#as you don new years. thing is none of us like champagne

[hopeheartfilia]

for someone who is yet to finish the book, fuyao sect is very dear to me

[burnedbyshoto]

hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time. 

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind. 

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble. 

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party. 

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff. 

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on. 

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him. 

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes? 

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now. 

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace. 

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas. 

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

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It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak. 

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult. 

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied. 

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile. 

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately. 

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly. 

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit. 

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt. 

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come. 

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked. 

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall. 

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder. 

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing. 

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly. 

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored. 

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

[fascination-street-writing]

Once You Loved Her - Now You’ve Lost Her | Yan!Pannacotta Fugo x F!Reader

Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young. As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

For skully-greg: Who suggested an angsty piece featuring Pannacotta Fugo

Content Warnings: Not S/F/W Content, Yandere Behaviors, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Non-Con, Past Underage Relationship, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics

It is raining again.

Pannacotta Fugo sighs, releasing the breath that he has held in for far too long. He does not bother to avoid the puddles on the sidewalk. The soles of his shoes are already ruined. In the distance, the clock tower chimes as morning turns to noon. Church bells ring – the sounding of a wedding, no doubt. Though, it is a particularly dreary day for one.

He can see it all. An ivory lace gown and a black silk tuxedo. Baby’s-breath and roses. Candles on the altars. Matrimony – everything he might have had if life was more forgiving. Alas, his stomach curls at the thought, and so he forces his mind elsewhere. First, to the file tucked beneath his arm, which he must deliver to Don Giovanna before the day ends. Then, to the faint rumbling in his belly that reminds him of his promise to get tea with Sheila; never mind the matter wherein there is another woman whom he would much rather divulge in menial conversations with, over two saucers of earl grey.

It is you he has lost.

He passes the boutiques that you had so many times begged him to accompany you to. He never said yes, because he always felt that there were far more important things to do than to waste money on clothing (it simply reminds him too much of his parents, always so preoccupied with appearances) – and so you went alone. A street vendor selling elaborate bouquets hoists a tarp over his stall to protect his wares from the unrelenting storm. Fugo had once thought to buy you flowers – he refrained, as he knew they would die within the week.

A head of hair the color of yours catches his attention. He stops.

Through the display window of L’Abito di Fiori, he watches, helpless, as you lift a dress shirt made of pressed cotton to the torso of Guido Mista. The hanger dangles from your grasp as you gauge the shirt’s sizing to his body – and his eyes fall to your face, taking in the expression of determination that sweeps your brow. Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young.

As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

You bat away the dress shirt and offer Mista another; one that is slimmer and formfitting. Fugo has almost forgotten the occasion. It is an occasion indeed, as in no other circumstance might Mista give quite so much care about his uniform: Don Giovanna’s compleanno gala is nearly upon you all.

You say something to Mista that is unintelligible to Fugo, though by the way the chocolate-brown eyed man smiles, he knows it is nothing good. The long-forgotten, youthful rage within him has become an acquaintance as of late – a rekindling of something that ought to have gone away. The file snaps in his grasp. Pages upon pages of the report that took him a month to compose and organize scatter amongst the puddles.

Fugo stares at the ruin and sighs. Fishing his cellphone out from his pocket, he dials Don Giovanna’s number. Tea with Sheila will have to wait - not that he minds.

“Buon pomeriggio, Fugo,” the young Don speaks. Years of strain weigh heavily on his tone. “I was just about to call you – Monsieur Polnareff is getting impatient waiting for your report. How soon can you be here?”

“Ah, about that, Giorno. Mie scuse, but there’s been an incident . . .”

Il Libeccio is quiet, though perhaps since it is far too early in the day to be patronized. You and Fugo peer over the menu, as if something new might strike your fancy. In all honesty, you have committed it to memory; still, it makes for a good way to pass the time. Unreciprocated teasing glances are thrown his way. Unreciprocated, that is, until he grins only slightly – enough to be noticed by you before the corners of his lips fall.

You are glad that none of the others are here yet. Your moments with Fugo have always been cut far too short. First as children, when he would be ushered off to his studies and you to assist your mother in her duties around his parents’ estate. Now as two teenagers pulled apart by tasks assigned from Bucciarati.

If not for Fugo, you never would have joined Passione. Though from opposite ends of the social hierarchy, it was you who kept him grounded amidst the berating and the abuse – and the same can be said of him regarding you. Trauma is indiscriminatory, and it has an interesting way of bringing two thwarted souls together. Even after everything he had endured, his thoughts were of you. Following his expulsion from the university, he came back for you. With nothing to lose, and an optimistic inkling of something to gain, you joined him.

He took you from one life and gave you another. And for that, you will always be indebted to him.

“Have you two decided?” the waitress asks. “Or perhaps a bit longer?”

She clicks the pen in her hand. Fugo does not recognize her, and he realizes she must be new. Otherwise, she would know better than to inquire before the others have even arrived. “A few more minutes, please,” he says. “Grazie."

She obliges and leaves. You place a hand over your stomach, contemplating your options. “Fugo?” He raises an eyebrow and glances in your direction. “Will you share some cake with me?”

“Maybe. What flavor?”

He is not one to spoil his appetite with sweets; however, he might indulge for you. In truth, there is not much would not do at your behest; even as a boy, he has always loved you. You hum to yourself, dragging your finger down the dessert menu. He swallows the lump in his throat. A knowing smirk graces your face as you give him your answer.

“Strawberry.”

The banquet hall has been done up rather nicely. Round tables draped with white-satin tablecloths dot the perimeter of the room, each set with six chairs and a bouquet of lilies. The hired musicians – comprised of the most desirable instrumentalists in Napoli – play a lively little jazz tune. The caterer bores over the display of desserts, ensuring that not a single plate has been moved out of line.

Seated together, Mista lifts a forkful of strawberry dolce to your mouth. It hits your tongue and melts like sugar. Don Giovanna has spared no expense in preparing his gala, and the cake is no exception. You look far too elegant, wearing that beaded sheath dress while clasping a champagne flute betwixt manicured fingers. Your mulberry lipstick stains the rim like a kiss. Without a doubt, you are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. Mista knows this, as do the men who pass you by and let their gazes’ wander.

And so does Fugo.

“If you squeeze your glass any tighter, it’ll snap in half. God forbid you’ll hurt yourself. I’d rather not end my night with taking you to the hospital.”

He eases the grip on his goblet. The color rushes back to his knuckles. Trish sips her champagne beside him, oblivious to the fury boiling within him, but not his envy. “You can be bitter every other night of the year. Don’t be tonight. It’s Giorno’s birthday, and we spent too much money on this damned party. Please, don’t cause a scene or do anything stupid. I’m begging you, Fugo.”

He bites back a scoff, never taking his eyes off you. “I’m not ‘causing a scene,’” he insists.

Trish frowns. “No, but you’re about to. Judging by the way you were practically strangling that poor cup, I know you’re only seconds away from throttling Mista.”

“I have every right to be upset,” Fugo tells the pink-haired woman.

“No, you really don’t,” she retorts. “You should be glad she moved on. Be happy that she’s happy.”

A bit of icing sticks to your lip. Mista swipes it away with his thumb before pressing his mouth to yours for a quick kiss. To Fugo, it is a nauseating sight. “You don’t think I haven’t tried?” he demands. “It’s been absolute agony this entire time. I still love her – so much that I hate her. She’s a reminder of everything I’ve done wrong.”

“You need try harder. It’s been four years. You’re going to ruin yourself at this point.” As if he has not already. “Listen, Fugo. I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Mista’s planning on proposing to her soon. He already bought a ring. You should make things right between you and [Y/N]; don’t spend the rest of your life resenting your best friend for marrying your ex. After all, maybe this can be an incentive to get over yourself and grow up.”

With that, Trish collects her belongings and departs, leaving an emptied champagne flute as a marker of where she once sat. He hardly notices her absense; he has grown numb. Marriage. An ivory gown for you and a silk tuxedo for Mista. Baby’s breath in a bouquet and a single rose in a boutonniere for Mista. Candles on the altars lit for Mista.

Fugo recoils. The thought of you marrying anyone other than himself is a death sentence. Mista stands, having been beckoned by Don Giovanna, depriving you of a companion. There is stock in Trish’s advice – but it takes courage to follow through.

You practically ignore him when he claims Mista’s vacated seat. You refuse to meet his violet stare; the band is far more interesting, anyways. Softly, he speaks your name. “How are you?” he asks.

“Good,” you answer, short. “Perfect.”

He awaits the refrain, yet you utter nothing else. And so, he tries again. “It doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“I was, before you sat down.”

Your words sting, as if you have pierced him through the heart with a wicked blade.

“You look beautiful.” You roll your brilliant eyes. If not for Don Giovanna’s sake, you might have thrown the remainder of your drink in Fugo’s handsome face. You will settle for audaciousness instead. That is, until his fingers coil around your wrist so tight the bones may snap. He hoists you from the chair, and with little regard to your protesting – deaf to the guests who can hear nothing over the sound of jazz –, he leads you from the banquet hall. Your refusal to reciprocate the conversation would have swayed any man from pursuing you. Any man, except Fugo.

Your bed has been made, and now you must lie in it.

Your back meets the wall of the closet. Fugo braces you with his own hand, warding off the wood’s bite. The unoccupied fingers of his opposite hand reach for the hardened nub between your folds, toying you open. He feels your core tighten around his shaft and an airy moan escapes you.

It is too hot, but neither of you seem to mind it very much.

With each aching thrust, he throbs in you. You bounce against him, held up by his body that pins you in place. The hand on your back trails up to the base of your spine, threading in your hair and jerking your head away. You tingle at his bluntness. Encouraged by it, you reach for his neck and pull his face down to yours, claiming his mouth with your own.

It is sweeter than he ever imagined. Your teeth graze his plump lip. He groans as you slide your tongue in his mouth, battling for dominance. Though, as accosted by the uncomfortable angle that your head has been bent to, you have no other choice than to surrender. Incited by his little victory, Fugo relinquishes his hold and pulls out, leaving you feeling utterly empty. You whine, practically keening for his touch.

He turns you around until your chest hits the wall. His manhood, stiff and slick with your wetness, teases the crest of your behind – and he enters you again, swiftly, full of unspent energy that propels your forward. Your palms smack the surface before you, desperate for something to cling onto. You settle for the mounted coatrack. Fugo’s fingers latch onto your hips with such ferocity that bruises will be sure to form in the coming days.

Purple will look good on you, he decides, and so he grips even harder. You cry out, struggling to meet his pace. Excited, nonetheless.

“Strawberry cake, huh?” he asks between soft grunts, his voice husky.

You laugh, breathless. “I thought it might rile you up,” you tell him, confessing your intention. “I took a gamble, and it paid off.”

“It did, cara.”

He is content that you had been the one to make the first move – because he could never find the gull to do it himself. To have you writhing in ecstasy at his touch is a reverie personified and more; a newfound warmth and comfort, only for him.

The doorknob shakes. Despite Fugo’s strawberry-patterned tie fastened to the overhead rack from the handle, which acts as a makeshift barricade, you panic and push off the wall, bucking into his torso.

“P-Panni –” you whisper. He thrusts deeper, eliciting a pleasant noise from you. “We have to stop. Someone’ll hear us.”

He urges you back into place. You cry out again when he hits your sensitive depths, but he is quick to stifle your pandemonium by placing his hand over your mouth; it is dampened, clammy with sweat, just like the rest of your body and his. “You have to be quiet,” he croons in your ear. You shiver and grind against the fullness between your legs. “Can you do that for me, bella? Starai tranquilla per me?”

You nod. Fugo feeds on your eagerness, picking up his pace. Unable to contain his own moans, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your intimacy-induced musk. It is intoxicating. Not long after, you surrender to the coil in your belly – you reach your limit and come undone. Exhausted, you slump onto his torso. His hand falls from your mouth, moving to grasp the mounds of your chest.

With one last cry, he finishes, coating your walls with his release. He traces the crook of your cheek and kisses you twice more. Relationships between members of Passione are dangerous – affection is vulnerability. And yet, Fugo would give everything away to be vulnerable for you; a promise amongst many that he will not keep. In the moment, however, it makes for a pretty sentiment.

Shades of greens and violets dance throughout your vision. Content, you flash him a tired smile.

“Before we go back out, there’s something I should tell you,” you begin. “I love you, Panni. I always have.”

His heart blooms. Of course, deep down, he already knew. 

You collapse to the ground in a heap of fabric that once resembled a gown, yours knees skinning against the floors. Sore, used, and broken. The beads of the intricate embroidery scatter from being torn away in Fugo’s mood. An uncomfortable stickiness coats your inner thighs. Sobbing, you clutch the remnants of your dress, shielding yourself from the man who violated you so.

From the man whom you once adored like the moon amongst stars.

He readjusts the zipper to his trousers. Painfully, your legs vibrate. Otherwise, you might stand on your own. Noticing this, he extends his hand to you, expecting you to accept it so as to pull you to your feet. Incredulous, you smack him away, pushing yourself further adrift despite the dissent of your limbs. You have been set ablaze from the inside out.

“Get away from me,” you demand. There is not enough space on earth to satisfy your longing to distance your being and his. For a moment, you think you have hurt him – and irks you to do it again. “Ti odio, Fugo. I hate you more than anything else. Do you understand me? I hate you!”

He winces, struck by your venom; still, he holds his hand out. You would rather cast yourself from the nearest balcony than to welcome his help. His fleeting patience diminishes – before you may throw another jab his way, he has pulled you to stand, his hands nestled too tightly around your biceps. You manage to wrench yourself free and lash out. Your palm meets his face in a hurried slap. He staggers backwards, relinquishing his grip. At first, he feels nothing.

And then, pinpricks.

“[Y/N], I –”

“Save your apology for someone who cares.”

The door slams behind you. He listens until he can no longer hear the hurried sounds of your heels clacking off the marble floors. You are gone, again – to Mista or whoever else is to blame for Fugo’s loneliness. Sighing heavily, he turns to the mirror above the vanity.

He remembers a time, at the age of sixteen, when he was far too afraid of mirrors, because he never cared for the man who stared back at him. A day in Pompeii; you were so fearful for his wellbeing that you nearly fainted when he came back, bloodied and worn down.

The red handprint upon his face is nothing more than a mockery among many others to his character. He finds the object nearest to his reach: a silver drinking carafe that has been used as a vase for roses beside a candle with a smoldered wick atop a cherry-wood nightstand. Thrown from his fingers, the carafe shatters the mirror. A web of faces in mimicry of his own screams in anguish.

In his rage, he sees not red, but purple. Violent purple and harlequin motifs. Tears form in his eyes – though, to be honest, for all his time spent in utter bitterness, he has forgotten what pure unadulterated regret feels like.

It feels like it is raining again.

| 3008 Words |

[fatbottombucky]

That’s Stark’s Boy *Peter Parker x Reader*

Christmas Special: Bonus Chapter

Summary: After getting kicked out of school and following the wrong crowd your mother sends you to live with your father - at least you’re away from her layabout boyfriend. But your dad happens to be Tony Stark, he enrolled you into a new school and enlisted the help of his faithful protege to help you feel welcome. Not only are you the new kid but you gotta balance the Stark Expectations AND you’re living with a bunch of heroes… also, lest you forget that a certain red-suited hero makes it difficult to keep your sexuality a secret.

Pairings: Peter Parker x Male!Reader / Tony Stark (dad) x Reader (son)

Warnings: Swearing & Reader having no clue what to do with himself

Word Count: 2654

Author’s Note: This can be read on it’s own, but it is part of my That’s Stark’s Boy universe, and it would make more sense if you read the series. But you don’t have to and it’s set after Civil War, but before Infinity War. - Rosalie 

You can That’s Stark’s Boy Masterlist on my blog.

The smell of eggnog filled your senses, the warmth of the fire heated up your skin almost instantly. The bright, colourful lights illuminated the walls and an eight-foot tree that sat in the corner. The festive music was playing quietly in the background, the voice of Mariah Carey, you silently sang hummed along to the festive track.

Your eyes found the man you had been looking for, your father was standing on a ladder placing the final touches to the Christmas decorating and a Santa’s hat donned the top of his head. You let out a light chuckle, Tony was singing loudly along to the Christmas song, holding some sparkly tinsel and hooking it above the fireplace.

“It’s looking very… fantastical in here,” you mused as you looked around.

Tony had gone above and beyond, there was a festive miniature village set on the coffee table, many woodland creature decorations were perched vicariously through the living room. So, so much glitter was dusted on every surface, glittering lights were strapped around the room and around every window. Fake snow was sprinkled on the real Christmas tree, you looked closer and recognised that every bauble on the tree was, in fact, Avengers themed. Christmas presents were wrapped under the tree in Avengers wrapping paper.

“You mean Winter Wonderland, right?” Tony shot back, stepping down from the ladder and admiring his handy work. It was only then you realised he had the help from his favourite creations, Dum-H and U, also decorated with lights twirled and twisted around them, “Good work guys, really love what you have done with your corner.”

You shake your head at your father’s antics, “Thought you didn’t buy into this gimmicky Christmas stuff?”

“Well, this is our first Christmas together, properly,” Tony shrugged and you nodded lightly, “I just… want to do it right, make it special for you, for us. Unless you hate it, I can redecorate, I have some other decorations-”

You shake your head, smiling brightly, “I love it. It’s so extra and absolutely gay.”

“Well, I’ve discovered Queer Eye and I’m not looking back,” Tony mutters and glances at you, you both burst into fits of laughter at Tony’s ridiculous antics.

You patted Tony’s shoulder before walking towards the Christmas Tree, admiring all the Avengers-themed decorations. You glanced at one, tilting your head slightly and your heart tightening in your chest, the clear bauble had a picture inside of it. A photo of Tony, smiling happily at a baby, that baby is you. You had never seen the photo before and you were far too young to remember the moment, you smiled gently and quickly regained composure before directing your attention to the many wrapped gifts underneath.

“Who are all these for?” Before Tony could say anything you read the labels, “Steve? Natasha? Sam… do you think they’ll come?” You turned and looked over your shoulder to your father.

He gave a gentle shrug and not looking at you, his lips were turned into a tight-lipped smile. “I… haven’t asked them to,” he mutters and you nod, standing up and walking to sit on the sofa, “I just figured, maybe, if they had nowhere to go… it’s been two years, they skipped last year and I understand. I just like setting up just in case.”

You nodded silently, “Well, it’s Christmas and I’m here, it’d be rude if they missed this.”

Tony let out a soft chuckle and nodded.

**

You sat at your father’s computer in his lab in silence, your fingers tapping patterns on the desk and a deeply serious expression present on your face. You had been down in his lab for over twenty minutes, debating with yourself on whether you should go through with it. He wanted to see them, at least, he thinks he does. After what happened with the Avengers almost two years ago, it was radio silence between them all, Tony hadn’t heard a peep from anybody- except Vision, but contact with him was little to none.

Against your better judgement you quickly typed in Tony’s password, one thing you did take from Tony was his excellent technology mind. You easily hacked into the computer and began to scroll through the various contacts; a snort escaped you at some of the names. Till you found the name you had been looking for, it doesn’t take a genius to know where the Avengers would scurry off to and that they’d all be in contact.

You clicked the contact and waited patiently to be connected, your fingers began tapping nervously on the desk and so did your foot. The sound of the tapping echoed through the quiet lab, your eyes nervously glanced around the room to the various stuff that was littered around. The ‘ping’ of being connected made you snap your attention to the screen, then the face that could, potentially, make Christmas happen flashed on the screen.

“You don’t know me, I’m Y/N Stark and I don’t know you, but I really need your help.”

**

“Six days till Christmas,” you yell walking into Mj’s house and being greeted by her older brother, he raised an eyebrow at you before calling to Mj, her head poked out from around her bedroom door and tilted her head. “I haven’t got Pete a present!” You exclaim.

You followed Mj to the kitchen, where she was helping her brother make Christmas cookies to take to see her grandparents on Christmas Eve. “Why don’t you just ask him what he wants?” She asked with a slight shrug and you scoffed, “What? That’s what I did, him and Ned gave me a few ideas.”

“I can’t ask, especially now,” Mj cocked a brow at you, “he’s apparently gotten me the perfect gift, he doesn’t want to know the list because I’m going to love what he’s got me,” you sighed dramatically. “If I ask what he wants then I’m the shit boyfriend, I should know what he wants, right?”

It’s silent as the two Jones’ siblings cut the cookies into the Christmas trees, each eyeing one another and deciding who should talk first. Before either of them can begin to help or give advice you sit down dramatically, grabbing a cookie that’s already been baked and place it in your mouth before Mj can take it away.

“Figuring out what to get my boyfriend for Christmas is hard,” you groan, “like he already has everything he could ever want… me.”

Mj and Warren end up laughing loudly, each hunching over to let out loud laughs. You end up joining them, chuckling with the duo. You end up helping the pair with decorating the cookies and listening to their ideas of presents for Peter. Although, all of them good, they didn’t sound perfect or right and you wanted the perfect gift for him since he had found the one for you.

*Peter’s P.OV*

“Ned, I can’t give him that,” Peter chuckled as his best friend held up a Spider-Man action figure, “It’s gotta be perfect, the best gift ever because he’s the best boyfriend,” Ned rolled his eyes at Peter from across the store.

“Why did you tell him you got him the perfect gift?” Peter shrugged, “if it doesn’t live up to expectations he’s gonna be pissed.”

Peter shakes his head, “It’s the thoughts that count, right? He’ll see how hard I’ve tried and appreciate whatever I get,” he tries to defend himself as he looks across the various shelves of stuff and trinkets to get, nothing really grabbing his attention.

