#saw that art yesterday and i was immediately possessed and i HAD to draw that specific concept with my 22/23 y/o gustho designs

[sapphic--kiwi]

in which gus absolutely cannot cook (canon in my heart)

directly inspired by @strawbbz (art from this post)

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour -(PART THREE)

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Notes: implied sex but no actual smut/descriptions just the implication, this part is long so buckle down, kids nearly 6000 words of angst!

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

The clock ticking on the TV unit was the only noise in the apartment as the three of you waited in the living room. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at anything other than your hands as you sat on the couch. Steve sat on the armchair across from you and Bucky was leaning against the wall. He’d overheard you in the kitchen telling Bucky that you needed to tell him and now, you had to... You just couldn’t find the courage or the words to tell him yet. Steve sat glancing between the two of you, “Well?” He asked, frustrated that he was being kept in the dark, “What’s going on?” It wasn’t like Steve to get annoyed, usually he was always so calm but he was worried that something had happened and he hadn’t been told. The look on your face made him stomach flip uncomfortably... What the hell was going on?

“Before we tell you,” you begin, voice trembling, “I just want you to know that I love you, Steve.” Honestly, you didn’t know if you could tell him. For years, you thought you were so brave and confident in your ability to speak the truth and now that the time had come to own up and be honest, you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to hurt him but more selfishly, you didn’t want your relationship as it was right now to change and you knew that by telling Steve the truth about your soulmate, you would be changing everything. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that or not.

Steve shook his head, more confused than ever. He had a feeling what was about to come was related to something that he’d been worrying about for a long time. He knew that this is what was bothering you yesterday and this morning. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good. There would only be a handful of things that would cause an atmosphere this tense.

“Just tell me.”

“Steve... uh... At the party last night, something happened.” Your hands clenched together, trying to draw strength and courage from them, “When... uh, when you... When we...” You couldn’t. Weak. Coward. Pathetic. In that moment, you felt the guilt crushing down on top of you as Steve questioned what had happened and it was Bucky who spoke next.

“(y/n)’s my soulmate,” Bucky interrupts, having had enough of your stalling, “I’m theirs too.” So much for easing the blow. If only you had been brave enough to tell him then you could have softened it around the edges but no, Bucky stepped in to sharpen the knife before metaphorically digging it into Steve’s flesh, “We’re soulmates.” And he twists the knife before ripping it out.

Tears burned at your eyes as you stared at your hands, heart hammering against your chest hard. My god, you were terrified. Your mind raced and you almost felt like the guilt was suffocating you, wrapping around your body like a boa constrictor. What made it worse is that a minute had passed by and Steve hadn’t said anything; he was still and silent. You took a deep breath before raising your head to look at him. He was staring directly at you, face hard yet emotionless. You couldn’t read him. He had been waiting for you to look at him and look into those impossibly bright eyes, “Is this true?” All you can do is nod as tears fall down your cheeks.

His cheeks puff as he blows out a long breath. He shakes his head when you say his name, a silent signal to just stop; a signal to leave him alone for a minute. You studied his face and his reactions, trying to gauge how he felt but you couldn’t. He was frowning but didn’t look angry but you couldn’t figure out how he felt. It was another few minutes of silence before anyone moved. With a sigh, Steve stands and walks over to Bucky. He says something to him quietly, Bucky nods and says a few words back before clapping him on the shoulder and walking past you. His eyes meet yours for a split second before you look back to Steve who’s staring out of the window, looking at the busy city.

You hear the door close meaning that Bucky has left and you try and talk to Steve again, “I’m sorry.” Tears are building in your eyes again once you know that you’re alone with each other and you allow yourself to break a little.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is hard but it isn’t angry. There’s a waver of upset but no immediate burning anger, “I asked last night and you didn’t say anything. You lied, (y/n).” From day one, Steve had told you how important honesty is in a relationship and it was so important for you too. You’d been lied to before and kept in the dark before and you didn’t want to do that to him yet... in trying to spare his feelings, you shut him out and did the thing you’d promised you’d never do.

“I’m sorry... I tried to tell you but... Fear is never an excuse to lie but I was scared, Steve. I know that we’ve spoken about it in the past, we always agreed that you would be fine with it but I never expected it to be your best friend! I felt sick when I saw colour. I always wanted the first colour I saw to be your eyes and instead, it was Bu- it was his.” You can’t even say his name besides, you don’t want to rub salt in the wound.

“What were you talking about on the balcony?” Steve asks as he turns away from you, once again looking out at the city. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, fearing the absolute worst, but he has to know., “When I found the two of you outside... What happened?”

“My head was spinning from the shock, the colours; from everything so I needed fresh air. He came out a few minutes later and he said that nothing needed to happen, that he’d stay out of the way if that’s what I wanted. This is so complicated, Steve, and we were trying to figure out how to best go about it.”

“You didn’t think to tell me about it and we could’ve worked it out together?” There’s an iciness in his tone and you don’t blame him for that. You almost want him to be angry at you so that then the guilt is justified. He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. He’s never one to anger but it hurts him. He knows, though, that you didn’t cause this. Yes, you and Bucky lied but the soulmate thing wasn’t either of your faults, he can’t blame you for that.

“I wanted to, Steve, I really did but... I couldn’t. I wanted to tell you last night but I couldn’t find the words. I wanted to tell you this morning but I was half hoping that my vision would be black and white again. I couldn’t sleep because I felt so guilty over it. If I could take it back, if I could change things, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

Steve sighs and turns to look at you. His lips are pursed and his arms are folded but his face is just sad, “I get it. I mean, it’s not exactly ideal that my best friend is your... soulmate.”

You nod, “I should have told you and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

A bit of time passes and Steve’s sitting on the armchair again with you on the couch opposite. Things weren’t as tense but there was still a kind of unsure atmosphere. You didn’t know how to proceed and truth be told, neither did Steve. He had been dreading this moment since the two of you became serious; he knew it would happen eventually but he had hoped it be a stranger and then you’d never see that person again. It was selfish of him to want you all to himself and he knew he couldn’t; you weren’t a possession or something that belongs to him but he didn’t want to have to compete with your soulmate. Life is never easy, life can often times be cruel and unkind and that’s exactly what it was right now. He couldn’t quite believe that Bucky was your soulmate. He knew Bucky, they’d been friends since they were kids and all he wanted was Bucky to be happy... All Steve wanted was for you to be happy.

“What do you want?” He asks, quietly. Once again, he’s afraid of the answer. He knows that he can’t compete with your actual, genuine soulmate who just so happens to be Bucky. He doesn’t look at you, instead focussing on the TV which is turned off.

You look at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

He really doesn’t want to say it but he has to know, “Do you want... me or do you want-”

Shaking your head, you won’t even let him finish the question, “You, Steve. I only want you.” Steve releases a breath and you can physically see his stress relieving, “I don’t want anything else or anyone else. All I have ever wanted since meeting you is you, Steve. If I could live a life without colour, I would so happily do that with you because even though we’re not soulmates, we paved a life for ourselves and I love you more than anything in the entire world.” You’d told him all of this before but he needed to hear it now, he needed to hear it more than ever, “I don’t want Bucky... I want you, Steve.”

His eyes are glassy, full of tears, as you expel his worries, “I need you to promise me something, (y/n),” his voice is tight as he tries not to cry, “if you start to feel anything for Bucky, anything at all, you need to tell me. I can’t have you keeping me in the dark again. If we’re really serious about this, you owe it to me to tell the truth. What happens after, I don’t know.”

“Okay but I’m not going to develop feelings for-”

“Please, (y/n).” The look in his eyes, you realise, is desperation. He needs his promise, he needs the truth from you; he needs to know of any updates instantly. You nod quickly, telling him that you promise.

“If anything changes, any feelings or just anything, I promise I’ll tell you.” The pair of you are quiet for a moment. It’s a highly emotional, highly sensitive topic but the pair of you managed to cope okay with it. There’s a small part of you that wishes he would’ve gotten mad. You didn’t like anger, you hated people shouting, especially men, but it would’ve made you feel better if he was more heated.

Steve clears his throat and you realise that he’s standing in front of you, he’s holding his hand out to you so you gladly take it and let him pull you up. He wraps his arms around you and you tense up, it doesn’t feel like you should be having such a tender moment after lying and upsetting him but you relax into his touch eventually. He holds you gently and you wish you knew what was going through his head. Ironic since when Steve holds you, he’s wondering what’s going through your head. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “It’s okay,” he said softly, “I’m upset but it’s not like you could control it.” But I lied to you. I can’t control my soulmate but I purposefully hid the truth from you. I did the one thing I promised that I’d never do. How are you so okay with this? Why aren’t you mad at me? “I’m going to go see Bucky,” Steve said, “I need to make sure that he’s doing okay.” You feel like you don’t deserve any of Steve’s kindness and the guilt worsens.

“What are we going to do?” You ask.

Steve purses his lips before answering, “I suppose that’s up to you and Bucky. You’re both mutually connected through me so it’s not like you’ll be able to avoid each other. You might feel more comfortable seeing him occasionally but he might feel totally comfortable seeing you all the time. I don’t know. I’ll go talk to him and see where his head is at... What are your thoughts?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Right now... I think it’s best to let all the tension die down before I spend real time with him again, does that make sense? He’s your best friend which means he’s part of our lives so it will be awkward but I want it to be... I don’t know... less awkward? Maybe time would do that.”

Steve nods, “Sure thing, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He presses another kiss to your forehead. 

You looked up at him, confused, “Why are you being so nice?” His niceness is too sweet. You feel like you don’t deserve it so it makes your mouth curl in disgust, not at him at all but at you; at your actions. His niceness only makes you realise how horrible you had been and makes you realise that you don’t deserve it. 

He laughed slightly, “Would you rather I scream and shout over something you can’t control?” Yes, that’s exactly what I want. “Neither of you asked for it or planned for it so although I’m upset, I’m not mad at either of you. I know that Bucky will be beating himself up over it so I’m going to go talk things through with him; I’ll tell him what we discussed and I’ll smooth things over, okay?” You nod, “Will you be okay?” You nod again.

He leaves a moment later and it’s as you’re sitting on the couch, curled under a blanket in the dim light, you realise that you really wanted him to be mad at you. You wanted him to shout at you, tell you that you betrayed his trust and you broke a promise. You wanted him to tell you that he hated you; that what you did was horrible and that you should feel guilty for lying to him. You deserved that. You felt that if he had been angry; if you’d had a massive fight then maybe your guilt wouldn’t still be this bad... But Steve Rogers wasn’t like that; he wasn’t like that at all... and somehow, his forgiveness was worse than anger.

The rest of the day passed is a blur. You had originally planned to clean the kitchen and bathroom and vacuum the apartment but all you could do was sit on the couch and stare at the TV. It was an hour or so later when Nat called you, you answered after a few seconds.

“Did you tell him?” Was the first thing out of her mouth. Nat was never one for pleasantries, she much preferred to get straight to the point.

“I told him,” you said quietly.

She practically exploded into a fit of questions, “What did he say? Was Bucky there? What happened? Are you okay?!”

One by one, you began to sort through the questions, “After I came back from seeing you, Bucky was here and Steve overhead me saying to Bucky that we should tell him about the whole soulmate thing... God, it was so awkward but Steve was... Steve took it really well.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, I thought he would’ve been shouting and angry but he wasn’t.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Nat could tell something was still off. Your relationship had avoided ending and still, you sounded conflicted.

You sighed heavily, “Nat, am I crazy? He took the news so well, I mean he wasn’t happy about it but he certainly wasn’t angry. Bucky left and we spoke about it and everything’s okay... Am I crazy for not being happy with that? I feel terrible and the fact he’s okay with it makes me feel worse, I don’t know it’s like I wanted him to be mad at me-”

“Because then it all feels justified,” Nat cut in, “It’s a little crazy but we’ve all been there before.” There was a slight pause, “I don’t know exactly how you feel, I don’t know what that’s like having your soulmate being the best friend of your current boyfriend but I think that you’ve got yourself a rare one with Steve. He loves you, (y/n). He really, truly does and even though your vision says that you’re not soulmates, he believes otherwise. There’s not many people that would take that news so kindly and accept it so well. I think that you might always feel guilty but as long as Steve’s okay and you’re okay then I think you’ll be fine with all of this.”

As Nat spoke, you could feel a little weight lift off of your shoulders, “I love him, Nat. I love Steve. I just... I feel absolutely terrible.”

“I’m going to give you some tough love,” Nat said as she cleared her throat, “It’s not your fault that your soulmate isn’t Steve. You knew from the get go that you and Steve weren’t soulmates and yet, you actively started a relationship knowing this. Steve promised you, didn’t he, that he would be okay with you finding out your soulmate now I know it’s Bucky and that sucks because it’s always going to be awful but suck it up.  Steve’s okay with it, even if it means a little extra awkwardness, but he’s okay with it. You feel guilty but I think you’d rather a little guilt rather than have Steve scream at you, say horrible things and make you cry. You’d rather feel a little guilt than have him leave. It worked out perfectly for you and that’s hard right now but you have to realise that not everyone would have been that lucky to get a Steve. You gotta suck it up and be thankful.”

You were silent for a moment as Nat spoke. You knew that you could always count on her to give you a little bit of tough love; that’s why you’d only told her and not anyone else. Nat would tell you exactly what you needed to hear; that it would be okay, that Steve was better than the majority of people and he was kind; he was probably a little too kind and that only worked in your favour. Nat was there to tell you that though you felt guilty, you’d rather feel guilty than having your heartbroken had he left at the news.

“My god, we should’ve been soulmates, Nat,” you say with a laugh, “then I wouldn’t have to worry about the drama.”

“If you would be so lucky!” Nat scoffed, “How do you feel?”

