#Dance Floor-Friendly New Single

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS - LN

lando x fewtrell!reader (cos who doesn't love a bit of brother's best friend?).

no content warnings for this part. pls lemme know what u think of this pls and thank u.

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

y/n was a bit of an enigma in the fewtrell family. yes, she’d grown up karting with her older brother and his best friend, but it wasn’t a career for her. not like it was for max, who took his love of karting to championships and content creation and especially not like lando, who made it all the way to F1.

no, y/n fewtrell wanted a career, for now at least anyway. which leads us to now, she’s sat in a second year lecture, not listening to a single word as a slew of messages from her brother almost vibrate her phone off the desk.

she didn’t really need to think about it at all, of course she’d be there. whilst she had no interest in her actually involvement, she loved motor sports, and loved supporting lando. the amount of times she’d been recognised in her uni towns sports bar, watching the F1, was getting concerning. not to mention the time she’d finished a 10 hour shift and somehow fell asleep in said sports bar, made worse and more recognisable to lando fans by the quadrant hoodie and LN4 beanie - max had not let her live it down since the moment the photo came on his twitter feed. it just seemed odd that lando all of a sudden wanted, no, needed her presence - after all, he'd had minimal contact with her for almost a year.

but, she weighed up in her head, getting to see lando was somewhat of a reward. yes spending the day with her brother would be good, although she could sense her summer would potentially be spent with him anyway. but lando, what could she say about lando. he was always around growing up, and yes admittedly there had been a few moments shared in her early adulthood that would indicate something more but it always remained unspoken. lingering touches here and there, the night they spent dancing together in a club, though written off as drunk friendliness, and most notably an interrupted moment where he whispered “max would kill me if he knew the truth”. y/n never got to find out what the truth was, as max himself came barrelling into the room, equally as drunk as everyone else at the gathering. from that night on, she barely saw or heard from lando, well, until now supposedly.

ultimately, y/n decided that dwelling on what could’ve been, whilst lando jets off around the world, was simply not worth it. she focused on her studies, and began declining offers to watch lando race on the other side of the world. y/n fewtrell was a strong independent woman who did not need the validation from her brothers best friend.

didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it.

as predicted, the academic year ended and y/n found herself moving a bag of clothes into max’s spare room. people started spotting her in the background of streams again, fans excited to see the fewtrell’s back together and in full force - y/n now adorning a lovely bruise down the side of her arm from where max had shoved her too hard off a chair and onto the floor. sore losers run in the family.

“MAX! that hurt,” y/n whined from her new found position on the floor.

“oh did it,” max asks mockingly, “sucks to be you i guess” he adds with a shrug, although letting her use his arm to pull herself back up.

he moved back to playing his game when a text popped up on her phone making her giggle.

“what? what are you laughing at?”

“lando said “push him back”. lando,” y/n said, looking at the camera, “if i could, i would - but i quite like having somewhere to live and my own personal chauffeur,” she laughed, max laughing with her.

a month later she was in the passenger seat of max’s car, him pulling in to park outside the silverstone track. it was hours before the public would show up, so she instantly spotted the curly haired man. yes, the bright orange jumper was like a bat signal for lando, but y/n’s eyes were immediately drawn to him naturally. max had just about pulled the handbrake on when lando bounded over to the car, pulled the passenger door open and lunged himself around y/n.

“you came! it’s been too long since ive had my little lucky charm in my garage,” he says, looking directly into her eyes. a red flush runs up her cheeks, hoping that the boys will put it down to the loss of air conditioning. any awkwardness she had anticipated between the two dissolved almost instantly.

“i know, i’m sorry. i should just drop out of uni and follow you around the world, i know. forgive me,” she jokes holding her hands up, and lando quirks an eyebrow up, as if saying “you should”.

“don’t do that, y/n. one of the fewtrell’s needs to be properly educated,” max jokes, ”besides, not having his lucky charm around all the time keeps his ego in check.” lando chuckles in response, finally moving to stand fully out of the car and allowing y/n and max to climb out and join him.

“so, home race in 2 days - how you feelin’ mate?” max asked lando, raising his hand to do one of those bro hand grabs. they continued talking, y/n trailing just behind them as they walked into the building and around to the mclaren area. it was always a spectacle, coming to races. the teams, the drivers, the media, the celebrations - it was somewhat overwhelming. it was weird to see the place so empty, then again, it was 7am on FP1 day so the only people walking around were the odd driver and mechanics.

they continued to walk through the paddock, y/n just listening to the boys discussing an upcoming quadrant project, eventually reaching his drivers room. the sofa looked so inviting, especially to the girl who was dragged kicking and screaming out of bed at 5am. whilst lando distracted max, showing him his helmet for the home race, y/n crawled over to the sofa, curled up in a corner and shut her eyes.

“y/n? you good?” lando asked, after clocking her new found position.

“shut up.”

“ouch.”

“she threatened to rip my eyeballs out and shove them down my throat this morning when i tried to get her up. being told to shut up is nothing,” max laughed, ruffling the top of his sisters head and messing up her hair, “she just likes her sleep.”

“yes, she does, please let her have it,” y/n mumbles bluntly, met with chuckles from the boys.

“we’re gonna get breakfast. ill bring you back something if you want to stay here?” lando asks, her eyes perking up at the thought of food.

“yes please,” she says, with a soft smile directed towards him.

-

“next time, me and you are getting separate hotel rooms,” y/n groaned, rolling around the sofa of her hotel room trying to get comfortable.

“next time, tell me you want to come with me early enough for me to book you a separate hotel room, y/n,” her brother grumbled back.

“i’m gonna see if there’s a gym here. i need to tire myself out if i’m going to sleep on this…thing,” she said, poking at the solid leather of the sofa.

max didn’t respond to his sister, instead he rolled over to face the door and shut his eyes. y/n grabbed her key card and her shoes, and walked out the door, happy to be away from her brother. she loved him, she really did, but after spending the entire day in lando’s small driver room with him - she really just needed some brother-free air.

she barely reached the lift at the end of the hallway when she got a text, diverting her entire plans for that evening.

i’m bored. come on a drive with me?

going on a late night drive with lando was not out of the ordinary, but usually max was there. had he sent max the same message? either way, she responded with a quick yes and thumbs up.

cool. im outside btw. hurry up.

have you just turned up assuming i was going to say yes?

was i wrong?

shut up im coming down now

[writingsbychlo]

IS IT NEW YEARS YET? | lorenzo berkshire

summary; you're not a huge fan of new years, since when was it all about couples, anyway? luckily, someone else is in the same boat.

word count; 6712

notes; this is completely unedited, it's bound to be riddled with mistakes. this is the second to last christmas fic, just my baby mattheo to go! I saved the best for last.

Sitting at the table, you did your very best to hide the scowl sitting on your face. Pansy had left you only a moment ago to dance with Luna, Astoria had pulled Draco away onto the floor ages ago, and Blaise was off flirting up a storm with every girl possible. Regulus was sulking at the bar with his brother, while Mattheo and Theo had long since snuck away to smoke and hide from the party. 

That just left you. Sat alone at the table, trying not to get too drunk as you watched all the happy couples around you mingle. The Christmas period had always been so fun, but lately, it only seemed to be a holiday for couples. Which, really wasn’t fair, in your opinion. They already had Valentine’s Day, why the fuck did they need this one, too?

However, everything seemed to be spinning around kissing at midnight, and dancing, and romance, and Luna’s bag full of grapes, for whatever that was about. You’d tuned out when she’d begun explaining. 

Glancing around the room in search of the only remaining member of your party who was unaccompanied, perhaps a little reprieve from the loneliness, you spotted Enzo near his parent's table. He looked, in a single word, uncomfortable. Scratching at the back of his neck, he wore a scowl, and while you couldn't hear over the loud music and chatter what he was saying all that distance away, it was clear that he wasn’t happy. 

His mother glared at him, and his anger dimmed only a second, a flash of fear in his eyes, a bob of his throat, but he didn’t back down. Finishing off the last of your drink and standing, the sequins of your dress glitter under the lights, falling perfectly in the simple, floor-length dress you’d chosen for the evening. 

As you wove through the bodies, heels clicking on the floor, you started to be able to pick out the deep rumble of his voice throughout the other conversations. He didn’t have a great relationship with his parents. Certainly, not as bad as others in the group, but strained He rarely wrote them, he only ever went home at Christmas and Summer, and they never came to visit. In almost a decade of knowing Enzo, you’d perhaps spoken to them three times, and once, was merely your introduction. 

“I’m not going to date a girl I don’t know just because you think I ought to!”

Your brows furrowed, stilling momentarily as his words raced through your mind. Regulus’ parents had tried to set him up with someone recently too, only six months ago, they’d sent him letter after letter about the eligible girls from other noble families he could woo. You’d gone pale upon discovering your own name on the list, quite highly ranked, and Regulus had assured you that as much as he loved you dearly as a friend, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing you romantically. Nor, any of the girls on the list. 

However, you hadn't expected Enzo’s parents to leap on him so fast. Your mother had been making some subtle comments about relationships lately, but nothing nearly so bold, not since your break-up. Enzo dragged a hand through his hair as he groaned, this conversation obviously wasn’t going in his favour, and you pitied him. 

In a generous mood, you finished your walk, closing in by his side and putting on the charming smile that you knew could win over any adult or peer, with a few simple words and a bat of your lashes. Anyone, except, perhaps Enzo’s mother. Her eyes narrowed on you as you placed a hand on Enzo’s lower back, standing respectably by his side, by far closer than could be considered friendly, as you smiled up at him. 

“Enzo, sweetie, Draco is looking for you.”

“Wh— What?” His brows pulled together, obviously confused, and you slipped your arm around his waist, settling in by his side. 

“Lorenzo, who’s your friend?” His mother’s cold tone sliced through the space between you as his gaze scanned over your features. 

“Hi, Mrs Berkshire.” You held your hand out offering your name, and she only hummed, shaking it loosely before returning her hand to her side, elegantly. “I’m Enzo’s… well, we haven’t quite figured out terms yet, have we? I’m his date tonight… at least, I hope?”

He did well to hide his flicker of surprise, before finally seeming to understand the aim of the game, his arm snaking around your body like a boyfriend might do, and curling you further into his side. “Of course you are, darling.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Your giggle was far more high-pitched and sweet than usual, but the tension bled from his mother’s shoulders just a fraction, as she analysed the pair of you. For emphasis, Enzo leaned in to press a polite kiss to your temple, and you stretched your smile wider, like a happy girlfriend would. “I’m so sorry to have interrupted, I promised Draco I’d find you, and you left me all alone at the table. I was starting to miss you, but now I see you were doing something important. I thought perhaps you’d snuck away with the boys.”

The piercing gaze of his mother drilled into you, but you didn’t falter, or show any weakness. In your social circles, one cowering sign was just an opening for snapping teeth at throats, and you wouldn't give anyone such an opportunity. 

“Why would you now simply tell us that you had a date, Lorenzo?” His mother eventually questioned, finally dragging her stare away from you and back to her son, and you felt like you could breathe again at last.

“Well, as you heard my girl say,” He murmured, stumbling only slightly over the words, and recovering them smoothly with a cough. “We haven’t settled on any kinds of labels yet. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, or too forward.”

“And how long have you been seeing one another?” She wasted no time, raising a brow. 

“Just two months.” You smiled, and she flickered her sights to you for only a moment. “You raised a real gentleman, Mrs Berkshire. He’s been so patient and sweet, it can be so hard to find times between classes to see one another and spend time together. We’ve been taking it slow. I apologise if I come as a surprise to you tonight, that’s my fault. I asked Enzo not to write to you, because I haven’t told my own parents yet, you see.”

Leaning in to whisper your joke, as if you were passing secret information;

“My father can be a little over-protective, I wanted to spare Enzo, so I knew my father wouldn't scare him away.”

At that finally, a smirk broke on her lips. She made a vague sound of agreement, and you could feel your friend relax a little where your hand was rubbing his side, gently. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. Lorenzo, you may leave for now. But I do not expect to be kept in the dark on such matters again.”

Waggling a finger at him, he only nodded, eyes wide. “Of course, Mother. It won’t happen again.” 

Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he gave a hurried goodbye, before steering you away with his arm still around you, and guiding you back toward the other side of the room. When you were far enough away he knew his parents wouldn't hear them, he let out a shaky laugh, and turned to look down at you. 

“I don’t know if you’re brave, stupid, or both. Taking on my mother like that? Impressive, and also insane.”

“You have a funny way of saying ‘thank you’, Berkshire.” You tutted, and he only grinned. Dipping down, he kissed your cheek now, coming to a stop beside your table. 

“Thank you, for saving me back there.”

“Well, you seemed like you needed a save.” You shrugged, his arm still looped around your waist, hand on your lower back, rubbing lightly as he looked around the room. 

“You don’t have an actual date, right?” Leaning in, his breath brushed your ear, and you shuddered at the feel, “Because there’s a guy over there glaring at me like I kicked his dog.” 

His fingers touched your cheek, guiding your gaze to casually follow where he had been looking. As your eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the dance floor, you hardly concealed a scoff. He wasn’t glaring, so much as staring with curiosity now that you were the one looking. He smoothed a hand up his girlfriend’s leg as she sat beside him engaged in another conversation, not noticing where his attention now lingered. 

Turning your gaze away with a heavy sigh, your motions caused you to curl a little further into Enzo, who leant back enough to look down at you. “Is that the dickhead-ex that broke up with you in a letter a few months ago?” He whispered, and you could only nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. 

Over him, you might be, but that didn’t make it sting any less. You’d suspected for a while he might be cheating, based on how soon he’d moved on, how ingratiated into his social circles she seemed, but this was the first time you’d ever seen her. 

She was pretty.

“That would be the one.” You replied, and Enzo only hummed, freeing his other hand from his pocket to tip your face up, an act that was far more intimate than any touch the two of you had ever shared. His thumb smoothed over your cheek, flicking a gaze back to the other side of the room and smirking slightly. “I don’t need to make him jealous, Enz. As much as I appreciate the sentiments, this is unnecessary. 

It wasn't needed, but you couldn't deny it felt good. Felt good to be held again, to settle your hands on someone’s chest, to feel his steady heartbeat under your palm as he touched you so tenderly. “I know, but isn’t it nice? To make him see what he let go, to show him how you should’ve been treated. We’re stuck together all night anyway, might as well make it count for you too.”

“Why is it that we’re stuck together?” You murmured, scowling a little at his choice of words, even more so when he only chuckled. You both knew he didn’t mean it like that, but it felt better to channel a little bitterness than let in the hurt. 

“My parents now believe we’re a couple. Your heroic act of saving me now has consequences.” He clicked his tongue, his hand smoothing down to your neck, thumb under your chin to force you to look up at him. 

“I figured you’d sneak away to see the other boys once I got you out.”

“And abandon my doting girlfriend who comes to my rescue?” He gasped dramatically, shaking his head, and a small laugh fell from your lips. “I would never. So, what do you say? I’m in your debt, let me be your real date for the night. I promise I’m a fun date.”

“You don’t have to beg, Lorenzo. I’ll let you be my date.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen me beg yet.” He smirked, a wicked look glinting in his eye, before he stepped back from you. Slipping the hand from your waist to slip into your own, he grasped tightly. “How about we go and get a drink?”

“I have a drink.”

“A real drink. I hate champagne, and I know you do too.” He cringed at the sight of your half-drunk glass, and didn’t wait for an answer, beginning to lead you both through the party and towards the bar. 

Settling in together, he pulled out a stool for you, tapping at the surface of it for you to sit on. When you shifted towards it, his hands settled on your waist, boosting you up to sit on it, and winking at the surprised sound that slipped free. 

He flagged down the bartender with a quick wave, before stepping in closer to your side, his hand finding a home on your lower back once again. Your spine was stiff, and you tried to convince yourself to relax, mumbling your drink order to the waitress as she passed by and took them both. 

Leaning back into his touch, he responded in kind, hand rubbing up and down your back softly, and turning to face you. Twisting your body on the stool, your knee bumped into his thigh, and your hand dropped to sit over the top of his on the bar before you. 

“So, didn’t expect your parents to be pushing your impending marriage so hard.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the prominent veins and marks in his hand, along each finger, all the way to the tips until they twitched, before returning to the back of his hand. On one finger sat a prominent family ring, the Slytherin ring on his thumb, and a couple of varied bands stacked amongst the others. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m far too young to be considering marriage. I haven’t seen the world yet, I’ve never been in love. Not— Not that soul-shredding, intense kind of love. I want to experience that at least once. I want to pick my own wife.” He shook his head, casting you a downtrodden look, a pout on his lips. “Doesn’t seem like that’ll be in the playing cards for me.”

“You could always leave. After we graduate, we get to leave. Maybe you should just… run.”

He only raised a brow at you, shaking his head slightly. It was a stupid suggestion, really. There wasn’t a place he could go that he wouldn't be followed by the reputation of his family, of his magical status. Unless he were to give it all up, disappear as a muggle, and spend the rest of his life feeling like he’d chopped off a limb, or had a vital organ removed. 

“Sorry. Dumb thing to say.”

“No, it was sweet. You were just trying to be comforting.” He whispered, and the drinks were placed down before you both. Pushing your drink to you with two fingers, you tapped them together gently, glass clinking, before taking a sip of your cocktail. “I might milk this little situation you’ve gotten us into for a while, though. Let my parents believe I’m courting you back at Hogwarts, and when we call it quits, I’ll be heartbroken. I’ll tell them I need time to get over you.”

Shaking your head with a small laugh, the sound brought a smile to his face.

“I’ll milk that one too. I reckon I can buy myself… at least a year, all in all.”

“Only a year, is that all my fictional love is worth?” You raised a hand to your chest, and he stepped even closer, playing into the act as his arm tightened around your waist. 

“You’re right. You're the one. When you leave me, I’ll be devastated. I’ll never get over it. You’ll be my one that got away.” He gave a heavy sigh, a groan at the end of it, slumping slightly into the bar and only increasing his dramatics as you giggled. “Don’t leave me, I’ll be better! I’ll buy you more flowers, I’ll stop sleeping with my secretary!”

You were gathering odd looks at his declaration, an older couple behind you tittering disapprovingly but you didn’t care. Not as he straightened back up, standing closer to you still, and smiling at you so widely. Your cheeks flushed as he took in your features, and you sipped at the cold alcohol in your glass, fingers raising to your cheeks to hide the blush.

“Truly, though. Thank you. That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to step in for me.”

“I know, but you’re my friend. One of my best friends. I know you’d help me out in a pinch, too.” Your hand fell back to his, toying with the house ring on his thumb, and he twisted his hand to give you better access. Such a small gesture, but you appreciated it nonetheless, as he fed into your anxious habits with no extra thought, your chest flooding with warmth and gratitude for him.

“I would, but, my parents are more than just a pinch. You were brave, my mum likes to pride herself on being intimidating.”

“She doesn’t have to like me, but I knew she wouldn't hurt me.” He raised his brows, silently questioning, and you looked at his hand. Unfolding his loose fist, you laced your fingers through his. “You were there with me. I knew she wouldn't hurt me.”

His hand tightened around yours, and his throat bobbed slightly. Lifting your raised hands, he kissed your knuckles softly. Instead of finding words to respond, he used gestures, his eyes fixed on yours as everything that needed to be said shone in them. He wasn’t his parents you saw him for that and trusted him. This was real, it wasn’t just for show, and when he moved his lips from your skin, you cupped his cheek with your other hand. 