He sighs gently and rubs his temples, he turns to Ned and shakes his head. Both leaving the shop to go to the next and start the whole ordeal all over again. If anything it started to become tedious for the two teenage boys, Peter had no idea what to get you and since this was his first Christmas with his first ever boyfriend, he just wanted it to go well and great.

*Normal P.O.V/ Christmas Day*

You were awoken to loud banging on your door, it swings open to reveal your dad, already dressed and ready for Christmas to begin. You wanted to be in the festive spirit but couldn’t bring yourself to actually wake up and be as energetic. Then you felt yourself being shaken, you groaned as Tony kept shaking your tired body awake.

“Can you stop?” You asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“C’mon it’s Christmas, it’s already noon and Peter is here with his Aunt,” You perked up almost instantly and Tony chuckled, “get dressed, we have to open presents.”

You nodded and got out bed, stumbling into your bathroom as Tony left and closed your bedroom door. A big part of you wondered if they’d actually show up, he had told you he would try and convince them to but that it would be difficult, and awkward if they did show up. You got dressed relatively quickly and actually managed to look good.

Grabbing the presents for Peter and May, walking down the hall towards the living room where everyone was already sat with glasses of drinks and chatting. You placed the presents down and was already brought into a hug by Pepper, squeezing you gently and wishing you a Merry Christmas. Then you were brought into a hug by May, you chuckled lightly when she kissed your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, ladies.” Pepper passed you a glance of champagne, “Of course, that’s Tony’s tradition.”

You looked around the room, searching for your boyfriend and coming up with nothing for the short boy with the unruly hair. May nudged you and pointed to the kitchen where you could see Peter and Tony trying to sort out dinner, annoyingly Tony is an amazing cook, something he picked up from is half-Italian mother and from countless sleepless nights.

You smiled gently at the sight of Peter and Tony laughing with one another, your heart growing and beating faster at the sight. You glanced at Pepper who was smiling to herself, eyeing Tony with sweet-heart eyes and that made you grin. Your eyes then drift to May, who is doing the same but with kind, gentle and loving eyes at Peter.

“Wow,” you mutter, “I’m literally a wife.” You make both Pepper and May laugh loudly, both sloshing their drinks as they use your shoulders to hold themselves up.

You end up grabbing the attention of Tony and Peter, both walking through the door and eyeing the three of you with narrowed eyes. Peter raises his eyebrows at you, a soft smile on his lips and you’re still chuckling as you shrug. Peter walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist, you wrap an arm around his shoulders with a grin looking down at him.

Peter leans up slightly and you pull back, “Umm, there’s no mistletoe. Christmas rules, Peter.” He rolls his eyes at you before you can make another remark the elevator to the tower dings and the doors slide open.

It’s silent as the people file out, all awkwardly shuffling into the living room. You quickly pull away from Peter’s grip and walk towards Tony, who has stopped mid-conversation with May and eyeing them all confusedly, his mouth agape at them.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.” Steve waves, he has a leather jacket on and stubble surrounding the lower part of his face. “We got the message from T’Challa,” he explains and Tony shakes his head, even more confused, “your son, Y/N, he got in contact with T’Challa. We all decided to come along, hope that’s okay?” Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky, who is shuffling hastily behind Sam.

Tony’s eyes drift to you, “You… did… you guys are here?” They all nodded, Natasha, Sam and Wanda, including Vision. You smiled and nodded at Tony, “Well, um, come on in. Dinner is almost ready and we’re about to open presents.”

Natasha instantly bounded up to you, securing you into a hug and you chuckled, “You’ve gotten so big,” she says and looks up at you. “You’re now Steve’s height,” she mused and you chuckled lightly.

“How have you been?”

She shakes her head, “Time for that later. It’s Christmas and I brought you something from Wakana, well, Shuri sends her love to you. She follows your Instagram,” you raised your eyebrows at the thought of the Princess of Wakana actually following you on social media.

You, somehow, end up in a deep conversation with Bucky and Steve. The presents still not unwrapped, the dinner still left uneaten. Everyone just enjoying one another’s company, you finally ended up meeting Vision, after years of hearing Jarvis’s voice… to now seeing a symbiotic android using his voice was strange but a good type.

“So, you and the Spider-Kid, huh?” Steve asked with a knowing grin and you could feel yourself blush, not out of embarrassment.

“You know, the kid has heart,” Bucky begins, “I’ll give him that, but if he webs me to the floor again with Sam, I’mma beat his ass.” You chuckled along with Steve.

You smiled at Steve, “Didn’t think you’d actually come here.”

“I didn’t think I would,” Steve admits and eyes his drink for a moment, “but Christmas is about family and Tony needs his family, so we’re here.”

**

“I can’t believe they all showed up,” you muttered to Peter once finally alone. He nodded in agreement, “Christmas miracle.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “You’re such a dork.” You scoff at the nerd boy, who just smiled and pulled a delicately wrapped gift from behind his back. The wrapping paper was a metallic red with a gold bow tied around it, Peter clearly didn’t wrap this.

You grinned and pulled out the gift for him, presented in blue wrapping paper with a white ribbon bow tied around the box and mini Sharpie doodles drawn on the wrapping paper. You exchanged gifts and in the silence unwrapped them, you glanced at Peter who was too focused on delicately unwrapping how own to notice that you were focused on him.

You nimbly unwrapped the gift, pulling the bow away and ripping the paper open and frowning for a few seconds at the present. A watery smile starts to come across your face, your eyes tearing up at the thought gone into the gift. A photo of you and Peter are in a frame, along with the tickets of the movie you saw on your first date. There was also the jacket you had wanted, it was Peter’s and he never wore it and you’d borrow it if you forgot your own, but ultimately give it back.

“This is…” you begin and choke slightly, “this is really lovely.” You manage to get out, looking up and smiling at Peter, who is also wearing a hopelessly affectionate smile because of your gift.

Ben’s old camera, Peter’s uncle had an old classic camera. It had stopped working long ago, so as a gift you decided to buy some film for it and get it repaired- permission from May too, of course. Peter had mentioned how much he enjoys taking photos, his own Instagram account is compiled of artsy shots he’s taken as Peter and as Spider-Man, skyline views and amazing shots of the city at night. The few odd ones of you and Mj, plus Ned.

“We’re a couple of hopeless romantic fools,” you chuckle but wipe your eyes to stop the tears from falling.

Peter nods, also chuckling lightly with you. You smile softly at one another, Peter’s face illuminated by the Christmas lights that were strung up around your bed frame. You gently take ahold of Peter’s hand, the loud chatting and laughter of the Avengers travelling down the hallway fall of deaf ears. Yourself and Peter are in your own world, staring at one another before leaning in towards one another.

(You can find That’s Stark’s Boy Masterlist on my blog. Hope you guys have a good holiday, and I hope you liked this. I know it’s short, but I just wanted to post something super cute. You can read this without reading the series, but it will make more sense to.Obviously, the fic the reader won’t meet the Avengers just yet, but for Christmas let’s pretend they show up to be with Tony. - Rosalie)

[wishingforatypewriter]

A Tale of Two Friend Groups (Part 2)

Summary: The World Culinary Conference progresses, and both Souma and Megumi receive offers they can’t refuse. (Chapter 7 of Between Us) 

Let the record show that absolutely no part of Hayama Akira was trying to get out of bed on the first morning of the World Culinary Conference. Only the laminated business proposals in his bag and the smell of French roast wafting from coffee maker compelled him get up despite his pounding headache.

This would be the last time he ever listened to Alice. About anything.

“It’s about time you got up,” Hisako said as she glanced up from her ironing.  “The first set talks starts in an hour.” Once satisfied with the state of her blouse, she put it on over her camisole and started buttoning it.

Akira was not particularly surprised that he’d ended up sleeping with his ex after the long night of clubbing; that was more or less consistent with how they’ve interacted with each other since graduation. What he found shocking was the fact that he spent the night in her hotel room, and that she didn’t seem the slightest bit hungover.

“Why are you not dead?”

“I’m invincible,” she said, deadpan, before walking over to the room’s mini-fridge. Then she tossed a plastic bottle filled with an unidentified green liquid in his general direction. “And I’ve perfected my hangover cure.”

Akira smirked despite himself. Leave it to Arato to be the only one prepared for last night’s endeavors. “I hate you.” He took a sip, and almost instantly the room stopped spinning. “You should sell this.”

Hisako shook her head as she donned her blazer. “It’s part of a larger concept,” she said. “Part cafe, part restaurant. And not all of us put our best ideas up for sale.”

Akira shook his head. There it was again—this same fight. “What is it that you have against making a profit?”

“Nothing. I just think protecting one’s intellectual property is more valuable in the long run,” she said.

“That may be true,” he conceded. “But some of us have to think about the short run, too.”

Hisako rolled her eyes at this, and for a moment it looked like she was really going to lay into him, like she hadn’t in years, but instead she just sighed. “I’m just saying, this is not a field in which everything should be about making money. What we do sustains the body, creates life. There’s an art to it.”

Akira glanced at her for a moment. Her no-nonsense attitude made it easy to forget how idealistic she was, how much she appreciated beauty in the world. If only she knew how much her pragmatic father cared about cash and bloodlines—at least enough to make some very convincing threats.

In the end, he merely shrugged at her assertions. “If I do what I need to now, then my children can be artists.”

Hisako seemed to consider this for a moment, her cheeks turning faintly pink. Where had her mind gone this time?

“Y-you’re hopeless, you know,” she stammered out after a pause. “Anyway, good luck with the investors and such. I should meet Erina downstairs. Let yourself out whenever.”

Tadokoro Megumi was not one to indulge in self-praise, but as she watched the Polar Star glow under the right lighting, with the right guests filling the building with laughter as they dined on just the right menu, she was forced to admit that she’d outdone herself this time.

“Another top-notch event by Tadokoro Megumi,” Chef Doujima Gin said as he approached her on the balcony.

“I can’t take all the credit,” she replied, more out of habit than anything else. “Yuki-chan and the others helped out a lot.”

Doujima smiled at her knowingly, and then glanced out at the crowd out in the garden once more. “How has New York been treating you and Yukihira?”

“It’s very busy, but I like living there,” she said, smiling for a moment as she thought about the memories they’d made, the shitty little apartment they’d turned into a home. “However, I have a feeling we won’t be there for much longer.”

“I take it that Yukihira is looking to open his own place, World Culinary Conference and all.”

“Please don’t say anything to Shinomiya-senpai,” Megumi urged.

“Of course not.” Doujima laughed. “Not that I can see someone like him taking offense to a young talent doing what all chefs ought to do. So, what will you do when he opens his restaurant?”

Megumi shrugged, shocked and annoyed in equal parts when she realized she hadn’t thought much about that. “I’ll help him out if he needs it, or take a job in the kitchen of another hotel.”

Doujima nodded a few times. “Can I speak frankly with you for a moment, Tadokoro-san?”

“Of course, chef.”

“I think you should come work for me,” he said. “I believe that the deputy director position is right for you. It would offer you the challenge and the autonomy necessary for you to reach your full potential as a chef and hospitality specialist.”

Megumi clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from trembling. She had assumed that the offer would be something she told her grandchildren about offhandedly in fifty years or so—a story of the thing she could have done, the life that could’ve been hers.

She couldn’t believe that it was happening again.

“I-I’m honored by the prospect, as I was the last time you mentioned it to me, but—”

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Doujima told her, handing her a business card. “Take some time to think it over.”

With that, Doujima Gin left to rejoin the party, leaving Megumi alone with her thoughts. Or at least, she thought she was alone until none other than Yoshino Yuki pounced on her.

“Megumi, Megumi, MEGUMI!” she cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Oh, no.

“Y-Yuki-chan, how much of that did you overhear?” she asked, although she could tell by the sparkles in her friend’s eyes that she knew everything.

“This job is gonna make you a total VIP. Just think about all the parties you’ll be invited to, all the hotels, and the conferences, and—” Yuki trailed off and stopped jumping. She looked Megumi up and down. “And you’re going to say no? Why?”

“I can’t just drop everything and move back to Tokyo,” she said with a sigh. “I have a job. I have a boyfriend.”

At this, Yuki’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “This is about Yukihira, isn’t it?”

“Yuki-chan—”

“Don’t get me wrong, you and Yukihira are hashtag relationship goals, but you can’t seriously be thinking about letting an opportunity like this pass you by because of a boy!”

Megumi thought of the way Yuki had ended things with Marui the moment she’d gotten her job offer in Munich, the way Arato-san put her breakup with Hayama-kun on her friggin Google calendar so nothing would keep her from her dream job in Geneva. Was she a fool? Was there some memo that she’d missed? Was this what had been in that Totsuki Women’s Association newsletter Hojo-san used to send out?

“I,” she started, her voice faltering. “I don’t want to break up with him.”

“Nobody said break up,” Yuki told her. “Just talk to him. Say, ‘Listen, I’ve been supporting you this whole time, no matter what type of crazy shit you decided to do, and now it’s my turn.’ If he doesn’t want this for you, he’s not worth your time.”

“I know,” Megumi said. “I know. It would be crazy to say no to this for the second time.”

“The second time?”

And at that particular moment, Megumi realized precisely how much catching up she and her friends had to do.

The conference proceedings broke for lunch at one, and Erina could tell as soon as Yukihira Souma reached their table at The Duchess that his meeting with the investors had gone well.

“I take it that I was right to order champagne.” Erina took off her sunglasses and placed them atop her hair.

The little fool couldn’t stop smiling, and the Nakiri heiress bit the inside of her cheek to stave off her own grin.

“Details. Now,” she said.

“It’s gonna be in Paris,” he said. “St. Germain.”

“That’s competitive territory,” she told him. “As I’m sure you know, the original Shino’s and Eden by Tsukasa Eishi are in the same district. A lackluster opening would make it very easy to go bankrupt and fold within a year.”

Yukihira shook his head at her. “Do you always have to be so negative?”

Erina merely shrugged as their waiter came along to pour the champagne and take their orders. “Negativity is my gift to you,” she said after a sip of bubbly. “Without it, I bet you’d carry on like a Disney protagonist.”

“You’re the worst,” he told her. “But I appreciate it.”

“You better,” she replied, rolling her eyes. There were people in this world who paid inordinate amounts of money for the advice she tossed his way for free.

“So, what’s your next move, Nakiri?” he asked. “People have been asking when you’re gonna take over the academy. Or the world.”

Erina gave a little laugh at this. “The world is mine already. Ask about the academy in fifty years or so.” She had way too much living to do before she considered becoming headmaster of Totsuki. “This stays between us,” she said in a warning tone.

“Naturally.”

“I’ve been playing with a restaurant concept for a while now. The site’s already under construction, but I won’t be ready for it for another year or two.”

“Really, where?”

“Madrid.”

“Nice,” he said, smirking at her. “I bet you’re glad you didn’t choose Paris, huh?”

“I’m actually a little sad,” she conceded. “It’d be fun to run you and your peasant eatery out of business.”

“You’ve been saying shit like that for years, but I’m still waiting on that soul-crushing defeat you promised.”

“Keep testing me, and you’ll get it sooner rather than later,” she said. “Congratulations, though. I hope you don’t fuck it up.”

When Megumi came home from the airport, the apartment was filled with the savory scent of beef and rich lardons. The table was set with red wine and candles and the good silverware her mother had given them before they moved to New York.

This did not bode well.

The plan, which she had gone over extensively with Yuki and Ryoko before boarding her flight, had been to get straight to the point. She was going to tell him that Chef Doujima had made her an incredible offer, that she was going to take it, and that she wanted him to come with her. But a romantic dinner would definitely complicate things.

She dropped her duffel bag in the living room and padded over to the kitchen, where her boyfriend was plating two servings of boeuf bourguignon. A smile found its way onto her face. That was the first dish they ever made together, way back in their first year at Totsuki. She had known since then that he was something special.

“How was your flight?” he asked once he saw her.

“It was alright,” she replied. “Should I change?”  she asked when she noticed he was wearing a light blue button down shirt and black jeans that one might mistake for dress pants in the right lighting. She looked down at her leggings and hoodie questioningly.

“Nah,” he said. “Just sit down.”

Megumi, who had spent the last several hours hustling through airports and subway stations, did not have to be told twice.

“What’s the occasion for all this?” she asked.

“I just missed you.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. She knew that he had only gotten in a few hours earlier, and must have gotten to work as soon as he arrived. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Souma chuckled a little bit at this, and then reached across the table to take her hand. Despite the range of emotions Megumi had been feeling lately, the gesture made her heart start beating double time. “I can never get anything past you.”

“And I don’t know why you try,” she replied. “So what happened in Amsterdam? Besides jello shots with Alice, anyway.”

He winced. “You saw that?”

“All over Instagram,” she said.

“Are you mad?”

“Of course not,” she said, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. He never kept anything from her. Megumi sighed. She supposed it was really time for some radical honesty on her end. “But I was a little annoyed when I first saw it. I know it’s perfectly normal for us to go out separately, but I felt kind of left out, and I missed you. And...whenever I see you with Nakiri-san, I just…” She sighed. Honesty was hard.

“Megs, I haven’t felt anything for Nakiri since we were second years.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s silly, but...I’ve always felt like...like someone like her would be your endgame.”

“Megumi, you are my endgame. I don’t want to be with anyone besides you, ever. You’ve had my back since day one. I can’t even imagine my life without you.”

Megumi felt her eyes welling up with tears; was it even possible to love somebody this much?  

“So where are we moving to set up your new restaurant?” she asked. She had known before he left that he’d come home with some extraordinary offer.

“Paris, if you want to,” he said, leaning down to kiss her hand. “Only if you want to.”

“I want to go wherever you go,” she said, and meant it, knowing that she would turn down Chef Doujima’s golden offer for the second time.

As for the rest of the night, the romantic dinner would go uneaten, and they would spend the next several hours perfecting their French.

[oldmutyler]

LET’S RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP ➝ RYOVAN.

TAGGING ➝ Donovan Smythe, Rylan St. James..

LOCATION ➝ Rhode Island.

TIME FRAME ➝ 4/20 & 4/21

WARNINGS ➝ NSFW.

NOTES ➝  Rylan & Donovan really get into their act. Afterward, things get awkward. It’s extremely long. Took me forty-five years to get it posted.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

While she wasn’t too concerned, there was a big difference between she and Donovan sitting together on his couch and putting on a five minute show for their parents over FaceTime, and spending an entire weekend under their watchful eyes, right there in the same place as them. Though, she figured they’d been pulling it off well so far, and holding Don’s hand wasn’t as taxing as she’d been pretending it was. She was comfortable with him, it was fine. Wearing a red and black dress, red hair tied into a sleek low bun, she definitely felt as cute as Donovan kept telling people he thought she was, and dishing out compliments about him was coming easily to her, too. Though, taking a slight break from their act was very much needed, so once she’d found a spot for them on a couple seats out of earshot of their families, she finally let go of his hand, bringing up the champagne flute she was holding to take a sip. “I think it’s going pretty well, don’t you?” She asked, glancing over at her fake-boyfriend. “I mean, your hand’s kind of sweaty, but I can deal. I do think they’re buying it, though. Have you considered a career in front of the camera?” Rylan teased, only looking up when she heard the sound of her mother’s familiar voice. “There you are. We’ve barely gotten the chance to speak to you all day! I’m surprised that you’re not literally sitting in his lap, your hands haven’t separated once.” Evelyn grinned, evidently buying their act, too. “You can’t blame me, right?” Rylan smiled easily, glancing toward Donovan seated beside her, then back to her mother again.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan didn’t really know how this was going to work. It was easier to lie to people when they weren’t right in front of you. He could text his siblings and pretend like he was dating Ryland and he could FaceTime his parents. But this? This was different. This was real life. He had been worried about it for most of the day, but he had actually pulled it off a lot better than he thought. Maybe it was because of the support he was receiving from Rylan or something. It was a lot easier to be stuck in a lie when you had a partner. Maybe she was right about teamwork. Walking around telling people that he thought Ry looked gorgeous was easy because she did look really nice. That wasn’t a lie. It was easier to tell one big lie when it was surrounded by a couple small truths. Don was about to respond to her goading him when her mother approached them. A smile quickly spread across his face as he greeted the woman. “I think we both spent enough time pretending like we didn’t want to hold hands, so we’re probably not going to let go anytime soon,” he joked, letting out a soft chuckle. As much as he did love the St. James parents, it was a lot easier to lie to them than it was to his own, so he felt himself relax a little more. More relaxed than he had been for most of the day. He could tell that both of them needed a break from this charade though, so some alone time was probably needed. “We were actually going to head to dance floor soon. I promised her a slow dance. You ready, Ry?”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

