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mostlymaudlin · 2 years

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pay more attention

rated t, 500 words, andreil / series: flashes of intimacy

“If you want it, just put it in the cart,” Andrew says. “Stop dawdling.”

Andrew and Neil only came shopping to “pick up a few things,” but they’ve been at Target for almost an hour. It’s dead in here at 8 PM on a weeknight, but it’s still entirely too over-stimulating. He’s beyond ready to go home, drink a beer, swap lazy handjobs in the shower with Neil, and fall asleep.

Neil, however, feels no such hurry. He has been staring at a large, mundane canvas print of an abstract fox for almost a full minute — Andrew had made it to the end of the aisle before he realized he’d left Neil behind.

Neil blinks at him. “I don’t know where I’d put it.”

Andrew takes a few steps back, considering the print again.

“There’s space in our room in Columbia,” Andrew says. “On the wall with the window.”

Neil doesn’t respond for a moment, so Andrew glances at him. He’s doing his kicked puppy song and dance, staring at Andrew like he’s just done something either incredibly cruel or incredibly kind.

Andrew, who has done neither, gestures at Neil’s face. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“It’s just,” Neil starts, then pauses to swallow thickly. “I didn’t know it was our room.”

Andrew can’t help it — he rolls his eyes. Then, he takes Neil’s chin in his hand.

“Neil,” Andrew says. “That house is your legal address. You sleep in that room every time we are there. You have that shitty ass dresser that took three hours to assemble. What the fuck did you think was going on?“

Neil shrugs, still looking wounded. “That I was staying in your room, I guess.”

Andrew scoffs, dropping Neil’s face. “There’s hardly a difference anymore, is there?”

Neil’s expression crumples further, and fucking hell, they were just supposed to be in and out. Toilet paper and coffee filters and a new bath mat. There’s no need for a meltdown in the Home Decor aisle.

“Knock it off,” Andrew says. “Don’t make this into some big, new thing. Nothing has changed. Pay more attention.”

Neil nods, but he’s still got that face. The irritation leaves Andrew’s body on an exhale. Neil is being stupid, but only because his perspective is rooted in his fucked-up life experiences. Andrew knows that Neil never takes what isn’t freely given, and he knows how much it means for Neil to claim things as his own. None of this should be surprising.

Andrew checks over his shoulder to make sure the aisle is still empty. He puts a palm on the back of Neil’s neck and draws him close. Neil tucks his face against Andrew’s hair, and Andrew measures the rise and fall of Neil’s chest until it settles into an even pattern.

“Enough of that,” Andrew murmurs, stepping away. Neil’s expression has morphed into quiet contentment, which is less concerning but way more annoying. “Grab your stupid fox so we can go home.”

this series is now on ao3!

#silly silly neil #hes so baby rn #aftg #my writing #my aftg writing #flash #andreil #andreil fic #aftg fic #flashes of intimacy

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akashigadabi · 1 year

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Lovebug

Prompt: Hug. Original list here.

Pairing: Yandere All For One x Consenting Reader

Summary: After a shit day, you just need All For One to hold you.

Word Count: 1137

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Everything Is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts

Rating: T

Warnings: Soft Vibes, Reader Being Soft, Soft All For One, Consensual Relationship, Established Relationship, Suggestive Language

Other: Reader has a quirk. Reader is written so reader is gender neutral as far as gender/gender identity and romantic or sexual orientation.

Ao3.

“I just need you to hold me right now.”

All For One closes his laptop without hesitation, every speck of his attention transferring onto you. It still seems remarkable even now to have him divert his focus at the drop of a dime because you asked for it, but you would never abuse this superpower. Right now you just need comfort after what you had to deal with today. Hell, after this entire week you have no greater desire than surrendering yourself into his care. What are husbands for if not comforting you every time the world tries crushing your spirit?

“Come here, then.”

He gestures for you to approach him, so you do. Once you’re close enough, he tugs you into his lap. His face burrows into the junction of your neck and shoulder to press a kiss to your exposed collarbone. Several moments then pass as he shifts you around to a comfortable position. Only after you settle does he comb his fingers through your hair. More kisses alight onto your face. Three land on your left cheek, one falls on your chin, another flutters over your right eye, and the last trails from your nose to your throat.

A sense of comfort seeps into you, some from the bond but the rest from within yourself in response to the shower of affection. As if you weigh nothing, All For One shifts you around again. This time you straddle his lap, legs dangling on either side of his hips. Your forehead rests against his collarbone. His large hands smooth along your spine as he nuzzles his cheek against the side of your head in a manner reminiscent of a feline. A litany of purrs follows, further lending to the impression. Swaddled by his embrace, you sense your distress start to dissolve. You close your eyes, content to sit there until one of you gets tired.

“Thank you,” you murmur with your lips hovering inches above soft white fabric. All For One gave you a light squeeze before dropping an additional kiss at your temple. Bliss saturates the very air, palpable even without the glowing presence of it permeating the bond like warm sunlight. Such pure, bright energy mellows out whatever gloom remains. Few people can cloak you with an aura so full of delight.

“As if you really had to ask. I enjoy few things more than holding you in my arms, little mate.”

His words ring true, mirrored in the euphoric cloud surrounding him. All For One revels in the trust you show him. It gladdens him to no end knowing you come to him for comfort like this, that you trust him with your weary heart. That he picks you up without fail every time you stumble or falter only fuels said trust. He despises anything that robs you of your own happiness, and makes it his mission to distract your mind when melancholy hits you. Your work as The Heretic isn’t always easy and often takes its toll.

“Tch. From what I’ve heard, I can guess some of those other things.”

Laughter bubbles out of his throat. It’s one of the most beautiful melodies you’ve ever heard. Not many other songs compare aside from his heartbeat or the rhythm of his breathing. Perhaps his actual singing voice, too, or those desperate little noises he makes sometimes when you’re making love.

“I’m sure you can, sweet one, yet I stand by those assertions.”

Peeking up at him from underneath your lashes, you offer him your own fond expression, so that your next words sound full of endearment rather than chastisement. They land softly against him, lacking any true judgment. You adore him as much as he adores you. Little could change that.

“Shameless man.”

A wicked smirk blooms across his otherwise angelic face, giving the impression of a fallen angel unabashed by his status. What a tantalizing juxtaposition. It’s fetching to an absurd level how he can appear so divine while harboring such a sinful nature under the surface. Almost like a trickster concealing their true nature.

“What about me ever suggested I feel shame?”

You reach up to cup his cheek in your hand, palm grazing his jawline. Smooth skin greets your delicate touch. Of course someone as sturdy as him does not require such ginger handling, but he appreciates it nonetheless. His eyelids slip halfway shut, hooding his pretty crimson eyes.

“Hmph, and I thought there was hope for you.”

All For One tips his head so he can plant a kiss on your wrist. Elongated canines nip at the sensitive area, though not hard enough to draw blood. Still, it draws a shudder out of you. From the glint in his eye, you gather All For One desired that very result.

“Would you have me any other way?”

The answer floats easily from the depths of your heart, showing in your eyes as your other hand sinks into his soft white hair. You wish it was longer, if only so you could truly tangle your fingers amongst the strands. It would certainly make pulling on it easier. All For One might even be persuaded to consider growing it out if he knew. No doubt he too would enjoy added length for similar reasons.

“…No, I can’t say I would.”

All For One grins, incorrigible as ever. Your heart flutters in your chest at the sight. Love for him pours from the depths of your heart, dousing the bond in a second layer of an intoxicating cocktail. Affection, devotion, adoration, admiration, commitment, compassion, and more all swirl through your connection. Something about All For One visibly softens another degree.

“Nor would I ever desire for your nature to change, sweet little mate mine.”

The two of you stretch to meet in the middle. Your foreheads touch, as do your noses. You stay there basking for several long moments. Despite your shitty day couched within a shitty week, you feel at peace. All For One tilts his head so that your mouths slot together in a sweet kiss. Somehow being enfolded within his loving grasp just erases every hidden worry.

“I love you, Haji-chan. Never change.”

“Never fear, my sweetling. I will never stop loving you.”

Unconditional love shimmers down the bond from both directions. When both sides converge, sweeping through each other, dizzying waves of euphoria slam back toward each of you. It leaves you both feeling lightheaded. If not for the steadying presence of All For One’s desk or the fact that you two had already been seated, it would have literally swept you off your feet by bringing you both to your knees, or more likely, bowling you over like ninepins. Right now though, a tangle of limbs sprawled across the study floor doesn’t sound like such an awful idea.

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davnittbraes · 10 months

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Young and Pretty

Pairing: Joel Miller x 50ish year old F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 675

Warnings etc: a light sprinkling of angst, a dash of yearning, some anxiety just because it’s me, reader is self-conscious and intimacy-averse and has a lot of emotional baggage

Notes: just a little snippet from a current WIP. For context, Joel and Reader are friends who have been growing closer and Reader recently shut him out in an attempt to stem the obvious romantic feelings between them. Takes place between Part 1 and 2, in Jackson.

