#thirty minute fics for charity

[luvly-writer]

“XOXO”

Ch. 3 Part-Time lovers, full time problem

—•—

Tim Drake x reader

Fic + social media Au

warnings:

taglist: @w31rdg1rl @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @grandstrangerphantom

Author’s note: One thing i love about Christmas is all the free time i have to write new stuff after finals 🤭 (she said as she still has a few finals to finish 😍). HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER!

For those wondering about “BOCM” i am having such a hard time finishing it. When my phone got changed the notes i had on that story got deleted and so i had to improvise a little cause i forgot its ending and it’s so frustrating cause i always want to give you guys quality content. I am scratching my head trying to finish it so i’ll continue this one and update slowly so that i can finish it correctly. Love you all and thank you for your patience.

Masterlist:

“Absolutely insufferable, she is,” said Tim to himself as he ran his hand through his hair. He had been begrudgingly cleaning his apartment. He was tempted to leave it dirty just to take a piss at Yn but he was sure that wouldn’t look good for his reputation so here he was. He would have hired someone to do it for him but recalling all the things he had regarding his alter ego, he knew he would have been fucked and he really couldn’t risk someone else knowing.

Finally, he finished ensuring everything looked great and sat back on his couch with his laptop. "There must be something about her that I can find. I refuse to be outdone and unprepared for this," he said, searching for any leverage he could hold over Y/n's head to bargain for his secret to remain so. Thirty minutes later he had found absolutely nothing. Unlike her two best friends, Clara Dupont and Satine Abbott, who were known to be found in scandal after scandal every week, Y/n had a clean slate. Satine was constantly partying during some fashion week or getting caught sleeping around with some governor's son or a married businessman. Clara has been known to pay off people to do her bidding, caught buying off police, lawyers, teachers, professors, judges and so, to run the city however she pleased. Yet, Y/n had nothing against her. Every article he found was about a charity she had worked on, a program she had opened, or an award she was given; and were all of them legit. She seemed like the angel in their group, but Tim knew better than to trust the all-too-shiny act. He has some recollection of them during high school though; he was a grade above them. They were known for their tight and exclusive group of three. He remembers how girls would do anything to become one of them. If it meant they had to step on someone else to appease one of the three, they would have done so. After all, having them as a connection moved mountains. Tim quickly grew frustrated. No psycho exes, no drug addiction, no jail time, no one dead, no bribes, nothing that could have stained the Vanderbilt name.

Throwing his head back, he heard his phone ring. Y/n was here. He sets his laptop on the coffee table and walks to the door, opening it and revealing a dazzling young woman in an outfit he thought someone as flashy as she never would wear. White Converse, comfortable mom jeans, a laid-back button-up up, and a cozy long brown coat. Her hair was loose and her face fresh with little makeup. Even after spending hours looking at pictures of her during his search, she still managed to take his breath away every time he was in her presence.

"I know I'm mesmerizing, but can you please let me inside? I'm freezing here," she said with her nose a little red.

He rolls his eyes with a laugh and lets her in. "I was gonna go more for repulsive but if that helps you sleep at night."

"Says the one that looks like sewer trampled rat" she quips back.

Tim couldn't help the snort that came out of him. She was an endless supply of good comebacks. He wonders how an interaction between his brothers and her would go, maybe he finally found someone to go head-to-head with Damian. She takes her coat off and lays it on the couch, together with her Burberry bag. He takes notice that her coat is also Burberry and decides to tease her a little. "And here I thought you were actually looking a little humble, but the coat and the bag ruin the look," he says as he scrunches his nose. He feels laughter bubbling as he catches the deadpan she gives him. "Whose less humble, me for wearing it and not saying a single thing or you for identifying it rather quickly and feeling the need to point it out?" she asks as she places a hand on her hip smirking at him.

"Touche"

She nods satisfied at his response and sits on the couch in front of him. "Ok. First order of business-"

"First order of business is giving me the reason as to why you are doing this." Tim interrupts her. She sighs and looks up, "God give me strength to not strangle him" she whispers and Tim tries to hold back a smirk.

"I wAS going to get to that before you so rudely interrupted me. The first order of business is giving you the context I am sure you are dying to hear." she pauses to look at him and he gestures for her to continue. He sees her look down and seem almost embarrassed. He can tell she is hesitating so he tries his best guess, "Are you trying to make someone jealous?"

"No, it's not that, it..." She takes a deep breath and spills it out. "My parents want me to marry a man who is very much too much older than me with the idea that it will help solidify the family lineage which I think is absurd because my sisters are right there AND THEY ARE MARRIED already to someone they love. But because Aurora and Charlisse keep on fighting to become the next CEO, my parents think it is only right to marry ME off to a very wrinkly and truly disturbing man who i am sure 20 years older than me because someone should continue the line whilst the other two are focused on their careers and making something out of their lives. SO, I needed to find a boyfriend who would be suitable for their standards whilst Aurora and Charlisse sort it out so that when they do, the attention and pressure of continuing the line will go back to them and not me." Y/n finishes breathing out. Tim was taken aback. Not only the normally composed girl he was used to seeing, spoke 7 words per second, but he was blown away by the information she had just given him.

"I need...a drink? Do you want one?" he said standing up and heading to the kitchen. No wonder she said this might take a while.

"Yes please" she said with a tense smile. "do you have wine?"

Tim made a sound of confirmation as he poured some scotch. He wasn't much of a drinker, but years of being part of the business world made him earn some appreciation for the drink. Especially on times like these. He poured some wine for her in a glass and walked back with both drinks. He gave her the glass and sat down. "Isn't that a little medieval?"

"Old money has habits that are tough to kill, unfortunately" she mutters dejectedly to her glass. "So, Timothy, any questions?"

"A few actually"

"Go ahead" she sad as she leaned back and got comfortable.

"Whose the old man?"

"Mr. Morris."

"You are fucking with me!" Tim reacted horrified, making Y/n laugh. If he hadn't been so shocked he would have delighted in her laughter but atlas, the situation did not give him the flexibility to do so. "Y/n say you are lying! That man is too old"

"I know, next question."

"Why me?"

"You are a good candidate and a lucky coincidence. I was going to ask Satine and Clara to help me but, that frankly would have ended in a disaster. I believe that as long as a plan stays between the parties involved who have something to lose, it will be successful. Satine would have chosen some random man who she's probably been involved with and Clara knows everything about everyone in the city-"

"Everything?"

"Except this of course, as I was saying she probably would have created a fake identity, assigned it to someone then, bribed them into playing the part."

"Much like you did?"

"I blackmailed you, not bribed you, get it right. Continuing, it was rather easy to choose you. You are Bruce Wayne's son, and even without that, you come from high society from your biological family, so you know the social cues and the ways of the people I am constantly surrounded by. You have proven to be quite ingenious as well as a good businessman. Knowing your "other me" proves you might as well be honorable too and what hero is not dammed with a savior complex can resist a damsel in distress? It is in your nature to want to influence things to be okay. My parents are friendly with Bruce therefore making things more appealing for the situation. I had the perfect leverage, the perfect candidate, and now I just need the perfect situation. So, lucky me when you bumped into me"

"You mean when you bumped into me?" he asked and she glared at him. "Careful, pretty boy," she said, and the way she said it caused chills to go down his spine.

"Any more questions, perhaps about my clean histoy and my best friend's not so clean image?"

Tim looked at her and she gestured to his laptop.

"What do you have to hide?" ha asked leaning foward.

"Wouldn't you like to know? Next question." she smiled as she also leaned forward in her seat. "What's our story?" he asked looking down at her lips, a little bit stained by the wine she had been drinking. Tempting

"Well, that's why I'm here huh, detective?" That nickname shouldn't have had the effect it did on him, but God, he wanted to hear those words from her again. "Show me why Red Robin is the world's greatest mind, second to Batman's only," she said leaning back and taking a sip of her glass once again.

"World's greatest detective, not mind, and some would say I have surpassed Batman, get it right," he said as he repeated her words in the end. "We need cero plotholes, so much so that it has to be so good that not even my family can find them. We are after all a family of detectives"

"Amazing" she said, sitting up straight, her entire focus solely on him.

"We both went to GA, so that's a starting point, we may not even have to lie. We met at Gotham Academy a few years back, you crushed on me for some time seeing as I was a year above you, and then forgot about me when I dropped out. Years later, we bump into each other on the street, and sparks fly or whatever the fuck will make the crowd fall in love with us, and then we start from there. Depending on how desperate are our odds, we will explain our timeline, but we have to agree on it before going public. How did you react when your parents told you the news?

"It waaaass..messy. A lot of screaming and crying"

"Then you will tell your parents of how heartbroken you were when they told you because you finally get the chance to be with your one true love and"

"Wait wait wait wait! Why do I have to be the lovesick puppy in this and you the prince charming" she said narrowing her eyes at him.

"Whose the one in dire need of escaping the situation?"

"Who's identity is in danger?"

"Who will be recreating the handmaid's tale?"

"You bitch!" She gasped at his insinuation

"Exactly so, puppy love for you it is. As I was saying, you finally got the chance to be with the love of your life, and the moment you are prepared to tell them, they spring this news onto you. So how dare they. We can coordinate public appearances, photos, family dinners, and posts so that everything will flow perfectly. Finally, once, you are liberated, we coordinate and stage a breakup and you hand me all the information you have on me cause I know you made copies of everything and I will eliminate all. of. it. We will just be another famous couple that got together and broke up and moved on." Tim was satisfied with his work. Y/n looked absolutely amazed by him.

"Wow...and you came up with all of that, that fast?" she said full of wonder. Tim felt a tug in his heart due to her reaction. It had been a long time since he had managed to make someone truly amazed by him in a really long time. He had been so used to being surrounded by skilled detectives, assassins, meta-humans, and aliens, that he forgot how great it felt to simply just be and have someone admire you for it. The little praise-seeking self in the back of his mind was thriving on her admiration. "Yes."

"Fuck...I think I couldn't have ever picked a better partner for this if I tried. Your reputation does you justice, Timothy, you are brilliant." she smiled. Y/n felt relieved. She was soon going to be free from her family's pressure. Another scheme has gone perfectly. She cleared her throat and masked her face once again. "We have to make a contract, establish some ground rules."

"By all means," said Tim. "I am serious. First rule, I get all evidence of my alter ego destroyed once it's over. I am doing this only if that is assured."

"Deal. Second rule, no one, absolutely NO ONE, knows except for the two of us." she said and he nodded, "I agree"

"Third rule, Kissing only happens if the situation requires it," she said. He hadn't noticed she had opened a doc in his laptop and was writing this entire thing down. He hummed in agreeance, too busy admiring her....admiring her...WOOP WOOP! EARTH TO TIM! This is a fake relationship and you are already getting fond of her?!?!??! WAKE UP

"Fourth rule, no feelings. This is strictly professional" he snapped, making her look at him strangely. "I think that was already implied but sure, if you want it written, I'll add it" and turned to his laptop again.

He felt a pit in his stomach. This was professional and besides, he just found her attractive, he can anyone attractive and it doesn't mean anything. Plus she is kind of an asshole. She is blackmailing him into a fake relationship...to save herself from being sold like cattle and forced to marry a creepy man which if he thinks of it maybe it is the best way she saw fit. AND AND she was very rude to him and has quite the attitude..although it is so attractive how she goes head to head with him. Tim was sweating' bullets.

"And done. I added a few things such as we have to have some sort of PDA, and how we might coordinate things. You know, some silly stuff that most people think isn't important but might end up being so. Do you have a printer?" She asked to which he nodded and gestured to his office. She sent the paper to print and went to look for it. Tim took a deep sigh, he just needed to calm down. He just found her attractive and interesting like a new case that needed to be cracked.

"Perfect, I printed two contracts; one for you and one for me. I also took one of your blue pens and signed on both papers, here, sign here and here." After it was done, she had noticed that a few hours had passed. "I should get going. I promised Satine and Clara that I would have dinner with them if they kept the paparazzi off me so that I could get here unbothered and we didn't have any issues." She said as she went for her coat and her purse. "Have a nice night, Timothy"

"Tim"

"Huh?"

"My friends and family call me Tim," he said looking at her.

She smiled softly, "Okay...Timmy, have a good night and get some rest." His heart melted at the fact that she took his nickname and altered it to make it hers. She heard her driver arrive outside and walked towards the door, Tim not so far behind. He noticed she faltered her step a little and looked at him hesitating. "Be....be careful tonight" she said but it was more like a whisper.

Tim nodded, "Thank you, enjoy dinner and get home safe," he told her as she went outside and went to her car. He stayed there until she got in the car and it began moving.

As she left, Y/n unfolded the contract from her purse and read the last rule...no feelings...

"you are going to be trouble.." she said fighting off a tiny smile and thinking of the handsome boy with the sharp quips, magnificent brain, and gorgeous blue eyes.

"What was that, miss Vanderbilt?" asked Donnie, her driver.

"Oh, it's nothing, Don. We are headed to L'amico, I'm meeting the girls for dinner," she said sweetly and her driver nodded.

Author's note: What do you think of their dynamic? Liking it so far? Feel free to give me any feedback you'd like.

[thornescratch]

I wish you'd write a fic where Ovi tries to roleplay as Han and Leia with his husband with...mixed results.

I have a whole AU based around this now.

"Where'd you get the costumes?" Nicky asks, in a clear deflection.

"You don't like?" Alex asks.

"I didn't say that," Nicky says. He looks down at himself almost in surprise, like he's just now realizing he's also dressed up. He fingers the materials of his own collar and tugs at the buttons of the shirt, buttoning it up one button closer to his throat—Alex makes a noise of protest—and then unbuttoning it again. "It's better than I thought," he adds grudgingly as he smoothes his hands down the vest he's wearing, and takes a step closer to Alex. Despite the inspection of his own clothes, he's mostly been staring at Alex, which Alex chooses to interpret as a good thing. He pokes one of the gold bangles around Alex's bicep. "You didn't get them at the Spirit Halloween. So where?"

And in your size is implicit in his tone, but Nicky is too much of a gentleman to ever say that out loud, and anyway, Alex comfortably knows he sees it as a feature, not a bug.

"I know a guy," Alex says. It's actually Oshie's guy, but Oshie had been willing enough to pass along his number.

("He has great Disney shit," Oshie had confided. "Uh. You're not planning to do anything with, like, the Aristocats? I may have a thing in the works for that. Or for Robin Hood, Lauren's still deciding."

"No, no animals," Alex had said. "You good, we're good."

"Awesome," Oshie had said, and slapped his ass. "Trust me, man, you won't be disappointed." And Alex wasn't; Oshie had been telling the truth. The costumes were expensive but they were extraordinarily good shit.)

"Hmm," Nicky says in a tone that could mean any number of things, but most importantly isn't the tone that means Alex will be getting thoroughly dicked down within thirty seconds. But it's also not the this is absolutely not happening tone, so there's something to be worked with here and Alex just has to figure out the details.

"What, you don't think I look good?" he asks and strikes a pose, putting one foot up on the bed and hands on his hips for good measure. The maroon loincloth material swishes and drapes satisfyingly. A lot of the jewelry is actual gold, or plated. The leather boots are just out of the box new, so Alex doesn't think wearing them on the bed will hurt anything. Alex hadn't bothered with a wig because that would have turned it into too much of a parody, but he hadn't seen any problem in doing a little bit—well, a lot, but once he got started it was weirdly satisfying—manscaping for optimal presentation. The metal bikini top thing is more of a chest plate than a bra, which is fine, given that he doesn't have tits. The air conditioning and the metal makes it a bit of a trial for his nipples, but in an enjoyable way.

Nicky swallows nearly imperceptibly and he's already been betrayed by the rising flush on his face, so yeah, Alex knows the costume he's wearing is doing it for Nicky. So it's something else.

"Plus, you look good," Alex adds. Nicky always looks good, but the pants are showcasing his ass perfectly, and Alex timed this down to the minute, springing the costumes on him exactly twenty minutes after his shower, and his hair is at optimal, tousled roguishness.

"I didn't know you were into Star Wars," Nicky says.

"I've never seen them," Alex says cheerfully, and there, that's it, Nicky's expression does an immediate thing, and it's similar enough to the one where someone loses coverage on the penalty kill that Alex hastily adds, "I mean, you know, all of them, like, in order. So many. We don't have VHS for some. But I like them. You remember when I do that charity thing? I see all the characters then."

Nicky looks even more appalled, if such a thing is possible.

(We go on for like five more pages where Ovi keeps trying to get dicked down but Nicky's deal is accuracy, as he does not think Leia would be willing to dress in the slave bikini to seduce Han, nor would Han request her to, and Han was the one getting rescued and not rescuing Leia, and eventually Ovi is like, look, did you want to be Luke or something instead, and that sets Nicky off even more about it.)

