ramblesandreblogs:

ramblesandreblogs:

Oliver wears a suit and Connor likes it…this is the worst, i’m the worst, i’m going to hide now

“Well, what do you think?”

At the sound of Oliver’s voice, Connor tosses down the months-old magazine he’d been leafing through and looks up. He stands as Oliver walks out of the dressing room, outfitted in a black tux and carrying a jacket.

Fuck he’s gorgeous.

The shirt and vest are fitted and show how perfectly Oliver’s strong shoulders taper down to a trim waist. The pants rest so cleanly on his hips that Connor just wants to grip right there and feel Oliver’s skin heat under the layers of cotton. Oliver walks past to a three-way mirror across the room and Connor’s given a perfect view of how well those pants frame Oliver’s ass. Oliver slips the jacket over his shoulders and buttons it and Connor is practically brought to his knees. Oliver like this, perfectly pressed and wrapped up in all of those clean lines, makes Connor just want to destroy him in the filthiest ways.

God bless his sister and her vow renewal ceremony and her brilliant idea to ask Oliver to be an usher.

Read More

ilikeyouxactually:

Ugh jfc just fuck me up with your adorable headcanons, thanks Molly. You slay me, but thank you. This is what I needed at 2:30 am. This gave me life, and I only hope I do it justice. Enjoy.

Any day at the Keating Law Firm was enough to make Connor tired and stressed. Simply because Annalise didn’t just work her employees, no. She worked them until they couldn’t anymore, wrung them out, and left them out to dry. She was brutal, and that was putting it nicely. That was on a normal, good day. Connor would go home to his loving boyfriend, exhausted and overworked, too tired to even move.

But today wasn’t a good day. The farthest thing from it. Between court, digging up last minute case information in a scurried frenzy, plus making a dash to take an exam which he had been studying for the last week, Connor was drained. No amount of coffee could pull him out of this one.

As he stumbled into his apartment—he and Oliver recently moved in together—he clutched his jacket, fingers curled tightly around it as it draped over his shoulder. Dark circles framed his eyes, lack of sustenance made him pale and weak, and his hair was a disaster. Fallen in front of his face, looking completely disheveled.

Normally Oliver hated it when Connor just dropped his things at the door and neglected them, but given the circumstances, Connor was forgiven when he abandoned his things at the entryway. Briefcase, jacket, and shoes all littered on the floor. The sweet smell of chicken and rice wafted through the air and into his nostrils, but he was too tired to eat—too tired to even think of eating.

Making his way back to the bedroom, he didn’t even call out to Oliver…feeling too exhausted and miserable. He collapsed on the mattress, the warm fluffiness of the blankets encompassed him, body sinking into the cushy surface. It was like a cloud, a heavenly, perfect cloud. Just as he felt himself getting comfortable, the bed shifted beside him: Oliver.

“Hey, didn’t see you when you came in…” Oliver’s voice was soft. Soft like velvet and warm like curling up next to a fire—comfortable and safe. Connor made a soft noise in response, pouting from how much he ached and yearned for sleep. “Poor baby,” Oliver began, shifting so he was carefully sitting on Connor’s ass, hands moving up the expanse of his back, “you’ve been working so hard…let me take care of you…”

Connor was not about to protest. Oliver’s hands were like magic. Trailing and dragging up his back, palms pressing the perfect amount of pressure to make him groan and whimper softly. Oliver’s fingers worked over Connor’s shoulders, moving in slow, deliberate circles to unwind each and every knot Connor had.  

“O-Oliver…” Connor pleaded. Though his pleasure-induced hazy mind didn’t know what he was asking for, his body did. More of Oliver’s magic massages. And Oliver was eager and willing to serve. His hands brushed over Connor’s back in long, slow motions. Pressing down firmly at his middle, and easing as he moved upwards. Tender squeezes worked on Connor’s shoulders, thumbs rotating in slow circles to uncoil every kink of pent up pressure and stress. Connor made soft, low noises beneath Oliver, pleased with how perfectly Oliver took care of him.

