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daddyricsdoll · 10 months

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Friends? ✭ Ollie Bearman

Summary: You and Ollie were just friends, no matter how much your feelings grew or your need for his lips against yours. Well that was what you thought when you found someone else to put your mind to for the evening, but maybe not with Ollie's furrowed brows and glares.

Warnings: Unprotected sex

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: If only the things I write were true. Based off of this request. Please Enjoy!!

My hands clench around the handle of my suitcase as I walk out of the doors of the Abu Dhabi international airport. Expecting to be greeted by my Ollie, and I was right when my eyes made contact with his brown ones. A wide grin compliments his pigmented cheeks as we both make quick steps toward each other.

Simultaneously our arms wrap around the other for a refreshing and long awaited embrace. I had missed him, my dear friend I love too much that others claim it’s more than friendship. But he’s so oblivious that I’ve had to shut my feelings down, but every time he speaks a word to me or brushes against my skin, it lingers, and it’s not like I want it to stop.

I finally realise we still both hold each other before I suddenly let go and we pull away. He looks at me with that one smile everyone knows, but this one has a glint in his eyes that I know all too well, not from the times he’s looked at me but other girls that have run after him at races or passed him on the streets. I want to give in, I want to grab him, but then comes the reminder of him claiming we’re great friends, but who said friends can’t be more? Especially if we're already great together.

Just seconds later it’s like I break out of this “trance” and I see that I’m seated in the backseat with Ollie next to me. We catch each other up on everything, what he did during his break when we weren’t together or my uneventful life without him.

I have to keep reminding myself that we can’t be more than what we already are, which brings me to my conclusion of finding a distraction, or something better than Ollie- if it exists. I hear his soothing voice again and then I make out the words he tells me. “There’s a party, well an event kind of thing tonight, all of the drivers will be there as well as a few other important people and I just wanted to see if you wanted to come?” It takes me a few moments to think of my answer, but I eventually nod and we both plan our arrival together.

Four hours go by fast and the next thing me and Ollie sit next to each other in a taxi, going to the venue of the event. Ollie wears a simple black suit with a white dress shirt as I wear an elegant black dress that displays my curves but doesn’t expose too much skin, acknowledging the event and country.

We walk in together, soon dispersing when he generates good conversation with someone. I decide to grab myself a drink in hopes it’ll grow my confidence to meet someone new. As I ask the bartender for a drink I hear my name being called by a familiar voice, it belongs to none other than Paul Aron.

Paul had always been so kind and welcoming, making nearly everyone fall head over heels for him, me included. When we first met, his charm didn’t fail with me, and I had dreamt of what his lips would feel like. But now I’ve grown to know him and realised his charm, is him. So I had lost some of my feelings but he still never falls short to make me blush. “Hey Paul” I give him a soft smile and we exchange a short but comfortable hug. “It has been so long, hasn’t it? I missed your face.” He states and we both chuckle.

“Likewise. I’m surprised you recognise me.” The light hearted joke leaves my mouth freely.

“Oh I could never forget you, you’re too good.” I couldn’t distinguish if that comment was platonic or meant more, so I give him a kind smile and hope I don’t give off the wrong sign.

We carry on a relaxed conversation, frequently giggling and brushing hands. We both notice Ollie from across the room and when his eyes meet mine I give him my signature smile, before I watch his brows furrow as his eyes glance at my hand that sits millimetres away from Paul’s. He looks back up and Paul waves at him, in reply Ollie turns his head which encourages me to excuse myself and make my way to him.

He watches me as I get closer with each step, a questioning look on my face as I finally reach him. “What’s up?” I ask him softly and his reply of “nothing” forces me to grab his hand and drag him out of the room. I walk through the long hallway and find a door that hides a moonlight sunroom. I shut the door once both of our bodies stand under the stars and I stare at Ollie in silence, observing him. His deep eyes look into mine and a smirk curls on his lips. I tilt my head to the side and try to hide the smile that begs to curl on my lips.

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I already told you, nothing’s wrong.” He utters in his soft British accent.

“Oh, ok then. Well if nothing’s wrong then I’ll just go back to Paul.”

“No” He says immediately, one of his calloused hands grabs my arm. “Why?”

“Because, I don’t want you to go with him.” A sigh leaves my mouth and I try to keep calm, but also not wave away the problem because of the way he looks at me with that face or when he takes a step closer so both of his hands can brush against my skin.

“Why?” I ask him in a whisper, and he gives me the same answer, just like I had given him the same question. “Why do you think that you have control over who I talk to?”

“Because I know it’s not just going to be talking” He looks down at me and matches the sound of my voice. “Ok, maybe you’re right, but what’s so wrong with more than talking? Can’t I do what other people my age do? Or is it something with Paul?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with Paul, but if you want to do “things that people your age do” don’t do it Paul.”

“Oh ok then, then tell me, who am I supposed to do it with Ollie?”

“You can’t possibly ask me this question like you seriously don’t know who would take care of you best and learn every part of you to make you satisfied. Did you notice what you do? Teasing me with those long hugs and short kisses on my cheek that you call “platonic” or whenever you cuddle me when we watch movies together and you’re the first person waiting for me when I finish a race. You can’t do all of that and then go after him. What has he done for you? What can he do? I bet he can’t touch you like I will, or if he kisses you. You know that I’m better, you would probably wish that it was me? Wouldn’t you?”

His face inches closer to mine and hands slide around my waist. My breath becomes uneven but I don’t lose eye contact with him. “What makes you so sure of that?” I breathe out, barely audible. “Let me prove it to you, let me show you how good you’ll feel. You won’t think of Paul again.”

One of his hands grab the back of my neck and pull my head toward his, our lips colliding and they instantly mould against the other like they were destined for each other. My hands wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to me before and feeling his warmth along my whole body. I stand on my tippy toes and intertwine my hands together behind his neck.

Ollie grips the back of my thighs and pulls me up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. We broke the kiss so I could lay open mouthed kisses on his neck and my desire for him grew every second that his hips would grind against mine. His umber eyes glistened and I couldn’t tell if the stars I saw in them were a reflection from the sky or a display of his delicacy.

He was always a masterpiece to look at, pigmented cheeks, a light shade of my favourite roses, a smile worth more than the moon and eyes that make you feel so many emotions of love. And oh don’t get me started on every other part of him, his voice, the one that hugs me, makes me feel so giddy even my knees buckle and go weak. Before I felt his touch I only wanted it but now, oh it’s a need.

He puts me back on my feet just to lower me to the ground, my back makes contact with the cold floor, and my eyes make contact with the moon and the stars. His body hovers over mine and he plants kisses along my skin as he leisurely moves lower and lower. Oh the feeling of his lips that kiss my insecurities and heal my scars, I just wish I could get every nanometer engraved and memorised on my lips and body and mind.

Ollie lifts my hips to pull the fabric of my dress up and then over my head. He places my body flat on the floor as he looks at me with parted lips and wonder melting in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful” He says in advance of his hands pulling my panties down and body inching closer and closer to mine. I watch him unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants.

“Ready to forget about Paul?” I was forming my response until he swiftly lifted my hips up and thrust into me. My breath immediately hitches and a short moan leaves my mouth as I grow comfortable to the stretch. His groan was like a melody to my ears, before he released a hushed curse and made another ram into me. Ollie readjusts my legs so they hang over his shoulders and he manages to get even deeper inside of me than before. My hips lightly grind against his, adding friction to my clit and whines emit from my mouth.

“Tell me, would Paul do this to you? Fuck you under the stars?” His words brought me to surprise, but it was a surprise that I would happily get used to, as long as it was him.

“N-no” I choke out my response as he drives in me at a consistent pace, fast and rough but tender and sensitive. His head lingers above mine until my hands tangle into his now tousled hair and pull him closer to me. Our lips fuse together in a powerful kiss, one where we share each other under the moonlight, finally. After months of pining and wishing to know what it feels like, I ultimately do, we both do.

A moan releases from my mouth into his as the knot in my stomach becomes tighter and tighter, just waiting for the last motion to make it snap. “You gonna cum?” He mumbles against my lips and suddenly all words leave my vocabulary, but moans come out pretty easily. My head nods up and down eagerly and he snaps his hips the last few times just enough to make me release with a loud whine. Ollie’s thrusts become less consistent and I feel him spasm inside of me before his cum fills me. He rides both of our highs out before halting deep inside of me. Our breathing soon matches and his head lowers beside mine, just enough so he can whisper in my ear.

“Do you think Pau-” We both chuckle as I quickly cut him off.

“No. Only you Ollie, only you.”

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slickchickchocolatier · 11 months

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THE BUTLER

Warnings: Unprotected smut, slight voyeurism, secret smut, secret love, heart break, Y/N is a rich girl, not at all spoiled, slight Cinderella vibes, stepmom and sisters, they don't really like y/n, and death. MDNI content is for 18+ only.

Something for you guys as I finish the last chapter of DT. I started this a while ago but finally decided to finish it, as you can see, I was inspired by the release of "Criminal Love" so enjoy. I enjoyed this piece quite a bit. Part of this is proofread, so sorry if the ending of it seems a little sloppy.

“Oh! She’s here sir!”

The house nanny calls out, informing your father of your expectant arrival. Your mother and stepfather told you that this was a great opportunity to travel overseas, leave home, and expand your horizons as a prospective student. And lucky for you, your father’s work as the country’s Ambassador afforded you said opportunity, and you wish you could be just as excited about it as everyone else. Truth of the matter was, it devastated you to leave.

Of course, growing up in a proper household, one with many manners and strict etiquettes in place, only meant that naturally, you were groomed to put on a mask to conceal your true emotions, among other things.

You loved your family, and respected your father dearly, even when only seeing him every summer. Yet there was something back at home that caused this change of pace; something that you knew you had to get away from, even at the cost of your goals and happiness.

It was hard for anyone to understand, since you and your former companion had only known each other for a year. To others, it appeared only as a fling, a swift love that left as fast as it came, but for you, it was a whole other matter. Unbeknownst to everyone around you, promises of a tight future we’re made, all initiated by him. He told you he loved you, cherished you, and that you both would be together forever. So was it a surprise to you, or him, that you fell into the abyss of depression and had clammed up after he exposed how he didn’t think much of your relationship; that it was just something to look back on, as “experience” for real love.

“Real love?….”

How could he use those words put together? How dare he? After all the times that you gave up to be with him; the sacrifices you made, and not to mention, the countless hours you made up to maintain your grades while still being there for him whenever he needed you. Such as the time when he lost a beloved family member, and you were the only one there to console him. One thing led to another and in a blink of an eye, you were no longer a virgin. You never minded, after all, he did tell you that he saw a future with you as his wife, and you responded each time by giving him your flesh and sweat….you did all of that, yet he didn’t see it as real love.

Your mother and stepfather could never know the degree of your breakdown. How could they? They probably suspected it, but never confirmed that you lost your virginity to the man. After he told you that he no longer wanted you, he moved on to another girl, one that you used to call ‘friend’. How despicable. Guess that was college life for you, though you would have never braced for something so heartbreaking to happen, even at a prestigious university.

After all that, you stopped talking and dropped all of your classes. You fell lower than ever before, and perhaps your mothers words, “It's not a big deal, he’s not worth it. You’ve only known him for a year, forget about him.” Was said, only to try and bring you back from the ground you found yourself graveling on. You know your mother better than anyone else, she loved you more than the world and would do, and say, anything to bring you back to a sound mental state of mind. She always did before, only this time….it didn’t work.

That’s when the idea of sending you to live at your fathers estate came to discussion. Your father was a very noble man, not in a literal sense of course; the man had built himself up from nothing, growing up from such a poor family. Through his elaborate military career and his continued service in politics, he earned his lavish lifestyle. The driver opens the door and gives you a hand, helping you out of the backseat as you are immediately greeted by the house nanny, and your father following suit.

“Papa!”

“There’s my girl! Come here, it’s been too long since I last saw you. Look at you, just as pretty as always.”

Holding you in a warm embrace, you felt free from the pain of heartbreak as you hugged your father; you missed him so much and it was always good to see him. Aside from being with him, his estate was something that you always cherished. He had acres of land, manicured with a few guest homes on the property. There were large floral gardens and orchards that decorated the entire estate with the main house stationed at the center of the acreage. Maybe coming to live here for a while wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And who knows, if you had ever found a reason to go back, you could always get up and go ... .just as much as you could settle down and stay, so long as you had found meaning behind that decision.

During your embrace, you caught the eye of the trio that made their way over, though they seemed less excited in greeting you.

“Well, you could have called when you were nearby. We were just about to have lunch. It would have been embarrassing to begin eating and to take a pause because of your arrival.”

When it came to your father, mother, and stepfather, they were all a delight and you couldn’t have asked for better parents. However, when it came to your stepmother, that was an entirely different story. Of course, your fathers marriage to her wouldn’t be complete without your two stepsisters…

“Oh my gosh! Look at her hair! See mom! I want my extensions to be as long as her hair, the same length.”

“Y/n, where did you get your outfit? It’s so pretty, I want one just like it but in pink. Don’t I look good in pink?”

Your father takes a moment to jest, yet you had a feeling by the tone he took with your stepmom and sisters, that he was more on the serious side at hinting on their lack of manners. The ‘joke’ was him remaining tactful, as always.

“Well, usually it’s customary to say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ whenever you’re greeting family, but I guess talking about lunch, hair, and outfits is just as welcoming.”

Looking up at your father, he gives you a small wink before placing a kiss on your head, much to the obvious dismay of your stepmom. “I was only trying to point out that it would have been more considerate of her to call, that’s all. But, I guess you do have a point.”

Your stepmom quickly took the hint, and rendered obedience in her own manner, before ushering the girls to come up and greet you properly. Pushing boundaries with your father is never a smart idea, for anyone. The man was rich, had close connections with the government, and didn’t feel the ‘need’ to have a wife as much as he merely enjoyed having one for companionship. Your stepmom knew that, just needed a reminder from time to time that he would drop her quickly, along with your stepsisters. You’re not entirely sure what had gone wrong, you never did anything to your stepmom nor did you ever go out of your way to offend her. Yet somehow, she acted somewhat distasteful to you. As for your stepsiblings, it wasn’t quite their fault. They were spoiled, had everything beyond the world given to them, and only acted out based on the initiative of their mother. Nevertheless, you were always pleasant and did your best to make them feel welcomed. You even gave up your room, the largest suite of the household, all to accommodate their ‘needs’ shortly after your father married and brought them in. Since you previously had only come for long visits in the summer during your college breaks, it wasn’t a huge deal to give up your room, or your favorite guesthouse, which was once your getaway for whenever you wanted to paint and do pottery. What was once your soaring heaven had now become a playhouse for the girls…to depreciate and throw their large parties for whenever they wanted to have their friends over. Guess that is what it means to be the elder and the matured one out of the brunch.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you fed. I imagine you’re tired and hungry from that long flight, did you have any trouble finding Bitterman?”

“No Sir, I found her with no trouble. It’s quite easy to find a girl as pretty as her.” Bitterman, your fathers driver, chimes in, earning a chuckle from the latter. “Thank you my friend, be sure to get yourself fed as well, Louis has the kitchen smelling delightful.”

Your father was always admired and loved by the staff, and it wasn’t hard to see why. He wasn’t just wise, rational, and a thoughtful type, he was also benevolent and selfless. Indeed, he was just as good of a master as he was a father and husband.

“Oh, Bitterman, no need to get the bags, I’ll get them.” Your father exclaims as he goes to pick up one of your luggage. “Oh um….I can get that Papa, it’s actually kind of heavy—“

You were cut off when a shadowed figure appeared out of nowhere and grabbed hold of the leather strap, just before your father completed his reach for it. “I got it sir, please allow me.”