You lean back against the side of the house, cross your arms over chest as you watch Joel approach.

Why is he here? You had pushed him away, made it clear that whatever was threatening to blossom between you was a bad idea.

Time had taken away your chance for love long ago.

Well. Time and the apocalypse.

He clears his throat, rests a hand on the railing of your porch, but doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, jaw twitching as if he’s working up the words.

There’s something in his gaze, a shimmer of the same nerves fluttering behind your ribcage.

Stop. Don’t get distracted.

Get him to say whatever it is and go back to your writing.

You nod toward the mess hall. “Thought you’d be at the big dinner.”

“Didn’t feel like being around everyone tonight.”

There’s a deeper rasp to his voice than usual, sending a thrill down your spine, and you shift your weight to hide it. “That’s too bad. Lotta the girls were hoping you’d be there, stay for the dance after.”

He hums low, taking a step up toward you, pausing before taking another.

As if he’s watching your reaction, gauging how far he can go before you snap at him again.

Guilt pools in the pit of your stomach, pushing a deep sigh from your chest. “Look, Joel… I’m sorry I was harsh with you. I don’t want to lose your friendship, but I’m…”

He stops at the top of the steps, a few paces from you, too close and too far away at the same time and it hurts the spot right between your ribs.

You tighten your arms across your chest as if you could ease the pain. “What I said is true. I’m not good for you - I’ve got too much baggage. It’s too heavy to expect anyone else to handle it. After all you’ve been through, you -“ the words stop up and you shove them past the lump in your throat - “deserve a little lightness in your life, a little sunshine. There’s plenty of pretty, young women in Jackson who can give that to you.”

He takes another step toward you, slow, dark gaze steady on yours. “I don’t want young and pretty. Have no use for youth - got enough to deal with in Ellie as it is.”

Your breath catches, heartbeat slamming hard against your lungs - no, stop, it doesn’t matter what he says, you know this is for the best.

You throw him a half-smile, pitching your voice to tease. “And that’s what you’re looking for? Someone ‘useful?’ Not very romantic.”

“Never claimed to be. Not much use for that, either.”

Another step and he’s within arms reach, and under the lamplight you can see his features, set in that well-known expression of bullheaded stubbornness that tells you he’s not backing down.

Not this time.

You’re frantically grasping at that teasing tone, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “Careful, Joel Miller. You’ll make some girl swoon, talking like that.”

“Like I said. I don’t want a girl.” He takes one more step and then he’s in your space, broad frame blocking out the light, his voice dropping to a low rasp that floats between the two of you. “I want a woman. And I see a smart, strong, beautiful one, right here in front of me.”

You don’t dare breathe, or blink, or move, not that you could if you wanted to, pinned there by his gaze, the darkest of browns that can see right through you.

Right through your pitiful attempt to save yourself from feeling something.

That gaze that says maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, feeling something.

Swallowing past a tight throat, you raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Guess I should leave you two alone, then.”

His mouth quirks up at the corner and you’re staring at it, those plush lips so close, if you just tilted your head you could -

He brushes the curve of your jaw with his fingertips. “Nah, darlin’, you’re staying right here.”

#the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #reader insert #no y/n

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zeldaelmo · 6 months

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by my wonderful friend @bahbahhh.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

484,215

My goal for 2023 was to hit the 500,000 and I'm positive I'll reach it.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Legend of Zelda, all games apart from Zelda I, II, and Minish Cap (because I haven't played them so far)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

How to name a royal child

Stolen Kisses

Strangers in the Night

It's in his Kiss

Flour, water, salt, yeast, love

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Uh... in theory, I do. I love getting comments but I often feel stupid saying ten times 'thank you' in a row, so I end up answering mostly when I have something to say.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would be Lonely at the Top. I don't really write angsty endings, but this one is hurt/no comfort as it tackles Link visiting the Light Dragon who doesn't even react to him.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hm...I'm not too fond of the fanfic version of the perfect happy ending, namely, proposal, sappy wedding, and omg, twins!, mainly because I love the nuance life teaches us. What a happy ending for a fic and a character is, is so often much more different than the fairy tale version.

That being said, I'd still go with Strangers in the Night, just because the two worked so damn hard for their happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Hate is a big word, but I get negative comments and sometimes they are even personal, yes. Most people are lacking reading competence and/or don't understand how stories work. I mostly ignore those. Sometimes I complain on discord if it's very annoying. If someone insults me, I block.

I don't think that has to do so much with me, though. I have 1,346 comment threads on my stories. Of course, there are some idiots among them, that's life.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, occasionally. I think ten of 77 fics are explicit. Look, the thing is, I'm a story teller. So if the smut doesn't add to the story, I don't tell it. Rule of thumb is, that I keep it to a T-rating if possible to make the story accessible to most people. I only go for explicit stuff if I want to deliver some part of the character development/plot with the intimacy (or the lack of lol) that the smut offers.

Does that get me the most Kudos? No. But I'm not here for that or I wouldn't bother writing for 30 years old games. I'm here to tell a good story and have fun. :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No. If you've read so far, I can tell you a secret as a reward: I find crossovers pointless. Ooops.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I am aware of! But I'd love to! Big fan of accessibility!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. I've seen a few writing collabs end in fandom drama or otherwise go awry, so I decided that I only collab with artists. I might try with something short one day, but nothing novel-length.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Take a guess.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ah, so I have a half-written novel in my drafts. A story about writer!Zelda and fanartist!Link who are also princess and beloathed bodyguard. I'm very determined to go back to that one after I finished The Promise, but I'm a little scared. The story is complicated and my thoughts are chaotic. I already asked @mistresslrigtar to help me work it out next year, so I hope we'll manage.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and showing what's going on in the character's head who's not the POV character.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with simplicity sometimes, mainly because of the language barrier. I write something that's horribly complicated and I just know there must be a better way to put it, but I can't figure it out. Grammar is hard, lads.

I also have a weird relationship with descriptions. I love having characters interact with their environment but I loath big chunks of description. I plan to work on this during my traditional holiday self-study break.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

This is a weirdly specific question, but ok.

If you don't happen to write a book that's supposed to teach beginners the other language, then don't. You might end up othering the person who's speaking and that's something you don't want to dabble with lightly.

I already talked about accessibility: You will exclude people from your writing and you don't want that just to sound cool. If you must for plot reasons, make otherwise sure everyone is on board. Slightly different case if you actively hide something from your readers (and other characters), but that's probably not the most common case.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

LoZ

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I refuse to answer this. 77 fics are too much to choose from. I love most of them.

tagging: @mistresslrigtar, @airplanned, @jenseits-der-sterne, @silentprincess17, @deiliamedlini, @skyyknights

#ask game

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mystrothedefender · 10 months

Note

Fanwork creators self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics/art/podfics/etc. that you've made, then pass on to others. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

Part 2 of my top 10 creations in no particular order:

This one is just fics. (My main fandom for 12 years was batman so there's a lot of batman)

Different with you. Fandom: our flag means death. Rating E. Stede realises that he does like intimacy, just not if its with women. This one was inspired by this tumblr comic and took me So Long to write.

Close calls. Fandom: Batman (telltale series). Rating: T. John, while in Arkham post game, gets access to a phone. It's just so cute!

A lucky night I guess. Fandom: Batman (gen). Rating E. Joker, wearing a disguise, runs into Bruce, and they feel an instant connection. -I love them being drawn to each other even when they don't know who it is they're really talking to.

Colours of emotion. Fandom: The Adventure Zone. Rating T. Barry eats some berries that turn him into a human mood ring. I just thought it was a cute idea. It had some art done for it which I now use as my discord pfp.

Shaken. Fandom: Batman (gen) Rating G. Edward is triggered by something Harvey says. It's just a super cute lil fic. It still makes me smile.

#fanfiction #batman #taz balance #our flag means death

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swanfrcst · 3 months

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(belated) year end fic summary 2023

it is almost the end of january...in my defense i was on vacation during the turn of the year!

Total number of completed stories: 3 on ao3 (thank you mdtb week), and then um. 1 unposted fic for sumeru zine. and i did not post the zine fic from last year...i kind of don't want to :')

Fics Posted:

(All Naruto/MDTB)

mastery: vague magic au because i dislike complex worldbuilding❤️ this was my first time writing madatobi and i was actually a little scared - i've been rotating these guys in my head for a long time and i was worried about my grasp of their characters. still am, but regardless i was very happy to finally write them. this fic is largely vibes only, but i like writing that too!

lessons learned: first M+ fic :D yeah i don't know, i had an awful flash of inspiration and thought that if not now then i'd never write something like it again. i can't say it's good, but it was definitely very fun to write! i think this is the one that did best among the 3 i wrote for mdtb week haha

what the water gave us: f/f madatobis!!! i just really wanted to write tobirama washing madara's hair, and that devolved into bathing together and some tender intimacy. i love them :'')

Total word count: 3919 on ao3, 3103 for sumeru zine fic = 7022 in total. there's a little bit from discarded mdtb week bits but i won't count those

What WIPs are you working on?

