#ill get around to explain the au in full for people who aren’t familiar with UD later k | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckneal · 3 years

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There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes.

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner.

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

And that would be the end of part one.

#midam #adam milligan #supernatural michael #samandriel #supernatural raphael #anael #kevin tran #my thougths #i'm very tempted to throw jack in a joan-of-arc-inspired role

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twstdreams · 3 years

Text

A Bouquet to Share: Flower Foraging

CYOA: Chronic Hanahaki AU

Length: 2K | ao3 link

Warnings: fluff, mentions of flu/cold

You’re waiting in front of the mirror for your turn to pass, behind the infamous first years. No one in NRC isn’t aware of the prefect and their friends, mostly how they perpetually get themselves in all sorts of trouble.

“Hey, wasn’t the prefect going to be in our group?” Jack asks

“Oh, they couldn’t make it because they got sick,” Deuce answers. There’s a pause as the unasked question lingers in the air. If they’re just suffering from a passing virus or if it’s that illness.

“With a normal cold,” Ace clarifies, “Grim’s been complaining about having to take care of them.”

You think you’ve heard ten different iterations of this conversation before. Some with Octa A-kun, another with a Pomefiore duo, the same rumours and inquiries always start flying when winter is broken by spring’s warm touch. Everyone wants to know who has hanahaki and chronic sufferers are always the first suspect. People attempt to deduce who’s sick because of pollen or because of the flowers blooming in their lungs. It’s not a lethal disease with modern magic and technology, but you swear enough drama follows it to make up for the lack of imminent doom.

“Hand!” the ghost before you demands once you’re at the front of the line. You offer the back of your hand and immediately a rose is stamped on it, proof that you’re a student who has access to the Great Seven botanical gardens. Then you step through the mirror and are greeted by the site of a massive glass structure. You’re excited to explore the grounds. Each area is its own biome with unique flora and fauna which flourish in that environment. Personally, you’re hoping to see the aquatics section for fun, but you need to ensure that you complete your assignment first.

“Meet each other in the tropical region in two hours!” you text to Jamil and he responds with an affirmation. You two had already agreed to this prior to the project. Most people are wandering the gardens with their partner, but you know Jamil has his hands full with Kalim. You just hope Jamil will actually get to appreciate a couple flowers too.

Officially, the headmaster says this is a field trip for all grades because botany is useful in several fields of magic. You think it’s because a massive amount of students visiting from a prestigious school gets him some sort of discount, but those aren’t thoughts you voice out loud. Not that you care, the Great Seven Botanical gardens hosts some unique and deadly plants, even more so than the poisonous flowers allowed to bloom on campus. You can't choose a lot of them for your assignment but nothing is stopping you from visiting them if you have extra time. Plus, activities amongst different classes aren’t that common, let alone those in various years. If you’re lucky, you might see Malleus amongst the flowers.

You’ve only met Malleus at night, on late walks while perhaps avoiding a guard or two. The daffodils at the entrance remind you of your first meeting with Malleus. But you can’t recall clearly, was there only one daffodil at the spot where you met or several?

Staying up late the night before to cram for a test, only to crash and take a nap afterwards completely messed up your sleep schedule. No amount of staring at your ceiling was going to make you drowsy. Besides, you want to explore the campus and check out some night-blooming flowers. You spotted several during the day but hadn’t gotten the chance to see them underneath the moonlight.

You slip out of your dorm to enjoy the slight breeze and fresh air entering your lungs. Exploring the campus at night feels a little liminal. Not to say that it was silent, some nocturnal familiars scurry around, a ghost or two floating, and more than a couple of students here and there creating background noise. But it's interesting to see a campus normally overflowing with life morph into something restful and quiet. The closer you get to the Ramshackle dorm, the more this effect becomes more pronounced.

You spot plenty of random vegetation growing on the lawns of the dorm. You’d be willing to bet a week’s worth of lunches that dorm hasn’t had real maintenance for at least a decade. Horrid for the prefect living there, you really do feel bad for them, but lots of fun for your midnight flower foraging trip. Your phone battery is dying fast with the flashlight so you test out a new spell you’ve recently learned. You murmur the incantation and a ball of light forms in the palm of your hand. You try to extend it so it acts as a familiar but the light begins to flicker so you’re stuck with having it illuminate the area around your hand. A little testing, a failure or two, and you’re able to create a soft light to guide you. Your hand is nothing but a glorified flashlight, but you can see your surroundings so it’s not a total fail. Unfortunately, what you thought was some pretty evening primrose is actually daffodils.

“How odd. You’re not one of the Ramshackle inhabitants,” a voice notes. You’re certain a ghost has come to lecture you, but you let out a gasp when you realize a living being is behind you.

“I’m, uh, yeah I don’t live here,” you admit, “Just wanted some fresh air. I couldn’t sleep.” You were honestly hoping to avoid all dorm leaders, you know some don’t take kindly to students leaving their dorm after hours, and you think some greater force must be laughing at you because somehow you’ve stumbled upon the most mysterious and powerful one.

“And you came to this abandoned building to do that?” His voice is even. You’re not sure if there’s an accusation laced in his statement or if his regal airs just make him always seem confident and a bit unfriendly.

“I thought it’d be cool to see the night-blooming flowers too,” you add, “There’s supposed to be some evening primrose and moonflowers beneath a gargoyle but I can’t figure out which one it is.”

“I can introduce you to the correct gargoyle,” Malleus comments. Your head, which is frantically processing information and doing its best to be logical, tells you that’s probably a social cue to ask him to show you where the gargoyle is. Your mind, however, is still trying to comprehend how the heck you ended up meeting the Malleus Draconia on a weedy lawn.

“I am part of the gargoyle appreciation society,” he continues but the way his lips were pressed into a thin line indicates that you’ve spent a little too long coming up with a response.

“Oh! That’s impressive,”—now isn’t a good time to admit you didn’t know that club existed—“if you don’t mind, then I’d really appreciate it!” He nods once in acknowledgement and you begin trailing after the dragon fae.

“Do you know about each of the gargoyles?” you ask; you ought to express interest in his passions when he’s doing you a favour. You’re not sure what to expect, but it was most definitely not an encyclopedic infodump about Ramshackle’s gargoyles.

“This is the first gargoyle, located on the entrance to the east building. Are you able to see it?” Before you had a chance to answer, Malleus casts a spell of light that creates fake fireflies which illuminate your surroundings.

“Now I can. It kind of looks like a crow,” you answer. The gargoyle is easy to see but you think Malleus’ elegant magic is more beautiful. Your lightbulb of a hand is almost embarrassing and you quickly stop the spell.

“It is a crow, which is extremely rare for a gargoyle. This is the only one I’ve ever seen. Its quality means it must have been made by a famous craftsman. It looks like it could take flight at any moment.” He goes on about the history of the gargoyles here; you’ve never really been interested in them but the way Malleus talks about them with such excitement makes you engaged. It’s the way that extensive knowledge is intertwined with informed hypotheses while the excitement in his tone never leaves. Hearing Malleus talk about something he loves feels enchanting and endearing. His bubbling enthusiasm is cute.

“This is the gargoyle with the evening primrose and moonflowers,” Malleus announces. Once he finishes his little spiel about its history, you begin to take pictures of the flowers. You want to ask if you can take a picture of him; there’s something so odd about this experience that you want a picture to prove it is real. However, the fresh air has awaken your brain cells and they let you know that perhaps asking someone you just met for a photo in the dead of night is not the best idea. But well, Malleus has been pretty accommodating so you decide to ask for another favour.

“If you don’t mind, could you teach me that light spell?” you inquire. The surprise is evident in his expression and you wonder if you’re being too selfish.

“Is that so? You want me to help you with your spell? Interesting,” he comments and honestly, the pause makes you so nervous you regret ever opening your mouth, “Very well. Show me what you can do.” Even though you're the one who asked, you're a little surprised that the Malleus Draconia has agreed to some impromptu tutoring.

“I can summon a light but I’m having trouble making it steady after it stops making contact with my body,” you explain while taking out your wand. You murmur the incantation and a soft light envelopes your hand while illuminating your surroundings. As the light starts to float away, its shape begins to morph and looks like a blob of light which never stays a consistent shape, akin to a lava lamp.

“You have enough magic to power the spell. The changing shape suggests that you’re having trouble imagining the outcome,” Malleus sumrises, “Why don’t you try mimicking the shape of mine?” Malleus adjusts the shape of his firefly lights into simple spheres. Unfortunately, it does not go so smoothly for you. First the light looks like a balloon, then it shrinks to the size of a marble, but when you have it at a reasonable size then the edges of the ball begin to quiver.

“I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” you mutter. Sure, you don’t expect to be on the same level as someone as infamous as the Diasomnia dorm leader, but this feels embarrassing.

“You aren’t expected to master everything at the beginning. Don’t be shy,” he reassures. His comforting words encourage you to calm down. You take in a deep breath and start again. The light transforms into a uniform sphere—your own little sun for this corner of the world the two of you are tucked away in.

“I did it!” you exclaim, “It’s all thanks to your advice!” You toss the light between your hands before extending it to float beside Malleus’.

“You already completed the basics. I only offered some advice,” he gently protests but a smile remains on his face all the same.

“What’s the incantation to change its colour again?” you ask, and Malleus says it aloud for you to repeat. You alter your spell, dying it in your favourite colour, then allow it to dance in the sky. His luminescent green light merges with yours, and the spells twine with each other.

Since then you’ve taken to late-night walks for exercise and hopes of meeting Malleus. You haven’t exactly been charming—

“Are you here to admire gargoyles?” Malleus inquires when the two of you meet in the dead of night yet again.

“No, but I can,” you offer. Admitting to the ruler of the valley of thorns that you have been wandering around at night to see him again because you’re very intrigued and a little enamoured is not ideal. Luckily Malleus never questions your intent.

— but the two of you are on friendly terms now. So far no flowers were blooming in your lungs, but you’d be lying if you said a crush wasn’t taking root in your heart. But before you could linger on any hypothetical flowers, you have to pick an actual flower for your assignment! As a second year, you will have to grow whichever flower you pick back at school.

Which flower will you choose? Vote here

White and pink carnations

Crimson astilbe (feather flowers)

Purple snapdragons

Orange tiger lilies

#twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst CYOA #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #More options will be added based on the previous poll #currently at 3 characters #twstdreams #Be warned that platonic and bad ending are available

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askygokindredshipping · 4 years

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Never say “Yes” to Ghost Hunting... Unless....

Summary: Ghost Hunting AU anyone? Judai and Johan are sensitives and realize that Yusei is partially sensitive when he momentarily spots their familiar spirits Yubel and Ruby. However, Yusei doesn’t believe in them and thinks that the two of them are out of their minds. Can looking for non-existent beings lead to something else? (No Duel Monsters in this AU. Yubel and Ruby are both human spirits that died generations ago.)

Author’s Notes: Now that I am in a place where I don’t feel completely overwhelmed by everything and can remember to actually post here, here it is! This is the story I kept promising for that mini bang I was apart of! @hyperionnebulae did a fantastic job of setting it up. I’ll link the full collection at the end. Also, I had an amazing artist and I’ll edit this post with their information. The piece that they did is *chef’s kiss*. I do know that you can visit their DeviantArt page and I highly encourage you to do so!

Anyway, enjoy!

Yusei’s face was not looking down at the screen of his laptop, but instead, he was staring at the two men sitting across from him. It was a warm, sunny evening and he had decided that he was going to do some of his work at the local coffee shop so that he could focus. Focus. What a funny word it was. That was exactly what he was not doing.

Two young men were sitting at the table next to him, chatting amicably about something he didn't quite catch. While they were both very appealing to the eyes, they didn’t interest him nearly as much as the two people sitting next to both of them. These two figures were translucent and clearly injured. He was not a doctor, that was Aki’s area of expertise, but he’d seen enough in his day to recognize deadly injuries like those. The tallest one (Yusei couldn’t quite determine which gender either of the translucent people were and decided it was probably best not to assume anything) had a scar that went down its face, nearly dividing it in two and what looked like a jewel embedded into its forehead. Their hair was a soft, metallic blue color. The other one was shorter with wide, ruby-colored eyes and lavender colored hair, a clear bloodstain blooming from their chest and out against their lovely lavender blouse. The tall one said something to the man next to it. He responded casually. Like… like there was nothing wrong!

Yusei blinked.

They were gone.

He breathed in deep and quickly turned back to his computer screen, the words suddenly not making any kind of sense as something cold shot up his spine. No. There was no way. Those things did not exist. He refused to accept what he had just seen. There had to be a logical explanation.

Didn’t there?

“Excuse me,” a voice asked him, “Are you alright?” He looked up. The two men at the table were now looking at him. The one who spoke had teal-blue colored hair and equally blue eyes; he wore a light lavender colored blouse-style shirt with a darker blue vest over the top. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“Or you’ve seen a ghost,” the other added. He was dressed in a dark t-shirt with a red jacket over it. His hair was a light brown and stood out in nearly every direction (not that Yusei could judge with his own black mess) and his eyes were a warm brown. He took a breath as he registered the statement. A ghost? Those things did not exist.

But….

“I’m fine,” he finally answered. He couldn’t stop himself as he blurted out, “but what happened to your two friends?” The two of them shared a look.

“It’s only been us here,” the brown haired one said.

Yusei blinked, “You mean you don’t have two friends that are dressed up for Halloween somewhere around here?”

“Oh, they just left,” the blue haired one cut in just as the brown haired one went to say something. He shot the other a look and it seemed to take a second but, eventually, he got the meaning and quickly clamped his mouth shut again.

“They couldn’t have left that quickly,” he argued. “Are you pulling some kind of prank?” They shared a look again, and Yusei started to get mildly annoyed with it. They didn’t say anything to him for some time. Finally, he closed his laptop and stood to pack his things. Clearly, this was not where he was meant to be. Before he could walk away from the table, the brown-haired guy caught his wrist gently; electricity shot up Yusei’s arm and he flinched at the sensation even though it did not hurt. It felt a bit good.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, releasing him. “It’s just… Can we walk with you for a bit? Here’s not the place to talk.” Yusei blinked. A couple of alarms went off in his mind, but he ignored them, in favor of nodding his consent, and the three of them left together.

The brown-haired guy leaned forward as they walked, “I’m Judai Yuki and this is my partner, Johan Anderson.” Johan raised a hand in greeting when Yusei looked at him.

“Yusei Fudo.”

“Nice to meet you Yusei,” Johan greeted. Judai smiled and continued introducing the two of them.

“We’re paranormal investigators; basically, we work to help people in desperate situations involving anything they can’t explain or handle.” He straightened, walking forward a little bit. Yusei couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Ghost? You two deal with ghosts?”

“More or less,” Johan nodded.

“You do understand ghosts aren’t real?” They shared another look.

“Yeah, that’s what a lot of people say.”

“But we happen to know differently.”

Yusei stopped and leaned his head to the side a bit, “Alright, I’ll bite. What is your proof? A grainy photo? Horribly shot night-vision scenes? A scar you got from something being magically thrown at you?” Johan snickered and Judai had to cover his mouth with his hand. After a few seconds, the two of them could not help but laugh at his response. Yusei was taken a bit off guard. “What’s so funny?”

“You were so deadpanned when you were asking,” Judai breathed.

“It was hilarious,” Johan added. Yusei found himself blushing a bit, and he turned his head away, trying to not let them see how embarrassed he was. They recovered after a few moments. “And to answer your question, nothing like that.” He pointed off over his shoulder, “Do you see them?”

Yusei looked, then shook his head. “See who?”

“Our friends from the café,” Judai clarified. Yusei looked over their shoulders again, but still only saw the street in front of them. He shook his head.

“Nobody’s there.”

“But you did see them in the café?”

“I saw something ,” Yusei pointed out. “I don’t know what it is I saw.”

“Deny it all you want Yusei,” Judai returned, “but you did ask us about it, which meant that you did see them.” He pointed between the two of them. “Johan and I are mediums. We can communicate with spirits and we’re pretty certain that you’re at least a little bit sensitive since you could see our familiars briefly. You can’t see them right now even though they are standing next to us without utilizing too much of theirs or our energy.” Judai nodded, as if his point made a whole ton of sense. “I wonder what it would take to help you see them again? What made it possible at the café?”

“Do you think the setting had something to do with it,” Johan added. “I remember reading a report that that café has natural running water under it.”

“That might have something to do with it.”

“You two are crazy,” Yusei returned. Nothing they said made any sense! Ghosts didn’t exist, but now they were claiming… all of this ? Johan smiled at him apologetically.

“It’s a lot the first time. You probably don’t believe us, but I have a suggestion.” He clapped his hands together. “Why don’t you come with us tonight? We have a job at a local place this evening. It’ll give us a chance to show you what you’re talking about and to confirm if you are sensitive or not.”

“Full offense, but I just met you.”

“I know.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t.” That took him by surprise and Yusei felt staggered a bit. “But you might find it more interesting than you think. I promise.” Yusei looked between the two of them. Logically, he had no reason to trust either one of them. Something in his gut, though, told him something completely different; it was whispering that he should take the chance and see where this was going to lead. After a few seconds of the two of them staring him down, he finally sighed. He raised his hands in defeat.

“Alright. I’ll join you.”

Johan and Judai smiled at each other.

My, my, my- how the night had suddenly turned around.

*****

The house they were investigating turned out to be an older mansion on the outskirts of the city. Yusei made sure to let a couple of people know where he was going. Martha was worried, of course, but Jack and Crow got a huge trip out of the fact that he, Yusei Fudo, was going ghost hunting. Of all things in the world.

What a weird first date , they had teased.

He had left the house with red across his nose and both cheeks, but he had not given them the satisfaction of seeing it. Yusei slammed the door on his way out.

He now sat leaned up against his red motorcycle. Neither of them had arrived yet. This left him time to do a little extra research on the address on his transparent tablet. The mansion was built in the year XXXX by a rich mogul who wanted a place for his new bride to be the mistress of; however, he built over sacred ground, despite multiple warnings, and thus, “cursed” the home and his family for all eternity. They lost several children in birth and early into childhood. Eventually, the wife passed of an illness, but information on which one was scarce. Her death was the final straw for him. The mogul retired from the home and disappeared into obscurity. It was left to rot. Reports of families moving in and immediately moving out were plentiful in the first few decades after the original owner’s leaving, but quickly teetered off as rumors of a haunting became more prevalent.

He scrolled up on his tablet, murmuring. “Reports of a white lady…. Children laughing… shadow figures…. Objects being thrown. So just your run of the mill hoax?”

“Well, even if it is a hoax, it’s still our job to ease the worries of our customer.” He looked up, not necessarily startled by the sound of Johan’s voice, but a bit surprised that he hadn’t heard them approaching, especially in the large, older van they were driving. Judai was behind him, starting to mess with some equipment. Yusei closed the tablet and placed it in his pocket. “We’re glad you decided to come. What’d you find in your research?”

“Nothing out of this world,” he confirmed, arms still crossed. “Pretty standard reports. White lady, children, objects being thrown.”

Johan nodded. He turned his head a bit, as if listening to someone, and he smiled after a few seconds before saying, “That was pretty much everything we were able to find or was given to us as in our initial customer request.” He paused for a second, “I better help Judai with the equipment. As brave as he is as a ghost hunter, he’s a complete ditz when it comes to setting it up.”

“Would you like me to help? I’m fairly good with technology.”

Johan shot him a grateful smile. “You don’t have to. We’re the ones that invited you out here.”

Yusei rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. “Don’t worry about it. I might as well do something useful now since I’m probably going to mess up your results anyway.” Johan shook his head but led him over to the wired mess that had become Judai. It took them about an hour, once they had untangled him, to set up all the equipment they planned to use and since they were getting paid a hefty price, they were using everything . EVP, static night vision, Mel meters, motion detectors. You name it, they had it. The sun was starting to set when they finally started to sync up all their equipment, recording audio introductions on their three different recording devices. Johan helped Yusei into a specially made vest with several different pieces of equipment attached to it such as a night vision camera, perspective camera, and a few other useful tools like glow sticks, back-up batteries, and flashlights. Yusei felt the electricity again as his hand brushed his arm. A soft blush touched his cheeks. He did not miss the fact that Johan had one as well. Was it possible that he was feeling it too? What was even more astounding to him was that this was the second time he had felt it… with both of them.