Oliver rubbed and massaged Connor’s back for as long as his boyfriend needed—until he was completely unwound and left in a clouded state of bliss. He collapsed on the bed beside him, Connor’s limbs instantly moving to tangle with Oliver’s. Connor connected their lips in a slow, passionate kiss. His fingers threaded in Oliver’s soft hair as shallow noises escaped his lips. Pulling off, Connor stared deep into the dark, enchanting abyss of Oliver’s eternal gaze. A warm smile spread over his upturned lips before burrowing his face into Oliver’s chest. “I love you so much,” Connor sighed weakly, content with just laying with his boyfriend after a stressful day.

“I love you too, Con.” Connor smiled happily at the response, going in eagerly to kiss Oliver again. “Hey, why don’t we save that for after dinner? Here. I’ll bring in our food with my laptop and we can continue watching Desperate Housewives, Then we can go back to kissing.” Connor merely smiled, shaking his head as he pushed off Oliver, watching the other man make his way off the bed. Before Oliver could get away, Connor grabbed his wrist, and tugged him in for a quick kiss, Oliver’s hands wrapping instinctively around Connor, pressing their lips more firmly against each other. “Yeah… the food can wait.”

pi-on-a-skateboard:

So my friend forced me into The 100 and I ended up BAWLING (sector 17, for those who care) and… it spawned this. Just, you know, a plotless h/c drabble. Because why not?

A simple movie night. A marathon of The 100, some popcorn
and cuddling on the couch. Simple. Easy. That’s all it should have been.

He should have known. Nothing with the boy was ever simple.

“Connor…” Oliver placed a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder,
almost like he could feel through it,
like emotional energy could pass straight through his skin and be read and
understood. “Are you crying?”

Read More

ramblesandreblogs:

Prompt: Best friends and we drunkenly made out last night and it was awesome but this is also a problem because I’m in love with you.

Author’s note: This contains more Team Bosher than I originally intended…my bad…

---

They’re out of milk again.

Connor lets the door of the fridge bang shut and reaches to put his bowl back in the cabinet. No milk, no need for a bowl. He snags the box of Raisin Bran off the counter and walks over to the sliding glass door, elbowing open the door as he munches on a handful of cereal. Leaving the door open to help blow the stale air out of the apartment, he leans over the rail of the balcony and looks out over their sleepy block as the sun rises on Sunday morning. He raises a hand in greeting when he sees Asher strolling down the block.

“Stride of pride, baby!” Asher calls out and starts dirty dancing down the block. When Connor boos and throws pieces of cereal down at him, Asher simply smiles and dances even filthier. “Oh yeah. Make it rain.”

“Just get up here,” Connor chastises down in a tone mindful of sleeping neighbors. And sleeping guests.

Asher grins and, with a wink, jogs up their building steps. Moments later, he’s entering the apartment and, with a glance to Connor’s closed door, catches the door just before it slams shut. He joins Connor on the balcony and steals the cereal box. Around a handful, he asks Connor in a teasing tone, “Do we have company?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Oliver.”

Asher visibly deflates. “Aw man. What about that guy with the hair?” He mimics brushing back shoulder length locks. “You two were looking pretty chummy before I left.”

“Where’d you go, anyway?” Connor asks. Anything to avoid talking about his own train wreck of a night. “Looked for you before we left but you disappeared. Tried texting.”

“Oh, yeah.” Asher shoves more dry cereal in his mouth and looks down the block, waving at two of their neighbors walking up. Connor gets the sense that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to talk about his night. “Bonnie, she—” Asher trails off but Connor nods in simple understanding as he takes back the cereal box. No explanation needed.

Connor has Oliver and Asher has Bonnie.  

Read More

ilikeyouxactually:

I literally love this. Connor “ice in his veins” Walsh putting his cold feet all over his boyfriend and Oliver getting fed up with it! YES. Please enjoy. xx

Frank may have been on to something when he described Connor as having “ice in his veins.” Not because he was cold-hearted, no. But because he was literally always freezing. The Keating five stands outside for a few minutes to wait for Annalise? He’s standing there with arms tightly folded across his chest, puffing and blowing into his jacket to warm himself. He’s on the couch watching a movie with Oliver? He’s bundled up in a blanket, pressed tightly against Oliver seeking warmth. He’s at Wes’ apartment for a study group? He’s stolen a blanket and is wrapped up like a burrito on the floor, shivering like a helpless baby kitten.