....none! i have nothing i'm actively working on and nothing i really want to work on? i floated the idea of writing something for ninefox gambit after i read it, but i really don't know what i'd write. i don't think i could appropriately match the tone of the books which is making me chicken out haha...

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

this seems about right tbh - posting for a fandom event and not writing for anything outside it.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

what the water gave us, i think! i like both that one and lessons learned but i think i do love f/f mdtb a bit more.

Did you take any writing risks this year?

writing something with a rating larger than T

Do you have any fanfic or ofic goals for the New Year?

anyway....my goals....write more i guess 😭 i want to write more things that aren't for posting!!! i have so many stupid and self-indulgent stories rattling around in my brain and i want to make some sort of record of them :''))) sometimes i think of banger lines too that get lost immediately afterwards too and itd be nice to save those :'')))

i did not do this :')

umm...i think...i still want to try that? and also write more drabbles and short stuff that don't need to be a Whole Concept. ahhh i just want to write more.

Most popular/most under-appreciated/most fun to write/story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

n/a

Hardest Story to Write:

sumeru zine fic :'') once again writing to a deadline and a word count was a miserable experience!

Biggest Disappointment/Biggest Surprise:

not writing more :') not even some smaller drabbles on the side...i think zine work last year really burned me out, especially the one day zine. hoping to scale that back this year so i can focus more on writing...

oh also - i failed at the fandom growth exchange :') wanted to write a phantom tales of the night fic and failed miserably. i'm not good at coming up with casefic plots 😢

#personal #year end summary

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gwaeddblaidd · 10 months

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Paralyzed by the creatures that are creeping in my mind

And I won't hide 'cause I know they're gonna find me every time

Black out the sun, I've come undone, my thoughts are racing

They're out for blood, can't get enough, can't get enough

---

Sometimes (by which I mean, usually) I prefer songs with more subtle lyrics and themes that have more room for interpretation. However, I can't deny that the occasional blatant outlier doesn't hurt. Add to that the nu metal influence of From Ashes to New and you get a fun addition to the playlist that really brings some variety.

There really isn't much to talk about here lyrically... I thought I was going to add a 'but' to that sentence, but hey, here we are. Today's a lazy day, I guess. In that same spirit: promo...

---

Title: Feed the Wolf

Fandom: Wednesday

Rating: T

Chapters: 7 of 12

Links: AO3, FF.net

Summary: As the dust settles on the Hyde incident, Nevermore is slowly but surely returning to a calmer, safer state. But for those involved, the scars may take a while longer to fully heal. Gelert Davies, a half-werewolf student, has always kept himself out of trouble as best he could, but a chance encounter will test his resolve and force him to face parts of himself long abandoned.

Tags: Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams, Original Character(s), Enid Sinclair/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Wolf Instincts, Loss of Control, Injury Recovery, Self-Hatred, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Courting Rituals, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, POV First Person

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! :)

#spotify #spotify playlist #day 7 of posting songs #Gelert Davies sad boy playlist #fanfic promo #wednesday fanfic #from ashes to new #ao3 #when I say the song isn't subtle I mean it #man's straight up opening with an awoo

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scuttle-buttle · 2 years

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Don't Let Go

Summay: Zemo keeps the holster on.

WC: 2098

Rated: E

Tags: smut, on the rough side, dom!zemo, some dub/con type vibes at certain points (but it is all consensual of course), tall!plus size!reader, body image issues about size, no stated use of protection, uh yeah

A/N: um. Look. Your guess is as good as mine as to where this came from and after me not being able to write for months. I started this in June, got stuck, stopped, forgot i started writing it, randomly was going thru my wips for #nostalgia today, and then this happened. Sad to report no further progress on Heist tho. I’m hoping very soon. Bone app the teeth?

🖤

You remember when you had the conversation. Only a few nights ago on a Friday, barely more than a week since first going on the run with him, you and the Baron drank a few glasses of his expensive scotch at the new safe house, and you had found yourself opening up about fantasies, or lack of.

"Come now, Schatz - there must be something you have been intrigued to."

A simple shrug is what you give. "Maybe a few times…. But it's not something I put much thought into or anything like that." You take a sip, the alcohol rough in its burn.

"Why is that?" he questions without missing a beat.

Meeting his gaze across the couch you see he's been watching you the entire conversation, as though there is nothing that even comes remotely close to being more important than whatever silly ideas you have to share. “I mean I’ve spent my whole life as this bigger, intimidating person. Hell, I’m taller than you, by what an inch and a half? And most people that much, if not more,” you lightly scoff and sip again from your tumbler of scotch. “It wasn't something feasible being bigger I guess-” you gesture to your torso “-so I dropped the ideas before it could really set in as something I wanted. I told you - I'm always on my own and having to do my own thing. Had to get a grip on my life and be an independent woman and all that," you chuckle.

Zemo had been more than thorough in acquainting you with the basics of intimacy the last week; yet he let you take the lead as much as possible. Almost entirely, truly. You weren't at the point of anything wild or experimental, nor were you brave enough to try going rogue. So it was easy, it was standard - not that you had any complaints. But Helmut was adamant that it was you who controlled how he kissed you, how he touched you, how he broke your body and soul piece by piece in the long hours of the night.

You look across the room into the flickering light of the fireplace. Quieter, you add "just once I’d like to feel like the small one in a situation, to have to look up to someone literally and figuratively, to not feel like I’m too big and to just be able to let someone else make the choice for me." Looking back at him and speaking a little more blase, you finish "but I don't know. That's about as far as I got."

“I like looking up at you, Schatz, it’s like looking at an angel,” Helmut whispers. Since you had unofficially gotten together after escaping Riga he was constantly praising and complimenting you. You always expected to feel like he was just flattering you, but he made it such a point to talk about your intelligence, kindness, generosity, humor, and how beautiful he found you in equal parts.

You don't bother fighting back your grin. “I’m sure you do, Baron.” Downing the rest of your drink you tell him you are tired and head off to bed with a kiss.

Helmut had business to attend into the late evening. You made yourself busy reading some old book from the safe house’s upstairs library. The sun set as you read. Oranges and pinks and purples cast the room in a peaceful glow as you engulfed yourself in tales of times gone by. Maybe three hours later you hear him call out for you, breaking you from your page; “Schatz, could you come down here?”

Excitement bubbles within you at his arrival. “Be down in a sec!” You closed the book and placed it on the desk. Wandering around in the darkness you think you hear him in the kitchen. You call out “Helmut are you-” as you reach for the light switch when a shadowy figure backs you into a wall, knocking the breath you had from your lungs. For a second you panic, heart beating wildly out of your chest, until you see a glint of that familiar chocolate in the shadow’s eyes. The white-knuckled grip you have on the fabric of his top relaxes.

Pressed up against the kitchen wall by the man, you can just make out that he's clad in his gear. A thick burgundy turtleneck covers the expanse of his broad chest, the leather straps of a holster secured around his shoulders. Sturdy combat boots brush the sides of your ankles from where he has trapped your legs between his. The shoes give him an extra inch compared to your barefoot state, in addition to the commanding way he carries himself at present. Even as his gaze is eye level with your own like this he looks as if he towers above you.

Searching his eyes as best as you can in the limited light, you attempt “Hel what-”

A calloused palm cups the skin of your cheek, his thumb pressing softly against your mouth and silencing you. He says nothing; you wait, swallowing in anticipation. The digit glides slowly along the seam of your lips before pushing slightly between. You don't mind the intrusion, instead finding the taste of his skin intoxicating as you run the tip of your tongue over him. Pupils flit from your own to where his thumb rests. Zemo sighs. Feeling the fire within your core ignite you decide to take initiative, giving a gentle nip before sucking delicately on the pad of his thumb.

There is no mistaking the way his eyes blacken. The softness in his tone doesn’t match the formidability of his presence as he whispers “My Leibling…”

Zemo’s body presses yours further into the wall with such force it tears a gasp from you; his lips and tongue ravage yours with such a ferocity unlike anything you’ve known. Hands clutch at your jaw like vices. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps his fingertips might leave bruises. Nevertheless, you can’t be damned to stop him, especially not when you feel the beginnings of his hardening cock pushing into your hip, or the wetness seeping between your legs.

Finally, when the burn in your lungs becomes too great he breaks away and instead attaches his mouth to your throat. You have no doubt he can feel the pounding of your heart where he sucks and bites at your flesh. The Baron slides a hand under the edge of your top. His fingers are hot where they dig into your soft side. A feeble attempt to maneuver your hands to remove your shirt results in a tsk from him, his own larger ones moving to rip the fabric of your nightshirt right down the middle and exposing your peaked breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare. “Fuck - Helmut, what’s- ugh-” a particularly hard pinch to your nipple breaks your concentration, “what’s gotten in to you?” The question comes out as a moan.

