#god fuck pen just bow out gracefully

[belladonnaprice]

.

[judasofsuburbia]

My bad I forgot to add a pairing, 🔀 Steddie

god this song and steddie??? my heart is overFLOWING!!!

i imagine composer/conductor eddie who is trying to come up with the final piece for the chicago ballet's new work he got commissioned for. he's trying and trying but everything sounds so dull in his head. he asks the artistic director if he can sit in on a rehearsal to gain some inspiration and they agree.

eddie takes his seat in the audience with his notebook. he watches the dancers warm up, feeling a little flushed at how beautiful each and every one of them are. his eyes keep trailing over to this taller man. he has this wonderful mane of hair on top of his head and a jawline that could cut glass. his body looks sculpted by an artist and eddie is trying to not fucking ogle the guy. he needs to remain focused.

"steve and nancy, your piece, please," the director commands.

everyone clears the stage except for steve and this petite curly haired brunette, who eddie supposes is nancy. the track they have playing is a simple instrumental piece. but suddenly, eddie can't hear that music. he can only hear the loud, boisterous symphony in this head as he watches steve dance.

it's like fireworks are exploding in front of him as he watches steve gracefully leap and twirl across the stage. like colors blending together on a canvas. he watches the way his body bends and twists. the way he can rest his entire body on the tips of his toes. the way he holds nancy like she weighs nothing in his arms, tilting her forward and backward. holding her over his head. they're a masterpiece together and eddie's brain is booming with notes, melodies, harmonies.

the piece ends and eddie can't help but stand to clap. he's the only person in the audience besides the other dancers who laugh awkwardly behind him. steve whips his head and sends him a curious smile. he grabs nancy's hand and they bow for their audience of literally one. eddie comes back into his body as they leave the stage and his face is red hot with the furious blush.

he immediately whips out his notebook and starts composing. it's like he can't even get the notes down fast enough. he's scribbling so haphazardly that he doesn't notice when steve takes a seat next to him.

"oh holy shit, you're the composer," steve whispers.

eddie drops his notebook and pen. it clatters to the floor. he's face to face with steve, finally seeing every detail of his face in the dim light of the house. he's even more beautiful up close.

"uh, yeah, hi," eddie stutters.

steve flashes him that charming smile and the music in eddie's head just gets louder and louder.

"thanks for your applause," steve laughs. "it did startle me a little, i'll be honest."

"s-sorry, yeah, i just...you two were...you especially just--" eddie squeezes his eyes tight in embarrassment. "you were great. that dance is beautiful."

steve's smile doesn't falter. he rests back in his seat and shrugs. "i hope so. spent months on it."

eddie's eyes blink open. "you choreographed that piece?"

"sure did. with help from nancy, my partner. i just can't find the right music for it but i guess you're taking care of that."

"would you mind if i saw it again? even if it's just in the rehearsal studio or something. it gave me so many ideas," eddie confesses.

"absolutely. how does this afternoon sound?"

in a few weeks, eddie is standing in his conductor spot, the music crafted perfectly in the paper on his stand. his orchestra ready to watch his hand. he looks up and sees steve in the wings. steve gives him an encouraging nod and eddie raises his hand to start the greatest symphony he has ever written.

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

[winterscaptain]

when you wake up.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’m a sucker for protective aaron, alright? sue me. i have checked and double checked, but if i’ve messed up any gender-neutralisms, please let me know! i’d like to thank snow, the academy, and my welbutrin for their spiritual aid as i write these fics at an alarming rate rating/words: teen / 2642 warnings: canon-typical injury, swearing, kissing 

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“You know –“ you gasped, grimacing through the pain, “blood is a bitch to get out of a wool blend.”

Aaron pressed his lips together, his forearms flexing as he staunched the bleeding from the gunshot wound in your shoulder with his gorgeous navy pinstripe blazer.

That one was my favorite, you thought with a pout.

He had you propped against a wall, his shirt splattered with your blood. He had torn the collar of your shirt for better access to your wound, and your vest was entirely forgotten on the floor beside you. Emily called the paramedics about seven minutes prior, but the backroads of Montana were not conducive to prompt medical service.

The pain wasn’t unbearable, and surely you’d been through worse.

Shock is a hell of a drug.

Nevertheless, his concern was touching. It had been a while since either one of you were injured – long before you realized you had feelings for each other and did absolutely nothing about it.

It all happened so fast – you had your gun trained on the unsub, who was using the sixth almost-victim as a shield. As soon as Derek and Aaron threw the back door open, he’d shoved the frightened young woman toward Derek and moved really quickly.

Bang. Ouch. Fuck.

“Aaron.”

He didn’t respond and was dutifully ignoring your eyes, focused entirely on the blood gushing through his fingers under your shoulder blade. The hand attached to your injured arm wrapped around his bicep, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you continued. “It’s through and through. Six weeks tops I’ll be back to my old tricks.” 

You brought your other hand to his hair, and he leaned into your touch almost unconsciously. Your thumb smoothed over the hair at his temple, where tiny silver streaks rested in the inky black. You were just teasing him about his greys last week.

“They make you look distinguished!” You insisted. You were behind him as he sat at his dining room table, helping Jack set the table for dinner while Aaron tried (in vain) to review a consult.

“They make me look old,” he retorted in a deadpan.

You raked your fingers through the hair at his temples, massaging his scalp all the way to the crown of his head. He leaned back, his hand relaxing around his pen. With a final pat to the top of his head, you stepped away and returned to the pasta sauce.

“No old man would cook as badly as you do.”

His withering glare made his son laugh out loud, and the look only grew darker as you offered Jack a high-five.

“You’re still losing a lot of blood.” His voice was low and tense, his jaw tight.

Derek hovered nearby, though Aaron had shooed him away minutes earlier. He was talking into the comm, likely getting status updates from EMS.

Offering Derek a weak smile, you let your hand drop to Hotch’s wrist. Your eyes were heavy, but you fought to keep them open. Falling unconscious now would only worry him more.

“Aaron, you need to breathe.”

He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You’re telling me to breathe?”

“I’m breathing just fine.” And you were, focused only on the feel of his hands on your skin and the slow, deep breaths you took to keep your oxygen levels high as your blood pressure dropped. “Breathe with me, please. It’ll make me feel better.” That was a low blow, but you were pulling every card you had to keep him from breaking his teeth with that clenched jaw.

God, you were just so tired.

Aaron’s brown eyes flickered up to yours and softened. He leaned forward, shifting his weight and wrapping an arm around you as sirens faintly wailed some distance away. “Lean into me. It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ve got you.”

You were cheek-to-cheek when you finally passed out, succumbing to the heaviness.

+++

When you woke up, your shoulder ached, and the lights were way too bright.

There was a weight dipping the mattress on your left side and a dark shadow on your right.

You lifted your head slightly to see Aaron fast asleep, his head resting on his arms. You smiled and redirected your attention to your right. The dark shadow was Emily, watching you with a soft smile.

“Hey, champ.”

“Hey Em.”

She gestured to Aaron with her chin. “He hasn’t left once.” There was an implication behind her words, something not-quite suggestive, but understanding.

You ignored it for now. “How long was I out?” You brought your hand to Aaron’s tense shoulder, relaxing there, your thumb tracing back and forth over his baby blue button-down. Your IV line pulled a little, and you retracted your hand to his bicep.

“About two days. Surgery went really well – they just had to patch up a couple of ligaments and set a few pins in your clavicle. Nothing shattered, and no fragments. All things considered, really clean shot.”

Not as bad as I thought.

“He’s been here the whole time? Are we still in Montana? What day is it?”

Emily laughed, smiling broadly. “So many questions!” She counted off on her fingers. “His ass has only left that chair to chase down your doctor and go to the bathroom like...twice. We are still in Montana. It’s Tuesday. We’ll be on our way home as soon as you’re discharged. We wouldn’t leave without you.”

You sighed, adjusting your position on the bed. “Thanks.”

She winked. 

Hotch stirred, and Emily stood.

“I’ll leave you two for now. We’re all out in the waiting room if you want to see anyone.” She kissed your forehead and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

You could see the exact moment he registered your hand on his shoulder. He startled, straightening faster than you could blink. His eyes still bleary from sleep, you watched as he took stock of your entire person, finally meeting your eyes.

“Hi, Hotch.”

“Hi.” He reached for your hand with both of his, careful of the IV in your forearm. He brought your linked hands to his lips - warm, relieved breath washing over your fingers.

You squeezed once, feeling the stress and worry in his grip. “I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I got shot.” Your voice was soft, but the humor behind it was unmistakable.

He huffed a laugh against your hands. “I should be mad at you.”

“You aren’t?”

Just then, a twinge in your shoulder made you wince. Your face crinkled up before you could hide it.

Hotch immediately reached for the call button, his body arcing gracefully over yours, pressing it twice. He looked down at you from under his arm. “No, I’m not.”

The nurse came in, said something about how nice it was to see you awake, and administered some more pain medication. She worked around Hotch, who never let go of your hand.

You had your eyes on him the whole time. His hawkish brown eyes tracked everything – the dosage, the IV drip – until the nurse left the room.

Right away, you started feeling heavy, your eyes slipping closed. “I don’t - I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled.

The back of Hotch’s hand traced the line of your cheek in a gentle caress. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt his touch fall down your good arm and wind your fingers together. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You should get s’m sleep.”

You weren’t sure if it was the haze of meds or not, but you could swear you felt kisses to each one of your fingertips before you slipped into unconsciousness once more.

+++

When you woke again, he was still there. He was kicked back in the recliner this time, a book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose. It was dark outside, and you surmised you’d been asleep for a couple of hours.

“Since when do you wear reading glasses?” Your voice was rough with sleep.

Hotch snatched the glasses in question off his nose and folded them into his collar. “I don’t, usually, but the fluorescents are hard on my eyes after a while.”

You nodded sagely before breaking out into a smile. He offered you one back, one of those sweet, crooked, closed-mouth tip-ups.

Those might be my favorite.

You shifted, scooting over in the hospital bed and raising the head with the remote so you could sit up with more ease. Hotch stood, and you could tell he was trying to give you space as you independently adjusted your surroundings.

You patted the bed next to your hip, and he gingerly sat beside you, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. He probably didn’t realize, but his entire body was bowed toward you, from his toes to his shoulders. You had always been tuned to each other, like finely-made instruments.

There was so much to say, so much unsaid. This injury was pretty far from a near-death experience, but it was enough to screw your head on straight a little bit.

“Aaron, I --“ You stopped, not sure where to begin. You rested a hand on the knee within your reach, tracing absentminded circles on the grain of his jeans.

Almost three days in the hospital and he’s still wearing jeans.

Well...at least it’s not a suit.

“Why did you stay?” Your words left you without your permission, but maybe it was better that way.

His brow lowered. “It’s my job.”

Your lips tipped up in a small, wry smile. “Bullshit.”

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I felt...compelled to make sure you were alright.” His eyes were cast down toward the heavy white blanket beneath him. “Every time I got up to leave, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you knowing you could wake up and I wouldn’t be there.”

You were acutely aware of the dopey grin on your face.

He looked up at you. “It doesn’t make any sense I know –“

“Aaron.” You stopped him with four fingers pressed to his mouth. It was the first time you’d actually instigated contact with his mouth. You felt the stubble that was rapidly turning into a proper beard, but you were focused on the softness of his mouth. You softened, letting your hand relax against him. “It makes sense to me.”

There was silence for a moment. You just stared at each other, your hand still over his mouth. You were glad your heart rate stayed steady, as the beeping was one of the only sounds in the room.

“Hey, Aaron?” Your fingers weren’t really tracing his lips, but they weren’t...not doing that either.

He smiled and spoke from behind your fingers. “Yeah?”

“The spot between my shoulders is insanely itchy.”

He shook his head, exasperated, and pulled your fingers from his mouth. “Lean up for a second.”

