#��: you know you don't have to wear it right? you could take it off

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 10 - Three of Cups

summary : you are invited to a masquerade, and between battling to find a decent dress and the expectations of conducting oneself in high society, you manage to pull it off

content warnings : masquerade shit idk, reader putting men back in their places because duh, for reference here are the link to reader (the pic on the right) and viktor's outfit for the masquerade (art made by me)

word count : 8,5k

author's note : omygoodness, i’m so dubious about this chapter. i could NOT not give viktor some khôl sexy eyes okay. i just did and i don't regret it. also!!! i moved the taglist down the doc now hehe

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world <3

masterlist : here

"Really now?"

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your head barely visible above a fluorescent orange collar with multiple layers piling up on top of each other like lasagna.

Who would have thought that finding a dress was such a long and difficult job?

You'd already been in a few shops in Piltover for a good hour each. You'd been going from boutique to boutique for nearly three hours already, and you were beginning to lose hope about the possibilities open to you regarding your outfit.

Tonight was the gala, and you still hadn't found a dress. You'd probably imagined that the matter would be sorted out quickly. That, by some miracle or other, you would find a dress that was chic and presentable enough to wear to a masquerade.

But the clock was ticking, while your search continued unabated. Sélène and Sky had both come to accompany you, and the two of them had enough in common that the teacher-student barrier was forgotten and she just saw her as a friendly aunt.

Sélène had this extraordinary ability to always be open, to see everyone as an equal, no matter what their age or background was. It was an immense and admirable quality, coupled with her extraordinary patience to hold out and persevere in finding you a superb evening outfit.

You had tried on so many dresses that you thought you could now recognise every possible material a dress could be made of. You'd tried silk and velvet, pleats of tulle or organza, all sorts of cuts that made you look either too invested in this evening or far too casual.

You knew that, once you entered the gala hall, it would be an arena. A constant battle of eyes tearing at the others, comments on their appearances, their words - passive-aggressive phrases disguised as condescending benevolence. 

You could understand why Jayce didn't want to face such a world, always so hungry for crumbs that left stomachs screaming to invent new words and cover the world with a layer of sneaky ridicule.

Speaking of ridiculous, the outfit you were now wearing completed the criteria. 

You turned to Sky and Selene who, with a knowing glance, sighed in turn. You returned to the cabin, removing the dress and putting on your clothes again with annoyance.

"Maybe I should just tell Jayce I can't make it," you concluded as you left the cabin.

"No way in hell," chuckled Selene.

"Maybe we should try the other side of the river?" Sky suggested, after seeing that there was no one around to overhear.

Zaun owned huge dressmaking houses, however they clashed with Piltover’s aesthetic. If word got out that one of the guests at this prestigious gala was wearing couture from the enemy city... you didn't know what that would do to your reputation and the strings that would be pulled to constrain you in your aims.

"No," replied Selene, her eyes fixed on you as a flash of lucidity seemed to cross her mind. She gave you both a wise smile. "There's still a wardrobe in Piltover where you'll probably be able to find something."

She then turned to Sky, offering her a charming smile and taking both her hands, squeezing them gratefully.

"Sky sweetheart, I'll be taking over from now on. I thank you immensely for your time and your very pleasant company." She turned to you for a moment. "Dear, give me one of those tickets Jayce gave you."

You complied, handing her one of the tickets still looking crisply printed, which she handed to Sky.

"Go on a little shopping trip and get yourself some treats. You've earned it."

Sky looked deeply surprised, exchanging a glance with you for a moment as you shrugged, equally confused.

Selene turned to you. "As for us, we've got some real archaeological work to do."

The two of you returned to Selene's flat as Sky had left, exchanging one last minute and promising to tell each other absolutely everything once you got back from the Gala.

"What card did you draw today?" she asked as she opened the door to her dressing room.

You watched as she grabbed a small stepladder. "Three of Cups."

"Aha," she smiled as she climbed onto it, scanning the shelves above, "the cards know about this little soirée."

The little booklet was starting to feel a lot more familiar now: Joy shared with others. Friendship and celebration. The expression of love and warm feelings.

It all seemed very positive, you thought, as you continued to read the page. The Cups reflect the sacred triad of creativity and growth. This card reminds you to share with others. Empowering others increases your happiness, health and wealth. Surround yourself with people who uplift you.

Talk about elevation, you'd find yourself surrounded on all sides by aristocrats and other big heads, where the only level that could rise would be that of clever condescension camouflaged under dishonest smiles.

Selene's graceful hands, full of rings, clutched a large black leather suitcase. She blew on it, a cloud of dust rising into the air as she passed it to you.

“What's this?” you questioned as you picked it up, its weight comfortable in your arms as you observed the trunk.

She bent down to grab the handle of a second briefcase, brown and with the varnish starting to peel off the corners. 

"I was around your age when I started getting invited to Galas and other balls of the sort." She descended the small steps of the stepladder, facing you. "I kept all the dresses that some men had offered me."

You smiled, amazed and surprised. "Offered?"

Selene giggled, kneeling on the ground as you did the same.

"They offered me drinks, and the drinks went to the bed, and from the bed came enough adoration that I have to my credit two or three divorces in which I am the centre of the affair." She sighed as she undid the two golden buckles guarding the sealed chest. "They covered me with jewels," your eyes passed over her hands again, "flowers, and on special occasions, dresses."

She opened it, and your lips parted at the beauty of its contents. She pinched an emerald-green piece of fabric, lifting its heavy velvet into the air before you and revealing a winter dress all embroidered with carmine and obsidian stones, dripping like blood.

Another slipped through her fingers, a summer dress in a fine, peachy pink, its sleeves made of organza embroidered with gold embellishments.

Another made you open your mouth until your jaw hit the floor. A long golden dress, with a loose neckline reaching down to just above her navel, while the bare back almost reached her sacrum.

"You wore that?" you almost choked out.

She smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Some of them wanted to uncover me more than cover me."

You laughed softly, opening the black trunk in your lap. The glitter of a black sequined dress was immediately reflected on your skin.

"These are all so beautiful..." you said almost absently, your hand running through the fabric.

The thought then occurred to you that you were going to wear something so expensive and beautiful tonight, but you felt almost unworthy to have any of these dresses on your skin. You were first in the Academy, of course. And you had worked hard to get there. But a masquerade that would surely be attended by all the most important people in Piltover was no mean feat.

"Now," Selene broke through your incessant internal doubts, clutching the first dress that came her way, "let's see how beautiful you look in them."

You smiled softly at her, shyly accepting the piece of art as she stepped out of the dressing room and gave you time to change. 

You held the fabric close to you, the sequins reflecting off your hands as your eyes tried to visualise you wearing that same dress tonight. I must be perfect, you thought.

As you began undressing to put on the dress, a reflection caught your eye. Your attention was drawn to a dark patch peeking out from under an old pink dress.

Drawn in, intrigued, you gently pinched the shoulder of the dress to discover the one hidden beneath. A soft, violet fabric, approaching a dark blue, gleamed in the light from the ceiling, lines of small blue and black stones streaking it from top to bottom.

Purple, you thought, the conversation from the day you visited the museum coming back to mind.

You took the dress in your hands, rising up and letting it unfurl like a waterfall at night. The fabric seemed magical, shimmering like stars on water, glistening like the moon on snow. The neckline ran from around the neck in a V-shape to the centre of the valley of your breasts, a dark, almost black bodice hugging the waist while the skirt came down to the feet. The shoulders were covered, the sleeves parting loosely halfway down the arm until they met at gold bracelets around the wrist.

It was sublimely elegant, dark and mysterious, perfect for a masquerade. You carefully replaced the dress Selene had originally given you in the suitcase, and slipped it on. The fabric was soft against your skin, a slight reassuring weight on your shoulders as the bracelets closed around your wrists with ease. You felt neither too tight nor too loose – a perfect balance. 

Maybe purple wasn't such a bad colour after all.

"So?" called Selene from outside. 

You inhaled, hesitantly opening the dressing room door. Selene was at her vanity, looking in her drawers for the few palettes that might embellish your eyes. She looked away from her search, resting her eyes on you, and her gaze softened.

"Where did you get this one?" you asked, your finger pinching the skirt gently as you gazed at the stones glinting softly in the light.

She moved towards you, tender, as a thin smile stretched her lips, gazing wistfully at the dress on you.

"It was given to me..." her hand came to rest on one of your shoulders, sliding down your arm, "by a man I loved."

"You loved?" you repeated in wonder.

"Mhm," she hummed, her hand reaching for the gold bracelet, index and middle fingers together as if to trace its pulse. She seemed to come back to reality, regaining your eyes. "I'm glad you're wearing it."

She then turned her head to the mirror on her dressing table, taking your wrist gently and pulling it so that you came to sit in front of it. In your reflection, the dress looked stunning, highlighting your figure to perfection and lighting you up.

Selene then picked up a black circular mask, hanging over the mirror.

"Now," she brought the mask up to your face, placing it to make sure it would fit, "it's time for the world to figure out how to resist you."

Your heart was pounding as the music came closer to your ears and your heels echoed in the huge hallway you were walking through.

Selene had done your make-up after you'd showered, spending a good while on your eyes, since they and your lips would be the main attractions. She fixed your hair, gave you a few accessories and found a pair of heels in your size.

You made your way to the masquerade building without much trouble, the cool night air calming the heat in your cheeks. And now that you'd reached the big ballroom, your heart was starting to race in your chest.

What if you stumbled and made a fool of yourself? What if you said something wrong that didn't fit in with high society etiquette? What if you made a mistake?

You tried to breathe, to calm yourself down, to not assume that you were going to fail no matter what. You were the top of the Academy, after all, and defeat feared you. You thought about all the possibilities, and resigned yourself first of all to finding Jayce, who was probably just as lost and scared as you were.

You took one last breath, and turned into the chamber with your head held high.

The room had a high ceiling from which modern crystal chandeliers shone, illuminating the space where all sorts of silhouettes mingled. Some were standing by banqueting tables piled high with petits fours and amuse-bouches, while others were forming clusters of discussion groups, each carrying a champagne flute.

Do as they do, you thought, on the lookout for a waiter who might pass not far from you. With great luck, a charming butler came towards you as if a radar for people without champagne flutes had been grafted onto his eyes. 

You took one, offering him a polite smile. As he prepared to leave, already looking for new people to please, you thought hesitantly to ask him if he'd seen Jayce Talis. But you stopped yourself, instead bringing the drink to your lips to prevent making a fool of yourself. You were in a masquerade, the very principle of which was the doubt and mystery of those with whom you were sharing a discussion.

Fortunately for you, however, you knew Jayce well enough to recognise him in a crowd. Had Viktor even arrived? You had no idea. Perhaps you were alone here, a shrimp trying to pretend to be a shark when an ocean of danger could bring a deadly current at any moment.

You looked around the room a little more closely. On either side, pillars of white marble rose up to a vaulted ceiling covered with superb frescoes. The floor was almost a mirror of it because of its intensive polishing, the black and white tiles creating intricate rosettes which you could no doubt start counting if the evening ever got too boring for your liking. At the far end of the room, three huge windows, almost embedded in the domed ceiling, let you discover the night and its mysteries. There was even a small band playing a steady stream of classical music, much to the delight of everyone it appeared.

The setting was magnificent, the scents of expensive foods and fragrances mingling almost to the point of suffocation. Everyone was wearing quite different colours, but the majority were still in Piltover's gold and white.

Finally your eyes found Jayce, dressed in the colours of his house. It's all about subtlety, you thought as you walked towards him. You hoped that by some miracle he would turn his head towards you and recognise you, so that you wouldn't have to worry about interrupting a conversation.

Alas, he did not. You walked towards them, a sentence ending as you arrived.

"I thought I'd never find you," you said, Jayce and his chatting companion both turning to face you. 

Jayce looked confused for a moment, frowning and hoping he wasn't a complete idiot.

"Do I know y..." You feared the worst when a flash of genius crossed his eyes. "Oh it's you!"

Your shoulders relaxed as the stress subsided.

"I almost didn't recognise you," he admitted, apparently taken aback by your outfit. He turned for a moment to his conversation companion. "If you'll excuse us."

The latter nodded politely as you and Jayce walked away, along one of the buffet tables.

"This place is terrifying," you started, your eyes going around the room as you noticed a few glances being on you relentlessly.

Jayce shrugged, grabbing an appetiser that looked far too sophisticated for you and Sky to be lucky enough to find in the corner shop. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be," he said with his mouth full.

"That's because you're a social butterfly, Jayce," you remarked, your stare stretching across the room as a few eyes rested on you and smiled in what looked like an attempt at flirting from a distance for some. "You're the sunlight of this room."

He stopped chewing for a moment, looking at you with big eyes. "That's probably the nicest thing you ever said to me."

"It's not that complicated - all of them look like they were dipped in wax and can barely crack an actual smile."

"I take that back," he sighed, swallowing his bite.

You turned your attention back to the buffet, plates probably costing more than your salary, containing all sorts of arrangements mixing puff pastas and all sorts of garnishes.

You ventured to take one, exhaling a hum of relief as the taste was absolutely divine. Perhaps you'll be staying near the food this evening? The advantage with them at least was that you didn't risk having to talk yourself to sleep.

"So," you licked your fingers, "will you introduce us to your girlfriend?"

He sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Chances are she'll find you before I find her,” he mumbled, his eyes roaming the room in search of the aforementioned lady. "She's in her element here, but I think you'll recognise her once she comes to you."

You'd seen Mel Medarda before. Selene, who had a metaphorical place on the council, used to take you along from time to time when public meetings such as trials took place. You knew each of the councillors, like most of the people in Piltover, and would no doubt recognise them if the occasion arose.

Mel Medarda, sumptuous woman that she was, had left her mark on you in her beauty, her eloquence and her generosity. You hoped to honour your memory and her greatness by recognising her this evening.

"Is Viktor here with you?" you asked, curiosity winning out over silence.

"Yes," he smiled, raising his eyebrows, "I think he managed to temporarily escape to the toilets."

You brought your champagne flute to your lips. "Smart man."

From across the room, a guest raised her flute to Jayce. 

"Duty calls," Jayce confirmed as he rubbed his hand off of any crust before placing his hand on your shoulder, "don't sweat it in here, just... mingle."

And with that, he left, leaving you at the mercy of a world you despised.

You looked at the dishes, taking a second one in your hand so as not to stand there like another statue in the background. You took a few steps out of sight, trying to savour what little quiet and time you had on your own before anyone requested your attention.

"That is quite an unfamiliar silhouette that I meet."

You turned, your eyes landing on a young woman covered in a dress combining saturnine white, black and gold. 

Mel Medarda.

In her long dress with a skirt slit up her thighs, she looked like an elegant bottle of poison, an addictive elixir that gave you the serenity and comfort of knowing you were in control and that you had someone to talk to if any worries arose.

She had a mouth shaped like a chameleon, ready to take any shape or colour that might interest or uninterest her auditor. Her dark lips quirked into a smile as her eyes crinkled, all covered in gold and dark glitter. There was power in her grin as she moved forward, murmuring I've got lies so handsome you'll never want to believe the Truth, and that would make her jealous. I've got excuses so beautiful you'll want me to betray you to listen to them, so powerful you'll forgive me anything. 

She was the fiercest shark in the pond, and she was coming towards you.

"Councillor," you raised your flute in introduction, trying to gain the same calm and consistency of diplomatic discussions, "I don't think we ever officially met before."

She sighed as she came up to you, shaking her head. "Let us drop the formalities – you're not going in for a discussion joust with me."

You looked startled, Mel dropping her shoulders.

“I know you're a friend of Jayce and Viktor, you're not a part of any of..." she described a graceful circle in the air with her flute, "them."

You relaxed a little. ‘Thank the Hells, I thought I'd have to behave myself and have conversations about a multi-polarised conflict of international importance, or anything of the sort."

She smiled at you, all charming. She was young, if not the same age as you. So how did she go about her day-to-day life, pushing herself to act like an adult whose shoulders bore the weight of big, heavy decisions?