Instead of an answer he tugs at the waistband of your shorts. With your reassuring nod he pushes them over your wide hips and thick thighs. Not a minute later he’s pulled a leg to wrap around his hip and opens you up to the grind of his still-clothed cock. “Don’t think, Leibling, just feel,” he commands.

The material of his pants rubs a delicious friction; your juices soaking through the fabric. You can feel the inferno growing. Breathy moans fill the near-silent kitchen. “Mein Gott, Draga I can feel how wet you are. Does this excite you? To know that you are enough to drive the great Baron Zemo to such primal need? To such depravity as to not even give you the luxury of a bed, but instead to have you right here and at my mercy?” He punctuates his statement with a harsh roll of his hips.

You whine in need. The pressure between your hips grows, you need him more than you can bear to think. Quickly you move to undo the fastening of his trousers between you. He does not stop you, only slows his movements to make it easier for you to work. When his bared cock finally rubs along your soaked core you manage to whimper a pathetic please. Helmut’s grip on your leg around his hip remains firm. He uses his free arm to place each of your hands on the straps of his holster along his pectorals. You pull on the leather as if to test its strength. There is barely enough room for your wrists between you where your chests are crushed together.

Suddenly Zemo drops as he leans to wrap his free hand underneath the leg that still supports your weight; his brute strength lifts you completely before you realize what he’s doing. “Wait no- Helmut I’m too-”

“No.” Zemo snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.

“Oh my god.” You sound pathetic as you keen at the fullness within you.

Both of his hands support you under the soft curve of your upper thighs. You tighten your legs around the small of his back on instinct. Panic surges through you despite the wonderful feel of him inside you. You aren’t small, you weigh too much, you’ll hurt him.

He jerks his shoulders minutely to bring your attention to where your fingers are wrapped around his holster straps. “Do not let go, Draga. Do you understand?”

“But-”

“Do you understand, Leibling?” he asks again, this time more demanding than you’ve ever heard.

“Yes.”

The first slam of his cock is fierce. It is precise. It is beyond any sort of pleasure you’ve ever felt, to have this man fucking you within an inch of your life as he all but cradles your body within the palm of his hand like it was your destiny to be there. Through all your sobs and cries of ecstasy he does not let up on the onslaught. Each thrust hits deep within you. His hips angle to brush your bundle of nerves with every movement. The peaks of your breasts tease and graze his sweater; probably an unfair advantage for him to be clothed and yet you at his complete mercy. You can’t fault how the sensation only heightens your euphoria. This time you know for sure his fingertips will paint your thighs with their memory for days to come; will create a masterpiece along the expanse of your skin that no Van Gogh or Picasso or Da Vinci could ever hope to produce.

Your release comes all too quickly at his attentions. Helmut doesn’t let up, nor does he seem to even break a sweat at his herculean task. At one point you swear you feel the leather straps start to give under the chokehold of your fists as he orders you to come again along his shaft, his words leaving no room for you to think otherwise.

Helmut reaches his own peak as your channel tightens around him, the growl of your name against your temple like a bolt of electricity. Hips slowing to a gentle roll, he does not pull himself from you, instead adjusting his hold under you to keep you pinned between his body and the wall. Your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder. The Baron drops sweet kisses to your temple, to your cheek, as you both come down from your high.

“Mmmm…Maybe you should put me down now? My legs are sore,” you mumble into his sweater, flexing your thigh and calf muscles where they still circle his waist.

“And if I do not want to? What then, my Leibling?” At your answering groan he hums in contentment before slowly removing himself from you, moving from the wall, and carrying you to the loveseat in the next room. Oversized boots thump with each step. The loose pants hanging from his knees slow his walk to a shuffle. He sits, situating you in his lap. Zemo looks down to see your fingers still wrapped around the holster. With a smile he says “you may let go now, Schatz. You did so well for me, such a good girl.”

It takes your digits a moment to cooperate as you untangle them from their place. “I’m not sure I can move my hands…?”

Helmut chuckles at your admission, taking your hands in each of his. He brings them to hip lips and places delicate kisses on them. Carefully he begins to massage your fingers and palms; “well, we must see to that, shouldn't we?”

(I'll be honest idk who is on my tag list for zemo since I haven't written for him in like 9 months sorrry)

Tag list: @ay0nha @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @dragon-baron @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @lorna-d-m @hardlyinteresting @marchingicenotes7 @earlgreysandcloudydays

#zemo x plus size reader #zemo x reader #zemo x plus size female reader #baron zemo x you #zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #zemo smut #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl x reader smut #daniel bruhl x you #daniel brühl x reader #tfatws zemo #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl fanfiction #zemo fanfic

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atomic-taco-muffin · 3 years

Note

For this can you do Azusane from Diabolik Lovers?

IM JUST IN LOVE WITH HIM

Thank you

You got it!

Azusa NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: what the title says

Rating: NSFW under the cut

Look at him! I must protect him!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Okay, so I’m a firm believer that he is a bottom. So that means that you’re in charge of aftercare. And to be honest, he likes it when you take care of him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I don’t know if this counts as his favorite part of him but he likes his scars that are on his arm. I mean, he talks to them so I guess it counts. On you, he loves your hands. They’re so gentle and soft against his skin. Poor bby is touch starved.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He doesn’t really care where he cums. He lets you make that decision. Again, he’s a bottom.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wanted to have a threesome with Ruki but he knows how mean he can be and poor bby needs some praise.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He doesn’t have a lot of experience but thankfully he has you to teach him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes any position that involves you topping him but his most favorite one is cowgirl.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s pretty serious when it comes to sex, mainly because he doesn’t know any jokes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His pubes are darker in color but you can’t really tell the difference. As for grooming, he tries to keep it groomed as much as he can.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He loves to be intimate with you. I mean, this poor boy has been through a lot and he needs someone to tell him that they love him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t jack off much. But that’s just because he doesn’t know what to do.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s sort of vanilla with the exception for knife play, a praise kink, and a master/mistress kink but that’s it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers to do it in the bedroom. It’s a lot more safe in there than anywhere else.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just say knives and you’re golden.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No degradation. He’s had enough of that from other people.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves it when you go down on him. The feeling of your warm mouth on his cock is just 🤤. He’ll go down on you too but he loves it more when you go down on him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers slow and sensual. And since you’re the one topping, you gotta make sure that the pace is okay

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Nope. No quickies. He prefers a romantic session instead of a rough quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s sort of open to experimenting but no open for risks such as doing it in one of his brother’s rooms or at school. Not happening.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He gets pretty sensitive after one round. Use that knowledge wisely my friends.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s okay with toys but he much prefers to pleasure you himself and vice versa

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t like to tease you but he loves it when you tease him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a quiet boy but he will make whimpers and whines when he feels overstimulated.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One time, he accidentally called you one of his scars names (i forgot what he named them) and was so embarrassed afterwards.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s a little below average with an average girth. Also his tip is super sensitive.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a steady sex drive but mention one his kinks and it’s fun time in the bedroom.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It mainly depends on how overstimulated he is. If he’s not too overstimulated, then he’ll be open for a shower/bath. If he is too overstimulated, then he’s gonna be passed out on the bed.

#azusa mukami #azusa x reader #azusa imagine #azusa smut #Diabolik Lovers #diabolik lovers x reader #diabolik lovers headcanons #diabolik lovers imagines #diabolik lovers smut #mukami azusa

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rayslittlekitten · 3 years

Text

Truth Is

“Crush” Universe Masterlist

A/N: Okay, my first Pedro Pascal fic ever. Sorry it’s not sexy. Honestly, this could probably be read as any of the TF guys, but due to recent sexy dreams about Pedro Pascal, I'm feeling some sort of way about him. Of all his characters I've seen, Frankie Morales is the only one I feel comfortable writing. I guess because I'm in an imaginary poly relationship with the TF boys (minus Tom because fuck Tom) lol. Any how, the story telling is written in a similar style as Maybe and Excess Baggage. The song "Truth Is" by Sabrina Claudio (YT link below for both versions) has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while and it has inspired some ideas but I hadn't figured it out yet, especially since it's the Spanish version (English version is about the same lyrically, but instrumentally it's a bit different) that incites something so I wasn't sure how to approach it. I was actually thinking EZ Reyes from Mayans MC, but this idea came to me this morning. I hope the formatting is clear enough. There's some back and forth with present time and flashbacks and also text messages and phone stuff. It's another one of those hot messes. This was actually a bit more emotionally draining for me than I expected.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.5K

Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x GN!reader (I originally wrote this with F!reader in mind but there’s no distinguishable wordings or pronouns)

Plot: You are trying to figure your shit out, basically. (Sorry, I was figuring it out in real time with the reader.)

Contains: angst?, feels, mentions of sex/intimacy, cursing

You look over at the empty space beside you. You can hear the shower running. The man you went home with last night is in there.