You did, and he pulled a pillow from behind you and put it in your lap. You wrapped your good arm around it and ducked your head down. His fingers massaged across your good shoulder and neck, releasing some of the tension there.

He laughed aloud when you made a (frankly) obscene noise when he hit a particularly sore spot.

“You’re giving my physical therapist a run for his money, Aaron.”

“Good.”

He moved down underneath the sling strap, gently running his nails back and forth over the skin peeking through your hospital gown. It was heaven.

“Okay, you can’t ever stop doing that.”

He continued, scratching lightly up and down your spine “I’m here as long as you want me here, sweetheart.”

The endearment made your heart feel all fuzzy, and you relaxed further into the pillow, your body relaxing as the tension melted out of your back.

He stopped after a few minutes, just smoothing his hand back and forth along the left side of your back. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you,” you said, leaning back against the pillows.

He brushed some hair away from your face and hesitated there for a moment. Your jaw fit a little too neatly in his hand. You licked your lips, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

“Y/N...” he said, still quiet.

You shook your head and leaned forward at the same time he did. You met halfway, and he captured your lips with a relieved sigh. He was so careful with you, considering your injury, one hand reaching from your jaw to the side of your head, the other resting on your thigh on top of the thin hospital blanket.

The faded smell of his cologne or deodorant or something very masculine swirled around you. It was a smell you could identify anywhere – something spicy and earthy and Aaron.

Your noses slid against each other as you pulled apart to grin at each other. He pulled you back toward him and your lips met again. Your breath caught as his tongue traced your lower lip. You granted him access, ignoring the embarrassing spike in your heart rate that sent the monitors into a frenzy.

A part of you absolutely wanted to jump him then and there, but between your shoulder and the big window facing out into the hallway, that was a no-go.

You settled for devouring him from where you were instead, taking his lips between your teeth until he was groaning into your mouth. His hands knotted in your hair and you twisted his shirt in your hand. You didn’t think too much about the fact you’d been asleep for two days and therefore had two days of morning breath. The only thing on your mind was the taste of coffee on Aaron’s tongue, the hand planted firmly on your thigh, and the surprising softness of his lips.

It’s not that you thought he’d be a bad kisser, but fuck he was good at it. Almost too good. You craved more and damned your shoulder (again) for keeping you tethered to this bed and unable to wrap him in your arms.

“God,” he whispered into your mouth. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You laughed into him, nipping at his lip again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There was a desperate edge to his touch as he took your face between his hands and pulled back to look at you. He kissed you once. Twice. So gently you almost couldn’t feel it. “I’m never getting rid of you,” he said. “Not now, not ever.”

It took you a couple of seconds to open your eyes again. When you did, the warm brown of Aaron’s eyes sank into you, and you almost forgot you’d been shot less than 72 hours prior. “Am I nuts to tell you how much I love you when I’m hopped up on pain meds?”

He shook his head, a thousand-gigawatt smile eating up his whole face. You cupped his jaw in your hand, pressing your thumb into one of his dimples. He tenderly covered your hand with his and turned to press an achingly gentle kiss your palm. “Only a little,” he said. He guided you back onto the pillows, arranging them around you so you could sleep without jostling your shoulder.

The nurse bustled back in and asked after your pain level. You said seven (it was a lie, you’d give it a nine and a half if you weren’t trying to be a hero), and she administered another round of meds. She swept out of the room and your eyes started to close again.

“Aaron...” you whispered, clinging to the last dregs of consciousness.

A kiss to your forehead. Warm breath over your fingers.

If safety had a texture, it would be somewhere between the callouses on his hands and the cool cotton of his dress shirts.

“I’m here.” A pause. “Hey.”

You cracked an eyelid.

“I love you too, by the way.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans

[davidmann95]

*sighs* Modern times are weird. Thoughts on *that* Morrison announcement today?

Anonymous said: Thoughts on Superman and The Authority by Morrison, Janin and Bellaire? Its in the Penguin Random House catalogue as a hardcover coming in November this year

Anonymous said: Thoughts on the news about Morrison doing Superman and the Authority?

Anonymous said: So uhhh, Morrison is doing a surprise Superman & Authority book?

Anonymous said: how do you feel about the upcoming Grant Morrison-penned Superman and the Authority

Anonymous said: Morrison writing Superman & The Authority?!?!? MORRISON WRITING MANCHESTER BLACK?!?!?! Fuck yes, now you’ll have to admit Manchester Black is awesome.

Anonymous said: Superman and the Authority???

Anonymous said: Authority/Superman book being written by Morrison?

jcogginsa said: So Grant Morrison's not done with Superman it seems.

Anonymous said: So, Superman and the Authority? Thoughts on Morrison staying at DC?

Anonymous said: You’ve probably already been asked by thoughts on the Superman and The Authority announcement?

adudewholikescomicsandotherstuff said: So, there’s a new grant Morrison Superman comic. Thoughts?

oh look someone took a video of me this morning

...actually not really, because I was tipped off a couple weeks ago as to this being a rumor in certain non-public circles, so I was left to mull on the notion in private for awhile. I had in fact assumed that it wasn’t real, and that while Superman & The Authority was in fact happening it had probably only been offered to Morrison as a courtesy and really someone else would be doing it.

Lots of thoughts between what I had on my own and from talking with Ritesh Babu/seeing his own responses, let’s get to it. Obviously the main reason this is happening is because Jim Lee wants it to be happening - he can’t let his baby die on the vine with Ellis, and he needs a BIG name to wash the taste out of everyone’s mouth. The question then is why Morrison would go for it when The Green Lantern and Wonder Woman: Earth One were such pointed goodbyes to Big Two comics, Klaus remains as an outlet for any cape stories they want to tell, and they’re making TV money now. I’d say the answer is that while Wonder Woman is a tale about clearing away the old ways of things to make room for the new, and Green Lantern is about what’s cleared away getting one last bow...Clark Kent can’t gracefully exit stage left the way Hal Jordan can. Even if most of the rest of pop culture will be supplanted by the tide of time we’re not going to stop getting Superman stories anytime soon. But while in Batman and The Just the big question was “What son could ever live up to the eternal, glorious father who will never fade?”, now the question is “Oh shit, wait, Jon Kent is on the CW and probably taking over the Superman book proper, and that Coates/Abrams movie might not even be about Clark one way or another. What’s the *old* guy supposed to do if he’s gonna keep hanging around?” That’s why it has to be a ‘proper’ DC book - it asks whether the old things we won’t shake can ever truly be new again, or at least find a new role for themselves. And that role involves the team from the last moment mainstream superhero comics really felt like the future to Morrison, the team that represented the next step past their own breakout work in JLA and that their onetime protege’s career would later springboard off of, that was the template for 21st century superhero aesthetics in general. I want the first words of the first interview for this to be “I swear to god this time I’m really done afterwards”, but however crassly commercial the origins, I can see how Morrison would be convinced to do this as a trilogy-capper conclusion to their post-Multiversity DC work (especially with how Pax Americana and Wonder Woman were both in conversation with that whole Mills/Ellis/Ennis/Millar mode of superhero comics). What role can the old archetypes serve in a brave new world?

Additional thoughts:

* According to the Penguin listing this while filling out a 139 page trade will only be two issues, so it seems they’ll both be massively oversized (wonder if there’ll be backups?) and released as a whole pretty much immediately. In line with the Klaus format, and pretty close to the original plan for Superman Beyond.

* Guess Morrison was consulting on the Superman stuff in Future State as more than a gesture of goodwill. This does seem to potentially be set in that period given Clark’s graying at the temples, and since Superman & The Authority was a 5G rumor from way back (notably the same month as the Ellis allegations coming out) there’s an additional question of how long ago this was written. Not long enough ago or standalone enough that they put it in Future State itself, but even so.

* Really glad Janin’s here - not only is he a perfect choice and tied into Superman right now, he’s the guy who drew Midnighter in Grayson, out of which we got Orlando and ACO’s Midnighter, so he’s at the root of the Wildstorm resurgence. Also curious to see how far Morrison can push him.

* Ritesh pointed this out: Clark’s fully Tom Strong. The hair, the short sleeves, the gloves, the science hero vibe. And a thread of PKJ’s run is Superman’s power is beginning to fade, so he’ll probably be in that territory physically too and therefore needing to rely on help from other heavy-hitters.

* The roster mostly makes sense: Midnighter and Apollo are the givens, a new speedster (Lightray?), they like Steel so Natasha Irons being here isn’t surprising, and of course they’d include OMAC. But Manchester? And a Manchester who looks like Peter Capaldi? A Manchester who as you note I’ll be forced to like now? Wild. And...Enchantress? Okay?

* As far as cameos go I’m curious if we’ll see Jon, since he’s the guy who needs to have replaced Superman for the story to make thematic sense as I’m assuming it is, or the Superman Squad for similar reasons + then this can be an avenue for Morrison to tell that big Squad story they had in mind.

* It’s curious that the cover isn’t on a surface level aggressively provocative, because there’s so much about this that is. Not even the obvious fact of a Superman & The Authority book with Manchester Black on it (itself a hilarious fuck you to What’s So Funny), but that it’s the Superman shield from Kingdom Come - the iconography of that version of that guy hanging out with the 90s ass-kicker team in excelsis isn’t inconsequential. And while Action Comics and its socialist strongman was playing as nice as it could with its New 52 surroundings, this as a Grant Morrison future for Superman that isn’t All-Star is itself a pretty plain statement of intent that hey, THIS is what they think about what Superman's potential now, not what they did 15 years ago. Will that be a condemnation alongside Blackstars and the Hyperman story in TGL, or a testament to Superman’s ability to change with the times and continue serving as the man of tomorrow? If this is being collected in November, I imagine we’ll see this summer.

[pokii-jonas]

Accepting Deceit : Chapters 7 and 8

so... for the life of me, i can’t remember if i added chapter 7 to tumblr, so i figured i’d just do these 2 chapters together ;p

sorry about forgetting to update on here!!! if you want updates sooner, just see my AO3 here because i update that a day before tumblr usually :p

chapter 6 here

WARNINGS:

(chapter 7) -  light swearing (one f bomb), a lot of kissing (idk if that's a warning, but just in case)

(chapter 8) -  crying (i guess?)

CHAPTER 7

When Remy first appeared in front of Roman, knocking his full mug to the ground and breaking it, Roman wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

“Re-!” Roman started to say, only to be cut off my Remy putting his finger to his lips and saying, “Oh, shut up you idiot.”

Before anything else could be said, Remy was pressing his lips forcefully against Roman’s.

Roman simply kissed back, slowly at first but with more force as the kiss deepened and he finally convinced himself that yes:

This was fucking happening.

And oh god was it amazing.

They didn’t split for a while, but when they finally did it was Remy drawing back to take a deep breath.

They both were breathing heavily and their cheeks were slightly flushed a soft red as they stared at each other.

“W...where the heck did that come from?” Roman asked quietly, his voice slightly lower than usual which cause Remy to smirk.

Looking Roman up and down, Remy got off of him and went to sit at the other end of the couch while saying, “You’re an idiot. Why didn’t you ever tell me you liked me?”

Roman’s face flushed a little brighter.

“Well, I thought you didn’t like me! I… ya know… didn’t wanna ruin anything.” he said, starting off strong and confident but gradually getting quieter.

Remy gave a small laugh.

“Wow, you are so cute when making excuses.” he said sarcastically, a smirk playing across his face.

Roman glared over at him.

“Oh yeah ‘Mr. I Have a Crush on Roman and I’m Never Gonna Tell Him because He Doesn’t Feel the Same Way?’ Well then, I must say you’re on fire because I smell the smokey scent of a hypocrite.” Roman retorted, crossing his arms as he tried to hide his growing smirk.

Remy wanted to roll his eyes at the over complicated attempt at a joke, but instead jumped forward once again and pressed himself back onto Roman.

Roman, more prepared this time, kissed back with full force and flipped Remy underneath him with surprising strength.

Remy let out a startled mumble at this and Roman pulled back slightly to give him a sly smirk.