The tall figure was dressed in a black suit with a fitted designer trench coat to match, paired with fine leather gloves; the right one being fingerless. His hair was swiftly combed to the side, with a few pieces dangling above his eye and brow, yet it only enhanced his suave appeal. There was a slight bit of royal purple hue to his strands, yet it was tasteful and neat. He effortlessly picks up the luggage and swings it over a shoulder, and picks up another large carry-on before making his way inside the house. “The Nénuphar suite, correct?”

“Yes, thank you Ethan.”

Confused, you looked at your father as he took note that you hadn’t been properly introduced to his newly acquired staff member. “Oh! Ethan, this is y/n.” Turning back to you, your father completed the introduction as he took your hand and guided you closer to the mysterious man in black. “Y/n, this is Ethan. I’ve told him all about your arrival and if you need anything in my absence, come to him. He is the head of my household staff and is my personal butler, second to no one, except myself.”

“B-butler?” You were caught off guard at the label, the man did not carry the appearance of a butler. That was when your father somewhat clarified. “Well, butler in an abstruse sense. All you need to know is that he is my right hand man. So if you ever need anything, come to me or Ethan.”

‘Abstruse? What is that supposed to mean—‘

“It’s nice to meet you y/n.”

“Oh…it's nice to meet you too. Thank you...for taking my bags, I can get the rest of them.”

“No need, I’ll have it taken care of.” Turning his head to the side, he raises a hand and snaps his fingers. Upon the crisp sound echoing among the grand entrance of the estate, a series of maids and butlers come in and grab the remaining of your belongings. You raised a brow before peaking a questionable gaze at your father, in which he replied with…

“I told you, he is my right hand man.”

…………………………..

The next morning, you awoke in your beautifully furnished room. After carrying out your hygiene routine and dressing yourself, you walk down the lengthy staircase to find the girls at the base, dressed primply with jewels and broaches decorating their hair and outfits.

“I want to re-do my nails.”

“You just got yours done yesterday, it’s been three days since I got mine. I want to add more jewels.”

“I want more flowers.”

“I wanted them with a sharper point.”

“I wanted them longer.”

Walking through the foyer, Ethan takes stride with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he was taking a walk of leisure. Breaching the girls, they immediately dropped their topic of nail decor and called out to the handsome butler. “Oh Ethan!” One of the girls calls out. “I just got this dress yesterday, what do you think? Do you like it? Doesn’t pink look good on me?”

Ethan gave a faint, side smirk as he paused in his steps. His hands remained behind his stature as he stood comfortably, not responding. Your other sister butts in, trying to vye for the man’s attention as she shows off her manicure. Again, he remained silent, yet the girls seemed to be used to it.

“Oh, trying to be silent like always?”

“That’s so hot.”

“Come on, won’t you say anything about my outfit for once?”

“Or my nails?”

Pouting their faces rather flirtatiously, the girls flutter their lashes as they bite their lip, only to get nothing out of the man. You continued walking down during the entire entourage and once you reached the base, Ethan’s eyes sparked up. He glanced up and beyond their heads, watching as you made your way down. You pause as your sisters remained standing on the last step, seemingly oblivious to what the man was staring at.

“Ah, young lady, you’re just in time. Your dad wanted to see you first thing this morning.”

Extending his hand and shooting it between your sisters, the girls part ways as they watch you take Ethan’s hand as he guides you down the last step of the staircase. “I’ll take you to his study.” You felt his fingers subtly pinch your hand as he firmly established his grip. As he started to take you away, he suddenly paused with you remaining closely behind. His masculine scent was befitting with the dashing designer suit he had on; he looked more like a businessman than a butler, perhaps that was what your father meant from yesterday's conversation. Turning his head halfway, he glanced over to the girls and spoke in a low tone, all with a dashing smirk decorating his side profile.

“Oh…about your outfit and nails….it is not in my place or station to remark on such matters. Please consult your designers and seamstresses if you ever feel confused.” With a slight tug, he pulls your hand and leads you away while the girls stood confused with hurt feelings. There hadn’t been many interactions between Ethan and the girls, but from what you heard by the house nanny, the few times he did exchange words with the two, it was far from what they ever expected or trying to achieve. Aside from his laconic smirks, the man was stone cold towards the two.

Reaching the double doors of your father’s private office, another butler stands by. “Please inform the master that his daughter is here to see him.” Ethan calmly states. The other butler nods before knocking on the glazed wooden doors, before peeking in upon hearing your father responding from inside. The elder butler steps aside and gives a slight bow towards Ethan as the latter bars the doors wide open, gently dragging you behind.

“Sweetheart, did you sleep well?” Your father immediately speaks out, while Ethan takes you over to a tea table, surrounded by lounge seats. Pulling the seat back for you, he guides you over and pushes you in towards the table, where a lovely tea set and tiered tray filled with all sorts of snacks and finger sandwiches were nicely laid out as your father makes his way to join in. “I got all of your favorites.” Your father says proudly, shooting another wink over to you.

Ethan finishes scooting you into the table, his hands gently caressing the back of the seat. Before pulling away, his hands gently graze over your arms and shoulders as he walks out with one hand in his pocket. The man certainly walked with a sense of authority and carried out a superior presence, more so than even your father, even though he was the master.

“I am sorry for how your stepmom and sisters behaved yesterday, that shouldn’t have happened.”

Your fathers words caught your attention, causing you to turn your head away from Ethan’s backside, making eye contact with your sympathetic parent. “I had words with them yesterday and will make sure that doesn’t happen again, they need to be more mindful especially since you’re going to be here for a while.”

You shook your head and waved off his concern. “It’s fine, I’m not worried about it.”

Your father smiles at your reassurance and chuckles. “Good.” Adjusting in his seat, he takes a cup of tea and begins to sip on it while carrying the conversation to a different direction. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded as you took your own cup and delicately sipped from it. Your father kept adjusting in his seat, appearing to find it difficult to gain comfort within the chair, not that it wasn’t hard to see why. The chairs were beautiful and carried a regal vintage design, but were very much too stiff for someone like your father, who required more softness to accommodate his back. No doubt he had so many strains from all the years he served in the military.

Just as you were about to ask him if he needed something for his chair, you hear the doors from behind open. Turning halfway in your own seat, you watched as Ethan entered with a silk and plush pillow in hand; he didn't say a word, instead, he walked directly over to your father and handed it over to him, obviously flaring his familiar knowledge of your father and his routines.

“Oh thank you so much Ethan, you do know me too well.” your father chuckles out as Ethan smirks. “Sweetheart, you want a pillow for your chair?” Your father asks you while Ethan stands by his side. He crosses his arms and gives a slight tilt of his head, establishing a rather dominant and assertive stance, yet your father seemed to be quite used to and didn’t mind at all, in fact, he seemed to embrace that wholeheartedly. You shook your head and politely declined the offer, to which Ethan issued a slight nod before exiting the study, turning back once more to pull the doors shut.

“I like Ethan, he’s super cool. Good guy too.” Your father spoke rather comfortably. You furrowed your brows confusingly, while nodding in agreement, sort of. “Is he…really your butler?” You asked as your father took a finger sandwich from the tier stand.

“Mmhmm.” Your father issues his response as he bites into the sandwich, and chews it while sipping on his tea. Looking back up, he gives you another wink. You chuckle and take one of the finger snacks and enjoyed it, along with a conversation that took up the entire morning as you caught up with your father and told him about college, your mother, stepfather, and even the young man that broke your heart, though one day at your father’s estate seemed to have done a lot of healing, more than you expected. You didn’t know why, but that would unfold as the days continued to swing by.

………………………

A couple of weeks had passed, and you didn’t see much of your sisters or stepmom, they weren’t really around at the house so much, instead, they liked their constant outings and partook in continuous shopping trips. You laughed and cringed internally as you watched the girls make their attempts in gaining Ethan’s affection, much less his attention. Half the time, the man would ignore their teasing and flirting words, but the times when he did entertain small talk, it was always a major shutdown, at least that’s what it looked like to you. But to the girls, it was something else.

…….

‘Oh that’s just how he is, trust me, Ethan likes it when I talk to him.’

‘I think he likes talking with me more.’

‘Shut the fuck up! He likes me more, bitch!’

‘You’re the bitch! You fucking rude bitch, who the fuck do you think you are?’

……

Now you were by no means a saint, but for the most part, using vulgar language was something you considered to perform only when the situation called for it. An outburst of anger perhaps, or…when you had your heart broken. A flashback of when the man informed you that you were just ‘practice’ for his real and true love came to mind, and the image of you screaming out and lashing every cursing you could imagine in his direction. Yet the girls were using it so freely, over a man that didn’t seem to take interest in anything other than his duties.

You politely excuse yourself from the room, allowing for the girls to bicker in peace while the seamstresses customized their designer gowns for the upcoming event. You gently shut the doors behind as you take your stroll outside, loving the sound of the doves that hummed their tune in a nearby Magnolia tree. You walked over to the massive gazebo, lavished with wisteria vines and overlooking the flat fields that extended past the lines of the property. A stone rail surrounding the gazebo stands at chest height, it was perfect for you to rest your forearms on as you leaned in and took in the beautiful sight of nature and tranquility. You watched as the staff members from afar tended to the private livestock, and harvested the fruits from your father’s orchard. In a peaceful state, you stare off with nothing in mind other than the happiness you witnessed as the staff members conducted their duties from afar, not at all realizing that you were watching them with a smile on your face.

“Enjoying the view?”

You turned your head and saw Ethan entering through the hanging vines of purple flowers from the Wisteria plant. “Oh–yeah…sorry, you caught me off guard.” Chuckling, you turn your attention back to the staff members. Ethan comes by your side, and as you had done, he leans against the stone rail while resting his forearms on the smoothed top surface. “Yeah, I seem to have a habit of doing that from time to time.” He calmly tells you, it almost seemed like it was his way of joking, yet you didn't really know whether to laugh or stay silent, so you gave a delicate chuckle instead.

“How are you enjoying being back? It's been the previous summer since you’ve last visited, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, last summer was the last time I came over. At first, I’m not sure if I was thrilled about living here, not that I don't love my father, I do. I just…it was an abrupt decision and I didn’t really have a whole lot of say in the matter. But I’m glad I did…I miss my dad so much and I always did like this place.”

You confide as Ethan stares off at the orchard, nodding gently at your words. “When did you start working for my dad?”

Ethan lets out a light and airy chuckle of his own, dashing a side smirk as he continues to stare off at the fields. His hands were decorated with the leather gloves, with the right one being fingerless, as always. “Next week makes it six months.”

“You like it here too?”

“I do.” He pauses as he clasps his hands together before him. “Your dad is a good man.”

“Yeah he is.” you chuckle out, flattered by the compliment.

“Did you finish with the seamstresses?” he inquires. You turn to glance over to him with a faint, sweet smirk before looking back over to the distant orchard. “No, not yet. I figured I’d let my sisters do their thing and I’ll get my dress made after.”

“Hm. So you’re just wanting to get away and enjoy solitude in the meantime then.” his voice was deep, calm, and soothing. There was a tone in him that brought the image of a placid lake and gentle wind to mind. You could side with your father’s opinion on Ethan, he was a gentle and good man, and he was very fond of your father.

“Yeah…I love to get away.” you responded back, lifting your nose into the air as you relished the soothing wind blowing against your skin and through your hair. Ethan tilts his head over. “You love to get away?”

“Yeah.” you chuckle out as you flinch a quick glance over his way. He smiles in return.

“What do you like to get away from?”

“Everything. Sometimes I just like to get away from people, and be only in the presence of nature and wind.”

“What else?” Drawing your secrets out, he inquires for you to continue, and you confide fully without giving it a second thought. “I like to get away from responsibility and duties, and experience freedom, even if it's just for a second.”

Remaining in his leaned state, Ethan adjusts, shifting his weight over to one arm as he turns to fully face your direction. “So, you’re an escape artist, in a sense.” He smirks out.

“Yeah.” you chuckled, loving the feel of the wind picking up pace, roaring through your hair.

“You’re a runner?” his voice peaking a sense of interest as he remarks your habit of ‘running away’ or getting away from the things that burden you.

“I am.”

“You’re a runaway that likes to daydream?”

“I am.”

You both laugh in sync. He licks and bites his lip as he turns his face away and stares back off at the orchard. “Neat.” is all he says. Just as you were going to inquire about his unusual leather gloves, a dainty voice comes in from behind. “Y/N, we’re ready for you now.” You turn to see the personal seamstress. You smile and bid Ethan a goodbye before leaving him at the gazebo, not realizing that your smile flashed a charming sense that became permanently ingrained in the man’s memory.

……………………….

The night of the event, you sat in your room for a while before deciding to finally make your appearance at the ballroom. Your father’s residence was massive, with four floor levels and a grand ballroom on the main floor; despite frequently visiting every summer, it took you a while to remember your way around. Now, you know the entire house like the back of your hand.

You walk down the staircase, listening in on the laughter and small talk of the large crowd residing in the ballroom. The tail of your dress slinks down each step behind as you drag your hand against the smooth rail. You opted for a simple, plain and form fitting gown, with a high slit reaching your upper thigh; you’re not entirely too sure why you felt the need to look sexy, but why not? You only live once.

Your sisters also opted for a sexy look, though their plunging necklines screamed of desperation rather than seduction, but you kept your opinions to yourself. Tonight was a night for celebration, not for bickering.

You enter the grand room and earn a wave of stares. Your father stands at a distance and smiles proudly as he watches you make your way to one of the floor length windows. You gaze off at the moon, it looked so full and pretty tonight, shame you had to be inside.

The lights dim down, and the band plays a gentle piece that initiates the guest to slow dance. That was your que, one that you always looked out for, so you could…

“Get away…”

Snaking through the crowd, you make your way over to one of the outer doors that lead to a stone corridor that wraps around the entire base level of the mansion. You found solace in a secluded corner that overlooked the moon and stars, and was closed off to guests. The area wasn’t at all separated distinctively; it didn't have any walls, yet the four large pillars that surrounded it provided enough cover and seclusion for you to remain undisturbed, at least from the guests…

“Getting away again?” You turn to the side and notice Ethan entering the outdoor sitting area.

“Yeah…just for a little bit.”

He walks over and just as he did before, he stands by your side and admires the view of the full moon. His appearance wasn’t anything out of normal; he had on a fine black suit and tie, his leather gloves, and black shined shoes. His hair was styled just the same, and roared out a purple hue under the moonlight. In all actuality, he looked like one of the prestigious male guests inside the ballroom. Taking note of the privacy you both shared, you finally had the courage to ask him about his unusual choice of gloves.

“I was wanting to ask you…”

“Hmm?”

“Your gloves…I dont think I’ve ever seen anyone wear gloves like yours, especially a butler.”

“Oh, these? It’s just for comfort when I carry out some of my tasks.” He puts out nonchalantly, pretty much in the same manner as your father responded whenever you breached the topic of Ethan.

“Oh, I see. A butler that just likes to wear leather gloves then.” you chuckled out, with his own laughter following closely behind.

“Yeah, just a butler who likes to wear leather gloves.” he gently repeats as he switches his gaze from the moon, and looks over to you. Had you not been admiring the moon yourself, you would have taken notice of his unyielding stare. His eyes travel up and down, noting that this was the first time since your arrival to your father’s estate that he got to see the reality of your form. It was beautiful.

Admiring the curves of your body, the length of your hair traveling down your backside, and the complexion of your glowing skin, the man found himself in awe….again.

“So what made you want to get away this time? The people? The politics?”

“The moon.” you jest, slightly biting down on your lip, though you did so harmlessly. Yet Ethan couldn’t help but see the sultry beauty behind it. “I like the moon.” You claim.

“Oh yeah? What else do you like?” he punctures your way, unbeknownst to you, he takes a step closer by your side.