“Better now, thanks to you. I would much rather feel this than have Steve hate me or have him leave. I just... It could only happen to me.”

Nat said your name and somehow, you knew what she was about to ask, “What happens if you start to feel something for Bucky? I mean, you’re soulmates for a reason and it’s not like you won’t be spending time with each other. I don’t want it to happen because I know how perfect you and Steve are but... it seems a bit inevitable.”

Whomp, there it is.

“You make me feel better, give me a false sense of security and then you snatch it from me by asking questions like that,” you groaned, “I don’t know, Nat. I don’t want to hurt Steve. I-I... I have no idea what I’d do in that case. All I know is that I would tell Steve and we’d work through it together, I wouldn’t pursue anything with Bucky even despite.” 

Nat accepted your answer and she could tell that you were stressed so she moved onto other topics like her and Bruce’s date that night, “I think I’ve picked my outfit. A simple black dress and heels can never go wrong, can it?”

“Nat, you could were a garbage bag and look phenomenal so whatever you wear will be amazing and you know that Bruce will be speechless regardless!” The two of you chatted for a while longer before Nat had to go get dressed for her date, “Let me know how it goes!” You said before hanging up.

It wasn’t long before Steve came home. You were in the middle of making some pasta for dinner when he came home, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your shoulder softly, “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.

You relaxed into his touch, “I missed you,” you murmured as he peppered soft kisses along your shoulder to your neck, “How did everything go?”

“It was fine,” he said, planting one last kiss on your shoulder before breaking away, “Awkward at first but I told Bucky that it’s okay, I trust the two of you and if anything was to happen, feelings wise, then I know that you’d both tell me.” You nodded as he spoke, mixing the pasta as a way to distract yourself from getting upset, “Bucky felt terrible, it made me understand a little more how you felt - or how you feel rather. I’m sorry if I was rude or harsh with you earlier. It came as a massive shock and I know you can’t control it. I forgive you for lying, I know that you thought you were doing the right thing-”

Stirring pasta to distract yourself from crying didn’t help at all and instead you threw yourself into his arms, “Oh, Steve!” You wept onto his shoulder, “I don’t deserve you!”

Quickly bundling you into his arms, Steve hugged you tightly. He hugged you so tightly and pressed a soft kiss to your head, “What are you talking about, sweetheart? It’s okay, just take a breath.”

You sniffed and took a few breaths, “I just... You’re so kind, Steve, I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

He chuckled and shook his head, pulling you away to arms length. He looked at you, looked at your teary eyes and your pouting lips, “Sweetheart, you know how I know you love me?” You shook your head, “I look at you right now, so guilt ridden over something you can’t control, you thought you were protecting me and I’ve already forgiven you and you’re still upset. You care so deeply about me and it is so apparent in everything you do. I know that you love me and therefore, I know that you wouldn’t do anything to break my trust.”

You sniffed as Steve’s hands wiped away your tears, “I love you,” you sniffled, “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling guilty.”

Steve caressed your face softly, “It’s okay, sweetheart, you have nothing to feel guilty for anymore. I love you.”

“You promise?”

Steve smiled as he moved in closer to your lips, “I promise you, love.” He kissed you softly and you instantly relaxed into his kiss. He held you tightly and soon, the kiss quickened and became much more hungry that it had been. It wasn’t long before you were turning off the stove and attaching to his lips again as you both stumbled towards the bedroom. Your hands gripped his biceps as his hands held onto your hips tightly, groping your sides and your stomach. Steve loved your stomach, he loved your curves even if you hated them. It wasn’t long before the two of you had fallen into bed, falling into the blissful vortex of love.

You woke up on Steve’s chest. You lay there for a few minutes before sighing and rubbing your eyes. Carefully, you moved out of Steve’s arms and sat up, you pulled on your t-shirt which had been discarded during earlier before grabbing your phone and leaving the bedroom. You padded out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The guilt wasn’t as strong as it had been now, you felt a lot better thanks to Steve... he really did know how to make everything better and make you forget about everything. He had forgiven you, now you just had to forgive yourself.

Tapping your phone, you read the time. 3.42am. You saw a text from Nat from around midnight which read; Date went great. Awkward at first but quickly got over that. Surprising thing? Didn’t even talk about work once! Call me tomorrow and we’ll chat. Hope everything’s okay. You’d call her tomorrow, catch up and hear how her date went. You hoped that she would be happy with Bruce, they were soulmates though hesitant ones. She deserved to be happy after a life time of unhappiness and torment.

With a sigh, you grabbed a glass and filled it with water, taking a sip as you leaned against the counter. Usually, you’d take the glass of water to bed in case you woke through the night but something made you stay in the kitchen, silently sipping water and staring at your phone. One minute passed then another then another and as you went to grab your phone, it lit up and began to buzz.

You stopped, staring at it with wide eyes, “That wasn’t freaky at all...”

Unknown Caller flashed on the screen as it vibrated on the counter. You never answered unknown callers or numbers you didn’t have saved already, knowing that they’d mainly be junk or spam calls but something pulled you to answer this call; something deep within you awoke and forced your hand to pick up the call, press the green button onscreen and press it to your ear, “Hello?” Your voice was quiet, careful not to be too loud.

A long puff of breath came from the other end, “I didn’t think you’d actually pick up.” You knew that voice. 

The shock almost made you drop the glass of water, “Who is this?”

He chuckled from the other end, “C’mon, doll, you already-”

“Bucky,” you hissed, “don’t call me that.”

He stopped laughing immediately, “I’m sorry, it’s, uh, an old habit, I suppose. I shouldn’t have called, I-”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose; it was harmless. “Bucky,” your voice was softer and much kinder, “Why are you calling me? Why this late?”

“I couldn’t sleep, the nightmares seem to be in full force since I’m stressed,” he didn’t know why he told you that, usually it was always a vague answer but he felt comfortable to tell you. It freaked him out a little that you were still strangers yet he found himself calling you at three in the morning, telling you things that he wouldn’t usually tell people, “To be honest, I don’t know why I called you.” 

You were quiet for a moment as you tried to process what was happening. Should’ve ignored the call, “How did you get my number?”

“Steve gave it to me months back. He said that if I couldn’t reach him or anyone on the team, to contact you. I saved your number thinking I’d never need it. He said that he’d give you my number as well just in case.” There was a vague memory of Steve taking your phone and inputting a number for ‘just in case purposes’, to be fair, you hadn’t really listened but you could only assume it was Bucky’s number, “Do you want me to hang up? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s okay,” you said, taking another sip of water, “I was up anyway. Just know, Bucky, that me and Steve we... we sorted everything out so-”

“Yeah, I know,” he said cutting over you, “Listen, (y/n), I’m not trying to get in between the two of you. I know how complicated all of this and I’m not trying to upset either of you or mess with you or anything. I know that sounds really convincing especially since I’m calling you at three in the morning but...”

You laughed slightly, a real genuine laugh, “Yeah, your case isn’t looking so good here,” you teased quietly. Bucky laughed too, instantly feeling a lot more comfortable now that the awkwardness had been broken slightly. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, that he could relax now and just talk.

“I just wanted to make sure things were okay. I know we agreed to not really see each other or whatever but today was hard, even harder on you I bet so I thought I’d check in with you and see how you’re doing.” It touched you that he had reached out, although you still thought 3am was a little sketchy to call at , you knew about his insomnia and his nightmares. 

“I’m okay. After you left, Steve and I spoke about things and then he went to see you. When he came home, we put everything to bed-” literally, “-so yeah. I’m doing okay. How are you? You mentioned you were stressed?” Honestly, you didn’t know why you were carrying on the conversation, you knew that this would further complicate things but what harm was a phone call; it wasn’t as though you had feelings for Bucky.

“Stressed about the whole situation, I’m sure you understand,” you hummed in agreement, “but Steve reassured me that everything’s fine. He said it was up to us what happened whether we saw each other or avoided each other or share Steve on a joint custody basis.”

You laughed. Turns out Steve hadn’t been lying when he said Bucky was the funniest person he knew, he had a dry sense of humour, a sarcastic nature that toed the line with arrogance, “I’ll tell you what I told Steve this afternoon. I don’t really know where my head’s at honestly. I said to Steve that it would be better for me if we were to keep our distance just until the dust settles, you know?” 

Bucky smiles, a sad smile, “Yeah, I get that... I’ll keep my distance.”

“I don’t want you to take it personally or think that I don’t want you around,” you said quickly, “I just... I gotta put my relationship first, Bucky; I have to put Steve first.”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” he says quietly, “I totally understand.” It confuses him as to why that hurts him. Maybe it’s for a reason that he doesn’t want to admit yet or even think about. He puts it down to being stressed.

Things are silent for a few seconds and you take that as your signal to end the conversation, “It’s late and I should probably go back to bed...”

“(y/n)?” Bucky asks. You respond with a ‘yeah?’, “Would you do me favour just one? Would you stay on the line a few more minutes? I...” He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first thing to make him feel a sense of peace and calm since the 40s without being too forward so he chooses to not tell you.

“Sure,” you say, realising that this man is very much still trying to heal; he was a soldier then a weapon against his will and now he was dealing with the consequences. To make matters worse, he’d found his soulmate, probably the one person that would make everything better and they just so happen to be in a long term committed relationship to his best friend. Luck was not a friend of James Barnes.

You hear him shuffling and you can tell that he’s trying to get comfortable as he pulls his sheets around him, “You know,” you say softly, “something that always gets me to sleep is audiobooks or podcasts.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks. It’s easy to forget that he comes from a different time than you.

“An audiobook is a recording of someone reading a book. A podcast is a recording of people chatting, some talk about games or movies, others talk about current events. Give it a try. I don’t know about nightmares or PTSD or anything like what you’re dealing with but it might help a little bit.”

He smiles, “Thanks, I’ll try it out.”

“I really should go, Bucky... Are you gonna be okay?”

“Ah, don’t worry about me!” He teases with a chuckle, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You don’t know if he’s trying to convince you or himself; neither of you believe him anyway, “I’ll give an audiobook a listen and see if it helps any... For what it’s worth, (y/n), I’m glad you’re with Steve. You mean a lot to each other and I’m glad you’re both happy.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Night, (y/n).”

You put the phone on the counter, checking the time; 4.17am. You’d been speaking to Bucky for around half an hour. Time flies, eh? You take the glass and walk into your bedroom, leaving your phone in the kitchen. There would be no more interruptions tonight.

Steve’s in the same position as when you left him. Slowly, you slide into bed after placing the glass on the beside cabinet and lift his arm over you again. He scoots closer to you, pulling you flush against him and wrapping his arm around you a little tighter. You would tell Steve about the phone call in the morning, there was nothing to hide with it, and it would be okay. You loved Steve and that was it; you had drawn the line with Bucky, telling him that Steve was your priority and that you’d rather not be around him until things were fully settled. You felt better as you closed your eyes. It wasn’t long before you were falling asleep the sound of Steve’s breathing.

[rein4r1]

Mr. Artiste

Wc: 2.7k

Warning/s: Mentions of possessive behavior

Pairing/s: [Titanic AU] Jean x F!Reader, Floch x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut

Synopsis: Meeting him was like breathing fresh air in her already suffocating life. (Titanic Au)

MINORS DNI

“What is it? A sapphire?”

“A diamond. A very rare diamond, called the Heart of Ymir.” She watches Jean as he examines the exorbitant jewel. “I want you to draw me like one of your Maria girls.” He continues to examine the diamond, clearly finding it’s luxury unbelievable. “Wearing this.” She stared at him and smiled, “wearing only this.”

He did this many times before, drawing different kinds of women not only in Maria but in Rose as well, the place of his hometown. As an artist, women’s bodies were one of the greatest subjects to draw, they were intricate to draw but not intricate to understand. This kind of artwork is often shunned upon by the simplecrowd who were too fickle to understand, viewing this kind of art as licentious. Jean begged to differ, whenever he draws women, their eyes bore into his soul, as if whispering to him a secret that they can only emanate through their nude form.

Jean waited patiently, sharpening his set of pencil with a knife. His sketchbook open, ready to feel each stroke of Jean’s gifted hands. Seeing her withdraw from her room, he can’t help but swallow a lump in his throat; completely enamored by his lover in front of him, he could only look away. Wearing only a nightrobe and The Heart of Ymir underneath, she teasingly spins the tie of her robe, only to worsen the forming bulge in his pants. No matter how alluring and charming the woman is, he knew that as an artist, he must keep everything completely professional.

“The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like an oriental doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want.” Quickly tossing him a silver coin. Jean could only watch as she parted her nightrobe in a teasing manner, the article of clothing slowly drops from her body to the floor. ‘Ah shit’, he can’t help but feel the tightening of his already harden bulge. Poor Mr. Artist, trying so hard to ignore the aroused pain in between his pants.

“Sit down, uhh yeah there on the… yup.” He awkwardly point for on the chaise lounge. She happily obliges, eyes never leaving his brown orbs. “What now Mr. Kirstein?” He then proceeds to give instructions on where to place her hands. “Keep your eyes on me, and try to stay still.”

“I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. Do you like what you see?” He could only chuckle, the deep tone of his voice resonating the quiet room. She watches as he starts drawing on his sketchpad, looking at his seriousness adoringly. She cannot deny the affection she holds for this man, to her, Jean became the fresh air in her already suffocating life.

She spent her entire life conforming to her mother’s standards, doing anything to please the woman. Becoming the perfect Marleyan lady, she grew up in her mother’s strict surveillance, from hiring the best of the bestgoverness in Liberio to sending her to the most exclusive boarding school in Marley. She grew up a life of servitude to her family’s glory, she felt no different from a luxurious porcelain doll; handled with care for her expensive value.

