#{ Void where did you get a champagne flute? }

[voidsentprinces]

*sips water from a champagne flute* ...so whats the oldest thing your WoL/OC can remember fondly?

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[dameronology]

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

--

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

[gointothevvater]

For the first time in forever

This was the very first St. Cecilia fic I ever wrote, and I still absolutely love it! 🖤

.

"St. Cecilia." Pickles's voice was soft, the name sitting strange and bitter on his tongue. He hadn't spoken it in years, though he thought it often. And here she was, right in front of him, her honey-gold eyes locked with his.

"Hey, love," she said, her lilting sing-song accent cutting right through him. It always did. God, he'd missed the sound of her voice.

He reached for her, stopped himself, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, where they could do nothing he would regret. "How ya been?" he asked lamely.

With a rueful smile and a shrug, she said, equally lamely, "Well enough, I suppose." She looked away, and Pickles felt a familiar void open in his chest, already mourning the loss of eye contact. When had he become this pathetic? God, he hated himself. "You?"

Pickles wasn't sure what to say. Things were the same as they had been for years. Dethklok was huge, bigger than Stiletto, bigger even than Snakes N' Barrels, but he was sure she already knew that. What was there to say? "Good," was all he could think of. His eyes slid over the other partygoers, but Nathan was too far to call for help, and Skwisgaar was too busy babysitting Toki to be of any use. No way in hell was he asking Murderface; He'd never live it down. "Just got back from a tour," he said, as if she wasn't aware of it. The whole world knew.

"Heard it was a raging success," she replied lightly, a bit of a teasing tone eking its way into her voice. When a suited caterer stepped past, she snatched a flute of champagne from the tray he carried. She lifted it to her lips, thought better of it, then offered it to him. Sounding almost like her old self, she said, "You look like you need this more than I do."

He accepted, of course, downing the champagne so fast he didn't even feel the bubbles. Fighting the urge to throw down the flute, he huffed, "You know me too well." When he looked at her again, she was looking back at him. She hardly looked like the same person. Fifteen years had passed since Snakes had broken up, but somehow she looked prettier now than she had then, dressed in a black suit far better tailored than his, her hair silvery blonde and hanging loose down her back, her heels high enough that she was almost at eye level with him. How was this even possible? Here he was, old and pudgy and balding, and yet she was still gorgeous. He said, "You look good."

She said, "You, too."

He repressed a shiver when her bright eyes slid over him, turning the champagne flute over in his hands, paying special attention to the place where her lips had touched the glass, leaving a little smear of dark lipstick. He swiped it away with his thumb.

There was a long pause, then St. Cecilia muttered, "Christ, this is awkward."

There was nervous laughter in her voice, and Pickles mirrored it, tipping his head towards the bar and asking, "Wanna get a drink?"

"More than anything!" Her laughter was genuine now, and to Pickles's surprise, when he offered his arm, she took it, murmuring, "What a gentleman." She sounded impressed, and Pickles felt his chest swell with pride.

They stepped through the crowd of record execs and singers and musicians to the bar set up against the far wall, claiming a pair of empty stools, and Pickles ordered them each a whiskey neat. While she sipped at hers, he downed his with a great sigh, saying, "Been way too long."

"Since you've had whiskey?" St. Cecilia asked, laughing when he shot her a deadpan look. The sound was like fire, warm and bright and blazing through him. He'd have blisters when they parted, he was sure of it. They'd hurt like hell.

"Since we seen each other," he said, feeling raw and vulnerable. Fucking gay, he scolded himself. He was the most famous drummer in the world, he had a different girl in his bed every night, why did this one make him so nervous? It was fucking ridiculous. Stupidly, he asked, "You got a boyfriend?"

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and he felt his heart shudder, then shatter. Softly, she said, "I do, actually."

He said, "Shit."

He was immensely relieved when he heard Nathan shout, "Pickles! We're leaving!" When Pickles glanced in his direction, he saw Nathan supporting a thoroughly drunk Toki while Skwisgaar had his head tilted back and nursing a bloody nose. Murderface was nowhere to be seen, and that was the most worrying thing of all.

St. Cecilia asked, "Already?"

Pickles tried not to be comforted by how disappointed she sounded, but he failed miserably. "Guess so," he said. He reached for her again, and this time, he went through with it, pulling her into his arms, resting his forehead against her tattooed shoulder. The ink was new, but she smelled like jasmine and cinnamon and cloves, as she always had. Cinnabar, it was called. He'd recognize it anywhere. He pulled away, grabbed a cocktail napkin and a pen from the affronted bartender's shirt pocket and scribbled his phone number on it. "If the boyfriend breaks your heart," he said, handing the napkin over, "call me." As he did, their hands touched, and he pulled away, lest the sparks set him alight. "I'll break his neck."

Smiling, she scoffed, "You would, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Pickles!" Nathan called again. "Now!"

"I'm coming!" Pickles hollered back, green eyes rolling. "God!" Then, without thinking, he pulled St. Cecilia close again, pressing his mouth to hers, reveling in the familiar taste of her lips.

When he pulled back, she whispered against him, "We can't do this." She wanted to, though. Pickles could feel her heart was pounding against his fingers where they rested at her waist. Her eyes were blown dark with want, and she looked away from him again, lifting a black-nailed hand to push a lock of silvery hair behind her ear.

She was right, he knew, and he slipped away from her, to where the boys were waiting for him. Murderface had appeared now, spitting congratulations at him, and Pickles gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Toki found this hilarious, but Pickles couldn't manage a smile. The void in his chest was a bottomless pit now, and he doubted there was enough booze in all of Mordhaus to fill it.

[ascnsion]

▋     𝟗𝑴𝑴     𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑭𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 .  .  .  .  .   ❛   you  really  think  we’re  in  danger?  ❜     𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈  @secondhandmckie​​

      ▎ Knuckles were lined cherry-red,  the flesh unmistakably irritated by brunt force, otherwise Castle’s appearance was shockingly appropriate and clean. If there was a week where the man was void of any injuries or signs of conflict, it would mean the rise of the undead and the start of the apocalypse – there was the smallest of bruises at the bottom corner of his lips which could have passed as a shaving incident, while a more prominent crescent moon shaped bruise sat on the crest of his cheekbone, however it was a week old at earliest. With clean jeans and brand-new, ironed dark navy button-down, Frank could have been mistaken for any Joe instead of a man who was America’s Most Wanted.

He felt. . weird. It was weirder still that he felt so out of place in decent clothing considering similar articles of clothing had been his regular attire when life had been, well, normal - but everyone knew that story even if the gossip articles and internet trolls added weird conspiracy theories and elements from fiction. The annoyed expression on an already formidable face intensified after the third time he waved off a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes and child-sized horderves, and when he looked over at Molly with such an expression, it looked as though she was the concern for his grievances. 

    ❝   No,  not particularly. We made it here on time, and we don’t look.. How did Karen put it, like we found our clothes from the army supply warehouse. I haven’t even fired a gun in three days.  ❞   Frank nearly sounded distressed by the revelation, but it was more surprising than anything else. No guns. No death. No attracting attention. He had stood by his promises, though there was no promising he wouldn’t punch an idiot who very much deserved punching.. And there were a lot of idiotic twenty year olds in needed of physical punishment to bring down their egos hanging around New York. He didn’t need a goddamn little glass of champagne. A steak would have been fantastic, but the party wasn’t really the steak type. He did order a glass of simply orange juice - no, not a mimosa, if only to get rid of the swarming waiters with their ridiculous haircuts.

    ❝  Where is Karen anyway? If she wants me to smile and start talking about the weather, she’s lucky I even found the time to be here.  ❞   Now he was starting to sound a little too much like the idiots he knocked down from their pedestals.

[rekrappeter]

Over Again || r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: being best friends with sarah cameron has it’s perks, her brother is the cherry on top [the usual cliche]

warnings: cursing | smut 18+ pls | most likely a choking kink at some point | unprotected sex | low?? risk of public sex | underage drinking | typos

**is bathroom sex low risk? idk**

note: you can thank @diverdcwn​ and @afterglows7b-tch13​ for there being smut in this :) enjoy + please let me know what you think about this!

masterlist

gif by @ptersparkers​ ♡

"Sarah, be careful," You shouted at your best friend, cringing while you watched the blonde carefully step over live wires to retrieve the stuffed animal stuck in a boat for a little girl. Everyone around you paused to watch the commotion, Rose was walking away in annoyance, muttering profanities under her breath and you spotted the troubled trio watching her intently from across the lawn.

Topper was almost jumping out of his skin, his eyes widening at his girlfriend’s actions. Kelce stood beside him, ceasing his conversation to pay attention to her. And the third and final member had a intense and displeased look on his face, but Rafe wasn't staring at his sister. His gaze was glued to you and you stared back at him, feeling yourself getting hotter under the burning sun. Your attention was snapped to Sarah when the sound of her scream echoed around the river.

Jumping from the spot on the grass that you were sitting on, you rolled your eyes when she started to laugh, mocking your expression. "Idiot," you muttered under your breath, bending down to grab your beach bag to drape it over your shoulder.

"Leaving so soon?" His drawn out voice sent shivers down your spine, his palm rested on your lower back as his chest pressed into your back. He must have rushed over to you in a sweat.

You turned around to face him, your eyes narrowing slightly at the smug smile stretching across his lips. "I have plans." You retorted, starting to walk away from the crowd gathering around Sarah. You knew that Topper would look after her at this point.

"Well, cancel them," Rafe suggested, jogging to catch up with you.

"Doesn't work like that," You scoffed, walking towards your car that was parked by the Cameron's mansion. You went to open the door but Rafe's larger hand closed it just as quick. He placed his hands on your waist, turning you to look at him and he trapped you between his body and your car. "Rafe, we talked about this. It was a one time thing."

"It was fun though, wasn't it?" He smirked, leaning down and placing his lips along your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart hammering against your chest but before you lost yourself under his spell, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away.

"We both agreed it would be a one time thing, we were drunk." You couldn't help but feel embarrassed about the night you spent with your best friend's brother. You had known him your whole life, and despite being closer to his age than Sarah's, you still felt extremely guilty over it. Especially because you haven't told her yet.

Rafe raised up the cup he held firmly in his hand, one you didn't notice before. "I'm nearly drunk now."

"Rafe, it's barely even midday."

You looked up at the taller boy, noticing how soft his skin looked but his eyes were near hallow. The once endearing icy blue orbs were replaced by empty, dull ones. His hair was perfectly gelled back with his sunglasses resting on top of his head. His pink and blue striped shirt clashed against the pink shorts you decided to wear today. If a stranger spotted him, he'd look so put together but you knew him better than that. There was something deeper going on.

"What ya staring at?" Rafe smirked, leaning down attempting to press his lips against yours but you turned your head, making him capture your cheek. "Well, that's just rude." He chuckled, sighing and pulling away completely.

This allowed you to open the car door and create a barrier between you. "You know I'm always here if you want to talk, Ray." You were being sincere, knowing that he didn’t have much trust in other people.

"And you know I'm always here if you want to fuck, Y/N/N."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help your own smile that lifted onto your face. "You're impossible."

"And you're gorgeous."

"Goodbye, Rafe." You sang, hopping into your car and slamming the door shut. You looked at him, watching him signal you to put the window down. "What now?" You asked, resting your elbow on the ledge of the turned down window.

"Do you have a date to Midsummers?" He asked, his stare soft and gentle for once.

You laughed, shaking your head. "You know I don't bring dates to that, they'd have to answer to my father," you tried to play it off as a joke, but deep down, it annoyed you that you couldn't choose who to bring the Kook event of the year. Your father needed a by to by on their life history, in fear of destroying the family name.

"I get along well with your dad," Rafe hinted, he walked closer to the car, his arm leaning against the top of your door and his forehead resting against it, "Let me take you."

Your heart clenched in your chest, watching his face disappearing of any hint of that cockiness he was used to sporting. He looked vulnerable in that moment, the fear of rejection evident. He has asked you out multiple times before but to ask you to Midsummer's was something new. Something you weren't expecting.

"I'll think about it."

The beam in his eyes made your heart soar, and you waved at him, flicking your sunglasses over your eyes and start to pull away from him. "I'm wearing baby blue!" He yelled after the car, and you laughed waving your hand out the window to tell him you heard that.

The day of Midsummers finally arrived. There was no denying that Rafe Cameron occupied your thoughts over the last few nights; he hadn’t tried contacting you and you had been keeping a low profile on the island so was void of any chance of seeing him around. It didn’t bother you that he didn’t call, he never did before. But you couldn’t hide the excitement that was bubbling in your stomach knowing that in less than two hours you were going to see him again, despite turning him down multiple times. You enjoyed the games that he played, you liked making him work for you and you knew that he liked it just as much.

“You look beautiful, princess.” Your father’s voice broke through your thought process, you eyes staring at yourself in the floor length mirror that you had in your bedroom. The champagne pink dress hugged your figure, swooping out at your ankles to show off the heels you bought the day before. You styled your hair simple, clipping in small decorations to hide any bumps or frazzled pieces. 

