#Oxford man in the rain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

st-eve-barnes · 3 months

Text

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 6 (the final one)

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: Basically angst central, confrontations all around, things get worse before they get better. And smut of course ;)

Word count: +5000

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male & fem receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol)

This is the last chapter and I want to thank everyone for all the love on this fic! I really did not expect this little nerd to be so popular but I guess he owns us all❤️ I hope you guys like the ending, I feel like I edited too much but I really needed to send it into the world now so I can move onto another muse ;)

Read the first chapters Here

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

The rain was pouring down hard over Oxford that week, it was barely three in the afternoon yet it was almost completely dark outside.

Inside the Bodleian library the lights were cozy and warm. It was quiet except for a handful of students sitting at the tables to read and study.

You and Michael were doing neither of those. Instead you were hiding in the back between two book shelves, his hand tangled into your hair while his lips trailed a path down your neck, leaving sloppy wet kisses all over your skin.

He had your back pressed up against his chest, trapping you between him and the books.

“Fuck,” he breathed into your ear,”I just wanna push that skirt up and shove my cock into you right here.”

To accentuate his words he moved his hips, pushing his rock hard erection against your ass.

“You wouldn’t,” you finally managed to speak, your words contradicting your actions because you were grinding back against him just as desperately.

Michael used your hair to pull you back against him, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered,”I will if you beg me.”

His hand moved from your hip down to your thighs and in between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties, his fingers pushing just hard enough to let you feel him. He smirked at the wetness pooling through the fabric.

“Wet means you want me, right?” he teased, kissing your neck again,”Come on, sweetheart.”

“I am not going to beg, Michael, we’re in the fucking library,” you objected in a heavy whisper.

You wanted him to stop, but you also didn’t. You never should have followed him back here. You were a bad influence on him, you were both a bad influence on each other.

“Oh, so you don’t want my cock?” Michael asked with a little teasing chuckle.

He started kissing the spot right below your ear while his hand slipped inside your panties.

And again you were not stopping him, your brain was yelling at you to quit it right now and step back but your body clearly wasn’t on board with that plan.

“Michael…not in here,” you protested but then you moaned when his fingers found your clit. He circled it slowly and so skillfully you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud.

He was laughing into your ear now,”Sweetheart, stop pretending, you are fucking soaked.”

You moaned again,”God, Michael, please.”

Were you begging him to stop or to keep going? You couldn’t tell anymore, you were completely at his mercy at this point.

The nerd you had sex with for the first time less than two months ago was no longer, this Michael was a whole new man and he was the one in control now.

You had created a monster. A monster you wanted to fuck every hour of every day.

“Michael,” you whimpered,”We shouldn’t do this in here…”

Your protest was weak and you both knew it. There was nobody around in the area of the library where you two were but you could hear voices of other students and staff way too close for comfort. If anyone caught you two the consequences could be severe, you could both lose your scholarship and get kicked out of the university.

Yet Michael didn’t seem to care at all, making no attempts to stop or slow down as he pushed a finger inside of you and made you grab the bookshelves in front of you for support.

“Fuck,” you moaned,”Why do you feel so fucking good?”

He grabbed your neck with his free hand and started kissing your shoulders while he slowly pumped his finger in and out of you, thumb teasing your clit.

“I learned from the best,” he whispered into your ear.

“We could get kicked out,” you tried to object again but Michael just added another finger and ignored your plea, his warm mouth sucking bruises into your skin.

“Please,” you tried again,”Michael…please, we have to stop, it’s not worth….fuck…”

“I don’t care,” he moaned softly against your neck,”I’m going to fuck you right here…if we get caught we get caught…fuck it.”

You’re not sure why exactly those words made you come back down to reality but you were quick to grab his hand and finally really stop him this time.

“No. Stop,” you insisted and this time Michael obeyed instantly, sensing the urgency in your tone.

He pulled back, letting you turn around to face him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, confused.

“You do care,” you pointed out, looking into his eyes,”You could lose your scholarship, how can you say you don’t care?”

Michael just shrugged and your only reaction was to hit him on the chest.“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s your fault!” he defended himself,”I want you so bad it makes me stupid.”

You knew he didn’t mean it the way it came out but the words still cut right through you. Michael knew he fucked up. He moved his hand through his hair and sighed,”I said the wrong thing again, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer,”Come here, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.”

His lips found yours in a soft kiss and your irritation melted away immediately.

“You’re right,” he then whispered,”I wasn’t thinking, and that isn’t your fault at all, I just…I’ll be more careful around campus, I promise. Are we good? Please tell me we’re good?”

You pressed your forehead against his, smiling softly when he kissed your lips again. ”Yeah, we’re good.”

“I don’t have classes for another two hours. Want to come up to my room and finish this?”

Your lips curled up into an eager smile and you nodded. Michael grabbed your hand and pulled you with him through the library and out into the rain. You stopped a few times on the way to Michael’s apartment to make out in the middle of the street, rain falling down heavily over the both of you but neither of you cared, having only eyes for each other.

As soon as you entered Michael’s room he made good on his promise. Pulling you into his arms and fucking you right there against the wall, his cargo pants down to his ankles and your panties pushed to the side. It was rushed and quick and absolutely perfect.

He made you come three more times that afternoon. Afterwards you both fell asleep on his bed, forgetting all about the studying you both had planned that day.

***

You were having coffee near the university later that week when Michael slipped into the seat opposite you, his blue eyes glowing with mischief.

He didn’t wait for you to greet him before he started rambling,“Okay, so I have this friend of a classmate who’s into IT and some other, less official, computer stuff and I told him about…your issue and he’s convinced he can help us out.’

You looked up at him over your coffee cup.”Define less official? Do you mean illegal?”

“Well,…if he can get into Ben’s computer he can delete every single file on there.”

“You mean hacking. Michael, that’s illegal,” you sighed.

“He’s done it before, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” you asked, shocked,”It’s a literal crime. You’re friends with a criminal now?”

Michael gave you an annoyed glare,”He’s not my friend, and he is not a criminal, he only does this to help people out. What’s wrong? Do you not want my help now?”

“Not if it’s going to get you in trouble.”

“I won’t get in trouble.”

“Okay, I don’t want your acquaintance, the criminal, to get in trouble.”

He couldn’t help but grin at your sassy words but then he was quickly shaking his head,”We won’t get caught, and if we do…it’ll be worth it. I’m not letting that prick ruin your life.”

“What does your not-friend want in return?” you asked.

“Just some tutoring lessons,” he explained.

You sighed deeply, looking up at him.”Michael…”

“Come on, we can fix this, let me fix this for you, baby,” he begged.

“It’s illegal, Michael,” you reminded him.

“I don’t care,” he insisted.

You looked at him, at his honest eyes and the nervous yet excited smile on his lips. His cheeks blushed under your gaze and the cozy nerdy sweater he was wearing made you want to crawl into his lap and cuddle with him.

He was so eager to help you and play the knight in shining armor. It was the library all over again, he would put all his morals and beliefs aside for you without even thinking twice about it. You knew you should feel flattered but another feeling was rapidly taking over.

The feeling that Michael was undeniably too good for you, and that you could ruin everything he’s ever wanted and worked for.

And that it had already taken you way too long to put a stop to it.

“I can’t let you do that for me,” you then spoke softly and Michael’s face fell.

“But I want to do this for you,” he reassured you, reaching across the table to grab your hand but you didn’t take his.

“No,” you insisted,”I want you to stop.”

“Stop what? Looking out for you? Trying to protect you against that twat?”

“All of it, Michael,” you sighed,”I want to stop all of it.”

He stared at you, panic now settling in his pretty blue eyes,”All of it?”

You hadn’t even realized it until you heard yourself say the words just now but you knew it was the only way.

“That test is tomorrow, right?” you asked.

Michael nodded, still confused by your words.

“You should take the rest of the day and study.”

“I don’t need to study,” Michael interrupted you,”You know that. I'm a..."

"Genius," you interrupted him right back,"Yes I know. Then take the day to rest and get into focus. I don’t think we should hang out today.”

“Just today or…?” he asked carefully.

“You should focus on what you’re here for, Michael,” you sighed,”We both know that isn’t me.”

“But…”

“You’ve changed,” you continued,”I can see it every day, you’re more and more distracted, you’re taking risks that could impact the rest of your life and…it’s all because of me.”

Michael stayed quiet for a moment.

“Of course it’s all because of you,” he then spoke softly,”And of course I’ve changed, how can I not be? How can I spend all these weeks with you and not have it change me?”

This time you were the one who stayed silent.

“Do you think you haven’t changed?” he asked,”Because if you really haven’t then…what’s the point of all of this? What have we been doing all this time? And don’t say fucking because we both know it was more than that!”

“But it wasn’t,” you lied,”Not to me, Michael.”

You could see the exact moment his heart broke at your words.

“You’re lying,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not,” you shook your head, sounding a lot more convincing than you felt,”I used you, right from the start, and you knew that. You knew what this was."

He was fighting back tears but you couldn't stop now that you'd started.

"I liked how I felt when I was with you but that’s all it was," you added,"And I feel guilty about it now because…I realize it was cruel. And you don’t deserve that. So I’m letting you off the hook.”

“But…I…I don’t want off the hook…I…I really fucking like you…and…fuck,” Michael was struggling to find his words, shaking his head and doing his best to hide his tears from you.

“I don’t like you that way, Michael,” you whispered, as if that would somehow make your words less harsh,”I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I should have never gotten you involved in this. I’m so sorry, I really am.”

Michael was too stunned to say or do anything else but watch you leave.

You held it together well until the door of the coffee shop closed behind you. For once you were grateful for the rain, for at least now nobody could see your tears.

***

Weeks passed after that, without Michael. And without Ben, you kept waiting for the bomb to drop, for him to share that video and ruin your last year in Oxford.

But it didn’t come.

You started going out with your friends again from time to time, and focussed on studying and graduating. For whatever reason Ben had kept his distance from you and as the weeks passed you were starting to forget about the whole thing. Maybe he had been all bark and no bite after all, maybe he never even intended to do anything to begin with and it was all just scare tactics. You felt bad for ever believing him but more than anything you felt relief. It was all over now.

You didn’t see Ben for an entire month, nor did you see Michael.

But without your knowledge they did see each other, once. The day after Michael’s friend of a friend hacked into Ben’s computer.

Michael was sitting in his usual spot in the library when Ben aggressively grabbed a chair and sat right next to him.

Michael kept his calm and didn’t look up to acknowledge him at first.“What do you want?” he then asked, annoyed.

“I fucking know it was you!” Ben hissed.

“You know more than I do then,” Michael stated calmly, still not looking at him.

“I know it was one of those IT computer nerds and all you fucking nerds stick together, it’s fucking obvious.”

Michael finally laid down his pen to look at him, a smug calm smile on his face,”Prove it.”

“If I could I’d have you kicked out already,” Ben sighed annoyed.

Michael just nodded,”Then why are you here?”

Ben moved his chair closer to his and looked into his eyes, his anger replaced by a smug grin,”Because…you overlooked one small thing, genius…I would have thought you computer nerds would follow your own advice but…”

“What…advice?” Michael asked, trying not to show the sudden panic caused by Ben’s words.

“Always have a back up,” Ben stated, making Michael’s stomach twist.

“You have another copy?” he realized.

“I do, yeah,” Ben smiled,”It’s on a hard drive that you guys will never get your hands on.”

“Fuck,” Michael breathed.

Ben leaned back in his chair to look at him, his grin so smug Michael wanted to punch him in the face right there.”So, I just came by to say nice try, loser.”

He got up from the chair and wanted to walk away but Michael was quick to follow him.

“Wait! Is that…is that the only other copy you have?” he asked.

Ben laughed,”It is for now, but as soon as I get my computer up and running again I guess I should make some back ups of my back up. You never know when it could come in handy.”

Michael had to stop himself from punching him in the face but Ben just walked away, not even paying Michael any more attention.

This couldn’t be how it ended, the rich kid does not get to win.

Michael was balling his fists and biting his tongue but he soon realized there was only one other thing he could do, and it played right into Ben’s hand. But it was the only way to destroy the last evidence of that video and have you be free of him.

“I can get you in!” Michael yelled after him, making Ben turn around.

“In where?” Ben asked with a laugh.

“Charter Inc.”

Ben stopped in his tracks to look at him.”You got the job,” he realized.

Michael nodded,”I got the letter last week and I had the interview on Monday.”

“Fuck, I knew I should have heard something by now,” Ben sighed,”Damned!”

“They told me in the interview they’re always on the lookout for new people, asked me if I could recommend anyone.”

“Are you serious right now? Are you making this shit up?”

”I’m serious. And I’ll be happy to recommend you.”

“You would?” Ben laughed.

“No of course not, I’d rather fucking die,” Michael confessed,”But…I’ll do it, if you do two things for me.”

“Name it.”

“You take me up to your room right now and we destroy that copy.”

“Alright,” Ben sighed,” And the other thing?”

“You leave her alone from now on,” Michael stated firmly,“I promise to do my utter best to get you in if you do these two things for me. You have my word on that. Do we have a deal?”