After the death of her father, they were left with nothing but numerous debts under a glorious name. Needless to say, all of the wealth her family has accumulated throughout generations are gone, they were just a penniless family with a noble name.

The widower then met a young wealthy man and heir to a mining company in Paradis, Floch Forster. Since he had the money to salvage whatever dignity they have left, she immediately forcibly subjected her daughter to an arranged marriage with the young heir.

You see, Floch and her mother weren’t any different, treating her like some beautiful garment to parade in gatherings and parties, she secretly came to loath whatever her life became. And in order to please her mother and save her family’s face, she begrudgingly accepted the proposal. They were set to marry in winter, after their arrival to Paradis.

“So, this is the ship they say is unsinkable” Her mother noted as her eyes glanced at the large ship, taking its aesthetic and magnificence. “It is unsinkable. God himself couldn’t sink this ship.” Floch said condescendingly and bumptious. In front of them is the largest ship known to man, the Colossus. The servants proceeded to handle their possessions as Y/N could only marvel at its glory.

She couldn’t accept her mother’s selfishness and her fiancé’s possessive behavior any longer, leading her to the edge of the ship’s deck in a break down. She reluctantly looks at the ocean below with tears cascading her skin, she could only hope for a life where she isn’t treated less than a luxurious property.

“Don’t do it” She whips her head to see a young brunette man in white shirt and brown slacks. Glaring at the young man, she turns her head away, her sight getting blurry of the tears.

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

“Take my hand I’ll pull you in.”

“No! Stay Where you are. I mean it. I’ll let go!”

“No, you won’t.” She whips her head back to the man, looking at him with an unbelievable expression. “What do you mean I won’t?” She noticed how calm this man was, but unbeknownst to her, the man internally panics and fears for the girl’s life. He could only retort her that if she really meant what she said, she would’ve jumped without having second thoughts.

She noticed him taking his boots off one by one. Carefully threading near her as to not scare the girl. “I’m a good swimmer” he said, “but I’m more worried about the water being cold. You see I grew up in Trost somewhere in Rose, and God the winter there is cold. I went ice-fishing with my father, well… Ice-fishing is where you-“

“For God’s sake, I know what an ice-fishing is!”

“I apologize, you don’t come off as an outdoor kind of girl. Well, you see, water that cold,” he points to the dark ocean below, “It hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think... at least not the freezing pain that welcomes you.” He proceeds to offer his outstretched hand on which she could only look with a bemused expression.

“I know I look crazy, but I don’t really look forward to jumping with you… That’s why can you take my hand?” She reluctantly reaches for his hand, “My name’s Jean Kirstein, and I promise I won’t let go.” He pulls her away from the railings, resulting in falling together onto the deck with Jean below her. She could only wrap her arms tightly as she whimpers on his neck, he then brought his hand to pat her head, hoping it would stop the tears that continuously descend from her eyes.

Jean knows of the girl, well not her name, but how could he forget such an ethereal lady that managed to entrance his artistic eyes, ‘the lady from the upper deck’ as he dubbed her. Just a few moments ago, he was just lounging around some bench, smoking as he thought of the winsome girl from the upper deck, clearly a place that penniless folks like him could only dream of.

After a couple of minutes of sniffling on his shirt, she looked up to Jean. And in an instant, she quickly stood up, failingly brushing off the creases that already formed on her dress. They quietly studied each other’s appearance, feeling as if there’s something there. Their moment only lasted a short while when Floch came in running towards her, dragging her away from Jean.

“Who are you? And what did you do to her?!”

“Floch stop! He saved me! It was silly actually; Mr. Kirstein was there when I almost slip from the deck.” She had her arm around Floch, tugging him to appease his anger. He eyed at him suspiciously, as he took her hand to drag her off the deck, she could only look at his retreating figure, hoping that he could see the man in the morning to thank him properly.

She saw him again, at the interior part of the third-class general room, talking to some fellows she assumed he’s acquainted with. “Hello there Jean” she glanced at the two men beside him, they quickly stood up to leave the both of them to converse alone, clearly not wanting to intrude. They quietly walked along the deck, her eyes wondering at the laughing faces of the children who passes them.

“Uhh, so you got a name by the way?”

“Y/n, Y/n L/n” She paused for a bit, as she completely turned to Jean to look at him. “Jean... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you.”

“Well, here you are.”

“Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?”

“That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out.” She could only smile at his statement. Truthfully, she ranted to him how tiring it is to stand still like some wired doll, how disrespected she felt when they used her. She truly felt used, but this man didn’t invalidate her feelings, rather, he listened to her attentively. This was the first time she was able to talk to someone like this, it felt refreshing. Conversing with Jean brought comfort she didn’t knew existed.

“That turnip yesterday, is he with them?”

“Turnip? Oh, Floch! Ugh he is them.” She displayed her engagement ring, symbolizing the beautiful prison chain on her finger. “God he’s much worse than being just them.”

“So, you felt trapped in a loop ‘cause you’re marrying turnip?”

“Yes! Exacty!”

They continued to converse, more about how she should just run away and not marry the turnip looking man. If only it was easy, then she would’ve been away from those snobbish people, away from the circumstances that led her to this. The feeling she felt with Jean was… different, she spent her whole life being dismissed by the people around her. Having someone to listen to you in a genuine manner was stimulating.

“What’s that on your hand?” Glancing at the brown envelope on Jean’s hand.

“It’s nothing…”

“No let me see.” She then snatched the envelope away, revealing a sketchbook with sublime artwork. With her already existing fascination in art, she can’t help but feel astonished.

“These are really beautiful Jean…” she continues to flip the pages of the sketchbook, “you have a gift.” As she flipped to the next page, she saw drawings of women, wearing nothing but themselves.

“Amazing… are these drawn in, you know, real life?”

“Yup, that’s what’s great in Maria girls, willing to take their clothes off.” She then noticed a reoccurring subject in his artwork.

“This woman, you used her as your muse several times.”

“Well, she really did have beautiful hands.”

“If I may presume, you must’ve had a love affair with her.” She looks at him playfully at his rather defensive demeanor.

“No! I swear, just with her hands.” He laughs. Jean feels the erratic beating of his heart as he gets lost at the depths of her eyes. He felt it, this woman, no matter how imprisoned she felt, is a someone strong who can handle even the harshest of waves and the most blinding light from sun. He could only stare at her elegance, feeling the heat rising up to his cheeks, Jean felt different from this young lady, like he knows her all along. He wanted to take her away, no he didn’t want to save her, because he knew that the only one who can save her is herself. But he wants her to depend on him, become her solace and provide her the serenity she deserves.

They spent their days together in the Colossus; learning about each other and teaching each other knew things. They could not deny the growing feelings that’s starting to form, she knew it was wrong to fall in love with him, considering her engagement to Floch. But she doesn’t love Floch, how could she grow to love such a chauvinistic man. Floch viewed her as a possession, but Jean viewed her as a person. It wasn’t long when they acknowledged their feelings for each other, sharing a kiss on the bow of the ship, the setting sun becoming a witness to the couple’s profound love.

“It’s finished” He gestured her to see the finished artwork. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as she studies the intricacies and pencil work on the drawing. They turned to look at each other with loving eyes as they shared a slow but sensual kiss. They pulled away from the kiss as Jean’s hand found place on her face, rubbing his thumb on her cheek affectionately, as their foreheads press together.

In fear of Floch and his lackey learning Jean’s presence in their cabin, they quickly ran away to God knows where. They arrive at the ship’s luggage room as they saw a car parked at the middle. Jean pulled her hand towards it as he sat on the driver’s seat, and she sat the passenger’s seat just at the back of Jean.

“Where to Ma’am?” He playfully asks as his hands are placed on the wheel, pretending to drive her to places. She wrapped her hand around him, as she whispers to his ear, “to the stars.”

She pulls him inside, sitting on the backseat of the car, they stared at each other with a loving but lustful gaze. With a growing desire to embrace each other, Jean felt her hands travel to his already bulged member, rubbing it slowly as if to tease him.

“Fuck Y/n don’t tease me.” He proceeds to kiss her full of thirst, like a starved man, starved of her. She sat on top of his lap, she knew she needed him now, she guided his hands to her breasts as she slowly grinded on his clothed dick. “Want you know, please Jean, I want you to make love to me.” He instantly discarded their clothes as he left wet kisses on her neck, treading his hands slowly on her back to her already wet core as he rubbed small circles on her hardened nub, she could only burry her face on his neck, face contorting in pleasure as she continues to grind on his hardened cock.

“Feels so good, your cock feels so good” Grinding to their high, Jean shoots his cum towards his stomach. He lifted her up to position his member on top of her core.

“Are you sure you want this? With me?”

“Yes, fuck, Jean hurry!” He then proceeds to enter her throbbing core, feeling her walls tighten around him. Placing his hands on her waist, he slowly began to buckle his hips. “Fuck Y/n you’re so tight, so fucking tight around my- ugh” he holds her hips only to slam it back down on his cock, eliciting a moan from her pretty mouth. He started to quicken his pace, her hands around his shoulders as she they traveled towards his chest. His thrust hitting that one spot that made her drown more in pleasure.

“Baby you feel so good around my cock, fuck.” He felt her tighten around him, signaling the coming of her second high.

“Jean ‘m coming! I’m coming!”

“Cum baby, don’t hold back,” As his thrusts getting faster and deeper, she felt the height of her sex and she came around him. He continued to thrust into her as he chased his own high and he shot his load of cum inside her. Jean then slowly removed his member, as he places her once again in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her figure while he kisses her temple, embracing her like it’s his last day on earth.

Not knowing that their first night together will also be their last.

An: I had to rewatch some of the clips from the Titanic aaohaoigha anyway I'm still trying to learn how to write smut sooo

[otonymous]

Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 1: Hit and Miss

Description: Go ahead and give Victor a piece of your mind. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Nb) This chapter is not smutty, but you best believe we’re gonna get there 😂   Word Count: 1424 words (~7 mins of…Victor being Victor) AO3: read here Author’s Notes:  Hey everyone!  This story is a BIG first for me, as I’m finally trying my hand at a something longer than a one-shot!  At the risk of sounding vague, I thought it would be fun to toy around with Victor for a bit, so let’s see how this works out LOL!  Hope you all enjoy it, and as always, happy reading!

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

“Fuck you, Victor.”

One blink, then another.  A slackening of the jaw as his mouth hangs open in surprise, practically imperceptible if you weren’t already staring intently at his face.  You find the sight strangely satisfying and it goads you onwards.

“I’ve fucking had it with you and your demands.  Our relationship is purely professional; why do I have to get your goddamn lunch?  Go get it yourself!”

Victor had been picking apart every second line in your proposal, and you just about had enough of his attitude after the word “idiot” had been tossed around for the tenth time.

Yes, you had been counting.

And when he ordered you in that tone of voice to get his lunch from the LFG office kitchen, that was the final straw that broke the back of an extremely tired, hungry and irritated camel.

At the back of your mind, you’re vaguely aware that you’ve scrunched up the proposal you spent all week preparing in your hand.  Victor’s copy lay on the imposing avant-garde desk in the middle of his office, pinned under the critical tip of his golden pen.

The ensuing silence, uncomfortably loud, stretches on for much longer than necessary for you to have made your point.  So you decide to speak.  

“Listen-“

“I’m sor-“

Except that Victor opens his mouth at the exact same time, and you question whether your ears were working properly.  Was Victor Li actually apologizing?

“Sorry, you go first.”  Suddenly feeling sheepish about your outburst, you gesticulate towards Victor, gaze flitting over his face en route to the buckles that decorated your taupe flats.  But what you saw in that split second scared you.

Were the features of Victor’s face even capable of drawing into such an expression?  Always self-possessed and brimming with a commanding confidence, the uncertainty in the violet-indigo of his eyes didn’t suit him.  The discomfort stirring in the pit of your stomach made you shift from foot to foot like a child awaiting impending punishment.

“Ahem.  You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

You never thought you’d hear the deep bass of his voice even so much as express remorse, let alone apologize.

“That’s okay.  I mean...I shouldn’t have swore at you.  My outburst was out of line.  Forgive me.”

“That’s fine,” his reply is clipped as he reaches for the intercom button on the phone on his desk.  “Jane, bring me the package in the kitchen.  The one in the fridge.  Thank you.”

Why’d you bother asking me to get your lunch if your secretary could’ve done it?!  The exchange you just witnessed had you thoroughly annoyed all over again, silently fuming until his secretary entered after two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door.  

“Here you are, Mr. Li.  Will you be requiring anything else?”  Jane was sharply dressed and spoke confidently as she placed a brown paper bag on Victor’s desk.  She was also devastatingly beautiful, a fact that annoyed you a lot more than it should have.  You relaxed your grip around the document in your hand as you stood a bit taller, wishing you wore heels instead of flats today.

“That’ll be all, Jane, thank you.”

Jane.  The way he said her name made you wonder how yours would sound rolling off the tip of his tongue.  Would it be equally pleasant?  But then again, anything sounded better than “idiot.”

Drawing himself up from his seat, Victor towers over you, imposing in the crisp perfection of his dark suit.  He holds out the paper bag and his next words effectively signal the end of your meeting:

“I’ll email you the rest of my thoughts on your proposal.  Have it amended for Friday.”

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Four of the most juvenile looking bowls, each hand painted with the face of a dog bearing the most ridiculously cute expression.  Each containing the most ridiculously delicious pudding you had ever tasted in your life, the stuff of dulce de leche fantasies spun from the kitchen of Souvenir.  And an accompanying note, filled with the same handwritten scrawl that had dissected your proposal with brutal precision earlier that day, reading:

“As incapable of self-control as you are, try not to finish it all in one sitting unless you’re deliberately courting a stomachache like an idiot.”

And on the paper bag that had waited for you in the fridge of the LFG office kitchen, your name printed in the same hand.