“Thanks, dad.” You followed him down the stairs, meeting with the rest of your family. The annual pictures were taken, and you eventually found yourself walking through the Island club. The smile that was plastered over you face was genuine as you greeted family friends all dressed up to the nines, the finest champagne in their flutes that they would sip on all night. You didn’t have anything against anyone here, but your mind was solemnly sought on finding the dirty blonde that has been driving your mind crazy. 

The sun was slowly setting, the evening ambiance glowing around the club’s rather large patio. “Y/N!” You heard Sarah’s voice over the live band, watching her stalk away from Topper who was protesting, but shortly gave up when he knew he lost whatever argument they were having now. “You look gorgeous!” She grinned, taking your wine glass out of your hand and carefully took a big gulp, making sure there were no adult figures looking in your direction. 

“As you do, m’darling. Where were you yesterday?” You questioned, watching the blush rise on her cheeks. “Is that what Topper is getting all heated over?” 

“It-it’s nothing, honestly.” Your best friend sighed, taking another drink causing you to roll your eyes.

“Keep that one, I’ll get another.” You said, defeated as she finished the drink. 

Sarah swayed to the music, walking towards the dance floor before turning back to you. “My brother was looking for you by the way.” Your ears perked up at that, following her and popping along to the music. “You didn’t tell me he asked to take you tonight.” 

“What? He told you?” 

“He did, surprisingly.” Sarah hummed, taking your hands in hers and spinning you around playfully. “Why didn’t you accept?” 

“Tell me where you were yesterday.” You played, raising an eyebrow of curiosity in her direction. Her smile faltered and she narrowed her stare at you before giving up, shaking her head. You laughed at her before bidding her goodbye to find a replacement drink. 

You sauntered through the party, smiling at other guests but you didn’t stop to have any meaningless conversation. You found yourself walking inside, finding somewhere a bit more quieter. Hearing the commotion outside, you relaxed on a plush that was situated outside the restrooms. You closed your eyes, relaxing your tense shoulders. “Someone had a bit much to drink already.” 

The sound of his voice caused a smile to automatically appear on your face before you even opened your eyes, and when you did, you were blessed with the sight of him in a tight fitting baby blue suit, like he said. His bow tie was crooked, and there was a line of sweat on his forehead, you didn’t even want to know what he had gotten himself into at this point. You were used to Rafe and his ability to get into a fight with anyone and anything, after knowing him for so many years you just accepted it. 

“N’really,” you smirked, standing up on your heels, watching Rafe’s eyes dance along your body. It brought a sense of confidence out in you, the way his eyes did a second look then a third, before his tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip in anticipation. “I was too busy looking for you.”

“Yeah, me?” Rafe smirked,raising his brow and taking a step closer to you. “You wouldn’t even wait for me to walk in together.” 

“That’s what couples do, we’re not a couple.” 

Rafe closed the neverending gap between your bodies, his fingers brushing your bare shoulder and he slowly dragged his fingertips across your collarbone and up to your jaw. He watched you bite your bottom lip, his cock twitching at the sight of you there. “But we’re real good together.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath fawning across your face. “Plus, I love those heels.” He hummed, noticing the baby blue latch keeping them on your feet. “Very couple like.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, letting him seduce your body with just his lips and fingers. You hated how you gave into him so easily, but he had you trapped under this spell that you weren’t sure you ever wanted to escape from. Your mind wandered to the previous night that you shared together, your stomach erupting in butterflies that were reproducing rapidly. “Fuck me,” You whispered, opening your eyes and seeing the smug look on his face. 

“Here?” He asked, glancing around the empty corridor. 

Nodding eagerly, you eventually closed the aching gap, crashing your lips against his. He didn’t miss a beat, his hand cupping your jaw and moving his lips along with yours. It was intense, eager and sexually fueled. Rafe hoisted you up on his hips, groaning when your legs wrapped around his waist and he began walking in the direction men’s bathroom. He pulled away from you, placing you on the sink counter. You scanned the room, noting no one was here and Rafe immediately locked the entrance before connecting your lips together again.

Your hands fleeted through his gelled hair, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of it and pulling him closer. His own hands bunched your dress up at your hips, knowing this is going to have to be quick but he was going to enjoy every minute of it. You kissed down his jaw, your lips finding their way to his neck as you nibbled and sucked on one spot causing his moan to echo around the restroom. Your hands started to fiddle with his belt buckle, longing to release some of the built up energy. 

You dropped his slacks to the floor, lifting yourself up slightly to allow Rafe to pull your panties down to your ankles. Rafe whimpered when your hand pulled his already hard cock out of his boxers, pumping your hand up and down his length. You ran your finger over the tip, smudging the pre-cum he released. “Ugh, fuck.” He breathed out, pulling back from you to place his lips against yours. He hoisted you closer to him, having you at the edge of the counter and he lined himself up at your glistening core. 

“I don’t have a condom,” Rafe mumbled against your lips.

“It’s okay.” 

“You sure?” He asked, pulling back and looking you in the eye. The eye contact was intense, as if there was an unspoken bond between you. It made you gulp back a lump forming in your throat, and you only nodded, not trusting your voice. Rafe crashed his lips to yours again, and you gasped as you felt him enter you. As the shock dispersed, you moaned in pleasure, your head falling back. You left hand gripped the edge of the counter, your right hand slowly finding its way to Rafe’s shoulder. 

He thrusted in and out of you at a painfully slow pace, watching your chest rise and fall. “Oh, my god, Rafe, fuck me like last time.” You breathed out, the smirk grew on his face as his pace got faster, each thrust became harder and you were riding on cloud nine again. You were losing yourself in the moment; your heavy breaths, Rafe’s moaning, and your bodies smashing together were the sounds bouncing off the restroom’s walls. 

“Oh, shit, babygirl,” Rafe groaned, his thrusts becoming messy as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his body, bringing him closer. Your legs circled around his waist and he hoisted you up off the counter, shuffling along the floor to fuck you up against the wall. 

The sound of the door attempting to open caused Rafe to stop mid thrust, pulling away from you and eying the door. His eyes were ride, amusement swirling in his orbs as he placed a finger on your lips for you to be quiet. You tried to muffle the giggles that were threatening to escape, causing your stomach to tremble. You heard muffled voices outside the door, but Rafe turned his attention back solemnly to you, his thrusts starting up again. 

“Rafe-” You gasped, but he just placed his lips onto yours again, finding the perfect rhythm to bring you to your climax. The thought of someone walking in on you and catching you here with the Kook Prince excited you, allowing you to release even faster than the previous night. Your moans echoed, and you watched Rafe fuck you fast, his eyes were a deep blue now, the lust filling them. 

“You’re such a good girl cumming on me, baby.” He hummed, bringing his face closer to you and hiding his face again. 

“Nu-uh,” You protested, reaching for his throat and pulling him back so you could watch him cum inside you. 

“You like that, baby?” Rafe mumbled, making you nod. You wrapped your fingers around his throat, watching his eyes screwed shut as you tighten your grasp. His pace picked up, he held you close and smashed himself into you, your body banging against the wall. He groaned loudly, opening his eyes to connect with yours, his mouth gaping slightly. You could feel the twitching of his cock inside you, and he exhaled. The sweat was beading on his forehead, but he still looked as handsome as ever. 

Rafe let out down gentle, pulling his boxers and slacks up before going to get some toilet paper to let you clean yourself. He turned his back towards you, giving you an ounce of privacy and you bit your lip, not expecting such a gesture. “Thank you,” You mumbled, your voice soft and fragile. He hummed in response, and you told him he could turn around once you were happy with your appearance. 

You were shocked when he walked back over to you, brushing some of your hair out of your face and placing a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled up at him, reaching to fix his bow tie and patting his shoulders gently. “All good now.” 

He reached down to grasp your hand, pulling you behind him as he unlocked the door and scoped out the corridor before deeming it to be safe. Rafe looked over his shoulder, smirking at you and you let out a chuckle, shaking your head. When you returned to the party, the music was still playing and the dance floor was crowded with guests. Rafe handed you a glass of wine, grabbing one for himself and clicked your glasses together. 

“You ready to get shitfaced?” 

I’m just a sucker for my Rafe rn, honestly!

these are also literally just my fantasies oops

[evansfm]

𝟏𝟎:𝟑𝟎 𝐏𝐌 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄  ;  𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 📱 ››   𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍  +  𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍  

it  was  everything  she  thought  it  would  be  ,  a  friday  night  in  a  sprawling  room  ,  void  of  color  and  filled  with  chattering  voices  over  the  sound  of  a  live  band  that  played  what  sounded  like  elevator  music  to  evan  .  the  only  beacons  of  hope  in  the  entire  place  were  the  twinkling  lights  of  london  from  above  .  .  .    and  isla  .  her  presence  demanded  attention  ,  standing  6’1  in  her  heels  –  all  soft  edges  and  boisterous  laughter  .  she  was  loud  and  scottish  and  without  a  filter  ,  stepped  straight  out  of  that  disney  film  where  humans  turned  into  bears  and  the  princess  wielded  a  bow  and  arrow  .  her  desk  was  directly  next  to  evan’s  ,  much  to  the  chagrin  of  everyone  else  around  them  .  the  only  thing  that  kept  her  SANE  at  events  like  this  when  kieran  wasn’t  around  ,  was  isla  .  “  remind  me  again  what  t’e  hell  we’re  doing  here  ,  ”  evan  groaned  ,  graciously  accepting  a  small  flute  of  champagne  ;  it’d  been  an  hour  and  a  half  and  she  was  well  past  tired  of  being  there  .  “  because  it’s  not  required  but  strongly  encouraged  by  t’e  woman  ‘o  keeps  us  employed  ,  ”  red  curls  nodded  across  the  room  and  evan’s  gaze  followed  ,  simultaneously  catching  the  eye  of  their  boss  —  elegant  and  terrifying  ,  “  smile  ‘nd  wave  ,  ev  .  it’ll  all  be  ov’r  soon  .  ”  she  did  exactly  that  ,  beaming  with  bright  blue  eyes  and  a  look  that  said  ‘  i  am  so  happy  to  be  here  ’  ,  even  though  she  would’ve  rather  been  anywhere  else  .  her  smile  only  fell  as  they  swiveled  back  to  a  grand  wall  of  floor  to  ceiling  windows  .  “  i  don’t  know  how  you  do  it  ,  isla  fraser  .  i  can  only  be  CHARMING  for  so  long  .  one  of  ‘em  reached  out  to  ‘  feel  t’e  fabric  of  my  dress  ’  ‘nd  i  nearly  jeopardized  my  job  over  it  ,  ”  she  shook  her  arm  out  ,  as  though  she  could  still  feel  fingertips  on  her  sleeve  ,  “  i  am  one  more  decrepit  englishman  away  from  losing  my  damn  mind  .  ”  joyous  laughter  passed  isla’s  lips  as  she  glanced  down  at  the  shorter  girl  ,  tone  light  as  ever  as  she  carried  on  .  “  you  see  decrepit  ;  i  see  rich  .  not  all  of  us  are  lucky  enough  to  ‘ave  a  rockstar  sugar  daddy  who's  still  freshly  in  ‘is  twenties  ,  ”  she  joked  .  evan  couldn’t  help  but  roll  her  eyes  ,  grin  still  bright  on  her  lips  at  the  simple  THOUGHT  of  him  .  “  i’ll  have  you  know  ,  i  liked  kieran  well  before  t’e  rockstar  bit  really  set  in  .  his  money  is  only  like  .  .  .  number  t’ree  on  the  list  of  reasons  i’m  wit’  him  ,”  she  giggled  with  a  slight  shake  of  her  head  ,  “  so  t’is  is  just  sugar  daddy  speed  dating  for  you  ,  t’en  .  ”  a  hum  passed  isla’s  lips  as  she  spun  on  her  heel  ,  a  swirl  of  flaming  curls  and  a  curious  smile  .  “  it’s  exactly  t’at  ,  ”  she  said  firmly  ,  eyes  scanning  the  room  with  a  hunter’s  vigilance  ,  “  and  i  t’ink  i’ve  spotted  my  next  candidate  .  ”  she  nodded  across  the  room  ,  prompting  evan  to  turn  as  well  .  she’d  play  along  ,  curiously  glancing  around  the  crowd  and  picking  out  the  who’s  -  next  of  isla’s  game  until  she  found  her  opening  to  leave  .  across  the  ocean  ,  there  was  a  boy  who  would  soon  be  in  a  lull  period  between  soundcheck  and  showtime  .  a  boy  she  missed  terribly  .  a  boy  she  HAD  to  get  on  facetime  if  only  to  show  him  the  pockets  she’d  discover  in  her  dress  .  even  when  he  was  thousands  of  miles  away  ,  she  was  ready  to  return  home  to  kieran  .  “  which  one  ?  ”  she  sighed  ,  “  pinstripes  ?  ”  isla’s  nose  wrinkled  and  she  nodded  again  towards  the  bar  .  “  no  .  all  black  .  ”  the  crowd  between  them  thinned  as  evan  ,  without  much  subtlety  at  all  ,  searched  .