“I like animals. I like food, and the stars, and–”

“To run away…” he finishes, earning your sudden attention, allowing for you to see that he had migrated closer.

“...Yes. I like to run away.” You calmly state, issuing a faint nervous chuckle upon noticing the feasting hunger that glared in his eye. It scared you…but you were liking it….and you wanted more of it.

Reaching up, he takes a bit of your hair and glides his fingers through the length of it, allowing it to fall back on your spine. “Now tell me again…what else do you like, pretty girl.”

Your breathing was less steady and deep, you suddenly found the tone of his voice so alluring, and the way he ran his fingers through your hair brought out a tight feeling from within your gut. Tingling and numbness chimes in your womanhood, it was a sensation you were familiar with, yet this time it was much stronger and vivid. You whisper out your response, taking the plunge and the chance to tell him, without being so direct…

“I like….you…”

So much for not being too direct. At least you could say you tried to keep it somewhat discreet, which was much more than what you could say about your stepsisters.

“Yeeeah…I like you too…” his voice grew deeper and the shine in his eyes grew fierce as the hungry sense raged wildly, he looked different. He looked almost frightening, with how starving his eyes looked, yet the moment he gripped a handful of your hair while saying his piece, you could care less that he had the look of a hungry killer or a sadistic maniac, you were willing to feed him, and he sensed it.

With the grip of your silk strands, he pulls you in, sucking in your breath as he fully envelops your lips in a deep kiss. Oh to be kissed by this man….it was something else.

He explores your body and rubbed your hips, his fingers digging into your waist as a hand rides up your back and cradles the back of your scalp while taking in the sensation of your soft strands. The first moan you release against his tongue, he instantaneously rushes you against the pillar nearby, the force of his weight pushing you back until your shoulders meet the cold marble. Your rear and spine is plastered against the surface, yet he continues to push as his body melts into you. Without breaking the kiss, he keeps pushing, rubbing, and grinding, feeding off those sweet moans you let out.

Finally, he allows for the both of you to take a breath as he abruptly breaks his lips away. Softly gripping your neck, the fine leather squeezing against your skin, he whispers before placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, his eyes staring down at you and never breaking contact. “Be a good pretty thing…and try to stay quiet for me.”

“Mm..mmhmm…” you moaned.

“Yeah? Can you do that?”

“Y-yes….yes…”

“Yeah?” he lowers his head and buries his face into your neck, ravishing you with kisses as he smothers his saliva on your smooth skin. “Say you’ll be good for me.”

“I-I’ll….I’ll be good…I’ll try to be good…mmm…Ethan.”

“Heeseung.”

You moaned out of both, pleasure and confusion as you winced your eyes shut upon feeling his kisses becoming rougher, his teeth nibbling on your neck. “H-Heeseung?”

“Mmhmm…my real name.” He lets out just before he gives you a sharp bite. “Ah! Uggghhhhh!!’ you jerked up upon feeling the stinging sensation, with him easing it out as he licked over his teeth mark. “Shhhh….you gotta be good, remember?” he mocks as he gives you another bite.

“Ugh! Fffffffffuck….ugh!” you lengthen out your moans as you feel your body tremble. You really thought you could be quiet, that wasn’t hard to do with the last guy…but with Ethan…no, Heeseung….it was impossible.

“I…I can’t…I can’t….please…please let me scream….oh God I wanna scream…”

Looping his hand under your thigh, he lifts your weight as your back drags against the pillar, his lips sucking and kissing your breasts, which have now become exposed as he pulls the straps down from over your shoulders. With a mouthful of your plump areola, his free hand trails upwards and makes its way to gently cover your mouth. “Then scream baby.”

His finger digs into the skin of your upper leg as he sustains your weight, while his free hand shoots up and gently holds you by your neck. It was all happening so fast, you hadn’t realized that he had already snaked his member out from his trousers until you felt the warm skin of his hard bulge probing your clothed entrance. He fingers your panties and scoots them off to the side, where the probing became more intense as you felt his hips bucking upward. He enjoyed teasing you with it, poking you a few more times as he wasn't focusing on entering, until you let out a whine that indicates your desire for him to do it to you. “Please…..” you moaned out. He kisses you as he finds himself, slipping through your tight walls. The both of you breathed out deeply and simultaneously upon feeling the initial penetration. He breaks the distance just slightly between your lips, so that he could take a better look at you while he continued to thrust all the way in, slowly. Sloooooowly.

There was so much friction, roughness, and pressure, but it was all divine. He stared down at you, looking directly into your eyes with his feasting ones, while his grip on your neck tightened ever so slightly. His thumb reaches up, and grazes over our gasping lips as you pant out your moans.

“Shh…” he waves his index over your lips, hushing you tenderly before the base of his groin meets with yours. You felt full, stuffed, and complete. He gives a slight nudge, imploring for you to respond that you were ready, and you were. With a slight nod, your eyes glistened as you gave him his que, to which he took, along with a kiss on the tip of your nose before he started to pull out. He didn’t have to say it, you could hear it within his growl that you were tight. Your walls squeezed every ounce of precum out of his throbbing length as he drew it out from the immense pressure your cavity created for him. Your squelching walls squeezing him, cradling him with a tight ring of muscle that made it almost seemed impossible for him to penetrate a second time. His breathing escalates yet each exhale becomes prolonged as he groans out the pleasure he felt upon breaching you. He exits out fully, his bulbous tip barely lays nestled in your cavity, with only the very tip that carried his exit laying inside, but it wasn’t for long. You clenched uncontrollably when you felt him plunge back in, harder, deeper, and faster. He bellows out in the depths of your gut while shoving his nose and mouth against your skin, still holding you by the thigh and neck. His hips thrust, starting off at a slow tempo, but taking no time to pick up the pace. In just a few seconds, you found yourself being lunged upwards in a jolting motion, all at high tempo.

In and out, his thrusts were graceful yet demeaning as he goes in each time with the intent on tearing you apart, feeding you the immense thickness of his length and girth. The sound of the bustling guests exiting and mingling outside of the house could be heard, all unaware of what was happening behind the large pillar that Heeseung had you pinned against. You so badly wanted to scream, it all felt too good. The way he had you bouncing upwards at high momentum, your hair draping and decorating the marble backing as he continued to shove and lift you to accommodate each thrust. Biting your lip, you couldn’t take it anymore and yelp out in desperation, only for him to shoot his hand up and cover your mouth as he did before.

“Shh….that’s my good girl.” Whispering against your forehead, his thrusts become harder and tighter as he reaches the areas of your body that you never knew could be obtained by a man. His length repeatedly hits a spot that causes you to yell out into his palm in a repeated motion as he goes in with so much ferocity. Your body goes limp, and you could barely contain yourself. Sensing that, he flings your thigh upwards and catches it, adjusting his grip as he scoots in closer while penetrating deep inside, leaving absolutely no distance between your heated bodies.

“Good girl…good girl…take it….keep taking it…..fuck!”

Feeling your walls pulsate did him in. You felt his cock throb with violent twitches as he buried it deep inside, releasing his warm, silky seed into you. The way you felt his length bend and flicker against your muscles, with the hot temperature of his children entering invigorated you, causing you to experience your orgasm. Your walls leak, vibrating out your ecstasy while he stays put for a few minutes; leaning back, he stares down at you with fulfillment in his eyes, they are no longer hungry. Satisfied under heavy lids, he reaches up and takes from his internal breast pocket of his suit, a silkened handkerchief. He pinches the corner, before whiplashing it to unfold as he slides out, inch by inch. Once you felt hollow, you felt the warm ooze of his labor dripping down your thigh. It was thick and white, mixed with the clarity of your body’s own solution produced from your orgasmic high. Keeping your thigh elevated, he takes a knee and drags the smooth silk against your skin as he delicately wipes up the residue, leaving a trail of kisses against your inner thigh upon cleaning you up. Dragging his tongue upwards, he leaves your skin spotless before standing straight up, placing a tender kiss on your lips. No words were exchanged, just acts of affection and softness to conclude the lovemaking. Throughout the night, Heeseung danced and kept you company, flashing a smile your way every so often, much to the dismay of your sisters.

“Why is Ethan dancing with her? I want to dance with him too!”

“After me first.”

Your stepmom subtly scolds the girls under her breath, pressuring them to focus on the more eligible bachelors that roamed the ballroom, no doubt heirs with big money behind their names. Yet the girls had a hard time shaking off the handsome Ethan from their minds, and only grew more frustrated as they watched him court you. Your father sips from his fine glass, and reassures your sisters as he issues a firm look over to your stepmom. “I’m sure it’s nothing girls. Go and mingle with all these other handsome fellas, I’m sure they’d love to dance with you two.”

“But dad! I’ve been telling you how long I’ve had a crush on Ethan, it’s not fair!”

Your father slides his stern look over to the girls; “I’m sure Ethan is being polite, after all, it's the first time your sister attended this event, he’s more than likely trying to make her feel welcomed since she doesn’t know anyone here. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Glancing over to you and Ethan, your father smiles softly upon admiring the way you both flowed with the course of the musical piece being played. Whispering to himself, he quietly tells himself, “I’m sure it’s nothing…but love.”

…………………………….

The following week, you spent more time with Ethan. For a butler, he didn’t seem to be as busy as you would expect, especially considering the house was massive. Then again, your father did mention that he was the head of the house staff, and second to only him as the master of the household, so perhaps his duties were strictly supervisory with high authority. Either way, you didn’t mind that he was free to be with you the majority of the days, it was exactly what you had needed to recover from your previous partner. Ethan had heard about him, yet never brought him up, he never felt the need to. As far as he was concerned, you had him now, and that was all that mattered.

One day, you went out with your sisters to do some shopping. You took interest in the local food vendors that sold fresh produce, while your sisters were enchanted by the local boutique of their favorite designer brand and the release of the new collection. You interacted with the sellers, buying simple ingredients to prepare a nice meal tonight, for you and Ethan. You were surprised that your father hadn’t become curious as to your frequent absence at dinner, since you were spending each evening in private with Ethan, dining at the gazebo or at one of the guest houses. Perhaps he knew? Or maybe he just trusted you to care for yourself, after all, he never restricted you to a strict schedule, allowing you the freedom to provide for yourself whenever you needed.

As you walked the row of street vendors, a mysterious figure from afar eyeballs your movements. Stationed at the peak of a nearby tower, he aims and observes through a scope, attached to a sniper rifle. Being the only legitimate daughter of the Ambassador came with some ups and downs, and it would appear that your father had enemies that intended to cause you harm, perhaps as a warning for money or secured and private information that would affect national security. Blindly unaware, you continued on with your shopping, just seconds away from getting pierced through the chest with a stray bullet. A bullet…that was shot in silence, not a sound heard by the crowds.

Hunched over, bleeding, and choking out his last breath, the mysterious assassin slowly fades out over his rifle; a single hole in his chest leaks out the last of his vigor as his vision blackens. Across the tower, on the roof of a neighboring hotel, another rifleman kneels perched with his own weapon and silencer. Ejecting the casing out from the ejection port, a leather gloved hand catches the steaming hot brass; with his trigger finger is exposed, he releases and activates the safety switch on the weapon. Peeking through the scope, he watches the mysterious figure die out, then switches his aim over to you. Watching over you, his scope follows your every move, until Bittmerman pulls up.

“Miss y/n, it's time to get back. Your sisters are already in the car.”

You nod and smile happily. “Okay, thank you.”

Taking Bitterman’s hand, he guides you in the backseat where you are reunited with your spoiled sisters. He shuts the door and looks up to meet the eye of the scope, emitting a nod that implies your safety behind bullet proof glass and steel. Smirking, the rifleman lowers the gun and takes it apart. Chuckling to himself, he places the components of his rifle in a fine case before standing and watching Bitterman’s car drive off.

Taking his index, he bites the tip of the leather glove and pulls it off his left hand. Taking the brass casing, he flicks it up in the air before catching it with his strong hand, adorned with the fingerless leather glove. Rolling the brass in between his fingers, he admires it for a second before he preps to take his leave. Chuckling once more, he whispers under his breath, growing excited in seeing you upon his return home, knowing you'll be waiting for him.

“I’m just a butler… who likes to wear leather gloves, pretty girl.”

Taglist: aiden2001 , heeseung-min , lathan1510 , rayofsunshineeee

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xxzlushiez · 1 year

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Can you do tom x f!reader who's in the band and they were always like bestfriends no feelings for eachother or anything but as they get older like around 2007/08 he starts to realize he's totally in love w/ reader and tries to get rid of his feelings by sleeping w/ a bunch of girls but nothing helps because he can only think of reader? And they end up going to a party together and having fun and shii and then they end up on a balcony outside just drinking out of solo cups totally plastered and tom confesses to reader and kisses her but reader is super shocked and surprised and doesn't really know what to say so she doesn't kiss him back and just stares at him, and he doesn't take it very well he's just like "...oh.." and then gets up and reader tries to stop him and he's like "no, no I'm just gonna go back to the party" and stumbles out w/ a broken heart but in reality reader liked him back too but didn't know she did until he confesses so over the next few weeks she realizes how much she's in love with him and she goes to his room to tell him all romantic and shit and they end up having soft sex (or not wtv you're comfortable with) ty sm!! I love your writing btw!

EEEHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE IM SO EXCITED TO DO THIS (and tysm for the compliment❤️)

Miscommunication

T! Kaulitz x F! Reader

Synopsis: you and Tom have always been good friends, but he realizes he wants to be more..what’ll happen when those feelings don’t falter?

Notes: 18+, Name is in the band, flashbacks to ‘Devilish’, drinking, getting drunk, concerts, parties, jealousy, talks of unrequited feelings, Tom being a attention whore💀, insecurities, platonic! Bill x reader, oral, soft sex, underlying sub! Tom (I hate using that word but idk how else to describe it???)

A/N:tysm Anon for requesting and I hope this lives up to your expectations, I decided to right this in normal style instead of bullet points, I hope you don’t mind. This is was frustrated I wanted to get it out on the 3rd😭 bro this is a few days later and it took so long because i just hate the way it turned out im so pissed at myself rn

“I act like I don’t care, that’s cause I don’t care”

For as long as you’ve lived you and Tom have stuck together like glue, you lived a few streets away but being one of the only kids their age in the neighborhood it was hard for you to not gravitate towards them.

You guys weren’t exactly alike, but more like you complimented each other, he was all brash and broody like almost every other boy going through puberty and you were kind and sweet always helping whenever it was needed.

Soon you were invited into a band that consisted of two other troublemaking kids you hadn’t met yet, you traveled around to small talent shows and state fairs to perform music. It was a rough start; you weren’t popular by any means and were made fun of for what you liked to do.

It didn’t get to you like it got to Tom yet you let him rant and yell about it to you because you knew, along with everyone else, that it was just a matter of time before you five would be praised for your talents instead of bullied.

And you were, your band became a hit, Devilish became Tokio Hotel, garage performances became studio practices, and backyard shows slowly became country-wide concerts. Tom also changed, from a little boy who would yell at anyone who messed with his friends to a teen that couldn’t even bother with people hating.

It was different, you were all different, but it was a good difference. Bill became confident, Tom became more open, Gustav wasn’t shy, and Georg was well…Georg was amazing to begin with, it just doubled. The few fans that consisted of you guy’s parents and a few old neighbors became thousands, girls and boys alike paid to come and watch the five of you perform live.

When 2009 rolled around you were known across all of Germany and a few other countries. You couldn’t have been more successful, as the years progressed Tom morphed into someone completely different. Everyone knew of his reputation, a boy who had a new girl in his car every day.

You guys didn’t drift per se, but you didn’t talk about all the things like you used to. That was okay, some things are better left unsaid, but it was weird. You both used to talk to each other about everything and it just changed so suddenly it left you confused for a while.