Your heart ran the gamut of emotions: surprise, happiness, but above all, a deep remorse so unsettling you immediately tapped on Victor’s contact on your phone without thinking.

When he finally picked up after the fourth ring, uncharacteristic for Victor, the first thing you heard was the enticing laughter of a sultry soprano in the background.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”  

His voice is raspy, prompting you to glance at the time on your open laptop at the foot of your bed.

1:45 am.  Shit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t realize-“

“What do you need?”

Deep breaths.

“I...I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today.  Well, I guess technically, for what happened yesterday.”

“You already did.  Put it from your mind, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Laughter again, this time, fainter in volume.  Subconsciously, you found yourself comparing the voice to Jane’s.  Or did it have the lilting quality of Loveland City’s latest cinematic sweetheart, Chik?  The head-to-toe in haute couture phenomenon who seemed hell bent on sweeping Victor off his feet as she did with the rest of the city’s fawning population. At least, that’s what the tabloids would have everyone believe.

Shaking your head free of useless thoughts, you refocused on the conversation at hand, hoping to catch Victor before he got impatient and hung up.

“No, Victor.  I meant to apologize for misinterpreting your intentions this afternoon.  I had no idea you asked me to get your lunch because...because you actually had a surprise gift planned for me.”

“...”

You were used to Victor’s awkward silences by now, on the phone and by text, waiting forever for the wave of ellipses to materialize into words that seemed far too simplistic to require that much forethought.

“If it’s any consolation, the pudding was delicious.”

“Did you already eat it all?”

“No, I only had one!  What do you take me for?  Wait, don’t answer that, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Hm.  Seems like there is something you do know after all.”

“Is this a retaliatory dig for that time I laughed at you for asking whether it was possible to delete a sent text?  You know Mr Li, next time, don’t broadcast your sad lack of technological prowess on the internet if you don’t want to be made fun of.”

“Is this the real reason why you called me so early in the morning?  To pick a fight?”

“What?  No.  I told you, I...I misunderstood your intentions and I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.  I also wanted to thank you.  I can’t believe you remembered me complimenting your pudding!  That was months ago!”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it.  Instead of letting one’s heart rule their head, I guess it’s your stomach that reigns supreme.  But you’re welcome.  Is there anything else?”

Normally, you couldn’t wait to be free of Victor, whether it was from the intensity of his gaze as you pitched ideas his way, or the scrutiny he subjected you to over the phone, asking twenty-one questions to which you only knew the answers to two.

So why did his asking “is there anything else” rankle you now?

“Um, just one more thing.  The bowls — they’re so interesting.  You wouldn’t happened to know the artist who painted them, would you?”

Silence again.  You strained to make out that twinkling laughter you heard earlier in the background as you waited for the LFG CEO to speak.  But the airwaves were silent save for the rise and fall of Victor’s breath telling you he hadn’t hung up yet.

“I painted the bowls.  If you don’t like them, feel free to throw them out.  And next time, don’t call me Mr Li.  Victor is fine.”

Click.  Beep, beep, beep.

It took a moment in your flabbergasted state to realize you still held the phone to your ear, the screen having gone dark long ago.

Victor just never struck you as the arts and crafts type.  The dogs with the lopsided faces told you the same.

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Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more!  Check out the rest of my work here! 📚

[ashleyswrittenwords]

The Queen’s Tournament II

A ZeLink Fanfiction (Part Two of Three)

(Art by the wonderful @ramibriidge)

Summary: Princess Zelda is ready for her coronation. Her court, however, is not. In an effort for a King, the ministers pressure the crown princess into agreeing to marry whoever champions in a tournament any man in the kingdom can participate in.

Note: Thank you for all the kind words! I loved writing this and it brings me so much happiness to see others enjoying it as well. Happy Thanksgiving! So, a little forewarning - I wrote a good chunk of this in segments... and not everything lines up with TP. (It was supposed to be more AU, but like work with me. It makes sense I swear it.)

The Queen’s Tournament

The maids had come in to draw a bath and left. The excuse of horseback riding had been a better excuse than she thought. Dirt clung to Zelda and made her look awfully unroyal. Thankfully, no one asked questions. The court knew of her infamous distaste for suitors and her absence was somewhat expected. So, when Impa barged into the room when Zelda was neck deep in a bubble bath she was shocked.

“What were you thinking?!” Impa berated the princess, her hands flailing. It was always like that when she was reprimanding the princess for something or other. Zelda made the woman so baffled that words alone couldn’t contain her frustrations.

“I can explain-” she started, only to be interrupted by the exasperated sounds of her advisor.

“When I taught you to use your blessings, I didn’t mean for this!”

Zelda clamored down and watched as Impa paced the room speaking out a frustrated monologue, “What will the court think? The public? And not to mention the men who signed up for this ridiculous thing. There were lords, Zelda. What if – goodness – and you won’t win. Surely. I cannot fathom what – What could possess you to –”

“Why wouldn’t I win, Impa?” Zelda said after she calmed herself. Her expression was supposed to be assuring, but from the bubble bath it looked more childish than anything. For a moment, Impa saw the little girl she helped raise. No more was she small, defenseless and motherless against a cold world.

Impa looked resigned and voiced it in a sigh, “After today? …You have a chance.” She threw her hands up and shook her head, an internal war with herself came to a head. “I worry for you, child.”

“But do you trust me?” The princess caught her advisor’s attention. Zelda sounded like her father. Bold, even without needing assurance or support from others.

“I do. My concern is that you will get hurt,” Impa pulled a vial from the pouch she carried. It was thin and a pink color glowed from it. “Take this before bed. In the morning you will have enough energy to strengthen your spell for the next event.”

With wide eyes, Zelda took it from Impa into her hands. The vial was a rejuvenation potion and would cause her fatigue with the spell to dissipate by morning.

“Thank you, Impa. I’m indebted to you,” she said softly, a smile overtaking her features.

“Nonsense. I know I’m unable to stop you. I should at least help you avoid embarrassing yourself,” Impa retreated to the door and turned momentarily. “Get yourself cleaned. You look like you spent the afternoon rolling in dirt.”

Zelda laughed breathlessly and sunk deeper into the soapy water as the door shut. The vial was placed on the same stool that her night gown sat on. A warm feeling surged in her chest and she felt deep appreciation. It felt nice for someone else to know her little secret. She always believed that the weight of secrets was greater than their worth. A part of her wanted to tell Link after the competition today and ended up chickening out only to end up having him stop her.

Her eye twitched in remembering the intonation of his voice and the sharpness in his blue eyes. She didn’t realize Yoland looked angry. If anything, Link did. It was strange to see that in him. He was usually so reserved. He could break down her walls so easily. This different side of him asked her of her intentions, pressing for answers that should have been self-evident. He was supposed to be who he was to Zelda. Kind, well-meaning, brave, and everything those silly maids gossiped about. Everything he exuded to the princess. The said woman’s face burned at the thought of his voice in her ear as she cleansed the grime off her pale, soft skin. His breath. The way Link’s hands lingered above her hips as he corrected her stance.

Zelda breathed in sharply at the cold air as she stood from the steamy water to grab a towel. Evidently, this wasn’t the case. Maybe the Link she saw wasn’t who he really was. The unsaid accusations humored a darker part of herself.

A bitter laugh rose in her chest just as it did then. If he wanted a villain, he’ll get one.

  The mask went on easy today. Yoland Romerok didn’t look much different than he did the day prior, the only difference was that he was adorned in the appropriate riding boots. Other than that, he still had the thick black braid and narrow eyes that hid Zelda’s own bit of mischief. She wondered dully if Link felt threatened by Yoland’s presence because he seemed to have his attention when the door was opened.

Yoland Romerok matched the Hero of Hyrule’s glare. An idea dawned on Zelda and she strolled over to the crate he was sitting on. “Good morning,” Yoland said indignantly, plopping down into a seat on the floor beside it.

“What are you doing?” The blond man said, peering down from the crate. He looked more confused than annoyed.

She didn’t bother looking up. “I’m sitting. What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Finally, Zelda looked up hoping to look bored. His expression satisfied her, Link looked frustrated as he tried to place the person in front of him. Despite that, he didn’t respond and refused to the rest of their time sitting together. They had called for the competitors to line-up before the event was officially started as they were yesterday. Link seemed to jump from the crate and as they organized in the line, Zelda was thrilled as she learned that Yoland would be standing behind the coveted hero.

“So, what are you doing here?” Zelda tried speaking lower. If she hadn’t had so much at stake she would have giggled, a thin grin covered her features instead.

Link sighed out of exasperation, obviously not thrilled with the placement. His tone communicated no different, “What do you think I’m here for?”

Yoland quirked his lips to the side, looking like he was mulling over the many options. “Maybe make a quick change to your title, perhaps? King does sound a lot more appealing than hero.”

An icy blue glare cut Zelda’s taunting short.

“I would never-,” he closed his eyes and touched his hand to his forehead. “Never mind.”

Zelda blinked with an eyebrow raised. The line was moving fast than she had previously realized and taking a quick peek to the front made her realize why. They were moving people out in pairs onto individual chariots that were attached to horses. The chariots looked less like glorified military accessories and more like wagons they had taken on the street and halved. “This is the best they could come up with?” Link muttered under his breath. Underneath the mask, she had to agree. They had simply said that horses would be involved yesterday, so Zelda had assumed what Link had – horse back riding. Perhaps another archery competition.

As their time came, Zelda took the opportunity to examine the equipment it contained. A short sword, a longsword, and a bow along with a quiver of arrows. One look at the horse told her that this wasn’t the type of race she was expecting. The horses were draped in armor and Zelda surmised that she may want a suit of her own. With a pull of the reigns, the chariot jolted forward and she allowed the horse to lead her to the rest of her peers.

The makeshift arena seemed larger with the absence of the targets. In their place was an outline of the track. It was wide and water barrels lined the border.

Adrenaline jolted her nerves as the announcers began rattling off to the screaming audience. Zelda glanced at Link who was looking ahead with a hardened expression. Then she looked behind her, immediately regretting it. Lord Ganondorf stood in his chariot several pair behind her with a smile that could sharpen knives. A quick flashback to her time in military history courses were evidence enough why he looked like a bull in a china shop. The Gerudo had invented chariots centuries ago and they had been proven to be quite effective time and time again.

A deep breath in and out. She narrowed her eyes and forced herself to attention. There was no time to quit now. A score of men were handing out leather helmets as if that would make a difference. “The competitors are to not outright harm the horses as they are the crown’s property after all,” the announcer said cheekily, this garnered a laugh from the stands. The man in front of Zelda seemed to be weighting his options because he was speaking out every bit of anxiety to the world.

“Shut up!” The man beside him hissed just as the next set of rules were given.

“In conjunction with that, competitors are given the choice to attack the chariots of their rivals. However, direct combat is strictly prohibited in the arena.”

As the details were rattled off, she realized it was a formal way of saying that there was a fair possibility that men could fall from their shoddy wagons and be stampeded. “Brilliant,” Yoland muttered, watching as the same suitor before her walked from his own chariot and towards the exit. He was moving fast, but people in the stands were beginning to take notice. The crowd began booing excessively. Archery had narrowed the competition from seventy to twenty-two, now the race was narrowing that number further before it even started.

Zelda gripped the reigns in her hands and widened her stance. She had ridden in one before for a parade in Gerudo Town. Another time during a short outing and even then they didn’t look like the ones constructed for this event. A Gerudo woman walked into view with a colored flag. The people in the stands started stomping in anticipation, it reminded her of a sports game. She drowned it out.

Her heart pounded. The woman raised the flag in the air.

Focus.

The flag dropped through the air and chaos irrupted. Zelda whipped the reigns down harshly and the chariot jolted forward. Horses around her whined and she pulled ahead. The wagon let Zelda feel every bit of the ground. Each pebble she ran over gave the entire rolling death trap a jolt. She pursed her lips and bent her knees more, hoping for more balance. Spurring the horse faster, she covered the ground of in front of her and took advantage of the now vacant spot. Her eyes darting behind her when she heard a scream as the first turn came to a head. Lord Ganondorf had wedge a long sword between him and his opponent. To her horror, he cut one of the traces that connected the horse to the chariot. The rider lost control of the horse as he was flipped out of his transport. She swallowed a yell and promptly turned to face forward before seeing anything more.

Her horse wedged her own chariot in between the two in front. Glancing to her left it was apparent that Link had gotten the same idea to gain ground early on. He was looking at Yoland with a bewildered look. Zelda grinned, “Pardon me.”

With a short yell to the horse and a hiking of the reigns, the animal drug her forward. She weaved upward in the line. Zelda could see it now; she was near the front. A piece of her felt bad and she promised herself that she would find this horse afterward, but now wasn’t the time to make amends.

There was commotion behind her and she glanced that direction. Yellow eyes snapped to hers and Zelda gasped. How could he possibly gain that much ground that quickly? Link just behind her was pulling at an arrow stuck in the side of his wagon, uncomfortably close to the wheel. The next turn allowed her to pull ahead, but she ended up finding herself slammed against an older fellow. He looked at her in surprise and drew the longsword. She yelped as he aimed for the reigns, causing her to pull back and slow the horse. Zelda cursed.

A smug looking Link passed her, but he was constantly turning. “Heyah!” A deep voice yelled and a large, belligerent Gerudo appeared next to her. His lip was upturned in a scowl as if bothered by her presence alone. He jerked his reigns to the side, colliding into her wagon. Zelda screamed and hung onto the sides. Her feet lost their place and for a moment she feared she would fall out. The motion spooked her horse.

With wide eyes, she watched as Ganondorf drew a blade and aimed a slash at her own trace like he did to the last man who crossed his path. Zelda passed the reign to one hand, grabbing the short sword and prayed it was light enough. She gritted her teeth and crossed his sword with her own. A loud clanking sound was heard. The crowd roared.