You roll over and reach down to the floor over the edge of the bed to grab your cellphone out of your jeans. The screen lights up and it is filled with notifications.

Benny Miller commented on a photo you are tagged in.

Swipe.

Benny Miller tagged you in a photo.

Swipe.

Benny Miller liked your Facebook post.

Swipe.

You have 11 missed calls.

Swipe.

You have 3 voicemails.

Swipe.

Your car warranty...

Swipe.

Frankie M.: “Hey, where are you? I tried calling…”

You stare at your screen for a moment. You see a stack of text messages. You can’t deal with this right now.

Swipe.

You unlock your phone and see you have 24 unread text messages. You stare at the icon and then decide to quickly check them. Of course, most of them are from Benny.

Benny: "Yo where did u go?" Benny: "y r u not picking up ???" Benny: "Are u ok????" Benny: "call me when u get this asshole!"

You roll your eyes and text him back.

You: "I'm fine, dickhead. I picked up some guy at the bar last night.”

You close your messaging app and pull up your Uber app. You're hoping to get out of there before whatever-his-name is gets out of the shower.

On the Uber ride back home, you finally check the rest of your notifications:

7 missed calls from Benny, 1 missed call from an unknown number, 1 missed call from Will, 2 missed calls from Frankie.

2 voicemails from Benny, 1 from Frankie.

2 text messages from Frankie.

Your thumb hovers over the text message preview and you finally open it.

Frankie M.: "Hey, where are you? I tried calling. Me and the other guys are worried about you. Please call or text." Frankie M.: "I just want to make sure you're safe."

You close your eyes and sigh. You love Benny to death but you wanted to kick his ass for inviting you to hang out last night and misleading you to think Frankie wasn't going to be there.

"He told me he probably wasn't coming." Ben shrugged, shouting over the music. You gave him a knowing look.

When you saw Frankie, you thought you were going to throw up. The last time you saw him was a month ago, both of you naked in his bed. You had spent the night with him like you were doing a few times a week. The both of you were cuddling, limbs tangled and lazily making out. Your fingers were in his dark curls on top of his head and his nose was rubbing against yours. His fingers were lightly running up and down your spine. And then he dropped the bomb that sent you to the bunker: "Te quiero, mi amor."

You hadn't seen or talked to him since, ignoring all his texts and phone calls.

"Fuck off, Benny." You rolled your eyes and pushed through the crowd to get to the bar. You needed a strong drink, stat.

The rest of the night, you did your best to avoid Frankie, but you felt his eyes on you. You had caught him glimpsing at you a few times throughout the night. He thought he was being subtle under his baseball cap. You had also seen some random person flirting with him. You needed a distraction. You started talking to some guy at the bar who seemed pretty easy on the eyes, but you're also a few tequila shots in and nursing your fourth or fifth beer. You weren't counting.

You can't wait to get home to wash all this... filth off of you. You feel disgusted with yourself.

When you finally get to your apartment, the first thing you do is strip off all your clothes on the way to your bathroom. You turn on the shower and while waiting for the water to warm up, you brush your teeth and rinse your mouth with mouthwash. All the traces of alcohol from last night is gone yet there's still a bad taste that lingers. It's guilt and fear. You jump into the shower and scrub every inch of your body and even wash your hair twice, hoping to wash them off of you.

"Whoa, where you in a rush to?" Frankie asked as he watched you scramble for your clothes after you came out of the bathroom.

"I-I gotta go. I-I-I just remembered I got a thing," you replied, struggling to pull your jeans on.

"Was it what I said?" Frankie asked, as he got off the bed and walked towards you.

"I... I just gotta go," you told him. Before Frankie was able to say anything, your phone rang. You reached for it and answered it, bringing it to your ear.

"Hey, Ben. Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry I'm running late. I'll be there in 20."

"Running late for what? What the fuck are you talking about? Are you on drugs?" Ben asked on the other line.

"I'll explain later. See you soon." You told Ben before you hung up the phone.

"Are... are we okay?" Frankie asked.

You looked at him for a moment and then down at your feet as you shoved them into your shoes.

"Yeah. Um, I... I'll call you later," you lied.

Frankie looked at you for a moment and then nodded. You knew he saw through your bullshit, but he still walked over to you to give you a good bye kiss. At the precise moment, you turned your head slightly and his lips collided with your cheek.

"Bye." You faked a smile and then got the hell out of there.

You let your tears flow while the hot water hits you. Why do you always do this to yourself? Because you're scared. You get scared when you start feeling your defenses fall. You get scared when you actually want to let someone in. Your fight or flight response always kicks in and that day, when Frankie said those words, it triggered that fight or flight response.

You miss him. You miss the calm and quietness he brings you, but your brain can’t make sense of it. You miss him so much it hurts, but you're scared and fear always outweighs everything else so you run far away from him. And when he gave up on you, it was like a shrapnel to your heart. You hate that you're like this.

After your shower, with the bath towel wrapped around you, you check your phone again and see that your best friend texted you back.

Benny: “oh wow thank u for finally letting me know ur alive and well shithead.”

You close your messaging app and see that you still haven't checked the voicemails. You open them up and put the phone on speaker.

"Y/N, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? WE MOVED TO A DIFFERENT BAR!" Benny shouted over the loud music. You delete the message.

The second voice message from Ben sounded like he butt dialed. Delete.

"Hey, Y/N. I hope you're alright. If you ditched, that's fine but please let us know you're okay at least?" Your heart drops hearing his voice. He hasn't hung up yet. You can hear background noise. "I... please just let one of us know you're okay."

You put your phone down and go to throw some clothes on. As you're digging through your dresser, you pull out a random t-shirt and realize it's one of Frankie's. It still smells like him. You put it up to your nose and close your eyes, inhaling, imagining he's in front of you. Imagining you're back with him in his bed in the safety of his arms. Imagining his beard lightly scratching your face. Imagining him saying those words again so you can fix your own fuck up.

Your daydreaming gets interrupted when your phone rings. It's probably Ben calling to chew you out. You walk over to it and check. Frankie M. flashes on the screen. You stare at your phone for a moment and you finally pick up.

"Hello?"

"Holy shit. Y/N?" Your heart tightens hearing his voice.

"Yeah, it's me."

"I was expecting for it to ring until it went to your voice mail, but uh, I'm happy to hear your voice."

"Yeah, I can see why you would think that," you admit.

Silence.

"Um, Ben told me you told him you were fine so I just wanted to follow up to make sure you're alright," Frankie says. You don't deserve him. "And I was actually kind of in the neighborhood and--"

"Yes."

Silence again.

"W-what?" Frankie asks.

"I love you, Frankie." You try to quietly sniffle. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry--"

"Y/N, slow down, slow down."

You shut up and swallow the lump in your throat, dreading that you're too late.

"Are you home right now?"

"Yes."

"Is this a good time? I can swing by and uh, we can talk."

"I'd like that very much." You exhale the breath that you've been holding.

undefined

youtube

#pedro pascal #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #Youtube

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thnxforknowingme · 2 years

Text

The Feeling's Plain to Me (8/14)

Summary: Ficlets set in the same ‘verse as It’s Who I’m With. What did Kurt and Blaine get up to in between Christmas and St. Patrick’s Day? (for the Klaine/CC Valentine's Challenge 2022)

Rating: T

Notes: It took me for ever to come up with an idea for this one - this song is once again a dynamic that doesn't really fit these characters in this story, but I tried to bring in some of the same spirit (when I saw the lyrics "you matter" repeated over and over I lamented the fact that I'd already written a chapter about Kurt and physical intimacy). Also it's another phone conversation chapter whoops

Read previous parts | Read on AO3

8: You Matter To Me - Waitress

January 22

Kurt was tired after a long day of running errands and cleaning around the apartment, and he delighted in hearing Blaine’s voice over the phone as they caught up in the evening.

“So I was thinking we could get brunch tomorrow,” Kurt said as he carefully slid the iron over one of his shirts, “and then I could take you to that vintage store I was telling you about, maybe we could do some window shopping.”

“Uh…” Blaine hemmed for a moment before resolutely responding, “yeah, okay!”

Kurt stilled his hands, lifting the iron from the fabric. “That sounded…uncertain.”

Blaine let out half a laugh. “Well, there’s a football game on tomorrow afternoon, but it’s fine.”

Ah, yes, Kurt remembered. His boyfriend was actually interested in sports. “Were you planning on watching it?” he asked as he rotated the shirt on the ironing board.

“I was,” Blaine said, “but I’d rather hang out with you, and I know you don’t care about football. Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.”

Kurt noted the deference in Blaine’s voice, the polite reassurance. It would have been so easy to just agree, to take his statement at face value, to accept this compromise from Blaine and get the perfect Sunday afternoon that he had imagined. He smoothed down the lapel of his shirt, his nail catching on a thread, and he spoke.”It does matter,” he told Blaine. “If it’s something you care about, it matters.”