Judai smiled brightly when they came back from the back of the van, “That vest looks good on you Yusei.”

Oof, that blush was not going away any time soon.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out without sounding like a stammering idiot.

Yusei had had feelings for people before in his life. Aki, the young lady who had become one of his greatest friends of all time, was one such example. His friend Kiryu was another. However, he had never been in this kind of situation before; his feelings for the previous two had come at different times. This was new. And a bit confusing, especially with how fast everything was moving.

“Are you feeling alright,” Judai asked. Yusei turned to face him. He was looking up at him, his brow furrowed a bit. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“You make it sound like I’m regretting my wedding or something.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure this isn’t as stressful as a wedding.” He smirked. “But if you’re feeling scared, I recommend hanging back behind us.”

“I can’t be scared of something that doesn’t exist.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Me being scared or ghosts being real?”

“Yes.”

Yusei shook his head as he walked away, and he followed. Johan bowed mockingly as he opened the front door. Judai gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before blowing a kiss back at Yusei and disappearing into the darkness, only the light of his flashlight illuminating a soft outline of his head and left shoulder. The two of them followed.

The entryway was as bad as you could imagine. Dust clung to everything. Spider webs decorated every corner, and the stairs, and the molding, and the walls, and basically every available square inch. Old paint and wallpaper were missing in great chunks. The building material was old and decayed. An odd sensation of dread shot through Yusei the longer he looked down the hallway. There was no discernible reason for the feeling. He grabbed both Judai’s and Johan’s shoulders, preventing them from stepping any further inside.

When they turned to look at him, he raised his hands apologetically, but dropped them and breathed, “Something isn’t right.”

Judai blinked, quickly looked to his right, and briefly nodded. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that if we go any further, something bad is going to happen.”

“But we’ve already been in here multiple times,” Johan assured him. “We had to set up all the static cameras, remember?”

Yusei hesitated. That was true. They’d already been in and out, and up and down all sets of stairs, as they’d been busy setting up static night vision cameras in a couple of the hotspots, specifically where the white lady and the children were often seen and heard moving about. Nothing seemed to happen during that time, and he rationalized that they would be fine in this moment.

The feeling, on the other hand, would not leave him alone.

He started to say something again, but Judai started moving inward and Johan followed. The feeling grew worse as he raised a hand to stop them.

A white figure suddenly appeared at the end of the narrow hallway. The three of them froze, but Judai, after a few seconds, threw a hand back. What Yusei could not see was how his eyes shifted from brown to green and orange, ready for whatever was about to occur. Johan took a step back. Something creaked. The white figure raised its head and with an unearthly scream, it shot forward at them. Judai jumped back. Johan moved in front of Yusei which put the three of them into roughly the same spot on the floor. Yusei looked down immediately as the sound of breaking wood caught his attention; just before the figure could reach them, he grabbed both of them close to him.

The floor gave way, and they fell into darkness.

*****

“Yusei, Yusei, Yusei!” He blinked. Everything felt sore and painful. It took him a few moments to remember that they had fallen through the floor. He groaned. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken, but he was going to be feeling this for the next few days; Martha was probably going to order him to go to a doctor, and for once, he probably wouldn’t protest it. A soft smile crossed Johan’s face. He was momentarily confused.

“I’m dead,” he breathed, “I swear I’m seeing an angel.”

“You wish,” Johan laughed. “But Judai and I owe you quite a bit for saving our lives.”

“What happened?”

Johan crossed his arms, contemplating on how much to share. “Well, you see….” He paused and changed his question, “Did you happen to see a white figure come at us?” Yusei shook his head.

He struggled to remember. Nothing came to mind however and he shook his head. “All I saw was you and Judai get defensive.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he mused. Louder, he said, “Anyway, we all were standing on the same space and the floor gave way. You just barely managed to brace us against you before it happened. You took the brunt of the injury.” He pointed to some old bags of flour that were clearly busted in the fall. “You really do have to have a guardian angel at least since this is what we landed on. Judai went back upstairs to double check everything. We should really get out of here.” He stood. Johan offered out a hand, which Yusei took gratefully. Together, they made their way back up the stairs and, to his surprise, the sun was starting to rise.

How long had he been out?

Judai was at the back of the van, putting away most of their equipment. He looked up when they exited. Without hesitation, or warning, he ran for Yusei, catching him in a tight hug; Yusei flinched a bit but accepted it.

“Thank you,” Judai breathed. “We wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you.” After a few seconds, he released Yusei’s waist, backed away from him, and bowed. “I’m also so sorry. I should have listened to your warning. I know better than to ignore things like that.”

Yusei waved a hand. “No harm, no foul.”

“Well, a little harm,” Johan reminded him, elbowing his side. He flinched again. Johan walked over and wrapped an arm lovingly around Judai’s shoulders. “As such, breakfast is on us.”

“If you’d like,” Judai quickly added. Yusei did not miss how brightly red his expression had become and he smiled.

“Sure,” he agreed. “As long as the ghosts aren’t invited.”

“No promises,” they said together.

The three of them managed to hook their transportations together and rode back to town in the van. Yusei looked out the window. He was surprised when a weight hit his shoulder; Judai had slumped over, soundly asleep. Johan smiled apologetically.

Something swelled in his heart. He turned to look out the window once more and mused that he would not mind trying it again. Ghost hunting that is. Falling into decrepit basements he could definitely do without.

Judai shifted a bit on his shoulder and Yusei looked down at him softly.

Yeah, maybe just one more time.

*****

Thank you so much for reading!

The story on AO3

The mini bang collection

Check out LightningClawedSky on Deviantart

Support me on Ko-Fi

#kindredshipping #yusei fudo #johan anderson #judai yuki #jesse anderson #jaden yuki #ghost hunters au #tw death #tw injuries #tw blood mention #ghosts #I said I would pilot this ship if I had to #and I completely meant it

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justlikeeddie · 5 years

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black sails fic recs

I have got and continue to get so much enjoyment out of Black Sails and its fandom! It's so nice that this anniversary week of posts has made me realise it is two years since my dash was abruptly filled with people having full breakdowns over the S4 finale, and I was like, “man, I don’t know why this field of corn or whatever is so important, but I guess I should watch this show and find out”. And I did. AND IT WAS.

I don’t know how to make gifsets bcos I am an idiot, but luckily for this fan content Friday thing I CAN post a non-exhaustive list of fics in this fandom that I am absolutely obsessed with. You’re welcome!!!

Unaccommodated Man, The Peaceable Kingdom, and Congress by kvikindi / @septembriseur

James/Thomas, post-series

James looks at him, searching, and Thomas fears he will recognise that Thomas is not really Thomas, not quite Thomas, not the Thomas he had been, and so he says, “I have gone a little mad in this world without you, but now that you are here—” And James makes a sound, a sobbing, laughing sound, and crushes Thomas to him once more.

Like...obvs. This is one of the best series of stories I have read in any fandom, or, actually, that I have read in any context. Both on a macro level - with unbelievable fluency, this series encompasses trauma, recovery, intimacy, forgiveness, literature, the conception of madness, agriculture, 18th-century Native American tribal language, etc, etc - and a micro level, in which not a single word is wasted, and not a single sentence is unworthy of being read three or four times. Anyway. I have re-read all of these stories multiple times and Congress more times than I would admit to if I actually knew.

consider them both, the sea and the land by youremyqueen / @deathnoting

Flint/Silver, post-S3

Flint frowns, stiff and unbending, and leans down just a tad so that he is looking John directly in his eyes. If he’s uncomfortable with their proximity, he doesn’t let it show.

“Remember when you told me,” he grits slowly, each word weighted with emphasis, “that you had discovered the pleasure of being both loved and feared? Is that what you would like from me? It is not enough that you have earned my respect, my friendship. You would now like for me to be frightened of you as well?” His nostrils flare, his rage is quiet. “I am not one of your men.”

John can feel the words on his face and he bears them without flinching, says only, “And I am not one of yours.”

Flint’s brow twitches, and he moves a hair closer, disgustingly close, warm and sour with the smell of whiskey, a solid and immovable blockade between John and what he wants. And he says to him, of all the unbearable things, “Isn’t that exactly what you are?”

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIC THAT CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT FLINT/SILVER. For like three whole series I just didn’t Get It. And then I read this and was like.....oh.....I Get It. It’s a weapon. Their attraction to each other is a weapon. And sometimes they like using it and sometimes they don’t. And I have never, my friends, looked back

and into what it will be changed by @sea-changed

James/Thomas/Miranda, pre-series

"The Hartfords left for the country last week," Miranda says; "they've merely invited us to view the painting. They cannot resist showing off, even in absentia." She and Thomas share a look, smirking at each other as if sharing an old joke. Then she looks back at James, and her mouth quirks up at him. "So you needn't worry about their judgement."

James considers protesting that that wasn't, exactly, what he was worried about, though upon second thought he wonders if it truly wasn't. "That's very kind," he says, hesitating.

"Is it?" Miranda asks, almost absently. "We do not invite you along as a kindness, Lieutenant; I believe I speak for both Thomas and I when I say we rather enjoy your company."

James feels his face heat, not unpleasantly, and he looks down at the carpet. Miranda is usually soft and kind, but occasionally she does this, speaks plain and pointed. She and Thomas both do this, push and keep pushing: Thomas seems to do so with curiosity, prodding until he finds something interesting, but Miranda does it as if she had already found the spot she wishes to target, and goes after it relentlessly. James thinks suddenly, and unexpectedly, that she would not make a bad Naval commander.

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIC THAT CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT JAMES/THOMAS/MIRANDA. I used to be weirdly militant in the belief that James’s affairs with the Hamiltons only made sense if they were two separate affairs that didn’t even really overlap. And then I read this and was like....right okay....if they DID have a threesome it would have been like this

There’s Plenty of Men to Die by @autoeuphoric

Flint/Silver, post-S3

The five of them share a glance, passing it around the table, man to man. Flint’s mouth twitches and Madi laughs shortly. “I would wager every man here fancies themselves in charge. This is a meeting of chieftains. I say let it remain so.”

“Although…” Silver says slowly, pulling the others’ attention on to him. Flint’s eyes flick his way, and to his horror he realizes he has nothing else to say. No point, no segue, no plan for a redirection of the conversation. He had simply wanted Flint to look at him. A fierce longing for the days when it was just the two of them fills him, laying their plans together, even though the threat of sudden and nonnegotiable execution was much higher. But he knew where he stood. Here, there are complications. Confusions.

This is just a tiny little snatch of a scene but every beat of it is perfect! Silver navigating his obsession with Flint, in the midst of everybody navigating their new relationships with each other in the new fragile and tentative anti-colonial alliance.

a question of needs (and not rosary beads) by @seventymilestobabylon

James/Thomas, pre-series

Still: James wants to talk. If Thomas means this to be—what it is, what it clearly is, then he should have the fucking decency to say something about it. He also, and intensely, wants the whole business to be transacted without any conversation, but he knows better than to hope for that. Thomas is not capable of it, that implicit understanding. Even when he kissed James—

Thomas’s thumb very light at the hinge of his jaw. He felt a thrill like fear, when it happened.

Even then, Thomas said, “All right?” when it was over, and would have said more, except that James nodded mutely, minutely, and stammered something incoherent that required his presence elsewhere. Thomas and Miranda both looked hideously understanding about it, and James considered—as he walked home through ill-lit streets and inhaled familiar smells of smoke and fish and tar and shit—simply climbing aboard one of the ships in harbor and never returning to London.

This is one of the few pre-series fics I’ve read that really digs into James and Thomas’s incompatibilities and differences and misunderstandings - and sets them against how badly they want each other, and want to understand each other, nonetheless. Don’t get me wrong, obviously 1705 is The Only Time James McGraw Was Ever Allowed To Be Happy (tm), and I’m extremely into reading about him and Thomas making each other happy! But also - it’s so interesting to explore James being so frightened of how he feels about Thomas that he can be unkind to him, and Thomas being so immersed in how he feels about James that he can be complacent and sometimes a little thoughtless about it. And this pulls all of those things apart so well.

you and i survived by youremyqueen / @deathnoting

Anne/Jack, Vane/Jack, pre-series

“She’s not mine. That isn’t—we aren’t—I mean to say, do you actually understand what love is, Captain?”

“Love is possession,” Vane tells him, with his usual unselfconscious melodrama. “Not only of women by men, but of men by women. The point of owning a woman is to see to it that she doesn’t own you.” He speaks as if he’s explaining some very basic and widely known conceit.

Jack winces. “What a viciously horrible perception.”

Vane rolls his eyes. “Christ’s sake. Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a fucking woman?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a fucking man?”

And couldn’t they unpack that remark for days?

The extremely funny author’s note “if someone had told me two months ago that i would write a fic that featured charles ‘only straight person in nassau’ vane as a main character, i would not have believed them” is also a summary of how I feel about this fic. WHO KNEW that on top of every other fucking thing I have to care about in this fandom, I also care a LOT about Jack and Anne and Charles fuckin Vane! A principled, terrifying, Aslan-transfigured-into-a-human nightmare of a man! This fic is so excellent and does such justice to all of them. Their triumvirate gets kind of supplanted by the Max-Anne-Jack situation from S2 onwards, and I always forget how nuanced and odd and interesting this three-way dynamic is when we first meet them. This story does such a good job at trying to explain what the fuck that dynamic is.

Katabasis by unheroics

James/Thomas, pre-series, canon-divergent AU

There were Flint’s men, one leaving the cabin, another ransacking a chest for treasures, another still turning to speak to Randall; the words exchanged escaped Flint, as all else did, once his gaze fell to the Englishman.

He knelt barefoot on the deck, and wore the undyed, colourless linen of prison or asylum garments. For a precarious second Flint could only think that his hands had had nary a mark upon them, five years ago, and now were as scarred as those of a gamekeeper or veneur. He looked nothing like the man whose presence haunted Flint’s dreams, always at the corner of the vision, always cold to the touch and bleeding from the eyes and mouth.

In all his careful planning, and all his mirthless revenge, Flint had never thought to anticipate a variable in place of a set value. The presence of other men about was like an anchor at his feet, dragging him underwater, but it was Alfred Hamilton’s blood on his hands that kept him immobile.

“Will you kill me?” said Thomas Hamilton, in a voice harsh from paregoric. His tone had a note of morbid, queer hope. “I could pay.”

To spare you, or kill you? It was excruciating to wonder.

One of the very first James/Thomas fics I read! And certainly one of the first fics I read that started to probe and pull apart the McGraw-Flint dichotomy, by literally dropping Thomas right in the middle of it. And while the actual end of S4 is, obviously, the greatest and most narratively and emotionally satisfying thing that has ever happened on television, and you can quote me on that - one thing we do never get in canon is Thomas in Nassau, and I love getting to read that here.

#bsaaw #black sails #fic #flinthamilton #silverflint #one million emotions about one million different characters #did you mean: black sails

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gale-gentlepenguin · 5 years

Text

ML: Scarlet Lady au: Miss Fortune Part 4 (Final)

Part 1 / Part 2/ Part 3

(Scarlet Lady Au by @zoe-oneesama)

(Hot off my burning typing fingers. Part 4. Enjoy!)

______________________________________________________________________

Miss fortunate watched the cat hero’s hands shake.

“You seem tense Kitty. Is it because you know who is under the mask? Is it making you are have second thoughts?” The black clad villain inquired, her voice full of intrigue.

Chat noir steadied his hands.

“This isn't you Marinette. You are a kind, gentle person. Why are you doing this?” Chat noir questioned, trying to shift the subject.

“I am sick of Chloé always getting away with her bullying. I am sick of always having to be the bigger person. The one that has to force a smile when I feel like curling into a ball. Chloé deserves to be punished.” Miss Fortune stated. “Now be a good kitty and surrender.”

Chat noir felt his heart cry out. He knew that Chloé did bully Marinette, that she was a mean person at times, but hearing it from her. It really hit home. He swore in his head that after this was over, he would have a very long talk with Chloé.

Well aren't you quite the drama queen.” a familiar voice taunted.

A red clad super heroine entered the scene.

Miss fortune turned her attention to the arrogant Ladybug themed heroine.

“You’re one to talk. In terms of horrible personalities. I would say you are on par with Chloé.” Miss Fortune stated.

“That means so much coming from a crybaby that got akumatized.” Scarlet lady taunted.

Scarlet lady turned her attention to Chat noir, who she had just noticed was glaring daggers at her.

“Well don't just stand their like a scaredy cat, go and take care of this loser so I can get back to enjoying myself.” Scarlet ordered.

Chat noir felt his frustration boil over. That was the last straw.

“No.” Chat noir stated lately.

“Good now... what do you mean no?” Scarlet asked with a surprised look on her face.

“You fight the akuma for once. See how it goes. If you are so much better then her. Then beating her by yourself should be easy.” Chat noir clarified as he leaned on his staff.

Scarlet lady couldn't believe what she was hearing. Miss Fortune was surprised to hear the cat hero say it.

“Are you seriously going to let her go on a rampage?”

Chat noir shook his head.

“I will protect Paris. I won't let her harm any innocent people. But if you want to stop her. That is on you bugaboo” Chat noir explained with a cocky smirk.

Miss fortune couldn't believe her ears. Chat noir was giving her the okay to beat the tar out of Scarlet lady. While taking revenge on Chloé is her main goal, taking down Scarlet Lady is a definite close second.

A purple outline appeared over Miss Fortune’s face.

“This is an unexpected gift. Miss Fortune, take care of Scarlet Lady. We will deal with Chat noir after we get her Miraculous.” Hawkmoth commanded.

“You don't have to tell me.” Miss Fortune answered with amusement.

“F-Fine! Ill take care of her myself. I’ll show Paris how little you actually do anyway.” Scarlet Lady explained.

Chat noir shrunk his staff and put it on video record mode. This was gonna be interesting.

Scarlet lady pulled out her yo-yo and started spinning it.

Miss Fortune pulled out her own and matched her motion.

Scarlet swung her yo-yo at the black haired akuma’s head only to miss entirely. Miss fortune used her own yo-yo and snagged her feet. The villainess pulled causing the girl to fall on the floor.

Scarlet tried to stand back up only to see Miss fortune charge at her and kick her square in the face like she was going for a strike on goal. Scarlet lady went flying several meters before landing roughly on the ground.

“Ouch...” Scarlet Lady nasally groaned.. She felt like her nose might be broken. She stood up and was standing just above a manhole cover

Miss fortune made her hands glow and activated her powers. Suddenly the manhole cover began shaking before shooting into the air, flinging the cocky red clad heroine in the air. Then watched as she was flung right into a nearby dumpster.

Chat noir wished he had popcorn.

Scarlet lady slowly stood up before realizing what she was standing in.

“GROSS!!!!” Scarlet Lady jumped out of the dumpster taking off the garbage that was on her.

Miss fortune laughed in amusement.

“Why are you taking it off? The trash suits you.” Miss fortune complimented, knowing full well it was an insult.

Scarlet Lady knew she was in way over her head.

“Chat noir! Are you seriously gonna let her do this to me?!” Scarlet Lady yelled at the cat hero.

Chat noir didn’t comment as he moved closer to keep up with the action.

“Chat noir! Get your butt moving and fight her!” Scarlet lady ordered angrily.

Miss fortune laughed and charged at her.

“You don't get it. He doesn't want to help you. Why on earth would he?” Miss Fortune stated as she gave Scarlet Lady a good gut punch, knocking the wind out of her.

Scarlet lady moved back holding her gut. How was she getting overwhelmed so easily? Scarlet Lady went for her own punch, but Miss fortune easily dodged it.

“All you do is boss him around, insult him, treat him like a lackey. If I was him, I would have left you on your own so much sooner.” Miss Fortune jumped and landed on top of a street light.

“You never even thanked him once. If anything, I would be a much better partner then you.” Miss fortune commented as she activated her power. Causing the street light to start falling towards Scarlet lady. Miss fortune jumped off and landed right near Chat noir. Scarlet lady just barely rolling out of the way in time to avoid getting hit.