[bellysoupset]

just popping in to share a little scenario i’ve been thinking about! leo is jonah’s plus-one at some sort of medical community event he didn’t really want to go to, but that he agreed to anyway because he didn’t want to disappoint jonah. they’ve been arguing since they got in the car though, and jonah is fed up because he wishes leo would just be direct and tell him what he thinks instead of tip-toeing around his feelings. so jonah has left leo to sulk in a corner by himself while he goes off and at least tries to enjoy his evening.

eventually, leo finds a little balcony so he can get away from the crowd and the noise and just as he’s taking some deep breaths and starting to relax, wendy stumbles through the door. she doesn’t seem to notice him at first, she stands by the railing, staring out at some indeterminate point in space. she’s just escaped a conversation with an old acquaintance of her parents who, perhaps out of obviousness, perhaps not, just deadnamed her in front of a classmate.

but if leo was irritated before, now he’s fuming. he doesn’t care to notice the pallor of her face or the shakiness of her hands. he tells her to piss off and only realizes something is wrong when her gaze snaps to him and he can see tears in her eyes. she gulps and nods and practically flees back the way she came, at which point, leo, who is more shocked by the lack of a barbed response than by the tears, swallows his pride and goes after her to make sure she’s okay.

This ask is so amazing, I had to answer it immediately. I hope the fic made any justice!

---------------------------

"You don't have to come, I can just take Wendy as my date," Jonah said through his teeth as if he didn't know this was exactly the last thing Leo wanted to hear. As if Leo didn't know he was trying to get under his skin. As if it wasn't working.

"I don't get why you need a fucking date", Leo scoffed, getting up from the bed and marching to their closet. Most of his suits were cheap and just for work, so he dug through the blazer jackets until he found the singular only fancy one he owned and threw it on top of the bed, crouching for a tie, "can't you just go alone? Like a regular person?"

Jonah didn't answer him at all, unbothered by the tantrum and continued to button up his shirt in front of the body length mirror he had on his side of the closet.

"We have to leave in thirty minutes," Jonah said, at last, walking out of the closet. Leo stared at his back, wishing he could burn holes there. It was so unfair.

He had plans for tonight that did not involve sipping champagne and standing awkwardly in the corner like a lost puppy all night. Leo had just downloaded Chicago and he had actually been looking forward to Jonah being gone for the night, since he hated musicals, but nooo.....

By the time he walked out of their shared suite, clad in the fancy tux and clean shaven, Leo's mood was positively spoiled. He couldn't muster up a single smile, not that Jonah minded all that much, because he didn't look happy either.

"It's going to be just three hours, Leo," Jon rolled his eyes as they walked through the parking lot, "and it's for a good cause."

"Don't even try to guilt trip me with the fact it's a charity ball," Leo scoffed, "I wasn't invited to no charity ball nor will I be making any donations. Besides, I don't see why do you need a date to this event."

"Because I do have a boyfriend," Jonah answered sharply, entering the driver's seat, "despite what everyone thinks since my boyfriend is an antisocial prick, I do have one. It won't kill you."

"Watching Chicago wouldn't kill you either," Leo glared at the side of his head and Jonah rolled his eyes.

"Renee Zellweger cannot sing and you know it," Jon snapped back without looking at him, "just try to have some fun and talk with people."

"I talk with people all day, every day," Leo rolled his eyes, only for Jonah to stop briskly on the first red light that was just around the corner of their building.

"Fine!" Jonah exclaimed, putting the car in reverse, despite the fact that wasn't allowed in that street, "Fine! Stay home then! When people continue to gossip about me being single, then you don't get to complain to me about-"

"FINE!" Leo shouted back just as loud, crossing his arms, "I'll go to your stupid charity ball to act as a show pony you can parade around, just drive already!"

Jon huffed, mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like more like a mule, but Leo chose to ignore it, before their fight went from "annoyed" to "break up" territory.

Leo couldn't force up a smile, it didn't matter how much he tried and he was trying. It wasn't a bad party, it was better than most of the formal events Jonah had dragged him to, but it was still... Boring. Just boring.

It was out of their medium sized town and in the nearest metropolis, so it took an hour and twenty to get to the jockey club where it was being held. An hour and twenty minutes that Leo spent looking out of his window and fighting the queasiness that was starting to creep up on him from the carsickness.

His head was aching by the time they entered the club, but the nausea got shoved aside by the champagne.

"Not so bad, see?" Jonah said and his voice, despite sounding pretty friendly, still had that petty edge that Leo hated. When he knew he wanted to pick a fight.

"It's fine," he said through his teeth, then scowled even more as he saw a familiar silhouette ahead.

Wendy was arm in arm with Vince, smiling broadly as she talked with an elderly couple. She saw them before Leo could turn around and move along, waving for them to come closer.

"Hi!" She smiled, taking Jon's arm and tiptoeing to kiss him on the cheek, "you look great. Hi Leo."

"Hi," he measured her up and down, unable to stop the jealousy from burning his stomach as Jon's upset frown immediately shifted into a large genuine smile. This cheap Swan Lake Barbie cosplayer always got in between them.

"Hello?" Said Vince, poking him, a charming smile on, "good evening to you too."

"Hi man," Leo forced a yellow smile, still watching as Wendy introduced Jon to the elder couple between them. Both doctors, from Pennsylvania.

"How do did you meet Wendy?" Jonah asked, all flashy smiles and the wrinkly little woman before him started to talk about meeting Wendy during her undergrad program in UPenn.

Leo barely restrained an eyeroll. He had no wish to sit around and hear as some stranger sung praises on little miss legacy admission. Instead he zeroed a waiter across the room and hastily excused himself.

The party was overwhelming. Clearly they had underestimated the turn out of people, because the place was packed full and Leo was starting to feel more than a little overwhelmed. Not only he was annoyed to be there, but with all those people, the loud music, the dimmed lights... He needed some fresh air.

It took him a moment to locate a balcony and Leo rushed out of the ballroom, leaning over it and tugging at his tie, taking deep measured breaths. He was unsure if he was trying to control his panic or his anger, either way it was working. Or maybe that was the second flute of champagne that was quickly getting to his head.

He undid his tie completely, rolling it and stuffing it in his pocket, undoing the first button of his shirt and then reached for his still full third champagne glass.

It was like a balm to his temper and Leo sighed in relief, sipping the cold liquid and looking out to the racing tracks of the jockey club. They had turned most of the lights out, so it was just a very long field of darkness, with a few pops of garden lights appearing.

Vaguely Leo thought this would be a very pretty place to visit during the day. Jonah probably liked horse racing, he was competitive and snobby, the sport fitted right in. He snorted at the thought, turning around to face the ball room.

He couldn't spot Jon among the crow or even Vince. This was a badly organized party, Leo thought, swishing the champagne in his glass and then letting out a loud groan as Wendy walked through the french doors.

She ignored his loud, exaggerated groan, bracing against the stone rail of the balcony, hands tugging at the roots of her wavy hair and Leo rolled his eyes at her.

"Bet one of your extracurriculars was drama club," he said, studying her from the corner of his eye, "really, there are a thousand fucking balconies here, leave me the hell alone. I'm not in the mood for you tonight."

Only then did he actually get a good look of her face, since a person who was blocking the main lamp leading to the balcony moved and yellow light spilled through the glass doors. She was really pale, hazel eyes brimming with tears.

"Are you c-"

"Ye-yeah, sorry," she choked up, turning back around and entering the party once more, practically fleeing from him. Leo's eyebrows shot up and he felt a wave of queasiness wash over him. He might hate Wendy, but he was not a dick. He had no wish to make her cry in the middle of a party or to kick her while she was down. He doubted his two snappy lines had been the culprit of such a reaction, but that didn't make him feel any better.

"Wendy, wait!" Leo shouted, leaving his champagne on the railing and rushing back inside, in hopes of catching up with her to apologize. For a woman in heels she actually ran quite fast. He didn't manage to catch up, always five feet behind the trail of her pink dress and despite the fact Leo was calling her name, she either didn't hear or refused to answer him.

"Wendy, please, stop running," Leo exclaimed, almost managing to catch up, but only because she froze in her heels and turned around.

He caught a glimpse of her face before Wendy was elbowing her way through people: she was openly crying now. Actual tears, her heart shaped face all red, mascara smearing. In the middle of a charity ball.

"Shit," Leo sighed, pushing his way through in order to grab her wrist, "Wendy, WENDY-"

"Hey!" Jonah's voice was naturally louder than his, more happy too. It was not directed at Leo, he was standing in front of Wendy and Leo immediately felt his heart plummet down to his stomach since he knew exactly how the scene looked like: Wendy crying copiously in the middle of a party while Leo chased after her, with a frown on. This looked great.

"Jon, this is not-"

Wendy's shoulders hitched with a sob, once, twice and then she said in a small, broken voice, "ex-excuse me-" pushing Jonah's chest out of the way as she stalked to the ladies room right ahead.

Jon was so shocked that he was easy to push, only snapping back into his senses as Wendy was already entering the bathroom. Jonah's hazel eyes were large, confused, and then his brows dipped into a furious frown as he took in Leo standing right there.

"You did not just make her sob in the middle of a party," he said coldly.

Leo shook his head, nervous, "I didn't! I didn't, I- I didn't do anything, I just-"

"What did you say to her!?"

For the first time since probably ever Leo saw what other people saw when they said Jon was scary. He took a step back, fighting the urge to shrink into himself.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Then why the fuck is she sobbing?!" Jonah leaned in, hissing the question since people were starting to stare at them. People such as Vince, who stepped closer with an uneasy, confused smile on.

"Guys...? Everything alright? You're causing a little bit of a sce-"

"Tell him," Jonah scoffed, crossing his arms, "go on. Tell him."

Leo gulped down, his own eyes burning, throat closing up, "I didn't mean- I didn't-"

Vince's confused smile slipped down and he glanced from Leo to Jon, then back to Leo, "what happened?" although his voice was much calmer than Jonah's, Leo felt even more panicked if that was possible. Jonah was pissed, but Vin? Vince would be heartbroken.

"I swear I didn't mean to make her cry," he said, words thick with the tears he was holding back, "I didn't even say anything, I just told her to get away-"

"Where is she?" Vince's voice was measured, his jaw tense, shoulders squared. Jonah pointed the bathroom, but didn't look at it or Vin, still glaring daggers at Leo.

"I'm going home," he said and the "I'm" instead of "we're" was enough to make Leo feel nauseous. Was he getting broken up with in the middle of a charity ball with everyone looking?

Jonah pushed past him, while Vince entered the women's bathroom, little squeals be damned, and Leo was left in the middle of the crowd, unsure of what to do.

He turned on his heels and followed Jon out, not to argue, only because he needed to get out of that place and he needed to reason with him.

Jon didn't look over his shoulder once, power walking through the parking lot towards his car. Leo's hands wouldn't stop sweating and he rushed to catch up.

"Jon," he grabbed his boyfriend's sleeve, "babe, c'mon, let me explain-" his stomach hurt when Jonah jerked away from him. He stopped next to the car, finally turning to look at him.

Leo could feel his tux jacket sticking to his back, "please let me explain... Please, Jon."

Jonah didn't say anything, only raised one single judgmental eyebrow and waited.

"I didn't say anything, I swear. I- She came outside and-" his stomach churned and Leo gulped against the nausea and panic, "and I told her to go away, but that- That-" he couldn't breathe. Leo attempted to suck in a breath, but the air felt like he went in through the wrong pipe, because immediately he was coughing, bracing against his knees as the champagne jumped up to his mouth and splashed between his shoes. Leo whimpered, head hanging, feeling thoroughly and utterly humiliated, "Jon..."

"You're a mess," Jonah scoffed, opening the passenger side of the car and holding the door open, "sit down."

He still sounded beyond furious, but at least he cared enough to do that. Leo groaned, staggering to the car and sitting down, still with his legs out of the car. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands and let out a sigh, before the tears sprung forth.

"I'msorry," Leo slurred, sniffling grossly and shaking his head, "I swear I didn't mean to make her cry and- And I was try-trying to apologize, I- Don't break up-"

"I'm not breaking up with you," Jonah cut him off sharply, glaring at him still, "and you are apologizing to Wendy."

Leo nodded, angrily trying to wipe the tears and failing when a new batch came forward as he thought of Vince's disappointed face, "I didn't want to hurt her."

Jon snorted, without a hint of humor, "yeah, right."

"I didn't!" Leo exclaimed, glaring at him, "she was already crying when I told her to go away!"

Jonah squinted at him, studying him for a long minute then his shoulders dropped, "she was?"

"YES!" Leo yelled back, his emotions getting best of him. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, "I don't know what happened!"

Jonah seemed to be working over this, mulling the words for a second... Then his jaw locked and he pointed at Leo, "wait here," he turned on his heel, walking back inside the party.

Leo let out a sigh, hanging his head and spitting in the gravel, trying to rid himself of the awful taste of bad alcohol. His head was throbbing, but the knot in his chest was easing up slightly. Jonah had no intention to break up with him and he believed him, even if he was still furious.

Leo rubbed at his eye, breathing in and letting it out in a measured manner, forcing his heart to stop trying to void via his mouth. There was a water bottle resting in the cup holder and Leo grabbed it, swishing the lukewarm water around in his mouth and spitting it out.

He needed to get himself together. Probably go after Jon and find Wendy and Vin, apologize properly...

Leo's head snapped up as he heard a commotion inside. There was a sudden influx of people out of the double doors and Leo stood up, shutting the car door and peering around the parking lot, towards the double doors that led to the jockey's ballroom.

This was... not good.

He completely forgot the fact his face was splotchy with tears and his mouth tasted like vomit, rushing back inside and trying to elbow his way through the people, that seemed more tightly knit together than before... Louder too.

"Stop it! I said STOP!" Wendy's voice cut through the noise and Leo finally managed to shove his head between two people, in time to see Jonah receive a punch straight to his jaw by some random stranger and Vince knock the guy out in one simple punch.

The man spun on his heel with Vince's punch and then stumbled, grabbing on a lady's shawl before falling down, joining a second guy on the ground.

"JoNAH!?" Leo exclaimed, managing to push past the people. Jon looked up, his nose was bleeding and he had burst his lip, but the murderous look from before had vanished.

"That's it, everyone here is going to the station!" a much older man yelled and the security guards approached them. Leo was beyond lost as he watched Vince and Jon sit down obediently, joining the two unconscious dudes, while the party emptied out.

It took almost an hour for him to get the full scope of the situation. Wendy's tears hadn't been because of him at all, but because the two unconscious dickheads were old acquaintances of hers from UPenn and had openly harassed her, using her deadname. Leo had only been salt to the wound.

She was in shambles, but still her voice was firm enough as she pulled the director of the Trans Youth Charity to the side and threatened to make very public what two of his donors had called her, if he insisted on pressing charges for public disruption and assault.

It was almost 1 AM by the time all four of them stumbled to the empty parking lot. Jonah nursing an ice block wrapped in a napkin to his mouth, Wendy's shoulders still shaking with silent, dry sobs.

"Get in," Leo sighed, holding the passenger door open, the irony not lost on him, "you're a mess."

It wasn't lost on Jon either, because he let out a little chuckle, before wincing when it pulled on his split lip, "Leo-"

"I don't wanna hear it," he slammed the passenger door closed, shutting Jon in and then turned around, to face Vince and Wendy, "you guys are going to be okay?"

Vince smiled, Wendy firmly wrapped in his arms and pressed to him as if he could and would fight anyone who dared step closer to her, "we're alright, kid... I'm sorry for earlier."

"You didn't do anything I wouldn't have done," Leo shrugged, then looked at Wendy, "I'm sorry."

She nodded, opening a tight smile, but didn't reply at all and Leo figured it was the best he was getting after being the final straw that caused the whole mess.

He circled the car and got in the driver's side, shutting the door and leaning in, resting his forehead to the steering wheel.

"Leo-"

"I already know," Leo sighed, pressing his forehead in with more force, "you're sorry, you jumped the gun."

"Yeah, I did. Badly..." Jonah sounded embarrassed, "I shouldn't-"

"I know," Leo interrupted him again, "did you at least knock out the first one?"

There was a surprised chuckle and then a timid, "yeah...?"

"Good," he sat up straight, pushing his hair back, "we're gonna call it even tonight. I made your best friend cry, you yelled at me and almost got us both arrested."

"Sounds pretty fucking uneven," Jonah said and Leo rolled his eyes, glaring at him.

"Do you want me to be pissed at you?" he said calmly, "because I'm too tired to do that. My head is killing me from all the crying."

Jon looked guilty, shaking his head, "I don't - You know I love her, right? Like, I truly do, she's the closest thing I have to a sister."