Remy smirked back but as Roman began to close the distance between their mouths again Remy’s eyes went wide and he pressed his hand to cover Roman’s mouth.

“Oop! One sec babe, I needa do something real quick.” he said, moving to sit up despite Roman still being on top of him.

Pouting slightly, Roman got up and let Remy fully sit up. His pout quickly turned into confusion as Remy waved his hand and conjured the same pen and journal he had out earlier.

“What’s that?” Roman asked, watching Remy scribble a few sentences on a half filled page and then let it disappear with the pen.

“Hm? Oh, I guess it’s kind of like a dream journal. Except instead of writing down dreams, I write down things that actually happen.” Remy responded, leaning back and placing his sunglasses on his face as they had fallen off during his earlier surprise attack.

“Why would you write down reality though?” Roman asked, confused.

Remy felt a light blush fall across his cheeks as he answered, “I have trouble, uh, telling the difference sometimes. Ya know, between dreams and reality. The journal helps me remember I’m awake.”

It occurred to him that only Logan really knew this bit of information, though he figured the others probably picked up on it. Logan, however, was the only one he had directly told before.

Roman looked Remy up and down, trying not to think about how cute he was when he was blushing.

“Oh, okay. That makes sense, actually. Now I feel dumb for not noticing sooner.” Roman said with a small frown.

However, that frown quickly turned into a mischievous smirk as he looked Remy up and down again.

Remy, after his momentary shock at Roman just accepting that bit of information, smirked back and pounced onto Roman, smashing their lips together once again..

‘Oh, I could get used to this.’ Roman thought, kissing back and wrapping his arms around Remy.

CHAPTER 8

Patton led Logan back to his bedroom quietly, hoping they didn’t disturb the couple on the couch.

Reaching his room, he let go of Logan’s hand to hold the door open for him, giving a slight bow as he did so.

Logan repressed a grin and rolled his eyes at such a Roman mannerism coming from Patton as he walked into the room.

Patton felt a small grin grow on his face as he followed Logan, letting the door close behind him.

Finally alone and bathed in the calming glow of the blue fairy lights Patton had placed around his room, Logan felt himself at a loss of words.

He quietly made his way to the bed and sat down, trying to keep the best posture he could.

Patton smiled and sat down on the floor crossed legged across from him.

“There’s plenty of room on the bed you know.” Logan said as he looked down at Patton, confused.

Patton gave a cheery smile as he said, “Yeah, but the floor just feels better, you know?”

Logan did not know. He did not understand why people insisted on sitting on surfaces that weren’t designed to be sat on.

He was about to state this, but looking down at Patton’s face he knew that it would make no difference. He’d just argue that the logicality of it doesn’t change the ‘feelings’ or whatever.

If Patton wanted to sit on the floor then fine. Logan wouldn’t stop him.

Unfortunately, maintaining good posture was difficult when he had to keep his head tilted down to see Patton’s face.

Sighing and letting go of almost all the dignity and pride he had left, Logan gracefully slipped from the bed to the floor so he was sitting directly across from Patton.

Patton couldn’t control the smile that broke across his face, which he noticed happened around Logan quite often.

“How’s it feel?” Patton asked, bringing his legs to his chest to hug them. His eyes were shining with a joy that Logan couldn’t comprehend.

“It’s adequate I suppose. At least your rug is clean.” Logan stated, unconsciously running his hand over the dark blue fuzzy rug he was sitting on.

Patton opened his mouth at this, but quickly closed it as he decided not to tell Logan that he’d never cleaned his rug before.

Heck, he didn’t even know that was a thing people were supposed to do.

“So what do we do now?” Logan asked and Patton looked up from the floor to see Logan looking around the room inquisitively, quickly inspecting every item that caught his interest.

“Hmmm…” Patton hummed, resting his chin on his knees.

What did they do now? Remy and Roman were occupied and Virgil was still with Deceit.

Patton looked around his room as well, noticing a small dusty object hidden under his bed

“AHA!” he exclaimed, falling forward onto his stomach and stretching to pull it towards him.

Sitting up onto his elbows, he wiped the dust off of it and onto his rug.

Rolling onto his back, he tilted his head backwards to view Logan.

“Cards!” he shouted happily, thrusting the deck of cards he’d retrieved into the air above him with both hands.

Logan stared for a second, before reaching forward and grabbing the cards. Turning them over in his hands and examining them, he looked up to Patton with an excited glint in his features.

“I can’t believe you still have these. I thought Thomas lost them.” Logan said, looking back down at the playing cards. The playing cards that had a different star constellation on each card. The playing cards that he specifically remembers Thomas leaving on the subway in New York City.

“I keep everything, remember?” Patton said, giving Logan a breathtakingly gorgeous smile that left him staring at him for a few seconds before blushing and looking back down at the cards.

Pulling them out of their package, he felt a small smile grow on his face as he looked through all the different star constellations and their names.

Looking up again, he saw Patton looking at him, seeming to be completely enraptured with simply watching him.

Before Logan could really think about it, he felt himself inching closer to Patton until he was sitting directly next to him and their legs were pressed together.

Patton gave him a questioning look, but before he could ask what he was doing, Logan said, “This constellation is called Andromeda.”

Patton looked down and saw Logan holding one of the cards up.

Looking through the deck a little bit more, Logan pulled up another card.

“This constellation is called Cassiopeia. She’s the queen and the mother of Andromeda.”

“She looks like a chair.” Patton stated bluntly, tilting his head as he tried to see what was so queen-like about the seemingly random arrangement of stars.

Logan gave a small chuckle.

“Some people see a chair, but others see a ‘w.’ It all depends on how you are viewing it.”

Patton gave a small nod and Logan continued.

“This one is the king, otherwise known as Cepheus-“

“Wait, if people know that it doesn’t look like a queen, then why do they call it that? Also, how was it decided that Andromeda is related to the queen?” Patton asked, feeling as though his mind was about to catch fire as he tried to process and understand just the small amount of information that was being relayed to him.

Logan turned the corner of his mouth up in a small grin as he looked to Patton, who appeared to be deep thought.

“Would you like to hear the story?” he asked and Patton looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Story?” Patton asked curiously and Logan nodded.

“Yes. Most constellations have stories behind the name called ‘myths.’ Would you like to know the story of Andromeda?”

Patton’s eyes went even wider as he nodded his head enthusiastically, giving a bright smile.

Logan smiled to himself as he began to recount the classic Greek tale of how Andromeda was meant to be sacrificed to the sea monster Cetus after her mother Cassiopeia, who was married to the Ethiopian king Cepheus, bragged that Andromeda was more beautiful than the Nereids, or the sea nymphs. Poseidon, angered to hear this, sent Cetus the sea monster out to destroy devastate the land of Ethiopia by ravaging their coast. King Cepheus thus appealed to Zeus who decided the only way to appease the angered God would be to sacrifice Andromeda to Cetus.

Patton had tears sparkling in his eyes by this point.

“How could he agree to do that to his own daughter?” he asked, horrified.

“It’s just a story, Patton.” Logan said with a small frown, not happy with the effect the story seemed to have on Patton.

“That doesn’t make it any less horrible!” Patton exclaimed, hugging his knees close to his chest.

Logan’s frown deepened.

“Do you want me to continue?” he asked hesitantly, afraid of upsetting Patton even more.

Patton sniffled and vigorously nodded his head, wiping tears from his eyes.

Logan gave a small nod and continued.

“Well, the King did agree to this. He had Andromeda chained to the rocks to await her doom, but that’s when Perseus flew over head and spotted her.”

“Who’s Perseus?” Patton asked, once again quickly enraptured in the story.

“He’s a very well known figure in Greek Mythology. The son of Zeus and a human named Danae, he is most known for slaying Medusa-”

“WHAT?!?” Patton shouted, causing Logan to jump. “I thought that was Percy Jackson...” he continued, letting go of his knees and placing a hand to his chin in thought.

Logan sighed at this and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Patton, you do realize that that is a fiction book series and essentially none of those events actually transpired in mythology or reality, correct?”

“Can you tell me the real story next then?” Patton asked excitedly.

Logan looked up at this and, after taking in Patton’s excited face, smiled and nodded.

“Of course. Would you like me to finish the current story first?”

Patton nodded eagerly and Logan cleared his throat before continuing.

“Upon seeing the gorgeous Andromeda chained to the rocks, Perseus fell in love immediately. After killing Cetus and saving her, he asked King Cepheus for her hand in marriage.” Logan finished.

“Awwwww!” Patton breathily said, his eyes wet once again which caused Logan to panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry. Here.” Logan said as calmly as possible, conjuring a tissue and handing it to Patton.

Patton laughed lightly, taking the tissue and blowing his nose.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, Lo.” he said, looking to Logan with more tears forming in his eyes.

Logan started to panic further.

“Are you sure? I know really happy stories, I can tell you those if you’d rather or-” Logan started to ramble, cut off by Patton lightly pressing a finger to his lips.

“Calm down, mon étoile.” Patton said gently, removing his finger from Logan’s lips and smiling softly.

Logan promptly shut up, trying to ignore the fast beating of his heart.

“I loved the story.” he said, his smile growing just a bit.

“You did? Then why-”

“It was a good story-” Patton cut him off. “It was a good story, but that’s not what I liked the most about it.” Patton said, looking down at his hands with a small blush tinting his cheeks.

Logan tilted his head and looked at Patton curiously.

“What did you like about it then?” he asked, watching as Patton became increasingly flustered.

“I, well… I could listen to you talk all day. About anything. I… I just like your voice.” Patton said, his face getting redder as he stumbled over his words.

He was adorable. Logan felt himself short circuit as he looked at the flushing, adorable mess sitting next to him.

Distracted, Logan let the first thing he thought of slip out of his mouth.

“You’re Andromeda.” he whispered breathlessly and Patton looked up at him curiously.

“What?” Patton asked and now it was Logan’s turn to become a flustered disaster.

“I uh, well… You, umm- you are, uh, perfect- I mean, um, amazing- I mean nice! Just like, you know…” Logan said, words tumbling out of his mouth in a confusing mess.

Patton stared wide eyed at Logan before a huge smile took over his face.

“Does that mean you’re Perseus?” he asked brightly and Logan looked up at him.

“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked quietly.

Patton smiled as he stood up.

“Well, I can’t be Andromeda without a Perseus.” he said, holding out a hand towards Logan.

Logan looked at the outstretched hand for a second before grabbing it with his own hand and being helped up by Patton.

After brushing himself down, Logan looked back up to see Patton still smiling warmly at him.

“Why don’t we go back to my room? We can lie on my bed and I can show you more constellations.” Logan suggested, putting the cards back in their packaging and placing them on the bedside table.

Patton thought about it for a moment.

“Make it the floor and you have a deal.” he said, sticking out his tongue and clasping his hands behind his back.

Logan grinned despite himself.

“Fine.”

Patton smiled and with a snap of his fingers he was wearing his cat onesie and Logan was wearing his unicorn one.

“Might as well do this the right way.” Patton said at Logan’s questioning glace.

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Fine, let’s go.” he said, grabbing Patton’s hand as he led him out the door and down the hallway to his room.

***

so yeet!

i’ll be going through and changing the chapter links in my old posts to make it easier to get from chapter to chapter :p

hope you enjoyed! (and please tell me if i’ve put these chapters up already, i have such a bad memory)

TAGLIST:

@hghrules @the-doctor-demigod-wizard @asexualsinner @unisaurioamorfo @virgil-angsty-sanders @xechoecho88x @thatonepersonwhoshippeople @septic-fallen @cyberpunkjinx@fabulousfanaticfander @miserykillme @iamjdelightful

[idlecreature]

Damnatio ad bestias, a Aro/Caius drabble 

Nsfw! No specific trigger warnings. Just bad porn. 

Part 2

One of Caius’ questionably few charms is his dogged efficiency. He scrawls in his personal dossiers viciously, almost rabidly, with an idea to be finished as soon as possible so he can move onto the next task, and then the next -- his life organised in bullet points that look burnt onto paper. 

