as his leg bounces up and down with the beat, “Just know it’s not with me”

By now my friends are giggling and I can tell they are trying to talk to me, but I let his voice drown everything else out, the thick sweet sound giving me butterflies.

“Don’t know what I’d tell you if I passed you on the street”

I can’t believe the man in front of me, confidence radiating through him like sunshine, his movements strong and sure.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!”

My stomach drops as my friends eyes snap towards me.

Did he just say my name?

“The hell?” Evelyn whispers, “Did he just say your name?” she asks, mirroring my thoughts.

Holy fuck.

“Every time I see you face there’s only so much I can take, oh, Anna!”

“Anna! he wrote a fucking song about you?” Harper exclaims, her voice making it sound more like a question, like she didn’t quite believe this was happening.

I can’t blame her, I was still wrapping my head around it too, but Anna is a very popular name, I’m sure it’s not about me, it can’t be, I only spent one night with him.

“Don’t know how you taste when there’s smoke in your perfume”

I quirk my eyebrows, this is definitely not about me, it can’t be, that lyric has zero correlation with me.

Right?

“Chew me up and spit me out, nothing left to lose, I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!” the guitar strikes up, and he dances around, pumping his arms and swinging his head to the beat as the man to the left of him grinds out a guitar riff that’s bubbly and upbeat.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

My stomach seems to drop and twist further every time my name rolls from his lips, and I realize that the crowd had gone nuts, hollering and screaming out as he seems to soak it all in.

“Hope you never hear this, and know that it’s for you, I don’t know what I’d tell you if you asked me for the truth” 

By now my head was spinning, my throat dry and my heart racing, I felt dizzy and light headed.

What the hell?

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

Suddenly the lights started to sting, and my world continued to sway, back and forth, back and forth.

I tried to swallow, but the dryness of my throat made my tongue feel like sandpaper, and my legs begin to wobble. I felt like I was placed in the dryer, the crowd around me spinning and spinning, and I was just a helpless piece of clothing.

Another guitar solo bounced in and out of my ears, my head seeming to amplify it as the song continued.

My vision started to blur when the beat changed, and I reached a hand out to try and steady the world around me.

“Guys...” I suck in a sharp breath, oxygen becoming thin, and I feel hands on my arms.

“Anna?”

“Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body”

His voice is the last thing that goes through my mind when it all went black, the music fading as my eyes roll back into my head, my body crumbling to the ground.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles

[brideofedoras]

The Loft: Redemption

Disclaimer: the usual.  

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: Mentions of sex dreams, masturbation, naughty thoughts and implied naked Vincent Stevens.  

Rating: 18+

Chapter 5

Vincent groaned into his pillow after glancing at the alarm clock.  Three twenty-six in the morning and he was wide awake.

He blamed the dream.  Jesus Christ, did he blame the dream.

The same dream he’d had every night since he’d nearly kissed Sam in the conference room.  When she had straightened his tie and told him she didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression because he was a rumpled mess.

He rolled onto his back and tossed the covers off.  “She’s off-limits, Stevens,” he muttered as he scrubbed his hands over his face.  “Too good for an asshole like you, you’d only ruin her.”

He slipped out of bed and stalked across the loft to the bathroom.  He screwed his eyes shut when he flipped on the light, the sudden brightness burning.  “She deserves better.”

Deserves better than a man pushing forty with a history of womanizing and cheating.  A man who had been arrested for murder.  A man paying dearly in alimony and child support with strict and limited visitation with his children.  A man who had fought and struggled and clawed his way back from rock bottom to keep his company afloat.

He squinted his eyes as he opened them, locking onto the shadowed eyes in the mirror.  “She’s too young for me anyway,” he sighed heavily before turning toward the shower and turning it on.  He adjusted it to the coldest temperature he could stand and stripped out of his blue and grey plaid pajama bottoms.  His erection, brought on by the damned erotic dream, throbbed against his abdomen.  He glared at it.  "Cold showers at three thirty in the god damned morning are not my idea of fun,“ he muttered before stepping into the shower.  He bit back a yelp as the stream of cold water hit his skin. 

Vincent ducked his head under the icy spray, welcoming the shock and hoping it would kill his raging desire so he would not have to deal with it himself.  In the past it never bothered him to jack off in the shower.  Back then he hadn’t given a damn.  But now?

Now he felt dirty.  He felt disgusted any time he had to bring himself to completion after dreaming about making love (not fucking, not screwing, not banging, making slow, sweet love) to Sam in his office or on the damned conference table.  But the cold shower was not helping kill the lust.  With a growl he soaped up his hands before curling his fingers around his aching manhood and thinking of anyone but Sam. But all he could see was his beautiful, efficient, brilliant assistant reaching up to straighten his damned tie.  One hand curling around the tie at his chest, the other sliding up to the knot, her brow furrowed in concentration, full bottom lip trapped in her teeth, big grey eyes shyly meeting his.

Fuck.

Vincent leaned back against the cold ceramic tiles of the shower, swearing a blue streak as he struggled to regain his breath.  He reached over and turned the shower off.  He stood there a few minutes more before stepping out onto the plush bath mat and grabbing a towel to dry off with.  He tossed it angrily toward the hamper as he stalked out of the bathroom.

He grabbed his bottle of bourbon and a tumbler.  The drink he poured he knocked back quickly.  "Dammit,” he muttered.  He poured another drink.  With a frown he filled the tumbler nearly to the brim.

Vincent knew bourbon was not the answer to his problem.  But he drank it anyway.  He chugged the generous glass and poured another to take to bed.  As he set the tumbler on the nightstand he glanced at the alarm clock.  3:42.  "Hell,“ he muttered.  His alarm was set for six, and he was wide awake.

And hungry. 

Most men would fall asleep after a damned good orgasm, whether resulting from sex or masturbation.  He never did.  Maybe it was years of cheating on Barb and not wanting to risk falling asleep and wind up getting busted, maybe he was wired different.  But he always wound up hungry.

He made his way back to the kitchen to scope out the contents of the refrigerator and grinned when he saw the takeout container from yesterday’s, no, the day before’s, lunch.  Sam had ordered extra Chinese when he’d commented about possibly working late to work on that damned park design he’d been struggling with.  "Still struggling with the damned thing, too,” he grabbed the container and popped it in the microwave. 

He scrubbed his right hand over his face as he waited for the food to heat up.  But he could not get the images from that dream out of his head.  Wide grey eyes behind those glasses she always wore.  Soft pink blush on her cheeks.  Plump kissable lips.  Silky dark hair he longed to tunnel his fingers into as he kissed her senseless or marked up her neck.  Elegant fingers he wanted to entwine with his as he made slow, sweet love to her.  Long legs he wanted wrapped around his hips as he drove into her over and over again.

The tattoo on her shoulder he’d caught a glimpse of months ago.  The memory of the sudden desire to touch, to taste washed over him.  He knew about the feather tattooed on the inside of her left wrist and the flower tattooed just behind her right ear on her neck.  She had told him it was simblemyne from Lord of the Rings when he had asked about it. 

“God dammit,” he sighed heavily.  He had never had a thing for tattoos on a woman before, hadn’t cared one way or another.  But on Sam… Jesus Christ did he want to trace his tongue and fingers over each one.  And he wondered if she had more.

He closed his eyes.  “Get a grip, Stevens,” he growled.  “It’s been a long week already, don’t make it any more difficult.”

He was a tired, cranky mess when he made it to the office a few hours later.  Sleep had evaded him when he’d crawled back into bed, even with a full belly and a fourth glass of bourbon.  How he wasn’t drunk before eight in the morning was a mystery to him, one he hoped to never have to repeat.

Thank god it was Friday.

Vincent damn near dropped his coffee when he opened the door to the office and spotted his assistant at the window with her back to the door wearing something she had never worn before.

She was dressed in a soft dove grey sweater dress, loose-fitting and hitting at mid-thigh, paired with black tights and knee-high grey boots.  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the crown of her head, exposing that damned delectable simblemyne tattoo.  He was accustomed to leggings paired with tee-shirts and flowy cardigans or sweaters, or fitted slacks and button-down blouses.  But a dress?  When he’d overheard her tell Linda she hated dresses?

She turned to face him when he pushed the door shut.  “You’re…”  She trailed off when she took in the bags under his eyes.  “Vincent, are you okay?”

“My turn for a sleepless night,” he gave her a tired grin.  “Don’t even think about sending me home, I’ve got to knuckle down on that damned park design if I’m going to present it next week to the city.”

“The one you’ve been struggling with?”

He snorted as he made his way to his office.  “Landscaping is not my forte, Sam,” he admitted.  “I wanted to branch out and now I’m sorely regretting it.”

“Maybe I could help?”

He stopped in the doorway separating the offices.  Did I hear her correctly?

“Or not, don’t listen to me.”

He frowned when he caught the defeated tone in her voice.  That’s not the Sam Monroe I know, he thought.  “You want to do what I do,” he turned to face her.  “You want to become an architect.”

She nodded.  “It’s been a longtime dream of mine.”

“You know anything about landscaping?”

“A little,” she shrugged.  “I designed a butterfly garden for Mom’s office building and worked with a group on a class project to design a memorial park at the university I attended.”

Vincent walked over to stand beside her.  He took her shoulder in his free hand and turned her back to the window.  “Remember the city block you pointed out the day I interviewed you?”  He dropped his hand when he felt her shudder.  Don’t overstep your boundaries, Stevens.

She looked up at him.  “Yes.”

“This is no small butterfly garden or memorial park, Sam.  This is something for families to enjoy together.  Think Central Park, but smaller.”

“I’ve never been to New York,” she admitted quietly. 

He gave her an incredulous look.  “Next conference I go to in New York, you’re going with me.”

“That’s not necessary,” she shook her head, tearing her eyes from his.  “What would I do in New York while you’re attending the conference?”

“Suffer through the boring crap with me, tour the architectural wonders, stroll through Central Park, eat at a five star restaurant and take in a show on Broadway.”

“If the conferences are boring, why bother going?" 

"It’s good exposure,” Vincent shrugged.  “You learn about new things, new areas of study and certification, new technology for designing blueprints.”