They hadn’t discussed all of the ins and outs of their lie. Like whether it was just a random, recent occurrence, or if everyone had been right, and they’d secretly wanted each other for a long time. It seemed, as Donovan responded to her mother, that they were going with the latter. It made Rylan smirk softly, though she wiped the look off her face before her mom had focused on her again. The whole thing was honestly just completely laughable, she could hardly believe they were even doing it. Even more so that people were literally buying it. She nodded along in agreement, reaching out to gently rest her hand on his thigh as she sipped on her champagne. She’d catch up properly with her parents later; even if this was a sham, Donovan was still one of her ultimate favorite people to be around. She was having fun with him regardless, so even if they didn’t have a fake romantic dance lined up, she totally would’ve dragged him onto the dance floor with her at some point anyway. “More than ready, babe,” she agreed, taking ahold of his hand again and standing up. Rylan finished up the champagne, then handed the glass over to her mother, the sound of Maggie Rogers’ Say It beginning to play working kind of perfectly for them. It was something they could slow dance to, at least, and Rylan wasted no time in leading her fake-boyfriend over to the dance floor, turning to face him once they’d found a spot. She lifted her free hand to wrap around his neck. “I should’ve worn bigger heels,” she frowned, letting go of his hand to wrap her other arm around his neck now, too. Her feet moved easily along with the music as she looked up at him. “You know, you’re not the worst fake boyfriend in the world,” she shrugged a shoulder gently, watching him through her lashes. “You can dance, at least.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan figured it was a nice touch. Making everyone think they had been correct all along and that the two of them had been secretly in love with each other this entire time. It would make up for the fact that they were actually dead wrong. Don and Rylan were just two good looking best friends that people wanted to see together because neither one of them had settled down with anyone else yet. It was just easy for people to want them together. But it was never going to happen. That didn’t make playing along with this lie any less fun though. Actually, knowing that they were making their parents a little happy made this fun. It’s why they were doing it. He just really wanted to have fun with his best friend though. As fun as it was to keep up this lie, it was still better when it was just the two of them. There weren’t any lies between them. Just two buds having a good time. A smile spread across his face as she led them to the dance floor, settling his arms around her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s not my fault you’re so short,” he teased with a smirk. He stared down at her as a light chuckle left his lips. It was easy to roll his eyes at her usually, but it was a little harder when they were dancing this closely together and he could feel eyes on them. “I’m probably the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Real or fake,” he joked. He moved to the beat music, actually enjoying this. Faster songs were usually his jam, but he just liked dancing in general. It was fun. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He let out a small sigh as his eyes moved across the room. There were less eyes on the two of them than he thought, but that didn’t mean people weren’t going to start staring again. He was going to continue holding her as close as he was. “This wasn’t the worst idea ever. Everyone's happy for us.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

A small part of Rylan wondered if this was weird. The fact that she and Donovan weren’t really acting any differently to the way they usually would, save for hand holding and the occasional cheek kiss here and there. Had they just been here as best friends, they would’ve still spent the entire time together, they would’ve still been dancing together. Maybe not this closely during a slow song, but still. It was all just very comfortable, strangely very familiar, despite being completely new territory. “Oh, I’m not complaining about being short,” she shook her head, “I’m complaining about you being too tall.” Her arms tightened a little, pulling their bodies slightly closer together. It was easy to block everybody else out and just focus on dancing with Donovan, and just talking to him. Nobody would know what they were saying, so it was okay. As long as they stayed close and at least looked like they were into each other, that was all that mattered. She found herself playfully rolling her eyes at his comment. “You never liked any of my exes. I will say, though, that you’re probably the best looking. And I’m definitely the best looking girl you’ve ever dated. Real or fake.” She wasn’t even joking. None of Donovan’s exes had measured up, as far as Rylan was concerned. She didn’t even really know why, they just hadn’t. As Don looked away, Rylan found herself studying his face. Just the familiarity of it. It was comforting, it made her feel better about all of this. She found that she was still doing it as he looked back at her again, like she was trying to figure something out. From the corner of her eye, she could see Diana Smythe staring, but focused on Donovan again quickly. “You know what would be nice right now?” She questioned, offering him a small smile. “Curling up on your couch and watching a horror movie. Without your mom watching us like she currently is.” She paused, lips tugging into a subtle smirk. “Just me and Tiger, though. You’re not invited.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Pretending to be someone’s boyfriend really wasn’t all that hard for Donovan. He had been in relationships before, but this was even easier than that. Rylan was his best friend. They did all of these things anyway. He loved every second they spent together anyway, so hanging out together just came naturally to the two of them. Holding hands? Not so much. Kissing each other on the cheek? Definitely not. He was just thankful they hadn’t been pushed to actually kiss each other because he wasn’t sure he would be able to go through with it. “A girl’s never really complained about my height before,” he teased, shaking his head. It was easy to get lost in their conversation. He seemed to be a lot more cognizant of the people potentially staring at them than she was. She was good at bringing him back to her though. As much as he wanted to look around, he was still enjoying being in that moment and just talking to her. “You are... Top five. I’ll give ya that,” he said with a smirk. Maybe he just wasn’t willing to give her the truth, which was that she definitely took home the cake for most attractive girlfriend. Real or fake. But that was only because she had Robin’s face, or at least that’s what he would tell her if he ever did reveal the truth to her. He shot her a confused look as she stared at him, not really sure what she was looking at. But then she started talking and it seemed like the moment was gone. “What if I brought a blanket? Could I sit with you guys then?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. His eyes glanced over at his mother one last time before he shook his head. “She’s planning our wedding in her head. You know that, right? This is her dream come true.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Like she’d said, Donovan really wasn’t the worst fake boyfriend in the world. She could imagine that he hadn’t had any complaints from his actual past girlfriends, so she just rolled her eyes at how cocky he sounded, though it was done playfully. That was something she’d always loved about their friendship, how playful they could be. They could be serious when they needed to be, too. But things with them were just easy, they were fun. That was one of Rylan’s favorite things about her best friend. Then again, there were many, if she really had to list them. “Top five?” Her brow raised, and she shook her head as she glared up at him. “Please. I have Tramp Stamp beat by a landslide. Plus, do you see how hot I actually look today? You’re dancing with a ten, babe.” Rylan knew she was good looking, though she really was just teasing. She wasn’t actually that conceited. She’d never been the shyest of people, so when she saw that he’d caught her staring, it didn’t bother her. Nor did it force her to stop. If something was on her mind, she’d generally say it. It was both a blessing and a curse. It was just that she didn’t even really know what she was thinking in that moment. She was just a little lost. But Donovan could always bring her back. He always had. “Mm, maybe. As long as I get to fall asleep on you and Tiger gets to fall asleep on me. Then I guess we could make it work,” she shrugged a shoulder, expression playful as she looked up at him. It was very easy for her to hold eye contact with him. Again, it always had been. “Oh, I know it,” Rylan grinned, glancing over toward his mother again for a brief second, before her gaze was locked with Don’s once more. “What do you think she thinks we’re saying right now? Give me the mental script. What does she think my stud of a boyfriend is saying to me.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan could not help but laugh at her. She wasn’t wrong. She was a ten. All of her sisters were. Just because she was his best friend... It didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed. There just weren’t any feelings behind noticing that she was good looking. “Hey now. Tramp Stamp still booty calls me from time to time. I can’t talk trash about her,” he replied playfully. He liked watching Rylan roll her eyes whenever his ex-girlfriends were mentioned. It was hilarious. He usually had a similar reaction to her ex-boyfriends, but they were real duds. He would die on that hill. All of her ex-boyfriends were losers. That was just the truth. His eyes glanced down at her for a second, pretending like he was scanning her outfit. “You look good,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. That was probably the best compliment she was going to get out of him when it was just the two of them. He had been complimenting her all day in front of relatives. “That’s what happens every night anyway,” he shrugged. It was true. The three of them usually ended up in a pile on his couch or on his bed. It didn’t really matter what their plans had originally been, but Rylan drove all the way out there, she ended up falling asleep and spending the night. It was just how it worked out. And he had no complaints about it. Sure, sometimes she’d fall asleep on his arm and he’d lose a little bit of circulation in it, but that didn’t really matter. “What does she think I’m saying to you right now?” He questioned, letting out a small sigh as he thought about her question. “Probably something like... I’m glad we found each other. I mean, we’ve always been together. But I’m glad we finally really found each other,” he said with a smile, keeping his eye contact with her. “Then I’d say you look hot and smile at you. She’s expecting me to pull some move and kiss you. She knows her son, but don’t worry. I’m not going to do that.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

“You should really just date her again. The two of you could have adorable babies, Tramp and Stamp,” Rylan teased, her eyes shining with the way she was grinning up at him. It was just a natural reaction to being around Donovan, for her to be happy the way she was. Fortunately, it would work well in their favor if people were looking. Which she knew they were, even if she wasn’t paying any attention to them. “Wait,” she paused, eyes widening. “Did you just… Give me a real compliment?” Her mouth hung open, but again, she was just playing. Though, it was rare he complimented her. It felt kind of nice, even if it was just a brief, simple one. And probably just to shut her up. She could still appreciate it. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck, and it was without realizing it that her fingertips had begun to stroke softly through the back of his hair as they danced closely together. If their parents were looking, they would’ve noticed, and they would be eating it up, so it was okay. “True,” she shrugged. “You probably don’t sleep as well when I’m not there, huh? That goes for Tiger, too. I know I sleep better laid out with the two of you.” Rylan liked to think of herself as a strong person, and she really was, but like everyone, she had a past, and sometimes it liked to haunt her. It didn’t get the chance to when she was with Donovan. He made her feel safe. Not that she’d admit that, of course. But on some level, she was sure he knew. She nodded once he questioned her, watching him as she awaited a response. “That’s pretty smooth,” she grinned, nodding her head once more. “Maybe even enough to have earned the kiss you’re afraid to give me.” She sent a wink his way, the song coming to an end. Rylan took a step back, unwrapping her arms from around him, but caught his hand in her own. “For the record, I’m not worried,” she shrugged a shoulder, smile soft. “Pull all the moves you want.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan could not help but chuckle at her surprise that he had given her a compliment. They were so good at this fake couple because it was just so easy to be around each other. He hadn’t stopped smiling or laughing since they’d shown up at the wedding and it was clear that people noticed it. He wasn’t doing it for show. It just came naturally. It was just a nice touch for their fake relationship. He was constantly complimenting her in his head. It was about time one of those things slipped out. He just didn’t want her ego to get too big. It was already ridiculous. It was nice to hear that she didn’t sleep great without the two of them. Not nice because he wanted her to sleep terribly, but nice because he felt similarly. Plus, he hadn’t expected her to say something so nice to him in the middle of the ragging on each other. “I like it when you’re there. The animals all look for you. It’s basically your house too,” he laughed, breaking their eye contact for a second. He didn’t really know why, but he just had to. The moment felt too serious. Too.... Something. He couldn’t stare directly into her eyes. “Afraid?” He echoed, a little disappointed that the song was over. He had been having a good time. Not that he thought their good time was going to end anytime soon. “I’m not afraid to kiss you. It would just have to be a really good one. We’re only gonna do it once for all our fans here, you know? We couldn’t half-ass it,” he teased. His eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands as he bit down on his bottom lip. “Who’s saying I haven’t started pulling moves already?” He let out another chuckle as he looked up at her, before moving his gaze toward a table of refreshments. “I think I’m getting another glass of champagne. You want one?”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

As much as Donovan may have teased her and acted like it was annoying when she’d show up at his place unannounced all the time, Rylan knew he didn’t mean it. She knew that he liked it when she was there with him. And as much as she enjoyed the teasing, it was kind of nice to hear him tell her seriously that he liked having her there, too. “I’m their mom, of course they like it when I’m there,” she agreed, her eyes seemingly locking with his. It didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, although it did make her feel something. She just wasn’t sure what. It was nice, though. It was almost calming. So much so that Rylan took note of the way Donovan pulled his gaze from her, though she chose not to question it. They’d been drinking champagne all day, they were both just evidently losing focus a little bit, that was all. “Afraid,” she repeated, nodding her head. “Just like how looking at me scared you just then.” This was an act, right? No, maybe neither of their parents were standing within a close enough proximity to hear them, but that didn’t matter. Method acting, or something like that. Truthfully, Rylan didn’t know what she was doing, she just knew she wasn’t holding back. Again, maybe it was the champagne. The table of which her gaze followed his to shortly after, with her nodding her head in response. “Champagne sounds really good right now.” Her fingers laced easily with his as she tugged him gently toward the refreshment table. She went back to studying his face once they were off of the dance floor, the smile easing onto her lips a small but completely natural one. “I’m not gonna push you away, you know?” She assured him, gaze flickering toward their mothers, who were standing together and both watching the two of them now, before fixing itself on Don again. She motioned him closer with her pointer on her free hand. “You can kiss me.” She didn’t know why her voice had softened the way it had. But it had.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

He couldn’t place it. That feeling he felt when they were staring at each other. He didn’t know what it was, which was why he looked away. Donovan couldn’t really say what he felt, but there was something. Something he wasn’t ready to think too hard about. That’s why he was relieved when they were back to teasing each other. Teasing each other about kissing, but it was still pretty normal. He wasn’t afraid to kiss her, but Donovan didn’t kiss anyone without their permission and he definitely wasn’t going to start with Rylan. Not after all she’d been through. If he was going to kiss her then he was going to need an invitation, even if it was a fake kiss. “You don’t scare me, Ry. Kissing you isn’t all that scary,” he mumbled out, his eyes meeting hers again. He didn’t know what they were doing. Suggesting that they drink more champagne was probably the wrong thing to do. The last thing they needed to do was drink anymore. Clearly there was something affecting their decision-making skills. He followed her pull in the direction of the refreshments table. Maybe he’d grab a piece of cake or something while they were over there. He needed something to help get him away from his alcohol-induced thoughts. As she spoke, he followed her gaze over to their mothers and then met hers again. That was that invitation he had been thinking about earlier. The thing he said he’d need if he was going to kiss Rylan. “I can kiss you,” he repeated, taking a step closer to her as she beckoned him closer. He could feel his own drop a little in volume with every inch of the gap he closed between them “You can’t laugh,” he warned, even though nothing really seemed all that funny right about now. He thought it would have been funny, but he didn’t feel like laughing. In all honesty, he felt nervous. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to press his lips against hers, surprised at the fact that he didn’t immediately want to pull himself away.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

It wasn’t a real kiss. None of this was real. So the fact that Rylan’s heart seemed to be racing a little bit, her gaze drifting momentarily to Don’s lips, really didn’t make any sense. Then again, she was probably just caught up in their act. It wouldn’t be all that surprising; they’d been glued to each other all weekend. “No?” She questioned, the corner of her mouth tugging up into an almost lazy smile. “Good.” If they were afraid of each other, of being this close to each other and of acting the way they were then they would’ve blown their cover already. It was good that they were both comfortable, that it didn’t feel weird as she held onto her best friend’s hand. The last thing she’d ever expected to be doing was kissing Donovan Smythe, it had always seemed so out of the question, so Rylan chose not to let herself think about the fact that she wasn’t trying to push him away now, and instead was motioning him closer. His words drew a small, barely there laugh from her, though it wasn’t at the situation. “Just kiss me,” she whispered, unsure of why her voice was so hushed and soft, or why her eyes followed his mouth as he moved in closer, until their lips were pressing softly against one another’s, her eyes fluttering shut. It should’ve felt weird, but it didn’t. His lips pressing to hers didn’t feel weird, nor did his hand cupping her cheek. The only thing she questioned was the way her heart raced. Donovan was her best friend, it wasn’t that kind of a kiss, she shouldn’t have felt the way she did. But she did. Almost afraid she’d get too carried away, Rylan finally pulled back, though not very far, eyes opening to immediately scan over his face. They locked with his own. “It wasn’t so funny,” she said softly, not even thinking about it as she lifted a hand to rest gently on the back of his neck, her lips finding their way to his once more.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

They had to kiss. Their parents were watching just about every move between the two of them, so it only made sense. This moment had been building since the second they decided to fake their relationship. Donovan always knew it was coming. There was going to be a moment where he had to fake-kiss his best friend. But it was really fake. You couldn’t fake a kiss. His lips were going to have to touch hers and he could feel the nervousness building up inside of him as he stepped closer to her. He knew if he thought about it too hard, he might back away because she wasn’t completely wrong when she accused him of being a little afraid to kiss her. He definitely was. When their lips met, he was weirdly surprised to feel her kiss him back. He should have figured that she was going to. It was a part of their act, after all. But still, feeling her lips pressed against him, he really didn’t want to stop. And that scared him. Maybe that was why he had been so afraid in the first place. He knew if he kissed her, there was going to be a small chance that he liked it, and an even smaller chance that he wasn’t going to want to stop. His eyes met hers as she pulled away as he tried to read her face. He nodded his head at her words. But before he could respond he felt her lips back on his again. And it kind of excited him. It made him think that maybe she’d felt it too. Whatever it was. He really did like the feeling of kissing her. That was why he instinctively deepened the kiss and dropped his hand to her waist, pulling her closer to him. He didn’t want to let go, but suddenly his mind recalled the fact that they were in public. Not just in public. They were at a wedding and people had already been staring at them, so it was probably a lot worse now. He pulled himself away from her, his lips still stinging from whatever that was. “Good job, buddy,” he breathed out awkwardly.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to feel like this… Whatever this feeling was. Rylan couldn’t really place it. She figured it probably had to do with all of the champagne, and just the whole fake boyfriend-girlfriend moment in general. She couldn’t question it too much. If she did, she’d scare herself, though it wasn’t like she was exactly the most calm once their lips had parted. Moving back in was a way of keeping her mind from thinking too deeply. At least that was what she was going to tell herself as her lips pressed back against her best friend’s again, her fingers sliding into the back of his hair as their lips moved against each other’s. Rylan’s parted instinctively, deepening the kiss the same way Donovan had. She didn’t want them to stop, but she knew she couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t help it, though. Once they’d parted again, she could feel how hard her heart was racing, she could still taste him on her lips and she hated that she wanted so badly to move right back in. By this point, their parents had probably walked away, they probably weren’t watching anymore, so this definitely wasn’t just a show for them. Not that she’d admit that, not even to herself. Her lips curved into a small smirk in response to his words, her eyes never leaving his. “You too,” she agreed, the one hand still holding onto his tightening its hold a little bit. Her gaze moved toward the door briefly, then back up to Donovan, with Rylan not even giving herself the chance to consider what she was saying or doing. “Come with me,” she whispered, finally tearing her gaze from him to lead him over to the door and toward the bathroom. She needed to be alone with him. She didn’t know why.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

It was all that champagne. It had to be. Donovan had thrown back a few glasses and he was sure that Rylan had a couple too. The champagne had to be the reason why he didn’t want to stop kissing her. He was drunk, and she was hot. And they were pretending to be a couple anyway. It was just easy to get caught up in the moment of it all. Her lips felt nice. He just didn’t want to think about it too hard. If he started to really think about then he would realize that they’d taken it a step too far. His tongue was in his best friend’s mouth. Or at least, it was. Until he finally decided to pull the two of them apart. It wasn’t hard to tell that no one had really been watching them. That was just for the two of them. His mom has turned away a while ago and her mom didn’t seem like she could not have cared any less about the two of them. His heart was racing and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. He wanted to know what her next move was. What their next move was. His eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands as she started to lead them over toward the bathroom. He really didn’t know what was going on. He couldn’t think too hard about it. If he really focused on what they were doing and why then he would probably stop the two of them, and that was the last thing he wanted. He bit down on his bottom lip as they made their way into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind them. His eyes met hers as he took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. They never had to use words with each other. That’s just how they were. He could usually tell what she was thinking and that wasn’t different just because they were in unchartered territory. He stared down at her, keeping his eyes fixed on her as slid his hand to rest on her thigh. “No one can see us in here,” he breathed out before placing his lips back on hers.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Rylan never held back, it just wasn’t in her nature. She was a St. James, after all; they didn’t do that. But this was taking things to a whole new territory even for her. She’d never looked at Donovan this way before. The way she was right now, her heart racing as she looked up at him, the need to close the gap between them unbelievably strong. Whether that was because she’d never allowed herself to look at him that way or not, she really didn’t know, she just knew that there was something different going on here. Something unexpected. Something she wasn’t willing to stop, even though she knew she should. She was waiting to snap out of it, for the sound of the bathroom door locking behind them to bring her back to reality, but it didn’t. If anything, it just made her want her hands on him, the idea of them so alone and finally in their own privacy somehow working her up. Rylan didn’t say anything as she looked up at her best friend, though she was sure the look in her darkened eyes was doing all of the talking for her. She wanted him. She didn’t know why or how, but she did, and her lips seemed to reconnect almost desperately with his once his hand was on her thigh, his words acting as some kind of accelerator to push her closer to him. Letting go of his hand, she reached out to grab fistfuls of his shirt, edging toward the sink and pulling him back with her until she felt it hit her back. She never broke their kiss as she hopped up to sit on the sink, her fingers now fumbling with the buttons on Don’s shirt. She easily unfastened it, her lips still moving desperately against his. A soft, barely audible whimper fell from her mouth and into his in some kind of anticipation that she was trying hard to ignore.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Doing something like this had never crossed his mind. Donovan couldn’t even think of a time where he’d thought about kissing Rylan. Let alone, making out with her in a bathroom. He figured it would stop soon. They wouldn’t let it go too far. One of them had to come to their senses. They couldn’t keep kissing the way they were kissing without it leading down a dangerous path. But it didn’t really seem like either one of them wanted to stop. And the fact that he had closed the door behind the two of them made it pretty clear that he didn’t want any interruptions pulling them away from each other. The fact there weren’t any other eyes on them really should have stopped them. Their act could be over in here. But Donovan was too caught up in her and the way their lips were connecting to care about who was watching. He was actually relieved that they were alone. He didn’t resist when she started unbuttoning his shirt. He ended up shrugging it off and letting it fall to the bathroom floor, not exactly caring where it ended up. Both of his hands were now on her thighs, pushing their way under her dress as he kept his mouth pressed onto hers. He wasn’t going to stop kissing her. It had taken over two decades for the two of them to kiss and he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She didn’t have to say that she wanted him. He knew her. He could tell by the way she looked at him, by the way she kissed him. Words weren’t a necessity for them. He positioned himself perfectly in between her legs as he began to slide his hand underneath the waistband of her panties. He moaned at the feeling of how wet she was. It was obvious that she was enjoying what they were doing, but this was obvious. “Fuck, Ry,” he breathed out against her lips as he stroked his finger along her center. He finally pulled his lips away from hers, so his gaze could meet hers. He reached for her hand with his free one and guided it to his belt, keeping his eyes on hers with every movement.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