"You have a sister," Leo pointed out, but it was empty and bitter. He knew Jon's relationship with his ten year old sister whom he saw once a year didn't compare to what lied between him and Wendy, "I know, Jon," the blonde sighed, "... And I'm not saying I understand, okay? Or that I'm not jealous-"

"You don't have to be jealous, Leo. It's differ-"

"But I get why you acted the way you did tonight," Leo continued, ignoring Jon's reassurances, "now can we please go home? I want my bed and my cat."

"And your boyfriend...?" Jonah said timidly and Leo rolled his eyes.

"No," he shook his head, starting the car, "you can take the couch. In fact, you can take the couch the rest of the week."

(Read part 2 here)

[alittledizzy]

stray puppy appeal rating: pg word count: 2.5k Summary: There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it. Notes: Written for @velvetnautilus for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

*

Most of the time people checking into the hotel during Dan's ten pm to four am shift aren't really looking for conversation. They're looking for a bed to sleep in or a bed to fuck in and either way they're not going to stand around making small talk with the guy behind the counter who is doing his level best to project a disinterest in any interaction outside the structure of doing his job. He finds reservations, activates key cards, and sends them on their way.

But Dan's got a sixth sense about people who are going to need something from him, and because he's the only one working the front desk during the graveyard shift he's got no way to avoid it.

That sense starts to tingle the minute the door opens and a man walks in wearing a very respectable suit and tie with a stain on the front and no luggage at all. The man looks around with a slightly wild expression that means he's either drunk or exhausted. If he's drunk, at least Dan can ring security.

"Can I help you, mate?" Dan asks. His voice carries across the small lobby.

The man looks at him like he's only just realized someone else was there. "I think my driver stole my wallet," he says. "And my mobile's dead, and the airline lost my luggage."

Okay. Not drunk. Damn. And it's so close to his shift ending.

"Do you have a reservation here?" Dan asks.

"I'm with the conference," Phil says.

"... conference?" Dan repeats.

There is no conference.

"Yeah," Phil says again. "The conference. We're supposed to have rooms booked out."

"There's no conference here," Dan says. "Are you sure you're at the right hotel?"

The man looks slightly queasy now. "No," he admits. "Is this the City Centre hotel?"

"... mate." Dan barely manages not to laugh. "No. It is not. You're about thirty minutes in the wrong direction."

The man rubs his forehead and lets out a very quiet, passionate. "Fuck."

*

It’s painful watching Phil sit in the straight back chair in the lobby. It’s not comfortable. Dan knows that, because he knows the furniture was chosen with the intent of keeping people from wanting to linger too long using the free lobby wifi.

He’s only got ten minutes left until shift change. He knows who comes in after him, and he knows Phil won’t be allowed to loiter without a reservation and looking as he does. He’ll be told politely but firmly to leave, and Dan has a vivid mental image of Phil Lester walking down the street helpless and lost and broke.

There’s a chance of rain, too.

Dan sighs. He had plans. Those plans involved going home, eating something horrible for him in front of the television, playing Guild Wars for a couple hours, then crashing until time for the routine to start again.

“Hey,” Dan says, voice cutting through the quiet of the small lobby. “If you need somewhere to crash for a few hours, you can come home with me.”

Phil looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

Dan shrugs. “Fine.” Thirty seconds later. “Not like I’m trying to rob you or anything, though. Doesn’t sound like the last guy left much anyway.”

Phil almost appears affronted, but the expression fades into something more miserable almost right away. “I’ve still got organs. You could harvest those.”

“If I were in the organ harvesting trade, you think I’d still be working this shit job?” Dan asks. “I could probably pay my rent on one good spleen. Unfortunately I’m chronically undermotivated, so your spleen is safe.”

“Good,” Phil says. “I’ve only got the one. I think. Do humans have two spleens?”

“Just one,” Dan says. He sounds confident even though he’s not sure. He’ll google it later.

“But I really can’t.” Phil has polite-voice on.

“Suit yourself.” Dan goes back to looking at his phone. Eight more minutes, and he’s free.

*

There are a lot of things Dan would list about himself under the column of personality flaws. He's sullen and quiet, anxious, prone to depressive spells, lacks the ability to follow through on commitments, and frequently isolates himself from the people in his life that care about him.

But he's not a bad person. So when his shift ends at four in the morning he looks at Phil and says, “Come on.” and leaves work with a stray following close on his heels.

Phil a consultant for an editing software firm, and he's clearly having a worse day than Dan is but that doesn’t stop him from being chatty.

"I'll just charge my phone for a bit," Phil promises. "Then I'll be able to ring someone and figure out money.”

Dan doesn't really have money to give him. All of his meager paycheck goes towards rent for an overpriced one bedroom flat in one of the shittier London neighborhoods.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Dan says, waving a hand. If nothing else he'll be a nice person and put Phil into a car.

"It's already tomorrow, isn't it?" Phil says. "I'm all messed up with times. I flew here from California."

"Yeah?" Dan asks. He’s knows he sounds disinterested, but he’s really just… tired. He’s always tired.

"I'm actually from Manchester. But they flew me out to California to train me on the software, and I'm supposed to present it at this conference. At least it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Phil laughs a tepid laugh. He seems aware that he's mostly talking to himself. "Right. Where are we going?"

Dan gives him an amused look. "Would you know even if I told you? It's only five more minutes."

Walking to and from work is the only exercise Dan gets most of the time. There are days when he'd probably skive off work altogether if not for how much he enjoys his early morning walks.

"Right," Phil says a third time. "Okay."

*

In the bright light of Dan's kitchen, Phil looks even worse for wear.

"When's the last time you slept?" Dan asks. He'd really just planned on making some coffee while Phil's phone charged enough to make do and then sending him on his way, but now safe within his own territory Dan feels a strange stirring to do something more.

It's not often he's the one that can help other people. It's not often he feels like he can offer something that makes a difference to someone else.

Phil shrugs. "I can't sleep on planes, and the flight was twelve hours. And the night before they took me out for dinner and kept buying me drinks and then I had to go back to the hotel room and pack..."

"So, it's been a while." Dan abandons the coffee idea and heads into his bedroom.

Phil follows after him, but stops in the doorway. "What-"

Dan looks over his shoulder. "You want something more comfortable to wear? Maybe a shower?"

Phil looks surprised. "You're not going to harvest my organs, are you?"

"No," Dan says. "Can't be bothered cleaning up after that kind of mess today. But you look like shit, mate."

Phil looks down. "I spilled coffee on myself at the airport. I thought that would end up being the worst part of my morning. Before the airline losing my luggage, and the car driver taking my wallet."

He's already rung his bank and credit card company to cancel the cards, taking care of that from the hotel phone behind the reception desk.

Dan tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. "The shampoo in my bathroom is for curly hair, but have at it."

"Thanks," Phil says, holding the bundle of clothes. Dan looks up again when he doesn't move. "Where's the bathroom?"

*

Phil's shower is fast. Dan's not sure if he's always quick at it, or if he's just uncomfortable in Dan's space. His hair is wet and falls limply over his forehead and somehow the five o'clock shadow on his face seems a touch darker.

"Thanks," he says. "I feel more human now."

"You don't look it," Dan says bluntly.

Phil shrugs. He's at his phone already. "I'm at forty percent now. If you need me to go..."

"Didn't say I did, did I?" Dan asks. "Are you sure you're even safe to go out there? Why don't you just, I don't know, have a nap."

Dan's tired himself now, or beginning to be. He usually falls asleep around sunrise and wakes late afternoon. But Phil looks ten times worse.

"I couldn't-" Phil starts to say. "I couldn't impose."

"Fine." Dan shrugs. "I'm still offering, though."

Phil looks back down at his phone. "I could just... ring someone. To get me."

"You know people in London?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "But I could call the convention organizers..."

"At-" He looks at the time. "Five seventeen in the morning."

Phil winces. "I guess not."

"Just sleep," Dan says. "I still won't harvest your organs."

Phil gives him a grateful look. "Thank you."

*

Dan's a nice guy, but also a bit of a creep sometimes.

He definitely watches Phil sleep. He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and stares, because now that the buzz of a weird new situation has faded a bit he's able to recognize that Phil is quite fit.

There haven't been any fit guys in Dan's bed in a while. No fit girls, either. No one at all, except Dan and his laptop and his left hand.

Not that he's thinking of having sex with a random businessman that wandered into his workplace. He's not that hard up. Sex isn't even the first thing on his mind most of the time. He's got too much other shit to get together.

Dan stares just a bit longer, then turns and walks away. He'll nap on the sofa for a while.

*

He doesn't really sleep, but awareness fades in and out in stretches of five and ten minutes at a time until the sun is beaming down too directly on his face. He squints and rubs a hand over his eyes. He's tired, bone deep weary, and there's a stranger in his bed.

He opens the fridge and there's not much there. He takes his lunch around two am most days, and doesn't eat again until late afternoon. There's a lot of takeaway in his life, a lot of freezer meals.

Can't feed a freezer meal to a stranger. His nana would drive all the way from Reading just to slap him for it.

He doesn't even know what Phil likes to eat. Is he vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten free? Does he watch his carbs?

Indecision is paralyzing, but Dan's hungry and he needs something to do. He orders a pizza, but he orders what he'd normally get for himself. It's not a date, he tells himself. No need to try all that hard.

*

Tall, dark, and handsome-if-you-like-that-type stumbles bleary eyed from the depths of Dan's sleep cave at half two.

"Oh my god," he says, sounding mildly horrified. "I can't believe I slept so long."

Dan's on his laptop. He barely glances up. "Must have needed it."

"My phone's charged," Phil says. "If you need me to go."

Dan ignores the comment and says, "There's pizza."

"Pizza?" Phil's interest is definitely piqued.

"You must be hungry, right?" Dan asks.

"Starved," Phil says. He opens the box. The pizza's gone cold by now but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a bite and moans slightly. "This is amazing."

"It's Dominoes," Dan says, "But it's good to know that's where your taste level is at."

"Nothing wrong with a Dominoes," Phil says.

Dan does happen to agree.

Phil eats his pizza standing. Dan pretends to be doing work on his laptop, when in reality he's refreshing twitter and watching Phil out of the corner of his eye.

When Phil's done eating, he wipes his hands on his (Dan's) joggers and then walks back into the bedroom.

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut, and he's not sure what put it there. All he knows is that this day stands out from every other day already, and he's reluctant to let that go.

But then there's Phil, this person Dan barely knows, with whom Dan has barely even had a real conversation, and he's walking out of Dan's bedroom dressed again and regret for that unknown reason blooms even brighter.

"Guess you'll be going then?" Dan asks.

He can tell his voice sounds clipped. Phil can too, apparently. "If that's alright? Or did you change your mind on the organ harvesting?"

"Still can't be bothered," Dan says, shutting the laptop. Phil's wearing his own trousers and a button up.

"I need to get to my hotel," Phil says. "And then ring the airport about my luggage, and have someone wire me some money."

Dan can see the discarded tie making an unsightly lump in his trouser pocket, and he's got his jacket over one shoulder. The coffee stain looks even worse in the light of day. He's got Dan's hoodie clutched in his other hand.

"You can take that if you want to."

Dan's not sure where the offer comes from. He likes that hoodie.

Phil looks down at it. "Really?" He asks. "We could... we could meet up. For me to give it back to you. And pay you back."

"Pay me back?" Dan asks.

"For the money I'm about to ask to borrow so I can get the tube to where I need to be." Phil says meekly.

"Oh," Dan says. "Yeah, right."

"But I want to make it up to you." Phil takes a breath and then looks at Dan almost imploringly. "Dinner? When's your night off work?"

"Don't worry about it," Dan says. He grabs his wallet and pulls out the only cash he has. He doesn't even count it. "You don't need to pay me back. If you want to return the hoodie, drop it by the hotel."

Phil looks down at where Dan's offering it out to him. He's frowning, and Dan's starting to wonder exactly what's wrong when Phil says, "What if I just want to take you out?"

"What?" Dan stares at him.

"You're - am I wrong?" Phil asks. "I just.. I saw your quilt. And the sticker on your mirror.”

The warm, heavy quilt his friend made him in the colors of a rainbow flag. The equality sticker. "Are you asking me out? Are you even gay?"

The moment feels like a step beyond surreal.

Phil lifts up his trouser leg. His socks have little rainbows on them. Phil shrugs. "A bit?"

"You're a bit gay, or you're a bit asking me out?"

"Both?" Phil says.

"Okay I get how you can be a bit gay, but - how do you just ask someone out a bit?" Dan asks.

Phil begins to look uncomfortable. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll have your hoodie sent-"

"I don't work Sunday night," Dan interrupts him.

"Sunday," Phil repeats, smiling. "Alright. I'll bring the hoodie then. And buy you dinner."

*

Sunday comes, and Sunday goes. Dinner turns into a drink after and then a slow stumble through Dan's doorway with hands and mouths exploring. Monday morning dawns bright and early.

There's a stranger in Dan's bed again, and this time he knows exactly how to feel about it.

[that-sokovian-bastard]

Alone Together - Loki x Reader

Words: 1331 Pairing: Loki x Reader Warnings: Mentions death (not graphic), mutual pining but they don't know it Summary: Slightly based on Alone Together from The Unofficial Bridgerton Musical, you are attending a charity event for New Asgard following the Blip. You try your hardest not to see Loki, but things don't work out that way. Author's Note: I say slightly based on because it's mainly the location being a museam and one line from the song at the end of the fic. Also, this takes place just a few months Post-Endgame, but Loki did not die to Thanos and was not Blipped. And Thor didn't go with the Guardians. You also have the power of teleportation.

Loki / Full Masterlist

---

You were used to parties. Having been friends with Tony for a long time before the Avengers even formed, you've seen all types of parties he would throw. But now, after Thanos was defeated, the parties definitely lessened.

The invitation came only a few weeks ago from New Asgard: they were hosting a charity event to finish renovations to the school that ended up being more costly than they expected. Thor and Valkyrie invited many Avengers, and while some of your friends were going, you still hadn't decided.

And you needed to decide quickly because if you were going to go, you needed to be there soon. Thank god you can teleport, because if you couldn't, then you would have had to decide hours ago. The event starts in thirty minutes.

Finally, you huffed at yourself and got over it: you were going. Quickly changing into something more suitable for a high-society charity event at a museum in Norway, you wondered how you even classified as high-society. Was it just because you're the Avenger watching over the Avengers Compound and can donate some Avengers money? Or was it because you attended so many Tony Stark events? Or just the fact that you're good friends with Thor and nearly had a fling with Loki?

Whatever it was, you were running out of time and needed to stop overthinking everything. In the end, it didn't matter why you were invited, just that you were and that you needed to get there soon. So once you finished getting ready, you got into the right state of mind and prepared yourself to teleport across the world.

It was always risky traveling that far, and you let out a sigh of relief when you saw the museum in front of you. When you collected yourself, you noticed there was quite a large crowd entering the museum, and you followed. You thought you'd be able to see Thor and Valkyrie, make a quick pledge on behalf of the Avengers, and leave before even running into Loki. It would be easiest and less painful that way.

But it didn't work out for you like that. You greeted Thor and had trouble finding Valkyrie, and as you kept going from room to room to find her, you found a room you were sure was supposed to be blocked off.

It was empty and dimly lit, but you were a bit relieved that you found this spot. The crowd had been overwhelming, and it would be nice to have a minute to breathe before heading back out to find Valkyrie and make your pledge.

As you breathed slowly with your back against the door and your eyes shut, a voice distracted you. "I don't think we're meant to be in here," You heard and sucked in a breath when you realized whose voice it was. "The house lights are not on, and it's empty; well, save for us," He continued. "But the door was unlocked, so can they really fault us?"

You took one more deep breath before opening your eyes. You saw him standing in the middle of the room admiring the large painting. He wasn't looking at you, just talking. Clearly, it was directed toward you because you are the only one here. "I don't think they can," You said, trying to answer his question.

Now, he turned his head to you, and there was a small smile on his face. "It's been a while," He said.

"Good to see you, Loki," You nodded and stepped away from the door. You weren't near him at all, but you weren't pressed up against the door gasping for air anymore. "Shouldn't you be out mingling to get donations?"

"I have been," He said, turning his head to look back at the painting. "I thought I deserved a break from begging and found this room. Come look at this painting."

Slowly, you walked to the center of the room and stood next to Loki, only eyeing him for a moment. "I can't seem to make much sense of it, can you?" He asked.

You stared at the large painting, too, cocking your head ever-so-slightly. It was some kind of abstract painting with dull colors, and it really didn't make much sense to you, either. "No, but I think that may be the point," You said. "I'm sorry I haven't come to visit after the Blip, I-"

"I know. You've been busy, leading the Avengers and all," He said. You two had yet to make eye contact, and you still weren't looking at each other. "How is that going?"

You shook your head slightly. "How's what going? The fact that after the fight with Thanos, we lost so many of the big players, and now there's barely any team at all? Or the fact that I sit around an empty base all day making calls with a raccoon?"