"To simplicity," she toasted.

You raised your flute to hers before taking a sip. Its contents were beginning to dwindle already.

"How did you and Jayce meet?" she asked after her own swig.

"Two years ago, when I first started at the Academy, I was transferred to his class after three months."

"Really? For what reason?" she inquired.

You shrugged. "I'd made enough progress on my year's programme that they were considering moving me to another class. Skipped two classes in my life," you smiled. 

"I'm beginning to understand why you're in first place in the rankings," she nodded, arching an eyebrow.

"Determination can take you a long way," you confirmed. "Jayce passed me the notes of the classes he'd taken since the beginning of the year, and wire by wire the title of classmate blurred into friend."

You thought back for a moment to the afternoons you'd spent poring over Jayce's notes, the question marks he'd drawn over and over again on his papers that you'd ended up completing for him. And when the weekends came and he came to see you at the café, he'd always wait until you had your break to talk about anything and everything with you.

“How about you?” you asked in return. “Haven't had many times this year to sit down and talk with him about his life, but I do want to know about you.”

“What don't you know?” she smiled. “The advantage of advisors is that a lot of their lives are biographed and catalogued.”

“Lucky then that I get to talk to a human being and not a pile of dead leaves,” you remarked.

She nodded gently before tilting her head to one side in consideration.

“I met Jayce after his trial. We had a long discussion and reconsidered his sentence after sharing it with the council. Since then, I've helped finance some of his projects, and the line between the professional and the romantic has blurred.”

“You're sure he's a good boyfriend, aren't you?” you inquired, ”if I find out he's not buying you a bouquet of flowers every week I may well have to perform an urgent intervention to educate him on the subject.”

She laughed softly, amused by your enthusiasm for making sure he was beyond reproach.

“No lesson needed, I assure you,” she confirmed, turning to the rest of the room and making a very subtle gesture with her hand for a butler to come and serve you both again. “How are you enjoying the night so far?”

“Well,” you sighed, ”I haven't made myself any new enemies so that's a good sign. You?”

“I think that if I hear another conversation about a love affair with a 62-year-old priest or a thesis on predictive models of pluripotent stem cell susceptibility, one of these drinks will end up poisoned by the end of the evening,” the butler reached you and poured you a refill, Mel smiling at him. “Thank you.”

She turned back to you.

“You are my breath of fresh air of the evening.” Her eyes drifted over your form for a moment, intrigued. “That's quite a lovely dress, by the way - I haven't seen such garments around here. Where did you find it?” she inquired as she pinched the fabric of one of your sleeves between her long fingers.

“Oh, my mother gave it to me,” you replied, pleasantly surprised that you could talk so calmly and simply without any pressure. “You probably know of Selene?”

Her eyes returned to yours. “Selene? Selene Phathe?”

You nodded, her lip stretching to the side. 

“I wasn't aware she had a daughter.” she remarked. 

“She has many children,” you smiled. “I'm her legal daughter.”

Selene had always had something very maternal, but had inherited the bitterness of infertility. Any child or young person she came across and helped became a bit like her spiritual children, and you knew your siblings were in good hands.

“I see,” Mel said, offering an understanding smile. “I ask her from time to time for readings and such. Everything she's shared with me has turned out to be true. I was quite skeptical about being carried away by such a science, but she managed to convince me of her certainty.”

“Started reading Tarot myself after a few years of getting readings, it's... startling how accurate they are.”

“Truly?” She pressed her shoulder against yours, “you'll have to come visit me to give me a reading someday.” She smiled. “And inform me of any of Jayce's mischief if he ever does any, I'll be sure to correct him on that matter.”

You raised your then-full flute, all smiles. “I'll drink to that.”

She returned the smile, taking a sip before her eyes found those of another guest in the room and she sighed.

“If you'll excuse me, I think I have another boring conversation to attend to.”

“Good luck - you have my support from afar,” you encouraged her as she gracefully made her way to the designated person.

Your eyes then roamed the room again, observing the few outfits the guests were wearing and all the high heels worn by the women who must have been killing their feet... But your eyes found the end of a cane, a cane you knew all too well and which almost appeared in your horizon like a real lifeline in this troubled sea.

You moved forward, your eyes still lowered on the end of the cane as someone blocked your field of vision and you bumped them. 

“I'm sorry,” you uttered immediately, checking to make sure your champagne hadn't spilled as your eyes darted back to the masked ones of-

Tyler?

The fool's blond curls had been partially combed back with gel, his scarlet mask matched by a suit in Councilman Hoskel's colors: Black, Red and Gold.

He frowned, his eyes watching you completely before he realized where he knew that voice from.

“You?” he pronounced with as much disgust, shock and surprise mingling in his voice.

“Equally pleased, Tyler,” you grumbled, moving to extricate yourself from the situation when he grabbed your arm.

Your eyes immediately landed on where his hand was, moving slowly until they found his. How dare he even touch that fabric?

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, still not letting go of your arm.

“Got the invite for the biggest bastard competition, but it's just my luck that you got here. Now I can't win it, so if you'll excuse me-” you tugged again but Tyler kept his grip firm.

“How the hell did you get in there, huh?”

“Through the door, like everyone else. Can you let me go?”

“Where did you get such an empyreal dress?”

“Oh, you learned a new word.”

“It's Talis, isn't it?” He chuckled, finding the situation pitiful. “Thought he could just let you in like this?”

“Did your mother throw the baby away to raise the placenta? I was invited by merit, unlike you,” you almost spat at him. “Now let go of me.”

“Say please, and I'll consider it.”

“Tyler, I'm going to make you soluble so I can dilute you in my piss and dispense you into every flute in this room,” you threatened. “Let go of me.”

He nodded. “That's not how please is pronounced.”

“Her? Saying please, to you?”

You both turned toward the voice that had just spoken to you, the accent now inscribed in your ears.

Viktor.

Your breath seemed to almost supernaturally halt as your eyes fell on him. A purple, almost black velvet coat sat on his shoulders, the collar of his pierced shirt from which golden chain ornaments dangled, reached down to his vest, which elegantly outlined his waist. His black pants, flowing harmoniously down to his ankles, led to perfectly polished black shoes.

As your gaze returned to his face, your eyes locked on his, whose eyelids, beneath his mask of purple velvet and gold, were covered with a layer of kohl. His amber eyes possessed something mystical, mysterious and powerful.

“You too?" huffed Tyler. "It's an epidemic.” 

“Tyler, I believe the Miss asked you politely to leave her alone. I suppose you wouldn't want any rumors to get out about the Hoskel heir and some of his violent behaviours,” Viktor remarked.

Tyler's eyes darted around the room, most of the masked faces turned towards him while many murmured unintelligible things as they watched the scene. His gaze reached yours again, one corner of his lips rising in annoyance as he finally let go of your arm.

“What's vermin like you doing here?” he asked, teeth clenched.

“We've been officially invited,” Viktor marked. “The efforts of the two top-ranking Academy students that we are have therefore been given the opportunity of such an evening to solidify diplomatic ties, with the hope later of obtaining alliances useful to our projects for the common good.”

You had no idea how quickly Viktor had combined all these justifications to give him an air of credibility. The possibility then occurred to you that Jayce and Viktor, before they came here, had probably rehearsed many times what they had to say in case fools like Tyler found themselves playing the curious.

“The standards have obviously gone down,” Tyler chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” you replied, looking at him almost apologetically, as if just seeing him made you feel sorry for him, so worn out was the little that served as his brain.

“Dearest Nephew!” Bombarded a voice.

Councillor Hoskel himself, then accompanied by what you recognized as Councillor Salo, strode towards your merry little group.

“It seems you have never mentioned such a beauty to be part of your acquaintances.” 

The latter's eyes roamed over your figure as his tongue ran over his teeth. The figure was repulsive, one of his ridiculously thin arms against the enormity of his round beer belly nudging Tyler to make the introductions.

“Um,” he suddenly seemed to have lost his good-for-nothing tongue.

“Revealing our identity at a masquerade would defy the very principle of it,” Viktor sighed, exchanging a glance with you.

You had to play along, take on the etiquette of the discussion for an evening. “Exactly,” you declared with a tense smile that you offered to the trio of troublemakers.

“Is this your date?” Hoskel pointed, his slender finger unwinding from his flute to point at Viktor.

“Pardon?” you questioned, close to choking on your own spit.

“For tonight, is this young man your date?” he corrected. “Unless fate has miraculously brought you together with stylists,” he remarked with a greasy laugh.

Exchanging glances with Viktor and your two outfits, it was almost impossible not to notice the fact that, subconsciously, you'd been matching. Anyone seeing you side by side like that might have wondered about it, and the thought brought what you presumed was shame to your cheeks.

“Oh, no,” you laughed nervously. “Sorry, I did not understand.”

He shrugged and nodded arrogantly. “It's normal, pretty and intelligent is rare.”

You suppressed the urge to throw the contents of your flute in his face, given that he himself seemed not to be on his first one for a while now, and decided instead to play in his own court. “Yes, when ugly and stupid is quite common.” 

Tyler's gaze narrowed as much as his uncle's and Councillor Salo's as Viktor lowered his head, a small smile spreading across his lips as he glanced at you from the side.

“Funny,” Hoskel struck a slight pose as he watched you, ”how being behind a mask gives you wings.”

You raised your chin, squinting your eyes as if looking down on him. “Funny how multiplying champagne flutes does so as well, only...” your eyes drifted to his red nose then his belly full of booze, ”one remains hidden better than the other.”

Hoskel seemed to chew air, grinding his teeth together as he grunted dully.

“My my,” Salo tilted his head down as his eyes remained on you, straightening, ”that's a sharp little one we have here with us tonight.” He cleared his throat, raising his gloved hand to point at the sky as if preparing to lecture. “Take care not to make a woman cry because gods count her tears. Whereas when a woman's up to something, the devil sits at his desk and takes notes.”

“A citation?” remarked Viktor, destitute as he was of a champagne flute while his free hand let only his thumb protrude from his pants pocket.

“From one of my books,” said Salo, proudly, resting his hand on his chest.

Viktor didn't seem any more enchanted than that to be taking part in the discussion, but no doubt had to try to find some fictional interest in all that was being told. “Do you write?”

Salo took a sip of his champagne, swallowing it quickly enough to respond with airy hand movements. “The Gods kindly offer me the first verse. What is difficult is to write the next ones which will be worthy of their supernatural brothers."

You brought your flute close to your lips. “Yes, otherwise who'd write the scripts for beggars,” you mumbled, before taking only one more sip.

Viktor huffed. Salo frowned, not seeming to have distinctly heard your words. “I beg your pardon?”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together to collect the rest of the contents of your sip. “Yes?”

“I don't think I quite heard what you said a moment ago.”

You thought you wouldn't be heard, your eyes shifting from Salo to Viktor for a moment before returning to the counselor and closing your eyes, a nervous smile spreading across your lips as you tried again to be diplomatic.

So you tried a graceful exit, shaking your head. “I think the champagne bubbles must have started their little rise, I'm thinking of getting some air to release them.” Just before leaving, you repeated the formula you'd heard so many times this evening. “If you'll excuse me.”

You looked at them one last time, lingering a moment longer on Viktor's gaze as you left for one of the balconies.

The night air bit into your cheeks like apples, the winter coolness slapping you in sharp contrast to the warmth inside. The cool air filled your lungs and you thought for a moment you'd end up frozen from the inside out. There was no wind, just the muted calm of the cold and the murmur of the city below.

You stepped forward, placing your glass on the edge of the balcony. You didn't care if it fell, if it flew away, if a pigeon shat in it. The mere fact that the crystal of this flute had touched the lips of so many people who had destroyed so much hope for your own made you want to grab it by its stem yourself and send it waltzing off to the stars.

You brought your hands to your arms, as much to prevent yourself from needlessly accessing this hatred as to gain warmth. Your eyes watched the horizon, the lights of Piltover in every window. How many knew what their consumption was bringing from the other end of the river? Your gaze drifted towards the latter, the lights much dimmer as they gleamed from the very bowels of the city. You thought back to Eris's letter for a moment, but what did she want to talk to you about? 

Your hips touched the guardrail, your fingers running over Tyler's previous grip as if to dust off any DNA that had settled there. It was a good thing Viktor had arrived, or Tyler's nose would surely have had a few stitches.

A warmth rose in the back of your neck, familiar from Viktor's breath when he'd saved you from a nasty fall in the library. He'd gone ahead and helped you. There seemed to be this mutual recognition, this acceptance that, whatever happened, you were there to take the lead from each other. 

Your hand instinctively went to the back of your neck, trying to banish this feeling, or to recover it on your fingers in the hope of getting a little warm comfort. Was this a reaction to the trauma of his presence? Surely it could be, unless shame had crept under your skin and lingered there. 

You drew your fingers up slightly until you found the string of your mask, undoing it and letting the fresh air spread over your face.

The distinct tinkle of a cane snapped you out of your thoughts, and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

“You've left me in the lurch of a thorny conversation.” he said, his voice warm in the night air as he approached you, staying a reasonable distance to your left.

You sketched a smile, not yet turning towards him as you watched a fictitious dot in the distance. “What were they discussing?”

You felt him remove his mask, dropping the loop of black ribbon holding it to dangle from the handle of his cane. “I left as soon as they'd mentioned the matter of therapeutic obstinacy.” 

“A discussion like that should have had you hanging on to their every word,” you joked, finally turning your head towards him.

The prince of the night offered you his profile, his darkened eyes watching the horizon in the distance. He had a presence that froze you, a power so strong that it held you in place. You felt worthy of being the rival of a man like him. But were you still assuming this title?

“I think I'll let Tyler take it from here,” he smiled softly, turning to you.

His amber eyes planted themselves in yours, and you only managed to support it for a few seconds before your eyes drifted to his shoulders.

“You...” you breathed in, observing his elegant, sophisticated outfit, ”you look nice.”

He parted his lips, tilting his head slightly to one side as he squinted with a slight smile.

“Was that a compliment, miss?” he questioned.

“Don't get used to it,” you sighed, rolling your eyes, then reaching for your champagne flute, ”this is a special occasion after all.”

You brought your drink to your lips, the sensation of champagne making you feel a little freer, a little lighter and able to loosen your tongue to say or accept things you'd normally refuse.

You could feel his gaze on you in your peripheral vision, skirting the length of your body, your back illuminated by the interior of the room while the rest of your dress looked like a piece cut straight from the night that embraced you.

“That colour,” he began, his gaze drifting back to the horizon, ”it suits you.”

You thought back to what he'd said what seemed like an eternity ago. ‘It's beautiful, it's calm, in lavender as well as plum, in cassis as well as grape, in wisteria as well as... whatever, it's the one I prefer.’

It's the one I prefer.

You tried not to dwell on that thought, to move on.

“Who'd have thought Tyler would come all this way to bother us?” you huffed.

Viktor chuckled lightly. “He can't get enough of us.”

“I've rarely seen anyone scrape so deep into the depths of incompetence.”

“I believe you've met his uncle, though,” Viktor remarked. “And he, so far, holds a place on the Piltover council.”

“I guess it runs in the family to fall victim to one's own mediocrity.”

“And you had the gift of reminding them of it.”

You smiled, regaining his gaze for a moment. “Don't tell me you didn't want to either.”

He shrugged, pretending to think about it. “Yes, although I must applaud the success of your execution.”

“Would that be a compliment, Moravec?” you stressed.

He earned your gaze, eyes crinkled with a slight sneer. “Like you said - this is a special occasion after all.”

You nodded, shaking your head as if it were a song you'd heard too many times already.

A moment of silence passed, a slight quiver taking hold of you as the hour advanced and the air grew fresher and fresher.

“I've been thinking about the clauses for our truce.”

You turned towards him, arms again crossed as if to hold any ounce of warmth close to your body.

You smirked, grabbing your flute as if to help you listen to him and make those decisions.

“I'm listening.”