Ben looked at him and then caved, nodding his head,”Fine, sure, whatever, man. If there’s a chance you can get me the job I always wanted I don’t give a fuck about some stupid sex video. But you’d better not be lying to me, Gavey, or I’m coming for you.”

Michael followed Ben out of the library and into the hallway.“That’s fine, you can come after me all you want, just…leave her alone.”

“Look at you playing the knight in shining armor,” Ben teased,”Why are you doing all this? Didn’t she dump you?”

“Yeah, she did,” Michael whispered.

“Aww, you think she’s gonna come running back into your arms when you tell her how you saved her? That’s pathetic, man.”

“No, I don’t,” he sighed.

“Then why go through all this trouble, dude? You love her or something?”

Michael shook his head and blushed,”You would’t get it.”

He didn’t tell Ben anything else.

And he didn’t tell you anything either. Not then or during the weeks after.

***

It was the day of graduation when you ran into Ben, literally, on your way out of the courtyard. The both of you dressed up to the nines to celebrate. Ben didn’t have the usual smug smile or big mouth on him this time, he just congratulated you and reassured you everything else was in the past, which was of course very easy for him to say as he hadn’t been the one on the receiving end of his empty threats.

But you couldn’t be bothered wasting any more time or thoughts on him so you just congratulated him back and then walked away.

“Hey, how’s Gavey?” he asked before you could turn your back on him.

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen him,” you confessed.

You didn’t want to talk to Ben to begin with and you definitely didn’t want to talk to him about Michael.

“Huh,” Ben looked at you confused for a moment and then smiled,”Oh wait, he never told you, didn’t he?”

“Told me what, Ben?” you asked impatiently,”I swear to god if this is another one of your tricks…”

“It’s not, I don’t…I don’t do that shit anymore, it was stupid and childish.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” you sighed annoyed,”What then?”

“You might want to thank the nerd. You dumped him and he still saved your ass, I guess I underestimated the power of your pussy, I should apologize to her.”

You wanted to punch him in the face again and this time there was nothing or nobody stopping you so you did. Your fist hit him right on the nose and he jumped back with a painful yelp.

“Apology accepted,” you nodded and turned your back on him for the very last time.

***

You searched for over an hour to find Michael, making your way through the partying crowd outside. People were cheering and drinking everywhere and you were about to give up when you suddenly noticed him standing by himself, a proud happy smile on his face as he watched the people around him.

You took a moment to just look at him from a distance. He looked just as awkward and out of place as you remembered, fiddling with his glasses and not getting too close to other people. It reminded you of that first night you’d met with him in the pub.

But despite his awkwardness he also looked genuinely happy and for a moment you contemplated just walking away and letting things be. Clearly he was doing fine without you now. Did you really have the right to put yourself into his life again after months of nothing?

But the choice was taken from you when Michael noticed you. At first he just stared with a blank expression on his face, then his hand lifted in a little hesitant wave. When you waved back he broke into a smile and walked up to you.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and so kind it made your heart soar.

“Hey,” you smiled back, and then without thinking you wrapped your arms around his neck to give him a quick hug.

Michael didn’t freeze this time. Much to your surprise he grabbed your waist to pull you close to him and hug you back, his face buried into your hair. When you pulled him even closer he followed your lead, fully enveloping you into his arms, hands caressing your back and your hair.

You could hear him sigh deeply, holding you tight while he breathed you in.

“How have you been?” he asked eventually, breaking the spell and the hug.

You leaned back to look at him,“I’m okay. You?”

He nodded shyly,”Yeah, I’m okay too.”

“Ben told me what you did.”

“Oh…that was nothing, everyone would have done it.”

You shook your head with a sad smile,”No, they wouldn’t have, Michael, especially not after what I did…I don’t deserve any of it. I was horrible to you.”

He just gave you another smile and shrugged, finally taking his hands off you and it took everything in you not to grab them tight and hold onto him.

”You were just trying to get yourself out of a difficult situation,” Michael spoke,”I’m not mad, I never was. What happened…happened.”

His kindness only made you feel even more sad.

“And it all turned out for the best, I guess?” he then added,”Ben’s gone, you’re free of him. And of me…and I’m no longer a virgin. We all won in the end, didn’t we?”

“Did we?” you sighed quietly.

Michael’s eyes rested on yours, genuinely confused by your words,”Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t…seem okay.”

You bit your lip but it was too late, tears had started falling from your eyes and you couldn’t stop them. You did your best to wipe them away quickly.

Michael stepped closer to you, looking deeper into your eyes while hesitantly placing a hand back on your waist,”What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, looking down to avoid his eyes but Michael placed a hand in your neck and forced you to look at him.

“Tell me,” he insisted, softer.

You nodded but then shook your head,”Not here.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed,”Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” you whispered.

***

Michael’s room was as immaculately clean as ever, some things clearly never changed. His suitcase was packed next to the bed, ready to leave Oxford, and you, behind.

“I’d offer you some tea but I already packed everything, I’m sorry,” Michael apologized,”Was going to head on home right after graduation.”

“You weren’t going to stay and celebrate?”

“With who?” he laughed bitterly and sat down on the sofa, eyes avoiding yours. You followed his lead and sat down next to him.

“I’m glad you got the job,” you said to break the silence between you two.

Michael nodded. “I’m not sure if it’s what I want yet.”

“Why not?” you asked surprised.

He shrugged.”It’s a big corporate firm, biggest of the country, I’d be settled for life if I do well there but…I don’t know, been thinking a lot about life and what I want lately.”

You looked at him and he didn’t hesitate to look back this time,”Being with you changed me, Y/N,” he then confessed,”I know that’s not what you want to hear but…it's a good thing. Even if it didn't end the way I'd hoped. The change is still good, and I'll never be sorry.”

“Being with you changed me too,” you confessed, shutting him up,”I’ve been trying to deny it for so long because...it's scary as fuck. But you were right, being with the right person should change you.”

Michael held your gaze, his lips curling up into the tiniest of smiles.”I was the right person for you?” he then whispered.

You nodded, unable to deny it any longer.”I think you still might be,” you sighed.

Michael didn’t speak, he only stared at you for the longest time with a serious expression on his face.

“I miss you,” you added in a whisper, tears forming in your eyes but they didn’t get a chance to fall this time because Michael caught them. His hand gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin and then he pressed his lips to yours in a soft lingering kiss.

“I miss you too,” he breathed,”Missed you every day since you left.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue searching for yours and when you moaned into the kiss his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down on top of you on the couch and he followed eagerly, lips never leaving yours as he took his rightful spot in between your legs, where he belonged.

You kissed for several minutes, making up for lost time. Michael’s weight on you felt so perfect, his hands were soft as they made their way underneath your dress, pulling your panties down, just enough so he could slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric.

You moaned his name when he started circling your clit, hips bucking up against his hand immediately, seeking his touch.

“Please,” you whimpered,”Please, I need you.”

“Hmm, I can tell,” Michael smirked,”My fingers are soaking wet and I’ve barely touched you, you missed me that much, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t help but smile in relief at the use of his pet name and the sudden confidence in him,”Yes,” you confessed,”I’ve missed you that much.”

The big grin on Michael’s face made you smile even more and just before he was about to slip a finger inside of you, you grabbed his hand to stop him, eyes locking with his.”No, not your hand this time,” you breathed and leaned in to whisper into his ear,”I need your cock.”

Michael whimpered at your words. You could have cried with how good it felt to hear those sounds coming out of his mouth again. You kissed him and your hands moved down over his ass, pushing his pants down and freeing his erection. You didn’t want to waste any more time so your hand wrapped around his length to stroke him, slow but firm, making him moan and whimper some more.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” Michael whined,”I need…I need to be inside of you, please.”

You bit your lip and smiled, pressing your forehead to his.”I forgot how pretty you are when you beg,” you teased him, aligning the head of his cock with your entrance.

For a long moment neither of you moved, Michael just looked at you, his eyes filled with so much longing. His thumb brushed your chin and then he placed a featherlight kiss to your lips.

“Open up to me,” he whispered and you obeyed, opening your mouth to allow him to kiss you deeper. He pushed his tongue inside of you at the same time his cock slipped into your welcoming walls.

He didn’t fuck you right away, instead he took his time just kissing you, slow and deep while he bottomed out, filling you up to the hilt. You tried to move your hips but Michael’s hand kept you in place. You wouldn’t be able to stand it for much longer, you needed friction, needed to feel him.

“Shhh,” he shook his head,”Stop fighting me.”

You whimpered in protest but nodded your head.

“Why did you come looking for me today?” he then asked.

“Michael,” you whined,”Seriously, you wanna talk now?”

“Answer the question,” he insisted.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”You know why.”

He gently cupped your cheek, taking the time to control his own breathing. You knew he was struggling just as much as you were but he seemed determined to see this through.

“Want to hear you say it,” he whispered.

“I missed you,” you confessed.

“Me? Or my cock?”

“Both.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at your answer.“So, what? You want one last good fuck before we both go our separate ways and you tell me to fuck off again?” he then asked and with that question his confidence crumbled.

And suddenly it was all you could see, not the confident man but that shy insecure boy who’d never been kissed, who turned your world upside down just by being his weird, amazing self. The boy who always said the absolute wrong thing at the wrong time. He was still right there.

The boy who fundamentally changed you. Your lips curled up into a smile and you shook your head.

“No,” you cupped his face with both hands,”I don’t want one good fuck. I want all of them, every single day, from now on, with you. If you still want me.”

Michael’s eyes closed in a heavy, relieved sigh as he leaned into you, letting you pull him into your arms.

“I still want you,” he breathed.

It didn’t take long after that for him to finally start moving, bucking his hips against yours, slowly but with an undeniable desperation to it. The both of you were clinging to each other, breathing in each other’s moans and then Michael took up the pace, fucking you deeper and faster.

It didn’t take long for you to fall apart and Michael followed suit quickly, spilling himself deep inside of you with another delicious whine before he collapsed in your arms.

The room was quiet after that, nothing but your heavy breaths mingling and Michael’s heartbeat fast against yours. He kissed your jaw and your neck, lazy and soft until he could feel you smile against his cheek. He took off his fogged up glasses to look at you properly, the happiest of smiles on his face, warming your heart.

“So, got any plans for the summer?” you asked.

“Yeah, I do now,” he smirked before placing another lingering kiss in your neck,”You.”

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey #ewan mitchell fanfic #michael gavey x fem reader #It's finally here!

318 notes · View notes

firefly-pdf · 2 years

Text

A day on the hillside

Details & speedpaint

[ID: A landscape-oriented digital illustration of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood kissing in a green moor. Jonathan is a thin Pakistani man with long deep brown curly hair and a full brown beard. He sits on a large rock leaning forward and upward to kiss Martin. Jon wears a floor length red skirt which is flared out around him, on his feet he wear red high-heeled leather boots. His top is a ballooning light pink blouse with a suit collar and black tie with a yellow eye decal, on his head is a yellow bandana tied under his chin, he wears rectangular glasses. Visible on his arm is a series of starburst scars, one of his hands reaches up to rest on Martin’s back. Martin is leaning down to kiss him with both of his hands behind his back clutching a bouquet of flowers. He is a fat white man with wavy blonde hair and rounded square glasses. He wears a red collared shirt with a deep V-neck, a brown oversized aviator jacket with a fluffy collar, flare jeans with rain cloud decals on the pockets and bottoms cuffs, and ornate brown Oxford shoes. Behind the pair more hills are visible with black and white cows grazing and a peek of the ocean, large billowing clouds frame them.]

2K notes · View notes

mickeyswhore · 6 months

Text

Foreign Beauty

A/N: Might get in a silly goofy mood and write a part 2, let me know if I should. 💕

Summary: After your father made you attend Oxford, you took a detour during the holidays to Birmingham and there you met Thomas Shelby, and the two of you got pulled towards one another.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: toxic father, smut (a little bit though)

Tag: @mrkdvidal1989.

You hated your father now, he made you go to Oxford university. You wanted to only live in

Paris and be able to just live your life and buy pretty dresses and have fun with your friends, but not now, you needed to be in a gloomy town with people that can’t even dress properly and that made you angry.

“Father, if you insist on me getting an education why not Paris? We already have a place there.” You had no idea why your father wanted you to pursue an education, it was only a matter of time until you were married off for an alliance anyway.

“You cannot be just a ditsy woman that only thinks about what’s on her body, you must feed your mind. End of discussion.” With that your father left you and you went to your room to cry.

How could he do this to you? Wasn’t enough that he was a criminal and you could never bring your friends to where he was? The fact that your mother left and he never allowed for you to have a relationship with her? Every single thing about your life was about your father, and no doubt that he wanted bragging rights to all of his associates of how he had his only daughter to attend Oxford.

If you had to do this, you wouldn’t be caught dead in British clothes. You told your father that you would get a new wardrobe with the latest Parisian fashion, if you can’t change your father’s mind, you would definitely make his wallet hurt. That was exactly what you did, went to Paris and ordered a whole new wardrobe to all of the fashion houses that you could think of. Your father was furious but didn't want to say anything, as long as you were going to university, nothing else mattered to him.