"I do wish I could visit more, but we," He stopped, not wanting to make an excuse.

"I know. You've been busy, building New Asgard and all," You finished, matching his tone from only a minute before. "I've missed you, though."

The five years between the fights with Thanos was certainly an interesting time. And while you wished you didn't lose half of your friends to the Blip, you do value the relationships that were made stronger then, especially with Loki. He visited the Avengers Compound often and helped you with whatever you needed, even if it was just a shoulder to cry on. And if the Blip lasted any longer, you were sure you two would have gotten together.

But then the team brought everyone back and defeated Thanos. You lost some of your closest friends and were now the highest rank in what was left of the Avengers. Loki returned to New Asgard, and you haven't seen each other in months.

Standing next to you, Loki was thinking about all the things he could have done — what he should have done. He knew now he should be in the main room conversing with as many people as possible to raise the money that New Asgard needs, but he didn't want to leave. You were here, something that he's been wishing for since the Blip ended. He didn't want to lose this moment with you; he just wanted to stay here forever.

"I've missed you, too," Loki said. Though it felt like hours passed between your statements, it was only a few seconds. For the first time that night, he said your name, and your head darted to look at him, only to realize he was already looking at you. You stared into each other's eyes for a few moments before he spoke again. "I was thinking-"

His thought was interrupted by the door creaking open loudly, making both of you direct your attention to it. "There you are, brother! I have someone looking to speak with you," Thor smiled.

"I will be out in a moment," Loki said. Thor nodded and shut the door.

Loki dared to try again. "I-"

"We should go," You cut him off and started to walk to the door.

"Right," He agreed and followed, cursing in his mind that he would never have the chance to ask you his question again.

Maybe he should just man up and visit the Avengers Compound and ask you out on a real date the following day. But he didn't know if he had the confidence to do it, especially after all the time has passed and so many things had changed.

Loki didn't know how much you wished he would do exactly that. That night after the charity event, he sat at his desk surrounded by hundreds of crumpled, half-written letters to you. He looked down at the sheet in front of him and muttered what he had written.

I wish you were mine.

But he crumpled up that letter, too, threw it in the bin, and went to bed.

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part One

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Attempted Suicide and Abuse

Notes: The fic plays a year after Grace’s death. It will be quite dark as Tommy still struggles with PTSD and Grace’s death and the Reader has struggles of her own.

London, 1 August 1924

For the past three years, it has only been you and your father, living in London in a small suburban house.

Whilst you were in your early twenties, your father was very protective of you. You were his only child and you couldn’t stay out of trouble.

You had moved out of his house momentarily when your mother had passed away but soon had no choice but to return when the relationship you had formed with a young man at the time had turned bad.

Ever since your experience with that man, you lost faith and you lost trust. A year of abuse had gone unnoticed until the day your life had changed forever.

It was 1 August 1922 and you remembered that day, every day and every night. The nightmare you had to endure that day would stay with you forever. Every time you glanced into the mirror and saw this big scar across your stomach, you saw a stark reminder of that day. Every night you went to sleep, you were woken up by a nightmare, reliving exactly what happened to you to that day.

The worst of it all was that the man who did this to you and the men who watched walked free. He was the son of a judge who helped to cover it up. The abuse, the shooting, everything.

You were left with the burden of it all and, at one point several months ago, you even considered to leave this world behind, to join your mother wherever she was.

But your father, he saved you that day you tried to take your life and ever since then, he had his eyes on you, ensuring your safety.

Ironically, it was on 1 August 2024 that he made you a promise. A new life and a new home, in Birmingham.

‘Why Birmingham. It’s an industrial town. There is nothing there’ you wondered.

‘I have been assigned a new job, investigating a criminal syndicate in the area. I cannot tell you anything else about it. Its for your safety. But I have requested a house in the outskirts for us to stay at and security. It will be safe’ your father explained and you knew that he was probably right as, currently, he was investigating several killings in London and certainly had become a target.

Birmingham, 1 September 1924

Over the past two weeks, you made your new house a home.

Your father didn’t lie when he said that your new house was in the outskirts of the city. The nearest factory was a twenty-minute drive away and your property was surrounded by fields and bushland.

For days, you had been exploring the area, spent time at the nearby river, hunted and gathered.

‘I sometimes wish that your mother wouldn’t have taught you her customs’ your father chuckled when he finally found you.

You stood in front of him, your boots covered in dirt, leaves stuck in your hair while you prepared dinner outside over the campfire near the river.

‘Bi kashtesko merel i yag’ you said, pointing to the pile of wood besides him. But you knew that he had never learned your mother’s language.

‘You know, we do have an oven my love’ he laughed.

‘Doesn’t taste the same coming out of the oven’ you smiled, offering him a seat on the blanket besides the fire as you did.

‘I suppose you are right’ he said, taking some of the meat and vegetables.

‘When I was walking today, I came across an orphanage. It is on the hill a few miles from here. I was wondering if, perhaps, I could seek employment there’ you suggested to your father and, to your surprise, he was in agreement.

Birmingham, 5 September 1924

Your employment was approved within no time and, whilst the position didn’t pay well, it was satisfying to you to work with children in need.

The orphanage was established through the Grace Shelby Institute and housed over thirty children.

To your surprise, unlike there is with most orphanages you had visited and volunteered at, there was no involvement from the church.

It was well furnished, featured a large library and the children were well dressed.

There were two young children in particular who caught your interest. Their names were Adam and Lenny, two brothers who just loved to explore.

It was on your first day that they had, again, disappeared from the orphanage much to the disapproval of the educators, which the children called ‘aunts’

‘The twins are lost again’ one of the aunts said quickly just as she heard a car pull up in front of the orphanage.

‘They aren’t lost, they are exploring’ you said calmly, but the aunts weren’t calm at all as they watched a well dressed and very handsome man and a very attractive brunette woman step out of their grey Bentley.

‘Listen, I know where they might be. Let me fetch them, alright?’ you offered and the eldest aunt nodded quickly in approval before greeting the two well-dressed strangers.

‘Mr Shelby, Mrs Grey, please common with us’ the woman said and, just as she did, the man’s eyes locked with yours for a moment as he walked past. You couldn’t recall having ever seen eyes that intensively blue before. They were almost hypnotising.

After quickly collecting your thoughts, you made your way to the nearby forest and, just as you had expected, the twins were by the river.

You spent ten minutes with them, exploring and preparing them for the aunts’ disapproval for their behaviour, before winding them up and making them follow you back to the orphanage.

‘Next time, sneak out a little more carefully’ you said to them with gypsy tongue before giving them a wink and shewing them back inside, not expecting to be understood by the handsome stranger smoking besides the door.

‘They need to learn how to cover their tracks, eh?’ the man said in gypsy tongue and you swallowed harshly, embarrassed and concerned for your employment at the same time.

‘I am sorry, they just want to be outside, not cooped up in here. But I shouldn’t have suggested…’ you went on to say, but the stranger interrupted you.

‘There is no need to apologise Love. I am gypsy too, I understand’ the man said with a smile before introducing himself to you.

‘I don’t think we have met. My name is Thomas Shelby’ he said, shaking your hand.

‘Y/N YL/N’ you responded shyly before noticing the familiar surname. ‘Are you involved with the Grace Shelby Institute?’ you asked, looking at the sign displayed behind you.

‘Grace Shelby was my wife. Me and my family established the charity following her death’ the man explained.

‘I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such an intrusive question’ you murmured, but the man assured you that your question wasn’t intrusive at all.

You talked with the handsome stranger for quite some time before, eventually, the dark-haired woman came out of the building, ready to leave.

‘May I see you again Miss YL/N?’ the man then asked shamelessly, causing the woman, known by the name of Polly Grey, roll her eyes.

‘Yes, where?’ you said somewhat nervously. You were surprised when these words left your lips all so eagerly as, until now, you hadn’t built up the courage again to even consider involving yourself with a man.

‘I will find you’ the man said, winking at you as he did, before saying goodbye to you in gypsy tongue.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​ @vhscillian​ @ysmmsy​ @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  ​@stickyknightflowerbailiff  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

[insomniamamma]

Surrender: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x F!reader

A/N: My hand slipped. Soft little sick fic. Same Reader Character as “Ephemera” which was meant to be a one-shot, but you all know how it goes. I’m relying on Google Translate for Spanish because I took Latin in high school like a dumbass, so please be kind.

Warnings: Implied legal age gap. Class and power dynamics. A little bit of angst on Reader’s part. Illness. References to sex but nothing super graphic. Mostly just soft, fluffy fluff. I wasn’t feeling great when I started this and wanted some comfort from our sweet, out of touch Nico.

I'd like to see you.

Your phone buzzes and you find it in the drifted pile of tissues on your dresser. You sigh and that turns into another series of coughs, hard enough to send black floaters behind your eyes.

I can't. I'm sick.

I'm coming to get you.

Nico no. I feel like shit.

You let the phone fall back into the mountain of used Kleenex and shut your eyes. You're about three hours out from your last dose of NyQuil and the neighbors are blaring their tv again, muffled enough that you can't make out words, but the argumentative tones of afternoon soap operas are enough to jolt you out of sleep every time you feel yourself drift. The phone buzzes a half-dozen more times and then rings.

           "Dammit, Nico," you murmur and reach for the phone.           "I am coming to get you," says Nico, "I will be there in thirty minutes."           "Nico, I feel like crap, I haven't showered I haven't even brushed my teeth-"           "Your apartment is too loud for you to rest properly," he says, and he's not wrong. Christ almighty when the commercials come on it's even louder. Why the fuck does anyone need to have their tv that loud? It's the middle of the day, you can't even justify ringing their doorbell or even pounding on the wall. What good would it do?           "'M all gross--"           "I don't care. Pack your toothbrush and a clean pair of pajamas. I'll be there shortly."           "Nico--"           "Let me care for you, Osita." You sigh over the open line. If it was anyone else you'd bristle. Part of you does bristle. You don't need Nico to whisk you off to his house in the hills above the ocean. You don't need him to do things for you. Sometimes this wordless thing you have with him feels like a weight, a cocoon and ever tightening shroud, whatever it is you are, lovers? Fuck-buddies? Are you his mistress? His charity case? You hear him breathe on the open line, and you are too tired to deal with these questions. When you are with him, you feel like the center of the universe, the burning heart of a galaxy.           "Please," he says, "Please, mi Osita." You make a sound of frustration and you swear you can hear him smile. Mi Osita. You don't know what it means, and you're not sure you want to know, but you like the sound of it, purred against the shell of your ear as he moves inside you, said with a warm wide smile and sparkling eyes when he kisses your cheek and pulls you in for a strong embrace after an absence. You know you won't say no and so does he. It's hard to tell him no.           "Okay," you say, "But I--" whatever you say dissolves into a series of coughs.           "My poor girl. You rest. I'll text you when I'm close."

          You shuffle out to meet Nico, puffy eyes slitted against the light screaming up off of the sidewalk and he immediately starts fussing over you, shucks his jacket and drapes it around you, takes your bag and wraps his arm around your waist as if you might not manage the few steps to his idling car. You smile despite how crappy you feel. He is so worried, so agitated. He presses his palm, and then his scruffy cheek to your forehead.           "It's just a cold, Nico, I'm not gonna die." He opens the door and maneuvers you in, speaks briefly to his driver and then joins you, offers you a bottle off water, cold and sweating and it feels like heaven on your scratchy throat.           "How long have you been ill?"           "I dunno," you say, "I had a sore throat when I got up on Thursday."           "It's Saturday."           "So?" His face is pinched with worry, little line etched between his brows, worries his lip with his teeth before speaking.           "You could have called," he says, "I would have come for you."           "I had to work, Nico," you dig your fingers at your throbbing temples, "You know? That thing people do to pay their bills?" And when you look up at him, his eyes slide away from yours, still smiling but his hands clasp each other in his lap, curl together like small animals. You reach for him, peel his hands apart and fold your fingers around his.           "Sorry. I'm tired. And my head feels like a giant bowling ball full of snot." Nico chuckles. He pulls you close, draws you down so you are resting across the bench seat, draped across his lap, smooths your forehead with the pads of his fingers, and you feel yourself relax under his touch. He talks, something about a bit of land in Ireland that caught his eye, a stone house along the cliffs, needs restoration, two people could live there quite happily, we could look out over the sea, between his voice and the highway hum and the warm pressure of his palm on your forehead you finally sink under.

          He leads you into the cool sanctuary of his house like being inside an eggshell. Mostly muted cream with little pops of color. A cobalt blue vase of calla lillies burgundy shading to velvety midnight purple, a room divider, flying cranes in shimmering gold and pearl and lacquered black. Not so sterile now that his furniture has arrived, but still, cream colored walls and pale carpet, it feels like a pocket universe, everything muffled and cool, soft breezes through curtained windows, sun-sizzle filtered, tamed. And blessedly quiet. The only sounds are the sigh of wind lifting the filmy while curtains like wings, the tinkle of wind chimes the occasional low cry of the parrot that shifts inside its cage. Nico installs you in a chair in front of the window where the breeze can touch you while he draws a bath.

          The parrot's name is Jerry. You'd made a face when Nico told you.           "I didn't name him. He belonged to the prior owners. The husband was suffering dementia and the wife had no desire to care for Jerry. She never liked him I suppose. I have contacted a bird rescue but they have not returned my calls."           "You're not going to keep him?"           "They live a long time," said Nico, "As long as a person. Some think they are as smart as a human child. I cannot care for him. I travel too much. I am away too long. It would be cruel I think."

          Jerry grumbles and shifts in his cage, painted eggshell white, another pop of color. Sometimes you feed him banana slices, green grapes from Nico's fridge. There's always fresh fruit. Jerry's still here and so are you. He makes a sound that reminds you of the baby raptors in the Jurassic Park movies.           "I know, Jer," you say, your eyes growing heavy, soft breeze and wind chimes and bug-buzz drifting in through the windows.

           You are nearly asleep when Nico reappears, offering his hand to pull you upright. Nico at home is a different animal that Nico out and about, jacket and slacks exchanged for a soft henley with buttons undone, loose linen pants. Nico likes softness, curls his toes in the plush carpet. Absently runs his hands over things as he speaks. He pulls you to your feet and wraps his arm around your waist and you lean into him, surrender yourself to his care.

          The bathroom is stupidly huge, cavernous like everything in this house, lit by skylights, sunlight catching the billowing steam in curtains of milky light. You can smell eucalyptus oil even with your head stuffed up, between that and the humid air, your nose starts running instantly. Your clean pajamas are laid out on a low table beside a neatly folded towel. Nico helps you undress, gentle, lingering touches that would lead to more if you weren't feeling so crappy, broad warm palms skimming up your back as he removes your top, braces you as you step out of your pajama bottoms, helps you into the tub, a restored clawfoot, the water just shy of scalding, the way you like it, he pushes up his sleeves and hunkers down pressing his thumbs into the place where your neck and shoulders meet, slides a folded towel under your head and leans you back. Kisses the crown of your head.           “You shouldn't do that," you say, eyes sliding closed, breathing in the smell of eucalyptus and peppermint, cooling your scratchy throat, and your nose runs helplessly, gross, but it lessens the pressure, swipe absently at your face with the back of your hand. It is so good just to be still, the have some quiet. The faint slosh of the water when you move, soft sounds of Nico padding around the house, your own snot-laden breath. You hear him re-enter the room, small sounds of his body shifting, hunkering down.           "Can you sit up for me? I need you to drink this." Nico presses a dose-cup of green goo into your hand.           "That's the nighttime stuff," you say, "It'll make me too sleepy."           "You need to sleep," says Nico, "You will rest. Even if I have to tie you to the bed to make you stay still." You chuckle, at what he just said and at his face as his mind catches up to what just fell out of his mouth. Nico grins, and giggles start bubbling up, his cheeks and ears going pink. Nico laughs like he's trying not to, like those giggles are something that should stay down, stay hidden, as if he is embarrassed. When he lets himself laugh freely he is beautiful, it's a rare thing, like an eclipse. You wish he would do it more.           "You know full well what I meant, you wanton thing." He says, "Take your medicine. Please. For me."           "Okay,"

          The water grows tepid, and there's no sign of Nico. You dry and dress, loose-limbed and clean and breathing easier, your nose and eyes are still running like crazy, but anything is better than that churning pressure in your sinuses. Even muzzy-headed from the medicine you still know where to find him.           Nico sits on the edge of the pool, lazily kicking his feet through the water, phone pressed to his ear, speaking animatedly in Spanish. For someone trying to do the California thing, your Spanish is abysmal. One more thing that you didn't think of before taking this endless, idiotic gamble. Too broke to stay and too proud to leave. You push this thought away and take a long look at your lover. Sunlight shining in his curls, the breadth of his shoulders, the sweep of his neck, the rise and fall of his voice, his guilty giggle. You must make some small sound because he turns towards you, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He stands.           "...tengo que irme. Mi osito me necesita..." Nico closes the space between you, fast when he wants to be, wraps his hands around you upper arms and peers into your face.           "I am so sorry, I had to take the call, these developers you know how they are--"           "It's fine, Nico."           "How are you feeling?"           "Better," you yawn and it distorts your answer, "Sleepy though."           "That is good. You need your rest. Come."