“What do you say Kitty? Why don't you join me?” Miss Fortune asked as she touched his cheek with her hand, causing the cat to look into her eyes. “We can take her Miraculous together. Then we can go after Chloé. We would make a really good team.”

Chat noir felt his pulse quicken as he felt Miss Fortune’s hand on his cheek. He took in her purple eyes that once seemed cold, were now warm. Her soft smile as she looked at him. How the wind blew her hair in just the right way. And her earrings caught the light just right to bring attention to her cute little earlobes.

“Ummmm uh...” Chat noir felt his face turn red. Marinette, no, Miss Fortune was so close. He would be lying if he said he never thought about having Marinette be his crime fighting partner. Late night rendezvous. Saving the city, perhaps a kiss or two on camera causing a buzz for the news. It sounded like an ideal world.

“Ugh! That is it, time for the big guns.” Scarlet Lady exclaimed as she got up.

“Lucky Charm!” She exclaimed as she activated her power. Out appeared a ladybug print bottle of eye drops.

Scarlet Lady realized what she needed to do that as much as she hated to do it.

“Chat noir... I am sorry...” Scarlet Lady confessed as she bowed her head.

Chat noir snapped out of his trance and turned his head to Scarlet Lady.

“I am sorry... the way I treat you... the way I order you around. It... It isn't right.” Scarlet Lady conceded.

“I need your help Chat noir... I... I can't beat her alone.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

Chat noir’s eyes went wide. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Scarlet Lady confessed to needing his help.

Miss fortune turned his head back to her.

“Don't listen to her. She will never appreciate you the way I do. Leave her be. Join up with me.” Miss Fortune pleaded softly.

Chat noir placed his hands on her cheeks.

“Don't worry Princess, I know the best choice.” He smiled sweetly.

Scarlet Lady felt her heart sink into despair. Chat noir had ignored her plea.

Miss fortune was so happy to hear his words and her heart exploded when he went in and kissed her. She happily kissed him back sweetly as she enjoyed the spoils of her victory. Until she felt two hands touch her ears.

Chat noir broke the kiss as he held her earrings in his hand.

“Wha...” Miss fortune was shocked that he would do that.

“Sorry, Scarlet Lady maybe a pain in the butt, she is still my superhero partner. Maybe one day Marinette.” Chat noir crushes her earrings and the Akuma began flying out.

Scarlet lady smiled and used her Yo-yo to snag it.

“Got you now you little akuma.” She exclaimed before purifying it before sending off on its own.

Scarlet Lady took her bottle of eye drops and flung it into the sky.

“Miraculous Healing.”

Sure enough all of the damage done by Miss Fortune was fixed and Miss Fortune turned back into Marinette.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hawkmoth tightened his fist before shouting. He was so close this time. He could feel it.

“I was so close. Next time Chat noir and Scarlet Lady. Next time I will have your Miraculous.” He shouts as the window in his layer slowly closes.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Huh... what happened?” Marinette asked confused. She looked to see Chat noir smiling at her.

“You all right Princess?” The black cat asked, worried about her.

“Yea, I am alright... though I am bummed that I lost my backstage pass. I was at this fashion show and...”

“Oh whatever. You handle this Chat noir. I have to tell the world how I got betrayed by my terrible sidekick and just barely saved the day.” Scarlet Lady stated as she pulled out her camera.

Chat noir looked at her.

“Excuse me!? Weren't you moments ago begging for my help with tears in your eyes?”

Scarlet Lady laughed.

“Eyedrops genius! as if I would waste genuine emotion on a good for nothing traitor like you.” Scarlet Lady scoffed, before realizing her earrings started to beep.

“Are you serious!? After all of the...”

“Yeah, we will do this another time. I have to go. Later alley cat.” Scarlet waved as she used her yo-yo to swing out of there.

Chat noir sighed deeply. He should have expected her to be like this. He decides its not worth trying.

“Sorry about your...” Marinette tried to comfort the cat hero.

“Its alright, I know how she is. But enough about that. You should hurry. You need to get back to that fashion show.” Chat noir changed the subject.

Marinette looked down.

“I would, but Chloé took my way of getting back in.” She explained sadly.

Chat noir patted her shoulder.

“I wouldn't worry, I believe I noticed your friend holding your back stage pass. He was looking all over for you. You should probably go find him. But you will need these.” Chat noir comforted before handing back the girls earrings.

Marinette took her earrings and quickly put them on.

“Thanks Chat noir. You are the best.” She gives him a soft kiss on the cheek before running off.

Chat noir smiled as he watched her leave his sight Daydreaming about his luck before remembering something rather crucial.

“Oh right the Fashion show.”

______________________________________________________________________

“Im sorry Marinette.” Chloé states, clearly annoyed that she has to say it.

Adrien had found Chloé before running into Marinette. Adrien told Chloé that if she didn't apologize to Marinette, he would make sure she was never aloud to attend any of his photo shoots or fashion shows, and her parents connections would be unable to to anything about it.

“Its okay Chloé. I forgive you.” Marinette accepted her apology, happily holding her backstage pass from earlier.

“Good, you can go now Chloé.” Adrien stated, content that Marrinette had accepted the girl’s apology.

Chloé scoffed before walking away from the two. She turned the corner and her Swami popped out of her bag.

“What?” Chloé asked slightly irritated. Her Kwami had a smug smile on her face.

“I am just thinking about how when we are back home I am going to scold you until morning.”

Chloé groaned.

“As if things could get any worse.”

Tikki noticed someone coming and flew into her bag.

“Excuse me, I was just informed you do not have authorization to be back here. I am going to have to escort you off the premise.”

“What!? Of course I have ...” She went to reach for the back stage pass only to realize Marinette got it back “Oh no.”

The guard grabbed the irritated blonde as she tried calling out for Adrien to help her, while inside her bag, The red Kwami was enjoying the sweet taste of Karma.

_______________________________________________________________________

(And that concludes our story. I know you are expecting another part, as thats how I normally break it up. But I couldn't stop writing and decided to just roll it all in here. Let me know your thoughts on the final part and the story as a whole. I will be sure to do a master post with all my new fics.)

#ml #ml au #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #scarlet lady #scarlet lady au #Marinette Dupen Chang #chat noir #Marichat #miss fortune #chloé bourgeois #tikki #the karma

467 notes · View notes

smrwine · 6 years

Note

I’m sad that you won’t be continuing to post that one actor au fic you had😭 but I’m excited for any fic you’ll be posting in the future ! :)

Since you’re the sweetest anon I’ve had all day, here’s the whole 17k wip I abandoned.

Turbulence rocked the heavily polished walls of the too posh and too narrow jet. Glowing blue lights illuminated the landing strip outside of the window, as the black of the night drowned out any and all existence below them. Buildings stood only dimly lit from the late hour and not a single soul roamed through the veins of the city. They were flying somewhere above England. Somewhere right outside of London.

Home.

The same soil he grew up digging his fingers in and the rich scent of tea leaves nearly tickling his nose from all the way up in the clouds. Finally, home at last. Comfort and familiarity practically yanking him back down to earth.

“A car will be waiting for you to take you to your final appearance,” Jeff managed to inform through an exhausted, drawn out yawn. Twelve hours across the Atlantic was common in their line of work, yet never ceased to take its toll on the body, “It’s just some nightclub in London. I’ll make sure your shit gets back to your place and meet you out there, okay? Just be sure you're seen and you'll be free to go.”

Harry sighed in response. Rolling his eyes shut and crossing his arms over his Gucci covered chest.

It was quite easy to become irritated with someone he hasn't been separated from in ages. Someone who shoved him out of bed and out of the door, every single morning, for endless hours of promo, and shooting for his next film. Someone who dragged him across multiple continents, threw him to the wolves for their syndicated fabrications, and watched unflinchingly as he stumbled through vague, long winded answers. Someone who pushed him into one last public appearance while his bed was just within reach.

It was frustrating, and easy to place his sour mood on the one person running the show, but Harry understood it was all part of the process. Knew he owed Jeff a great debt for catapulting his acting career into the stratosphere. And as the sound of his voice clawed its way under Harry’s skin, he reminded himself of his surroundings. Overly luxurious private jet, stocked to the brim with champagne and a full staff ready and waiting to cater to his needs. Embroidered silk suit designed with his brand and measurements in mind, steamed to a wrinkleless fit, and fingers dripping in diamonds and gold.

He didn't have it in him to complain, opting to keep his mouth shut, and roll with all the minor punches that came his way.

His irritation would fade soon enough. Just the thought of being on holiday for months on in, without Jeff, or the ruthless training and stunting for multiple films at a time, had his body blossoming with ease. Acting was all he ever wanted to do. Was willing to die for the art form alone. But when given an opportunity for time off and pure rest, he wasn't going to pass it up.

The seat beneath him shook as the jets tires screeched against the runway. Wouldn't be long now before he could settle. Just a few more hours of mingling, and flashing lights, before Harry had time in his grasp. His eyes flickered open to peek over at Jeff. Thumbs tapping away at his mobile and brows slightly dipped in gloom. Yearning clearly written all over his face. He missed his lover. Was likely letting her know he landed and would arrive home late.

It often slipped Harry’s mind that everyone around him had lives and relationships of their own. All of them were so invested in advancing his career, there was hardly ever time to delve into the details of their personal lives. Harry also sort of forgot what it was like to have someone awaiting his arrival back home. Granted, his mum consistently counted down the days each time he was away, but couldn't recall what it was like having someone significant to sleepily tiptoe down his staircase and welcome him home with open arms. Someone to tug at his heartstrings and kiss him gently on the lips. Fill the empty spaces in his massive house with shimmering light and early morning laughter. Someone for him to miss. His career didn't allow it. Whether he was physically in front of the camera, or not, he was always working, always on the move, and that meant the same for the people surrounding him.

The fact alone formed a guilty lump in the pit of his stomach, and forced his features into a wince. Jeff was a bloody nuisance, but Harry had somewhat of a heart, “You can–um,” he cleared his throat after hours of no use and swallowed down the remorse that lingered there, “You can take the night off, yeah? Go see Glenne, get a head start on your holiday, whatever. I can handle one appearance on my own.”

“Don't be ridiculous—”

“No really,” he sat up and unbuckled himself from the seat, “I'll stay for a few hours and let the paps get their shot. It's nothing I haven't done before,” he shrugged and practically saw the cogs of consideration turning in Jeff’s head, “Besides, I’m sure you're sick of me anyway, and your brooding eyes aren't making it any easier on my conscious.”

Jeff remained silent for a bit. Flipping his mobile against his thigh and not breaking his stare for a moment. Harry sat back coolly in his seat, unmoving, and unblinking, as the jet slowly rolled to a stop. He had him. Could feel permission radiating off the posture of Jeff’s fidgety body.

“Alright, fine,” Jeff resigned as he unbuckled himself from his seat and began to gather his belongings, “But it’s only because I'm sick of you–like you said–” he scrambled to wrap his different cords around his multiple electronics and nearly tripped over himself a dozen times, “I'll uh–I'll need updates—”

“Mate, relax, Glenne isn't going anywhere, yeah?”

“Fuck you.” Jeff mumbled under his breath as Harry let out his first genuine laugh in over twelve hours.

“I don't think I've ever seen you move with such a purpose. I'll be expecting this sort of urgency from now on.”

Jeff shouldered his carryon and paused all frantic movements for a second, “I mean it,” his voice dipped into something more serious as he pointed a finger, “Keep me updated.”

“As if you’d read them, anyway,” Harry stood to his full height, ignoring the stern look on Jeff’s face, and smoothing out the suit against his body, “Y’should probably get going, then.”

“I'll see you when you're ready to start working again. Maybe even before then. Know you can't keep still for too long.” he reached up to pat Harry’s cheek twice before turning away and throwing a wave over his shoulder, “See you, H.”

“See you.”

Harry watched as Jeff shouldered his way off the jet and out onto the brightly lit staircase just outside. He was right. Harry didn't like to keep still. Grew fond of having a busy lifestyle and always having a project to work on. It would be there for him when he was ready, however. Multiple scripts to be read over and dozens of campaigns to be the face of. He would miss it. But for the sake of his health, he needed the time off.

Ahh, shit. Fuck. One last appearance. It was going to be strange to not have someone to guide him through the night. To not hear the nagging tone of Jeff’s voice in his ear every time he so much as turned the corner. It wouldn't be too hard. Shouldn’t be. It was just a routine he'd grown accustomed to.

Just a few more hours, he thought to himself. Just a few more hours until he could rest without a deadline. Without being ripped from his sleep and worked to the bone.

He could do this. He could.

I want romance

Harry drunkenly sent off to Jeff as he stumbled up the slick concrete of his front steps. It was too quiet in Oxfordshire. Too chilly for spring and too starless for the countryside. His house was too big, and too secluded, and Harry was too pissed to not feel the effects of isolation. He was so bloody lonely and needed to vent to someone. Jeff asked him for updates anyway, what's one that was slightly more personal than the others?

The tail end of his silk jacket caught in the door as he slammed it behind him. Fucking useless piece of fabric. No purpose for it being so long. Harry slipped his body from the arm holes, not bothering to pull it from the door, and unsteadily began to climb up the stairs one step at a time. Tripping over his clunky boots, catching himself by his ring covered hands, and pushing his way upward. When did his staircase become so bloody high? When did he become so incredibly unbalanced and so regrettably sloshed? Must have been the last few drips of sparkling liquid that did him in. Material practically flew off his body as he tugged, unbuttoned, and unzipped his way down the hallway, and messily fumbled his way into the bedroom.

Okay? I can’t give you that.

Read Jeff's reply. Wanker. Always so insensitive to Harry’s needs. The floor beneath him disappeared as his body flopped down against his bed. Sheets so soft. Mattress practically cuddling him back.

Is everything alright?

Jeff's second reply came just as Harry’s head buried into the pillow.

No. Everything wasn't alright. Champagne remnants lingered on his tired tongue, tasting of sour grapes, and attempts at drowning out loneliness. Empty bedroom around him kaleidoscoping as he tossed between the sheets, legs tangling in fabric, and chest heaving in frustration. Body warm, sticky, and longing, and not a soul to press it up against. Everything was not alright. Everything was spinning and spiraling and the pissed part of his brain had him fully convinced he was going to be ill.

Peachy. xx

Harry sent off as he tossed his phone to the ground. Shit was entirely uncool. Couldn't bare the thought of explaining his heartache when he had it so fucking good. Wouldn't dare let this vulnerable side sliver its way into the public eye let alone someone who worked for him.

Sleep. The coherent part of his brain whispered seductively as the cushion of his bed wrapped it's warmth around him and consumed him wholly. Sleep would be a quick fix. Shutting his eyes and waking up on the right side of the bed in the morning. Hopefully. Time was all he had now and it was thankfully all he'd need.

It’s nine in the evening, at the end of February. Humidity fogging the glass windows of the building and hazy moonlight reflecting gently against the London rain. Harry’s just sat down for a late meal. Not even hungry, really. Just tired of sitting around his house, answering emails, and falling asleep to the absence of white noise. He hadn’t been out in ages. Only leaving his house to keep his body fit and quickly returning to his reclusive ways. It was only fitting that his first night out was alone, cold, and dreary. Thankfully, he has yet to be approached by anyone other than his waitress. Hat tipped low and gaze pointed downward, he has so far avoided the heated stare of curious eyes.

Red wine settled bitterly on his tongue as he found more interest in swirling the glass around rather than enjoying the food in front of him. Jesus, he hoped nobody has recognized him yet. Who is Harry Styles without a model clinging to his arm, or an elite entourage talking over him, basking in their prominence, and flashing their white teeth for the meddling cameras? Being recognized in a sight this sore would surely put a damper on his cool factor. Not that Harry gave a shit, it’s just, the same couldn’t be said for Jeff and the team that worked tirelessly on his public persona.

“Would you like to take a look at our dessert menu, Mr. Styles?”

Harry cringed at the sound of his surname being spoke into existence. If people around him were wondering, and listening close enough, all of their speculations were clearly confirmed.

“No thank you, darling.” Harry looked up from under his hat, pasting on a closed lipped smile, and charmingly flaunting his dimples, “I do fancy the cheque, however. Whenever you get the chance.”

The apples of her cheeks flamed red as she visibly shivered at his words.

Christ. Jeff really did a number on the general public. Easily convincing them Harry Styles was someone to fawn over and be in awe of. Hell, even he was partially convinced he was something special half of the time. If only everyone knew how great of a hermit he actually was.

“Of course, Mr. Styles. I’ll be just a moment.”

The sharply dressed waitress bowed and went on her way as Harry took one last sip, and swallowed down the burgundy liquid.

A quick flash of blue caught his eye from outside the window. A lovely sight choosing that moment to grace Harry’s eyes with magnificence. Sheer material clinging to a nearly soaked through body, a mess of fringe dripping with rainwater, and delicate hands swiping pesky droplets from his face. Fucking hell. This man was otherworldly. Pretty. Flawless. Stunning. Unparalleled in all terms of beauty. Shivering body finding shelter under the coverage of Harry’s window, bottom lip bitten cherry red, and fingers shakily tugging his mobile from his obscenely tight trousers. Bloody gorgeous and dripping wet, and so incredibly tempting. Harry couldn’t recall the last time he was so easily taken by another man’s looks alone.

For a second, he let himself ponder over what would happen if the man on the other side of the glass would look in and see him. Would he recognize Harry with his infamous bedroom eyes, and distinguishable tattoos hidden away? Would he blush at the sight of Harry admiring every curve and slope of his perfect body? Would he cringe at the contrived person he believed Harry to be? Did he even know who Harry was at all?

“Here you are, Mr. Styles.” A kind voice forcefully ripped Harry from his thoughts. “It was a pleasure serving you this evening. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to hers as she bravely shot him a wink and pushed the bill across the table. A pang of guilt settled heavily in his stomach as she stepped away. He hoped there was nothing he said that insinuated he was even slightly interested in her. He most certainly wasn’t and he didn’t recall making it seem that way. She was probably just being polite, Harry reasoned. Or cheeky.

Blue material caught his eye once more and he slightly turned to peek between the raindrops of the window.

Smile nearly reached those beautiful eyes as a significantly older man pulled him in by the waist, and kissed his temple gently. Unreasonable jealousy coursed through Harry’s veins as the pair cuddled in close, and entered the doors of the establishment.

It took a special type of prick to leave their date alone and waiting in the pouring rain, and this one has yet to offer up his coat, or even attempt to dry his partner off. Bastard. It was already fairly clear to Harry that the dripping lad deserved better. Given the chance, Harry would run over and drape the coat off his back over his shivering shoulders. Maybe even introduce himself and sweet talk his way into a conversation.

But that was just his luck, wasn’t it? First person he’s been instantly attracted to since his acting hiatus started – the one time his schedule would allow for him to get to know another human being – and said human was already spoken for by some undeserving sod.

Sounded about right. Harry was destined for a life of loneliness and film.

A quiet giggle fell from the man’s pretty lips as their host led them in the direction of a secluded table. Not-so-innocent blue eyes flashed towards Harry’s green ones and a spark of arousal ignited through Harry’s body. The man’s neatly curved brows raised in interest as he bit down against a slightly bashful smile, and slowly stepped in the direction of Harry. Possessive hands curled their way around his shapely hips and tugged his younger body alongside the older one. Harry smirked as the older lad’s expression was sourly plastered across his face. The pair knew exactly who Harry was, then. Younger lad was likely a fan judging by the tight grip on his hips alone.

Harry was smug for all but a second, when an unmistakably selfish kiss was stolen right in front of him, and the couple continued on towards the back of the dining room. Goodness, Harry desperately wished that were him. No matter how inflated his ego grew as the other lad blatantly checked him out, he was going home alone tonight, and would wake up alone in the morning.

It stung. Fucking pained him to not know the feeling of mutual devotion.

Acting was the only real commitment Harry knew. And from the time it took him to stand from his table, pay, and push out the door, he decided this hiatus was over. Three months of being stagnant was no longer appealing, he couldn’t go on for a full year of this. If he was going to be lonely anyway, he might as well be surrounded by other people while being so.