“Don’t you ever multitask?” Aro sighs, black cape spread over the couch in Caius’ office like an impending migraine. As usual, Aro’s timing is the worst. Why couldn’t he waltz in when Caius was checking off accounts, reading reports, puzzling over his fax machine operator’s manual?

“If that’s one of those awful modern words,” Caius says, “then, no, I don’t ‘multitask’.” 

“Oh, you should try it sometime,” Aro says with an unruffled grin that evokes for Caius an image of a starving wolf taught to use its table manners -- a grin that never means anything good. Aro stretches across the couch, languidly propping his feet up on the priceless antique. Caius looks pointedly at his papers, carefully licking a finger and flicking to the next page. 

“It means doing several things at once,” Aro explains (completely unnecessarily). Caius imagines Aro with a sock in his mouth, and the idea is....pleasing in an unexpected way. He writes the same word twice, and he rips out the whole page, it’s ruined. “Like writing and talking, or writing and talking and......what are you writing? Wait, don’t answer, let me guess. Philosophy, perhaps? No, not like you at all: contemptible, frivolous, witless, febrile. A manifesto, then?........” 

Caius stares at what he’s just written, but it may as be gobbledegook. He breathes through his nose, clenching his free hand until the bones ache. He mustn’t show weakness. 

“...you’ve written yourself into neat little labyrinths before...but what about physics? Nature’s law, smaller than an atom....” 

Aro’s enthusiastic gestures half-catch Caius’ eye, the long, pretty, colourful line of his body splayed on the couch. It is only an exercise in self-restraint that keeps Caius’ head bowed down, his eyes boring holes in his tissue-thin paper and matchstick desk. 

“....man picks over every grain of sand?” 

Caius looks up. “Oh, were you saying something?” 

“You’re teasing me,” Aro replies, rising from the couch. Dark, slender fingers curl around his dossiers and drag the bundle across the desk. 

Caius concentrates very hard on not breaking the pen in his hand. “Aren’t you clever?” 

The bones sit in Aro’s face like fine upholstery, his eyes black and plainly wanting. Wanting what, exactly, Caius isn’t sure. He side-eyes Aro’s fingers playing across the paper. He desperately wants to snatch it out of Aro’s clever hands and throw it across the room. He is aware of the window behind him letting in the wheezy air, the door to his office slightly ajar. “I think,” Aro replies, drumming his fingertips across the dossiers, “that you aren’t being entirely honest with me.” 

“What?” Caius scoffs. Aro is too close now. The air is syrup-thick, choking him. “What are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine.” The pen in his hand explodes from his too-tight grip, splattering ink across the desk. “Damn you for a pestilent little traitor,” he growls. 

“What’s got you so worked up?” The question is perfectly innocent, but everything in Aro’s expression says that it isn’t. If there’s one thing Caius hates about Aro, it’s his goddamned baited questions. As if everything isn’t okay. Isn’t hunky-dory. As if he isn’t at the top of a house of cards that a goddamned gust of air could knock over. As if wrangling the guards isn’t a full-time occupation and there’s no thanks and the only retirement is a quick fall with a sharp blade. Ceaseless, tireless progression for the last thousand years--spinning a thousand plates and the mental labour fatigues him to the bone. 

“I just want privacy for an hour---” he spits, having no way of solidifying these half-formed, hindbrain thoughts. And even the thought of having these thoughts humiliates him. He needs someone who just - instantly - gets it - no explanation needed---- 

---And he’s standing a desk-width away. The man is so damn composed, and it infuriates Caius that nothing can leave a mark on him, crack that cultivated, ironic facade. He knows that underneath there’s something wild and unforgiving, and that’s someone that Caius desperately wants to possess, wants to have pinned and writhing beneath him. 

“Well, if something so trivial drives you to nearly a tantrum,” Aro says, words peeking out from the sharp triangles between his fingers, “Then I’m concerned about your capacity to continue work as a leader of this coven. How much longer can you last before breaking down?” 

“Longer than your patience for it.” 

“Perhaps,” Aro says, wearing his smugness like a too-tight cravat. He’s ellubient, a catherine-wheel of evil intent. Caius sees the beginning of a plan hatch in his eyes, and it holds a knife. “You’re glorious when you’re so defensive. It just makes me want to--” 

Caius interrupts by vaulting across the desk. In a single fluid movement, he pulls Aro, landing hard on the couch. His hands scrabble all over Aro’s body like a rodent, shucking that dreadful robe, his blouse. “Don’t say it,” he breathes into the base of Aro’s neck, tasting heat and salt, the twitch of a half-dead jugular. “Show me what you’d do.” 

Aro trembles slightly, surprisingly pliant. He plants hard kisses wherever he can reach, mostly crown and browbone. He flinches at the touch of skin as if Caius is barbed wire. 

“You have a shockingly vivid imagination,” Aro says, a slight hitch in his voice. Caius remembers those long, clever fingers playing across the papers of his diary, except it’s the neurons of Caius’ brain he’s picking at now. He imagines a sharp little fingernail wriggling its way into a nerve, flaying him open, leaving him raw. The thought would usually fill him with loathing but right now -- it’s what he needs. What he craves. 

Aro’s fingers play lightly at the waistband of Caius’ pants. He gracefully frees himself from Caius’ embrace and folds to his knees, that knowing, smirking mouth now nibbling at Caius’ pants where his hand was seconds ago. 

Caius concentrates on Aro’s freckled shoulder, finding the sight of a man ordinarily so tight on the strings of power and control -- on his knees before him, asking for permission -- absolutely unbearable. He winds his hands through Aro’s hair, freeing it of its many silver clasps. 

He feels the shivery motion of Aro unzipping his pants with his teeth. He playfully smooches Caius’ cock and immediately takes it in his mouth. Aro’s hand snakes around Caius’ shaft, squeezing him tightly enough to make him gasp. Aro cackles, his mouth still full of cock and the sensation shocks Caius deeply, like a knife through the heart, paralytic, and he wonders what evil deeds he must have done to deserve such a man, surely worse than coercion, worse than torture, worse than murder, and when Aro begins sucking and swirling his tongue, taking Caius as deep as he can go, Caius finds it impossible to think at all. 

Suddenly, Aro stops. Caius clings to him in confusion, thrusting shallowly forward, an unbearable pressure in his stiff, leaking cock. 

Aro spits him out, his wine-red lips and chin shining with fluid. “I wasn’t being disingenuous before. I am genuinely concerned about your wellbeing.” 

Caius hisses through his teeth. “Aro---” 

“You’re shutting yourself away,” Aro says. He tugs Caius’ pants down to his knees and pushes his legs apart. He sucks on a finger, locking eyes with Caius. “But of course, that only makes people like me more curious.” 

“For god’s sake---” 

Aro slides a spit-slickened finger into Caius’s ass and simultaneously traces his tongue down his cock from tip to base. The sensation is so incredible that Caius is shamefully pushed over the edge, and he comes too swiftly to avoid Aro’s face and hair. 

“At least your couch isn’t spoiled,” Aro says, raising his eyes in bemusement. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry--” Caius says. “Let me make it up to you---that’s fair,” he continues, pawing at Aro’s robe. 

Aro slaps his hands away. “Not necessary. These things happen when you’re stressed.” He stands up, circling his arms around Caius’ waist. “Let’s take the day off work, and have a long, hot bath,” he whispers saucily. 

“You can’t just a day off whenever you feel like it--” 

“Yes, you can,” Aro says, dragging him towards the door. 

The baths are dark, sulphuric, nestlike. The deep heat of the water sinks deliciously into Caius’ muscles, which are inexplicably sore. Aro presses his chest to Caius’ back, limning his lips along the tops of Caius’ shoulders. “You’re so tense,” he says. “Relax.” 

“I can’t,” Caius breathes, just loud enough to be audible. It’s the closest he allows himself to a confession and it’s only permissible because Aro can hear the feverish, anxious timbre of his thoughts. He feels like a cornered animal and he doesn’t know why but he aches, heartsore and defeated. 

He turns to Aro, his lovely face peppered with condensation, and begins to layer him with harsh little kisses and rubs. From afar, it would appear like an albino lion chomping down on a stringy, dark carcass. The lion’s fangs grind together, working at some knotty tendon, and what appears as a rabbit’s eye peeps out from the fearsome maw. 

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Mystery Man

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5077

Summary: Deciding to be more social, Simon goes to a masquerade ball fundraiser. Based on "shy kiss" to "steamy kiss" request.

Read on AO3

AN: See? I am actually working through these requests! It's just taking awhile. Hope you like it!

Simon

A masquerade ball. What a strange idea. The student union is trying to find more “creative” ways to raise funds. Guess a rich university like Watford can afford to be creative. They’ve rented out some fancy hotel ballroom nearby, got the art department to make masks, the drama department to loan costumes, and for 20 quid a person, you can dance with fellow students. It’s absolutely ludicrous. And possibly fun. I desperately need some fun.

“I can’t believe you’re going to this thing, Simon,” Penny mutters as she picks at her chicken.

“Why?” I say, mouth filled with turkey and mayo.

“Because you rarely go out, period. Plus you’re an awful dancer.”

I shrug. “I just want to have some fun. If you haven’t noticed, Pen, I’m beyond anti-social. Especially since Agatha broke up with me.” I angrily bite my sandwich. It’s only been a few weeks. The wound is still sorta raw.

Penny sighs and hangs her head. “Fine, whatever. Have fun. I’m going to stay home and study.”

“You should go to the library and join Baz. The stupid prick has spent most of his time there since October. He always leaves before I wake up and comes back after I’m asleep.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

I shrug again. “I guess. At least I don’t have to listen to him complain about the open windows anymore.”

We both laugh at that, but quickly fall back into silence. I finish my turkey club in two bites and move on to the cherry scone. As I’m buttering it, I freeze. Something processes through my brain. Penny looks at me quizzically.

“What?” she says.

I point my blunt knife at her. “What do you mean awful dancer!?”

Penny bursts out laughing. We enter a long discussion on the merits of my rhythmic movement capabilities. I argue that jumping up and down does qualify as dancing. At least in clubs it does.

When I get to my room after class the next day, a figure in a grey hoodie is rummaging through Baz’s things.

“Hey what the hell are you doing?!” I yell.

The person whips around, and I immediately relax. It is Baz. With his large, slightly tinted glasses sliding down on his long nose, and wavy black hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. He looks at me with mouth hung open in shock. I let out a long breath.

“Jesus Baz, you scared the shit out of me. Since when do you come in here?”

Baz pulls the large hardcover books into his chest. “Sorry to disturb you with my presence, Snow,” he mutters in his small voice.

Baz Pitch is a very weird guy. He’s always so pulled in and bent over. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him stand at his full height. (He’s going to be a hunchback by the time we graduate.) He rarely talks to me, just stares and looks away when I notice. We’ve been uni roommates for 6 months, and he’s said maybe a total of fifteen words to me. And all those words have been complaints or insults. So pretty much, he’s an awkward asshole in an oversized hoodie.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Be like that. I’m taking a shower.”

I stomp into the bathroom. I hear Baz scurry away and close the door behind him, then breath a sigh of relief. I’m actually glad he’s rarely here anymore. His presence makes me so anxious. It’s like walking on eggshells around him.

I shake Baz out of my mind. No need for that brain clutter. I have to take a shower, do my homework, and then go to this masquerade thing. I can’t be late.

I’m fucking late. I got caught up watching telly in the common room and completely lost track of time. Now I’m hopping out of the tube and booking it to this silly hotel. God, this better all be worth it.

I stumble through the huge double doors. Trixie, decked out in her fancy gown and fairy mask, is at the table.

“Hi, Simon...” she says.

“Hi,” I pant out, “sorry I’m late. Is... is there still time to sign up?”

Trixie looks down at her clipboard. “Actually, you’re lucky, we’ve got one costume left. 20 quid and it’s your’s.”