“I know you’re good, Enzo.” You whispered, a fragile tone for just him to hear over the music, and his smile wobbled from flirty to heartfelt. “You’ve been my friend for so long now, I feel pretty confident in saying I know who you are.”

“Thank you.” His words came on a rushed sigh, and you swiped your thumb across his cheekbone one final time, before pulling away to clasp your drink and take a sip. He kept a tight grip on your other hand, though, clasping it to his chest momentarily, before resting your joined hands back on the bar. “So, what have I got to do to get you to dance with me out there?”

“Oh, no. I don’t dance at these things.” You shook your head quickly, and his grin only stretched at that prospect. At the look on his face, you waved a finger at him. “I have never danced at one of these things before. You aren’t the first guy to ask. I. Don’t. Dance.”

“I say you can.” He snickered, humming a fragment of the song as your eyes rolled. Leaning in a little closer to him, his wicked, flirty smile was back. Your nose brushed his.

“Not a chance.”

He seemed to accept the challenge, finishing off the whiskey that was in his glass. He wasn’t giving up, and you knew for certain that once Enzo set his mind to something, he achieved it. He waved to the bartender again, ignoring her flirty smile as he placed his order with two fingers raised, “Can I get two shots of tequila, please?”

“Make it four.” You muttered, and his eyes sparkled as he corrected himself. Finishing off your own drink, you pushed the empty glass toward his own, nothing but an overly saturated berry left in the bottom. “How’d you know tequila is my go-to for shots?”

“Because, my darling, I am observant. In fourth year, you legitimately gagged when we gave you Sambuca to try and you refuse to touch it even to this day, you say vodka tastes like nail polish, and you never drink whiskey or rum. And, only a psychopath would shoot gin.” His nose scrunched up, and four shot glasses were soon placed down before you, each one being filled up, a few droplets escaping to the bar. A dish of salt and limes followed, and you awed silently over it as he wiggled his brows. 

“Fancy, we get the fruit, too.”

“Always impressive these days, every family trying to one-up each other with parties.” He handed you your first shot, clinking your glasses together and spilling some of the sticky amber liquid onto your fingertips. Sprinkling salt on your hand, he winked, “Cheers.”

Licking the salt from his own fingertips, you copied, licking the substance from the back of your hand. Quickly, you did your first shot, then the next, and before you could even reach for one, Enzo was pushing a slice of lime between your lips. He’d surely smudged your lipstick, and juice was now running down your chin, but he caught it with a quick swipe of his thumb, grinning around the citrus in his mouth as he sucked it dry, and winced. 

Pulling the lime out from between your teeth, laughter soon spilt over in its place, and you left the half-drained slice in one of the empty glasses. Licking the tips of your fingers for the remaining tequila, Enzo watched, eyes a little foggy, as you cleaned up. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” You muttered, and he leaned in again, invading your space as the woodsy smell of his cologne overpowered you, making you want to press your face into his neck. Instead, you held his gaze, with bated breath.

“Because it’s hot. And I’m only so strong.”

“Are you flirting with me, Enz?” You smirked, watching as he offered you his hand. Taking it, you hopped down from the bar stool, waiting for the effects of the shots to kick in, ready to welcome the numbing buzz they’d carry. 

“Most definitely. You like it?”

“I do, actually.”

Linking your arm through his own as he led you slowly to the dance floor, he patted your hand on his bicep. “You could try to sound less shocked by that. I’m great at flirting.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen you put it into use before. That pretty smile, a few sweet words and a wink, you normally have women falling at your feet.”

As you reached the edge of the floor, he turned to face you, settling a hand on your hip, and tugging you in closer than needed. “But not you? Because you’re different to other girls.”

“Oh, no. I’m just like other girls. And it would work on me too, if I didn’t know you so well. Unfortunately, I’ve watched you throw up in your own shoe and eat food off the floor. You’ll have to work a little harder to get me.” Pinching your fingers between your faces to show a gap, he watched, before taking that hand and placing it on his shoulder, smoothly. 

“I love a good challenge.”

With that, he was sweeping you across the floor, your shocked laughter breaking free as he spun you suddenly into the madness of the dance floor. Perfected routines and perfect dances, and even in your addled mind, the steps began to come back to you. You’d always thought that there was something so eerie about the dances, the melancholic music that played, always building to a crashing crescendo. 

It felt like music with a tragic tale, spinning and dipping and dancing, like a Shakespeare play given music instead of words. Rows of perfectly organised dancers, all moving in perfect sync and harmony. 

Luckily, tonight, that structure seemed to have fallen apart a little. Various levels of dancing skills were taking place. Some were just swaying, others were performing flips and spins that made you dizzy, as you and Enzo settled somewhere in the middle. His hand tight on your waist, the other clasping your own, he spun you between people, guiding you towards the centre of the floor. 

“I thought you said you didn’t dance!”

“I don’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t. My mother had me in lessons three times a week as a child. I am an excellent dancer.” Glancing around, it was mercifully informal tonight, not the regimented performances it sometimes could be. “This whole… thing. It just creeps me out sometimes.”

“When they all dance in perfect, synchronised lines, like some kind of terrifying ballet performance?” He muttered, smiling and nodding as you wove past an older couple. 

“Yes!”

“I get you,” He hummed, shuddering a little. Ahead of you both, Draco was spinning a smiling Astoria, and he looked utterly exhausted by this point. She didn’t seem ready to stop dancing any time soon, though.

As he spun you back in, your arm wrapped around his neck this time, holding yourself closer to him and calming the crazy dance he’d drawn you into. He was smiling himself, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and as you began to move into a slower sway, his cheek came to rest against the top of your head. 

“You ever dance at one of these parties with your ex?”

“I told you, I don’t dance.” You mumble, the arm around his neck sliding, hand slipping to brush lightly at the hair on the base of his neck. He stretched his head a little further, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. 

“You didn’t dance,” He corrected cheekily, pinching at your hip, and your eyes rolled upwards at his pedantic behaviour. “Your ex is watching us.”

“I told you, I don’t care.”

He made a vague noise before turning you subtly, so that you could see him now. The displeased look on his face, the narrowed eyes as he watched you and Enzo, and the way he turned in a flustered rush once he realised you’d caught him. “You may not care, but I’m getting a sick sort of satisfaction from it. I had to watch you hurt over him, even when you tried to pretend you weren’t. The way your face fell that day in the hall when you opened that letter, I’ll never forget it.”

“Enz…” Your whisper is barely audible, his own words mumbled by your ear so low they were barely decipherable. Goosebumps still rose along your skin at the snarl he made, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he shook his head. 

Dipping down, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, so tender and loving that you felt your heart skip in your chest. “He’s a dick, and I wish I could do a lot more to him than just pork a few holes in his ego tonight. He deserves a right kicking.”

“I was over him long before that letter came. The distance had been growing.”

“Maybe so, but he’s still a prick.” Turning you around and around in slow circles, you gained and lost sight repeatedly each scene just a little different from the last. He was putting on a show, that was for sure, as Enzo took you for turns around the dance floor. One moment he had his new girlfriend in a passionate kiss, the next she was laughing as she stared up at him, the next, whispering sweet words in her ear. 

If you could see it, you were sure Enzo could too, his grip tightening on you protectively. Leaning up, you returned the affection, pulling his focus back to you as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go get another drink, yeah? I could use some hydration after all this dancing.”

He looked right through you, like he knew it was a distraction, and yet he nodded anyway, jaw clenched. This time, you took one of his hands in both of yours, leading him through the crowd as his fingers clutched your own. 

Settling at the bar, you called for two waters, before turning your gaze back to him. 

“Wish I could just push them both in the fireplace, and watch them burn.” 

His words made your eyes widen slightly, and you pressed a glass into his hand the moment they arrived, encouraging him to drink. “Enzo, why are you so bothered about this all of a sudden?”

“Because— Because I can see him now! And he’s a jackass, and I’m already mad enough about my parents, and the fact it’s this stupid day. I need something to channel my anger into, and he’s a mighty good conduit.” He took another swig of his drink, jaw clenching as he slammed the empty glass down and licked his lips. 

Placing a finger on his chin, you twisted his head to you, and he softened slightly as he looked. “Not a fan of New Year's, huh?”

“Not a fan of the holidays in general. Especially once I have to go home.” Your heart clenched for him. The expression on your face must’ve given you away, because he soon shrugged. “I used to love the holiday period, but nowadays, all my parents do is get at me. Plus, being single at Christmas sucks, y’know? Since when was this time all about love? I thought it was supposed to be about generosity and love and whatever. Now it’s all about couples.”

Your jaw dropped a little, and his brows furrowed. 

“What?”

Enzo had just echoed the exact sentiments you’d been thinking about only a couple of hours ago, and a breathless laugh escaped you as you shook your head. At least he understood you. “Nothing. Just, I was thinking the same thing, earlier.”

“Great minds.” He whispered, shaking a little tension out of his body and closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the fire was dulled, sweet sparkle back, and he loosed a heavy breath. “Sorry. That got heavy.”

“I’m always here for you to talk, Enz.”

He smiled, eyes closing again as he rested his forehead on yours, tugging you in with arms around your waist for a hug. His face moved, chin hooking over your shoulder, with a kiss pressed there as he did, which sent your pulse skyrocketing at the feel of his lips on your skin. “I love you, you know that, right? You’re one of the most important people in my life.”

“Love you too, Enzo…” You murmured, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled away, a shy smile on his face, and he nudged your glass to you this time. 

“Drink up. I want to get you back out on that dance floor. I take pride in knowing I’m the only man you’ll dance with.”

“Because you’re the most insistent man I’ve ever met. I know that if I said no, you’d only spend the whole night bugging me.”

“It’s charming how well you know me.” He teased, and your eyes rolled, resulting in a soft slap to the outside of your thigh as he tutted at you, mumbling about your attitude. “Oh, incoming.”

“Who—” You barely got the word out before an arm was slung over your shoulder, a heavy weight following as they leaned on you. Mattheo beamed at you lazily when you turned your head to see. Theo soon followed, shuffling his feet a little, and rubbing at his eyes. The second he saw the half-drunk glass of water in your hands, he lunged for it, managing to get the whole thing down in one go, without evening coming up for breath. “Jeez, how baked are you two?”

“Theo brought some good shit this time,” Mattheo murmured, kissing his fingers and waving them to the air, and Theo gave a delayed scoff after a couple of seconds. 

“I always bring good shit.”

“Agree to disagree.” Mattheo smiled, bopping his friend on the nose, as Enzo only laughed. 

“So, that’s where you two have been, huh? Outside smoking all night.”

“Not all night,” Theo smirked, waggling his brows as he produced his phone from his back pocket. “I spent a good deal of time flirting. I got six girls’ numbers, and Matt here only got four.”

He set off snickering as Mattheo only grumbled, and the moment he loosened his hold on you, you slipped free so he could lean against the bar instead. You didn’t get far, not before Enzo was snaking an arm around you, and tugging you into his chest. Theo might have been higher than a kite, but he didn’t miss the way Enzo’s touches trailed over your back, settling low on your spine. He smirked, eyes glinting when Enzo dropped an absentminded kiss to the top of your head. 

“So, what’s new with you two?”

“We’re dating now.” Enzo beamed, and Mattheo spluttered over his drinks order, the bartender wandering way as Mattheo turned to face you, and Theo’s jaw dropped. “Or, at least, that’s what we’re letting my parents believe, so they’ll hop off my dick about marrying some stranger.” 

You pat his chest for his use of words, and he shrugged. Finally, Draco seemed to have persuaded Astoria to let him go. She was now happily dancing with her sister, as Draco stumbled over to your group at the bar, and collapsed down onto a free stool. 

“That girl has more energy than a toddler on crack.”

“Interesting metaphor.” You said, and Draco only patted his chest, sticking an extra glass of water and a whiskey onto Mattheo’s order as he tried to get a drink once again. Turning his gaze back to you, those grey eyes slid from head to toe, a pale brow raising. 

“What’s with you two?”

“Haven’t you heard, Dray?” Theo mused, “They’re dating.”

He had a similar reaction to the other two, equally as entertaining until the news was broken, and you hid your laughter in Enzo’s shoulder. He was smiling, hiding his own amusement in your hair, his fingers playing with the tips as the strands spilt down your back. 

The night went on much the same, hours blurring by as more friends came and went, joining you in the group, before being pulled away. For a while, you sat on the stool beside Enzo, listening to Mattheo retell the story of their competition to get numbers. 

You let Enzo pull you onto the dance floor again, and even Mattheo, who swung you off-beat and out of sync to a song in his head, certainly not the one being played, but it made you laugh until your stomach hurt, so it was worth it. You danced with the girls too, and exchanged gossip in hushed whispers as you moved across the checkered floor. 

It always ended with you stumbling back to Enzo, progressively building more of a buzz as the night went on, falling back into the security of his arms. And he was always there, smiling, tucking hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead as he asked you whether you were having fun. For the first time in a long time at one of these events, you could say yes. 

Only as the hour was finally approaching midnight, less than fifteen minutes to go, did you all leave. Mattheo ordered several bottles of champagne, gathering two in his hands and passing two more to Theo. Then, he was commanding you all to follow him, and marching away without another word.

You shared a look with Enzo, before hopping down, following after him with an equally puzzled group. Your hand found Enzo’s quickly, a comfortable act that had become familiar far too quickly, but just for tonight, you didn’t care. Not as Mattheo led you down all and corridors, away from all the noise. 

Not as he led you all up, until you were exiting onto the roof. Below you, chatter filled the courtyard as the party guests began to file out onto the patio, ready to witness the fireworks. The view would be uninterrupted from here, a perfect view of it all, and a contented sound left your lips. 

Staring up at the night sky, stars twinkled in the cold void, and you rubbed one arm lightly as you stared into the vast openness. Only a second later, a jacket was slipping over your shoulders, and Enzo was turning you to him, guiding your arms through each of the sleeves, bashfully. 

“Told you I was a good date.” He winked, hand on your back as you followed the rest of your friends to sit down. 

“You said you were a fun date,”

“Well then, I’m a good and fun date.” He effectively ended the conversation with a kiss to your cheek, hand sliding dangerously low on your back as you gathered with the others. A couple of benches and boxes were up here, stacks of pallets for makeshift seating, and you settled onto one, Enzo following you down. 

Once you were sat, he pulled you in, tucking you into the heat of his side, and you curled in closer, twisting to face him. “Tonight has been… wonderful. Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you.” He whispered, nose brushing your hairline as the words were whispered onto your skin. “Tonight has been one of the best nights I’ve ever had, and I never thought I’d say that about one of these parties.”

You fiddled with the edge of the sleeves hanging over your palms, grinning at him. Your head fell to his shoulder, and your gaze moved to scan over your friends. Draco and Astoria were cuddling equally as sweetly, as were Blaise and Daphne. Luna and Pansy were nowhere to be seen, but Tom and Reggie stood at the edge of the roof, talking quietly. Mattheo and Theo were bent over laughing, trying to pop the corks on the bottles, and almost taking out each other’s eyes each time. 

When a bottle was passed to you and Enzo, fizzing over the top and foaming on the wooden palette you perched on, you took a sip. The bitter liquid fizzed on your tongue just as the countdown began to sound from all of the people below. 

“Ten, nine, eight…” Mattheo screamed, arms held up in the air with his excitement. 

“Seven, six, five…” You murmured, sitting up straighter as the anticipation of the new year came in. 

“Four, three, two…” Enzo joined you, your face turning to smile at him as you heard his voice mix with yours. 

“One.” You spoke, just as Enzo leaned in. His lips closed over your own, warm and spicy from the lingering remnants of firewhiskey, and you groaned against his mouth. As you did, his hand slipped up to your cheek, angling your head just right as his tongue slid into your mouth.

He kissed slow, and deep, like he had all the time in the world to be here. You were gripping his shoulder, kissing back with just as much passion, sliding closer to him until there was no space between your body and his. Your thigh pressed to his own, his hand on your cheek slipping into your hair as he pulled back for a breath, just to dive right back in. 

And you loved it, leaning forward, chasing his lips, kissing him until you couldn’t think straight, couldn't think at all, unless it was about him. 

Finally, he pulled back, to the cheering and celebrating of your friends as the New Year rolled in. Fireworks began to explode behind you, and you sighed, breath clouding in the night air and floating up to the sky. Licking the taste of him from your lip as you panted, his nose bumped your own.

“What was that for?” You mumbled, the way he kissed you still playing over and over again in your mind like a loop. 

“Because when we go back,” He stole another kiss, your lips stretching in a smile as his palm engulfed your cheek. “I’d love to take you on a real date.”

You’d never looked at him like this before, never let yourself consider what it would be like to date Enzo. That urge had never arisen, everything between you both had always been platonic, he was one of your best friends. Now, as those pretty eyes opened up to stare at you, he was anything but platonic. 

He was pretty, in a way you’d acknowledged but never appreciated before. Loyal in a best friend way, but would doubtless be a wonderful boyfriend. He was doting, and kind, and sweet. He was cheeky and funny and caring. He was here, and interested, and if tonight had proven anything, it was your compatibility. 

You and Enzo worked well together, you made a great couple, and for the first time ever, he was staring at you in a way that made you think he wanted to take your clothes off. And you liked it. 

The choice seemed clear. 

“I’d like that too, Enzo.”

[caelivir]

red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

[miley1442111]

HEYY I WAS THE ONE WHO ASKED FOR THAT FIC WHERE RAFE HAD TO CHOOSE IT WAS PERFECTTTT SO MUCH MORE PERFECT THAN I WAS EXPECTING!!! THANK YOU SO MUUUUUUUCHHHH YOU SAVED MY LIKEEEE!!!!!

So... Since you saved and now im already in dept with you can I ask for another one??? Pleaseee!! If you dont like Its ok just ignore and If you feel uncomfortable IM SORRYYY.

It would be something like, Rafe gets into a fight as always and then the reader, his friend tries to break the fight and then the other person fighting Rafe says something like "YEAH LISTEN TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND/BOYFRIEND/THEYFRIEND" and like every single person on the vicinity goes dead silent because everyone know you guys like each other but didnt realized yet and EVERYONE is scared of Rafe and also both of you have a partner, whos RIGHT there and will for now on live with the knowledge that: Since Rafe and Reader met, every other relationship they would have would be the runner-up.

Maybe Rafe and Reader trying to prove everyones wrong by sticking to the partners but its undeniable how the two are good for each other, how the always serious and scary Rafe looks like a normal funny happy guy when hanging out with the Reader who also goes from a quiet apathetic person ta burning sun.

Sorry this os too long 😭😭😭😭😭

Also i typed that listening to Entombed by Deftones

Byeee love youuuuuu

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

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

waiting game- r.cameron

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

a/n: welcome back light of my life anon. ur too cool i knew u listened to deftones bc only cool people can. thank you for requesting :)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader, male oc x fem! reader, rafe cameron x female oc

summary: i suggest you look at the ask

warnings: kissing, toxic relationship, rafe is a bit of a fucking prick to Ava and reader, rafe is confused and a dick, cursing, underage drinking, drinking, suggestive mentions, reader is going through it, rafe is a crybaby, violence, creepy guy (I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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

Rafe watched as you crossed the busy dance floor, two drinks in hand. Usually, one of those would be his, he was your best friend after all. But in recent weeks, you’d been becoming friendly with a pogue named ‘Elijah’. He hated him, seriously, he did. He was a piece of shit in Rafe's eyes, and somehow that made you like him more. 