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

The boat trip to Cardiff was long and dreadful, and to make things even worse it was raining in Wales, as usual. Your father’s men were waiting for you, and you had so many suitcases that it filled both cars. People in England took their time to stare at you, it always happened, you would never brag but your were a pretty woman in a pretty dress in gloomy Wales, people will stare. You got into the car and waited for your father’s men to be done with loading the cars.

The drive was boring and it was raining in most places, so you decided to take a nap. You woke up with commotion in the car and two of the men were fighting in the front of the car.

“What is happening?” You realised that the car was stopped, and the other two men were outside in the rain trying to fix it.

“Sorry, ma’am but the car broke down and we are nowhere near Oxford, we’re in Birmingham.” You saw a map pf England once and was confused, these are the men that your father employs? You took a deep breath and grabbed your umbrella and left the car, there seemed to be a pub nearby. “Wait, ma’am where you’re going?” One of the men tried to stop you but you kept walking.

“It’s cold, it’s raining and I saw a pub here. Could you please let me know when we can go?” He nodded and you kept walking towards the pub. When you entered the smell of cigars and booze hits your nostrils, and the warmth as well, it wasn’t that crowed so you simply took a booth and removed your very expensive fur coat.

You bought a drink and again all of the men and women were staring at you and you needed to get used to it. You were starting to get bored, maybe going back to the car was the best option. When you were about to leave, both doors were opened and a few men came in, they must be important since everyone got out of their way, you saw the one with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life and the man was incredibly attractive.

The man noticed you quite fast since you were the only one staring at him, quite unabashedly as well. He went to your table and sat down right in front of him, with a grin on his face, that made you smile.

“Never seen you here before.” You smiled, never having the opportunity to interact with people that weren’t from your father’s circle. “I would’ve noticed if I seen you here before, who are you love?” He seemed genuinely interested and you were basking on the attention. You said your name to the man.

“We lost our way to Oxford and the car broke down so I decided to come here and be warm with a drink. May I ask who you are?” You took a sip of your drink and the two of you couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“I’m Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand and you shook it, and the two of you couldn’t deny that you felt something when the two of you touched. “Would you like another drink, love?” You nodded and Thomas went to get your drink, after he came back, he sat down near you.

“You’re quite forward, aren’t you Mr. Shelby?” You grinned at him and he seemed very pleased with himself.

“I have to, with a foreign beauty like yourself, someone might steal you away.” Thomas was being coy, he knew that no one would dare to talk to you with him there, but he wanted to make you feel special and also acknowledge the fact tht all of the men wanted to be with you.

“You don’t have faith that you are the most interesting?” You quickly realised that you love to tease Thomas Shelby.

“I know that I am, it simply might not be the case for you.” He wasn’t boring, you had to give him that and also confident, a man has never looked as attractive as he is now.

“Touche, Mr. Shelby.”

The two of you started talking about other things, politics mainly. But also art, and history. You were much younger than Thomas but he didn't mind it all and you loved the fact that he was older, mature and most importantly, confident.

The two of you were touching each other, his hand were on your thigh and your hand in his arm as well. The tension between the two of you was getting worse, the two of you even stopped talking just to keep looking at each other and touching each other. Thomas leaned into your ear, sending shirvers down your spine.

“Should we go somewhere more private, love?” He whispered in your ear and you only nodded, guiding him towards the bathroom.

When the two of you got there, Thomas put you against the wall and started to kiss you. His kiss was full of hunger and passion and you were more than happy to indulge him, you needed this too. Thomas started removing your dress and you removed his shirt, you were only dressed in your undergarments now, and Thomas still had his trousers. He started kissing your neck, drawing moans out of you.

Your hands went to his cock, he was painfully hard and you could tell that he was painfully hard. Thomas removed your bra without you even noticing, you felt his warm lips on your nipple, making you moan, with one of his hands Thomas started playing with your other nipple. His tongue felt like heaven on one nipple and his fingers were twisting and pulling the other, you were panting and moaning. You’ve never felt this way before, your pussy was clenching around nothing and you were so wet. The pressure on your pussy was increasing with every lick of one nipple and the pulling of the other.

“Tommy.” You whispered and a strangled moan espcaped your throat, Thomas stopped his ministrations and looked at you, he had the smugest look on his face.

“Did you just cum from me just playing with your nipples, love?” Thomas’ hands removed your panties and he started fingering you and playing with your clit. You closed your eyes from how much pleasure you were receiving but he was having none of it. “Keep your eyes on me, love.” That’s what you did, you’ve met this man a couple hours ago and he already had so much power over you. With his thumb making small circles on your clit and two fingers deep inside your pussy, Thomas wanted to make you cum as quick as he possibly could. “You look divine like this, love. I need you to cum for me. Can you do that, eh?” The noises that were being made were lewd, if you could think straight you would definitely be embarrassed by them.

As if Thomas has full control of your body, you cum again, Thomas enjoys the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. Thomas was helping you ride out your second orgasm when you heard yelling coming from outside, the two of you looked at each other and out your clothes back on in a matter of seconds.

“What is going on ‘ere?” Thomas yelled, and the men that were with him fighting with your father’s men, you slapped Thomas’ men hoping they would stop assaulting your employees.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” One of father’s men asked you, clearly terrified that something happened to you.

“Of course, is the car ready?” All four of them nodded and if this wasn’t a sign for you to stop doing something you’d later regret, you don’t know what is.

You were about to leave when Thomas stopped you with a gentle pull of your arm.

“Leaving so soon, love?” He seemed almost sad that you were leaving, that made you smile.

“I’m going to Oxford university, if you want me come get me when you can.” You winked at him and he smirked at you.

He was going to get you, alright. With that, you left the pub to the car.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders fanfic

233 notes · View notes

bird-slayer-brainrot · 3 months

Text

Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 1. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

(TW this chapter contains light gore (st*bbing so that bit will be marked with the first and final world in red text)

London, 1939

Aziraphale, Principality and Angel of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, loved humans.

He had lived amongst humans since his assignment on Eden had ended, and he quite enjoyed his role as Heaven’s official ambassador to humanity. It had been a shock to receive such a coveted position (as much as Angels could covet, anyway).

The job had its downsides, like any, but for the most part, Aziraphale could overlook these. The books, food, wine and art made it worth it.

Humans were amazingly clever creatures, with a knack for imagining purposeful, advanced creations to Angel in Heaven could have ever dreamed of, if they did dream. They were masterful artists, poets, writers, inventors. Aziraphale, nearly six thousand years into this extended assignment, stood in awe at the inventions of the human race.

The motorcar, however, was an exception.

On a Saturday evening in Soho, Aziraphale was particularly bothered. He had plans to attend an Opera at the West End. These plans were interrupted when the driver had stopped him miles from the theatre. It was drizzling, as it often did in London lately, and Aziraphale crowded himself underneath a canopy to avoid getting soaked.

Aziraphale could have miracled the driver to take him to the right language, but with the state of England and the war going on, he felt it was best to cut down on miracle usage just in case he needed them for something important, which he probably would. And he didn’t want to risk Heaven the memo from heaven about too many frivolous miracles.

“Are you going in?” a voice spoke beside him. Aziraphale turned, ready to offer his apologises

He hadn’t realised he had been standing in the entrance way to a storefront.

But he was stuck on the words as he came face to face with the man.

He was perhaps the most beautiful person Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on.

Aziraphale was still staring when the stranger cleared his throat.

“Oh, my apologies.” Aziraphale said too loudly. The gentlemen was dressed in black and grey, which would have struck Aziraphale as unusual if, immediately after, Aziraphale noticed his striking copper hair. He wore it longer than was the fashion. He was also very tall, and slender. He held a black umbrella that he seemed to be in the process of wringing out his umbrella before he’d noticed Aziraphale.

“Are you alright?” the gentlemen said with concern. Aziraphale was still staring, so he tore his gaze from the gentlemen’s face.

“No. Yes. I mean.” Aziraphale stuttered. “I just got caught in the rain.”

The man nodded, the small smile still on his face, then he held out his umbrella.

“Would you like to borrow mine?” he said without hesitation. Aziraphale looked up him again ready to insist he was fine, but stopped when he noticed his eyes.

They were the colour of liquid gold, except for the ring of green surrounding his pupils. It was deep, Earthy green Aziraphale last recalled seeing in the Garden back when he’d first received this assignment.

“No. No thank you.” Aziraphale said softly. “I think I should like to stay here.”

My Dear Anthony,

I hope by the time this letter reaches you in England that you and Anathema will be quite settled in, with Annie at university and you doing your things (I must confess, I don’t quite recall the word you used to describe your profession. It may come to me one day.)

I must admit, dear brother, that although you grumble when I express sentiments to you, that I will miss you terrible when you return to England. There shall be a Crowley-shaped hole in my heart, I should think, for a long time till come. Please do come back and visit us in California.

Thank you for taking care of Anathema. It has always been her dream to attend Oxford. Do you remember when she was a little girl, with her book on magic and fairytales? She’d take it with her everywhere.

She can be quite stubborn at times, but she is a remarkable young woman, and I know that, under your guidance, my dear Annie will be something great. Please give her my love.

Take care of yourself.

Your Loving Sister,

Lucy

Crowley smiled down at the letter from his sister. He would never admit it, of course, but he missed his sister terribly. California, too, with its bright, sunny weather. The rain and fog of London coloured the world bleak in comparison.

Crowley had been back in London for a month. Anathema, his niece, was due to start at Oxford, once she got her acceptance, in three months.

She was a standout in stuffy old England, with her American wardrobe, accent, and mannerisms. She stood out in LA, too. She’d spent the days

Crowley had an apartment in Soho that he’d rented out in the year he’d been in America. The death of Lucy’s husband and Anathema’s father had hit their family hard. With their pieces stitched haphazardously back together, Anathema had decided that Oxford was her calling. England was a fresh start, and Crowley had to return at some point. Her mother had, after some convincing, agreed.

He was meant to meet Anathema for dinner that evening at the pub they frequented later on. With nothing else to do, Crowley decided a walk and some fresh air would do him some good, and stepped out into the English rain.

The Drooping Donkey had all the grace of a typical Soho bar on a Saturday evening. There was a group of soldiers crowded around a pretty young woman playing the piano, a lively war-tune Aziraphale recalled hearing over the radio on the BBC earlier that morning when he was rearranging his Atlas collection. They nursed warming bears. Chatty patrons took up the tables. There was luckily one spare (Aziraphale may have the ability to have any table he wished to, however he believed in ethical use of miracles) and, after ordering a glass of the house red, Aziraphale made his way over to it and took a seat, content to wait out the storm before going home.

When Aziraphale looked up, he made eye contact with the red-haired gentlemen from earlier. He was alone at the bar, and when Aziraphale looked at him, he did something completely surprising. He smiled.

An hour later, Aziraphale was still recounting the event in self-pity. He could leave now, as the handsome stranger had left. In truth, he’d been too shocked by the gentlemen (who had, upon meeting him, offered him his own umbrella?) and had been unable to use his brain. He had no choice but to enter the bar after the gentlemen, who had held the door out for Aziraphale. Even now, Aziraphale replayed the memory of that brief, awkward interaction over and over in his head. It was pointless. It wasn’t like Aziraphale would ever see him again. He was a human. A handsome, kind human. Still, he had appreciated that small show of kindness. It left a warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. The war was getting to him.

It was dark outside by the time Aziraphale exited The Drooping Donkey. The rain had cleared and, while the street maintained most of the business of a typical Soho Saturday, the sidewalk was mostly deserted. That’s why, when Aziraphale heard a noise like a group of hushed voices and a loud banging sound, he immediately rushed to the source.

The redhead man from the bar laid crumbled against the wall of a deserted alley. He was bundled behind bags of rubbish. Aziraphale hurried over to him, kneeling down to see better and miracleing a source of light. Aziraphale’s checked that the man was still breathing first, which he was, but was barely conscious. In the light, Aziraphale could see immediately that he had multiple injuries. His face was bruised, and his knuckles and hands were red. Then, Aziraphale spotted the spreading red across his stomach. Just below it, there was a knife.

It lay discarded in the wet, tossed carelessly, as though it had not just killed a man.

The stranger groaned as Aziraphale lifted the fabric away from the knife wound to locate the stab wound. It didn’t take long to find it. Blood gushed down the man’s abdomen from the puncture, and bile threatened to rise in Aziraphale’s throat as he realised that the kind stranger likely wouldn’t survive it. He had lost too much blood. Aziraphale had no idea how long he had been here, left like this. There was no time to take him to a hospital. He hadn’t been with a wife or friends at the bar. He would likely die here, cold, and alone.

Aziraphale reached down, pressing a hand against the wound, and healing it. It was overkill, to heal it completely, but the man looked in enough pain that Aziraphale couldn’t help but want to help him as best as he could. He spluttered at the motion, coughing harshly. Aziraphale stood up quickly, miracleing his trousers clean from where they had been stained by water and blood. He also miracled the stranger unconscious.

Aziraphale would have liked to have stayed with the stranger to make sure he got better, but he couldn’t answer the questions the man would obviously have. With any luck, the gentleman would wake up with a nasty hangover, with little recollection of what had occurred the night before. He’d likely interpret the black eye as being the result of a minor drunken scuffle. He would not remember Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would never see him again.