“Pathetic!” The lord bellowed at her. Slashing his blade down. Zelda ducked and the hilt of his sword bounced off the wooden side. With her distracted, he barred down onto the trace. The chariot jerked and Zelda shouted. She popped back up and watched the leather tear. An arrow smacked into the front of Ganondorf’s wagon and Yoland stared wide-eyed at Link, who dropped the bow for his reigns and pulled forward. The offended man was angry and went to reciprocate the attack. An idea sprouted in her head and Zelda stared at the wheel of Ganondorf’s chariot. Her grasp tightened around her short sword, she moved the horse closer to his. Holding the blade like a spear, she gathered her strength and slammed the short sword into the wheel. It wedged with the motion and the wheeled stalled.

Zelda watched with bated breath as the aggrieved lord was engulfed by the stragglers and disappeared. Her relief didn’t last long as a snapping sound was heard. The trace was slowly giving out and Zelda panicked. There was only one thing that came to mine. The horse didn’t seem to notice anything amiss and followed the turn with the rest. With shaking hands, Zelda held the reigns in her teeth and climbed onto the front of the chariot. She grasped onto the horse just in time for a bump to rock the wagon. Her eyes darted to the trace. There wasn’t time to pause.

Once she had climbed onto the horse’s back, her hands worked undoing the opposite support that held the wagon in place.

  Zelda?

It was where his mind went when he heard a scream. Link’s head snapped back just in time to see Yoland batting away a longsword headed for the axel of his chariot.

There were already several people carried away on stretchers. Link had counted. Needless to say, the Gerudo politician was every bit more dangerous than he thought. So when there was an opportunity to distract the man, it was only natural that he repaid the arrow that was shot at him earlier. It had given Yoland the chance to go after one of his wheels, but the leather trace had already been cut. Link was juggling with looking at the road ahead and the disaster waiting to happen behind.

Then, next thing he saw was Yoland riding on horseback beside him with the lost chariot rolling towards the inside of the track. To say the least, he was surprised. The horses didn’t have saddles and the man still held onto the reigns. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

Link didn’t dwell on it long. He had a race to win and the white flag told him this was the last lap. The whipped down the reigns and spurred the horse to run faster. There were two men other than Yoland in front of him, one of which he passed. The stands thundered and he asked himself if the princess knew this was happening. A chill slid down his spine and he had a feeling Ganondorf didn’t stray far behind.

He passed the last man and just barely reached Yoland before crossing the finish line.

Link could barely hear himself think. He stepped off the sorry excuse for a chariot and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Yoland basically fell from the horse and laid on his back. Some medics came by but the man shoed them away.

“Are you still alive?” Link said as he stood over him.

“Yes, I just,” Yoland paused and closed his eyes. Letting his head drop back to the dirt he spoke again, “I just need a moment. I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Sorry?” Link echoed.

“Oh, yes,” his dark eyes met Link’s from the ground as an arrogant grin crossed his features, “You ate so much of my dust during that race.”

She tied the bath robe tightly around her waist, frustrated by its slipping ties. Her thighs ached. Who knew riding bareback on a horse could be so painful?

Zelda had been brushing out the knots from her hair and the thought of cutting it crossed her mind for a moment, but she relented. Impa would have a fit over it. The image of the woman’s reaction made her giggle and she wondered if the kingdom had ever had a short-haired queen.

A knock at the door cut through her fantasies.

“Yes?” Zelda called out idly. There wasn’t a reply and curiosity got the best of her.

With a sigh, she set down the hairbrush and crossed her bedroom. The quarters door was pulled open just enough where she could pop her head out and repeat her phrase, “Yes?”

The sight of Link was unexpected.

He stopped in mid-sentence at her appearance. The two stayed frozen, staring, until Zelda breathed out an unsteady sentence, “I thought you were the maids.” Footsteps sounded down the hall and Zelda’s brow furrowed. He shouldn’t be here. Oh, Hylia, he should not be here. The footsteps thundered louder. Link had the same alarm in his eyes as they darted back to her, so she made a decision. Zelda grasped the collar of his tunic and tugged harshly, pulling him inside and shutting the door with a quickness she didn’t know she was capable of.

They stood awkwardly close as the footsteps and the chattering of servants arrived and disappeared.

“What are you doing?” Link hissed in a whisper. His voice sounded hoarse.

Zelda crossed her arms, “Trying to save us from more trouble. What are you doing?” They were closer than she expected because her forearms brushed his abdomen. It was difficult to maintain a serious expression when her brain was becoming increasingly flustered.

Link mirrored her tone, “Yeah, it’ll save us a lot of trouble when someone finds me in your room with you half naked.”

She fumed, looked down to see that the silk robe had slid to reveal more cleavage than she meant to. It stopped at her knees. With a red face, she turned and yanked the fabric together. “Well,” the woman huffed irritably, “Well, do you have any better ideas?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Her slippers slid on the floor and she stepped away, folding her arms once more. “So, what is it?” Her voice was thick, betraying her.

Link shrugged loosely, his hand reaching up to rub his neck. For the first time, she took a moment to take him in. He was wearing the same clothes from the race and dirt marred his cheeks. He wasn’t as tense as when speaking with Yoland and for a moment it felt like the tournament wasn’t happening. That she wasn’t about to battle with the court over her stake in power. Everything felt nearly normal again. If she were to let herself forget her worries, it would be just like any old night of stealing away together to talk about their frustrations. No tenseness, no qualms, and reassurance of his comforting presence. However, this wasn’t the same. There was an intensity in the air between them and the lingering implications of his whereabouts. Despite looking like a princess, Zelda’s subconscious clung to the frustrations Yoland had felt towards him. After all, it was difficult to separate the headspaces.

“I wanted to check to see if you were okay.”

“I,” her mouth spoke before her brain could process and she ended up copying his shrug. “As best as I can be, I suppose.”

He was frowning. “I’m sorry.”

Zelda’s eyes trailing to the floor and she kicked the air. There felt like an elephant in the room. She cocked her head to the side and peered up at him precariously, “I’ve heard you’ve been having quite a fun time recently.”

“No, I um,” Link laughed nervously, shaking his head as he diverted his gaze from her. “I don’t know about that.”

She pulled a lock of damp hair over her shoulder with a thin smile, “Sounds exciting. The ladies-in-waiting talk too much about it.”

Link seemed to be struggling with something. Zelda went to pester him. Bother him about why he was there. Why? The reason was obvious, but it felt artificial to break Link’s complexities down to simply wanting the throne. Instead, Zelda wanted to taunt him and distract herself from dissecting him further. Before she could do just that he spoke first.

“It just feels strange to not talk to a friend in over a week.”

Zelda’s parted lips froze in mid-jest and closed. Her breath seemed to catch as well because as Link looked at her. He was so genuine. His blue eyes were eased, almost sad. Guilt coiled in her stomach. She hadn’t thought of it that way. In her eyes, she had spoken to him. Fairly frequently at that. However that wasn’t her, was it? Yoland wasn’t Zelda to Link. She hadn’t properly spoken to him since he had given her that ridiculous list.

Link swallowed thickly before she could offer an apology, “I’ll go.” His hand was already on the door nob and her words in her throat. Not one had left her lips when he slipped out and left her alone again.

  Impa flopped a stack of papers onto the bed as Zelda finished up her braid. The sky was still dark due to the early morning hours. She looked up questionably and before she could voice it, the advisor answered. “They’re all covering your tournament,” she said idly, reaching behind the girl to smooth over loose ends of her locks. “Tabloids to political periodicals to entertainment magazines.”

She reached over to thumb through the first newspaper. An illustration covered the front page it was a recreation of Yoland and Link on those sorry excuses for chariots. They were dramatically glaring dagger at each other as they passed the finish line. She noticed they had missed the scar above Link’s eyebrow and made Yoland unnecessarily disheveled. Zelda raised her eyebrows as she skimmed over the headline. Impa moved to fish an outfit from the princess’s wardrobe, “They’re going crazy trying to find out who in Hyrule Yoland is and where you’ve been going during all this. The ministers are concerned, obviously, that their future king will either be an out of control soldier or a complete nobody.”

The Hero of Hyrule Out-Bested by the Hero of Nothing?

“They don’t like Link?” She yawned and set down the article. The attempt to sound nonchalant was flimsy. Impa had given her a look through the mirror.

The woman pursed her lips, “He’s not… well, he’s not a prince. There were talks about that Gerudo aristocrat. However, the public has always put Link on a pedestal. You know that.”

“The prime minister signed the agreement just as I was forced to,” Zelda said, not without a smile escaping. A thin veil of pink graced her cheeks. She wasn’t used to talking about Link like this. Not when he had a chance at being her husband within the next six months, and though this wasn’t the preferred situation her heart betrayed her mind with its incessant beating. Impa hummed knowingly and laid out some clothes. Unsurprisingly, it was difficult to find masculine attire in a closet made for a princess. Thus, why she had worn the same drab outfit for the last two days.

The older woman gave Zelda a hard stare. “Today is not the day to mess up.”

“Which is precisely why I will not ‘mess up’,” she smiled lightly, pulling on a navy tunic. She always preferred to dress herself before the spell. Somehow it looked more complete that way; it made it where she wouldn’t have any last-minute doubts. “Besides, I’m sure it will be no more entertaining than fencing with how many restrictions the judges have added.”

The rules were made clear several times over. Though the tournament was publicized as being close to gladiatorial combat, there would be no killing and no excessive violence. Children would be present in the stands and, according to the court, it would be of bad taste otherwise. Weapons would be provided within the arena and the style of combat was dependent on the individual’s background. No doubt, this would create quite a spectacle for anyone in attendance. Anxiety gnawed at the princess’s gut. This was it.

There was one reason why they had woken up so early to prepare for the tournament. Impa had been tipped off that the ladies of the court would try to march up to Princess Zelda’s room under the pretenses of preparing to see her future fiancé. Her daily horseback rides as of late were dampening the dramatics apparently. The notion made her stomach churn and she was again reminded of her deep appreciation for the older woman who was now shooing her off through the glass-paned door.

The balcony attached to her room led to a walkway. That walkway ended in a series of spiraling steps to the castle garden. The perfect place for the princess’s antics because with the longer summer days, the general gardening staff tended to arrive later. Zelda took her time this morning to walk through the various flower patches. It wasn’t common that time was found in the day to enjoy the garden and its many luxuries. Whenever she did manage that, it went towards preparing for the Queen’s Tournament.

Even in the dim lighting from the castle torches, the rose bushes gave off a brilliant red. Her shoulders loosened and just for a moment the troubles of the near future faded from her mind. A heavy sigh filled her lungs and during the exhale the imaginary weight of her crown settled back in. Zelda willing herself to focus and waved a hand. It wasn’t possible to feel the masking spell, so she diligently watched her hands tan and her fingers become more calloused. Just to triple check, she pulled her newly blackened braid to the front.

Zelda’s ears quirked upward at the sound of shifting gravel and she stiffened. Thoughts raced through her mind of who it possibly could be. Impa was preparing an excuse to tell the court about her absence, so it couldn’t be her. A stray castle guard? It wasn’t impossible, but they rarely went farther from their posts on the wall. It was the best vantage point. The princess silently ran through her excuses. Yoland Romerok secretly snooping around castle grounds. That wouldn’t paint the prettiest picture if he is found directly outside the princess’s terrace.

Like any rational person caught in a criminalizing position, she froze. She froze with her head craned to the sound for about five minutes until a white fluff ball jumped out of a bush. The formidable Yoland nearly let out a high-pitched scream. Instead he put a hand to his chest with wide eyes. A nervous laugh escaped. Zelda’s perusal of the royal garden was cut short by a small white rabbit and opted to head towards the tournament site a little earlier this morning.

  His mornings were like clockwork. Link woke up early, he grabbed food, and prepared himself for the day before anyone else had. But this morning was different. Instead, he sat up from his bed and stared at the wall in a state of dreariness. When he rationalized to himself that yes, last night did indeed happen, Link sunk back down into the covers and promptly pulled the sheets over his head. His decision to ask of her well-being was born out of a deep seeded worry that something was wrong. Zelda had a nasty habit of voicing her every opinion. It hadn’t bothered him before, if anything it was entertaining to see. It meant that she trusted him enough to stay up at unholy hours of the night discussing seemingly mundane topics. And when those nights did come around, she spoke with such vigor and excitement. It had him hanging onto every word.

Now, it was different. Even when Link told himself time and time again that this was worth it, the cost of her words had affected him more than he cared to admit. Why did she have to open that door in the state she was in? The pink robe had barely reached her knees. Her hair was still wet from a bath and the expression on her face when he saw him made him forget the entire monologue he had rehearsed. It was another reminder that Zelda was gorgeous. He could win this tournament, forget about giving her a choice, and be the luckiest man in history. A groan escaped him and he wanted nothing more than to blip out of existence at the thought. That was wrong. No, that was beyond wrong.

Link pushed himself from the bed and blindly felt around for an abandoned shirt. He mumbled incoherently and stumbled out of the guest room. Food somehow found his way to him, but now he felt sick. His early morning reflections had only frustrated himself more. As usual, there weren’t many people out and about. After all, it was summer. The days were long and it made the staff slower. It was something Link didn’t understand. He got up to beat the heat of the daytime, but he did enjoy the stillness to an otherwise busy hive of people.