“I don’t see you using computer programs to design buildings,” she wrinkled her nose. 

“There’s something magical about drawing up the designs by hand,” he tipped his head toward her.  “Computers take the fun out of it.  They make the mind weak by taking out all the guesswork and calculating everything for you.  Don’t ever rely on those programs, Sam.”

She nodded. 

“What’s my schedule like today?"  He asked as he headed to his office.

"Site visit after lunch, Jennings Street apartment complex.”

“You ever visit a project site before?”

“No, sir.”

His coffee cup thunked onto his desk.

Sir. 

She just had to call him “sir”.

He fumbled to keep the to-go cup from tipping over, inwardly cursing himself at the mental images popping into his head unbidden. 

“Vincent?”

“You want to come with me this afternoon?”

He screwed his eyes shut and grimaced at his ill-worded question and husky tone, glad he still had his back to the door. 

“I’m hardly dressed for a visit to a construction site.”

“What you’ve got on is fine, Monroe.”

More than fine, his brain added quite unhelpfully.  Sexy.  Gorgeous.  Breathtaking.

“It’s fodder for construction workers,” there was that hesitation in her voice, a tone of self-doubt he’d never heard before.

“You’ll be with me the entire time, Sam, if anyone says anything out of line or looks at you wrong I will take care of it,” he turned to face her.  “I won’t tolerate anyone crossing any lines with you.”

Her grey eyes widened behind her glasses.  “I could always run home and change during my lunch break…”

“Sweetheart, it won’t matter,” he shook his head.  “They’ll stare, they’ll say something, and I promise you they’ll get their asses handed to them.”

“I don’t want to cause any issues–”

He chuckled.  “Oh, you will,” he hung up his jacket and dropped into his chair behind the desk.  “Woman on a construction site usually does.  Don’t let them get to you.  Don’t pay them any mind, but if they say something put them in their place and tell me.”

Her brow furrowed.  “Okay, but I’d feel more comfortable if I can go home to change.”

He could not argue with her point.  “All right.  I’m going to start working on that damned design in about fifteen minutes if you want to help.”

Sam smiled, “Thank you, Vincent.”

“I should be thanking you, Sam,” he smiled back.

Vincent looked up from noting a playground on the paper in front of him.  “Koi pond?”

She nodded.  “Kids love watching koi fish,” she frowned thoughtfully.  “The nursing home where my grandpa was has a koi pond in front of the Hollywood wing.  When they remodeled the vestibule they put in a section of ‘glass’ floor to watch the fish swim under it,” she hooked her fingers in air quotes.  “It’s pretty neat, but they scare the hell out of me.  Kenna still teases me about refusing to use the main entrance.  Any time I went to see Grampa I had to be buzzed in from the patio.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling and to refrain from reassuring her those floors, if installed correctly, were perfectly safe.  “You mentioned designing a butterfly garden earlier.  What if we included one in the design?”  He studied the rough layout he’d mocked up before sliding his hand along the paper to tap a blank area.  “Maybe over here away from the playground.”

Sam caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it as she swiveled on the stool, angling her body toward him.  “I was thinking of a pavilion around here, for outdoor weddings,” she murmured before immediately flinching.  "If…  If that’s okay with you?“

He frowned at the way she flinched like she was expecting to be slapped.  "Jot it down,” he slowly reached across her to pick up her discarded pencil.  “Sam, your ideas for this park are brilliant.  I’ve been procrastinating on this for weeks, and here you’ve bounced several excellent suggestions off of me in…” he glanced at his watch as he straightened from his slouch over the drawing table, “three hours.  Let’s take a break for lunch and come back to this after the site visit.  How’s that sound?”

She looked up at him.  “You really think my ideas are brilliant?”

Oh damn.

That shy smile bowing her lips tugged at his heart. 

“No,” he shook his head.  “I know they’re brilliant."  He tapped the paper.  "Make note of the other ideas you mentioned off to the side until we can figure out where to work them in.  And for future reference, keep a notebook available to write down any ideas you might get at random times.  Trust me, I’ve been in the damned grocery store more than once when a thought would pop into my head.  You wouldn’t think a package of chicken breasts would inspire an arched entryway.”

Sam giggled at that as she jotted her ideas down.  “And just how did they inspire it?”

He chuckled.  “My kids were going to spend the weekend with me.  Figured I’d get the ingredients for a couple of their favorite meals.  Kinzie, my little girl, likes this chicken breast and asparagus dish.  I was standing there, trying to remember what else I needed when it just popped into my head how she’d told me one time she wished her school had arched doorways like a castle does, and I realized that would be better for the preschool design I’d bid on.”

Sam twisted the stool to face Vincent, her eyes wide behind her black-framed glasses.  “Please tell me you included a moat and a tower in the design.”

He laughed.  “No, I didn’t,  If Kinzie had her way it would’ve been an actual castle.”

“She sounds like she takes after you,” she tipped her head toward his Castle Grayskull blueprint on the wall. 

“God, I hope she doesn’t,” he sighed heavily. 

The last thing he needed was for either of his kids to follow in his damned footsteps.

He shook off that frightening thought before pasting on a tired smile for Sam’s benefit.  “I’ll grab us some lunch so you don’t have to rush.  Romeo’s sound good?”

“I’ve been wanting to try their cauliflower risotto and parmesan crusted chicken breast,” she nodded.  “Would it be too much to ask for cheesecake?  Their blackberry swirl cheesecake looks amazing.”

He smiled at the hopeful look in her grey eyes.  “Anything else?”

She shook her head.  “No, that’ll do me, Vin, thank you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at that shortened version of his name.  He watched her walk out of his office.

I’m in trouble. 

#the loft #vincent stevens #karl urban #redemption #slow burn #romance

[hermannsthumb]

Of Those prompts you reblogged....#27.....hhhhng that’s so dhnfjgngngkkdjdjfk

27: “You are not wearing that to dinner with my parents.”

from spring fic prompts meme here

PLEASE!!!!!!! also the sign i ref at the end was in a tumblr post that i can’t find atm but i’ll link it when i do lol

“Well?” Newt says, arms outstretched. “I look good, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Newt knows he looks good. The best he’s ever looked, he’s pretty sure--hair combed neatly, combat boots swapped out for Oxfords that he hasn’t quite broken in yet and are pinching his feet, corduroys and skinny tie for plaid slacks and a green bow tie. He doesn’t look good without reason: tonight’s the Big Night and all. After thirteen years of knowing each other, five of sharing a lab, ten seconds of sharing a brain, and a handful of months of a whirlwind romance ending in a wedding ceremony five minutes after Hermann (three sheets, and daiquiris, to the wind) tipsily proposed to him on their well-earned vacation, Hermann’s finally taking Newt home to meet his parents. Or, actually, taking his parents home to meet Newt, since they’ve insisted on coming all the way from Germany to...pat Hermann’s shoulder firmly and compliment him on not being a failure and look at Newt critically, or something like that. (Newt can’t help but envision Hermann’s parents as exactly like Spock’s.)

It’s all a little backwards, really, but at least now Newt won’t have to ask for Dr. Gottlieb Senior’s blessing to get hitched to his son, or pretend to ask. That’s just--well, yikes.

Anyway, Newt knows he looks good. He just wants to hear Hermann say it out loud, because he likes when Hermann says nice things about him out loud. He gives a little twirl.

Hermann’s at the sink, peeling potatoes in the sink for dinner--blazer and shirt cuffs rolled up around his elbows--and his reaction is not the sort that Newt had been expecting at all. Hermann sets down the peeler. He fixes his cuffs. He snags his cane, which leans against the counter, and clicks over to Newt. But he doesn’t try to kiss Newt, or get handsy, or try to talk him into a quickie while the potatoes cook or anything like that, which is what he usually does when Newt spruces up his appearance for him.

“You are not wearing that to dinner with my parents,” he declares instead, and then immediately works the bow tie off from around Newt’s throat with one hand.

Newt, a bit dumbfounded, lets him. “Why not?” he says. Hermann shoves the bow tie into his pocket and, bewilderingly, begins to flick open the buttons of Newt’s shirt. “I thought it was nice. You always say green looks nice with my eyes.”

“And it does,” Hermann says. “You look very nice. Exceptionally so.” He rucks up Newt’s shirt from his slacks and flicks open the rest of the buttons. Newt furrows his brow.

“Uh,” he says. “Then why--?”

Hermann drops his hand once he’s stripped Newt down to his undershirt. “You think I want you to look nice for Father and Mother? Really, Newton.” He scoffs. “Change at once. Those pinstripe jeans will suffice.”

He says pinstripe with a particular disdain that makes Newt automatically rise to their defense. “They’re cool jeans,” he says. Just because they’re from Hot Topic doesn’t meant they’re not cool, and the amount of holes he got in them fleeing for his fucking life from Otachi only adds to their cool factor. But that’s not the point. “Hang on. You want me to look bad on purpose? I thought--”

“Obviously,” Hermann says. “Why else would I be wearing this?” He gestures to himself. He’s in his usual drab combination of too-baggy too-long tweed slacks, too-baggy sweatervest, and a too-baggy blazer to match. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. It’s hardly different from what he wore to their wedding--by Hermann’s standards, it’s formalware.

Newt finally gives up on trying to spot the problem. “Wearing what?” Newt says.

A strange look of glee crosses Hermann’s face. “Father hates this shade of grey,” he says.

“Oh,” Newt says. “Right.”

“Pinstripe jeans,” Hermann says, and, after some deep contemplation, “and that terrifically obnoxious Hawaiian shirt you bought on our honeymoon.”

Newt bought several obnoxious Hawaiian shirts on their honeymoon. He had the money, you know, and they were buy-one-get-one-free at the boardwalk shop, why not. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, babe.”

“The one with the shirtless men,” Hermann says.

Newt breaks into a grin. The one Hermann’s talking about--decorated in garish pink and orange flowers and shirtless, hunky surfer guys--has been sitting in the back of his closet for months, just waiting for the perfect occasion. Newt can’t think of an occasion more perfect than this. “Oh, shit, absolutely.” If he has the time, he’ll break open his nail polish collection and pick something equally garish to go with it.