and  that’s  when  she  saw  him  .  hands  tucked  into  his  pockets  ,  DAZZLING  smile  on  his  lips  ,  blue  eyes  as  vibrant  as  her  own  .  tristan  connely  didn’t  age  ;  he  was  the  same  man  to  show  up  in  lorcain  nearly  four  years  before  .  .  .  the  same  man  who  left  in  the  night  without  a  word  ,  nearly  a  decade  before  .  evan  blinked  ,  once  then  twice  ,  hoping  that  maybe  she  was  just  seeing  things  .  but  he  was  there  .  laughing  and  drinking  .  nausea  slowly  began  to  settle  into  her  stomach  as  an  invisible  hand  took  hold  of  her  throat  ;  she’d  known  he  lived  in  london  ,  but  she  never  expected  to  run  into  him  .  it  was  a  massive  city  ,  sprawling  and  crowded  .  “  evan  ?  ”  isla’s  voice  sounded  muted  as  the  chatter  of  the  room  grew  in  volume  and  a  dark  haired  woman  ,  beautiful  and  younger  than  him  ,  wearing  bright  red  lipstick  swooped  into  her  line  of  sight  to  slip  her  arm  through  tristan’s  .  “  earth  to  evan  —  .  .  .  ”  isla  sang  ,  but  it  seemed  she  was  stuck  .  paralyzed  .  dumbfounded  .  she  hadn’t  been  prepared  for  this  ;  the  last  time  she  saw  him  ,  she  was  being  pulled  away  from  a  startling  scene  she’d  caused  in  front  of  the  church  that  housed  the  small  plot  of  land  where  beck  was  buried  .  those  feelings  ,  it  seemed  ,  were  just  as  potent  and  suffocating  as  they  were  then  .  her  freehand  flexed  and  reached  out  for  something  that  wasn’t  there  .  SOMEONE  who  wasn’t  there  .  because  he  was  an  ocean  away  ,  and  tristan  connely  never  did  seem  to  pay  any  mind  to  good  timing  .  “  i  should  —  .  .  .  ”  her  brow  furrowed  as  she  tried  to  get  out  a  full  sentence  ,  unable  to  pull  her  eyes  away  ,  “  i  need  to  —  .  .  .”  it  was  then  that  he  seemed  to  feel  it  ,  eyes  burning  into  his  all  black  getup  ,  and  her  father  turned  to  meet  her  eyes  .  identical  in  their  bright  shade  of  blue  .  “  t’ink  i  left  my  iron  on  at  home  .  i  ‘ave  to  go  ,  ”  she  whispered  as  his  smile  fell  ,  realizing  just  who  he  was  seeing  ,  “  i’ll  see  you  monday  .  ”  evan  tore  her  eyes  away  ,  mustering  up  a  feeble  smile  at  a  startled  isla  as  she  passed  off  her  full  champagne  glass  .  she  made  quick  work  of  diving  into  the  crowd  ,  making  a  hasty  path  for  the  elevator  .  urgency  was  the  only  thing  she  felt  more  fiercely  than  the  lack  of  air  that  came  with  a  punch  in  the  stomach  .  she  didn’t  look  back  as  she  slipped  last  minute  through  golden  elevator  doors  ,  fearful  that  he  might  have  followed  .  or  even  worse  ,  fearful  that  he  hadn’t  .

it  didn’t  matter  when  she  reached  the  lobby  ;  by  then  she  was  well  out  of  reach  ,  but  that  didn’t  stop  her  quickened  pace  as  she  rushed  through  an  ornate  ,  open  room  ,  blindly  reaching  into  the  dainty  bag  that  hung  from  her  shoulder  .  london  was  damp  as  usual  ,  but  the  rain  that  came  down  that  evening  had  long  since  stopped  ,  leaving  a  silvery  shine  on  the  pavement  in  the  moonlight  .  she  didn’t  pay  any  mind  to  where  she  was  walking  ,  only  caring  that  it  was  away  .  she  felt  ambushed  .  .  .  like  HER  corner  of  HER  city  had  been  infiltrated.  like  the  one  thing  that  wholeheartedly  belonged  to  her  —  this  space  she’d  carved  out  for  herself  at  nme  —  was  now  tainted  by  someone  who  made  her  feel  less  than  .  everything  she  felt  clamored  to  the  forefront  of  her  mind  and  spread  across  her  chest  ,  as  though  her  emotions  were  fighting  each  other  for  her  attention  .  anger  .  shock  .  unsettled  sadness  .  longing  .  terrible  ,  terrible  longing  for  the  hand  she’d  reached  for  that  wasn’t  there  .  for  kieran  ,  who  would’ve  made  sense  of  things  before  they  were  on  the  elevator  ,  who  would  have  made  her  feel  steady  by  the  time  they  crossed  the  lobby  .  her  phone  screen  glowed  bright  white  ,  and  she  blamed  the  stinging  of  her  eyes  on  the  searing  light  as  she  pulled  up  his  contact  and  pressed  the  small  button  that  would  call  his  phone  .  one  ring  .  then  two  .  evan  came  to  a  stop  near  grand  steps  that  led  to  a  museum  she’d  never  cared  to  go  to  .  despite  the  damp  pavement  ,  she  felt  her  knees  crumpling  as  she  sat  down  ,  phone  in  one  hand  ,  head  in  the  other  .  “  come  on  ,  pick  up  .  .  .  ”  it’d  be  a  miracle  if  he  did  ,  but  he’d  always  been  good  at  sensing  when  something  was  off  .  even  when  distance  separated  them  .  three  rings  .  the  fourth  cut  off  in  the  middle  ,  and  she  sputtered  a  sigh  of  relief  .  “  oh  ,  t’ank  god  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  not  bothering  to  hide  the  slight  quiver  in  her  voice  ,  “  are  you  busy  ?  if  you’re  busy  ,  i  can  call  back  later  but  i  —  ”  HUMORLESS  laughter  passed  her  lips  in  a  breath  ,  “  i  would  really  love  it  if  you  weren’t  all  t’at  busy  right  now  .”

[laurfilijames]

Slow Burn- Part 1

Pairing: Modern AU Fili x female OC Prim

Words: 1,670 give or take

Warnings: It’s about to get smutty all up in here!!mentions of sex, swearing, alcohol and drug references

Summary: Fili and Prim are in love, but choose to tease each other rather than admit their feelings.

A/N: Part 1 of about 4. Or 5. I don’t know yet. It’s taken me WEEKS to post this, partly due to nerves and the fact that I make edits every time I re-read it before I think I’m going to post it. Please be patient with me! Thanks to @fizzyxcustard for giving me courage!

—————

It started the same way every time.

A night out for drinks with Kili and Tauriel. Dinner at Thorin and Bilbo’s house. Innocent and familiar gatherings with the family that has treated Prim as part of their own for the last four years.

But it also ended the same way every time.

Fíli’s lips brushing against hers ever so slightly as they said goodnight. His hand habitually clutching her waist and Prim silently willing this to be the time he finally gives in to the temptation that is her.

It happened every weekend regardless of the occasion or setting and it drove her mad with desire. She knew he felt it too, so why was he toying with her for so long? Teasing her like one would their prey before devouring them.

God, she longed to sink her teeth into the flesh on his neck. She watched now as it creased when he turned his head in her direction to look at her, his nose still crinkled from laughing at something Kili said.

Prim released the nail she had been nibbling on from between her teeth and slowly moved her finger down her bottom lip.

Fili noticed, no longer laughing, his pupils dilating as he watched.

Now that Prim had the attention of her preferred audience, she wrapped her arm around her head to clasp her thick, dark hair in her hand and draped it over her right shoulder, her left shoulder and neck exposed to the side where Fili sat.

From the corner of her eye she noticed his hand grip his thigh and his cheek flinch as he clenched his jaw.

As frustrating as it was to be taunted by him for this long, Prim relished in knowing she had the same effect on him.

He took a long sip of his beer and licked his lips once he swallowed, no amount of drink able to quench the thirst he always had for Prim.

Does she know that every move she makes drives him mad? It was getting near impossible to control his urges and the longing he had for her.

This couldn’t continue, he was a grown-ass man for fuck’s sake. He knew one day he would have to finally kiss her like she deserved and tell her how he felt about her, but at the same time it was too much fun, making her squirm as they continued to build the sexual tension between them.

He glared at her now, watching her move her long finger down her full lip before pulling her hair off her delicate neck. He fidgeted in his chair, resisting the urge to attach his lips to her neck and chest.

“Fili, pay attention!” Kili shouted at his brother, smacking his arm and pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?” He scoffed, annoyed for being interrupted.

“Tauriel has asked me to move in with her! I’m moving out!” He explained, excitedly.

It took Fili a moment to process the words, shocked at the news. He felt a slight pang of hurt knowing he would be all alone in his apartment, the absence of Kili creating a large void, but quickly tossed away the thought and decided he needed to be happy for his brother.

“That’s great, you two!” He smiled as he stood from his chair. “Let me get a bottle of champagne for the happy couple, we need to celebrate.”

Prim couldn’t help but notice a slight insincerity coming from Fili as he walked over to the bar. Kili and Tauriel were now lost in their own world together, kissing and whispering in each other’s ears, so Prim took the opportunity to check on Fili.

“Are you okay?” She asked, gently touching her hand to his shoulder, his body heat radiating through his t-shirt on to the tips of her fingers.

He sighed heavily before looking at her with a weak smile tugging at his lips,

“Yeah. I’m happy for them, I truly am. It’ll just be different without him. He’s been my little brother for thirty years and lived with me the entire time. He’s always just been there.”

The bartender placed the chilled bottle of champagne on the bar.

“Cheers.” Fili said, taking hold of the bottle and looking back at Prim.

“I’m fine, really,” he smiled at her fully this time, both dimples making an appearance. “And don’t think I forgot you prefer Prosecco over Champagne,” he beamed at her and held a second bottle up in his other hand.

Prim couldn’t help but grin, flattered how he always remembered the things she loved.

“I need to stop being so predictable,” she smiled.

She placed her hand on his forearm and looked into his piercingly blue eyes, serious now,

“I just want you to know that I’m always here for you. If you’re lonely or bored without Kili- and even if you’re fine- you know I always enjoy your company.”

“I know.” he said.

If you only knew how much I crave your company, how your hands and lips on my body could cure any loneliness, how boldly I will love you, was what he didn’t say.

Thoughts of the two of them alone in his apartment flooded his mind, picturing her naked and moaning against him in his kitchen, his living room, his bed.

Before he lost control of himself, he nodded in the direction of Kili and Tauriel, “We better get back to the table before their pash session gets us kicked out of here.”

Fili placed the bottles on the table and nudged his brother on the back once his hands were free.

“At least have the decency to drink this expensive champagne before you abandon us like you always do.” He requested.

It happened all too often that Kili and Tauriel would leave Fili and Prim on their own, anxious for privacy, but he never cared too much as it gave him the opportunity to be alone with her.

So long as Kili paid his portion of the bill.

“Yes, sorry! Thank you!” Kili grinned as Fili opened the bottles and filled their glasses.

Prim smiled as she held her flute in the air, listening to the toast Fili gave to Kili and Tauriel, wishing her luck in putting up with him and thanking her for taking his messy brother off his hands.

The night continued on as it typically did, all of them agreeing that it was cheaper to drink in the comforts of one of their homes, not having to pay for overpriced drinks.

Tonight they ended up at Prim’s apartment, and she was thankful she could fall asleep on the couch when she was ready to and not have to worry about getting a taxi to take her home late in the night.

She stood in the kitchen, leaning against the island with her chin in her palm, admiring Kili and Tauriel snuggling closely on her couch now, giggling at each other and completely unashamed to express their love.

“At least I won’t have to witness this anymore.” Fili said, topping up the wine in Prim’s glass.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” She sipped her drink and immediately took her words back as she watched Kili climb on top of Tauriel, their intensity increasing quickly.

“Never mind-.” Prim turned to face Fili and away from the couple dry humping on her couch.

“You have to admit though, Fi, that one day you would want that..” she trailed off when her eyes landed on the curly chest hairs peaking up through the neck of his t-shirt.

Yet another part of him she ached to touch.

He carded his fingers through his hair, slicking it back out of his face.

It was getting long, grown out now to just below his ears, curly and bleached even blonder from the sun. She loved it like this.

Honestly, she loved his hair any way, having seen it in every possible style through the years, from short, to short on the sides and long on the top, to just long and curly at his shoulders, but the way it was now allowed her to dream of tugging on it in bed.

Wetness pooled between her legs at the thought as it often did, and she knew she needed to think of something else before she threw herself at Fili and begged him to take her.

“I do want that,” he answered her in a low voice, his eyes telling it was her he wanted it with.

It was like ecstasy to her. No matter how many times she listened to him speak his voice made her melt each time. She bit her lip and closed her eyes when she felt him take a step closer to her, her pulse quickening as he leaned in to speak in her ear.