The man stared at himself critically in the mirror. He looked like hell. Circles were beginning to appear under his eyes and the scowl on his face wasn’t helping matters either. After washing his face with hot water, he grabbed a razorblade and carefully ran it over his cheeks, shaving the stubble that was starting to appear. Today would be it. It was the last day of the Queen’s Tournament, then it would be done. He sighed, it wasn’t as easy as he expected it would be. His chances were slimmer, but that didn’t allow him to let an inkling of a doubt plant in his mind. There would be no if. When he wins today, he’ll ask Zelda what she wanted. And when she inevitably says to leave it’ll be all up to him.

Link quirked his lip to the side in the mirror. What would he do then? Maybe he’ll fake his own death and escape to Zora’s Domain. They’ve always been pretty indifferent to him over there. The hero left the bathroom and wandered to a closet. He’d always hated living under a microscope. It felt like everyone in the capital had their own reasons for doing things. Never did they do favors without expecting something in return. Genuine people were a dime a dozen. Link’s hands paused their lacing. The princess just so happened to be one.

The halls were still empty as Link strode towards the back of the estate. The sky was getting a hint of color amongst the stars as his boots hit the white gravel of the garden. It was a nice contrast to the vibrant colors of the plants. Then, his thoughts paused with his feet.

There was someone else here. They had paused too. Link swore to himself. He had heard it. Several fleeting minutes went by and there was a little shape that jumped from the rose bushes meters ahead of him. The person moved into view, staring at the rabbit with a whimsical expression. Link side-stepped behind a hedge of greenery, careful to avoid noise. With the retreating footsteps, he took a look around the hedge. A man with a long black braid. His eyes widened, momentarily flickering to the princess’s terrace where a shadow moved within. Link’s brows knitted and willed himself not to confront Yoland.

“What the fuck?” He whispered.

Part 3

[hyunsracha]

home — seo changbin

word count: 2.8k

summary: you hated everything about your school. even the stupid galas your best friend forced you to go to.

You hated your school.

You hated the long, winding hallways that led to dull, lifeless classrooms. You hated the grey courtyard, meant to give students a place to be free, but only made you feel more trapped.

More importantly, you hated the people. The teachers, people who didn’t care and only wanted you to pass so you could get out of their face.

And the students. Greedy, monstrous little demons who hold each other’s secrets like playing cards, ready to whip them out and ruin each other’s lives at any given moment.

You could only stand two people at your school, and one of them graduated last year. His name was Bang Chan, and he took you under your wing when you were a freshman, guiding you through the halls in a way that kept the hardwood floors from eating you alive.

And you did the same to Lee Felix the next year. He was a new freshman, and his shaking doe eyes made your heart cry. So you took him under your wing, showing him where to go and where not to go.

Chan made you tough, teaching you to stand up for yourself against the assholes on campus.

Felix made you soft, teaching you compassion and empathy for those other than yourself.

They meant everything to you, and you couldn’t really be bothered to deal with anyone else.

But now Chan was gone, and you were a senior, and Felix was a junior.

You always thought that your grim perspective would tear Felix apart, but two years later, he still glows like the sun.

Even when the two of you are sitting in the basement of the school, a cigarette between your lips as you doodle on your math homework.

“Y/N….are you even listening to me?” Felix whined, his brown eyes somehow still sparking under the shitty yellow lamp lighting.

“No, you know that.” You pulled the cigarette from your lips’ hold, exhaling smoke and raising your eyebrow at your friend.

“I was talking about the gala. They’re doing a super cheesy theme this year: Paris. Fun, right?”

You gagged, “Of course they would do something like that. Sounds awful.”

“But Y/N!,” Felix pouted, “We have to go! We go every year. And it’s my last year with you…”

“D-Don’t give me those eyes...Felix! Fine.” You sighed. Damn Felix and his stupidly pretty eyes.

You checked the time on your phone, a soft curse leaving your lips as you put out your cigarette. You were going to be late, and art was the only class you cared about.

You loved your art class. Your teacher didn’t really care what you drew, exclaiming that, “art is everything! Even your breath is art!” And you liked drawing; it was quite soothing. Plus, the teacher loved you and said that you works were “inspired,” so the ego boost is much appreciated.

You were feeling tired today, so your drawing was simple. Just made of pencil, you drew a bedroom scene. Of course, the bedroom was much nicer than your actual one at your house, and you would much rather be in your art’s room. You sketched a bed, big and warm. You sketched a nightstand, paintings on the walls, a dresser, etc.

Your teacher stood by your side, draping a comforting arm over your shoulders, “Missing home?”

Home. A funny little word. This bedroom you drew wasn’t home, and neither was your bedroom where you lived. You didn’t really have a home.

“Yeah. Just tired today.”

—

Felix was part of Anime Club. He had Anime Club every Tuesday and Thursday, so you spent Tuesday and Thursday afternoons sitting in the back of the classroom the Anime Club kids used, getting a quick power nap. Then you two would walk home together, the sounds of your shoes clacking against the hardwood floors making you even more tired.

“What are you gonna wear to the gala?” Felix asked, the faraway look in his eyes signaling his excitement.

“I dunno...clothes, I guess.”

“Nice clothes, Y/N.”

“Fine. Nice clothes, I guess.”

Felix lived three streets away from you, which you thought was weird because you had never seen him before he was a freshman. Those last three streets were your least favorite to walk through, because they brought you closer and closer to the place you didn’t want to be.

There was nothing wrong with your house. On the outside at least. It was quite pretty; it even had flowers in the front yard. But there was nothing growing on the inside.

The air inside your house was suffocating. Your throat felt clogged as you took your shoes off.

“Y/N.”

“Mom.”

“How was school?”

“Fine. How was work?”

“Fine.”

And you were in your room.

Your mom was never the same after your dad left.

You remember that day like it was yesterday.

You were seven years old. Your mom was out at work, so it was just you and your dad. He had spent the whole day coming in and out of the house, but you didn’t know why. You had been in your room, playing with your toys, so all you heard was the door. Around 3:00, he came into your room and scooped you up into his arms. His tears were wet in your hair.

“Daddy? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” You had asked. He sat down on your bed, setting you on his lap.

“Y/N, you know I love you very much, right?”

You had giggled, “Yes, Daddy! Of course I know that!”

He kissed your forehead before setting you back on the ground, “I’m going out for a bit, okay?”

“Okay!”

And you never saw him again.

When your mom came home at 5:00 to a house without her husband, she had asked you where he went.

When you replied with, “Out,” she broke.

She spent days in her room after that, refusing any of the little snacks you brought her.

When she did finally come out, something had changed. She was much more reserved, and the light had drained from her eyes, almost like she was just a walking corpse.

When you were old enough, she explained to you why she was so sad all the time.

You never had crushes on boys after that.

Her job was hardly enough to keep you two afloat, so you sold a lot of things. Your house was almost bare, only having a couch and a tv on the floor. Your room was like that too, the only furniture being your bed and dresser. When you turned 16, you got a part-time job, and almost all of that money went to paying bills.

You flopped down on your bed, immediately curling under the blankets. You never really bothered with doing your homework. You’d just do it the next day and get an A on it. It was always like that with you.

—

Time passed quickly. Too quickly. Two weeks had already passed and it was time for the gala. You were dressed in the nicest outfit you owned. Felix had come home with you and raided your closet, claiming that you needed his fashion expertise.

“Why don’t you have any nice clothes?”

“Felix I have no money.”

“Well neither-”

“You live in a mansion, shut up.”

But you cleaned up nicely, at least that’s what Felix said. You also had to promise him that you wouldn’t smoke at all that night. He gave you those stupid eyes again, so you agreed.

You thought the gala was even more boring every year. You only went as a freshman because Chan said you needed to have the full experience of New Haven Preparatory School. You didn’t know that meant having to watch all your peers grinding on each other, alcohol and God knows what else in their systems. One thing you didn’t know about prep schools before attending one: the kids were much more rebellious. Something about being so confined made them act out even more. You heard 3 different couples hooking up in the same bathroom when you just wanted to pee.

This year might’ve been the most boring. The way overdone theme made you want to gouge your eyes out. There was a cardboard Eiffel Tower and the lights were hung up to look like stars. If you squinted, it was kind of pretty.

Felix was having a good time though. While you leaned back against the wall, sipping on a punch you were 99% sure was spiked, Felix was living it up on the dance floor. Sometimes you forgot that Felix was a dancer, as he never really talked about it much. But when you saw him dance, you remembered all of the recitals you’ve gone to for him.

You become 100% sure that the punch is spiked when Felix holds out a hand, beckoning you to the dance floor, and you accept. You don’t know if you can dance, but you’re assuming you can’t based on the amused look on your best friend’s face. You two clumsily move to the beat of Top 50 pop songs, giggling whenever one of you trips. You were tipsy, and Felix was just a clumsy guy.

The gym hushes when the doors open, revealing someone you could care less about.

Seo Changbin.

Seo Changbin was practically made of money. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Changbin could literally get away with murder. You assumed that was why everyone liked him so much.

After a moment of gaping silence, the party continued. There was more chatter, mostly from people with huge crushes on the senior.

“God, he’s so hot. Do I look good enough for him to talk to me?”

You just laughed listening to their conversations. Felix must’ve heard them, too, as he rolled his eyes.

You didn’t care about Changbin. He had never been mean to you, but he was never nice to you either. So you just didn’t care.

You cared so little that you merely shrugged when he tapped on your shoulder, taking your hand in his and dragging you away from your best friend.

You cared so little that you couldn’t be bothered to push him away when he pulled you into the janitor’s closet and suddenly had you pressed against a wall. You didn’t push him away when his lips connected with yours, with a fire you weren’t aware his possessed. In fact, you cared so little that you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

You weren’t sure how long you were in that closet, or where your shoes were, or how many hickeys were on your neck, but you didn’t really care. You just went and found Felix, telling him that you were tired and wanted to go back to your house. And Felix walked you back, the knowing smirk never leaving his face, even after he dropped you off.

—

Seo Changbin was a complicated guy, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

People called him a player, and from most angles, he looked like one. But he swore he wasn’t.

But he never really talked about his feelings.

“Dude, you’re a fuckboy. Just deal with it.” His best friend Minho had said when Changbin tried to explain himself. His other friend, Seungmin, nodded from his spot in the corner, where he was reading a manga.

Seungmin was a junior, and sometimes Changbin thought about knocking his teeth out. But Seungmin could pay to get new teeth in a day, so what was the point?

He has tried to knock Minho’s teeth out once. He doesn’t really remember what they were fighting about, but he punched Minho in the mouth and got a beating in return. They’ve agreed to never fight again.

But Changbin swears he isn’t a fuckboy.

Seo Changbin, although rough on the outside, was soft on the inside. All he wanted was someone to fall in love with. Someone to hold at night and someone to make breakfast with and someone to kiss and hug and just…someone to love.

Seo Changbin was a strong believer in fate and soulmates, and believed that you would know who your soulmate was the moment your lips touched theirs.

So he spent his whole high school career trying to find his soulmate. So he’s kissed almost everyone at school. That’s actually how he met Minho...and Seungmin.

It took him four years to find his soulmate. He couldn’t understand the energy that passed through him the moment his lips touched yours. It was like someone had lit a match inside his body and set all his organs on fire in the best way possible. When you left, it was like all of the warmth in the world had been taken away from him, and he was left in the cold.

You were Changbin’s soulmate. He was sure of it.

Now all he had to do was make you his.

—

School had gotten weirder after the gala. Everyone looked at you, which is something they never did.

“Felix,” you whined, back in the basement, “why was everyone staring at me?”

“Oh, I don’t know Y/N, maybe it’s because you hooked up with Seo Changbin in the janitor’s closet.”

“We didn’t hook up! We just kissed for a little. I have self-control, asshole.”

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Your eyes widened as you put out your cigarette, making sure your foot was covering it as the person showed themselves.

“Seo Changbin, fancy seeing you here.” Felix sent a knowing glance your way, not even trying to make his wink secretive.

“I...I just wanted to give this to Y/N.” Changbin pulled out a single rose from behind his back, shoving it into your hand with a shy smile.

“You...you didn’t fall in love with me because of a kiss, did you?” You laughed awkwardly, setting the rose down next to you.

“I did, actually.”

Oh Jesus, you thought.

“Oh Jesus.” you said.

That wasn’t the last you saw of Seo Changbin that day. He walked you to your art class, then he walked you home, with Felix trailing behind. He wasn’t the worst person to talk to, and you actually found yourself laughing at a few of his jokes.

Changbin couldn’t even describe the joy he felt when he heard your laugh.

And this continued for the next few weeks, as the end of winter transitioned into spring. You could predict Changbin’s lines at this point, and it was pretty amusing.

“The flowers are so pretty today.” Felix mused.

“Like Y/N.” You and Changbin said in sync, sending each other sly grins afterwards. You hadn’t really noticed that his hand was holding yours. It happened a lot, and you didn’t mind it. You didn’t care.

You cared so little that you let him kiss your cheek as he left to go to his house.

You cared so little that you blushed when he said, “See you tomorrow, my darling Y/N.”

You cared so little that you walked home in a daze, hardly able to hear Felix’s teasing laugh.

“Mom.” You had said once you entered the house. Your mother jumped, not used to the lightness of your tone.

“Y/N.”

“I love you.”

A smile broke out on her face, the first one you had seen from her in years, “I love you too, my baby.”

And she hugged you, and she cried, and you cried. Your house felt a little bit more like a home, and you thought you should thank Changbin. He was always bright, bringing a new perspective of optimism into your life.

The next day, you decided you would thank him.

You took his hand in yours on your walk home, startling him enough to make him stutter. You watched him as he spoke, and you told him that he looked nice that day. By the time you got to his house, he was a blushing mess.

“B-Bye, Y/N.” He turned around to go to his house, but you stopped him. You wrapped your arms around his torso from behind, trying to pour every ounce of adoration you held for him into this hug. His eyes watered as he placed his hands over yours, immediately understanding what you wanted to tell him. He knew you well enough to not say anything, only turning around and pressing a kiss to your forehead before going home.