You and Rafe had been friends since you were little kids, and you’d always brought out the best in each other. When Rafe was around you, he wasn’t a lunatic with raging anger issues and a god complex, around him, you weren’t the shy, quiet girl everyone knew you to be. It worked well, and you promised each other that you’d never bullshit each other. That meant; he’d never lie to you, and that you’d always tell it to him straight. It worked, and it worked well. 

So well in fact, that people usually assumed you were dating.

Years and years of being told by your respective friends and family that you two should ‘just date and put the entire island out of its misery made the idea even less appealing, at least to you. You always wanted to do the opposite of what you were told, and that meant never even thinking of Rafe in a romantic sense. Obviously, Rafe never thought of you like that either. He didn’t think about how sweet your lips would taste, how well you two fit together, how you brought out the best in him, or how much he loved you being around. He’d never think about how good calling you ‘his girlfriend’ was when he had to fend off assholes at the bar. He’d never even mention how good it felt to know he was your first kiss, and how you were his (courtesy of you two being very drunk 15 year olds). 

He never thought about any of that. That would be weird, right?

So he stood, his new girlfriend, Ava, hanging off of his arm as he watched you sit in Elijah’s lap. 

“Rafey,” she whined and he winced. He hated that name. “I’m so drunk!” 

She’d had a beer and two vodka lemonade’s he’d made with about one shot of vodka between the two, she wasn’t drunk. Ava was the perfect kook princess, and she was driving him crazy, but Midsummers was in three months, and his dad told him he needed someone respectable. That’s what he’d told you when he asked for candidates, though he must’ve failed to mention the way his dad asked him to bring you. 

“Ava, go sit down then,” Rafe shrugged her off of him. “I have to go talk to someone, ok?”

“You’re seriously leaving me here alone?” Her face formed a frown, but Rafe couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck. 

“Yes,” he answered before walking off to find you. 

The last couple of months had been very freeing for you. You’d finally gotten over the crush you’d had on Rafe for years, and you were finally out having fun and really dating for the first time. You had your friends, and Rafe finally stopped scolding you like an old man every time you went out with the pogues, you made friends with more people from the mainland since you’d started to go to college there, and Rafe had a girlfriend, so he wasn’t constantly with you, making your crush come back. It felt good. Elijah was hot, and all you really wanted was to fuck someone, and he’d do just fine. Dark curly hair, big brown eyes, and if the semi he was sporting underneath you now was any indication, he was do just fine in the ‘fucking’ department. 

“So what are you studying?” he asked, taking another sip. The mixture of drink and smoke in the air made your head spin in the best way. 

“Journalism and English lit,” you answered, pressing your hand against his chest. “You?”

“Maths,” he answered and you laughed. 

“That’s unexpected,” you chuckled. He looked like he was a surfer boy, not a maths major. His dirt tank top, worn-in swim shorts, and salty skin. He was hot. He laughed with you as his hands travelled lower, grabbing your ass, and you didn’t even mind. 

“I know, right?” He smirked. 

“So why did you pick maths?”

“I’m good at it,” he shrugged. “And I got a scholarship.”

You nodded. “So can you do like, any maths question?” You knew it was low-hanging fruit in terms of flirting, but you really weren’t in the mood for trying very hard. It was late and you were pretty drunk. 

He nodded nipping at your lips with his own. Your conversation was long forgotten as your finger ran through his hair and he groaned into your mouth. He was a good kisser, despite his wandering hands, which were either on your ass or tits, but again, you didn’t mind. 

He pulled away with glazed, lust-filled eyes. “You wanna get out of here?”

You nodded, then pulled him back in to kiss you. 

“Y/n!” Jj’s voice rang out in your ear, and he started to tap you hard on the shoulder. “Eli!”

You pulled away, annoyed. “What?” 

“Rafe is beating the shit out of  one of Eli’s friends, can you talk him down please?”

“What?” Eli asked. “Who?”

“Josh,” Jj answered. “Let’s go Y/n, before Rafe kills someone ideally!” Jj said it in a sing-song voice to mask the truth in his words. Rafe had come very close to seriously hurting people before, and every year he was just getting stronger (thanks to his gym addiction and never-ending rage). 

You reluctantly got off of Eli’s lap and ran behind Jj as he led you to the scene. 

Rafe was beating the shit out of Eli’s best friend, Josh and he was not looking good. He was trying to fight back, but you could tell he was close to tapping out, though you also knew that Rafe didn’t do ‘tap-outs’. 

“Rafe!” You shouted as the circle of people silenced. “Stop being a fucking idiot, get off of him!” you grabbed one of his arms, angry now. Your nights were always getting ruined by Rafe, especially recently. He had no right to pull shit like this, it wasn’t fair that you always had to clean up his messes. 

“Yeah exactly, listen to your girlfriend!” Josh spat. 

The circle of people watching went dead silent, and phones stopped recording. Both you and Rafe froze. Josh dropped to the floor, and Eli walked him off without sparing you a glance. The moment was frozen, and you were stuck in place, staring at Rafe's eyes.

Rafe could always tell how you were feeling but he couldn't now.

And it scared the shit out of him.

After another moment of confusion and being frozen, you looked after Eli, and tried to walk after him, but Rafe grabbed your arm. 

“Can we talk ab-”

“No! You fucking asshole! Did you really need to ruin tonight for me? Seriously? Go fuck yourself Rafe!” You cursed, then turned to the crowd around you. “Rafe Cameron is not my boyfriend, nor will he ever be, the shows over folks, fuck off!”

And with that you ran off to find Eli and Josh. 

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

Rafe was searching the party for you. You weren’t where Eli had been before, and he wanted to talk to you, to drag you away from that piece of shit. 

In all honesty, the past few months had been a very confusing time for Rafe. He’d started college (only because his dad asked him to), he’d gotten his first long-term (3 months so far) relationship, he’d gone off drugs for the most part, he’d started feeling things for you. 

His best friend. 

Not that he hadn’t realised it before, but you were just so… you. So gorgeous, so smart, so funny, all of you. It was proving to be an issue, so he’d stopped hanging out with you so much, at least until he could figure out what was going on. He was about 99% sure his feelings were platonic, because everyone felt this way for their best friend, right? Obviously. Totally. Maybe?

He crossed the dance floor, only to be met with the face of Josh, Eli’s friend. And he was talking about you.

“Yeah, Eli’s got the only fucking hot girl here,” He smirked. Rafe hated how he smirked. He hated how he looked. He hated everything about this man, the one he’d never even met. “I’ll ask him if he’ll share,” he laughed like a sleazy piece of shit, and so did his friends. 

“Excuse me,” Rafe tried to move past them, but Josh grabbed his arm.

“Oh shit! You’re the boyfriend,” Josh chuckled and Rafe didn't correct him. “Sorry dude, she’s all mine tonight.”

And that’s when Rafe’s right hand made contact with his face. 

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

Rafe stood there staring dumbly at his bloodied and bruised hands. You’d never spoken to him like that, ever. Rafe knew he could fly off the handle, and he knew it annoyed you when you had to fix everything for him, but you’d never complain. Tonight. Tonight, it finally boiled over and you shouted at him. Like he was anyone. Like he wasn’t your best friend, your Rafe. 

“You ok?” 

Topper’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears. Rafe’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears and it was taking a lot of willpower to not scream and try to break something, or sob and run after you. 

“Fine,” he said, letters over-punctuated as he rolled his eyes, looking up to stop the tears from falling. 

“Rafey!” Fucking Ava. “Did you get into another fight over me again?” She sighed, faking anger. He knew she didn’t give a fuck if he fought, she only cared about what the fight was about. 

“No,” he answered, getting closer to her face, dwarfing her with his tall height. “Go away.”

She pouted. “Rafey-”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” He cursed, grabbing the wrist of her hand, which was reaching to touch his face. “Ava, go home.”

“You brought me here,” she mumbled. 

“Yeah, so find another way home,” he chuckled softly, delighting in making her feel small. 

Ava looked down, angry now. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

Rafe just smirked. “But you’re still with me, so I must not be that bad,” he laughed in her face. “Unless it’s just your daddy issues-”

He was hit so fast he didn’t even know what had happened. 

“Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” Kiara scoffed, squaring up to Rafe. “Ava, you can get a ride with me, ok?” Ava nodded and walked off with Kiara as you appeared. 

Kiara’d hit him. And he’d deserved it. 

Kelce and Topper cleared off, they knew this was about you. 

“How’s Elijah?” He rubbed his red cheek. 

“Josh is fine, thanks for asking,” your voice was cutting and precise. 

“I asked about Eli,” Rafe growled, grabbing your hand. 

“And I answered about Josh.”

He chuckled. “Your friends suck.”

“Your girlfriend is a bimbo.”

Rafe smiled. “And she takes dick like a champ, what more could a man want?”

Your face went from mild annoyance directly to disgust. “I’ll see you later,” you scoffed, starting to walk off. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He called after you. “I-I’m sorry, ok? I was an asshole, and I’m sorry. That was a gross thing to say, I’m drunk and I just got beaten up, can you please forgive me?” he begged. 

But you were still walking away from him, and he was losing you. He followed you through the hoards of people, pleading and begging for you to forgive him as he trailed behind.

Finally, on the most secluded area of the beach you turned to him with tears streaming down your cheeks, and he felt his heart break. 

“Fucking hell Rafe! Can you not just notice anyone else around you for once!? You just ruined my fucking chances with Eli, you just beat the shit out of someone, and you just treated your girlfriend like she was some fangirl, you think I was to be associated with you right now? Let alone with you right now?! Can you stop being so tunnel-visioned? Fuck’s sake!” You wiped your eyes. “I’m so sick of being your fucking babysitter, you’re older than me Rafe! Please act like an adult! Treat your girlfriend better and treat the people around you better!” You sighed. “Treat me better.” 

Rafe’s heart was breaking. He never wanted to hurt you, that was the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do. You were with him through everything, through thick and fucking thin. And he was treating you like this? This was unacceptable,and he felt so guilty he wanted to throw up. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the tears finally falling. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, crossing your arms over. “Where?! Where are you fucking sorry Rafe? Because all I keep seeing is empty fucking promises and bullshit excuses,” You groaned. “You think I want to be the one scolding you? You think I want to have to de-escalate situations for you? No! This was my one fucking night off from work too, and you ruined it.”

“I’m sorry,” he was breathing heavily, he’d never felt so shitty. 

“Rafe,” you sighed. “Please don’t say things you don’t mean.”

And with that you walked away. 

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

You dialled Eli’s number and prayed that he would answer. 

“Hey,” he sighed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you immediately answered. “Can we still meet up?”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not sure Y/n, you kind of seem… preoccupied with Rafe.”

Fuck. Yet another one of your relationships ruined by Rafe Cameron. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t see it?” he chuckled. “You two are perfect for each other. He’s like the most angry and uncontrollable guy I’ve ever seen, and you control him and calm him down by just breathing. And you were the most shy and quiet person I’d ever seen, but when I see you talking with Rafe, or just being around him, you’re so much more brave and extroverted. It’s seriously impressive. You two complement each other Y/n. You bring the real him out, and he brings the real you out. That’s beautiful, and i’m not going to be the person to fuck that up.”

You finally understood. Rafe loved you back. You loved Rafe. Simple. Why did you ever overcomplicate this?

“Ok, thanks Eli,” you sighed, then hung up. You were still angry with Rafe, but you needed to tell him, and you needed to go now.

When you turned around, you ran straight into someone, Rafe.

“I couldn’t just let you walk away, you were crying and-”

“I’m super pissed with you, obviously,” you interrupted. “But I love you, like, love you. And I have for a long time.” 

Rafe’s jaw dropped. That’s all he had wanted to hear his whole life, and he only wanted to hear it form your perfect lips. 

“I-I-I-” he took a deep breath. “I love you too.”

He went in for a kiss but you pushed him back. “I’m still pissed, and you still have a girlfriend.”

He nodded, agreeing. “Right.”

You pressed your lips to his cheek. He smiled. There was a moment of silence. 

“Tanneyhill?” he offered. You agreed, and you walked there hand in hand. 

While you weren’t together yet, you would be. 

And that was enough for the both of you.

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

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[girldirectionfest]

Girl Direction Fest 2024 Masterpost

When Harry Met Louis by @disgruntledkittenface 45k M Larry The first time Harry and Louis met, they hated each other. The second time they met, Louis didn’t even remember Harry. The third time they met, they became friends. They were friends for a long time. And then they weren’t.

boobs. by @justanotherghostblr 4k T Nouis “Jesus, Lou.” Harry released her shoulders. “You are not interested in anyone for ages and now you had to fall for Niall of all people? Seriously?” “Well, I didn’t really stand a chance tonight, did I?” Harry dropped her towel and turned to her wardrobe to get dressed. “I mean you could definitely do worse than Niall. They’re the best. And currently single. But you didn’t hear that from me.” “Really?” Louis would say she probably had hearts in her eyes looking hopefully at Harry, but let’s be real: it was definitely boobs. OR Louis accidentally catches Niall in the nude and falls in love with their boobs and after that with them.

feels like home by @feellikehome28 6k NR Larry “Here,” Harry said, taking off her left glove. “You can have one of mine. Just so your hand doesn't freeze.” “What, no, Harry, what about your hands?” Louis pushed Harry’s hand back. Harry shrugged. “I don’t mind the cold.” Louis smiled and it was like the sun reflected on her face, the corners of her eyes crinkled and her eyes twinkled. Harry was happy she had finally made a friend. prompt: An AU based on Taylor Swift's 'It's Nice To Have a Friend.'

Tremor: Sweet Everything by @littleohs 5k M Larry “It's not time to sleep yet, alpha. I'm not done yet.” Harry quickly wiped her hand on a corner of the sheet before holding Louis' face with both hands, forcing her to look at her. The alpha was exhausted, her lips half open and her skin damp with sweat, but still, her eyes shone with a devotion that only fueled Harry's arousal. "You've got more to give me, babe,” Harry murmured, her tone low but full of authority, her thumbs traced slow circles over Louis' flushed cheeks. “I know you can, can't you?” or, the second part of trenigh.

Better Swim Before You Drown by @fifthnormani 21k T Zarry pre-slash Zayn just got hired as bodyguard to the princess. The pay and benefits are good, and she's great at what she does, but it's far from her dream job when Princess Harry turns out to be the most spoiled, stuck up, entitled brat she's ever met. At least, she is at first.

Baby I Can Love You Better by @homosociallyyours 35k E Larry Harry is relatively new to the lively queer two-step dancing community in the Bay Area, brought in by her friend Niall. When she sees Niall's friend Louis across the dance floor, she's instantly smitten. It's possible that Louis might be taken, but Harry is happy enough to keep their relationship friendly-- Louis is a great dancer, and seems to love teaching Harry new moves, and Harry can definitely use a friend. But sometimes chemistry can't be denied, and with the way Louis leads her so naturally, Harry would follow her anywhere, especially into love.

I Just Wanna Get to Know Ya by @parmahamlarrie 5k E Larry Meeting Harry Styles three months ago might just be the best thing that's ever happened to Louis Tomlinson. All that's left before she takes the leap in making Harry her girlfriend is a night out with her mates. What she never expected is for one of her mates to recognise her girl from the internet. Or, the miscommunication porn star AU

Collection Link

[drdemonprince]

So, I (a trans guy) am kind of coming to terms with the fact that I might be more gay than bisexual after all. Where I live, the queer community is split pretty definitively between the "women, non binary and trans people" (or FLINTA*, if you're familiar with that horrible term) and the gay male community. While I have lots of problems with the former, it is kind of the community I am in, mostly because it has felt safe during my transition. It still feels safe, but not really comfortable. I want to feel like I am part of the gay male community, especially if I mostly want to date queer men in the future.

I am like, so scared of existing in any gay male spaces. When I tried being in them pre T, I felt like an imposter. When I travelled to the US a few years ago, the only place my then partner (also on T) and me were misgendered consistently was in gay bars (in a lot of famous "gay friendly" cities). All of this has left me with a sense of humiliation and not-belonging that gets reactivated every time I even think of stepping into one again, even if I am fairly certain I would not get this reaction now.

How do I get past the shame that is attached to my previous experiences and learn to actually enjoy myself there?

So, I believe that you have the order of operations wrong here. You don't get past shame and then go out to these gay spaces -- you go out to those gay spaces and then overcome (some) of your shame. And that shame may live with you forever in some form. You can still have a worthwhile life with it.

Go to the gay bars. There are many different kinds of them, all with wildly different energies and clientelle, and it is normal and boring and blase for trans guys to be at each and every single one of them.

One way that many newbies unwittingly screw up is by going to the most circuity, dance-y kinds of gay bars that tend to be filled with young, thin, rich, superficial people -- and then they mistake the meanness of that crowd for the meanness of all gays, or interpret the meanness as a sign they are not accepted by "the gay male community."

There is no singular gay male community. There are in fact a wide variety of subcultures with their own beauty standards, stylistic choices, interests, and norms. And there's a lot of cliquishness and mean girl behavior among people who have decided they are high rank in any particular small subculture, don't get me wrong. But you don't have to believe in any of it. They're just coping with their own history of marginalization and rejection by trying to become a new ruling class within their own tiny pond. You can laugh it off as the work of kind of sad, small thinking and just enjoy yourself and talk to people who are not assholes.

So, go to the leather bar. Go to a pup night. Go to an old-timers bar filled with gays over 60 (they will be nice to you and buy you drinks, I promise). Go to a gay bar that's casual and nerdy, with arcade machines and pub trivia. Go to a drag bar on a weekday night and meet some of the newer queens who are still trying to find their chops. And yes, go to the DJ sets and dance clubs all you like, but don't let what a few snatched bitchy 22-year-olds (or insecure former twink 42 year old real estate agents) get you feeling insecure. They're doing that shit because they are insecure.

Bring a friend. Talk to someone who seems nervous and alone on the side of the dance floor, too. Wear an outfit that will get some compliments. Nurse a drink at the bar and trawl grindr to see if anyone seems worth talking to. Join a dungeon or a gay running group. Attend a gay men's support group at your local lgbt center. Meet a ton of people and just get yourself out there, and quickly you will realize that your mind has wildly over dramatized how much you stand out or how much anybody cares.

Fat gays, disabled gays, older gays, Autistic gays, nerdy gays, poor gays, Black and brown gays, immigrant gays, they all feel like they do not belong and are not welcome too. Find them and be kind to them and hold onto them. Notice who is nice and warm with you, but also don't read into it too much if some people are just neutral. Eventually you will figure out what you like doing, which spaces you enjoy inhabiting, and who you want to be there with -- and then you'll have some fun.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part V

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: none

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IV | Part VI

You woke up carefully tucked under warm covers in the bed even though you were certain you fell asleep on your usual spot. Soft light of the early morning filtered through the open curtains, changing every glass surface into kaleidoscope of colours. Maids drew curtains every evening, but you liked to watch the night sky and count stars, so after maids left for night, you always opened them again. Seeing those blinking lights, you didn't feel so lonely.

When your eyes got used to brightness, a clear blue sky without a single cloud greeted you, accompanied by colourful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze. For a while you just lay there and watched the show. It was comforting. Your thoughts were wandering until they stopped at a certain one.