Hermann pats the seat of Newt’s slacks. “Off to it, then, my love. Oh. Actually--” The look of glee returns, and, if Newt didn’t know any better, he might say it was a little mischievous, too. “On the subject--do you recall that sign you bought at the, ah, thrift shop?”

Newt does: it’s a cross-stitch that says We Had Sex In This Room. He bought it as a joke when they were going furniture shopping for the apartment, and has threatened, several times, to hang it in their kitchen when they inevitably have guests over, but it’s currently shoved out of sight in the bottom drawer of their shared desk. A similar fate to that of the Hawaiian shirt, now that Newt’s thinking about it--waiting for the perfect time to be of use. “Want me to put it in the guest room?” Newt says.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hermann says. God, Newt loves him.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #oh my god this one was fun #Anonymous

[peaches-of-1]

The College Crush ~ Chapter 1: Twisted Girl

Black!MC x E’Dawn

| Next >

Just a flash of red and brown, and E’Dawn couldn’t help but stare. His smile fell and it felt as though his world had stopped. Your hair was in twists and so was his stomach after seeing you. The other guys didn’t fail to notice their friend’s new infatuation with the girl who had just passed by.

“You think she’s cute, huh?”

He nodded and fell off the wall since he had been too occupied staring at the beautiful brown girl who had passed by to worry about his own safety. Hyojong just had to know one thing. Who were you?

[Two hours earlier...]

Hyojong woke up and stretched, turning off his phone alarm and almost forgetting he wasn’t living on campus this year. He was so used to seeing the cream colored walls, that his black painted ones surprised him. Yawning, he smacked his lips together and tasted last night’s sleep on his tongue. It tasted like spit.

“Good morning, Cheolsoo! Yeonghee, how was your sleep? Is Nari thirsty this morning?” He said cheerfully as he watered the growing sprouts on his windowsill before getting ready.

Skipping forward, Hyojong spit foamy toothpaste into the sink and wiped his face. Only as he double checked his freckled face did his roommate Hongseok came out of his room to do his morning routine.

Scratching his tummy, he said his usual greeting, “Mornin’”

“Sleep well?”

Hongseok nodded and yawned, splashing his face with cold water, “Ah, we’re meeting the guys at the brick wall outside the library today for lunch. Bring cash. Jinho says the card swipe thing got stolen over the summer.”

 “Well fuck,” He pouted. “Ok.”

The be-speckled blonde beauty opened his closet and changed his bottoms to the black slacks required by the school that sported his grade’s color. He slipped on a white tank top after flexing in the mirror a bit. High white socks and black tennis shoes. They could have been any color, but Hyojong decided to keep it simple.

He’d put on his jacket last in case something spilled on his shirt and he had no time to change. Speaking of which. Breakfast. Nothing too big as he’d get coffee with his friends soon enough. Yuto was in the kitchen, toast waiting on the counter with jam and butter surrounding the green plate.

“I made two slices for everyone. Do whatever you want with them.”

The three waited for the last one to wake up as they ate in the living room and played a few video games. None of their classes were until 11am, and it was just now 9:23. Wooseok shuffled in his pajamas and drank some juice.

“Cute.” Hongseok smiled.

They talked about their classes and what they heard about their teachers until it was time to go. They buttoned up their gold buttons that shined brightly against the black fabric

“These look like Japanese high school outfits.”

“And here I thought I had gotten rid of these awful collars when I graduated.” Yuto looked at himself in the mirror. “Why are they trying to copy the uniform style?”

Hongseok shrugged, “Don’t know. But I don’t exactly hate it. You look adorable, Wooseok.”

Hyojong smiled, “He’s always adorable.”

“Oh, be quiet. These pants are so stupid. Why aren’t they full length?” The adorable one turned his ankle to emphasize the fact that it showed off his navy blue socks instead of covering them like regular pants.

“Fashion!” Yuto said. “I like that feature. Makes me feel young.”

“I feel like I’m cosplaying.” Hongseok laughed. “Anyways. Let’s go. We’ve got classes to get to, and it’s best not to be late on the first day.”

After their first classes, the boys met up where they had the past two years after making their rather large group of friends. There were ten of them in total, Jinho, Hui, Hongseok, E’Dawn, Shinwon, Yanan, Yeo One, Yuto, Kino, and Wooseok. Hyojong went by E’Dawn because he messed up creating his first semester schedule so badly that he had classes at the crack of dawn for a whole term.

Most of the others had regular nicknames. They always met for lunch outside the library since Jinho worked at the school cafe located on the library’s first floor and got off at the time. He always brought his friends food that was fresh but would be thrown out after his shift. It was ok as long as he didn’t get caught, and his boss didn’t tell on him.

Even in this large group, they talked about the new uniforms for guys. Every grade had its own color that they had to wear. Freshmen in red, Sophomores in green, Juniors in pink, and Seniors in blue. Yuto, Kino, and Wooseok wore red while Yeo One, Shinwon, and Yanan got green. Hui, E’Dawn, and Hongseok got to wear black this year and Jinho was the only one who wore blue.

The colors were on everyone’s Student IDs. For the guys, they had two sets of pants. One were plaid and whatever color they needed to be. The others were black with a colored stripe down each side. The color also showed up on their ties they wore for their alternate uniforms.As for girls, their skirts signified their current academic level. Although girls could wear pants, there was just social pressure that made skirts more common than not.

Hyojong had decided to wear his black pants today. He met Yuto and Wooseok during their summer orientation since Hyojong was their Orientation Leader. They mentioned not wanting live on campus but not wanting to stay with their parents and E’Dawn said he had two empty rooms in his apartment. They’ve been close ever since.

The guys were taking turns walking on the red brick wall in front of the library to see who could do it the fastest without falling. Hyojong fell and landed on his ass, making the others laugh. He laughed along with them until your red skirt caught his eye. Your legs were an earthy brown, and you wore high black socks in combat boots.

Looking at the rest of your body, he saw that you had on a blazer with red accents and a white dress shirt underneath, red ribbon tied under the colar. The messenger bag you held was an army green color and covered in all sorts of buttons. Some E’Dawn recognized since he was a fan of the shows and bands.

Your hair was natural and in a plethora of twists, but you didn’t really notice him among all the other handsome men. You just saw them as a group of men you had to pass by. It didn’t occur that one of them had been captivated by your presence. Then again, while you were trying to see if you were headed towards the right building, E’Dawn was trying to get a better view of you. He sat up from his first falling position, fingers hanging off the edge of the wall.

After you passed the group, you didn’t see your newest admirer fall to the ground after losing his balance since you were already inside the building and taking everything in. So this is what the inside of a Korean library looked like, you mused.

Hyojong scrambled to his feet and followed you. He just had to make sure that what he saw was human not a goddess made from his imagination as he currently believed you were. When he got inside, he saw a red skirt go around a corner. Your twists bounced with every step and suddenly stopped as you searched for the right room. Hyojong couldn’t help but reach out and touch your shoulder.

You turned around, “Yeah?” You spoke English.

He didn’t know a lot of English. Right now, he barely remembered any Korean as you two met eyes. Yours were such a dark brown, tunnels to another world. E’Dawn had to say something.

“Hi. I’m Kim Hyojong.” He bowed. “I help with new students. Are you lost?”

Having bowed when he did, you sighed and spoke Korean, “Yes, I’m lost. I’m looking for this classroom, but I don’t see this number anywhere.”

He loved the sound of your voice. You showed him the number, and E’Dawn saw the number written in both Hangul and Romanized alphabet.

“Ah, I’m guessing you didn’t get the email. That class is now upstairs in the computer lab.” He pointed upwards. “I can take you to it if you want.”

The way you smiled made his heart skip, “Could you, please?”

Hyojong smiled back, “Sure. Follow me. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.” You gave a small bow and your twists trickled down your cheeks.

“Nice to meet you.”

There was no way he was going to tell you how easy it was to find the classroom since they were mostly glass walls and had the teacher’s name on the door. E’Dawn wanted to spend more time with you wanted to learn more about this beautiful black girl with a voice like the sea.

“Where you from?”

“I’m from North America. And before you ask, I learned Korean and moved here because of K-pop. Mostly the fashion aspect.”

He smiled, “Sounds about right with all the foreigners here. What’s your major?” E’Dawn asked as he opened the stairwell door for you.

“Thanks,” You grinned. “And I’m undecided at the moment. Just trying to get my general studies out the way and try a few things out before committing to a specific field just yet.”

“You’ll find your place here rather quickly. Um, let me see that paper one more time?”

You hands him the paper, and he took a pen out of his pocket to scribble something on it. He handed it back to you, and you noticed a few extra characters along the bottom.

“Wow” You heard a voice whisper.

Both of you turned your heads to see the stairwell door closing even though it should’ve already been shut after E’Dawn and you stepped out. You guys decided to ignore whatever it was.

“It’s my KTalk. You can message me if you have any questions. I hope you enjoy your class.” He opened the glass door leading to the largest computer room.

“Thanks. Hyojong-oppa?”

He wanted to clutch his chest as he was having a heart attack from how cute you were, calling him oppa. He almost forgot you were younger than him, but the red skirt was obvious. You were just very comfortable to be around that you didn’t feel younger. Must’ve been because you were American.

You took his reaction the wrong way, “Oh, sorry, I guess we’re not close enough for me to call you that yet.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no. It’s fine. You can call me oppa if you want.”

“Oh, that’s a relief! Thank you, oppa!”

Hyojong nodded, caught his breath, and put on a charming smile, “Yes. You’re welcome. I’ll see you around. Your Korean is very good.”

“Thank you! I’ll see you around.” You bowed to him and went inside.

He nodded back at you and let go of the door. Releasing the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, E’Dawn gave you one last glance and headed downstairs to rejoin his friends. However, as he opened the door that lead to the stairs he saw several of them standing on the landing.

“Hey, guys. What were you doing?”

They all looked at each other until Yeo One spoke, “Nothing, oppa~”

The others joined in teasing him about having the freshman girl call him oppa even though they had just met. Hyojong was a blushing mess, and nothing could hide it. The librarian shushed them and pointed outside.

Once outside, Jinho was the first to tell the other five, “She called him oppa and almost took it back, but he said it was ok. Dawnie’s got a crush~”

“So, is she Korean?”

