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gucciwins · 2 years

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a midnight kiss

harry decides to make a move before the clock strikes midnight

A/N: hi friends! nothing better to end and start the year with is a new story. something short and sweet for you all to enjoy. love you!!! catch me at midnight running around my house with my suitcase :D

Word count: 2182

Losing her friends minutes before the clock struck twelve had Y/N nervous. She was comfortable being alone, but only in an environment she enjoyed. She enjoyed the library, which had the best reading spot on the third floor down a back corner that allowed her to stay seated all day. There was also her brother’s tattoo shop, where she sat behind the counter greeting new customers, always excited when they showed off a new piercing or new tattoo. There were few places, and tonight she was feeling lost in the crowd of unknown strangers.

Y/N began to push through the crowd hoping to make it to the patio doors outside, happy to ring in new year’s alone, staring up at the moon than with drunk strangers. What Y/N didn’t realize was that someone had their eye on her all night, working up the courage to talk to her. He had seen her around, how she laughed at her friend's jokes and always searching for a hand to hold.

Seeing her head outside, he knew it was a moment he couldn’t miss out on. Harry wouldn’t want her ringing in the new year alone.

“Not cold?”

Y/N turns when she hears a voice fill the silence. She squints her eyes until he sets into the light, the moonlight bouncing off his face allowing her to get a good look at him.

It’s Harry.

She had seen him multiple times at the tattoo shop. She always gushed over his new pieces. Telling him which were her favorite tattoos he had but never offered more than a half smile.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s just me.”

She remembers she never answered his question. “I like the cold.”

As Harry steps closers, he can see the goosebumps on her arms and begins to shrug off his coat and place it over Y/N without giving her a choice. “Just because you like it doesn’t mean you should endure it.”

Y/N tucks her head down, biting back a smile at Harry’s kindness. “Thank you.”

Harry looks at the sky and knows it will light up with fireworks in minutes. London never did shy away from a big display to ring in the new year.

“What’s your new year’s resolution?”

Y/N giggles, “didn’t take you for the type to have one of those, Harry.”

He shrugs, bumping his arm into hers, “when you really mean them, then I reckon you’ll do anything to make it happen.”

She takes a second to think it over and knows he’s right. There have been a few years since Y/N followed through with her resolution. When she was younger, she promised she wouldn’t curse anymore, and three days in, her brother changed her shampoo to pink hair dye, and she cursed at him like a sailor. There was also the year she swore she’d go to the gym consistently, promising to get a membership that was rubbish. Two years ago, her resolution was to connect more with herself and get into yoga. She learned new poses and meditation with each class, leaving with newfound confidence and friends. Last year, her resolution was to take on new adventures, leading her to Mexico for a research opportunity. A professor urged her to apply, and off she went. Y/N also visited Iceland over a long holiday, where she went on her first of many solo trips. Now, this year Y/N had an idea of what she wanted but was a bit bashful to share it with Harry, who had only ever spoken a handful of words with at most.

“Think mine’s rather silly then.”

Harry shakes his head, “don’t believe it.”

Y/N sighs, “will you tell me yours?”

“Promise.”

It’s good enough for Y/N.

“I want to get a tattoo,” she mumbles.

Y/N turns her head to see Harry’s reaction. He has a pout on his lips, and Y/N wishes she could kiss it away. Sue her. She has a crush on Harry. He visits the shop frequently; how could she forget him, there’s always a new tattoo being added to his left arm, and she wonders if there are more she doesn’t even know about.

“Your brother owns Sunflower Ink.” Harry states. “Why hasn’t he?”

She shakes her head, trying to find the words to explain to Harry why she’s never gotten a tattoo. “He’s drawn me endless sketches, and I love them. I want them on me forever.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Y/N feels her face flush, “because he won’t hold my hand.”

She waits for Harry to start laughing at her, but he doesn’t. He looks down at her pink nails and frowns. He reaches his hand slowly, testing to see if Y/N would stop him, but she doesn't. She is lost in a trance staring at the rings on Harry’s fingers, a silver robin, a lion head, and a pearled ring. The rings seem perfect for Harry, and she wonders if he takes them off each night, thinking about the beauty of each ring only to repeat the cycle tomorrow by slipping them on.

Harry’s warm hand reaches her cold and frowns at the contrast, but it doesn’t stop him. He slips his fingers between the cracks of hers. Y/N stares at where they now stand intertwined, and she smiles because she likes the feeling of his palm in hers.

“Like that?” Harry asks.

“Something like that,” she whispers, still lost in how quickly her body is beginning to warm up due to his added connection to her.

“I’d hold your hand.”

Y/N breaks her gaze from their intertwined hands to look up at him, his emerald eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and she knows he means it.

“You wouldn’t be embarrassed,” she asks.

He shakes his head, “not if I was making you feel safe.”

Y/N lets his offer sink, and she wants to say yes. She’s scared that if she accepts, he’ll say no or that tomorrow he’ll come into the shops and tell her he can’t sit with her while her brother pierces a needle into her skin.

She nods, “I’d need your number to let you know when my appointment is.”

Harry grins, showing her the dimples he’s always kept tucked away, “I can do that.”

“Now?”

He shakes his head, “is it okay if I hold your hand a little longer?”

Y/N is quick to nod her head, making Harry breathe out a laugh at her eagerness. They fall silent once more, no longer caring about the people they came with, too lost in their own world outside the party.

“What–do you want to share your resolution?” Y/N asks with hopeful eyes but knows if he says no, she will understand.

Harry shrugs, squeezing her hand twice before shifting his eyes away from her, “don’t know if it’s a resolution, more of a wish, really.”

Y/N doesn’t push him to share. She wonders what he could want. Harry seems like the guy to have it all. His eyes meet hers again, and she flashes him a comforting smile wanting him to know he’s safe with her.

He lets out a deep breath.

“I want to kiss you,” he confesses.

Y/N can’t hide her surprise. “Harry,” she breathes out.

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable I—”

Harry shuts up when he feels Y/N place a hand on his chest. They’d never been this close. There was always a counter between them.

“I’ve never had a new year’s kiss,” she confesses, sliding her hand up to rest on the back of his neck. Harry gaining courage, slips one hand around her waist, pulling in closer, wanting no space between them.

“Can’t say I have either.” Harry knows it comes as a shock to Y/N, but he thought ringing in the new year with someone had to be special, and there’s no one more special than Y/N.

“You’d be willing to give that to me,” she asks, shocked.

Harry chuckles, “why do you sound surprised?”

Y/N shrugs. His eyes are full of curiosity. “Didn’t think you liked me.”

“Why would you say that, love?”

“Because when I tried to make conversation, you always rushed out the door.”

Harry sighs. He leans his head down to rest against hers. “Because you make me a nervous mess. You sit there in your cute jumpers complimenting my tattoos, telling me how pretty they look on me.”

Y/N smiles, feeling her cheeks heat up at the confession. “Well, you made me think I scared you off.”

“You’re the reason I keep coming back to Sunflower Ink,” he shares. “After my second appointment there, I realized you worked there, and I knew if I kept getting a new tattoo, I’d get you to compliment it after.”

She all but melts into Harry at his confession. She had no idea. He had a crush on her because Y/N felt the same way. All this time, Y/N was trying to grow her relationship with Harry. He'd rush out after leaving a big tip, knowing she got a small part of the tips because she made him nervous. Y/N didn’t think she had that kind of effect on anyone. Her brother told her she brought in customers, but she thought he was supposed to say that. Now Harry is telling her she’s the reason he goes back every time.