How close they were, how desperate their movements were, it would suggest that they were finally relieving years of pent-up need for each other. But as far as Rylan was aware, that wasn’t the case. Donovan had always just been Donovan, her best friend. He was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but she’d never looked at him as anything more. Right now, though, all she could think about was how ridiculously hot he was, and how badly she wanted her hands all over his body, her lips against his. She slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders once she’d unfastened all of the buttons, pushing his shirt off and onto the floor. Instinctively, her legs parted further to slot him in between, her hands now running down his bare chest, moving over his muscles, nails dragging lightly over his abs. She was grateful that neither of them seemed to have come to their senses yet, and that she evidently wasn’t the only one into this. With the way his hands were moving up her thighs, he was about to feel just how wet she was for him already, how much all of this had turned her on. The moment his fingers slipped inside of her panties, she pushed her hips slightly forward, the moan she responded with soft and almost drowned out by their kiss. She couldn’t do that once he’d pulled away, though, and found herself just looking up at him, her breathing faster, though her movements were sure and confident, no more so than when he’d moved her hand to his belt, with Rylan bringing her other hand over and unfastening it instantly. She tugged it off, eyes never leaving his as she unfastened the button and zipper on his pants, hand slipping under the fabric of his boxers to wrap her fingers around him. This should’ve felt more wrong than it did, but it didn’t. “I want you,” she stated in a soft voice, hand moving slowly up and down his length, just in case there was anything unclear here. She wanted him.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan wanted more of her. He wanted all of her. It was sort of crazy to think about. Thirty minutes ago, he wouldn’t have guessed that they were going to doing any of this in the bathroom. He thought they would drink a little, dance a little bit, and make his parents smile. Not that he was complaining. He was enjoying every second of the two of them going at it like this. It was surprising, but still enjoyable. He had never thought about her in this way, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever unsee her in this way after today. Maybe if he just blamed it on the champagne induced haze then nothing would change after this. Being able to feel that she was just as into this as he was, definitely turned him on. He could feel himself getting harder and harder just by touching her. He wanted her. He needed to be inside of her soon. He let out a soft moan as he stared down into her eyes, waiting for her to finish unhooking his belt. It felt good watching her. He enjoyed being able to gauge the reaction of what he was doing to her. His breath hitched as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, a small moan leaving his lips as he looked down at her. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to her lips, finally breaking their gaze. “I want you, too” he whispered out against her lips. He pressed his body up against hers as he moved closer to her, his hand pushing down her panties until they were at her ankles and out of his way. He moved her hand away from him and pushed his own boxers down, moving himself so he was positioned at her entrance. There wasn’t any time to think this through. The moment she said she wanted him, there was really no turning back for the two of them. He slowly guided himself inside of her, bucking his hips forward as he filled her. “Fuck,” he moaned out at the contact. He pulled his lips away from hers, so he could stare into her eyes all over again. He breathed out heavily as their gazes met, moans escaping from his lips with every movement of his hips.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Rylan had no expectations here, considering she’d never thought about doing this with Donovan, but if she had had any, then he would’ve been exceeding them already. Just the way he kissed her, the sound of his quiet moans, it was all a major turn on. All he’d done was move his fingers against her and she could already feel herself growing wetter, more desperate for him. Her movements were anything but slow or careful as she worked on getting him out of his pants, and she couldn’t even ignore how hot it was to feel him hardening in her hand. To know that she was the one doing that to him just made her want him more. Her lips easily reconnected with his, legs beginning to tremble slightly with anticipation as he pulled her panties down. She didn’t just want to feel him inside of her anymore, she needed to, and couldn’t even help but break their eye contact as she watched him pushing down his own pants and boxers, unashamedly taking in the sight. “Jesus,” she breathed, the sight of him so hard for her making her practically ache for him. Rylan’s focus moved back up to Donovan’s face, her legs spreading apart and her hips pushing forward again as he began to guide himself into her. She whimpered in response to feeling him sinking the whole way in, her arms lifting up to wrap around his neck as she rocked her hips into his. She was breathing faster already, her leg lifting to bend at the knee for him to hold onto. “Fuck,” she moaned into the feeling, head tilting back slightly.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Usually kissing his best friend having sex with her would have Donovan nervous. It was a precarious situation. But he wasn’t nervous at all. He was planning on blaming that on the champagne confidence, but it was really the fact that it all felt so natural. All of it. Even small things like holding her hand just felt like something that they’d done a thousand times. This? They clearly had never done anything like this, but it didn’t feel weird. It didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt like something they should have been doing all along. And that scared him. Maybe if he was in his right mind and not currently wrapped up in the euphoria that was sex with Rylan St. James then he would have been more cognizant of just how scary it all was. But he couldn’t focus on any of that right now. He was throbbing with want and need because he needed to be with her. The feeling of him finally sinking his way into her had blown away any of his expectations. He held onto her leg as he started to move in sync with her hips, keeping his eyes on hers. She felt really good. There was something incredibly sexy about staring into her eyes while all of this was happening. He had been staring into her eyes for most of the night. It had gone from friends being cordial to wanting each other, and now it was just total lust. He could feel himself swelling up inside of her. He slid his hand up her body, resting it on her neck as he kept pounding himself in and out of her. “Shit, Ry,” he cursed out, his breathing incredibly hitched. He could feel himself edging closer to his release. “Tell me you want me again,” he breathed out, knowing those words would definitely guide him to his brink.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

For past reasons, Rylan had a very love/hate relationship with sex. Sometimes, it scared her, so much that she just couldn’t even do it. But she’d never had sex with Donovan Smythe before. And honestly, doing this with him now should’ve terrified her, but it really didn’t. It felt so right, and it definitely felt good. Like their bodies just fit so perfectly with one another’s as he thrusted in and out of her, the feeling of him rubbing against her in all of the right places causing her to moan for him as she held onto him. She never really let herself focus on the other person too intently whenever she was hooking up with someone, at least not to the point of locking her gaze with theirs, but she couldn’t even break it with Donovan. The way he looked at her was only turning her on more, and the confirmation that this was really him, that he was right there in front of her, making her feel so good as he pounded in and out of her, only added to everything further. While one of her arms stayed wrapped tightly around his neck, the other loosened a little, her hand sliding into the back of his hair and her fingers grasping onto it slightly, though not enough to hurt him. “I do, I want you,” she breathed, her words shaky and filled with total lust. Maybe she should be afraid that after this, she’d never stop wanting him. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel any negative feeling right now, not while he was making her feel so good. She leaned forward to reconnect their lips, but the kisses were messy thanks to their movements. “And you want me too,” she mumbled against his lips. Her hips rocked in time with his, the volume and pace of her moaning increasing as their movements drew her quickly closer to the edge. It felt like they’d only just started, but she knew she wasn’t going to last too much longer.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Just friends was an interesting concept. Something Donovan would have lived by before this moment. He had always been so adamant that he and Rylan were just friends. That was something he could probably never say again. Or maybe he could. Maybe they just had to do this once. It was just an itch they had to scratch. And then things would just go back to the way they were. They’d kissed and they were drunk, so it only made sense that they had kept going. They couldn’t stop themselves. They knew everything about each other, so it only made sense that when it came to sex there was some sort of connection there too. He really wanted her. He knew that she could tell just how much he was enjoying this by the look he was giving her. And hearing her say again that she wanted him started to pull him closer to is breaking point. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the way he was fucking her, and definitely not with the way they were looking at each other in between messy kisses. “I really fucking want you,” he gasped out. He couldn’t help, but wonder if he had always wanted her. If it had just been lurking in the back of his mind for years. He didn’t think so, but he really couldn’t be sure anymore. He wasn’t one to constantly curse or even express himself that way, but there was really no other way to put. He did really fucking want her. He felt himself drawing to his release as his body started shaking. After riding out his orgasm, he let out a deep breath as his body went pliant. He leaned forward to place another kiss against her lips before he pulled his body away. He wanted to sneak one more in before this was all over because he knew the minute they left this bathroom, this was done. “Shit,” he breathed out. “Way fucking better than Tramp Stamp,” he sighed, reaching down to pull up his boxers.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

This was a movie thing. One of those cheesy romcoms where two people who had been best friends their whole lives suddenly wound up all over each other. It didn’t happen in real life, and certainly not to Rylan and Donovan. But it was happening now. She was convinced it was just going to be this one time, though, which perhaps only made it all even more appealing to her, made her feel things even more intensely. She would’ve usually lasted much longer than this, but her need for him was overwhelming, and when he told her he wanted her too, it only pushed her closer to the edge. Even if she knew it already. Rylan hadn’t been holding back anyway, but the moan that fell from her lips once she finally hit that breaking point was even louder than the others, her walls clenching tightly around him as they both rode out their orgasm. Her body felt weak, but she could still lean forward to kiss him back, even if it was done kind of lazily, then she found herself whimpering at the feeling of him pulling back out of her, her legs shaky and weak. Holding onto the sink once Donovan had pulled back, Rylan watched him for a moment as she tried to catch her breath, a small laugh falling from her lips in response. “Obviously,” she agreed, bringing a hand up to push loose strands of hair from her face. It was safe to say her neatly constructed bun had suffered with how fast their movements had been, and Rylan definitely wasn’t looking as well put together now as she had before, but she didn’t care. Climbing down carefully from the sink, she leaned down to pull up her panties, instantly feeling how wet they were once they were back in place. It was almost like she hadn’t registered what they were doing until she’d turned back to look in the mirror, noticing the way her mascara had run a little bit and how messy her hair was.“God,” she muttered, wiping under her eyes to neaten up her makeup, then got to work on her hair. This had to go back to normal. It just did, Rylan wasn’t going to let it not. “We should really get back out there,” she sighed, straightening out her dress and refusing to look Donovan’s way again.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan didn’t want to think about it too much. If there had been something brewing between them for a while. Whatever it was, it was over now. They had acted out whatever feelings were there. Even if they were just there for that day or if they had been there between them two of them for decades. Whatever it was, it was done. They had both reached their orgasms and now they could move on. A soft chuckle escaped from his lips as she agreed with him. He thought the mention of her least favorite ex-girlfriend of his was a nice touch. It was a nice way to ease back into being normal. They were going to put this behind them. That was going to be the last kiss they were going to have outside of faking it for their family. And even this, had been sort of for show anyway. He was certain someone would notice that the two of them had disappeared into a locked bathroom all those minutes ago. He leaned down to pick up his shirt off the floor and put it back on, his hands immediately starting to button it up. He gazed at himself in the mirror, noticing how rough he looked. How rough they both looked. He glanced over at her for a second before tucking his shirt into his pants and readjusting his belt. He wanted to say something. Anything. But he knew it was better to just forget about it. This never happened. He could tell from the way she was refusing to look at him. She didn’t want to think about anything that had just transpired. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to do something to make it look like they weren’t just having sex in here. “Yeah. Let’s go. I’ll get out of here first and go talk to my mom or something. You can stay in here and fix all of that. You look terrible,” he joked, letting out an awkward laugh before he reached for the door and made his way out of the bathroom.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Although this had obviously been a mistake, a very stupid and in the moment one, the worst part about it was that Rylan didn’t feel like it was one. She hadn’t considered what it would do to their friendship, and while she liked to think they were strong enough to go back to normal after this whole day was over, the realist in her worried a little bit that they wouldn’t. What if they’d just screwed everything up? She wished she’d thought about that possibility before, but she hadn’t, and now here they were, with Rylan afraid to even make eye contact with Donovan again. She didn’t even really know what to say, though she did glance at him in the mirror when he spoke to her, shooting him a playful scowl in the reflection, though it was definitely halfhearted. “Thanks. That’s just what every girl likes to hear,” she joked, going back to fixing her hair, though she watched her friend as he exited the bathroom, leaving her in there alone. For a moment, she just stared at the door once it’d closed behind him, wondering if all of that had really just happened. It had. It shouldn’t have, but it had. She didn’t know where to go from here. One thing was for sure though, Rylan was definitely not in a party mood anymore. She wiped away any smeared makeup with the pad of her thumb, picked up her purse, then headed out of the bathroom, her heart feeling as though it’d dropped into her stomach when she laid eyes on Don talking to their mothers. Rylan pushed a small smile to her lips as she approached. “Hey, listen, I’m not feeling so great, I think I’m gonna head back,” she announced, refusing to meet Donovan’s gaze again. She swallowed, looking up at her mom. “You know, actually, maybe I could come stay at home tonight?” The idea of sharing a bed with Donovan felt almost wrong now. Her mom agreed that it was a good idea, evidently concerned that she was sick.“Okay, great. Uh, I’m just gonna go grab my stuff from the room, then I’ll order a Lyft. I don’t want you to have to leave yet.” She reached up to kiss her mom on the cheek, then did the same to Diana. She chose not to look at Donovan as she left, though, and simply headed up to their hotel room without looking back.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Hearing her response made Donovan immediately regret the joke he’d made. He thought it would help get things back to normal, but it sort of just seemed like he was insulting the girl he’d just had sex with. Going out to talk to their mothers did not make anything better. They were annoying. They were just asking questions about a fake relationship he really didn’t want to think about at the moment. His eyes would glance back at the bathroom door as he waited for Rylan to emerge from it. But she hadn’t yet. And he was still stuck putting on a fake smile, pretending like he wasn’t internally freaking out. Suddenly he saw his best friend approaching and his eyes stayed fixated on her. She never looked at him. Just like when they were finished back in the bathroom. He couldn’t blame her. Maybe she blamed him for all of this. He had kissed her. He slipped his hand under her panties. He was the instigator. Even if she had led him to the bathroom, he had still started all of this and he should have stopped it before they went too far. He was the reason it seemed like she couldn’t even stomach being around him. He watched as she said goodbye to her mother and his, never really even acknowledging his presence. His eyes followed her as she walked away, before he turned his attention back to their mothers. He listened to them talk for a few moments before excusing himself from the conversation. He wasn’t just going to let her leave on those terms. It wasn’t good. They were best friends. He couldn’t just let her go stay at her parents’ house without even saying goodbye to him. He made his way back inside the hotel, taking the elevator to their room and unlocking it with the key he had stashed in his pocket. “Hey,” he greeted with a small sigh. “You don’t have to leave. I mean, I’m not gonna keep you here if you don’t want to be around me, but I’ll take the couch tonight. It’s a pull out. It’s perfectly comfortable,” he mumbled out, taking a seat on it.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Rylan could only imagine what their mothers had been saying to Don. No doubt it would’ve all been about them, and frankly she was glad she wasn’t there to hear it. Honestly, right now she didn’t know it she’d even be able to give them any kind of convincing response. She really didn’t even feel like being around anybody, so once she’d departed from their small group and headed to the hotel room, she mentally planned to spend at least the rest of the evening alone. She’d grab her things, get a Lyft to the house, then she’d just hide out in her old bedroom until morning. She was sure she’d feel better by then. Though a part of her ached with sadness as she arrived at the room and saw Donovan’s shirt on the bed, suddenly missing him. It seemed he wasn’t far behind, though, and as she heard the door opening, Rylan looked over, her gaze landing on him right away. Unlike before, when she hadn’t been thinking properly, she couldn’t stop thinking now. Scenarios flashed through her mind, of things always being awkward and uncomfortable between them now. Then of her being pressed up against him all over again. She didn’t verbally respond, and instead trained her gaze on his face, studying him for a moment as she slowly walked toward him. She was aware of what she was doing now as she stopped in front of him, looking up at him momentarily, before she leaned up to press her lips to his again. She gave no explanation, and simply lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, unsure of why she was deepening the kiss the way she was, but she was. This was why she couldn’t stay here tonight, or why she didn’t think she could. How was she supposed to keep her hands off him now? Honestly, she didn’t even want to, nor did she try.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan was sure their parents thought they were in some sort of fight. He also wasn’t entirely sure if they weren’t in a fight. They’d never really had one before. A few arguments here and there, but they always ended up just forgetting about it and ordering pizza. This was probably going to be different. Everything about their relationship was suddenly different. He couldn’t tell if Rylan didn’t want to talk to him or if she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Either way, their bathroom hookup had changed things for them and it didn’t feel like it had shifted their relationship in a positive way. He wanted to see her and talk to her. He knew there wasn’t really much he could say to reassure her that their relationship was still the same, especially since he wasn’t even sure if it was still the same. She was avoiding him. That was something they’d never done with each other. Avoided one another. He always wanted to hang out with her and he was certain that she always wanted to hang out with him. His eyes stayed on her as she started to move toward him, he immediately pulled himself up from the spot he’d taken on the couch. He didn’t know what she was going to say to him. He stood there, waiting for something to come out of her mouth. He was surprised to feel her lips back on his. That wasn’t what he had been expecting, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. It didn’t take much for him to follow her lead and deepen their kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth. His arms wrapped around her as he pulled her body closer to his. A few minutes ago, he was certain that whatever happened in the bathroom was never going to happen again, but now? He wasn’t so sure.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

A switch had flipped, whether Rylan wanted to acknowledge it or not. What’d transpired between the two of them had changed something, and she could tell herself that it’d go back to normal tomorrow, but she wasn’t entirely convinced that it would. Especially not when she’d laid eyes on Donovan again, and when the thought of leaving him here alone tonight caused her heart to ache. Leaving him at all just made her feel weird. She felt like there was too much distance between them now, while they were in the same room, so how she would be okay in a whole other building was anyone’s guess. It didn’t matter now, though, because as soon as their lips were reconnected, Rylan knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Pulling back from the kiss, she looked up at him a little breathlessly already. “One minute,” she promised, moving away from him to grab her phone from her purse. She evened out her voice as she tapped on Evelyn’s contact, lifting her phone to her ear. “Mom? Hey. Yeah, change of plan. I think I’m just gonna stay here with Donovan tonight.” Her eyes locked with his. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s gonna take care of me.” She wrapped up the call quickly, slipped her phone back into her purse and then tossed it onto the couch out of their way, before making her way back over to Don, this time with no intention of pulling back as she leaned up to press her lips to his once more. Her tongue slipped through the part in his lips, moving gently against his as she began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt again, blindly leading him over toward the bed they would be sharing for the night.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan’s heart was already racing. It had started when he noticed her walking toward him and now that their lips were pressed together, he figured it wouldn’t slow down anytime soon. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he wasn’t going to take any questions. He didn’t even want to pull away. He was certain that if he did, even just to catch his breath, they would lose this moment. One of them would overthink it and they would stop kissing. Things would go back to being stunted and awkward, and he did not want that.. A sigh escaped from his lips as she pulled away from him. He was worried. He wanted to keep kissing her, but he didn’t know what she was doing. His eyes stayed on her as she took out her phone, nodding along as he heard her talking to her mother. That was a good sign. She wasn’t leaving. And he was going to take care of her. He didn’t know what her staying in the room meant for whatever was going on here, but at least it meant their friendship wasn’t gone. Although he still wasn’t sure if they could ever go back to a regular friendship. He was enjoying kissing her a little too much. He was glad that it didn’t take long before she was right back there with him. It was still nice that they didn’t have to use words with each other. It was one thing when she needed creamer out of his fridge, but it was another to just look into her eyes and know that she wanted him. But he did. He could tell when she was still on the phone. He followed her lead over to the bed. The bed they’d reserved to just sleep in before. There was no way they’d had this in mind when they made the reservation. He kept his lips on hers as he shrugged off his shirt, happy it was coming off for the second time that evening. He pulled his lips away from hers to turn her around, his hand finding the zipper on her dress and sliding it down. He wanted to see more of her. He hadn’t gotten that chance earlier.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

There were many things about all of this that Rylan could and perhaps should question. But what was the point? She didn’t have the answers, and the two of them were managing to surprise her with every move they made. Maybe it said something, the fact that they could stop for her to call her mom, then get right back to it again. The break could’ve disturbed the moment, but Rylan only wanted Don more once she’d finished up the call. The thought that this was it for the night, that it was just the two of them in their room, that was exciting to her. It shouldn’t have been, but it was, and now all she could think about was feeling him inside of her again, her hands all over his body, his lips against her own. Pushing off his shirt was easy this time, maybe because her movements weren’t so rushed and desperate. Instead, she was moving kind of slowly, taking her time. Something felt different this time. The slowness almost nicer somehow. Pulling back once Don had, Rylan looked up at him, until he was turning her around and she could feel him lowering her zipper, the fabric of her dress beginning to fall already. “Take it off,” she whispered, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She didn’t just mean her dress, considering she’d begun to peel that off herself now. She let it fall down to the floor, heart beating a little faster as she clarified, “All of it.” They’d done the hurried, in the moment public bathroom sex. She wanted something real now.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan knew they should stop. Nothing good could come out of this. Just an awkward morning tomorrow. But he couldn’t stop. Not with the way her lips were on his and not with the way he wanted her. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about earlier. How her hands were all over him. How he could feel just how wet he’d made her. He wanted to feel all of those things again. Up until a few minutes ago, he wasn’t sure it would ever happen again. It wasn’t clear to him just how much he wanted it to happen again. And maybe that should have worried him, but he couldn’t focus on being scared and worried right now. Not when he was so distracted by her. He glided his tongue over her lips as they kissed, enjoying the pace at which they were moving. They were still desperate for each other, but it wasn’t quick or rushed. They had all night. This was their room. Not some bathroom they were hoarding by locking the door. He missed the contact of their lips once he’d turned her around, but he just wanted to see her. All of her. He glanced up at her as she stared over her shoulder at him, their eyes meeting as her dress fell. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her back, peppering slow kisses against her skin. He moved his hands up her back, finding the hook for her bra. It didn’t take long for him to unhook it, his hands gliding it off her shoulders as he returned his lips to her bare skin. He moved his hands to slide up her front, massaging her breast as he continued moving his mouth against her. Their bodies were so pressed together. There wasn’t any space between them, which he liked. He knew she could definitely feel how hard he was and how much just touching her was turning him on. His lips found their way to her neck, pecking lightly at her skin. Not only could she likely feel how turned on he was, but his heart was currently pounding in his chest.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