“Firstly,” he began, ”we shan't have any rivalry that doesn't engender some obsession pushing us into critical health situations.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was a one-time thing-”

“That is my first clause,” he cut in, his kohl-rimmed eyes insisting on the fact. “Second, mutual aid. If one of us experiences a difficulty somewhere, they must share it with the other, no matter how big their ego and pride.”

“Well that's going to be easy,” you sighed, pressing the crown of your flute close to your lower lip.

“Thirdly,” Viktor straightened up, tilting his head slightly forward as if in a short bow, ”let's be friends.”

You pressed your lips together, considering the offer truly.

Was there even a downside to becoming friends with Viktor? Besides the fact that you had to question your animosity towards him since the beginning of the year, what were the pros and cons?

Sure, he could get on your nerves in discussions, but it had been ages since you'd tried your hand at verbal jousting so constantly, and you were beginning to get used to it. 

But apart from that, he wasn't a threat, he was inclined towards progress and advancement rather than stagnation and stubbornness, and he'd already considered you friends for a while, if you went back to Agrane's attribution of detention where he'd wished to come to your defense.

Besides, he was from Zaun - few students here could say as much and understand you on certain points.

“Agreed,” you replied, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “But be careful, don't expect me to hop like a flower around you.” You huffed. “Jayce has already had to chase me around for quite a while before I'd officially consider him a friend.”

He shrugged, pressing his lips together slightly as if indifferent.

“That's fine by me. Fourthly,” he continued, ”clauses can be added in the future. Of course, they won't be imposed and can be discussed.”

You arch an eyebrow, huffing. “Do you have many more clauses?

“Do you agree to this one?” he asked, frowning.

You looked at him for a moment. This seemed to be very close to his heart. “Yes.”

“Good.” he smiled.

“Is that all?”

His eyes trailed over your shoulders for a moment. “Just one last one.”

He set his cane down against the marble railing, unclipping one of the pins that held the chain holding his coat to his back. He pinched the shoulders of it, taking a single step towards you to place it on yours, pressing his hands lightly on them as you felt the warmth his back had spread over the fabric against your own. He took care, with his long, slender, cool fingers, to reattach the chain neatly.

“My last clause for tonight is for you not to get cold,” he said, his voice more tender as he took a step back as if to observe the vision you were. “Luckily, we wore the same color.”

You took one of the sides in your hands, bringing it close to you to cover yourself with it.

“Won't you get cold?” you asked. 

He shrugged, regaining the grip of his cane as his eyes remained on your coat-covered figure. “If you think Jayce won't get rid of his coat at some point this evening, you're wrong.”

You crack a smile, wondering what would happen if Jayce overindulged in champagne and Viktor had to go home with him tonight. Unless, of course, Jayce and Mel ended the evening together. He slipped on his mask again, replacing it gracefully over his features.

Viktor was getting ready to go back inside, and you didn't know if the magic of champagne bubbles was making you say things, or if out of sheer urge you were calling him.

“Viktor?”

He turned to you for a moment, one part of his face bathed in the warm light of the interior while the other remained in the night like a crescent moon.

You parted your lips, the simple two words coming pouring out without doubt or regret. 

“Thank you.”

He seemed amazed, even with his mask over his face. But the astonishment quickly gave way to a softening, until his lips stretched into a smile and he stepped back inside.

Some people won't get any magic words out of you, but Viktor was worthy of them. You brought the collar of his coat close to you. His scent was sweeter than you'd expected, that of sun-warmed stone mingling with a lingering coffee fragrance.

Your eyes returned to the city, the vision of his kingdom, of streets he would split with his cane to hit the color purple on their cream walls.

It's the one I prefer.

The evening had come to an end. You had tried to fit into some of the conversation circles that came and went as time went by, remaining mostly silent and listening without interjecting, laughing when they laughed, nodding when they nodded, and trying not to simply stuff yourself with petits fours.

You'd thought of finding a way to take a handful with you so you'd have a little variety to bring back to give Sky a taste of how the evening was going. But you expected that, of course, you'd be looked at strangely for this behavior if you went through with it.

Some of the guests began to leave one by one, and you took the opportunity to do the same. Jayce, Mel and Viktor seemed nowhere to be found, so you dropped the idea of venturing into such a building in search of them. Who knows what you might stumble upon in the surrounding rooms? You didn't want to accidentally walk in on the feverish one-night stands of the guests, so you just took off.

The city had been asleep for some time, and the quiet yet illuminated streets were deserted. Had it been Zaun, venturing out at such an hour of the night in such an outfit would have been worth a lot of trouble. But Piltover had real rules of respect and a very different general upbringing, so you didn't feel in any danger of advancing like that.

Your heels were starting to hurt seriously and you would have given anything to be carried home. But there was no vigilante Jayce in sight to catch you if you fainted, nor any gentleman gallant enough to carry you like a princess.

How nice it was to be looked after, to have someone take care of you simply because they could.

The memory of Viktor dozing beside you as you recovered came to mind a moment before you chased him away as you turned a corner. Viktor's scent had permeated your nostrils all evening, and it was the only familiar, reassuring thing that kept you going.

The vision of the dormitories appearing in your line of sight was the greatest relief of all.

You passed silently through the doors of the building, taking the opportunity to remove your heels and sighing at ease as the soles of your feet finally settled on a surface that didn't need to be arched.

You slowly climbed the stairs, the soft feel of the red carpet almost tickling your feet as you inserted your key into the lock. It was late, perhaps Sky had not stayed awake and had gone to bed, and you had no wish to disturb her peace.

You turned the knob, entering the still-lit apartment, Sky lying on her bed with a book. Her eyes turned to you, her mouth opening wide as she looked at your outfit, which she hadn't had a chance to see. You smiled, closing the door behind you and dropping your heels to the floor.

“Girl,” she'd chuckled, watching you as you took off the coat and folded it neatly to let it hang over your arm like a waiter's towel, ”give me a twirl.”

You performed, spinning around before finishing with an exaggerated supermodel pause that made Sky laugh.

She snapped her book shut and sat cross-legged on her bed. “I need every detail you can give me.”

You picked up a hanger in the dressing room, hanging Viktor's coat which you hoped to return in the next few days before returning to Sky and sitting down with her to tell her all about it.

She had you turning your back to her, helping you remove the few decorations in your hair as you described everything to her. The hall, the dresses, the atmosphere, all the endless discussions, your meeting with the famous Mel Medarda, your altercation with Tyler and his idiot uncle.

“In any case, you didn't miss a thing. Apart from a few exceptions, the room was filled with the heads of bankers who hadn't gotten laid for twenty years.”

She laughed softly, pausing in the unraveling of your hair, her eyes watching a point in the void.

“Doesn't it make you dream a bit?”

You turned to her, confused. “To be a banker who looks like she hasn't gotten laid in twenty years?”

“No,” she chirped, giving you a little nudge on the shoulder, ”the mystery of the masquerade, the richness of being able to organize such an event without having to worry about much?”

You rested your head on her shoulder, pondering her question for a moment. Finally, you raised your head, staring into space.

“I think I would rather spend my life close to the birds than waste my time thinking I can carve myself wings.”

Sky sighed, probably dreaming of the golden life of the princes and princesses the world inhabited and longing for more. You didn't envy them - you felt scorn for their privileges and their inability to act for change. But you had no intention of crushing your friend's hopes.

“Who knows, maybe one day you'll be one of them and laugh as you drink champagne with infinite bubbles.”

She smiled softly, wrapping an arm around you.

You didn't tell her about your discussion on the balcony with Viktor, preferring to keep your exchange a secret for the time being. perhaps you'd bring up the subject when she asked you where the dress and coat came from. 

But for now, you kept the secret of the purple close to you.

It's the one I prefer.

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[chaostudee]

new years day, charles leclerc

summary : you and charles have been friendly from a distance but recently you have been yearning for him, at a new years eve party you find that your feelings are not unrequited. warnings : suggestive content, language, use of an original character. a/n : i feel like all i do is write smau's so here is a written fic for once 😭💗

charles looked good, almost too good. his shoulders were clad with a ferrari customized suit jacket, a black and blue tie hung around his neck yet his hair was the most jaw dropping part. his curls hung loose and carelessly fell as though he had simply just woken up. and whenever he spoke you caught a glimpse of his dimples. it could truly make anybody melt.

"you know he ended things with that charlotte girl" your friend kristy whispers which pulls you from your trance.

you look at her and roll your eyes. "and what do u expect me to do with that information?". you take a swig of your martini before then taking the olive and swirling it around in the liquid.

kristy takes a sip of her own beverage and chuckles at your reply. "you know damn well what you should do y/n". kristy runs a hand through her blonde hair and then drifts her gaze over to charles.

charles was now deep in conversation with carlos about god knows what but you couldn't pull your eyes away from him.

at that moment charles turned to find you looking right at him. charles's breath hitched when he met eye contact with you. to him, it seemed that everyday you got more beautiful and honestly he didn't know how much longer he would be able to control himself. the black dress that you were wearing really accented your curves and he could sense the confidence of you radiating.

charles smiles at you and nods whilst doing so. immediately a rush of warmth rushes to your cheeks and u flash him a small smile before turning away and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

kristy, having watched this interaction full on looks at you with her mouth hanging open. "girl he wants you baddd, i swear to god if you don't do something abour this tonight i might go insane".

you can't deny her words. maybe tonight could be the night that you reveal your feelings for him. "but i'm scared" you mumble and kristy nods at you sympathetically knowing your dating history. you had been dumped plenty of times and rejection was the usual for you.

"i know you are but y/n you have to do this because otherwise he really will just settle down with some other girl and you'll never get over it".

sure charles had been with many girls but he had always assured you that they were just casual relationships. truthfully that didn't make you feel any better.

"yeah you're right" you admit, finally coming to the realization that you have to make a move. you had seen the way other women had looked at him, and you resonated with them.

"i'm just going to go to the bathroom real quick can u mind my purse for me". kristy nods and shoos you off to the bathroom.

you walk off elegantly in fear that you would trip because wearing heels wasn't the usual but whenever you were in the presence of charles it was a must. he noticed you more and you craved his attention more than anything.

as kristy watches you walk in the direction of the bathroom a genuis idea creeped into her conscience. it was for your own good.

picking up your purse kristy picks up your purse and heads firmly over to charles. tapping him on the shoulder pulls him midst conversation.

before charles can speak kristy interjects. "can u give y/n her purse i gotta go" kristy points in the far off distance.

charles opens his mouth but he is interrupted once again. "aw thank you so much charles you are amazing, she's in the bathroom", kristy places a kiss on his cheek and walks off bristly.

kristy looks back and upon spotting charles walking towards you, she smiles knowing how this will end. and even so what harm does a little meddling do?

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

taking a deep breath you look at yourself in the mirror, whilst running your hands under the warm water. the girl that you are greeted with in the reflection is clearly relunctant to go back to the party. kristy had dragged you along in the first place, social gatherings weren't really your scene but kristy always stook by your side and made it bearable.

"not much longer y/n and then u can go home" u whisper to yourself as an affirmation, looking at yourself in the looking glass one last time. you sigh and reluctantly exit the bathroom.

suddenly someone walks straight into causing you to stumble backwards but you are caught when you feel an arm fall into place on your lower back.

typically it's charles. "i'm so so sorry are you okay y/n i wasn't looking" he insists looking at you up and down making sure that he hadn't hurt you.

you clear your throat and steady yourself. "yeah no no i'm fine don't worry about it" you insist as you are more so thanking fate for letting this scenario play out.

you look at him and see that he is a holding a purse, your heart sinks for a moment but then you notice it's yours.

he follows your gaze. "oh yeah kristy wanted me to give this to you" charles suddenly remembers his primary task but it was hard for his brain to function when he was alone with you.

charles hands you your purse and for a moment time freezes as his fingers latch onto yours. you both lock your eyes on one another, both not daring enough to utter a single word.

the moment ends and your purse is returned to you and now you are left red faced and with a racing heart. charles sticks his hands into his trouser pockets and bites his lip nervously.

"so um how are you.....i um heard you and charlotte ended things".

charles nods and looks down at his feet. "oh yeah that was never going to work out".

you stare at him confused because he had seemed happy with her, happier than you had seen him with most girls.

"how come, you seemed so happy" you furrow your eyebrows as you speak.

charles looks back up at you and sweeps his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "she um thinks that i'm in love with someone else". this wasn't a lie, truth be told charlottle had seen the way that charles's eyes lingered too long and how his attention was grabbed everytime you spoke. she knew he would never feel the same way about her.

your eyes widen at this. had charles been cheating on charlottle?

"and are you?" you push the question wanting more information. even if the truth would hurt you wanted to know.

"well it's hard to love someone when you don't know if they feel the same".

"have you told her?"

"no um no i haven't".

"why not?"

"too hard" charles says bluntly.

"how come?"

"she means alot to me and i truly would never want to hurt her". charles looks at you innocently like those words mean nothing to you when infact they mean everything. because he is talking about you.

at this precise moment the countdown for the new year had just begun. you turn to charles but don't have the courage to muster what you want to say.

"um i think we should go and um-"

charles grabs your wrist. "stay, please".

you look down at his hand and back up at him, his eyes pleading for you to stick with him. how could resist that look.

"3"

"2"

"1"

as the bell rings for the new year you hear countless people cheering and popping champagne bottles.

but before you can even register your surroundings charles pulls you closer to him, decreasing the small gap that had distanced you before.

charles takes his hand and uses it to push a piece of your hair behind your ear. he then brings his mouth alongside your ear, his warmth breath fanning across your neck, causing you to shiver.

"happy new year y/n".

charles presses his lips against yours and at first its soft and everything you have been wishing for. his hand is tender on your cheek as your lips respond in sync. but then charles becomes more forceful taking dominance. you surrender and allow him to take the lead. you both pull away for a sliver of a moment to take a breath, your chests heaving trying to gather extra oxygen.

charles presses his forehead against yours and sighs.

"you don't know how long i've been wanting to do that" he admits with no shame that he had a desire for you for quite some time.

you chuckle because it had been the same for you. "i'm so glad you did" and at this charles smiles and presses a soft kiss on your lips once again.

"so now what?"

"now it's just me and you"

charles presses a kiss to your cheek and holds out his hand instructing you to take it. you walk through the main party entrance to find many couples making out and some strays downing alcohol.

kristy is in the corner chatting to a man, twirling her hair around her finger. charles leads you up the stairwell and kristy spots you and silenty to applauds her victory.

kristy sends you a wink and it suddenly registers in your mind that this was all her doing. you blow her a kiss and she catches it.

charles with his hand still tightly slotted into your own turns around to check on you. "you okay?" he asks.

you smile broadly and for once you can say confidently.

"i'm perfect".

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[miaukyuu]

just imagining being in a kpop group, you're that more quiet member, prefering to be in your own and not liking to be the center of attentions at all, it's kinda ironic that you're in a kpop group and doesn't like much attention, but you are there because you love music!

as any other kpop group, you and your members change hair colors to each era, or atleast change for the most important ones. but you don't really like this idea, not wanting to ruin your perfect hair, but your company always insisted on that, so after so much begging, you finally gave in. but it wasn't a big change, you just dyed a small racoon tail at the back of your hair, and after that day, you decided to paint your hair black, because it was harder to take off, so your company had no choice but leave you alone.

one of the group members, Shin Jungwoo, was also your best """friend""", or that was atleast what you called him, because anyone could see the stupid tension between you two and the way you looked at each other. but anyways! he was the complete opposite of you, he loved to be the center of attention, no doubt of why he was the center of the group, always talking a lot at the interviews, wearing eye-catching clothes, and obviously, dying his hair a lot. like seriously, a lot. he loved pastel colors, yellow, blue, purple, and his current one, pink. you two were in totally opposite sides of the color spectrum, and that made you a really good ""duo""!

obviously, with that, the ships would start, matching your doubtful relationship with the golden retriever and black cat dinamic.

jungwoo was always seeing what the fandom posted about him, passing hours on twitter just searching his name. so imagine how angry he was when he saw the fanfics of you two, not because he didn't liked the ship, but because you were always the top! seriously? just because he had pink hair he had to be the bottom? he got really annoyed with that, and got decided that he would prove them wrong.

first, it started simply, pushing you in his lap while they were recording the vlogs, talking about how small you were on his side, or even about the way that you got scared easily with anything and he had to protect you! he did that for some months, but it didn't seem to change anything, making him even more annoyed. you, noticing that he was acting weird, quickly went to ask him if it was everything okay.