But you learned to accept the fact that he wasn’t the same and took advantage of that time to get closer to the rest of the band, especially Bill. He became your number 1, always there with you whether it be shopping to helping you get ready. This was one of those instances where you ended up in your shared hotel room with him and Tom.

“This is going to look really good on your Name I promise!”

You let Bill practice his makeup skills on you, a little hesitant at first because of the particular style but when you saw how his face lit up when you agreed you couldn’t say no. Bill also said the style suited you perfectly.

Tonight, was particularly special compared to other nights. It was a large party hosted by a company in celebration of Tokio Hotel’s rise to fame. Bill made it a goal to doll you up in fancy lipstick and glittery eyeshadow before leaving, which Tom wasn’t too keen on.

“Bill hurry up the party starts in like 20 minutes.”

You looked over a Tom from the corner of your eye. He was sprawled out on your bed flicking through the channels on the hotel’s tv. He was already ready and had been ready for at least an hour now.

“Be patient Tommy not everyone can just wear whatever they find on the floor.”

Bill let out a laugh when he saw how offended his brother got at your insult before turning back and applying pretty shade to your lips.

“Tom wah wah hurry up the party starts in 20 minutes blah blah blah!”

He mocked his brother in a high-pitched voice before pulling his brother from the bed and onto the hard floor with a thump! grabbing your hand and running out of the room leaving him behind as you laugh.

“What the fuck you two! Get back here, I’m literally your ride to the party!”

———

The party was boring if you were being honest. But that was probably just you. There was no one you knew except the band and some celebrities and they were all doing their own thing so you were stuck lying on one of the many plush sofas the company had lying around.

Your eyes trailed over to Tom as he walked towards you, handing you a vibrant red solo cup while he settled himself next to you on the couch, moving your legs to lay comfortably over his lap while you stared at the contents of the cup.

“What’re you doing just sitting here? You’re always in the mood to party.”

He was right, you loved to party. It was one of the only times you could let loose when on tour. Today you just weren’t feeling it like you usually were.

“I don’t know, I think it’s the fact that I ordered a Pina Colada and got vodka. But who knows.”

He hummed as he absentmindedly observed the area. Tom had an unusual habit of wanting to be around you but never talking, preferring silence, it never bothered you so you let your head lay against the armchair swirling the drink around in your hand as you observed him.

He was never really good at taking your compliments, always avoiding them in some way with a “What’re you talking about?” Or the “Name just shut the fuck up”. You figured it had to do with the whole ‘I’m too cool for compliments’ thing he had going on, but it never stopped you from slipping up and saying something every once in a while.

“You're so beautiful Tom” and he was, honestly. His eyes reflected the neon lights that flashed above giving him that euphoric effect, the curves and dips of his face were perfectly sculpted to him. His true smile was so unbelievably cute, one that only you and the band had the pleasure of seeing, and his laugh…oh my god his laugh. You were definitely drunk. Whatever.

He gave you a quick side eye at the sudden praise before getting up and grabbing the cup out of your hand successfully spooking you.

“Let’s go smoke.”

‘Let’s go smoke’ was usually his way of saying “you're being annoying, let's get high” but you nodded and took his waiting hand as he led you through the busy crowd and out some double doors.

When out on the fairly sized balcony he grabbed a joint from out of one of the side pockets on his pants, while you flicked open your lighter that you had found stuffed under some gum and candy wrappers in your handbag.

He always enjoyed it when you smoked together, the delicate flame illuminated your face just enough to see the features that he’d always admired. Maybe that’s why he hated it when you complimented him, because he always wanted to do the same but couldn’t.

Nervousness wasn’t something he felt. There was no reason for him to be nervous. Nerves were for insecurity, anxiousness, that was bullshit to him, well until it came to you, and that oh so familiar feeling bubbled up in his stomach when you looked at him under the dim light.

He concluded that he had a thing for you pretty early on, when he was about 16. One time you pulled a fan on stage that you told the band you found particularly attractive. Bill teased you and Georg and Gustav laughed as you all made your way to the bus, but he stayed back. Deciding that the pit in his stomach wasn’t jealousy like he thought it might be and just that natural protective feeling for a friend.

He didn’t want to think about the possibility that he liked you. You’d always been best friends and that was how it was supposed to say. He remembers how Bill would always tell him “Being best friends with someone like Name isn’t a good idea” because he wouldn’t wanna be just friends. Bill was right and that scared him.

After that realization he took notice of who he gravitated towards in hookups, they all looked in some way, like you. He thought it was weird. It wasn’t like he selectively picked out the ones with similar features as you…right?

“-Tom, are you listening? Pass the joint you hog”

You plucked the blunt from his hand and he stared as you inhaled some of it, releasing the air into his face, looking at him with a weird expression. You watched him stride forward and suddenly his lips were pressed against yours.

You pulled away after a few antagonizing seconds and hesitantly looked at him. You saw the way his face dropped, probably realizing what he just did. Shit.

“Tom I... you're drunk. It’s fine, okay? You won’t remember this in the morning let’s just...let’s just go home, okay?”

That nerve quickly turned into frustration as he rolled his eyes turning towards the entrance and muttering something under his breath before pushing through the doors back into the party, leaving you alone on the cold balcony with a burnt out joint and heart.

———

It had been a few weeks since the incident on the balcony, and you concluded that he did remember it the day after as he wouldn’t talk or even be around you alone. It was fine at first, but by the time the second week rolled around it was starting to affect everyone else.

His performance was slower than normal, and he brought more girls to the hotel who unsurprisingly leaked where he was were staying and crowded around the hotel to catch a glimpse of the five of you.

He was being so unprofessional; he didn't give you time to voice your feelings about what happened and just up and left you in the dark. Like how do you even bring that up?

“Hey Tom, yeah I know that I didn’t kiss you back even though you totally unexpectedly pounced on me and it looked like I rejected you because I thought you were full-on plastered but like I’m in love with you so could you stop ignoring me?”

Yeah, that’s a no. So, you just endured it for a while until he decided to lay off. That point happened around the 3-week mark when the band was on a small break from tour.

He made it his goal to stay inside his room the whole time, sulking as Bill told you. You were at ends meet, if he couldn’t just talk to you about it like adults then you would have to do it yourself.

This leads up to the moment where you’re standing in front of his door contemplating all your life choices.

Crrrrrreeeakkk

Are you serious, the one time you were hesitant about your decision he just had to open the door and make it for you?

“Name?”

“Hey, Tom uhh..can we talk about the party?” This is so awkward. What the fuuck.

He stood there hesitant for a second before opening up the door for you to come in. You ducked under his arm and situated yourself at the edge of his bed as he stared at you from the doorway.

“Okay um..so I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment and I just wanted to ask you something.”

He gave you a small nod of acknowledgment and you continued.

“Do you like me? Like I don’t know if the reason you kissed me was just heat of the moment and you just got upset because you were drunk and your feelings were all mixed or something but I really want us to go back to normal…I miss you a lot and it's weird not seeing you at our practices”

You watched him closely for any signs of discomfort but his face was unwavering except for a light smile at your words easing your nerves only a little.

“I like you; I’ve liked you for years And Scheiße I miss you too but don’t wanna be just your friend anymore and if that changes things between us just forget about this whole thing”

You smiled softly walking towards him and cupping his face with your hands, bringing your lips to his feeling him relax into you.

His breath caught in his throat when you grazed your fingers against the front of his pants, slightly palming him through the jeans when he abruptly pulled your hand away.

“Name I wanna do this with you…but I don’t wanna have sex like I normally do. I want it to mean something because you really mean something, I just don’t know how”

“Let me show you, Tom.”

——

Tom groaned when your lips pressed against his pelvis, muscles flexing underneath you at the feeling. You hummed in contentment before coming back up to him and giving him a quick kiss and taking off his boxers.

He’d never had someone take their time on him, it was foreign, different, you looked so pretty as you toyed with his cock. Seeing what made him shiver and what gave him goosebumps.

Laying your tongue flat you licked a thick strip up the underside of his dick watching the way his eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Mhm…just- just like that Name please mhm…keep going.”

Voice slightly weak, he begged you to continue, not like you’ve ever heard and it encouraged you to continue, hands slick with his precum you stroked him at a controlled pace, squeezing slightly at the head hearing his soft curses get louder.

“Let’s empty that brain of yours ‘mkay?”

While you made yourself comfortable on top of him you felt his hips shift under you, his hands finding place on your hips. You align yourself with his cock, sliding down and listening to the way he mutters your name like a prayer as his cock disappears inside you.

“Shit this is much better than I ever imagined… s’much better...” his eyes raked your body seeing his hips met your thighs. You push down on his legs to keep him steady and use them as leverage to grind against him. Not even minutes later did his quiet concealed groans turn into gasps and random obscenities.

Seeing your pace begin to slow he flips himself over taking you with him, letting your legs rest flush against his shoulders next to his ears. He experimentally rocks his hips finding a comfortable rhythm, laying his hand flat on your stomach feeling at the bulge.

Now it was your turn to be a noisy mess, covering your face with a pillow in an attempt to muffle yourself but it was quickly discarded somewhere on the floor by Tom.

“Don’t- don’t do that- you look so pretty writhing under me like that, I could stare at you all day…shit shit shit.. if you keep tightening around me, I won’t last long...”

You smiled as you looked up at him. His eyes were closed tight and his jaw was clenched tight, focused on how you squeezed around him. You let your hand travel to his face tracing his features. His eyes opened at the touch and he sucked in his breath, feeling his high approaching.

You were glowing, your hair fanned out on the bed, your eyes slightly glassy from his pace, sweat collecting on your hairline, suddenly every part of him felt so sensitive and his lips connected with yours before his hips stuttered letting out a guttural moan making sure you had ridden through your orgasm.

You cried out in his neck holding him against you as he continued for a little longer before coming to a halt, collapsing on top of you. Holding you against him in a vice grip.

“I love you Name, a lot”

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ms-hells-bells · 2 months

Text

Because senator Kamala Harris is a prosecutor and I am a felon, I have been following her political rise, with the same focus that my younger son tracks Steph Curry threes. Before it was in vogue to criticize prosecutors, my friends and I were exchanging tales of being railroaded by them. Shackled in oversized green jail scrubs, I listened to a prosecutor in a Fairfax County, Va., courtroom tell a judge that in one night I’d single-handedly changed suburban shopping forever. Everything the prosecutor said I did was true — I carried a pistol, carjacked a man, tried to rob two women. “He needs a long penitentiary sentence,” the prosecutor told the judge. I faced life in prison for carjacking the man. I pleaded guilty to that, to having a gun, to an attempted robbery. I was 16 years old. The old heads in prison would call me lucky for walking away with only a nine-year sentence.

I’d been locked up for about 15 months when I entered Virginia’s Southampton Correctional Center in 1998, the year I should have graduated from high school. In that prison, there were probably about a dozen other teenagers. Most of us had lengthy sentences — 30, 40, 50 years — all for violent felonies. Public talk of mass incarceration has centered on the war on drugs, wrongful convictions and Kafkaesque sentences for nonviolent charges, while circumventing the robberies, home invasions, murders and rape cases that brought us to prison.

The most difficult discussion to have about criminal-justice reform has always been about violence and accountability. You could release everyone from prison who currently has a drug offense and the United States would still outpace nearly every other country when it comes to incarceration. According to the Prison Policy Institute, of the nearly 1.3 million people incarcerated in state prisons, 183,000 are incarcerated for murder; 17,000 for manslaughter; 165,000 for sexual assault; 169,000 for robbery; and 136,000 for assault. That’s more than half of the state prison population.

When Harris decided to run for president, I thought the country might take the opportunity to grapple with the injustice of mass incarceration in a way that didn’t lose sight of what violence, and the sorrow it creates, does to families and communities. Instead, many progressives tried to turn the basic fact of Harris’s profession into an indictment against her. Shorthand for her career became: “She’s a cop,” meaning, her allegiance was with a system that conspires, through prison and policing, to harm Black people in America.

In the past decade or so, we have certainly seen ample evidence of how corrupt the system can be: Michelle Alexander’s best-selling book, “The New Jim Crow,” which argues that the war on drugs marked the return of America’s racist system of segregation and legal discrimination; Ava DuVernay’s “When They See Us,” a series about the wrongful convictions of the Central Park Five, and her documentary “13th,” which delves into mass incarceration more broadly; and “Just Mercy,” a book by Bryan Stevenson, a public interest lawyer, that has also been made into a film, chronicling his pursuit of justice for a man on death row, who is eventually exonerated. All of these describe the destructive force of prosecutors, giving a lot of run to the belief that anyone who works within a system responsible for such carnage warrants public shame.

My mother had an experience that gave her a different perspective on prosecutors — though I didn’t know about it until I came home from prison on March 4, 2005, when I was 24. That day, she sat me down and said, “I need to tell you something.” We were in her bedroom in the townhouse in Suitland, Md., that had been my childhood home, where as a kid she’d call me to bring her a glass of water. I expected her to tell me that despite my years in prison, everything was good now. But instead she told me about something that happened nearly a decade earlier, just weeks after my arrest. She left for work before the sun rose, as she always did, heading to the federal agency that had employed her my entire life. She stood at a bus stop 100 feet from my high school, awaiting the bus that would take her to the train that would take her to a stop near her job in the nation’s capital. But on that morning, a man yanked her into a secluded space, placed a gun to her head and raped her. When she could escape, she ran wildly into the 6 a.m. traffic.

My mother’s words turned me into a mumbling and incoherent mess, unable to grasp how this could have happened to her. I knew she kept this secret to protect me. I turned to Google and searched the word “rape” along with my hometown and was wrecked by the violence against women that I found. My mother told me her rapist was a Black man. And I thought he should spend the rest of his years staring at the pockmarked walls of prison cells that I knew so well.

The prosecutor’s job, unlike the defense attorney’s or judge’s, is to do justice. What does that mean when you are asked by some to dole out retribution measured in years served, but blamed by others for the damage incarceration can do? The outrage at this country’s criminal-justice system is loud today, but it hasn’t led us to develop better ways of confronting my mother’s world from nearly a quarter-century ago: weekends visiting her son in a prison in Virginia; weekdays attending the trial of the man who sexually assaulted her.

We said goodbye to my grandmother in the same Baptist church that, in June 2019, Senator Kamala Harris, still pursuing the Democratic nomination for president, went to give a major speech about why she became a prosecutor. I hadn’t been inside Brookland Baptist Church for a decade, and returning reminded me of Grandma Mary and the eight years of letters she mailed to me in prison. The occasion for Harris’s speech was the annual Freedom Fund dinner of the South Carolina State Conference of the N.A.A.C.P. The evening began with the Black national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” and at the opening chord nearly everyone in the room stood. There to write about the senator, I had been standing already and mouthed the words of the first verse before realizing I’d never sung any further.

Each table in the banquet hall was filled with folks dressed in their Sunday best. Servers brought plates of food and pitchers of iced tea to the tables. Nearly everyone was Black. The room was too loud for me to do more than crouch beside guests at their tables and scribble notes about why they attended. Speakers talked about the chapter’s long history in the civil rights movement. One called for the current generation of young rappers to tell a different story about sacrifice. The youngest speaker of the night said he just wanted to be safe. I didn’t hear anyone mention mass incarceration. And I knew in a different decade, my grandmother might have been in that audience, taking in the same arguments about personal agency and responsibility, all the while wondering why her grandbaby was still locked away. If Harris couldn’t persuade that audience that her experiences as a Black woman in America justified her decision to become a prosecutor, I knew there were few people in this country who could be moved.