“I'm ready to get back into it, Jeffrey.” Harry calmly spoke through the phone as he laid his body out against his sofa. There was a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that knew Jeff wouldn't take too kindly to the news, or the fact that he called him at nearly three in the morning, so he figured he'd make himself comfortable for the inevitable grilling.

“Harry–” Jeff cut off with a muffled sigh as Harry winced at his exhausted tone, “It’s only been a few months. You were supposed to take the rest of the year off at least—”

“I'm aware of that, but I'm ready to jump back in. Sitting around all day just hasn't been cutting it for me.”

“Well, it's not just about you not working all day, Harry, it's about not over exposing yourself. Not exhausting the public of your projects. You've been off for three months and I still see your face plastered everywhere. Coming back now could be potentially damaging.”

Harry rolled his eyes shut and threw his head back against the cushion. Of course Jeff had to put it in simple terms, making the issue too easy to understand, and sounding every bit as professional as he dumbed down the magnitude of what Harry coming back could do to his career. He was right, and Harry knew that, but that didn't mean he had to like it, or agree to it.

“I just want something to work on. It doesn't have to be a massive role or campaign. I'm just tired of doing nothing.”

“That's the point of your hiatus, Harry.” Jeff spoke stern yet soft, “You're supposed to be doing nothing. You should be half way across the world by now, on some beach somewhere, soaking up the sun. This is about you as well, and your physical and mental health. We talked about exhausting yourself and how you should use this opportunity to relax, and do all the things you don't normally have the time to do.”

Fucking hell. He hated feeling like he was being spoken to like a child. Hated that Jeff was always so fucking right no matter which way he spun it. God. Harry should have just went off and started a project on his own. He would have happily dealt with the consequences versus being told time off is the better choice for him. He couldn't help that he was stubborn and loved what he did.

“Go visit your family, see your childhood friends, get involved with your local charities, but seriously, H—give it until at least summertime.”

Harry perked up at the sound of his words, “Summer time, you say? So – what – only three months from now, and I can get involved in something?”

“I'll make you a deal,” Jeff paused to consider his words and Harry sat up a bit straighter at the proposition, “If you can sit still for the next six weeks, I'll send over all the scripts I've collected for your comeback. You can read over them all, take as long as you need, choose whichever role you want to jump into, whatever. But you have to promise me relaxation until summer, in return. Sleep late and lounge in the sand, or your bed, wherever, I don't give a shit. Pick up a new hobby—whatever you have to do. Just don’t call me about work for another six weeks unless you're coming to visit Glenne or me. Sound fair?”

Fuck. It was tempting, yes. Jeff knew waving around the promise of brand new scripts would sway Harry a certain way. But summer was seemingly so far from now. Frost still lightly dusted the tips of his garden every morning. What was he supposed to do until the beaming sun melted all of that away? Harry supposed he could bother his trainer for some time. Maybe take up boxing lessons like he's always wanted to. See his Mum. Visit his sister in America. Something. Anything. Just get out of the house for once to speed up the process. He didn't have much of a choice anyway.

“You there?” Jeff spoke through the extended silence.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “Throw in some Oscar worthy roles and I'll make it seven weeks of silence.” he added sarcastically

“Shut up, Harry. You know I always have your best interests in mind.”

“I want that validation, Jeffery. I'm only getting older.”

Harry choked down a laugh as he could practically picture the exaggerated roll of Jeff's eyes. It was always humorous to play into the image that was carefully constructed for him. Vanity and fame meant nothing to Harry, but for some reason, the opposite illusion worked for the headlines, and his brand, and the public didn't really think anything of it. As long as Harry and those close to him knew who he truly was, he didn't mind dabbling in the persona every once and awhile.

“You're a pain in the ass,” Jeff snipped, American tone bleeding through the line, “But you've got yourself a deal. Seven weeks.”

“Alright, sounds good. Don't miss the sound of my voice too—”

The line went dead before Harry could get his last word out. Prick. He'd have to get him back for that later.

As the clock wound down closer to morning than midnight, Harry figured he should drag his body up the stairs, and into his bed. Oxfordshire was quiet this evening and he honestly wouldn't expect it to be any other way.

Seven more weeks of staying still. He could do this.

Summer beams warmed the ever growing back garden of Harry’s estate. Pool side looking every bit as tempting as the brunch gone cold in front of him, but three heavy stacks of printed dialogue kept him rooted to his seat. Jeff was meant to meet him here to discuss his future roles and which would be wisest for the longevity of his career. He was late, however. By nearly half an hour. Doubt was beginning to nip at Harry’s heels. Nerves and uncertainty tugging ruthlessly at the back of his mind.

Harry narrowed down dozens of choices to three.

All action packed. All roles where he's able to show off his stunting ability. Characters that do little to show his vulnerability and further convince the public he was as cool as he was on screen.

Every last one of these scripts were layered with brilliance. Yet, Harry couldn't help but feel they weren't right for him. Something was off and he couldn't quite reason why.

"I know, I know, I'm a dick!" Jeff exclaimed through winded breath as he clamoured through Harry’s back garden. Both of his hands raised in defense, one clenched to a script, and the other to his mobile. He's only twenty-five minutes late. Harry couldn't imagine what could've kept him so held up.

“You know, if it were me that was half an hour late, I would've never heard the end of it. Probably would've woken up to some publication slandering my punctuality on behalf of you.”

“As long as it's a credible publication.” Jeff made himself comfortable in the seat in front of Harry, plucking a strawberry from a bowl of fruit, and pushing the plates of brunch to the side. “Another meeting had me held up, sorry. Grabbed something on the way. Appreciate the effort though.”

Harry pushed aside the food in front of him as well. Stomach too full of tension for there to be room for anything else.

“S’alright. Should we just get to it, then?” Harry mumbled through bitten lips.

“Sure, what are your options?”

The midday sun warmed the back of Harry’s neck as he struggled through pitching the scripts in front of him. Slight breeze doing its best to soothe Harry’s tongue tied words, and tense shoulders, but ultimately failing in the end. The more he stumbled over himself, the more sweat began to collect at his temples, and every crevice of his body.

Fuck. He was usually so sure of what he wanted. Uncertainty gnawed at the corner of his words making it nearly impossible to articulate why he narrowed his choices down to these three alone. He wished he could get a fucking grip and swallow down whatever type of nervousness was rising to his throat like bile.

Jeff sat mostly wordless. Only speaking up to question Harry at the peak of his reasoning and sit back to watch him fumble once again. Jeff had to know Harry couldn't quite come up with a solid decision on his own. Was watching him drown in his own explanations as if he had something waiting behind his knowing stare. Something Harry’s choices couldn't match.

“Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought.” Jeff bit down a laugh and dodged a grape aimed straight for his head.

“Fuck you.” Harry threw his shoulders back against his seat, letting his skin bake under the balmy sun, and allowing his nerves to dissipate with the summer heat. Such a lovely day spent worrying rather than indulging. “You've yet to offer up any solid options, or advice, what am I paying you for?”

“Here's what you're paying me for.” Jeff slid over the script he'd been clenching to. Not as thick as the others but still held close to his chest like the print itself was scrawled in gold. “I know you're not going to like this but hear me out—”

Ardor, the title read in bold font. A script Harry briefly skimmed over before tossing it to the side.

A son of a farmer, living in the hills of Oxfordshire, disregarding the path set out for him since birth, and trading it in for rehearsals and stage lights. The character lets his life’s passion wholly consume him, leaving his family and relationships behind, and living out his dreams with only a pocket full of change. A hopeful yet devastating role when the main character severs these ties only to be faced with the harsh realities of Hollywood.

Just a bit too close to home for Harry’s taste. If Jeff read past the first few lines alone, he'd know this amount of vulnerability wasn't something Harry was too keen on.

“You and this film need each other.” Jeff leaned over to tap his fingers against the script rapidly. “This is what kept me held back from meeting you on time. This is going to be the turning point in your career, Harry.”

Harry eyed him warily. He's worked alongside Jeff for nearly seven years and has never heard his voice r each such assuredness. There was more to what he was saying, surely, and the knowing look in Jeff’s eyes left Harry curious. He was a bit hesitant to dig for more, seeing as Jeff prefaced everything with Harry not liking it, but his desire for the unknown was too intense, and he was eager to hear more.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned calmly from his sitting position, one leg crossed over the other, and forefinger stroking his prickly chin.

“Low budget film needs a recognizable name, said actor with recognizable name needs a vulnerable, artistic, role to set him apart from not only his contenders, but himself.” Jeff paused to let his words sink in. “Your last four films have had the same explosive storylines, H. It gets boring after a while and you start to lose your credibility as an artist.”

Harry recoiled at his words. Fear of repetition setting his skin aflame, and beads of sweat slowly extinguishing the burn. Jeff’s words stung. But he wasn't wrong.

“This role has depth, and art, and it's heartbreaking, and full of hope, it'll highlight your skills in a way that fighting crime and jumping off burning buildings won’t.”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted only slightly appalled. “It took enough bloody skill to jump from a burning building, Jeffery.”

“I know, I know, that's not what I'm saying at all.” Jeff sighed frustratedly as he sat up properly and puffed out his chest, “This role is special, yes. However, it's going to be overlooked like most art films if there's not a proper lead demanding the attention of not only the audience, but the academy. You've worked hard for all the recognition you've received, yeah? I think it's time you've earned yourself a nomination. I know you have the talent to turn this role into something memorable, and the producers over there want you, Harry. It's all we spoke about earlier, they're willing to renegotiate contracts, and start filming within the next two weeks if you agree to it. You have the power here.”

Harry’s stomach knotted in clusters. Weight of decisions and responsibility nearly bringing him to his knees. He didn't feel too powerful in the moment.

Jeff might have been onto something, though. Was making far too much sense to not be right. Harry did need this film and the production needed him. The storyline would shine a spotlight on his talents in new and undiscovered ways, and his name attached to the role alone, would raise interest, and allow the production to profit. All sides would win. Renegotiating contracts would be a pain to everyone involved, but Jeff and his trusted team always had a way with sorting everything out.

Something about this felt right. Felt like this was the next step Harry so desperately needed to take. Bring his career back to its roots and fall in love with the artistry all over again. It's just—. It's been so long since he's played a character so...normal.

“I know you're unsure about this but let me remind you how expected the other three roles are. Even you saw them coming and you couldn't even sell them to yourself.”

Fuck Jeff. He was a right prick, but right nonetheless.

“So—” Harry paused to chew against the inside of his cheek and consider his next questions carefully. “If I agree to this right now, we’ll be able to get things moving pretty quickly, yeah? I can come out of hiding and get back to work?”

“It'll take some convincing and a few favours, but yes. Absolutely.”

Jeff stared back at him unflinchingly and full of confidence. Never has he steered Harry wrong or led him to believe something was good for him when it wasn't. Jeff had all the strings in the industry to pull and he could definitely make this happen for him. The decision was practically as clear as the day above him.

“Give me a full day to get into character and I'll let you know by morning.”

“Great, I've already put us on the next flight to LA.”

“You what?!” Harry jerked forward in his seat as Jeff fiddled with his mobile.

“What? Twelve or so hours is enough time to feel out the character right?” he smirked without taking his eyes off the screen. “Most of the filming will be done just up the road, but deals have to be made in LA. You know this.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed for the script. “I know you're a pain in my arse that's for sure.”

Jeff ignored him in favour of typing away at his mobile. Harry stood from the table and walked through his garden on bare feet, sun warming the earth below him. Finally. After months of moping around and lusting for his rightful place in front of a camera, it was finally happening. And so quickly. The script weighed heavy in his hands as the summer breeze flicked through the pages with interest. Small smile creeping up on him as his eyes caught glimpses of dialogue.

“Don’t wander off,” Jeff yelled from his spot at the table. “We have about two hours ‘til we need to leave!”

Harry threw a vague vulgar gesture over his shoulder and continued on his path through the garden.

This felt right. He finally felt sure. As if there was something special waiting on the other end of this role. Harry couldn't quite shake the adrenalized tremble in his bones, and quite frankly, he had no desire to.

Even when silent from slumber, London welcomed Harry with pink skies, and the feeling of optimism. High-rise buildings passed in a blur as he carefully sipped at his light roast blend, and let the steam from the caffeinated beverage render his exhaustion. Jeff sat alongside him. Business emails and phone calls already taking priority at the early hour. Fittings for Ardor were scheduled for the day. Dozens of different costumes to be tailored to his body and the first real opportunity to properly introduce this character to himself.

The studio appeared to his right as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Harry stumbled from the car door as gracefully as he could manage and did his best to follow behind Jeff’s ambitious strides. The first floor seemed quiet. Lobby vacant of visitors and a receptionist only offering a polite nod. The elevator ride up was smooth. Dragged on for far longer than expected and led them both into the belly of chaos.

Multiple clothing racks and rolling steamers pushed vehemently across the floor by employees and interns alike. Voices shouting over voices and sketches tacked against the walls by the dozens. A room stocked the the brim with seemingly unsystematic energy and a thriving sense of proficiency. Harry felt a bit of motion sickness just standing there.

“There's the man with all the power!” a voice broke through the madness and seemed to stop everything in its tracks.

Wandering eyes shifted over to Harry. Some awed, some impressed, some completely indifferent to him as a whole. Awkwardly, he lifted a hand, and let a tight lipped smiled slip onto his face.

“Well don't just stand there darling, we have loads of work to do.” A silver-haired woman surrounded by prestigiously dressed employees, and a child clinging to her leg, broke through the silence again. “That goes for everyone, yeah? Back to work.”

Harry sought out Jeff for answers, but was only met with the back of his head as he moved to greet the woman.

“Lou, it's good to see you again.” Jeff greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Harry this is Lou Teasdale, costume designer. Lou, this is my client, Harry Styles.”

Harry slightly bowed before taking her hand and shaking firmly. Her grip was loose. Something that immediately rubbed Harry the wrong way.

“So you're the lad responsible for all the madness?” she said with a smile, yet her words had a bit of a bite to them. Harry had no idea what she was on about either.

Best to just roll with it then.

“That would be me.” he easily flashed his dimples and subtly bat his lashes. “It's a pleasure meeting you, Lou. I'm looking forward to working with you.”

She eyed him for a moment. Arms crossed over her chest and and mouth pursed in consideration. It was a bit nerve wracking. He couldn't help but continue to smile convincingly in the madness around him. He felt the eyes of who he assumed was her daughter staring up at him, big, curious, and full of wonder. He offered up a small wave, which sent the child running behind her legs. Oops.

“At least he’s charming.” She hitched the girl up on her hip and grabbed him by the arm. “Come along, then.”

Lou began to walk him, and her entourage, towards a room in the back. Harry desperately looked over his shoulder. Pleading eyes meeting Jeff’s and Jeff’s offering up absolutely no emotion. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one that noticed everyone was a bit cold. Not rude, per se. Just not warming up to him as quickly as he's used to.

“Louis, babe, your assistance is needed.”

Harry turned to look into the room. Sight instantly drawn to a man sat by himself near the window. Nose submerged in a book and pencil sketching designs in the margin. His brown hair disheveled without messy product and sleepless circles thinly bruising beneath his eyes. He was lovely. Skin the shade of marmalade and lips appearing just as sweet.

Fuck, Harry was so single.

“If you'll take his measurements and help him dress, yeah? Just pin any adjustments and write down everything else – we’ll get to tailoring later – I just need to speak with his manager for a bit.”

Louis stood from his seat, giving Harry a quick once over, and noticeably flushing at the sight. Harry didn't mean to smirk, but as soon as the corners of his mouth lifted, Louis’ mood seemed to shift.

“Sure, Lou. Should be finished with him soon.”

Lou nodded as she led Jeff out of the room, quietly discussing business, and entourage obediently following behind. Harry stepped passed the doorway, shutting it behind him, and placing himself in the middle of the room. Louis moved with such elegance. Effortlessly making a dance out of pulling clothing racks across the floor. Harry couldn't take his eyes off him even as Louis’ paid him no mind.

Tongue tied even in his brain, Harry struggled to come up with a line worthy enough for introductions.

“This process will go a bit quicker if you undress—” Louis looked up at him with brilliant eyes. He was so gorgeous. “You know, instead of just standing there.”

Harry chuckled under his breath. Lips curling into a smile as Louis flicked to a fresh page in his journal, and unwound a tape measure from his neck.

“Should probably get to know me a bit better, yeah? At least be on a first name basis before you see the goods.”

Louis rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. Clearly irritated and not at all amused with Harry’s flirting. Without a word, he crossed his arms over his chest, impatiently tapping his foot, and waiting for Harry to get on with it. A zing of chills traveled down Harry’s spine as Louis’ relentless stare bored into him.

“M’Harry,” he softly introduced as he unbuttoned his blouse and let it slide off his shoulders. “And you are?”

“Your costume standby.” tape measure circled around Harry’s neck as Louis removed it and penciled in a measurement, “No need to patronize me while we’re here. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

Harry's brows creased as he watched Louis take measurements in the mirror. Jesus. What was in the air today? Seemed like everyone had a chip on their shoulder.

“I wasn't patronizing you.” he spoke earnestly ”Just wanted your name is all.”

“Lift.” Louis instructed. Harry raised his arms slightly, allowing Louis to wrap the tape up around his chest, and back down to his waist. He moved with such precision and attentiveness. Scribbling in measurements and working around Harry’s body with ease. It took everything within Harry not to shiver at his touch. “Remove your trousers for me, please.”

Harry watched as Louis grabbed his blouse from the floor, and hung it carefully on a separate rack. So delicate with everything. Even in the way he handled clothing. Harry was quite possibly smitten.

He slipped out of his boots and took his trousers along with him. Louis quickly grabbing for both and storing them away properly.

“So if you're my costume standby, that means we’ll be working together daily, yes?” Harry questioned as Louis squat to the ground in front of him.

“Correct.” Louis replied dryly. Hands moving to Harry's thighs and tape wrapping snugly around them.

Harry averted his vision to the ceiling. It had been far too long since he had a pretty boy on his knees for him, especially one this pretty. The visuals were stunning, but now was clearly not the appropriate time.

“We should probably try to get along then, yeah? Should at least be able to address each other by name? Maybe even become mates, or summat?”

“I have enough mates as I'm sure you do too.”

“I'm quite lonely, actually.” Harry admitted as he looked down to find Louis measuring his inseam. Christ. “I could–I could use a friend, you know? Someone who's nice. You seem nice enough. But I'll need your name to be friends, yeah? I think it’s only fair—”

“Are you normally this chatty during fittings?” his voice was humorless and his eyes were focused on the journal in front of him.

“No, not normally.” Harry smiled as Louis rose to his full height and gave him a second of his attention. “You're just special, I guess.”

Louis’ face twisted in discomfort as he shut his book of measurements and grabbed for the costume closest to him. Harry was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. He just couldn't help himself.

“Are you not charmed?” Harry asked with a slight quirk of the lips.

Louis wordlessly began to dress his upper body, carefully buttoning up a crisp collared shirt, and rubbing out the wrinkles across his shoulders. The material fit nicely and having Louis’ delicate hands feeling out the fabric had him nearly trembling.

“Not everyone is going to fall for the Harry Styles charm.” Louis replied dryly. Not even looking up to address him.

“I've noticed,” Harry followed Louis’ movements in the mirror as he went to select a pair of trousers from the rack. “No one here has taken a liking to me it seems.”

“Hm, I can't imagine why.” his words were laced with sarcasm and scoff. “Will you step into these trousers for me, please?”

Harry took the clothing from Louis’ hold with pinched brows, “What aren't you telling me, Louis?”

Mmm. His name felt good against Harry’s lips.

“How d’you know my name?” Louis bit with equally pinched brows.

“Answer my question first.”

“Don't be a child! Tell me how you know my name.”

“Lou addressed you when we walked in here together.” he raised his hands in defense. “I paid attention because you're gorgeous.”

Louis eyed him. Disgust clear in his stare.