I nod vigorously, slapping a bill on the table. Trixie smiles and picks up a suit bag. She motions for me to follow. We go to the men’s room. She hands me the bad.

“Put this on. Mask and all, please. Event starts in 10 minutes, alright?”

“Sure thing, Trixie.”

I’m left alone in the toilet. In a stall, I unzip the outfit. It’s a ridiculously decadent, velvety thing. It consists of a white shirt, grey waistcoat, navy jacket with silver embroidery, matching pants, cravat, white tights, and black buckled shoes. At the top is a the mask. It would cover the area around my eyes, with a little crescent moon twisting out to my forehead. The grey surface and pearly accents glow under the LED light fixture.

“This is what I signed up for,” I sigh.

Can’t take back the 20 quid, I guess.

The room is bustling with fancy dressed people. A veritable sea of fluffy white shirts and ball gowns. Those masks really do their job. I can barely recognise anyone. (Or maybe I just don’t know anyone. God I’m anti-social.) I do notice Agatha, though. Her corn blonde hair is very memorable. He’s in a lovely soft pink dress with a flowery mask. I run away before she has a chance to see me. Yes, I’m a coward, and I’m fully okay with that.

There’s a food table at the back. Not anything fancy, just crackers and cheese and shit. But I’ll eat anything when I’m stressed. I wolf down a few, chewing loudly (Penny always complains about how loud I chew.)

“Maybe you should save some for the rest of us,” a smooth, melodious voice says from in front of me.

My head snaps. The man standing there, he’s... beautiful. I know he must be from our school, but I'm pretty sure I would’ve noticed a guy this handsome. He’s wearing an outfit like mine but it's bright scarlet. While mine hangs off me, his fits him perfectly, outlining his tall, graceful figure. He’s all reds and golds, from his sparkling embroidered jacket to his skin tone. His mask is styled like a dragon. It covers the whole top half of his face, and flares outwards with black and red flaps. Four twisty horns, two big and two small, poke out from the top. His gorgeous grey eyes sparkle with his playful smile.

“Um, you want some?” I say, mouth still full.

He chuckles. It’s as sweet as honey. “No, I’m quite alright. More here for the dancing than the food.”

I swallow my snacks. “Well, I want to dance too, but I’ve recently been informed that I can’t dance.”

“I’m sure you can. Anyone can with a little practice.”

I smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence... hey I didn’t get your name?”

Mystery Man freezes for a second. He looks genuinely shocked. Is it taboo to ask for names at these things? It’s not like I have a point of reference. The shock fades back into his smirk. He leans forward until our faces are inches apart. I can feel my insides twist and turn. His voice comes out as a breathy whisper.

“Isn’t it far more exciting to stay behind the mask?”

I hope this mask hides my creeping blush. “Y-Yeah, I guess.”

He smiles devilishly, showing his shining white teeth. “Excellent.”

“Hello?” A tinny voice rings out of the mic. I look to see Trixie standing at the front, next to her equally fancy dressed (I assume) girlfriend. (Those two are joined at the hip.) “This thing on? Oh goody. Hello everyone, and welcome to the first ever Watford Masquerade Ball!”

We all clap politely.

“Now, we’re going to try a sort of old fashioned baroque dance. Usually this kind of thing is done with 8 people, and we’ve got 24 here, but we’ll make it work. Now everyone grab a partner, no matter boy or girl. Baroque dancing is ludicrously gendered, but this is the modern age dammit. One of you, go line up on the left, with your partner doing the same on the right.”

I guess everyone came with partners because they line up very fast. Most of the girls choose the right, while the guys go left. (Despite Trixie’s effort, heteronormativity wins out again.) I look at Mystery Man. He offers his hand across the table with a half smile. “May I have this dance?”

God I hope my blush isn’t too bad. All I can manage is to nod dumbly and take his hand. He leads us towards the dance floor.

“Who’s gonna go to the girl side?” I whisper.

“I can, if you like,” he replies. “I’m very secure in my masculinity.”

I chuckle, earning a smile from him. “Very well then.”

Mystery Man stands in the line opposite me, along with the girls and the few other boys. I put my hands behind my back and square my shoulders. Sure, I’m terrified, but I’m also very excited. I’m certainly having fun.

“Now," Trixie starts, "this is an amalgam of baroque movements we’ve come up with in the dance department. I’ll guide you through it. Good?” There are no dissenting voices. “Alright let’s get this shit started!” Trixie yells, in true classic masquerade ball fashion.

She hits a button on her smartphone plugged into the speakers. Upbeat violin and flute music starts playing. It’s not exactly the dance music I’m used to, but I can see how someone could move to this beat.

“We start with an acknowledgement. Left side, bow to your partners.”

I watch the guy beside me cross his legs over each other, put an arm in front and on his back, and lean forward. I quickly copy him. And nearly fall on my face, stumbling forward.

“Right side, your turn.”

The ladies curtsey gracefully. Mystery Man bows perfectly, of course. He’s amazing.

“Both sides, take three steps into the centre.”

We do as Trixie says. I’m a bit too far away, but take a baby step forward. Mystery Man seems to find this amusing. I look away. He taps my foot, making me face up. He’s smiling softly. And all my anxiety just kind of, floats away.

“Left, raise your right hand up and hold it sideways, facing your right. Stay there, don’t move. Right, touch your hand to your partners.”

Cautiously, I raise my hand. Mystery Man meets me, lightly pressing our palms together. His hands are kind of rough, but I like it. Little sparks dance across my nerve endings with every scratch of his skin.

“Now everyone, take a two little skips forward, then back. Watch me.” She sort of daintily gallops forward then back again. Like a tiny heeled pony. “Now go!”

I try my best to trot forward. My black heels click on the marble floor. I stumble a bit, but Mystery Man catches me discreetly with his other hand. The second time, I do it much better. I grin at my achievement, and so does he.

“Slowly, walk in a circle with your hands still together. Try to look at your partner and not your feet.”

I look up at him. He still has that beautiful happy expression. Yeah, I can definitely look at that. We walk together. I let him set the pace. Our eyes are totally locked. Everything around his face disappears. All I can see is this dragon boy I’m dancing with.

“Stop! That’s good. Face each other, and take both of each other’s hand at your sides.”

Our hands fumble a bit, but we get a good grip.

“This is the really fun part. While still holding hands, swing your arms and spin around. Like this.”

Trixie grabs Keris’ hands. They turn on the spot, throwing their arms up in a huge circle. It actually looks pretty fun.

“Now you all try it!”

I look to my partner with a grin. With a preparatory small sway, we toss our hands up into the air. I spin easily wearing these ridiculous shoes on this overly polished floor. I laugh like a little kid on the playground. When we stop, I wobble a bit (I get dizzy easily.) Mystery Man steadies me again. He’s grinning too.

“We’re at the end of the sequence now. Let’s top it off with two claps!” Trixie claps hand in rapid succession.

Mystery Man and I pull away, then the room rings with clapping. Trixie squees and jumps up and down. (She’s very easily excited.)

“Amazing everyone! I think you’ve got the jist of it. I say, let’s do this all again two more times. Three is a wonderful number.”

I look towards my new dragon masked friend. “Ready to do this again?” I say.

He shrugs. “Well, will I have to catch you again?” I open my mouth to make a retort, but he leans forward and my brain practically shuts down. All I can think about is how close his lips are to mine. “Because I gladly would.”

Words dissolve on my tongue. I’m usually able to squeeze out some fumbling semblance of speech, but now I can’t even manage that. I’m too enthralled, too stunned. to say anything. I feel like I’m falling. But I don’t want to stop.

We repeat the dance twice more. I don’t stumble as much as I did the first time. We move gracefully in time with the music. Every touch of our hands feels like magic. I’m enjoying myself more than I have in months. And I get what I want. I keep falling, more and more with each step.

The dance ends. We all bow one last time. (I can do it perfectly now.) Everyone applauds, turning to Trixie. She curtsies politely, obviously trying to hide her embarrassed flush. She runs up to her mic.

“Nice job, you all!” she says. “It was lovely. Now, at the request of my ballroom dance loving girlfriend, she wants us to end with her favourite, the waltz. And since I can’t say no to her,” she clicks a button on her phone, “let’s finish this evening off with a waltz!”

Soft music of a different kind plays. People start spinning and swaying together. I freeze. I was mostly clueless before, but here I’m completely fucking lost. At least Trixie was shouting instructions at me. I turn to Mystery Man. He must see the concern on my face, because his lips pinch together.

“What’s wrong?” He says kindly.

“I... I have no clue how to waltz. Like, you saw me before. My friend’s right, I’m a terrible dancer. I barely keep from tripping over my own feet. And this time no one’s yelling the moves out! I-”

“Shh.” He takes his hand in mine. Worry seeps out of me with his touch. “It’s alright. You don’t have to. But, if you like,” he puts his palm against my upper back, making me inhale sharply, “I do know the dance. And I can lead.”

This evening has been incredible so far. I don’t want it to end. So I nod slowly. “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

He smiles, and lifts our joined hands until our arms are outstretched. I bring my other hand up, but I have no idea where to put it, so it falls uselessly.

“Put it on my shoulder,” he whispers. I do, holding him tightly. “Now just follow me.”

“I will,” I say softly.

He moves back, and I step with him. He’s going slowly for me. We go in a box formation. It takes a bit, but I get the hang of it. (He was right, it just takes practice.) Soon, we’re moving in perfect sync, gliding across the floor. It’s like we were on a cloud. Nothing exists outside of the two of us, our hands, our feet, everything. I’m too damn happy to care about anything else.

The song ends. Mystery Man and I slow then stop. Our eyes are fixed together. Bit by bit, our hands lower, until they fall away. All I can hear is our deep breathing.

“Thank you,” he says, “This was-”

I grab his face and kiss him.

In hindsight, this was a poor decision. We just met, my girlfriend broke up with me only two weeks ago, and we’re wearing bloody masks, which knock together awkwardly. But I don’t care. I don’t care that we barely touch, resulting in just a shy brush of lips. It’s all I want to do in this moment. But he’s just frozen. Maybe I read the signals wrong (I do that a lot). So I pull back slightly

That’s when he grabs my collar and collides with me. Our mouths smash together. He’s unbelievably warm. I feel like every part of my body is burning with sensation. I grab his neck, running my thumbs over his skin. We angle until the masks are barely in the way. He kisses me furiously, like he's desperate. His tongue runs against mine, and I nearly fall over with the buckle in my knees. This man’s grip is the only thing keeping me up. I’m falling harder than I ever have before. I’m falling with him, and I couldn't be happier.

He pulls away slightly, our mouths still close.

“Simon,” he sighs under his ragged breath, and my heart beats manically. I kiss him again, and again, and aga-

Wait.

I pull back. He tries to chase after my mouth, but I softly press on his chest to keep him away.

“How..." I pant, "how do you know my name?”

He freezes. His eyes are filled with absolute terror. I’ve never seen anyone so scared. He shoves me away with enough force to make me stumble. With one last scared look, he dashes off.

“Hey wait!” I yell.

Mystery Man must be on the fucking track team, because he’s bloody Usain Bolt. I chase after him but I’m not in the best shape (the price for my love of scones.) He bursts through the double doors. When I get there, he’s already hailed down a cab. I watch it drive off while breathing heavily.

“Shit,” I huff. “Did I just get fucking Cinderella’d?!”

“Hey, Simon!” I turn to see Trixie come out of the doors. She’s frowning terribly. “Did your date just run off with a costume? That’s very rude. Next time you see him, tell him to bring it back.”

I stand up and cross my arms. “He wasn’t my date. Well, he was. But I just met him though. I have no idea who the fuck that is.”

And I’m not sure I ever will.

I get back to the dorms around 11. Getting out of that damn costume was surprisingly harder than getting in it. I stumble in, kicking my shoes against the wall. A groan sounds from the bed opposite mine. There’s a Baz shaped lump of multiple blankets on the bed opposite mine. Well, after such a dreamy night, I guess I need a dose of reality. And Baz is certainly that.