“You’ve never needed anyone to hold your hand,” she asks, overwhelmed with all the information Harry had shared.

“Only if you’re offering,” he replies with a cheeky grin.

“Me first,” she promises him.

“I can wait.”

Y/N stares at Harry, admiring his pretty face. When she first met him, he always liked to wear his hair in a bun, and one time he walked in with it down, a scrunchie in his hand, and Y/N thought she’d never recover. Then on Valentine’s Day, Harry walked in wearing a lavender knitted sweater with his hair cut. As Mitch quickly took Harry to his station that day, he spared her a look. She had to leave early for class, never having the chance to tell him how much she loved the new look or what new piece he was getting. She knew with a pretty face like Harry’s, he could pull off any look.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

Y/N bites back a smile at the term of endearment, “About a new year’s kiss.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry teases, “have anyone in mind?”

“Mhmm,” the smile on Harry’s face grows. “But if I were to let him be my new year’s kiss, I don’t know if that kiss would be enough?”

Harry tilts his head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“See, I haven’t had a Valentine’s kiss or St. Patrick’s,” Harry is quick to catch on, and he’s grinning from ear to ear at what she’s proposing.

“I’ve never had a birthday kiss,” he adds.

She smiles, nodding, “when’s that?”

“February 1st.”

“That’s close. Think I’d be special enough to share that with you?”

“You’re the only one I want.”

“If I kiss you tonight, will you promise to give me your birthday kiss?”

Harry lets go of her hand, moving both to cup her face needing to be closer to her. He brings her close, their noses touching. “If you let me kiss you today, I’ll kiss you whenever you ask.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

Faintly, they can hear the countdown begin. Y/N knows what’s coming; she can feel her heart wanting to beat out of her chest, but she’s also calm because she’s excited for what the new year will bring for her.

“Three,” Harry whispers.

“Two,” she feels his breath mix with hers.

“One.”

Harry connects his lips with hers in a deep kiss. Y/N hears the fireworks going off around her, and every part of her feels like she’s exploding. He leads the kiss, and Y/N follows him, never wanting to part, loving the sweet taste of cherry on his lips.

She pulls back slowly, trying to catch her breath, opening her eyes to see Harry’s lip swollen, a cheshire grin on his face, and she knows that 2023 will be a year of kisses and tattoos.

“Happy New Year’s,” she whispers.

“Happy New Year’s, Y/N.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, “can I have another kiss?”

“You can have as many as you like,” she promises.

“Might have to keep you forever, it seems.”

Y/N laughs as she feels Harry slips his arms under her (his) coat to rest on her waist. “I wouldn’t mind at all, Harry.”

“Good. Now come here.”

Y/N grins, their mouths meeting once more, getting lost in the feeling of each other. There’s still so much to learn about one another, but Y/N knows she’s got all the time with Harry.

After all, she did promise him a birthday kiss.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles story #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #fanfiction #harry fic rec #harry story #harry blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry #styles #pleasing #fine line #harry one shot #harry fan fic

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foxes-that-run · 1 year

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End game

Like all Ed features, End Game is Haylor. (Ed, the O.G. Haylor MVP) it was written a few weeks after HS1 was released. Unlike other Rep songs that were revisited and have Joe references, even when they started before they met. In fact the film clip is overtly Haylor. (below) in the BTS (at 1:55) Taylor’s gets text with a scrabble move, she considers, says it is a 'tight game' and decides to leave the other player suspended. Ed blushes.

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When OOTW was released Harry’s IG went B&W for 2 years until he started solo promo, apart from a few scrabble boards (in screaming colour) I have a theory he & Taylor played remotely which is why they are colour and she included this.

Here’s some footage of Joe playing scrabble. ….oh sorry, wait, that’s Harry Styles: fan of Scrabble and texting T Swift. Look at her here in the reputation book with the players names covered.. I wonder why lol

Timeline

Ed Sheeran said he wrote his part in a hotel room in New York. He told Audacy that he went to her RI home and heard Rep then the next day wrote it in a hotel in NY. 14 July 2017. (2 months after HS1’s release) (He was also at Taylors NY Apartment 7 March)

I was playing Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, she has a place in Rhode Island, which isn't too far so she hits me up I go around. She plays me what turned out to be Reputation and End Game and I was like man this is I really like, can I do a verse can I like do a rap verse and she was like yeah for sure. So the next day i kind of I remember I was in bed and sort of woke up and i got my laptop out but the song just looped it and I wrote wrote this verse and I went in with max martin who she did the song with and recorded it and then future the verse and then Taylor wrote a verse and then yeah we shot we shot a video".

Film Clip

The film clip is less subtle in being Haylor, it takes place in:

Miami, where HS and TS hung out at Courtney Cox's house

Tokyo, where HS went on a 1D break as his first trip overseas without the band

London, where Ed, HS and Joe all live.

Haylor Easter eggs:

0:04 the ferris wheel looks like the winding wheel.

0:21 she is a passenger in a car at night

0:44 she wears a very Harry Gucci Jumpsuit

0:48 there is a polaroid

1:10 she is a single kitten mother, except Olivia is in her Rep Era lol

1:20 the 1989 Rolling Stone shoot, now in the dark with fireworks.

2:09 Taylor 'A' Swift wears an "A" shirt see: Harry's A tattoo. (When asked Harry said "uh... for my mum" which Louis said "No it's not not it's for a mystery blonde" (2:40)

2:39 she wears the Red/WANGBT hat and cane. She also wears the jacket from her red rolling stone cover.

3:13 there are 2 white bird statues that look like his chest tattoos.

3.30 she references the 1D One Thing MV bus scene

3:43 she visits this kebab shop, a similar one with a made up but similar name is in the 1D midnight memories MV. This tik tok is also about this being an ex’s kebab shop

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Lyrics

I wanna be your endgame, endgame Big reputation, big reputation Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations, ah And you heard about me, ooh I got some big enemies (yeah) Big reputation, big reputation Ooh, you and me, we'd be a big conversation, ah

HS and TS have both had big reputations as long as they’ve know each other. Now both A-listers dating is a much bigger conversation than one dating anyone else. Her enemies of Scooter and the Kanye are relevant to the music industry.

I don't wanna touch you (I don't wanna be) Just another ex-love (you don't wanna see) I don't wanna miss you (I don't wanna miss you) Like the other girls do

New Years Day Taylor sings “Please don't ever become a stranger, Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere”.

I don't wanna hurt you (I just wanna be) Drinkin' on a beach with (you all over me)

Harry Styles Debut was released May 2017, 6 months before Rep. Harry told Radio 1 he had played it for Ed earlier. The album lays out a lot of hurt between them Taylor may not have known about in that detail. Drinking, beaches and being all over each other are solid Haylor themes, see Video.

I hit you like, "Bang" We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't

Haylor hit like a bang, they met in march, were together almost immediately, he had multiple tattoos that reference her by May and they both had new albums with songs they still perform about each other by October and November. Toe were friends for a long time first and were not yet public.

Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me And I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks So here's the truth from my red lips

There’s a lot of Haylor references here:

They told you I was crazy, I swear I don’t love the drama is a reference to 1989’s Blank Space

I can’t let you go, Handprints on my soul fits is a theme in 1989, MMIH, Stockholm syndrome, ready for it?, Harry’s House.

The truth from my red lips refers to Style, Two Ghosts and other lip related lyrics.

Finally Taylor uses gold to describe HS in Gold Rush: “Everybody wants you, But I don't like a gold rush, What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful?”