He heard Blaine inhale. Kurt lifted up the shirt, inspecting it, and then slid it onto a waiting hanger.

“I’d still rather spend time with you, though,” Blaine insisted. “I can check the score of the game later.”

Instead of grabbing another article of clothing from his laundry to iron, Kurt perched on the edge of his bed. “We could still get brunch. And then I could go back to your place to watch. Or,” Kurt steeled himself before actually saying the words, “we could go to a sports bar.”

Blaine laughed. “Okay, I’m guessing that being in a crowded bar, surrounded by fratty guys drinking cheap beer during the division playoffs is actually your worst nightmare.”

Kurt exhaled, relieved that Blaine already knew him so well. “Fratty guys can be hot, sometimes,” he offered weakly.

“Well then I’m definitely not bringing you around a bunch of beefcakes who’ll steal you away from me.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, though. Let’s watch the game.”

“Okay,” Blaine said, his voice soft. “I’d - that would be really nice, if we could go back to my apartment for it. I appreciate it.”

Kurt smiled, and he wished he could see Blaine’s face. “I might bring reading material in case I get bored,” he warned. “But I promise at least to keep you company.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Kurt.”

The genuine gratitude in Blaine’s voice, his seeming surprise at the compromise in his favor - all of it made Kurt sure that he’d done the right thing. “Of course,” he told Blaine. “Anything for you.”

#klaineccvalentines2022 #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #my fic #fic: the feeling's plain to me

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

For the Thank You Next can you do Imagine with James Potter?

thank you, next.

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: you go through the stages of love till you find your person.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mutual pinning, over use of sarcasm it’s so bad, SWEARING, kissing, mentions of kissing, mentions of an arm falling off, mentions of injury

—0:00

‘Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say "thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel’

one day, when you’re young, your mother tells you, ‘there’s lots of fish in the sea, but you have to wait for the right catch’ or maybe that was just your deranged mother. normally, you thought all of that was bullshit. a slytherin princess should never be mistreated, someone whomst you honour and adore with all in your beating heart; turns out slytherin boys didn’t get the fucking memo.

the only person who did understand was the one and only, regulus arcturus black. but you unfortunately lacked sexual attraction to him so therefore you couldn’t date him, so that was a feigning issue. evan rosier was fit, top of his classes and a quite nice mop of blonde on his head, he was a quidditch player and a pureblood slytherin; so etiquette is to be clearly expected. too other schoolmates, especially the fawning girls of almost every house, he was probably the full package, one of the alpha males that roamed the hallways at hogwarts; oh were those girls the biggest knob heads to exist.

turns out he was just the biggest fucking dick to ever walk the planes of the earth, he ran around with idiots like lucius malfoy— another mistake of the century, and little severus snape; thank merlin, and salazar slytherin themselves you never resorted to him.

‘One taught me love

One taught me patience

And one taught me pain

Now, I'm so amazing

Say I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

So, look what I got

Look at what you taught me

And for that, I say’

normally your first couple of boyfriends should teach you something out of the relationship, maybe what you needed to strengthen for the next time you were in an intimate relationship, like trust, communication, maybe even sexual intimacy.

all these absolute dunces taught you was to pick your boyfriends better, and to stay away from every slytherin male that had ever entered hogwarts. evan— oh, he only taught you that everyone and everything was a priority over you, always the ‘talk to you later.’ and the casual, ‘blowjob?’ comments; absolutely fucking arse. lucius, couldn’t forget his moto in your mind even if you jammed it in your strongly-witted brain that money was power and money over any atom to every exist.

regulus understood, strict pureblood parents but he still understood how to treat a partner. i guess it was nice not picking up every habit of walburger and onion— sorry, walburga and orion, noble heirs of the house of black. yeah, did i mention they were second cousins?

‘Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)’

“you could always hang out with my brothers mates, i see them not casually oogling you.” oh regulus, sometimes you did lack the slytherin wit and ambition. he was sprawled on the malachite coloured couch, a pearly white quill fumbled between his slender digits as he started aimlessly into oblivion at the dying out fire in the midst of the frigid common room.

“yeah, let me go hang out with my best friends brothers friends, slytherin haters! such a good idea, reg. maybe they should’ve put you in ravenclaw from that amazing idea!” if you were sarcastic before, there aren’t a non-vulgar amount of words in the universe to describe the tremendous mockery in your tone; as you intensely stared into the crevices of the ceiling while laying on the opposite viridescent sofa.

“merlin, tone down the sarcasm a bit? i was just offering, it’s not like your a pureblood, or a prat.” regulus offered, looking at your form, your elbow now covering your eyes and making recurring heavy sighs every few minutes. “being a half-blood is enough for hatred, regulus, m’dear.” you sighed again, in defeat. hopeless romantic and hated by many, fantastic, am i right?

‘Spend more time with my friends

I ain't worried 'bout nothin'

Plus, I met someone else

We're havin' better discussions

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that (so good with that)’

don’t think, breath and just do what your heart tells you to. fuck that— panic, cry, scream, whatever, be scared. you were gaping at the red mass and overdue of shades, it wasn’t ugly but definitely not the prettiest colour to exist; mixed with mustard yellow. gryffindor students absolutely covered in both. well students, no, james potter, yes.

he happen to be your victim, well friend of sirius; regulus did say after all they oogled you, whatever that meant. you both played quidditch, pretty decent grades, both had good humour, your more so, i mean c’mon you couldn’t find that wit just anywhere, and well you could be best friends. well friends, acquaintances, maybe one, possibly. if only you had the confidence of a leo male, all you needed was to strut over to the damn quidditch field and say something, literally anything.

so that’s exactly what you did, your shoes crunching against the no-longer damp grass, dry after morning dew showers. your bag hanging off of your left arm, your head preoccupied with ways on how to greet someone because slytherin etiquette right now was not the way to go; it would only cause assumptions and stereotypes. i mean who the actual fuck says, ‘how do you do?’ anymore.

‘She taught me love (love)

She taught me patience (patience)

She handles pain (pain)

That amazing (yeah, she's amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I say’

enemies, nope. acquaintances, don’t think so. friends, getting there. close friends, i would say. if someone ever said they saw james fleamont potter hanging around a slytherin they would’ve assumed that someone was knocked upside the head with the biggest beaters bar you could find, but the green and red weren’t that bad of a mix after all.

henceforth, here you were giggling like school girls with james fucking potter right by the black lake. “james, respectfully, stop carrying that stupid snitch everywhere. doesn’t it weigh down your pockets?” you queried the boy who was fumbling with the golden snitch for the past three minutes, flipping his hair so he could knock the brunette tendrils from his eyes while he gaped at you.

you were glowing— the sun at its highest peek, he could’ve been on his knees thanking albus dumbledore in his office for free period; knowing james we would’ve offered to comb his beard and maybe even a shampoo and condition it while he was at it.

your eyes glittered as you chortled at him for dropping that stupid ball for the third time, your hair dancing in the wind like it was a routine, a perfect routine, your teeth glinting at the suns ethereal rays that hit you just right. imagine if james’ foolish cocky mask instead would’ve rejected your offer of friendship that one humid day on the quidditch pitch— he would’ve been the biggest git to ever stride the planet.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next’

friends, that’s what it was suppose to be. pals, mates, schoolmates, whatever the fuck you called it. it wasn’t suppose to be frenemies, to friends to lovers! you weren’t suppose to notice the navy blue flecks of colour in his cerulean eyes, the way his lips curled in a smile after he caught that silly snitch that blazed the thick sure after a hefty match, the way he brushed the tresses of hair behind your ears when the wind was assaulting your face and you were basically swallowing your hair.

now sitting with him in the library you were mentally stabbing your stygian heart, why men. why do they do things, why do men sometimes have the decency to show sympathy, and partiality with their friends. he hugged you, he kissed your forehead when you felt dejected, james potter went through the slytherin common room to bring you chocolates on your period. which fucking gryffindor would do that, huh? definitely not frank longbottom or fabian prewett.

his hand scathed yours as he pointed at how to make a draught of peace potion, his hand was warm and smooth but only from what you touched— you could see slight callouses forming on the pads of pads palm from broom handling, and the small cracks in his knuckles from the lacking use of lotion. you felt the rapid rate of your heart merely increasing at the minute from the slight touch, a rush of rose clouded your cheeks. this was so embarrassing.