Sighing heavily you rolled to the other side. You didn't want to get up. Maybe if you said that you didn't feel well, they would let you be. Just imagining that you would have to go to the garden today as well, made you feel sick. You were sure that you were supposed to take a walk and not to train for marathon. The other day you had to run for hours after the maids, so as not to get lost in this great labyrinth of corridors and winding paths. You didn't even have a chance to look around or stop to catch a breath. In the evening you were so tired that you fell asleep as soon as maids were gone.

With a groan you sat up, your entire body protested in pain. Whether you wanted or not, you had to get up. It was your husband's order. You couldn't ignore it, if you wanted him to notice you more in the future.

As soon as you limped to the vanity and with hiss took a seat, someone knocked. The doors opened and two maids walked in.

"Good morning, my Lady. How did you sleep?"

Astonished you looked up. Those were clearly not the maids who had been taking care of you until now. They were always very reserved and talked with you only when it was necessary.

"We are new here, madame. I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Irene. We are so happy to be able to serve you."

They bowed with wide smiles. You gaped at them, eyes wide. You weren't sure how to respond to such friendly greeting.

"I-.. It's nice to meet you," you blushed.

Their smiles only grow wider and they immediately got to work.

"You are so pale, madame. Are you sure you feel well? Should we send for healer?" Ellen asked as she carefully combed your tangled hair.

"That won't be necessary. I think I'm fine," you answered shyly.

Irene emerged from the closet with comfortably looking shoes that matched with the dress that they helped you to get in. "Hopefully the walk on fresh air will make you feel better, madame," she smiled kindly. "The weather is really nice today, it certainly will be a warm day."

It was hardly thirty minutes since they appeared, yet you already felt so good in their company that you dared to do a small talk with them. You were sure that the thing you were about to suggest, wasn't common and at home you would be severally punished for even thinking about it, but you felt uneasy every time these two lovely girls called you madame. There was also a chance that they would laughed you out. Nonetheless, you wanted to give it a try. You gathered courage, took a deep breath and let the words out before you could change your mind.

"You can call me Y/N," you whispered almost inaudibly.

Their eyes widened so much that they threatened to fall to the floor and roll away. "Are you sure we can, madame? Won't you mind it?"

You shook your head and they squealed happily in unison. They started chirping merrily about anything that came to their minds, trying to engage you in conversation even more than before. You, on the other hand, peeked at them curiously whenever you had an opportunity.

They both looked young, around your age, but they could be already century or two old. Ellen had dark brown hair that in waves fell to her shoulders and heart shaped face with soft green eyes. Irene was a bit taller than her friend, with light reddish brown hair combed into a ponytail, big brown eyes and a few freckles on her nose. They both were real beauties and seemed to be kind-hearted and cheerful.

Unlike the previous maids, they weren't in hurry once you left the chambers and made sure you get to know your surroundings and learn way back to your bedroom. Slowly walking down the hallways, they pointed out in different directions, naming and showing you the rooms and ballrooms that you passed by. It helped a great deal and you didn't feel so lost in this enormous castle anymore, even though you doubted you would remember it all on the first try.

As the huge glass double doors to the garden came to view, soldiers guarding there, friendly winked at girls, moved from their stances and opened them wide for you. The brisk air filled your lungs and cooled down your hot faces. Inside of the castle was nicely warm, but as you were walking around it became too hot and you almost started sweating. However now, you were grateful for the extra layer in form of cardigan that maids found for you.

"What a beautiful day," Ellen chirped with arms spread wide. "It's so nice to be outside and not have to worry that someone gets mad at me for that."

"And the smell," Irene sighed taking a deep breath. They seemed to be happy that they could get out of the castle. "I have aunt in Spring. Air there is sweet and full of scents of all kinds of flowers that bloom there, but nothing beats the smell of Autumn."

Imitating Irene you stopped and inhaled deeply. You didn't have time to notice it before, but the air was really fresh here, the earthy scent with pinch of sweetness calling you out. Maybe it wasn't a punishment after all.

"Hmm," Ellen pouted. "You are so lucky that you can travel to other courts. I'd love to see the world, too."

Stepping onto a narrow path between the flower beds, loose strands of your hair danced in the gentle breeze that brought a familiar scent of apples. With a hope you looked around finding nothing just flowers, trees and bushes, and your two maids discussing which Court they would like to visit and why. Shaking head at your naivity you looked up at the windows of the castle with a sad smile.

'Which one could be his,' you wondered. It'd been weeks since you saw him for the last time. If he didn't carry you to the bed every night, you would think that he even wasn't here.

You turned back to your companions who patiently waited for you with knowing smiles. You didn't even notice that they stopped talking. Caught in the act, you blushed fiercely, but they didn't tease you, only gave you a sympathetic look.

Irene and Ellen weren't in hurry like the other maids. They matched their steps with yours, letting you look around as long as you wanted, often stopping you to show you something they found.

"Y/N, look here," Ellen called you and pushed away the twigs of the bush. There was a bunch of delicate flowers blooming on long leafless stems in shades of pink and white. They were so lovely, sparkling as if dusted with glitter powder. Irene came closer, too.

"I didn't know that we have some nerines here, too. They are blooming mainly in southern garden."

"I discovered them by chance last week. I was looking for my favourite hair clip that I dropped somewhere around here. I haven't found it though," Ellen pouted sadly.

"Nerines?" you asked, studying the flowers and committing them to your memory.

"Yes. Do you have them in your Court, too?" Ellen was curious.

"I'm not sure," you flushed. "I wasn't allowed to go out."

"Oh," they both said in unison and looked at each other with raised brows. You tried to ignore their reaction. It was already quite embarrassing to admit your lack of knowledge about.. well, everything. They nodded as if they had just agreed on something even though they didn't say a single word. With kind smiles they turned back to you.

"They are also known as cliff lilies," Irene said and caressed one petal with a finger. "Every flower has some meaning. These, for example, symbolise connection, joy, freedom and security."

"And the affection," Ellen added with laugh. "The flowers are beautiful, but otherwise useless. It's pity."

"Useless? Why?"

"You know. Some plants or their parts can be used in medicine or cooking. However, this one is good only for decoration."

"I see," you bit your lower lip.

Useless.

Good only as a decoration.

You were called useless your entire life. And the worst was that it was true. You knew nothing about the world, you were lucky to at least be able to read. You were taught how to behave, how to serve to male, not how to live or actually do something useful. Your father raised you to be a decoration of a husband, a porcelain doll with nice face to be showed off and then destroyed behind the closed door. In a way you were alike. Only difference was that you could never be as beautiful and magical as this flower.

You smiled to yourself and stood up, leaving the beautiful nerines behind. Maybe your reasons weren't right, but it became your favourite flower. A tiny florets with layers of delicate, ruffled petals and radiant colours immediately caught your eye.

"What are these called?" you pointed at them.

"Those are marigolds," Irene answered in an enthusiastic voice. "My favourite."

"They are your favourite only because they remind you of a male you like. Even his hair colour is similar to these," Ellen teased her laughing and Irene stuck her tongue out at her, but she laughed, too. You watched them amused.

"Well, what if even so? I like them mainly because they represent power, strength and light inside of a person," Irene countered.

Ellen giggled. "Are you describing him or the flower? And don't forget about feeling of despaired love," she sang. "He is too important to notice you."

"Hush," Irene blushed. "I know he will never think of me in a romantic way, but girl can dream."

That day you learned a lot of new things and had so much fun. Your maids who you already liked dearly, taught you names, meanings and uses of flowers that bloomed in the garden and in the end you spent entire morning outside. When you returned for lunch, you were tired, but in a good way and not because you had to run.

The following morning you woke up with a bright smile and it grew even bigger when you found a pink nerine on a pillow next to you.

Joy and security.

That's what you had been experiencing since coming here. And you felt that all only thanks to your husband, Eris. You couldn't be more grateful. You'd never thought that marriage could give you this much of a freedom and allow you to experience new and especially nice things. You used to think that it would be just another horrible prison for you, one you would have to suffer in for the rest of your life. Just like your mother.

Your heart flipped as you remembered that this fairy-like flower symbolised also affection. You wondered whether Eris had left it here for you because of what it symbolised or just because he heard that you liked the flower. Whatever was the reason behind this surprising present, now you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him even more.

You carefully picked up the flower and nuzzled it to you chest right over the heart, tears stinging your eyes. This gesture however insignificant for others, meant a world to you. Now you missed only one thing - the person who gave it to you - and you would be completely happy.

Maids beamed when they found you playing with the flower later that morning and immediately knew exactly where it came from. Ellen gently picked on you with kind smile while Irene disappeared for a moment and returned with a small crystal vase for your treasure. You placed it on a coffee table between ottomans where you could keep an eye on it.

The delicate petals sparkled in the golden rays of sun as if they were enchanted by magic. It was such an spectacle that the three of you just sat there in complete silence watching it for a good hour.

After another interesting and very instructive walk, you were excited when servants appeared with the lunch on silver trays. You were so hungry that you ate more than ever before.

After the meal was over, Ellen had to leave to take care of something, so you were left alone with Irene. She was trying to teach you how to embroider some simple pattern when a knock sounded on the doors. Irene peeked out and blushing, backed back to the room. On the threshold stood Killian with wide grin and a package tucked under his arm.

Small flames danced in his amber eyes as he watched Irene to shyly smile at him, holding the doors opened.

"Hey, dove," he cooed as he walked past her and winked at her flirtatiously.

Irene flushed even more fiercely. It looked like she was about to pass out any moment now.

"Hey, sweet sister. How do you do these days? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he greeted you merrily and bent down to hug you and peck your cheek. You almost fell off your feet in surprise.

"I'm fine," you stuttered. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Your husband keeps me busy, you know, but it could be worse," he laughed and gestured to you to sit down. Then he took a seat next to you, his knee touching yours. You slightly jumped up, shocked. Unaccustomed to such closeness, you sat a little further, making a gap between you. He smiled at you apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"So," he dragged out the word, "what are your little strolls like? Do you enjoy it?"

"I have to admit I like it very much. The garden is full of interesting flowers," your gaze flew to Irene who couldn't take her eyes off of Killian with dreamy expression plastered to her face. You couldn't suppress it and had to chuckle. Now it was clear who she was in love with.

Killian's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good to know you are enjoying it. I'm sure all the flowers are green with envy when they see such beauties like you two," he winked at Irene and she giggled like a little girl.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried to stifle it with a hand. Your brother-in-law raised brows at you, but then he joined you. Hearing that rich, contagious sound, you started to laugh even more. His expression softened.

"I'm very pleased to see that your new company has a good influence on you and you are finally opening up," he leaned closer to whisper to you, his hand brushed over yours. "Your smile is the best reward for all my hard work."

"I guess that now, when you have seen at least a bit of your new home, you are fascinated with its beauty," he joked, but he couldn't be more accurate.

There was something about Killian and his easygoing, good nature that made you feel at ease and so you dared to tease him back a bit.

"You are right. I'm absolutely captivated."

He gaped at you, mouth slightly opened. It took him a few seconds to collect himself and then his trademark smile was back. "Well.. Was that a joke just now? Dove, did you hear it too? She joked with me! Mother's tits, I can't believe my ears! Eris won't believe me either when I tell him you joked with me." His eyes filled with pride.

You blushed but smiled nonetheless.

"Now that you are finally peeking out of that damn shell, I'd even more love to stay longer and chat with you, but unfortunately, I can't. Eris will kill me for real if I'm again late for meeting. I was supposed to only drop by to deliver you this and return. It's from him," he winked, handed you a parcel that he brought and he was already at doors.

Before he left, Killian quickly whispered something to Irene. She giggled and nodded. At threshold he turned for a second to wave you with a beaming smile and he was gone.

Even though the parcel was small it was quite heavy. Your fingers trembled as you untied the bow and carefully opened the paper. You'd never received a present.

Inside was a new looking book bound in leather. You took it out and read the title. Almanac of Plants of Autumn Court. You flipped through it frantically, noticing all the beautiful, detailed drawings on every page.

You gasped in surprise, your eyes lined with silver. With trembling hands you took the book and pressed it to your chest, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks. How did he know that you would like to learn more about the flowers in the garden? How could he know you so well? Your heart squeezed painfully, its sound louder than any other one and even than your own thoughts. If you knew where to look for him, you would immediately run there to thank him.

At that moment you decided that you would stay up no matter what and wait for him to come to check on you that night. You wanted to see him more than anything else.

[demigodsanswer]

Love your modern royal au. Could we see a jealous annabeth who decides to stake her claim scene? With percy just being adorably confused or too polite or just watching what happens 🙂‍↕️

Modern Royals AU

Three weeks after Paris

Annabeth was quietly fuming into her tequila soda as one of Percy's friend tried to talk to her over the music. From the corner of her eye, she could see Percy still dancing with some red-headed girl and guy who's name she recognized from Percy's vague references -- Frank, the ex-boyfriend.

She'd landed in New York last week, and in that time, she and Percy had hardly been separated. She already had a toothbrush and contact lenses case in his loft.

Percy was clear when he invited her out tonight that it was to meet some of his friends. She just didn't expect it to be an ex-boyfriend, a girl who was clearly in love with him (ex or not, she didn't know), and an older blonde man who simply wouldn't leave Annabeth alone.

"--and Percy is like a brother to me, but if you ever wanted to ditch him, I am single," the man, Luke said, with that overly familiar, friendly tone.

Annabeth smiled, mouth closed, eyes squinted, at him. "I find that hard to believe," she deadpanned.

Then, thank god, Percy was at her side, throwing an arm over her shoulder, his side a bit sweaty but not unpleasant.

"Leave her alone, or I'm telling my mom you were being disrespectful to women again," Percy threatened.

Luke just messed up Percy's hair before leaving the bar for the dance floor with a simple "Nice to meet you, Annabeth."

"Threatening a thirty-five year old with your mother really works?" Annabeth asked.

Percy shrugged and he signaled the bartender for two more drinks. "He tried to corrupt me when I was little. My mom Uno-reversed the whole thing, turned him into a somewhat respectable man."

"Heavy on the somewhat," Annabeth mumbled, drinking down the last of her drink before picking up the new one.

"Was he really bugging you?" Percy asked, more serious now.

"No, no," Annabeth waved it off, "it was fine really. I'd just rather be talking to you." She offered him a sweet smile, and he looked like he was about to kiss her, when Cascada's "Every Time We Touch" started.

"Percy!" The redhead, Rachel, said, running over and pulling on Percy's arm, yanking him away from Annabeth. "Come on! It's our song!"

Rachel had this swipe of blue paint on her cheek that Annabeth was sure was there on purpose. It was meant to look like an accident, of course. Some signal to the world that she was, in fact, artsy and bohemian, taking a break from long hours of painting to grace this bar with her presence. Rachel had a full face of makeup on under the paint, and the blue splotch was artfully emphasizing one of her cheekbones, on the side with the dimple. If Rachel had decided to flirt with her tonight instead of with Percy, Annabeth might have found the little touch cute, endearing even. But seeing this woman try and pull Percy away from her made the phony paint swipe nothing but a pretentious annoyance.

Percy pulled away from her. "In a second, Rache, let me just settle up here," Percy said.

Rachel left him alone after that, and Percy turned back to Annabeth. The sour look on her face must have been obvious. He poked her between her eye brows, where she knew her face had scrunched up. Her make up had probably settled in the crease too. She hoped Percy couldn't see that in the dim bar.

"You okay?" He asked her.

"I just didn't expect half your friends to be in love with you, is all," Annabeth said.

"You mean Rachel?" Percy asked.

"And Frank," Annabeth added.

"Frank's with my cousin now, actually," Percy said, as if that helped. Annabeth just took an aggressive sip of her drink.

"Look, your brother once left me alone on a beach for hours. I'd like to not go 0 for 2 on being abandoned by infanti of Spain," Annabeth said.

"The King decided my dad's kids would get the infante title," Percy said. Annabeth just rolled her eyes and tried to turn her attention back to the bar, but Percy hooked his fingers under her chin and pulled her face back to his. He kissed her quick. "And I have no intentions of leaving you alone here," he promised.

Annabeth caught Rachel looking at them over Percy's shoulder. So, Annabeth just threw her arms over Percy's shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. Annabeth let the kiss go on for an inappropriate amount of time, but she was waiting for the end of the song.

When they pulled away, Percy's eyes were wide.

"Wow, um, do you want to get out of here?" He asked.

Annabeth finished her drink. "Sure do," she said. Percy closed the tab quick as she got them a car, and they left without saying goodbye.

(A few hours later, Percy would lament that he'd been rude abandoning his friends like that and text them an apology, as Annabeth slipped back under the covers to remind him why he'd been so rude in the first place.)

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Gold Over America

Masterpost

Read on AO3 (this is a new installment in the Clegan Olympics AU series on AO3)

Author's note: This is NOT the official epilogue. However, I went to see the Gold Over America Tour recently, and I couldn't not write this. Takes place about 5 months after Sous le Ciel de Paris

---

“You holdin’ up okay?”

Curt asks Bucky some form of this question every single night. Are you okay? How you holdin’ up? How’s the leg feel? You sure you’re good for the next number? We can fill in for you if you need a night off.

Sometimes it bugs him – usually when he is, in fact, in more discomfort than he cares to admit – but more often he’s coming to recognize it for the friendly concern that it is. He’s slowly starting to accept the fact that he isn’t a teenager anymore. He isn’t indestructible, and there are people here who care about him and actively want to help him stay healthy.

That’s what we call growth.

Bucky blinks, frozen in the middle of wrapping his knee with tape. Tonight is only his second time since Paris tumbling without a brace and he’s probably overcompensating with how much he’s wrapping the joint. He might as well just wear the damn brace. “Huh? Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks.” He tilts his head and squints, taking a second to actually think about how his leg feels, before concluding that physically, yes, he is fine, if a little sore. 

He nods again. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Curt smacks his hand and makes a quit it motion. He grabs the tape out of Bucky’s hand and starts unwrapping it from around his leg as Bucky sputters in protest. Then Curt hands him his brace instead. Bucky glares at him, but he takes the thing and goes about strapping it around his knee.

“No reason not to wear it if you’re this jittery,” Curt says.

It’s early January, a brand new year, and they’re at Capital One arena in Washington, D.C. It’s their third week of the Gold Over America Tour, a fun sort of victory lap for USA’s Olympic gymnasts as well as some of the other gymnasts from the U.S. and from around the world. It’s performative instead of competitive, promoting camaraderie, strength, and resilience through a mixture of gymnastics and fun dance numbers.

In short, it’s a two month long cross-country excursion where the gymnasts basically just get to have fun and interact with fans.

Since they’re in D.C., they’re close to home, and Bucky’s been distracted like this all day. He hasn’t been able to think straight from the moment he woke up on the tour bus, all jumpy and worried about seeing his boyfriend and if he would actually show up or if he’d decided in the month since they last saw each other that Bucky wasn’t worth it after all. Then when Gale actually did meet them in the stadium for rehearsal, Bucky was so excited that he kept getting distracted and tripping over his own feet. Not to mention the amount of time he spent just staring at Gale in complete awe when they all went out to lunch earlier, or the fact that he was nearly late for the show because he was doing god-knows-what backstage.

And now they’re here, in the middle of act one, and Bucky is thrown all out of whack again. Curt tells him to get his head on straight, and Bucky flips him off.