#scrabble #haylor #end game #reputation #big reputation #1989 era #song analysis #Lyric analysis

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siena-sevenwits · 22 days

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Coffee or tea? Tea is my go-to and the one that properly has my heart, but coffee is special and indulgent and full of associations (one of my coffee-obsessed characters who got me into liking coffee at all, driving into the city with my mom, solo adventures to the coffee shop to write.)

Early bird or night owl? My brain crashes around 7:30 PM, and then wakes up again properly around 9:30 and stays turned on till frighteningly late - or rather early.

Chocolate or vanilla? Well, chocolate, of course.

Spring or Fall? Fall is all things beautiful. It is the very shortest season where I live, but it is the real New Year. My birthday, my new school year, my fresh motivation.

Silver or gold - You are gold / You are all I see / You are aurum scarce and meant for kings...

Pop or alternative - I like both! Tough pick. I often have trouble knowing exactly where the line is, especially with all the indie folk I listen to that has something of a pop sound.

Freckles or dimples - Freckles.

Snakes or sharks - Snakes. Specifically the little garter snakes that are always slithering across my path

Mountains or fields - The wonderful Rockies!

Thunder or lightning - Ideally both, but thunder is a joy whether I get to watch the storm or not. Nothing better than sitting in an old, old building, sipping tea and feeling the thunder shaking in the building's fibres.

Egyptian mythology or Greek mythology - Well, Greek!

Ivory or scarlet - Scarlet's my favourite colour, after all!

Flute or lyre - I think it's the lyre.

Opal or diamond - Neither are high on my radar, but I do like the sheer variety of opals

Butterflies or honeybees - Honeybees, but I love bumblebees even better. They're just so clumsy and good natured and round, and for many years it was believed they could not sting, because they so seldom do!

Macarons or eclairs - I used to live in St. Therese residence in college, and we were supposed to throw a big party for the other residences themed around our patron saint. We didn't want to do a roses theme, so we took our cue from the fact that in her final illness, she told one of the other nuns that she was craving a chocolate eclair. Great big chocolate eclair party! Good memories.

Typewritten or handwritten Handwritten for poems and snail mail, typewritten for everything else.

Secret garden or secret library - Library.

Rooftop or balcony - I often go up on the roof of my parents to stargaze or watch fireworks, and occasionally see aurora.

Spicy or mild - I could compete with the British Empire of old in terms of my desire to obtain all the spice.

Opera or ballet - Opera, you have my whole heart! Especially the bel canto era! Rossini was one of my teen obsessions!

London or Paris - I desperately need to go back to London.

vincent van gogh or claude monet - Van Gogh. Though I am sentimental about the animation of "Linnea in Monet's Garden" from my childhood.

Denim or leather - Leather

Potions or spells - Potions.

Ocean or desert - There is no joy to compare with a two hour trip on BC ferries.

Mermaids or sirens - I need to enjoy more stories with mermaids in them, but obviously I will choose them over sirens.

Masquerade ball or cocktail party Is this a question? Masquerade!!

@telthor Thanks for tagging me! Anyone who ought to be in bed right now is officially tagged.

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rowanhoney · 1 year

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travelling 2 london for a bit this summer, do you have any recommendations about neighborhoods to stay in/ things to go see etc? xx

unfortunately I didn’t see this and I’m several months too late BUT for anyone else planning a london trip or just needing to explore

Definitely worth hitting the design museum! There’s usually some interesting exhibits and you can continue your day by walking through Holland Park after! The Dutch garden and especially the Kyoto garden are so so beautiful

Classic Londoner day out is a walk along soutbank too. There’s enough tourists that there are things to do but not a major tourist trap. Along there you have the royal festival halls, BFI, London eye, OXO tower, Tate Modern, Globe theatre. The river waves are relaxing as well. By the time you reach the end cross over tower bridge and go to the Tower of London for some grim history. Then have dinner 5 mins away along st. Katherine’s docks - lovely peaceful spot with great restaurants and sparkling lights over the canals. Bit if a hidden gem for sure

Neighbourhoods to hit:

In the west there’s Richmond! Definitely cute but a bit snobby. Richmond park is huge and you can see wild deer! On the side of town closer to the Thames you have Kew Gardens which is an absolute must and needs a dedicated day.

In the East the typical spot to hit is Shoreditch. Great for record stores, vintage shops, underground gigs, 24hr Beigels, quirky fun bars, and not too much further in Bethnal Green there’s the Last Tuesdays Society; a very macabre little collection and some strange cocktails. They even have an absinthe range.

In the North everyone wants to go to Camden which is fine, lots to see and do but the alternative side to the town has become so commercialised in the past few decades. Still worth hitting but imo Bloomsbury is nicer with lots of niche little museums hidden away and one big one ! The Wellcome Collection! They always have some really great free exhibition on. There’s some controversy about the collection but there always will be in this country. Also 2 great bookshops - Gay’s the Word and Houseman’s <3

South London, my beloved forever. I say it all the time but I love Crystal Palace. It’s just a nice little neighbourhood with a lot of history. The triangle is great for little boutiques of all kinds, really good food around, there’s a 4 floor antique store where you can find all sorts of trinkets even affordable ones. The park is huge and wonderful! There’s a boating lake, a petting zoo, an athletics centre, dinosaurs! A maze! And at various times of the year there are fireworks shows, lights shows, a series of concerts in summer, frequent funfairs and other events. Don’t forget the south london Eiffel Tower (it’s just a radio tower but most kids who grew up here thought the same). Not far on in Sydenham is the Horniman Museum and Gardens which is well worth a visit but is too often disregarded for being a little out the way. Special mention to SE London. Greenwich has a few museums, a great little theatre, the cutty sark ship and the observatory! Also within a big beautiful park.

My love to everyone who comes here 🫶 please just remember to stand on the right of the escalators

#answered #for a girl who chats so much shit abt living in London i do have a lot of love for this city actually #id love it a lot more if I got to do this stuff regularly #sorry i didn’t see this ask #but if anyone has London questions I’m always happy to answer!#ive visited many a spot and worked in areas alllll over #london

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tsuga-of-mars · 1 year

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Tag 🧩 Game 🧩Tuesday !!

Guys I'm doing the tag game and its actually still Tuesday! Must be the luck of the Slurpee Day gods ( 7/11 in the US). Thanks for the tags @juliakayyy, @michellemisfit, and @energievie (this Tue and/or last couple Tues 😝). Thanks for continuing to engage with me even when I'm not the best at responding.

name: Lily

age: Mid 30s

favorite color: pretty much anything green family

beverage of choice: London Fog Tea

do you have push notifications turned on for tumblr? Yes, for Gallacrafts as I love to see and share our art together. For Galladrabbles, even if I get a little too distracted at work. And for a few of my lovely mutuals💓💓

opinion on fireworks? I used to me so amazed by them as a kid and loved summer firework shows. But now everyone is always overdoing it, scaring dogs and risking starting wildfires.

favorite childhood toy? I had ( maybe its still in a box somewhere) this pink and yellow toucan whistle, with a trombone type slider on it to change the pitch. I'm sure it was super fun for my mom...

the store you shop at the most: Aldi , great prices, I can get all my grocery shopping done in under in hr, and the lack of so many options really is nice for helping with decision fatigue

do you swear a lot? No really, I'm that person that if I do drop a swear word, people who know me are like dang, she is upset for sure

favorite trope: Soulmate with matching marks is def in my top faves

an album with no skips: Honestly I don't really have one of these, I've never really bee an album type of person even in the CD heyday. I did used to keep a Shania Twain Up! two sided (country / pop version) in my car in the mid 2000s that I would listen to the whole thing on road trips.

if you could play any instrument, what would you choose? Bells, but like eastern influence meditation type, not jingle bells.

your biggest pet peeve: One that happened this evening, when people don't pick up after their dogs in public. Lots of us work really hard to be good pet owners and this just makes me so irked. This is one big reason why dogs are not welcome in more public spaces.

favorite time of day: early winter mornings, when things are quite and blanketed in snow, before the world wakes and gets busy

and finally, did you drink water today? I did, yes. I keep a bright colored bottle at my desk to keep me from forgetting it.