“You might want to cut that out, yeah? Only does more damage around here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Attempting to charm the people beneath you as you use them as a stepping stool.”

Louis reached for the trousers in Harry’s hold, assumedly to dress Harry through the awkwardness, but Harry resisted, and looked louis in the eye.

“What do you mean by that? I've done nothing to use anyone as a stepping—”

“Nothing? You think you've done nothing?” Louis placed his hands on his hips with a look of disbelief. “Nothing at all?”

“No, I haven't.” Harry defended only slightly peeved. “I've been holed up for months. I didn't even know you existed before today.”

“Well, at least you've got that part right, darling.” Louis smiled a cunning smile, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. “You didn't know I, or any of us, existed, and surely you had no idea of our plans and ideas for the costumes in this film.”

“I can't be at fault for that—”

“No, of course not. We both agree on that.” Louis stepped up to him slowly. Leaving their bodies only a breath apart, and winding his measuring tape back around Harry’s hips. “Tell me what you think happens when production gets rolling weeks before scheduled?”

Harry swallowed thickly as he followed the movement of Louis’ tongue licking his lips. It was hard to come up with cohesive thoughts when Louis was clearly setting him up for a grilling, but continued to press their bodies together.

“Um–madness, I would assume. Sort of like what I walked in on this morning.”

“Mhmm.” Louis looked up from under his endless lashes and dragged the measuring up against Harry’s skin. It was fucking maddening. Harry couldn't resist clutching to the fabric of Louis’ hips. “And when someone like me assumes they have weeks to submit their designs to Lou Teasdale, because she's given them an incredible opportunity, and that opportunity is suddenly ripped from beneath them, how do you think that person feels about the man holding the rug?”

“Um, fuck—” Harry went breathless as the front of his pants slightly dragged against Louis’ trousers. It had been far too long since he's had intimacy and Louis seemed to catch onto that rather quickly. Any slight touch to Harry’s cock was bound to get him off. “I would–I would imagine there would be some resentment, yeah? Some–fuck–um...bitterness? Wouldn't know, though. Haven't been in that position for years. I would assume by your attitude I'm not too far off.”

“Mhmm. You're a smart one aren't you?” Louis dropped the measuring tape from around Harry’s waist and brought his hands to fit around Harry’s biceps. God, their bodies were so bloody close. “I guess that's why you chose this role in the first place, innit? A smart choice, hm? A low budget role where you get to voice your demands, maybe even snag an Oscar nom, and that skeevy manager of yours makes it all happen with favours, and promises, and your name in the credits. It's smart for you, of course. Your career will flourish, darling.” he gently trailed his fingers up Harry's chest softly rubbing at the skin, and moving to thread his fingers through Harry’s short hair, “But the rest of us are caught under your shoe and sleepless from making this production possible. You'd do best to drop the charming act, when we both know how easily you’d use us again for your own gain.”

Louis gave his scalp a sharp tug, forcing a gasp out of Harry, before he stepped back and shoved his journal into Harry’s chest. He looked hurt and above all angry.

“Well m’sorry for what it looks like, babe. But the producers wanted me just as much as I wanted this role.” he reached out and gently cupped the side of Louis’ face, “You needed me as well, huh? Who else's body would you have designed for had Lou not given you my name?”

“You weren't even considered for the bloody role by then.” he shoved away Harry’s hand with rage, “All of my sketches are of clothing because auditions hadn't even been held yet. Because the role hadn't been handed to you yet. While I was out there trying to make something of myself, you destroyed the one opportunity I earned, because you couldn't go too long without your name in the headlines.”

Harry stood mildly shocked. No one has ever spoken to him this way. With such vivid disdain and devastatingly betrayed eyes. Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Everyone always immediately adored Harry. Loved working with him and always greeted him with a smile on their face. Going from that to this was not a transition he'd like to get used to.

“Louis–I'm–Had I known you were—”

“S’too late for that now, Harry. We both know nothing can be undone.”

Louis smoothed out the wrinkles of his clothing as he draped his measuring tape over Harry’s shoulders, and moved to walk out of the room.

“Wait–where are you going?” Harry was stood in a button up and pants, clutching to only Louis’ journal, and praying his slightly hard cock wasn't visible. Totally inappropriate. Now more than ever.

“I'll be back to stroke your ego soon, don't worry, Hollywood.” he smirked as his dainty fingers curled around the door knob. “Just need a bit more coffee to get myself through it.”

Fuck. He was gorgeous even when he was leaving Harry half hard and remorseful. His cock had seemingly never known arousal before Louis entered his life.

The door slammed behind him as Louis exited the room.

Fuck. It was all quite strange. Louis easily ripped him to shreds yet Harry was still weirdly turned on. And Louis did it all to him with a radiant smile on his face.

Jesus, Harry would love to figure him out.

Guilt and shame pricked at Harry’s skin as Louis’ journal weighed heavy in his hands. He flicked through the pages carefully. Most sketches were left incomplete, but others were finished, and brilliant. His vision for this film and this character was so clear in the strokes of his pen alone. He was obviously talented and Harry could tell this opportunity meant the world to him. It must have been painful for Louis to dress him in costumes that weren't his own, knowing they could have been.

“Fuck.” Harry mumbled under his breath as he discreetly adjusted himself.

It was quite a shitty feeling. Harry didn’t intend to use anyone as his stepping stool, but there was absolutely no denying what he did. Or what it looked like he did. Harry clutched the journal shut and glanced up at his reflection. Ugh. What a poor sight. Guilt didn't look good on him at all.

Louis didn't seem like the type to forgive easily. But that was no matter. Harry always fancied himself a challenge, and he wouldn't stop until all was well between them.

He could only hope Louis was as willing to give him that chance.

First few hours on set stretched on as expected. Table read occupied most of the adrenaline induced morning, forcing Harry to jitter and squirm silently in his seat. Buzz underneath his skin ate away at the pit of nerves in his stomach and his stuttering tongue relaxed line by line. He couldn't wait to get in front of a camera and bring Ardor to life.

Costume standby was awaiting his arrival at his trailer and Harry knew that meant Louis. Last week’s dress rehearsals went colourless without his boundless enticement and intoxicating allure. He didn't appear to be anywhere near the table read through either. Harry searched for him in every corner of the set. From the amorphous labyrinth of trailers, to the posh garden of the estate they were filming at, it was hopeless. Not a single body moved as graceful. Not a single smile had Harry weak in the knees. The entirety of the run through left Harry longing for just a glimpse of his perfect face and clever tongue.

It wasn't a secret to Harry, or anyone, that Louis couldn't stand him, but there was still an overwhelming need for Harry to impress him. To convince him he was wrong about Harry Styles and that Harry - himself - was actually someone he could warm up to. And Harry might've had a way to make that possible.

“Harry!” Jeff called from somewhere behind him. Nasally Californian accent even more prominent in the British setting.

Christ. It truly seemed like he couldn't go more than a minute without Jeff hovering over his bloody shoulder. Harry kept his pace. Walking with his head held high and smirking at the sound of Jeff’s labored breaths catching up with him.

“Hey, you dick,” a hand smacked against his back as Jeff caught up to his side. “I've been trying to find you—you hightailed it out of the reading. Everything good?”

Harry shrugged with a lingering smile, “I'm eager to get started, I dunno.”

“Yeah, sure.” he scoffed, “You're eager to see that Louis guy. I have no idea how you land all these roles when you're such a shit actor.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, placing one hand upon his hip, and shielding his eyes with the other. Jeff seemed all too pleased with his previous remark. Shit eating grin plastered across his face.

“Was there something you needed, Jeffery?”

“Oh. Nah, not really.” Jeff shrugged. “Just wanted to wish my favourite client good luck since I'll be off set for a few weeks.”

“I believe the proper phrase is break a leg, but thanks.”

“Break a leg then.” Jeff pat him on the shoulder and began to move away, “I'll check in every now and then. Don't forget about your proposition to Louis, yeah? Took hours of convincing. I worked hard on that one.”

“Don't worry, mate, I haven't, and I was on my way before you so pointlessly interrupted me.” Harry laughed as Jeff responded with a roll of his eyes, and a turn of his heel. Quite sensitive lad. “I’ll see you, Jeff! Thanks for everything!”

Harry was waved off with a middle finger. Oh well. Jeff would be fine eventually. A small smile grew into Harry’s cheeks as he set back off towards his trailer. The thought of seeing Louis crept back into his mind and his stomach churned with a nervousness he hadn't felt in ages.

The sun beamed as the butterflies fluttered aimlessly. Minimal clouds shaded the walkway as a summer breeze gently carried him on towards his destination. Harry felt lighter with each step closer to the boy, and excitement bubbled through his veins at the mere thought of spending time alone with him. It didn't go too well the last time around, but Harry was confident he would be able to sweep Louis off his feet this time.

His wandering came to a halt as he reached the the sleek door of his massive trailer. The other trailers surrounding his seemingly dwarfed in comparison. Not really a good look. Kind of fed into the whole Harry Styles mega star image. With a shake of his head, Harry pulled open the door. Cool air, jasmine, and rose scents hit across his face in a gentle caress. It was actually quite lovely and welcoming. Jeff must have passed along the fresh flowers and scented candles memo.

Harry took a peek around the posh space. Sleek counters and leather sofas. Curtains drawn shut, and drowning out any light in the small living area around him. Not a single sign of Louis. Only proof of anyone being here was the soft glow of the flickering flames.

“Louis?” Harry called out to no answer. “Anyone here?”

Shuffling could be heard from down the hall. Harry stepped in the direction, swallowing down his pesky giddiness, and pushing through the slightly cracked door.

Goodness. Louis sat crouched in a squat position. Golden brown hair sweeping over his gentle eyes, and fingers carefully stitching the end of a trouser leg. His concentration went unscathed as Harry shut the door behind him. Nimble fingers toying with the needle and thread, and bottom lip bitten between his teeth. Even with his brows pinched together, his face remained soft. Harry wanted to reach out and touch.

“Hey, Louis.” Harry spoke slower and more tender than intended. “What’re you doing in my trailer with the curtains drawn and candles lit?”

“It was like that when I arrived.” Louis snipped without looking up. “I didn't want a lawsuit on my hands for touching your things, so I just left it alone.”

“Hmm, is that so? You really think that way of me?” Harry drawled as Louis hummed out a quiet mhmm. “Well, in that case, you have my explicit permission to make yourself at home here. Anything on this trailer is yours to touch, whenever you please.” The including me went implied, but unsaid.

Louis sighed frustratedly as he stood from his crouched position. Harry didn't miss the pink tinge that warmed his cheeks.

“You're an idiot.” Louis shook his head humorlessly. “Let's get you dressed, yeah? We’re already running late.”

“We have at least an hour, babes. No rush.” Harry stepped over towards the sofa, laying his body down against it, and stretching his arms out above his head. “Where have you been, hm? Haven't seen you since fittings. I was beginning to worry.”

“They needed me in tailoring because somebody had to have production rolling early.” Louis pushed his palms into his eyes and scrubbed irritatedly. “I feel like I haven't slept in weeks.”

“There's a bedroom down the hall, love.” Harry offered in a gentle tone. “You can use it anytime you’d like. Might even join you later this afternoon.”

“Absolutely not.” Louis clipped. “No rest for the weary, Harry.”

Oh.

That was a beautiful sound. His name slipping from Louis’ lips for the first time since they met.

Harry would give anything just to hear him say it again.

“You deserve it though.” Harry sat up straight against the sofa. “I’d imagine your hands and neck are cramped and sore. Your eyes have probably been strained for days—”

“I don’t need you to pity me, yeah? Just get up so I can get you dressed.”

“It’s not pity, love,” Harry carefully stood from the sofa. Slowly striding towards Louis and the clothing rack, and gradually unfastening the buttons of his shirt, “I just think - if you're working as hard as you are - you should at least be doing what you love.”

Harry let his silk shirt slip from his shoulders and shivered when Louis snatched it from his body. It wouldn't be the first time he was topless around him, but it was the first time Louis visibly flushed at the sight of his body.

“We don't all have the privilege of being Harry Styles.” he aggressively hung Harry's shirt on the clothing rack, causing a small ruckus in the tiny room. “Opportunities don't just fall into our laps.”

“What if one did, babe? Would you take it?” Harry questioned cryptically as he stepped in closer and leaned an arm up against the rack.

The blues in Louis’ eyes were greener up this close. Harry felt beyond fortunate to have the opportunity to notice this detail.

“What are you on about?” Louis’ tone dropped to nearly a whisper.

“Costume design is your dream, yeah? Tailoring and dressing actors isn't what you want to do forever.” Harry stepped closer and let his eyes easily linger on Louis’. “How do either of those benefit you, hm? Other than being able to ogle me.”

“Ughhh—” Louis rolled his eyes at that last part and crossed his arms in front of him, “Tailoring is a skill, but costume standby pays my uni debt.” Louis shrugged looking more vulnerable than he seemed to like to. Maybe it slipped. Maybe Harry wasn't meant to know and Louis was just too exhausted to filter his words. Either way it was out there now. “Why do you suddenly care anyway? All of my design dreams were shot to hell as soon as you picked up this script.”

“Well, because I can fix that.”

Harry stepped just a bit closer. Leaving only Louis’ crossed arms between them. His stubbornness seemed to visibly waver as he took in the tan skin and light dusting of hair against Harry’s chest. The look alone did wonders for Harry’s ego.

“What d’you mean?” Louis uncrossed his arms and placed them on his hips, seemingly interested.

“My manager and I convinced Lou to let you come up with a look for me.” Harry smiled deep. Dimple easing its way into his right cheek. “You’ll be limited on time but I wiggled it out of her. Told her I had the pleasure of seeing some of your sketches and she took my word for it.”

Louis stood motionless. Face void of emotion and mood in the room completely unreadable. Before this, Harry assumed Louis would have bounced around with joy. Maybe even would have went as far as to throw his arms around Harry and thank him endlessly. At the very least, he expected Louis to go red in the cheeks with excitement. When that didn't immediately happen, worry began to settle in Harry’s stomach.

“What do you say, Louis? I think this would be a great opportunity for you and—”

“Have you completely lost all sense of right and wrong over there in Hollywood?”

Harry stilled in confusion. “What—”

“Do you really think you're doing me a favour by using your charm to get my designs out there? Do you really think that adds to my credibility as a designer?”

“Connections get you far in this industry, Louis. I've worked hard for many years to build up my brand and image but—”

“And you think I wouldn't want to do the same for myself? You think I want to be known as the person who got their start from a Harry Styles recommendation and not from my work alone?” Louis’ breathing increased with his anger as Harry stood topless and shocked, “I’m willing to pay my dues and work hard for my spot in this industry. That's why Lou Teasdale offered up that opportunity in the first place! She admired my work ethic and I spent hours under her wing for that once in a lifetime chance. I did it on my own and I can do it again without your guilt riddled offer.”

“Louis that's not what I was trying to do I—”

“You were trying to win me over with this weren't you? You knew word would travel fast around set and you wouldn't seem like such a bad guy after all.”

Harry couldn't move. Harry couldn't breathe. He was caught between every last chill rolling down his spine and his heartbeat picking up in speed. Louis was right. Fuck, he was fucking right. Harry knew the favor he pulled for Louis would get around to different crews and different departments. He had hoped it would not only soften Louis towards him, but anyone else who resented him for pushing production to start early. Louis saw right through him. Harry fucked up. Badly. And this was not the way he planned for things to turn out.

“I don't need your hand out, darling, and I humbly decline any future offers to design for Harry Styles.”

“Lou–don’t….don’t—”

“You can get yourself dressed, yeah? M’really not up for this right now.” Louis shouldered his way past a dumbfounded Harry and paused right before the doorway. “You know, it would've been different if it was truly done out of the kindness of your heart. But it wasn't. This was all some sort of mutually beneficial business deal that went wrong. I believe your heart was in the right place when you thought this up, but I'm not your charity case, nor your chance at redemption either, love.”

Harry turned to face him and the hurt in his eyes. Even after something so insulting, Louis seemed to remain level headed and soft spoken. Something that was so rare and uncommon in their line of work.

“Hair and makeup will need you soon. I'll see you again around three.” Without another word Louis turned out the door and went on his way.

Fucking hell.

Guilt and shame washed over Harry like an unforgiving tidal wave and Louis’ words stung in all the soft corners of his brain. If he felt this horrible, he couldn't imagine how sickly Louis must be feeling.

Jesus, he truly felt like he was doing the right thing for both of them. If only he would have thought this through a bit more carefully. Maybe just left it alone all together and let Louis warm up to him on his own.

He felt like a giant prick.

A giant prick that wasted too much of his free time and now needed to be on his way. Louis should be here. Should be the one to dress Harry and pin him in all the right places. But he wasn't. And Harry wasn't sure how he was ever going to earn a spot on his good side.

In front of the camera is where Harry thrives.

Well rehearsed lines flow from his mouth effortlessly, charisma exudes brightly from every facial expression, strides and animated movements are carefully planned and well executed. There wasn't a feeling quite like getting into character for the first time. Harry was nervous yet relaxed. Was slightly insecure in front of the new crew yet knew this set was exactly where he was meant to be.

Set lights usually served to drown out the examining eyes and critical whispers, but something about Louis being in the room dulled their intensity, and did little to keep Harry’s eyes from flickering over to his. The first few takes, before Louis showed up, went without a hitch. Harry nailed his lines and even improvised when needed. He knew he gave the production a solid first impression, but as soon as action was called, and Louis caught his eye, Harry began to stumble over his lines, felt himself heat up under the collar of his shirt, and ultimately cocked up his entire performance.

“Alright, let's stop right there for a minute.” James, the director, hollered as Harry flubbed yet another line. “Harry we’re going to come back to this, alright? Can someone fix his wardrobe please? His collar is going to drive me mad.”

The crew seemed to disperse as Louis approached him with a raised brow and an all too attractive smirk on his lips. There was no one else in the room to Harry. No one other than Louis to witness the stutter in his breathing as his delicate hands traveled up his chest.

“You know, for everything we went through to get you into this role, you're sort of doing a shit job in return.” Louis giggled under his breath as he adjusted the collar of Harry’s shirt gently. “Can't say I’m too impressed, Harry.”

Fuck, his smile was so pretty. His spirits seemed to be in a higher place than they were this morning. Frown and lack of warmth for Harry completely replaced by fluttering lashes and a shimmering glow in the apples of his cheeks. He almost seemed...playful. Maybe even a bit cheeky. As if seeing Harry fumble through his performance brought him some weird sense of joy. Harry decided not to question it. Figured it's best to bask and indulge in this newer side of Louis.

“Oh yeah?” Harry questioned as his right dimple carved its way into his cheek. “S’that what it'll take to get me off your shit list? You want me to impress you, babe?”

“M’not so easily amused,” he sneakily ran a hand through the back of Harry’s freshly trimmed hair and scratched lightly against his scalp. Fuck. Was this actually happening? Was anyone around them actually seeing this too? A touchy-feely, softer, Louis? “But you're welcome to try sometime. Show me why this role was given to you and all.”

“Oh, I'll show you something that was given to me.” Harry’s voice dropped low in tone as he further crowded Louis’ space.

“That one wasn't even clever.” Louis tugged on the hairs at the back of his neck, causing Harry to hiss out in pain. “You're far more charming when your mouth is kept shut.”

“Is this your way of flirting with me?” Harry asked through hooded eyes and a twitch of his cock. “Cos I’m kind of into it if I'm honest.”

“You couldn't land me even if I did fancy my colleagues.” Louis’ eyes shined underneath the set lights with mischief and mirth. Harry wanted to press a kiss in the space between them. “You're just easily riled up, and you deserve a bit a ribbing, don't you think? S’only fair after everything you've done to me.”

“I'll take it all on the chin so long as you're on speaking terms with me.”

“God, you're pathetic.”

“And yet, you're still standing here.”

Harry chanced a step forward, and to his surprise, was met with a curl of Louis’ lips. He was unpredictable and fickle, and it only served to draw Harry in further.

“It’s my job,” he spoke through tantalizing pink lips, “Someone has to keep you looking fit.”

