With his breakout single platinum three times over and his second album still selling out in stores around the world, Louis Tomlinson has made it to the top. However, his position as Pop Heartthrob of the Decade is threatened by the edgier, more artistic Zayn, who happens to be releasing an album a week after Louis’ upcoming third. Louis needs something groundbreaking- scandalous, even- to push past him in the charts. Much to Louis’ dismay, his PR team calls in The Sexpert.
Consulting with PR firm Shady, Lane and Associates pays the bills so that Harry Styles can spend his down time doing what he really loves: poring over data. On weekends and late into the evenings, he researches gender, presentation, and sexual orientation, analysing the longitudinal study that is his father’s life’s work. That is, until his newest client, the popstar with the fascinating secret, drags him off his couch and frighteningly close to the spotlight.
As the album’s release date approaches, will Tomlinson and Styles be able to pull off the most risky PR scheme of the millennium and beat Zayn in sales or will the heat of their feelings for each other compromise everything?
When a unique plot, fantastic world-building, and a talented author collide, the results are likely to blow you away.
Consider me blown away!
Reading this fic is like actually living in an A/B/O world - the social norms and politics between the different genders are flawlessly integrated. It’s absolutely immersive and consuming.
Harry and Louis are really interesting characters throughout the story. Their individual arcs are engaging and sometimes surprising, but their path to each other is my favorite thing about this fic. Their chemistry is addictive! I craved their banter and flirting so much!
This is a really wonderful fic. It’s a different take on the A/B/O world, and I loved every second of it!
I want to buy the Volturi Throne so bad. Mostly because it's an f*ing throne, but partly because Michael Sheen's ass has touched it.
I would love to get my hands on one of those thrones too, but there’s nowhere near enough room in my home for it with all my other things. I think if I had one I’d honestly just throw everything but my laptop out, and that chair would just be where I spent the rest of my life; re-enacting Volturi scenes with a cast of only myself like an idiot lmao
I forced my husband to model when I couldn’t find any pictures online showed how amazing this military thermal is for all of your comfy snuggly headcannons. Uploaded cuz of @hoechlbutt talking about Derek Hale in a sweater.
Listen: when I say my heart is broken
I don’t mean there’s a girl. I mean
I went down to the river. I did not
swim. I did not take off my shirt.
My chest is a faulty switchboard
and I can still feel wires for weeks
after the hospital. Listen: the heart
in this poem is not a metaphor. I tied
a penny to a length of fishing line
and swallowed it. The tiny god inside me
leaps as fish do when they’re too close
Zach Goldberg, “After the Hospital,” published in Bird’s Thumb