Describing her upbringing in a family of civil rights activists, Harris argued that the ongoing struggle for equality needed to include both prosecuting criminal defendants who had victimized Black people and protecting the rights of Black criminal defendants. “I was cleareyed that prosecutors were largely not people who looked like me,” she said. This mattered for Harris because of the “prosecutors that refused to seat Black jurors, refused to prosecute lynchings, disproportionately condemned young Black men to death row and looked the other way in the face of police brutality.” When she became a prosecutor in 1990, she was one of only a handful of Black people in her office. When she was elected district attorney of San Francisco in 2003, she recalled, she was one of just three Black D.A.s nationwide. And when she was elected California attorney general in 2010, there were no other Black attorneys general in the country. At these words, the crowd around me clapped. “I knew the unilateral power that prosecutors had with the stroke of a pen to make a decision about someone else’s life or death,” she said.

Harris offered a pair of stories as evidence of the importance of a Black woman’s doing this work. Once, ear hustling, she listened to colleagues discussing ways to prove criminal defendants were gang-affiliated. If a racial-profiling manual existed, their signals would certainly be included: baggy pants, the place of arrest and the rap music blaring from vehicles. She said that she’d told her colleagues: “So, you know that neighborhood you were talking about? Well, I got family members and friends who live in that neighborhood. You know the way you were talking about how folks were dressed? Well, that’s actually stylish in my community.” She continued: “You know that music you were talking about? Well, I got a tape of that music in my car right now.”

The second example was about the mothers of murdered children. She told the audience about the women who had come to her office when she was San Francisco’s D.A. — women who wanted to speak with her, and her alone, about their sons. “The mothers came, I believe, because they knew I would see them,” Harris said. “And I mean literally see them. See their grief. See their anguish.” They complained to Harris that the police were not investigating. “My son is being treated like a statistic,” they would say. Everyone in that Southern Baptist church knew that the mothers and their dead sons were Black. Harris outlined the classic dilemma of Black people in this country: being simultaneously overpoliced and underprotected. Harris told the audience that all communities deserved to be safe.

Among the guests in the room that night whom I talked to, no one had an issue with her work as a prosecutor. A lot of them seemed to believe that only people doing dirt had issues with prosecutors. I thought of myself and my friends who have served long terms, knowing that in a way, Harris was talking about Black people’s needing protection from us — from the violence we perpetrated to earn those years in a series of cells.

Harris came up as a prosecutor in the 1990s, when both the political culture and popular culture were developing a story about crime and violence that made incarceration feel like a moral response. Back then, films by Black directors — “New Jack City,” “Menace II Society,” “Boyz n the Hood” — turned Black violence into a genre where murder and crack-dealing were as ever-present as Black fathers were absent. Those were the years when Representative Charlie Rangel, a Democrat, argued that “we should not allow people to distribute this poison without fear that they might be arrested” and “go to jail for the rest of their natural life.” Those were the years when President Clinton signed legislation that ended federal parole for people with three violent crime convictions and encouraged states to essentially eliminate parole; made it more difficult for defendants to challenge their convictions in court; and made it nearly impossible to challenge prison conditions.

Back then, it felt like I was just one of an entire generation of young Black men learning the logic of count time and lockdown. With me were Anthony Winn and Terell Kelly and a dozen others, all lost to prison during those years. Terell was sentenced to 33 years for murdering a man when he was 17 — a neighborhood beef turned deadly. Home from college for two weeks, a 19-year-old Anthony robbed four convenience stores — he’d been carrying a pistol during three. After he was sentenced by four judges, he had a total of 36 years.

Most of us came into those cells with trauma, having witnessed or experienced brutality before committing our own. Prison, a factory of violence and despair, introduced us to more of the same. And though there were organizations working to get rid of the death penalty, end mandatory minimums, bring back parole and even abolish prisons, there were few ways for us to know that they existed. We suffered. And we felt alone. Because of this, sometimes I reduce my friends’ stories to the cruelty of doing time. I forget that Terell and I walked prison yards as teenagers, discussing Malcolm X and searching for mentors in the men around us. I forget that Anthony and I talked about the poetry of Sonia Sanchez the way others praised DMX. He taught me the meaning of the word “patina” and introduced me to the music of Bill Withers. There were Luke and Fats; and Juvie, who could give you the sharpest edge-up in America with just a razor and comb.

When I left prison in 2005, they all had decades left. Then I went to law school and believed I owed it to them to work on their cases and help them get out. I’ve persuaded lawyers to represent friends pro bono. Put together parole packets — basically job applications for freedom: letters of recommendation and support from family and friends; copies of certificates attesting to vocational training; the record of college credits. We always return to the crimes to provide explanation and context. We argue that today each one little resembles the teenager who pulled a gun. And I write a letter — which is less from a lawyer and more from a man remembering what it means to want to go home to his mother. I write, struggling to condense decades of life in prison into a 10-page case for freedom. Then I find my way to the parole board’s office in Richmond, Va., and try to persuade the members to let my friends see a sunrise for the first time.

Juvie and Luke have made parole; Fats, represented by the Innocence Project at the University of Virginia School of Law, was granted a conditional pardon by Virginia’s governor, Ralph Northam. All three are home now, released just as a pandemic would come to threaten the lives of so many others still inside. Now free, they’ve sent me text messages with videos of themselves hugging their mothers for the first time in decades, casting fishing lines from boats drifting along rivers they didn’t expect to see again, enjoying a cold beer that isn’t contraband.

In February, after 25 years, Virginia passed a bill making people incarcerated for at least 20 years for crimes they committed before their 18th birthdays eligible for parole. Men who imagined they would die in prison now may see daylight. Terell will be eligible. These years later, he’s the mentor we searched for, helping to organize, from the inside, community events for children, and he’s spoken publicly about learning to view his crimes through the eyes of his victim’s family. My man Anthony was 19 when he committed his crime. In the last few years, he’s organized poetry readings, book clubs and fatherhood classes. When Gregory Fairchild, a professor at the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia, began an entrepreneurship program at Dillwyn Correctional Center, Anthony was among the graduates, earning all three of the certificates that it offered. He worked to have me invited as the commencement speaker, and what I remember most is watching him share a meal with his parents for the first time since his arrest. But he must pray that the governor grants him a conditional pardon, as he did for Fats.

I tell myself that my friends are unique, that I wouldn’t fight so hard for just anybody. But maybe there is little particularly distinct about any of us — beyond that we’d served enough time in prison. There was a skinny light-skinned 15-year-old kid who came into prison during the years that we were there. The rumor was that he’d broken into the house of an older woman and sexually assaulted her. We all knew he had three life sentences. Someone stole his shoes. People threatened him. He’d had to break a man’s jaw with a lock in a sock to prove he’d fight if pushed. As a teenager, he was experiencing the worst of prison. And I know that had he been my cellmate, had I known him the way I know my friends, if he reached out to me today, I’d probably be arguing that he should be free.

But I know that on the other end of our prison sentences was always someone weeping. During the middle of Harris’s presidential campaign, a friend referred me to a woman with a story about Senator Harris that she felt I needed to hear. Years ago, this woman’s sister had been missing for days, and the police had done little. Happenstance gave this woman an audience with then-Attorney General Harris. A coordinated multicity search followed. The sister had been murdered; her body was found in a ravine. The woman told me that “Kamala understands the politics of victimization as well as anyone who has been in the system, which is that this kind of case — a 50-year-old Black woman gone missing or found dead — ordinarily does not get any resources put toward it.” They caught the man who murdered her sister, and he was sentenced to 131 years. I think about the man who assaulted my mother, a serial rapist, because his case makes me struggle with questions of violence and vengeance and justice. And I stop thinking about it. I am inconsistent. I want my friends out, but I know there is no one who can convince me that this man shouldn’t spend the rest of his life in prison.

My mother purchased her first single-family home just before I was released from prison. One version of this story is that she purchased the house so that I wouldn’t spend a single night more than necessary in the childhood home I walked away from in handcuffs. A truer account is that by leaving Suitland, my mother meant to burn the place from memory.

I imagined that I had singularly introduced my mother to the pain of the courts. I was wrong. The first time she missed work to attend court proceedings was to witness the prosecution of a kid the same age as I was when I robbed a man. He was probably from Suitland, and he’d attempted to rob my mother at gunpoint. The second time, my mother attended a series of court dates involving me, dressed in her best work clothes to remind the prosecutor and judge and those in the courtroom that the child facing a life sentence had a mother who loved him. The third time, my mother took off days from work to go to court alone and witness the trial of the man who raped her and two other women. A prosecutor’s subpoena forced her to testify, and her solace came from knowing that prison would prevent him from attacking others.

After my mother told me what had happened to her, we didn’t mention it to each other again for more than a decade. But then in 2018, she and I were interviewed on the podcast “Death, Sex & Money.” The host asked my mother about going to court for her son’s trial when he was facing life. “I was raped by gunpoint,” my mother said. “It happened just before he was sentenced. So when I was going to court for Dwayne, I was also going for a court trial for myself.” I hadn’t forgotten what happened, but having my mother say it aloud to a stranger made it far more devastating.

On the last day of the trial of the man who raped her, my mother told me, the judge accepted his guilty plea. She remembers only that he didn’t get enough time. She says her nose began to bleed. When I asked her what she would have wanted to happen to her attacker, she replied, “That I’d taken the deputy’s gun and shot him.”

Harris has studied crime-scene and autopsy photos of the dead. She has confronted men in court who have sexually assaulted their children, sexually assaulted the elderly, scalped their lovers. In her 2009 book, “Smart on Crime,” Harris praised the work of Sunny Schwartz — creator of the Resolve to Stop the Violence Project, the first restorative-justice program in the country to offer services to offenders and victims, which began at a jail in San Francisco. It aims to help inmates who have committed violent crimes by giving them tools to de-escalate confrontations. Harris wrote a bill with a state senator to ensure that children who witness violence can receive mental health treatment. And she argued that safety is a civil right, and that a 60-year sentence for a series of restaurant armed robberies, where some victims were bound or locked in freezers, “should tell anyone considering viciously preying on citizens and businesses that they will be caught, convicted and sent to prison — for a very long time.”

Politicians and the public acknowledge mass incarceration is a problem, but the lengthy prison sentences of men and women incarcerated during the 1990s have largely not been revisited. While the evidence of any prosecutor doing work on this front is slim, as a politician arguing for basic systemic reforms, Harris has noted the need to “unravel the decades-long effort to make sentencing guidelines excessively harsh, to the point of being inhumane”; criticized the bail system; and called for an end to private prisons and criticized the companies that charge absurd rates for phone calls and electronic-monitoring services.

In June, months into the Covid-19 pandemic, and before she was tapped as the vice-presidential nominee, I had the opportunity to interview Harris by phone. A police officer’s knee on the neck of George Floyd, choking the life out of him as he called for help, had been captured on video. Each night, thousands around the world protested. During our conversation, Harris told me that as the only Black woman in the United States Senate “in the midst of the killing of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery,” countless people had asked for stories about her experiences with racism. Harris said that she was not about to start telling them “about my world for a number of reasons, including you should know about the issue that affects this country as part of the greatest stain on this country.” Exhausted, she no longer answered the questions. I imagined she believes, as Toni Morrison once said, that “the very serious function of racism” is “distraction. It keeps you from doing your work.”

But these days, even in the conversations that I hear my children having, race suffuses so much. I tell Harris that my 12-year-old son, Micah, told his classmates and teachers: “As you all know, my dad went to jail. Shouldn’t the police who killed Floyd go to jail?” My son wanted to know why prison seemed to be reserved for Black people and wondered whose violence demanded a prison cell.

“In the criminal-justice system,” Harris replied, “the irony, and, frankly, the hypocrisy is that whenever we use the words ‘accountability’ and ‘consequence,’ it’s always about the individual who was arrested.” Again, she began to make a case that would be familiar to any progressive about the need to make the system accountable. And while I found myself agreeing, I began to fear that the point was just to find ways to treat officers in the same brutal way that we treat everyone else. I thought about the men I’d represented in parole hearings — and the friends I’d be representing soon. And wondered out loud to Harris: How do we get to their freedom?

“We need to reimagine what public safety looks like,” the senator told me, noting that she would talk about a public health model. “Are we looking at the fact that if you focus on issues like education and preventive things, then you don’t have a system that’s reactive?” The list of those things becomes long: affordable housing, job-skills development, education funding, homeownership. She remembered how during the early 2000s, when she was the San Francisco district attorney and started Back on Track (a re-entry program that sought to reduce future incarceration by building the skills of the men facing drug charges), many people were critical. “ ‘You’re a D.A. You’re supposed to be putting people in jail, not letting them out,’” she said people told her.

It always returns to this for me — who should be in prison, and for how long? I know that American prisons do little to address violence. If anything, they exacerbate it. If my friends walk out of prison changed from the boys who walked in, it will be because they’ve fought with the system — with themselves and sometimes with the men around them — to be different. Most violent crimes go unsolved, and the pain they cause is nearly always unresolved. And those who are convicted — many, maybe all — do far too much time in prison.

And yet, I imagine what I would do if the Maryland Parole Commission contacted my mother, informing her that the man who assaulted her is eligible for parole. I’m certain I’d write a letter explaining how one morning my mother didn’t go to work because she was in a hospital; tell the board that the memory of a gun pointed at her head has never left; explain how when I came home, my mother told me the story. Some violence changes everything.

The thing that makes you suited for a conversation in America might be the very thing that precludes you from having it. Terell, Anthony, Fats, Luke and Juvie have taught me that the best indicator of whether I believe they should be free is our friendship. Learning that a Black man in the city I called home raped my mother taught me that the pain and anger for a family member can be unfathomable. It makes me wonder if parole agencies should contact me at all — if they should ever contact victims and their families.

Perhaps if Harris becomes the vice president we can have a national conversation about our contradictory impulses around crime and punishment. For three decades, as a line prosecutor, a district attorney, an attorney general and now a senator, her work has allowed her to witness many of them. Prosecutors make a convenient target. But if the system is broken, it is because our flaws more than our virtues animate it. Confronting why so many of us believe prisons must exist may force us to admit that we have no adequate response to some violence. Still, I hope that Harris reminds the country that simply acknowledging the problem of mass incarceration does not address it — any more than keeping my friends in prison is a solution to the violence and trauma that landed them there.

In light of Harris being endorsed by Biden and highly likely to be the Democratic Party candidate, I thought I would share this balanced, understanding of both sides, article in regard to Harris and her career as a prosecutor, as I know that will be something dragged out by bad actors and useful idiots (you have a bunch of people stating 'Kamala is a cop', which is completely false, and also factless and misleading statements about 'mass incarceration' under her). I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to be criticised or that there is nothing about her career that can be criticised, but it should at least be representative of the truth and understanding of the complexities of the legal system.

#I think this article also touches well on the flaws of 'abolish prison'

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qqueenofhades · 1 year

Note

-Quickly skitters into the inbox, with a boom box and an increasingly bass boosted version-

🎶I PUT MY HANDS UP THEY’RE PLAYING MY SONG THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY-🎶

- Party In The USA anon, on the recent glorious news

Look. LOOK. I know we've had technically bigger fish, but the Georgia case is a Big Fucking Deal. Because:

It is a MAJOR indictment both in terms of scope and seriousness of charges. Not just Trump, but *eighteen* of his allies and cronies got charged with RICO (anti-racketeering, often used against mob bosses) felonies, including Rudy Giuliani (I repeat, HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA), Jeff Clark, Mark Meadows, and other high-profile Trumpworld enablers

No Lindsey Graham (at least yet) but I guess we can't have everything

It encompasses both in Georgia and other states where Trump illegally tried to alter election results (Michigan, Arizona, and Pennsylvania), as those activities related to a conspiracy centered on Georgia/Fulton County

This is the big whopper: TRUMP CANNOT CANCEL THIS INVESTIGATION EVEN IF HE GETS RE-ELECTED. He can shut down the federal Special Counsel investigations run through the DoJ, but this? Bupkis. And Georgia governor Brian Kemp, another of the Republicans who dutifully continues to defend Trump even as Trump slanders him up and down, CAN'T PARDON HIM.