“I need to get those two home.”

Her head tipped back at the sensation of his breath tickling her skin, his hair brushing against her flushed cheek.

Prim clenched her teeth as he pulled away from her body, furious that he continued to do this to her.

“Okay,” was all she could manage to get out.

Please, don’t go, was what she wanted to say.

Just once she wanted him to stay the night, be in her bed with her.

Her breath caught in her throat when he placed his thumb on her chin, pulling it up so she looked into his eyes. Her hands gripped the counter for support as he took a step toward her again, making her lean her back against it.

“Goodnight,” he nearly whispered it as his lips pressed against the corner of hers, half on her cheek.

Prim inhaled sharply at his contact and tried to turn her mouth into his before he pulled away, missing him by a second.

She nearly growled when he winked at her and grinned, knowing he was fully aware of what he was doing to her.

“Goodnight, Fili.”

She glared at him with such want and she hoped he could feel the burn of it on his skin.

[chemicalpink]

Starring Role ♡ Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre: smut, angst

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: unprotected sex, emotionally unavailable Namjoon, infidelity, dubious consent

A/N: HELLO I am back with this series I’m so sorry it took so long I’m trying my best at organizing my life but you know how it goes. I really liked this one so I hope you do too, please let me know what you think! I love you!

Summary: I don’t love you, big fucking deal. Don’t ever tell me how you feel. I know you’d rather walk alone than play a supporting role but you can’t get the starring role.

You toss on your bed for what feels–and probably is– the millionth time, a light breeze coming from the open window that helps your shivers intensify as you try to cuddle further into the bedsheet, the body sleeping soundly beside you doing nothing to keep you warm or even help you sleep. Namjoon’s naked and very much toned back greets you after you quickly glance to the alarm clock: 4:55 am, without even a blink of sleep in.

So you see, Namjoon is a great guy, he really is, it’s just that well- he likes to keep to himself, and not in an ‘I’m dark and mysterious’ type of way, but as in ‘I’ll talk about my feeling over my own dead body’ type of way. They could be so similar and so difficult to identify one from another. That’s what lured you in. 

You can still remember the first time you met him, as every story out of a movie. Perhaps that was the first red flag. Real-life isn’t a movie after all. Being a party animal isn’t really how you could describe yourself, but sometimes, things get lonely and what better way to drink your problems away than to do so with a bunch of strangers right? After a few beer pong rounds and shots accompanied by intoxicated dancing in the middle of the living room and in front of the TV, you took a seat next to this good-looking blond guy with his eyes stuck on his phone screen, tongue lapping over his lips over and over again.

“Wouldn’t mind being your phone screen right now if it meant you staring at me like that” you blurted out, perhaps it was time to go home. The good-looking stranger immediately locked his phone and put it away while turning to look at you, a smirk on his pretty face.

“Well I guess tonight’s your lucky night then” if he was as intoxicated as he later claimed to be – which you are still doubtful of– he didn’t look like it. Plus, your bubbly drunk self didn’t help one bit to the situation.

You both started talking, Namjoon smiling at every word that came out of your mouth, his hand not so subtly touching your leg while you found weirdly specific excuses to touch his arms; the third time your eyes drifted off to his lips you asked him to walk you to the kitchen –arguing that you didn’t want to fall over with your heels.

You had barely grabbed his hand, gaze clear with your intentions when his hand wrapped itself around your waist, hot against your exposed skin. His lips were on yours the second you found yourselves inside the kitchen, hands all over each other, no clothes taken away but rather bunched up or around the ankles to give access to the ministrations, thankful for the loud music covering up the sounds of what was going on on the kitchen counter. 

There wasn’t a single week after that you could go without Namjoon–which by the way, took you three more fuck dates to get his name. He was just that addicting. Friends with benefits. Not even friends. More like acquaintances that got used to fucking their frustrations on the other. More suiting. 

The sun wasn’t even in the sky for it to come through the blinds, but the moonlight did a pretty good job at illuminating the man’s face, the most beautiful you had seen. Your fingers started tracing the side of his face feather-like, down his naked torso and you couldn’t help but wonder when exactly your heart started skipping a beat at the thought of him out of normal settings. The man could barely hold a conversation with you if he wasn’t pumping himself in and out of you. Hell, you didn’t even know what he did for a living. 

“Music” he had said one day when he showed up to your apartment, eyes puffy most probably from crying–but you wouldn’t dare ask, his lips working wonders on your exposed cleavage skin. That was just the effect he had on you. Namjoon had to do the bare minimum to get your panties wet and he knew it well. Since day one. Eight months later, somehow he still had the same effect on your body. 

So what if you weren’t able to drink your problems away back then when clearly Namjoon’s dick could distract you enough from them. Even when he was, indeed, the biggest of them all.

You decide to get out of bed and start making breakfast, a first attempt at making him stay a little while longer. Bravery for the not-so-newly found feelings, you tell yourself.

You are about to plate the most perfect sunny-side-up when the door to our apartment clicks shut; you don’t even have to check your bedroom to know that Namjoon is missing, you just sigh to yourself and try–and fail miserably– not to feel the void inside your heart. It had been like that since forever. Namjoon isn’t one to stay over longer than a necessary nap after sex, or visit earlier than 10 pm; you couldn’t quite stop the feelings of regret and self-hatred once you had your hopes up anyway. 

“Nah, that asshole left again?” Seokjin, your best friend said as soon as he entered your apartment, a common occurrence for him to just stop by from time to time, and obviously up to date with the whole Namjoon fiasco “Y/N, sweetheart, I love you so much but you are a fucking dumbass”

This surely wasn’t the first time Jin had tried to convince you to leave Namjoon for good, saying that you deserve so much better than to be abandoned in the middle of early morning and no words until your clothes came off, but there was just something in Namjoon that your friend would never understand.

A good talk with Seokjin later (not without his constant mother-like behaviour) you find yourself ignoring the third notification in a row from your phone, quite out of character for Namjoon really. So what if ignoring him from time to time giving you a sense of control, a fake one at that, cause deep down both you and your lover know that he is the one that has you wrapped around his little finger. He should begin to learn his lesson that you are more than just a fuckhole he can access whenever it’s convenient for him– Seokjin’s words, not yours, but they work either way.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Y/N! Ignore his ass!” he takes a sip out of whatever it was he found in your kitchen and decided to serve it in a mug “You know, I was actually supposed to go to a family gala tonight, why don’t we both show up and get wasted in name of ou retrieving control of your life?” 

The suggestion doesn’t sound so bad, perhaps you could even find someone that would actually like more than sleeping around, or just- someone to distract you for the night, the way it had happened back then with Namjoon.

“Yeah, I’m totally in, come back at 8?” you suggested to Seokjin, to which he clapped his hands together in an overexaggerated manner before hugging you goodbye and disappearing out the door.

Your phone did ding a few times while you were dressing up, a few others inside Seokjin’s car to the gala before arriving at the beautiful hotel from where a bunch of overly dressed people walked in and out of.

You and Seokjin are soon enough inside the building, him handing you a champagne flute from a waiter passing by, gingerly taking a sip out of it before time seems to come to a halt all at once, throat closing and almost projecting the amber liquid into the floor when you dance your eyes around the room and they settle on a much too familiar figure– Namjoon. All suited up from head to toe, a side of him that you had never seen before, the again, you can’t really say you know a side of him anyways. He laughs in a way that you wished you had seen before and under other circumstances, before he places his hand – the one that you’ve had around your throat and inside your cunt countless times– around the waist of the woman beside him, your heart stops beating for a second as you watch her show off her ring finger with a sparkly rock on it, head turning to place a sweet kiss on Namjoon’s cheek. Your whole world seems to tumble down at the sight.

“Y/N? Is everything okay sweetie?” Jin turns to you from where he was talking to some of his friends

“Yeah, I’ll just- I need to use the restroom” you smile a tight lip smile at his companions before scurrying down the hall, a few heads turning to your direction at the somewhat of a commotion of someone actually running and the sound of heels against the marble floor.

You hang your head low on the bathroom counter in front of the mirror, there was, indeed, a part of you that knew it was most likely for Namjoon to have a girlfriend, but a fiancee? And the fact that you were the one he was cheating on with? It was about time you hit rock bottom though, Jin had been telling you on and on that Namjoon seemed the type to have a lot of secrets, then again, you didn’t listen.

Sure, your heart seemed to break a little– or a lot. But dear, the poor girl out there with a ring on her finger, if she only knew- that the man she was about to marry sleeps on your bed most of the time after he had fucked your brains out.

The sound of the bathroom door closing makes you turn towards it “You might as well be naked with that dress” Namjoon groans as he clicks the door locked and starts walking towards you, cornering you against the sink. He chuckles as his hand starts fiddling with the end of your dress, tracing the inner part of your exposed thigh “There is no way in hell you’ve got panties on you right now”

“Namjoon!” you swat his hand away but his smirk just deepens as his other hand presses you against him 

“Kim Seokjin huh?” he turns you so his crotch presses on your ass, his hand making you face yourself on the mirror “You really think he can fuck you better than I can?” you let out a breathy moan as he finally reaches down your dress as his skilled fingers caress your folds roughly, teasing your entrance as he humped against you at the same time, the familiar burning feeling in your belly forming already, but you are able to fight it enough.

“You never told me you were engaged” your eyes search his in the mirror.

He groans and finally inserts his fingers in you, making you tumblr forward at the invasion “ah… details, Y/N”

Your mind gets blurry and whatever words of protest die in your mouth as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you, your legs buckling but him keeping you standing as he seemingly had the fun of his life at seeing you like that “Look at yourself, Y/N” his hand cups your cheeks and turns you to your reflection, hair dishevelled, face flushed as he stood behind you, lips closing in your ear “Sometimes, you just have to settle for the supporting role, baby” 

You moan in response, or at least at what you meant for it to be a response, since you are cut short by the sound of Namjoon’s zipper followed by the feeling of his exposed cock coating itself in your juices, teasing your cunt, which made you grip the counter tighter “I need you to understand something, Y/N” he slides in, barely giving you time to adjust before he starts moving inside of you “There will never be a ring around your finger” his hand goes down to cup your pussy, large fingers playing with your clit, making you arch back into him, forced once again to examine the image in front of you, reminded that somehow you had signed up for this yourself and was never meant to escape “But you’ll always have me in your bed”

He picks up the pace, lewd noises resounding in the acoustic of the bathroom, skin against skin harmonising with moans and grunts, Namjoon speeding up his hips, the extra stimulation on your clit forcing you to climax at the same time as he spilled inside of you, hot against your walls, your arms trying and almost failing at keeping you on your feet as your legs continued to spasm after he pulled out “You might want to find a way to keep it in” Namjoon mutters against his breath as he fixed himself, referring to the way his cum was already dripping down your inner thigh,  before walking at the door

[breanime]

How about for the reyes-Cruz polyship we go for fluff 2 and 7 😘

*gif not mine*

Angel and Coco were both on edge. Neither of them were comfortable in these kinds of situations, but you were their girl, and they wanted to support you, so here they were…

…in a god damn museum.

…wearing their kuttes.

…tats on display.

…uncomfortable as hell.

You had a piece on display, and there was a silent auction for it, so your boys came to support you. They loved your work, and more than one piece (including the one up for auction) had been inspired by your love for them. A week ago, when you’d told them about the auction, they’d been excited for you—and they still were—but they hadn’t really grasped the situation, meaning they hadn’t anticipated the snobby art people who kept eyeing them with suspicion and fear.

“You clock the motherfucker with the fifteen scarves?” Angel whispered to Coco, his eyes on you from your spot across the room.

Coco’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. The guy had been following you around, chatting with you as people walked around the gallery. He was looking at a painting with you, talking your ear off. You turned to the side, looking at it from a different angle, and the guy not-so-subtly checked you out. “Motherfucker’s lookin’ hard as hell.”

“He can look, but if he tries to touch I’ll break his fingers,” Angel grunted, hands in his pockets.

“How much you wanna bet that that’s the guy who asked her out a month ago?” Coco asked. “The trust fund kid with the terrible taste in music. And art.”

“And scarves,” Angel added, “It’s fucking Cali in the summer, why is he wearing so many scarves?”

“And why is he talking to her so much?” Coco asked back. “You think we should step in?”

Angel looked around; across the hall was where your piece was, and there was a small crowd of people around it, appreciating your hard work. He sighed. “Nah, not yet. She knows we’re here; she’ll let us know if she needs us.”

“Can’t wait to be outta here,” Coco muttered, “fuck, I just wanna be in bed with our girl.”

“I feel you,” Angel said back, “just a few more hours, and then we’ll have her all to ourselves again…” He titled his head, eyes still on million-scarves-guy. “Okay, he’s starting to piss me off now.”

Coco opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it when the museum curator stood up and tapped a tiny, sterling silver spoon on his champagne flute.

“Attention,” he called in what was clearly a fake British accent, “attention everyone! We have made a sale—the biggest sale of the night!”