If you haven't played yet, or if you have . I'm thinking about you, so even if its not Tue anymore feel free to play if you want.

@sleepyfacetoughguy@arrowflier @the-rat-wins @suzy-queued @sweetbee78

#tag game #fandom community #fandom friends #tag game tuesday #i love you tumblr friends

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koolkat9 · 8 months

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Omgg, could we get a hint, a snap, a headcanon, anything, from this exchange au of yours?

I can give you everything I have so far anon. Because let me tell you, first weeks of exchange were an absolute nightmare and building this au based on my experience was one of my ways to cope. But I now am enjoying being on exchange and I'm so glad I stuck with it.

Also German exchange students are one of the biggest groups of exchange students there are next to like Americans and Canadians. Which also spurred this au.

So Ludwig and Arthur are roomates at uni with Ludwig being on exchange for the year. Arthur can tell Lud is having a rough time settling in so he invites Ludwig to come shopping with him and his older brothers (who are helping him get settled). Overall, he just tries to help Lud settle and feel more comfortable.

If moving to a new country and starting fresh wasn't already hard, he is faced with his birthday the first few days in. And it's hard not having anyone to celebrate with. Usually his brother and dad would make such a big deal about it even when Ludwig didn't want them to. Now he was missing that. Missing the cake Gilbert always make him. How he'd wake up to a personalized sign on his door wishing him a happy birthday. The big 20 and he was alone.

Arthur catches wind that it's Ludwig's birthday and gets his friends together (Kiku their roomate and a close friend of Arthur who brings along his boyfriend Feli who is also an exchange student, Alfred and Matthew who are Arthur's cousins but the three had always been close, Francis and Afonso). They all help plan a little party at the bar on campus and get a cake to celebrate. Some even brought gifts of chocolate and sweets. It's not the same, but Ludwig is glad he got to celebrate in the end and is touched that Arthur put all this together.

Anyway few weeks go by, Ludwig and Arthur get closer and closer as Arthur guides Lud through life in England. Based on a little hut I found in the town I am in (see below), there is a hut that servers German sausage. So after a really hard day with homesickness Arthur takes him to a similar hut to possibly give Lud a taste of home. Lud complains that it's expensive and they get into a bit of an argument with Arthur ending with Arthur saying he'll pay and he just wants to make Lud feel better. Lud is once again touched and this is when he probably starts falling for Arthur, smitten by how much he cares even when he tries to act like he doesn't.

Another way Arthur helps Lud with his homesickness is taking him to the weekly therapy dog sessions the uni offers because he finds out Lud really likes dogs. When they go to the first session it's the first time Arthur sees Lud genuinely smile and he may or may not fall in love right then and there.

Some more time goes by and for bonfire night, the university puts on a fireworks show and Arthur takes Ludwig to it. But underestimating how cold it would, Arthur is underdressed and is freezing as they wait for the show to start. In the end, Lud let's him huddle under his coat, forcing them in close proximity. But its all necessary I assure you lol.

Them sharing their first kiss on an empty bus on a Sunday evening.

Anyway, them taking trips together. Arthur swearing to show Lud every inch of London. Ludwig taking Arthur to Germany with him during Christmas break to introduce him to his family.

And that's all I got so far.

#hetalia #gereng #engger #geruk #hws england #hws germany #exchange au

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phanfictioncatalogue · 8 months

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Hi :) do you know of any youtuber phil/non youtuber dan fics that are like "canon" phil if that makes sense? Essentially as if everything in 2009-on still happened minus dan becoming a youtuber. i had a look through the youtuber au masterlist but nothing seemed to fit what im looking for. thank you!

This is the only one from 2009

I Asked You To Dance But You Said No (ao3) - AnotherPhanficWriter

Summary: Dan and Phil are Soulmates, they are SUPPOSED to be together, at least that's what all the other angels in The Above tell Dan. And it becomes Dan's mission to make Phil fall in love with him so that the Lords that own him can release him from the hell they are putting him in. Unfortunately, Phil turns him down at the end of the first date in every possible way, despite Dan redo-ing the day over and over so he can get it right. Somewhere along the way he figures out why he can't ever get Phil to say yes at the end of the night.

This is your prompt, just them meeting later

Coincidences mean you're on the right path (ao3) - maybeformepersonally

Summary: Dan had been watching Amazingphil since he was a teenager. He never thought they would actually meet, of course, and so he is understandably surprised when Phil walks into the room.

Here’s some more that fit the prompt, just not 2009.

All That You Are is All That I'll Ever Need (ao3) - ficslesters (sohmaskyos), starrywrite

Summary: Dan Howell is just ordinary, but his boyfriend Phil is Amazing(Phil from YouTube). Or, AU in which Dan isn’t a YouTuber.

boyfriend (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: On the one year anniversary of officially coming out to everyone in his life, Dan starts patronizing a local gay club to hopefully meet someone and somehow ends up falling into a rom com trope of a night.

can't breathe when you touch my sleeve (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it's basically a meme. Now he's got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he'd had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

Fireworks (ao3) - tapdancinglorax

Summary: Of course Dan forgot to straighten his hair on the same day Phil Lester walked into the coffee shop he worked at.

Hiding Under a Table (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: Dan only took this office job to have something to do in his gap year. He's amazed the film company even hired him, to be honest. When he comes into work one morning running on no sleep and hungover, he suspects they may have made a mistake, and of course that's the one day that his literal idol AmazingPhil comes into their office unannounced.

Hot Tea and Chocolate Biscuits (ao3) - vaudevillian_girl

Summary: "In his twenty-nine years of life Phil had never seen a hybrid, well he did see one but he had been to little to know what that person was. Growing up, Phil had learned to not judge them and to not hate those poor things."

Phil is a youtuber with a monotone life, he's still trying to find his place in society and he just likes to be by himself. Until, one night, Dan shows up at his door, alone and lost.

Library (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: It's exam season at uni, and Dan is stressed out of his mind. In an attempt to escape the crowded university campus, he finds a small library out of the way to settle into. Only, the seat opposite him is empty aside from a bag, a coat, and his laptop, and a phone that won't stop going off.

Midnight Delivery (ao3) - mendelssohnslieder (formosissima)

Summary: Dan works at a pizza place. Phil places an order on a dare.

Personal Pianist (ao3) - irphanfic

Summary: Phil is bored without Dan on a summer Thursday evening and decides to start his usual liveshow earlier than expected. What he doesn’t know is that maybe he should have checked all the rooms in the house before giving away his boyfriend’s piano skills.

Phil Lester & the Downfall of Dateable London Men (ao3) - idkspookystuff

Summary: Phil’s a YouTuber who’s certain he’ll never find love. Dan sends penis enlargement emails and wants to change Phil’s mind.