— I know that everyone is stressed with the comeback and our schedule, but in the last weeks you seem more than you ever were, are you okay? — you asked him worried, you were best friends, so he could count with you to help him with anything, nobody should pass for stressfull things alone, without saying nothing!

— well, i can't lie right? there were some things that I read of me, of us, that just made me really annoyed... — he said looking at you with serious expression, his eyes staring without a flinch...

— you already know that you don't need to pay attention of what they say, focus on the good things! there are a lot of fans that love you and your work. — you said trying to cheer him.

a smirk appeared at jungwoo's face, and in a blink, you were laying down on the bed while he was on top of you.

— oh, you're right! I don't need to mind of what they say if I know it's not true. but at the same time I just can't stop thinking of what they wrote, can you believe they made a fanfiction of us and made me as the bottom?! this is inadmissible! do you think I look like a bottom?

— uh?... — you felt like a mess, at the same time that you were flustered by the position, you were also really confused, what the fuck he was saying?

— right! it doesn't make any sense, they just say that because they never saw you moaning while you're having a wet dream with me! — he said and immediatly attacked your lips, a desperate kiss.

after that, it was just water down for you. poor your members that had to hear the moans of someone who was being used as jungwoo's stress relief.

notes: I'm really sorry that I specified the reader's hair color, but it was necessary for my text construction lol.

Not revised! Also sorry for any errors english is not my first language!!

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 4/7

summary: part 4 of my short story naive! the four of you go to the club and while the couple are still fighting, you and hamzah act on your feelings a lil more. but it can only go so well for so long…

contains: SFW content, some kissing and touchy touchy ;)

w/c: 2.5k-ish

a/n: i couldn’t let you guys go into the new year without updating this story. im the worst but tysm for the support yall are so sweet i could cry xxxx enjoy!!!<3 read the a/n at the end if u care to know more

~

The couple's bad mood was not simply slept off and it's ruining your vibe.

You and Mandy are getting ready in their en suite bathroom while Hamzah and Martin speak in hushed tones in the bedroom. The bathroom door is open, and every so often you look at the space over your shoulder in the mirror and make eye contact with Martin from the bed. He looks away immediately, not at all subtle. It's like a game at this point, seeing how many times you can catch him in the act.

"Is he gonna do this all night," you mumble, applying your mascara after yet another match of eye-tag.

"We could just close the door," Mandy offers. She pays no mind to the childish behavior behind you, straightening her hair without sparing him a single glance.

"You're so right," you say and get up to shut it yourself.

Once your makeup is pretty much done, you decide to start getting dressed. You turn the music on her speaker up and give yourself a once-over in the mirror, holding different outfits beside your body to see what you want to wear for the night.

"I don't know what to wear. Wanna match?" you ask, placing your chin on top of her head to stop her movements. She nearly clamps your neck with the straightener. "Hey!"

"Sure," she laughs. "Grab my suitcase, please."

You put your clothes back down and step out of the bathroom to bring her suitcase in. You shimmy it out of its place by the TV stand, not missing the way the boys go completely silent until you're gone.

"Top zipper, the satin blue dress," Mandy instructs.

You hand it to her and sit by your own bag of clothes to rummage through it. You find a top and skirt set in a similar baby blue color then hold it up for her to see.

"Yes, no, yes?"

"Yes, definitely."

You apply your lip combo and take a few silly photos in the mirror with Mandy, your made up faces clashing with your baggy tees. One of the better photos are posted on your Instagram story for fun. When you finally get changed—you guys had a dance break to some y2k club classics—you put your heels on and realize you need a little pregame.

When you walk into the bedroom this time, the boys are leaned against the headboard and on their phones, mindlessly scrolling. You go by Martin's side of the bed and poke him repeatedly until he looks up.

"Do you happen to have the penjamin on you?"

"That depends," he says, putting his hand in his pocket. "What's the magic word?"

You roll your eyes. "Please?"

He pulls the little device out of his pocket and presents it to you in his palm. When you go to grab it, he makes a fist and holds it above his head.

"Please who?"

"I'm not calling you Daddy," you scoff, prying his fingers open and snatching the pen from his grasp. He barely puts up a fight. "That's Hamzah's job."

At the mention of his name, Hamzah looks up and seems like he's about to say something to retaliate but freezes. His gaze drags down your figure and you blush.

"Maybe it's not his job," Martin says smugly, "since you made him speechless."

Hamzah snaps out of it and elbows his friend in the side.

“It would be your girlfriend's job if you weren't being petty right now."

You wince at the sullen expression that washes over Martin's face.

"Right."

All you can do is watch as he clambers off the bed and walks out of the room. You lean against the wall and slide the balcony door open with a sigh.

"He can't seriously be that mad," Hamzah says. "I was kidding."

"He can dish it, but he can't take it," you say, too used to his behavior. "And he's extra sensitive right now, so."

"Well, they better not ruin our night with that stuff." Hamzah crosses his arms.

"I won't let them."

"Yeah?" Hamzah snorts. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"Um." You take a hit and blow the smoke outside. "I'll think of something if I need to step in."

Hamzah laughs at your empty threat and you smile. You take another hit before offering the dab pen to him.

"I have a feeling I should be sober for tonight."

"Boring," you sing out. "It'll be fine. C'mon, feel my peer pressure."

You wiggle your fingers at him and he shakes his head, laughing lightly. When he silently puts his hand out a few seconds later, you cheer. The room fills with the loud music from Mandy's speaker as he takes his first hit.

"So," you begin, already feeling slightly heady. "What were you guys whispering about earlier?"

"I shouldn't say."

"Really?"

He nods. "It was partly about their fight. Partly the trip. And you."

"Me?" You point at yourself with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I can't divulge the details."

"That's bullshit."

"I never ask what you guys say about me."

"Hey—I don't—what?" you stutter, unable to come up with a defense.

"C'mon," he says, tilting his head. "I'm not that oblivious."

Your eyes narrow. You've never once considered that this cupid thing Martin was pulling on you could have gone both ways. You don't know if you're relieved for him stepping in to push his friend closer to you, or annoyed that he's even meddling in this whole thing. It makes you wonder if Martin knows what happened by the time he and Mandy returned to the beach last night.

"Speaking of details." You clear your throat. "Do you even know what club we're going to?"

Your attempt at changing the topic is weak, but as per usual, Hamzah rolls with it to save you any embarrassment.

"No clue. Martin keeps his trip itinerary locked in his notes."

The conversation devolves into a bunch of what if's about the night and jokes that are only funny because you guys are high. When Mandy finally comes to join and sees the state of you two, you offer her a hit.

"What? No drinks?" She frowns.

"Hotel alcohol is like twenty bucks a pop! This is the next best thing."

"Ugh, fine. Give it."

With the three of you thoroughly blitzed, you collect Martin from the living room couch and make your way out of the hotel. He doesn't speak for a majority of the walk, and you think that's the longest you've ever heard him be quiet in a group setting.

Despite it being nearly 10 P.M., the air is pretty humid and forgiving on your exposed skin. The other thing about it being so late already, is that the club is absolutely chock-full of people when you enter. The dance floor of strangers are nearly toe to toe in proximity, and you wrap your arm with Mandy's to avoid getting separated in the crowd. The boys immediately beeline to the bar for drinks, but you don't let that stop your journey. You maneuver your way to the front of the stage and only let go of each other once you've found a bit of space to dance in.

The DJ nods at the two of you and you turn to raise your eyebrows suggestively at Mandy, who pushes your shoulder and continues dancing. You get lost in the beat, swaying and bouncing with the vibrations traveling through your limbs. The strobe lights illuminate your sweaty skin and you swear the energy in the room has you feeling higher. You begin grinding on each other and throw your heads back to laugh, trying to catch your breaths in between a multitude of bodies.

"Hey!" Mandy places her arms around your shoulders to catch your attention and you take it as a sign to grind on her. "I'm going to grab drinks.”

"No!" You turn and put your hands over hers. "Don't go!"

"I'll be right back!" She grins and squeezes you before letting go to disappear into the crowd.

Alone, you turn back to the stage and throw your hands in the air. You close your eyes for a moment, the pounding beats making a home in your brain. You're sure your ears will be ringing when you leave.

You wonder if Martin's drunk himself into a coma yet and knowing him, you know how easy that could be. You only hope this outing tonight doesn't make him do anything he regrets. Then you remember he’s a twenty-five year old man and you’re worrying about him while you’re supposed to be having fun. So, you shut your brain off and let the beat carry you.

When Mandy's back, she has two drinks in hand and Hamzah in tow. She hands you a cocktail and you graciously sip from your first alcoholic drink of the night.

"Where's Martin?" you ask.

"Bar!" she shouts over the music.

You shake your head. "Make up and make out already!"

She jabs your side and you giggle, swatting her hand away. Hamzah's doing something reminiscent of a frat flick, looking slightly out of it. You assume he's already done some shots and is way more intoxicated. So, being an empath, you finish your drink to get closer to his level. When you're done, you hand the empty cup to Mandy and wink at her. Your hand envelops Hamzah's and you pull him deeper in the crowd so you can dance together.

"I don't—I can't dance," he complains, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"C'mon, it's easy!"

You begin by swaying your hips, raising his hand in yours to guide him into a rhythm. He tries to follow along, shuffling around like a newborn deer. It's a funny sight, but you don't want him to stop if you tease him, so you bite back your amused smile. He slowly gets less self-conscious and continues on in his own way with the flow of the music, even twirling you around once or twice, laughing all the way as you narrowly avoid knocking into people. His eyes never leave you, like he's constantly thinking of his next move to impress you.

After letting him freestyle some more, you pull him close and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falters at the change in pace and his hands fall at your hips. Your hands rest at the nape of his neck and he shivers at the way your fingertips grace his skin. The rapid strobe lights nearly blind you, but you hold eye contact.

"Was that so bad?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"Yes," he says sarcastically. "I hate dancing."

"But I like your dancing."

You sway with him, careful not to step on his toes in your heels. Close up, you can nearly feel his breath on your face. You take a moment to admire his eyelashes and the way his eyes are slightly bloodshot, willing him to break the eye contact. He leans in closer.

"I like your dancing more."

You can't help but grin. His expression mimics yours.

"Yeah, well," you start, bringing your thumb up to trace the side of his jaw, "I like you."

He ducks down and captures your lips in a kiss. It takes you by surprise. You hadn't spoken a word about your kiss since last night, and you were beginning to think you made a mistake by acting on your impulses. Evidently, he doesn't seem to mind it as much as you'd worried.

The tip of his nose presses against your cheek as he shifts his head to deepen the kiss. Though the room is warm, this makes you hotter than any amount of dancing could've done. His palms squeeze your hips and your fingers rise to play with his curls. They're soft to the touch, just as you suspected. You tug lightly as the kiss gets more insatiable.

"Ouch," he mumbles against your lips, barely loud enough to hear. You snicker and tug it again, making him pull away. "I said ouch."

"I know," you laugh out. "Sorry."

"That funny?" he questions. You nod, grinning at his playful irritation. "See how you like it."

His hand trails up your back until his fingers are at your scalp and he gently pulls on your roots. Your head moves back with his action and your lips part, exhaling a shaky breath. His eyes widen. He does it again. You reach up to kiss him again.

It's hotter this time, in both senses of the word. Your skin goes alight with a blaze even the coldest shower couldn't reduce. You drape your wrists over his shoulders, your beaded bracelet pressing into him the same way his is imprinting into the sliver of bare skin below your top.

Realizing you’re standing in place in the midst of a lively dance floor, you break from the kiss and turn so your back is against his front. You pull his arms around your shoulders and sway, deliberately pressing yourself against him. You enjoy hearing the way his breath hitches next to your ear, always needing to find a new way to tease him. You know if you could have it your way without seeming too desperate too soon, you’d be doing more than just dancing.

“I like you, too,” he says, clutching you closer to him. “I forgot to say.”

You turn your head and nearly kiss his cheek because of how cute he is. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“And I really like your dancing.”

His suggestive words spur you into grinding on him more, anything to get a reaction out of him, and it works every time. The two of you keep going this way until your thighs are burning and you’re out of breath. If it weren’t for the visual reminder, you would’ve forgotten that you came here with other people.

A couple feet away, you spot two familiar heads weeding through the crowd and slowly drawing nearer. You step away from Hamzah, who looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Before you can explain yourself, you come face-to-face with Mandy. Martin stops a bit away.

“Can we leave?” she rushes out.

Her mascara is running and her nose is red. Martin looks disgruntled, his eyes never staying in one place as he scans through the crowd. You grab her hand and nod. The four of you spot the nearest exit and leave promptly.

“What happened?” you ask once you’re out in the open. “Are you okay?”

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” Her eyes stay on the ground.

Your heart drops. “Of course.”

The walk back to the hotel is uneasy and fast-paced. The boys walk behind the two of you and you can hear Martin’s one word answers to everything Hamzah says to him. Your heels click and clack, barely providing a distraction from the hundreds of questions swarming your mind.

~

a/n: ooo we’re getting angsty. im so sorry this took so long and if u feel that it wasn’t worth the wait, the truth is ive been so sick recently like never before in my life and i haven’t felt a lick of motivation to write. ive had to rewrite these chapters so many times that its actually affecting me mentally because i wanna make u guys happy while actually enjoying writing. i promise u won’t have to wait this long ever again, but doing this story is making me realize i prefer writing short form stuff way more than stories like this because it’s simply less stress and fits my writing style more. thanks again for all the support and kind words, u guys have really warmed my heart and i hope u know that even tho this is fanfiction and it may seem silly, it’s really a labor of love and im so grateful that u actually like what i put out there. im so so so touched and i rlly love u guys, even if i don’t know u. parasocial virtual hugs to u all xoxoxo tysm. <3

[lexirosewrites]

for slick sunday, i've been thinking about this very specific idea for the last two days (it's been adjusted slightly to fit the "new" theme for this week just bc i think it's fun :) )

thinking of alpha eddie and omega steve in a secret relationship. they've been courting for ages, on the cusp of mating, but they've been waiting for the right time. neither of them were quite ready to take their relationship into the world, and that's exactly what would've happened had they mated. see, eddie is very much in the public eye. his band is, like, really out there. not quite world famous, but they do a lot of press and a bunch of different projects and such. eddie was recently featured on a relatively popular song, and the others have been in movies/tv shows as one-off side characters here and there. point is, people know who they are. and the paparazzi knows nothing about privacy.

it's not exactly easy to hide a mating bond (tho it is possible), so they just decided together that they would wait.

and then steve gets pregnant.

they still don't mate yet, but it changes everything for them. they know they're not going to be able to hide it for long. part of steve is a little relieved, honestly. he'd never say it out loud, but he missed the days before eddie got famous. when they could go out on dates and grocery shop together and just generally exist together in public, even though they were still keeping it pretty low-key back then too.

steve mostly stays home during the first several months of his pregnancy. it's hard on him, and there are days he can barely get out of bed because he feels so sick. he gets lightheaded easily, and he's constantly nauseous. the doctor said it's normal. he just needs rest and fluids. so that's what he does. and they talk, a lot. about everything.

eddie never makes a formal statement about their relationship, that's never been his vibe. he does, however, hard launch their relationship via one photo on social media. it's of him and steve on new years, standing in front of the christmas tree they hadn't taken down yet. they're wearing those headbands that have the year in giant, flimsy, gold numbers, facing each other. they're foreheads are pressed together, and eddie is grinning like a goddamn idiot bc of how in love with steve he is. steve's six-month baby bump is between them, and eddie's got his hands over the sides. it's captioned with a simple, "new year, new adventures with the love of my life"

obviously, that photo practically breaks the internet within two hours. it's everywhere. everyone is talking about it. the band doesn't say a word, outside of gareth logging into the band account to share it on their story, and the others sharing the post on their own accounts. they all just go on as normal, like nothing ever happened. they don't answer any of the comments. the band is seen coming and going from the studio a few times over the next month and a half, and then nothing. radio silent on all fronts. everyone wants to know what's going on.

it's at the end of april that people finally get their answer, in a series of photos posted to eddie's account. photos of a tiny baby; some with steve in them, some with eddie, but mostly just the baby. hailey jo munson (jo, after wayne, who's middle name is joseph; he definitely did NOT cry about that, thank you very much) was born on april 5th, happy and healthy and loved.

four months after that, eddie is seen leaving a grocery store with bags of baby supplies in his arms, a wedding band on his finger, and a fresh mating bite. no one is the least bit surprised by that one.

and no one is surprised in the slightest when a year and a half later, after corroded coffin's probably most successful album is released (there's a couple songs that are not-so-secretly about hailey, tho eddie really did try to be subtle), another pregnancy announcement goes live on eddie munson's account.

happy slick sunday my friends :)

i know slick sunday has ruined me because i kept waiting for something bad to happen😅 thank you for the fluff!!!