That drives the Republicans NUTS. So nuts that they were, you guessed it, already on Faux News whining about how they should make Georgia change that law.

Boo-fucking-hoo, you absolute fucking wankers.

Also: we need to remember that Trump rose to political prominence by being wildly racist and xenophobic about America's first Black president. He has coddled and exalted white supremacists and white supremacist rhetoric at every turn, it has been the central defining feature of his campaign, and his election subversion efforts were chiefly aimed at canceling the votes of heavily Black cities (Atlanta, Philly, Detroit, etc.)

Trump also won in 2016 thanks to the Electoral College, itself designed as an element of structural racism, by defeating probably the most qualified and beyond any doubt most historic candidate there has ever been, after it was revealed that he was a serial sexual assaulter and after he screamed for months about LOCK HER UP (every Republican accusation is a confession, etc)

All that said, with Trump's vile, derogatory bile spewed at everyone, but especially a) Black people, b) women, and c) powerful Black women, it is a Big Fucking Deal that a powerful Black woman, aka his worst nightmare, pulled this trigger on him.

Don't get me wrong. I deeply appreciate me some Jack Smith. But he is also a white male special counsel appointed by the Department of Justice, and who used to work for the Hague prosecuting war crimes (true story). It's in his brief to do this.

Fani Willis is a county district attorney AND a Black woman, as Trump's nonstop shitgibbering on Truth Social just can't help himself from pointing out. This kind of sprawling, country-wide investigation against a wildly corrupt ex-president and his cohort of equally corrupt cronies is not something she is, in the normal course of things, ever expected to do, but she did it.

NINETEEN DEFENDANTS, Y'ALL. Including Trump. On 41 different charges. That's a hell of an indictment, and she knows it puts a target on her back, while (as noted) she doesn't have the resources and protections of the federal government/DOJ to do it.

Let's hear it for Fani Willis (and Judge Chutkan, who informed Trump the other day the more he runs his mouth, the faster she will proceed to trial) y'all.

Black Women Get Shit Done.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #the giant orange monster

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creedslove · 1 year

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Hello! Love your writing! Could I please request a Pedro x pregnant!reader fluff please?

Javier Peña x f!reader

A/N: I changed it again, in fact I changed the entire request because I'm a little shit and that's a stated fact. But I changed it for Javi, but not just any Javi, I changed it for asshole!Javi, married lying cheating!Javi

Javier had been married to Lorraine for years when he met you

In the meantime, she'd gone to Colombia with him when he was first assigned by the DEA, but she quickly hated the country, the weather and the food and took a plane to Laredo

Which caused him to be a single agent who slept around almost as often as he changed clothes

He never really got into detail, but he was sure Lorraine also slept around back in town, she was no saint, and he knew that for a fact, after all they got married

When he returned home, he was seen as a local hero, and it didn't take long for him to get the job of chief of police, which brought him even more status

And with the status and the money he got from his DEA retirement and his job as a cop, she was more than willing to come back, flash her baby blues and beg Javi for another chance to get back together

Javi had his fair share of women and he was getting old, besides, he didn't have any hopes of falling in love ever again, so he decided to give it a go

But it got old fast, he didn't remember Lorraine being so cold in bed, she was all the time complaining of Javier's touches or finding excuses so she wouldn't have sex with him

And he soon got bored

So when the two of you met, he felt as if things had some meaning and the attraction was instantaneous

And it didn't take you too long to be bouncing on Javi's cock, or sitting on his handsome face or being pounded by him from behind

You kinda felt guilty at first for being with a married man, but anyone could tell Javier wasn't happy with that bitch, and watching the way she was always condescending and rude to everyone, walking into stores as if she owned the place, your guilt disappeared

You and Javi were in too deep to care about anything, your escapades were every time hotter and hotter and you couldn't get enough of each other

Until you started to feel sick, throw up every morning, and your period was late

You couldn't believe that possibility was becoming real

So you went to the drugstore to buy a test, and even if the result came out positive, you still didn't believe it and you went to the doctor

Who confirmed you were indeed pregnant

You cried yourself to sleep that night, terrified to what would happen now you were expecting a baby from a married man, you had no idea how Javi would react or what he would think of it

So you avoided him for a couple of days, until you couldn't escape when he came after you, demanding to know what the fuck was going on for you to be so weird with him

And then you told Javi everything that had happened

And oh boy, it felt like his world had imploded. He had never had kids with Lorraine, and he doubted they where would, and there you were, carrying his child

He was at a loss of words and loss of actions, not knowing what to do as he stared at you with the dumbest expression a human being could display

Your eyes began watering as you didn't get an answer from him, it all felt so overwhelming as he didn't say anything

"I can't do this, I'm sorry"

It was the first thing he told you. Javi was married and he did have a reputation to stick up to after all, he couldn't just leave his wife for his pregnant mistress

He saw you walking away from you and panicked, grabbing you by the arm and hugging you

Javier swore he didn't mean it that way, but he assured you he would pay for all the expenses you would have with your baby, but he just couldn't go public

You told him to fuck off and never go after you again

But still, the amounts of cash would appear in your house as the weeks turned into months and one day you got so pissed, you grabbed all the money and drove the police station, returning it all to him

Though he was afraid of a scandal, he insisted for you to take it welcoming a baby into the world was something so expensive and he wanted to be a part of it, even if it was just financially

It took you a lot of convincing but eventually you agreed, after all it was only fair since he was hiding you and your beautiful baby like a dirty secret

It killed Javi to see you from afar in the months that followed your pregnancy, he felt a mix of pride to know you were carrying his baby, but also pain, to know he was such a coward who couldn't step in and take care of his new family

It pained him to see how beautiful pregnancy was treating you, whenever Lorraine talked about how one of her ugly pregnant friends was glowing he always scoffed, but when he saw you glowing, he knew exactly what people meant

He always went pissed off when he overheard anyone make any comments on you being a single mom. They knew shit and they shouldn't be talking about other people at all

When you went into labor, he pretended he had a call from the hospital, but couldn't identify who it was, just to pretend he was investigating whoever decided to pull a prank

But he just paced the hallway worriedly and was only able to breathe relieved when he overheard the doctor say it both you and the baby were alright

And he nearly died when he found out it was a little girl

Javi went to your room after hours and watched as you and your baby slept. He wanted to hold her but he was afraid he was too clumsy for that

You woke up startled at his presence and couldn't hold your tears, asking him to leave as soon as possible as you didn't want your daughter to be attached to a man who couldn't admit he was her daddy

He asked her name and his heart broke to know her name was Analuz and if he weren't an asshole, she could be Analuz Peña

Whenever Javi had a glimpse of you pushing down the stroller around town, he would make an excuse to be around you and Analuz

His daughter was the most beautiful and adorable baby he'd ever seen, and he wanted nothing more than go home to the two of you, instead of going home to Lorraine

You finally allowed him to hold Analuz, the two of you shocked to find out she would immediately stop crying whenever she was in his arms and he always thought his heart wasn't going to take those beautiful, bright little eyes

He once got into a real serious fight with Lorraine when she was trying to gossip about people in town and mentioned something about you and your baby, and how people often said your daughter was beautiful but in reality she'd seen far more beautiful babies

And Javier was pissed

The two of them had a heated argument which ended up with Javi having to sleep on the couch

But he refused it and drove to your house in the middle of the night

You weren't happy to be awoken like that, but he begged you to see Analuz and you eventually gave in

Javi spent the most comfortable night of his life, sitting in the armchair and dozing off with his beautiful baby sleeping peacefully on his chest, rethinking his life choices and how he wished he could make things right for the three of you 💔

_____

A/N: I'm not gonna lie, besties, I've been daydreaming about being married!javier peña's mistress, there's something so dirty and sexy about it it makes me WANT IT

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flowery-mess · 7 months

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Homesick

I don't really know what this is, it came to me at 1AM like wave of feelings that I suddenly needed to write down. Let me know if you like it.💗

Today was perfect day. In every aspect, it was perfect, so why am I standing on the balcony, looking down at people celebrating Nick and his beautiful wife's wedding, crying and with anxiety attacking my body?

All of the Bad omens crew have been looking up to this day ever since Nick proposed to his girlfriend. Boys, including Noah, knew about it, but to everyone else it was surprise.

Me and Nick's girlfriend are close, we clicked immediately when Noah and Nick introduced us.

So I couldn't help but burst into happy tears when she send me picture of her hand with this beautiful ring Nick chose for her. It was almost a year ago, but it felt like yesterday.

Me and other bridesmaids spent the night before the wedding together with the bride to be, while boys used mine and Noah's apartment to hang out with Nick.

We woke up early and started with preparations. It was messy and chaotic, but I enjoyed it in a way. Seeing my friend with a smile on her face as she was about to marry the love of her life made me think about my friends back home.

I moved to the states 5 years ago for work. And for a change. My life back home was a mess and I needed to escape it. I stayed in touch with my best friends, but you can stay as close as the ocean between you allows you to.

We didn't expect that I would stay, I had work offer for a year. But then I met Noah. I never thought I would stay in a foreign country for a boy. When I extended my work contract we were dating only for 3 months, but it felt right.

After everything bad and sad that happened at home before I left, something finally felt right.

5 years later we are still together and I know I made right decision.

But it had sacrifices.

I never had a strong relationship with my family, I always considered my friends as my family. I moved from my hometown to a different town for university and saw my family just a few times a year, usually for occasions like someone's birthday. In a family aspect, I felt alone. I never called my mum to tell her about a boy I met or for cooking advice. She was always busy giving her time to her boyfriend, who I wasn't fan of. Neither he was of me. We drifted apart so easily and neither of us tried to put this so called mother daughter bond back together.

Between me and my dad wasn't a bad blood. We just had very casual relationship. We saw each other once in a few months, which now changed to phone calls once in a few months. He cares about me and loves me, we just weren't close at any point of my life.

So with my blood family, moving was easy.

But being without my friends? That hurts. Especially when I'm spending time with my new friends here in the states, like today.

I was part of the preparations, cake tasting, choosing dresses, making playlist and anything else you can think of. And I loved that. It just made me think of my childhood best friend's wedding. I could take only few days off at work, so I barely made it to bachellorete party, then wedding and then I came back here.

To help you understand my point, my friends went through every shit in my life. My parents divorce, my grandmother's cancer, my mom bringing home this new boyfriend, moving out of my childhood home to a new place, high school, moving for university, crying about my mother or crying about my heart breaks. They were there for me all the time.

After we had our makeups and hair done, me and other bridesmaids went to welcome the guests that started arriving at the venue.

It was family, friends and the BO crew, except for all four boys that actually created the band. Noah is Nick's best man and Folio and Jolly are groomsmen.

I started to feel homesick and guilty for enjoying my 'new' friends wedding that much with thought of my childhood friends. I couldn't wait for Noah to arrive to make me feel better.

"Excuse me lady, the legend says that the bride should be the most beautiful woman on a wedding day." I must have laughed at Noah's joke when he arrived while we had just a few minutes to talk before the ceremony started.

"Well I could say the same about you sir." I said as I placed my hands around his neck and pecked his lips.

"But really, you look beautiful Y/N." He said suddenly with a serious face, but with sincere look in his eyes as his hand caresed my cheek.

I think we both realized that our friends are getting married and that this day is gonna be full of love and happiness and that we're gonna spend it together.

The ceremony started just a few minutes after Noah and the boys have arrived. I was paired with Folio to walk down the aisle. I call Folio my Bad omens best friend. He's the one I'm closest with, we have the same sense od humor and I am voluntarily going fishing with him. I think that's how I get him to be my bestie.

I am very emotional person and I teared up a lot through the day, but when I saw Noah walk down the aisle I felt tear slide down my cheek. He was beautiful. I saw him in a suit only few times, so I am always amazed by how amazing he looks in it. Our eyes were locked the whole time he walked the aisle, we were smiling like it was ours wedding and I saw tear slip down his cheek too.

I was thinking if he's gonna ever propose to me, because we didn't talk about it yet. And with his family background and commitment issues, I am not sure if he even wants a marriage. He worked on himself a lot through our relationship, our begining wasn't easy. But we communicated and talked about our feelings to make it where we are today.

After the ceremony came to an end we moved to the lunch area, where me and Noah could finally spend some time together.

"It was really beautiful wasn't it?" I asked him with my mouth full with this delicious meal.

"It was. I didn't think I'd be this emotional."

"It was hard not to be."

We contiued to eat our meals, then there were some speeches and then the party began.

After few drinks the dancefloor was full with dancing bodies. Playlist was made of all genres and hits you could imagine. We were dancing in a circle, me and Folio the stars of the dancefloor.

Then Love story by Taylor Swift started playing and my mind went back to my thougts I had at the altar.

Noah came to me, connected our hands and started dancing with me. He wasn't fan of dancing, but he would do anything to make me happy.

We were swaying to the rhytm of the song and singing those famous lyrics.

"I can't wait until our day looks like this too." Noah said out of nowhere.

"Our day?" I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I had a feeling.

"Yes, our day. I'm gonna marry you, did you think I am not going to?" He looked genuely surprised and maybe little hurt that I would think that.

"I just didn't know what is your opinion about marriage, we never had that conversation." I answered honestly. Taking his face in my hand and caresing my thumb on his cheek I couldn't resist the smile on my face.

"I know we didn't, but I was thinking about it. I never thought about it before I met you, but I also never thought I could have relationship longer than a few months, so I started thinking about marriage." He looks so cute and all flastered when he talks about his feeling, specially his feelings about me.

"I like that idea of you being my husband very much." I saw the uncertainty leave his face after my words.

"And I like the idea of you being my wife very much too."

After that song and conversation I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

I felt those anxious feelings in my chest and tears forming in my eyes. It was mix of happy and frustrated tears. I tried to compose myself and not to ruin the mood for myself and for everyone else.

That brings me to this moment where I'm standing at balcony and looking at everyone under me. Thank god the lights are pointing at the dancefloor, so I am hiden in a shadow and no one, especially Noah, can see the tears streaming down my face.

I should be happy. After today and the conversation with Noah, I should be happy. Why am I not happy? Or am I? Why do I feel like I have everything I ever wanted, but had to sacrifice my closest friends for it? Do I even like this country that I moved to? What if I want to move back home in the future, will Noah come with me? I suddenly felt so unsure about everything. So many thoughts running through my head as I continued watching those happy faces, while mine was soaked in tears.

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian band

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save-the-villainous-cat · 8 months

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Hi!

I was wondering if you could write more stories of the war captive prince. (Maybe the captive one gets hurt while saving the prince from death?)

By the way, I really love your writing.

Hope you have a nice day! (*ˊᵕˋ*)ﾉ

So this doesn't really fit into the narrative but if I had to, I'd place it between part 1 and 2.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt.4

Being a prisoner wasn’t as bad as he had feared.

He had a room to himself. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t a cell where he would rot within days. Soldiers guarded his door outside day and night and maids seemed to be making his bed when he was working in the castle. Whatever the protagonist had expected, it wasn’t this, it wasn’t an almost decent life.

But then again, he supposed the prince wanted to keep an eye on him. After all, everyone was watching him. All the time.

Most of the time, he worked in the castle amongst the other servants and it was easy to forget that those people weren’t his acquaintances. The protagonist knew these people weren’t responsible for his pain and suffering but still, every time he talked to one of them or shared his food, deep down his heart broke a little.

He felt as if he was betraying his friend by showing others kindness.

One day, when the prince had felt particularly merciful (or cruel), he had brought him down to the dungeons. And there he had seen them. His friend, frail and hopeless. He didn’t know if they had even recognised him. They hadn’t talked, had barely looked at him.

Since then, he had tried to sneak away and get back down there again, but it was to no avail. Whenever he was sure he had distracted the guards, one of them showed up in front of him and barked at him to get back to work.