E’Dawn shook his head, “American. Not sure which area. Her name is (Y/N).” He touched his cheeks, starting to blush even more. “She’s really cute.”

This was fun. Should I write more? I should. Five chapters. I’ll write five chapters of this with this one being the first.

#Pentagon #E'Dawn #Kim Hyojong #poc!reader #black!reader #female!reader #E'Dawn x Reader #Reader x E'Dawn #Hyojong x Reader #Reader x Hyojong #College!reader #College AU #College!AU #kpop #K-pop

[leonard-cohen-the-second]

When Two Hearts Collide Chapter 4: The Clearing

Pairing: Tamsin/Lauren- Copdoc

Rating: T, eventually M

Ao3 Link - FF link

Summary:  It's finally Saturday at the University. So what are the two roommates supposed to do on their first official off day? Well Tamsin has a few ideas in mind, and one of them might just involve a picnic basket.

Lauren lasted another night without nightmares while she was in Tamsin's arms. In its place were strange images that dashed across her vision. She was a child again, completely aware she was back in her parent's home Something was in the house, but as she walked down the hall she knew if she opened the door it would gobble her up. Her mother's voice was permeating the door, and she wanted so desperately to go inside, but as she overcame her fear and her small hand reached for the knob, the surroundings changed.

Now she was at her brother's first baseball game when he was fourteen and she twelve. He had gotten onto the varsity team, completely surpassing the expectations of the junior team, and all eyes were on him. Her parents were in the stands, cheering him on, and an overwhelming feeling of pain and anger filled her. They never treated her like that, never cheered for her. Why didn't they love her? She was just their mule, someone to get refreshments for them when ordered. She was on the errand now, getting them hot dogs and popcorn, when she stopped by the fence to watch her brother. Her parents jeered at her and something hit the back of her head before-

She turned around and now she was inside of a dark padded room. Lauren was filled with an emotion that was not quite dread but not entirely complacent either, her arms chained to the walls as her knees kneaded against the hard concrete. She wore a dirtied white dress, her hair cascading down her face, and her awareness in the dream was so obtuse it was like her consciousness was standing in the corner, looking at her body cower. The door swung open and both Lauren's tried to shield their eyes from the bright light. The clicking of boots resounded on the floor, but even the disembodied Lauren could not see who the being was, and before she could overcome the white light, the hypnopompic state set in.

The first year could still see the images dancing through her mind, but she was also aware of her real body. Her fingers were curled around a fit stomach and her hair was being played with. She moaned lightly, her cognitive mind finally exiting sleep, before stretching into the body below her.

“Fingernails,” Tamsin practically purred, sucking in air and adjusting her body in lieu of removing her hands to soothe the area that Lauren hurt. She wore no shirt, just a black and gray sports bra, and green plaid pajama bottoms. Wonderful pink lines stretched from her back to her stomach, and she opened her eyes and yawned. Squinting from the sun permeating the room, she looked down at a still resting Lauren and combed her fingers through silky hair. “Wakey wakey, doc.”

The first year moaned again, burying her head into Tamsin's stomach. “Nooo,” she moaned, kicking out her feet before hiking her leg upwards in between the woman's. A moment passed before Lauren raised up, not as fast as the first night of laying on Tamsin but not slowly either. Her knee was firmly planted between Tamsin's legs, her hands on either side, and she studied the woman before her. Light blonde hair rained onto the pillow, Tamsin using her left arm to raise her head up high enough to peer down at Lauren, and the hand that was playing in Lauren's hair fell onto her stomach. A grin graced her features, making Lauren cock her head and smile. “I'm... sorry.”

“No you're not. Besides, it's kinda weird apologizing for sleeping on a bodacious babe like me.” That caused a chuckle to escape Lauren's throat before she lowered and shook her head. Tamsin would be lying if she said the ends of the woman's hair didn't tickle her where they brushed across her bare stomach. “Come on, you should get ready.”

“For what, Tamsin?”

“I'm taking you out today. You don't have any classes, right? It's Saturday.”

Lauren raised onto her knees after moving to Tamsin's side, running her hand through her hair and looking lost. True, she didn't have any lab or clinic duties today, and all of her classes were on hold until the following week, but she never thought Tamsin would suddenly be so kind to... It was certainly a roller coaster of emotions, she had to admit. First she burst into the room, laid claim to everything especially the bed, and was rude and horrible to Lauren. And now not even a week later she was being so nice as to have a day planned for them? It didn't help that she felt happiness to be included for once, especially that she was getting along with Tamsin, but it was still a bit sudden. Did that mean she was going to say no? Doubtful!

“Sure. Let me just-” Lauren practically fell off the bed, righting herself at the very last moment before popping back up and nervously chuckling. She had gotten her things together, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, before she realized Tamsin was right behind her with her own pair of clothing. She began to stammer, “Wha- um.. Tamsin what are you doing?”

“I need to shower too. I can't always smell like rainbows and rain forests and-”

“Mahogany and vanilla,” Lauren cut in.

Tamsin grinned, moving in closer, her body practically touching Lauren's. The woman drew in a breath, feeling the uncontrollable urge to capture the light blonde's lips, but before she could she felt the door behind her open. Lauren draw in a breath before letting it escape, clearing her throat and smiling up at Tamsin. The taller woman let her go first, following behind her as they made their ways to the shower area.

It was a large place complete with many wide stalls. Some had curtains in front of them for easier access, while others had larger frost pane glass enclosing the area for more security. Some of the larger showers had sitting areas, while others had places to set shampoo or body wash. Lauren left Tamsin with a soft smile before excusing herself, closing the glass with a snap, and getting on with her business. She didn't take long, not wishing for the woman to have to wait on her, and she stepped out onto the open flooring. There was a large divide in the room, set in the middle was a long row of sinks and mirrors. She stepped towards it while trying to capture any droplets from falling onto her shoulders with the towel, brushing her teeth before looking into the mirror again.

Something, more like someone, caught her eye and she watched as Tamsin came out of the stall that was next to hers. She was wearing a black spaghetti strap, it seemingly made out of leather like most of her ensemble. The black jeans she sported were definitely form fitting, and the long pendant that hung down her body attracted the eye to the right places. Her hair rained down in curls while some of it was pulled into a ponytail. Lauren, on the other hand, wore a tight white button down over black slacks.

Tamsin whistled, coming up behind Lauren and folding her arms after putting her belongings down. “You clean up nice, doc.”

“Well you're not so bad yourself.” As if catching what she had said, Lauren continued nervously, “So where are you taking me today?”

“It would be much of a surprise if I told you now, doc.” Tamsin winked. “Now come on, we can't spend all day in here.”

Lauren followed behind Tamsin, stopping by the room to grab their boots and drop their shower accessories, before departing out. The campus was rather lively today, the student body having time to themselves since the beginning of the semester, and both women moved through the sea of people slowly. A tall boy bumped into Lauren on his way to catch a football, almost making the woman sail to the ground. Tamsin caught her in the last moment, pulling her back up as if the momentum meant nothing to her, and after a moment she let the first year go. Not completely, however, and her hand slipped into Lauren's and didn't let go.

They continued to walk for what seemed like hours, before finally they stopped outside of a building that had tinted windows. It didn't appear to have been built with the campus, perhaps being the reason why it was so far removed from the area. Lauren couldn't see a sign to name the place, or inside of it, but Tamsin pushed through the doors as if she belonged there. Her hand was still wrapped within Lauren's, and so the woman was dragged along, happily so but with slight hesitation of what she was about to get herself into. The inside of the place did not look as dreary as the outside, and old lamps hung from the ceiling to light the place. Pool tables marked the back row while tables were dotted around the establishment. A large bar wrapped around the far left of the room, filled with liquors Lauren had never heard of before, and as they walked in the barkeep made a sweeping gesture of the place.

“Welcome to the Dal Riata, friends. What's your poison?”

Tamsin didn't let go of Lauren's hand until they were at the bar and sitting down on a chair. Lauren stood for a moment as Tamsin got comfortable, before sitting herself. “Not staying long, barkeep. Just need that thing I asked for.”

The man smiled wide and nodded his head. “Ah, yes. I've got it right in back.”

With that he was gone, leaving the two women alone in the bar. Lauren knew it was rather early, but to have this entire place empty? Maybe it was due to the area the bar was located, she thought. Shaking off the numerous ideas, she looked to Tamsin and raised her brow. “So if we're not here to drink, why did you bring me here, Tamsin?”

“I'm just full of secrets,” she responded, raising to her feet and grabbing a bottle from behind the bar. She shushed Lauren, who was fervently trying to make her put it back between fits of giggles, and held it low between her legs. When the man came back out again, she smiled cheerfully as if nothing had happened.

He looked suspicious, why in the world would Tamsin be smiling that hard, but instead put a quaint basket on the wood counter. He swayed his hand over it and smiled, as if it was a major feat he had gotten her what she asked for. Tamsin winked before taking the basket, yelling a quick thanks before hurriedly putting the stolen liquor in the container. She placed up three fingers in farewell, grabbing Lauren's arm and practically running out of the building. They both began laughing uncontrollably as they got into the cool air, beginning to walk down the sidewalk and describing the humorous event.

“Oh my God, Tamsin! Please tell me you know him well enough to do that.”

Tamsin threw her arm around Lauren, their height difference becoming apparent. “Or what, you'll turn me in to the feds?” She let go of the woman, putting her wrists together before making a pitiful face. “You've got me now, copper, but you'll never break me!” Her fake accent got even heavier, sounding exactly like a 1950's telemarketer, “But if you turn me in, see, you'll never get the goods!” She raised the basket higher, indicating it was what she meant.

“And what's in the basket?” Lauren asked seductively, playing into the fantasy Tamsin had created.

By this time the women had traded a concrete road with a dirt path, the forest spreading around them densely as they walked deeper. There was no way they were still on campus, but the thought didn't even cross Lauren's mind. She didn't even feel fearful of following a woman she barely knew, that she did not have the best rapport with, into the woods so far removed from civilization it would be lucky if someone could hear her screams. Yet still she followed, laughing and talking the entire way, never for once thinking it could be a trap. The feeling her initial nightmare had given her, the fear that was building inside of her from the zombies and Stacy and even for Tamsin, had dissipated completely. There was no reason for Lauren not to trust her, and she would rather like it that way.