It hadn’t really been clear to her why she’d struggled to make eye contact with Donovan before, but as she looked back at him now, her gaze locking with his, it suddenly made sense. It wasn’t that she was afraid or ashamed, it was that she knew that looking too intently at him was going to bring this feeling washing over her again, the feeling of desire for him. That was definitely not a good thing, not if they wanted things to be back to normal after this, but for now she just couldn’t worry about that. Not as Donovan slipped off her dress, his lips brushing against the skin on her back. Rylan’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, eyes closing as her body reacted to the small kisses. She knew goosebumps were rising on her skin beneath his lips, and the moment his hands were on her now bare chest, she knew her nipples were hardening under his touch. She exhaled a shaky breath, hand moving behind her to slip between them and cup at the growing bulge she’d felt against her back. He was so hard already, she knew she was so wet. They couldn’t deny themselves of this. Breathing faster, Rylan finally paused to turn around, bringing her gaze up to Don’s again. She never broke contact with his eyes as she lowered her hands to unfasten his belt once more, followed by his pants, then lowered herself down to begin sliding them and his boxers down his legs, gaze still never leaving him. She waited until he’d stepped out of them to stand back up, gently pushing him backwards onto the bed. How she’d never noticed how hot he was before was beyond her. She’d always known he was good looking, but laid there in front of her, he was really, really hot. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, at least not to Rylan, as she lowered herself again, this time to peel off her panties, then climbed onto the bed on top of Don, her body hovering over his. She pulled the hair tie from her hair, letting it flow in waves over her shoulder, and stared down at him, both terrified and completely turned on.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

One time thing or not, Donovan was starting to feel zero regrets about it. Maybe that would change tomorrow. When they were awake and could barely look at each other again. He didn’t know. He just knew that he was lost in the moment he was experiencing now. Tomorrow seemed impossible. Going back to a time when he hadn’t had his hands all over her body. A time where he hadn’t felt her nipples stiffen at his touch. It seemed like they had passed a point of no return. But that was something he would have to worry about in the future. Right now, he was just focused on the way her hand was holding him through his pants. Then she turned around and their eyes were locked again. Seeing that want in her eyes and reciprocating that feeling was all new to him, but it also felt familiar. Like something that was always there. They’d both just been looking past it for all these years. He kept his. eyes on her as she lowered herself to take off his pants. She wasn’t even really doing anything, but he could feel himself swelling up even more as he stepped out of his pants and underwear. He breathed out deeply as he felt her push him back onto the bed. He bit down on his lip in anticipation as he watched her slide her panties off. Finally, he could get a good look at her, and he had no complaints. She was hot. But he’d always known. He had just never seen this much of her before. His eyes met hers again as she climbed over him, he could tell that there was an ounce of fear in her face just by looking at her. He brought his lips to catch hers, his hands returning to roam over her body. He pulled away to look up at her, compassion in his eyes. He wanted her, but she was still his best friend. “Ry,” he breathed out a bit uneasy. “This is okay?” He mumbled out against her lips, hoping for confirmation to keep going.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

It probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for a person to like to take charge in the bedroom, but it went a little deeper than the norm for Rylan. She knew how it felt to have absolutely no power in this situation. If she was in charge, she didn’t have to bring back that memory, so this was where she felt better, being the one to finish up undressing them, and then climbing on top of him. The fear she felt had nothing to do with that, it was in the fact that she wanted this so badly, and it scared her to think about it. It scared her to think of Donovan in a way other than him just being her goofy best friend. But not so much that she wanted to stop. She wanted him too badly, and she knew he wanted her, too. She could feel how hard he was against her thigh as she hovered over the top of him, her head ducking for their lips to reconnect. Rylan pulled back when she felt Donovan doing the same, looking down at him again. She decided not to respond verbally just yet, and instead just studied his face, let her eyes scan over his, before they were lowering to his lips, and Rylan finally nodded her head. “It is,” she whispered softly, closing the gap between them again to press her lips back against his, parting them to deepen the kiss once more. Her body seemed to be moving of its own accord as she moved her leg to straddle his lap, slowly rubbing herself against his length. She let out another shaky breath as she pulled back from his lips, unable to keep her eyes from looking into his again. She didn’t know what was happening, why she needed to be watching him so badly, but she did. Even as she reached down between the two of them to run her hand along his shaft, before slowly lowering her hips to guide him inside of her. “I want you,” she mumbled, lips pressing to his once more, before she finally sat up on top of him, hips rolling to guide him in and out of her as she looked down at her best friend. She hoped that was still what he was.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Best friends weren’t supposed to do things like this. Best friends stayed up late watching movies and ate pizza together. Best friends complained about their bad dates and made goofy jokes to keep the other one laughing. Best friends did not look at each other the way they had been looking at each other all night. And he knew that best friends definitely didn’t screw each other twice in one day. He couldn’t break the stare he had on her as he waited for a confirmation from her. He could tell in her eyes that she wanted this, and he could tell from the heat radiating from her lower half that she really wanted this. He smirked as confirmation left her lips and she pushed her lips back onto his. That was all he needed to hear to keep going. He moaned into her mouth as he felt her vibrating against his length. He wanted more of her. He really didn’t think he needed to hear anything other than she wanted them to keep going, but then she said she wanted him before she pressed her lips against his again. He liked hearing that. There was something about knowing that the one girl he was certain never looked at him in that way wanted him now. She needed him now. As she led him inside of her, it felt even more amazing knowing that she was so wet and turned on by him. That was all him. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed out at the contact, a small moan immediately leaving his lips. He reached up and slid his hand up her body, gripping onto her breast and massaging it as she rode him. He leaned his head back, not being able to control the sounds leaving his mouth. She felt so good. That was pretty apparent by how hard he was inside of her and by the panted moans leaving his lips. “I’ve wanted you so fucking bad, Ry,” he mumbled out in broken breaths.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Not that Rylan had ever considered sleeping specifically with Donovan before, but the thought of sleeping with a close friend had never played out this way. She’d always expected that it’d be weird and awkward, that they’d probably both laugh too much and have to stop, but that wasn’t the case. There was nothing funny about this. There was nothing awkward about it. Even being naked in front of him, and seeing him so exposed, it wasn’t weird. Feeling how hard he was for her, hearing the sounds he made as she moved against him, none of it was weird at all. In fact, it was just incredibly hot, and it felt so strangely normal. Rylan only grew more and more turned on as she moved, choosing not to hold back as a moan fell from her lips in response. Evidently, she was comfortable being her loud, out there herself with Donovan no matter what the scenario, and this one was no exception. The pace of her hips quickened with each new sound he made, partially because she wanted to draw more from him. She’d been scared to say anything when they’d done this before in the bathroom, worried that talking to him would make it all too real, but hearing him breathe out her name like that, telling her he’d wanted her, it was ridiculously hot, it caused her to whimper in response, leaning down to hover her body over him as she held herself up with one hand, her hips rolling fast against his. “You’re so fucking sexy,” she breathed, something she’d maybe regret telling him tomorrow, but she was pretty caught up in the moment now. Whatever was on her mind, she was going to say it, mostly because he was making her feel too good to stop herself. Her lips found his, pressing messily against them as she moaned anything but quietly into his mouth.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Their bodies shouldn’t have fit so perfectly together. It all should have been more awkward with limbs in the wrong place and lots of giggles leaving both of their mouths, but the room was filled with moans and heavy breathing. He hadn’t even known what he meant when he told her he’d wanted her so bad. Did he just mean today? All along? He wasn’t even sure anymore. But they had been able to make the transition from friends to lovers pretty seamlessly. Surprisingly, the chemistry was there. He’d felt it the moment their lips were pressed together. He had warned her not to laugh before their kiss, but it definitely wasn’t a laughing matter anyway. He’d had lots of girlfriends and had kisses plenty of women before, but that first kiss and the many they’d shared since then were already catapulted to the top of his best list. And the sex? It was definitely becoming some of the best sex he’d ever had, but he was certain he could not tell her that. She would never let him live it down. He wasn’t even sure if they were ever going to even acknowledge this after tonight. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He just wanted to exist in the moment. Then she called him sexy. And he was surprised. In the bathroom, it was like they had been two characters. Two people playing boyfriend and girlfriend fucking in the bathroom. But this was something else. This was real. This was Rylan telling Donovan that he was sexy. This was just for the two of them. His teeth sank into her bottom lip as he pulled his mouth away from her, catching his breath. “Look at me,” he instructed breathlessly. He waited until their eyes before he leaned his body forward, propping himself up as she rode him, his arms wrapping around her. “Say my name,” he begged. He wanted to hear his name come out of her mouth and he didn’t even know why, but the thought of her looking at him and saying his name while he filled her drove him wild. “You like it when Donovan fucks you, right? Say it.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

If she really let herself think about it, Rylan would still be waiting for one of them to snap back to reality, for them to come to their senses and stop what they were doing. But that hadn’t happened, and it wasn’t going to happen. Not when this felt as good as it did, not when their bodies were moving in time with one another’s almost perfectly, like they were always supposed to be this way. It was easy to forget that this wasn’t what they usually did, and that it could potentially ruin everything. Right now, Rylan’s mind was consumed by Donovan, by the way he was making her feel as she rocked her hips against his. The sounds she whimpered out were repetitive against his lips the faster she moved, her own lips practically throbbing once he’d pulled away, desperate to draw him back in. But then he was talking to her, he was looking up at her and telling her to look at him, and Rylan couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. Her hands found their way to his face, holding onto him as she cupped his cheeks and listened to his words. His request was too hard to pass up on, considering just how hot the idea of saying his name right now was, but it was also scary. Rylan felt her heart beating harder as she looked down at him. “I do,” she breathed, nodding her head, hips still rolling against his. “Fuck, Donovan. I like it when you fuck me.” It was the first time she’d allowed herself to so much as mutter his name, but it didn’t feel wrong like she’d thought it would. She’d gotten caught up in the moment now, and although she leaned forward to crash her lips into his again, it didn’t stop her from talking like she’d hoped it would, with her whispering almost desperately against his lips, “You should’ve always been fucking me.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan was aware of how Rylan hadn’t said his name yet. He’d said hers plenty of times now, which made him feel ridiculously vulnerable and stupid. But he liked that he was with her. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, but for some reason the fact that this wasn’t just random sex with some stranger made it better. Deep down, it just felt like it was always supposed to be her. No one knew him like she did and that was only amplified sexually. That’s why he had made her look into his eyes. That’s why he was begging her to say his name because he wanted it to feel real. He wanted another reminder that this was Rylan and he was Donovan. And she did. She said it and he could feel himself pulling closer to his edge at her words. They were what he needed to hear. The feeling of her lips against his kept him from saying something else. Something more embarrassing, but then he heard her next words. He even felt them with the way she said them pressed up against his mouth. She was right. They should have been doing this. The ways their bodies molded together made it clear that this was supposed to happen. “I know,” he breathed out, nodding his head. “I know, Ry,” he repeated, his breathing getting heavier. They shouldn’t be saying those types of things to each other. He knew that. Or maybe Donovan would know that tomorrow. Right now, he was lost in the moment. He was lost in her. “I’m really fucking close,” he muttered as his breathing got heavier. He couldn’t compare this feeling to anything he had ever experienced before. This was something other than just a random fuck. Something he was nowhere near ready to unpack. He pushed his lips against hers as he felt himself nearing his breaking point wanting to stifle his moans into her mouth.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

When she thought back on this tomorrow, it was going to be terrifying. But right now, saying Donovan’s name, reminding herself that he was who she was with, he was who she was currently riding, it wasn’t scary. It was something, but not scary. The reminder made her clench around him, her walls tightening as she rocked her hips with his, trying to pull them both closer to their orgasm. She hadn’t been thinking when she’d said what she had, about how they should’ve always been doing this, but it seemed that he agreed with her, and that only made Rylan whimper more, only made her moan a little louder for him. She was close, too. And only getting closer the faster they moved together, the more she thought about who exactly she was doing this with. She didn’t need to respond, she knew he’d be able to feel the way she was tightening around him, the way her movements were getting a little messier, the way the volume of her moaning increased as her lips pressed against his. The moan that followed the feeling of her reaching that release was longer, it was louder, and Rylan instantly began to slow the pace of her hips, though not to a stop just yet. Her energy was suddenly all wiped out, though, but she continued to ride him, wanting the both of them to ride out their orgasm together. Finally, she slowed to a stop, but her heart was beating hard, her breathing still fast and desperate as she rested her forehead against his, still higher up than him thanks to the way she was straddling him. “Fuck,” she muttered, trying to calm down. Her eyes had fluttered shut, almost like she was afraid to look at him as she spoke. “I didn’t know how badly I needed you.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Tomorrow was going to be something else. Donovan didn’t know what they were going to say to each other in the morning. It was clear that there was something brewing between the two of them. People who just saw each other as friends didn’t fuck like that. They didn’t need for each other like that. Ever since that first kiss, she had been the only thing on his mind all night. But tomorrow he was going to have to stop thinking about her. They were best friends. No matter how hot she was or whatever amount of palpable chemistry they had. They couldn’t ruin that for sex. Friendship was more important. But that was something to think about tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight, he was focused on finally hitting his release as he felt her nearing her own. She tightened around him as she rode him. It was obvious that she was right there with him. He body shook as he neared his breaking point, finally stiffening as he reached his orgasm before it came to an end, his length still sensitive as she rode him slowly finishing out their waves together. His breathing was still incredibly uneasy, but it was nice to feel her forehead against his. She wasn’t looking at him, but she wasn’t immediately retreating like she had when they were still in the bathroom together. She wasn’t pulling away from him yet. He brought his hand to her chin, lifting it up slightly so that their lips could meet before pulling away with a smile. He wasn’t ready to let go of her just yet, especially since he was unsure of what was going to happen next. “Still better than Tramp Stamp,” he breathed out, the heaving of his chest finally slowing down. He didn’t really know what else to say. Now that they were done, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to kiss her anymore. “Tonight was good. Tonight was a good night.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Last night, sleeping with Donovan hadn’t seemed wrong. It hadn’t seemed wrong to kiss him once they were done, or to fall asleep in his arms afterwards, the two of them wearing no clothes. It was a different story this morning, though. Rylan had woken up early, almost forgetting everything that’d happened the night before, but then she’d turned and seen Donovan beside her, just as naked as she was, and her heart had sank. To say she regretted what they’d done would be unfair; Rylan could never regret Donovan, no matter what the situation. But the prospect of what it could do to their friendship was causing a lot of doubt to creep into her mind, and she didn’t know how they were supposed to move forward. She decided to take a shower to give herself the time to think, and made sure to slip carefully out of bed so as not to wake her friend. The plan she came up with as she let the water wash away everything from last night was simple: pretend it never happened. If they could just go back to normal, everything would be okay, she was sure of it, and by the time she’d walked back out of the bathroom and into the hotel’s bedroom, seeing him awake told her it was time to put her plan into action. “Hey!” She greeted cheerfully, patting at her long hair with a towel. She’d taken clothes into the bathroom with her, and had put them on before coming back out. Rylan tossed the towel aside, then began rummaging through her bag to find a hairbrush. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dragged it through her messy hair, making a point to herself not to look at Donovan. “I think check out’s pretty soon. We could go to my parents house and grab breakfast.” She made sure her tone was light and even, like everything was the way it always had been. “Or yours. I don’t really care which. Sleep well?”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

It was tomorrow. The tomorrow he had been dreading all last night. It didn’t ease his nerves when he woke up and his best friend wasn’t lying next to him. She was gone. He sighed in relief as he heard the shower running. At least she wasn’t really gone. She was just in the shower. He would not have been surprised if she had just taken off. Honestly, if he had woken up first that’s exactly what he might have done. He was hopeful that she would walk out of the shower with clothes on because the idea of seeing her in a towel was a little distracting for him. He stood up from his spot on the bed and searched for his discarded boxers, feeling a little shyer about being naked than he had last night. He reached for them and slid them on before picking up the rest of the clothes. He wasn’t going to put any of them back on. He rummaged through his overnight bag and pulled out one of the t-shirts he’d brought, pulling it on over his head before tossing yesterday’s clothes back into the bag. He was dressed now and sitting back on the bed waiting for his friend. That meant things really couldn’t be all that weird. He could feel the nervousness building up inside of him as he heard the bathroom door swing open. She surprised him with her greeting. He wasn’t expecting her to be so cheery. “Hey, weirdo,” he replied sending her a look of confusion. His eyes stayed fixated on her as she spoke. He’d basically been staring at her for the past twenty-four hours, so this was no different. “Did I sleep well?” He asked, even more confused, She should’ve already known the answer to that. She was acting strangely. That was clear. “Are you alright?” He questioned, sitting up from his spot on the bed. “Did you fall and hit your head in there?” He expected things to be weird, but this wasn’t what he expected. It seemed like she had just decided to hit delete on everything that happened yesterday. Like it was wiped from her memory.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

The fact that Donovan was dressed by the time Rylan had joined him in the bedroom again was definitely a good thing. She wanted this to be normal, she wanted to pretend nothing had happened and that they were just their usual, goofy selves with one another. That would’ve been much harder to do if she had the temptation of seeing him there wearing nothing again. Rylan knew that now she’d done this with Don, she was going to want more. But she wouldn’t allow herself to do that, that would be very much counterproductive. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about that; he was clothed. The look he shot her didn’t pass her by, but Rylan chose to ignore it, instead just flashing him a warm smile, before concentrating on brushing her hair. “That’s what I said,” she nodded her head, finally bringing her gaze to him in the mirror’s reflection. Donovan clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that they were going to be pretending this hadn’t happened, but Rylan hoped that if she kept up her act, he’d catch on. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about it. “Fall and hit my head? No, weirdo,” she laughed softly, brows tugging together. “I’m fine. I’m good actually. Kind of excited to get back to Chicago. I mean, I always love being here, but I miss work. It’s the St. James in me,” she winked over her shoulder towards him, tossing her hairbrush back into her open bag. “So, about breakfast,” She began, standing up to look at her friend. “Where are we thinking? My parents? Yours? A diner? Help me out here.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan was confused. That was probably clear by the looks he kept shooting in her direction. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know if he wanted things to change between them, and he didn’t know if he wanted to hook up again. Well, his body was definitely in favor of hooking up with her again, but his mind wasn’t on the same page. He just knew that he did not want to pretend like it never happened. That wasn’t a good idea. Clearly, Rylan had somehow convinced herself that it was a good idea and he wasn’t going to buy into it. He wasn’t going to play into this act. His eyes met hers as she looked up at him from the mirror and his face fell. The moment from last night seemed to be over. She definitely wasn’t interested in him anymore. “I’m not doing this with you,” he shrugged. None of the words that came out of her mouth really registered with him. “If you want to be weird then that’s your choice, but I’m not enabling this.” He stood up from his space on the bed and went over to his bag, pulling out a pair of jeans to slip on. He stood up and slipped them on, wanting to just get dressed and get out of there. He started searching for his shoes, but he could only find the ones he had on last night. And even then, he could only find one of them. He poked his head up at her as he paused his search to talk to her. “I don’t want to eat breakfast with you. Once I find my shoe, I’m just going to go to the airport. I’ll eat there. You can meet me there later.” He knew his words were harsh, but the girl he had just slept with was walking in the morning after pretending like it just never happened. It annoyed him. He sighed as he finally found his other shoe, sitting back down on the bed and making the effort to put them on.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Rylan and Donovan were best friends, they were always on the same page. Always. So the fact that it seemed they weren’t right now, and that he seemed annoyed about the way she was acting, it really didn’t make much sense to her. It also made it harder for her to keep up her act, because the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Donovan, but they couldn’t acknowledge last night. She’d decided adamantly that they couldn’t, things would never be normal between them again if they could. “What are you talking about?” She asked, deciding to play dumb. She kept her expression neutral, though it faltered as she watched him moving around the room, her heart breaking inside of her chest. She could only keep this up for so long before she was stepping toward him and gently grabbing ahold of his wrist. “Don,” she spoke softly, her expression sad now. The look in her wide eyes was sad, too. It was almost pleading with him, in fact. She didn’t want to have to physically tell him that she was ignoring what’d happened, she wanted him to just know. She wanted him to understand. Rylan shook her head at him, not sure of the right words without getting into everything, before she finally let go of him, letting out a soft sigh. “Look,” she licked over her lips, wrapping her arms almost protectively around her middle. “If you want to go eat at the airport, then that’s fine. That’s where we’ll go. But please just…” She trailed off, eyes still pleading with him. He had to know what she was saying without making her say it. He had to know that she just wanted everything to go back to normal. “Please.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Don really didn’t know what to think. He knew why she was doing this. She didn’t want things to change between the two of them. But it was too late for that. And acting like what happened didn’t even occur wasn’t making him feel very good. It was actually kind of pissing him off. He could feel the anger boiling up inside of him as he looked up at her with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know what I’m talking about,” he retorted. They never really had any fights. They were best friends. Sometimes they disagreed and just casually joked around with each other, but he was actually growing a little angrier with her. He almost pulled away from her when she reached for his wrist, but he couldn’t actually bring himself to do it. He knew what she wanted. They didn’t need words. She wanted him to play along. And he really wished he could, but even looking at her was too much for him. He didn’t want to play along. He didn’t want to rewrite history with her. She was going to have to do that all on her own. He broke his eye contact with her and dropped his gaze back down toward his feet, slipping his shoes on and leaning down to tie them. “Everything’s fine. I just want to be alone before we sit next to each other on a flight home,” he sighed, sitting back up. If he was going to play her game and just move on then she was going to play his game and just let him be alone. She couldn’t have it both ways. She couldn’t just get whatever she wanted. He felt like his heart was broken and he didn’t even know why, but it didn’t feel good. “Go to your parents’ house. Or go to my parents’ house. I don’t care. I’m going to the airport. Alone.” He stood up and reached for his bag, pulling the strap over his shoulders.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Of course she knew what he was talking about. Although she wasn’t willing to talk about it, last night really had been amazing. It had been something unexpected, but that had just felt so right. But that didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the fact that they were best friends, and that Rylan wasn’t prepared for them to lose that. Evidently, she had a strange way of showing it. But they could get over this, she knew they could. She could give Donovan the space he apparently needed, she could give him time to think, then she was sure he’d be on the same page as her all over again. They didn’t do different pages, they never had. So, as much as it hurt her to do so, she eventually nodded her head, arms tightening a little around her middle. It felt weird to not run to Donovan, for him to not be the protection she needed. She would just have to be her own for now, though. “Okay,” she finally said, her voice small. “I’ll go to my parents’ house and I’ll meet you before the flight.” She took another moment to watch him, inwardly fighting with herself about whether she should just drop it. A part of her wanted to shake off the act, step forward, cup his face in her hands and press their lips together. But that was also why she couldn’t. Things would never be normal between them if they were going to randomly kiss all the time, and Rylan didn’t want to make it a habit. She eventually stepped back, turning to begin moving things around in her bag, just to give herself something else to focus on. “If you want to change your seat, you can,” she said quietly. “I’ll just meet you at the airport later. You can let me know what’s going on then.” If he wanted to leave, she had no right to stop him. And he owed her nothing.