‘One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash (song is a smash)’

you were mid flight, smashing a bludger in the direction of the vermillion colours. even when you were immensely sweaty, intensely panting, abundantly tired, and your arm looked like it wanted to fall off he wanted to kiss the energy back into you. james loved winning against slytherin, it might’ve been his favourite thing at hogwarts; but he would murder a pack of death eaters if it meant he got to see your smile when your emerald-clad seeker clutched that small golden ball.

both teams landed, a handshake due for the game to be over after almost two continuous hours of playing and that stubborn ball blazing the air. he meant to walk over there, a hug overdue in his prideful way of saying congratulations but he did not think that he would’ve strided over to your panting figure and clasped your soft cushion lips with his own parched ones from the continuous heaving in his breath.

your lips tasted of peach, hints of mango. your lips dried of chapstick but still smooth— feeling the grooves in your lips, they were puffy and swollen probably from the tremendous amount of times you had bitten your lips in anxiety. your lips disconnected for a moment, suddenly realizing that you had an audience of your fellow slytherins, your enemy gryffindors and not one but two shocked crowds of hufflepuffs and ravenclaws suddenly watching the private scene unfold.

james cleared his throat, looking at your grinning face that was encased between his palms, your face was significantly flushed, your chest moving every millisecond at the loss of breath in your lungs. “good, uh, good game james.”

‘I've got so much love (love)

Got so much patience (patience)

I've learned from the pain (pain)

I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I'll say’

cocky, quidditch captain, school prankster, pureblood gryffindor, and head boy. that to the peering eyes of hogwarts was james potter, but he was so much more than that. he was like an onion, gross comparison but for the sake of it you’ll use it, he had layers but everyday it’s like you cried a little less and you peeled just a bit more.

he was benevolent, he guided first years to common rooms and sometimes he studied with fourth year hufflepuffs. he was sensible, sometimes, he helped out madame pomfrey in the healers wing when remus had been injured from a full moon along with any remaining students in the ward from previous incidents, not to mention, you did uncover remus’ ‘furry secret’ and swore to secrecy. and most of all, james was cherishing, he actually did give a fuck when you had a bad day, he stroked your back and hummed you stupid baby lullabies.

i mean could you imagine lucius malfoy and evan rosier humming a girl lullabies when they were upset? celebratory kisses after quidditch, bringing you snacks while you were overwhelmed in school work and actually made an effort in the relationship? they would’ve bought you a pair of red bottoms and called it a day.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Yeah’

there was infact one thing that your past relationships taught you;

never date a man to ever be put in the slytherin house ever again.

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @maddoxsmythologicalmind @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @spencerfuckingreidswhore @artemis1orion @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @dear-luna @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @sirius-animagus

#james potter one shot #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #harry james potter #james potter x oc #james potter x you #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #james potter series #james potter supremacy #james potter smut #james potter angst #james potter fanart

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amlovelies · 2 years

Text

shifting

this is another one of the prompts I shame deleted earlier in the year. ♙: sharing a bed from the non-sexual acts of intimacy list

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating: T swearing and some suggest language words: 1.3k read on ao3

It’s been a long fucking day. Tiredness pulls at your limbs; the sight of the roadside motel almost brings a tear to your eyes. Maybe you’re going soft, grown too used to sleeping under a roof, on a real bed.

It’s cheap, you could have even afforded to pay for the room without feeling the pinch, but Ortega takes care of it. She’ll expense it anyway.

A few hours of sleep and then you’ll be in position tomorrow to stop the tradeoff. Bad guys get caught and the city will be a little safer, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

The door to the room opens and you feel your heart sink. It’s dingy and small. The single bed might pass for a full, if you were feeling generous, which you aren’t. There’s no way you can share that with all six feet of Julia. She takes up too much space as it is, and even as exhausted as you both are you can tell from the gleam in her eyes that this is giving her too many ideas. Bad ideas. Terrible ideas which make your pulse race and your hands feel clammy.

“How cozy,” she says with a purr in her voice as she sits down on the edge of the bed. It groans with her weight, and the sound makes something twist in your stomach. The combination of the mattress creaking and her looking at you like that is a terrible thing. This wanting is a terrible thing.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” The words rush out of you.

“Don’t be an idiot, the carpet looks even worse than the comforter.”

It does. Mysterious stains litter its surface, but you’ve been through worse. Not that Ortega would understand that, at least it’s inside.

“I’ll be good I promise,” she says as she rises from the bed and holds her hands up in mock surrender.

You shoot a withering glare in her direction.

“Please, even I have my standards,” she says with another glance at the dingy comforter.

“Hardly,” you scoff. “Otherwise, I’d definitely be safe.” Still don’t understand why she keeps kissing you. Will probably never understand it.

She frowns at that. Taking a step closer to you and reaching out. You jump a little as her hand brushes your hair out of your face, lingering, letting a curl twine around her finger, before tucking it behind your ear.

She’s too close. Her eyes dart down to your lips. You can’t let her kiss you: not alone in this tiny room, not surrounded by the empty desert, not when you have nowhere to run.

“I’m sure the bathroom is even more horrifying.” Your voice breaks the moment and you take the opportunity to turn away.

“You’re probably right,” she responds with a chuckle, stepping back and giving you the space, you so clearly need. If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t let it show. She has to be used to this game by now.

You take your turn in the bathroom first. You’ve seen worse. The light flickers and there is mold growing on the shower curtain, but it’s serviceable. Three checks of the lock before you feel comfortable enough to use the toilet, to expose your bare skin, to expose the glowing orange tattoos crisscrossing your skin.

You hate seeing them, hate being reminded, but maybe you need it tonight.

She takes her turn in the bathroom after you. There is an alarming groan as the shower starts followed by muffled cursing.

You focus on getting comfortable, making yourself as small as possible on one side of the bed. You try to ignore what’s happening on the other side of the bathroom door, but you can't. Guessing how she is undoing her long braid, letting her dark hair fall around her in heavy waves and curls, before peeling off her suit. You’ve seen most of her at this point. Ortega has never been shy, and you hate how easy it is to conjure up an image of her bare skin in the florescent light.

Suddenly, from the bathroom, Ortega’s loud and off-key singing jars you from your thoughts. She sings in the shower, of course, she does, but not well. She’s no siren, and rather than drawing you in, the singing makes it easier to move your thoughts to safer waters.

It’s easy to pretend to already be asleep when she crawls in next to you, your name a quiet question on her lips which you refuse to answer.

She doesn’t press, just sighs as she settles in, facing the opposite wall and leaving a scant few inches of space between you.

It’s a good thing you are so petite; Ortega takes up so much room. Physically and metaphorically, it’s always been the case. In whatever room she’s in, drawing in all eyes, filling the space, filling your thoughts. You need to sleep, but it hard to turn your mind off, to stop thinking about those few inches. Impossible to stop thinking about the woman next to you when you can hear her quiet breathing.

The farm taught you techniques, ways to sink into sleep. You put them to use. Counting your breathing and willing your mind to stop thinking about how close she is, to let darkness claim you.

You wake sometime in the night when Ortega shifts in her sleep. Shifts and rolls over to mold her body against yours. You tense for a moment at the contact, but it doesn’t take long for you to relax into the warmth of her body. The static of her mind a soothing white noise to lose yourself in. Her arm is a light weight across your waist. Not trapping you, but just holding you. You could slip out easily.

You should slip out. Spend the night on the floor, or even better yet, slip out the door and into the night.

But it feels too good, and you can’t bring yourself to leave. Safe. Not a feeling you are used to, especially in sleep, and not one you should be feeling now. Not with Ortega’s flirting and innuendo and the secrets hiding underneath your clothing, but you do. You don’t need any techniques to return to sleep, the soft rhythm of Ortega’s breathing all the lullaby you need to let it reclaim you.

Her voice wakes you in the morning, a gentle cajoling in your ear, “Cyn, despiertas.” A small kiss to your temple, her body shifting, as she props herself up on an elbow.

You don’t want to move, don’t want to wake up, don’t want to leave this bed or this shithole hotel.

Pain, hot and surprising, blooms in a deep place in your chest, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight to keep any tears from escaping. You want this, and you can never have it. You should have slipped out of the bed in the night. You shouldn’t have let yourself taste this.

Something you can’t have. Not the way you want it. You never fully understood it before. The preoccupations with sharing a bed, sex was easier to understand, a biological urge, but this was different.

A vulnerability, trust, it’s hard to feel the tension return to your body. You know she can feel it too, the way you stiffen, losing the softness of sleep, that heavy lassitude and the way your limbs had almost melted into hers.

Like something you can’t quite describe, they didn’t program you for things like this, you can’t peek into her mind to see if she knows the words. If she felt it too.

Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. She’s shared her bed with others, it’s probably not the same for her. Just sleep. Just heat, not like a revelation.

You can’t ask her, so instead you quip, “your breath stinks.”

She laughs as she rolls away, and her absence is so fucking cold.

tagging: @lord-king-saint @lilyoffandoms @roses-and-roux @plotbunny-bundle

#lovelieswrites #the deleted prompts #non-sexual acts of intimacy #if: fhr #fallen hero #fhr ortega #oc: Cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #ship: you'll be her ruin

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 19: Strike

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

God dammit.

Someone is definitely knocking on his door, and it’s a knock Mulder instantly recognizes.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “It’s Frohike.”

Scully is hastily pulling her sweater back on, fumbling with the buttons. “How do you know?” she whispers.