Everyone gathered near, and Angel and Coco both looked over at you. You smiled at them, knowing how much they disliked this setting—you did too. But this was where artists started in this town, so…here you were. It was uncomfortable for you being there, stuck with all of the snobs and hipsters, but having Angel and Coco there made it better. Just knowing that they were there with you helped keep you calm. Even as Evan—the pretentious mansplainer with his stupid “fashion statement” scarves—bothered you, it wasn’t as annoying as usual because you knew your guys were close.

“Miss Y/N Y/LN’s piece, titled Blood Is Blood, has just sold for $5,400 dollars!”

Your jaw dropped, and Angel and Coco both cheered loudly.

“That’s my girl!” Angel called out, applauding heartily.

“That’s our girl!” Coco corrected him with a grin.

You laughed, rushing over to them and letting them both engulf you in their arms. Evan, seeing you kiss Coco and then Angel, discreetly left the building, hoping not to run into either of them outside.

“So proud of you, mi dulce,” Angel said, kissing your cheek.

“What you gonna do with all that dough,” Coco teased, “not that we’re gold diggers or nothin’, but…”

You giggled, smiling up at them. “Well, the first thing I’m gonna do is grab my check and get the hell out of here,” you pulled them closer, one hand on Angel’s kutte and the other on Coco’s, “then I’m gonna cash it and toss it on your naked bodies.”

“Well shit,” Angel grinned, “let’s get the hell out of here then.”

You took both of their hands, matching grins on all three of your faces, knowing you were in for one hell of a night.

*******************************************************************************************

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[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 29

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: when you quote west side story you do know things are not about to get any better *nervous laughter* hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The environment was calm with baby blue and white walls. The only sounds existing in the room being that of the machines beeping and the small breathing sounds coming from the two people in the bedroom. It was quiet, very quiet, but the quietness only contributed to the peaceful nature of the hospital bedroom. 

The slight beeping of the door being opened caused the attention of the French woman to leave from her newborn daughter to the man who had just came in holding a bouquet of white lilies. 

     - I didn’t know what type of flowers would be suitable for someone who just gave birth. - he smiled, taking a seat on the cushioned chair by her bed. - How are my girls?

    - I am alright. Ella’s just been sleeping, I think that’s all she does. - the baby sleep peacefully against her chest, lightly suckling on her mother’s pinkie finger without a single care in the world. - Do you know when we can go home? It’s becoming a bit tiring to be in here. 

   - Robin. - the man sighed. - It’s safer for you to be here than to be home. We cannot return home until we’re certain that no harm can come to you or to Ella. 

   - But we got extra security besides ... I sense something bad is coming.

   - That is just your “momma bear” coming out. You’re safe here, there’s staff and security everywhere. 

   - I hope you’re right. - she sighed, looking at the baby. - I really hope you’re right. 

Y/N stared at him with the sort of curiosity one does whenever confronted with a hard choice. She could just end it, she could just put a stop to it and spare Gwen the pain and shame of being cheated on before she even got married, spare Sebastian and her the childish illusions that everything would be okay. She could just end it, she could just run away and start somewhere new but something always stopped it. Turns out, she couldn’t just end it, she couldn’t just stop falling more and more in love with him, she couldn’t just pretend she could just leave and things would be alright. So once again, she’d rather pretend that everything is alright, everything’s fine. 

She took a step towards him, her shoe front hitting his ever so slightly before she wrapped her arms around him, hiding her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his cologne. Sebastian relished and relaxed in her embrace, kissing the crown of her head in means to comfort her.

     - Stay. - he mumbled through her hair, holding her tightly in his arms as if she would fade into air if his grip loosened. Y/N on the other hand was again trying to convince herself that there was a place for them, somewhere in time a place where there could be together without any other external factors. Nevertheless, that place filled with quiet and open air seemed to be nowhere near as breaking through those thoughts were the distant sounding laughter and chatting of people inside the dinning hall celebrating his engagement. Her gaze moved from the room to his face, to his beautiful eyes who stared into her with a look of pure naive hope. - Angel, I ...

    - Mr. Stan? - the two of them left the embrace as someone got closer to the balcony, calling out for him. Her gaze left his to stare at her shoes, shifting her weight from side to side as one of his lesser associates came into the balcony, giving the handmaid a dirty look. - There are some people inside trying to congratulate you. 

   - I’ll be right with you, I just need t ...

   - No, it’s alright. Go. - Y/N interrupted him, giving him a simple characteristic smile. She didn’t want to be the reason why he got himself in trouble and she also didn’t want to make it seem like they were intimate to the rest of the world. Sebastian, however, took a double take, wondering if he should stay and finish his sentence but the associate keeping on calling made him leave her there in the balcony.

The handmaid just sighed, leaning against the railing of the balcony, head heavy with various concerns that probably should’ve weight on her decision back when she decided to get together with him. Before she could decide what else to do, Mr. Dubois had joined her in the balcony, offering her one of the champagne flutes that seemed to float around the party. Despite not being in the mood to drink, she decided to accept it anyway. 

    - So, a handmaid? Pardon my curiosity, I have never met one in my whole life. What does it entail?

    - It’s the same thing as medieval time handmaids. You’re by the heiress’ side making sure she’s happy. - it was an over-explanation of what her job truly entailed but Y/N didn’t have enough time to completely go through what being a handmaid truly was like. - You mentioned the Deschamps. Excuse me asking but I’ve been in this environment since I was younger and I never heard about that mob family.

   - Oh they’re not a mob family. The Deschamps aren’t part of the mob however they are rich, they had money even after the French Revolution. They own more New York real state than the Stans so they normally make an appearance at every single event. 

   - I thought the Stans owned all of the Upper East Side. 

   - They wished. - he scoffed. - I remember a time when one of the mob families tried to get an engagement with a Deschamps. Can’t remember her name, though. Rosemarie, maybe.

   - Never heard of it. - Y/N shrugged. - Enjoying the party so far?

   - I didn’t expect Genevieve Forrest to be that frivolous. It’s nothing like her father. 

   - She’s young. 

   - You can only blame so much on age, Miss Y/N. 

The talk was mostly void of interest, just a polite dance she used to do with anyone and everyone who spoke to her. Once the part became too much for her to handle, she took back to her bedroom sitting down in her bed with various questions going through her mind. Her eyes quickly gazed over her laptop laying on top of her suitcase. She shouldn’t, this was just putting herself deeper and deeper down a hole that kept bringing her more sleepless nights. Yet, as per usual, Y/N did not stop herself and soon enough she found herself with her laptop on her lap, Google on as she typed that very spoke about name. Deschamps. As she finished typing that name and pressed enter several pictures showed up along with a bit of information. Turns out Mr. Dubois was right, they were rich, filthy rich and by the look of it, mostly based in Saint-Nom-La-Bretèch. As she went through the pictures, one of them caught her attention as in the picture stood quite a big crowd of people but one woman in particular standing at the front shared a significant resemblance to the Robin woman that had kept showing on Sebastian’s and Mr. Forrest’s attic. However, the golden necklace that now laid in the middle of Y/N’s collarbones was missing from the woman’s neck in the picture.

Curiously, Y/N clicked the link connected to the photo which led to an article about the acquisition of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. The picture on the article had a legend and as she went through, she reached the name of the only woman in the figure; Rosemarie Deschamps, the eldest daughter of Michael Deschamps. Surprised, Y/N closed her laptop forcefully, hiding behind her duvet like a scared child. It was just in her mind, it was just in her mind, she didn’t need to know, why did she need to know. Even if she was related to the Deschamps she was probably a bastard child whom the Forrests took pity on. 

With those thoughts, she dozed off to sleep. Between all of this and her relationship with Sebastian she didn’t exactly know how she could sleep peacefully and throughout the night she kept somehow waking up in cold sweats. When she finally managed to have more than just a few minutes of sleep around sunrise, a loud knock followed by her name being screamed in a high pitched female voice took her right off her sleeping state. Great. Through her sleepiness, she mumbled for however it was at the door to come in. In came Gwen dressed like a Givenchy model in a harsh shade of green and white. 

    - Y/N, I need a favour. - she sat on the edge of her bed. - I have my wedding dress fitting today but I really can’t be asked besides Christian and I were thinking about going for brunch. 

    - We’re not the same size. - Y/N mumbled against her pillow, sleep trying to fight through her awareness. 

    - Just check if the dress is okay. C’mon Y/N. - Gwen pulled the duvet away from her. - Please, I covered for you.

   - Okay.

Gwen clapped in excitement before pulling the handmaid up to her bedroom which was filled to the brim with people carrying needles and threads along with various swatches of fabric. Before Y/N could question what was happening, she was brought by one of the woman to stand in front of the mirror while another one opened a white box pulling out Gwen’s wedding dress. Gwen was nowhere to be seen, probably already left and before Y/N could even check for that, the dress was being pushed down her, sitting a bit too loose. Her eyes glued to the mirror as she saw herself in the wedding dress, the white fabric almost glistening with the light. It was a beautiful dress, mostly made out of fabric.

  - Genevieve, we need to spe ... - Y/N turned around at the different voice that came from the door. Sebastian was leaning against it, almost sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he observed Y/N dressed in bridal fashion. - Angel, what are you doing here?

  - Gwen asked me to cover for her. - she didn’t even lie anymore, instead facing him with the truth that he would probably hear from everyone else. - Is it important?

  - PR bullshit, if you ask me. - he took a step towards her, fully inspecting the gown wrapped around the handmaid. - You look stunning.

  - It’s not my dress. - she forcefully smiled, not sure if she should cry or not. It wasn’t everyday that you get dressed in the wedding dress belonging to the woman who’s about to get married to the man she was hopelessly in love with.

Yet again, she kept digging herself a hole which she wasn’t sure she could ever come out from. 

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[fletchphoenix]

Let Me Adore You

Part 2 of Hopelessly Devoted To You because someone suggested a Varian POV and I simply couldn’t resits! Also, I accidentally posted this without a HUGE chunk written so =D I hate myself!!!!! But here’s the finished product! <3

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

He laughed as him and Estelle swayed across the ballroom, twirling her around and watching as her hair seemed to float around her, before her head rested against his chest and they settled into a little sway. A smile played on his lips as he looked down at her, Estelle returning the expression as he held her close to his chest and she rose to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead, the hair that usually covered his eye slicked back. He thought it made him look pretty fancy, though Hugo had teased him about getting dressed up for his little ‘date’. It wasn’t even a date, he just didn’t want to be rude and not ask her to come with them. After all, she’d seemed so excited about the idea of going with him, so for him to just let her down…he couldn’t do it, even though there was someone else he’d much rather be swaying with. Still, he couldn’t help the grin that graced his features, the goofiness of it making her grin. He didn’t even hear the ballroom door closing from across the room, Estelle immediately pulling him into another ridiculously energetic dance.

After a few more dances (much to his disappointment, as he really wanted to find a certain person and talk to them) he was pulled along to the balcony with Estelle to look out at the gardens. “A beautiful night, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice with a slight hint of the local accent cutting through the silence of the night. He glanced over, met with the sight of her looking over at him with a wide, lovestruck and infectious smile that he couldn’t help but return, despite his best interests. 

“Yeah, very quiet too. Kinda unusual where I’m from. Usually there’s something like an explosion or someone dying-” He began, cut off by Estelle pressing her lips against his and, almost as quickly as it happened, she broke it. He stood speechless and, though he knew he should say something to her, he caught sight of the person he desperately wanted to see on the other balcony.

Boy, did he look handsome. 

Dressed in a green suit, the blond rose his glass in their direction, a little smile on his face as Varian returned it and waved in his direction. The blond simply looked away, however, downing the contents of his champagne flute as Estelle pressed a kiss to his cheek and cuddled into his side. Helplessly, he watched as Hugo wandered back inside. “I...excuse me a second. Okay?” He stuttered to Estelle, wrenching his arm away from her vice-like grip and running through the ballroom, out the doors and down the hall to catch up with the blonde. 

He shoved the doors to the mansion open, looking around for the other man and calling his name, though there was no sight of him anywhere. “Cmon, sweetheart. I’m sure he just went to the horses and went to the inn. He seemed really tired.” Estelle reassured as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him back into the fray. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, though. Hugo had looked so upset and solemn on the balcony. Maybe his date for the night had left or something? He just...couldn’t believe the man would be alone all night. Not when he’d so often bragged about being able to have ‘any woman he wanted’. It just didn’t seem plausible. Still, he let himself get dragged into even more dances, though his mind still worried and fretted over the blonde. He’d ask him later.

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

Varian let the cool air of the night hit his face, walking beside Nuru and Yong as they laughed with Estelle on his arm and leaning into his touch. Their laughter and chatting filled the night, the stars in the sky shimmering down on them as they made their way through darkened streets, street lights only barely shining down to illuminate their path. They didn’t care though - they were all together. It was almost a picture perfect moment.

Almost.