With that memory burnt into his brain, the protagonist avoided the prince at all cost. Because he was sure he would find a way to strangle him to death the next time they’d meet.

So, when he’d been instructed to go to the prince’s chambers today, he was full of energy. His heart was beating in his throat. Rage blinded him and he feared he would make a drastic decision he could regret later.

However, as soon as he set a foot into the prince’s room, he could tell something was off.

“You actually came, I’m impressed.” The prince sat on his bed, holding his stomach. At first, the protagonist didn’t want to understand. He saw the prince in a weak state and wondered how long it would take him to end this.

In his lifetime, the protagonist had killed a lot of people. Undoubtedly, there was dark and thick blood on his hands.

Maybe he would finally add the prince’s too.

“You’re bleeding,” the protagonist realised. His eyes dropped to the wound the prince tried to hide and the strange amount of linen drenched in blood.

His muscles tensed.

The protagonist wondered what it would feel like to push his fingers into his wound and curl them. What sounds the prince would make if the protagonist found something in this luxurious room to press deeper into the cut. What he would look like if the protagonist strangled him and watched him bleed out.

The protagonist got overwhelmed with ideas, with rage and with determination. He wondered when he had gotten this violent, but maybe war had changed him.

Or he had always been this way.

“Yes. That’s why I asked for you.” His breathing was quick and he hunched, holding his stomach as the blood dropped down his fingers. “You have military experience, don’t you? That includes sanitary practice.”

“You’re delusional if you think I might help you.”

“I’ve heard that in your country you’re sewing wounds. It’s probably my last hope. My medics are panicking,” he said. His voice was raspy and the protagonist was sure he felt lightheaded. Losing a lot of blood was dangerous, even the prince should’ve been aware of that.

“Again, why would I help you?” he asked.

The prince made a noise between a groan and a sigh, mixed with pain and annoyance.

“Your friend, obviously. You can see them again tomorrow if you save me. If you don’t, they’ll be killed.” The protagonist cocked his head but what he was seeing seemed to be real. Tears were streaming down the prince’s face. Not a lot and barely noticeable but they sparkled in the dim light.

This was an easy choice, then.

“Good. Lay down.” The protagonist approached him quickly and pushed his enemy into the bed.

The prince’s face twisted and he looked as grey as ash. Even if the protagonist had to save him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause as much pain as he wanted.

“Put more pressure on the wound,” he said. He observed what the prince was doing, then shook his head. “No, like this.”

He pushed the clean linen the medics had given to the prince deep into the wound. They turned red immediately and the prince gasped.

“Oh gods-” He held onto the protagonist’s wrist, grabbed him harsh enough to leave bruises. He arched his back and whimpered like a dog and the protagonist stared at him, stared at the person who could be so cruel being exposed to cruelty.

Quickly, the protagonist realised, that they’d been this close in the throne room last. It was an eerie feeling.

But the pain the prince endured wasn’t satisfactory to the protagonist. He got distracted, looked a little too long at the tear stains.

“Needles? Threads?” The prince pointed at the drawer next to the bed and the protagonist found what he was searching for soon enough.

“What happened?” he asked as he took the bowl filled with water from the drawer. He put the thread through the needle’s head and drenched the needle in water.

“Assassination attempt,” the prince groaned. “I fought back but…clearly didn’t make a big difference.”

Quickly, the protagonist took the needle out of the water again.

“Shouldn’t the whole castle panic, then?”

“I managed to avoid that. Only a few people know that I’m injured,” he said. The protagonist looked at the wound. The bleeding wasn’t as serious anymore, so he pulled the linen out of the wound, much to the prince’s dismay.

His fingertips brushed against the protagonist’s.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” the prince admitted. “Not with my own hands.”

“It’s much harder than it looks,” the protagonist said and the prince nodded. Before the prince answered, the protagonist pushed the needle through his skin.

The prince’s hand found his wrist again and he squeezed as the protagonist continued carefully.

Although the protagonist could sew, he was rather clumsy when it came to his own fingers. Every now and then, he stabbed into his fingertips until his own blood dropped onto the prince’s stomach, red and red mixing together.

“There was so much blood,” the prince said. The protagonist could feel his eyes on him. “I didn’t even notice I was wounded.”

The protagonist pulled a little too harsh on the thread and the prince flinched.

“Apologies,” he mumbled and for whatever reason, his hand landed on the prince’s forearm, trying to calm him. “I’m almost done.”

Again, the prince nodded and let him continue his work. When he was done, he looked at the result and found himself quite satisfied with it.

Maybe the protagonist was a fool for helping him. Maybe it was his own nature. Maybe war hadn’t hardened him, maybe it had exhausted him, had made him soft.

“Rest for the next few days. You also need a lot of food and water.” He stood up and turned around before he could put more thoughts into the situation, however, the prince grabbed his forearm before he could go.

“No word of this to anyone, please,” he said but the protagonist didn’t answer. What kind of power did he have here anyway? Trying to convince the people to overthrow their own prince? A revolution? Who would even listen to him? “…and thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” the protagonist said and he meant every word of it.

#damn a lot of people have been asking me #just a lil hurt for the protag #writing snippet #kingdoms and royalty #prince x prince #princexprince #mlm #m/m #request #an answer for an ask #whump #I guess?

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houseofbrat · 17 days

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How do you think about KP’s new PR reel video?

Did everyone watch that and realize that Kate isn't "out of the woods" yet?

I sure did!

Yes, that's sarcasm.

A video that doesn't tell us much of anything except that she "finished chemotherapy."

And wouldn't you know it, she gives no specific details of what we can expect from her in the future.

In March, she was "well and getting stronger every day."

In June, she was "making good progress."

Almost three months later when she has "finished chemotherapy," her "path to healing and full recovery is long and I must continue to take each day as it comes."

Well, gee, if that doesn't spell it out for everyone. Those are some crystal clear communication skills she or her pr flunky has!

And think of the contrast of Kate spending multiple moments filming her pr video for this statement compared to what happened two years ago yesterday, when Queen Elizabeth II died just days after meeting with her last Prime Minister, Liz Truss.

Look at that.

An elderly woman, who we now know, was suffering and likely in great pain. We can see the big bruise on her right hand. But there she is doing her job to her country to her last breath.

Not Kate.

She is not interested in serving her country. She's participating in multiple video sessions for her perfume-like ad to announce that she's done with "chemotherapy." It's "chemotherapy" this time around. Back in March, it was "preventative chemotherapy," which would really be adjuvant therapy.

And yet not one video announcement or zoom call for any of her charities or patronages. Obviously it's something she can do, when she clearly spent more than one afternoon or day filming this video.

And what do we really know from this announcement that we didn't know last week? Not much. Except Will & Kate are now comfortable snuggling up to each other on camera. For public release.

So basically we're back to what all the reporting was at the beginning of the summer. That Kate "may not appear in public for the rest of the year," in an article from 24 May 2024. Or the real truth that Kate has no intention of coming back to her public role, and people at the palace have known this since the beginning of the summer, aka June. Information we had months ago that Kate is confirming now.

If Kate's choosing to be a recluse had to do with her medical treatment, then there would be no way that they would know that until her treatment had finished. Except that everyone who works at the palaces seems to know that. It's the reason why King Charles gave Kate the Order of the Companions of Honour instead of the Order of St. John or the Garter. It's the reason why Sophie was wearing the Lotus Flower tiara at the state banquet in June.

Kate isn't quitting due to her health. She's quitting for other reasons.

For those who aren't parked up Will & Kate's ass--in other words, normal people with functioning brains--we can all see something else is up.

We're back to Benoit Blanc's donut hole metaphor.

#ask #my gif #queen elizabeth ii #comparison #pr games #strategery #kate middleton #“Celebrity” Catherine Middleton #Catherine The Princess of Wales #The Celebrity Activists also known as The Prince & Princess of Wales #twitter #cancer schmancer #Kate does narcissism at its finest

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yandere-paramour · 4 months

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How would our yans react to a Chronically Ill!Darling?

I've got fibromyalgia and a few other things that the doctors can't figure out, and I practically live off Tylenol and ibuprofen, how would they react to finding it out or how would they take care of them?

Before anything, Vivien is a caregiver. He is an amazing partner to have if you're chronically ill. No matter how bad it gets, you could be bleeding, puking, diarrhea-ing yourself into oblivion all over him and he would clean it all up with no protest and then bring you a cold drink. Obviously, he doesn't want to deal with puke and shit, but if it's you, it's worth doing. No matter how gross, tedious, or annoying a task is, you're feeling worse and it's his responsibility to help you feel better. He doesn't mind if you snap at him or push him away, he knows everyone gets snippy and frustrated when they're sick or hurt; he'll just go take a walk until you text him to come back. He won't mention it, but he will accept your apology with a kiss if you offer. Above everything else in the world, he lives to serve, love, and care for you. As long as you're letting him in, he's in ecstasy. He hates seeing you in such a state, but he loves taking care of you. It's okay, you'll be better soon. He can be patient.

Atalanta loves caring for you, but she also has the money to do more. She will hire only the most knowledgeable doctors and researchers to study you and your case only. Expect the longest doctor's appointment of your life as they examine every part of you. They will run labs and study your condition; there will be an entire university floor of research dedicated to improving your health. Atalanta has to run the company so she simply cannot be by your side every minute, but she will hire a rotating cast of nurses to be by your side at any and every time (think Marta from Knives Out). The nurses will all be great companions, too; she can easily match their personalities and interests to yours, and they will be friends as well as caretakers. Depending on the severity of your condition, she might get a nurse or three to live on the floor below the apartment so there is always at least one person nearby to always ensure your health and survival. Atalanta isn't for the messy parts, but she will always be only a phone call and a 10-minute drive away from love and support. You will improve from all the illegal medications and painkillers she can smuggle into the country, and you will be the healthiest you've ever been from the nutritionist carefully planning your diet. Need a hospital stay? Atalanta will personally accompany you to a stay at a private hospital and stay calm and steady the whole time, even if she's worrying herself to death internally. Anything you can need or want is yours, and you will feel the best you ever have. You might even be cured via some experimental treatments she funds. She's not above throwing on a suit and blackmailing all the bigwigs in the entire city into donating hundreds of thousands at a "Fibromyalgia Research Fund" gala. No expense is too much for you.

#Atalanta my oc #Vivien my oc #yandere imagine #yandere blog #soft yandere #yandere darling #yandere oc #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere fluff #yandere x darling #yandere lesbian #possesive yandere

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stoneagedevil · 2 months

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“Heads or Tails?” | Alastor x AntonChigurh!Reader

TW/CW: Murder/murder for hire. Mentions of sex/drug crimes and crimes involving children. Reader’s personality and morals are modeled after Anton Chigurh of “No Country for Old Men.”

—♥️—

It was the late evening, the time when Charlie insisted all of the residents of the hotel gathered in the lounge and share stories of their life on the surface. After a filling supper, of course.

So there you all sat. Demons of different ages, sizes, and shapes teetering on the edges of food comas, waiting to see who Charlie’s next victim of honesty will be.

“Maybe it’ll make you think on the good you’ve done on Earth, or even make you reflect on the bad and how you can change.” The Princess justified.

Change. It was something you didn’t like. Even in your life you’d been one to uphold some sort of routine.

You’re assigned a target.

You track.

You kill.

You disappear.

You get paid.

You sleep.

You get on the road.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

However, you could adapt if the circumstances called for it, and you were adept in doing so. It was what led you to be a great and feared overlord in Hell. In life you never made deals. Your targets could never bargain for their lives, as nothing was equal to them. In a theoretical sense, you wanted their souls. Fate brought you to them, and you wouldn’t reverse fate’s outcome. But here in Hell, soul contracts was the best and most efficient way to the top. So, as they say, you improvised, adapted, and overcame. Now a reaper of souls in the most literal way possible.

“Y/N, why don’t you go? Everyone’s shared what brought them to Hell.” Charlie’s voice was soft, and almost sympathetic. The sympathy made you uncomfortable, and though you never outwardly expressed it, you took a quarter out and started thumbing the ridges on the side of it.

“Same reason as a lot of demons are here for. I’ve killed many people.” You stated it as pure fact. You weren’t remorseful. You weren’t giddy at the memories of your victim’s slaughter. You were so entirely neutral it sent a chill down the spine of every demon in the room.

Alastor sat up in intrigue, subtly shaking the shiver out of his spine as well. Truthfully, you’d always been an enticing enigma to him. He had a feeling you’d been a killer in your lifetime, the way your observant eyes would flick from one side of the room to the other. The way you never flinched away at violence. The way you did everything. Always knowing the layout of a building the first time around. You didn’t seem like the type to commit crimes revolving around sex, or drugs, or children, otherwise we would’ve led you out of the hotel and killed you.

It was like you were two sides of the same coin, and yet you couldn’t be more different from each other. Alastor was a showman at heart, while you were so ghost-like, performing as though you were the very shadows that moved at his fingertips. His face was contorted into a permanent smile, while you seldom gave away your thoughts through expressions, he had to admit that you were harder to read than him.

Charlie cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in her lap. You knew she was uncomfortable by the soothing gestures she made to calm herself. “How many would you say? And for what purpose?” Everyone’s eyes were on you once more.

“Too many to count. I was a professional hitman in the 70s to 80s.” Now this thoroughly captivated Alastor, he’d never expect you of all people to be one to be hired. He always thought you were one of a strange principal (much like him), but money driving you to kill? It just didn’t make sense to him.

“For money?” Charlie parroted what Alastor’s brain was trying to wrap itself around. She couldn’t imagine taking a life in exchange for money. How could one put a price on a life?

“Yes, and no. I was always the right tool for the job. You only pick the one right tool for such things.” Your sentence sent a wave of confusion through the room.

“Right tool?” Charlie tilted her head like a puppy. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. Even Alastor had a set of morals.

“Once I was hired to kill a target and retrieve a satchel containing $2.4 million-“

“$2.4 MILLION?! Christ toots, I woulda just shot the guy and took the money myself!” Angel interrupted.

“Then you aren’t the right tool.” You replied, coldly. “The man who hired me ended up hiring a group of men to kill my target. I went to his building and I killed him. He changed the rules.”

“But you took the money he had, right?” Angel asked, confused.

“No. The job wasn’t completed by me.” You stated simply, almost sighing at the simplicity of Angel’s mind, as if your reply was simple at all. Money, sex, drugs. It was all these demons wanted.

You were growing tired of it.

“My dear, if I may interrupt, what was your reason for killing? If it wasn’t money, nor for personal gain, then what was it? Morals? In my day I killed the most disgusting dogs that had the nerve to call themselves men.”

Charlie loved that everyone was joining the conversation, no matter how macabre the topic was. It created a sense of family that she’d been longing for the taste of ever since her parents had split up and neglected to visit her.

You didn’t mind Alastor. He wanted something other than what everyone else did. He made fine company, and always seemed to be watching you, as if to figure you out. He’d be doing it for the foreseeable future.

“I suppose it was money that led me to kill, but not in the sense you mean.” You flicked your quarter in the air, it coming back down into your awaiting hand where you quickly slapped it onto your other arm, the hand that caught it covering it. Your eyes flicked to Alastor’s, and it was then that Alastor saw how truly psychotic you were.

It was exhilarating.

“Heads or tails?” You queried.

Husk had witnessed a great many coin flips in his life and afterlife, but none made him chew on the inside of his cheek like this. He knew the internal wound would last for months to come, as his sandpaper tongue kept tonguing it anxiously. The tension that suddenly filled the room was palpable, and Alastor didn’t know if his heart was racing from fear, excitement, or something else he wasn’t entirely familiar with.

“My darling, I haven’t put anything up.” He chuckled, but it was mostly to try and calm his racing heart. How hungry your eyes looked awakened that prey animal within him, and he hated how much he loved it.