A kindness for a kindness was all it was. Miracling him out of sight, Aziraphale turned, and walked away.

56 notes · View notes

thedemonknownasbilly · 5 months

Text

Weekends in Soho - Chapter One

Masterlist

Word Count: 726

Ineffable Husbands x GN!College!Reader

Warnings: season 2 spoilers (ish)

Final 15 never happened. They kissed and stayed together.

Two hours was a relatively short tube ride to you, coming from America and all, where going to the shops could take an hour even in the same city. So really, you couldn’t complain for a two hour ride to another city. You were certainly desperate now, class work was falling behind and you couldn’t afford that. Yet everywhere in Oxford seemed to be a distraction. The Starbucks turned into a flirting disaster between you and the barista who was five years older. The library was wrecked with familiar faces, classmates, friends, all people who were looking for their own excuse to not complete an assignment. Your home, even, was too distracting. The dishes needed doing, there was a new episode of your favorite show just aired, you always did say you’d dust later. Too many distractions. Too many things to do. So in a last minute effort to gain control, you bought a hotel and fares to Soho, London. Maybe a weekend away was what you needed.

You did your best to balance your laptop on your legs, keeping the volume of the device off, earbuds in as your phone played your favorite song on repeat, repetition meant you could tune it out, but the music kept the outside world out.

“Paddington Station.” The announcement blared, you had barely heard it, only looking up to the sign and seeing it. “Shit!” You murmured, gathering your things quickly and hectic like, jumping out onto the platform just in time, only realizing you had left your umbrella behind. “Oh, fuck me!” You huffed, noticing a man looking at you questioningly. “Not literally, twat.” You scoffed, carefully putting your things into your bag to protect them from the light drizzle, looking down at your phone and putting in the coordinates to your hotel, which luckily wasn’t too far, but without an umbrella, you really couldn’t walk around the neighborhood to look for dinner options or even a library.

“Oh, that smarts.” You had winced when you saw a couple get drenched by an awning suddenly tearing, out of the corner of your eye you could have sworn you saw someone in the bookshop across the street, watching the same scene with a similar pained expression. Wait. Bookshop! You scurried over quickly, doing your best to protect your belongings as you entered the door and nearly slammed it behind you.

“We’re closed, piss off.” The man from the window said, walking around carrying a pile of books. Another man, older, looking towards you sympathetically.

“It’s pouring like crazy out there, and I left my umbrella on the tube, can’t I just wait the rain out?” You had asked, shivering and drenched, but soon feeling a warm towel engulf you, looking behind you to see the older man putting it around your shoulder. “Thank you…”

“Jim.” The man answered with a grin, “would you like a hot chocolate?”

“I’d love that, if it’s no trouble.” You accepted, noticing the red haired man seemed to be scowling at Jim. You stuck close to Jim, he was much more friendly, making sure the hot chocolate was to your liking.

“Oh, fancy that, rain’s gone.” The red haired man, Crowley as Jim told you, said. “Bugger off.”

“I’ll visit another day,” you promised Jim, patting his hand kindly as you handed him back the now empty mug.

“I like them.” Jim announced when you had closed the door.

“You like everyone. I doubt your opinion here matters much.” Crowley rolled his eyes, looking down to see one of your bags remained, groaning as he picked it up. “Probably would lose their head if it weren’t attached.” He mumbled, looking at the travel tag and humming your name to himself, safely tucking the bag under Aziraphale’s desk.

“Please, tell me you didn’t sell any of my books?!” Aziraphale yelled out as he rushed in, eyes wide with worry. So the angel did see you leave his shop.

“And what if I did?” Crowley tried to tease, but immediately backtracking when his husband’s eyes threatened to fill with tears.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry.” Crowley rushed over to Aziraphale. “I didn’t sell any books, they just wanted to get out of the rain.”

“Trying to create another Maggie and Nina moment?” The angel jested.

“It would work if that bloody shop would buy a quality awning.”

“I’m sure it would, dear.”

83 notes · View notes

aloysiavirgata · 2 months

Note

So lately I’ve been very grateful for friends and read something that likened good ones to someone holding an umbrella over you in a downpour. Even when it’s just a silly text that gives you a smile on a shit day.

Anyway, thinking of that made me hanker for a prompt: AU, either Mulder or Scully stuck in a downpour when suddenly a handsome/pretty stranger opens an umbrella over their head.

Cheers to the real ones.

It’s raining.

It’s been raining forever, she thinks. Since she buried him, her belly like a full moon. Her belly pulling at her hips. Since she delivered his son and put lanolin on her chapped nipples and went shh, shh, through endless colicky nights full of Mylicon drops.

Since she handed the stranger - Vanessa, but still a stranger - her son and thought Eili, eili, lama sabachtani?

Raining since then, somewhere. Cold and grey and numbingly staccato. Raining, raining. The sky so fleecy and low.

She’s looking up at his apartment, as she does now; her belly flat as a Midwest highway.

“Jesus,” the man says, canting his umbrella over her as well. It’s a big golf umbrella, pied, as the most beautiful things are. “You look cold in this rain,” he says, tall and handsome as the surgeon she planned to marry once.

Once.

“I left it at work,” she says, a little breathless.

The man smiles down. “Jacob,” he says, and holds out his hand. He’s heterochromatic; one eye as blue as her own, as William’s. One eye as strange as Mulder’s.

“Dana,” she says, a little hitch in her voice. A little sob.

She’s cold and cold and cold, even with her hair grown out around her hollow face. Even with Doggett, who says “Agent Scully.”

Even with Skinner, who says, “Scully. Dana, DANA.”

***

Jacob, didn’t he fight an angel? Didn’t he wait fourteen years for the woman he loved? She’s drunk on a mid-range Beaujolais, can’t remember.

Fucks Jacob so she doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t burn. It’s good and warm and honest and she’s so very sorry. She’s so sorry, his lashes like the fringe on a velvet lampshade.

Scully sees his umbrella against the wall, wet and black and white. Furled like the wings of a bat as she leaves. The moon outside is a crescent. A rib. scythe.

“I love you,” she gasps, to no one. “I love you always.”

Grief is love with nowhere to go.

It’s drizzling, noncommittal and misty. “Spitting,” Mulder would say. Oxford.

He would say it, if he were here.

***

Jacob calls, even when the sun is shining.

She doesn’t answer. She looks away.

He calls less.

He doesn’t call.

***

“All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.”

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt #inbox #William #season 8 #pied beauty #gerard manley hopkins

35 notes · View notes

orqheuss · 12 days

Text

Between His Teeth - CHAPTER 1

(Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader)

Summary:

Alastor the Radio Demon, Overlord of Pride, was never lonely. But Alastor Benoit, beloved radio host of New Orleans, Louisiana, was. *** Alastor Benoit is a busy man. A radio host by night, an amateur detective for his mother's murder by day, and a prolific serial killer on the odd occasion he had some time in-between. By all means, he was booked solid. So, what will he do when a snarky spitfire of a jazz singer catches his eye…and his heart?

Word count: 1.7k

Chapter 1: We'll Meet Again

The night life of the Pride circle was often boisterous. A day rarely went by without the sound of pulsing electronica music drowning out the death rattle of the poor souls that happened upon something that they shouldn’t have— wrong place, wrong time, and all that. Sinners typically swarmed the streets once the blood moon rose high into the sky, out searching for their next score of the latest drug or desperate for the sinful touch of another. Hell was particularly lonely at night. Even the overlords that prowled the avenues during the day made their way out into the nightlife; be that searching for new, fresh as a daisy souls to make a deal with, or simply enjoying the debauchery of their afterlife, they were well known at a plethora of the clubs lining the dismal streets.

While enjoying the spoils of the entertainment district was the routine of many unfortunate souls, some tended towards a more simple life. High above Pentagram city, its walls freshly built after the latest Extermination of sinners, was a grand hotel. It was strangely quiet in the hallowed halls of the Hazbin Hotel. All of its patrons had retired to bed long ago, their heads pleasantly foggy and their steps lopsided and hazardous thanks to the smooth drinks served by their favorite cynical bartender. The last dregs of jazz music flitted through the long corridors of the building, a warbling songstress twisting tales of love long gone to an audience of deaf ears. Even in the dead of night, the atmosphere of the building was nostalgic in a sense— imaginary ghosts of each compatriot's life hiding amongst the shadows lining the towering walls. They mingled in their shade, swapping fables of lives lived long ago and worlds that have now blinked out like the stars against Hell’s scarlet sky. Atop the right side was a small radio tower, its antenna scraping against the clouds like a tiny bale-fire against the night sky and magic thrumming within the metallic veins of its structure. The bloody moon rained down against the windows of the station, lighting the air around it in a hazy vermilion hue. A dimmed light blinked from its apex, nothing but a tiny white star against the endless red, but glowing all the same against the muted song that streamed from its center. A soft bluesy tune sang through the night, no voices to follow along the melody, just the warbling melancholia from a lone nickel and dime trumpet. This song was different from the others that were constantly broadcasted across the land of sin— more rusty around the edges than the pristine quality of the Radio Demon’s other musical choices. This one sounded scratchy, like a home recording that got damaged by the wiles of time— a memory of something long forgotten.

A figure could be seen through one of the many wall to wall windows lining the circular tower, his form tall and imposing to those brave enough to cast their gaze upwards. There was only one person it could be; no one else was allowed in the mythical radio tower at the top of the hill other than its owner.

Everything about the Radio Demon was sharp corners— from his ears and antlers at the top of his head to the wing tips of his oxfords. Razor claws gripped at the wooden desk he was leaning against, fingernails making indents in the mahogany finish that would surely never be buffed out, even by the nimble fingers of the hotel’s resident maid. His lithe figure had changed exponentially in his transition from living to dead. Gone was his carefully groomed brown hair, amber eyes, and tanned sienna skin; all was replaced by startling shades of black, red, and grey. Where there was once blunted nails were now claws sharp enough to disembowel a man with one swipe. Where there was once human feet were now the hooves of a deer. A truly cruel prank from the universe, if he said so himself, turning him into the thing that he hunted most in life. The one constant was his smile. Oh, that smile. A gaudy thing that never left his angular visage. How his thin lips stretched to egregious amounts across his cheeks— indistinguishable from where his grin starts and the rest of his face ends. Those yellow, deadly sharp teeth on display for all of the realms to see if they so much as stumbled upon him in the street. It would not be amiss to find stray pieces of viscera tangled between his canines, or a splattering of blood staining the corners of his mouth, for it was his nature to devour. There was a reason he was called the cannibal killer, after all. When he was alive, many would describe his smile as charismatic, maybe even mischievous if they were feeling the fancy. Those times were long gone, though. Gone were the truly happy laughs and soft smiles for a select few people; all replaced now by the sulfuric smell of pure power and those terrifying teeth. If any resident of Hell were to ask around, they would be told one thing about the mysterious Radio Demon: he was truly a monster of astronomical proportions.

That night was no different from any of the others. At least it seemed like it to any onlooker below. There he stood in his high tower, stature looming over the screaming denizens of Pride and that ever-present smile stretched across his face. His ruby eyes danced from street to street, observing the sinners below go about their nightly activities— murders, mayhem, and constant malice. The screams they released— he reveled in the screams. That was his favorite thing to broadcast. He was never lacking in new screams for his radio show, thanks to the scum that swam along the alleyways.

Smiling evermore, sadistic glee twinkling in his blood red irises, his ears twitched against his head as a new, fairly foreign sound made its way through his never-ending windows. A laugh. Someone was laughing. Genuine, joyful laughter. What a rare sight, indeed. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the speck of happiness amongst the chaos. The Radio Demon leaned closer to his windows, a hand pressed against the glass and nails impatiently tapping a familiar rhythm— ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. Spotting where the noise came from, his grin faltered at the corners at the sight of two wayward souls laughing together, their arms linked as they strolled down the street, peacefully ignoring the cacophony of sounds coming from every alleyway.

Laughter was not uncommon, per say, in his little circle of hell; many souls found joy in the beauty of death. But, true happiness was a rarity— one he hadn’t felt in some time. An odd feeling stirred in his chest, his heart suddenly feeling significantly heavier than it did moments before and his smile much more strained. The emotion was unpleasant— scratching against his ribs as it yearned to be released, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. What was this? He pondered. Jealousy? Anger? No, he knew those emotions better than he knew himself. He didn’t know the name of this mysterious feeling yet, and if there was one thing the Radio Demon hated more than anything, it was not knowing things. A familiar feeling of rage swelled in his gut, twisting his organs into a comfortable knot as he clenched his hands against the invisible chains that fettered the souls that he owned to his own, green magic hissing from his fingers and swirling around his murderous clutches. Yet, the unknown feeling persisted. With a sigh, he waved the mist away and turned from the window, eyes down-turned and ears pressed to the back of his head as he slumped across the room and into his chair. Hearing the laughter of the happy couple once again, now more of an annoying buzz in his ear than something assaulting his senses, the pain blossoming in his chest bloomed into a garden. Loneliness.

He laughed with someone like that, once, a voice hissed in his mind.