Varian hadn’t seen Hugo since the incident on the balcony, the blonde seemingly disappeared into the night. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been himself since they’d met Estelle - the preppy baker’s daughter who had practically dragged Varian onto the dancefloor. Of course he was happy to oblige, she was a beautiful woman and he’d never really danced with, well, anyone before. Well, other than Hugo. That was...certainly an experience. His face flushed at the memory, it coming to the front of his brain and playing out like a fairytale.

It was as though it came from one of those romance novels in the Corona Library, Hugo’s hand on his waist as they glided over the dancefloor. If they weren’t on a mission and he hadn’t hated the man’s guts at the time, he would’ve let himself sink into the moment as the marble floor clicked under the heels of the shoes they were wearing. He’d let himself be spun around in the candlelight and dipped down (even lifted and spun, which he let out a little laugh to - though he’d never admit that to Hugo) until they were forced from their moment to go. He supposed that was the first time he’d even entertained the thought of having feelings for Hugo.

The second time he’d felt weird about Hugo was after the trial at the water kingdom. After being attacked by a siren, he’d been broken out of his vision by ghastly screaming and the sight of Hugo stabbing the wrist of one of the sirens. He’d looked...rather handsome, if Varian was being honest, his hair floating around his head and his glasses, presumably set aside on the floor, now gone allowed an unobscured view of the little freckles that were scattered over his face. The view almost made Varian forget he didn’t know how to swim, until a strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled them both up to the surface where Yong was waiting patiently with the totem. 

“Can’t swim?” Hugo had asked by their fire that night, an innocent enough question if it wasn’t for the smug grin on his face and his hair that was out of its stupid ponytail and bobbed just above his shoulders. His green jacket had been set aside to dry, so the blond had settled on some trousers and a green, short sleeved shirt that showed off a few scars littered across his arms as well as his muscles. Muscles that Varian found extremely distracting and made a deep flush come to his face. 

“Shut up.” He replied as he quickly looked away, hoping the dim light of the fire concealed his flush as the blond took a seat on the log beside him. Yong had gone to sleep a few hours ago, leaving the two men alone. Varian could swear that Hugo had shuffled closer - close enough that their shoulders pressed together and, if they turned their heads, their lips would touch. Which was the exact reason Varian kept his head turned away from the blonde. 

His blood ran cold as a finger rested on his chin and turned his head, Hugo coming into view with a confused and curious look on his face. “Look..even if you can’t...I’m glad you’re safe, Varian.” Hugo whispered into the night and, god, Varian could feel the other’s breath on his lips and his eyes showed nothing but him being genuine and actually happy about Varian being safe. He could swear that the other’s eyes flicked down to his lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own before the blond retracted his hand and moved away. “I’ll take the first watch, go get some sleep.” He replied as Varian rose to his feet and hurried to his tent, the flaps closing as he felt the familiar rush of heat over his face. Needless to say, he didn’t get much sleep last night.

Last, but not least, was during a visit to a town. He’d been walking and, admittedly, hadn’t looked where he was going, as Yong talked his ear off and Nuru tried to prevent Hugo from stealing anything. Absentmindedly, he’d wandered into the road before arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him close, away from a carriage speeding down the path. “Woah, you alright there, hairstripe?” Hugo had teased, his hands resting on Varian’s waist and his thumbs tracing little circles into his flesh, it heating up under every movement and brush of fabric. Their chests were pressed against each other, well, until Varian pushed himself away. “Wow, I saved your life and this is how you repay me? Not even a kiss?” Hugo teased, though Varian hesitated to entertain the idea for a second. No. He was just teasing. It wasn’t worth pondering over.

He flashed back to the moment as they stood outside the bakery, Estelle pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The skin didn’t tingle like it did when Hugo touched him. It didn’t heat up as her lips pressed against it, and he didn’t feel his heart break as he saw her go inside. Sure, it sucked to feel that way, but all he could feel was excited to see the blond again. Now, with a smile on their faces, they headed towards the inn.

It was only a quaint inn, a small oak sign swinging outside with the “Rabbit’s Foot Inn’ carved into it along with a few other intricate details, and a matching door, about 6 foot tall. The exterior was mostly stone as well, the surface rough to the touch as he trailed his hand across it, with little notches and cracks where it had been worn away. It almost reminded him of the Snuggly Duckling back in Corona, but with a sufficient lack of thugs. The interior was mostly wooden, namely spruce and oak like the sign, and a floor that let out little creaks if you stepped in the wrong place. Downstairs was a tavern, so the place was never truly void of people. Contently, the group headed upstairs, saying goodnight to each other. Varian and Hugo had decided to share a room to save money (definitely not so Varian could talk to the other boy and stay with him if he had a nightmare - no way).

And as soon as he walked in, Varian could tell something was wrong. 

He could see Hugo, sat at the desk with a glass of what looked like ale beside him on the wood and a saddened expression on his face. “You two go to bed, I’ll handle this.” He muttered to Nuru and Yong, the pair not bothering to protest, though he did receive a little nod from Nuru. “Good luck.” She whispered as he turned on his heel and headed over to the blond. 

“How are you holding up?” Varian smiled as he sat on the desk beside the other, his fingers trailing across the red fabric decorating the back of the chair Hugo was sitting on. Felt like some kind of cotton stuffed into pillows. It felt like a soft material, satin maybe? , though he couldn’t indulge himself as the frown on Hugo’s face just seemed to deepen as he turned his head away from him. “Hugo?”

“I’m fine. Just ordered a drink to have before bed.No big deal.” He muttered before his eyes stared at the table in front of them, his fingers tracing across the little trails on the glossy wood. Varian could tell Hugo was distracted, the look in his eyes (though they’d never meet his) seeming distant and lost in thought as he continued his little detail outlining on the table. Hugo never ceased to confuse Varian, a frown on his face as he watched him, mesmerised by his fingers moving. “What do you want?”

The question almost didn’t register, though Hugo looked at him with such sadness in his eyes that Varian felt his heart break a little. “I...Hugo, what’s wrong? Have I upset you? I didn’t mean to...are you jealous that I got a dance with someone? I swear I didn’t really want to dance with Estelle, she kind of just pulled me into it and I had to go along with it-” He began, though the blond cut him off as he rose to his feet quickly, the chair knocking to the floor behind him and startling Varian for a second.

“You wanna know the reason I’m so pissed off? Fine. I’ll tell you!” The blond yelled, shocking Varian into a stunned silence - had Hugo ever yelled at him before? “I like you, Hairstripe! I like you so much and your dumb fucking smile and dumb hair and dumb eyes and you’re so dumb but if you even asked me to, I’d go to the ends of the earth just for you to bring you anything you wanted, because I love you! And-and seeing you tonight with that girl just made me feel so fucking dumb and I can’t keep this in anymore because your dumb face keeps me coming back to you like some dumb servant because I’m just so-so devoted to you! I’ve never felt this way about anyone and-” The blond ranted, as Varian’s hands wrapped around his tie and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, his hand drifting to the back of the blond’s neck to hold him in place, as Hugo’s hands rested on the desk either side of Varian and he stood in between the ravenette’s legs. 

It was a messy kiss if he was being honest, but you couldn’t blame him - he’d never done this before with anyone. He really tried though, tilting his head and leaning into it as Hugo reciprocated and moved his hands to Varian’s waist. And for that moment, it felt like just them and an awkward clashing of lips and teeth, until one of them, he wasn’t sure who, broke it. A small smile grew on Varian’s face as he took in the dumbfounded, shocked expression on Hugo’s face. He’d be sure to dedicate it to memory.

“But...but Estelle-what?” Hugo stuttered, Varian grinning at the confusion and pressing a gentle kiss to Hugo’s nose as he moved a hand to rest on the man’s cheek. “I don’t get it, Varian I...why me? You two seemed so happy-”

“Yeah, we seemed happy, but I was searching for you all night. We were dancing, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind, Hugo. I love you too. I wasn’t planning on telling you now, because I didn’t think you felt the same, and I just assumed you were jealous of me for dancing with Estelle, but...no. I really wanted it to be you.” Varian explained as he ran his thumb along the other’s cheekbone. “I love you, Hugo.” He repeated as he flushed red, the blond following suit. He looked cute with a flush on his cheeks - Varian should make him have one more often.

“Oh come here, you big dweeb.” Hugo finally declared, picking the other up and pressing fleeting kisses all over his face as Varian laughed and tried to stop the onslaught of seemingly never ending kisses, until they both fell back onto the bed, giggles and laughs leaving their lips as they stared at each other with nothing but love and affection in their eyes. “I love you, Varian.” The blond finally said, raising his prosthetic hand to rest on the ravenette’s cheek and press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Hugo.” Varian replied, cuddling closer and falling asleep in his arms. 

[samwise-writes]

The Gala: A Dance?

Part one, because this got really heckin' long. I've sat on this for too long, so here, have a thing.

Follows A Promise and The Invitation so those might be worth a gander for context!

CW: Hisoka; stalking; Possessive behaviour

She was uncomfortable. The fabric that was draped around her body felt as though it was suffocating her - she was painfully aware of how the outfit restricted her movements and of the overwhelming number of blind spots in the room. She fidgeted with a lock of hair that had escaped the carefully crafted updo she had managed to wrangle her ginger strands into only a few short hours earlier.

She was brought back into a more present state of consciousness as Mairi took a step closer to Serena's side. She must have sensed the shopkeep's uneasiness, as when Rea met the other woman's gaze, sympathy coloured the Hunter's blue eyes.

Rea held back a cringe and forced a smile onto her face, attempting to ease her posture into something even just slightly less defensive (at least in appearance). It certainly wouldn't do for the entire ballroom to observe how uncomfortable she was - the last thing she needed was hundreds of Hunters and other highly dangerous people to mistake her discomfort as something more threatening.

"I wasn't being facetious when I told your clown that these sorts of events were not my cup of tea."

Mairi made a face of displeasure at the mention of the redheaded magician - "Not my clown."

Rea snorted and a genuine smile cracked across her face for the first time since they had stepped into the building.

"Hey, you brought that nuisance into my life, he is yours." She paused thoughtfully before smirking, "Anyways, he seems to be a bit of a package deal with your boyfriend... so, he's yours, no take-backs!"

Mairi looked confused for a split second before a look of realization dawned and transformed into a look of horror, "Excuse me? No? Illumi is not my boyfriend." Rea cackled at her friend's reaction.

"If he isn't your boyfriend then why is he always lurking around the shop like he thinks he's being stealthy whenever you visit me?"

Mairi blinked at Rea.

"He what?"

Rea was not expecting her friend's reaction to be... well, what it was.

She didn't know that he had followed her to the shop all those times.

Rea was thinking as quickly as she could; now was not the time nor place for frightening revelations, (as one of the Zoldyck family members following you tends to be).

"You are way too easy to tease, you know. He only seems to be around when Killua is with you, so you can chill out. Probably just being a creepy and possessive older brother, like you said he has the tendency to be."

It was a lie - he hadn't only been there when Killua was with Mairi, but she didn't want to send her friend into a panic. She paused, closely observing the other woman, but for once Mairi's expression was difficult to read. Linking an arm with the Story Hunter she started pulling her deeper into the room, "let's go find something to drink."

She hadn't realized how much of an effect her words would have. Although reflecting, she should have known better. She herself had had a similar reaction to the Story Hunter’s when she first noticed the assassin's presence. It had taken a while to even become aware of him (and if he was anyone other than a Zoldyck she would've accused herself of getting rusty).

The eldest Zoldyck child was very much the opposite of Hisoka - while the magician was more than happy to make himself known through his loud and dramatic behaviour, and by flexing his aura and bloodlust all over the place - the assassin kept a very tight control on his own: if he didn't want you to know he was there, you wouldn't, at least not until it was much too late. It was a coincidence that Rea had even noticed him - and it was very much thanks (unfortunately) to Hisoka. The magician had seemed to sense something when he was in her shop one day, and the flare in his bloodlust seemed to trigger the slightest slip up in the assassin's aura (it was, after all, incredibly difficult not to instinctively react to Hisoka's bloodlust). That day Mairi had yet to make an appearance, so the shop owner hadn't initially connected the assassin's presence to her friend. She had a moment of panic where she lost control of her own aura, thinking that the Zoldycks had finally figured out who she was - and she had to fight to retain her control. She wasn't quite quick enough, and when she dared to glance at Hisoka he was looking at her with a manically delighted look. She hoped that he thought her reaction was simply from the unexpectedness of the flare in his bloodlust; something in his eyes, however, told her that he knew that she too had become aware of the assassin's presence and that the ravenette was the cause of her momentary loss of control. Needless to say, he was very interested to know what the possible connection between the little shopkeeper and Illumi was: as far as he knew only the Story Hunter had met the assassin before. In an attempt to deescalate the situation, Rea had stuck her tongue out at him in the most childish manner she could muster and told him to: "stop looking at me like that, you creep."

After that, Rea had been able to pick up on the assassin's presence whenever he did make an appearance. He never came in, but the former-Hunter was able to connect the fact that his appearances often coincided with her friend's visits. While she was concerned for her friend, she felt herself relax in the knowledge that he wasn't there for her, and therefore the Zoldycks likely still didn't know who she was. She never brought up the issue with her friend, she had clearly wrongly assumed that the woman had known.