          The overfilled air mattress is gone, long-replaced by a king size bed with a teak frame that looks like the height of modernity circa 1972, but the sheets are crisp and cool and welcome as Nico tucks you in. Your eyes slide closed, and you hear him move, small sound of a jar unscrewing, and his warm hand sliding beneath your shirt. Rubs the greasy, pungent balm on your chest like your grandma used to do when you were small, lets his palm rest there briefly, a warm, welcome pressure on your sternum, smoothes his hand over the soft swell of your belly and withdraws. You must make some small sound of protest.           "I'm getting you some water for when you wake," he says, "I'll be right back."

          You rise back up out of shallow sleep to the dip of the mattress as Nico lays himself beside you.           "You're gonna get sick," you protest, eyes closed, even as he pulls you to his chest, cradling you against his heart.           "I will not," he says, and tightens his arms around you. "I have a very strong constitution." We'll see, you think, but tuck yourself against him all the same.           "Tell me a story."           "What about?"           "Tell me about your friend from Milan, the one who almost got you arrested." Nico giggles.           "You've heard this story, Osita,"           "Tell me again. It's funny." Nico squeezes you so tight, so so tight.           "Alright, Little Bear, but it won't be any different than the last time. The story won't change."           "Doesn't have to," you say, relishing the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders, burrowed against him, sinking into his warmth like sinking into sleep, your ear against the steady beat of his heart. "Sometimes it's nice to hear the same stories over again."

          You wrap your arm around him, unthinking, slipping your hand just under the hem of his shirt, smiling at the little hitch in his breath. Nico is very ticklish. You have to be careful.

[karahalloway]

A Winged Wish

A Choices Twelve Days of Fictmas One-Shot

This is my submission for the 2021 Choices Twelve Days of Fictmas writing event. This year, the theme was 'All Of My Favourite Things' and the prompt that I'd received was 'Angel Tree'. This is also my submission for the CFWC Holiday Celebration.

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: On a special December night in the lead-up to Christmas, Harper has a tough choice to make...

Word count: 2,000

Warnings: PG-13 (very minor swearing, one slightly steamy kiss, lots fluff)

Theme song:

A/N: So... A couple of things... (1) I appreciate that strictly speaking, an 'angel tree' is a charity-based gift-giving initiative that is run by the Salvation Army to collect items for in-need families in the lead-up to Christmas. However, when I saw the prompt, the first thing I thought of was literally an angel tree (as in a Christmas tree decorated with angels). And when I thought of angels and Christmas, I thought of wishes, which is how the idea of this fic was born. (2) While I make references to some European Christmas traditions and beliefs (which are factual), the concept of an 'angel wish' is something that I came up with for this fic and has no tie-in (at least none that I could find!) with Saint Lucia's Day, so any similarities to actual beliefs/traditions is purely coincidental. (3) Chronologically, this Christmas takes place in the same year as the social season and the engagement tour, but contains no real spoilers for the as yet untitled and unwritten Book 3 of the Harper and Drake trilogy.

"Something on your mind, girl?"

I feel Drake's arms wrap around me from behind, and I lean back against him with a sigh.

"Just trying to decide what to write."

"For the past thirty minutes?"

"It's not been that long!" I peek up at him uncertainly. "Has it?"

"Sure has," he assures me. "Was on the verge of calling in search and rescue."

"I do have a phone..."

"Which you weren't answering."

I feel a blush rise up my cheeks. "Sorry... Got a bit lost in thought."

Drake rests his chin on my shoulder and glances down at the words that I've written down, then scribbled over. "It's not a fancy speech or press release, y'know... It doesn't need to be perfect."

"I know..." I huff. "But I want it to be meaningful."

"Then write from the heart."

I twist around to look at him with a quizzically raised brow. "Since when does Drake Walker give sentimental advice?"

"Since it's the most WON-derful time of the year...?" he carols with a grin, deepening his voice in imitation of the Andy Williams Christmas classic. "And I get to spend it with you."

His lips meet mine in a tender kiss as he pulls me into him. Laying a hand on his cheek, I breathe in his spicy scent, taste the whiskey on his tongue as I melt into the moment.

Our first Christmas together... the first of many.

"What did you write?" I ask him when we eventually pull apart.

He fixes me with an impassive look. "That's between me and Santa Lucia."

Now I was intrigued! "What did you write that's such a big secret?"

"Hey," he protests. "Did you run around sharing the contents of your letter to Santa?"

"No, but—"

"It's the same thing," he insists. "It only works if it stays private."

"Sentimental and superstitious," I declare with wide eyes. "The festive cheer really has addled your brain, Walker."

"My brain's perfectly fine, thank you," he replies dryly. "But, there are some things that you just don't mess with. Time-honoured holiday traditions being one of them."

I roll my eyes. But... I had to admit that he had a point.

Though, that still didn't help me decide what I was going to write...

I glance back down at the piece of paper in my hands, hoping that inspiration would finally hit me, and I could write a heartfelt 'winged wish'.

For on Santa Lucia – or Saint Lucia's feast day – every Cordonian took a moment out of their day to record a secret wish. For kids, it tended to be the special toys they hoped to receive for Christmas (delivered by Baby Jesus, rather than Santa Claus in this part of the world... the logistics of which I have not quite received a satisfactory explanation for, apart from maybe that Baby Jesus had unquestionable magical powers of teleportation). For adults, meanwhile, the wish was usually a bit more amorphous – good health, finding love and happiness, more money... basically the stuff that keeps people up at night, hoping for a miracle. But, in both cases, the process was the same. People would write their wish onto a piece of paper, fold it up to resemble angel wings and tie it to a branch of the Christmas tree, so Saint Lucia's spirit could fly them up to the heavens to Baby Jesus.

When Maxwell had innocently asked me whether I'd be writing a winged wish, I had stared at him in confusion. But, after he'd given me the low-down of what it entailed (and I'd received unbiased confirmation from Drake that this was actually a thing, given that I hadn't been sure whether I should take Maxwell on his word on something that sounded so alien to me, hailing, as I did, from the land of the Coca-Cola Christmas commercial), I had decided that yes – I did want to take part in this rather sweet and poignant Cordonian tradition.

And since I wanted my first time writing a special wish to be special, I had spent the whole day trying to decide what I wanted to ask for, motivated by the highly probable chance that I'd eventually need to repeat this story to my kids and possibly even grandkids. But, as the morning had ticked over into afternoon, and we had started getting ready for the Night of Light ball at the Palace – Saint Lucia being the patron saint of festive, holy light – I was still trying to home in on my one-true desire.

So, here I am, at the tail end of the night, standing in front of the gigantic Norway Spruce that had been set up in one of the corners of the ballroom, already chock-full of little paper angel wings ready to bear their author's hopes and dreams skywards, no closer to narrowing down my wish than I had been at the start of the day.

Should I wish for something material? That felt cheap – asking a higher power for something that I could just buy for myself. Should I think bigger? Like world peace? The end of hunger? Poverty? Or was that just wishful thinking on my part? What about love and happiness for everyone? Eugh… That just sounded so cheesy…

A low sigh of frustration escapes me.

Why was this so goddamn difficult?! It was just a stupid little wish... That probably wouldn't even come true anyway.

"Harper..."

Drake's voice floats across my consciousness.

Looking up, I see that he's moved around to stand in front of me, his warm mocha eyes gazing down softly into mine.

Taking my hand in his, he says, "You're really overthinking this, girl. Just pick something you want. It's not rocket science."

"But, that's the problem!" I exclaim. "I don't know what I want!"

"You were eyeing up those boots pretty hard last week..."

"I was window-shopping! A girl's allowed a self-indulgent, Confessions of a Shopaholic moment every now and then!"

"I have no idea what that is, and I definitely do not want to know, but if you're struggling that much, just wish for those." He leans in conspiratorially. "You never know... Your wish may come true."

My mouth drops open. "You did not!"

"Did not what?"

"Buy them for me!" I cry. "They were almost $1,000!"

Even though I'd been here in Cordonia for over six months now, I was still converting everything back to US dollars as that was my instinctive baseline. And as awesome as those Louboutin black suede, kitten-heel ankle boots with statement bows on the back had looked in the store window, no shoe was worth that much money!

"I never said I did," he replies evenly. "And anyway... it's Baby Jesus who—"

I thump him on the chest. "I'm not five, Drake! I know how Christmas presents work! And you can't spend that much money on me!"

"Why not?" he asks, snaking his arm around my waist to draw me into him.

"Because it's too much!"

"I think that's for me to decide..." he murmurs, reaching up to brush my hair behind my ear.

"And I haven't gotten you anything nearly as expensive!"

"So? It's the thought that counts, not the price tag."

A sound of exasperation escapes me. "You're impossible..."

"Why is this still a constant source of surprise for you?" he drawls with a smirk, tilting my face up to his.

"I don't know..." I grumble ruefully. "I keep thinking that I've got you all figured out, but then you turn around and do something that takes my breath away."

"You complainin’?"

"No, but—"

"Then stop complaining."

Dipping his head, he gently brushes his lips against mine. My mouth parts with a soft sigh in anticipation of him deepening the kiss. But when a moment, then two passes, I blink my eyes open questioningly.

Drake is staring down at me with that impenetrable look of his, and I feel my heart skip a beat at the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” I ask softly.

“Nothing…” he murmurs, reaching up to cup my face in his palm.

“It’s obviously something…” I counter. “Or you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re expecting to wake up.”

“Because I am.” He closes his eyes as he heaves a breath. “Honestly, Harper… I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re here right now… Not only together, but engaged... of all things!” He shakes his head. “I… I know this is gonna sound cliché and stupid, but I wish we could freeze this moment… make it last forever. Because it’s goddamn perfect.”

Before I have a chance to reply, his mouth comes crashing down on mine. A low moan escapes me as his fingers tangle into my hair, pulling me to him, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of having even the tiniest sliver of space between us. My arms wrap around his neck, my body arching against his as his tongue—

My eyes fly open. "That's it!"

“…the hell?”

Extricating myself from his embrace, I rush to the table that held the writing implements. Dropping the dog-eared piece of paper I was holding, I pick up a fresh sheet and quickly jot down my wish. Giving it a quick read, I fold it up, tying a piece of string around the middle before popping it triumphantly into a branch.

Turning around, I see Drake eyeing me with a raised brow. “Care to explain?”

“You just gave me a brainwave,” I inform him, looping my arm through his.

His brow arcs higher. “You’re… welcome?”

“Oh, don’t look so put out,” I say, patting him on the cheek.

He scoffs as he leads us back to the main part of the ballroom. “How else am I supposed to look when you turn tail in the middle of us making out to go scribble on a piece of paper? Happy?”

“Yeah…actually,” I admit. “Because thanks to you, I now have the perfect wish.”

He throws me a sidelong look. “I told you… It doesn’t—”

“—need to be perfect,” I finish. “I know. But what you said… It made me realise that I’d been thinking about the whole thing wrong.”

“How so?” he asks as we arrive at the dancefloor.

“I was so focused on trying to choose something to receive in the future, that I forgot that I could actually choose something from the present.”

Drake glances down at me as he pulls me into a close hold. “You… wished for something you already have?”

“Yes,” I reply with a smile. “I wished for—”

“Don’t tell me!”

I shake my head with a laugh as he twirls us around. “Drake… You’re my fiancé, soon to be my husband. Surely I can tell you…”

His face remains impassive. “No.”

“Why not?” I press as he drops me into a dip.

“Because. It won’t happen if you do.” He bends down to whisper into my ear. “And I want all your wishes to come true.”

I tilt my face up to his. “They already have.”

It was true.

I already had everything I could ever want. I had found and fallen in love with the man of my dreams, who loved me in turn and had literally crossed mountains and oceans for me. He had proposed and I'd said 'yes', and our wedding was a few short months away. I had family and friends on two continents I could count on come what may. I was doing well physically, emotionally, and spiritually… and everything felt pretty damn perfect.

So, that is what I had wished for – to be able to find a moment of perfection in each day that I could hold onto and cherish… whether it be a smile… a kiss… something that made me stop and stare… or something that reminded me of how immeasurably lucky I really was.

Because when all was said and done, the only things that really mattered were those special moments in between…

…and I couldn’t wait to have a whole lifetime of them with Drake.

Moodboard credits

Tree - Angel - Dance - Drinks - Drake - Harper

Permatags (let me know if you want to be added!)

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @petiteboheme @aussiegurl1234 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @angelasscribbles @drakewalkerisreal @nestledonthaveone @tinkie1973 @lunaseasblog @indiana-jr @twinkle-320 @choicesficwriterscreations @knaussal @differenttyphoonwerewolf @texaskitten30

12 Days of Fictmas Writers (not already included in my permas)

@katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @alj4890 @ofpixelsandscribbles @queenrileyrose @burnsoslow @darley1101 @blackcatkita @debramcg1106 @cordoniansgonewild @leelee10898 @kat-tia801 @emichelle @arosentinel @bebepac @txemrn @thegreentwin @annekebbphotography @cordoniantrash @sincerelyella @boneandfur @thehonorarybeaumont @chemist-ana @lucy-268 @jerzwriter @mynotsohealthyobsession @camillemontespan @axwalker​ @argylemnwrites 

12 Days of Fictmas Readers (not already included in my permas)

@iaminlovewithtrr

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

Little Wing

warnings: This story has some descriptive stuff. Age gap (7 years). Sexual and graphic things, alcohol and drug use.

Warnings for this part: violent outbursts, drinking

pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

summary: Parties, grandpa Kylo and a bit more about Y/N's father's death.

word count: 1.7 K

Masterlist

The new masterlist link – it's a masterlist just for this fic. It includes a bit of a summary for the next part and it also has links for spotify playlists – one for Kylo, one for Angel, one for the whole fic.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Chapter six

Y/N was living in her childhood home and while some people found it funny, she loved it. It held so many memories – sorrow and happiness and love. Nostalgia, all in all.

When her mother started dating again, Y/N thought of an idea: What if, when her mother moves out, her college friends move in? You know, a few besties living their (almost) sorority life. When her mother finally moved out to live with her first boyfriend in the long, long line, Y/N asked her nicely, and her mother relented. The house was big, and it would be too much for Y/N to live there alone. One of her reasons was something along the lines of making new memories that are not tainted with sadness of her dad’s life.

So, as August moved in her neighborhood, so did her friends. They had an arrangement – they are living in the house, but they help pay for utilities. And buy their own groceries. As much as Y/N helped, she wasn’t a charity. 

Kylo watched them waiting for Y/N to open the front door, watched her greet them with the biggest smile and hug each and every one of them. It was a whole ordeal, the five of them standing in scorching midday heat, laughing and squealing – you know, the whole I-haven’t-seen-you-in-months-how’s-life-been-greeting.

In truth, it wasn’t much different. Y/N’s friends came inside, all scattering to put their suitcases away and then coming back down. By six in the afternoon, the house was lively and loud – shaking from the bass coming from loud speakers and laughter of girls who just wanted to have a few days of fun before classes started again. Even then, they could slack, as it was their last year. They only had a few classes.

“Bitch, what’s up with the hot neighbor?” One of her friends was helping her with making dinner.

“Jade,” Y/N warned her softly, “You mean Kylo Ren?” 

She was cutting onions, her eyes tearing up. She didn’t know if it was the vegetable or the mention of the man.

“Yes, I mean Kylo motherfucking Ren, babe,” the girl answers, a knife in her right hand chopping up a pepper a bit harsher than usual, the knife hitting the wooden cutting board loudly. The other girl wiped her eyes quickly, smiling at the way her friend was all defensive, and yet she didn't know the situation. 

“Dunno,” she answers, half-truthfully, “He did some shit in the past, stuff I can’t easily forgive.”

“I’ve heard of Kylo, y’know. Heard he’s Han Solo’s son,” the friend prolonged the conversation. She put the peppers in a bowl, continuing to help Y/N get the chicken out of the fridge, cutting it into small cubes too.

“Han Solo? You mean – “ Y/N stopped herself before continuing on, feigning concentration on washing the vegetables. Han Solo and her father were great friends, she remembers him visiting and playing with her ever since she was a little kid, but her friends shouldn’t know that. 

“I mean what?” 

Y/N hummed, “It must’ve slipped my mind. I forgot what I was going to say.”

Jade knew better than to question her, partly because she knew Kylo was a sensitive subject ever since Y/N was eighteen, or since she developed a crush on the man.