He growled low in his throat, lips twisted into a smiling snarl as he willed away the bittersweet thoughts. He couldn’t possibly be lonely. He didn’t need anyone anymore— he was a king among these lowly sinners.

Alastor the Radio Demon, Overlord of Pride, was never lonely. But Alastor Benoit, beloved radio host of New Orleans, Louisiana, was.

With another growl— no one was around to hear him, after all— he ran his hands down his face in exasperation. A simple couple was enough to get him out of sorts, now? Satan, he was losing it. Reaching his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, he thumbed at the pocket watch resting there. The metal was cold to the touch, edges of the hinge and the rotating bezel starting to tarnish from age. His nail brushed against the inscription decorating the watch face, looping letters etched into the metal in the most permanent declaration of love. Mon Coeur, it said. My Heart. Alastor sighed wistfully, an unusual sound coming from him. He missed home— his tiny corner of the bayou that only a select few people knew about. His home was filled with so much love, but also so much grief. Everything it touched bled with melancholy. He craved its familiarity, but valued that he was away from the trials and tribulations of 1920’s society. Here, in Hell, he was an Overlord— someone to be feared. Admired. Hailed. Hell was his Heaven, as much of an oxymoron as that was. He wouldn’t trade that for anything, not even all the souls he could eat.

Well, almost anything.

Images of flaxen hair and eyes the color of the sea after a storm sang at the corners of his mind— a voice like wind chimes on a southern spring night calling his name into the vast unknown. With another long sigh, the weight of his sins resting heavy on his shoulders and the soundtrack of his once bountiful life singing through the stereo, Alastor let himself sink deeper into his sickeningly sweet memories of times long gone.

We’ll meet again,

Don’t know where,

Don’t know when.

But, I know we’ll meet again

Some sunny day.

#tina speaks #masterlist #Alastor Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Alastor #Alastor #The Radio Demon #Alastor the Radio Demon #Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #Alastor x sinner #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin #HH #human alastor

28 notes · View notes

idolatrybarbie · 5 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 1.9k | mature

summary: meet marcus. err, i mean—congressman pike.

tags: angst, takes place in 2024, background american politics, lovers to exes to uh?, angst, heavy petting but no smut, previous relationship, alex ice bitch moments (but it's justified and i will fight to the death for her).

tags & notes: @atinylittlepain @amanitacowboy | this is a scheduled post - I'm still away. Please enjoy this pithy little bitch in my absence.

Rain. It’s been raining in D.C. for the past eight days with no end in sight. Homes flooded, whole blocks evacuated as basements fill with rainwater all around the city. The leading story of this twenty-four hour news cycle is if a bulging spot in the White House’s East Wing ceiling will break and flood the office of the First Lady.

The town car, sleek with water droplets, pulls up to the cubic brick building. When the vehicle halts next to the sidewalk, Marcus nods at his driver.

“Thanks, Hal,” he says.

“Would you like me to pull around back, sir?”

“No need. Take the rest of the day off.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll be a while,” Marcus says. “Don’t worry about it.”

He gets out of the car without another word. Oxfords don’t take too well to the rain. He makes his way through puddles gathered on the granite and marble walkway quickly. The guard at the door nods at him, shoulders dry beneath the building’s overhang when he opens the door for Marcus. Sorry, Congressman Pike.

Inside, the walls are mostly wood paneled. Stuffy and dated. Glancing around the place through her eyes as he makes his way, he knows that must be all she can see.

She’d want glass, Marcus thinks. Windows, disregarding the safety concerns.

She would say something like, “This is an office for the people. Why is it hidden from them?”

That’s what Marcus loves about her.

When he reaches the office he’s searching for, he stops at the receptionist’s desk. The man sat behind it is undeniably pretty, teeth perfectly white in the polite smile he flashes.

He asks, “Here to see Ms. Dozie, sir?”

Marcus nods, giving him a yes.

“You must be Congressman Pike.” He holds out his hand. Not shocking the kid knows him generally—he is a public figure—but surprising that he knows him and works for her.

Maybe she talks about me.

“Marcus is fine,” Marcus tells the man, shaking it.

“Cameron Temple,” he returns. “She’s through the second door that way.”

Marcus heads in the direction that Cameron points him to, squaring his shoulders when the first door closes behind him. He doesn’t have to knock on the second, wide open already. Alex sits behind a desk—grand and sturdy, dark European oak. She’s pouring over documents with a pen, scribbling in different places every few seconds. Silently, Marcus walks to the doorway and leans against the jamb.

She looks different. An image refined. Marcus observes the simple blazer draped over the back of her chair, the loose neckline of her blouse. She’s grown into herself since leaving the campaign. Since leaving him.

“Your hair’s different,” Marcus finally says.

Eyes still on the page she’s annotating, Alex says, “We’re going to ignore that that’s the first thing you’ve decided to say to a Black woman and pretend you just said hi.”

When she looks up at him, dark braids frame the sides of her face. Marcus remembers her straight bangs, or the flowing pin curls she wore to his swearing in ceremony. A different life. A different woman. And yet they’re both Alex Dozie all the same.

“Alex,” he says, stepping over the threshold of her office.

“Marcus,” she returns. Then she corrects herself. “Congressman. What brings you to the Capitol?”

Is it too straightforward to tell her that it’s her? Well, maybe not entirely. He’s been appointed to a congressional committee. His introductory hearing is tomorrow. But Marcus came here first. That has to count for something.

“Here for the energy and commerce meeting. Thought I’d stop by,” Marcus says.

“Well thanks for saying hi,” Alex says.

“Alex…”

“What?”

Glancing back at the door, Marcus pushes at it. They both watch as it closes. Clicking shut, he says, “It’s good to see you.”

“Sure it is,” Alex says. “What do you want Marcus?”

“To talk to you. Catch up. You never called.”

“I left.”

“I’m aware,” Marcus says. “You just—you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. You won the election and I found a new job,” Alex says.

“Before resigning your old one.”

“I gave you my letter.”

“Through an aide,” Marcus counters. “You told some twenty-something intern to leave it on my desk.”

“And you knowing that means you got it. Good, great. Glad we could clear that up.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Being like what, Marcus?” Alex asks. “You won. You are one of the one hundred and eighteen people to ever represent the state of Vermont in the United States House of Congress. You got what you wanted. Somewhere along the way, I played a small part to make that happen. What else do you want from me?”

Alex had been his press secretary, quick-thinking with undeniable charm hiding behind that Howard law degree. She was more than that, though. Lonely evenings at the campaign office turned into late night drinks with a new friend, and then something more. Marcus was in love; stupidly, wildly. He had hoped that she was too. And then she left, and there was no hope left for him to wonder.

“I need to know why,” he says. “Why you left.”

Alex takes in a breath, brows raising as her nose scrunches. Marcus has seen her do that a million times, making that face whenever a reporter threw her a particularly stupid question. They aren’t a team anymore. He’s on the outside looking in. Marcus has been reduced to the level of everyone else.

“It doesn’t matter why I left. You didn’t need me anymore,” Alex says.

“That’s not true. You know that's not true,” Marcus says. “We could have found you a job somewhere. You could’ve kept your old one!”

“Maybe I just got tired. The sneaking around, sex in dark corners. Hiding in the backseat of your car when someone parked theirs in the garage. What is that? What was that supposed to mean for me?”

“You’re telling me that you couldn’t see into our future?” Marcus asks.

“What future? The one where I’m your smart, but not too smart, pretty-for-a-Black-girl trophy wife? You’re lauded in the press for marrying a woman of colour and I get to sit outside the door while the big boys plot your path to the Governor’s mansion. Is that it? Do you think that’s what I want, Marcus?”

“I thought you wanted me. Us,” he says. Marcus’ eyes are soft circles now, sorrow plain on his face. A wounded animal waiting for the killing blow.

“Things don’t work like that,” Alex says, eyes glued to the floor. She’s trying to keep the tears at bay, pursing her lips hard in the way Marcus remembers. She hates crying in front of other people. Said it feels like dying inside. “It doesn’t matter what I wanted. I have to work twice as hard—”

“For half of what I have,” Marcus says. “I know.”

“Then why are you here?” Alex asks again, barely a whisper.

“Does it matter that I loved you? That I always did?” he asks.

Eyes watering, she fixes her gaze to the ceiling. Anywhere but on him. “Please stop.”

Marcus takes three steps closer to her. The closest he’s been in fourteen months, not that he’s keeping count. “Alex—”

“Please.”

A tear slips and falls, rolling down her cheek. Marcus wipes it away on instinct, thumb grazing her skin. It takes a moment for her to flinch away from his touch, walking back around the desk to put space between them. He doesn’t follow, respecting the physical boundary.

“I’m sorry to ambush you here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Phone call. Letter, hell, telegram?” Alex options. “It’s been a year. You should have moved on.”

“Have you?”

The question is loaded; a pistol full of bullets that he’s openly handing her. Alex looks at it, weighing her options. Her answer really just might kill him.

“No,” she says quietly. “Everything has been so busy and…” Alex starts talking, reorganizing a stack of files at the corner of her desk. She doesn’t seem to notice Marcus rounding the corner of it and walking over to her side until she turns and he’s right there in front of her.

They’ve been in this exact position before. She’s swapped the pencil skirts for dress pants and the suits he can afford to wear these days are much nicer. This close, her breath icy against his lips from the gum she chews to focus, Marcus can sense that nothing has truly changed. Everything else is mere set dressing. Whatever is between them is still what it says on the tin.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Marcus says. He falters a half-step, giving Alex the chance to slip away. An out.

All she does is nod, says, “Okay.”

The kiss is hard. Teeth and spit clash and mix as Marcus gently sits her down at the very edge of her desk. The thought of her desk does something to him, cock stirring in his expensive pants. Assistant District Attorney in the office of the nation’s capital. A powerful woman, Alex is finally getting what she deserves. He kind of likes the idea of her telling him what to do, too.

She breaks up the kiss with a gentle hand to his chest. “We can’t do this here.”

Marcus takes a moment to scold his disappointment, keeping his face neutral. “Right,” he blinks. “Right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alex says. He sees a flash of the woman he used to know when she speaks. “I just—it’s my office. Cameron’s right outside.”

Slowly, Marcus backs away from her. Alex rearranges her top, putting it back in place. She looks gorgeous. More comfortable in her own skin than Marcus has ever seen her. The shyness she’d shown everyone when they first met is what drew him to her, but discovering the bold woman behind the meek facade is what had him tripping over himself.

“Your secretary is kind of hot,” Marcus says, trying to slice through any tension.

Alex lets out a big laugh, face splitting into a smile as she sucks in a harsh breath. “He’s the receptionist,” she says. “He’s a good kid. Does his job, makes sure I don’t look like an idiot in court.”

“You could never look like an idiot,” Marcus says.

“You need to stop that,” but there’s no force in her tone. Alex’s words are playful, the finger pointing at him more teasing than accusatory.

Something kicks in—an instinct or a sudden thought. The smile falls from her face, hands at her sides as Alex clears her throat. It’s like her brain has enacted the disciplinary protocols to shut down any experience of joy. Marcus watches it all play out on her face in an instant.

He beats her to the punch. “I should go.”

“You should,” she agrees.

“It was…good to see you, Alex,” Marcus says.

“Likewise, Congressman Pike.”

The wall is up again. That glimpse of the woman he knew was only that.

She’s right. Things have changed. Alex has changed. It’s been a year. Marcus should have moved on.

Without another word, he opens the door and leaves. Cameron is on the phone when he passes by, walking quickly through the building. A race into the rain. Surprisingly, the car Marcus arrived in is still parked at the curb when he gets outside. With the harsh beat in his chest, Marcus can’t find it in him to get even a little bit annoyed that he wasn’t listened to.

He pulls the back passenger door open himself, shielding his face from the rain with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“You’re still here,” Marcus says.

“I figured you would still need a ride, sir,” Hal tells him. There's a tell in his tone, a knowing that Marcus can't shake.

“Right,” Marcus nods. “Well, thank you. We can go back to the hotel now.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x fem!oc #the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #fic: a little bit of truth #pedrostories

20 notes · View notes

ryder-the-writer · 3 months

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ my submission for the silly love songs fest ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

@sillylovesongsfest

my song: thrown right at me by the tallest man on earth

wolfstar, serenading your lover by the light of the stars, seaside cottage, 1.3k

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The wind tousled the trees gently, causing the small silver chimes to make a charming sound. It felt like beautiful music when it blended with the songbirds that frequented their garden.

The koi pond, surrounded by flowers that Remus had carefully planted the spring before, had a tiny waterfall that led down from the creek. Remus swears he’d seen deer drinking from it before.

Remus sat down gently on the blanket that he had brought out. The grass was slightly dewy from last night’s rain but the blanket absorbed most of what would have gotten onto his trousers.

He took a deep breath, appreciating the clean air of the countryside that he inhaled, not at all missing the smog-filled lungs that came with living for years in central London. He was glad to come back to his roots.

Their cottage was positioned on the edge of the forest and a six-minute walk from the cliffside overlooking the cold, salty Irish Sea.

If one wanted to walk alongside the waves, dashing back when the foamy water swelled up to meet the shore, they could scramble down the steep path that was notorious for having a multitude of pebbles to slip on. Remus and Sirius went down to the shore for the first few years they had the cottage. Nowadays only Teddy wanted to brave the slippery slope of the path to the sea.