“I think I do just fine on my own, sweetheart.” Harry shot a wink and inwardly celebrated at the tinge of Louis’ cheeks. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Well, besides your head being about as big as your ego—”

Harry cut him off with a pinch of the hip and his lip half bitten. Louis’ laughter was alluring, colourful, and contagious, but Harry didn't want to let his honk of a laugh slip out just yet. He was content to watch Louis squirm, however. It felt nice. Felt something close to comfortable. Such a lovely contrast to the morning they had together.

Speaking of, he should probably apologize for that.

“Hey, um, about this morning—”

“Alright! Back to your positions everyone.” James’ voice cut through every corner of the set, sending everyone scattering back to their places.

Harry didn't have a moment to spare before Louis was tiptoeing his way back behind the cameras. Traces of previous warmth gone from his face and smile lines set back into to a frown. Back to business for him. Back to being colleagues that couldn't bloody stand each other.

Harry shoved a hand through his quiffed hair, and shook himself from his Louis induced daze. But not for long. Rolling! Rolling! was shouted through the madness as Harry locked eyes with his over the cameras and through the shadows of the set lights. The inner performer rumbled from within him and had a sudden urge to be let free. To show Louis just what he was capable of and prove to him that all of his hard work was worthwhile.

It was quite strange how Louis’ presence alone was enough motivation for Harry to put out the best version of himself. Made him want to do better, to be better, without even really knowing Louis at all. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but Harry wouldn't mind getting used to it.

Action!

First day on set came to a long, drawn out, yet satisfying wrap. Dusk settled over the rolling hills of Oxfordshire in a gentle wave and the evening sky began to glitter with twinkling lights. The stars were always brighter and more vivid outside of London or LA. Harry lost himself in the not quite visible view of constellations from the window of his trailer. He was putting off stepping into his awaiting town car, and leaving this place, for as long as he possibly could. He didn't fancy heading back to an empty estate when he felt more comfortable right where he was. It shouldn't be that way, should it? After a long day of filming, he should be aching to go home. To be in the one place he's most familiar with.

A muffled voice drew him out of his somber and lonely daydreams—bloody hell. Louis rounded the corner, rid of his entirely black wardrobe from earlier, and slipped into a tight pair of jeans and a cut off white shirt. Tan skin of his tummy and succulent curves fully out on display, and Louis making no effort to hide them. Fuck, his body was gorgeous. The delicate slope of his back, down to the soft outline of his arse, and perfect thighs. Harry wanted to take a bite out of him. Just experience a lingering taste of what he had to offer. Louis’ body was designed to be roughed up and kiss bitten.

Without another thought, Harry hurled himself from the sofa, and stumbled out the door. No speech prepared or practiced lines, he just had an overwhelming need to end the day with Louis.

It also wouldn't hurt to see his marvelously skimpy outfit up close.

“Louis!” Harry yelled out across the lot, bypassing his awaiting car, and jogging in his direction.

Louis paid him no mind. Breeze flicking his fringe angelically and bare hips swaying in time with his steps. The world was his runway and Harry was honored to be front row.

“Lou—hey,”

Any words that may have been waiting against Harry's tongue, were stolen from him just as quickly as the breath in his lungs. Louis had freckles. Little specks dotting his left cheek and one lingering near the corner of his eye. Harry would spend the rest of the evening discovering new, endearing, quirks about this beautiful man if he’d have him.

“You–um–you changed.” Harry mindlessly babbled as Louis shot him a glare. “Your clothes, I mean. You changed your clothes. You look great. Um, quite fit, actually.”

Harry laughed awkwardly as Louis remained silent and kept up his speed. Fuck, if only he'd slow down for a sec. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the flawless skin Louis’ hips. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch, and feel how he was softer than he looked.

“So umm. Where are you headed, love?”

“The shuttle.” Louis answered lowly. Keeping his head down and lightly scratching at the skin beneath his belly button.

“Shuttle? For what?”

“To catch the train back to London.” Louis looked up and met Harry’s heavy gaze. “As much as I'd fancy a chat with you, this is the last shuttle, and I can't miss it. Don't wanna be stuck here all night.”

“Well, let me give you a lift then.” Harry sincerely offered as Louis rolled his eyes. “No seriously, I only live up the road, I can have my driver take you home.”

“Jesus, Harry, I forgive you for this morning. You don't have to treat me any differently than you would anyone else.”

“What?” Harry's brows dipped in bewilderment, “What are you on about? What do you mean treat you any—”

“Look, I've had a really long day, and I have a long train ride ahead of me, I just want to be left alone, yeah?”

“But I only offered a ride, what does that have to do with this morning?”

Louis halted all movements in a dramatic fashion and turned to face a slightly winded Harry.

“You don't know me, Harry. You know nothing about me, or who I am, or where I come from, and yet you won't quit pestering me with your guilt ridden offers. Why is that? Why hasn't anyone else on set received the same treatment?”

Harry was stuck, once again. “Louis—I…”

“What is it that makes you pity me?”

“That's not what I'm doing, Lou. I just—” Harry struggled to put it into words. He knew it looked to be how Louis was interpreting it, but it was not Harry's intention. He just….liked him. Wanted to get to know him. Wanted to be kind and friendly, and hopefully have Louis warm up to him. It didn't seem to be working, however. Their situation felt more like a juvenile, one sided, crush gone wrong. “I don't know. I just want to show you I'm not as horrible as you think.”

“I don't think you're horrible, Harry.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest, whilst giving Harry a slight once over. “I just don't want to feel like your project.”

“You're not, babe. I just—”

“Then don't treat me like one. I've already made it clear I don't want to be your charity case.” Louis chided as he took a step back and shook his head.

“Louis that's not my intention–”

“M’gonna be late yeah? I'm sure you have an upcoming model waiting at your place, anyway.” Louis left without another word, adjusting his collar up over his shoulder, and jogging his way out of sight.

Jesus. A parting line so cold the both of them would still feel the effects come tomorrow morning.

Harry felt fucking defeated. There was no winning in this situation. No convincing Louis, Harry wasn't the person he clearly thought him to be.

Christ, and it was only the first day on set. How was he meant to get on with Louis for the next several months?

His boots dragged as he buried his face in his hands and made his way towards his town car. Guilt and shame clawed at his conscious and would surely eat away at him for the rest of the evening. The look of hurt on Louis’ face replayed on a loop, and Harry’s twisted desire to know what made Louis so defensive, jabbed at his curiosity. There was a reason Louis was so guarded. So fiercely protective over his reputation and how he wanted to be seen as an equal.

Harry would give anything to know Louis just a bit better. Even if it was clear Louis disliked him and wouldn't give him the time of day, famous or not. He was an attractive mystery. One that had Harry enticed and longing for more. But for now, he needed to mend what little relationship they had between them. And if that meant giving Louis his space, and keeping it professional, so be it.

The early beams of Oxford’s dawn cast upon his knackered eyes unforgivingly. Clock near his bedside read half an hour past four and unseasonal heat slipped it's way under his bedsheets. A useless night's sleep. Tossing and thrashing about only to lie awake hours before he was due on set.

Harry forcibly stood up from his uncomfortable position in his bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and unsteadily clambering his overheated body towards the en suite. A cool shower would do him well. Clean his sweat sheened body and fully wake him up at the early hour. Water sprinkled from the ceiling as he turned the knobs to his preferred settings. Not having to worry about sleeping in clothing, he stepped right under the spray, and shivered as he closed the glass door behind him.

Eyes slipped shut, he let the coolness beat down against his tense shoulders. Rolling his neck side to side and doing his best to keep his thoughts at bay. It was far too early to over think yesterday's events, and far too early to let himself be torn up over it, again, like the night behind him. Instead, he watched as the beads of water trailed aimlessly over his body. Down his torso, over his laurel tattooed hips, and down the length of his legs until they swirled into the black hole of his drain.

Flashes of Louis’ supple skin clouded Harry’s imagination. He couldn't help but wonder how erotic the sight of a dripping wet Louis would be. Streams of water sliding down every curve and dip of his body and his golden skin glistening under the flattering mist. Harry bit his lip harshly as the first twitch of his cock had his adrenaline pumping. It felt sort of strange. Contemplating a wank over a beautiful colleague and nothing more. Not to mention the amount of disdain that was felt on the other side.

Harry figured if he couldn't rid him from his mind, he could at least attempt to fist fuck him out of his system.

Right hand loosely wrapped around his length, Harry conjured up images of Louis’ hips and incredible arse. He sighed at the vision of freshly licked pink lips, and just how sinful they'd look stretched around his cock. Harry did his best to push aside every snarky remark that left that same mouth.

Tightening his grip, Harry picked up his pace and imagined Louis bare and begging. God, what he wouldn't give to have Louis’ legs spread wide for him, and his tight hole out on display. Cheeks of his arse pink and burning from Harry’s hands alone, and flawless thighs prettily bruised by the hunger of Harry's mouth. Fuck, he just wanted to rough him up a bit and bring him back down to earth. Take care of the whimpering boy and have his body trembling from a mind blowing fuck.

The steamy images should have been enough to get Harry off. His imagination revealed his deepest desires he didn't even realize he was into. But guilt overpowered his need for a one sided pitiful orgasm. Harry desperately flicked his wrist against his inevitably softening cock. Thumbing his slit in a haste and scrunching up his features to focus on what was left of the pleasure. It was bloody useless. He was sure he wouldn't be able to get off even if Louis were stood right in front of him.

“Fucking hell.” Harry groaned, clearly irritated as his wrongdoings infiltrated his sensual fantasies.

The only substance swirling down the drain this morning would be sudsy and violet scented. Harry felt fucking pathetic. Couldn't even pull a wank off, let alone have the source of his hard on forgive him. Facing Louis later on was bound to be awkward enough to begin with, now he's gone and made it unknowingly worse for them.

Harry grabbed for his body wash and huffed out one last frustrated breath. Might as well get ready to head to set early. Maybe he could hide away in his trailer and hope that Louis would spare him from a visit today. he laughed humorlessly to himself, he knew he'd never be quite so lucky. But even as he hoped against the inevitable, he couldn't help but let his body tingle in anticipation, and over think just how warm his hello to him would be.

Harry ran a hand through his tousled and uncombed hair before pulling open the welcoming door of his trailer. Busy bodies buzzed around the lot without bothering to lift their gaze towards him. It was slightly maddening. Everyone easily breezed past him without so much as a hello or a grumpily mumbled good morning. He couldn't tell if it was because no one could stand to look at him at the early hour, or if they were just genuinely too occupied with their pre-filming duties.

The darkness of his sitting room drew him in. Monogrammed slippers slid off his socked feet and worn t-shirt pulled off and over his shoulders. He would be dressed in a few hours anyway, for now he resigned himself to the awaiting comfort of his trailer's suite. Shivers rolled down his spine as the cool air from the hallway pulled him forward. His door was open ajar, and he didn't think anything of the clothing rack blocking his way. Mind set solely on getting to his bed.

As he wheeled the rack of clothing away from the entrance, Harry forced down a stunned gasp at the sight in front of him. Slept peacefully, with a halo of fringe, and dainty fists tucked under his cheek, Louis breathed evenly, not even twitching awake at the movement in the room.

Harry stood breathless. Not sure if he should make a run for it and risk waking him up, or remain motionless at the foot of the bed and risk Louis waking up to him standing there, topless, like a fucking creep. Goodness. The length of his wispy lashes were visible even in the dim light. Harry nearly missed them fluttering open.

“Harry?” Louis whispered in a sleep heavy voice. “Shit. I'm sorry–I...”

Louis shuffled under the covers, attempting to quickly rid himself from the bed.

“No–no, uh. You can sleep.” Harry put his hands up and backed out of the room. “M’sorry I didn't mean to wake you—I. I'll just. I'll go.”

Harry shoved himself out of the room in a haste. Stumbling backwards and accidentally slamming the door behind him. Fuck. Shit. He couldn't get down the hallway fast enough. What the fuck was Louis doing in his bed? Harry would imagine he'd want to be as far away from him as possible, at all times. Louis clearly wasn't expecting him anytime soon seeing as he laid down and shut his eyes for a sleep. Jesus, did he have to look so ethereal whilst doing so?

“Harry?” Louis’ soft voice came from down the hall as his quiet steps padded closer. Fucking hell, this boy. Dressed in all black and tummy on display, again. Did he own any shirts that were proper length? “Hey, um, sorry about that, s’just I got here around five because of the train schedules, and you weren't supposed to be here for a while, and I'm just so exhausted, I—”

“Hey, no, it's alright. Don't worry about it.” Harry subconsciously placed his hands upon his hips, proudly displaying his body, as he felt Louis’ sleepy eyes wander over his inked skin. It felt nice, “I meant it when I said you could relax in there. Just wasn't expecting you is all. Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

Louis rubbed gently at his eyes. Soft hair sweeping over his forehead and and pretty lips stretched around a yawn. He was so gorgeous. So soft. Harry had to remind himself that pulling him into his chest, and swaying his slumberous body in his hold, would not end well. Louis couldn't stand him, and Harry made an unspoken promise to respect his boundaries.

“Can I fix you a cuppa, or something? You can go back to bed if you want.”

“No, you're here now, so I'm officially on the clock.” He stretched his limbs up over his head and Harry bit his lip at the amount of skin he was displaying. Even in the limited light he glowed a pretty summer shade. “I'll be back, yeah? Need to wake up a bit and go pick up your trousers for the day.”

“Alright,” Harry whispered only a tad bit smitten. He wasn't used to this barely awake and completely lovely Louis. The morning softened him even more than what Harry thought was possible. He wouldn't mind these run-ins becoming more and more common. “You know where to find me, yeah?”

“I do.” Louis smiled from under his lashes as he stepped forward towards the trailer’s door. Harry wanted to catch him by the wrist and cuddle him back to sleep. “Don't wait up for me, Hollywood.”

Flirting. He was absolutely flirting. Harry held the door open behind him as Louis stepped down into the earliest light of the day, and watched as he purposely swayed his bare hips from side to side. What a lovely fucking view. One Harry thought he'd only ever see in his daydreams.

Harry sighed wistfully as he shut the door and pranced his way down to his suite. There was a bright and invigorating energy in the air that only Louis could leave behind. Sheets left haphazardly straightened, and room fragranced with the sweetness of his scent. Harry draped the fabric over his bare torso and basked in what was left of Louis’ warmth.

He could only hope the morning they shared set the tone for the rest of day. He was more than aware it was a stretch of the imagination, but Harry always did consider himself a dreamer.

Dreams be damned, Louis was back to his polished, professional ways. The personification of poise whilst dressing Harry in his costume for the day and tummy covered with appropriate clothing. Gone were the bedroom eyes and bashful smiles, and back were the irritated expressions and focused hands. He wasn't even charmed when Harry greeted him softly from his bed. Practically yanked the duvet away from his sleep warm body and switched on nearly every light in the trailer.

“Turn around.” Louis mumbled from his squatted position as he tugged harshly at the bottom of Harry’s trousers.

“Turn around, please?” Harry suggested as he rolled his eyes and turned for Louis anyway.

His words went unacknowledged as Louis kept his focus on the reference photo beside him. Tucking and lacing Harry’s work boots and trousers exactly how they were designed to fit. It was probably a good thing Louis never paid him attention anyway. As soon as he dropped completely to his knees in front of him, Harry had to crane his neck away. Recurring images from his failed wank clouded his vision and he could feel the heat in his cheeks turning him a deep red. Fuck, he was so embarrassed. What a shameful position to be in.

“Turn.” Louis stood to his full height as Harry shifted his vision to focus on Louis.

“Ask nicely.” he softly demanded.

“Harry, we don't have time for this—”

“Then do as I said.” he challenged with a perfectly arched brow. “A simple please will do.”

Louis indignantly crossed his arms over his chest “No.”

“God, you're such a brat.” Harry ran his hand frustratedly through his quiff. Lack of sleep officially affecting him and his mood. “Aren't you the one who wants to be treated fairly? Shouldn't that be extended to me as well?”

“When have you ever been fair to me?” Louis cocked his head in curiosity. “I must have missed it between you swiping opportunities and attempting to hand them back to me.”

“Jesus, Louis, I didn't mean to do either in a malicious way! I'm sorry I ruined such a brilliant opportunity for you, alright? I had no bloody idea it would turn out like this.” Mood in the room shifted, Harry didn't mean to roar his apology, but it stunned Louis long enough for him to listen. “Had I known I was jeopardizing your career I would have never agreed to this, and had I known that by trying to make it better, I would only make it worse, I would have left that alone as well and just let you believe I'm some sort of self righteous prick. It's what you think either way, yeah?”

“Harry, what? No—”

“You wouldn't be the first, babe. Don't fret.” Harry huffed out a sigh and nervously ran his hand through his hair again. “M’sorry for yelling—M’sorry for all this mess I've caused, and how I've treated you from day one.” Louis looked up at him with a sympathizing expression and his lip slightly bitten. Harry could help but actually reach out this time, and take his sweet face in the palm of his hand. Soft. So incredibly soft. “I'll do my best to stay out of your way, yeah? You'll only have to be bothered with me when needed.”

Louis gripped onto the wrist holding his face wordlessly. Eyes wide and pleading but mouth completely sealed shut. Looked as if something was dancing on the tip of his tongue as he let his gentle thumb stroke against the back of Harry’s hand. It was the sweetest touch. The most pleasant Louis has ever been. Harry wished he would say something. Anything. Whatever it was that he wanted to say right now, but wouldn't. Wished they could stay in this moment for just a bit longer, and let the softness of their touches pull them under, but he knew nothing was owed to him, and he knew just how stubborn Louis could be.

He needed to get out of there.

“I'm sorry.” Harry let out sincerely one last time before dropping his hand and making his way off the trailer.

He wasn't due for hair and makeup for a while, but the long and winding walk up to the set would do best to clear his mind. It was good he got that apology off his chest. It was good that Louis heard him out, and more or less accepted what he had to say. Perhaps they could grow from this, and become colleagues that didn't bicker every moment they’re together. Maybe Louis would finally see Harry for the person he was. Who knew. Only time could tell for now.

A full week had gone by since Harry and Louis spoke.

Moments between them went awkward and silent ever since Harry promised to keep his distance. Louis dressed him quickly and made a mad dash for the door as soon as he was satisfied with the fit. Like he couldn't get out of Harry's space fast enough. On set wasn't much better. Harry could see him in his peripherals, nervously biting his nails, and watching him with wide intrigued eyes, but as soon as cut was called, and Louis was instructed to tend to him, their lips never moved to speak, and Louis fixed him up with hurried hands.

Downtime was even worse. In between takes Harry seemed to always end up near Louis. His attractive laughter and alluring smile was always just around the corner, waiting and taunting Harry with their endless enchantment. He wanted to approach him. Wanted to ask him about his day and join in on the conversation. Maybe even be the reason for Louis’ crinkly eyes. But Harry was stubborn and a man of his word, and if he ended up alone in his trailer more than a few times over the course of the week, he didn't mind.

“You meet your love interest today.” Jeff snickered from his spot on the sofa.

The sun had just barely crept up over the hills of Oxford as Jeff invaded his trailer. Harry paced the narrow length anxiously, ignoring most of his small talk, and keeping an eye on the window. Louis was usually here by now, setting up his pins and needles, and steaming the clothing to his liking. It was only slightly concerning when Harry walked into an empty dressing room, and had no way of knowing where Louis was. He supposed it was none of his business, anyway. He just couldn't help but wonder.

“I'm not fake dating her so you can leave me out of whatever foolproof plan you're conjuring up in your head.” Harry expressed distractedly as he slightly pulled the curtains back to check for the boy.

Jeff went on in the background. Yapping about how lovely she was and maybe this could lead to something, you never know, you're lonely anyway, Harry. He knew it was meant to coerce him into the business strategy that was onset relationships, but Harry couldn't be arsed. Wouldn't agree to it this time around, especially with a role as important this one.

“Is there a reason you're bothering me this early in the morning, Jeff?”

“Oh, I need a reason now? I can't just visit—”

With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Harry effortlessly tuned out the sound of his voice. His mind was elsewhere at the moment. He wasn't nearly as interested in their friendly banter as he normally would be.