Beside them, Croz is changing into a different competition shirt and pants. He glances up at Bucky, a teasing smile on his face. “You see him out there?”

Bucky nods as he gets to his feet and starts tugging his own pants on. “Just for a second.”

One, perfect second during the opening number where the noise of the stadium faded to quiet and it felt like everything around him was moving in slow motion. It’s hard to see into the crowd through the lights shining on them, but Gale is in the front row, right by the spring floor. And Bucky was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Curt rolls his eyes. “Not like you didn’t know he’d be here. You’ve been with him all day.”

“It’s just… different.” Bucky shrugs, shifting his weight from leg to leg to test out how the brace feels. “It’s the first time he’s getting to actually see me do this since…” Well, since the Paris Olympics five months ago. Since that last fateful day in Bercy Arena that nearly destroyed John’s career (again) and tore them apart.

It’s the first time since then that Gale gets to watch Bucky be a gymnast. The first time since then that he gets to watch Bucky do what he loves to do. 

Originally, before tickets went on sale, before Bucky fucked his leg all over again, they’d hoped to do this tour from September until early November, giving them enough time to recover from the Games and choreograph the show on the front end, and enough time to get back to work for the 2025 competition season on the back end. And then John Egan, one of the stars of this show about strength and resilience, got hurt, went AWOL, spiraled into oblivion, what have you, and it looked like they’d be doing the tour without him.

Once he came to his senses and started at least attempting to crawl his way out of the hole he tried to bury himself in, though, he insisted he wanted to do it. 

The doctor, of course, said he was risking his career doing any form of gymnastics so soon, so they came to a compromise.The tour was postponed until mid-December to give his knee time to heal, and he, for the most part, keeps his skills fairly low impact. There’s one part of the show where each member of the Olympic team performs part of one of their routines, but other than that, most of the skills they’re doing here are easy by their standards in order to preserve their bodies, whether that means doing one less twist or flip or letting themselves fall onto the mats during their landings. John isn’t the only one that needs to be careful – they all do. So, as he claimed to the doctor, anything he’s doing on the tour really isn’t more than he’d be doing in his training gym back home at this point.

That doesn’t keep everyone from worrying about him, though.

For the most part, it’s gone well. Performing on tour with his friends, meeting so many fans, and traveling around the country has been a blast. He keeps up with his rehab regimen, frequently doing the whole rest, ice, compression, and heat deal on the bus between cities, and he’s only had to miss a show once due to overuse of his leg.

He’s doing what he loves, and truly he’s finding his love for it again after a rough couple of years. But now, things are different. He has two loves, and the other is in the audience tonight. They’ve been apart for a month, and yet when they saw each other this morning, Gale still jumped into his arms, kissed Bucky like it was nothing, looked at him like he was everything.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Gale had exclaimed, with that bubbly, candy-sweet smile that is so rare and makes Bucky’s heart jump when he sees it. “I miss you.”

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. It made Bucky feel all sappy, hearing those words, seeing Gale’s freckles and dimples and the real, unequivocal love in his eyes. It made him feel special, wanted, loved.

Bucky still wonders what he did to deserve that. He still thanks the universe every day for giving him a second chance with the most amazing guy in the world.

Croz puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present. They can hear the music of one of the girls’ numbers pumping through the stadium; it’s coming to an end, which means he needs to get ready to head out. “He’s proud of you, you know,” Croz says. “You should’ve seen the way he watched you during rehearsal.”

Bucky is quiet for a second, and then he nods hesitantly. He and Gale got into a bit of an argument when Bucky said he wanted to go on tour, after he had already promised to take time off. They didn’t speak for at least a day, and Bucky remembers being so afraid that he was about to lose the only good relationship he’d ever had all over again. He was so afraid he’d have to choose between gymnastics and Gale after all. 

But eventually, Bucky managed to push all that aside and try his hand at instigating a real, open discussion about what him on tour would look like and what precautions he’d take. They held onto each others’ hands and Bucky told Gale what he wanted, what he needed. Gale laid out his concerns, but also reiterated his overall support of Bucky’s career. And they talked. And listened. And Bucky never knew how good healthy communication could feel before. 

Gale was also there every step of the way as Bucky healed, rehabbed, and then started getting back into the gym again just about two months ago. He was there for the ups and downs, running to help Bucky stand back up when he fell, cheering him on with every forward step. 

He never gave up on Bucky. 

He’s proud of you, you know. 

“I know,” Bucky says to Croz. He thinks he might even believe it. 

“Alright, you’ll get to play with your boy toy later,” Curt jokes. He grabs Bucky’s hand and hauls him to his feet. “Come on, you’re up.”

Bucky has to admit, performing his big comeback number – which he’s come to think of as his “I’m back bitch” number – is incredibly cathartic. He wanted to perform to Elton John’s “The Bitch Is Back,” but the production team said it wasn’t “family friendly” enough. 

No fun.

The number starts out with a dark stadium, and there’s a video on the big screen as he gets himself to the center of the floor. It shows a few highlights of his career, his Championship wins, his best Olympic moments, him goofing off with Curt and Croz in the gym. A recording of his voice plays over it, something about how, at some point, everyone faces seemingly insurmountable obstacles, or comes to a crossroads that might determine the course of their life. 

“…In my case, an injury that should have ended my career.”

Every night, Bucky stands in the middle of the floor, dimly illuminated by the light of the big screen. He doesn’t really even know what he says in the video, doesn’t remember. He hasn’t listened to it since it was first recorded, and he blocks it out night after night, except for the end.

He swallows thickly and looks up, sees a clip of his horrifying fall off high bar, cut before he hits the ground. Then a clip of him collapsing after rings back in August, unable to rise. Every night, it makes his heart beat too fast, makes the blood rush in his ears, just for a moment. But then every night, he hears his own voice, smooth and confident: “We rise to the occasion, no matter how hard it might be. We don’t give up, because giving up is not in our nature…”

There’s video clips of his recovery, after both incidents. Videos of him doing painful rehab after high bar. Videos of him back in the gym after rings. A shaky clip of him laughing after landing a tumbling pass again for the first time, running right to the cameraman for a hug.

Gale. He’s running to Gale. 

And it makes Bucky’s heart soar.

The video ends.

John Egan is a guy that likes attention, so standing, feet shoulder-width apart and hands on his hips like a superhero, in the middle of a dark arena as lights flash wildly around him and the beginnings of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck plays is very on brand for him. The flashing lights cast his shadow, long and fleeting, across the floor in all different directions until, finally, they light up and stay on, spotlighting him from all sides. He lets the wild grin overtake his face, pushes back against the pit in his stomach, the buzzing in his head. He shoves all the adrenaline he feels into this moment. He puts both hands in the air in a salute, as if he’s at a competition, and then he launches into a tumbling pass that has the crowd going wild. 

The original plan was for him to do a whole floor routine, but he’s trying to save his leg as much as he can, so he does his big opening pass and lands on an extra mat that the techs positioned in the corner, then he does a few easier passes before the lights fade out on him. A spotlight pops up over the high bar, where Curt jumps up and does a few giants, a couple release moves. Then there’s Croz on parallel bars. Alex on pommel. Brady on floor. Then to finish, Bucky jumps up on high bar, the apparatus that tried to break him, just to prove a point. He does a couple of easier releases before jumping off, a single flip, nothing fancy.

It gets him a deafening round of applause anyway.

The Thunderstruck number, every night, drives a range of emotions through Bucky like a truck, for better or for worse. It shoves salt in old wounds, forces him to relive some of his worst moments. And yet it feels so damn good, in a way, just to show people – “hey, I’m here. I’m still fighting. I’m not giving up.” Just to tell them – “if you’re fighting your own uphill battle, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. You don’t have to give up.”

So yeah, it’s cathartic. It makes him feel powerful. It makes him feel in control. It makes him feel like he did something right, at the end of the day. 

But he much prefers the more lighthearted parts of their show anyway. The ideas that spawned from a bunch of friends goofing off in a gym between practices. The ones that show their personalities and let them be silly and let them be a little stupid and let them be human instead of just athletes. 

There’s a Texas Hold ‘Em number where the guys and girls all dress up in cowboy hats, the guys in white shirts and jeans and the girls in sparkly leos. 

There’s some absolutely badass dance numbers from the girls, which Bucky loves watching. They’re full of attitude and confidence that makes him a little jealous. 

Then there’s the girls’ rendition of Pink by Lizzo followed by the guys’ take on I’m Just Ken. All the guys on tour get to wear neon tank tops and shorts as they animatedly jog out onto the floor. Nearly all of them spread out and start doing stupid exercise motions: Bucky pretends to lift weights while Brady does push ups, Croz does jumping jacks, Alex does sit ups, and the others pretend to box or jog in place or something.

Meanwhile, a spotlight illuminates Curt over on the balance beam, an apparatus that none of the guys have a clue about. He stands on it, all wobbly but exuding confidence, and he salutes a judge that isn’t there before trying out some of the girls’ skills. A wolf turn, a switch leap, a side aerial. Night after night he fails pretty miserably, sometimes nearly falling off the beam all together. He gets a lot of laughs from the audience before doing a pretty pathetic dismount and running to meet the other Kens on the floor, where they join hands and passionately sing the end of the song.

Every night, none of them can keep themselves from laughing, and they often nearly mess up their choreography, tripping over themselves and trying not to double over from the ridiculousness. Usually, that’s Bucky’s favorite number to perform.

But not tonight.

“So here’s the thing, DC,” he says into his mic as he comes out from backstage, passing the girls as they exit. He walks across the floor, back in his white tee and jeans instead of his Ken fit. “We’re gonna do something a bit different tonight. ‘Cause not only is this place my home, but it’s actually my lucky day, ‘cause a special someone is in the crowd tonight. You may be able to see him, right up here in the front row where I can look at his pretty face.” He points to Gale, who’s sitting in one of the best seats in the house, just feet from the spring floor. The man in question rolls his eyes as Bucky stops at the edge of the floor, right in front of him. Beside him, Marge laughs and shoves his shoulder. Benny reaches over and ruffles his hair. 

“What’d’ya say we bring him up here?” Bucky asks the crowd.

Gale shakes his head as if he has a choice. As if they didn’t literally rehearse this earlier today. He didn’t have a choice then, either. 

“Yep, come on, beautiful.” Bucky holds his hand out expectantly, until finally, after a very pointed I hate you glare and a long-suffering sigh, Gale takes his hand, stands up, and lets Bucky lead him onto the floor. 

The camera locks onto them immediately, showing them on the big screen for the entire arena to see. Gale is dressed in dark jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a worn leather jacket, looking as perfect as ever with his messy hair and beautiful… everything. 

Usually, the next number would be a delicate, choreographed dance combined with some skill demonstrations. A love story. Literally, it’s choreographed to Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” On a normal night, it consists of Bucky, Brady, and Croz each dancing with one of the lovely dancers they have on tour with them. The story-telling choreography is interspersed with the guys showing off some basic skills on parallel bars, high bar, and pommel horse. 

Tonight, Bucky’s dance partner gets this number off. He felt a little bad asking her if that would be okay, but the moment he explained what he wanted to do, she all but threw herself out of the mix for this one show. 

“Yes. Do that. You have to do that,” she insisted. 

And so Gale, even before he knew the plan, didn’t really have a choice. 

Gale Cleven’s moment of fame at the Paris Olympics turned into a bit more than a moment. He’s had companies fighting to sponsor him, wanting to throw him into commercials and ads all over the place. Despite his lack of interest in social media, his following has skyrocketed. Little kids are getting into horseback riding because of him. People remain obsessed with the “Clegan” love story, and they always comment on Bucky’s videos asking about Gale.

This crowd, packed with people of all ages from 3 to 93, loves him just as much. They go absolutely nuts when the camera focuses on him as he takes Bucky’s hand and they walk over to the pommel horse. “Give it up everyone!” Bucky yells into his mic. “Gale Cleven, Olympic silver medalist, your local equestrian legend, and my lovely, amazing boyfriend.”

They’re in a stadium filled with thousands of people, but the only person that can see Gale’s blush is Bucky. 

Bucky helps Gale hop up onto the pommel horse as the lights around them dim and a spotlight shines on the parallel bars to their left. The song begins to play out over the arena: “We were both young when I first saw you…”

Gale watches Croz and his partner start their dance around the base of the parallel bars. He got to watch during their rehearsal earlier today, but now he’s pulled away by the feeling of a hand wrapping over his hip. He glances over at Bucky, and his breath catches. 

They wait in the darkness for their part of the song, and as they sit together on the pommel horse, Bucky’s eyes are locked on him, even in the dim light. Shadows flit across their faces, eyes reflecting fleeting teases of the light flickering around them. Bucky has a strong arm wrapped securely around Gale, supporting his back.

He leans in close to whisper, “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure…”

Gale’s hand finds Bucky’s free one. “Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t come.”

Bucky shrugs. Because part of him did think that, no matter how ridiculous he knew it was. They’ve been video calling every other day since he went on tour, but it doesn’t compare to the surety of having Gale in his arms. Before Gale can say anything else, though, the lights start to rise around them at the end of the first chorus. 

“So I sneak out to the garden to see you…”

They stay sitting at first, Gale leaning into Bucky’s hold while Bucky points up at the ceiling, acting like they’re stargazing. They smile and laugh before Gale jumps off the pommel horse, still holding Bucky’s hand, and walks around to the other side, leading Bucky into a backflip off the horse.

Typically, Bucky’s part of this number is far more choreographed, seeing as his partner is usually a professional dancer. Gale Cleven… is not a dancer. So they have to improvise a little bit. Bucky’s decided it’s fine: what the audience loses in terms of seeing competent dancing, they gain in terms of seeing a real love story.

At the part that says ‘so close your eyes,’ Gale spins so his back is to Bucky, and Bucky’s hands cover his eyes. Instead of the usual sequence Bucky and his partner would do, involving lifts, rolls, dips, what have you, he simply twirls Gale around before kissing him softly – to cheers from the crowd. He takes both of Gale’s hands in his, and they spin around together, laughing the whole time as the camera records it all for the big screen.

Later, he’ll come across a video of this moment on social media, and he’ll save it to his favorites, to watch when he has a bad day.

He grabs Gale by the waist and lifts him easily up onto the end of the pommel horse, and he walks around to the other side as Gale spins around to meet him. Bucky takes his hand, kisses his knuckles gently, and helps him down again. Then Gale jogs off into the shadows, leaving Bucky to hop onto the apparatus to do some circles and flairs. 

He comes back as Bucky dismounts, and they grab onto each other’s hands from opposite sides of the pommel horse, looking into each others’ eyes. Then comes the only real original choreography that Gale agreed to do: drawing from his equestrian experience, he grabs onto the pommel and, in one swift motion, throws his leg up over the end of the pommel horse, as if he’s mounting a real horse. Bucky comes around behind him, and Gale draws his knees up so he can be lifted off the horse bridal style.

Gale can’t help but laugh as Bucky spins him around once, twice before setting him on his feet. They end up standing in front of the apparatus, pointing to the imagined sky once again as the lights around them fade out.

Cast in partial shadow as Brady and his partner dance around the high bar, they hold onto one another and spin slowly in circles, a twirl thrown in here and there. Gale whispers things like “you owe me” and Bucky replies “please, don’t act like you’re not having fun.”

“Dancing in front of thousands of people is a little outta my comfort zone.”

“They love you,” Bucky says, genuinely. Because they do.

At the end of the song, all three pairs come together on the spring floor. Bucky lifts and spins Gale one more time, and at the very end, when the other pairs look like they might kiss but stop just short, Gale is the one to lean in that last inch or two, kissing Bucky in front of thousands of people.

“Je t’aime,” he whispers as he pulls away, and it makes Bucky freeze. Je t’aime. I love you.

Whenever he hears those words, his mind still flashes to that day when he stormed Gale’s barn to declare his love after the Games were over. They’ve said it since, of course, but not often. It still feels… New. Special. Scary.

And yet Bucky wants to shout it into a hot mic for this entire stadium to hear. He won’t, but only because he knows Gale won’t like it.

And because the sound techs learned the hard way to triple check that Bucky Egan’s mic isn’t hot.

So his heart hammers in his chest as he looks into Gale’s eyes. Croz and Brady are already walking off into the shadows with their partners, but John and Gale remain center stage, Gale’s arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck and Bucky’s hands holding firmly to Gale’s waist. Like they belong there. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but all Bucky hears are Gale’s words echoing in his head.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

He lifts a hand to cup Gale’s jaw, stroking a thumb over his flushed cheek. “I love you,” he says back, and he kind of can’t believe he had such a hard time saying it before. 

He’s on tour with some of the best gymnasts in the world, performing every night in front of thousands and thousands of fans. He’s got several Olympic medals to his name. His leg, while still not a sure thing, has healed well enough to let him do this. To have fun with his friends in the most extravagant way. To make him really believe that he might have another Olympic season left in him.

And all of that… it’s the stuff he’s hoped for since he was a kid.

It’s all enough to make him wonder if he’s dreaming sometimes. But right now, he has this moment. Right now, above all else, it’s the way Gale smiles at him that puts him on cloud nine, makes him think he did something right.

It’s that soft, just-for-him smile that lights up his world and makes him feel like he can do anything. He wants to be the reason for that smile for the rest of his life.

So he smiles back, and he says it again. “I love you.”

…

…

Here’s a shitty video of the real Love Story number

[luellasplanet]

question..? (lena oberdorf)

word count: 829

i must say this is rather rushed and I will redeem myself with another lena fic soon

based on taylor swift’s song ‘question..?’

in which you make out with a random girl in a club, who happens to be named lena oberdorf

Sitting alone at a crowded bar in a foreign country was definitely a recipe for disaster. But you weren’t technically alone, your friends were on the other side of the room flirting with some random older men, but you really couldn’t be bothered to join in.

The city of Wolfsburg was breathtaking, you had never really left your small home town in Portugal that often. But given the opportunity to go to university in Wolfsburg was simply an offer one could not turn down.

big city, wrong choices

You had just ordered another drink, one that was not needed, when a large group of girls walked through the door, one instantly catching your attention. The friendly smile she sent you instantly created butterflies in your stomach as you turned away quickly while focusing on the barman handing you your drink.

“Y/n/n! Come dance!” The voice of one of your best friends, Cate, interrupts your train of thought as she grabs your hand, pulling you towards the dance floor. Your half full drink long forgotten as you danced along to the music.

Lena, who was standing in the corner of the bar with Lynn, was watching you intently. “Go talk to her.” She tells Lena pushing her shoulder urging her to go onto the dance floor.

Cate and your other friend, Ana, had walked off the dance floor trying to locate you, they looked around until Ana saw two figures in one of the darker corners of the bar. One that looked awfully familiar. “Shut up, don’t fucking tell me that’s y/n” she says pointing towards the corner. Cate turns her vision to where Ana was looking to see you and a mystery girl passionately locking lips. “No fucking way.”

can i ask you a question? did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room?

How did you end up in that position? You pressed up against the wall while mystery girl placed kisses all along your neck while your hands were entangled in her hair as you lightly tugged on it when she kissed certain spots.

You don’t know, and you most certainly wouldn’t remember tomorrow morning.

But a new fact you learnt that night, is that Germans are bloody good at flirting, and they’re even better when they are slightly intoxicated.