Or tonight. He’s at Oliver’s—his apartment; the two had decided to move in together over two weeks ago—laying in bed, body flush against Oliver’s. They had laid there quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying the blissful moments of silence before sleep overcame them. Only, Connor always seemed to ruin it. He was spooning Oliver, knees curled into Oliver’s bent legs, and slowly, he would shift his legs until his feet—freezing as always—were pressed to Oliver’s ankles.

Oliver sucked in a quick breath, hissing in aggravation as his eyes flashed open, angrily. “Connor,” he spat under his breath. A low whimper came from Connor as he tried to keep his feet attached to Oliver. “Get those damn icy appendages off of me.” Oliver moved his legs away in a quick motion, making Connor roll onto his back in defeat.

“I’m cold and you just get upset with me,” Connor pouted like a child, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No you’re not cold, Connor. You’re ice. You’re like frostbite. Put some socks on if you’re so cold.” Oliver had rolled over to face Connor, eyes raised in pure annoyance. Because Connor did this every night. A heavy sigh escaped Connor’s lips, flopping his arm to his side.

“I can’t wear socks_, Oliver. Then I’ll get too hot and I’ll be uncomfortable!” The protest was weak, and Oliver was not having it. Not tonight. Not when Connor did this every night, and always got his way.

“So you’re just going to take your pain out on me? Force me to share in your misery?” Oliver muttered weakly, propping himself up on an elbow. Connor glanced up at him helplessly, rubbing his feet together in a fruitless attempt at warming himself.

“I just like to use you for warmth. You’re always so warm Ollie… ‘s not fair…” Connor whimpered sadly. Oliver merely groaned in response, leaning forward to press a long kiss to Connor’s lips. The other man arched his back in response, melting into the sweet, loving kiss. But before it could continue, Oliver was pulling away, his hand moved to rest on Connor’s bare belly.

“You’re such a baby, you know that? Come on, let’s sleep. Put your blizzard toes on me and get warm.” Oliver remarked as he turned back over to go to sleep. Connor’s face instantly lit up as he curled back into Oliver, sighing contently as he pressed his chilly feet back against Oliver. The older man winced for a split second before easing into the touch, holding onto the hand that Connor had snaked around his waist. “You’re lucky I love you.” Oliver whispered under his breath, smiling to himself.

And Connor was lucky.

fuckboywalsh:

So I just wrote a little thing to try cheer ccoliver up. Hope it works and you feel better soon :] ❤

Summary Oliver is looking after a guinea pig for a few days but forgot to tell Connor about the furry lodger.

Read More

sugary-bowl:

Note: I’m not saying secret Vet Oliver Hampton but I’m also not not saying. Also if I were you I’d play THIS because of reasons.

Someone could piece together the traces of this disaster theway he’s pieced together trail after trail of evidence in the past few weeks. APier 1 Imports receipt, the sudden spike of plays on a track in his iTunes, thebandage on his hand. It’s not that difficult, really. Nothing is. There was noplot twist at the end of this story, no quirky happy ending. He was a classic
fool, expecting someone like Connor to change for him. Expecting a person to
change for him at all.

He’d hoped, he was allowed that much wasn’t he? He’d watched
Connor’s eyelashes brush over the tops of his cheeks as he slept, the way his
wet hair sent trails of water down his neck, the shine of mild mania in his
eyes when he spoke. He’d watched and hoped and prayed that he would get to keep
watching, that Connor would settle into this, settle for him. He knew better
though, he knew better than to hold such a silly vain hope and he knew better
than to let himself fall and yet.

A new shelf ornament and no momentum to pick up the shards
of the shattered one, a fresh wrap around his disinfected palm but no relief
for the ache of it, words and melody on full upon his ears but no escape from
the volume of his thoughts.

I hate therefore I don’t
love. It follows logic, but there’s no truth in it. He hates Connor bright and
burning, leaking, and red like the gash across his life line. He hates him the
way he hates violence, petty lies, and war – all because they live inside him untampered
by the layers of calm and composure and acceptance he’s thrown over them.
Connor lives there too now, like the crowning jewel of a hidden collection.