[joelmillerisapunk]

Strangers

Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k

Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right

summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too

notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard

masterlist

The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.

And then, he walked in.

You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event. 

Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.

While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing. 

The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette. 

“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”

Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease. 

You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?

The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.

Then came the shirt.

He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.

His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.

But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.

The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.

The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.

And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.

The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.

After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.

He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.

Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.

This man was a problem.

When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.

Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.

The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.

You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.

And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped.

For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.

Then he moved.

Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”

Smooth.

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.

————

Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.

The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:

Elite Heat’s Javier Peña

To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.

On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering. 

To the right was a photo of Javier himself.

It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.

For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.

“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.

Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.

The profile itself was… an experience.

Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.

The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.

“Find something you like?”

His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?

“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?

Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”

He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.

He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Before you could reply, he began to move.

It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.

He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.

Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”

Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

——

An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.

“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”

He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”

You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”

Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”

Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”

Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”

“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”

You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.

“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.

Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.

Javi 

Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.  

You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.  

Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.  

The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.  

For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.  

The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.  

Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.

The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.  

It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…

Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.  

It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.  

———

Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.

Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.

You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.

His reply was almost instant.

Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?

Javier: Nope. Just you.

You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.

You: Why me?

The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.

Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.

Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.

You: I’m not pretending.

Javier: So you are interested?

You: I didn’t say that.

Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.

You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?

Javier: Nope. Not tonight.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.

Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.

You: Not happening.

Javier: Why not?

You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.

Javier: What kind of girl is that?

You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.

Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.

You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.

Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.

Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.

Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.

You: Still not happening.

Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?

You: What kind of compromise?

Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.

You: Fine. One drink.

Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?

You: Fifteen. I need to change.

Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.

The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.  

He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.  

“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.  

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.  

“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.  

The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.

“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”  

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”  

“And?” 

You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.  

Still, you made him work for it.  

Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.  

“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.  

“What game?” you asked innocently.  

“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.  

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?  

Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.  

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”  

For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

“Okay,” you said quietly.  

His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”  

“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”  

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”  

“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”

“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too. 

“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”

You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”

His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.

Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”

You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.

When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”

“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.

You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.

His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.

You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”

He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”

You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”

You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy. 

You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”

Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.  

Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward. 

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”

Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements. 

Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”

Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after. 

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.

Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”

The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.” 

Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”

His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need. 

Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties. 

“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”

You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.

“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”

The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.

“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”

You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.

Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.

The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.” 

The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.

“Javi,” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.

Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.

You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

“Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.

“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”

The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”

Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”

As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.

Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”

He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.

By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.

Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?” 

You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”

“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.

He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.

For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”

His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”

[repulsive-manwhore]

BUILD YOUR OWN FANTASY WITH ME (PT. 5) 😈

⛓️PREVIOUS POST⛓️

YOU ALL VOTED FOR: tell him the truth; you just wanted to make him happy and get him some red wine. (86.7%)

you can't weed your way out of this one, you know you can't. if you didn't even know there were cameras in the house until right now, what's to say he isn't hiding more in other rooms to try to catch you in a lie? what if he's tracking your phone? besides, you don't even want to lie to him. you've always aspired to be the best girl you can be for him, and that means always telling your daddy the truth... even if it hurts.

"daddy... i was making dinner and i wanted to pair it with a good wine with it for us to share, but we only had an old bottle of white wine, and i don't know if you like white wine, but i know you love red wine... so i drove to the liquor store to get us some. i'm really sorry, i know you want me home when you're off work, i just wanted to make you happy..."

silence. you hear him tapping on his desk as he lets out a big sigh. is that good? that can't be good, right? he sounds upse-

"okay."

"...okay?"

"yeah, okay. i understand little one... i understand."

"okay, thank you daddy... i'm sorry."

"it's okay baby girl, you know i always appreciate the truth. i'll always accept your apology if you're honest."

wow... not the response you were expecting but, you'll gladly take it over whatever other outcome could've happened.

"i'll always be honest with you daddy."

"good. now that i know where you are, i can clock out and head home. be there when i'm back."

"okay daddy, i will be i promise!"

"thank you... oh and for the record? i do like white wine, i just prefer red. maybe next time you should just call and ask me. you know you make irrational decisions when i'm not around. just let me take care of it... so that this doesn't happen again."

you hear his laptop slam shut before the line goes flat. his commute back home is about 20 minutes. yours is only 5. you have a little time to spare, and all the food is already prepped, warm and ready back at home. he already knows you're out, so he won't be upset so long as you're back home on time.

[alexthebordercollie]

i love Ford in the one bigger than myself chapter where he's coming off of what i assume is a visit from Bill. damp, cold, randomly scooping his friend into his lap, and being fed spam like a baby bird. really, who is doing it like him?

UGHHGHG! I love how you put that T^T Just the best description of this scene possible.

And yeah, this scene shows Ford having a manic episode after one of Bill's dream visits. I don't usually post all my chapters to tumblr, just the ones I feel work really well in isolation. That said I know have to post this scene for people. If you guys would like me to post more stuff from Bigger than Myself or Hand of God let me know. People can request scenes they'd like to see my draw.

Link to Bigger than Myself Bigger than Myself - Chapter 5 - alexBDcollie - Gravity Falls [Archive of Our Own]

The scene in question is below the cut.

“Morning Fidds!”

“Sweet Jesus!” Fiddleford nearly jumped out of his skin when he woke to Ford hovering an inch from his face. He leaped back and rolled sideways. Tangling up in his sleeping bag. 

Ford was squat down on the ground beside him and pulled back when he saw Fiddleford jump. “Oh, sorry, didn’t me to spook you.” He apologized. Though the big grin on his face didn’t suggest regret. 

Fiddleford wrestled with his sleeping bag for a minute to get free as he sat up. “I, gosh nabbit- It’s fine.” He huffed. Freeing himself from the plasticy fabric. “Just don’t go hollerin’ so close to a man’s face. Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“I hope didn’t,” Ford replied sincerely.

Fiddleford felt around in the grass for his glasses and looked back at Ford and he put them on. “Didn’t what?” He asked. Furrowing his brow as Ford came back into focus.

“Give you a heart attack,” Ford replied. 

Fiddleford looked him up and down slowly. “You didn’t… it’s a figure o’ speech Stanford.” He reminded him slowly. 

“Right, of course. I know that. Obviously.” Stanford rambled. He was strangely damp. His hair clung to the side of his face and his clothes stuck to him like he’d tossed them on while still wet. They weren’t damp enough to suggest he’d gotten wet while wearing them. 

“Ya fall in a creek or somethin’?” Fiddleford asked. He looked around the campsite and found Ford had already gotten the fire relit for them. He reached for the bag where he kept their food and cooking tools and startted riffling through it for spam and powdered eggs. 

“Hm?” Ford’s gaze seemed unfocused. His eyes darting about at random. He looked back at Fiddleford like he didn’t understand the question. It took a few seconds before it seemed to click. “Oh, this-” he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Took a bath in the creek,” he clarified.

Fiddleford watched him close as he brought out a frying pan and some cooking spray. “Right…” He only pulled his eyes away long enough to watch what he was doing. Grease the pan, pull out a canteen, and mix up the powdered eggs. “Ya didn’t need to do that bud. It’s a campin’ trip. I ain’t exactly expectin’ ya to smell like daisies.” He chuckled. Trying to relieve a bit of the awkward energy that sparked in the air around Ford. Fiddleford couldn’t name that energy but he could feel it prickling his skin. 

“Just felt like it,” Ford replied. His voice, oddly distant for a moment. 

Fiddleford looked back at him again as he placed the frying pan over the fire. “Yeah? This about that nightmare last night?” He asked. Figuring that must be the cause of… whatever this was. 

Ford had woken up with a shout that morning. It had to have been something fierce to startle him like that. Fiddleford almost thought he dreamed it. If he’d realized he hadn’t he wouldn’t have gone back to sleep so easily. Stanford Pines was not a man who scared easily.

Ford looked back at Fiddleford confused. “Nightmare? What nightmare?” He asked. He was shaking. Fiddleford was noticing it now as he watched him. Peeling open the can of spam without taking his eyes off Ford’s trembling hands. They hung limp in front of him. His elbows rested on his knees. 

“Ya woke up early this morning. Ya told me it was a nightmare.” Fiddleford reminded him.

Ford looked at Fiddleford with wide doe eyes like he hadn’t the foggiest clue what he was talking about. “A nightmare…” he muttered. Gears turned in his head as he struggled to remember what Fiddleford was talking about. His teeth seemed to chatter slightly as he spoke. “N-no, no, good dreams…” he countered. He looked away again for a moment like he was recalling something. “Good, good dreams. Scary, but good. Scary good, you know? You don’t know-” he was muttering, barely getting a coherent thought out.

Fiddleford nodded slowly. “I geuss…” he conceded. He cut off a few slices of spam with his whittling knife and slapped them in the pan with their eggs. Taking the skillet by the handle and giving it a jiggle before flipping its contents. “Ya should get yer coat on. Ya look chilly.” He advised. 

“Coat, ya, that sounds like a g-good i-idea. Smart, you're smart,” Ford stammered. 

Fiddleford watched the food for a minute but maintained a keen sense of Ford’s presence as he felt the man walk past to find his coat strewn out in the grass. Fiddleford relaxed enough to focus on his cooking, only to be blindsided again. Ford thumped suddenly down on the ground behind Fiddleford and, before his presence could be properly registered, reached out and snatched Fiddleford up in his coat.

Fiddleford let out a startled yelp as he was enveloped suddenly in a cocoon of dense brown fabric and shockingly strong arms. “Hey! Watch it! Hot pan over here!” He blurted out. Squirming to poke his head out of the top of Ford’s coat to make sure he hadn’t spilled the food. Thankfully he’d let go in time for the skillet to rattle against the metal frame that held it over the fire before settling back into place.

“S-sorry.” Ford stammered. Making no effort to let Fiddleford go. He sat down behind him and pulled Fiddleford into his lap. Arms squeezing him tight like pythons as he burrowed his nose into the crook of Fiddleford’s shoulder. 

Fiddleford found his hips wedged between Ford’s thighs. Their bodies pressed tight together. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks but tried his best to ignore it. He wasn’t sure what made Stanford so snuggly all of a sudden but he was clearly feeling out of sorts. Something was wrong and Fiddleford reasoned it was best to be gentle with him. He rubbed Ford’s forearm through his sleeve. “Ya comfy?” He teased.

Ford nodded into Fiddleford’s shoulder. “You’re warm,” he muttered. Barely audible. 

“Well I hope so,” Fiddleford chuckled. Trying to take the awkward exchange in stride. “It’d be concernin’ if I wasn’t.” Snuggled up like this though, he could tell Ford was cold. The man was usually a human furnace. He felt strangely cool. Perhaps it was just from his creek bath earlier, but it was an uncanny feeling nonetheless. A worrying sensation that made Fiddleford want to lean into his affection if only to warm him up.

Fiddleford looked back at the pan and watched it closely. Allowing himself to settle comfortably into the folds of Ford’s coat. Hoping Stanford’s head would clear with some heat and a bit of food in him. “You wanna tell me about yer dream?” he asked.

“Hm?” Ford hummed drowsily.

“Yer scary good nightmare?” Fiddleford teased, turning his head back to meet Ford’s eyes.

Ford looked unsure for a moment. His pupils were huge. Had he been smoking something? No, not Stanford. He was too straight-laced for that. Then again, it had been a long time since last they spoke. Anything was possible and Fiddleford didn’t have any clues that might explain what was happening. Ford was always prone to bursts of wide-eyed energy when some new discovery captured his imagination. This wasn’t that. This was something alien. Unfocused, that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t excited about something, just excitable. Too energized and too tired to think at the same time. Like he was ten cups into a coffee binge with nothing to work on. Ford was never so aimless. He always had something on his mind.

“No…” Ford replied slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The energy seemed dampened. Like he was coming to some kind of realization at the moment. A realization that harshed whatever buzz he had going for him.

Ford dropped his face back into Fiddleford’s shoulder and shivered in his coat. Fiddleford set about trying to work some heat back into his friend’s body. Rubbing his hands swiftly back and forth over Ford’s forearms. “That’s alright. Ya don’t have ta talk about it if ya don’t want to.” He assured him.

Ford took a deep breath and Fiddleford could feel his chest swell against his back. He could feel Ford’s heart thumping against him. Fiddleford felt it slow in real-time. Ford was doing it intentionally. How he ever learned to do that was still a marvel to Fiddleford. 

“Fidds?” Ford spoke up. His voice uncharacteristically meek and small.

Fiddleford leaned forward to pull the pan from the fire. “Yeah bud?” He replied evenly as he slid their food off onto paper plates. 

“What’s it like, when you’re with Emma?” Ford asked.

Fiddleford paused for a second as he considered the question. “In what sense?” He asked.

“Like… how does it feel ?” Ford asked. “To be with someone like that.” 

Fiddleford could feel himself turning red. He didn’t mean like- like that? Like that. Did he? “Excuse me, pardon?!”

“You know, like, being married, being in love, what’s it like?” Ford huffed. Clearly, he thought the question was more sensible than it sounded. 

Fiddleford laughed and offered Ford a plate. “Oh come on now. Like you never fancied someone.” 

Ford took it but still kept his arms wrapped around Fiddleford. Holding his own plate in front of the both of them and taking up the space Fiddleford needed to eat. “No not really.” He answered bluntly. Not even looking at the food. Just staring into space. “I thought I did once but…” 

Fiddleford grew quiet as he processed what Ford was saying. He felt a bit guilty for his teasing. Ford was always an odd man so this wasn’t a shock per se. “Well, I…” He thought about Emma-may. Tried to formulate an honest answer. He loved Emma. He knew he did. Growing up they were thick and thieves. A couple of weird kids against the world. She was a bit like his Ford at the time. A strong, brave, personality. Someone who could fight off the monsters and inspired Fiddleford as much as she worried him half to death. 

“I dunno, she’s my best friend I guess,” Fiddleford finally answered softly. 

“I thought I was your best friend,” Ford whined playfully. Nudging Fiddleford with his shoulder.

Fiddleford scrambled not to drop his plate and laughed back. Pleased to hear Ford beginning to sound a bit more like himself. “Ya are my best friend ya dummy! Yer just different.”

“Different how?” Ford asked.

Fiddleford gapped his mouth open a few times as he struggled for words. “It’s just different! Ya know, it just is!” He snapped. “If ya don’t understand it, then I don’t know how to explain it!” 

Ford blinked at Fiddleford a bit dumbfounded before looking away. “Right… It’s a silly question.” He looked hurt and Fiddleford’s heart sank. 

Fiddleford knew exactly what the difference was. He knew all too well that the way he loved Emma was something else. The way he loved Ford… Sitting here in his lap. Wrapped up in his coat. Wondering with an equal mix of concern and startling awe what was going through that man’s head. It was very different. Fiddleford promised his life to Emma-May before he ever met Stanford. They had a plan. They were going to run away together. He thought that’s what love was… Somewhere wires had gotten crossed and Fiddleford didn’t know how to uncross them. Love wasn’t supposed to be this way. Ford couldn’t have asked anyone worse. 