[rogmeaddows]

Part 2: Do you call my name?

Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader // Roger Taylor x Reader

Concept: This is loosely based off of Letter to Hermione by David Bowie. You moved to London for a student exchange program in college. Met Roger there and ended up dating for 4 years only to break up once you moved back to the states for a publishing deal on your book. Now, 5 years later, you are married, work as a studio drummer (roger gave you a few lessons and you were actually quite good at it, started taking professional lessons and so it went), also are an author with one successful book, own a house in a boring neighborhood with your husband, and overall have a very steady life, and yet you are still deeply in love with Roger. When Queen comes to America for their tour, you and him meet again unexpectedly. It causes havoc in both your hearts and lives.

how I see the characters

Part 1

Warnings: (Angst, almost infidelity, drinking, alcohol, puke, long-term pining, cuss words, crying)

Word Count: 2,300+

After dinner you and Nathan went back to the house, waiting for Rachel and Joe to come pick both of you up to go to the party. As you search through the back of your closet trying to find clothes that would fit the outrageousness of a Queen party. You stumbled upon a box labeled “don’t hang up” opening it you find some of your mini skirts and a few dresses a lower cut than you ever thought you wore. At the bottom of the box however was a very dark red velvet dress that has long arms that sprout out at the ends of the arms. You squeeze into it just barley, surprised that it still fits and turn around to see yourself in the mirror. The dress has a very low cut and is even shorter in length, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination. Your breath catches as you remember the last time you wore this dress, it was to one of Queen’s press release parties.

You were sitting in Roger’s lap making jokes about the state of the party and the people, and how the angry looks from the groupies was so familiar it was almost comforting. Snapping out of the memory you go to your bathroom sink and pull your messy (y/h/c) hair down from its tightly woven bun and throw on a little bit of eyeliner, just as you find yourself presentable your husband comes upstairs to tell you that Rachel and Joe are here, however he never gets to that part once he sees what you are wearing

“Hey (y/n), Rachel and- What are you wearing?” he asks in discomfort

“A dress?”

“Don’t think thats long enough to be considered a dress.”

“Well I thought, of all people, you would like it.”

“Well I don’t. I’m not about to go to party with my wife dressed like a-” just before he could say that last dreadful word, Rachel came upstairs asking if everyone was ready.

“Yes we are.”you say as your husband shoots you a death glare but left the argument where it lie.

Everyone then piled into Nathan’s car as he had already offered to be designated driver, as you all sat in the car Rachel just kept talking about how she had never been to a Rockstar's party and how you should’ve have told her that you knew Queen.

Once you got to the party, everyone in your little group stood out as they walked through door. Being surrounded by crazed fans, wild people, and wanna be rockstars, the only person out of the four of you who didn’t stand out was you.

“Do you guys wanna go get a drink?” Rachel asked everyone excitedly. But you payed no attention to her with the thought of getting to your long lost friends of Queen you quickly started searching the crowd, as you walked all three of them followed you like puppies to their new owner. Turning around and saying

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, you all should go get drinks and meet me back here. That okay?” you didn’t wait for conformation just quickly broke away from them hearing your husband grumble something angrily behind you. Just as you were trying to escape their gaze by turning down the nearest hallway you bumped harshly into a unknown very tall figuring, getting a face full of curly hair. It only took you a split second to figure out who it was

“Oh shit, I’m sor- Brian! Oh my god! It’s been so long.” his face lights up when he realizes its you, but then is followed by confusion

“(y/n), we’ve all missed you so much! But um- what brings you here? its been years since any of us have seen you.”

“I was at dinner with a few friends and when I went to the bathroom I ran into Roger, my friend Rachel came looking for me and after her having a little fangirl moment over Roger he invited us. Guess he couldn’t resist a chance to charm another girl” I say this laughing but in truth I was a little afraid those were his motivations.

“Well he didn’t tell any of us he invited you, Freddie will be ecstatic to see you!  Here come on, we’re all hanging out over this way.” He put a hand on your back trying to guide you through the maze of people and just as you entered a room with a  crowded with couches, chairs, and a table filled with an assortment of alcohol you saw John sitting next to Freddie on the coach; both of them giggling. The sight brought warmth to your heart, you truly did miss them over the years. Then you turn a see Roger with some floozy under his arm, whispering in his ear.For a second you were afraid none of them would acknowledge you, like they had all completely moved on and forgotten you. Then Freddie saw you and exclaimed

“(Y/N)! Darling, jesus it’s been forever.” he then ran over to you and gave you a hug saying

“Oh dear I love the dress, I remember when I helped you pick that out, still look just as gorgeous.”

“Aw Freddie thank you! And you look just a gorgeous as the last time I saw you, except for one thing. What did you do to your hair?” noticing his now short hair and frumpy mustache.

“Sharks have to keep moving my dear. Now are you going to stand there or are you going to party?” he then hands you a glass of champagne and leads you over to John and Roger. John stands up to hug you

“Oh wow, I’ve missed you. Band hasn’t been the same since you came back to the states.”

“Well my life hasn’t been the same since I lost touch with you guys.”

You sit down in a chair next to John and Freddie, completely unaware that Roger had stopped paying attention to the poor girl trying to kiss her way back into his head. Instead he just stares at you, at the restaurant you had looked so different, a dress blouse and a long black skirt and hair in bun. It was like seeing a stranger when compared to the girl he fell in love, but seeing your hair fall in your face when you lean down, your smile so wide, your dress ride up when you move legs a certain way. It was like he was being thrown back in time and then you looked at him and your (y/e/c) eyes brought something out of him he hadn’t felt in front of a woman in years. Vulnerability.

He stood up and walked over to you, completely abandoning the girl hanging off of him. He sat down in the chair next to you and said

“Well I honestly didn’t think you would except my invitation, figured you grew out of this what with your new…” he paused and looked down at the ring on your finger

“…lifestyle and all.” You looked at him, trying to see if he was poking fun or not.

“Well I guess you would be confused about the confines of monogamy, but turns out only being with one person does not keep me from leaving the house.” he laughs and seeing his face light up makes your heart swell in your chest. However thats when his arm candy comes over and gets one top of him, almost uncomfortably straddling him and immediately shoves her lips against him. The encounter is unnatural and almost makes you sick to your stomach. A reminder of the barrier that is now and always will be between you and Roger.

Not desiring to sit next to the wet sounds coming from the two in the chair you get up and walk over to Freddie who was now pouring vodka into a glass, at first you thought he was just making himself a drink but when you walk up to him he shoves the glass your way.

“Don’t act like you don’t need it love.”

“Oh Freddie, you know me so well.”

“I just know two yearning hearts when I see them.” you put the glass to my lips and throw my head back downing the clear liquid.

“I’m not yearning for anything, other than a good buzz.”

“Oh for sure darling” you turn to the table filled with various glass bottles, picking up the same vodka he had just poured you and filled the glass about two shots full. Downing that glass and grimacing at the horribly bitter taste you slam the glass down. Meanwhile Freddie is just laughing at you

“Come on lets go join the party.” You and him walk over to the three other Queen members as well as a group of people surrounding the band. As the night goes on you forget about the three people who you came here with, after more drinks and dancing to every song you can feel the effects that the alcohol is having on your stomach. Stumbling out of the room, trying to keep the walls from spinning while in search of a bathroom, you don’t notice the blonde drummer following behind you. You search hurriedly for the bathroom only to feel a hand grab your wrist, turning around to find none other than Roger Taylor holding onto you. That’s when a sense of relief flushes your body as he leans down and says

“Here follow me, theres a bathroom this way.” you just nod and hold onto his arm, pulling you towards a pair of stairs only a few feet to your left. Finding this new task to be the most difficult task you’ve ever been faced with you say

“Rogerrrr, I’m sorry I- I don’t think I can make it up.”

“Come on I know you can, do you really wanna throw up all over this floor.”

“I don’ know if I have a choice.” you feel the puke coming up your mouth and cover your mouth with your hand. Roger, seeing the urgency of this situation, scoops you up and starts carrying you up the stairs, then he pushes open the nearest door and right as you see the toilet you can no longer hold in and puke goes hurling all over Roger’s shirt.

He flinches immediately, but walks over to the bathtub and sets you down gently.

“Oh Roger- shit. I’m so sorry, fuck. I’ll clean your shirt.” you tried to stand but then stumbled and fell back into the bathtub. He walks over to you squats down

“I can clean my own shirt, okay? Don’t feel bad about this, I’ve thrown up on your clothes a hundred times.” he chuckles at the memory of ruining yoour favorite dress after a particularly hard show.

You wanted to say okay and for him to stand up and put his shirt under hot water and help you find Nathan so he can take you home. But instead you look at him, his face so close to yours, his eyes bright blue, his hair messy hanging in his eyes, the stench of alcohol coming from his breath. You look him in the eyes and say

“I forgot how much I liked looking at you.” his eyes flash with wistfulness and he small smile spreads across his face

“I forgot how much I like looking at you too.” you run your hands through his hair and move down to his cheek. His hands meets yours and he turns his head slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. You then pull your hand away and lean your head against the wall of the bathtub.

“How did we get here Roger?” its a loaded question, one that brings up countless memories

“I believe it was your inability to ever know when to stop drinking.” You laugh quietly and he stands up, pulling the shirt over his head and putting it under the faucet. You stare at his bare chest and remember a time when it was the most familiar feeling your hands knew. Now you can barley remember the ghost of it, willing your finger tips to replenish this memory. You stand up shakily, stepping over the tub and walking over to him. You wrap your hands around his hips as he scrubs the puke shirt. You both look at the each other through the mirror and tears spring to your eyes. He turns around to face you and you collapse into him, he wraps his arms around you and whispers.

“I feel it too.”

You look up at him, tears falling down your face and you see that he is close to crying. You can feel your throat close up and your chest tightens, both of you carrying the weight of lost time and love. Just as you lay your head back on his chest and a sob dares escape your throat the door burst open and a very surprised Nathan pushes his way in. You watch as his brain asses the situation and his eyes fill with anger. But he didn’t yell, he barley reacted. All he said was

“Find a way home.” and then slammed the door behind him. You try to chase after him, pushing the bathroom door open and watching him walk down the stairs. You run after him, barley making it down the stairs.

“Nathan, wait!” but he doesn’t turn around, he just keeps pushing his way through the crowd. You collapse in the crowd feeling sobs rake your body and a hand place itself on your back. You turn around to find Mary whom you hadn’t even thought would be at this party, she pulls you up off the floor

“Come on, I have a hotel room near here.”

Taking a cab to the hotel and trying your hardest to keep quiet n the backseat of the Taxi, Mary softly rubbing your back. You both ride silently in the elevator up to her floor and as you crash on the bed you say the first words you have said to her in years.

“Thank you.” those were the last words you said right before you passed out on top of the covers on her hotel room bed.

[deepbutdazzlingdarkness]

hiiii! i was wondering if u had any recommendations for best caps fics? dirty or not. ALSO LOVE UR BLOG

First of all, THANK YOU FOR ASKING! I loove giving fic recs. Second of all…this is gonna be LONG lmao. I gave some Kuzy and Willy/Latts recs earlier here, so these are gonna be primarily Nicky/Ovi recs, with some smaller pairing ones too, and I’m gonna sort them by pairing that way.

SO, Nicky/Ovi (including some poly recs, which I’ll list the pairings for):

-First of all, literally EVERYTHING by Ferritin4. They were the first Caps author I read after blood pressure, and I’m going to limit myself to linking just three of them, but really, READ EVERYTHING.

King Meby Ferritin4 [E, 12k]

In which there is a small tragedy, a great success, and a lot to learn about someone Sasha thought he knew awfully well.

Dream the Right Dream by Ferritin4 [E, 14k]

They don’t do it like that in Sweden, which Nicklas mans up and valiantly explains to the room after he makes it back from camp. They don’t use humans as tools. All people are people, and Nicklas would never — he couldn’t imagine having a teammate inside him every time he fell into heat, however willing they might be. His body is his own, and they all touch him far more than enough already.

What Will Survive Of Us by Ferritin4 [E, 26k]

It’s going to be a big deal, his mother had told him, and Nicklas had listened.

His mom’s not an idiot.

It’s going to be a big deal, she’d promised, if and when you find them. It’s going to be more than you thought it would, and if and when you know it, you’ll know it for sure.

-Another author you should read everything by is screamlet. They have some non-Nicky/Ovi fic I will rec later, so I’m just gonna post a few of the Nicky/Ovi ones now

the arrival of 290287 backstromby screamlet [M, 18k]

Nicky has an asteroid named after him; that’s just the beginning.

the washington royals by screamlet [M, 45k]

Sasha doesn’t remember the very first time he met Nicky, but Michael Nylander is kind enough to remind them when he arrives to meet the team, carrying an honest to fuck laminated newspaper clipping of the first time Prince Alexander visited Sweden to meet his future husband, Prince Nicklas.*An arranged marriage—or, an arrangement and a marriage.

-One more author to mass rec: angularmomentum! They’re not solely a Nicky/Ovi author so I will be linking them more down below too, but for now:

running from the weather by angularmomentum [E, 21k]

Alex starts playing for Dynamo at sixteen.

kithbyangularmomentum [E, 12k]

Sasha makes prefect in his second to last year. It’s earlier than anyone but him expected, but right on track for his two year plan, which is: be head boy, get a contract to play Quidditch professionally, and beat Bäckström off in the baths.

-For the rest of these, I’m gonna sort them by rating! Lowest to highest (G-E)

Soft Hands by sadhockeytrashbaby (allofthefandoms)[G, 1k]

Alexander Ovechkin walks into the Capitals dressing room with a collar and the entire Washington sports press corps grinds to a stunned stop.

Eight + Eight (+ Nine) bysockitup [G, 2k]

Active players have started waking up in bed with retired players who wore the same number when they need relationship advice. It goes some kind of way.-*-Teemu pulls back and kicks forward at the same time so violently that he knocks both Paul and Ovechkin out of the bed.

street’s an empty stage by grim_lupine [G, 4k]

Over their heads, in this little dream world Nicklas has built, the sun is blazing at it’s peak, searing them where they sit. The light bathes Alex a molten gold. He couldn’t look any other way in Nicklas’s head, of course.

Nicklas is cracked open, exposed.

so play on, play on, play on by carissima [2k, G]

“Gonna give you the cup first,” Alex says, still too close. He’s in Nicke’s space like he always, always is. He’s grinning and Nicke’s grinning because they finally won the goddamn cup but his head is spinning now. “Brooks already had cup. Your turn first.”

raise my hands (paint my spirit gold) by seaqueen [G, 1k]

They break apart with chests heaving for air, and when Nicke looks Alex is burning with it, fierce joy and agonizing victory painted in every line of his body and Nicke loves him so, so much.

pledge my allegiance and bite my tongue by spock [T, 5k]

It’s a given that all droids will develop some form of their own unique idiosyncrasies, but none of them are as decidedly too much as Ovi’s is. He’s got too much style, too much personality; it’s a well known and much maligned fact that he’d nearly been recalled not all that long after his activation, but the test groups had loved him so much that he was granted an exception.

cherish the moonlight by haipollai [T, 6.5k]

“What is wrong, pup?” He asks again, wishing desperately that he could actually get an answer. Instead he settles for holding his hand out, palm up until Nicky takes the hesitant step forward to nuzzle against him.

The Dog Days Are Over by xihale [T, 8k]

In which alternate universe Boston had 4th pick and Washington had 5th pick in the 2006 draft, and in which alternate universe the NHL is kind enough make accommodations for players’ personal circumstances. For instance, to allow Washington to pick Alex Ovechkin’s absolutely true, definitely not fake, 100% not-made-up fiancé to come play for the Caps.

“You what,” Alex says. “Alex Ovechkin’s who?”

—and its aftermath, through the years.

Demons, Ovechkin and other Superhuman Forces by stumblebee [T, 2k]

Sometimes Nicky wonders, usually in moments like these, if there is something to it, if you need Canadians and the horrible things they chose to do to themselves as children to win it all. Maybe Don Cherry is right, at the end of the day, maybe you just can’t win without demonic assistance. Without sacrifice, as that insufferable spray tanned dinosaur always puts it.

something old, something newby bropunzeling [T, 5k]

“You,” Alex says, pointing at him. “Me,” he continues, pointing back at himself. “Married.”

“Oh,” Nicky says. “Oh.”

[It doesn’t go any smoother after that.]

Wait Until Tomorrow (You’ll Be Fine) by sunshinexbomb [T, 8k]          

In which Nicky is an accident-prone Auror and Alex is the Healer that always seems to be coming to his rescue.

Red is the Color (of Your True Love’s Blood) by Saebrin [T, 2k]

What are the odds that all of Jakub’s teammates are serial killers? Like, statistically that has to be impossible, right?

Literally by xabier [T, 4k]

In which Nicklas Backstrom is literally Andre Burakovsky’s father.

to have and to hold by oops_ohdear [T, 6k]

The problem with putting a fake engagement photo, complete with stupid smiles and a bottle of champagne, on Facebook, is that sometimes someone’s mother sees it.

This is not a problem Nicklas ever had before he knew Alex.

This Alone Is The Real Treasure by leyley09 [T, 10k]

A defiant trip to the Olympics gets Alex outed. The solution is obviously to marry Nicky.

Obviously.

Whatever happened to all this season’s losers of the yearby Thorne [T, 9k]

Alex loves his kids, he really does, but he also might kill them. That is, if they don’t put him in a goddamn early grave first.

(Cop bribing, theft of public property, and how to photoshoot your dick properly in order to seduce a teammate: all part of a captain’s responsibilities to his rookies.)

Baby Boom by WeagleRock [M, 7k]

Having babies gives you dad power. Dad power helps put hockey teams on the road to Sir Stanley. Sid sired a herd of little Penguins before Pittsburgh won its Cup. Toews might as well be running a Blackhawks baby factory.

Now it’s Ovi’s turn. If only someone had told him that impregnating your fuckbuddy might make things a little weird.

String Theories by WeagleRock [M, 14.5k]

Nicky knows what’s expected of him: Set up goals, mentor rookies, provide a steadying backbone for a struggling team …  and never, ever look at other men.

Then Ovi surprises him with a kiss, and Nicky doesn’t know anything anymore.

The Brook Horse by WeagleRock [M, 11.5k]

Nicklas Bäckström is a good person. Nicklas Bäckström would never risk Ovi’s life just to stay human.

It’s really too bad he isn’t real.

Holding Onto You by somethingnerdythiswaycomes [M, 6.5k]

“You can’t be picked if you’re married,“ Nicky says, like it’s obvious.

“I’m not married,” Alex replies.

“You’re marrying me,” Nicky says, his jaw set.

“You haven’t proposed.”

the laws of the world never stopped us once by punkassbookjockey[M, 6k]

Sasha points at him with his chopsticks. “Your powers,” he says. “Snowzilla comes, suddenly everyone’s mutants? Something happened there, no other explanation.”

Fault Lies by hoosierbitch [M, 6k]

Alex kneels.

“You’re smarter than me,” Trotz says to Nicky, “but I do know what I’m doing.” Right now, Nicky is fairly sure that he’s wrong on both counts. “Let me be his coach. Let me take care of him.”

no it’s not nirvana but it’s on the wayby ghosthunter [M, 4k]

Sasha does not miss the way Backy looks at him then, sharp and angry, and Sasha knows he deserves it. They sit in awkward silence until the waitress comes to take their drink orders.

A More Fascinating Name by pukeandcry [M, 38k]

Although Sasha had never made the younger Mr. Backstrom’s acquaintance, he was at least familiar enough with his reputation to know that chief amongst his qualities was the quite publicly known fact that Mr. Backstrom was as notoriously uninterested in achieving an advantageous marriage as Sasha himself.

Something, then, must have upset the order of things. What that was he could not say, but Lord Backstrom was now, it would seem, in active search of a husband for his son.

Better Than Heartbreak by the_glow_worm [M, 1.5k]

It’s morning in Vegas, technically, but Nicke and Alex aren’t about to go to sleep anytime soon.

Kärlek Redux by Saebrin [E, 3k]

“A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.” —Mignon McLaughlin

A.K.A. Four times Nicky (re)fell for Alex.