Printer Error (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Dan's a fanfic writer who's desperate to meet the AmazingPhil, but one printing mishap could bring him closer to his idol than he ever anticipated.

quiet on widow's peak (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

The Boyfriend Tag (ao3) - dannihowell (anotherdaughter)

Summary: AmazingPhil has his boyfriend, non-youtuber Dan, appear in a video.

the hazy in between (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: Phil shrugs. “Don’t think you can go anywhere, mate. Boris called a nationwide lockdown yesterday. Only things open are the takeaway shops, god bless.” He tacks on the last part for Dan, but it seems to go over his head. He doesn’t smile or bless him back - rude.

Or the one in which they're distant flatmates during a national crisis.

The Weird Neighbour (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan has just moved into a new flat when he has an odd and awkward exchange with his new neighbour who then makes a YouTube video about it. Dan's friend finds the video and sends it to Dan who vows to get his revenge by being the weirdest, strangest neighbour that this Phil guy would ever meet. Turns out he got more than revenge.

-Rae

#answered #anonymous

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showtimefireworks1 · 3 months

Text

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wickedscribbles · 2 years

Text

Tempo, Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x AFAB Reader (Second Person Perspective), she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, illness/caretaking, smut, sub Sherlock, PiV, cowgirl

Word Count: 5K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

New Year's Day is a quiet affair. John and Mary bring baby Rosamund to Baker Street, and Sherlock is delighted to see her with Karl Popper in tow. Your heart aches in a strange way to see him gravitate towards her, though he seems hesitant to actually hold her in any way. You and Mary are quick to assure him about the durability of children.

The night of New Year's, you'd danced with him to whatever cheesy song they'd had on the broadcast countdown, in your sock feet. You have to lean up to be able to kiss when the countdown reaches zero, and you can feel him smiling against your mouth. Fireworks echo, deafening, all over London. There is nowhere in the world that you'd rather be than in his untidy little flat, dancing to a song you don't know, letting him pitch and sway you like the sea. His lips are your guiding point, his hands the lighthouse.

And you are home.

—---------

Returning to work is the last thing you want to do. The brief respite from your regular onslaught of numbers and accounts has felt far too short, your desk even lonelier than you remember it. But you have bills to pay, a flat to return to, even if you're there as little as possible these days. You'd spent that whole week from Christmas to New Year's with Sherlock, aside from a day where he went home to visit his own parents. Your flat seems miserable in comparison, unoccupied and dull.

There's nothing lived in about it. It's just a place you come back to at the end of the day. Depressingly, it's starting to remind you of your office. With that thought in mind, you stop over at a shop after work one evening and take the time to buy some wall decorations, relieved when it makes the place feel less like a box.

Your lessons, too, are due to resume with the start of the year. Your hands needed time to heal after that moment of self-neglect. Though you'd watched Sherlock perform on your Stradivarius in wonder, he hadn't insisted that you do any of your own practice in your week together.

Unusual, you think. Perhaps that means he's going to double down on your studies after such a long break. You're not sure if you're looking forward to that or dreading it. Bit of both, maybe. You already have instructions to go over all your songs, starting with the easiest and working your way to the hardest.

At the coffee pot Wednesday morning, there's a thick murmur of conversation. At least five people are standing round, preventing you from getting to where you want to be.

That's unusual. And annoying.

"Oh, did you hear?" Michelle pipes up when she spots you lingering in the hall. "God, you're not gonna believe it – the CEO stepped down over holiday."

You feel your eyes go wide. "He – what?"

Someone else nods, eager to chip in. "Just resigned, said he wanted to 'move on to other interests'. Must be nice, eh?"

Eventually you pour your coffee, your mind buzzing. There's no way the CEO would quit. Not when he owned a company this massive. Someone would have to persuade him, threaten him, even, to do something like that.

You think of how he'd grabbed your arm, his harsh voice.

But honestly…you're glad he's gone. Maybe now you can stop holding your breath until the end of every shift. You wonder if Sherlock already knows the news – probably. He's got his finger on the pulse of so much, and –

Hold on, hold on. Did he have something to do with this? No. He couldn't have. Sherlock's a detective, he doesn't go around making threats. And even if he did, he wouldn't be able to budge someone as big as your CEO.

But his brother could.

When you return to your desk, coffee in hand, there's a blank piece of paper sticking out from under your keyboard. As you flip it over, you have to allow yourself a smile.

You're welcome, it reads. A late Christmas gift. –MH.

You decide you do like Mycroft after all. A little.

—-------

Are we still on for lessons today?

A long pause.

Can't, sorry. Case came up. Tomorrow? –SH

Alright, if you say so.

Tomorrow arrives.

Helloooooo

Mr. Brilliant Detective Man

I need you to teach me the violin or rail me senseless, whichever suits your fancy

I'm not in. Does Friday work? – SH

Your heart sinks. He's never blown you off before. And why now? Why would he wait until everything felt almost perfect between you to start this?

You tell yourself he's being honest. That there is some sort of incredible, all-consuming case he's absorbed in, because you know how he bloody well gets. Laser focused on one thing and one thing only, and at least he had the decency to tell you he wouldn't be in.

But then Friday arrives, and so do you, violin case in hand, to 221B Baker Street. There's no sign of Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, who seems to have resumed her affair with Mr. Chatterjee. Swallowing hard, you hesitate outside the flat, stomach twisting with anxiety.

Okay, calm down, it could be a case.

Or he could be avoiding you.

…Or it could be drugs.

Shit shit shit.

When was his last screening?? You're supposed to be keeping an eye on this, supposed to be watching. In a panic, you pull up Molly Hooper's number, hoping against all hope that she answers. The line rings once, twice, three times.

"Hello?" She says at last, and you could deflate with relief.

"Hi, Molly, so sorry to bother you," you reply in a rush. "It's just, erm…do you happen to have the results of Sherlock's, you know. His screening? This week?"

"Oh, let me see…"

A brief pause. Some shuffling.

"He hasn't come in yet. He's normally in on Thursdays but he put it off. Said he'd be in by the weekend."

You thank her, saying your goodbyes.

Some tiny insatiable overpanicked part of your brain is fucking convinced he is in there right now doing a line of cocaine. It takes everything you have not to kick in the door. Instead you knock, heart in your throat, and let out a heavy breath.

Nothing. Nothing. Then, footsteps. Finally, the door opens a crack, and the face peering out at you is not what you'd expected.

He's ill. Hair untidy, face pale, eyes and nose rimmed red, ill. Looking awful and a bit grumpy to see you standing there. You’re no expert on addicts, but at a glance, he doesn’t seem like he’s been taking anything stronger than the cold medicine you can get down at Boots. Wearing pyjamas and a scruffy blue dressing gown, Sherlock looks like he’s just rolled out of bed.

"It's not Friday," Sherlock says thickly, frowning. (He even sounds awful, all raspy and hoarse.) "Told you. Now bugger off before you catch what I've got, thank you."

"Hey, wait –"

You slide your foot in to stop the door from closing.

"First off, it is Friday," you start. "Second – God, Sherlock, if you were ill why didn't you just say?"

Exasperation sinks into your tone despite your best effort. Guilt creeps over his expression, which in turn strikes the same feeling in you. Even if he’s been keeping it from you, he had a reason. You could do without him stepping around the truth, but that’s something the two of you will have to confront in your own time. There’s nothing to be done about it now that it’s happened except to acknowledge that it has and move on from there.

“I’ve told you,” he continues, though there’s no venom to his tone. “Didn’t want you coming in and catching whatever godforsaken germ’s traveling across half of London.”