“I thought it would be pretty obvious, little lady,” Tamsin said, finishing out her accent. She stepped in front of the woman, making Lauren stop, before swooping down in a grand gesture. “Welcome to the Clearing. The best picnic spot in town!” A little lower she said, “Yeah, I know it's a dumb title, but I named it myself so...”

Lauren's eyes widened as she looked at the expanse of green in front of her, lightly touched by mildew of the waning morning, and the sun hit the angles just right to bring out the beauty of the place. Tamsin led her into the middle of the clearing, placing down the picnic basket and pulling out a large checkered blanket. Placing it on the ground, she sat and patted next to her for Lauren to do the same. From the basket she grabbed the bottle of alcohol, grapes, sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and even more savory treats. It made Lauren laugh, thinking it was like a clown car that just kept spitting out people from such a small space, and she looked out at everything Tamsin had brought and the surrounding area.

“This is... amazing, Tamsin.” She chortled, combing her fingers through her now dry hair. “How did you find this place?”

Tamsin swallowed her food, encouraging Lauren to begin eating before replying, “Would you believe I was on a morning stroll through the woods and just happened upon it?” She laughed as Lauren threw a grape at her, it landing in her cleavage. “No, I didn't think so.” Tamsin fished it out and ate it, exaggerating her features as Lauren made a faux disgusted face. “Okay, okay, it wasn't me who actually found the place. My sorority sister found it awhile ago, and she kinda left it to me after she moved on.”

“Moved on?”

“...Yeah as in moved on from the school.” She raised the bottle of liquor to her lips and took a long drink. She offered it to Lauren as she said, “The things I do for friends I can’t stand.”

I don't think that's true. “I think you could stand her quite a bit,” she whispered before taking a swig. It hit her like a load of bricks on her chest, the burning sensation and warmth filling her throat. She could practically feel it traveling down her gullet and into the pit of her stomach. She laughed suddenly, the only thing she could do to offset the powerful overload to her senses the alcohol brought, before waving her hand in front of her. “Sorry, I didn't expect that.”

Tamsin seemed glad the subject was changed and she chuckled. “The barkeep doesn't know the concept of weak liquor. Good for us, bad for him.”

“Because you'll keep stealing it?”

“Exactly, doc.” Tamsin quirked her brow before taking another drink.

Lauren was going to reply with something witty and charming, but an intrusive thought struck her sharply. She gulped down the drink, the burn in her chest no longer from it but by her notion, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Tamsin... Is this all to apologize for what you said? Because if it is,” she said, cutting off the other woman before she could speak, “I'm telling you again, it's okay. People say things they don't mean in a moment of anger, and to apologize sometimes overcompensation happens and-”

“Doc,” Tamsin interjected, practically clamping her hand onto Lauren's mouth. “Look, I'm trying to have a romantic date here, okay? I didn't want you to... I just didn't want to make your life here miserable. You deserve a lot more than that.”

She tried to hide her last words by speaking them more so into the bottle, but Lauren heard the muffled sentence. It made her smile pitifully, looking up towards the sky before lowering her head. Her orbs peeked from a curtain of hair when she softly murmured, “Thank you, Tamsin.”

Another beat passed before Tamsin struck the woman's knee, throwing up her hand. “Enough of that sappy shit. We're supposed to be having fun!”

Lauren swiftly threw another grape towards Tamsin, acknowledging the woman needed a change of pace back to the good times, and their conversations did not touch upon the subject for the remainder of the picnic. Instead they both finished the bottle, their speech becoming more slurred and flirtatious, and before they knew it the food was all but gone. The sun waned, marking the afternoon, and it was Tamsin that slapped her thighs and got up first. She lowered her hand, grinning when Lauren captured it with her own, before they packed up the remnants into the basket and set off. Lauren had thought they would go back to the dorm room immediately, and she was surprised when they stopped back at the bar.

“Gotta return the borrowed item,” Tamsin explained, winking and going into the bar.

This time she was not holding Lauren's hand, and the woman followed shyly behind her. She was expecting no one in the bar again, thinking it more of a night spot anyways, but she would be surely disappointed when she saw none other than Stacy standing in front of the bar. Her hands were on the expanse of wood, her body language making it seem as if they had just been fighting, before she rolled her eyes at the sight of the two.

“Ah, my basket,” the barkeep said, as if completely disregarding the fight they had possibly just had.

Tamsin's smirk was wider than usual, and she set down the container harder than she needed to. “As promised. Thanks for letting me borrow it. Stacy,” she said shortly.

“Tam-Tam,” Stacy responded before looking to Lauren.

Tamsin moved in front of her, blocking the view from the woman, and she cocked her head. “Good chat! Thanks again, barkeep.”

The man nodded and smiled, watching Tamsin turn on her heel and walk towards Lauren. Before the latter could say a word, her arm was tugged but released. She waved sheepishly toward the two, more so toward the man, before she followed Tamsin outside. They walked in silence for a few blocks, neither one of them looking back to make sure Stacy wasn't following them, before they reached the small cafe that Lauren liked to frequent.

When they passed it, Lauren spoke up, “So... Stacy...”

“What about her?”

Lauren clapped her fist into her other hand and said, “Not the reaction I was hoping for.”

Tamsin stopped suddenly, looking down at Lauren and making a face. “Let's just forget about Stacy for the rest of the night, okay? I would rather just eat pizza, drink a beer, and watch a stupid horror movie.”

Whether it be from the alcohol or her wish to have a good ending to the night, Lauren nodded her head. “I would like that, Tamsin.”

The woman nodded, taking Lauren's arm and draping it over hers. They walked the rest of the way to their dorm unhindered, stopping at the grocer to pick up a twenty pack- Tamsin continuously saying a six would just not do- getting inside and taking turns changing into pajamas. Pizza came soon after, and both women curled up in bed. The blue vibrator was replaced with the twenty pack, and Lauren was the one that chose the movie.

“The Stuff?” Tamsin asked through a mouthful of pizza.

“You are in for a treat!”

Tamsin surely was, and even through frustrated questions that were never answered and the woman beside her laughing at random parts of the movie, she had to admit the night turned out quite alright. And she would think between drinking and stealing glances at the woman next to her, who was so engrossed in the movie to even notice, she wouldn't trade it for the world.

#Copdoc #Lauren Lewis #Lost Girl #Tamsin #Tamsin Malikov #fanfiction #Tyra writes Copdoc #Tyra writes fanfiction #oh look that domestic Copdoc I was crying about earlier #I'm so tired #I don't even know if half of this is even coherent buuuuut hope y'all enjoy #time to pass out

[may85]