“He has this stupid knock pattern he uses to signal it’s him,” Mulder hisses, picking up his shirt off the floor and yanking it back on. “Don’t move; I’ll get rid of him.” He exits the kitchen, closing the kitchen door partway to obscure any view of Scully from the front door. He blows out the melting tapers as he passes the table and opens the door with a sigh.

Frohike’s fist is poised to knock again, and Langly is standing behind and slightly to the left of him.

“Dammit,” Mulder says. “I specifically requested a tall brunette this time. You boys better be cheap.”

“Not cheap enough for a tightwad like you,” Frohike retorts. “Besides, we can’t stay.”

“We were in the neighborhood and decided to go bowling,” Langly explains. “You interested?”

Frohike sniffs, narrowing his eyes at Mulder. “Hm… I don’t think he is,” he says suspiciously. “I smell freshly extinguished candles.” He cranes his neck to see into the apartment. “You having a seance in there?”

“Without us?” Langly adds.

“I didn’t think you guys were allowed out this late without adult supervision,” Mulder says dryly. “Where’s Byers?”

“In the van. Designated driver,” Langly answers. “And your shirt’s backwards.”

Mulder tugs at his t-shirt. He’s right; the neckline is riding up his throat in the front.

“Did we interrupt something?” Frohike asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “On second glance, you do look a little sloppy.”

“Byers would say ‘unkempt’,” Langly chimes in.

Mulder ignores their ribbing. “Enjoy your bowling,” he says flatly, closing the door.

“Bye, Agent Scully,” Frohike calls past him as the door swings shut.

He leans his forehead against the closed door for a moment. Those fuckers, he thinks.

He returns to the kitchen and finds Scully standing, leaning against the counter, chewing her lip. Her cardigan is buttoned all the way up, and his heart sinks a fraction.

“Bowling,” he explains, throwing a thumb over his should to point to the door.

“So I heard.” She fingers the hem of her sweater. “That was nice of them to invite you along.”

“They’re good guys,” he shrugs. “I used to spend every weekend alone save for them inviting me to some nerdy thing or other.” He purses his lips. “I, um, didn’t mention this… us… to them, but they’ve known how I feel about you for a while, so calling your name was a lucky guess,” Mulder explains. “I’m sorry; I know you want to keep this fairly private.”

“It’s fine,” she says with an exhale. “I know it sounds crazy, but at this point I feel like they’re some of the most trustworthy people we know. At least in terms of not leaking things to the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “Paranoia is a tool, Scully. Don’t fight it, utilize it.”

She looks down at his shirt and her lips twitch into a smile. “I can’t believe you answered the door looking like that, Mulder,” she says. “You’re not fooling anybody.”

Mulder sighs and pulls his arms out of the sleeves, turning the t-shirt around. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, wrestling with the fabric. “I got dessert.”

“I thought I was the dessert,” Scully says slyly, reaching out and smoothing Mulder’s shirt down as he elbows his way through the sleeves.

“Hm… not a bad idea,” he murmurs, reaching out and grasping her waist. He leans down and slides his nose along hers. “And perhaps I can interest the lady in a slice of Mulder this evening?”

She nuzzles his cheek, her face aglow with what might be contentment. “Maybe if Mulder tells her what he got for dessert.”

“Ice cream,” he replies, kissing the tip of her nose. “Pecan praline.”

They make it to the couch after all, just in a different context. Mulder’s not complaining.

“I have a busy couple weeks ahead of me,” he says around a spoonful of ice cream, “what with scheduling an STD test and cleaning out my spare room.”

“You mean your bedroom?” Scully says, using her spoon to motion to the wall behind them. “You know what those are, right? Though usually people put beds in them.”

“You can be as glib as you want, Scully, but I’m doing this for the both of us,” he argues. “I fully intend to take you to bed, and it sure as hell won’t be on this couch. At least not the first time,” he amends.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says, licking her spoon. “But may I remind you that I already possess a bed, and having you in it is not an unappealing concept. We can always use mine.”

“I know,” he says, suddenly serious. “But I think it’s important that I do this, like some kind of ritual to mark a significant change.”

“And what change is that?” she asks quietly, tucking her feet up on the couch and resting her ice cream bowl on her knee.

Mulder leans his head back on the sofa. “I don’t entirely know,” he confesses. “But I feel different. More like I’m living, not just waiting for something. I feel like I have the power to change things for myself.” He absently stirs his melting ice cream. “I don’t know if… if that’s something I’ve ever really had the chance to feel.”

Scully doesn’t say anything, just sets her bowl on the coffee table and curls into his side, resting her head on his chest. He’s surprised by the intimacy of it, of Scully letting down her guard and allowing herself to be perceived as the petite, soft woman she is. She’s nestled beneath his arm, breath warming his sternum, and he allows his eyes to slip closed as their heartbeats slow to a steady rhythm, a coronary waltz.

This feels like peace.

“Scully?” he mumbles, fingertips gently scratching her scalp.

“Hm?” she replies into his shirt.

“Am I really a tightwad?"

#short and sweet like scully #heh #my fic #msr #txf fic #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #eveybody's fully clothed in this chapter sorry #SLOW BURN BABYY

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twopoppies · 3 years

Note

hey, can u rec fics that deal with loneliness? intimacy issues/ struggling to put urself out there and maintain or form meaningful relations (not strictly romantic). or fics that deal with a deep, encompassing feeling of sadness/grieving? basically an emotional hurt/comfort fic where one character is terribly, terribly sad. please hv a wonderful day

Hi darling. I think I can give you some, yes.

Literally Making Love by Brooklyn_Babylon / @twopoppies (E, 30K) this one is mine, so here’s the summary:

Holding up one of the android's eyes to the workshop’s windows, he smiled as the light picked up the gold flecks in the pale green of his irises. Louis had always paid attention to even the tiniest details.

All Louis intended to do was rescue someone in need from loneliness. He had no idea it would be himself.

My husband (29/M) died and has been possessed by a demon and now he’s cooking eggs in my kitchen as if nothing happened, what do I do? by adoreloux (M, 4K) I’ve only recently found this author, but I love their fics. They’re definitely unique, just a bit quirky, and so well written. This one made me cry (I mean, Harry is dead. Sort of).

wishing you were them by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry (T, 20K) This author always has such a lovely way with words. This fic, in particular, does a great job depicting deep depression and loneliness. The depression here is compounded by the specifics of Harry and Louis’ relationship, which makes it all the more moving, but still very realistic.

your best fake smile by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf (GA, 6K) This is a wonderfully written character study that does such a great job of really capturing both the feeling of deep depression and the soul of the location in which the fic takes place. It’s tightly written in the best possible ways – not one superfluous word.

Emperor’s New Clothes by sunsetmog (E, 92K) I read this one years ago and while I always enjoy this author’s writing, I don’t recall a ton of details except that the deterioration of Louis’ mental state really made me cry. But don’t worry, there’s a happy ending!

we should open up (before it's all too much) by @disgruntledkittenface (M, 43K) This was just a really unique and beautiful story about loss, grief, and learning how to open up to someone.

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep by @helloamhere (WIP, 4 part series so far, mixed ratings, 101K) Amazing world building, complex characters, beautiful writing. It’s still a WIP, but it’s so worth reading (and the author says they’re working on more so…fingers crossed)!

hope you guessed my name by juliusschmidt (E, 9K) Harry is a devil, Louis is human. I don’t know what it is about this fic, but I just adore it. It’s so moving and so beautifully written and yes, I cried over Harry being a lonely cryptid.

Little Technicolor Things by scary_crow (M, 72K) This is truly one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read and it is an absolutely travesty that it’s not being talked about every day. This fic is gorgeous and poetic and romantic and heartbreaking and an explosion of metaphoric images and everything I never knew I needed but now that I have it I want to read it over and over and over.

Make Your Words A Weapon by HelloAmHere (E, 36K) I read this a second time recently, and it’s even better than I remembered. I love everything this author writes, but this one just really hit me hard for whatever reason. Maybe it’s the way they explore Louis’ anxiety and coping mechanisms and pain and the way he pushes people away and protects himself, but also wants someone to push back just a bit and love him despite all of that. And the way Harry is the perfect foil for all of it, while also feeling like a fully developed character himself. Yeah, it’s probably all of that. Plus soul marks!

Shake Me Down by AGreatPerhaps12 (NR, 209K) this fic will run you through the wringer, but it’s really a great read. I really like the way the author took the boys from enemies to friends to boyfriends, and how we got to see how protective and supportive Louis became towards Harry.

But I’m Weak by @afangirlfantasy (NR, 2K) This was gorgeous. And SO sad. And I would read 50K of this if I was a masochist. 2K is about all I can handle of this level of angst, but boy was it beautifully written.

----

You can also check this rec for fics where characters struggle with mental illness this one for hurt/comfort fics and this one for death/grieving fics. Hopefully all of this will give you some of what you’re looking for.

#sadness/loneliness #my fic rec #larry fic rec #Anonymous

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