I strip down to my boxers and flop on my mattress. It squeaks under me. As I drift to sleep, I ghost a finger over my lips, still tingling with the memory of that man. And when I dream, it’s us dancing on a cloud.

The morning light wakes me up, which I don’t appreciate. I’m groggy, tired, and bloody annoyed. I had the most amazing evening with the most amazing man, and I don’t even know his name. Yet he knew mine! Is he a distant admirer? Some sort of stalker? Do I have class with him? Is he going to show up at my door and kiss me stupid again? Because I would really, really like that.

I groan and kick off the sheet. My bleary eyes rest on the other bed. For once, Baz isn’t gone. He’s sitting there against the headboard, balancing a textbook on his knees. But he’s obviously looking at me. Until I notice, that is.

“What is it, Baz?” I growl.

He opens his mouth like he’s ready to speak. But quickly closes it instead and buries his face in the textbook.

“Nothing, Snow,” his muffled, prickly voice says from behind the paper.

“Whatever. Prick.”

I stumble and crash my way through the dorm room. My head’s still not right. I don’t think I slept that much. I just want to go take a shower and curl up in my fluffy TARDIS robe. I reach to open my closet.

“Wait, Snow don’t!” Baz shouts. But it’s too late.

I open the door. I blink the sleep out of my eyes. This isn’t my closet. Mine is a mess of haphazardly stuffed dirty clothes. This one is filled with folded t-shirts, jeans, and grey hoodies.

Along with a crimson baroque costume and dragon masquerade mask, hanging in the back.

I’m not sure how long I stand there. Just, staring at it. My thoughts are like a car wreck of confusion. Slowly, I process what this means. Why this costume is hanging in Baz’s closet. I pivot on my feet. Baz is leaning forward on his bed, textbook tossed to the side. I recognise that look of terror. That fear in his grey eyes.

His gorgeous grey eyes.

“Baz...” I say softly. “You... you were Mystery Man?”

Baz pulls back to the wall, curling his hands into his chest. He nods rapidly. “Yeah.”

I run a hand through my hair, chewing the nails on my other. I think my brain is exploding. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I mutter. “Why? Why did you dance with me? Why didn't you tell me it was you? Why did you bloody kiss me?!”

Baz leans his chin on his fists behind his knees. “I’m sorry,” he moans. “I-I just went there because Niall asked me to. But then you were there, in that beautiful fucking costume, and I finally got the confidence to attempt an actual conversation. I thought you would recognise me but you didn't. And I realised you’d freak out if you knew it was me, because you hate me. So I just, played along! It was so much fun, dancing with you. Then... you fucking kissed me and I was in heaven. But I-I didn’t mean for it to go that far, I’m sorry!” He moans again and pushes his face into his sleeve covered hands.

I always thought Baz was just a dick who never wanted to talk to me because I was dumber than him. Like he didn't know how to interact with a lower life form. But looking at him now, bright red and fumbling, I see that he's not some cold asshole. He's just... a boy.

I take cautious steps towards him. Slowly, I sit on the end of the bed. “For how long, though? Have you liked me?”

He doesn't speak for a bit, and when he does, it's through his hoodie. “Almost since we met.” He burrows deeper into the grey fabric. “But I've been too scared! You make me so nervous. That’s why I can’t even bloody talk to you properly! That’s not your fault though, it’s mine, I know. And last night, with you not knowing it was me, I could pretend I hadn’t already ruin everything. That you actually could like me back!” He hunches even further down, wrapping his arms around his shins and hiding in his jeans.

“That’s why you insult me all the time? And avoid me?” I say softly. “All because you have a crush on me?”

He nods rapidly. “I’m not good with, feelings and stuff. Asshole is my default. Especially when I’m scared. I’m so sorry.”

I’ve met two Baz Pitches so far. One is a quiet asshole who throws insults every time he speaks. The second is calm, confident, and beyond charming. This third one in front of me, is an incredibly anxious man who cannot process his feelings properly. But, I think all those Bazes are parts of a fundamentally good person.

I place a hand on his knee. He tenses at the touch. “You know,” I say, “there’s one thing that’s really been bugging me.” Baz inhales sharply. “Where on Earth did you learn to waltz so well?”

The tension releases from him. Baz shifts slightly out of his hunch. Just a titch, letting his eyes show. “My dad sent me to lessons when I was 17. He thought it’d help me get girls, since I’d never had a girlfriend before. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was hopelessly queer.”

I chuckle. “Well at least they sort of paid off.”

He shrugs, bringing his head up to rest on his knees. His face is soft and kind. “I guess.”

And with that smile, he looks like Mystery Man. The charming guy who made me feel safe and happy when I was scared. Slowly, I reach out towards his face. He pulls back until he his head hits the wall.

“It’s alright,” I say softly.

He relaxes. I take off his glasses, giving me clear view of his eyes. They really do sparkle. I carefully cup his cheek. He sighs and leans into my touch. I turn a bit red myself.

“Just for future reference,” I say, “if you like someone, maybe open with ‘hi’ instead of ‘don’t put your stuff on my side of the room.’”

Baz groans deeply, knocking his forehead against his legs. “I knoooow. I just, you walked in on the first day, being absolutely goddamn gorgeous. And I knew I was totally screwed, so I guess I thought, ‘better just make him hate me so I don’t get hurt.’ Stupid, I know.”

“No, it’s not stupid.” I scoot forward. “It’s a natural reaction. We all get freaked out. I mean, with my first crush, I was so scared I threw up on her shoes.”

Baz brings his head up, eyes bugging out. “Jesus, Snow! How old were you?!”

I look down. “...13.”

He snorts, then bursts out laughing. There are tears in his eyes. I turn even brighter bright red. “Shut up, it was an accident.”

“Oh I bloody well hope so!”

He slowly calms down. Then we're just sitting there, both of my hands now on his knees, staring at each other. We're so close. It feels wonderful. Baz shifts uncomfortably though. He chews at his lip nervously.

“Simon,” he starts, “that guy from last night, I'm not always like that. I'm not always that smooth, or confident. I mean, I could try to be, if you like...’

I shake my head vigorously. “No! No, don't do that. I don't want you to force yourself to be that all the time. Or hide who you are either. You should just, be yourself.”

Baz looks at me wide eyed. I'm not really sure what his emotion is. Wonder? Worry? Something in between? “But, do you actually know me?”

I shrug. “Not really, I guess. I've met different sides of you. But,” I reach down to his hoodie sleeves and grab his amazingly rough hands, bringing them up between us, “I'd like to get to know you. All of you. Not just the sides.”

He lets out the breath he'd been holding in and leans his forehead onto our joined knuckles. “I'm such an idiot. If only I'd tried this ages ago.”

“Pff! What, hiding your identity at a masquerade ball, impressing me with your dancing skills, and running away like Cinderella after snogging me senseless?!”

Baz looks up, rolling his eyes. “No, you idiot. Just talking to you like a normal person. Instead of hiding and spitting vitriol. I fucked it all up.”

I sigh and lean my cheek on our hands. “Oh don't take all the blame, love. I could've been nicer too. I'm pretty sure my first words to you were 'fuck off, you asshole prick’. Not exactly diplomatic, hm?” I raise an eyebrow, making him smile.

“No. I guess we both got off on the wrong foot.”

Suddenly, I get an idea. I pull away from him and stand up. “Get up.” Baz stares at me confused. “Don't just look at me, stand up!”.

Baz shrugs and gets to his feet. He stands at his full height. (Which is good, but it sort of sucks that he's taller than me.) I stick out my hand to him.

“Hi, I'm Simon. We’re roommates. Nice to meet you.” Baz stares at me very confused. I wiggle my fingers for emphasis. “C’mon, Baz, let's start off on the right foot now.”

He blinks a couple times, then smirks. He takes my hand. There's that sparky rough palm feeling again. I love it. “Hello Simon, I'm Baz. I think you're really cute. Want to go get coffee?”

I give him one firm shake. “I'd love to. But,” I gingerly pull my hand away, “let me put on some trousers first?”

Baz laughs heartily at that. (He has a really nice laugh.) I throw on some trackies and a Watford shirt. Baz tosses me my sandals, and we're both (mostly) properly dressed for the world. I take his hand and weave our fingers together.

“C'mon, Mystery Man, “ I say. “Let's have a proper date.”

He squeezes me lightly. “Sounds delightful, Moon Boy.”

I start walking, and he follows. “You are not allowed to call me that!”

“Oh so you’re making the rules now? This relationship is off to a rocky start already.”

I open our door, turning to him with a sarcastically bewildered look. “Relationship? Aren't you presumptuous. We're just having coffee."

Baz closes it behind us with a kick. “Well, with the huge exception of last night, I only snog people I'm dating. So I guess no more wonderful kisses for you.”

“Cruel bastard,” I say with a glare.

He glares back. “Whiny brat.” 

I'd usually be offended, but there's no bite to his voice. Only playful caring. We stroll down the hall, hands clasped. I don't plan on loosening my grip, and neither does he.

I let my Mystery Man go once. Never again.

AN: And there we go! So pretty much Baz was more awkward but still an asshole. Just a different way of him not coping with his emotions lol. I really enjoyed writing this. Simon being an oblivious little shit is so much fun. Also I love fancy dancing and masks. Overall, this was great.

Request more kiss fics here

[defiledtomb]

Draw me close

I did it.. I wrote and finished my first piece of smut. OH DEATH PLS BE KIND.

[throws this on the dash and runs away]

She danced for him, her arms picking stars from the sky as her hips ground holes in his soul. Her lips slightly parted, a warning almost.  Finish your drawing before I get bored, she had said, a single finger raised in a come hither. Before I come for you. 

He mumbled in elvhen, sharpening his pencil.

“Ma’haurasha. Garas, aman ara'mis”

Shamelessly staring at her graceful form as she drew shapes in the air with the clothes she discarded, he let his pen draw the contour of her strong legs without looking, only stopping to lower his eyes when her breast were presented lest he lost the sliver of control he worked so hard to retain.

She fell back on his bed, not entirely gracefully, having one of  her hands already caught under the cotton of her smalls. Touching herself, moaning; pleading please. She anchored him to his coal pencil, sketching fast, lines merging, never leaving the page.  With this rythm she moved, delectable sighs dressing her like a fluid. Gooseflesh travelled from her wrists to his neck two feet away.

“Do you want to fuck me, Solas?” She asked, hair pulled taught by her free hand, back arched like cupids bow. “Do you want to make me yours?”

The sharpened tip of his pencil broke on her navel, nearly piercing a hole through the parchment. He caughed, trying to hide the pink that bloomed on his cheeks. Since the kiss, she had circled him and now she was playing a dangerous game; predator and prey. He wasn’t sure which role he had accepted.

She had asked him to draw her that night, showing her breasts through the sheer fabric of her nightclothes.  He had swallowed twice in a row and frowned as he excused himself, but that night was tonight and she came to his room after the rise of the moon and blushed, pupils blown wide. It was sensual, in the most vulgar way how he couldn’t help himself and let her in. It started with a smirk, then a sigh, her shirt draping off her shoulder. And now.

Now she was writhing, blushing like a ripe fruit while touching herself, wearing little enough to salivate his mouth like the clouds on the storm coast.

“Take them off" he said, voice barely carrying the urgency of his need.

“Take what off, hahren?" She licked her lips.

He nearly rose from the table even though he was certain he had grown roots.  He smacked his lips, failing to wish, and turned his focus back to the drawing of her. As he went to better the curve of her breast, he got hit, straight across the face, by a piece of fabric. Her smalls, the heady scent of her. It stopped time, and he looked like a fool, sitting there with her smalls hanging off his ear muttering prayers in fluent elvhen.

"Did you mean those, ma’av’in?”

The way her lip curved, it was deadly, stopped his heart and every drop of blood in his veins made another detour through his cock. He stood, and sat down again, the chair screeching patience against the hard stone as he swallowed his desire yet again.