By seven thirty, the girls had all finished with dinner and by ten, they were all a bit drunk and really loud. You know how these college kids get, right?

Kylo was really trying to work, but with his neighbors screaming and laughing and yelling every three or so minutes, he wasn’t succeeding. He tried to ignore them, earbuds playing songs on the highest volume his phone would allow, but to no avail.

It was their first night back together, he thought to himself, it’ll be better tomorrow. 

It wasn’t. 

–

Tomorrow, at midnight, Kylo Ren climbed four steps that lead to Y/N’s house, banging on the front door. He heard squeals, and then someone calling Y/N’s name, some indistinct yelling, and finally, the door being unlocked. Loud music came rushing down the street as the door opened.

“Yes, neighbor?” A girl answered the door. It wasn’t Y/N. Don’t get him wrong, this girl was beautiful too, but couldn’t compare to Angel. She was dressed casually, her long black hair away from her face in a low ponytail. Her shorts revealed miles of tan skin, but Kylo couldn’t care less.

“Where the fuck is Y/N?” He didn’t have time for pleasantries.

The girl yelled out Angel’s name, and turned back around towards Kylo. “My name is Olivia.”

“Hello Olivia. Kylo.” He nodded, not really looking at the girl, rather behind her shoulders, hoping to see who he came to see.

“Kylo?” A well-known voice.

“Angel, can you please keep it a bit more quiet? Some of us have jobs,” he answered swiftly, his arms crossed in front of him.

When she pushed Olivia away, Kylo saw that the girl was really drunk. Her pointer was raised up towards him, her brows furrowed and her eyes filled with anger? Resentment? Annoyance? Kylo couldn’t really tell. She was noticeably smaller than the man, but that didn’t mean she didn’t scare him a bit. Kylo knew her better than not to be.

“My God, every time I think I got rid of you you come knocking at my door and fucking everything up! Fuck off, Ben!” And with that, the door slammed in his face. Kylo stood there, petrified. Ben?

“What the fuck has just happened?” Kylo muttered out, cleared his throat and turned around.

When Kylo is angry, he’ll do anything to prove he’s in control. He’ll take a bottle of whiskey from his cupboard and drink it all alone in his room. When he was little, he’d hit his head on the wall until he got what he wanted, it being either forgiveness, his mother’s kiss or a toy he really really wished for.

It was a way of saying “This is my fault, my own two hands did it. It shouldn’t matter, but I need to forgive myself, too.”

When Kylo is angry, he’ll try to hold it in by hurting himself. It’s rare he takes his anger out on anything, anyone, but himself. Today is one of those rare moments. When Kylo is this angry in these rare moments, he’ll destroy everything around him, smashing mirrors with his bare fists, screaming, sweeping everything off the counters, yelling profanities at God, hating himself, destroying his favorite lamp. 

When he finally calms, he’ll start questioning his sanity, he’ll look towards the sky as if to tell the universe: ʟᴏᴏᴋ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴏʏ ᴍᴇ, ʟᴏᴏᴋ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ!

When Kylo finally calmed, his kitchen was in shambles. He reached for the whiskey hidden in his cupboard, pouring himself a glass. It was a weird contrast – Kylo standing so calmly in the middle of the mess, his left hand bleeding because –  he broke something?  He’s not sure himself. He’s broken the whole kitchen down, to be honest. 

He slowly walked out, glass crunching under his shoes. He’ll clean it up after he drinks the alcohol swirling in his hand. 

“I’m not Ben. Not anymore,” he whispered out. He’s not Ben, he’ll never be again. Never, ever, again. How did Y/N know of his childhood? It’s dead to him, Ben died with his mother. He downed the glass.

“I’m not Ben,” he repeated a bit louder. Was he convincing Y/N or himself? “I’m not Ben – I’mnotBenI’mnotBenI’mnotBen–” Yelling at this point, throwing the empty glass into the wall. His hands found home in his hair, and he was still repeating it as a mantra, and tears rimmed his eyes. He’s not Ben. Did he convince anyone but himself, really? 

Tomorrow, Kylo will explain himself to Y/N. He’ll try to explain what happened with her father, so that she can’t make up a version of the truth. 

–

“Darling?” Y/N heard after the fourth ring.

“Hey mom. Do you know anything about dad’s death?” Y/N made circles around her room, biting her nails while her other hand held her phone to her ear.

“How much do you know, honey?” her mother sighed out, expecting Y/N to find out sooner or later.

“I know that it wasn’t a car crash, mom.”

“Well, your father – You know Han, right?”

The younger girl hummed in approval.

“He had a son, Ben. Your father has been in those… Waters for a while, so he decided to teach Ben everything he knew about that life. Well, when Ben’s mother passed away he became – he became a nightmare. He’d put himself into dangerous situations – just to feel something, I guess. Your father swore he’d protect him, so that’s what he did. It was his choice.”

“Mom, do you know where Ben is right now?”

“No, I don’t even know how the kid looks,” she answered truthfully, “I never saw him. I always imagined he looked like Han, but I don’t know.”

“I– Thank you mom. For telling me the truth.”

“Always, honey.”

–

Kylo Ren decided he was a pussy and he won’t be able to tell Y/N the truth in her face, so he decided to – Write. So he did. The music from his neighboring house was kind of getting on his nerves, but he had to endure it. He’d endure much more if it meant Y/N would listen to what he has to say. He really thought it’d be okay.

Maybe, but just mabe, it would. Maybe Angel would finally listen to him. Maybe she’d realize that Kylo can’t change the past, but he could change the future.

Maybe she’d forgive him.

[dimplesandfierceeyes]

there’s so many to choose but: if pran confessed in class & pat divorcee au (if two are allowed lol)

Ok so the "if Pran confessed in class" one is actually based on a quick Tumblr fic I did aaaaaages back that I meant to actually go back to and redo as a longer thing, though i haven't found the time to actually do it yet haha. So you might actually recognise it to be honest:

---

Pat gaped up at the huge monitor, currently plastered with an enormous picture of six sweet dumplings, each one holding a message written in a fine, neat handwriting that Pat recognised instantly, even if his brain was struggling to believe it was real. Was he actually even in a lecture theatre right now or was he about to wake up in bed and realise he had ten minutes before class would start?

He pinched himself viciously and then looked back at the board. The messages were still there.

The first three were enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Don’t be angry anymore.

I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.

I’m sorry.

---

As for Pat Divorcee AU, that was my idea for what might have happened if Pat and Pran hadn't met at university, but did meet again later at thirty: Pat with a wife he's in the process of divorcing and a couple of kids; Pran with a string of bad relationships.

There's very little written of this because at the time I was put off by the potential length of it (laughs hysterically into my current 120k WIP) but honestly looking at it again for this ask has rekindled my love of it. Here's one of the few snippets of dialogue I have for this one:

---

"I kept your guitar for ages" Pat confesses, "The missus made me get rid of it eventually, couldn't understand why I was letting it take up space in the house when we already had mountains of stuff for the kids and I never played it. I didn't want to just throw it out though, seemed rude. I gave it to a charity that teaches music to disadvantaged kids, I figured you wouldn't mind that too much."

"I... That's... Yeah, thanks, that's a good place for it... why... why did you keep it?"

"I thought you'd want it back someday." 

---

[holycatsandrabbits]

Part 4 of Giant Post of Completed Good Omens Human AU’s: June 2021

Happy June! <3 And thank you to all the creators who bring us so much joy!

Also! A searchable list of all of my Good Omens human AU recs.

You can use it to find fics where Aziraphale is a librarian, or fics with Ineffable Wives, etc.

More of my Completed Good Omens Human AU Recs on Tumblr

More Good Omens recs from me here: Dannye’s fic recs Dannye’s artist recs

And my Carrd

**************

Series: (not all of these series are complete but the fics in them are finished)

Best Friends by @mimsynims Rated G-E (C is moving away from his best friend & neighbour A)

Ecdyses (The Old Vines universe) by @sevdrag Rated M-E (Vineyard owner C and wine blogger A)

Footloose and Fancy-Free by @ineffable-anathema (Ao3 teatales) Rated M (Series contains 2 Ineffable Wives human AUs: Part 4: C is married to lumberjack A; Part 19: C is a client of sex worker A)

Ineffable Husbands Oneshots series by EmeraldAshes, Rated T Note: this series appears in an earlier rec list and is included again because it contains new AUs (series contains some human AUs. Part 2: C is a client at A’s office; Part 3: C buys a flat haunted by A’s ghost; Parts 6 & 8: C & A are officemates; Part 9: A runs into the Bentley with his car; Part 10: bartender C & customer A; Part 11: C helps his boyfriend A play matchmaker for Anathema)

Pastor Fell by @christocentricqueer Rated G-M (Botanist C and Pastor A)

The Angel and his Artist by ranguvar82 Rated M-E Previously included as a single fic, now a series (Artist C, gallery owner A)

The dentist and the florist by goldberry90 Rated G (Patient C & dentist A)

The Valentine's Manual by @flamingbentleyy (Ao3 crepesandoysters) rated T-E (book reviewer C & author/professor A)

thirty minute love affair by @tastymoves (Ao3 Sway) Rated E (Series contains many human AUs, see Ch 1 for directory. Includes client C & sex worker A; nanny C & craft shop owner A; client C & tattoo artist A; C & A are fire watchers; glassworker C & friend A) Related works: Ineffable Knitters series (craft shop owner A) ; Devour series (sex worker A)

Win a Date With Anthony J. Crowley! by @caedmonfaith (Ao3 Caedmon) 124,927 words, Rated E; sequel Eighteen Days 1671 words, Rated E (A wins a charity auction for a date with rock star C)

Single Fics:

10,000 Hours by @ineffable-human (Ao3 AnnaTheHank) 87,363 words, Rated E (Rich playboy C and romance novelist A)

A Healing Touch by Crowley_Kitten 57,480 words, Rated E (Physiotherapist C & rugby player A)

A Matching Pair Of Fools by @ineffablefool 4875 words, Rated T (C & A are set up on a blind date)

Among The Living by @ineffablefool 6492 words, Rated T (Rideshare driver C & customer A)

AngelFoodBaking.com by @quefish77 (Ao3 Quefish) 8658 words, Rated T (C runs a bakery supply company & A is a food blogger in a dark comedy)

Argumentum a fortiori by @bouncygin (Ao3 PeturbingPrism) 123,101 words, Rated T (Barrister C, philanthropist A)

A slice of cranberry cake by Lilian 2651 words, Rated T (Customer C & barista A)

A Slight Diversion by RogueVitki 2228 words, Rated T (Privateer C & Naval officer A)

Black Feathers, Crimson Hearts by ranguvar82 19,259 words, Rated E (The Crow AU)

Blood Moon by @dustandhalos (Ao3 dustnhalos) 5974 words, Rated M (C & A are assassins)

Do It With Style by @rainydaydecaf 2926 words, Rated T (Ineffable wives: hair stylist C & client A)

Fell's Flavourtown Festivities by @crvwly (Ao3 gaytectives) 5523 words, Rated M (C & A are chefs)

Found by @edhelwen1 (Ao3 my1alias) and @cassieoh 6639 words, Rated E (C is Warlock's nanny, A is Adam's uncle)

Gay Divorce by Uspi 12,849 words, Rated M (A has second thoughts about his divorce from C)

Go Back and Rewind by @zephyrofalltrades 2876 words, Rated E (bartender C & burlesque dancer A)

How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman 31,481 words, Rated T (C & A host rival talk shows)

Husband, Guardian, Muse by @lady-divine-writes (Ao3 White Queen Writes (DivineLady91) 9930 words, Rated E (C mourns the death of his husband A)

Imperfect by Nature by @summerofspock 43,762 words, Rated T (C & A are former childhood friends who become neighbors again)

in heels and to the rescue by @smolalienbee 2082 words, Rated T (C & A meet at Pride)

Is he single or is he just gay by kermitwashingtonlincon 43,891 words, Rated T (C works at the daycare where A takes his son)

Just a Touch of Birch by @saretton 5717 words, Rated E (Ineffable tutors human AU)

Let's Start the New Year Right by @eveningstarcatcher 4957 words, Rated G (C works at a coffee shop across the street from A's bookshop)

Love, Accidentally by @angelsnuffbox (Ao3 MrsCaulfield) and sunflcwers 10,640 words, Rated M (Co-workers C & A meet while speed-dating)

Love in the Time of COVID by @depressedstressedlemonzest 13,436 words, not rated. (C & A are soulmates)

Merry Christmas! (But I think I'll miss this one this year) by @mltrefry-ficwriter (Ao3 Mltrefry) 14,223 words, Rated T (C & A meet on a plane)

Oil Paint Stains by @jamgrlsblog 498 words, Rated G (Ineffable Wives: C & A are married, C is babysitting their nephew)

Our Lost Time by @izabella95 and @unproblematicme 17,102 words, Rated E (C & A work on their troubled marriage)

Pretty flowers for pretty angels by @sani-86 (Ao3 Sani86) 16,312 words, Rated E (C & A are professors)

Protect and Serve by snae_b 84,069 words, Rated E (Vigilante robber C and police officer A)

so big and beautiful and unknowable by zweebie 1098 words, Rated T (A is leaving the school where he and C teach)

Songs in The Key Of Love by ranguvar82 42,779 words, Rated E (C is a fan of famous country singer A)

Starmaker by @lady-divine-writes (Ao3 White Queen Writes) 1447 words, Rated T (Ineffable wives: ballerina C & shoemaker A)

Sunbreak by @new-endings (Ao3 OldBeginningNewEnding) 4314 words, Rated G (Florist C, potions master A)

sunflower vol. 6 by @goosetooths (Ao3 goosewriting) 7865 words, Rated T (a human AU of the author's "Fine Forecasts" Good Omens reverse AU. C & A are ex-boyfriends)

The Boyfriend Experience by @caedmonfaith (Ao3 Caedmon) 39,145 words, Rated E (Escort C and bookshop owner A)

The Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars by @cassieoh and @d20owlbear 193,590 words, Rated M (Plant nursery worker C & doctoral candidate A)

The Snake Plant by AppleSeeds 1791 words, Rated G (Plant shop worker C & bookshop owner A)

The Wrong Side of the Door by @holycatsandrabbits self-rec! 8798 words, Rated M (C & A are paranormal investigators)

Thunderbolt and lightning (very, very frightening) by @moondawntreader (Ao3 nightbloomingcereus) 498 words, Rated T (Storm chaser C & weatherman A)

To The Stars by @starrose17 88,199 words, Rated E (Titanic AU with Crowley as Jack & Aziraphale as Rose)

[imatechbummerliketomholland]

I wish this trip never ends (sstbthw part 2) - h.h

Word count: 3768

Warning: angst, swear, mention of smoking

Pairing : harry holland

Request: no.

N/A: okay, i took me almost a whole month to write this but i'm kinda need to work on school too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really tried my best. I asked you who the reader was supposed to end up with ... I'll let you figure it out but ... don't hate me for the end ... because after all ... it might not be the end. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

taglist : @angeliquekalampoka , @harryhollandsgirlfriend (the one and only harry holland's girlfriend to me)

ღღღ

previously - and you can find part 3

Restoring a relationship of trust and regaining the bond that you both had was particularly difficult. You had to learn to find your place in Harrison's life, but also in his relationship with Grace. You were roommates and friends, but it was complicated to plan meetings with Harrison's busy schedule. Between his job search after the cancellation of his Netflix series, his photo shoots, his dates with Grace, those with his family. It was getting harder and harder to find a moment to reunite with the two of you. It was without counting your schedule.

You were supposed to meet at noon for lunch at that restaurant Harrison told you about where he took his mother earlier this year, for Mother's Day. You felt uncomfortable going to such a place. It was very fancy; you had taken a look at the menu and you knew in advance that you would not be able to afford to split the bill. That was sometimes one of the downsides of being friends with Tom and Harrison. They sometimes forgot that their salary was significantly higher than yours. After all, they were still simple, good-natured guys, never saying no to a quick takeout meal or ordering pizza, drinking a beer at the local pub. And sometimes, they offered to go to prestigious places, not paying attention to money, wanting to please their friends or family.

Currently you were in your room. You were throwing countless of clothes across the room, trying to choose what you could wear to this lunch. Harry stopped dead when one of your dresses flew out of your room, right in front of his nose, blocking his way. You had left your door open and your spontaneity got the better of your best friend.

“Easy, Tiger. I had no idea your clothes had the capacity of Dr. Strange's cape.” He joked before coming into your bedroom.

You turned to find Harry leaning against your doorframe, a smirk encrusted on his face. You gave him an unamused frown and his smile widened. This wasn’t funny at all; you were stressed as hell. It’s not like you still had feelings for Harrison and try to impress him – to be honest, you still had feeling for your friend, but not as intense as before, you had drawn a definitive line on the possibility of a romantic relationship with him, which had helped you a lot. – But you didn’t want to be dressed down and looked like a clown.