Fiddleford looked at Ford’s plate in front of him and reached up a hand for his plastic fork. He cut off a chunk of fried spam and held it over his shoulder. Nudging Ford’s lips. “Eat ya knucklehead. We got a big day ahead of us. Ya promised me an alien space ship an’ I won’t ever forgive ya if ya can’t deliver.” He teased.

Ford looked back at him again and chuckled. He parted his lips and allowed Fiddleford to deposit the food in his mouth. Resting his jaw on Fiddleford’s shoulder while he chewed. 

They sat like that for a while. Eating their breakfast and laughing. Ford excitedly gushed about the valley he called home and the many things he had discovered over the years. The strange wild-eyed buzz, whatever it was, slowly melted into Ford’s usual enthusiasm. No longer disoriented and aimless but focused intensely on sharing his love of the paranormal. His love for Gravity Falls. Whatever it was Ford called love, Fiddleford liked to think it felt something like this. He hoped someday Stanford’s love could be treasured by someone. He deserved that much at least.  

[thehereticdiaries]

WKTO: Breakfast and Boy Bands

Summary: You and Chelsea have a mini freak out over your breakfast invite. Meanwhile, Hongjoong isn't very happy with San. But don't worry, the members warm up to you at the cafe!

Mostly written story and texts with a few tweets

Series Masterlist

You didn't put your phone down until Chelsea threw a pillow at you, smacking you right in the face. You yelped and fell over dramatically, earning an eye roll from your best friend.

"Dude it's almost 2am! You know how long it takes me to get ready, I have to be up by 7 if we're gonna get to breakfast at 9," Chelsea whined and buried her head under her remaining pillow.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, geez." You switched off your phone and burrowed under the blankets. Both of you fell asleep within minutes, exhausted from the excitement of the day.

Hongjoong was beyond frustrated. He honestly couldn't believe his members could be so reckless. It was no use arguing about it, since the only one on his side was Jongho.

"Seriously, Seonghwa. Asking a fan to join us at breakfast? What was San thinking?" The tired captain complained to the equally tired eldest member.

"I know, Hongjoong. You've said it four times already. Just go to sleep."

"Fine."

You woke up almost an hour and a half after Chelsea. Unlike your friend, most days you only needed about 20 minutes to get ready for the day. Sure, on special occasions you go all out, but this was a simple breakfast at a simple cafe with a simple... idol group. Suddenly your weather-appropriate denim shorts and baby tee felt way too lackluster for a meeting with fucking Ateez.

"Chelseeeeaaaa I can't go wearing this!" You flopped face-first into your bed.

"Y/N, they're just people. Our outfits are fine." Chelsea was one of those people that wore leggings no matter the weather. Today was no different, as she wore plain black leggings and a halter-style tank top. You were surprised you were able to convince her to wear her one-and-only pair of ripped jeans to the concert.

"I am so jealous of your ability to stay so chill." She snorted at your grumbling, grabbing your hands to pull you to your feet.

"Let's go, it's almost 9." After grabbing your phone, wallet, and room key, you and Chelsea speed-walked to the cafe. You ended up a few minutes late, and when the bell jingled above the door eight sets of eyes turned on the two of you.

"Atiny!" San beamed, being the first to stand and greet you. "I'm happy you decided to come. You must be Chelsea."

"That's me," she nodded. She peeked around his shoulder to the other members. "I guess we'll join you guys after we order our food?"

"Oh, we haven't ordered yet," Yeosang smirked at San, who was frantically trying to shush him without drawing your attention.

"How come?" You titled your head in confusion.

"San and Mingi insisted on waiting for you to start," Wooyoung snickered behind his hand.

"Yah! Don't bring me into this!"

"Well it's true! You're the one that said we couldn't let a pretty girl pay for herself," Yunho teased very loudly, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Watch it, Song." Chelsea pointed at the tall idol.

"Wh-"

"This is my best friend right here." She shook your shoulders roughly. "I don't take kindly to boys messing with her feelings."

"Chelsea!" You swatted her hands away, having dealt with her 'protective older sister' mode many times in the past. Poor Mingi was beet-red and floundering to defend himself.

"Relax, I'm joking. Mostly," she waved you off and walked to the table, leaving you and San behind. You would never understand where she got her abundance of confidence. You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting back a blush of your own.

"Come on," San urged you forward with a hand between your shoulder-blades. You sat between Yunho and Yeosang, glaring at Chelsea as she abandoned you for Seonghwa. The cafe had a cute little menu full of specialty lattes and pastries. Hongjoong wrote his members' orders down before looking at you expectantly.

"O-oh, I can pay for my own. It's no-"

"Just let him," Yeosang whispered to you behind his hand. "He won't admit it, but he wants to treat you both."

"I can hear you, Yeosang," Hongjoong leveled the younger member with a flat glare. Reluctantly, you told the leader your order. Chelsea did not hesitate, but thankfully didn't go overboard.

"So, are you students?" And through the power of small-talk, you felt yourself beginning to relax. Hongjoong returned with a table number shortly into the conversation.

"You drove four hours to see our show?!" Wooyoung gaped between you and Chelsea.

"This was the closest venue, so yup!" Your friend quipped, thumbs flying over her phone screen as she texted one of her other group chats.

"It still blows my mind that we have such dedicated fans," San gushed, smiling widely at the two of you. Pretty soon, two food runners brought out your drinks and pastries. You ate quietly, letting Chelsea lead the conversation for you.

"Are you alright?" Yunho asked softly, leaning close to your ear. You shivered as his breath fanned over your skin.

"I'm okay. I just take a while to open up. Plus, I'm feeling a little starstruck right now," you assured him. He nodded, squeezing your shoulder and straightening out in his seat. You were very aware of the arm he left draped over the back of your chair. Based on the look you got from Chelsea, she noticed as well. The rest of the meal went by more normally than you expected. Chelsea was right: they were just people. You all stood in the hotel lobby to say your final goodbyes.

"Thank you. I honestly never expected to meet you, let alone have the opportunity to hang out," you grinned at the idols. They moved toward the elevator, several members stopping to give you and Chelsea quick hugs. You waited patiently for them to enter the elevator so you could properly freak out with your best friend. San stopped just outside as the doors closed, waving to a pissed-off Hongjoong.

"What are you doing? Aren't you gonna get in trouble for this?" Chelsea asked as he jogged back up to you.

"He'll get over it." He looked directly at you now. "Can I get your number?" You froze, eyes wide and face turning a bright pink.

"YES!" You cringed at your friend's shout. She cleared her throat. "Yes, you can have her number. It's xxx-xxx-xxxx." San scrambled to write it down, calling you right away so you'd know it was actually him and not some weirdo catfish. You continued to stare wordlessly as he stepped into the elevator, disappearing from your sight moments later.

You could only think of one thing to say: "Oh. My. GOD."

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

Series Taglist: @staytinyluv @kymimi @dalsuwaha

[melanatedkink]

Straight to the Point

A/N: I know, I know, the upcoming prompts are getting posted soon. But, I got an epiphany. Enjoy!

Pairing: ProHero! Izuku x Pro Hero! Y/N

Summary: Y/N is a bit insecure about dating Deku. Not because of his career. Not because of his popularity. But because he's Deku. And why would Deku truly want Y/N?

Warnings: throat fucking, affirmations, feral fucking, dry humping, gender neutral as possible, drunk sex, brat Y/N

As the alcohol slowly began to wear off, Izuku, known as Deku to anyone who knew him back in highschool, was beginning to think you had enough. See, you weren't a very cheerful person outside of this party. You were pretty solitary, with a resting bitch face to match. You kept most of your opinions flat and honest, despite the person's demeanor or closeness. You hadn't time to beat around the bush. Because people made you uncomfortable. And the less you had to be around them, the better.

However, Izuku was beginning to think you had a doppleganger. Maybe even a secret twin. Or maybe he wasn't seeing straight, or less sober than he imagined. Because here you were, raising a glass for the new year of Japanese heroes. You were absolutely radiant, talking amongst your friends, and hiding that pretty smile behind a hand, even as you were howling with joy. He didn't know you could look like this. It was beautiful in every sense of the word.

You finally spotted Izuku amongst your boisterous posse and beckoned him over. He smiled softly and joined you, mainly to keep you steady. You announced to everyone that he was indeed your boyfriend and that you loved him more than anything. "More than this stupid party!" if he could quote you directly. That earned some cheers and whistles from the crowd. After that, Izuku scooped you up and kissed away your protests.

After the party, he laid you on the couch and went to get some water. You had begun to sober up on the way back, and you were showing signs of exhaustion. And when you were tired, you needed him more than usual. Whereas the sober you would simply invade his space with a hug, or just flopping over him, the drunk you would try to convince Deku to let you touch him.

"Deku, I'm tired. Do I have to drink water, now?" you complained.

"Yes, my love," he called back from the kitchen.

You waited a beat before saying, "Can you feed me?"

"Have your arms stopped working, love?" He teased, with every intention to feed you, anyway.

Izuku came back to the couch with a glass of water in hand. He plopped down, and guided your chin upward with a couple fingers.

"Open up," he coaxed as he lifted the glass to your lip. He paid attention as the water filled your cheeks before pulling away.

You wondered aloud," Say, you know how I'm your girlfriend, right?"

Deku nodded, "Mmmyeah I recall that little development, why?"

"So, would you say that there are some things I get to ask for that others don't?"

Deku squinted, "Are you getting at something?"

"Well, yeah just...give me a second..." you straighten up as you formulate your next sentences in your head, "Can we...I...I want to...suck it,"

Deku froze. Was this the same person who was toasting randoms just a few hours ago? The same one who was giggling through his kisses as he ushered you to the limo? Not like asking wasn't out of your wheelhouse, but you normally never had to. Just your kiss and your hands were enough to get him thinking about taking your clothes off.

He took a sip of your water, "Really? Now? I mean, are you okay to...?"

You nodded, "I really want to, is all. I haven't been around you all night, and I want to."

Deku chewed his lip. He really didn't want to risk taking advantage of you when he knew that neither of you were completely sober. He sighed, "What's our safe word?"

"Apple," you replied without hesitation.

And with that, he started you off with a kiss. His hand curved against your jawline, turning your face so he could kiss you deeply. You sighed. Something about finally being united with Deku felt like a relief. You traced the outline of his ear, journeying down his neck with your fingertips. You felt him shudder against your lips, which made you smile. You teased under the collar of his dress shirt, before sneaking behind to undo his cute little bowtie.

He groaned against your lips and hauled you onto his lap. As you opened your mouth to protest, Deku caught your bottom lip between his teeth. If you wanted to suck him off, he was sure to use your body for some extra kindling. While he teased you with light kisses over you lips and chin, Deku's hands slid down to your waist. He shifted his hips, encouraging you to grind against him. He swore under his breath as you got the message. You placed the perfect amount of pressure against his length. He just had to break away to watch you. Your brows knitted together as you focused between your legs, rather than his face. You knew that if you looked up, you might change your mind and beg for his mouth instead.

Deku slowly unbuttoned his shirt in front of you, making your cheeks run hot. It wasn't fair how gorgeous your man was. Especially when just taking off his shirt. He planted his hands on the couch and rolled his hips upward. His pretty lip hung open as he panted. Then you realized he was testing your resolve. Of course the man who would drop to his knees at a moment's notice would tease you into letting him do it again. Reluctantly, you pressed your palms into his bare chest and swung your leg off him. He chuckled and slowly got off the couch.

"You tease," you muttered.

He smirked, "Just making sure you know what you want,"

He said that as he undid his belt, a little too slowly for your liking. You took over, unbuttoning his pants and shimmying his slacks and underwear off his hips. Just seeing him flop out of his clothes nearly made you fold right then. But you shook off and rubbed your hands on your legs to warm them up before picking him up. He throbbed in your hand at first contact. Deku hissed behind his knuckle.

"Still cold?" you asked.

"A little,"

That's what you get you little... You let some spit fall from your lips, which helped you stroke him much easier. He moaned at the feeling. You brought your other hand to help jerk him off as he was that thick. You continued with your hands until the first sign of precum dripped onto your legs. You finally graced his tip with your tongue.

As the rough pad of your tongue drug over his sensitive tip, Deku found himself breathless. He held tightly to the arm of the sofa, clenching everytime you accepted another inch into your mouth. His head rolled from side to side as his groans turned into whimpers. He typically found himself adhering to your pleasure. Even as you blamed him for being unfair, he couldn't help but prioritize you. It was safe to say that everytime you went down on him, it hit a reset button in his brain and forced his body to take over. And with that, his needs were voiced.

"Baby, run your nails down my thighs. Mmh like that. Just like that. Make me remember how good you are, how good this feels-" his demands broke off into a guttural moan as you did what he asked.

In the end, you really wanted his touch. And you wanted him to feel good. Anything he could ask for would be granted. And then some. Because you loved him. After a particularly deep push down your throat, Deku stuttered and pulled himself out of your mouth.

"F-fuck...baby wait."

"Wait for what?" you asked, sweetly, "You wanna come, right?"

You neared his throbbing length again, this time with light kisses and kitten licks. Deku pushed back his hair, becoming mesmerized at your display.

He let out a nervous laugh, "Baby, are you tryna tell me something?"

You shrug as you tease, "I dunno...maybe I just wanna give my man a reason to choose this more often...or maybe choose me more often?"

Confusion colored his face, "What? Oh....I get it," He knelt down to look you straight in the eye, "That's why you staked your claim at that party. And why you're sucking my dick like you have something to prove. You want me. Right?"

Scarily enough, he was right on the money. All you could do was nod.

"But Y/N," His voice took a mischeivous undertone as he whispered, "You already have me."

You stuttered as he rose up to his full height. It was hard to think as he literally dangled right in front of your lips. But his next words made it easy for you to comprehend. Deku curled his thick fingers over the back of your head while you opened your mouth to take him.

"Take a breath sweetheart, and be loud for me,"

With that, Deku began to inch back and forth, using only his hips and his hands to control his pleasure. Your nose finally tickled his pelvic bone, and he held you there for good measure.

"Fuuuck, you feel so fucking good," He began to rut his hips against your face. His length kept tap tap tapping at the back of your throat. He swooned in pleasure while you were surprised at the sounds he was drawing out of you.

"Oh if i had known you missed me this much, I'd let you do this much more often. Uhn cause it's only you, baby. I only fucking. choose. you." He stated with each thrust, "Who do I choose?"

Deku pulled out just enough for you to meekly answer, "Me,"

He slid in a out, repeating his question, "That's right, say it again. Who do I choose?"

"Me,"

"Who's mine right now?"

"Me,"

"Who's gonna be mine forever?"

"M-me,"

"And who is gonna make me fucking come!"

He didn't have to pull out for you to answer that one. Deku had inadvertently driven himself up the wall. He could barely move his hips when he reunited himself with your throat. He flexed over and over, while you dug your nails into his hips. His dick came out slick with spit and come; the sign of a job well done.

He plopped down on the couch, with you laying between his thighs, unable to feel your knees enough to join him on the sofa. He caressed your face as he stared aimlessly at the ceiling.

"So, do you really wonder about that?" he whispered, "About me not choosing you?"

You sigh, "We're both heroes. Meaning we have a lot in common. Which is why I love you. But, I know that being in a relationship can be more than a hero needs to bargain for,"

He tilted his head to look at you. Deku slides off the couch and wraps you in a tight hug.

"That's why I love you. Because you're not a part of the job. Or an obligation. You're a choice. One that I love to make, every single day,"

[idkhoworwhytell]

Can these boys take a bath?!

Right around 1k words, no warnings, the ‘   ‘ are meant to represent thoughts!