Despite the levity that Rea had attempted to introduce by teasing the other woman (because let's be honest that royally failed), there was something undeniably charged in the atmosphere of the room. It was making the back of Rea's neck prickle. She wasn't sure if it was due to the disquiet that had fallen over her friend, or simply her own unease of being at the gala.

Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as simple as that, and it didn't take very long to understand the true cause of the uneasy atmosphere.

The two women had managed to collect champagne flutes and were standing off to the side of the ballroom's dance floor, talking in hushed tones, both seemingly comparably more at ease than they had been just a quarter of an hour ago.

Suddenly Rea tensed up to a greater degree than at any other point during the evening so far. She stood stalk still as a certain aggravating presence loomed up beside her.

"Well, don't we just look positively delectable tonight," Hisoka purred in her ear. She could practically visualize the smug look the magician would be sporting; Rea had to fight every instinct in her body not to whip around and smack the man in the face. The women, in a controlled manner, turned to face the magician and another unexpected figure.

Rea thanked Mairi for what she did next because frankly, Rea had not expected Hisoka to look like that.

"What are you doing here?" Rea's eyes were going between a very normal(?!) looking Hisoka, her friend's quickly reddening shocked face, and a man with long black hair, a blank face and dark eyes that resembled pieces of the void. After she got past the initial shock of Hisoka's appearance Rea gathered enough wherewithal to discover that the dark-haired man was in fact the assassin who had been stalking her friend.

"You know, it is only good manners for you to return the compliment," Hisoka tore Rea's attention back to him, getting in her face with a smirk.

"You know,” Rea gave the magician a practiced bored look, “it’s bad manners to fish for compliments." She was proud of her acerbic tone. She would NOT give him the satisfaction of knowing how attractive he looked. He kept staring at her, a smirk growing wider - she could feel her own face slowly becoming more and more flushed by the second.

She gave a huff, and crossed her arms, trying to play off her affectedness with nonchalance, eyes returning to her friend who seemed to be growing tenser and tenser.

"You don't look like a clown for once: congratulations."

The assassin's eyes moved from Mairi for the first time since the men approached them, and fell to Rea, before quickly angling toward Hisoka; he blinked as though taking in the other man's appearance for the first time.

"She is right, you know."

Rea had to swallow the laugh that came bubbling up her throat at the ravenette's monotone delivery and oddly unobservant treatment of his companion. She wondered if he really hadn’t noticed or if he was just acting like he hadn’t in order to get under the magician’s skin.

The assassin returned his gaze to Mairi, his eyes drinking her in.

After a short pause, he spoke again: “To answer your question… I was invited.”

Rea watched her friend blink a few times face getting even redder, shifting ever so slightly under Illumi’s gaze.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” There was a pause and Illumi seemed perfectly intent on continuing to stare at Mairi. Finally, she cleared her throat and began again, “Um. Right. Hello.”

Rea wanted to save her friend from the awkward situation but was also attempting to ignore Hisoka, who looked unfairly good in a suit and was staring her down as though she was his favourite dessert.

Rea slipped her arm through Mairi’s again, but this time pulled the other woman into her a bit closer, she proceeded to intertwine their fingers and gave the hunter’s hand a squeeze. Illumi’s eyes narrowing the tiniest degree, fell to their hands, before following Rea’s arm back up to her face.

Interesting.

“So, what, Hisoka,” Rea started, returning her gaze to the other man and inwardly cursing herself for doing so, her voice much breathier as she continued “I refused to bring you, so you annoy this guy into doing so? Wanted to dance with me that bad, huh?”

Hisoka took a step closer so that there were mere centimetres between them, and Rea had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes: they flicked down to her mouth momentarily before meeting her gaze once again.

“Is that an offer?” His voice was so low it sent a shiver down her spine. He grinned at her reaction – and then suddenly he had one hand clasped around the back of her neck, thumb stroking over her pulse-point ever so slightly. A small gasp escaped her lips – she hadn’t even seen him move. Fire spread over her shoulders, and up into her face – she could only imagine how flushed she was.

"Oh, is this why you didn't want me to be your date? Because you knew your undeniable attraction to me would be a distraction from the evening?" He had bent his head down, his red hair tickling her forehead, as his breath danced across her ear. That snapped her back into action. Using her one free hand, she pushed him away from her with a solid press to the middle of his chest.

She sputtered, "NO YOU CLOWN. Shut UP. Just. Leave. I'm leaving."

Then she tugged on Mairi’s hand, attempting to draw her attention away from the other man who was back to staring at her: however, to Rea’s dismay, she was met with a sight she hadn’t expected. Illumi had one hand extended to her friend – was he asking her to dance?

She saw her friend was looking at her with wide eyes, as though looking for an escape. Serena opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, Hisoka stepped closer to her again, placing his hand now lightly at her waist.

“Dance with me.” His voice sounded in her ear again, this time more serious than Rea had ever heard him. She made an apologetic face at her friend. They were stuck in the situation, it seemed.

Serena redirected her gaze, opting to trace the pattern of the marble floor, rather than meet Hisoka’s too-close eyes.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

There was a pause and Rea finally met Hisoka’s gaze. It seemed he was waiting for her to do so, as his sharp grin spread further across his face.

“Worry not, Dearest, I won’t let you fall.”

She cursed under her breath “Sure you won’t.”

She heard him chuckle, assuming he had heard her, as he proceeded to guide the woman out to the dance floor. He stopped a reasonable way in, avoiding the other dancers who had already begun to gracefully move through the waltz and then turned to face Rea.

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, as he rearranged them: taking her right hand in his left, and placing her left on his shoulder, before replacing his hand back at her waist.

“Wait – do you even know how to dance?”

He just raised an eyebrow at her for a moment.

And then he took the first step.

A/N: Frankly I had way too much fun writing this, and once again, I blame @crocworkships and our fantastic conversations for this.

[caroleyre]

self para // pomegranate juice

It was fitting for Atlas to begin formalities. He brought most of them into the Capitol, offering his welcoming hand and ideals for grabs. Calypso couldn’t stand still as it began, somewhere in another room. She kicked the air with her hanging feet, trying to focus on something else other than the endless pit in her own stomach. Was she about to throw up in front of the Gamemakers? The nervousness didn’t even come from a place where she thought she could do something decent. It was knowing she had nothing good to show them, and having to confront them anyway.

When the time came, she left her chair and could no longer feel her hands. One of them, in the pocket of her hoodie, squeezed the harsh surface of a pomegranate. Stolen from a fruit bowl, because it reminded her of home. She could never eat pomegranate without getting her hands dirty. The metaphor worked well with the Hunger Games.

As she arrived in front of the Gamemaker supervisors, she spent a good amount of time silent and still, watching them, trying to register both the faces and the space. For a whole moment, she was stunned, unable to do anything but look at how they moved subtly -- to peel off an orange, to bite from a smoked salmon caviar crostini, to sip from a flute of champagne. She hummed to the void before moving, to give herself the smallest boost of confidence.

“Calypso Winter,” she introduced herself, clearly and with emphasis on every syllable, as if every word spoken their way had an importance. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She simply placed the pomegranate in the middle of the room, on the cold, rubber floor. It was steady as an exclamation point, and Calypso took off.

She didn’t know much about combat of any kind, so she looked at the different shapes of blades with cold indifference, fingers lingering on their handles. There was nothing for her there. Three years of horse-riding, two years of piano lessons, eight months of competitive swimming, two years and a half of sport climbing. Useless, useless activities her parents half-heartedly signed her up for definite, brief periods, only to say that they have tried every posh activity there was. Nothing glued to her. 

Without further ado, she started climbing the painted climbing wall, no safety needed, all for those lessons she got at nine years old. She climbed it fast enough, and once at the top, at sixteen feet, she didn’t know what else to do, where else to go. More than six minutes lied ahead of her, and she couldn’t just serve nothingness and a somewhat decent physical condition in a domestic display.

So Calypso kept going, standing up on the climbing wall, no safety net, nowhere else to go but the ceiling a couple of feet above. She wiped her hands against her hoodie, to get rid of the sweat, and she went on, grasping the pipes and striations of the training room. She breathed in through the nose and out through the mouth, focusing on not falling on this unexplored field. There were several things to hold on to -- all she had to do was hold and go on. Before she knew it, her foot was pushing against the wall, and she was trying to move onto a horizontal service ladder made of steel. 

Her body never weighed more, but she swallowed the pain and held tightly, moving her feet to follow, pushing against the ladder so she wouldn’t fall and only sustain herself with her hands, which was impossible. She had to hold on, become one with the ceiling, her body now placed in a parallel position to it. And, more importantly, she had to keep moving. 

For a little while, she kept going, trying to keep every muscle in her body strained so the move would be lighter and safer, but by the time she realized her hands were both numb and swollen, she was too far to get back to the climbing wall. A split second caught her ready to welcome in death. It was characteristic for her to die even before the arena, not even from that big of a height. In fact, it was an entirely safe height if she did it well. If she remembered well something learned over seven years ago.

Calypso practiced falling before. It’d been her favorite lesson. Her trainer of back then said it -- if you aren’t falling, you aren’t trying hard enough. So she let go. Falling was better than slipping, and if she could help it, she’d do it right. She just had to fall like a cat.

Before she knew it, her feet relaxed and her hands let go, then moving to greet the floor. For less than a blink’s worth of time, she felt good about herself, before landing. Like a cat, on all four limbs. It hurt, not that she was ready to show that. Adrenaline didn’t let her feel it all the way, anyway. She stretched her shoulders vigorously despite the pain. It hurt enough for a painkiller and a couple of days of soreness. And her knees would probably start bleeding anytime soon, but her black pants covered that up. The Gamemakers didn’t have to know. They just had to see her dust off her hoodie and shake her hands against each other to thaw the bones in her arms. In the end, she even smiled, pleased with the outcome. 

Then, she walked by the pomegranate, a few steps away. “Imagine if I fell on this. So effectful,” Calypso explained and pushed her sneaker ahead, to step on and break the fruit, spreading red juice everywhere. Those damned pomegranates and their violent bleeding.

[gointothevvater]

Theme: The First...

I'm a day late, but that's okay! Better late than never, right?

For context: The first time Pickles and St. Cecilia met after the breakup of Snakes N' Barrels. It's been some time, and while things change, some things stay the same.

.

"St. Cecilia." Pickles's voice was soft, the name sitting strange and bitter on his tongue. He hadn't spoken it in years, though he thought it often. And here she was, right in front of him, her honey-gold eyes locked with his.

"Hey, love," she said, her lilting sing-song accent cutting right through him. It always did. God, he'd missed the sound of her voice.

He reached for her, stopped himself, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, where they could do nothing he would regret. "How ya been?" he asked lamely.

With a rueful smile and a shrug, she said, equally lamely, "Well enough, I suppose." She looked away, and Pickles felt a familiar void open in his chest, already mourning the loss of eye contact. When had he become this pathetic? God, he hated himself. "You?"

Pickles wasn't sure what to say. Things were the same as they had been for years. Dethklok was huge, bigger than Stiletto, bigger even than Snakes N' Barrels, but he was sure she already knew that. What was there to say? "Good," was all he could think of. His eyes slid over the other partygoers, but Nathan was too far to call for help, and Skwisgaar was too busy babysitting Toki to be of any use. No way in hell was he asking Murderface; He'd never live it down. "Just got back from a tour," he said, as if she wasn't aware of it. The whole world knew.

"Heard it was a raging success," she replied lightly, a bit of a teasing tone eking its way into her voice. When a suited caterer stepped past, she snatched a flute of champagne from the tray he carried. She lifted it to her lips, thought better of it, then offered it to him. Sounding almost like her old self, she said, "You look like you need this more than I do."

He accepted, of course, downing the champagne so fast he didn't even feel the bubbles. Fighting the urge to throw down the flute, he huffed, "You know me too well." When he looked at her again, she was looking back at him. She hardly looked like the same person. Fifteen years had passed since Snakes had broken up, but somehow she looked prettier now than she had then, dressed in a black suit far better tailored than his, her hair silvery blonde and hanging loose down her back, her heels high enough that she was almost at eye level with him. How was this even possible? Here he was, old and pudgy and balding, and yet she was still gorgeous. He said, "You look good."

She said, "You, too."

He repressed a shiver when her bright eyes slid over him, turning the champagne flute over in his hands, paying special attention to the place where her lips had touched the glass, leaving a little smear of dark lipstick. He swiped it away with his thumb.

There was a long pause, then St. Cecilia muttered, "Christ, this is awkward."

There was nervous laughter in her voice, and Pickles mirrored it, tipping his head towards the bar and asking, "Wanna get a drink?"

"More than anything!" Her laughter was genuine now, and to Pickles's surprise, when he offered his arm, she took it, murmuring, "What a gentleman." She sounded impressed, and Pickles felt his chest swell with pride.