You walked back towards your friends after one of the German girl's friends dragged her away,

and every single one of your friends was making fun of you

“Since when did you start kissing random people in bars?” Ana asks extremely loudly, causing most people in earshot to turn to the three of you. “Oh my god! That’s why you didn’t want to speak to those guys with us! You wanted to speak to her. Oh my god, y/n/n has a crush!”

You pulled both Ana and Cate towards the balcony where the three of you could talk at normal levels without having to shout.

Your glare was almost as sharp as a dagger as Cate’s eyes instantly travelled to your neck which had already started to develop little purple bruises on it. The lighting of the balcony made it easier for them to see your dishevelled makeup and hair.

“My god could you focus on my face and not my neck,” you mutter as you take a deep breath trying to calm you racing heart. “I need a shot,” you tell practically no one as you turn back around and into the bar yet again.

The music blasted through the speakers as you ordered a shot you definitely didn’t need. As you reach into your pocket to find your card you feel a hand on your back as you look up to see mystery girl yet again, paying for your drink.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that,” you tell her as she hands you your shot. “It’s not a problem,” she answers.

God that accent could literally make you melt in seconds.

You hadn’t taken the shot yet so the confidence the alcohol had given you a mere hour ago was long gone, leaving you a stuttering mess as you spoke to the taller German in front of you. “Um… I was wondering if I could get your number by any chance? If not, don't worry but um yeah…” you looked up at her after speaking, but were met with nothing but a small smile as she gestured for your phone.

She quickly typed her number and name into the phone before handing it back to you, “I’m Lena by the way, maybe we can do this again sometime?” She asked while rubbing the back of her neck.

“I’d love that!”

[i-magines]

Wildest Dreams: Chapter 3

Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6  | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8 | CHAPTER 9 | CHAPTER 10

synopsis: You’re an assistant director in an indie movie set and fate makes sure you keep crossing paths with a certain Chilean actor.  

disclaimer: This is my first Pedro Pascal’s fictional work + the first fanfic I write in English, as it isn’t my first language. Unfortunately, I do not own Pedro and this is all a product of my imagination.

rating: M (keep scrolling if your under 18 please)

warnings: age gap, mature content, fem!reader, eventual drinking and drugs, a little smut but nothing crazy (yet), a bit slow burn but not really.  

word count: 1,509

Over the first month, your friendship with Pedro only grew stronger. You were afraid once the production set was moved to the country, he was going to just disappear, as you were no longer roommates. You’d be lying to yourself if you said he didn’t make you feel anything, especially with how charming and flirting he was. You both had shared a lot of personal stuff over smoking joints and you were already used to hanging out together after a day of filming. But today things were going to be different, because the producers had organized a little happy hour for the crew.

Speaking of them, you had asked Pedro to keep your friendship on the low, at least during the job. You knew what everyone would say and think, mostly about you alone, so you were looking after yourself. He understood that and apparently didn’t care to be sneaking out like a teenager to spend some time with you.

“There you are”, Pedro happily greeted you on the corner of the happy hour room, about two hours into the event. “I almost didn’t get the chance to see you today. How’s everything going?”

At this point, you were certain the director hated you, but thank God he was the only one. Everyone else seemed to really like you and your work, which helped a lot with your anxiety.

“He spent the day trying to drive me crazy… Again”, you told Pedro. “You?”

“I would definitely rather be directed by you, if I’m being honest” he said in sympathy. “But yeah, it won’t take long for me to tell him to fuck off. Super nicely, of course.”

You both laughed. You could see he had been drinking and so did everybody in the room. Somebody turned up the music and Pedro dragged you to the improvised dance floor. You danced for about half an hour, until you saw him going to talk to Donna, one of the producers. They seemed friendly— too friendly, if somebody asked your opinion. You noticed it before, how close they acted sometimes, but at the end of the day, it was none of your business. Flo, the make-up artist that got you the job, got your attention and you walked to her.

“What’s up with that face?” She shot you the question. Flo was in her mid 40s and you got to know her in your first gig, since then she was always trying to connect you with people. You really liked her and, most importantly, trusted her. “You looked like you were about to commit murder on the dance floor. I know Dave is giving you a hard time, but honestly he is doing this to every single soul.”

“I was just wondering, is Donna taken?”, you asked as if you had no intention behind it.

“Yeah, I think so”, she told you. “Why? You gay too?”

“Someti— wait, what?” You stared at each other for a few seconds. “Is she?”

“As far as I know”, she said simply. “And by that I mean I’ve known her for about 10 years now. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, you didn’t. I mean, good for her, right.”

You decided you need to put your shit together now on. You excused yourself and went to get another drink — you can be a new woman tomorrow. You took some shots and got a drink to hold while you watched everyone dancing and having a good time. You tried to force yourself to stop thinking about your crush on Pedro.

“I need professional help”, you whispered to yourself.

“And why is that?”

“Shit, Pedro!” You jumped, realizing he was right by your side. “You scared the shit out of me, you shithead.”

“Wow, language, sweetheart”, he laughed at your reaction, putting his arm over your shoulder. “What are you up to?”

“Not much, just enjoying the free drinks”, you replied, also enjoying the proximity of his body. “I can see you’re enjoying them yourself.”

“Nah, I’m thinking about getting out of here, people are starting to get too drunk and God forbid I witness anything I can’t unsee”, he was being playful and seemed happy when he got a smile out of you. “Care to join me? Or you already have plans for tonight?”

“Yeah, you know me, Miss Popularity herself”, you both laughed. “Seriously, though. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Is it okay if we leave together? Considering your privacy policy”, he whispered in your ear. Only if he knew how weak that makes you. You just nodded. “After you, mi princesa.”

Fuck you, Pedro Pascal, you thought as you made the effort to move your shaking legs. Two options: first, he had no idea of his effects on you, or second, he did know that and he just liked to torture you. However it is, you were not willing to make a move to figure it out. 

The location of the shooting was a huge farm, so you walked together through the open field, towards his cabin. You got inside and took your shoes off.

“Hey, mister ‘I’m just a common worker as everybody else’, tell me again why exactly you are the only one with a private hot tube”, you teased him. He laughed. “Is it because you’re such good friends with Donna?”.

“So that’s what it was about back in the happy hour?” Pedro looked deeply into your eyes. “Such a jealous little girl, uh?”

You looked away, embarrassed. You can’t deny your brain formulated that sentence, but the alcohol spilled it out your mouth.

“Answering your question, I’m not really friends with Donna, but her partner is one of my closest colleagues in the industry”, he said in a patient tone. “And you’re welcome to use the hot tube whenever you feel like it.”

You could feel your cheeks burning. Fuck.

“I didn’t mean to— to be honest, I don’t even know what I meant, so don’t mind drunk Y/N”, you breathed out strongly.

“Why don’t we forget about it and instead go chill in the hot tube?” He offered you a smile. Pedro was so easy to deal with, always trying to make you comfortable. “I have more of that nice whisky you like.”

You quickly put on your bikini in your room and head back to Pedro’s cabin. You could hear the happy hour turning into a party on the back, as you joined him inside the tub. You did your best to not stare at his toned, tanned body. He was smoking a cigar and handed you a glass.

“You know what’s funny”, he started, you already knew you wouldn’t find it funny at all. “This is the second time I see you in a tub.”

“Well, fuck you very much sir”, you held a serious face before letting a smile scape. “That was traumatic.”

“Why is that? I would say you made quite an impression”, he laughed, something different sparkling in his eyes. “Would it bother you if I said I still think about it?”

You felt your body hot, as if the water was on boiling point.

“God”, you whispered. He never took his eyes off yours. “I don’t know what to say, Pedro.”

“It’s a simple question, sweetheart”, he replied, coming a little closer. You got chills all over your body. “Honestly, I don’t know if you only see me as this friendly, older, disgusting man—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” you cut him before he could finish. “Feel free to think about whatever you like.”

“Good”, he said quietly, his body even closer, but still not touching yours. “Tell me what you were doing on the tub that day, sweetheart.”

“I-I was, uh,” you felt like you were about to explode, your brain trying to process if this was really happening. “I was touching myself.”

“Finally, princesa”, he let out a deep breath against your neck. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to hear you say this, to be sure my memory wasn’t fucking with me.”

He touched your waist with his hand, putting the cigar away with the other one. You felt delirious.

“What are you going to do now that you know?” The question popped out of your mouth.

He grabbed your arm to move your body, making you sit on his lap. Face to face. He was hard as fuck.

“I will take you back to your cabin, give you a goodnight kiss…” He made a pause. His stare was deep down your soul. “Come back to mine and think ‘bout you while I mind my own business.”

He was dead serious.

“I’m too horny to go to sleep”, you cried to him, all your blood concentrated between your legs. You moved on his lap, rubbing against his cook.

“Trust me”, he said as his hands firmly held your hips down, making you stop and yet feel him ever harder. “I feel the same way.”

He gave you a little forehead kiss.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

CHAPTER 4 AVALIABLE NOW

TAGLIST: @kyuupidwrites @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @vivibabiez @ivyohmy @sebastianstansimp @tubble-wubble @28cnn @3zae-zae3 @technicallysassyfox @bellatrixyoass @mandolover86​ (edit: i’m not sure why i wasn’t able to tag everybody i’m trying my best here)

[ginxyy]

In the moonlight

My soul mate hoshi

It all began on a rainy autumn afternoon, a time when the world is painted in shades of gold and crimson. The sound of raindrops tap-danced against the window, creating a serene backdrop for what would become the most enchanting encounter of my life. Hoshi, the brilliant star of SEVENTEEN, was more than just the cheerful spirit I saw on screen; he was a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, and I was utterly mesmerized.

Let me take you back to that day. I had been invited to a dance rehearsal for an upcoming performance, filled with nervous anticipation and delusions of grandeur. I stood there, trying to blend into the background, my heart racing at the thought of being in the same room as him. Hoshi entered the studio like a ray of sunshine piercing through a stormy cloud, his laughter echoing in the space. Every emotion I felt could be described in a single word: “captivated.”

As we warmed up, the camaraderie amongst the members was infectious. Hoshi was leading the group, correcting us with playful banter that left everyone in stitches. I found myself caught in a whirlwind of motion, stumbling over my feet during a particularly complicated routine. And that was when it happened. I fell quite literally right into his direction. With a graceful efficiency that surprised even me, he was there, catching me just before I hit the floor.

“Whoa there! Let’s save the ground for the finishing moves, shall we?” he quipped, his eyes dancing with mischief. We locked eyes, and for a moment, the world around us faded into nothingness. I couldn’t help but blush, laughing awkwardly as I regained my composure. However, what had started as embarrassment transformed into an exhilarating spark of connection.

Rehearsals turned into food breaks where laughter lingered longer than the deliciousness of our meals. One day, while sharing a plate of dumplings, Hoshi leaned in closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, but seriously, can you fold dumplings like this?” He demonstrated an impressive technique, his hands moving deftly. I did my best to mimic him, but my dumplings ended up more like sad little blobs. Hoshi's laughter filled the room, a sound so bright and joyful that all I could do was join him, feeling the sincerity of happiness swell within me.

Days passed, and our playful interactions blossomed into something that felt undeniably magic. Hoshi had a way of making everything feel monumental; even the simplest moments felt woven into a tapestry of memories. Whether it was trying to beat him at his favorite video game very much to my chagrin or engaging in friendly dance-offs, I began to realize that I was falling for him in the most delightful way.

One breezy evening, as we wrapped up another long rehearsal, he suggested a spontaneous moonlit stroll through the neighborhood. The air was infused with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, and my heart raced with the thrill of stealing time together away from prying eyes. The moon hung low, a giant pearl in the vast sky, and we walked side by side, sharing stories about our dreams, our fears, and everything in between.

“Hear that?” he asked suddenly, his expression playful. “That’s the sound of me winning in life, walking next to the most amazing person.” I rolled my eyes but felt my cheeks heat up. There was an endearing authenticity in his words that made every uncertainty fade away. As we wandered aimlessly, he playfully nudged me as he told me about his training days, tangling moments of his past with quirky impressions that sent me into fits of laughter.

Just then, as we turned a corner, a sprightly little dog dashed towards us, its tail wagging excitedly. Hoshi knelt down, and without hesitation, the puppy leaped into his arms, showering him with wet kisses. “Looks like someone has found their new best friend!” I chuckled, watching the sight unfold. He looked up at me, a puppy perched on his lap, and grinned. “Well, they clearly have great taste, don’t you think?”

In moments like these, I found my heart bursting with affection. I wanted to memorize every laugh line, every contour that made his face light up. As my gaze shifted back to the sky, I noticed the stars began to twinkle. “They’re shining for you,” I said softly. Hoshi turned to me, a surprised look crossing his face. “For me?” he questioned, a smile creeping onto his lips. “What if they’re shining for you too?” Our eyes met again, charged with a sensation that was unmistakably tender.

During rehearsals, the cute moments multipliedour endless teasing, secretive smiles, and shared earbuds filled with music. I loved the way he would swap his hat with mine, laughing until we ended up in a heap of giggles on the floor. I was entranced by the harmony between us, where even silence became sweet and familiar.

Yet, there were awkward moments too; like the time he tried to show me how to do a particularly difficult dance move, only to end up tangled in each other’s limbs. “Well, this isn’t going as planned!” he exclaimed, struggling to break free. My laughter echoed against the walls as I tried to untangle myself, whispers of mischief floating between us as we exchanged goofy faces and uncontrollable giggles.

As the season unfolded, it became more than just friendship it transformed into something deeper, an unexpected intertwining of our lives. And while the world outside continued spinning, we found solace in our familiarity, words unsaid weaving a narrative of affection and understanding.

Those moonlit strolls, joyful laughter, and even our clumsy moments became the threads that bound our hearts. As if fate had conspired to create a romantic script just for us, I looked into those expressive eyes my heart racing, knowing that I had fallen, irrevocably and beautifully in love with Hoshi.

So this was our love story a tale spun with humor, warmth, and a cascade of cute encounters. Beneath the gentle watch of the moon, my reality blended into a dream, making every moment spent with Hoshi a cherished memory, enveloped in tenderness.

[rootedinrevisions]

Unspoken

SUMMARY: What started as a casual birthday dinner with friends quickly took an unexpected turn the moment Adam sat next to you, his presence impossible to ignore. Drinks flowed, conversation sparked, and before long, you found yourself on the dance floor, the tension between you growing with each beat. He teased you with subtle touches and whispered words that sent your mind racing, yet you kept him at arm’s length, enjoying the game just as much as he did. By the time the night wound down, you assumed he’d let it go—until you returned to your hotel and saw him waiting by your door, eyes dark with intent.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is a special one I wrote for one of my favorite people in the world @thedeboniardevistation HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL! I hope you like it!

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT.

The restaurant is dimly lit, its warm amber glow reflecting off the polished wood tables and cushioned chairs. The hum of conversation fills the air, laughter bouncing between the walls. It’s your birthday, and your closest friends have gathered to celebrate. You’d been looking forward to a night of relaxation, away from the hectic schedules and adrenaline of the ring.

As the waitress leads your group to a large round table, you glance around, spotting Adam Page—“Hangman” to most people—just behind you. He’s already smiling in that easygoing way that makes his eyes soften beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. You nod at him, casually assuming he’s just another one of the group tonight. After all, you and Adam talk often backstage, but your interactions have always felt friendly—nothing more.

You take a seat and moments later, Adam pulls out the chair next to yours. The motion feels casual enough to you, but when you glance up, you notice a couple of the others exchanging glances. You brush it off, not thinking much of it, and focus on the menu in front of you.

“Got any favorites here?” Adam’s deep voice asks, drawing your attention. His Southern drawl rolls off the words effortlessly, as if every sentence he speaks belongs in a country song.

You shrug, looking over the menu. “I’ve been here a few times, but I think I’ll try something new tonight.”

His gaze lingers a little too long, though you’re oblivious to it, focused on what you’re going to eat. Adam, however, can’t help but notice how your hair frames your face under the soft light, and he’s trying really hard not to let his eyes drift down your body. You’re always on his mind, whether it’s during work when he catches a glimpse of you talking to someone else or when he’s alone in his hotel room at night, wishing he could pull you into his arms.

He’s gotten pretty good at hiding it, or at least he thinks so. But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s sitting close enough that his knee brushes yours under the table, and that small contact alone makes his chest tighten.

The conversation flows easily among your group as drinks and appetizers are ordered. Adam’s voice dips in and out, answering questions here and there, but you notice he’s quieter than usual. Still, whenever you glance over at him, he’s got that relaxed smile, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

You laugh at a joke one of your friends cracks, nudging Adam lightly in the process. “Did you hear that?”

He chuckles, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s laughing at. His attention is split between trying to act normal and fighting the urge to reach out and rest his hand on your knee—just to see if you’d look at him differently, if you’d feel the same fire in his touch as he feels every time he’s near you.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard,” he responds, shaking his head. “You’ve got quite the crew here tonight.”

You smirk. “Of course, I only bring the best out for my birthday.”

It’s that smile that undoes him every single time. The way your lips curve, the way your eyes light up—it’s like a punch to the gut. Adam has felt this way for months, though he hasn’t had the nerve to act on it. You, meanwhile, have been completely unaware of the yearning looks he shoots your way when he thinks no one’s watching.

Everyone else sees it, though. They’ve caught the way he moves just a little closer to you backstage, the way his entire face softens whenever you enter a room. But you? You seem to chalk it up to him being friendly, as if Adam Page hasn’t been harboring some serious feelings for you for nearly a year now.

The dinner progresses smoothly, the table alive with chatter and laughter, but Adam stays close. His arm brushes yours now and again, sometimes intentional, sometimes not, and each time he feels the warmth of your skin through his sleeve, it takes everything in him to play it cool.

As the night wears on and dessert is served, one of your friends leans over with a smirk. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the night? We hitting up a bar or something?”

You grin. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Adam leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on you even as you direct your attention elsewhere. He can’t help but wonder what you’d do if he pulled you aside tonight, told you how he really feels. Would you laugh it off, thinking he’s just joking around? Or would you stare at him in that way that makes his knees go weak, and tell him you’ve been waiting for him to say something all along?

“Guess I’ll tag along,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

You glance at him, grinning. “You sure you don’t have some wild cowboy plans tonight?”

He chuckles, but there’s a rough edge to it. “No plans better than celebrating your birthday.”

His words come out so smoothly, you don’t think twice about them, though the others exchange glances again. It’s not lost on them that Adam rarely, if ever, makes plans with anyone outside of work. And yet, here he is, sitting next to you all night, showing no intention of leaving your side.

As the group begins to gather their things, preparing to head out, you stand up and stretch. “Alright, time to go.”

Adam gets up too, his gaze trailing over you before he pulls his hat down lower over his eyes. If anyone noticed how tense he’s been tonight, they don’t say anything, though you catch the way one of your friends gives him a knowing smirk as the two of you walk side by side out of the restaurant.

The bar is dimly lit, quieter than the average nightlife spot, but still lively with a low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. It’s laid-back, the kind of place where jeans fit in just as easily as leather jackets and relaxed smiles. A cozy lounge with a polished wood bar and soft music—not quite honkytonk but with enough of a country undercurrent to keep the vibe friendly.

After dinner, your group spills into the place, a few of your friends immediately claiming a booth while others head to the bar to order drinks. You’re standing by the entrance, looking around the room, when Adam appears by your side, his hand gently brushing your elbow.