Her laughter was like bubbles bursting and he managed a wonky smile before turning his attention back to her hand, making small circles around the only thing he hungered for. To hell with it, he thought as the chair clattered to the floor with the force of his determination. She gasped, shocked, as he reached the bed and already had her ankle in an iron grip, placing sloppy kisses along her calf, whispering thanks to whatever fate that awaited him. He wanted to die here, in the wet garden between her legs.

He lowered his head further as she cupped his aching bulge and asked him to take his shirt off. She traced the shell of his ear and whimpered when he placed a long lick along her slit. Growling, wanting to howl for tasting something so sweet, he spread her legs as wide as they allowed, grasping her full arse and traced the shape of hunger on her clit, tounge stiff and controlled. She was the one who lost it, cried out loud and contracted every muscle when his tounge went soft and full and big, a single long finger slid inside of her, joined quickly by a second. His breath was a dragons, and she begged, tugging on the tips of his ears.

“Fuck me Solas, love me, please." 

He growled again when she pushed him back and untied his breeches, his cock springing free already purple and leaking. As she couldn’t resist running her tounge along his shaft, she took him in her mouth and his fingers twined in her hair, pushing his length as far down her throat as it allowed.

"Touch yourself,” he said and he was so beautiful, jaw slacking open when she looked him in the eyes and pushed two of her own digits inside of her.

She had her head on the pillow still, laying back as he was on his knees watching her intently, driving his cock into her mouth and tugging on her wild hair. He shuddered, a thousand explosions on his skin, as she dragged a single nail over his sack. Just now he wanted to release all of his content on the sin of her tounge but he pulled back and placed his forehead on hers, taking her hand and tasting her juices before kissing her hard, almost bruising, mixing their musk and moaning her name.

He placed himself, hovered above her as he pressed himself inside, grabbing her hips as he was anchored to the hilt, filling her completely. He set a punishing rythm, eliciting load moans and prayers of please from them both as he went so slow he felt every twitch of the muscles trying to milk him.

He almost pulled out when she whispered she was close,smirking at the broken elvhen phrases that spilled out of her as he hovered at her entrance.  He slammed back inside and kept going faster as she arched her back and screamed for whatever creator that listened to give her more and let it be neverending. The way her full breast bounced to his rythm was tantalizing, and the skin on her chest streched thin, blushed pink, sent shivers down his spine for looking so otherworldly. He put his palm against her throat and slowed her bloodflow but not his pace, his other hand flicking her clit as he fucked her into oblivion.

“Come for me, vhenan,” he growled, and she saw stars while she moaned his name again and again.  Gathering the skin of his back under her nails  she clenched around him as he fucked her erraticly, whispering for him to fill her, to mark her, to never stop. He stuttered, he prayed and his eyes grew ferocious as he whispered breathless.

“Nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma."  

He drove himself to the hilt and twitched as his toes curled from the overwhelming sensation of pulsing his release inside of her. They both breathed heavy and she whispered to him, tracing the marks she had left on his back.

"Neran ihn bre’palas, i vallasan bredhas i’ma’da’vin.”

Kissing the bridge of her nose he fell heavy on the bed, gathering the scattered pieces of her wilderness and glued them back together with the gold and silver of his embrace. He called her his inner fire and told her tales of young gods that enjoyed the company of many, he left out the part where the one breathing on his collarbone would have ended this god with a flick of her finger.

Elvhen phrases, in order used: (+can we all worship @fenxshiral ok thanks)

“Ma’haurasha : My honey. A very sexual endearment that essentially means “You make me wet,” or “You make me hard.”

 'Garas, aman ara'mis.“ :Come to me, I shall sheathe my blade within you. 

Ma’av’in : My mouth. A very personal and slightly sexual endearment. The meaning ~ "I desire you so much, that my mouth tastes like yours.” 

Nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma. || I want to cum inside of you until I spill out of you.

"Neran ihn bre’palas, i vallasan bredhas i’ma’da’vin.” || I like it when you fuck me deep and paint my insides with your cum

[booksncoffee]

how you get the boy - two

“God, you’re so cute,” he chuckled, shaking his head before leaving the kitchen without realising how affected I was by his words.  

Louis Tomlinson had just called me cute. He freaking called me cute and he didn’t seem to be aware of it.

read below // story page

If it wasn’t the sound of pots and pans banging from out in the kitchen area, it was the sound of my alarm ringing that would wake me up in the morning. Naturally, I preferred the former because those sounds meant that Louis was awake.  It had never crossed my mind that he would be the kind of person that would wake up early to prepare breakfast every morning. I wasn’t going to complain because he prepared one for me too.

This morning was no different.

When I stumbled out of my room properly dressed for class and also the weather, I noticed that Louis had already prepared a stack of pancakes for me along with a glass of orange juice. Just like what he’d been doing for the past three days.

Bless him.

A smile lighted up my entire face as soon as I saw him sitting on one of the chairs, his eyebrow shooting up in acknowledgment of my presence. “Morning, Lou,” I greeted, pulling the chair out and sitting on it. Almost immediately, my eyes moved to the other plate set up next to mine, “That hungry, huh?”

“What?” Louis asked with a kink of an eyebrow as he put down the newspaper he was reading.

“This,” I pointed to the stack of pancakes that hadn’t been touched yet. “Yours, yeah?”

Louis shook his head as he downed the remaining of his orange juice, making a move to fill the glass back before he answered my question. Much to my dismay, I didn’t like his answer. “Harry’s coming over.”

“What?” I sputtered that one word out, almost choking on the pancake I’d just swallowed. I must have heard him wrong.

“Harry’s coming over for breakfast,” he repeated and somehow that earned him an eye roll from me. I had never rolled my eyes at Louis. Okay maybe that was a lie. I did roll my eyes at him whenever he began making out with Beth in front of me – the girl who’s madly in love with him.

“Why?” I questioned after gulping down the refreshing juice. “Why’s Harry coming?”

The main reason why I didn’t want Harry to come over was because I couldn’t afford embarrassing myself in front of him or Louis again. Not after what happened two mornings ago when I woke up to find Harry sprawled out on the floor of my room in nothing but his briefs. I had screamed like a madwoman and Louis had come running into my room with a baseball bat like a knight in shining armour. Except, he was in his pyjamas and I was in my tank top and shorts. My scream surprisingly didn’t wake Harry up and Louis had to wake him up and ask him to go sleep in his own room instead. After that little incident, I made sure to take a shower and leave the flat immediately so I wouldn't run into Harry again.

I had managed to avoid him since that morning, but apparently today wasn’t one of those days.

“Because he sort of misses you,” answered another voice from behind me, followed by the sound of pitter-patter that his feet made as he moved towards the kitchen. I didn’t have to turn around to know whose voice it was. Its croakiness gave it away. And also Louis had just mentioned that he would be joining us.

“Fuck off, Haz,” Louis said, throwing the newspaper he had folded at his friend, chuckling when it him right on the chest. “You’ll scare her away.”

A snicker escaped my lips, “No he won’t.”

“I won’t?” Harry whistled lowly as he pulled the chair next to me and sat on it. Shaking his head, he added in a singsong voice, “There goes my plan.”

“Shut up, Haz, just eat your food.” Louis said before he finished his last pancake on the plate. If there’s one more thing that I had learned about Louis since I had moved in with him was that he was a fast eater. He would usually finish his food by the time I was just finishing half of mine. I suspected that he didn't even chew his food.

“You know,” Harry said, breaking the silence between the three of us, eliciting an unintentional groan coming from me. “I’d love to have my room back.”

“It’s never yours, mate.” Louis rolled his eyes as he got up to take his plate to the sink. Then, glancing through his shoulder, he asked, “Didn’t you have an extra room?”

Harry slowly nodded his head, rubbing his bottom lip with his fingers as his eyes darted from Louis to me. His stare unnerved me. “Yes, but I prefer Tenley’s room.”

Refusing to look at Harry mostly because of the way he said my name, I kept my eyes trained on Louis who moved around in his – our – kitchen rather gracefully. I didn’t think anyone could look this good in a kitchen until I woke up one morning and saw Louis preparing scrambled eggs – the best scrambled eggs I’d ever tasted. Okay, perhaps I was being a tad biased; my mum’s scrambled eggs were good too.

I didn’t realise I was staring – I believed I muttered something about Louis being perfect under my breath too – until I felt a pair of eyes boring holes on the side of my face, which made me remove my gaze from Louis quickly. As soon as I felt my cheeks heating up, I bowed my head down and continued eating in silence. I didn’t have to look at Harry to know that he must have heard what I had muttered not so silently or seen the way I had looked at his best friend.

“Fuck me,” Harry whispered and as much as I hated it, I heard amusement lacing his husky voice. I knew that he had a smirk sketching his lips and that he was planning to embarrass me. Even though I hardly knew him, I had somehow figured out that he enjoyed embarrassing people – me, especially – and I couldn’t help but wonder how Louis could be friends with him. They were two completely different people. “Hey Louis-“

Nope. He wasn’t going to embarrass me this time.

Pushing the chair back, making a screeching sound that caused Harry to wince – ha, in your face – I decided to leave the kitchen. My hasty exit, however, almost resulted in me falling flat on my face, but luckily I caught the couch and no one but me noticed that I almost fell. Straightening the shirt I was wearing, I then looked around the living room for my handbag while straining my ear to hear what Harry and Louis were talking about in the kitchen.

Fortunately, Harry didn’t mention anything about what he’d just witnessed or heard.

“I’ll see you tonight, Lou!” I said as I casually returned to the kitchen to grab my book that I had somehow brought with me to the table.

“Aw, Tenley, you’re leaving already?” Harry cooed as he looked at me with the infamous smirk that I very much hated still plastered across his face. “It’s still early.”

“Yeah, Tee,” Louis added, much to my dismay, agreeing to his annoying friend. Then, he pointed to my plate, “You didn’t even finish your food!”

“Harry can finish it,” I said with a nod of my head and a quick glance at Harry who didn’t say anything before I allowed my feet to navigate me to the front door. Taking my jacket that was hung on the coat stand, I put it on and just as my hand found the knob I heard Harry’s laughter ringing through the flat.

I could only hope that he wasn’t laughing at me, though if I was being realistic, there was a 99 percent that he was.

After all, Harry was a jackass.

&&

The universe, much to my dismay, had decided not to be on my side anymore.

It all started with the blonde haired bloke whom I spotted out of the corner of my eyes. In the midst of taking a sip of my coffee, he occupied the vacant seat in front of me, causing me to nearly spit out upon actually seeing him. A smug grin adorned his peachy, thin lips as he placed one elbow on the table, his right eyelid dropping into a wink.

I patted my chin to make sure there was no remainder of the coffee marking my skin as my eyes inspected my shirt for any spills. Once I was sure that I didn’t spill any coffee, I looked up only to look away a few seconds later. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him.

As I waited for him to say something, I played with my pen and chewed on it. Unfortunately, even after almost a minute of utterly unbearable silence had passed, he still hadn’t opened his mouth to speak.

Bollocks.

“Are you going to just sit there and stare at me?” I inquired as I tried my best to pretend that I was reading something from the book sprawled open in front of me. I had been staring at the same page for the past thirty minutes, yet I was certain that if I were asked what had I read, I couldn’t come up with an answer. But then again, staring at the book was so much better than staring at his face, for it reminded me back of that night – the one night I truly regretted.

“Hey, Tenley.” He finally spoke; his loud and cheerful voice didn’t – at all – match the scowl on my face.

“Niall,” I said in a clipped tone with a curt nod of my head. If I had a tough time trying to focus on the book before, now I had an even tougher time doing so especially with his eyes studying me intently. Keeping my eyes trained on something else other than him, I asked, “What brings you here?”