They stepped through the crowd of record execs and singers and musicians to the bar set up against the far wall, claiming a pair of empty stools, and Pickles ordered them each a whiskey neat. While she sipped at hers, he downed his with a great sigh, saying, "Been way too long."

"Since you've had whiskey?" St. Cecilia asked, laughing when he shot her a deadpan look. The sound was like fire, warm and bright and blazing through him. He'd have blisters when they parted, he was sure of it. They'd hurt like hell.

"Since we seen each other," he said, feeling raw and vulnerable. Fucking gay, he scolded himself. He was the most famous drummer in the world, he had a different girl in his bed every night, why did this one make him so nervous? It was fucking ridiculous. Stupidly, he asked, "You got a boyfriend?"

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and he felt his heart shudder, then shatter. Softly, she said, "I do, actually."

He said, "Shit."

He was immensely relieved when he heard Nathan shout, "Pickles! We're leaving!" When Pickles glanced in his direction, he saw Nathan supporting a thoroughly drunk Toki while Skwisgaar had his head tilted back and nursing a bloody nose. Murderface was nowhere to be seen, and that was the most worrying thing of all.

St. Cecilia asked, "Already?"

Pickles tried not to be comforted by how disappointed she sounded, but he failed miserably. "Guess so," he said. He reached for her again, and this time, he went through with it, pulling her into his arms, resting his forehead against her tattooed shoulder. The ink was new, but she smelled like jasmine and cinnamon and cloves, as she always had. Cinnabar, it was called. He'd recognize it anywhere. He pulled away, grabbed a cocktail napkin and a pen from the affronted bartender's shirt pocket and scribbled his phone number on it. "If the boyfriend breaks your heart," he said, handing the napkin over, "call me." As he did, their hands touched, and he pulled away, lest the sparks set him alight. "I'll break his neck."

Smiling, she scoffed, "You would, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Pickles!" Nathan called again. "Now!"

"I'm coming!" Pickles hollered back, green eyes rolling. "God!" Then, without thinking, he pulled St. Cecilia close again, pressing his mouth to hers, reveling in the familiar taste of her lips.

When he pulled back, she whispered against him, "We can't do this." She wanted to, though. Pickles could feel her heart was pounding against his fingers where they rested at her waist. Her eyes were blown dark with want, and she looked away from him again, lifting a black-nailed hand to push a lock of silvery hair behind her ear.

She was right, he knew, and he slipped away from her, to where the boys were waiting for him. Murderface had appeared now, spitting congratulations at him, and Pickles gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Toki found this hilarious, but Pickles couldn't manage a smile. The void in his chest was a bottomless pit now, and he doubted there was enough booze in all of Mordhaus to fill it.

.

Did I just make St. Cecilia more important to Pickles’s backstory than she had any right to be? Yes. Did I make her a possible cause for not only his substance issues but also SNB’s breakup? Yes, I did that, too. Oops? Also points to anyone who guesses who the boyfriend is! Lol

[sephspark]

In Golden Light

A/N: There’s no lore here. There’s no plot here. There’s not even song lyrics. I literally dreamed this entire fic and then decided to write it down because I was SAD I didn’t get to finish telling Dream!Damien his bedtime story. Also because we’re living in a goddamn plague, I’ve written at least 50k of tragedy and trauma navel-gazing, I have earned this self-indulgent fluff. Thank you.

Warnings: slight unreality [it’s established that this is a dream sequence], alcohol

Ships: MayorAttorney, Celine/Mark

It is Christmas Eve, 1929.

This is a life that could have been. This is a world that will never be. This is a dream, a beautiful lie, but for a moment, it is joy incarnate.

This is a life where there is no dark thing stalking the halls of the Barnum manor, no shadows waiting to collect on ambiguous debts, no gaps between worlds for children to fall through. There is no thousand-eyed abyss that twists Mark into a mockery of its own monstrousness. There is no memory-eating void that takes and takes from William until he forgets how to be. There are no hissing whispers that dig into Tess’s skin until she becomes a caricature of herself.

It is a year after a poker party that never came to pass, because this is a life without the ugliness of scandal, without Celine’s unhappiness, without heartbreak and pain.

Celine is seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs they’ve dragged into the parlor, her shoes discarded with her stockings and her legs pulled up beneath her. There is a glass of red wine on the table beside her. It is not her first, and she can feel the rush of it starting to crawl through her limbs and make her sleepy. She imagines, half-drunk, that Mark will either have to leave her to sleep in the chair or carry her up to their room. She thinks she’ll insist that he do so. If he can’t, it will at least be funny to watch, and she has earned a good laugh at her husband’s expense.

It is only the five of them (Celine, Mark, Damien, William, and Tess) left in the manor now; even Benjamin, the chef, and George have been sent home for the holidays (Tess insists upon it; she remembers too many Christmases spent without her mother). But the walls are still covered in streamers and decorations, and there are still fallen balloons scattered across the floor.

The day before, they’d hosted the Barnums’ annual Christmas charity ball. With William’s parents visiting relatives, it had been the first year Celine had organized the damn thing as the “lady of the house”. It had gone off wonderfully, she’d been praised to the high heavens for it by the same housewives who gossiped about her behind their fans, and she’d at least cemented Mark’s status in society for another year.

In reality, of course, Tess had dragged her through it with white-knuckles, while Damien brought them both whatever confections they requested while they poured over guest lists. There was something to be said, Celine thought, about having the mayor for a brother and the district attorney for a sister-in-law. Although she didn’t know how the two of them had managed to dodge their hosting duties for another year.

It doesn’t matter; the past is past, and now Celine can get horribly drunk on expensive wine, and go back to terrorizing society ladies by offering to read their cards.

Mark stands at the bar, sipping on the same flute of champagne he’s had in his hand for the last hour. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend like they don’t notice. It isn’t that his sobriety would be an issue--Tess is terrorizing William behind the bar, challenging him to make more and more complicated virgin versions of drinks. It’s more that, even among the people who love him best, he does not like the concept of being out of control.

He loves the spotlight. It keeps him in money, and it makes him happy. But he thinks that this is all he really needs, at the end of the day: his wife, eyes droopy with sleep and a soft smile on her face, curled up in her favorite chair. Tess and William, ribbing each other, the way they always did as children, occasionally calling his name to mediate whatever nonsense argument they’ve gotten themselves into.

When he looks over this time, William has left a dollop of whipped topping on Tess’s nose, and though she’s called for a referee, she’s valiantly attempting to lick it off while laughing. Mark shakes his head and looks away--he’s not getting involved with that one.

He’s in between films at the moment. Underneath the tree is a present with Celine’s name on it. She’ll open it in the morning, find two plane tickets inside: New Orleans. They’ve been before, but he knows she’d like to go again. They’ll leave the manor in William’s care (or, really, Benjamin’s) while they’re gone, and enjoy a well-earned vacation after all the anger Celine suppressed while playing hostess. He’s happiest when she is happiest.

William is tending bar all night--it’s his designated role when they have these little get-togethers. Usually, he foists the worst concoctions he can think of upon his friends, terrible things that he learned from friends in the army when they needed to get drunk and didn’t have much at hand. One year, the “winner” of his nightmare mixes was declared to be “only suitable as car fuel” by Damien, the schmuck unlucky enough to choose it from the tray of shot glasses.

He likes the bar for another reason: it puts his back to the wall. It’s not a thing he’s consciously aware of anymore, but he likes to be able to see the entirety of a room through his crooked glasses. Likes to know what’s behind him. Likes to ignore the tremor the war left in his hands. It’s been a decade; he’s talked about it, in pieces, with Tess, and it has helped. But there are still ghosts that linger, even in this world without shadows.

He knows the others are watching their drunken feet to keep from popping any of the half-deflated balloons on the floor so that they don’t startle them. He appreciates it in a way he’ll never speak out loud. Instead, he leans across the bar with a napkin to wipe the topping off of Tess’s nose, only to be swatted away while she insists she’ll do it herself.

He’s sampling his own creations tonight, since Tess is being stubbornly sober and instead insisting on virgin drinks. He misses, sometimes, the nights they’d get drunk together, when she was in university and trailing Damien to every party on campus. But she has become respectable. Gotten herself elected to office. Finally married Damien, after a lifetime of pining for one another. William’s father gave her away at the wedding, and William vehemently denies ever crying when he saw her in her wedding dress.

William is still between careers. He imagines he always will be. He’s got his family money to fall back on, to fund his travel. He’s at least stopped chasing thrills. When he travels, it’s because there’s a job at the other end of it for him; private security things, mostly, but he knows what he’s good at. It worries Tess. He promises her he’ll be safe. He’ll have to promise her that in the morning, but at least he will be able to do it with the letter he’s tucked into her gift beneath the tree: it is a scarf from Paris. He can imagine her tying it over her hair while she drives.

Tess is...Tess is. She started off drinking virgin daiquiris, and she’s not sure what she’s onto now, other than it involved William swearing quite colorfully. She is in a comfortable nightgown, which isn’t unusual at these family gatherings; she simply doesn’t see the point of dressing up for the people who know her best. She has to perform in court and in her offices every day of her life. She gets to be a carefree child again here at Christmas.

In the end, of course, she wipes the topping off of her nose and licks it from her thumb while William isn’t looking. She’s tried her best to lick it off of her nose, to no avail, and she’s certainly not going to call for Mark to come mediate again. A quick glance at him reveals that he is kneeling in front of Celine, talking to her gently with a doting smile on his face, and Tess quickly looks away. It makes her happy to see him happy--she can barely remember those days when she felt jealous of their joy.

She has everything she ever dreamed of, when she laid in bed and dreamed of a future she thought could not be. These moments are all that matter.

Yes, in the morning, she will have to rouse Damien from his hangover and drive the pair of them home after opening presents. In a few days, she will have to return to her office to deal with the post-holiday build-up. At some point, she and Damien will have to have a serious talk about their work; there is trouble coming to the city, and they can both see it. There are a million things to worry about. But for now--for now she can sit at the bar, drinking some combination of orange juice and limes that is certain to burn her stomach, and smile at her brothers.

“Hey,” Mark says from behind her, gently putting his hand on her shoulder. “It’s almost midnight. Do you want to go get him, or should I?”

She laughs. “I’ll do it. No promises, though.”

And she stands, stretches, and leaves to find her husband.

Damien has forgotten that he is not eighteen anymore, and that his tolerance for alcohol does in fact have a limit. He’s also forgotten, somehow, how dangerous it is to take a drink from William without questioning it. It’s a mistake he makes every year, to the point where Tess suspects it is not a mistake at all.

Either way, he had been the first to lose himself in the drink, and thus the first to be put to bed in a dark spare room on the first floor. She’d stumbled him in there herself, his arm slung across her shoulder and his legs barely working to help her, while Mark and William muffled their laughter behind their hands. Damien’s been sleeping (she hopes) for the better part of two hours.

But it is almost midnight, and there is a tradition: they watch the clock turn to midnight together, all of the Barnums in one room, and tell each other “Merry Christmas” as soon as the last chime has struck. In hindsight, she thinks it was a way to make the children feel special, to let them stay up past their bedtimes--though they very rarely made it without naps. It certainly kept them asleep well into the next morning, when they finally collapsed in their beds sometime around 12:30, and she imagines it afforded the Barnums and her own mother plenty of extra time to put their presents from Santa Claus into position.

They still stay up til midnight, though it seems less magical with adulthood. She doesn’t want Damien to miss it. He’ll whine if he does, apologize until she wants to pinch his cheek and stop him.

The bedroom is still dark. Damien is a nondescript lump on the bed. She considers, briefly, turning on the lights, and then decides against it.

She sits beside him and rests her arm on his side. His back is to her. He grumbles in a way she knows too well; asking for more time. No doubt he thinks she’s come to wake him up for a meeting.

Tess leans over to trace a line up his nose, between his brows, and draw a circle on his forehead with the pad of her finger. A morning ritual. She can’t remember when she started doing it, or why, only that it’s what she needs to do in this moment. It’s what she’s supposed to do.

“It’s time to wake up,” she whispers, trying to be mindful of the headache she’s sure he’s already feeling.

More grumbling, though his eyes at least crack open to look up at her. He sighs and turns his face towards the warmth of her hand, like he’s trying to burrow into her.

“Tell me a story,” he mumbles.

She laughs. “A story?”

“Mm-hm.”

She can hear Mark calling her name from down the hall. She might miss midnight with the others. She doesn’t want to yell down and tell him that she doubts she’ll be able to get Damien up in half an hour, let alone a quarter. But she can tell him a story.

“Okay. Once upon a time, there was a young girl with two older sisters--”

Damien takes her wrist, gently, trying to shake his head. “Nooooo. Not that one.”

He’s never objected to Beauty and the Beast before. Tess pauses for a moment, tries to think; there are only a few stories she knows by heart, but she can always try to invent one. They will certainly miss midnight. She thinks it’s okay. She thinks this is okay. She thinks--she feels like she should be crying, though she doesn’t know why.

She takes a deep breath, and she begins again.