“I’ll get your first drink,” he offers, his voice smooth but that Southern accent slipping in, adding a lazy warmth to the words.

You smile up at him. “Thanks, Adam. I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

He grins, tipping his hat slightly before heading toward the bar. Your eyes follow him without thinking, taking in the way his jeans fit snugly over his frame. But before you can start to wonder why you’re staring, one of your friends sidles up to you, nudging your side with a knowing smile.

“So, Adam’s here, huh?” she teases.

You laugh lightly. “Yeah, I mean, he was invited, too.”

She raises an eyebrow, her voice dropping just a little as she leans in. “You think he’s single? Or is he seeing someone?”

The question catches you off guard. You blink, processing it for a moment. Adam Page? Seeing someone? For some reason, the idea of him with another woman makes your chest feel tight, though you don’t know why.

You fumble for a response. “Uh… I’m not sure.”

Your friend shrugs, her eyes flicking over to where Adam is standing at the bar, his cowboy hat slightly tilted back as he chats with the bartender. “He’s pretty hot. Think it’d be cool if I, you know, hit on him?”

A strange sensation rolls through you, like a spark of something unwelcome. The image of her cozying up to Adam, flirting, maybe even going home with him tonight—it unsettles you in a way you can’t quite name. You’re not possessive of him. He’s not yours. You don’t even have feelings for him… right?

But still, you hear yourself saying, “I think… he might be seeing someone.”

Your friend looks surprised, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Who?”

You hesitate for a beat, knowing you don’t have a good answer. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t talk about it much.” It’s a half-lie, but it’s enough to stop her from pursuing the idea further. Inside, though, you can’t help but wonder why you said it—why the thought of Adam with someone else stirred something deep within you.

As if on cue, Adam returns, two drinks in hand. He hands one to you, his fingers brushing against yours for a split second longer than necessary. You ignore the flutter in your stomach as you take a sip, the cool liquid sliding down your throat.

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a small smile.

Adam’s eyes linger on yours for a moment before he nods toward the small dance floor in the corner of the bar. “Wanna dance?”

Your friends are still scattered around the lounge, deep in their own conversations, and the music is soft enough that dancing seems more like an intimate thing than a group activity. But something in Adam’s tone makes it impossible to say no.

“Sure,” you reply, setting your drink down on the nearest table.

He leads you toward the floor, and at first, it’s easy. The two of you start dancing with a respectable distance between your bodies, the movements casual and unassuming. You let yourself relax into the rhythm, laughing at something he says about how out of practice he is when it comes to dancing. It’s fun, lighthearted… until it’s not.

The space between you starts to shrink, bit by bit. His arm brushes against yours. His knee bumps into yours. And soon, the soft beat of the music seems to guide you closer together, until there’s barely a breath of space left between you.

You’re facing him now, your bodies moving in sync as the rest of the world blurs around you. It’s as if everything else fades, leaving only the two of you on this dance floor. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as you let yourself lean into the warmth of his body.

And then, almost without thinking, you turn around, your back pressing against his chest, the curve of your hips brushing against him as you move to the beat. You feel him still for a moment, the air between you thickening. His hands settle on your waist, his fingers gripping just a little tighter.

You arch your back, pressing into him further. He lets out a low chuckle, and you feel the rumble of it against your spine.

“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You swallow hard, a shiver running down your spine. “What do you mean?”

Adam leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You act all innocent and look so sweet, but I know what a dirty mind you really have.”

The words send a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your belly. He’s always been good at getting under your skin, but this? This is different. This is something you can’t ignore.

His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you against him, the hard line of his body pressing into yours. “You know what you’re doing to me, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and rough.

You bite your lip, tilting your head back just enough to catch his eye. “Maybe I do.”

Adam’s breath hitches, and for a moment, neither of you move, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Your heart skips a beat, the heat between you burning hotter. But you’re not ready to give in just yet. You turn your head slightly, giving him a challenging smile. “I don’t like being told what to do,” you murmur, “unless I’m naked and underneath you.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, his eyes dark with want. “That can be arranged.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest as Adam’s words hang in the air, thick with desire. His hands are still resting on your waist, holding you close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. For a split second, you’re tempted to just give in—to let the night end exactly the way he’s suggesting. But then, a playful glint sparks in your eyes.

You take a small step away from him, turning to face him fully. The slight distance between your bodies makes his hands fall from your waist, and you can feel the surprise in his eyes as you smirk up at him.

“Maybe,” you say, your tone light and teasing, but with just enough edge to keep him guessing. “But you’re going to have to work a little harder than that, cowboy.”

Adam raises an eyebrow, a slow smile curling his lips as he watches you, clearly not expecting that response. “Oh, am I now?” he says, his voice rich with amusement.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, turning away with a little shrug as if the heat between you hadn’t just spiked moments ago. You flash him a quick, challenging look over your shoulder. “You’ll have to prove you can keep up.”

Before he can respond, you slip through the crowd of your friends and back toward the booth where your drinks sit, leaving Adam standing there with a grin tugging at his mouth. You can feel his eyes on you as you move, and you love it—the way the tension is still there, but now it’s a game.

You rejoin the group with a carefree smile, plopping down in the booth and taking a sip of your drink like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. But one of your friends isn’t so easily fooled.

“So…” she begins, sliding into the seat next to you, her voice low with curiosity. “What was that about?”

You blink, feigning innocence. “What was what about?”

She gives you a look, clearly not buying it. “You and Adam. I swear, the two of you looked like you were about to combust on the dance floor. And don’t think I didn’t notice the way he’s been eyeing you all night.”

You take another sip of your drink, glancing at her with a coy smile. “We’re just dancing.”

Your friend snorts. “Yeah, and I’m a professional ballerina.” She nudges your arm. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t feel something between you two.”

You hesitate, your mind replaying the way Adam’s body had pressed against yours, the way his breath had tickled your ear, the way his words had sent a shiver through you. Something about him always gets under your skin, but admitting that to anyone—even yourself—feels like giving up control. And you like being in control.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice softening. “He’s… I mean, it’s just Adam. We’re coworkers.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean there can’t be something more.”

Before you can respond, the man himself saunters back over to the table, his presence unmistakable. He catches your eye with that same easy smile, but there’s a glimmer of determination now—a spark that tells you he’s ready to rise to your challenge.

He sits back down next to you, just close enough that your knees bump under the table. “What’d I miss?” Adam asks, his voice low, but there’s an unmistakable playfulness behind it. You can feel his energy, the way he’s waiting for your next move.

Your friend gives you a knowing look before sliding out of the booth to go join some of the others. You’re alone with Adam again, and the air around you feels charged.

“Just talking,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though the proximity of him is already doing things to your composure. “About how you might need to step up your game if you’re planning on taking anyone home tonight.”

Adam’s eyes gleam with interest, and he leans in, just enough that his voice drops to that deep, rumbling tone that always seems to get to you. “You know,” he says, his lips curving into a grin, “I think you like making me work for it.”

“Maybe,” you say with a shrug, not looking at him but instead focusing on the rim of your glass. “But isn’t that part of the fun?”

His hand slides casually along the back of the booth, brushing your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it sends a spark of heat through you. “For you, maybe,” he murmurs, his voice lower now. “But darlin’, I’m a man who knows what he wants. And what I want—” His words trail off as he leans in a little closer, his lips brushing against your ear just enough to make you shiver. “—is you.”

The words send a thrill racing through you, but you’re not about to give in so easily. You turn your head slightly, your lips almost grazing his cheek as you meet his gaze. “Like I said… you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”

Adam chuckles, a deep, warm sound that sends heat rolling through you. “I’m up for the challenge,” he says softly, his hand brushing yours under the table. “And something tells me you want me to win.”

Before you can respond, a few of your friends make their way back to the table, oblivious to the tension radiating between you and Adam. As the night goes on, the playful banter continues, your friends exchanging knowing glances as they catch on to the back-and-forth. They may not know the details, but it’s clear to them that something’s brewing between you two.

But for now, you’re content to let Adam chase. You can feel his eyes on you, the way his gaze lingers when you laugh, the way he watches you when you talk to the others. And every now and then, you meet his stare, the silent challenge still hanging in the air.

By the end of the night, you know the game isn’t over—not by a long shot. You stand up to leave, giving Adam a quick glance over your shoulder as your friends start saying their goodbyes.

“Maybe next time,” you say, your voice soft but teasing as you catch his eye one last time.

Adam smirks, tipping his cowboy hat with a slow nod. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As you walk out of the bar, your heart races with anticipation. You don’t know when the next move will come, but one thing’s for sure—you’re not done playing this game with Adam Page just yet.

As the night winds down, you part ways with your friends, your laughter lingering in the cool night air as everyone says their goodbyes. Adam had stayed back at the bar with a few of the others, sharing a few more drinks and swapping stories. You can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment as you glance back, noticing that he hadn’t even made a move to leave with you. Had he given up the chase?

It stings a little more than you want to admit. After everything tonight—the playful back-and-forth, the heat that simmered between you, the unspoken promises—you thought for sure he’d try harder, push just a little further. But maybe this was just a game to him after all.

With a small sigh, you make your way back to your hotel. The elevator ride up to your floor feels oddly quiet, the lingering buzz of the night fading. You’re almost embarrassed at how much you’d let yourself get swept up in the idea of Adam wanting you. He did want you, didn’t he? Or had you just imagined it all?

You fumble with your keycard, trying to shake the thoughts from your mind as you step off the elevator and head toward your room. The hallway is dimly lit, and the sound of your footsteps echo off the walls as you near your door. All you can think about now is sinking into bed, forgetting the flutter in your chest every time Adam looked at you tonight.

But then, you see him.

Leaning casually against the wall right next to your door, arms crossed, that signature cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. His dark jeans cling to his legs, and the black bandana around his neck is the final touch to his laid-back but unmistakably commanding presence. His eyes flick up to meet yours as you approach, and you freeze.

He’s been waiting for you.

“Adam?” you ask, your voice laced with surprise and confusion. You stop a few steps short of your door, your pulse quickening at the sight of him. “What…what are you doing here?”

Adam uncrosses his arms, pushing off the wall with the ease of someone who’s completely in control. He takes a slow, deliberate step toward you, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you walk away that easy, did you?” he drawls, his Southern accent making every word sound like a lazy promise.

Your heart skips a beat as he closes the distance between you. The hallway feels smaller now, the air between you heavy with anticipation. You had been so sure that he was done, that the game had ended. But here he is, standing just inches away from you, and the heat that had simmered between you all night suddenly flares back to life.

“You looked like you were having fun back there,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant as you gesture vaguely toward the direction of the bar. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“Didn’t think I’d what?” he interrupts, his voice low and gravelly as he takes another step closer. “Come after you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. The way he’s looking at you now—it’s not just playful anymore. There’s something more in his eyes, something deeper, and you can feel it pulling you in.

“I thought maybe you’d given up,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper now.

Adam’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening as if he’s weighing his next words carefully. Then, without warning, his hand reaches out, gently tilting your chin up so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. His touch is firm but careful, the rough pads of his fingers sending a shiver through you.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. “When it comes to you, I don’t give up that easy.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. There’s no escaping the intensity of the moment now, no brushing off the tension between you as just a bit of harmless fun. It’s real. And it’s right in front of you.

Your eyes flick to his lips for a brief second, the temptation overwhelming, but you manage to hold back. You can’t let him see how much you want him… at least not yet. So, instead, you give him a small, teasing smile and step back just enough to break his touch.

“Still,” you say, tilting your head coyly. “You’re going to have to work harder than that.”

Adam’s expression shifts, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watches you pull away. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if he’s enjoying every second of this. “You keep sayin’ that,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “But I think you’re the one who’s been wanting me to catch you all night.”

You don’t answer, but the silence between you is telling enough. You both know what’s happening here, and yet the push and pull makes it all the more intoxicating. Your body is already buzzing with adrenaline, with the promise of what could happen next.

Adam takes a small step forward, crowding your space again. This time, he doesn’t wait for you to pull back. He leans down, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere tonight,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “So how about you stop runnin’ and let me in?”

You close your eyes, your pulse quickening as his words wash over you. The desire between you two is undeniable now, and the only question left is how long you’re willing to drag this out.

You open your eyes and turn to face him fully, a slow smile creeping across your lips as you consider your next move. With a deep breath, you finally give him what he’s been waiting for.

“Okay, cowboy,” you say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You win.”

Adam’s eyes flash with triumph, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s got his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. His lips crash against yours, and everything you’ve been holding back all night suddenly surges to the surface. The kiss is fierce, intense, and you can feel every ounce of the tension that’s been building between you two all night in the way his hands grip your body, in the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, Adam looks down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“Now that’s more like it,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You can’t help but laugh, the tension between you shifting from fiery to something lighter, more playful. But the desire is still there, burning under the surface, and you know tonight is far from over.

With a quick swipe of your keycard, you unlock the door to your hotel room and push it open. Adam follows close behind, his presence unmistakable as you both step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And just like that, the chase is over. But the night? It’s only just beginning.

The door closes with a soft click behind you, but the sound feels louder, heavier in the quiet space of your hotel room. Adam steps further in, his presence filling the room with a palpable intensity. You don’t say a word, not as you take a few steps back, the carpet soft under your feet, not as you let the tension between you stretch out for just a moment longer.

Adam’s eyes stay on you, dark and heated, as he pulls off his hat, tossing it casually onto the chair by the window. You watch, your heart thundering in your chest, as his fingers tug the black bandana from around his neck, the slow unraveling sending your pulse racing.

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he takes a step toward you, closing the gap once again. His words send a shiver down your spine, the reality of the moment settling in now. This isn’t just a game anymore.

It’s happening.

You can feel the shift, the weight of the desire between you pressing in, but there’s no fear. No hesitation. Just the thrill of knowing exactly where this night is going.

Adam reaches for you, his hands firm as they slide around your waist, pulling you into him. Your breath hitches as you feel the solid warmth of his body against yours, his strength undeniable as he cups your face with one hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You tilt your head up to him, your lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. The tension is electric, buzzing between you, but there’s something else now too—a tenderness, a kind of vulnerability that neither of you has shown until now.

“I’ve wanted you for so damn long,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that Southern drawl that makes every word sound like a promise. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his breath mingling with yours, his hands holding you close, like he’s savoring this before taking the final step.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. You let out a breathless laugh, the nervous excitement bubbling up inside you.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to make a move,” you confess softly, your fingers gripping the material of his shirt as you lean into him.

Adam chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple as his arms tighten around you. “Trust me, darlin’,” he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with heat. “I’ve been dying to.”

And then his lips are on yours again, but this time it’s different. It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything. It’s all the words he hasn’t said, all the looks he’s given you, all the moments where the tension between you threatened to spill over. It’s need and want and raw desire, wrapped up in one fierce, breathless kiss.

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, your body pressed tight against his. Adam’s grip on you is firm, possessive, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than he’ll admit. His tongue brushes against your lips, and you part them without hesitation, the kiss deepening as his hands roam your body, exploring every curve, every inch of you that he can reach.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor in a messy heap. Adam’s hands follow suit, sliding under your shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist, sending a shiver through you. You’re suddenly desperate to feel him against you, to close the distance that’s still between you.

The rest of your clothes come off in a blur of motion, discarded carelessly around the room as the two of you stumble toward the bed. Your back hits the mattress, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat building between you as Adam leans over you, his hands braced on either side of your head.

For a moment, he just looks at you—his gaze sweeping over your body, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. But there’s something more there, too. Something that makes your heart race even faster.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, his voice rough with want. His hand slides down your side, his fingers skimming the curve of your waist before gripping your hip, pulling you closer to him. His lips find yours again, softer this time, like he’s savoring the feel of you.

The weight of him above you is intoxicating, every inch of your body buzzing with anticipation as his kisses trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, your fingers gripping his shoulders, your mind spinning with how badly you want him.

And then his hands are on you, exploring you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched, no inch of skin ignored. The sensation of his touch is overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as his lips follow the path his hands have already taken.

It’s almost too much—the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s touching you, the way he’s making you feel like you’re the only person in the world right now. You’re burning for him, aching for him, and when he finally presses into you, it’s like everything falls into place.

The gasp that leaves your lips is swallowed by his kiss, and for a moment, all you can feel is him. The heat, the intensity, the overwhelming sense of rightness that comes with every movement, every sound, every breathless whisper of your name.

Adam moves slowly at first, his hands braced on either side of you as his lips find yours again. But it doesn’t stay slow for long. The tension between you, the months of unspoken desire, the build-up of everything you’ve kept bottled up—it all spills over now, in the way he holds you, in the way his body moves against yours, in the way you respond to him without hesitation.

It’s primal, intense, but there’s a sweetness to it too. The way he presses his forehead to yours, the way he whispers your name like it’s something sacred, the way his hands never stop touching you, even as your bodies move together in a rhythm that feels like it’s been building for so long.

You lose track of time—of everything but him. The world outside the walls of this hotel room doesn’t exist anymore. There’s just Adam, and the way he’s making you feel, and the way you never want this moment to end.

But eventually, it does. And when it does, you’re left breathless, your body still humming with the aftershocks of everything you just shared.

Adam collapses next to you, his chest heaving as he pulls you into his arms, his breath hot against your neck. Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence between you filled with the sound of your breathing, the quiet aftermath of what you’ve just crossed.

Finally, Adam speaks, his voice low and rough in your ear.

“Should’ve done that a long time ago,” he murmurs, his hand resting on your hip, holding you close.

You smile, your eyes closing as you snuggle into him, your body still pressed against his. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice soft and content. “You really should have.”

And just like that, the line between you has been crossed. There’s no going back now. And truth be told, you don’t want to.

[anachilles]

“It’s getting crowded. Here, hold my hand.” for Blakely/Douglass. Please & thank you!

omg, fun! thanks so much for the excuse to write a lil ev and doug 🥰 -> prompt lists i'm currently accepting requests from: [ x ] [ x ] <-

"Single fillies. C'mon, boys, time to get the lead out."

Everett resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the lewd comment, choosing to let the buoyant atmosphere (sans whatever bizarre stand-off Bucky had just decided to pick with Harding) and passable-at-best whiskey warming his insides draw an incredulous, good-natured chuckle out of him instead.

He could feel Doug's eyes hot on the back of his head from where he'd floated towards the back of the pack, and glancing back in his periphery, he caught the moment Doug's gaze flitted away from him, and in the direction of Tatty Spaatz just to Everett's left.

They'd been circling each other for weeks now, Doug and the General's daughter, which in itself on its own was playing with fire, if you asked Everett. She hadn't been his first choice even out of just her friend group when they'd first met, and seemed to be very much aware of the fact every time he'd attempted to flirt with her since. She was a stiffed-lipped, straight-faced sort, deadpan too, and didn't generally entertain much of Doug's foolishness like a lot of the other Red Cross girls on-base. Suppose that's why he kept coming back around trying to crack the nut; he liked the push and pull.

Everett let Doug make a blatantly purposeful move in her direction, one the other boys all would've noticed, before quickly side-stepping into Tatty's space himself, offering his arm and a barely concealed smirk.

"Hey, Tatty. You know you can't resist..." he goaded, a knowing smile crossing her ruby red lips as she took the proffered arm, letting him lead her out towards the dance floor while Doug was still caught mid-stride, half a step behind.