“Could’ve said that.”

“Then you would’ve ended up here even sooner. The earlier in the week you came, the higher your risk of exposure.”

“You ought to have known I’d end up here regardless,” you say stubbornly. His motives are sweet but entirely unnecessary. “I’m not afraid of catching your cold, Sherlock Holmes. Now let me in the damn flat.”

With an irritated growl, he steps aside, relenting.

And – oh. The flat is clean. Not in a flux state of untidy/passable, as you’ve known it for as long as you’ve known Sherlock, but clean. Right down to the surface of the coffee table, which is missing its usual rings. All the sheet music seems to be sitting in one folder, pinned under his violin case, and there’s hardly a stray speck of dust in the place. It smells strikingly of lemon disinfectant in here, and you take in a deep lungful. I could get used to this.

“Did you hire a housekeeper?” you muse, craning your neck to peek into the kitchen. It’s sparkling. You’re fascinated.

“No,” he says shortly. “Hard to find any that wouldn’t balk at what’s being kept in the refrigerator, I’m sure.”

“So you just…cleaned. For fun.” You place a hand on your hip.

“I don’t want you to –” Sherlock clears his throat, hoarse “ – don’t want you to get ill. But the likelihood of keeping you away for longer than a week was poor. So. Tidying. It was awful. Do people really do this all the time?” He gestures, exasperated, around the place.

“They do.” You laugh a little. “And yes, I agree. It’s boring as all hell, isn’t it? Cleaning the same things over and over just so they can collect new dust. Then you die.”

“Cheerful way of putting it.”

He has his arms crossed, appraising you from across the room. From the tired, drawn expression on his face, you venture a guess that your first observation wasn’t far off the mark. Perhaps he has just rolled out of bed. Sherlock watches you with light green eyes missing some of their usual clarity.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly. Taking a few steps toward him, you’re amused but not surprised when he backs up an equal amount.

“Fine,” he responds.

“Then why are you keeping away from me? I told you I don’t care if you give me whatever disease you’ve picked up.”

He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Perhaps you ought to.”

You step forward again, and it feels somewhat like cornering a wild animal. This time, he doesn’t move, though you can see he wants to. Running a hand through already tangled curls, he only watches you, weary.

“Why?” Your tone is challenging. “What terrible plague have you been struck with, oh weary man? Tell me.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes so hard you fear they’ll get stuck in the back of his skull. “It’s a cold, you antagonist. Is it so awful of me to not want you to have one?”

“Is it so awful of me not to care?” You keep going until you’re right in front of him, gazing up at his obstinate, flushed face. “I’ve been worried about you.” Resting your fingers on his cheek, you find it warm. Sherlock closes his eyes. “And I’m just – I’m glad that this is a problem I can help you with.”

“What do you mean?” he murmurs. Then, seconds later, “Oh.”

You say nothing, uncertain if it would upset him to lay out your train of thought right here. He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers through, squeezing, meeting your glance with another guilty expression.

“I see. It was one thing to delay lessons without a given cause, but with what you know about my history of drug abuse, you grew suspicious.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Please don’t feel the need to apologize,” Sherlock says, his voice sounding somewhat strange with its new rasp. “I should’ve just told you, as you said. Should’ve been honest.”

“Sweet of you to try and spare me, though.”

“Don’t believe anyone’s ever used that word in reference to me before,” he chuckles. “It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Mm,” you hum, burrowing your way into his dressing gown for a hug. Just like his skin, it’s incredibly warm in here, despite the bitter January chill. “Better get used to it, then.”

Sherlock sighs, defeated, wrapping his arms around you. Something deep in your chest aches just to be held like that. You were being honest when you told him you didn’t care if he gave you whatever he had – you’ve been through worse. All you’d wanted was to know if he was alright, and now that you have that confirmation, you’re okay with whatever happens next. And anyway – you have enough paid time off work that if you needed it, you could use it, should anything befall you.

“You look tired,” you tell him after a long moment. “Go back to bed.”

He gives one last protest about you staying here, but there’s almost no energy behind it. As if it’s all being done for appearance’s sake, rather than out of any real desire to keep you away. You watch him curl up under the blankets, get comfortable, and fall asleep almost at once.

Seeing Sherlock asleep is…bizarre. After so long together, you know he’s watched you sleep more times than you can count. Yet every time the situation arose, you’ve always been the first to nod off. Today, though, it seems he can’t keep his eyes open a moment longer. Atop the blankets, you lie next to him for a time, fascinated. He’s folded up on his side in a sprawl of limbs, curled in a loose ball.

His face looks so much calmer. Not burdened with the responsibility of always thinking, judging, observing. Just…at rest. At ease.

“Hey, you stubborn arse,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a loose curl out of his face. “Look at me if you can hear me.”

Nothing. He’s really, truly out of it, mouth open, face pressed to the pillow. His breath soft and deep. As you watch, he wriggles deeper into the blankets before settling with a sleepy sigh.

Okay…good.

“I’m in love with you,” you breathe, your heart thudding painfully against your chest. “As much as I wish I wasn’t. As much as I wish we could just do whatever it is you want. This casual…whatever this is. I can’t. I know I’m in love with you because I’ve been in love before, and I’m scared senseless.”

You blow out a harsh sigh, holding out one shaking hand before clenching it tight. Bracing yourself to keep going.

“Love hurts. Love’s fucking hard. It’s every bit as complicated as you already know it is, I won’t lie and say it’s all rainbows. The last time I loved someone, they…they ripped me apart. I’m still learning how to put myself back together.”

You feel your lip wobble, fighting tears, even as you’re smiling at how stupid you’re being. He’s not even awake to hear this. This little confession is all for you – to help you get this weight off your chest.

“But I want to try again, despite all that. You make me want to try again, even when there are days when you’re being strange or closed off. I don’t care. In the end you’re you and you’re worth it. I love you, and nothing’s going to change my mind. So there. That’s all.”

Thank God, he’s slept through it all. For a few minutes more, you watch him, letting the complicated volley of emotions steep in your heart and in your mind. If only you could work up the nerve to say all that to his face, to fight through the arguments he’d no doubt raise about all of it being too much to handle. Even after John and the issue being laid to rest, you feel like he’ll never try again.

Leaning down, you brush your lips to his forehead. You work carefully to extract yourself from the covers so you don’t disturb him, tiptoe from the bedroom, and close the door. Your plan is to put the kettle on, get comfortable on the sofa, and not think too much about everything you’ve just told your sleeping not-partner. If that’s even possible.

—--------

In the dark of the bedroom, after you’ve left for the kitchen, Sherlock lets out a deep breath. He presses his palms to his eyes, as if to keep all the complicated things he’s heard from circulating in his mind.

This is far worse than he thought.

—------------

It’s early evening by the time the bedroom door opens, and you’re well into a novel rooted from one of his bookshelves. Sitting cross legged on the sofa, you look up in delight to see him emerge, giving him a small smile. Though it’s been odd to spend time in the flat without him, the experience is far from unpleasant. 221B has been a place of comfort to you for some time, and the hours pass quickly.

“Well, look who's decided to join us,” you say, placing the book aside. “You hungry?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Not really.”

You decide not to press him. Instead you unfold from your place, stretching a little, not realizing how stiff you’ve gone from hours staying in one spot.

“That’s alright. Mrs. Hudson dropped off some soup earlier – she knows you’ve been holed up in here ill too, you know.”

He huffs out an indignant sound at that. “Really don’t need her getting ill, now, do we?”