There are things that should never go together, their
dissonance spreading discomfort. Nuns on motorcycles, children wielding knives, a man like him with a man like that, Taylor Swift and bourbon. Now the world has made everything right,
closed the chapter on his hubris, and reminded him of his place. The one he
chose.

The man you used to be would have fought him, fought for
him, with fists or slicing words. But not the man Oliver makes himself be, not
the person he promised he’d be. This man, he destroys overpriced pottery under
the sounds of repeat plays, let’s the blood fall on the shards for minutes and
minutes before cleaning up. He turns the volume down, wraps clean cool bandages
on his more visible wounds, smiles as he purchases a replacement and only
allows himself two minutes once he gets home. Two minutes to stare at the dried
blood on the white porcelain cracked in pointed bits, two minutes to love him,
the way he loves war and violence and petty useless lies. After two minutes he’s
done, the shards disposed, his heartbreak acceptable – quiet and subdued for
weeks until there are knocks like air raid calls outside his door.

freakypumpkin:

I got two prompt over at FF.net. I combined them. It got way too long and more than once I asked myself ‘What the heck are you writing?’.

Now, enjoy my sleep deprived weirdness. 😀

-+-

When a bird took off to fly there was a sound much like a heartbeat and Magnus couldn’t help but feel jealous at the seemingly effortless way the bird escaped the world’s gravity. Magnus had tried to do the same as a little kid. He’d thought if he’d only run fast enough he could do the same. Then wings would spread from his back, his body would become weightless and he could just fly away, leaving all those yelling adults behind.
A childish dream, nothing more. But it was still there, in the back of his mind, whenever he saw a bird taking off, flapping its wings, adding another heartbeat to the wind and Magnus found himself whispering ‘Take me with you’.
-+-
“You’re new”, was the first thing the boy said when Magnus entered the room. The boy seemed oddly relaxed for a patient with heavy bruising, assuming that Magnus had grabbed the right file. He sat on the bed leaning back on on his hands, so his long legs could swing forth and back without brushing the boring linoleum beneath their feet. His head was tilted and unbelievably blue eyes looked at Magnus, big, curious and with that innocence of trusting children. The expression was odd on the face of a 19-year-old. They usually wore darker expressions, hating the world, being annoyed at everything, rolling their eyes. But those eyes didn’t leave Magnus for a second.

Only when the boy smiled, silently asking what would happen next, Magnus realized that he’d just been standing there, staring at the patient.
“Uh, no, I’m not new”, he eventually said, shaking his head slightly before stepping closer, “I’m just filling in for Dr. Loss.”

“Oh, is she alright? Did she have an accident?”
Confused Magnus looked up from the file, again those blue eyes were big, filled with real worry, fear, almost panic even? “No …”, he said slowly, entranced by that intense gaze, it was like the boys emotions were so tangible he could feel them brushing his skin, a million cold fingertips. 

“She just caught a cold, she’ll be back to work next week. She’s a tough one.”
Relieved the boy let out a breath and sank back onto the bed. “That’s good”, he whispered and then continued a bit louder, “I really like her, you know, she’s nice.”
Magnus felt himself smiling. “Don’t worry.” A few seconds past again till he remembered why he was here in this room in the first place. Geez, what was wrong with him today? He’d even gotten more sleep than usual the last night. It couldn’t be from exhaustion. But maybe … his eyes lingered on the boy in front of him who’d began to inspect a whole at the hem of his washed out black sweater. 