Harry's eyes caught sight of a soft body rounding the corner into the trailer lot. Head drooped and shoulders sagged. Fuck. That couldn't be good. There hasn't been a time where Harry has seen Louis look anything other than poised with his head held high. Something was wrong. Something was off.

“Are you listening to me?” Jeff cut through his internal worry.

“No—um,” Harry peeked through his curtains one last time, judging the distance between Louis and his trailer, and quickly dodging out of the way just as Louis looked up. “There's no nice way to put this, but, can you leave? I've got someone coming and–”

“A visitor? Who is it?” Jeff sprung up off the sofa, before Harry could block him, and pulled back the silky fabric of the curtain. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” he said as his face twisted into a grin. “You're still pining over this guy?”

Jeff dissolved into a fit of laughter and Harry couldn't even begin to imagine why.

“No? Fuck you. Yes. God, can you just please leave?” Harry struggled as he attempted to push Jeff towards the door.

“No, I really needed to talk to you. I received your promo schedule the other day—”

“Christ Jeff you can email me this, yeah?” Go, go, go.” Harry pushed and pushed until Jeff was halfway out the door

“I haven't seen you this desperate in years, it's great.” he cackled as he stumbled out the door.

“Piss off.” Harry slammed the opening shut and breathed a small sigh of relief. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his clothing and twirled a strand of hair to dangle over his forehead. Whatever it took to look presentable, and not like he was fretting over Louis’ absence for the last hour.

He quickly threw himself against the sofa as the trailer door began to jiggle. His body language fiend nonchalance as his heart rate gave away his nerves. Louis slowly and carefully slid his way through the door, head still faced down, and not noticing Harry at first glance.

“Hey, Lou.”

“Oh fuck—” Louis gasped and curled his body in defense. “Jesus, you scared me.”

Shit.

“Sorry, babe, I didn't mean to.” Harry stood up from the couch and stepped just a bit closer to him. “Everything alright? You usually beat me here, I was beginning to worry.” Harry tried for lighthearted. Even went as far as chuckling lightly and pasting on a smile.

“I–um–yeah, just missed the train s’all.” Louis shrugged it off, and moved toward the entrance of the dressing room.

Harry followed cautiously. Keeping his distance and doing his best not to hover. The last thing he wanted to do was set Louis off or do anything to further upset him.

“Why aren't you dressed yet?” Louis asked distractedly as he began to pull clothing from the racks.

“Well that's your job, innit?” Harry tried for a joke, but ultimately fell flat when Louis’ lips remained pressed in a firm line. “I actually don't have to be dressed til late afternoon today. Think there was some minor difficulties on set this morning, and it mucked up everyone's schedule.”

“So I assume that means we’ll be on set later than planned?”

Harry shrugged. “I would assume so, yes.”

“Great.” Louis sighed as he abandoned the clothing rack to curl up against the sofa.

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Harry questioned with a bit of worry. “You don't have to tell me, of course, but is there anything I can do?”

“Everything will be alright, mate. Thanks.”

“Mate?” Harry repeated a bit taken aback. “So we’re mates now? Are we finally moving forward?”

“No we’re not bloody mates.” Louis grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

He was in a right mood today. Eyes rolling more than usual and grumpy scowl a bit more prominent. Harry’s efforts seemed useless. Might as well let him get through whatever he’s going through without serving to further annoy him.

“Alright, I'll leave you alone then.”

Harry turned to exit out of the room but was quickly halted by a soft wait. He thought he could've imagined it, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, a pair of tired blue eyes met his, and a nervously bitten lip drew him in.

“There is—one thing you can do. If the offer is still on the table.” Louis spoke with a bit of hesitancy. If only he knew how tightly wrapped around his finger Harry already was.

“Sure, anything.” Harry shrugged as he awaited his instructions.

“Okay, but there are rules.” he pointed his finger sternly and sat up a bit to address him properly. “We don't speak of this afterwards and you don't get to fall in love with me.”

“What?” Harry asked taken aback. Feeling somewhat caught even though he never admitted to anything. “That's awfully presumptuous and a bit sure of yourself—”

“Agree to my terms, Harry.” Louis said with a bit of an edge. Letting Harry know his patience were running thin and he could look elsewhere for someone to help him out.

“Alright, fine, I agree.” Harry rushed out still partially confused. “What is it that you need me to do then?”

Louis looked at him through droopy eyes. Mirth and playfulness gone and replaced by his previous exhaustion and need. With his dainty hand, he leaned over and pat the opposite corner of the sofa, quietly instructing Harry to sit down. Harry obliged willingly. Taking the short steps to reach the cushion and sitting awkwardly in the corner away from him. Louis eyed him carefully, before moving in closer. Studying all of Harry’s features and seemingly testing the boundaries of their personal space. Slipping closer and closer and hovering just within breathing distance of Harry’s lips.

“Cuddle me.”

#this is literally as I left it over a year ago #I can't read it because I don't want to cringe at past me's writing #it's five chapters #if any of you wanna take it off my hands and write the rest be my guest #asks #Anonymous

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theprofessionalpromptmaker · 6 years

Note

Hello there! I really like a few of your au prompts! Is the request open? If it is, can you make an modern witch au plot ideas? If you can't, i truly understand.

(Thank you and yes! Requests are open! And I should probably put that somewhere on mobile.)

(By modern witch do you mean real world witches like tarot cards, incense, sigils, rocks, etc. or do you mean more urban fantasy witches? Either way I’ll write prompts for both, though real world witches will get more prompts since I have some urban fantasy witch AUs in the Witch Tag already.)

(NOTE: I can’t guarantee accuracy on real world witches because my knowledge of witches is limited to one friend who considers themself a beginner and the stuff I see on their blog.)

Real World Witches

Person Ais always making sigils and charms for their friends. One day, Person B, a friend of a friend, comesto them with a complicated request and PersonA is unsure if Person B shouldrely entirely on magic for help but PersonB is insistent that they can’t use any normal means.

Person Aleft their Ouija board out since they were using it and forgets. A relative’syoung child comes over, and starts playing with it, accidentally releasing somespirits in Person A’s home. Person B, one of the spirits proves tobe extremely helpful to them though, but also is rather insistent the child whoreleased them come visit more.

Person Ais trying to create the perfect, aesthetically pleasing grimoire. Person B is unsure if they believe inmagic, but supports their friend and brings them things to decorate their “strangejournal” with.

Person Astarts to find strange offerings at their altar that they’re sure they didn’tleave. One day, they catch Person Bdropping something off, and they ask them about the offerings. Person B is confused and just thought Person A had a strange littlecollection of items/art project going. PersonA tries to explain what the altar is to them.

Person Adoesn’t believe in their friend, PersonB’s witch magic, but lets Person Bread their fortune and give them gifts to protect them that Person A wears, because PersonA isn’t about to upset their friend. When strange occurrences start tohappen, Person A wonders if theyshould start questioning if magic is real.

Person A’sfamiliar is sickly, Person B is theirvet and friend who visits often to check up on the animal. Person A gives them little charms and things to give them goodfortune, along with typical payment.

Person Ahas an altar at their work. One day, while they’re sick, Person B decides to organize the “mess.”

Urban Fantasy Witches

Person A comes from a full witch family and grew up with reallystrict beliefs about learning how to use their magic and to hide it from‘normal people’. Person B, anotherwitch in the same school, quickly learns how to use their magic to get a bit ofattention, maybe cheat on tests every now and then… These physics thingsreally aren’t useful to them, most of these are far from being unchangeable ifthey use a bit of magic, anyway. PersonA is shocked by how they use their magic in front of other people withouteven being nervous about it.

Person A has a weird witch cold where every time they sneeze theyaccidentally summon a random object. Due to this situation, they call in ill totheir job. Person B, their friendand co-worker, who doesn’t know Person Ais a witch, decides to visit them and see if they’re alright. Now Person A has to hide the random objectsappearing around Person B, trying tocall their attention to something else whenever they sneeze.

(I will post more if I think of them! Hope these work! - Mod Poss)

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warmau · 7 years

Text

let me talk a bit about my magical royal bangtan au

firstly jin, jungkook, and jimin are brothers/princes your kingdom

hoseok, namjoon, and taehyung are brothers/princes of the rival kingdom

yoongi is a high wizard, the last remaining of his bloodline because his parents gave him up to an orphanage when he was young to protect him from being hunted down by the crown which had declared a war on magic

yoongi doesn’t know where his parents are, but in the orphanage he was ridiculed for the spreading of a glowing purple rash that runs up his neck (a common, naturally occurring tattoo for wizards whose familiars are crows)

and at the age of eight he broke out using magic and learned to fend for himself, mostly from the black market of potion brewing which he used to sustain himself

up until now when he’s apprehended by the royal guards and he thinks he’s going to be like??? thrown in jail but jin explains to him that there’s an oracle loose in the country

an oracle that one of the princes has to marry to be able to see the future of the country through the power of eternal love (aka marriage)

and yoongi is like wELL how exactly am i supposed to help you with that??? and jin is like “don’t hide it.” and one of the guards tugs at yoongi’s long hood and when it drops the glowing purple tattoo is there

and yoongi’s staff which he disguised as a walking stick reacts to the exposed tattoo and shifts back into its original form, along with his crow familiar perched atop it

and jin is like “you’re a wizard, you can sniff out another magical aura can’t you?” and yoongi scoffs because like what the hell is in it for him and jin is like “jimin, bring the gold” and at that yoongi’s whole attitude changes because uh,,,,,,money,,,,,,,,,,,,,,YES PLEASE

and yoongi tries to reach out to touch it but jungkook unsheathes his sword and yoongi is like ok ok i got it ill find the oracle

and guess who the oracle is,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,ITS YOU

you just???? don’t know it because your whole life you’ve spent it working for your families grocery store in town and you’re just???? an ordinary person who sells vegetables and fruits alongside your parents

but ,,,,,,,, you know,,,,,,sometimes you get dreams so vivid and realistic about future events and a war,,,,,,that might happen between the rival kingdom

and you just shrug it off as nightmares

but yoongi, he can sense it just by walking by you. there’s something magical, something different

and yoongi decides to disguise himself as one of the royal guards and he makes up some story about how the princes have ordered an obscene amount of pumpkins and your family is delighted to send you over with three huge boxes of them

but once you’re inside the palace, you get a weird feeling because,,,,,,,common people aren’t,,,,,,,,allowed in here,,,,,,,,,,,,,,like ,,,,,,,,,,,ever

and this story about pumpkins isn’t adding up and when you turn to ask yoongi whats going on,,,,he’s shapeshifted back into his normal form

and you see the tattoo, the piercing eyes and the huge black-wood staff and crow and you’re like oh S HI T

and you’re considering throwing a pumpkin at this dude and just making a RUN for it

but the doors in front of you open and you immediately have to drop to your knees because it’s the three noble princes of the kingdom

and jin goes “is this them?” and yoongi’s like “it’s the only person with any kind of magic in their aura. it has to be.”

and you’re like what the hell is going on,,,,magic is forbidden in this country

and that’s how you end up seated at a long table, the three princes and yoongi at one end and you at the other

and jin is trying to carefully explain the situation whilst jungkook keeps growling under his breath and yoongi whose shoving his face unapologetically with fancy food

jimin,,,,,,,tries to peak looks at you but is too shy if you lock eyes with him

and you’re like what,,,,,,wait,,,,,,marriage???????? to one of you???????

and jin is like “you can take some time to think about, not long though we need to be married to be able to see the full potential of your prophecies-”

but you’re like prophecies???????? im not magical????? sure i get weird dreams

and yoongi stops eating just to be like “dream, prophecy same thing.”

and you’re flabbergasted to say the least

and jin is trying his best to give you a smile, and jimin is like “sorry!!!!! you have to go through this!!!!!!” and jungkook keeps just toying with his sabers handle

and you’re like i,,,,,,,,can’t just,,,,,,

but jin gets up and makes his way across and takes your hand and he’s like “please, it’s for the sake of this country that we love.”

and basically the princes explain that you can live alongside them for a month and see which one of them is best suited to your taste

and you’re like ,,,,,,,,,,,, wait is that like ill be dating three????of you?????

and jungkook is like “just pick jin, don’t waste time!” but jimin is like “jungkook,,,,,,we can’t just force them ok!!”

and you’re like what in the heck

–> Jin

he really likes being in the kitchen and learning from the world famous cooks that get hired,,,,,and it’s almost shocking to see him out of his white, elegant outfit and in an apron instead

is the oldest and takes care of jungkook and jimin more like his children than his brothers because his parents largely neglected them for their political life

so you always see jin internally worrying about his younger siblings and just wishing they’d behave (jungkook more than anything)

doesn’t really like fencing or rowing,,,,,,,,his favorite royal sport is archery and you once wake up to see him practicing early in the morning in the gardens and he looks so poised and collected,,,,,,,it’s enchanting

if you choose to spend more time with him he tries to teach you to shoot a bow and to do that he stands behind you, arms on your shoulders, than moving your waist to position you and his breathe against your ear

and jin is always excited when you talk about your job as a produce seller and he insists on buying from your family owned store even when the cooks are like uh,,,,,,,,we can import something from france-

but jin falls in love with your families food and you teach him how your parents taught you to peel potatoes prettily and make sure the cabbage is ripe enough to be fermented

and like,,,,,you fall for him largely because he actively engages with you and also he’s such a freakin flirt

like he’ll see you wandering around the big palace and say that you look lovely

or randomly compliment your voice, or your eyes, or the way you laugh

and it gets to your heart really fast,,,,,,,,,,,,

–> Jimin

he’s not all that great at politics, the arguments and constant trickery get him really worked up and so he turns to jin for a lot of the guidance on actual affairs of the country

more than anything he loves the arts,,,,,,,,,everything from painting to singing to dancing to sculpting to writing,,,,,,,,,

he’s learned every instrument he’s ever been able to get his hands on and he has a teacher for every subject of art he could ever become interested in

and the crazy thing is that he really is talented,,,,,,,,,no matter what he tries to do. he draws beautifully, his voice is perfect for singing, and he even dancing like a professional it’s become an annual joy to watch his performances put on at the country national theater

but he’s also quite shy and flustered and you’re not sure how to approach him but out of everyone,,,,,,he seems really apologetic and guilty about you having to do this

and he tells you quietly once when you bump into each other at midnight in the halls that he wishes you didn’t have to force yourself to fall in love with one of them,,,,,love is something so free and so beautiful and it should happen naturally

and for a moment you wonder if maybe jimin knows what love is like,,,,,and how much it should be cherished,,,,but you don’t ask

although this talk does somehow make jimin a bit more comfortable around you

like he starts asking you to join him for the tea together,,,,,,,and to maybe try your hand at sculpting with him or learning to play the violin since well you have a month to kill in this huge palace why not

but also,,,,,jimin is so attentive and affectionate. he becomes much more clingy the more comfortable he becomes and you notice with how suddenly he isn’t shy to kiss your hand or even touch your shoulder gently when you clumsily hold up the violin

and when jimin asks you to tell him about what it’s like to be surrounded by a family that loves and cares for you

he can only stare with wide eyes and a warmness when you tell him anecdotes of yourself and your parents

and you slowly realize that jimin didn’t get to experience this,,,,,,and that jimin really just wants unconditional love

and he’s so soft,,,,,,,he deserves it

and somehow you end up deciding that,,,,,,,,,,,you want to give it to him. that unconditional, real love

–> Jungkook

is interested in all the cool things he gets to do as a prince,,,,,,,,,,like learn how to sword fight from the country’s top knight and how to ride horseback in a flashy style

and long story short he has no interest in the manners of a prince, the public eye on him and his “grace and elegance” or whatever that stuff is called

he wants to be heroic and brave, he wants to be a legend which is why he keeps jumping at all the chances to prove himself physically and jin always has to hold him back by the ear and be like “jungkook. sit down.”

likes collecting weapons and keeps insisting that jin let him get karate lessons from a real monk or something and jin is like jungkook. no you don’t need to know karate- jungkook: yES i d O,,,,,,,

he has absolutely zero interest in you at the beginning. like he sees you and is like “jin is amazing, marry him.” and you’re like uh,,,,,i don’t know him and jungkook shrugs like get to know him through marriage

and he seems to really dislike that yoongi guy and jungkook is like because wizards are historically always up to no good

and glances a look at you and is like “oracles don’t seem all that great either” and you wanna be like square up punk but he is the prince so you bite it back

until,,,,,,,,,,,,you figure out one day that jungkook absolutely sucks at juggling like out of all things,,,,,,,,the boy cannot juggle

and you know how to because out of boredom when you were working at your grocery you used to practice with apples or oranges

and you do it one day to show jimin and jungkook is like “i can do that too” but lmao he CANT

and when he drops all the apples to the floor you and jimin are giving him smug smiles and jungkook is like jUST WAIT ILL PRACTICE AND BEAT YOU

but ,,,,,,,,,,,, he can’t get the hang of it. and you offer to help him but he refuses point blank and you’re like ok whatever

until one day as you’re sitting at the window of the room you were given you hear a maid announce that prince jungkook is coming inside

and to your shock there he is,,,,,looking defeated and red in the ears and the butler beside him is holding a basket of apples and you’re like,,,,,,,,,,oh

and he’s like “,,,,,,,,,,,,,pl-please teach me how to,,,,,,,,,you know,,,”

and you can’t help but stifle a giggle and be like “juggle?” and he’s like gkhfdsaljgfs,,,,,,,,,,,

and so you decide why not whats there to lose and so you help jungkook learn the technique

and after a week he’s doing really well and he’s like “let me move on to juggling knives-” but you’re like no no nO

and you can’t believe it but jungkook is laughing and having a good time with you

and he has such a cute way about him when he’s happy and not trying to put on that indifferent scowl

and it’s when you’re out walking through the stables and you see jungkook, forehead pressed to the nose of his horse saying goodnight to it that you figure hey,,,,,,he’s actually Soft isn’t he

and jungkook spots you and is like YOU SAW NOTHING,,,,but you’re like i saw everything and it was adorable

and jungkook is like “don’t call me adorable. you’re adorable!!!!! not me!!!!” and you’re like woah did you just compliment ???? me ????? in a roundabout way

and jungkook flushes red and is like uh,,,,,,,,,what,,,,,,,,,,,,i guess,,,,,i don’t know,,,,,,,,,,you’re cute,,,,,,,ive never felt this before,,,,,,,,help me,,,,,,

you: do you still want me to marry jin?

jungkook: no,,,,,,,,,,,,,id have to challenge him to a duel if that happened

—> Yoongi

is planning on just leaving you with the princes and being on his merry way,,,,,but then he realizes,,,,,,,,,what in the world is he doing giving someone who can predict the future up to a bunch of royals who killed off his bloodline

but he knows he can’t just snatch you away again so he decides instead that he’ll stick around and see which prince you choose and then maybe he can take it from there

but also,,,,, ever since he brought you to the palace his familiar has been acting weird. like the crow has become ,,,,,,, interested in you and it usually never care for other humans beside yoongi

and it takes yoongi quite some time until you pull out from your pockets pumpkin seeds and the crow swoops down from its perch on yoongi’s staff and to sit on your forearm as it pecks away at the food

and the three princes are shooing the crow off and yoongi has to catch his familiar and hold it under his cloak

and that night when he’s going back from the palace his familiar won’t stop cawing and it’s annoying him and he’s like “FINE we’ll go back to see them”

and to your utter surprise you find yoongi sitting on the balcony outside your window and you’re like “why are you back here???”

and yoongi, obviously trying to play it cool is like, “because i,,,,,,,,wanted to see how you’re doing.” and you’re like “i,,,,,,,,,feel really weird and uncomfy,”

and yoongi is like dammit ok time to pretend to show feelings and goes “i know it’s scary, but the country-”

but he notices you’re not listening and instead looking at his neck and he’s like “what?” and your like “your tattoo is so pretty,,,,,,is it magical?? ive never seen glowing purple ink”

and yoongi quickly puts his hand over it and is like “it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” and you’re like “im not, im just saying it’s really nice to look at.”

and yoongi suddenly forgets that he’s supposed to be pretending and he’s like “really? most people think it looks like some kind of disease.” and you’re like “what? no it kinda looks like a little nebula on your skin”

the description catches yoongi off guard and he’s like “i should get going,,,,” but before he leaves you ask if he’ll come again and yoongi hesitates but nods

and every night yoongi is waiting there on your balcony and he asks which prince you’re interested in and you’re like none of them really and you guys talk more and yoongi can’t believe it

like it might be the fact that you have magic in you like he does ,,,,,,,, but you’re the first person he’s ever had to talk to,,,,,,,, and it feels nice

yoongi shows you that his staff can transform into a broom and that’s how he flies up to the balcony and you’re like “flying sounds so fun,,,”

and yoongi is like “ill show you, come here” and you, rather fearlessly, get on the broom with him and wrap your hands around his waist

and yoongi would turn red ,,,,,,, which he does but it looks even cuter because the tattoo starts to flash and you’re like huh whys that and yoongi is like igNORE it,,,,,,,,

and he takes you for a fly around the palace and you can see the lights from the village and all across the country’s mountains

and you’re like “this is so amazing!!!!!!” and yoongi smirks to himself because,,,,,,,,,,,ok he’s totally having fun showing off his flying skills right now (even though he won’t admit it)

and yoongi comes to terms that his familiar wasn’t acting all that weird the day he dropped you off with the princes, tbh he was looking for an excuse to go back and see you

and when the month is up and it’s the night before your marriage yoongi can’t hold back and he goes “run away with me. i can get us out of this country,,,,,,,,,,,,i can’t leave you and your magic in the hands of,,,,,,,those people”

and he isn’t even thinking about your powers as something he can sell anymore, he’s thinking about you,,,,,,,as the person beside him,,,,,,,as someone he wants to protect

and you’re nervous because ,,,,,, this country needs you right????? but yoongi is living proof that this country hurts those who harbor magic

which is why you take his hand and yoongi gets you on his broom and he throws his hood over your shoulders since the night sky is cold

and you to vanish from that country,,,,,,,together,,,,,,,,,,to start somewhere new

note: this is super corny im sorry it’s just something ive thought about for ages and could ramble on about because ive made this au so detailed in my mind LOL,,,,,,,,,should i do hoseok + taehyung + namjoon because they actually do fit into this plot but i don’t know if you guys will like this au enough to wanna read about them,,,,,,,,,,,,,anyway!!!!! i hope you enjoyed

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kristie-rp · 5 years

Text

[2016] Five Times Olivia Was A Full-Time Employee (and the One Time She Actually Got Time Off)

Prompt: Coffeeshop AU, modern AU, alternate first meeting AU. Olivia is generally unlucky right now and is just frustrated by foreign people in general.