“That we don’t,” you agree. “All the same, she’s dropped off enough supplies to medicate a small army. And mulligatawny.”

“I’ve no doubt – the woman thinks I’m incapable of walking down the street and purchasing my own cold supplies.”

“Well, you know how mums are.”

Sherlock pads over to where you sit – still keeping a fair distance, you notice. The nap seems to have done him some good. At the very least, he looks less like he’s going to fall over at the first lapse in conversation. More alert, more like himself. You can’t help grinning as he hesitates, finally settling at the far end of the sofa, cupping his elbows in either palm. His glance grazes you, up and down, as if even eye contact is something he has to be careful with.

"How're you feeling?" You pick up your favorite mug, the one with the chip in the rim, and take a sip of water. "You look better."

"Bit better," he answers, absentminded. "Tired. Er, sore. Throaty. Annoying cold things."

Still he watches you, saying with everything except words that he'd very much like to slide over and be touching you right now. How stubborn can one man get? Or maybe it's a matter of not knowing if it would be the right thing to say. Either way, it melts your heart, and you can't bear the distance any longer.

“Oh, c’mere, love,” you say, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of your voice. “You’re not the only one who can tell when one of us wants something, you know.”

His face arranges itself into a rather unthreatening scowl. “If you get ill…”

“Then it won’t be anything new to me,” you finish, content as he crosses the distance and settles to recline across your lap. “Promise. I’m a big girl. Pinky swear on it, if that’s what you want.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

You only smile in answer, watching as he turns to get comfortable. He buries his face in the material of your jumper, closing his eyes like he missed being able to touch you so freely. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, somewhat awkward in this position, and you lean up to help him get situated. You'd forgotten how many positions one has to contort into in the name of physical contact, when it comes to cuddling. Sometimes it's worth it, though.

He makes the smallest content sound, settled there against your stomach, and your fingers reach down to tangle in his hair. Lightly scratching at his scalp, reaching for your phone to scroll through as the minutes wear on, early evening fading into night. God, it feels so domestic it could rot your teeth. Both of you are so at ease with one another without the need to say a word, quiet and calm.

You glance down to see if he's dozed off again only to find him gazing up at you. The look on his face is one of such fierce, gentle affection that you almost forget how to breathe. How long has he been watching you like this? What is he thinking about? Sometimes you have no idea, and that's infuriating. Especially when he can read you so easily at times (yet seem clueless in others).

"Thank you," he says eventually, drawing your attention back after you break eye contact. "For checking in. For – staying. Despite the risk."

"I wouldn't let you stay here sick on your own," you reply at once. "No one deserves that."

A grin, half-hidden in your jumper. "As I keep telling you, love, I'm not dying. It's some hardy variety of London cold being passed around."

A shiver down your spine at love. Slipped so casually from his mouth, like it belongs there.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to look after you. That's what –" the word partners sticks in your throat " – friends are for. We check in on one another."

"I don't see John driving in to chuck supplies at the door of my flat," he jokes.

"No," you muse. "But then again, John doesn't shag you either, does he?"

The air changes, thickens. Sherlock swallows as he gazes up at you, and the look on his face is one of familiar, unspoken need. Even tinged pink with cold, you can tell what he wants to ask for. You've put an idea in his mind, made a suggestion, and it seems that Sherlock isn't quite sick enough to stop thinking about the last week you spent together.

You can't stop dwelling on the absence. Going back to your work, back to your regular life, had felt so much harder without having him there to touch you every day. It'd felt damn near like a honeymoon after so long spent waiting to fuck one another. Over the holiday break, you'd made up for lost time, only to spend the first week of dreary January isolated again.

"He doesn't," Sherlock says, and even in the two quiet words you can hear the change.

A pause. The two of you breathe together, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his eyes bright and begging on your own.

Then: "Please fuck me."

He says it so plainly that it takes you half a second to process the request. You would've expected some stepping around, some stammering. Though his cheeks are dark with a blush, he'd just said it. As if it's something he's been considering long before you arrived. Guess that week alone had given him plenty to think about, too.

"Sherlock…" you bite back a nervous laugh. "Are you sure? If you're ill, you should be resting, and I don't want to –"

"I'll let you do the work," he cuts in. "However you want it. Just – I've missed you, missed feeling you, and with this damned cold I haven't done a thing in ages –"

"You haven't even wanked thinking about me? Aww."

He huffs, frustrated, cheeks still pink. Your glance down tells you everything you need to know about how much he's missed you. His cock strains against the loose pyjama bottoms as much as it can, and you reach down to grab it.

"Alright," you decide, decidedly more than thrilled at the thought of being in charge. "But you have to do as I say, down to the letter. Understand?"

Sherlock is quick to nod, scrambling up into a sitting position.

"Bedroom, mister."

—---------

In what feels like seconds you find yourselves tumbling onto the blankets, the door shutting in a rush as you go. You walk him backwards, somewhat proud that he trusts you not to let him fall, confidently going where you lead. The moment he feels his legs hit the bed, he falls back, hands going to remove his shirt. You stop him with a firm tap to the wrist.

"Leave it on."

Looking somewhat surprised, he does as you say, moving back to make room as you join him on the mattress. You move to lie beside him, entwining your legs with his. He scoots back, breathing heavily, eyes focused on your mouth. This is the point where he'd have his tongue in your mouth, exploring every sensitive place, biting your lips. You can understand why he wouldn't now.

With a pang of regret, you scramble to think of what you could do instead. Eventually you settle on dipping your mouth to the hollow of his throat, delighting when you find that sensitive place behind his ear. His arms come up to wrap around you, hips arching into nothing, tracing delicate circles as you take your time to build the heat.

"Sensitive here, aren't we?" you say in his ear, and he shudders for you.

"Please keep going." His answer is small, his neck bared for you, and you can't resist.

Sliding one hand down to palm his bulge through his trousers, you comply, drinking in the ragged moan when you experiment with scraping your teeth over his neck. Your fingers sneak under his waistband, and he clings to you, trying not to make a sound, all hoarse gasps and shuddering breath.

"Sweetheart," Sherlock utters in a low whine. "Just like that."

"You're not even inside me yet, love," you tease, and his answering groan plays in your mind for the next week.

You take him out and stroke him, sucking lightly on his earlobe with every flick of your wrist. Shameless, Sherlock meets you with his hips, rising off the bed, the sound of it wet and sloppy.

Right as you hear him start to get desperate, you pull your hand away, lifting your hips to take off your trousers and pants. Sherlock stares at you like he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted this, wanted you. By the time you're astride him, you think the look of blazing desire on his face is the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

You rub the head of his cock around your glistening slit in slow circles, grinning when he chants your name, begging, pleading. And when you grant your mercy, spreading your folds and taking him to the hilt, you don't think the sound of his voice has ever been sweeter.

Adjusting to the sensation of having him inside you after a week away, you beam down at Sherlock, memorizing the wrecked look written across his features. As if you're holding everything he needs in the palm of your hand, if only you would move, let him have it.

You know the feeling.

"Please," he whispers, rutting his hips forward. "God, please, move, need to feel you, need to come, I – "

Raising an eyebrow, you place your palm flat against the smooth expanse of his hip.

"Need to? Oh, we're being presumptuous, aren't we?" You squeeze around him, knowing he feels it, watching his nostrils flare. "Remember who's in charge."

"You are," Sherlock's quick to answer. "You are, and you're doing remarkably. Once again I've failed to realize how well suited you'd be for a role, and I –" you've started rolling your hips in little, lazy circles, making it hard for him to think " – I'm s-sorry. You're gorgeous when you're being dominant and you have no idea how close I am to coming inside you."