“But you aren’t here to ask about Dr. Loss, are you …” A quick peek at the file. “Alexander?”
“Alec”, the boy – Alexander – whispered not looking up from where he now had put a finger through the hole at the sweater’s hem. The piece of clothing was pretty beat up in general, frayed at the hem, collar, at the end of the sleeves. His pants didn’t really look much better, his hair was a black mess, like splattered ink, but he didn’t appear to be a homeless kid. He skin was clean, his lips not chapped despite the lower temperatures lately. And also his hair was maybe messy, but it wasn’t greasy or anything like that.
“Well then, Alec.” Magnus liked the sound and he liked the way the corners of Alec’s mouth tilted upwards at the use of the nickname. “Let’s see those bruises.”
-+-
As it turned out, Alec had quite a few of them, on his arms, his torso, his legs as well. But instead of asking what in the world had ran him over Magnus was mesmerized by the feathers. Black stylized feathers in all sizes were scattered all over Alec’s pale skin. They looked like tattoos, but they didn’t follow any kind of pattern, didn’t form a bigger picture, they were just feathers scattered like at one point they had been real and before they could get inked into Alec’s skin, the wind had whirled them across the skin. The most feathers were gathered on Alec’s right shoulder, trailing down his arm and the last one ending right above his wrist.

“How did you get those bruises?”
“I fell from a tree.”
Magnus raised his eyebrow and managed to tear his gaze away from the feathers for a second.
“A tree?” His eyes moved back and forth between a big purpling bruise on Alec’s stomach and his face. Blue eyes stayed calm and warm. He already knew the disbelieve coloring Magnus’ voice and suddenly Magnus felt agitated about being one of many for this boy.  
“It was a very high tree.”
“But you are here like every other week.”
Alec just shrugged and nodded. “Sure, I climb a lot of trees.”
“And then fall down?”

At that Alec’s gaze fell down to his hands that lay in his lap, his palms turned upward. “I like it”, he said, his voice suddenly dark and serious, but there was something else in there, like long forgotten tears and desperate screams breaking the surface again. “It’s the closest I can get to the wind … and I want to fly, but then I forget …” A bitter smile twisted Alec’s features, sharp as shattered glass and his eyes were filled with silent rage. “I always forget that I can’t fly.” His voice was hoarse, his hands balled into fists.
"Humans can’t fly, Alec”, Magnus said softly, thinking back to his own childish dreams. Birds would always leave them behind.
“Right”, Alec muttered, but his eyes were far away, maybe caught up in his own dreams.   

Magnus walked around the bed to take a look at the boy’s back. That was when he first noticed the feather tied into his messy hair. It was black with a think white line at the end, almost melting into the raven strands. But it was also slightly longer than the other his hair. He should have noticed it earlier especially with the angry neon light casting sharp shadows from above. The bright light was good for inspecting wounds, getting a better look at reddened skin and such, but Magnus couldn’t help but think that Alec’s appearance with his pale skin, those feathers and his blue eyes was made for dim lighting, with soft shadows getting lost in the creases of his sweater, scurrying across is skin, kissing the disarray of tattoos. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Barely … Dr. Loss made me promise to come here whenever I fall from another tree.”
Magnus looked at Alec’s profile. “Are you sure that it’s always a tree?”, he asked carefully. 

Alec rolled his eyes at him, but didn’t turn his head as Magnus stepped behind him. There were some cuts, but nothing serious. “I’m not getting beaten. I live on my own, so first I would have to find somebody to beat me … I just …” His shoulders tensed making scars appear that had been hidden under the dark color of the tattoos. Magnus stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at the zig-zagged lines, that turned into a bigger picture which made even less sense to him than the feathers. “I want to feel the wind.”

Alec’s voice sounded far away as Magnus began to understand the shape of the scars on his back. They were long with edges frayed like the hem of his sweater, his collar, his sleeves and there were two of them. One around his right shoulder blade, the other moving in a kind of half circle around the left. A cold shiver ran down Magnus’ spine, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his own hand shook slightly as he reached out to touch one of the scars, to make sure that it was really there and he wasn’t hallucinating. Though he would have really preferred that at the moment because the scars looked like something had been torn from the skin without any proper medical care to attend the wounds afterwards. 

“What happened to you?”, he whispered, his voice frail and thin like dry leaves. Alec sat up straighter when he felt Magnus’ fingertips move across the scarred skin. 

“You can see them?”, he asked breathlessly, but not daring to turn around.
“What the-? Of course I can see them, what the hell happened to you? Who did this to you? What-?”