These men take a while to pack up. Something i've noticed from these men so far from what i've observed, they all seem to hail from somewhere similar. ‘I wonder if this is some big family tree it would make a whole lotta sense.’   “Were leaving!” the old man i guess that's what they call him ‘wonder if he gets offended by that i know mine would.’ finally announced that were were leaving, by the looks of it all of these people are well seasoned travelers, prepared for a chunk of walking for hours. Although, the presumed youngest ‘if warriors hasn't spilled my age yet, shouldn't have told him that.but i've checked to make sure i look way older. They aren't getting my real age outta me. Might have to find a way to keep him quiet.’ Wind was wearing something to Peter Pan's shoes, not meant for walking but something to cover your feet till you soon take them off. ‘Maybe I'll look into getting him a pair of boots as a peacemaker.’  As we started to walk I  noticed I was closely followed by the rancher of the group 'what happens when two people have the same upbringing in different worlds?’  I kinda expected him to wear the cowboy boots, not legend. ‘kinda and egotistical name I'd say.’ it seemed that the others kinda just fell in line everyone just walked beside another. I was next to sky and wars, and still, followed  by twilight. ‘Kinda reminds me of a herding dog.’ Of course time was up front, wild, and four at his side, and it seemed  all the others just blended in. walk , walk, and then more walking. Wild and hyrule keep seeming to wander off ,I would if I wasn't surrounded! Can't these people get the hint they smell! Like pulling my scarf up to my nose and holding there wasn't enough hint. There was a river back there they should've used! There's this wonderful thing  called deodorant. Perfume or cologne would do them some good too, no more natural musk, they stink. Clearly they haven't been introduced to it yet.  ‘Ooooo berries. I drift my way around these people only to be grabbed by my scarf and dragged back.  “ I just want a berry!” “For all we could know you could’ve been wandering off to leave. Plus you don’t know if these things are poisonous.” “ For  one they aren't, two this is literally my world-“ I was cut off with  a glare.  it seems he wasn’t very appreciative of my sass  mouthing .  Meh he’ll get over it. I’m getting my berries, this man can grab my scarf all he wants.  It seems a Couple people noticed my failed attempt, I get a couple of harsh stares. I'm starting to get real tired of these people and I’ve just met them. It seems that hyrule seems to read my thoughts and snuck me a berry. Only reason I would eat one is because I know they aren’t poisonous. ‘This is still my time for the goddesses sake!’ But nooo, I’m trapped by stinky men.  (I think I’ve made that point clear, But you need to understand how much they smelled.) ‘oh yea I’ll make sure I thank hyrule later, he kinda reminds me of a fairy, he smells of sugar and magic..’ ‘ was it iron or silver they can’t touch? Best to take off both if I want to be around him just in case till I find out. If my theories right of course, but I’d still rather be safe.’

Step Step  And another step One foot in front of the other.  And another one. ‘I’m starting to get uncomfortable. I don't enjoy being followed so dutifully.’ Ooo yay lunch time, I’ve heard how wild is a good chef. ‘ I wonder if I can share some recipes with him, wonder what kinda twist he can add with it?’  Oops people are talking I should probably listen ‘ooo sparkly’ nevermind their talking about monsters. I just fight them and move on. This dink guy is a lizard? That means he’s weak to cold temperatures right? Actually that plan won’t work Because  by the looks of it most of these people are looking like they're gonna die by a slight breeze. ‘Put some pants on, do yourself a favor!’ I’d kill anything to be in the snow right now, this climate is too much for me.  “We’re going to probably switch soon.” I can’t quite differentiate that voice yet, but by shift they mind portals right? “It’s likely , I think we have what we were sent for” that was warriors, I could tell that semi posh accent in his voice. Oh they’re talking about me. “I want to go back to the ranch!” ‘That reminds me to get him some boots.’ Moving my head a bit, ‘and some socks the blisters must be insane!’  I could see a couple of the others agree with his statement. It seems as if time and twilight have some familial bond, I could feel both of their yearning to visit.  ‘Bet times loving the extra hands to help around.’ I caught myself wanting to visit too, I just met these people and I’m sorta getting attached? The idea of something so familiar to my upbringing, in an unfamiliar place seems odd, but comforting in a sense.  Huh, they weren’t lying, the smell of the food is quite exquisite. It smells like a sloppy Joe sorta, just stew form. (odd way to describe but carry on. There looks like there’s a wood worker in the group, all the bowls seem to be in similar design, some with their own twists. Same story with the sliver ware.   ‘ for being descended from the same soul, everyone seems to be very different from another. ‘ ‘They sorta remind me of a puzzle..’  I think I remember a quote like that when I was younger, ‘strength lies in differences, not similarities.’ Despite being so alike, everyone of these boys have their differences, making them stronger than they would be alone.

[starsonablackboard]

mutuals appreciation post! i've been feeling sentimental about the fact that i met so many wonderful skillfull artists and just great people here in such a short time so i want to tell each one of you a couple of nice words

@miaumiaoumao it amazes me how many art styles you can pull off. that's a very rare skill in my experience and you absolutely slay every time. your silly cartoony comics are always a joy to see, and the way you do lineart in the more realistic styles is asolutely wonderful. im staring at the "peer into the darkness" piece (the second one) while im writing this and i cant stop. the way how it's all pencil-y, grainy and textured scratches some deep itch of mine

@fanaroff i love how squishy and soft you draw your characters. your style is so interesting to me, you push the proportions yet it still looks balanced and right. also your characters often feel very grounded in their environment and space, they feel solid. like i know how they would feel if i could touch them yk? i guess that's what i mean as squishy and soft aha

@myballsitchaurghouchie my god where do i begin. your character designs? immaculate. so eccentric and bold and full of character, i love all of the wiskers-ear tufts-fly aways you give your narinder, and the way you stylise your lamb's wool and goat's hair looks insanely cool. you know how to pull off both extremely soft and gentle atmosphere and extremely dynamic one. i see your art quite infrequently but each time it's a joy to behold

@aniimoni i fell in love with your art from the first glance. despite the fact that the majority of your works that i see are digital ones, they all feel so... tactile? sensory? as if i can feel non existent grafite under my fingers, trace the brush strokes. the art that you do is so very gentle, the care you put into it is obvious even through the screen. also i love your lamb's design so very much. and narinder's penis ears. what can i do

@sriibble don't know if i should tag you since you're not in our weird cultist club and you already know all im about to say but hey, no harm in some praise, is there. i've seen you skills evolve over these years, but honestly each time i see your new drawings i feel like im awestruck for the very first time. the way you work with colour sometimes looks like magic to me, you can take the palette that makes no sense and bend and mold and twist it into something absolutely beautiful. i know you draw without lines or contours but each time i actually see im in awe. maybe i sound cheesy but it feels like you actually create art, like it runs from your fingers and molds in your palms like clay. жесть меня понесло конечно но и ладно. люблю тебя моя радость, чмаф

@greedykrab the way you work with colour is insane omg. your drawings have such pure raw energy to them, the way you draw, messy and confident, is mesmorising amd so so expressive. you convey atmosphere masterfully, that black and red drawing of narinder in the window still scares the shit out of me. i adore your dark warm kinda dirty paletts, i feel like you know very well how colour and lighting behave, your pieces always feel so real

@midia666 your bishop designs are so unique and striking, i feel like they do an absolutely awesome job at being, well, character designs -- conveying personalities through the way character looks. you have such a good grasp on human (and human-ish) anatomy, your linework is so confident yet so gentle when it needs to be. и я всегда радуюсь видя крутых русскоговорящих художников тут. спасибо за ваши труды <3

@donutfloats it's maybe a strangely specific way to start but i love how you draw wide open maws full of teeth <3 you understand anthro facial (muzzle? snout?) structure so well at such level which i strive towards. the clothes you give your charactes are always amazing and i wish i could wear them, and the diverse body types are so pleasing to look at. also mephis is my fav i love them sm

@teruuu i scroll through all of you guy's art tags so i can formulate my thoughts better and oh god ru i forgot how absolutely batshit insane your art can be in the bestestest of ways. all those scribbly lines and sharp teeth and broken colours, absolutely wild amazing and so so vivid. your designs are a delight to look at and even more a delight to draw, your characters are so expressive and fun and your lineless artstyle is so polished and pleasing and nice, it's amazing in a whole different way <3

@linvxtheghost your art lately been such an interesting middle point between lineless and line..full? and your colours are vibrant yet very balanced, it's like you draw with acrilic markers but in didgital, yk?? it's such a cool look! your more soft colouring stule is also so so nice and gentle and glowy i adore it sm. and your sketches are so dynamic and fun!! твои рисунки всегда будут близки моему сердцу леша и вообще ты крутой художник блин. (бтв если ты таки запостишь мои комишки я зареблогаю the shit out of them)

woooow that was a lot but a fun lot! i hope i didn't leave anyone out?? i double checked. you guys are all so wonderfull and skilled im so glad we're mutuals!!! have a great day and take care <3

[strixamans]

Happy fic moment from 2024

Thanks for the tag, @nocryptographer! This is such a sweet idea.

Share an excerpt from any fic of yours that you wrote this year, depicting a happy / fluffy / cute moment that you're proud of. Let's spread some joy for the last moments of the undeniably fucked-up year that was 2024.

Mine is from Chapter 17 of this one, following the first smut scene of the fic, and my career.

We continue to lie there, naked and smiling, until I shiver.   “Are you cold, darling?” I answer, “A little.” Although I've largely been ignoring it, my hands and feet prickle with a pins-and-needles sensation that might be related to the loss of blood. Astarion looks at me sweetly. “I wish I could warm you up.” “You do.” "Well..." The skin around his eyes wrinkles with his smile in a way I can't resist. I don't really want to leave. But, entwining his fingers with mine, he goes on, “We should get you back to camp, all the same.” I know he's right. Still... He kisses my hand again, then releases it to sit up. And as he leans over to collect our folded clothing, I struggle a little to upright myself, feeling suddenly quite dizzy. A goofy smile spreads across my face. “Oh, I’m a mess…” Astarion looks concerned. “Did I take too much?”  “No, no. You were perfect. I’m just… a mess.” “A beautiful mess, all the same. Here…” He brushes some of the debris from my back, then picks up my shirt. “Arms up.” “I’m quite sure I can dress myself,” I say, giggling. He replies, “I’m sure that you can. You don’t have to, though.” I give him a sly look. “What, you want to take care of me?” And with a bashful smile, he says, “Maybe a little...” So I smile back at him, raising my arms to let him slip my shirt on over them. Then, taking my underwear, he reaches down to pick my feet up, one by one, so he can slide the little garment up my legs while I laugh, shifting my weight from side to side to help him get it up over my hips. And when he succeeds, I pull him in for a kiss. “This isn’t so bad..." Astarion allows me a happy moment of indulgence, before disentangling himself to ask, “You weren’t wearing pants, were you?” “Absolutely not,” I reply. “I’m on vacation.” He chuckles, strapping my sheathed knife to its usual position on my thigh before he goes to kneel at my feet and get my boots on. I watch him stand to dress himself, then go to pick up my towel and dirty shirt, draping the towel over his shoulders and tying the shirt around his hips. “Ready?” He offers me his hands, then pulls me to my feet when I take them. The ground feels very far away, though, and I sway severely. Astarion hurries to wrap my arm over his shoulder, securing his own around my waist. “Are you sure you can walk?” he asks. But I insist that I can; and so, we set off towards camp. The going is slow, and quiet—I have to concentrate on keeping my balance. When we’re about halfway there, though, Astarion laughs quietly to himself. And after a few seconds, he says, “Probably for the best I can’t see whatever it is you’ve done to my hair.” I start to laugh; and of course, promptly lose my balance, nearly collapsing to the ground. But Astarion manages to keep me up. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says, stooping to bring his free arm around the backs of my thighs. “What are you—you can’t possibly—” My giggling protestations are quickly replaced with shrieks of laughter, though, when he succeeds in picking me up. “Are you going to drop me?! Should I be scared?!” “Of course you should be scared," he quips. "I’m a vampire. But I’m not going to drop you.” “Are you sure?!” “I know it’s hard to believe, darling, but I happen to be feeling unusually strong, at the moment. If only at your expense.” I just can't seem to stop giggling. “Careful… if you carry me all the way into camp like this, you might be stuck with me forever.” He giggles, too, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “My silly bride… There is nothing I’d like more.”

(For context, the smut is preceded by a scene in which a tipsy Wyll explains Baldurian nuptial customs, including the "carrying the bride over the threshold" thing, to the gang after being horrified to learn that no one else has been to a wedding)

No pressure tags for @b-e-lindstorm @sawickibalisong @fartasticdurge @deadly-diminuendo @nw39

[bahngray]

Love, Unscripted

This work is for a mature audience.

Chapter 1 : Crossing the Line

It's unusual. She's here today. Her brown eyes glowed in the soft sunlight, her hair in a messy bun with thin strands falling delicately down her neck.

She's here today. Her smile is even brighter than usual, the kind that feels warm and effortless. The subtle dimples you can catch if you look closely right around her mouth, as though they’re meant to be noticed only by those who care enough to look.

She's here. And for a moment, the world feels lighter.

-

[sighs] Me: "Why are you always here?"

[grins] Him: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know they treated customers here like this"

Me: "Well, someone like you can't be called a customer. You are an intruder. Now, if you'll kindly get lost and let me finish my work"

[clutching his chest mockingly]

Him: "Jeez, that hurt. But, I'm just here for a book and I need help finding it so..."

[crosses her arm]

Me: "Ughhh. Do you even read the books? All I see you doing is just sitting there with the book in your hand and staring at people"

[raises an eyebrow]

Him: "Wow, you call me an intruder but I can see your the stalker type, huh"

[rolls her eyes]

Me: "Fine, but this is the last time I'm helping you find a book"

[smirks] Him: "You said that last week"

[grabs a book from the shelf and shoves it into his hand]

Me: "Here. Take this and go sit in your usual spot. And if I catch you staring again, I'll call security"

[laughs as he walks off]

Him: "You love having me around, admit it"

[muttering to herself]

Me:"I'm calling security next time"

-

[grinning...]

Me: "What?"

Jules: "So you're going?"

Me: "Sweetie, I already told you I don't do dates. It's awkward, and boys are gross, and I already have enough on my plate. I don't need boy trouble"

Jules: "Oh, come on what if this guy is different? What if this guy is someone who you can finally feel the spark with? And most importantly what if this guy is someone who actually makes you put your phone down?"

[laughs]

Me: "Very funny. And what if he's a total weirdo who talks about himself all the time or chews with his mouth open?"

Jules: "Then you can pull a fake emergency and call me to bail you out. But, seriously, Serene, when's the last time you did something spontaneous?"

[sighs]

Me: "What if he thinks we are soulmates and I just want to smack him across his face to get that nasty grin off?"

[laughs]

Jules: "Sounds like a you problem. But, what if, just what if, he's an amazing guy?"

Me: "Why do you always have to manipulate me like this?"

Jules: "Because I'm your best friend."

[finally smiles]

Me: "Fine, but if this turns out to be a disaster I'm making you pay for it through the worst rom-com marathon I can find"

Jules: "Deal. Now let's find out your outfit"

-

Serene's POV

Jules was right. It had been too long since I had done something spontaneous—something that wasn’t carefully planned, something that wasn’t me. And as much as a part of me wanted to dive in, to take that leap, there was another part that wanted to turn around and run as far away as possible.

When I lay in bed at night, the silence felt heavier than usual. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, loud and steady, like it was trying to remind me of what was coming. And if someone had asked, I would’ve sworn—without a shadow of a doubt—that whatever was waiting for me had stirred something deep inside me.

It wasn’t just nerves. It was the kind of feeling that sat in your gut and refused to leave. An unsettling mix of excitement and dread, like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if the fall would end in flight or a crash.

-

The Next Day

Picking an outfit wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be—not with Jules around. The moment I said yes, she had already mapped out every detail, from the dress to the shoes, even down to the earrings I should wear. She’d handed me a brush and practically ordered me to let my hair fall in soft curls, and for makeup? “Just enough to make him wonder if you woke up looking like this,” she had said with a wink.

Before heading out, I double-checked everything—keys, purse, lipstick—and then, just to be sure, I sent a quick text to my date.