They did have picnics on the cliffside nearly every weekend though, watching as Teddy wove around the water below, trying to dart back before the waves could splash him.

James, Regulus, Peter, and Pandora sometimes joined them for brunch on the cliff. That always ended with James and Sirius wrestling in the grassy clearing. Peter, Regulus and Remus would all be entranced by the quiet movement of the sea, like sailors drawn to a siren’s song. Pandora would be off talking to the birds or feeding deer from her hand or threatening to cut everyone’s hair in their sleep if they didn’t try Peter’s scones (they looked horrid but were surprisingly delicious).

But mostly, it was just the two of them. Remus and Sirius.

Teddy was off at Oxford, studying creative writing. He wanted to be a screenwriter in Hollywood eventually. Sirius had made him promise to use a Bowie song in at least one of his films, just for him.

Remus had long retired from teaching, wanting to spend more time writing the novel he’d been neglecting for too long. And more time with Sirius hasn’t hurt one bit. Sirius still worked, not because he had to though. The two of them had a hefty savings account thanks to Sirius’s music career. But if Sirius didn’t have at least three different projects to ping pong between working on, he’d get bored and grumpy.

Sirius sang all the time. He sang and played the guitar to Remus at night by the fire, he sang under his breath while doing chores, and he sang while driving. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t busted his vocal cords yet.

Sirius used to lead a pop punk band that he, James, and Peter had formed when they were still in university. Sirius had tried to get Remus involved and he did play bass for them a few times in the beginning if James couldn’t make it. But once they took off and were playing to millions in sold-out shows across the world, Remus was more than happy cheering them on from backstage.

The band had disbanded nearly a decade ago, simply because that chapter of everyone’s life was over. Sirius and Remus were settling down in their seaside cottage, James and Regulus wanted to travel the world and see things, not just the inside of stadiums. Peter joined up with a new band for a while, where he met his girlfriend, Pandora.

Sirius was still releasing music, his own acoustic, “old man” songs, as James liked to call them. And they sort of were. But there was a deep love that resonated when Sirius sang them. His new songs sounded like a slow wave of steady emotion that seemed to simultaneously overwhelm and calm Remus.

Sirius played for Remus nearly every night by the fire on his acoustic guitar. Remus would join in sometimes, the deepness of his bass blending with Sirius’s higher notes of the melody. But mostly he just let himself be serenaded. It was a lovely feeling, having someone sing for you when you know that they meant every beautiful word they said.

The simplicity of their life now was a calming change. Going from the fast-paced life of tour and the constant deadlines that came with teaching, they could find so much more time for one another. That would have been impossible in the old days. They gave one another space, of course. They would go crazy if they saw one another 24/7, but it was a much better balance than it was before. Sometimes Remus wouldn’t see Sirius for months while he was on tour and that time was hard on the two of them, but they made it through.

They made it through together and built the sugar-sweet life they had now. They were living every Pinterest girl’s cottagecore dreams. But they had earned it.

And it’s not to say that their simple life didn’t bring issues along with it. Living in a small space, no matter how much you love someone, gets tedious sometimes.

Remus still gets pissed every time Sirius dumps the laundry on their bed and neglects to fold it, making the clothes get all wrinkled. Sirius gets annoyed with Remus whenever he puts a pot in the sink to be washed when it only had boiling water in it.

But they were all small issues. The big ones were worked out long ago, the screaming and shoving and ghosting and hate sex, thankfully long behind them.

It hadn’t been an easy time for them, years ago. But now, they could just relax, knowing that the single most important thing, the fact that they loved one another, was forever understood between the two of them.

Remus settled back on his blanket and watched as the sky gently turned violet, twinkling stars starting to show their lights.

Remus heard the glass door slide open and he twisted around to see Sirius, sleek black acoustic guitar in hand, hair twisted up in a bun held by a single chopstick. Remus smiled and patted the spot on the blanket next to him and Sirius obliged, settling the guitar on his knee.

“What’s the mood tonight?” Sirius asked as he had a million times before, and Remus answered, just as he had a million times before.

“Something pretty.” Remus smiled softly at their routine and Sirius smiled right back.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, Mr Lupin.” Sirius plucked at the strings for a moment, making sure it was in tune. He set his capo on the 5th fret and placed his fingers along the fretboard.

Then he began to play, plucking out the melody with light, deft fingers.

Jump 'long the creekside The rock's crooked line Fun girls, you'll hear it The days open wide

And horses trot faster 'til sparrows fall down But you just fall, laughin', to the snow on the ground You grew up by playin' the valley so wild And that's why You're so beautiful now

And, dancin' your bike to the lonesome, young mare You call up her owner; say your heart will be there You'll build a collection of scars on your knees To learn how to count the impossible trees You grew up by climbin' the birches so high And that's why You're so beautiful now

And we live so close that we probably seen The same bird, the same time They solumnly scream One day, I'll find just that friend who can see All this weird beauty Thrown right at me

Growin' by playin' the valley so wild And that's why You're so beautiful now

#mini oneshot time!#ignore any grammar errors its 5 am #silly love songs fest #ryder writes #wolfstar #happy valentines everyone <3

14 notes · View notes

1dmonthlyficroundup · 1 year

Text

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for May 2023! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ in this world, it's just us by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way [T, 2k, Louis/Harry]

Harry returns home from the Brits with his 4 awards happy and very drunk. Louis is super proud and extremely in love with his boy and more than happy to show it in any way he can.

＊ Bound by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 [G, 619 words, Zayn/Liam]

Months should pass like hours for a vampire, but to Zayn they’ve felt endless. Now, finally, it has come.

The day he takes his consort.

＊ Bloom by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 [T, 28k, Liam/Louis]

In early 1970s Oxford, Detective Sergeant Louis Tomlinson has to deal with the dual pressures of a case that hits too close to home, and the arrival of new colleague Liam Payne. Payne is both the bane of his existence and, uh... dangerous. Very dangerous. His eyes, that is. His lips. The way he stands.

A story of rain and cobblestones, cigarettes, and repression. And the sunshine after the storm.

＊ Digits for Daddy by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Harry is back to being cheeky on stage, and this time he’s teasing his fans with his hands. He loves working the crowd, and he can’t help but watch as the cameraman shows his fingers on the big screen. Louis, however, is less than amused.

＊ Just a little taste by @lunarheslwt [G, 3k, Harry/Louis]

“Little dove,” Louis crooned, making Harry shiver a little, affected, “you’re shaking. Do you want to bite?” Harry stilled. He knew what Louis was asking. He knew Louis probably could sense how in dire need of comfort he was. He knew Louis was offering. And yet- “No,” he whispered, even as he felt the strong urge to let his lips trace the well-known path to the spot he usually bit into, “I could hurt you.” “Harry, my darling, you haven’t hurt me once in the numerous times you’ve needed to bite. Today will be no different. You know it’ll do you good.” Harry sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, torn. In the end, it was an offer he was too weak to resist. “So…do you want to? Little taste?” “Yeah,” Harry rasped out, “please.”

Or, Harry is a vampire that comes home one night, grappling with the darkness that comes with being one. Louis offers him unwavering love, acceptance and the one thing he needs but is reluctant to ask for; permission to bite for the sake of comfort and safety seeking.

＊ June by @neondiamond [G, 1k, Louis/Harry]

Louis and Harry pick a paint colour for their new daughter’s room.

＊ Blow the Banana by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

The last leg of Harry’s tour has started up, and he has kicked things off with a bang and a banana that someone threw on stage. He wasn’t planning on unpeeling it and giving the fans a cheeky show, but when they chanted that he should eat it, he couldn’t resist his sensual ways. Louis, of course, needed to punish him for it later.

＊ Hold Me How the Deep Night Has by @crochetsunsets [E, 48k, Harry/Louis]

Louis Tomlinson needs a change. Stuck in a cycle of going to the job he hates, spending time with his friends, and avoiding the one man he hates most in this world, Louis' in desperate need of something new. So when he discovers an abandoned notebook on the way to work, the decision is easy to take it for himself and begin a journal amidst the empty pages. What can't be expected are the words that appear overnight directly beside his own, written on the same day 400 years in the past. What are the consequences of a magical connection between two men of different centuries? And who, among it all, is the mysterious E who only exists on the other side of Louis' journal?

or What happens when love transcends time itself.

＊ That's The Way Love Goes by red_PANdaaa28 / @red-pandaaa [M, 8k, Louis/Harry]

For the last eleven months, there had been someone missing though. As Louis stared at the empty spot usually reserved for Liam, he realised it had almost been a year since they had been all five together.“Hey.” Harry nudged him gently in the ribs. As always, he was on the same wavelength as Louis; instantly knowing where his mind had wandered to. “He’ll come around eventually.” Louis nodded, taking a deep breath and plastered on a smile.

OR Liam is going through a break up. Louis remembers.

＊ seven, seven by @nouies [NR, 1k, Harry/Louis]

“Hello, baby girl,” Harry says as soon as the nurse places the bundle of joy into his arms. “We’ve been dying to meet you.”

＊ (now I realize that the world outside) it's bigger than me by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed [T, 3k, Louis+Liam friendship fic]

It starts with a phone call from Liam.

“Lou,” it sounds urgent, the way that Liam gets when he’s worried, and Louis sits up straighter, conditioned to that tone even when he had hated it the first few years in the band.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brain immediately trying to play catch up, wondering where his keys are and if he can get away with leaving the house without a shower, because it doesn’t matter how long it’s been, it doesn’t matter how much physical distance there is between them, if any of his boys call and need him he’ll be there in a heartbeat. Or as soon as he can, at least.

“Did you mean to post that to your public account?”

Or: Louis accidentally comes out

＊ When it's good it's really something by @enchantedlandcoffee [E, ~1k, Louis/Harry]

Louis managed to lose himself in the sensation, his casual strokes quickening with purpose as his other hand clenched the duvet with his fist. He tried to muffle his groans slightly, still listening out for movement from downstairs. As his eyes flicked over to the clock, the bedroom door was pushed open to reveal a sweaty Harry, joggers riding even lower on his hips and two bottles of water in his hands. Harry’s eyes raked down Louis’ body, lingering on Louis’ hand and obvious erection. “You started without me?!” A pout formed on the younger boy’s face as he placed the drinks on the dresser, his eyes never leaving Louis’ body. “Took too long,” Louis breathed, throwing his head back with a soft moan as his hand quickened its pace.

Series Part 2 of Can We Please Get Back To Lovin'?

＊ If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? by @enchantedlandcoffee [T, 6k, Harry/Louis]

"Is Harry with you?" Louis blurted out, his free hand tapping anxiously against his knee. "Louis?" "Yeah. Is Harry with you?" On any other occasion, Louis knew Niall would have yelled at him for calling in the middle of the night. But Niall must've sensed the urgency in his tone, his voice immediately taking on a lighter touch. "Yeah. Yeah, he's been staying in the spare room. Why? Do you want me to get him for you?" "No!" Louis panicked. "Just- check on him please? Make sure he's breathing and everything?"

＊ i still wanna dance with you by @justanothershadeofblue [T, 6k, Louis/Harry]

The first time Louis Tomlinson sees Harry Styles, he thinks Harry is the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Long brown curls cascade past gently curved shoulders; big green eyes with long lashes blink up at him above a full, pink mouth. There’s a pile of clover in Harry’s lap where he’s plaiting a flower crown, and it’s not till Harry speaks, smiling shyly, that Louis realizes his mistake.

＊ Come All Ye by @justanothershadeofblue [E, 6k, Harry/Louis]

Come all ye rolling minstrels And together, we will try To rouse the spirit of the earth And move the rolling sky

It's the summer of 1971, and Louis just wants to get out of town for a minute or a day. When his buddy Zayn says they should head down south and check out this radical new music festival, Louis is only too happy to agree.

＊ Flowers in the Window by @justanothershadeofblue [M, 33k, Louis/Harry]

He’d fought with Harry; one last, angry, drag-out fight. Harry’d called him provincial and afraid; he’d shouted back that Harry was self-centered and ambitious. They hadn’t come to blows, but it had been a near thing - Harry had stormed out of the pub, barely remembering his guitar and forgetting his hat. Louis had gritted his teeth and finished his pint before striding out into the damp and windy night, letting the wet breeze hide the frustration that seeped down his cheeks. Now he lies listening to the voices in the wind as it howls in the space between his own house and Harry’s. The narrow gap that had always seemed non-existent throughout their childhoods now feels like a chasm in the darkness of the night, something opening between them too far to be bridged, too deep to be forded. Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

Series Part 2 of ocean tides you home

＊ Hard to Handle by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 3k, Louis/Harry]

Harry can't resist the chance to make a good joke, especially on stage in front of his fans. It just so happens that this one was dirty, the words “hard and fast” falling from his lips with a cheeky grin. It’s not until he gets to his dressing room that his dom Louis reminds him just how hard and fast things can get.