Niall quirked an eyebrow when I glanced at him before his eyes wandered around the massive library that was quite empty. No one actually spent their time here when it��s not the finals week. Except for I, Tenley Beckworth, because I couldn’t study at home. Not when I could study Louis instead. Or not when the flat wasn’t always quiet.

“Someone told me that I could find you here so I was wondering if-“

Before he could even finish his sentence, I was already shaking my head and closing my book, as I was ready to switch my table. “No, Niall, I’m not going to shag you again. That happened months ago and we were both drunk. Didn’t we agree not to talk about this anymore?”

Jaw dropped open, Niall scratched the back of his neck, his head tilting slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His cheeks were turning red too, the way they did when he was hammered. He must be surprised that I had figured out his agenda. He had tried this before; weeks after the night we slept together, the night we broke the friendship code.

As much as I wished I could place all the blame on Niall, I couldn’t; I was to be blamed as well.

When he seemed to finally figure out what he was going to say in reply, he scratched his neck that had turned red once more before bringing his hands to the table in front, lacing his fingers. “That’s..” He shook his head, biting his bottom lip like he always did, “That’s not why I’m here.”

Embarrassment instantly bloomed my cheeks when I realised that I was wrong and I looked away, fingers tugging at my bottom lip. “Oh,” I breathed, a puff of air leaving my ‘o’ shaped lips. “Then why are you here?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to have an early dinner with me for old time’s sake cos we haven’t talked since, uh, you know.” He trailed off before he started chewing on his nail. Then, when I didn’t cut him midsentence like I did before, he added, this time with the smug grin returning to his face, “I was also wondering how’s life with that Louis bloke.”

“You knew?” I asked, my eyes widening. As far as I was concerned, I hadn’t told anyone but Shiloh about me moving in with Louis. She hadn’t told anyone either because I had made her promise not to do so. So, by right, no one should know about it.

Niall looked at me with a questioning look. “Everyone knew?”

If it was possible, my eyes widened even more. “What? How?”

“Remember Liam, yeah?” I nodded. Of course I did. He’s the first bloke I had spoken to when I got here. And most probably the nicest bloke I’d ever come across in this campus. “He asked Louis if he’s still searching for a flatmate and he said no – of course – ‘cause he got you now.”

Though I should probably address something else, my ears perked up at the mention of Louis’ name and of what he did. Though it probably meant nothing, I liked how he told people that it was me who moved in with him. Me, Tenley. “He did?”

Niall nodded his head, “I can’t believe you moved in with him.”

Eyebrows furrowed, I leaned forward and asked, “Why?”

Head tilted slightly, he shrugged. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea?”

I had almost forgotten that he knew about my feeling for Louis. I told him everything before we somehow undressed each other and had sex in my room. In my defence, I was drunk and I was extremely upset when I found out that Louis and Beth were celebrating their fourth anniversary while I was out partying all by myself since Shiloh had a dinner with her family somewhere in a fancy restaurant.

“Why is it bad?” I inquired; it was the same question I had asked Shiloh when she told me that moving in with Louis wasn’t exactly the wisest decision I’d ever come up with. I thought it was the wisest.

“Because you’re like, in love with him,” he answered without a beat just like Shiloh. Sometimes I wondered if these two talked to each other behind my back but as far as my knowledge went, they weren’t close enough to be able to sit somewhere and have a conversation about me. Sure, they occasionally said ‘hi’ when they’re in the same room but that was as much communication as it could happen between those two.

And since he gave me the same answer as Shiloh did to me, I gave him my answer to Shiloh to him, “So what?”

Unlike Shiloh who had her answers prepared, Niall seemed to ponder about it for a moment before eventually he nodded and shrugged, “You’re right, I don’t have an argument for that.” He threw his hand up in the air, running his fingers through his quiff. I quirked an eyebrow at him, a victorious smile adorning my lips. Come off it, I liked talking to Niall more than I did to Shiloh when it came to this matter; he was more understanding. “But I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“Right,” I nodded my head. I didn’t realise I was already making a move to keep all of my books in my bag until there was nothing in front of me. Besides, this was only the first week of the semester; I could study later. With the thoughts of school pushed to the back of my mind, I got up from the chair and looked at Niall, extending my hand at him, “So, dinner?”

He bounced up from the chair, his lips splitting into a huge smile as he grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the library where the silence was no longer with us.  “You’re going to love this new place I found.”

“We’ll see about that.”

&&

“What are you going to do with me?!” Niall yelled and then collapsed on the floor in front of my flat in hysterics. It was probably the tenth time he had made this proclamation in the past twenty minutes and it was probably the eleventh time I had rolled my eyes at him in annoyance.

“So,” I began while searching for my key in my bag, “You paid your friend just to scare the piss out of me. How did that work out for you?”

Completely ignoring me, Niall pretended to wipe away a tear. “Your cry at the end is going to stay with me for all my days.” As he took a deep breath, I knew he was going to mock me again. And I was right. “What are you going to do with me?!”

I rolled my eyes along with a kick on the shin. Pushing the front door opened, I stepped inside only to see a group of people standing in the living room with red cups in their hands, which could only mean one thing. Louis was throwing a party. Again.

It was the second one this week and it was only Thursday. God knew he was going to throw another one this weekend. Louis, after all, was known to throw a killer party – at least that’s what I’d heard from nearly everyone.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to, huh?” Niall asked from behind me, his eyes wandering around the place as a small smile began to sketch his lips. Trust him to love the scene unravelling in front of him. It wasn’t surprising at all seeing that our friendship blossomed at a party. “You know, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea that you’re living with him.”

I let out a scoff, knowing all too well that the reason he said so was because of the party happening inside seeing that just a couple of hours ago, he was so against the idea of me living with Louis. He told me that living with him would have been a better idea.

Not anymore.

Niall must have forgotten everything he said to me as he didn’t waste his time in joining the group of people in the living room, leaving me standing by the front door all by myself. Keeping my key back into my bag so I wouldn’t lose it like I always did with my other things, I closed the door and went into the kitchen where I saw Louis preparing a drink for himself.

“Hey, Tee,” he said without having to look up to know that it was me standing in front of him. Maybe he recognised my scent or he heard my voice just now.

“Hey, Lou,” I replied as I took out a bottle of water from the fridge. “You’re throwing another party?”

He looked up, a huge smile adorning his thin lips as he answered my rhetorical question,  “Yeah.”

Even though I had been to a fair amount of parties throughout my existence especially during my high school years, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a party person. Sure, I enjoyed going to parties, but did I enjoy cleaning up other people’s messes once they had left? Not at all.

I didn’t tell Louis that, though, because this was his flat. He’s free to throw parties whenever he wanted. Besides, he didn’t seem to be having any trouble cleaning up the morning after. In fact, the last time he threw a party, I woke up to a spotless living room as if nothing happened the night before. As if the party happened in my dream.

“Are you okay with it?” Louis questioned, worry lacing his voice when I didn’t say anything in reply.

“Of course,” I nodded. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged as he took a sip of his drink. “You locked yourself in the room the last time I had a party.”

Ah, that.

That was because I hated most of Louis’ friends. I didn’t know how someone so good could befriend someone like them who were too cocky, too loud and too.. annoying. Which reminded me of Harry.

“Harry’s not coming, isn’t he?” I asked casually, pretending to look at the crowd gathering in the living room. I hoped he wasn’t around.

Louis quirked an eyebrow at me, giving me the one look that I knew very well.

“No,” I shook my head, pointing my finger at him. “Don’t go there.”

Shrugging, Louis tilted his head to the side, his eyes never leaving my face as he tried to figure out whether or not I was lying. Well, he would know that I wasn’t. “I didn’t say anything, Tee.”

“But I know what’s going on in that mind of yours.” I replied with my finger waving around in front of my face, my cheeks heating up when I almost poked my own eye.

“God, you’re so cute,” he chuckled, shaking his head before leaving the kitchen without realising how affected I was by his words.  

Louis Tomlinson had just called me cute. He freaking called me cute and he didn’t seem to be aware of it. 

Bollocks.

Sometimes I didn’t understand how the male species could say things like that – things that they assumed meant nothing – and not realise just how much it could mean to a girl.  

Face still flustered, I made my way out of the kitchen to get to my room with my head ducked so no one would see me and stop me from locking myself in the room. Not that anyone would, anyway; these were all Louis’ friends. Hand already placed on the knob, I twisted it open, ready to shut out the party happening outside, only to be greeted by two people making out on my bed.

A shriek escaped my lips before ‘fucking hell’ did along with a couple of profanities that would earn me a speech from my mother if she were to hear them. Slamming the door closed, I leaned against it and blinked my eyes a multiple times, willing the previous image to exit my mind.

“You okay, Tee?” Niall shouted from across the room, causing everyone to turn to look at me, questioning looks filling their eyes.

I nodded my head and croaked out a yes. Before I could walk away from my room to go to the kitchen instead, the door swung open almost causing me to fall back on my arse. Luckily, a pair of arms caught me, saving me from the embarrassment. Granted, no sorts of flattering remarks left my lips because I knew it was the person who had been making out on my bed that had his rather strong arms wrapped around my waist.

“Are you okay, kiddo?”

And that was when I knew who it was; my lovely neighbour, Harry annoying Styles.  

I pushed his arms that were wrapped around my waist away once I had regained my composure, giving him a murderous look as I glanced through his shoulder. The girl, much to my dismay, was still sitting on my bed, pretending as if it was her bed she was sitting on. That was, until she realised what was going on and got up from the bed to stand next to Harry.

Turning to Harry, I jabbed my index finger at his chest. “First of all, do not call me that. Second of all, what the hell are you doing in my room?”

Though he was scratching the back of his neck, the smirk didn’t leave his lips. Tilting his head to the left, he looked at me and gave me a nonchalant shrug, “Aw, kiddo, I thought we’re sharing this room?”

That was the same thing he had said to me the morning I woke up to him sleeping on the floor of my room. Why did he think that I would want to share a room with him was beyond me.

“Oh button,” I faked my laughter, feeling a tug at the corner of my lips when I saw a perplexed look crossing his once amused face, “That’s never going to happen.”

&&

Getting to slam the door in front of Harry’s face brought so much joy to me. However, that joy disappeared immediately when I realised that I had to change my bed sheet.

I was in the middle of putting on the new sheet when the door swung open and Harry walked in. He didn't knock nor did he bother to close the door.

“Lost your manner, huh?”

“I came to apologise,” he said, his palm rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes looking around the room.

Brows furrowing, I took a seat on the edge of my bed and eyed him. He looked rather awkward standing in the middle of my room in a pair of blue skinny jeans and white t-shirt that I’d seen him wore plenty of times before.

“Did Louis tell you to do this?” I inquired as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. It was so unlike of Harry to apologise; he’d never apologised for messing up my name.

“Speaking of Louis,” he mentioned, his grin returning before he looked over his shoulder where the both of us could see Louis talking to some of his friends. Shit. “You know you have to be nice to me from now on, yeah?”

“Why?”

“Because I have your secret.” He answered confidently, his left eyelid dropping into a wink.

I rolled my eyes. “What secret?”

“You fancy Louis.”

I uncrossed my arms, my heart beating faster at the simple revelation. “No, I don’t.”

Instead of arguing with me, he took a seat next to me on my bed as if he was welcomed, a twinkle of amusement flashing in his green eyes. “See, Tenley, I’m good in a lot of things,” he began and I coughed. Trust him to stroke his own ego. Bet that wasn’t the only thing he stroked. “But the one thing I’m best at is reading people.”

“Right,” I coughed again, muttering jackass in between my coughs.

“You fancy Louis and that’s why you moved in with him. You wanted to be closer to him,” he deduced and this time, my cough was real. “So, kiddo, I do have your secret.”

As much as I wanted to get down on my knees and begged him not to ever tell Louis about that, I had my own ego. And I liked to stroke it too. With a slight turn of my head, I looked at him and said, “Okay, button, whatever you say.”  

Perhaps from now on, I had to avoid Harry more than I did before so I didn’t have to be nice to him. Fuck me.