—

Me: Hi, I’m Serene. Did you reach the restaurant yet?

—

I set my phone down, ready to slip it into my purse when it buzzed almost immediately.

—

Him: Hey, Serene! Yeah, I’m here. I’ll arrange a table for us while you get here. Take your time.

—

I stared at the screen, rereading the message more times than I’d admit. My heart fluttered—not the kind of nervous pounding I’d felt last night, but something gentler. Softer. Like butterflies stirred awake and started dancing inside me.

Grabbing my things, I stepped outside, flagged down a cab, and told the driver the restaurant’s name. The whole ride there, I couldn’t help but wonder what this night had in store for me.

-

Five minutes had passed, but I still couldn’t bring myself to step inside.

"Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Good. Inhale. Exhale."

I clutched the tiny mirror in my hand, giving myself one last look. Hair? Fine. Makeup? Fine. Dress? Perfect—or at least Jules swore it was. With one final sigh, I shoved the mirror back into my purse and straightened my shoulders. It was now or never.

Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. The warm orange lighting made the space feel private and intimate, the buttery smell of freshly baked bread filling the air. Somewhere, light jingles played, and it hit me—it was that time of year. The holidays. No wonder everything felt so warm and inviting.

Slipping my phone out, I typed quickly:

—

Me: I’m here. Where are you?

—

I lowered my phone and glanced around. The tables were full—mostly groups chatting and laughing—but no sign of anyone who looked like they were expecting a blind date.

Then I felt it—a tap on my shoulder.

I turned, and my jaw dropped.

No. No, no, no. This has got to be a joke. There’s no way on earth he is my date tonight. Why is the universe so cruel?

Him: [grinning] "Now that expression on your face really sucks because it makes me think you definitely regret this."

Me: [gritting my teeth] "And you’re right. I do."

Him: [mocking a hurt expression] "Oh, come on. I may not be your favorite customer, but I promise I’ll be your best date." [winks and offers his hand]

My instincts screamed to run. I could bolt out the door and never look back. But then I thought about Jules. About being spontaneous. About taking chances.

This didn’t have to mean anything. After all, we weren’t getting married. It was just one date—one evening—and then I could go back to my predictable, carefully planned life.

Before my brain could catch up with my body, I placed my hand slowly in his.

His grin widened as he lifted it, brushing a featherlight kiss over my knuckles.

Him: "Shall we?"

And just like that, he led us to the table, leaving me wondering whether this night would be the disaster I feared—or the adventure I needed.

-

A cozy corner of the restaurant. The table is lit by a small candle, and the soft glow makes everything feel warmer. The sound of clinking glasses and quiet chatter fills the space.

Serene and her blind date sit across from each other, their drinks already served. Serene fidgets with the edge of her napkin, while her date leans back in his chair, clearly more at ease.

Him: [grinning] "You’re staring."

Serene: [snapping out of it] "What? No, I’m not!"

Him: [teasing] "You totally are. But it’s fine—I’d stare at me too."

Serene: [rolling her eyes, but smiling] "Wow. Confident, are we?"

Him: [shrugging] "I like to think of it as... observant."

Serene: [mocking] "Sure. Observant. Is that what you do? Observe people for a living?"

Him: "I could. But then I’d probably get arrested for being creepy, so no."

Serene: [laughs] "Fair point." [leans forward slightly] "So, what do you do?"

Him: [pretends to think] "Hmm... should I tell you? Or keep the mystery alive for a little longer?"

Serene: "Mystery, huh? Is that your game? What should I call you then? Mysterious Stranger?"

Him: [grinning] "You could... or you could just ask my name."

Serene: [tilting her head] "Alright. What’s your name?"

Him: [leans in slightly, lowering his voice] "Chris."

Serene: [repeating softly] "Chris." [smiles] "Nice to finally know the name of the guy I’m apparently staring at."

Chris: [playfully] "Admit it. You’re staring because you’re curious."

Serene: [smirking] "Or because I’m trying to figure out how you convinced someone to set you up with me."

Chris: [mock offense] "Ouch. And here I thought this was going well."

Serene: [laughing] "It is... maybe."

Chris leans back in his chair, but his eyes stay locked on her, the playful banter softening into something more charged.

Chris: [gently] "You’re nervous."

Serene: [biting her lip] "A little."

Chris: [reaching out and brushing his fingers over the back of her hand] "Don’t be. I think we’re off to a pretty good start."

Serene: [looking down at their hands, then back at him] "I think so too."

The candle flickers between them as the moment lingers, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

The restaurant has quieted down, and the candlelight casts a warm glow over their table. Plates with half-eaten food sit in front of them, but neither seems to care. Chris leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, while Serene sits back, laughing softly as she twirls the stem of her wine glass.

Serene: [grinning] "You’re kidding. There’s no way you actually fell into the lake."

Chris: [laughing] "I’m serious! One second I was trying to impress her with my 'excellent balance' on the canoe, and the next—bam! Fully submerged."

Serene: [giggling] "Wow. I can’t believe she still went out with you after that."

Chris: [pretending to look hurt] "What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think drenched and humiliated is charming?"

Serene: [teasing] "Not exactly the look most people are going for."

Chris: "Well, clearly it worked. She laughed so hard she almost fell in too. And now we’re great friends. So, really, it was all part of my plan."

Serene: [raising an eyebrow] "Right. Completely intentional."

Chris: "You get me."

Serene: [smirking] "I’m starting to think I do."

They both pause, the banter fading into a comfortable silence. Serene takes a sip of her drink, but she can feel Chris’s eyes on her.

Chris: [softly] "You know... I wasn’t sure about tonight."

Serene: [setting her glass down] "Me neither."

Chris: [tilting his head] "But I’m really glad I came."

Serene: [meets his gaze] "Me too."

The corner of Chris’s mouth lifts into a smile, and for a moment, neither of them looks away.

Chris: [breaking the tension with a grin] "So... do I get to see this 'terrible singing in the shower' talent you mentioned earlier?"

Serene: [laughing and covering her face] "Absolutely not."

Chris: [leaning back, smirking] "You know, that just makes me more determined."

Serene: "You’re impossible."

Chris: [playfully] "You’re stuck with me now, Serene. Better get used to it."

She laughs again, but there’s something softer in her eyes this time, something that lingers even as the waiter arrives to clear their plates. And as the night goes on, they both realize they’re in no rush for it to end.

Serene's POV

No way is this happening.

Why am I liking this? Why am I liking him? The guy sitting right in front of me, grinning like he owns the world and making me laugh like it’s the easiest thing ever?

What the hell?

Have I gone insane? Are my hormones okay? Is this some kind of trick my brain is playing on me because of the candlelight and the wine?

If anyone had told me yesterday—when I was cursing this exact same guy under my breath—that I’d be sitting across from him tonight, adoring him like some lovesick teenager, I would’ve laughed. Hard. And then probably rolled my eyes.

But now? Now it just feels... insane.

Because, oh my god, he looks so good in that white shirt and those perfectly worn-in, white-washed blue jeans. It’s annoyingly effortless. And those dimples? I seriously want to reach across the table and pinch them off his cheeks.

And don’t even get me started on the way his cheeks flush that faint pink whenever I mock him—because yes, I’ve been doing it all evening just to watch it happen again—and the way his eyes sparkle under the candlelight like he’s hiding something mischievous.

I’m screwed.

Absolutely, completely, hopelessly screwed.

Jules, just wait till I see you. You’re so not getting away with this matchmaking scheme without hearing an earful about it.

-

As the night went on, we drifted effortlessly from one conversation to another. Being around him felt so easy—so natural. Like I could sit there, breathing, and he’d somehow understand every thought running through my head without me even saying a word.

He was so easy to like it scared me.

Me: "So, Chris, what’s with you coming to the bookshop almost every day?"

Chris: [grinning] "Well, first off, I’m obviously there to keep an eye on you." [pauses, pretending to be serious, then laughs] "Just kidding. I actually like reading books. I have this very specific list I want to finish before, you know... my untimely demise."

Me: [impressed] "Wow. Okay, that’s... unexpected. You don’t really seem like the bookish type."

Chris: [mock offense] "And what does the 'bookish type' even look like?"

Me: [smirking] "Not someone who forgets to pay for their coffee and then pretends it never happened."

Chris: [laughing] "Hey! That was one time."

Me: "Sure it was."

By the time we stepped out of the restaurant, I had already lost the argument about who was paying. He was stubborn, and I wasn’t exactly used to someone standing their ground like that—not in a way that made it feel charming rather than frustrating.

Outside, the moon hung low, painting the night sky in shades of pale blue, while stars peeked out from behind the wispy clouds. The air was cool, but I barely noticed.

This night had been perfect.

Not just for me—but for him, too. I could feel it in the way his eyes softened when they met mine, in the unspoken ease that lingered between us. It felt like some invisible line had been crossed, and there was no going back.

As we strolled side by side toward the parking lot, there were giggles and soft laughter in the air, moments that felt stolen and yet so completely ours.

And for once, I felt like I belonged. Like this—being here with him—was exactly where I was meant to be. It was not a place where I had to shrink myself to fit in, but one where I already had a place, just as I was.

I didn’t want the night to end. Neither did he.

When Chris offered me a ride, I said yes before he even finished asking. Because, if I was being honest, I didn’t want to be away from him—not now and, if I could help it, not ever.

There was something about him that felt so effortless, so delicate and soft, that it almost hurt to think someone could be like that.

And as I climbed into the car, my heart thrumming with something dangerously close to hope, I realized that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of the night. Maybe this was just the beginning.

The ride home is a blur of bickering, teasing, and bursts of laughter—the kind that bubbles up so easily it leaves your cheeks aching. And when I tell you it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time, I’m not exaggerating.

By the time we pull up in front of my apartment, the mood shifts, just slightly. The laughter fades, replaced by something softer. And as much as I try to ignore it, there’s this heavy knot of disappointment settling in my gut. I’m not ready to leave. Not yet.

Chris: [leaning against the steering wheel, grinning] "So, when can I see you again?"

Me: [playing it cool] "What’s the rush?"

Chris: [mock serious] "Let me tell you—I’m the impatient type. So you’d better hurry before you lose your man."

Me: [raising an eyebrow] "Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean everyone wants to date you, okay?"

Chris: [smirking] "So... you think I’m hot?"

Me: [flustered] "You wish." [pauses, then smirks] "But... if you do want to see me again, read Better Than the Movies and Nothing Like the Movies. Prepare a full review for both. If I like what you have to say... I’ll give it a thought."

Chris: [grinning] "Damn. You’re tougher than I thought." [leans in slightly] "But I’ll say this—you’ve got the right guy. I’ll meet you next week, right here, with the reviews ready to blow your mind." [winks]

And then it happens.

He smiles—the kind of smile that’s all soft edges and dimples and a quiet promise I can’t quite put into words. You belong with me by Taylor Swift, which starts playing in my mind. The moonlight hits just right, casting tiny stars in his eyes, and before I can think twice, I lean in.

A quick kiss, just at the corner of his mouth—soft enough to tease but deliberate enough to leave him stunned.

Before he can react, I bolt.

Chris: [laughing softly behind me] "You’re impossible, Serene!"

I don’t look back. I can’t. My heart’s already racing, and I’m terrified he’ll see it written all over my face if I stop now.

By the time I’m inside, leaning against the door, I can still feel the warmth of his skin against mine.

And that night, as I force myself to sleep, I replay the whole evening over and over again, wondering how one night could flip my entire world upside down.

I’m so freaking screwed.

-

The next chapters will be up soon! Make sure to share, like and comment!

♡R

[introspectivememories]

goddd i just know that tim never takes off that fucking necklace. and you know bear doesn't have that much money so tge necklace was kinda cheap and it wasn't anything the bear meant for tim to wear regularly it was just like a keepsake y'know? wear it on a date or a nice outing. maybe when they're both home together. but tim is practically feral over it. like straight up refuses to take it off. it's turning his neck green at this point and everybody is soo done.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Gravity Falls was strange, and the townsfolk even stranger, it seemed.

The twins had been unceremoniously dropped off on the side of the dusty road, the roar of the bus engine fading away as the driver wordlessly drove off without fanfare. The poor man had almost seemed close to tears ever since they had entered the thresholds of this seemingly innocuous town, all too eager to speed off and away while leaving the two children coughing and wheezing in its dust.

It had not even been a full minute since their lackluster drop-off before they became well acquainted with the oddly sociable and irritatingly chatty inhabitants of Gravity Falls. A single conversation with a pair of boisterous policemen already told them all they needed to know about the history of the town, as well as the whereabouts of their Great Uncle Ford.

"The Mystery Shack," the townsfolk had called it. It seemed as though their distant uncle had earned himself somewhat of a reputation amongst the locals. He was the town cryptid; the ever elusive mad scientist that lived in the outskirts of town in this so called "Mystery Shack". No one really knew who he really was; but everyone knew exactly who he was.

So, when the twins found themselves stood hand in hand in front of the rickety old shack, they hadn't really known what to expect when door had swung open with a deafening slam.

He was a strange man, their Great Uncle Ford. He seemed nothing like the cackling looney lab-coated madman they had imagined from what meager hushed information the townsfolk had offered them. It seemed as though the tales of a scientist gone mad that experimented on stray children that wandered into his spooky "Mystery Shack" was but a cruel rumor.

He mostly just seemed unhealthy, to be honest. His sickly, pale frame utterly drowned in the thick red woolen sweater that practically seemed to hang off of his lanky body like a second flap of skin. It made him look almost child-like, like a kid trying on their parents clothes; which somewhat diluted the intimidating effects of his looming height.

Although, the townsfolk's apparent fear of their Great Uncle Ford seemed to have some merit.

For one, Grunkle Ford really didn't seem all too human. He wasn't inhumane, per se; just, not entirely himself, if that made any sense. Looking at him was like looking at an incomplete puzzle; or looking at someone who you remember all your life wearing a hat, suddenly coming to work one day without one, and it takes a little too long for you to remember what is missing.

It was like Grunkle Ford had lost pieces of himself. Somewhere, to someone. His eyes seemed... almost empty. They were a little too dull and a little too opaque, lacking the lively shine of life everyone else seemed to have.

Another thing was that Grunkle Ford wasn't entirely alone. There was... someone else. The twins couldn't exactly pinpoint where, but they could feel its stare, whatever or whoever it was. They could almost feel its stare, a non-existent eye trailing a weird prickling sensation across their skin. The twins recalled the words of one of the townsfolk, a tall bestacled man with haunted blind eyes; although unseeing they could have sworn his gaze never seemed to leave them, as all he said was:

"Don't catch IT staring at you"

The twins had an odd feeling that IT was looking at them right now.

They didn't even notice when the pale bony hand of Grunkle Ford suddenly reached into their personal space, barely registering his words at all, much less the extra fingers that adorned each of his rough, worn palms.

They didn't take the hand.

If the twins had thought the outside of the shack looked decrepit, the inside seemed somehow even worse.

Every inch of exposed wall, ceiling or floor were utterly covered by sprawling symbols, summoning circles, and indecipherable words that seemed to be in an entirely different language than any the twins knew. They overlapped and tangled into one another into big, messy, red splotches of clustered nothings.

There were notes, diagrams on ripped pieces of aged looking paper scattered everywhere, with hardly any room for post-it notes squeezed wherever there was room. Lit and unlit candles were placed absolutely everywhere; either hidden in the dark corners or openly stood in the middle of the floor; sometimes in a circle, sometimes not. The melted fallen wax had coagulated into a hard white mess onto the floor; the smell of cheap vanilla scented candles intermingling with the smell of halloween fake blood (and Dipper was convince there had to be some real blood there, too) to create a sour concoction that stung their noses unpleasantly.

The shack was sparsely furnished with rarely any furniture at all. Not even a couch, the tables and chairs simply pushed to the walls to make more space for the endlessly swirling symbols and pentagrams. The twins were hesitant of stepping on any of the summoning circles, carefully sidestepping the candles and walking over the line of the pentagrams.

The attic, where they would be residing, was not much better.

Maybe they did end up in a mad scientist's house, after all.