“You have. You just didn’t know it. You’ve died, gone to Hell, and now here we are. Fate led me here, with this quarter, and now it’s either heads or tails.” You said lowly. My, how talkative you became when it came to fate. This was your motive.

You were death incarnate. A tool of fate. The right tool.

He took a shaky intake of breath, deciding it was the feeling he wasn’t familiar with from his options listed earlier in his mind, his cheeks warming ever so slightly. “Tails.”

You lifted your hand, everyone’s eyes anxiously darting down to the outcome of the toss, and the coin read in Alastor’s favor. “Well done, Alastor. Fate favors you.”

His chest puffed out at the praise, almost as if to make room for the swelling of his heart. It was the first time you’d said his name, and given that you viewed yourself as a tool for fate, when reading between the lines, you’d just stated that you favored him. It was a feeling he could get used to. Perhaps he should listen to his body more often, as the only reason he picked tails was because of the excitable wagging of his.

It was this day that Alastor decided to begin pursuing your heart.

—♥️—

Combined two interests into one. It was bound to happen at some point.

#x reader #fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor fanfiction

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madwomansapologist · 1 year

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How Marvel characters would celebrate Festa Junina with their s/o

synopsis: How would the Marvel characters react to a traditional brazilian winter solstice festival.

Festa Junina is a brazilian winter solstice festivals. It's a celebration of São João's birth, but it's way more than just a religious thing. You can be atheist, you can be jew: YOU WILL CELEBRATE SÃO JOÃO. These festivities are marked by hot food, such as hominy and corn, bonfires, dances, tournaments, declarations of love and a deeply passion for our diverse culture. It's a date (and yes, the whole month is filled with festivities, depending on the state in can go on for all winter) that brings families together, people of all ages.

warnings: brazilian!reader. pure fluff.

glossary: menino bonzinho = good boy (imagine someone squeezing a little child's cheeks, that's it. it's not flirty or anything, it's purely babyfication).

Steven Grant

• It probably was Steven idea. Of course you wanted to celebrate, but you thought Steven would be overwhelmed by... well, everything. So many people, voices, songs, colors, fires. And you'd know him: Steven would eat raw pork miling instead of telling you that you might have made a mistake.

• But when he insisted, you showed him how brazilians celebrate winter. Steven read a lot about it, curious to understand more about your country history and be able to understand something so substantial to you as a part of a different living culture, so he knew what to expect. But he still got surprised.

• Steven just couldn't understand the amount of prepare that was necessary to make a festival like that. Everyone wearing tradicional clothes, dots painted on their faces, knowing all the choreos for a lot of genres of music. Steven couldn't understand the lyrics, but he did felt them. You told him everyone knows them because every school make their own festival, which made his jaw drop.

• Steven didn't stop questioning about how it all originated. You told him everything you knew, since the history of cangaceiros until how some of it's songs were created, and it still wasn't enough for him. Maybe Steven Grant found another history obsession. Maybe.

Natasha Romanoff

• That woman would totally, a thousand percent sure, dressed up. Striped dresses, flower crowns, low-heeled dancing shoes. Let's be honest: she's probably already been to Brasil. Given the serum and who Natasha used to work for, perhaps she bears some responsibility for starting the military coup. So, yes, Natasha know whats happening.

• She'll join in the square dance, and she'll make sure you go dressed as a bride. It doesn't matter if they've already decided who the bride and groom will be, you're going to be the bride. Partly because Natasha wants you to have fun, but that's more about her competitiveness than anything else.

• Speaking of competitiveness, Nat would definitely spend a considerable amount of money on tokens for the water pistol stalls. Be prepared to carry a few teddy bears around for the rest of the night, Nat will be sure to get the biggest ones. Everything for you!

Marc Spector

• He definitely won't like the noise. Everything is in excess. But when you guide Marc to the fire, with roasted corn and the whisper of embers, he will enjoy the night much more. And Marc will have a lot of fun. He isn't used to public bonfires with snacks other than marshmallows. Marc ate about fifteen different types of corn before fearing passing out from eating so much.

• He thought it would be weird because it's a catholic festival. You explained to him that no one actually cared about it: it was about culture, not a religion. It was a festival that your country gave another meanings. So, yes, the name is from a catholic saint, but it's way more than just that. When he was there and understood it barely had any religion references, he got way more comfortable.

• Marc will be a flirty mess. It's a romantic setting. The cold forces people to stay together, dances are made for couples, even competitions ask for counterparts. He don't get a word from what those musics are about, but the still slow dance by the campfire.

• If Marc was alone, he would want to come home as soon as he couldn't eat any more. But he wasn't. Watching you smile, spending money on stalls whose games you couldn't win, was why he stayed there. It was nice to see you like that. Marc could live forever in that moment.

Wanda Maximoff

• On the previous night, Wanda will watch every movie that is somehow correlated to the festival. Turma da Mônica's specials, Lisbela e o Prisioneiro, Gonzaga: De Pai Para Filho. Get ready for a long movie marathon.

• She's ready to understand the vibe. Pinterest boards, playlists, make-up tutorials: Wanda won't be on a festa junina, she will drown herself on that holiday. It's somehow what you do on Thanksgiving Day. Watch a lot of movies and try to recreat the feeling you'd imagine everyone is feeling.

• Because of the movies, she got that it wasn't enterely a religion thing like she had imagined. So she felt more comfortable to interact with things.

• Wanda will participate in the raffles, get happy to win a set of tupperware, and will join the old people playing bingo. She will win, but it won't be a fair game.

• She'll try to share a candy apple, but when the caramel starts sticking to Wanda's hair... not for her. She needs to have her hands clean. More for you.

Thor

• That man is a golden retrivier. The kind of person to won a participation prize and shout "Yes! That's right, I'm here!". Different than the others on that list, Thor wouldn't try to blend in. Asgardian god, wearing armor and holding mjolnir, casually walking on a neighborhood party.

• He would compete in the apple tanks and pool drop. At first no one would want to compete with him, but as soon as a kid started playing with him everyone realized that Thor was just a nice guy. "Menino bonzinho", you heard some old lady calling him. "Menino bonzinho."

• Another one who would win every plush possible for you. The difference is that he wouldn't focus on the best ones: he would play until he got them all. What you're going to do the most that night is go to the car to store the new batch in the trunk.

• Honestly, he'll look more happy to be there than you. Once the night was over, Thor would hold you close and promise to take you to the Asgard holidays. They will be way different, but with almost the same amount of food and way more alcohol.

Jake Lockley

• You thought Steven wouldn't like, Marc got overwhelmed, so when it was time to take Jake to a party you were absolute sure he would hate. Less because of the amount of information, but more because of how many people would be there.

• London is... cold. Obviously it's cold, but it's distant. People don't seem to want to interact with others. To see others as humans. And Brasil is about social interactions. Is about extended families, where even if half of the relatives hate each other no one fails to show up for Sunday dinner. It's about making friends with bus conductors. About seeing something weird on the street and sharing a look with those walking next to you. You will never see each other again nor have exchanged words before, but when the path separates you will say goodbye.

• Living in Brazil is all about caring for others, and you don't think that Jake would enjoy living in such an environment. Jake is the protector, the shield of the system, the one that will act when the others don't have courage to do so. So, yeah, you bet he wouldn't feel comfortable on a place that includes so much mundane interaction.

• Wrong! At first he seemed a little uncomfortable, but when you asked him to dance... Jake is a good dancer. Another surprise. Jake knows Spanish, which means he could more or less understand what was being said around him. You thought he would be worrying about everything, but Jake seem comfortable there.

• It was fun to be there with him. Maybe because he's latino (which still confuses me how the system is american, british an latino at the same time... I just pretend to understand), you felt like you were sharing something deeper with him. It just hits different.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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dreaminrainbows · 2 months

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Happy August! I've decided to start a monthly fic rec and what a better way than with all the lovely fics I've read in July!

Victorian Boy by audreyhheart / @audreyhheart [101k]

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

you are my destiny (you are the reason that i still believe) by alwaysxlarrie / @alwaysxlarrie [98k]

Being a new employee at a company means that you have to learn to brush off the shitty bosses, shitty coworkers, and not getting the credit you actually deserve for things. At least, that's been Harry Styles' experience. Coworkers who steal his ideas in pursuit of getting praise and a raise, and a boss who's indifferent at best and condescending at worst. Harry has learned to expect this reality for the foreseeable future. He's accepted it. What he hadn't expected was for Louis Tomlinson to waltz into their company, and his life, and change around everything he thought he knew about fate. A Cinderella AU.

fondre ton absence by scrunchyharry / @scrunchyharry [41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him. It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life. When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died. Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in. He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by HelloAmHere / @helloamhere [31k]

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said. Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade. “I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said. OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

come on jump out at me by yoursongonmyheart / @yoursongonmyheart [28k]

“you know, i offered for you to fake out me, but, i don’t know anything about you other than you being my biggest celebrity crush probably since posh spice.” louis almost chokes on his chicken, “jesus christ,” he sputters. harry takes a swig of his beer with a smirk. “i was very disappointed when you didn’t say i was your celebrity crush after you came out.” louis almost cries. “you know i did plan on it. then i ran into you narrating taking a piss and talking about my ass and i thought ‘wow this kid does talk some shit’ and decided against it.” harry barks out a laugh, his ears tinged red. he takes a bite of his pizza. “i suppose i do have no filter while high.” louis rolls his eyes, “bit of an understatement, mate.” harry giggles, “whatever pal,” louis screams internally. Or, the one where actor louis tomlinson and one direction superstar harry styles try to fake a sex tape to help harry get out of the closet and they both get more than they bargained for.

Unbonded by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom [24k]

“Look,” Louis says firmly. “Last time I checked, I’m still the pack leader, so you damn well better listen to me. It was Harry who worked out what I’d been poisoned with, then nursed me back to health. And it was Harry who thwarted the plan for my second assassination attempt by literally throwing himself in front of an arrow intended for me, nearly dying in the process, which is why we’re even having this argument in the first place. So if you think I’m going to set foot outside of this hut until he’s fully healed, you’ve all seriously misread the situation, and even more importantly, you’ve all seriously misread me.” OR the one where Harry is an omega who has been cast out from his pack, Louis is the alpha leader of the pack where Harry finds a new home, Liam is an alpha with heart of gold, and Niall is a cook who can't seem to stop setting himself on fire.

The Capillaries In My Eyes Are Bursting by 5secsoflarry [14k]

Two armoured palace guards stand there, speaking with the old, widowed beta. Harry watches curiously from the space in the back, ducking down a little in an attempt to hide. There have been whispers through the town of omegas being gathered and forced to the castle all week long - something about the King being ill - but Harry had thought they were only rumours….. OR Medieval times where King Louis is in a near death accident and enters a coma. The royal doctor says they have two weeks to find Louis’ true soulmate (omega) or he dies.

oh so familiar by InsightfulInsomniac / @insightfulinsomniac [13k]

When Harry transferred to the University of Mestonwood, he hoped that he'd finally fit in. As a witch, he's much less likely to feel isolated on an entirely supernatural campus, right? Wrong. Thanks to the cold-shoulder efforts of Louis Tomlinson, president of the vampire Coven, Harry still feels the sting of rejection from the most gorgeous boy on campus. It's doubly frustrating that everyone else, even Harry's only close friend, Niall, seems to think Louis is a great guy. Harry vows to actively ignore Louis in return, but his plans are foiled when his familiar, Oli, starts turning off their telepathic connection during Harry's classes. It doesn't take long for Harry to find out where Oli is disappearing to - or, rather, who he is disappearing to. A story of misguided enemies to lovers brought together by a stubborn orange tabby.

Little Dove (Series) by littleroverlouis / @littleroverlouis [11k]

I Can Be Your Vice (Pt.1) It could be his innate flight or fight instincts kicking in. His predator is closing in and he is the prey. Fear would be a rational response. After all, there is a centuries old vampire standing directly behind him. “You’re ahead of schedule, Louis.” Or Harry and Louis are FWBB (friends with bloodsucking benefits)

With Just One Look (Pt.2 prequel to Pt.1) There is no way Harry is over twenty-one. Louis would bet his right fang on it. He has an air of purity and exuberance towards strangers that is generally worn away with age and life experience. Louis has not received such a sunny greeting, bar from some golden retrievers in his neighborhood, in decades. Harry is a precious little dove. Louis feels guilty. Almost. Or Louis meets Harry at a club and wants to suck him dry.

This Is Not the End (Pt.3) “Little dove, could you please come here for a moment? You gotta help me, I’m losing my mind.” It is hard being a ‘little dove’ when you’re fifty-eight years old. Harry will always be Louis’ little dove, but it makes him chuckle as he swallows down his daily Centrum Silver multivitamin. The nickname came into his life as a wide eyed, innocent eighteen year old, along with the love of his life. He wonders, could he still refer to Louis as the love of his life when he joins him as the undead? Or Louis finally turns Harry into a vampire.

so pull me closer, why don’t you pull me close? by alwaysxlarrie / @alwaysxlarrie [9.9k]

If you ask Harry, baking and soccer go together like chocolate and cheese -- which is to say, they really, really don't. But maybe that's just because he’s less than thrilled about the lousy sous-chef partner he got paired with, Simon. If the captain of the soccer team wants to substitute players and be Harry's partner instead... well, Harry's lemons just turned into lemon meringue pie. Who is he to argue with fate?

Standing On the Edge of Falling by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation [5.8k]

“There’s a bit of a situation in one of the tenting areas, and you two are the perfect people to handle it.” “Get on with it, then.” “Some fucker’s brought a whole TV in and is streaming the England/Slovakia game. A whole crowd’s gathered, over a hundred people, at least, and it’s blocking walkways between the tents. I need you two to go shut it down.” ~~~ It’s Harry’s first security gig, and somehow, he landed Glastonbury. Unfortunately, he’s been tasked with telling a very gorgeous man that he can’t stream the football match. Things go … much better than expected.

Scared That My Worst is the Best That I’ve Got by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 [5k]

So while Louis’ proposition is preposterous, it’s also the only compromise his brain seems willing to make at the moment. Harry slowly raises his head to look at Louis. He’s standing on the other side of the kitchen, elbow resting casually on the edge of the counter next to the sink. His expression is soft and patient, and there’s delicate morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows behind him, setting his outlined silhouette aglow. He looks like an angel. An angel in an old oversized adidas jumper with tattoos on his knuckles, but an angel all the same. Harry’s voice comes out mumbled and much smaller than he’d like, but it is what it is. As Louis always says. “Just shampoo?” (Or five times Louis saves Harry from himself, and one time when Louis is the one that needs the saving).

we could be enough by HelloLovers13 / @hellolovers13 [5k]

“You know I am flirting with you, right?” Louis freezes mid-bite. Just manages not to choke on his steak. Harry laughs a bit too loudly, almost like he’s nervous. “Yeah, should’ve known you weren’t the observant kind. You think I get this dressed up for a random dinner with a mate on a Tuesday night?” or Louis never imagined anyone could love him for who he truly is. Then he meets Harry.

Rapture by allwaswell16 / @allwaswell16 [3.2k]

It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night. Or, a vampire Harry fic because what says the holidays like Victorian vampires?

Lights Are So Bright by QuickedWeen /@becomeawendybird [2.1k]

Newly first-string quarterback Louis Tomlinson mentions enough times in interviews that he's a fan of mega-famous popstar Harry Styles that people start to notice. At least one person does...

This was really fun to make and I'll do my best to keep monthly recs on some kind of a schedule, probably will be the first week of the next month.

Happy reading everyone!

#monthly fic rec #july fic rec #hlficlibrary #trackinghome #tracksintheam #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #hljournal #larry fics #hlcreators #fic rec #larry fic #larry fic rec

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