When Alec eventually turned around his eyes were calm, but calm like a storm when you moved with the wind instead of against it. His lips were a strict line, the childish naiveness from the beginning was gone. He tilted his head again, but this time the gesture was calculated. His legs had stopped swinging. The boy with the big, round eyes, the honest worry, the relaxed posture, melted away, leaving behind a hauntingly beautiful young man who was ready to take on the world, to make it pay for the pain it had bestowed upon him. 

"You want to know?”, he whispered, his words like tiny shards of glass against Magnus’ skin, but the soft burning from the cuts was addictive. Magnus couldn’t look away, he couldn’t run. “I can tell you”, he continued, his lips curving into a smile that was nothing more than a weapon. “I was born a falcon, but the sky became jealous of me because my eyes were bluer than himself, than the sea, the night sky. He tore apart my wings and watched me helplessly tumbling towards the earth, but as I fell the wind took pity on me and granted me a human body, cushioning my fall. Though when the sky realized I might escape death and with that his wrath, he cursed me so every of my scattered feathers would get burned into my skin, covering up my scars, so nobody of my family that might come looking for me, would recognize me. Since then I’ve been here, trying to fly again, but my human body is too heavy, the wind saved my life, but now I am imprisoned on earth and I don’t know what’s worse.”

Silence followed loud enough to make Magnus’ ears ring. His breathing had picked up, his throat was dry, goose bumps crawled across the skin of his arms. Alec only smiled lazily, exhausted. Too many tears had been shed while telling this story before. He couldn’t cry no more. 

“But it’s not like you’re going to believe me”, he whispered. Again, Magnus felt those thousands of fingertips against his skin, drawing slow circle, trying to calm him down. There was such honest sadness in blue depths. The sadness of a someone being called a liar, crazy, nuts once too often.  
Then he got up and put his sweater back on, the warmth moving with him. Now Magnus felt panic rising within himself. Thousand voices screaming ‘Stay!’ at the same time. This boy, young man, Alec, Alexander was wearing more scars than he was wearing masks and he had already accepted his fate of go on living on his own, like the feather in his hairs, moved by the wind, but never taken away.

“I’ll come back next week-”
“Stay.” Magnus didn’t know when he’d reached out to take Alec’s wrist. His skin was warm and soft and it felt so right. Blue eyes grew round again, surprise flooding their depths, mixed with shock and disbelieve and a pounding heartbeat, excitement and maybe a few silent tears. “Stay”, Magnus said again, his voice growing stronger. “And when you fall the next time I can catch you.”
Because I want to know how it sounds when you laugh, he thought. Don’t stay bitter because of someone else’s jealousy.
And Alec stayed.
-+-
If you run fast enough, then maybe, sometimes, you can catch the wind.

leosfitz:

Thanks so much nonnie! I’ll actually do both of them for you – here’s the second prompt (the cat one) I’ll post the other in a day or two! c: Hope you like it!

The cat was back again, staring at him with those big brown eyes. It wasn’t that Connor didn’t like cats; he liked them fine. It was just that they made his nose run and his eyes water like mad. 

But what baffled him about this cat is that it seemed to be able to fly, because he had seen it crawling in his living room window where he had no balcony. Did it just levitate in or something? It was cute too; small and brown with white speckles. 

Read More

pi-on-a-skateboard:

Ugh, so rusty! But I needed to inflict my pain on someone – apparently I overloaded my shoulder today because a rotating door decided to close as I walked through and I had to shove it. JFC. So of course Connor receives the brunt of it. Just pure, mindless fluff.

He knew Connor had walked in the door not by the sound of
keys rustling against the lock and the squeeze of the door, but instead due to
the grunt of pain and the sound of a bag hitting the floor and a body hitting
the couch.

“What did you do now?” he asked cautiously, turning away
from the simmering pot on the stove and grabbing an ice pack from the freezer
as he headed to greet his boyfriend. “Do I need to cuff that damn arm to your
chest?”

“I, uh…” The sheepish grin almost made him cringe. “I
decided it would be a good idea to pick up my satchel with my right hand and
now the stupid thing’s been useless all day?”

“Connor…” Oliver
slid down over the arm of the couch, kissing the shoulder gently before
replacing his lips with the frozen blue plastic.

Read More