“Come on Munchkin, it’s just a lunch. At worst, Harrison can still make it looks like he invited you out for charity, sort of “Make a Wish” event” Harry joked, in his significant humor.

“Go to hell, Robert. Don’t you have a pack bag to make, mister “I’m going to Spain to help my superstar brother to hold his tea while he’s filming”?”

“Rude… I’m a film director, now”

Not for that, you thought to yourself, but don't have the balls to tell your best friend. You didn't want to take this joke too far. You smiled at his cute pretending offended face. You pouted mockingly before biting your lip. You loved the dynamics of your relationship so much. Your humor, sarcasm, your outspokenness, that's what brought you together. Harry pulled you lightly from your closet with a comforting wink. He chose Yves Saint Laurent poppy red wool jersey flared pants that Tom gave you on your birthday. You smiled at his choice. You liked these pair of pants because they were sparkling with vitality, the color was flamboyant. Harry then gave you a satin pearl-colored shirt from Zara and you laughed at the drastic brand difference.

“Oh I see. A classy look but no more than £ 1000 that's pretty smart,” you joked.

The choice of your outfit once again proved the reality of hanging out with wealthy people. You were not poor; you could even be grateful for the life you had had. But it would never occur to you to give your friends clothes that were going over the miles and cents. To be honest, you wanted it. You wanted to live up to the gifts your friends sometimes gave you. But the truth seemed quite different: you had cried over the price of a used Rolex you wanted to give Tom for his birthday. Even having saved for 6 months, you could not afford such a gift.

“Shut up, don’t be so dramatic. Wear that necklace Harrison gave you for Christmas. I’m sure you’ll look fine”

“Thank you,Baz…I guess. ”

You kissed his cheek and then invited him out of your room so you could get ready. It didn't take you more than thirty minutes, time to put on the outfit your best friend had chosen and to put on light makeup. When you were finally ready, you walked to Tom's room. He had offered to take you to the restaurant where you were to join Harrison. But when you got to his ajar door, you could hear the soft sound of a slight snoring. You let out a chuckle before ordering an Uber. You knew he had spent almost a full month in Los Angeles and hadn't returned until early last week. You wanted to leave him as much as possible alone so that he could rest before his trip to Spain for the reshoots of his film Uncharted. Tom was a boy who loved being in touch with those close to him, but you also felt his need to recharge his batteries. That's why you preferred to let him sleep.

You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water before leaving. When your Uber arrived, you left a note on the refrigerator to let the boys know you were safely gone. It was little everyday things that made you look normal that you enjoy. A post-it on the fridge, a table organizing household chores had been drawn up. Note to yourself; It was Harrison's turn to take care of the laundry.

☙♡❧

You had really hoped this was just a grotesque nightmare. That it wasn't real. He was going to arrive; he was just stuck into the traffic. Isn't it?

But you were there, waiting for over an hour and a half, without any news from your friend. Some people watched you with pity eyes, the others didn't give you any attention. You internally thank Harry for choosing your outfit. You didn't look like a lost kitten in this prestigious setting. It didn't prevent you from being ashamed right now. The waiter had urged you to order several times but you had told him that you were expecting someone, that he would arrive any minute. The last time, you didn't know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

But it never happened. Harrison never came to your dinner. You were alone, sitting at a table, pathetically waiting for your friend to show up. It didn't look like him. He had never stand you up before. And not to improve this embarrassing moment, the waiter came to you again. This time, with a man in a suit. He was elegant, carried himself proud but diplomatic. They stopped at your table, a tight smile on their faces. No doubt the man in the suit was to be the manager.

"Miss, my employee told me that you seemed to have occupied this table for a while now. I am sorry to tell you that if you do not order a few things, you will have to leave the establishment"

You looked at him with misty eyes. You have never been so ashamed in your life. You just nod your head, not trusting your voice just yet. After taking a deep breath, you finally apologize to them before telling them that you are going to leave. The manager of the restaurant, out of politeness awkwardly apologizing for this uncomfortable situation.

You've finished the Dry Martini that you allowed yourself to, paying for it with whatever pride you have left. You pulled your cellphone out of your purse and decided to call one of the boys. After three rings, he picked up.

"Hey ... can you please pick me up?"

Your voice was shaky, you were so ashamed but it was less distressing than having to walk the Walk of Shame to your house or cry in an uber. You hung up and shared your location. You left the lobby, leaving the restaurant, standing in front of the entrance to the establishment. The air refreshed your cheeks burning with shame. Luckily it wasn't raining today. Which was pretty nice compared to that early summer you had had.

When you saw Harry's car pulled up in front of you, you slid into the passenger seat without a word. The curly redhead gave you a heartwarming smile but you definitely could see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. You sigh, resigned while shrugging your shoulders. It was obvious that your friendship with Harrison was still shaky.

"I'm sorry, love. He's a jerk about it."

Coincidentally, like a mitigating circumstance, your phone vibrated, receiving a notification from Harrison. You were chewing your lip with a sort of anguish and irritation, watching the message the blond had sent you.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. My agent called me for a pretty urgent casting briefing. She's detained me until now. Are you still okay for this dinner?"

You were angry. You were mature enough and had known the boys long enough to understand their obligations. The fact that Harrison had a lastminute meeting with his agent and missed your dinner wasn't a problem. The problem was, he made you wait for over an hour and a half before notifying you. You wanted him to call you to let you know, or a simple text just after he knew for the meeting. You typed a short answer, shorter than this was impossible. "No". You rested your head against the headrest, turning your gaze to your best friend.

"Hey, he's a Netflix star now" you replied to his last words.

Your voice cracked on the last syllables and your eyes filled with tears. You weren't usually that emotional but the anguish and shame really took over you. Harry noticed, unsure of how to instantly respond to your distress. He would have liked to stop on an emergency lane to take you in his arms but he already had 2 penalties to pay, respectively for speeding and prohibited parking ... a third fine would not be really welcome. He simply placed his hand on your thigh, drawing circles on your pants to comfort you. He simply moved his hand to shift gears and instantly rested it on your leg whenever he had the chance. This gesture soothed you, enjoying the touch, grateful to have someone as your best friend to mop up your pain.

☙♡❧

Arriving at the apartment, no sign of Harrison. When you walked in the kitchen, you saw Tom sitting at the counter, scrolling his phone. He looked up at you, not directly noticing your annoyed expression.

"Wow..you're ... gorgeous. I love these pants on you"

You smiled, a little amused by the compliment. Of course he loved the pants, it was a gift from him. But your smile didn’t reach your eyes. With a look on your expression then on the clock, the actor understood that something went wrong. Harry was right behind and still no trace of Harrison. It was suspicious. Tom gave you a worried look.

"Do I have to ask…Never mind, I’m still going to ask. How was lunch with Harrison?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him? Oh wait... right, he didn't show up" you said sarcastically although you could hear the hurt in your voice.

Tom frowned, biting the inside of his lower lip in annoyance. Harrison was his best mate since forever and he knew him so well. It seemed strange from Harrison to not show up. The blond has told him he was happy to see you again and walking through this whole awkward “feeling situation” because he didn’t want to lose you. In a quick movement, he rose from his stool to walk around the counter. The next second, he took you in his comforting arms and you finally let yourself go under the sight of the two Holland brothers.

“It seems like you need a break of all this shit” Tom said while he ran his fingers through your hair.

You let a little laugh escape through your tears. He wasn't wrong. You really needed to get away from this whole situation for a moment. But how? Harry watched the scene unsure of what to do. You were his best friend and it seemed like the solace you found was never in his arms. He had tried in the car, however, as best he could. He walked over to the counter to make you both a cup of tea. It seems that as cliché as it sounds, tea comforts you, as the English person you used to be. As the redhead waited patiently for the water to boil, a flash of genius - according to him - crossed the glare of his eyes.

“Why doen't she come with us to Spain?”

His brother's words seemed to suit Tom, who released his hold on you. You opened your eyes wide, not sure of what you had just heard. Go to Spain, with them? Once again, you knew you were going to argue on this proposition. The idea was not bad, Spain seemed a rather pleasant country. But you had just graduated and had a student job to save as much as possible. However, you could not afford to leave for several days in Spain, at the last minute. Plus, what were you going to do while Tom was filming and Harry was assisting him? He was sure the film's production crew wasn't going to give you a pass because Tom had decided.

“Yeah! That’s it, you’re coming with us”

“Tom, I have a student job. I can’t just…decide to go to Spain.”

“You never take a leave, come on. It’s not negotiable”

You were looking at Harry for help but he just shrugged. After all, he was the one who had initiated the idea of ​​including you on the trip. You were trying to find a valid excuse to stay home. You really didn't want to impose yourself.

“I can’t afford that” you said, trying your best to convince him to quit the idea.

“I don’t care, it’s not even a problem. You coming to Spain with us.”

"Omg, does Z dominate you in bed to make you so bossy in life?"

Harry almost spitted his tea and laughed out loud while Tom gave you shocked eyes with pinky cheeks. You had always been sassy but hanging out with the boys had made you even more sassy than ever. How many times haven't you heard Tuwaine or Harry make fun of Harrison or Tom on the sex subject? Being a girl seemed to make you an untouchable character. The boys had never teased you about your relationships or your sexual partners. And while you've always had feelings for Harrison, you've had your own experiences. Anyway, you had just gone with the flow and Tom's brand-new romantic relationship with his co-star gave you the perfect opportunity.

“That's not the point.” stammered the actor.

Your smile widened, proud of your joke and the way Tom reacted. You heard Harry clear his throat. He had his phone in his hand and his own smile didn't bode well for you.

"The production is okay but it's at Tom's expense."

“You got to be kidding me…”

☙♡❧

You ended up in Spain with two of your best friends. You knew you had limited time before Tom had to fly back to Los Angeles for some Spider-man: No Way Home reshoots. So, you enjoyed as much as possible: accompanying the boys to the golf course - even though you weren't very involved in the sport -, spending time to visit touristic places when they were on set, talking with Rachael and other people from the set. You really enjoyed your trip.

On Wednesday evening you went out to a restaurant with Tom, Harry and two other friends/tom’s colleagues. You couldn't deny that it was fun. You had the opportunity to sunbathe a little while walking through the streets of Madrid. Spain was doing you good and not once did you think about your wobbly friendship with Harrison. You've just left the restaurant when a few fans politely show up to take pictures with Tom. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of how kind Tom had always taken in a few snaps when his fans approached him respectfully - and there weren't too many of them -. You sighed with pleasure before stepping away from the group. You leaned against a wall and took out the packet of cigarettes that Tom had asked you to keep in your clutch bag. Being an occasional smoker, he wouldn't blame you if you took one from him. You tilted your head back to admire the dark starry night when you felt a presence by your side. You narrowed your eyes in mischief as you looked sideways: Harry was there, his nose wrinkled from your cigarette. He didn't like it too much Silence filled your bubble despite the hubbub outside. You were in public and it was not surprising to meet travelers and Madrid residents mingling with the crowd to enjoy this pleasant evening.

"I wish this trip never ends." You finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he was just looking at you. You were a little tanned, the Madrid sun had done wonders on you; your loose hair framed your face and the summer dress you had chosen for the restaurant looked great on you: It was a short red floral summer dress with a shingle collar. Light enough to keep you from suffocating but decent to wear on any casual occasion. You were beautiful, stunning. His heart exploded at the sight of you, so much that it hurt a few times.

"I wish I had been there for you more." he finally confessed

You finally turned your head towards him and shrug your shoulders, smiling shyly but sincerely.

“You were working, Baz”

“I meant…not only here in Spain. I’m sorry to have let you down recently”

You give him a confused look. He hadn't been a bad friend but he kept implying it. You just shook your head negatively to brush his words away. Harry had always been important to you. He had been the first to step towards you. It was him who introduced you to the rest of the gang. He had always been concerned about you.

The night you met, you immediately clicked up with him. And to be honest, for a moment, you thought he liked you that night. But he never took that step towards you and you never did either. You dreaded that if you kissed him, he would think you were interested in his notoriety by proxy. So you just acted like any reasonable person would - accept the status he gave you. And the second time he asked you to join him with his brother and his friends, you met Harrison and your heart exploded.

"I'm glad you brought me here"

“I'm happy you accepted to come.”

“I didn't really have the choice, Baz” you joked.

He laughed slightly. You weren't wrong, he and Tom had practically dragged you onto the plane, leaving you no choice to be by their side. But you could only thank them, especially Harry who had the idea. You took another hit on your cigarette before leaning back to check out where Tom was with his fans. He seemed to be talking with the girls and didn't seem overwhelmed. So, you didn't want to interrupt him and were just going to wait for him to finish. Harry played with his hands nervously, looking straight ahead and then at you. He seemed to be repeating this game for several seconds before finally asking the question that was in his mind.

“Have you heard from Harrison?” Harry asked quite casually

“He sent me several texts to apologize and wished me to have a good time in Madrid.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

You swallow hard before looking at him. There was an indecipherable glint in his eyes and you weren't sure what to make of it. You drew another puff from your cigarette, maybe that would save you from entering this conversation. But Harry's presence was all around you and you couldn't really escape. So you've decided to be honest.

“It’s complicated. I suppose so...”

“Mhmm”

“But my friendship with Haz is important, I don't want to lose him because of it.”

“Yeah, you can't imagine how well I understand you” he sighed

“What do you mean? Who’s the lucky girl..or guy ?”

Harry turned to you frankly and you did the same, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. You are well aware that the conversation was taking a more serious turn. He moistened his lips and walked over to you. Harry was full of things: he was full-loving, sarcastic, talented, daring, impertinent. But Harry was mostly awkward when it came to love. Not just an attraction, no, love with real feeling. Delicately, hesitantly, he reached out to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers, cautiously. You were frozen, your eyes fixed on him admiring his audacity.

"She's the most beautiful girl I ever seen." he said with a small smile.

Harry walked over to you and your heart was pounding at breakneck speed. Harry had ... feelings for you? You were really confused. Since when had he developed his feelings? Why didn't he tell you about it? Why hadn't he tried anything so far? So, were you right from the start? Was there a tension between you since the beginning of your friendship, since your met? But above all, did you want him to take that step? Instinctively, your body responded. You parted your lips and closed your eyes. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand on your cheek and were waiting for the touch of his lips. But it never happened.

"Hey baz, y/n..we're going back to the hotel" Tom said, taking his eyes off his phone. "I…Mhmm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

[alittledizzy]

pick a star on the dark horizon rating: t word count: 1.1k Summary: Phil finds Dan's backup plan. Notes/Warnings: Companion piece to this (oneshot) and part of the (in the half light) universe. Contains discussion of past suicidal thoughts. Notes: Written for @lackless-dnp for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

[bakatenshii]

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 

“Want a taste?” 

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

[dorianne77]

Hi! I live for your story! I usually don't read OC characters but I found you're so well developed and unique!

I saw in your last ask that you based characters around music. So may I ask what song/music genre inspired Bibin??? Or if he doesn't have a song, what theme song would you give him?? I just love Bibin and love the way you described him!!!

Hi there, thank you so much for your kind words, I’m really happy that you’re enjoying my story! :)

‘Fake it’ by Seether and ‘Born For This’ by The Score were used as inspiration to Bibin’s backstory, which will likely never make it into the fic itself but I just really want to put it out there, so here’s a summary:

Bibin’s fur is not actually supposed to be pink. His race is born with bluish-purple fur, but Bibin’s body doesn’t produce blue pigment due to a rare genetic disorder, which makes his coat pink.

His peers never really took any issues with his appearance, but growing up, Bibin was still painfully aware of how the lack of blue made him look sickly, and he could never quite shake the feeling that his people were looking at him with pity.

By the time he started dating, his insecurities drove him to dye his coat purple, much to the dismay of his family. Not liking to see her son unhappy, Bibin’s mom suggested he should go and “see a bit of the world out there” when their planet joined the Communia, and that’s how Bibin ended up in Grilia. Seeing little kids react favorably to his fur made him start a career as a teacher, and a few centuries later, he still secretly loves the attention his once hated appearance gets him outside of his home planet (no matter how grumpy he acts when people try to pet him;)).

How he went from being a teacher to being a soldier is a too long story for tumblr, but my muse is not done rambling so just in case you're not sufficiently regretting this ask yet, here’s a drabble (and thank you for the ask, I really enjoyed writing this):

…

“Not enough s’mores on this planet, Mr. Stark.”

Bibin doesn’t even grace Tony with a second glance before returning to his task, chopping up another handful of the blue potatoes that – no matter what the aliens claim – are not fruit.

“There’s more to Earth than just s’mores, you know. We have poptarts too, have you tried those? They have an excellent track record with aliens— oh, hey, I think they even offer s’mores as a poptart flavor, how about that?”