＊ Together We're the Greatest by @hellolovers13 [E, 4k, Harry/Louis]

“How the fuck does this always happen to you?” Louis huffed, pulling Harry's limp body into the half fallen apart car he'd borrowed for this. Well, he didn't intend to give it back, really, but insurance covered theft, did it not? And this thing was basically held together with duct tape and good faith, so really, the former owners should thank him for taking it off their hands.

It's not the first time Louis has to stitch Harry back together, but Louis will make sure it is the last.

＊ Captain Cupid by @2tiedships2 [NR, 15k, Louis/Harry]

“Right,” Niall started, finally getting the opportunity to unleash his horrible plan. “Well, as you both know, I’m an excellent matchmaker. A human Cupid.The best of the best at finding one's mate. And I’ve decided it’s time to make money doing it.”

“Oh, God no,” Louis groaned, picking up his empty plate and placing it in the sink. He needed to escape as quickly as possible.

Or the one where Niall enlists his friends to help start a speed dating side hustle. Things don't go as planned... or maybe they do?

＊ Tip of the Tongue by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 4k, Louis/Harry]

Harry can’t control what his fans do while he’s on stage, so when some of them started spraying water on him, he did the only logical thing and stuck his arms and tongue out, embracing the impromptu shower. The person who doesn’t embrace the action is Louis, who decides to give Harry a few showers of his own and remind the boy what is tongue is good for.

＊ Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings [M, 29k, Harry/Louis]

Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rouge ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

＊ take me back, take me back by eynap / @panye [E, 32k, Niall/Shawn Mendes]

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Niall says. He puts his head between his hands. “How is this happening?”

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Harry says. “I wanted you to figure it out on your own.”

“You think I like Shawn, too?” Niall asks and he’s shocked. “If anyone is supposed to tell me that I’m gay it’s supposed to be my gay best friend!”

Or, Niall invites his new friend Shawn to Zayn and Liam's three-day wedding in Napa Valley, California. He gets way more than he expected.

＊ Five Zero Five by Stria / @nooradeservedbetter [E, 2k, Louis/Harry]

“So,” says Harry, and his fingers trail on Louis’ jaw, over his exposed neck. “I heard your cover tonight. Arctic Monkeys, really nice.” His fingers linger on Louis’ neck, stroke the Adam’s apple.

(Or, they told us all they have a choking kink.)

＊ Shame the Schlong by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Harry was forced to behave on stage when his mom was in the audience of one of his shows. Because of his this, he was sure that he hadn’t given his dom Louis a reason to punish him after the concert. A cheeky photo taken before Harry goes back to the hotel, however, has him in for a surprise.

#28th appreciation #hllibrary #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #1dsource

85 notes · View notes

fizzycherrycola · 3 months

Text

Malaysia/Singapore, 1921

On a dark, rainy night, Singapore finds himself in desperate need of a warm meal and a bright smile. Luckily, he has someone who cares for him very much.

Originally intended to be part of a Hetalia fan anthology, however I missed the deadline long ago. You can find it at @hwsrazzledazzle . This is my first time writing Malaysia and Singapore, so I hope I've done them justice. Please enjoy! If anyone notices inconsistencies or cultural mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix them right away.

December Rain

Singapore; 16 December 1921

“Governor, is there really no other way? We are in peacetime, so surely-”

“Unfortunately, this is the way it must be. Perhaps if relations between London and Tokyo improve, then these restrictions may be lifted. But from what I understand, it is unlikely that either of us will witness such a thing happen in the near future.”

“...I see.”

“I know this is all rather irregular, but even so, I trust you will follow these new regulations once they come into effect. Won’t you, Singapore?”

“Yes, Governor Guillemard, of course.”

“Good. Very good! I had the sense when we first met that we would get along well. That you were an honourable, hard-working young man – or colony, I should say – and that you would cause no trouble. I’m delighted to see that is still the case.”

—

A torrent of water falls from the heavens in rippling sheets. People dart about, some on bicycle and some on foot. They splash through the wide puddles of the civic district, anxious to be home before the dark night sets in. The lucky ones squeeze onboard the bustling electric tram with their elbows and umbrellas poking through the open windows. Unfortunately, Singapore was not one of those lucky ones today.

Clasping his cold hands together, Singapore rubs his knuckles. He huddles in the seat of his hired rickshaw, grimacing at his situation. The spats covering his shoes are terribly soggy and the rain has soaked his grey trousers up to the thigh. He leans back in his seat, sheltering beneath the rickshaw’s canopy, hopelessly trying to stay as dry as possible. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, but tonight... Malaya is visiting for dinner. It’s the first date they’ve had in months.

There is a tightness behind his ribs and Singapore takes a steadying breath. He needs to dispel the stress of the business day and the terrible news he was given.

None of that matters at the moment. Even though his disheartening meeting with the Governor went on for much longer than expected, he should still make it home before Malaya arrives, because that silly oyen is often late himself. And to the rickshaw puller’s credit, they are speeding down the muddy streets.

Eventually, Singapore’s abode reveals itself wedged amongst a long row of shophouses. The vehicle’s rickety wheels slow to a halt and the rickshaw man glances back expectantly. Quickly, Singapore tosses a few coins his way. Then, he hops out of his seat, over the gate, and dashes through the five-foot way.

He pushes open the wooden door to his house and pauses, holding his breath. The darkened front hall is quiet and none of the oil lamps appear lit. Thank goodness. Tension floods from his shoulders and he releases a sigh.

He slips off his shoes and carries them inside, hoping to wipe the leather dry and preserve his valuable Oxfords. His bare feet tap terracotta tiles as he pads through the front office, then the smell of firewood hits him, mingled with the aroma of red chili and garlic. Peeking into the hallway, he sees dim light and steam emanating from the kitchen in the back.

His hairs stand on end and a second later he’s bursting into the warm room.

“Why are you here so early?!” Singapore demands.

Malaya flinches and glances up from the stove. “Oh, you’re here!” A bright smile blooms across his face, putting his crooked fang tooth on full display. “Welcome back!”

“You’re never early! How did…?”

“Ah? I thought I was late. You said we would meet in the afternoon.”

“No, we said it would be in the evening.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Malaya chuckles. “I thought it was strange when I walked in and nobody was home.”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making dinner!”

“But I was going to....” Singapore’s words fail him as he gawks at his kitchen. The mortar is smudged with trace remains of crimson spices and his stove is lit with the smoky haze of burning charcoal. Malaya tosses peppers into the wok and effortlessly works the sizzling heat like he was born for it. Singapore sighs. “Never mind. Let me take over from here.”

Malaya laughs incredulously. “But I’m almost finished!”

“It doesn’t matter. This is your first time in my new home! You’re my guest.”

Malaya quirks an eyebrow and gestures to Singapore with the backend of his chuan. “Singa, you’re dripping wet. You’ll get rainwater in our food.”

Baulking, Singapore looks himself over. His suit is darkened and heavy, leaking droplets onto the floor.

Grimacing, he deflates. “...I’m sorry.”

“Ah? You don’t need to apologise.”

“No, I should have arrived earlier. I had plans for our dinner together; I wanted it to be special.”

Smiling wider, Malaya seems to melt on the spot. “Sayang….”

“I can take over after I’ve changed.”

“No. This is my cooking now.”

“But–”

“It’s fine. You work too hard!” Malaya steps away from the wok and nudges Singapore out of the room. “Quick! Go change out of those clothes before the food is ready.”

Reluctantly, Singapore trudges upstairs to his bedroom, glancing back at the kitchen as he goes.

Once upstairs, he takes a moment to tend to his Oxfords, the higher priority, before his own comfort. When he’s satisfied that the leather is dry enough, he peels off his wet business attire, shivering despite the humidity, and then towels his damp skin. Throwing on something clean, he pauses in front of a small mirror to tame his dark hair before returning downstairs.

The dining area is bathed in warmth and an array of dishes decorate the table. Dinner is set out before him: tomato rice with ayam masak merah, a mix of chicken and dried chilies sambal. The saucy red soup glistens in the lamplight and Singapore’s belly rumbles. Malaya snickers, placing the finishing touches on the table and telling him to dig in.

With a flush rising to his cheeks, Singapore thanks his companion and relents. He takes a bite of the chicken, and a burst of rich, creamy, spice hits his tongue. It’s so delicious that he sighs, the flavour bringing back memories of other rainy Decembers, long past. When it was just the two of them, huddled beneath a small, thatched roof.

“Abang, it’s so good,” Singapore says. “Thank you.”

“Anytime!” A wide grin graces Malaya’s face as he produces a gorgeous bottle of tapai rice wine and pours both of them a healthy glass. Then he sits as well, going for his tomato rice, and talking unabashedly between massive mouthfuls of food. “You know, I think your last house was better.”

Singapore pouts. “Don’t say that, lah. I was hoping you would like it here.”

“Well, ah… it’s not what I was expecting.”

“I was able to get this because my markets have been paying well. Would you prefer it if I returned to a timber attap house? Go back to my old kampong?”

Malaya sheepishly raises his hands in mock surrender. “No! It’s just very… different?”

“It’s closer to the city centre. And it’s modern.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry.” Malaya leans in and gives Singapore a quick kiss on the cheek – an apology. He leaves behind a few sticky grains of rice, and Singapore rolls his eyes before brushing them off. “You worked very hard for this, so I’ll admit, for a city house, it is really spacious and fancy.”

Singapore swallows a few more bites of food while considering his companion’s sentiment.

Indeed, the new dwelling takes some getting used to. Bought last July, Singapore’s abode stands three stories tall and has an elaborate, ornamental façade. Decorated with colourful tiles and plasterwork, it is more stylish than his previous place. If only the floors were worn in, and the rooms smelled of the forest, perhaps then this mass-produced building would feel more like a home.

It’s no matter, though. He will adjust. As if reading his mind, Malaya pokes his elbow and gestures to the open courtyard. “Plant a garden in the spring; that will help.”

Singapore glances at the bare space and imagines it filled with kang kong, lemongrass, and chili plants. It warms his heart.

“That would be nice.”

Malaya polishes off his rice and sets the bowl down. “So, you meet with Guillemard today?”

“Ah… that’s right.”

“Mm! I’m meeting with him in a few days, too. What did he say?”

Singapore ducks, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of his table. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

“Come on, tell me. Is it good news?”

Weight settles on Singapore’s shoulders and bears down on his neck. “No, it’s bad.”

“Now I have to know!”

Singapore sighs. The locks in the back of his mind slowly release, allowing a bitter slurry of unease and gloom to trickle forth. He’s been holding onto this all day and he was never good at hiding things from his dearest.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Malaya downs a swig of rice wine. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Singapore follows his lead, taking a sip from his own cup and allowing the burn to roll down his throat. He swallows, and means to slam the cup down, but it settles with a skittering series of taps. Is he nervous, or just upset?

“Guillemard said… beginning next week, we cannot have any contact with Taiwan, Korea, or any other kingdoms under Japan’s control.”

The statement falls wet out of his heart to splatter ruin onto his new, tile floor. Malaya blinks, silent for a while, his eyes going wide.

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Personal contact lah,” Singapore clarifies. “We can’t send them letters, telegrams, or schedule any visits.”

“Not even letters?”

“None.”

Malaya gapes. “Why would he say that? Did he have a reason?”

“I couldn’t get all the details.” The morning and afternoon were like a whirlwind. Questions flew around the rooms of the Governor’s estate, from not just himself, but even the groundskeepers who he caught whispering in the halls. “I heard there was a conference,” Singapore continues, “and a treaty was signed. Somehow, this new treaty ended the alliance between England and Japan, but it was more than that. Apparently, there has been tension between them for a long time, maybe years. So, it is possible… perhaps a combination of different things ....”

“Wait, wait!” Malaya cries, jolting Singapore out of his recollection. “Tahun Baru Cina!”

It takes Singapore a moment to understand. “What about it?”

“Taiwan invited us to celebrate with her. You remember; we were meant to visit her in that city... what are we calling it these days?”

“Taihoku?”

“That’s it!”

“I’m guessing that will be cancelled.”

Malaya releases a puff of air. “They can’t just cancel the New Year!” He slumps, staring forlornly at his empty rice bowl. He looks like a cat, longing for more food, as though that would be enough to fix all the problems of the world.

“Someone else might host,” Singapore suggests.

“This is terrible,” Malaya mutters.

Singapore frowns at his wine, cloudy and glistening in the lamplight. He imagines it reflecting a sea of red lanterns as they ripple in the night air, a dream of years past. If he concentrates, he can recall the clamour of jubilant voices, the thrum of drums, and the crackle of firecrackers.

Gathering under one roof to welcome the New Year was a tradition they shared. Who started it and when, Singapore does not know, but every house he visited would be brilliantly decorated in a rainbow of colours, and every table would be packed to the edge with food. Different people would host and attend each year; a variety of familiar faces that came and went. Philippines, Vietnam, Siam, Manchuria, Korea, of course China, and more. Sometimes there were so many of them, there were not enough seats to go around!

Occasionally, the turnout was smaller due to war, famine, or sickness, but it was always a pity when it happened. It’s still a pity now. Singapore sighs, again. “I’m sorry for ruining the evening with depressing news. This date was meant to be special.”

Malaya blinks, returning to life, and shushes him. “You know, if you keep stressing out, your hair will turn white.”