Home wasn’t a building. Home wasn’t a person either. To you, home was a feeling. A feeling of comfort and safety. That feeling started following you everywhere, leaving you feeling at home in your own skin.

You still hated your school. The hallways and the classrooms and the courtyard and the teachers and the students. But you still felt at home there, as your home was anywhere you went.

[liliesofpur-i-ty]

At table Lenz was again in fine spirits, the talk turned to literature, he was in his element; the era of idealism was just then beginning, Kaufmann was among its adherents, Lenz vehemently disagreed. He said: the writers who were purported to offer up reality had no idea of what it was, even though they were more bearable than those who wanted to transfigure it. He said: the good Lord has without a doubt made the world as it should be and there is no way we can scratch together anything better, our sole goal should be to imitate him in a small way. What I demand in all things is life, the potentiality of existence, and that's that; we need not then ask whether it be beautiful or ugly, the feeling that whatever's been created possesses life outweighs these two and should be the sole criterion in matters of art. As it is, we encounter it rarely, we find it in Shakespeare and it rings forth fully in folk songs, now and then in Goethe. Everything else can be tossed into the fire. These people can't even draw a doghouse. They claim they want idealistic figures, but from what I've seen, they're all just a bunch of wooden puppets. This idealism represents the most disgraceful contempt for human nature. Let them just once try to descent into the life of the humblest person and reproduce all the twitches, all the winks, all the subtle, barely noticed play of facial features; he had tried something of the sort in "The Tutor" and "The Soldiers." They are the most prosaic people under the sun; but the pulse of feeling courses through nearly everyone, only the sheathings through which it must break are more or less thick. One merely needs the eyes and ears for this. Yesterday as I was walking above the valley, I saw two girls sitting on a rock, one was putting up her hair, the other helping her; and the golden hair was hanging free, and a pale, solemn face, and yet so young, and the black peasant dress, and the other one so absorbed in her task. The finest, most heartfelt paintings of the Old German School scarcely convey an inkling of this. At times one wishes one were a Medusa's head in order to turn a group like this into stone and call everybody over to have a look. They stood up, the lovely group was destroyed; but as they made their was down among the rocks, there was yet another tableau. The finest images, the most soaring sounds, group themselves, dissolve. Only one thing remains, an infinite beauty passing from form to form, eternally unfolding, transformed, but of course one cannot always capture it and stick it in museums or set it to music and call everybody over, young and old alike, and have them all prattle on about it, going into raptures. One has to love mankind in order to penetrate into the unique existence of each being, nobody can be too humble, too ugly, only then can you understand them; the most insignificant face makes a deeper impression than the mere sensation of beauty and one can allow the figures to emerge without copying anything into them from the outside where no life, no muscle, no pulse surges or swells. Kaufmann objected that he would find no models of the Apollo belvedere or a Raphael Madonna in reality. So what, he replied, I have to admit they leave me quite cold, if I work at it within myself, I suppose I may end up feeling something, but I am the one making all the effort. The writers and painters I prefer are those who make nature so utterly real to me that their works move me to feel, everything else is plain annoying. I prefer the Dutch painters to the Italians, they are the only ones who make sense; I know of only two paintings, both Dutch, that have made the same impression on me as the New Testament; one of them, I know not by whom, is Christ and the Disciples at Emmaus. When one reads of how the disciples went forth, all of nature immediately lies within these few words. Shadowy night is falling, a solid red streak on the horizon, the road half in darkness, a stranger approaches, they talk, he breaks bread, in their simple humanity they recognize who he is and the divine suffering in his features speaks to them distinctly, and they grow afraid, for it has gotten dark, and something incomprehensible comes over them but it is not some ghostly dread; it is as if the dear departed one were coming up to you in the twilight just as he used to, and so it is in the painting, with its uniform brownish cast and the shadowy stillness of the evening. Then another one. A woman is sitting in her room, prayer book in hand. The room all tided up for a Sunday, the sand strewn, cozy, clean and warm. The woman had not bene able to go to church and she is holding service at home, the window is open, she sits facing it and it is as if the village bells were drifting over the wide flat landscape into the window and the singing of the nearby congregation were echoing forth from the church, and the woman is following the text.--He continued on in this fashion, people listened attentively, many points were being made, he had grown so flush from all the talking, now all smiles, now serious, he tossed curls of blond hair. He had completely forgotten himself.

Georg Büchner -- from Lenz, translated by Richard Sieburth

Christ and the Disciples at Emmaus] a painting by Rembrandt pupil Carel von Savoy (ca. 1621-1665), which Büchner had seen in the Museum of Darmstadt. The painting refers to, but does not actually depict, the passage in Luke 24: 13-41

Then another one] The work remains unidentified, but has sometimes been thought to allude to the genre paintings of Nicolaes Maes (1632-1693), another pupil of Rembrandt.

[maggieisalarrie]

Length: Under 15k

*UNDER CONSTRUCTION (3/10/18)*

By Length:

Summaries for the fics listed here are included below in the By Name section of this post. 

3k

Happy Birthday by sleepingalone

I Don’t Want You To Leave, Will You Hold My Hand by roughvoiced

It all comes out in the wash by Conscious_ramblings

make me feel like i am breathing by crybaby 

Rippling of Electricity by sleepingalone 

4k

Dust Off Your Highest Hopes by marie24 

like an animal (i wanna feel you from the inside) by bottomlinsons (grimgrace) 

5k

anything plain can be lovely by el_em_en_oh_pee 

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by hilourry

Huggin’, Kissin’, Holdin’ Each Other Tight. by kotabear24

it starts and it never fades away by scagnetism

No Chance At All by lululawrence 

rest your heavy heart by orphan_account 

So Kiss Me by embro 

take your time rolling up your sleeves by aniloquent 

the beast you made of me by Ashtarok 

6k

All We Have by colourexplosion 

Around the World by orphan_account 

One Day, Maybe Next Week by kikikryslee 

Patience by Star55 

Power Inside by whoknows 

7k

A New Buzz by stylesoftheshire 

a virgin to that money by eversincewefellapart 

Ain’t My Fault by afirethatcannotdie 

His. by SS98

pick my petals off (make my heart explode) by orphan_account 

Your Silhouette Over Me by Lis (domesticharry) 

8k

Always Be My Baby by itsmiz  

Baby Honey by nikogda 

baby, you and i are undeniable by graceana 

Draw by dolce_picante 

I roll and I roll, ‘til I change my luck by lightofathousandstars

like how your hands feel me up and down by ballsdeepinjesus 

make the wait worth your while by karamelised

put you on repeat, play you everywhere i go by eversincewefellapart

Sun-kissed Hurricane, Perfect Storm by iwillpaintasongforlou 

take me for what i am (who i was meant to be) by howlouvely 

Two Sugars, No Cream by loveyoulou (orphan_account) 

9k

Go Out for Adventure, Come Home for Love by myownspark 

love with every stranger, the stranger the better by leighbot

oh baby baby, the reason i breathe is you by ballsdeepinjesus 

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5 

Unbelievable sights, indescribable feelings by serenityandtea 

we can meet again somewhere by LSFOREVER 

10k

Can’t Keep This Beating Heart At Bay by myownspark 

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by tomorrows 

Give Me One Excuse by green_feelings

glitter and helium by starseas

our love is bitter (but I really like the taste) by brightbluelou 

put your faith in my stomach by hilourry

spice up your life by bottomlinsons (grimgrace) 

trusting things beyond mistake by sarcasticfluentry 

We Will Find Our Way by supernope 

yes, you make my life worthwhile by tomorrows 

11k

A Long Way From The Playground by nightwideopen 

A Run At The Past by hostagesfic 

All I Want Is To Be Free by lululawrence 

Court-Ordered by kikikryslee 

Ever Since by letsjustsee 

Far Afield by QuickedWeen 

give you my fever by beautlouis 

infinitely all for me by swallowsmateforlife 

It’s Hard to Say It, Time to Say It by kikikryslee 

Reckless Serenade by boyfrombradford 

Stuck In The Middle With You by green_feelings 

Sweeter Than Strings by polkadotpeacoat 

Tell Me What You Want by stylinsoncity 

The Art of the Giants by asphodelknox 

through the wire by Awriterwrites 

12k

(I Will Run Into) The Hurricane by cherrystreet

One Shines Brighter by afirethatcannotdie 

13k

call me home and i will build a throne by queenmcgonagall 

If You Build Yourself a Myth by pukeandcry 

Like to Keep You Laughing by kikikryslee

Little White Lies by xxSterre

take my hand (and lead me home) by tumsa 

You Knocked Me Off The Ground From The Start by sinkingtothebottomofthesea 

14k

Candle to Keep Out the Night by standintherain16 

Fall with Style by crimsontheory 

Hold On To The Words You Spoke (Anchored Down In The Throat) by justletmegohome

Just a Fine and Fancy Ramble by throughthedark 

Sound Like a Song by allwaswell16 

You See The Sky I Can’t See by LiveLaughLoveLarry 

By Name: 

A Long Way From The Playground by nightwideopen (11k)

Louis is a single dad who is having a lonely life crisis and Harry is a doctor that carries around princess band-aids in his pocket.

Scraped knees make grown men bond, apparently.

A New Buzz by stylesoftheshire (7k)

‘No way,’ Louis says, shaking his head disbelievingly. ‘Only you would come out to your best friend by making him buy you a fucking dildo.’

The classic tale of how Louis helps Harry purchase a vibrator and later helps him use it.

A Run At The Past by hostagesfic (11k)

Harry doesn’t expect it to happen while Gemma’s in Australia. He’s not lonely, this time, with plenty to do and the adrenaline of the end of tour, the excitement of going back to Japan. And Gemma, of course, her jokes at his expense and her flirting with Niall and her hugs for every occasion, the way she looks like mum when she scolds him half-heartedly. There’s no reason it should happen.

He wakes up in Louis’ bed anyway.

a virgin to that money by eversincewefellapart (7k) 

AU. Harry and Louis are broke university students who hate each other and make a sex tape. (In which Louis gets fucked a lot, Harry can't find the camera, and the road to falling in love is different for everyone.)

Ain’t My Fault by afirethatcannotdie (7k) 

Liam, M4M is for sex! You posted in a sex forum about your missing jacket.”

“It is not for sex!”

“It is. Trust me.”

“Well, if it helps me find my jacket then I don’t really see why it matters. Besides, someone already texted me about it. This Styles guy’s coming over in a bit to get it.”

“You invited the avocado man to come get his jacket at our flat after posting on a sex forum. Do you see where this is going?”

“I really don’t.”

“Someone is going to have to have sex with the avocado man!” Louis screeches, and Liam covers his ears.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

All I Want Is To Be Free by lululawrence (11k) 

“Uh, you saw photos? Of me wearing the shirt?”

The guy nodded eagerly while he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah! I took a picture of the photo I saw so I could remember to look it up. Hold on.”

The guy scrolled through his phone and made a happy sound when he found it. “Here!”

Louis grabbed his phone to look at the picture. Yep. That confirmed it. He was going crazy.

The photo he was looking at was definitely one of him wearing his beloved shirt, but there was a taller man standing beside him, looking at him and laughing as Louis had his hand resting possessively on the guy’s hip. Louis had absolutely no recollection of this ever happening.

Or the one where Louis keeps finding photos around campus of him with a man he’s never met before, and the only logical explanation must be he’s going crazy.

All We Have by colourexplosion (6k) 

He looks at the person who’s asked him a question and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. He’s beautiful, is the thing, and Harry’s met him before.

“No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head, averting his eyes. It’s an old habit, one he’s gotten better about resisting, but he supposes seeing Louis Tomlinson out in the wild transports him right back to youth club.

“Ah, s’fine really,” Louis says, instead of just walking away like a normal person, “Pretty boy like you shouldn’t be smoking anyway, yeah?”

Harry’s cheeks flood with heat before he can stop it, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Of course. Of course Louis Tomlinson — the boy who basically made Harry realize he’s gay — thinks he’s cute now. Ten years after the fact, and much too late for it to do any good at all. Or, a 'Grown' au

Always Be My Baby by itsmiz (8k) 

Louis isn't looking forward to his birthday, and Harry makes him see that age truly is just a number.

Based on Louis' tweet: 22 is old :(

anything plain can be lovely by el_em_en_oh_pee (5k) 

Harry sees Louis - like, really sees Louis - again for the first time in his mid-thirties. (a grew-up-together AU)

Around the World by orphan_account (6k) 

“Could you–” Harry breaks off, gasping as Louis leans in to bite the sensitive skin just under Harry’s jaw, a favourite spot of Harry’s. “Could you, y’know, in French?”

“Could I what, H?” Louis asks, peppering kisses underneath Harry’s jaw and trailing them up to his lips.

“Dirty talk,” Harry says in an exhale.

Or, Louis dirty talks in French. Kind of.

Baby Honey by nikogda (8k) 

“Lou, did you see these little baby tea boxes I found yesterday?” He tossed one towards Louis and watched as it thumped Louis in the head. Louis groaned and reached for the little box, rolling it around in his hands, “If you’re about to make a joke about me. I strongly suggest you don’t.” Harry frowned and bounced his tea bag in the water watching the liquid darken, “M’ not! I just thought the babytea boxes were cute.” Louis’ eyes narrowed and he looked at the tiny boxes, and back at Harry. Harry watched, he could see the wheels turning inside of Louis’ mind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Louis looked at the box once more and back at Harry — or… After four years of Marriage, Harry discovers he is expecting. He could go home and hand the ultrasound photo to his amazing husband, Louis. Or… he could have some fun with this. Only Louis catching on to all the hints Harry is dropping.