Event: Emergency Fluff Content @jeffreydeanmorganrarechar Title: First Kiss Character: Erastus "Deaf" Smith AU/Modern TV: Texas Rising Warnings: None! Photo/GIF credits go to the original maker/owner Erastus “Deaf” Smith paced the waiting room at Dr. Y/N Michaels Veterinarian office. His horse, Merribelle had a run in with the towns trouble makers. They had stolen her for a ride on the many acres of land that he owned, only for Merribelle to end up with multiple wounds from some barbed wire. Erastus, as you could tell by his nickname, was deaf, so he never heard the youngin’s come onto his property. Merribelle was his last animal that was tied to his late wife, Lupe. She had passed from stage 4 ovarian cancer, leaving her precious horse as the only memory for Erastus. Even though he had photos of Lupe around the house, he had started to forget what she sounded, smelt and looked like. Erastus came to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to be coming back two years after the fact. He was ready to move on, to be happy again and he knew Lupe would be proud for him not to dwell on a ghost of the past. Twirling his cowboy hat in his long fingers, he turned to walk across the floor again, only to bump into Y/N. “I'm sorry!” he apologized, his voice deep because of his lack of hearing. Y/N held onto his arms, laughing softly. He could hear it, but it sounded slightly distant to his damaged eardrums. “It's okay, Deaf,” He had to close his eyes at the sound of her voice. “Erastus?” “Hmmm?” he opened his eyes to find her frowning. “You okay?” she signed. He realized that he still held her arms in his hands. Clearing his throat, his gave a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “I'm alright, Y/N. Thank you,” She smiled and nodded. Fidgeting with his hat, he felt like running, “Um, would you mind stopping by to check on Merribelle?” He could tell the second that Dr. Michaels made an appearance. “Yes of course. Is she having any problems?” God, he felt like an ass for the lie he was about to tell, “One of the cuts is looking somewhat angry,” Y/N checked her watch and looked back up at him, “Let me finish with my last patient and then I'll stop by,” Deaf slipped his hat back onto his head and tipped his hat at her, “Thanks Y/N. See you in a bit,” Y/N waved and headed off to finish her job. He hoped like hell that all this went according to plan. °°°°°° It had been a long time since Deaf had to woo a woman. Not that he stopped once he had Lupe, but the newness of it all made him jittery. He fiddled with the collar of his black button up shirt, then his black vest. The steady thumping of his heart fluttering rushed to his ears, making him swallow multiple times. At the sound of a loud neigh, Erastus turned and found Merribelle with her head sticking through the window of his bedroom. He clicked his tongue, making the horse neigh again as she bounced her head up and down happily. “C'mon girl. Let's get you back into the barn,” he coaxed, taking off his jacket so it wouldn't get dirty. Merribelle wiggled her lips and pulled her head from the window. Just as Deaf had Merribelle near the barn, he saw Y/N’s black Ford truck pull into the driveway. Once again the blood and thumping rushed to his ears as he watched her jump down from the truck, her black medical bag in hand. Her beauty showed even more out in the setting sunlight. The wind was still gusty, blowing her hair to one side as she neared him. Y/N wore a blue and pink plaid button up, jeans and sneakers. Her makeup stayed the same; barely there, with her glasses perched on her nose. From the roar of the breeze he couldn't hear her. So when she signed, he returned the gesture and she followed him into the barn. “Hooo!” Y/N laughed, fixing her hair, “that wind is picking up,” Deaf smiled, grabbing a carrot and feeding it to Merribelle. Y/N walked around the horse, her brows pinched as she couldn't find any angry wounds on the animal. “I thought you said she wasn't fairing well?” Y/N questioned. Jesus, was it hot in here all of a sudden? “Y/N, I-,” Immediately she came over to him and rubbed his arms, “What's the matter Deaf?” He rubbed his sweaty brow and blew out a puff of air. “Would… would you have dinner with me?” he asked, lowly. All wrinkles disappeared as her face went slack. Slowly, when the worry was starting to eat away at him, she smiled softly. “Are you asking me out on a date, Erastus?” He blushed, “Yes Ma’am,” Gathering up the gumption, he took a deep breath, “It would be a great honor to have your company, Y/N,” Shock filled her features at his thoughtfulness. Just as bashful, she put some hair behind her ear, “I'd like that very much, Deaf,” Holding out his arm, Y/N grabbed ahold of it as he led her from the barn. °°°°°° Dinner was enjoyed in a comfortable silence, shy smiles and hand holding making the experience all the more better. They both washed the dishes and cleaned up and Deaf was ready to further the date. “Care to watch a movie?” Y/N raised a brow, “Ohhh, pulling out all the stops, I see,” He nodded, his dimples deepening, “I'm trying, yes.” Y/N laughed, “Then yes, I'd love to watch a movie,” A Mel Brooks classic, Young Frankenstein, was chosen. Deaf sat on the end of the couch and felt rather bold when he patted the spot next to him. “I could never say no to you,” she giggled, cuddling into his side. They both sighed as he started the movie; making sure that he had the subtitles on. At the point in the movie when Igor appeared, Y/N began to laugh. Deaf watched her and felt the vibrations of her laughter as she laughed again at one of the jokes. He couldn't help himself. Cupping her cheek, he turned her head towards his, softly placing his lips over hers. Her smile faded, her laughter turning into a soft whimper as he kissed her. Deaf took his time tasting her lips, using gentle pulls and soft caresses. Pulling back slowly and their noses touching, Deaf opened his eyes, running his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Deaf?” his name left her on a whisper as she blinked her eyes. “Yes?” He watched her mouth as she spoke since it came out as a whisper. “Kiss me again,” He smiled, obliging Y/N’s wish. Tagging: @thedeadmost @krissy25 @fancybubble @superprincesspea @cherieann-2001 @darshaya @ladylorelitany @ali-pennell @wadeyourebarelyalive @fangirlindenial @negans-dirty-girl @smuttwd @justacaliforniandreamer @piilow-talk @pan-and-proud-writes @memphisgirl1977 @5sos1dsex @deviousginga @strangersangel9 @mogaruke @crzcorgi @siobhan-elizabeth @thecynicalnerd @cookiemunster10 @laureng-99 @danleto97 @miss-nori85 @rhysiecupcakes @texasgal2222 @magikat409 @jmackie1983 @sweatersandcaffeine @andillica @brandivstheworld @persephinii666 @jasoncrouse @rushernparadise @ferpyferp @neganscatleesi @lynnliciousadnan @astrangegirlsmind @kitcat44 @daintyunicorn @warriorqueen1991 @kellyn1604 @raspberrypuddle @zombeeegurl @shanaatjelove11 @arrow-dactyl @bebe-a7x1369 @sweetsweetpeach @prurose @--countrygurl-- @king-mcnaughty-negan @asshatry @lucifer-azrael @robertdowneyjr-rdj @gloria1995 @muldaaah @intimeandspacewithyou @meanandshallow @badsongwinchester @daddymenrah @mac5323 @a-queen-and-her-throne @thewew @tssweets @jdmfanfiction

#Deaf #jeffrey dean morgan #Erastus Smith #texas rising

[yukinokoe]

Flowers on the Windowsill (Gladnis)

Read on AO3

Summary: One day when Ignis is cleaning the parlor of the Lucius Caelum manor, he sees a handsome gardener and immediately falls in love.

Features Butler!Ignis and Gardener!Gladio. Enjoy!

The first time Ignis noticed him, he was humming.

Ignis had been cleaning the front parlor, dusting the grand bookcase across from the wide open window overlooking the front lawn when he heard it: a slow, sweet melody that was offset by the low, graveled voice that hummed it. It took Ignis by surprise even though it shouldn’t have. He wasn’t the only one working for the Lucian prince after all. Yet, he whipped his head around, looking for the source.

His eyes fell on a large figure outside of the window. The man was hunched over, And Ignis could only see the top of his head and the wide expanse of his shoulders. “Just the gardener,” Ignis thought, shedding his worry. Yet, his eyes lingered, drawn in by the song like a ship to a siren. The gardener rose up to stretch, and Ignis’s heart nearly stopped.

The gardener was a bear of a man, tall and muscular with a broad chest and chiseled jawline. As he stretched, the buttons of his green shirt strained against his pectorals. His rolled-up sleeves showed the hint of a black tattoo etched into his muscular arms. He was – for lack of a better term – built, Ignis thought before glancing up to take in the man’s face. The gardener lifted his cap and wiped an arm against his forehead. He was drenched in sweat, but that didn’t take away from his good looks. He had a strong brow and deep caramel-colored eyes. Caramel-colored eyes that were looking right at him.

Oh.

The man on the other side of the parlor window smirked, his lips curling with amusement. He gave a two-fingered wave to Ignis. “Hey,” he said, his voice rich, deep, and rough, fitting his appearance like a leather glove.

Ignis offered a shaky wave back, a slight redness creeping up his neck. “Hello,” he replied, trying to keep his voice calm.

“You’re Noct’s butler, yeah?” the gardener asked, leaning against the window ledge. “I’ve seen you around. What’s your name?”

“Ignis,” he responded quietly, his mouth dry.

“Sorry, what was that?” the man on the other side of the window asked. “Didn’t hear ya.”

“Ignis. My name is Ignis Stupeo Sciencia,” Ignis replied, louder this time but his mouth just as dry. “You’re correct. I am the prince’s personal butler.”

The gardener smiled even wider. “Ignis, huh? Suits you. I’m Gladiolus Amicitia, but call me Gladio.”

“Gladio…” Ignis repeated, letting the name linger against his lips. “Your name suits you as well.”

A handsome name for a handsome man.

Gladio grinned again. He opened his mouth to say something, but a voice from across the lawn called out, “Quit slacking, Gladio! I’ve seen snails that move faster than you do!”

Gladio looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice and groaned. He looked back at Ignis and tipped his cap, saying with a smile, “Duty calls. I’ll see you around, Ignis.”

He rushed off before Ignis had a chance to say anything more. The butler watched as Gladio retreated across the lawn to catch up with whoever was calling to him. Ignis sighed deeply, letting himself take in the larger man’s beautiful form. Once Gladio had disappeared from view, Ignis turned around, returning to his cleaning.

When he turned back towards the window, there was no sign of Gladio. Instead, there were several small white camellia flowers scattered along the windowsill. Ignis smiled, gathered them into a bunch, and put them in a small round vase on the side table.

Two days later, Ignis caught sight of Gladio by the window again. Today, he wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing more of the intricate black tattoo that crawled down his shoulders. Ignis could now see that they were feathers, strong and formidable as the man they adorned. Gladio was trimming the hedge just below the window, carefully pruning unruly leaves. Ignis couldn't help but stare. There was an artistry to Gladio’s methods that Ignis appreciated – at least, that’s what he told himself – when he realized he had been staring for a solid minute.

Gladio glanced up from his work and immediately noticed Ignis through the window. He smiled and rapped on the window, offering a little wave. Ignis waved back and opened the parlor window. “I didn’t mean to disturb you from your work, Gladio. I was simply intrigued by how you manage to keep the shrubbery looking so precise.”

Gladio smiled, rubbing the back of his head in a mildly embarrassed gesture. “It’s nothin’ special. Just doing my job. From what Noct tells me, you do some pretty impressive stuff yourself, Ignis.”

Ignis was taken aback. “Noct speaks of me to you?” he asked, his eyebrows raising. “Goodness. I’m afraid to ask what he’s mentioned to you.”

Gladio laughs. “Nothing embarrassing. He says you’re a pretty good cook. Says you make the best desserts outside of Tennebrae.”

“Well that’s the first time I’ve heard that,” Ignis snorted. “He does nothing but criticize my cooking to me.”

Gladio laughs again. His laughter is deep and warm and filled with deep sincerity that made every other laugh Ignis had ever heard seem fake in comparison. “Noct’s just like that. But hell, the fact that he’s even talking about you to someone like me really does say something about how much he looks up to you.”

Ignis fumbled with his hands, looking down to hide the pink that tinged his cheeks. “That really does make me feel quite special. Thank you for telling me.”

“No problem,” Gladio responded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the windowsill. “So, about those desserts. You wouldn’t happen to have any lying around, would you? I’ve heard so much about them that I’m pretty curious.”

“Do you really think that someone like Noctis would leave any leftover dessert?” Ignis smiled soberly, “That boy will devour anything other than vegetables. No matter how hard I try…” The disappointment on the Gladio’s face flashed onto his features. Ignis felt a slight pang of guilt in his chest for not immediately offering baked goods. “But I can certainly make extras for you. It’s no trouble.”

Gladio’s expression perked up. “You’d do that? I’d like that a lot!” His grin was shining so brightly that Ignis couldn’t help but return the smile. “Same time tomorrow then? If it’s not too soon.”

“Tomorrow is fine by me,” Ignis responded, stifling a laugh at Gladio’s puppy-like exuberance towards the promise of a homemade treat.

Gladio picked up his shears and said, “Tomorrow then. I’ll be looking forward to it.” He walked away, bouncing excitedly with every step, a big grin plastering his face. But a few steps in, he turned and walked back to the window, going back to clipping the hedges. “I got so excited, I forgot I wasn’t even done here,” he said, laughing sheepishly.

For the first time in a long time, Ignis let out a deep, sincere laugh. He turned away, leaving Gladio to his work, returning to his own duties, all the while, thinking of Gladio and what dessert he would make that night.

When Ignis returned to the parlor, Gladio had left, leaving behind neatly trimmed hedges and a small bundle of blue salvia flowers on the window ledge where the camellias had been before.