Everett liked Tatty a lot, truth be told. Enough to have his own privately-held suspicions, bolstered by the uncumbersome kinship he felt when they sought each other out for a dance during these shindigs, the easy laughs and conversation that never even threatened to stray anywhere close to the belt. Enough to save her, at the very least, from another round of Doug's games, despite how she seemed to revel in finding new and creative ways to shoot him down.

After that, Everett spent the rest of the night much the same as he usually did at these things - drinking, chatting and chain-smoking mostly, interspersed with a couple of dances with some of the other girls he was friendly with. Not to mention having a front-row seat to Doug's shenanigans as he jumped from conversation to conversation like a bee pollinating flowers in the springtime, only rounding back to the centre table every so often to drop into the crew's conversation, slinging an arm loosely around the back of Everett's chair each time he did.

You'd think a guy might get jealous. Only, for better or worse, Everett knows his bombardier all too damn well by this point, every good pilot does; his switches, his tells, how he needs to be handled. He'd recall irrefutably how Doug's eyes had snapped to him first, and how Everett knew immediately where he'd end up that night.

Everett stuck around right up until the death of the party, the crowd thinning out as each quarter hour ticked by, the band having packed up their equipment, the bartender having called last orders long ago. The last guy in the group he'd been sitting with departed for bed, slurring his words and stumbling slightly on his feet as he went.

Suddenly, he felt slightly awkward sat at a big table by himself, and so moved to one of the many abandoned chairs far off to the side of the dancefloor and pulled his cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket. He settled one between his lips and started scouring his pockets for a lighter, but didn't manage to get too far before a figure appeared in front of him, playfully tapping at his legs with a foot where they lay loungefully outstretched.

"What's the difference between a hippo and a zippo?" Doug asked with a shameless smirk, producing his own lighter from his pocket, sparking it to life as if in demonstration, before chucking it in the other man's direction. He was aiming for the crease of Everett's lap, but Everett intercepted it quickly, catching it deftly instead.

"You've used that one already tonight," Everett quipped, taking a deep drag from the cigarette, before slipping the lighter into his own jacket pocket. Doug made no protest, just shrugged, still smirking. "You've got to get some new material if you want to keep up."

"It's a good joke, what can I say. Worth stealing if you get the chance." His voice sharpened into a point on that one word of the sentence, and Everett couldn't help but mirror the other man's smile. He raised a chin a little further, managing somehow to look down his nose at Doug from where he was sat, despite how he was stood over him.

"Is that what I did? That easily? I mean, it wasn't hard. Perhaps you've just got to up your game."

A faux-indifferent shrug. Another drag of the cigarette, coupled with a long, deliberately charged exhale. A beat of silent anticipation as Douglass sized him up and down, eyes narrowed in challenge as they held each other's gaze, but also edged with something else. Clearly loose from the liquor, Doug's crystalline eyes darkened a little, his bottom lip briefly rolling in behind his teeth as he bit down teasingly.

Doug's eyes did a quick scan of their surroundings. The club had fairly emptied out, the closest others to them at the far end of the bar area and well out of hearing range.

"It's, uh, it's getting a little crowded in here," Doug started, his voice pitched low and verging on sensual, a smile still twitching at his lips even as he was trying to pretend to be serious, and held out his arm in Everett's direction, like he was one of his dames. "...why don't you take my hand and we'll get out of here?"

Everett made a point of hesitating for a moment, letting out another long, slow exhale of smoke as he made Doug wait for it, resigning himself to acquiescing their little game. If the man was a dog, his tail would be damn well wagging he seemed so keyed up for it.

"Oh how flattered I am to be your back-up plan. More flattered about it than Tatty Spaatz is, at least," Everett joked as he rose from the chair, pointedly not taking Doug's hand, but sticking close to his side as they made for the exit side-by-side, both their minds fixed on the empty fort, their fort, ahead of them, waiting at the airfield.

Once they were in the clear, the night air hitting them both like a tonne of bricks after being cooped up inside there all that time, Doug chanced a cheeky swat at Everett's ass.

"Well, you're prettier than her. Prettier than all of them," he teased, though his voice melded into something sweeter, more affectionate than the words themselves would give away alone. "My number one back-up. Always."

[cemeteryspider]

Orange Juice

Madelyne Pryor x Mutant! Reader

Summary: During a party celebrating Xavier's return, you reconnect with Madelyne Pryor, rekindling unresolved feelings and a hopeful new beginning

Trigger Warnings: Romanic Conflict and Identity Issues (Madelyne)

Word Count: 1072

When Charles funded a party that you and Jubilee were in charge of, it called many mutants to the manor. Today, this included the folks from Genosha to celebrate Xavier's return to Earth and the X-Men and Magneto's role as leader of Genosha.

Naturally, you planned the drink menu, the finger food, and when the kids would go to bed. During the day, the party was more of a casual hangout, with Wolverine on the grill and Morph constantly poking fun at him and grabbing beers for the two of them.

The kids sat or played on the lawn. You saw some of the younger ones playing tag or hide-and-seek while the older kids gossiped or talked about classes. Charles and Jean sometimes went over to check on them, but things were going strangely well.

As night fell and Charles saw the kids to bed, the real party began. Rogue stood behind the bar, mixing drinks and grabbing beers from the cooler. The basketball court transformed into a dance floor, and some vigilantes arrived, like Emma, who didn't want to be seen around children.

Most people changed into their club attire and were ready for the actual celebration to begin. Jubilee just made the cut, probably because she was a bona fide X-Man and eighteen was old enough for everyone's opinion that mattered.

When the introductions and friendly hellos were finished, you began to look around. You hadn't drunk a single drop of alcohol, and when your abilities and alcohol mix, let's just say it's probably for the best.

In an instant, Jubilee was standing next to you, wearing a sparkly dress with kitten heels and a huge smile. "She's in the kitchen."

You were pretty sure you knew who she was talking about, but you asked anyway, "Who, Jubs?"

"Only the person you've been waiting to call you every day for the past few months! Madelyne!"

This wouldn't be the first time Madelyne Pryor came up in a conversation with Jubilee, and it surely wouldn't be the last if she had anything to say about it.

You had made the sort of mistake of telling the teenage girl that a day before Madelyne left to go God knows where. She kissed you and thanked you for being there for her no matter what. She said she liked you as more than a friend and had for a long time, but she was with Scott. Then, once she found out she was a clone, she realized she was in love with you.

Shocked was the understatement of the century. You needed time to think, and you left her there on the steps. In a short letter to you, she said she was leaving, that she had to find herself, and that the next time you saw her, to call her Madelyne.

Now there she was, in the kitchen. Was she waiting for you?

"You have to go talk to her!" Jubilee practically shouted at you.

You started to smooth your clothes, trying to get the non-existent wrinkles out. "What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Girl, if she doesn't want to see you looking like this, being a clone is the least of her worries." She laughed at her joke and started pulling you to the door.

"Wait, Jubilee, I'm serious. What if I messed it all up?" With that, she turned to look at you.

"Hon, if you don't go in there, you'll never know." With a small brush of confidence, you opened the door and walked in.

Her hair was up in a bun with sweeping pieces in the front. A black choker adorned her neck, accentuating the low neckline of her magenta dress that hugged her waist.

"Umm, hey," you said. As soon as you opened your mouth, the more you felt you should have stayed outside.

She turned quickly to look at you and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, it's been a while, huh?"

"What are you doing here? The party's outside." Still just stumbling over your words like you did a few months ago.

"Oh, you know, just enjoying the party from afar." You started to walk up to her, looking out the window to the small party with Scott and Jean thanking people for coming, the Professor and Magneto catching up for the first time in a long time, you presumed, and many people you've known for a while mingling and talking about life.

"It feels like I've been ready for you to come home for so long. So where'd you go?" There was no need for small talk between the two of you, not after what happened.

"Mhm, my heart has changed and my soul has changed, thanks to Genosha. I've seen what life for mutants can be like, what my life can be like." She turned to meet your eyes, and little crinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes.

"How did you know I'd be here tonight?" you asked, taking a step closer.

She smiled, a small, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. "I didn't. I hoped. I've missed you, more than I can say."

You felt a rush of emotions, memories of that kiss, her letter, and all the time spent waiting and wondering. "Madelyne, I—"

She gently pressed her finger against your lips, and you looked into her eyes. “I know we have a lot to talk about, but right now, all I want to do is be here with you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfectly fine to me.”

Looking outside, you saw Jubilee and Roberto holding hands and talking to Logan, who seemed uninterested in the conversation besides glaring at Roberto. Jubilee turned back to the window, which you could only assume she had been doing the whole time you’ve been in here with Madelyne, and gave you a thumbs up.

“How about we get to that party? Seems like someone’s missing you.” Madelyne chuckled and made her way outside. When the door closed gently behind you, you made the bold decision of taking Madelyne’s hand in yours.

“I like you too, Madelyne.” A blush fanned across your face that matched her own. She squeezed your hand in hers and pressed her lips to yours.

“Good. Now let's party.” She led you to Jubilee, where the rest of the X-Men gathered around, and began the next chapter of your relationship.

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegin II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, PIV mentioned

Writer’s note: Sorry for my grammar and I used this web to translate High Valyrian >> This web <<

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter | Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 7 The Unholy

It was strange for Viseara to see Ser Gwayne Hightower in King’s Landing suddenly. After all, the eldest son of Otto Hightower only appeared here during the Dance of Dragons. The rebellious princess couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding—his presence was surely not a sign of good news. Her anxiety grew further when she overheard that Prince Daeron, Queen Alicent and King Viserys' youngest son, was finally returning from Oldtown after being sent there for several years.

She pondered the peculiarity of Daeron being the only one sent away—why him, and not any of his siblings?

Viseara sighed as she sank into her bath, the warm water soothing her muscles after a morning spent training with Aemond. Her nephew had insisted on keeping her company during her sword practice, keeping Ser Gwayne at a conspicuous distance. Aemond's rigid behavior left his uncle baffled as to why his young nephew seemed so irritated.

As she scrubbed her arms with a sponge, a knock on the door broke the silence.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"It’s me, Aemond. May I come in?"

“Come in,” Viseara replied.

Aemond entered cautiously, his tall frame pausing just beyond the wooden partition that shielded her from view. Turning his back to her, he stood stiffly, trying not to glance at her silhouette in the bath, though temptation gnawed at him.

The one-eyed prince began counting silently to steady his thoughts as he heard the sound of water trickling to the floor. He turned briefly, only to see her step out of the tub wrapped in a robe. She seated herself on a chair, her crossed legs revealed just enough to make his throat dry.

“Aunt…you seem quite friendly with my uncle,” Aemond remarked, his eye avoiding her altogether. His tone betrayed a hint of bitterness.

She chuckled softly, her voice laced with amusement. “I was merely exchanging pleasantries, Aemond. Speaking of which, I hear Daeron is returning. Are you excited to see your youngest brother again? May I ask why he was sent away in the first place?”

Aemond shook his head dismissively. “It was my mother and grandfather’s decision. They thought it best for him to stay with family in Oldtown for his education.”

As she dressed behind the partition, Viseara took a moment to consider how much Aemond had grown. The boy she remembered was now a man, taller than his elder brother.

“Are you all right, Aunt?” Aemond asked when she emerged.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, slipping on her shoes. “But we’d better get going before your mother scolds us both.”

Aemond extended his arm to her, escorting her to the dining hall. As usual, King Viserys was absent. Pulling a chair for her, Aemond took his seat opposite, his single eye fixed on her as she dined.

Helena leaned closer to Viseara, whispering, “He’s staring at you.”

“Who?”

“My brother, Aemond.”

Viseara glanced at her nephew, who quickly averted his gaze, sipping his wine. The tension broke as the door swung open, revealing a bright-eyed boy with pale hair and violet eyes. His youthful energy filled the room, and Alicent’s face softened with visible relief and joy.

It must be Daeron, Viseara thought. His aura was far sunnier than his brothers'.

“Mother! Siblings! I’ve returned from Oldtown!” Daeron exclaimed, his smile infectious as he embraced his mother. His demeanor made Viseara wonder if Alicent's other sons would have been so cheerful had they also been sent to Oldtown.

Turning to Viseara, Daeron bowed gracefully. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, Aunt. I’ve heard much about you and Uncle Daemon.”

Taking her hand, he kissed it respectfully. Yet, he flinched slightly, sensing a sharp gaze on him. Viseara offered him a polite smile, her eyes darting toward Aemond, who was sipping his wine with an intensity that could burn holes through Daeron’s back.

The breakfast ended without any stabbings, much to everyone’s relief. Viseara excused herself and found solace beneath the weirwood tree, engrossed in her book. Her tranquility was interrupted by a familiar weight on her lap. Lowering her book, she found Aemond lying across her legs.

“Aemond,” she said, flipping the book open again. “Shouldn't ao jikagon se bodmagho rūsīr ser criston naejot practice aōha egros skills?” (Shouldn't you go and train with Ser Criston to practice your sword skills?)

“Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot jikagon naejot bodmagho syt nykeā tubis.” (I don't want to go to training for a day...)  he murmured, pulling her hand to his lips. He kissed it repeatedly, lingering over the spot where Daeron and Gwayne had kissed earlier. “Nyke jaelagon naejot sagon rūsīr ao.” (I want to be with you.)

Viseara frowned at his odd behavior. “Kostilus explain skoro syt ao sagon acting strangely? Skoros's pirta?” (Please explain why you're acting strangely? What's wrong?) Aemond, ignoring her question, continued to press kisses to her hand.

“Aemond,” she scolded, “Aemond, keligon kissing issa ondos gō someone sees īlva.” (Aemond, stop kissing my hand before someone sees us.)

He replied with a smirk. “ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon se ivestragī zirȳ gīmigon bona ao issi ñuhon.” (Let them see and let them know that you are mine.)

Sitting up, he met her gaze, his voice low but resolute. “Issa muñnykeā se KepāZma's views won't arlinnon issa desire naejot emagon ao hae issa ��brazȳrys. Should pōnta oppose, nyke prepared naejot gūrogon ao naejot zaldrīzesdōron se dīnagon ao following se uēpa valyrīha.” (My mother and grandfather's views won't change my desire to have you as my wife. Should they oppose, I am prepared to take you to Dragonstone and marry you following the ancient Valyrian.)

Viseara’s eyes widened at his audacious declaration. She could tell he meant every word. “Aemond, ao daor gaomagon bona. Aōha muñnykeā jāhor forbid bisa dīnilūks exactly se dīnagon rȳ ñamar se nephew” (Aemond, you cannot do that. Your mother will forbid this marriage exactly the marry between aunt and nephew.)

“Nyke ȳdra daor care, ñamar.  Jaelan ao hae ñuha ābrazȳrys” (I don't care, aunt. I want you as my wife.) He is whispered in her ear. “Kostilus, ñamar.  Nyke jorrāelagon ao” (Please, aunt. I need you.)

“Yn daor nephew married pōja ñamar” (But no nephew married their aunt.) she reasoned.

Before she could counter, he added, “Ao knew bona Joselyn Bathareon married zȳhon nephew, prince Aemon Targārien.” (You knew that Joselyn Bathareon married her nephew, Prince Aemon Targaryen.) The one-eyed prince kissed his aunt’s neck.  “Sīr, lo pōnta kostagon, nyke kostagon tolī.” (So, if they can, I can too.)

she argued.

“Nephew, pōnta jiōraton married rȳ keskydoso age, se ao issi nykeēdrosa nykeā riñnykeā.” (Nephew, they got married at the same age, and you are still a kid.) His grip on her tightened slightly. “ñamar, nyke daor nykeā riñnykeā dombo, se. Nyke kostagon prove naejot ao bona nyke nykeā vala, daor nykeā valonqar.” (Aunt, I am not a kid anymore, and..... I can prove to you that I am a man, not a boy.)”

Viseara remembered that she had traveled back in time to prevent the Dance of the Dragons and to ensure Rhaenyra became the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But she did not sign up to be tangled up with her younger nephew in broad daylight, in his chambers, which anyone could enter at any moment. (Who chooses a room with two doors for Aemond, anyway? Fight her at the dragon pit instead!)

She couldn't recall how things ended up like this, but the next thing she knew, their clothes were scattered on the floor, and Aemond was lavishing her in a way that nearly made her forget her own wedding night. The room was filled with moans, gasps, the sound of skin slapping, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed as it hit the stone wall.

The one-eyed prince wasn’t wearing his eye patch, allowing Viseara to see his sapphire-blue prosthetic eye for the first time. Her last memory of him before her death in her previous life was of him always covering that eye with a patch.

This was the first time she saw him remove it, even though he hesitated at first, fearing his aunt might be repulsed by his scarred face and missing eye. Relief crossed his face when he heard her say something in Valyrian while her slender fingers gently traced the scar on his chiseled face.

"Aemond, issa gevie nephew" (Aemond, my beautiful nephew).

“Māzigon syt issa, ñamar” (Come for me, aunt), he groaned as his strong hand gripped the bedpost so tightly his knuckles turned white. Together, they reached their peak.

The tall prince collapsed beside her, their bodies still connected. He ran a hand along her back before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Issi ao alright, ñamar?” (Are you alright, aunt?)

“Nyke pretty sȳz” (I am pretty fine), she replied, her mismatched eyes resting against his broad chest. Both their bodies were drenched in sweat, and her thighs were sticky with thick, white fluids. She shivered as Aemond slowly pulled out of her, feeling the damp cloth he used to clean her up.

Viseara tried to rise from the bed to get dressed, but her legs wobbled so much that she had to brace herself against the wooden table.

Her mischievous nephew chuckled under his breath, clearly pleased with himself.

“Skoros issi ao laughing rȳ? Bisa iksos aōha fault.” (What are you laughing at? This is your fault.)

“Iksos ziry issa fault bona nyke fulfilled ao?” (Is it my fault that I fulfilled you?)

Aemond smirked as he observed his aunt leaning against the table, her trembling legs betraying her. Catching the book she tossed at him, he walked over to admire the marks he had left on her pale skin. His strong hands helped tighten the straps of her dress, and he didn’t forget to plant a kiss on her cheek.

He watched his aunt attempt to compose herself as she left his chambers, but he couldn’t suppress a laugh at her shaky steps. Returning to his room, Aemond acted nonchalant as Otto Hightower entered, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the space.

“What were you and Viseara doing in here?”

“The princess and I were discussing philosophy, Grandfather,” Aemond lied smoothly, pretending to read a book. “Though we must’ve debated for quite some time, as I forgot to train with Ser Criston.”

The Hand of the King eyed him suspiciously before speaking. “You should stay away from Viseara. She may be your aunt, but she’s dangerous—”

“Why did you summon my uncle and Daeron to King’s Landing?” Aemond closed the book and looked up at Otto with piercing intensity. “You said you wouldn’t call them unless necessary.”

Otto sighed as he took a seat. “I have plans to wed Viseara to Ser Gwayne and send her to Oldtown—”

“If you paid even the slightest attention, you’d notice your granddaughter-in-law is pregnant. There’s no way my aunt would agree to be separated from her child,” Aemond interrupted with a tilt of his head. “He’d probably end up thrown to the dragons by her after their wedding night.”

Aemond smirked, his sapphire glinting as he delivered his warning. “Grandfather, I suggest you refrain from meddling, especially with the rogue princess. You wouldn’t want Oldtown to end up like Harrenhal?”

It wouldn’t be Viseara who would burn Oldtown to ashes, but him.

TBC.