Tony’s offer gets no response.

“Okay, what’s it gonna take? Chocolate? Flowers? A new car? The happy tears of grateful children? Come on, Lotso, there must be something you want, work with me here!”

Bibin continues to ignore Tony’s rambling, but the inventor doesn’t miss the twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth, no matter how quick Bibin is to cover it up with a severe expression.

“Oooh, I see how it is. Alright, I’ll bite, what is it? You must have something in mind already if you’re playing hard to get.”

The twitch at the corner of Bibin’s mouth returns with a vengeance, and Tony has to suppress his own smirk at the way the man overplays his nonchalance. It’s like Bibin took acting lessons from Peter, of all people.

“Well, there's this place I’ve heard quite a lot about…”

A place, huh? Interesting.

“…your children insist I would really like it…”

Aaand this is getting less reassuring by the minute.

“…supposed to have people like me, with actual fur…”

Oh no, they didn’t.

“…something called…”

They wouldn’t dare… would they?

“…Disneyland?”

Harley and Peter are dead kids walking. Harley especially. Tony just knows this was his idea.

“Fine,” he sighs, already dreading the lecture he’s going to get from Pepper for this one. Possibly from Clarke too. “One trip to the ninth circle of hell for you and your buddies, and you let people pet you for ten minutes at my charity ball.”

“Twenty seconds.”

“Eight minutes.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Disneyland has more sweets than the rest of our country combined, Snagglepuss.”

“…Five minutes, and you never call me that again.”

Tony grins at the man, offering a hand.

“Deal.”

[hd-fan-fair]

THE MASTERLIST OF H/D SEX FAIR 2020 FANWORKS

View the full list on [AO3] or under the cut below!

( Fanwork posted in chronological order by type )

ART

1. How hard can it be? (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary: 

Harry and Draco have to stay over at their friends' places for a few weeks, since the renovation of the Grimmauld Place hadn't been completed by the time they were back from their honeymoon. That creates a slight issue with being intimate but the newlyweds are nothing if not creative...

2. Revelio! (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

It's that time of year again for Witch Weekly's annual charity event! By popular demand, this year they have prepared a calendar featuring the sexiest studs in the Wizarding World. Gracing the cover in style, the Hogwarts staff is represented by none other than DADA Professor Harry Potter and Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. Grab one before they're gone! Reserve your copy by owl today!

3. Handling Dragons (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry brought over dragons to Hogwarts for a new Triwizard Tournament or for a class. Draco is hopelessly turned on by the resident Professor or Hogwarts Medic. Draco wants his dragon tickled by Harry. Unknown to him, Draco is the only dragon Harry wants to manhandle.

4. I plan on getting very wet. (Digital, Mature) Summary:

When they arrived at their private beach holiday, they didn't expect it to rain all the time. Oh well, boys can still find a way to have fun.

5. The Dragon's Boy (Digital Comic, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is chosen to be the next sacrifice to the dragon, but it turns out this dragon is interested in Harry for entirely different reasons.

6. The Art of Trust (Digital, Mature) Summary:

One piece of rope offers what Harry and Draco seek the most from each other.

7. (Intimidating) Brand New World (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary:

Draco's nervously perusing a sex shop for the first time when he sees a flash of dark hair across the store. He'd know it anywhere, but why is Potter here? And what on earth is in that box he's buying? Years of uptight parenting from his parents have left him woefully lacking in knowledge about his newfound interests. Potter's always been rather uncaring of public opinion, perhaps he could be the one to help Draco figure it all out...

ART & FIC

8. as much a light as a flame (6303, Explicit) Summary:

His mother paints a wolf on his chest, its eyes bracketing his heart, and its muzzle pointed towards his groin. His aunt fills in the spaces around his waist and ribs with symbols he's lost the meaning of in the wash of whatever plant had been mixed in with the steam. They move after her brush leaves his skin, turning from incomprehensible marks to his name to wolf to home to hunt and then back to misunderstanding again.

His legs are painted in patterned bands, starting from his ankles and ending at his upper thighs. His groin is left unmarked, the pale and empty skin meant to leave no doubt of the Claim once he makes it.

9. Starkissed (32631, Explicit) Summary:

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.   “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.” Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

  PODFIC

10. Infuse With Affection, Enchant With Love by bafflinghaze (1.5 Hours, Teen and Up) Summary:

It starts with Draco making protective pendants for himself, his parents, and his friends, after the war. Something that would watch their backs—and their fronts—as people spat on them in the streets and hexed them in the alleyways. Draco gets better at it, does a course on it, and takes enough commissions for charmed jewellery that he eventually opens his own shop.

But Harry doesn’t know any of this. So when he sees Malfoy in a shop of charmed necklaces, he immediately tries his best to uncover Malfoy’s machinations.

11. Things Worth Paying For (1.5 Hours, Explicit) Summary:

After leaving post-war Britain for Paris, Draco is finally happy, with friends and a job he loves, But then his newest client turns out to be Harry Potter, and everything changes.

  FIC

12. Three Wishes (10161, Explicit) Summary:

Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing.

********** Pop! 

"Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming."

"What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa.

13. H.A.G.S. (Hogwarts Alliance for Gender and Sexuality) (9517, Explicit) Summary:

When Hermione decides Hogwarts needs a LGBTQIA+ club, of course Ron and Harry are roped into helping. After a rocky start, Harry begins seeing the club as an opportunity to educate students and celebrate diversity and sexuality at Hogwarts. He also starts seeing it as an opportunity to snog Draco Malfoy.

14. You Don't Know Me (Like You Used To) (33106, Explicit) Summary:

"Buy me a drink as compensation for maiming me?" he asks.

"And why the hell would I do that?" It’s a perfectly valid question. A drink invitation from Harry Potter is about as likely of a scenario as me streaking down Piccadilly in broad daylight. Consider me completely thrown off.

Sometimes it only takes a week to change everything. The story of how twenty-five-year-old Draco Malfoy hit one Harry Potter with a door and knocked both of their lives into somewhere entirely new.

15. the best treasure is up Harry’s arse (2891, Explicit) Summary:

Harry and Draco probably had a tumultuous time getting together, filled with angst and denial and pining and brooding. However, this is not that story. Here, Draco makes Harry come (more than once).

16. Breakin' the Rules (3146, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry and Draco are Auror partners. They're in a relationship that they've been forced to keep secret due to relationships between Aurors being forbidden. Harry is okay with this, as he hasn't come out to anyone other than Draco, but after a mission goes awry, their relationship is exposed.

17. The HogShagMan (31685, Mature) Summary:

Professor Potter is called upon to teach the first-ever official course on Magical Sexual Relations at Hogwarts and, in the process, must navigate the pitfalls of relationship-building, the nefarious schemings of those entrusted with school funding, and the uneven tempers of his boss and several co-workers. Clearly, only ‘the’ Harry Potter can pull it all off.

18. Let's not wait for France (17714, Teen and Up) Summary:

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy.

An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw.

Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

19. Take All That You See (19666, Teen and Up) Summary:

Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned.

Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact?

20. True Children Still (34240, Explicit) Summary:

After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face.

21. Asking For A Friend? (13734, Explicit) Summary:

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice! Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned.

22. All I Have to Do (9575, Explicit) Summary:

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised.

Or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

23. Take My Wonder (3949, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter is the author of very well-written children's text books. Joshua Starkweather is the author of not-so-well-written erotic fiction. Only one person knows that they are one and the same.

24. (There Is Nothing) More Than This (5431, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter returns home past midnight, distressed and anxious about the multiple murder case that he is leading. His husband Draco looks after him, comforting Harry with his hands, his mouth and his unwavering love.

25. the space between (what you want and what you need) (13601, Mature) Summary:

As a specialist Healer in dark magic, Draco has had his fair share of difficult cases and awkward patients. Still, nothing has prepared him for a curse-paralysed Harry Potter.

26. Walk in the sun (18233, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is perfectly content with the life he built for himself; simple and private, it helps him heal the wounds from the war. He then accepts to go out with one of Neville’s acquaintances, never expecting that decision would bring him back to his obsession for Draco Malfoy.

“That was his cue. Had Harry stopped to think about his situation, he could have left. Malfoy was nibbling at his neck, he had his hand down his pants. All things considered, a disaster incoming. And yet, his feet still refused to move. After all, he was not the stop-to-think-of-consequences kind of guy.”

(Features drunken confessions, bathrooms, a lot of smut, sexy pictures, panties, cats and only one bed)

27. You Need to Just Do Whatever You Want (7998, General) Summary:

Draco's confused when he receives a manual explaining his magical inheritance. Being a veela would be good (at least he would be prettier), and a vampire would have been fine (another excuse to hide himself in the Manor). But a descendant of the God of Love, complete with arrows and a love quota? Now that's just bonkers.

A story in which Draco is Cupid (sort of).

28. Under my Skin (8258, Explicit) Summary:

One year after the war and after Hogwarts restorations, Harry is back at school to finally finish his education. He wasn't expecting McGonagall to assign him to protect Draco Malfoy, in case he was bullied during the classes. Although really just wants to relax on his last year in Hogwarts, he'd seen how Draco had changed at the trials. He knew being around him would be easy enough... Wouldn't it?

29. Glory, glory! (16898, Explicit) Summary:

It's 2005 and Harry has recently purchased a new mobile phone so he can easily keep in touch with his friends. Little did he know that the Muggle technology would lead him down a path of self discovery and safe exploration that would lead him into the soft recesses of the last person he ever expected. As it turns out, very good things can be found in the dark.

30. Husbandly Duties (2108, Explicit) Summary:

Draco and Harry leave their wedding after-party early for some quality one-on-one time.

31. Sex, Relationships & Love (3873, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy runs an anonymous sex advice column in the Witch Weekly magazine and gets hundreds of letters asking him for advice on sex, love and relationships. How was he to know that the advice he had given in response to one of those letters would result in Harry Potter showing up at his flat at 6 in the morning?

32. Disparate (6022, Teen and Up) Summary:

Ever since he went to Hogwarts, Draco realized that he wasn't quite the same as the others.

Or: Draco Malfoy over the years as he tries to understand and accept his sexuality.

33. Silver Scales in Pools of Green (26603, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is one of the last sirens of the seas, who escaped to the human world looking for friendship and food, but captivity found him instead. For seven years, he's gotten used to his life as human entertainment, and prides himself in his ability to make humans fall in step to his song.

That is, until everything falls apart when he has an audience with green eyes...

34. It's So Hard (9170, Explicit) Summary:

Draco has posed for some interesting photos, and it is currently making things very... hard for Harry.

35. On Your Shore (35113, Mature) Summary:

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

36. A Little Less Broken (6417, Mature) Summary:

After the war Draco thought he would never feel again. But a mix of revenge gone wrong and Harry Potter, might help him to feel just a little less broken.

37. Always (20147, Explicit) Summary:

In which Draco is the (in)famous erotica writer H.J. Belladonna, writing successful scandalous novel after successful scandalous novel and hiding his true identity, and Harry is questioning his sexuality after reading one of Belladonna’s books. Until ten years after the war their paths cross again, and Harry doesn’t only question his sexuality, but also the meaning of his obsession with Draco Malfoy.

“You look like something my cat dragged in,“ Blaise said from the sofa. Draco’s sofa, in Draco’s tiny flat. “You don’t have a cat, because you’re too vain, Blaise. A cat would get hair all over your expensive clothes,“ Draco replied and then ignored Blaise in favor of going into the kitchen to get some hot sweet tea into his system. Maybe that would make his day better, even if it had just started and the potential for disaster was high. Blaise followed him. “I’ll take one too.“ “You can’t use my home as your personal hotel, Blaise,“ Draco said, but he was already grabbing two cups out of the cupboard. He was too tired to use magic, after writing the whole night, he felt like all the magic had been absorbed by his parchment. Some of his sanity maybe too.

38. Absurd. (3773, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco discovers a kink that Harry's been hiding from him, he has no choice but to explore said kink, right? Right.

39. For Want Of Five Minutes (And a Locked Door) (4333, Mature) Summary:

It’s hard enough to get five minutes to yourself in a house of five kids, nevermind getting five minutes with your boyfriend for anything else.

40. Let Out the Beast (9649, Explicit) Summary:

In the wizarding world where alphas are looked down upon for their lack of control and unseemly aggression, it is generally accepted that they are not allowed to work in places like schools and hospitals where their nature could risk the people there. When Draco Malfoy suddenly shows up at Hogwarts smelling strongly like an alpha, Harry is beyond baffled. The fact that no one else seems to catch his scent only adds to his confusion. But, of course, the most puzzling part is how Harry’s body reacts to that scent.

41. Flowers, Dildos and Other Courtship Gifts (15853, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry Potter is the Ministry's star auror trainee, and Draco Malfoy is the cute florist in Diagon Alley who Harry stares at through the window during lunch breaks and leaves. That's all they are and all they would ever be. (Really.) Until Harry accidentally mails Draco an autumn themed dildo (among others). Cue: bad planning, owl kidnapping, and flangst.

Or two emotional gay disasters fall in love in the middle of autumn.

42. he touched me, so I live to know (4729, Mature) Summary:

Five times Harry Potter is unsure about touching someone and one time he isn’t.

43. cut my name into your lip (6321, Explicit) Summary:

Harry can't take it anymore. Seriously. If Malfoy chews on the end of his quill/licks his spoon/sucks on the papercut on his finger one more time, Harry's going to put an end to it.

44. Realities, Unfurling (45487, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

45. The Delicate Balance of Light and Shade (13288, Explicit) Summary:

With the war finally over, Harry tries to find his own path in a world where he is free to make his own choice. On a holiday in France, he unexpectedly falls in love with art and painting. Returning to Hogwarts to help rebuild it, he is paired up with Draco Malfoy to restore the Room of Requirement - and unexpectedly falls in love with Draco. When the rebuilding efforts are done, Harry disappears.

Years later, Draco goes to Muggle London at Pansy's suggestion to visit an art gallery. The name of the Muggle artist is unknown to Draco, but the subject of the erotic paintings is shockingly familiar: it's Draco himself. It's time to confront the past and make some long-due confessions.

46. Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright) (9181, Explicit) Summary:

Sex is hard to come by when you're 40 and have kids.

Or: Five times Harry and Draco tried and failed to have sex and one time they were successful.

47. The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance (6079, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is going to lose his virginity, so help him god, and he's going to lose it to one Harry Potter. Why? Because of his big cock, his status as The Top Five Quidditch Players in England, and Witch Weekly's Most-Eligible Bachelor for eight years straight. At least that's what he tells himself. Too bad first times rarely go as one plans, and now Harry is looking miserable and Draco doesn’t understand why.

48. you killed me on the moon (4906, Explicit) Summary:

'You barely know me. We do not know each other.’

‘Beyond this overwhelming need to submit to you, completely and utterly?’ Potter raises his eyebrows, stretching his scar. ‘Beyond this bone-deep awareness that you are made for me, and I for you? That our destiny was written in the stars, in the very foundation of our known world?’

An A/B/O Royalty!AU wherein a desperate Slytherin prince faces a proposal from the conquering Gryffindor king.

49. i just want your extra time and your... (9058, Explicit) Summary:

Ron should know better than to speak Latin in a magical library. If he’d just left well enough alone, instead of trying to badger Malfoy for the details of his newest novel, Harry wouldn’t have to listen to all of this chatter about how bloody decent Malfoy is, and he wouldn’t be dealing with all of these...feelings. Really, it’s all Ron’s fault that Harry’s mind is stuck on Malfoy like this again.

50. The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows (41492, Explicit) Summary:

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

51. You Do Your Body Work, I Feel My Pulse Working Overtime (1627, Explicit) Summary:

Harry did not have an addiction to watching Draco masturbate on camera. He could stop any time he wanted to. Really.

52. Right Romantic Setting (6266, Explicit) Summary:

On the twelfth day of their romantic relationship, Draco and Harry take Albus, Scorpius and Rose on a weekend trip to Muggle London that Ron and Hermione were supposed to lead. At the fully-booked hotel where they'll be staying for the night, they're surprised to discover that their rather plain room has only one bed. It's definitely not the right romantic setting for their first night together but, as Draco comes to realise, there's good in taking things slow.

53. Portrait of a Marriage (130627, Mature) Summary:

Harry didn't want to marry Malfoy, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and Malfoy looked so smug and well - now they are married, and the house still doesn't like him, and Malfoy only looks more smug.

Draco didn't want to marry Potter, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and he never seems to be capable of escaping Potter anyway, so if he is already doomed to being married off he might as well decide for himself what he is worth, sign the papers and ignore everything wrong with that plan until physically no longer possible.

54. Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are (29803, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco finds himself wrongly accused – of course it's Potter who swoops in to save the day. Isn't it always Potter?