Two hours had passed, and Ignis still hadn’t decided what to make for Gladio.

He could have made a three-course meal in the time it took him just to decide what dessert to make.

Ignis felt a bit silly being so particular about a simple dessert for the gardener he had only met twice, but deep down, he wanted the experience to be perfect. Ignis was a perfectionist to fault, which led him to being hunched over the wide marble island in the center of the manor’s kitchen, scribbling and almost immediately crossing out any idea that came to his head in his small grey notebook.

Two loud sets of footsteps approached the kitchen, accompanied by loud, familiar chatter. “Oh, hey Ignis!” Noctis’s golden-haired friend called out in his loud and musical voice. “Whatcha workin’ on over there?”

Noctis and Prompto circled on either side of him, trying to glance over the young butler’s shoulder at the notepad. Ignis sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing them on the hem of his crisp black jacket. “If you must intrude, I’m trying to decide what to bake for dessert.”

“That’s a lot of X’s,” Noctis remarked, his eyes scanning down the page. “What’s the celebration?”

“Nothing in particular,” Ignis said, trying not to give away too much to the nosy crown prince and his equally curious friend. “One of the staff members expressed interest in my baking. I simply thought it would be an amicable gesture to offer something for their interest.”

Prompto and Noctis looked at the list and at each other, as though they could communicate telepathically. Noctis smiled and leaned forward beside Ignis. “He must be cute if you’re putting this much work into it.”

Ignis’s ears burned as Noctis looked over the list, completely aware of how much he had made Ignis feel embarrassed. “T-that’s none of your concern,” Ignis stammered, hands clenched against the marble ledge.

“Sure it is,” Noctis responded casually, flipping through the pages of the notebook. Prompto leaned forward, glancing over the list in Noctis’s hand. He let out a small hum and pointed to one of the recipe ideas. “What about this one?” he asked, leaning forward to get a better look at what was actually written on the page. “It’s the only one on the whole list that hasn’t been marked out. What does that say? Who even writes in cursive anymore? Cliff – cliffon – oh, chiffon cake?” Sounds fancy.”

Ignis glanced over at the notebook in Noctis’s hands. Sure enough, among a sea of crossed out desserts was a single, unblemished idea. He knew why: chiffon cake was easily one of his favorite cakes – light and fluffy with the subtlest sweetness. Ignis could feel his stomach purr at the thought of a chiffon cake. But would Gladio even like it? Gladio didn’t really seem like the type to go for “light and airy”. His eyebrows furrowed as he debated internally, weighing the pros with all the potential cons. “Um, hello? Earth to Ignis? You okay there, buddy?” Prompto asked, waving his hands in front of Ignis’s eyes. “You’re totally zoning out man.”

“My apologies,” Ignis responded, snapping back to reality. “I suppose I did get lost in my own thoughts.”

Noctis leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, and looked up at Ignis with a knowing gaze. “You should totally make chiffon cake. It’s one of your favorites, right? If you’re this worried about what to make, the person you’re making it for must be someone you want to impress. You should share stuff you like with people like that. And besides,” he continued, smirking cheekily, jamming his thumb against his chest, “This important person could totally go for some chiffon cake.”

“Nooooct!” Prompto groaned, elbowing his friend roughly as if he wasn’t the Lucian crown prince. “You’re shameless!”

As the two boys laughed and proceeded to prod and tease each other, Ignis exhaled with a soft smile before pulling out his book of recipes and flipping to a familiar page.

Ignis showed up thirty minutes before he and Gladio were supposed to meet. He fidgeted slightly, looking over at the tray of chiffon cakes, neatly decorated with creamy frosting and strawberries. He continued to glance towards the window as though looking would somehow make the time go by faster. Based on the grandfather clock by the parlor door, it seemed to have quite the opposite effect.

How could only five minutes have passed? It feels like I’ve been sitting here for hours…

He calmly reminded himself that he was early and lifted off the couch to at least do something with his hands to pass the time. He strode over to the bookcase and searched for a book: just something to read to pass the time.

“I recommend Essences and Permutations. Don’t let the cover fool you. It’s actually pretty interesting.”

Ignis nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the familiar voice behind him. He turned slowly towards the window, locking eyes with none other than the man he had been waiting for – twenty-five minutes early, no less. Ignis tried to hide his excitement with a small smile and said, “Oh? You consider yourself the book connoisseur?”

Gladio hooked his arms through the window, striking a brilliant contrast to the white windowsill with his black-inked arms and dark grey shirt. He was smiling lazily back at Ignis, loose and easy with no discernable care in the world. “You could say that. It might be presumptuous of me, but I’d be willing to wager that I’ve read more books than even you have, Iggy.”

“Iggy?” Ignis responded to the nickname, unsure of what to make of it.

“You got a problem with nicknames?” Gladio asked, resting his palm against his jaw. “I think it suits you.”

Ignis flushed, his heart pounding down to his fingertips. “I-if you think so, then I can’t say I’m completely opposed to the nickname.”

“Cool,” Gladio said softly, glancing at the book in Ignis’s hands. “So, what are you reading? I might have read it.”

Ignis glanced down at the book in his hands. He had read the book before: a stunning blue and gold copy of Cosmogony that detailed the history of legends from the Lucius Caelum history. He raised the book to show the cover to Gladio, “I’ve already read this one: many times in fact. Surely a self-proclaimed book connoisseur has read this.”

The smile on Gladio’s face widened, showing his pearly white teeth. “Of course. Everyone in the three continents has read that one.”

“Everyone except for Prince Noctis,” Ignis responded coyly. “The only way he’d read it is if I attached it to the end of a fishing pole.”

Gladio laughed, just as sincerely and warmly as he had during their past meeting. “Noct really is a piece of work. Whoever has to take care of him must really have their work cut out for them.”

Ignis smiled knowingly, “Oh, I’m sure he manages somehow.”

They both looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into roaring laughter. Gladio clutched his chest from laughing so hard, and Ignis removed his glasses to wipe away the tears in the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard. When their laughter died down into soft chuckles, Gladio stammered through laughs, “Damn. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. I think I just used muscles I didn’t know I had!”

“Now that’s just absurd, Gladio,” Ignis smiled. “You seem to be well acquainted with all of your muscles.”

Gladio didn’t shy away from the compliment. Instead he grinned and flexed his right arm, letting his bicep swell and recede with every pump of his wrist. “Huh, guess you’re right. This arm and I are basically best friends. Don’t tell the left arm though. I think it’d get jealous.”

Ignis snorted in response, settling down in the chair by the windowsill. “I brought cake for you to try. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made something simple that I thought you’d enjoy no matter what your dessert preferences may be.”

Gladio’s eyes sparkled as Ignis handed him a plate. “My dessert preference is pretty much ‘there for my consumption’, but this looks amazing!” He waited until Ignis had a plate for himself before cutting off a piece of cake with his fork and shoving it into his mouth. Gladio froze for a moment before practically melting into the window ledge. “Iggy, this is amazing! It tastes so good! I’m at a loss for words that aren’t good and amazing because it’s just that good and amazing!”

Gladio wolfed down another bite (more like half the cake), and smiled with crinkling eyes. “You really are an amazing baker! Noct was so right. Guess I have to give him credit for something. Damn! I need to stop talking because talking means I’m not eating.”

Ignis felt like he was smiling so much that his face hurt. He hadn’t touched his own cake, rather contented to simply watch Gladio enjoy his own slice. His heart was positively soaring with joy that Gladio liked the cake so much. The gardener was scraping the bottom of the plate with his fork, trying to get every scrap of cake and frosting. Ignis held out his own plate to Gladio, whose eyes bugged out. “Iggy, I couldn’t…”

“There’s still more cake in the kitchen. I can have another slice later. Please, take it,” Ignis lied, pushing the cake further towards Gladio. The gardener hesitated for only a moment before taking the cake with a simple, “Thanks, Iggy.”

“It’s no trouble.”

Gladio got through half of the cake before setting the plate down, looking up at Ignis with hopeful eyes. “Can we do this again? It doesn’t have to be cake next time. I’d try anything you made.”

Ignis smiled softly, “Certainly.”

They continued to chat at the window: about food, work, books, Prince Noctis – anything really. They would have stayed there for hours if Gladio hadn’t been called away, scolded for slacking off work again. Gladio sighed and looked up at Ignis. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Ignis responded, kneeling by the window. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ignis watched Gladio walk away, slouched over as he headed towards his supervisor. He sighed, looking longingly at Gladio – the way his hair fell against his shoulders, the curve of his elbow as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, the way his jeans clung so perfectly to his backside. Ignis’s face burned. He truly was smitten with the attractive gardener. He turned around before Gladio had a chance to look back and notice how red the butler’s face had probably become, stacking the practically clean dishes onto the tray. He pressed his gloved hands against his face, feeling his cheeks’ radiating warmth. “What am I doing?” he asked himself, his face still cradled in his hands. “This is probably a foolish endeavor.”

He took the tray back to the kitchen and continued his duties for the day. When he passed the parlor later that afternoon, he noticed a spot of red on the windowsill. Waiting for him was a single red tulip.

The next day was unusually hot.

Ignis had removed his jacket and rolled up his crisp white sleeves. The usually open windows of the parlor were closed to keep the manor cool, but Ignis wanted so much to open the window for the one person he desired to see. He tried not to get his hopes too high up as he cleaned the parlor tables, but kept glancing towards the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair or tanned skin, but no such luck. Ignis sunk into one of the plush seats of the parlor and looked through the window. He admired Gladio’s immaculate shrubs along the window and the pink peonies that decorated the walkway surrounding the elegant fountain. His eyes followed the walkway, taking in the white irises and lavender and the daylilies that hadn’t yet bloomed. All these flowers had been cared for by Gladio. All touched by his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure hunched over, digging into the sprinkler system. Gladio wore only a black tank top, his face drenched in sweat. Ignis pitied him and he knew he should have rushed to the kitchen and gotten the gardener a glass of water or lemonade or something, but he couldn’t help but stare longingly at Gladio. Ignis licked his lips and scooted towards the window, watching longingly as Gladio worked, muscles straining as he worked to repair a part of the sprinkler. He stretched, pushing his hair back from his face, breathing heavily from the heat. Ignis’s heart was pounding as he watched Gladio reach behind himself, lifting the shirt from his back and pulling it up and over his head, giving his uninvited guest an unobstructed view of his sculpted chest and abdominals. Ignis felt his whole body burn with want and shame, knowing he shouldn’t be staring but unable to pull his eyes away. He drank in the gardener’s body as Gladio wiped his face with his shirt. Gladio slung the tank top over his shoulder and went back to work, completely unaware of his spectator.