Or is he?

baby, you and i are undeniable by graceana (8k)

call me home and i will build a throne by queenmcgonagall (13k)

Candle to Keep Out the Night by standintherain16 (14k)

Can’t Keep This Beating Heart At Bay by myownspark (10k)

Court-Ordered by kikikryslee (11k)

Draw by dolce_picante (8k)

Dust Off Your Highest Hopes by marie24 (4k)

Ever Since by letsjustsee (11k) 

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by tomorrows (10k)

Fall with Style by crimsontheory (14k) 

Louis doesn’t get out too much due to his shyness. The only two friends he has he met online and they both live miles and miles away. Then along comes a cute bartender that completely flips Louis’ life upside down.

Far Afield by QuickedWeen (11k)

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

Give Me One Excuse by green_feelings (10k)

give you my fever by beautlouis (11k)

glitter and helium by starseas (10k)

Go Out for Adventure, Come Home for Love by myownspark (9k) 

Four years of iconic moments that inspire tattoos and promises. Fic inspired by the song “Spaces” which includes the lyric “forgetting every single promise we ever made.” Five promises, plus one extra just for fun (because how can you hear Harry say he’s good at falling asleep in front of the fire and not write about it? Honestly).

Happy Birthday by sleepingalone (3k)

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by hilourry (5k)

His. by SS98 (7k)

Hold On To The Words You Spoke (Anchored Down In The Throat) by justletmegohome (14k)

Huggin’, Kissin’, Holdin’ Each Other Tight. by kotabear24 (5k)

I Don’t Want You To Leave, Will You Hold My Hand by roughvoiced (3k)

I roll and I roll, ‘til I change my luck by lightofathousandstars (8k)

(I Will Run Into) The Hurricane by cherrystreet (12k)

If You Build Yourself a Myth by pukeandcry (13k)

infinitely all for me by swallowsmateforlife (11k)

It all comes out in the wash by Conscious_ramblings (3k)

it starts and it never fades away by scagnetism (5k)

It’s Hard to Say It, Time to Say It by kikikryslee (11k) 

Harry sighed. “We have a lot of clothes in stock, sir-” “Please don’t call me ‘sir,’” the guy said. “I’m only twenty-six.” “OK, then. We have a lot of clothes in stock, dude, so finding something else in your size won’t be a problem if it means you’ll buy something. What are you? Like, an extra small?” The guy actually had the nerve to look offended. Harry resisted laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m a medium!” “In what?” Harry asked, looking the guy over. “Children’s?” — Or, the one where Louis is an annoying customer who won’t leave Harry’s shop on time, and Harry is counting down the seconds until Louis leaves. Until a chance encounter at a concert, and suddenly, Harry really doesn’t want Louis to leave.

Just a Fine and Fancy Ramble by throughthedark (14k)

like an animal (i wanna feel you from the inside) by bottomlinsons (grimgrace) (4k)

like how your hands feel me up and down by ballsdeepinjesus (8k)

Like to Keep You Laughing by kikikryslee (13k)

Little White Lies by xxSterre (13k)

love with every stranger, the stranger the better by leighbot (9k)

make me feel like i am breathing by crybaby (3k)

make the wait worth your while by karamelised (8k)

No Chance At All by lululawrence (5k)

oh baby baby, the reason i breathe is you by ballsdeepinjesus (9k)

One Day, Maybe Next Week by kikikryslee (6k) 

Louis was staring at him, expecting a response, and Harry was supposed to be the one coming up with that response, and he was so not prepared, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Where were you? You weren’t on the bus for a few days.” Louis raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Uh… Sorry, I just- Um, sort of noticed that maybe you weren’t on the bus since last week. Not that I watch for when you’re on the bus or anything. That would be weird. Obviously, you have your own schedule, and I have mine. I just saw that you weren’t here, so I wondered what you were doing, or if something bad happened, like you got kidnapped or something. God, that sounded creepy. I promise I’m not threatening your life or something. Jesus, just stop me. If you have pepper spray, I would totally understand if you got me in the eyes right now.” Louis had his lips pressed together at this point, holding back a laugh. Harry really didn’t blame him for that. — Or, the one where Harry just really wants to talk to Louis. And when he finally does, everything he says just comes out wrong.

One Shines Brighter by afirethatcannotdie (12k) 

“Hi, baby. You doing anything fun today?” Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d see how I was feeling before making any plans.” “You wanna get married?” Louis asks. Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and he nods. Louis’ lips are just brushing Harry’s when Gemma appears in the hallway. “You two are in so much trouble.” Harry’s wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

our love is bitter (but I really like the taste) by brightbluelou (10k)

Patience by Star55 (6k)

pick my petals off (make my heart explode) by orphan_account (7k)

Power Inside by whoknows (6k)

put you on repeat, play you everywhere i go by eversincewefellapart (8k)

put your faith in my stomach by hilourry (10k)

Reckless Serenade by boyfrombradford (11k)

rest your heavy heart by orphan_account (5k)

Rippling of Electricity by sleepingalone (3k)

So Kiss Me by embro (5k)

Sound Like a Song by allwaswell16 (14k) 

In high school, Louis Tomlinson lit up Harry’s world like nobody else, even if Harry did most of his pining from the safety of his tightly knit circle of friends. Ten years later, Harry is ready to make some changes. He’s tired of having so many regrets and not taking charge of his life, and he still hasn’t forgotten how brightly Louis shines. He’s about to get a long awaited second chance.

Or the one where Harry helps out at a farmer’s market and gives Louis free vegetables.

spice up your life by bottomlinsons (grimgrace) (10k)

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5 (9k)

Stuck In The Middle With You by green_feelings (11k)

Sun-kissed Hurricane, Perfect Storm by iwillpaintasongforlou (8k)

Sweeter Than Strings by polkadotpeacoat (11k)

take me for what i am (who i was meant to be) by howlouvely (8k)

take my hand (and lead me home) by tumsa (13k)

take your time rolling up your sleeves by aniloquent (5k)

Tell Me What You Want by stylinsoncity (11k)

The Art of the Giants by asphodelknox (11k) 

Louis is dancing away from an old relationship when he meets Harry at a bookstore in the busy streets of Seattle. Harry is just a bookstore owner hoping his handsome weekly visitor could become something more.

the beast you made of me by Ashtarok (5k)

through the wire by Awriterwrites (11k)

trusting things beyond mistake by sarcasticfluentry (10k)

Two Sugars, No Cream by loveyoulou (orphan_account) (8k)

Unbelievable sights, indescribable feelings by serenityandtea (9k)

we can meet again somewhere by LSFOREVER (9k)

We Will Find Our Way by supernope (10k)

yes, you make my life worthwhile by tomorrows (10k)

You Knocked Me Off The Ground From The Start by sinkingtothebottomofthesea (13k)

You See The Sky I Can’t See by LiveLaughLoveLarry (14k)

Your Silhouette Over Me by Lis (domesticharry) (7k)

Last edited: March 19, 2018 

Done here? Go back to my Recommended Fics →

[lbsspiralstaircase-blog]

Migraine Trip

I went to get a massage by a close Pisces friend yesterday. They worked on my legs and lower back as I told them I would like. Every touch was light and full of genuine and priceless care, and I was extremely comfortable and safe feeling. We chatted a bit as they made their way up to my lower back and then to my shoulders. They unexpectedly (but holy fuck yes) cared for the muscles under my collar bone. The ones on the left took two whole months for my PTs to unknot back in 2015, after I broke my skull. My friend’s tender touch moved up to the base of my skull and held it for me. I felt it settle into their hands like water. 

They pressed deeply into an area between my skull and the top of my spine and I was suddenly reminded of my teenhood bed back at La Buena Vista (my parents’ house). 

It was a morning shortly after I was brought home after I broke my head. I remembered the rigid, pure fear I felt upon waking up to a new awareness of my neck’s own independent consciousness, completely separate from my own. As we humans tend to think when confronted by the unfamiliar or unknown, I became desperately terrified that it was going to kill me, somehow, or that I was possessed by a demon or a spirit. I was also taken aback at the intensity of this new awareness of my neck, its bones and muscles and cartilage and blood and nerves...I could see and feel god damn EVERYTHING, as if I were looking at and sorting through someone else’s cut open body. It didn’t use words, my neck, but I could feel that it was enraged. Like humans do through eye contact, I “saw” it’s emotion, it’s “thoughts,” I “heard” its “voice.” I don’t know how else to explain it. My neck had its own fucking consciousness apart from my own and I was held captive by it that morning. 

I screamed from the depths of my soul. They took me back to the hospital.

My eyes stayed open, but I didn’t see the ceiling of the old bank vault we were in for my massage. I was in a state of complete focus, and felt in that moment as if my neck were speaking to me again. I was scared at first, but was surprised when a sheet of sorrow was gently placed over my face in place of fear. My eyes grew a little too warm and little bit wet, my throat got that closing feeling before tears, my body felt heavy and light at the same time. I grew ears like flowers and turned them to that place where the pressure was being applied, where a separate consciousness seemed to speak to me from, like the first time after my accident. With no words, and as independently conscious as you are from I, it communicated to me something like “thank you. I've been waiting, old friend.” My friend/therapist was non existent to me at that point, but their hands acted as a key, a needle, or a light at the end of a tunnel, to which a ghost seemed to depart to, released from the highest vertebraes of my backbone. Like steam, or a held breath, or a cosmic gas, the phantom was freed from its prison between my bones. For what felt like 45 minutes, (it was probably 10 or 5, I have no god damn clue) I existed in a space with just my neck, my spine, my skull, my joints, tendons, my blood. I felt safe under that sheet of sorrow to make a little bit of peace after years of war with my body.

Much much later that night I went to bed with a terrible migraine. I had just worked a full week and was dehydrated and had had a drink earlier in the day (alcohol does not do good things to my head pain wise) and had been up for 20 hours and had driven to and back from kalamazoo. It was almost inevitable, the migraine. 

I was drifting off into a painful sleep, breathing slowly, almost on the other side of consciousness, when I was jolted awake by a voice, coming from an upper left space that it always seems to come from. I don’t know what it said, as I was immediately distracted by the excruciating pain emitting from the faultline in my skull. It may have been even less than a second before I was suddenly...separate from my body, and the pain. I don’t know if I even tried to open my eyes, but I wasn’t using the eyes of my body anymore. I came into an awareness that I come into sometimes, an immense awareness of my body, which then became a giant entity that I was able to view from this place just under the front top of my skull. I was taken aback at the immense size and complexity of the whole thing, looking down on it from that spot. Each part worked like machines, and there were “voices” inside my skull directing them. The more attention I turned toward my brain, the more it sounded like a corporate office, or the stock market, and I was reminded of that cracked open cellar door in the middle of my brain that I’ve encountered, though never approached, during a few PTSD episodes. I wasn’t and am still not ready to go looking for it, so I turned my “eyes” away from the inner depths of my brain and "looked” down at my body. I could hear a voice from behind me directing my heart, another directing my lungs, and so on. My hand started to move by seemingly someone else’s will to scratch an itch, and I "watched” it move across the field of hair on my belly, like the arm of a crane, huge and slow and powerful. I turned my attention back to the corporate office in my head and located the “operator,” it’s “voice” clear as fucking day. I listened and watched. All I could do was listen and watch.

I remember becoming scared for a moment, but the fear quickly turned to curiosity as I tried to convince myself I was just high or dreaming (I pretty damn sure that I wasn’t, call me crazy). I decided to go on a tour of my body. Leaving the perch in my skull, I travelled down my throat and was quickly stopped at my heart and lungs. I watched, in complete and total awareness of them and their operations, as if I were a small being inside my own body, or a camera. Its hard to explain. 

Sometimes I hear people say that they start to feel weird when they say their name too many times, or look at themselves in the mirror for too long, its kind of like that feeling, but multiplied by a million billion. 

I could still hear the voices from the office back in my head, further away, and was made aware of even more voices, or consciousnesses, closer to me, as if there were operators right on the scene, keeping my heart lungs running, delivering their orders as the orders they received from the voices back in my brain.

I didn’t want to hear that many voices, there were a lot and too many. The ones around my lungs were abruptly silenced by my discomfort, and I watched as the operations of my lungs also stopped. I didn’t see them breathe for who knows how long. Then a call from my heart hit me like a gust of wind from behind, “saying” something like, “hey why the fuck aren’t you lungs running, you’re fucking up our operation. Danger! Warning!” I turned back to look at my heart and watched it, clear as fucking day, start to palpitate. I watched it struggle like a fish out of water, it writhed, and the muscles lining my sternum tensed in anticipation, helpless, like a family member at a hospital bedside. All attention was turned to heart, and I could hear the chaos, the legion of voices in my brain, though far away, stop everything to tend to the heart. There was a moment of complete silence before I realized

That it was me. That turning my ear away from my lungs had taken their voice away. That was not my intention. I was just trying to focus and figure out what was happening. Though in awe I was still afraid. 

I turned my “ear” back towards my lungs, and allowed them to continue with their duties. I felt the air rush back in like a dammed up river’s freedom run. I watched my heart, black and blue, ease back into regulation. The voices returned as a collective buzz, each going back to it’s own work.

What is this, I thought as I continued to watch everything run from the sidelines. What is this thing everyone calls my body. 

I don’t remember falling asleep.

I woke up the next morning and remembered everything...all I could think about was art and how I can’t seem to fucking make myself draw anything but myself. I beginning to feel like those artists that draw the same thing over and over for their entire lives in attempt to understand the subject of their work. I thought that my subject would be a woman as it has been in the past. I didn’t expect it to be myself. I can’t seem to see what I am besides a massive operation held in a bag made of live leather. 

There was another time that a migraine sent me back into what I believe was a past life. 

I think my brain is seriously broken.

That is all, I’m going to go party at baileys.