Something in Singapore's face must be betraying his feelings, because Malaya’s smile falls almost as quickly as it appears. He shuffles closer and secures a steady arm around his lover’s shoulders.

“Abang….”

Rain pitter-patters on the courtyard stone. The distant sounds of city life grow quieter as night falls. Is it raining in Taihoku as well? Is there a little girl on the other side of the sea mulling over the same sad news? Poor Taiwan. She’s still just a child; she won’t understand.

A knot has lodged itself in Singapore’s throat. Times like these serve as a potent reminder: it is the spiderwebs of alliances that shape their uncertain destinies. Of course, he is not a revolutionist. Order, harmony, and life are too precious to him. All he must do is keep his head down, work hard, and if he does that, he can get by. But sometimes… sometimes….

Without prompting, Malaya whispers, “I know,” and hugs him, lean muscle cradling Singapore’s thin frame. And Singapore doesn’t realise he is clenching his jaw until Malaya strokes his cheek and it slackens. Heat radiates through his ribs like an antidote. A rattling breath escapes his chest and his eyes fall shut. Their bodies slope together.

They stay that way for long minutes. The weariness of the day begins to levy its toll on Singapore’s consciousness and his head droops. Safe in his companion’s arms, sleep tempts him. He almost doesn’t hear when Malaya whispers: “When do these rules start?”

“Next week,” Singapore murmurs.

Malaya’s lips press gently to his temple. “Then we will send Taiwan and the others some letters. We will wish them an early Happy New Year, before these awful new rules take effect.”

Shifting, Singapore meets his brilliant golden eyes. Dark umber bangs brush the tips of his eyelashes and a firecracker lights in his heart. His oyen is so handsome. They kiss and Malaya’s inviting mouth tastes faintly of chilies.

“Can I stay with you for more than a few days?” Malaya whispers.

“Of course,” Singapore says. “But is that okay? Won’t you get in trouble with the sultans?”

With a wave of his hand, Malaya dismisses the notion. “I’ll just keep begging my bosses until I manage to annoy them into letting me stay. Besides, my sayang is worth it.” A smile dawns on Singapore’s features and they entwine their fingers. Malaya nuzzles his hair. “And after I go, I'll come back in the spring to help you build your garden. We can plant some red hibiscus together.”

“...That would be nice.”

Suddenly, Malaya squeezes him tight and peppers his face with kisses until he’s laughing. And the spark in his heart becomes a booming firework display, so bright and colourful that it threatens to burst from his soul.

Eventually, Singapore has to push him away, before things get heated and they make a mess of both their clothes and the dining table. He suspects there are red chili smears decorating his face. Malaya relents only after leaving a suggestive bite to his neck, practically purring with delight.

They gather up the dishes from the table, and as Singapore follows his companion back to the kitchen, he finds he is able to stand straighter. Malaya has a kind of resilience, a living strength that courses along the lines of his shoulders and blooms in the curve of his toothy smile. And Singapore has always found it captivating. Despite their misfortune and the struggle of navigating life, his oyen thrives and endures. How lucky he is to share delicious dinners and squander time with this special person.

Singapore’s thoughts drift to the feathery bed that beckons them both and suppresses a shiver of excitement. Hurriedly, he plunges a bowl into the water basin and scrubs it clean, eager to indulge in the rest of their evening and the precious days ahead.

As long as he has Malaya, everything will be okay.

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes

Laurence Guillemard was the British-appointed “Governor of the Straits Settlements” and “High Commissioner for the Federated Malay States” from 1920 – 1927.

“Abang” and “sayang” are Malay terms of endearment.

Malaya/Malaysia’s national animal is a tiger, which is why Singapore calls him “oyen,” meaning: orange cat.

The first Singaporean shophouses were built starting in the 1840s, under the original ordinances laid down by Sir Stamford Raffles. Over the years, architecture styles changed but the houses remained popular until the 1960s. They are now considered important heritage pieces and are valued as historic examples of architecture.

An attap house is a traditional dwelling made with attap palms, which provide wattle for the walls and leaves for their thatched roofs. They are often found in kampongs (traditional villages) throughout South East Asia.

The Anglo-Japanese Alliance was a pact between the British and Japanese that was signed in 1902. Both parties benefited in various ways, including defensive strategies, trade, and cultural exchanges. However, over the following decades, the relationship would slowly deteriorate. It was viewed as an obstacle at the Paris Peace Conference following WW1, and then battered further by the 1921 Imperial Conference. It finally dissolved on 13 December 1921, when the Four-Power Treaty was signed in Washington DC.

Lunar New Year! In Malaysia, the holiday’s official name is “Tahun Baru Cina”.

Taihoku was the name given to Taipei while it was under Japanese rule.

“...your hair will turn white.” It’s my personal headcanon that Singapore got his trademark streak of white hair from overworking himself in the 20th century.

#aph malaysia #aph singapore #hws malaysia #hws singapore #historical hetalia #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #my writing

18 notes · View notes

sarahlizziewrites · 3 months

Text

OC Kiss Week 2024 - Day 2 - “Rain”

In which Matthew Raynott returns to his old lover, a changed man. (1646 words) WIP: Grey-Sky Lark (pre-canon) Characters: Edward Soames, Matthew Raynott Taglist: @mrbexwrites, @hippiewrites Content warning: suggestive

Spring had arrived in a torrent of icy rain from the Atlantic, turning Downing College’s lawn to a great muddy bog. Umbrellas became strewn sacrifices along Cambridge’s streets, trapped, inside-out, in spokes of bicycle tyres.

Little of it mattered to Edward. Reading week brought with it a pile of books almost as high as his hip, and he had nothing to do but enjoy them. Seminars and lectures were suspended - would have been for the weather, anyway - but the fire was well-stocked, and Edward’s roommate had travelled home for the week.

So when a knock sounded at his door just as he had settled into an evening of picking apart Milton’s tapestry of words, he rose to answer it with no small amount of irritation.

Irritation which melted away almost at once when he saw who it was.

“May I come in?”

Matthew’s hair was darkened into thick clumps by the rain, and he wore no coat. His suit was ruined, his expression grim. And though he hadn’t seen him in almost a year, Edward’s heart would never fail to skip a beat when he looked into those piercing blue eyes.

“Of course.”

He backed up and allowed his old friend to enter. Dozens of things to say entered Edward’s mind but died on his tongue - what does one say to one’s friend and former lover, estranged by nothing more trivial than the narrow distance between two universities? But when he saw the dark puddles of water that Matthew was leaving on the carpet, water running in rivulets from his clothes, he settled on: “Christ, Matthew, did you walk from Oxford?”

Matthew smiled, forced and uneasy. Edward quietly longed for the smile that was bright like sunshine, the one he knew was hard to look at too long. But now, even this insincere smile faltered, as though Matthew had only just noticed the distance that had grown between them, far wider than the length of the room. “No, this is just since the station,” he said, as his clothes gently dripped. “It’s biblical out there.”

Edward watched him carefully as he looked around at the fire, the pile of books, and at Paradise Lost waiting patiently on the window seat. He waited for a jab at his reading choice, some kind of joke about his reading more than was mandatory, or the ambitious speed at which he planned to do so. But none came: instead, Matthew looked at him from underneath sable lashes, his smile thin and lacking warmth, his expression dour.

“Why are you here, Matthew?”

He blinked once, before saying: “I’m here to say goodbye.”

“What?”

He had just come back; goodbye wasn’t on the table. Yes, Edward had grown resentful at their distance; had cursed his own heart for falling for someone so fickle. But despite it all, he couldn’t deny that it was towards Matthew that his heart always tugged and prodded.

Edward moved closer, narrowing that space in the room, but Matthew backed away from him, keeping the distance the same, holding his palms before him in either aversion or surrender. “I… I just wanted to see you one last time. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don't–” Edward said, moving forward again. This time, slower, as though Matthew was a cornered animal. “Don’t say things like that.” Yes, they had drifted apart. But Edward couldn’t fathom a future that didn’t feature Matthew in some way.

Matthew shook his head, flicking water droplets around the room. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Something shifted when Matthew at last allowed him to touch - a floodgate had opened. On his face, care and concern mingled with an old affection. The time they had spent apart melted like settled snow meeting rain, disappearing to nothing, and for all that had changed, they might as well have been sixteen again, craving each others’ touch and convinced that nothing would ever change.

“You should get out of these wet clothes.”

Sliding his hands beneath the shoulders of Matthew’s jacket to slide it off was the only sensible thing he could think to do - the only thing he could think to do that would stop Matthew from leaving in that moment.

Matthew let him free the sopping jacket from his shoulders. And once the jacket had been hung on the back of the chair, still dripping into the carpet, he allowed him to do the same to his waistcoat, its grey wool darkened in patches with rainwater. In silence, Matthew watched as Edward carefully removed his cufflinks and unfolded his cuffs.

His shirt was damp as well, and with Matthew’s hands continuing to unfasten the buttons from the top down, Edward began from the bottom, giddy on the heady feeling of being so intimate with Matthew again. His fingers fumbled on the buttons, almost as skittish as when he had first done so, all those years ago, and he twitched away when Matthew’s hands met his, somewhere near the middle.

When he looked up, Matthew’s eyes were squeezed shut, almost as though he was in pain.

“We really mustn’t do this,” he said, but his hand found Edward’s neck, sending shivers through him, despite the proximity of the fire. “I can’t promise…” he trailed off, bending towards him with a shuddering sigh. He was even closer to Edward now, but still only touching at those few pre-ordained places, holding back, tense as a racing hound. “I should go,” he said again, his voice a whisper.

The room was near-silent, apart from the fire. The rain continued to drum, distantly, outside. But damn him - Matthew’s presence always made Edward’s blood roar in his ears; always made his heart race like he was running uphill.

“You mustn’t go,” Edward replied, voice humming deep in his chest. He had always been the cautious one, not Matthew. But if he hadn’t come here for this, why had he come here at all? “I’ve learned not to take your promises too seriously anyway.”

Even as he said so, his hands slid against Matthew’s chest again and found his braces, sliding them from his shoulders. With a sigh barely loud enough for Edward to hear, Matthew’s lips came to rest over his thundering pulse, not kissing, but just lingering there in a tantalising brush.

“I missed you, Eddie,” he mumbled into his skin, the words spilling from him, more felt than heard. He dragged his nose up the side of Edward’s neck: it wouldn’t matter how long they had been apart; Edward’s body would remember that sensation and react in the way it always had, tugging him forward with an ache below his collarbone. “I could have used your manner of confronting my bad habits at Oxford.”

Having undone each button of Matthew’s shirt, all that was left was his trousers. Edward’s fingers lingered at the button; Matthew’s hand tightened on his neck.

“I wrote you,” Edward said, allowing his eyes to slide closed. The last thing he saw was the blurred world outside; the stirring lights of the street beyond the rain-clouded glass. “You never replied.”

Matthew did kiss his skin then, lips pressing at the spot where his collar ended. “Four,” he said, over the crackling sound of the fire, before kissing his pulse point again, trembling.

“Hmm?”

“Four. You wrote me four letters.” A hand slid around Edward’s waist as though it had never been anywhere else. “I don’t know why I didn’t reply to them. I wanted to. They just… sat there on my desk, judging me. And the longer they sat there, the harder it became to reply. I’m…” he smeared a sloppy kiss just below Edward’s ear. “Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

With that, Edward grabbed a fistful of his hair, wringing the strands and sending water trickling down Matthew’s back, and pulled him to his lips for a kiss.

None of it mattered: the time apart, the unanswered letters, the promised goodbye - because Matthew was pulling him close by his hips and kissing him back hungrily, groaning into his mouth.

Touching him hungrily, too, as though his hands couldn’t get enough. They were in his hair, and tugging at his shirt to untuck it, keenly seeking skin, pulling him towards the single bed. Once Edward had undone the button holding his trousers up, they fell into a wet heap, and Matthew stepped free from them, all with his lips on Edward’s.

The hands that undressed him were careful; so careful. Still, they left chills in their wake. Everything that followed was achingly gentle. Edward almost would have preferred something rushed and indelicate, something that didn’t feel so much like he was being picked apart more thoroughly than he had planned to pick apart Paradise Lost that evening. Something that didn’t feel quite so much like goodbye.

When they were through, wordlessly, they formed their usual shape: Edward resting his head on Matthew’s chest, Matthew’s arm surrounding his body. They fit in the small bed better like this; always had.

After a few moments, Matthew stirred, rising from the bed. Edward watched him leave, sick of reaching for something that wouldn’t be there. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss his presence though, that the small bed didn’t feel cavernous without him in it.

He wanted to promise that he’d love him no matter what, or some other such platitude. He wanted to turn back the clock and bring back the Matthew he had loved.

This other Matthew slid on his clothes, still cold and wet. Shoved his tie in a pocket, glanced back at him in bed with Matthew’s blue eyes.

And somehow, he knew, that when the man in Matthew’s body leaned down to kiss him once more, drawing a thumb over his bottom lip, lingering close for one last goodbye, that he would never see him again, and if he wrote, he wouldn’t get a reply.

#ockissweek #ockiss24 #ockiss #grey sky lark

10 notes · View notes