Ignis slumped down, his back to the window. He breathed in, begging his heart to slow down and hoping the redness in his cheeks wasn’t too apparent. He was ashamed of himself for his actions. Surely Gladio would consider him a pervert for his behavior. But despite his indignity, he had no regrets.

“Iggy?” a muffled voice asked from above and behind him. “What are you doing down there?”

The butler looked up and came face to face with the man he had just been admiring, still sweaty from his work and still, much to Ignis’s chagrin, bare-chested. Ignis swallowed thickly even though his mouth felt as dry as a Leiden summer. “Oh, erm, hello Gladio. It’s quite hot today, isn’t it?”

Gladio hummed in response, still looking at Ignis. “You don’t look so good. Do you need me to get someone to help you? I’d come in myself, but I’m kinda gross right now. Wouldn’t want to make extra work for you.”

“N-no, no! It’s fine!” Ignis stammered, rising up to face Gladio. He pushed open the window, letting cold air rush out of the parlor. Gladio exhaled in pleasure as the air hit him like a much-needed breeze, rolling back his head to give Ignis an ample view of the column of his neck and puffed-out pectorals. “Damn, feels good,” he grunted in pleasure, blissfully unaware of what he was doing to Ignis. “I haven’t had a chance to get some air all afternoon. It’s been unbearably hot today.”

“Indeed. Unbearably hot,” Ignis responded, trying not to make his attraction obvious.

“Hey, you wouldn’t mind grabbing some water for me, would you?” Gladio asked, hunching over the window. “I feel like I’ve sweated out all the water in my body. If you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ignis said abruptly. “Wait one moment.”

He rushed from the room to grab water for Gladio, ducking into the kitchen. He grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge and hurried back to the parlor. The gardener perked up when he returned and took the bottle enthusiastically from Ignis’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, Iggy. I thought I was gonna die there for a second.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” Ignis responded. “With you gone, who would bury the body?”

Gladio snorted and unscrewed the lid to the water bottle, drinking it with no expense for grace. Water dripped from the sides of his mouth and into his beard, down his neck, and into the cleft of his chest.

Oh gods.

Gladio let out a satisfied noise and screwed the lid back onto the bottle. “That hit the spot. What would I do without you, Iggy?”

“I’m sure you’d figure out something. You’ve managed well enough so far.”

“Yeah, I guess. But this past week has just been better,” Gladio said wistfully.

The silence between the two men was palpable. Gladio seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Ignis was lost in Gladio. He absolutely felt the same way about spending time with Gladio. He was much happier when the man was around and looked forward to seeing him every day. It was like a friendship, but different. It was so much more. Better.

Love.

Gladio took another swig from his water bottle and looked at Ignis. “Hey, have you… have you been getting my messages?”

“Messages?” Ignis asked, unsure of what Gladio was talking about.

“Nevermind,” Gladio stammered, quick to respond. “It’s nothing.”

“If you insist,” Ignis said, a bit disappointed.

Gladio hesitated for a moment, the look in his eyes saying that it most certainly was not nothing. “I, uh, I gotta get going. I still have to finish fixing a sprinkler. And you know how the boss likes to ride my ass about slacking off. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Of course. Any time, Gladio,” Ignis responded, sadness ebbing into his words with longing for Gladio not to leave.

Gladio waved goodbye, slowly backing away without turning around. He looked like he wanted to say something, and Ignis wished he would. Anything to hear his voice and prevent them from parting, even if just for a moment. But Gladio turned around and walked away wordlessly.

When Ignis came back to the parlor in the evening doing his final check of the house, he noticed the water bottle he had given Gladio with flowers Ignis had never seen before swaying softly in the evening breeze.

“Hey, Ignis,” Noctis asked, lounging on the sofa in the parlor on a lazy Sunday afternoon. “What’s with all the flowers?”

Ignis, who had been reading in the company of the prince, glanced around the room. Every flower that had been left on the windowsill for him was in a vase in the parlor. “Do you not like having some greenery in the house, Noct? I thought they would bring some color to the room.”

Noctis glanced over at the white camellias, eyebrows raised. “Sure, color. But seriously, what’s the deal with the astilbe in the water bottle? It’s kinda weird.”

Ignis closed his book and looked up at Noctis who was glancing over at the flowers Gladio had left for him yesterday. “Astilbe? How did you know what type of flowers those are?”

The prince shrugged, settling back down onto the couch. “I hang out with Gladio sometimes. That guy knows everything about flowers. Their names, their meanings, when they bloom…”

Their meanings.

“Have you been getting my messages?”

Suddenly, everything made sense.

“That’s it!” Ignis shouted, shooting up out of his chair and letting the book on his lap topple to the floor. Noctis jumped slightly in his seat at Ignis’s sudden movement. “How could I have been so foolish?” He muttered to himself, rushing to the bookshelf and running a finger over the spines of each book. “Surely there must… Where would it be… Ah!”

He pulled out a thick book titled Encyclopedia of Plants and Flowers of the Three Continents and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Gladio has been sending me messages through the flowers.”

Now was Noctis’s turn to sit up. “Gladio? You and Gladio?” Something clicked in Noctis’s brain. “So the other day when you made that cake, it was for Gladio?” Ignis responded with a not, flipping through pages of the book with fervent concentration. “Wow. For someone as smart as you, you can be pretty blind when it comes to relationships.”

Ignis’s eyes widened. “Are you implying…”

“Ignis,” Noctis groaned. “He gave you flowers.”

“I presumed he was simply being friendly!”

“Oh my god, Ignis.”

Ignis finally found the page for astilbe and traced his finger down the page until he found what he was looking for, “Meaning,” he read aloud, “I’ll still be waiting.” Ignis looked at Noctis, who had seated himself on the floor next to Ignis. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you’re supposed to look at them in order? Which one did he give you first?” Noct asked, shifting to get a better look at the book.

“The camellias,” Ignis answered, flipping forward a few sections until he landed on the page for camellias. “Let’s see… Generally, camellias represent good luck to men along with gratitude, perfection, and contentment. However, different colored camellias have different meanings. See the table below.” Ignis looked at the table and spotted the entry for white camellias, “White camellias: you’re… adorable.” Ignis’s mouth opened and closed, somewhat unsure of what to make of the statement. “Gladio thinks I’m adorable?”

Noct, now heavily invested in searching for the flower meanings, tapped Ignis lightly on the face. “Keep going. What was next?”

“The salvia,” Ignis said, flipping far forward in the book to the “S” section. “There’s another table. Let’s see, blue salvia: wisdom, thinking of you.”

“Holy shit,” Noctis breathed, flipping through the pages of the book before Ignis had even fully let the meaning sink in. “We have to check the last one. The red tulip, right?”

Ignis nodded. His mind was cloudy and buzzing with excitement. He couldn’t believe that Gladio thought about him and put so much heart and meaning into the flowers he left for Ignis. His heart and stomach were leaping and turning and wanted so much to see Gladio and return the sentiments he had left in the flowers.

“Ignis,” Noctis whispered, shocked at what he had found. “Look at this.”

Noctis turned the book towards Ignis, pointing to the table where the red tulip’s meaning was written.

Red tulip: declaration of love.

Ignis was in complete shock. Gladio loved him? He truly loved him? It wasn’t just some mistake? He wasn't trying to give meaning to things that didn’t have a meaning? Surely not: Noctis said that Gladio knew all of the flowers’ meanings. And it made sense, what with all the other flowers’ meanings. His mind flickered back to all the times they had met: all the times they had shared. Everything just made sense and felt right.

“Ignis,” Noctis said softly, breaking the silence between them, “You have to tell him how you feel. And don’t even say that you don’t feel the same way! I know you too well, dude.”

“Yeah,” Ignis responded, his hand pressed against the pages of the book. “I know exactly how I’ll do it.”

When Ignis arrived at the parlor, Gladio was already at the window. He looked a little more kempt than usual in a soft grey shirt with a black t-shirt underneath. He looked up and smiled when Ignis walked into the parlor and leaned up against the ledge of the window. “Hey Iggy. Nice weather today.”

“Indeed it is,” Ignis responded. “You look quite nice today, Gladio.”

Gladio rubbed his nose, smearing a bit of dirt across it. “Thanks. That’s a nice compliment from someone who always looks immaculate.”

Ignis smiled softly. “I got your message.”

Gladio froze, but didn’t show any signs of sheepishness. “Oh? What’d you think?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand,” Ignis instructed, a coy smile creeping onto his lips.

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Gladio obeyed, closing his eyes tightly so his brows furled and his nose wrinkled. Ignis dipped down and picked up the flower he had prepared. It was velvety purple and felt soft in his hands as he pressed it against Gladio’s work-work palm. His hand lingered against Gladio’s, savoring the touch for just that moment. “Alright, open your eyes.”

Gladio opened his eyes and looked down into his hands. His mouth opened and closed, his eyes unblinking with shock and, Ignis hoped, joy. He shakily smiled, looking up into Ignis’s seafoam green eyes. “Ambrosia,” he whispered, gazing longingly at the purple flower in his hand.

“I’m guessing you understand its meaning then?” Ignis asked, leaning forward against the windowsill.

Gladio nodded. “Requited love.”

“That’s correct.”

They stood still for just a brief moment, looking at each other with knowing eyes. Ignis wasn’t sure who moved first. They hadn’t said anything. They simply moved towards each other, their heads meeting through the window, lips pressed together softly. Simply. It was as if, for just this moment, there was no one else in the world but them, surrounded by flowers and bushes and framed by the wide parlor window.

#fanfiction #my work #final fantasy xv #gladnis #gladiolus amicitia #ignis stupeo scientia