Perfect For A Person by mlyn [E, 18k]

Alex Ovechkin is near the end of his 30th year and still not married. In the US, that means he’ll either have to find a spouse at a Transformation Hotel before his birthday, or he’ll check out transformed into an animal.

Not if Nicklas Backstrom has anything to say about it.

You and me, Drenched in greenby xihale [E, 18k]

Nicky’s an omega with a heat problem. Ovi volunteers as tribute.

tell me in the morning by haipollai [E, 4k]

Nicky yanks himself back and away, almost hard enough to tip his chair. “You don’t know why I’m scared my very Russian friend and teammate is suddenly asking questions about me dating men?” He snaps.

anchor by pavses [E, 2k]

They’re not going to make up the three-goal deficit, but Alex sure as hell is trying to single-handedly score a hat trick in a minute.

You’re a work of art, baby by sirona [E, 7k]

FBI Agent Alex Ovechkin doesn’t mind working with others. He even likes working with Malkina every so often. What he doesn’t like is being lead by his dick nose. And yet, he can’t stay away from the Gray case.

Wolfborn by waspabi [E, 60k]

A wolfborn on an airplane was either unbearably reckless or a hockey player. Most of the time, both.

if you’re needing something by atrytone [E, 5k]

Nicke hates losing, but he’s grown out of letting it black out everything else in his mind. Alex can’t seem to do the same thing, not when they get on a roll like this, not when nothing he tries seems to make a difference.

Luckily, he has Nicke to help.

touch by itsahockeynight [3k, E]

When Alex does turn up, he walks across the locker room and straight into Nicke’s arms.

Eleven Years by waspabi [E, 2k]

The door inches open. Alex, of course. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled suit. His Conference Champions cap with the sticker still on the brim, the fucking Prince of Wales Trophy still clutched in one big hand.

Nicky/Willie Nylander:

weekender by screamlet [M, 5k]

William couldn’t imagine that Toronto would ever love him the way Washington loved Nicky.

Fingertips Putting On A Show by sunshinexbomb [E, 1.5k]

In which Nicky finds comfort in William during Worlds.

make me wanna hold on (make me wanna be all yours) by Pinkmanite [E, 4.5k]

It’s like Will instantly melts into a well-worn mold, one he’s been in many times before. The switch is flipped and he’s standing up straighter, painting on that pretty smile, the one Nicky loves so much, pentimento on the overworn canvas of his cheeks. He angles his chin so he can look up at Nicky through his lashes, batting them in the way that he knows gets Nicky all worked up.

Nicky/Ovi/Willie Nylander:

the elementary disposal of weighted objects by angularmomentum [T, 14k]

William, at eleven, was primed to tip over the cusp into nascent adolescence. He was big for his age and very competitive, and had no real idea that his obsession with beating Nicke was actually an obsession without caveats, because infatuation was a word he didn’t know.

right there where we stood was holy ground by babygotbackstrom [NR, 4k]

The revamped Tre Kronor line, of Nicky and his soulmates, is mesmerising.

Sasha is jealous again, and it is ugly, even though the team is leading the division.

copenhagen by screamlet [E, 10.5k]

William had already casually texted Nicky a photo of the sunset, a cool little haha bet you don’t have this in GÄVLE, but there was no response. Gävle had Nicky and William didn’t and it was bullshit.

Andre/Nicky and/or Ovi:

say all that you’re feeling by screamlet [T, 43k]

Andre Burakovsky/Alexander Ovechkin, Nicklas Backstrom/William Nylander

Much had happened in the past year, enough that Andre sat on the hill overlooking the lands he had been naive enough to call home until he pledged himself to Lord Laich and left his friends with barely a note. Now he had returned and—Who would want Andre now?A flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the one house he hadn’t yet considered.After a moment’s thought, Andre rode south.

a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me by Pinkmanite [E, 6k]

Nicklas Backstrom/Andre Burakovsky, Andre/Various Caps

Nicke’s got a beer in one hand, uses the other to wrap his arm around Andre’s waist, grips his hip and pulls him in close, as close as he can be.

He tucks his face in the crook of Andre’s neck and hugs him tight, exactly like he’d done on the ice just hours before.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, raw and genuine, just for Andre to hear.

Don’t You Worry Child by Capbuckyang [M, 2k]

Nicky pats his thighs and Andre drops, just like that. It’s not like it was the first time, when the boys all watched in a hushed silence, but it does quiet down a bit.

It isn’t that hard, boy, to like you or love you by Two_for_Slashing [M, 3.5k]

Nicklas couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he had become desirable.

Lop-sided on the Side of the Angels by babygotbackstrom [NR, 2k]

The sun doesn’t make vampires sick anymore but that doesn’t mean Nicklas Backstrom is a morning person.

for the taking by chartreuser, thegraceinyoureyes [E, 4k]

Of course Nicky knows Andre wants him.

Nicky/Ovi/Other:

Sharp Suits and Sly Smiles by SomebodyOwens [T, 5k]

Nicky/Ovi/Holtby

He chased them so hard that they caught him.

A seduction in 5 (+1) parts.

Wayward Mayday by xihale [E, 6k]

Nicky/Ovi/TJ

Nicky and TJ are fucking around, and one of them starts mouthing off about Ovi, how Ovi might join the two of them, how hard he’d hold them down, how hard he’d ride them.

Naturally, Ovi walks in.

intermittent melting by blushingsweet (sunflowered) [E, 3k]

Nicky/Ovi/Tom

“I don’t think he wants to leave,” Nicky says, looking up at him, smug and a little cocky. “Do you want to leave, Tom?”

“No,” Tom says. He’s pressing his hands into his jeans, shifting on the floor. Alex wonders if his knees have started hurting yet; Nicky’s kept him there for a long time.

Andre/Holtby:

-These are all part of a larger Caps ensemble series w/ a variety of pairings, but I’m singling the Andre/Holts parts out, which can fit together w/o reading the whole thing

All We Are Is by somethingnerdythiswaycomes [M, 5k]

Braden notices everything in the dressing room.  He’s seen enough that, sometimes, he can guess what’s brewing before it really erupts in the locker room.  And maybe, because he saw Brooksy and Burky, that’s why he wasn’t able to see himself and Andre.

Just to Please Them [E, 3k]

Andre’s in a tank top and jeans and his neck is tantalizingly bare.  Braden keeps staring at it, and Andre keeps catching him and honestly it’s getting a little embarrassing.

Don’t Think About Why [E, 13k]

Andre Burakovsky/Brooks Laich, Andre/Holtby

“What about Brooksy?” Andre asks quietly.  Nicky’s fingers still on the back of Andre’s head, and then start petting over his curls again a second later.

“He has a reputation,” Nicky says carefully.

Or: Andre tries, and then tries again.

Comfortability [E, 6k]

Andre/Holtby, Andre Burakovsky/Braden Holtby/Nathan Walker, Braden Holtby/Nathan Walker

“How’d you sleep last night?” Braden asks Walks, when they’re all sitting down for breakfast.

“I hope we didn’t keep you up,” Andre says innocently, and Walks chokes on his omelet.

Match Your Weakness With A Name by leyley09 [T, 4k]

In which Braden gets talked into playing spin-the-bottle with his teammates and - surprisingly - doesn’t live to regret it

Words Just Get in the Way by somethingnerdythiswaycomes [T, 8k]

“You’re pretty gone on him, huh?” Mike asks him.  Andre nods.  “And you don’t know anything about him?” Andre nods again, glumly.

“This is the semester,” Mike proclaims with enough conviction that Andre almost believes him. “This semester, you’re getting him.”

 field testby matskreider [M, 1.5k]

When he cracks his eyes open, he sees a rather determined pout coming from Nicklas’ favorite underling, a new guy called Burakovsky. “Sorry, 0070. I was going to offer to debrief you, if you were waiting for Q. He’s, um…going to be busy for a while.”

Andre + Willy and/or Latts:

Kickstart The Fight by MermaidSmiled [T, 9k]

Tom watches as Andre’s knuckles scab over and heal and split again after a hard practice until they’re finally healed, pink and shiny. He watches Andre’s eye blacken where a fist or an elbow caught him and charts the flow of the blood pooling under the skin as the days go by.

It’s something so unfamiliar to Tom, seeing these things he’s used to seeing when he looks down or in the mirror on Andre. He ignores it as best he can.

come under the covers by ghosthunter [M, 4.5k]

Andre meets him at the airport. He has a tan and he looks good. Not that Tom thinks he, himself, does not also have a tan and look good, but he’s not picking himself up at the airport in a foreign country either.

Something So Pleasant About That Place by somethingnerdythiswaycomes [E, 5k]

Tom turns his head to look at Andre, sprawled out on the other bed dicking around on his phone.  “Hey, wanna fuck?”

Andre glances at him, and rolls his eyes.  Tom doesn’t know if he should be offended by how not-surprised Andre is.

Or: Andre and Tom have a ‘List of Cities We’ve Fucked In’

#capsexroomiesby forks[E, 7k]

André doesn’t mind living in his own place now, but sometimes he does miss seeing Mike and Tom being sexy together.  Good thing he has his new camcorder along this time so he’ll be able to watch whenever he wants.

Tale as Old as Time by Kerfluffle [E, 5k]

Andre breaks his hand. Tom provides an assist.

champions by angularmomentum [E, 2k]

Tom had a problem. To be more accurate, Tom had several problems but that was the way of Tom’s life. He often had a few running in tandem. Tonight they included but were not limited to: bruised knuckles (regular problem) forgot his toothbrush (also a regular problem) and a boner for Burky (definitely NOT a regular problem.)

Andre/Other:

conversation superseded by by ghosthunter [T, 1k]

Andre Burakovsky/Christian Djoos

Somewhere along the line, some signals got crossed.

or: andre is dumb

sugar by ghosthunter [M, 4k]

Nicklas Backstrom/André Burakovsky/Marcus Johansson

Nicke’s almost ready to leave, his jacket still off, his tie around his neck. “He’s fucking with you,” Nicke says quietly, coming to stand next to Andre as he ties his own tie. “And you looked at his ass when he walked away.”

So Press Record, I’ll Let You Film Me by Petalpants [E, 3k]

Andre Burakovsky/Brooks Laich

Hey, ur hot! If ur interested in doing sum amateur porn, lmk ;)

Ergo: Homo by R_Gunns [E, 14k]

Andre/Various Caps, Andre/Original Male Characters, Andre/Original Female Characters

In which André no-homos his way through casual sex, bro-snuggles and the discovery of something between his captain and his A, before Braden kindly hits him with a clue bat.

Or: self-discovery is a bitch.

TJ/Carly:

press my nose up to the glass around your heart by nighimpossible [T, 6k]

“I swear to God,” TJ says, covering his face with his hands, “if I get an inkling that a bond is starting to form, I’m truly going to kill you, John Carlson.”

“It’s Carly,” Carlson grins, leaving him behind in the locker room. “And I’d like to see you try.”

toss, turn by alotofthingsdifferent[M, 3k]

John’s neighbor – the one who has a lot of loud, enthusiastic sex – is really, really hot.

John is in so much trouble.

do you even know the miranda rights? by nighimpossible [E, 9k]

Sidney Crosby’s brother swap program is going to be the death of TJ.

Inside My Bones by somethingnerdythiswaycomes [E, 3k]

TJ’s riding the high of winning a Stanley Cup Final Game, before John’s hand comes down hard on his shoulder, gripping him tight through his pads.  He knows what that hold means, what it means when John’s fingers dig into the soft spot just next to his armpit through the gap in his pads.

“You’re lucky we won,” John murmurs in his ear, hot breath fanning over TJ’s neck.

but then you say “please” by Anonymous [E, 2k]

“Quite the charmer,” TJ goads. His feet are a little more under himself now. “Bet you could get anyone you want, kissing them like that.”

“Cut the shit,” John says, but he’s smiling, running a thumb over TJ’s cheek.

TJ/Other:

hold me tight and i’ll sink in by thermocline [NR, 2.5k]

Willy/Latts/Oshie, Oshie/Carly, Oshie/Various Caps

The thing is, it’s happened a few times, during the season and mainly during first round.

TJ’s always been touchy. Not needy. Just better when he’s given touch. He works best when he’s receiving.

i’m a prisoner to my decisions by orphan_account [E, 1.5k]

Oshie/Willy

Lauren makes him forget the things he’s been running from since high school.

Tom makes him remember.

staying put by thegraceinyoureyes[E, 7k]

Nicky/Oshie, Oshie/Various Caps

There are bodies—hands all over him, all around him.

Other:

Covered in the Colors by sunshinexbomb [T, 12k]

Nicklas Backstrom/Mike Green

In which Nicky and Greenie pretend to be soul bonded so they can be road roommates.

Taste of Bavaria by JessamyGriffith[T, 7k]

Philipp Grubauer/Braden Holtby

Philipp Grubauer is a tour guide, resigned to spending yet another day introducing American tourists to the beauty of Bavaria.

Braden Holtby, star goaltender for the Washington Capitals, is looking forward to a nice day seeing the sights of Munich on his vacation.

Happily, neither of them is going to have their day go quite as expected.

drop by savedby [T, 2k]

Devante Smith-Pelly, Ensemble

five times the Washington Capitals welcomed DSP to the team and one time he did it for someone else

Tell The World by sunshinexbomb [M, 10k]

Nicklas Backstrom/Braden Holtby

Three times somebody finds out about Nicky and Braden and one time they decide to tell someone on their own.

feels like summer by Thorne [M, 30k]

The unglamorous fact of the matter is that lifeguarding, particularly at a community swimming pool, is much less about the dramatic rescues and slo-mo dives into the water that Baywatch has tricked people into believing, and much more about janitorial work that’s either tedious or gross, spiked with the occasional scraped knee or elbowed nose or no-holds-barred ice cream vendor death-match in the parking lot.

(Or, Karl’s in love with his best friend, all the local community pools in the Metropolitan county are at prank-war with each other, and also there are ducks.)

Oh, but how were we to know? by orphan_account [NR, 12k]

Tom Wilson/OMC

“How’d it feel skating with Gavin for the first time as teammates?” a reporter asks in the locker room after their first preseason game, played against the New York Islanders. “He cites you as such an integral part of his development into a player. It must be rewarding to see it come full circle.” 

When condemning the whole body by anonissue [E, 6k]

Braden Holtby/Nate Schmidt

There’s more than one way to cure the hiccups, as Braden Holtby has the misfortune to find out.

Wide Open by Ferritin4 [E, 2.5k]

Braden Holtby/Nate Schmidt

Braden opens his mouth again, because he’s glad it’s okay but he didn’t mean no, he just meant give me — give me a minute, give me —

[buttercupbi]

Nygmobblepot Oneshot

for @umbrella-riddles @woss-y and @blot-s

au, set in late s4: sofia has taken over gotham and is hosting a masquerade ball for its criminal elite. however, some powerful people in the city want her dead, and, at least for now, they are all allies. along with some others, ed and oswald have reluctantly teamed up to help take her down, and have managed to sneak inside the ballroom.

Fingers struck the piano keys, and the waltz began. Couples rose from their tables, twirling in time with the music, and soon the room was a whirl of brightly coloured dresses and suits. Everyone’s eyes were on their partners; only two men were looking elsewhere. Unnoticed, Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma danced among the crowd. They only stood out because they blended in, something that was usually impossible for either of them. They were both wearing plain black tuxedos, and shoes polished to a mirror shine. Oswald had given up his hair dye and let his hair go back to it’s natural blond, and Ed had forgone his glasses in favour of contacts. Oswald’s upper face was covered by a grey and white bird’s mask, and Ed had donned a brilliant orange one that looked like a fox. They were simple disguises, but they worked. They hadn’t gotten a single suspicious look all evening, apart from the ones they gave each other.

Edward was leading the waltz, almost dragging Oswald around the dance floor. His eyes were constantly on the crowd, whether to keep himself focused on the plan or to avoid having to meet Oswald’s gaze, neither man knew. Oswald was staring down hard at his shoes, as if he was trying to pin his feet to the ground with his eyes. For once, both men were thinking the same thing:

“Why the hell did I agree to this?”

It had been Lee’s idea, and it was quite ingenious really. Sofia would never suspect all who opposed her to work together, so that is exactly what they must do. At first, it seemed next to impossible. There were too many years of hatred and mistrust between them all, too many wounds that would never quite heal. But quickly everyone realised that the phrase, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”, really applied. They all wanted to rule the city, but none of them would get anywhere close if Sofia was around. So, in the face of rule under Sofia Falcone, or a few weeks of working with people that might kill you given the opportunity… most people choose the latter. It was Gotham, after all. Lee had brought them all together and felt more than a little smug about it, so she quickly declared herself leader. A few eyebrows were raised, but nothing was said. The plan she came up with was simple but effective. Sneak into the ball and make it explode; nothing deadly, just enough to make an impact. She decided to send in just two from their group, as most of the work could be accomplished outside the ballroom. After some deliberation, she sent in the most unlikely pair. The two men she knew that Sofia would never suspect to work together.

Through her reasearch into Oswald, Sofia came across the name Edward Nygma, and the pair’s brief period of bliss. However, brief is the key word. From her perspective, things just went downhill for them, and went downhill quickly. The bigger half of their relationship seemed to consist of betrayal and murder and pain, so she quickly assumed that’s all there was left.

But love is a strange thing, that doesn’t really care how you want to feel, or what you should be feeling. It just stays there, a constant in your life. It always is, until one day, it is not. Neither man had reached that day yet, although both thought the day has come and gone.

There should be nothing left to say between them. And yet, there was. There was still a lump in Oswald’s throat that formed whenever he looked into Ed’s eyes, and Ed still had an instinct to reach out and comfort Oswald when he looked distressed. Oswald still knew that Ed took his tea lukewarm with just a drop of milk and three sugars, and Ed could tell if Oswald was about to snap before anyone else even noticed he was angry. Sofia didn’t know this, of course. She assumed that she was safe. Her security could easily take down Oswald if he arrived at the ball uninvited, and he would die here, alone, as she thought no one would be insane enough to help him. Pity she had never met Edward Nygma.

The plan was simple: sneak into the ball, blend in, mingle a little, dance. Drink champagne without a drop ever making it to your throat, and eat canapés only from plates that they’d seen other people eat from. Drop tiny nanite explosives in every potted plant, expensive vase and crack in the wall. Mingle some more. Actually drink some champagne, just for the nerves, Lee. Dance again. Avoid each other’s eyes.

And so far, the plan was working. Lucius Fox, with a little pleading from Bruce and a little threatening from Barbara, had hacked into the mansion’s security cameras. He had complete control over where they were looking, and was manoeuvring them away from Ed and Oswald every time they decided to plant an explosive. Jim and Harvey, having finally made up, assembled a team of trustworthy cops in order to get all of the innocents away from the bombs. Tabitha and Barbara tackled the security. A smile, a wink and bedroom eyes from one of them would distract a guard long enough to let the other subdue them and cart them away. Then they were replaced with one of Jim and Harvey’s team. Bruce and Selina were there, looking every bit the cute teen couple. Their job was to distract Sofia when she turned up, and to generally keep an eye on Edward and Oswald, to make sure they didn’t cause a scene. Lee, along with Alfred and Lucius, ran the control room. She had sent one of her patients from the Narrows to Sofia’s orphanage weeks before, and they had managed to get in contact with Martine. They gave him a note from Oswald, and that was all it took to convince him to find and steal Sofia’s schedule for the ball. Everything was running smoothly. The only variables were Ed and Oswald.

“You stood on my foot.”

Those were the first words Oswald had spoken to him all night. Ed sighed and muttered where Oswald could shove his foot, prompting a swift kick to his left ankle, and a muffled snicker from Lee in his earpiece. Ed scowled and muted himself from Lee, continuing to drag Oswald around the dance floor. His footwork didn’t improve, and they narrowly avoided another couple, and bumped into several waiters. At this, Oswald spoke up again.

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Despite himself, Ed blushed scarlet.

“It’s not my fault that I’m not a world champion at the waltz, Oswald” he replied, sounding far less annoyed than he wanted to, “Not all of us were taught bloody ballroom dancing as a child, you know.”

Oswald pursed his lips tight, remembering the time he had shown Ed his old family photo albums.

“Maybe not, but most civilised people can move their feet in a square pattern, Ed”, he whispered, aware of the prying eyes and ears.

Ed’s grip suddenly tightened around his waist, and he pulled him close, so that his lips were resting just at Oswald’s ear. He deftly reached up, and muted Oswald on Lee’s side too.

“Well, Oswald,” he began, “I thought you’d know better than anyone just how uncivilised I can get.”

No sooner than Ed had finished his sentence that Oswald felt the sharp pinch of a knife against his stomach. He kept the panic out of his movements and voice, but his laboured breathing gave him away.

“Oh, I know Ed. But I also know that you’d have to keep me this close to stab me without anyone noticing; the blood would definetly leak onto your new suit. And you so hate washing.”

Ed grinned and spun Oswald around, glad to finally be getting a reaction out of him. He hated being ignored.

“You’re right. The dance floor is perhaps not the best place for this. Maybe later,” he relented, closing the knife and slipping it into his pocket. Then he winked at Oswald.

Your move.

Oswald hid a smile at this offer of a cat and mouse game. It reminded him of breakfasts in the mansion, where he and Ed would sometimes act out interrogations that Oswald would be having later that day. Stolen money, an attack on his staff, GCPD drama, betrayal. The last one was Oswald’s favourite to act out, as the person who betrayed him was always some underling that was nothing but a name on the payroll to him. He could do whatever he wanted to them with not even the slightest hint of remorse. Oswald never would have dreamed that the man who pretended to betray him every breakfast, the man he trusted so completely, would one day betray in real life, just by not showing up for dinner.