"I think I do," you say wryly. "And you're so pretty when you're lying here, taking what I give you."

"You're going to make me come," he chokes out, the words a blur. "S-so close." His eyes never leave your body, glued to your breasts as they bounce and jolt with each thrust.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Devilishly, you ram your hips down faster, watching his eyes roll back in helpless bliss.

"Oh f-fuck you're going to make me come I'm right there please don't stop don't stop –"

In another flurry of urgent words and whispered warnings, he does exactly that, spilling deep inside you. He tilts his head back, back, collapsing against the pillows with a golden sound of rapture as you ride him through every wave.

When he's finally had enough, you pull off him, crossing your legs to avoid – well. The mess. Or the worst of it, anyway.

"Tomorrow," Sherlock says breathlessly. "Tomorrow, I am going to taste you until you forget what walking feels like. You phenomenal creature."

A quick thrill of arousal shoots its way into your core at that promise. You try not to let it show on your face as you wobble off the bed, leaving him there dazed with his cock out.

"I look forward to it."

—-------

When you’re all tucked away later in the hush of the bedroom, burrowed beneath his arm, you feel him lift your fingertips to his mouth. There’s something familiar about the gesture, and it reminds you of the first time he’d bent to kiss your budding calluses so long ago. It’d made your heart leap then, and so it does now, even when you’ve grown used to him touching you like this. Even when the affection comes easy now, despite his insistence that all this isn’t what you want it to be.

“Your hands are almost healed,” he murmurs, sleepy, gruff. “Why did – why did you overplay? There’s no benefit. You know that.”

You’re silent in the utter darkness, thinking of what answer you could provide.

You hurt me and I needed to take my mind off it. I couldn’t bear a moment alone with my thoughts because they all pointed back to you on the sofa when you couldn’t bloody look at me. I thought I was losing you and I panicked. It was stupid.

“I don’t know,” you say instead, the words bitter in your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

His huff of a sigh is warm on your skin. “Please don’t do it again. I don’t want you playing to the point of pain. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good.”

You feel him shuffle closer, pressing his lips to your temple, and a wave of affection ripples through you. Together, you succumb to sleep like that, your heads bent close, one of your arms thrown around his shoulder.

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maple-leifarts · 1 year

Text

INFINITE PARADISE - Chapter 1

A DSMP AU fic I had the idea for not that long ago actually! Hope you enjoy :D (warning pretty long lmao)

“Goooood morning New London! Thanks for tuning into Destrympia News—your one and only news station personalized for your region!” The annoyingly cheerful automated dialogue blared in the blonde’s face, almost startling him off of the steel ladder he climbed down. Tommy sneered at the cyborg announcer’s face in the fully colored hologram before him as it continued to spew about how wonderful a day it was, like it did every day. “Can’t you believe the great day we all have ahead of us? Our futures are guaranteed to be enjoyable, special, and unique thanks to our sponsor—and our planet’s loving caretaker—The Syndicate!!”

“If only you knew how bad it really is,” Tommy grumbled furiously. He reached the bottom of the steps and took off into the dank, dark sewers on his hoverboard—inconspicuous enough to fool anyone into thinking he was your everyday teen. But, truly, he was more than that. In both good and bad ways. He barreled out into into the streets, the morning light blinding him, and zoomed up past the buildings into the Skyway.

The bright lilac sky blanketed the skyscrapers of New London, each one miles high, shiny and black, and laced with their own glowing neon colors. Despite being 6 in the morning, the city was bustling with activity—people walked along the streets, shops opened, the Skyway was packed with other flying vehicles, and—as Tommy discovered from the news report—a festival was being set up on the other side of the city. “Make sure to stop by the Harvest Festival today! It will be open to the public at 7 and will have lots of activities for everyone—roller coasters, fun competitive games, sideshows, and fireworks tonight at 6! Thank goodness the festival is this week too, since the average temperature will be taking a huge drop as the autumn season begins-“

Luckily briefly interrupting the weather report, Tommy received a short text on his watch—“New place is in the festival”. He grinned, happy to hear the news. “I was hoping for an excuse to check it out.” He took a right and began his way downtown.

Tommy tuned out the news and watched his surroundings as he flew, memorizing the buildings and streets he passed. Having no clue how long he would have to stay in New London, it was best to get to know the city from head to toe and especially mark all possible escape routes in case he was forced to run away from anything or anyone. Which, unfortunately, was often.

Tom was stuck in his trance of staring at all the roads below him until the news report momentarily snapped him back to reality. “As of last night, 5 mutants escaped from the Syndicate HQ and are on the loose. No trace of them has been seen since around 1 last night, so they could be anywhere. The Syndicate has not submitted any photos of them, so keep a lookout for anyone that seems out of the ordinary!”

The blonde hummed and nodded knowingly. “If they’re smart, they’d be far from HQ by now,” he muttered to himself.

”And on that note, we have some related news—“

Tommy groaned. “Here we go again.”

”It’s coming up on the 2 year anniversary since mutants Tom Simons and Ranboo Beloved mysteriously disappeared from the HQ. We still have no idea if they escaped together, or if it was just a coincidence that they escaped at the same time, but all we know is that they haven’t been seen since.” Tommy rolled his eyes. There were two things wrong about all of that. One, he didn’t “mysteriously” disappear; the escape was plenty obvious. And two, he had been spotted lots of times. Apparently the Syndicate liked to keep quiet about it, and/or were embarrassed they hadn’t caught him. And just to clarify, he had never met Ranboo.

Two images now appeared in the hologram, the first being the “Ranboo” guy. He looked about 17 in the image and had fuzzy light brown hair in a short wolf cut that somewhat covered his piercing grey eyes. A strange metal mask hid the bottom half of his face and many tubes filled with a glowing orange liquid came out of the side and bottom of the mask and connected to something on the back of his head and to a metal plate/control panel sort of thing on his chest. He wore a plain black tanktop and stared at the camera with a mildly annoyed look on his face.

The second image was Tom, 16 at the time, blurred as he ran away from the camera looking furious. Unlike Ranboo, Tom in the picture wore extremely bright colors on black, to the point where it almost looked ridiculous. However, it didn’t distract from his electric blue eyes, which were blindingly bright and shone like headlights. The result of messing with a tube of Element X5, the element that fueled the entire planet when mixed with neon, when he was younger.

“Remember, if you see any of these individuals, don’t hesitate to tell your nearest Syndicate scout immediately!” the android in the hologram finished.

Tommy hastily gave his current outfit a once-over—a mahogany sleeveless jacket with a dark green t-shirt under, a black belt, dark brown cargo pants, even darker brown boots, a red-brown over the shoulder bag, light brown sleeves with diamonds cut out at the elbows, black fingerless gloves, a mahogany forearm guard on his left arm, a light maroon hooded cape, and to top it off, a faded green bandana wrapped around his eyes to hide the glowing blue. Nothing like the outfit the world constantly saw him in on the news and posters. One might call it a loss of identity, but he called it street smarts.

He finally looked up to realize he nearly missed the exit to the festival. He swerved and floated down to the entrance, which seemed to have opened a bit early. A good number of people already wandered through the food stands, played the games, watched the sideshows, and rode the coasters. It was quite overwhelming of the senses and full of distractions—bright flashing lights, screams and cheers, aromas of fried food, and much more. And the festival took up 8 acres. Tom looked at his recent text and sighed. “This is gonna take a while.”

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