-1-

Olivia doesn’t follow dancing.

She doesn’t follow anything, really. She doesn’t have the time. The blonde young woman has been on her own since her brother was murdered, and rent is not cheap in the city, even after a decent payout. Her family comes from money, but technically Simon was the heir, not her, so she doesn’t really have a right to any inheritance until the lawyers finish arguing. So for now, it’s commissions, regretting going to college to learn more about photography (because of course the murder happened just before the start of her last semester, so by then it’s “well there’s no point in not finishing this” and she doesn’t stop to think that debt sucks because when she makes up her mind about something, she pointedly ignores the negatives), full-time at Starbucks, walking the dog, and collapsing into bed every night too tired to resent her life.

Maybe she should consider moving out of their penthouse, but Simon picked it based on one of his careful lists of everything the siblings had wanted at the time. There’s a pool and a gym on site, the apartment has a view to die for, two bedrooms, and she’s allowed to keep Bopeep, her Lhasa Apso-Shih Tzu cross dog. That’s another thing she should consider getting rid of, because paying the neighbour to check her food when she gets home is pricey, too, but Bopeep is all the family she has left at this point. Getting rid of her would be a betrayal. Hence, Starbucks.

She’s making faces at the toddler that ‘Jen’ always brings in with her, despite the woman obviously being distracted (she’s on the phone, again, speaking quickly into her Bluetooth headset in the business lingo that Olivia half-understands because college and Simon were extremely insistent), by the time the lunch time rush starts.

And then the jerk at the front of the line, with six people behind him already, tells her to write Alexander on the cup in a French accent. She only recognises the accent because her family are from Paris.

He’s carrying a gym bag and she’s pretty sure he’s wearing a leotard with a denim jacket over the top. He’s actually more polite than most people are when they order anything at Starbucks, says “please” and “thank you” in a strong French accent that she only recognises because her family are from Paris, and even smiles immediately before going back to glancing at what she thinks is a phone. She writes Alex on the cup in large black letters, because clearly he thinks he has better things to do, and she’d like to have him know that she does, too.

Predictably, he doesn’t even notice when he takes the order.

-2-

The next time he comes in is two days later. This time, she’s scowling down at the paperwork she has to get done. Technically she’s not meant to be doing this at work at all, but she doesn’t have time after work. She has to take Bopeep for a jog and she’s hoping she can time it around the post-work rush from the public transport around the place.

“Good afternoon.”

“And you, sir,” she says automatically, dropping the pen. “What can I get you today?”

“Grande Iced Raspberry Latte. For Alexander.”

She’s even more convinced that the guy is an asshole now that she recognises him. Who else insists that their name is Alexander in the twenty-first century, immediately before ordering from the bloody secret menu. Olivia, in case it isn’t obvious, resents the secret menu.It doesn’t exist. It’s presumptuous and not actually a secret, just a case of ‘guess the combination they mean’ that hopefully doesn’t end with yelling. Even Jen doesn’t order any bullshit ‘secret menus’, just a standard tall breakfast blend. “And how do I make that, sir?”

“Just an iced latte with two pumps of raspberry syrup,” he explains, even offering a smile. “And call me Alexander – this is the best coffee place near Madame Croix’s Studio, and I’m afraid you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“Do you want me to memorise your favourite drink, too, sir Alexander?” she retorts, ever sarcastic. To her surprise, he actually laughs. She tells herself she isn’t blushing as she turns to the machine to make his drink.

“Just Alexander.”

So she writes ‘Aliks’ on the cup and gives him the blandest smile she can manage. “Most people around here just call it ‘the studio’, sir Alexander.” She stops herself from adding that advertising his apparent talent will make him no friends.

-3-

“How are you living on this income?”

“Oh, yes, because you make it so well, Deon.” He’s a half-Kenyan man who came from some backwater town, chasing a dream and a doctorate. Unlike Olivia, he hasn’t made the mistake of a photography degree. “Is this your way of telling me my shift’s over?”

“Nice try. Break’s done. You’re on service.”

“I’m always on service,” she points out, because it’s true. She’s glad, anyway, because unlike some of the other casuals, Deon finishes dealing with a rush before coming to get his replacement. “Good luck on your paper on – was it particle physics?”

“Greek history,” he corrects, tossing her the requisite apron and leaving her to the hell that is Starbucks and a solo shift.

She’s just fixing the nametag onto the apron when the new regular comes in with a greeting and an “I take it your name isn’t really ‘not the short one’?”

Today he’s ditched the leotard and the denim jacket for sweats and a hoodie, probably because it’s raining outside. “What gave it away, the fact that there are three other people in this room that are taller than me?”

His smile falters a little, as though it’s uncertain now. She’s probably too pleased that he had an effect on the usually unflappably cheerful regular. “Ah, common sense, actually, I’m sorry to say. I’m not that observant.”

She snorts. “My name is Olivia, if you must know. Another raspberry latte for you?”

“You remembered me. Consider me impressed, Miss Olivia.”

“Ah, my purpose for the day, completed to the best of my ability.” In response to the confused smile, she shook her head, amusement replaced by the now familiar irritation. “Same as last Friday, Sir Alexander?”

“No. Venti Chocolate Macchiato, I wrote down the recipe for you, here –” he passes her a note written in a gorgeous script she can really appreciate, having an eye for detail. She suppresses any desire to compliment it because holy shit this is an irritatingly complicated coffee...thing.

It takes a few minutes, with a couple other customers showing up before she’s done. She gives him the cup with yet another bland smile. “You forgot to write down how many shots of espresso.”

“Just the one should be alright,” he says, making up for her blandness with his own smile. As he leaves, gym bag in hand, she allows herself a smirk before turning to the next person in line.

His cup says Allix.

-4-

Three weeks later and she’s making yet another ridiculous drink, ordered by Sir Alexander himself, when her phone rings. She knows it’s important because the ringtone is set to a punk song that no one would ever play in a Starbucks, and the only other calls set to make noise are the ones from the lawyer. “Excuse me,” she says quickly, “enjoy your, ah, white chocolate cinnamon chai latte. Liv, what’s going on?”

Liv is a high school teacher who works locally, living across the hall from Olivia and, formerly Simon. After finishing school and taking up the job, Olivia asked Liv (who, in a strange twist of face, used to babysit Simon’s former fiancée. Small world) to keep an eye on Bopeep. If she’s calling, it means nothing good. “Bopeep is sick.”

For a second, Olivia is relieved; sick means alive and not gone. But then her mind catches up with what is going on, and she chokes her heart out of her throat, turning away from the counter and Alexander, just standing there and fiddling with what he’s worked out is an iPod he never has plugged in, pretending not to be listening. “She’s what? How bad?”

“Hasn’t eaten any of her food, coughing, she had this weird – growth, I suppose, on her stomach. I brought her into the vet and she’s got this thing called ‘distemper’ apparently. She said we got it early but there’s always a chance that things could go sour.”

Olivia’s got both hands cupped around her phone. “But, but, I had ‘Peep vaccinated for that, when I first brought her home, last February, she – she should be alright. She shouldn’t even have this illness.”

“Vaccine’s aren’t a guaranteed preventer, Olive. Now – I can sign everything on your behalf if you can’t get away...”

She wants to say no, that she can do it herself, but she wants the best for Bopeep. And the fact is, she can’t afford it and she can’t leave work – so she has to swallow her pride, especially with another customer waiting impatiently. God, she hopes the lawyers sort out their shit soon. “I’ll pay you back, Liv.”

“You –” Liv pauses; Olivia can hear it. She wonders if the teacher was about to tell her that she didn’t need to worry about paying her back, as though her pride could take the insult. “Alright, it’s a deal. Vet’s calling me for everything. I’ll call you when I know more,” the woman promises, before hanging up.

When she’s finished making up some boring latte and food for the customer and the half-dozen that follow in the post-work rush, Olivia finally has a moment to pause and try to collect herself. And even though it’s at least half an hour later and Alexander has a habit of immediately leaving, he’s still standing on one side of the counter. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks after watching her, the epitome of cautious wording.

Olivia shakes her head, but then she finds herself coming around the counter and speaking up anyway. A couple of inconsiderate gits have left their rubbish on their abandoned tables, and it’s on her to clean them up. “That was my neighbour, calling to say my dog might be really sick.”

He’s silent for so long that Olivia thinks maybe he’s gone, but then she feels someone take her hand and gently start rubbing it, tracing a delicate pattern onto her hand. “Tell me about the dog,” he says, in such a soft voice she almost thinks she imagined it.

“I don’t have time,” she protests weakly.

“You can take five minutes,” he corrects. He’s not wrong.

So she tells him about how her dog was a ‘weird breed’. About Bopeep being a shih tzu crossed with lhasa apso, but with sort of russet fur with white and darker brown markings. About Bopeep being hyper and cuddly, friendly and well-behaved, fun and entertaining. About being excellent company when the world is against you, but without sounding quite so self-obsessed. By the end of it, she’s got tears in her eyes and mumbles something about needing a napkin, only to have an unfamiliar, gentle hand press a handkerchief to her eyes, carefully cleaning her up. It’s Alexander, of course, he’s stopped tracing patterns on her hand by now.

“I’ll get in trouble for not doing enough work today,” she mutters, mournful. He smiles, tells her Bopeep sounds fantastic, and that everything will be okay, before ordering another coffee, this one definitely to go.

“I won’t interrupt your shift any more, Miss Olivia,” he promises. “Not today, at least.”

She writes Alexander on the cup.

-5-

“She’s perfect again!” she exclaims delightedly, whipping out her little camera to view the video of her dog excitedly bounding towards her. She’s showing Connor and Deon both, each of them her co-workers on Sunday. Sometimes there’s Lisa, too, but not today. She called in sick last minute, so Olivia took on her shift after the manager promises she’ll call in someone else to take the afternoon shift. She’s pretty sure the only person left who takes weekend shifts is Connor’s boyfriend, Tobian, so this ought to be a productive day (she’s also pleased

“You don’t typically work Sundays,” a familiar accent points out. She actually laughs, possibly for the first time ever, as she turns to greet Alexander. He’s less irritating now, though she isn’t sure if this is because he actually was never annoying and she’s just now noticing, or if it’s an acquired taste. “It is nice to see you, though.”

“I know it is,” she retorts immediately, holding the phone out. He goes cross-eyed trying to see it right in front of his nose, before angling his head to get a better look. “Look!”

“Ah, so Miss Bopeep is well again?”

“Yes,” she immediately answers, almost cutting him off. “Thank you for not, you know, running away screaming when I, uh.” She’s too embarrassed to say broke down, but really, what other phrase is there for what happened?

He smiles, waves it off. “You spelled my name right afterwards, so in a way, it was purely self-serving, if you think about it. There’s no need for you to thank me for that. That’s an good video, by the way.”

“It’s side work,” she explains, “I do photography on commission and record things. Same as Friday, or is this changeover day?”

He shifts, as if considering. “Surprise me.”

She blinks at him in surprise, before shrugging and ringing up her own preferred order, throwing in a brownie that she’ll pay for out of the tip jar for good measure. A couple of minutes later, she places a venti cup on the counter and smiles at him, Alexander J written on the side. “Steamed milk, 4 pumps caramel, 4 pumps toffee nut, 4 pumps cinnamon dolce, topped with whipped cream and salted caramel. Try it.”

She’s delighted to see that he immediately does so, smiling at her after a moment. “I apologize if I’m being paranoid, but why are you looking at me like this is an experiment?”

“No, I’m just surprised that you actually tried it. Usually once someone hear there’s so much flavouring in this thing, they hide rather than actually try it. Anyway. Hot Butterbeer Latte, and it’s done best here because no one else knows the recipe like I do.”

He shakes his head, glances at the clock on the wall and straightens up. “Thank you, Miss Olivia. I have to get going, though, I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

She smiles at him. “See you later, Sir Alexander.”

-+1-

A mix up with the schedule means Olivia ends up finishing work a couple of hours early, just after the post-school rush, largely because Lisa wants to train her brother so he can get his own job with some skills more useful than high school math. And maybe Olivia’s a little worried that Lisa seems to be limping, but she doesn’t mention it so Olivia makes the decision not to, either, and heads home instead.

“C’mon, Bopeep,” she coos after she greets Liv and does some cleaning. For once, she doesn’t get home completely exhausted, so it’s no stretch for her to call the dog, lead in hand. She usually jogs the dog, but this is the first time in a long time that she’s actually had the energy to be upbeat about it. Because the sun is still up for once, she grabs her better camera and resolves to take some photographs. A few minutes is all it takes for her to get Bopeep and head downstairs.

A couple hours later and a light drizzle has descended on the evening. She thinks nothing of it, even picking up ‘Peep and heading into the Starbucks she works at to grab a hot drink before heading home. To her surprise, the place is actually quite crowded for this hour, full of people dressed to the nines. There’s even a table of people that must be from the studio. “What, is 42 shut?” she asks Lisa, who’s nestled behind the counter with her brother, Reece.

“Yes, and the studio just finished the first of a new show, so this is just where everyone decided to go, I guess.” Lisa is a tiny little blonde woman who always manages to sound nervous. She’s half-way through a journalism degree, and although she works casual only, her and Olivia started at the same time. She reaches over the counter to scratch Bopeep behind the ears, smiling the tiniest amount. “I’ll just make your drink. Give me a minute, Olivia.”

Olivia hums in agreement, adjusting her grip on the dog and turning away from the counter. Bopeep makes a noise of protest when she walks into someone, squishing the poor thing unintentionally. “I’ve heard of magnetic attraction, but since I’m not loaded up with metal, that one was on you,” she starts, trailing off after a moment.

There was Alexander, blinking at her. She was lucky his cup was empty, as it was; he’d been going to get another drink for himself and his companions. All of whom are visible behind him, staring at her with various degrees of confusion. One of them actually hides their mouth behind their hand and leans over to whisper, “Wow, rude.”

Olivia worked in a Starbucks. She knows how to hear people over the top of the racket made by others. She’s distracted from glaring at the brunette by Alexander clearing his throat. “You aren’t – you’re not wearing your nametag.”

It takes a minute for Olivia to register that one of the guys at the table behind him had said oh my god, that’s the barista chick, before she looks down at her clothes. True to his word, she’s currently wearing thermal tights, and a vest over her baseball tee. “I’m, ah, not working tonight. Finished early.”

He finally seems to notice the dog. “So this is Miss Bopeep?”

Olivia nods mutely, tilting her arms so that the dog can be more easily petted by him.

“She likes me.”

She laughs. “She likes everyone. She’s a friendly one, after all, that’s half the reason I got her.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“Uh, she’s adorable. Obviously.”

He laughs at that, follows her over to the counter when Lisa calls her order. She takes one look at him and groans; Olivia makes him hold Bopeep while she moves around the counter to make his ridiculously complicated drink. “It’s Monday, so that’s a new drink for you, isn’t it?”

“I was thinking – the thing you made for me yesterday?”

“One Hot Butterbeer Latte, coming up,” she chimes, getting right on it. Of course, Lisa could have pulled it off – even Reece could have – but she’s happy to help out and join him when she’s done. “Who’re your friends?”

“Coworkers. We were at the studio late.”

“That would explain the leotards,” she chided.

“Most of us aren’t wearing leotards right this second,” he corrects immediately before shrugging, absently adjusting his grip on Bopeep. “We had a recital tonight. Just finished.”

Olivia, despite him coming in all the time, still doesn’t follow dance. “A what now?”

“A recital. We’re performing La Sylphide this week...?”

“La Sylphide,” she echoes. She doesn’t know what The Sylph is, figures it’s a dance of some kind. “Is it good?”

The look he gives her suggests she’s just asked one of the dumbest questions he’s ever heard. As she passes over his drink, it’s clear she doesn’t care. “You should come see it. I have tickets that I never give to anyone, and I think you’ll enjoy it. We can get dinner afterwards.”

She blinks. “Why, Sir Alexander, it almost sounds as though you’re asking me on a date.”

“Well – when you say it like that... yes. Yes, I am. Miss Olivia, would you do me the honour of going out with me tomorrow night?”

She smiles at him, takes her dog back. “Yes, Alexander, I absolutely will.”

-bonus-

Olivia is coming off her break just in time to let Reece take his own before the post-work rush. She’s on the phone. “Merci bocoup, Monsieur Merrigold. C'est si bon d'entendre que tout va bientôt se terminer.”

“C’est atroce de t’avoir tenu si longtemps, madamemoiselle Renner. Je vous assure, nous obtiendrons le meiilleur résultat possible pour vous.”

“Je le sais, Monsieur. Je dois partir, je suis désolé. Je peux vous appeler plus tard?”

“S'il vous plaît.Je vais vous envoyer un message si quelque chose d’important se produit.”

“Merci. Au revoir,” she finishes, hanging up quickly. “Same as yesterday?” she asks Alexander, now her boyfriend of two months. He frowns at her.

“That was perfect French.”

“Oui. That’s what happens when you’re born in Paris and raised in France for ten years,” she points out.

He blinks blankly at her, before throwing his hands up in exasperated surprise, crying out loudly enough that Jen, in the corner with her toddler, drops her phone: “Pourquoi ne m'avez-vous pas dit que vous étiez français? J'ai été aux prises avec l'anglais pendant des mois pour vous!”

Olivia’s response is, of course, to laugh. “Oh, you poor dear, I’m sure that must have been awful for you.”

#kristie writes #kwrites #kristie's writing #kwriting #au #a thousand and one realities #ft. alexander #ft. olivia

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