Oswald immediately shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to get back to the task at hand. They had to be adults about this. And Oswald was trying, he really was trying, but it was so hard to keep a level head when Ed was pressed this close to him. He hadn’t loosed his grip since issuing that threat and Oswald couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want to. He tried to calm his breathing, but every inhalation just pressed his chest even closer against Ed’s, and he could feel his heart in his throat. Every time Ed exhaled, his breath tickled at Oswald’s ear, and it took everything Oswald had not to react to it. He knew that if he looked into Edward’s eyes he would surely explode. With every stumbling movement it seemed that the gap between them grew smaller, and it soon it would become so small that he would have to rest his head against Ed’s shoulder. He shivered at the thought. Oswald needed a distraction, and fast. Thankfully, Ed lead him to bump against the buffet table again, and an idea jolted him back to his senses.

“Let me teach you how to dance”, he muttered, finally meeting Ed’s eyes. They were round with surprise, and he could see the question in them before it came out of his mouth.

“What’s in it for me?”, he whispered back, lightly running his fingers along Oswald’s neck. The discomfort he was causing his former friend clearly amused him.

Oswald pursed his lips and tried to stay calm as the pinkness in his cheeks threatened to give him away. He took a deep breath and replied in an even voice,

“Learning a valuable skill, for a start.”

The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched upward despite himself. It was such a tempting offer. But what would saying yes mean for them?

“For a start, huh?”, he mused, spinning Oswald around again, grinning at the frustration in his eyes. “What’s the finish?”

Oswald couldn’t help rolling his eyes at Ed’s latest attempt to confuse him. It was annoying at first, and now it was just amusing. He thought that he had him right in the palm of his hand. Oswald tried to keep the fondness out of his gaze and just shook his head at the other man.

Two can play at that game.

“Wait and see, Eddie”, he smiled.

Oswald took control of the dance, leading Ed around the floor in the proper movement, much to the relief of the waiters and nearby couples. Ed was too shocked to react, and so, allowed it to happen, simply trying to keep up with Oswald’s pace. He seemed to be in his element, almost gliding around the floor like a swan on the water. His bad leg offered up no hinderence, and he waltzed around the dance floor with a true smile on his face that threatened to split Ed in two. Ed tried to focus on something, anything else, but the ballroom just melted away, leaving him and Oswald alone.

It was terrifying. He felt like a fish out of water, finally failing at something that Oswald excelled at, and god it made him feel small. Anxiety started crushing him, choking him, as he stumbled over his own feet yet again. Oswald immediately picked up on this; and squeezed Ed’s arm tight.

“Focus on me”, he murmured, slowing down their pace, “Breathe in, and out, and know that everything is ok. I’m here, I’ll always be here.”

Despite himself, Ed followed Oswald’s instructions, and took a deep breath. He instantly felt better, but turned red at this reminder of how just well Oswald knew him.

“Thank you, Oswald”, he replied, letting his friend’s name leave his lips without malice for the first time in a long time.

“You’re welcome, Edward”, he said, and just like that, his name was no longer an insult.

The pair both breathed out a sigh of relief. A river had been crossed, now all they could do was move onto the next one.

“Follow my lead”, Oswald commanded, and took off once more, leading Ed, this time with more care, behind him.

“Make a box with your feet, in a pattern of eights. You’re good with patterns, you know them. You can do this.”

Ed swallowed loudly, and tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice as he spoke.

“My father would have killed me on the spot for this.”

Before Oswald could respond, Ed took charge of the dance again, repeating the pattern in his head until his feet got the picture and danced along. Oswald had many questions clogging up his mind, but rightfully decided that this was not the time or place to ask them. He simply sank into the dance, his feet barely touching the floor as he fell into step with Ed. The other man had picked it up pretty quickly, and Oswald couldn’t stop himself from smiling as it quickly became clear that they were dancing better than anyone else there. That was when he decided to let go. Let his worries, his pain, and sorrow go. Right here, right now he was living. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore; Oswald allowed Ed take him anywhere he pleased on this dance floor. He went right, Oswald went right. He sped up, Oswald sped up with him. They became one with the song, with the dance, and with each other. They continued like that until they had to separate, though Oswald was sad to be away from Ed’s warmth. When the song ended the chatter of the other couples filled their ears, and the ballroom rematerialised. He couldn’t help but smile at Ed, and Ed smiled back at him, filled with joy. They stood like that for a few moments, simply being together, until the crackle of Lee’s voice in their earpieces broke the spell. Oswald unmuted himself and sighed quietly, motioning for Ed to do the same. Lee’s voice filled his ear, panicking and broken. Ed’s face drained, and he stared at Oswald with a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Bruce and Selina were gone.

And Sofia was coming.

[lazy-bird-fanfics]

How many doctors before it’s a hospital?

A fanfiction where the team needed a “genius” while Reid was in prison. 

BAU + OC Dr. Fiona Lester (AJ/Fee)

Word count: 2,870 

TW: There is a touch of angst but that’s it 

I don’t know what category this belongs in... fluff? angst? none at all? no one gets together but that’s okay 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Luke” Fiona panted out, “Luke, please” sweat dripped down into her eyes, blurring her vision. 

“So close, Fee, c’mon… little faster now.” Luke Alvez had much better endurance and could go longer and harder than Fee but then again that’s why they were together. 

“I - I can’t…” Fee barely breathed out. 

“Yes you can…” Luke was also breathing harder now, having picked up the pace to push them further. Fiona felt her legs wobble and shake. How much longer? She thought to herself as if she hated every second of this. She knew full well what she was getting into and genuinely loved it, she loved the pain. 

Luke let out a cry of victory followed shortly by Fiona. 

“Did we really have to run five miles?” Fee asked as she slumped to the ground next to the car. Pouring water on her face. 

“Do you want to pass the fitness test or not?” 

“The test is a mile and a half…” 

“Wanna pass the mile ya gotta run two,” Luke reached down to pull his “trainee” up from the cement to stretch, “C’mon gotta stretch it out before we move on to push ups.” 

“You are kidding.” Fiona stated as if she had just read a correct answer out to a teacher. 

“No, I am not. You need to do at least 14 push ups to earn a single point on the test Fee, you can barely do ten.” Luke seemed genuinely concerned. 

“I’m not… not going to be an agent, I’m just a consultant who needs field clearance…” With Reid in prison the BAU needed a resident genius to help out with the finer details, and sure Fiona wasn’t technically a genius but she was 25 years old with a doctorate degree in cultural anthropology and a bachelor degree in psychology, so close enough. The thing is, she isn’t in the FBI. But the BAU knows how to bend the rules to stop crime. So here she is, training with Luke Alvez to keep her place on the team. 

“Well, you have two weeks to get that clearance Fiona, so get down and push up, I’ll do ‘em too.” The first half of his sentence came out a bit harsh but he softened up a bit to encourage her. 

That is how training had gone until the day of the test when Fiona passed with flying colors. (“Push ups could’ve been better but you’re safe enough to get out there with us!”  Luke stated as she collapsed into his after the test.)  For three months Fiona worked alongside the best of the best: the BAU. In that time she earned the nickname AJ, Alvez Junior. She was like his shadow, he was a big brother to her, a role model, a mentor. For three months she was embraced by her new team all the while witnessing their grief as they deal with the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. She wanted him to be innocent for the team’s sake… but the evidence was damning, and he would make her role null, she would no longer be needed. The evidence was damning… until it wasn’t and Garcia could prove Lindsey was at the crime scene. 

And that is where Fiona Lester’s story with the BAU really begins. 

Spencer had not been proved innocent yet but he was secretly working with the team, getting clearance to enter the bullpen just not to go out into the field. 

“Good morning!” Spencer chimed as cheerily as he could as JJ entered the round table room. 

“Ah, boy wonder! You are back and I Love You!” Garcia hugged him tightly. One by one the room filled up and things felt normal for Spencer again. 

Normal until everyone cheered at the sight of a shorter, bushy haired, girl. 

“AJ! Good morning, doll face!” Garcia shuffled her way to the door to hug the girl who looked like a baby next to all the other agents. 

“Hey Fee, coffee?” Luke offered up the second cup of coffee he was holding. 

All the agents usually greeted each other. But not like this. And Garcia being the first to hug and welcome a newbie? What was happening? Spencer was at a loss for words. 

The girl took her seat next to him, offering a kind smile as she introduced herself. 

“I’m Fiona - er, Dr. Lester, I guess is what I’m professionally called.”

 “AJ?” Spencer asked, ignoring her outstretched hand completely. 

“Alvez junior… guess I’m a lot like my mentor.” Fiona spoke softly and slowly, lowering her hand and looking into her coffee. 

This is the angel everyone has been fawning over?  

“So. We have another rough one.” Garcia began. It was about as rough as rough could get. Three young children had been found dead in various parks throughout a city. It was horrible. 

“Wheels up in 20,” Prentiss said, “Oh and Lester you will be in direct correspondence with Reid the whole time.” 

Great, Fiona thought, I really am just his stand in…

Huh, Spencer began, she is my replacement… 

“Yes, ma’am.” Fiona said brightly to Emily before turning to Reid, who had daggers in his eyes, 

“Call you on the jet.” Fiona quickly looked away and collected her things before shoving them into… a shoulder bag, really? Next thing I know her socks won’t match. Spencer quickly glanced at her ankles… low and behold, one green and one blue. If looks could kill, Spencer would’ve just shot Fiona in the back as she walked out the door. 

“To my liar!” Garcia called as she held a hand out for Reid. 

Despite the tension tangible from the second they laid eyes on each other, Reid and Fiona worked oddly well together. He intentionally threw difficult words her way to prove dominance, a poor habit picked up due to recent events, only to be taken off guard that she was able to not only keep up with him but also helpfully contribute to his thoughts and ideas. The case was solvable in two days with no extra deaths. A record feat.  “Cheers to a job well done! And cheers to my boy wonder being back in our arms, and to Dr. AJ the Fairy Princess who kept him on his toes with her insight!” Garcia spoke as she poured everyone a glass of champagne. 

“Are you old enough to drink?” Rossi joked handing a glass to Fiona. 

Spencer let out a laugh, finally, it wasn’t him on the receiving end of baby jokes. Cheers to the end of an era, he thought before sipping from his cup. 

The team embraced her like she belonged there. And maybe she did. Does. But that doesn’t stop Spencer from feeling the pain of being gone for three months only to arrive home to see his spot had been kept warm by someone that didn’t look ready to leave. He felt the pain deep in his chest, the pain of rejection and replacement. Would they really want him after the trial? Did prison change him into someone new? Could pre-prison Spencer ever be back? He gulped down the rest of his drink quickly.

As Spencer began to excuse himself he caught Rossi talking to Prentiss. 

“She can get fully certified, be an agent. It would be so easy.  A consultant who is field certified… what is Spencer other than that?” Reid shoved his way past JJ and went to the restroom. 

“What was that about?” JJ asked Luke who had been nearest. 

“I don’t think he’s taking Fee’s presence too well...” Luke leaned in to whisper.  “Nonsense… Spence isn’t the jealous type.” JJ asserted. 

“Maybe not before.” Luke replied before going to thank Garcia for the drinks and of course her hard work too. 

JJ was puzzled. Was he really jealous of Fiona?  

Angry and annoyed, Spencer sent Fiona email after email… 

Dr. Lester, I think you’ll find this helpful… Dr. Lester, if you could read pages 60-500 I think you’ll find the lesson imperative…  Dr. Lester, if you could get away from my family and give me back what is mine… Dr. Lester, if you find you are struggling with profiling, might I suggest this useful book? 

Her weekend was hell, or so he hoped. 

“Good morning, Dr. Reid!” Fiona pranced into the room, handing him a coffee, “I really appreciate all the resources you gave me, I feel so much better going into the field equipped with the info,” She peered into his hands and saw Crime and punishment, “C and P! I adore Dostoevsky, read it about three times.”  She’s a morning person… Reid thought, before replying with a simple smile and a ‘glad I could help’ before returning to his book. 

Fiona, who had completely missed his intentions of annoying her, really thought that he had been trying to bury the hatchet with all the emails and was confused and hurt at his lack of interest in talking to her. I really thought bringing Dostoevsky into it would make him like me… maybe he could tell I’d only read it twice… 

Another day, another case, another arrest, another victory. But this time, the team could tell Fiona and Spencer were not at all getting along. 

“Something is up with AJ, I’ve never seen her so hostile and quiet.” Tara pointed out to Emily on the jet. Fiona could be seen sitting far from Luke, or anyone else for that matter, earbuds shoved into her ears, reading a book. 

“She’s usually so lively and happy, ever since…” Emily trailed off, not wanting to voice what everyone was thinking. 

“I mean, how many doctors can we have before we’re a hospital?” Rossi joked in a serious voice. Tara and Emily shared concerned glances before disbanding to hopefully catch a nap before landing.  “JJ, can you talk to Reid about-” Emily trailed off as JJ began, 

“Fiona…” 

“Yeah…” 

“Luke should talk to her… they’re as close as can be.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” Emily gave JJ a reassuring arm squeeze and a smile before turning to find Luke. 

“Spence… you in here?” JJ peered into the round table room looking for Reid. 

“Yeah, what’s up.” He sounded exhausted and grumbley. 

“Is everything okay?” At this question Spencer cast a dark look at JJ. How could things be okay? 

“Silly question, I mean with Fiona.” JJ tried to cover her mistake. 

“Is that what you call her? She has about a hundred names.” Spencer was cold and distant. 

“You know how everyone is…” JJ tried to keep it light and happy but she could see it wasn’t going to work. Spencer refused to look up. “You don’t have to be afraid, you don’t have to fight, be defensive, you’re safe now.” 

“You don’t know what it's like JJ, to come back. Everyone said they believed me. But they replaced me. You replaced me. A backup plan in-case I wasn’t innocent? Yeah, that shows me how much faith you really had in me.” Spencer’s word cut like a knife. 

“Spence… Spence I didn’t, she’s not.” JJ was at a loss for words, because well, his statement held some truth to it. They couldn’t move on without a substitute for his brain, they needed someone and fast, but they couldn’t get rid of her until after his trial, and even then, she was good for the team. 

“Yeah, JJ. Yeah, she is. You can’t tell me otherwise.” Spencer got up, gathered his files and walked through the door, leaving JJ alone. 

Things were going somewhat better with Luke and Fiona. 

“He doesn’t like me, I can tell. And I don’t know why everyone is so in love with him. I was told he was nice, smart, sweet,  innocent. He could’ve killed me a hundred times over since I’ve been back. I just, how can I believe that man is innocent when he’s doing all he can to sabotage my job here?” 

Luke waited patiently for Fiona to finish ranting before trying to convince her otherwise. She wasn’t as hurt as Spencer was but she knew where she stood with him. 

“Maybe you to just need to really hear each other out.” Luke tried to make her see reason. 

“What is this? High school? Are you going to make us play seven minutes in heaven or hell or whatever?” 

“Okay team, this case will be a little different.” Emily had a plan when everyone returned for a new case a few days later. “Garcia we need you in the field with us, Spencer and Fiona, you two will need to stay here and create a geoprofile, a timeline, and a cultural background of the area.” 

“Stay?” Fiona’s head shot up. 

“Yes. Now this case is difficult, but we can do this. Wheels up in 20.” Emily stated as she left the room, leaving no time for arguments. Beside Garcia’s protests, everyone just went with it. 

Seven minutes in hell… Damn it Luke. 

Instantly, Fiona knew what was up. This was so they could work out their problems. 

“You can get started on the cultural profile because I don’t do that and I will start the geoprofile.” Spencer tossed a file to Fiona and got out a map of the region. 

“A cultural ‘profile’ assesses which crimes different upbringings tend to yield more of. Family dynamics, village or nuclear, selfish or for the benefit of others-” 

“I know what it is. That is your area of expertise.” Spencer cut off Fiona, not wishing to engage. 

“Why do you hate me?” Fiona asked casually as if asking if it were going to rain that day. Spencer was impressed with her bravery. 

“You are my replacement. You… you took what was mine.” Spencer’s words faltered a bit at the end. 

“I didn’t... “ she was going to stop there but kept talking, “mean to. I was just supposed to consult on one case, involving immigrants, but I proved to be useful I guess. Luke took me under his wing and I was cleared for the field. I might as well stay until I am no longer needed.” 

“I’m out of prison. You are no longer needed.” Spencer began circling spots on his map. 

“You have your trial still.” Fiona tried to keep an accusatory tone out of her voice but Spencer heard it. 

“You don’t believe I’m innocent.” Spencer seemed to say this more to himself. It had just occurred to him. Here was a newbie, she didn’t know him as the pretty boy, or the boy wonder, she knew him as Spencer Reid, murder suspect, fresh out of prison. And he was being mean to her. He was not showing that he was incapable of this crime, he was showing that he was capable of being spiteful and hurtful.  “No, I don’t.” Fiona’s voice was soft. She felt bad. 

“I - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be giving you such a hard time… I - I was being territorial.  You’re good for this job.” Spencer stopped working and really looked at Fiona. Her soft skin, soft eyes, large, bushy hair… She really was the new baby of the team and he was bullying her. Spencer felt his heart break in two as he saw her eyes began to shine with tears. In a blink, Fiona hardened her face, she was going to prove to him that yes, yes she did deserve the job. 

“I know.” She said before diving back into the files. The two worked in silence until it got to the timeline. 

“Do you want - I can leave.” Spencer didn’t make eye contact but it was less in a you-stole-my-family way and more in a I-really-hurt-you-and-I’m-ashamed way… 

“Er… no. You can stay and help. It’ll get done quicker.” Fiona decided to put aside the differences and prove to herself that she was better than a workplace feud. If you could call this a feud.  

The two had to put their heads together once they both pointed out something was off with the fish left in one of the houses... 

“How’s it going you two?” Emily called a few hours later when Spencer and Fiona had called it a day and ate takeout while talking about books, waiting for a returned called from the team. 

“Great! Actually the work got done so much quicker. Typically speaking two differing brains should hinder each other but Fee and I seem to be able to bounce ideas off each other really well!” Spencer’s old, boyish cadence and cheer had returned to his voice, and Emily heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Wond-” She began only to be cut off by Fiona. 

“We actually realized that the order of home invasions was wrong, when assessing receipts we can see that the Miller’s bought fish on Sunday and if you take into account the speed at which fish rots, their murder had to the second! There is no way two people who regularly buy cleaning supplies would let fish sit out that long!” 

“Oh? Well that-” 

“Doesn’t actually change the profile, we know, but it is the accurate order of events.”  Spencer interjected. 

“Thank you guys, thank you so much. I’ll tell the team!” Emily finally got a word in before hanging up. 

“We did it!” Emily ran into the office with the rest of the team, “They both sounded like their old selves!” The team gave a big cheer and Emily reported the maps and profiles back to everyone so they could finish up and catch the bad guy. 

“It looks like you can have at least three doctors before it turns into a hospital.” Tara smiled as her and Rossi got back to work. 

[differentjokes4differentfolks]

WTFIT Chap 12

A.N. AND FINALLY WE GET TO THE NIGHT IT’S BEEN LEADING UP TO!!! As always, you guys, enjoy!! ^-^

AO3

A tuxedo is hardly suitable armor for tonight, but it’s the most inconspicuous one when Bruce Wayne is to appear at the Gotham City Gala instead of Batman. Alfred plans on driving him and Tim to the observatory, Bruce knowing he needs to be ready for cameras, Tim able to just slip away in the distraction. It sounds easy. In theory.

When they arrive at the observatory they’re swarmed by cameras, Alfred opening the door to the car and Bruce blinking at the flash, still not used to the blinding lights even after years of this. Maybe I should wear sunglasses when I get out of the car next time. Tim doesn’t seem to care, flashing smiles this way and that, posing just slightly so that it looks casual. Bruce almost has to pull him along after himself.

“You think they got my good side?” he jokes, nudging Bruce.

“I think they got all your sides,” Bruce says dryly, glancing around. “We’re not here for photo ops.”

Tim pouts. “Fine.” He pulls out his phone, taking a selfie. Bruce can’t help but roll his eyes, Tim noticing. “It’s for my insta.”

“Does anyone even follow you?” Bruce asks, striding over to the center of the building and leaning over the railing. He knows he should be mingling, but his mind is too alert for mindless commentary. If someone comes over he’ll chat, but what he’s really waiting for is the okay from Dick that they’re in the building.

Tim follows him, clicking away at his phone screen. “A couple thousand. They like my hair, I think.” Bruce laughs. Tim looks affronted, but it doesn’t take long before he gives in and laughs along with him.

The scene around them is brightly lit, but still almost ethereal in the naturally dark observatory. People in all different color clothes decorate the room, suits and dresses galore. People flaunting what they have, conversing and swaying to the soft music in the background and holding crystal glasses in their hands, perfectly poised. There’s an auction later on tonight, where most of the money with be raised.

Tim slips away, ready to investigate while still looking like just another visitor, leaving Bruce alone to try to distract if he needs to. Bruce figures whenever Dent’s plan is supposed to be revealed, it’ll be around or during the auction. So he just needs to kill time. Shouldn’t be too hard.

He sees Gordon out the corner of his eye. None of the party-goers look too concerned, Bruce figures living in Gotham has desensitized them to danger, at least a little. An evacuation would lead to uproar, but he’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.

*

“Jason, could you drive this car any slower?” Dick feels like he’s part of his seat now, the speed pulling him back. Jason just smirks.

“Too fast for you, Grayson?” He pushes on the pedal a bit more, the car jolting faster. “I love this car, it doesn’t even roar if you stomp on the pedal. No wonder Bruce can sneak around everywhere. it’s so freaking quiet.” He swerves onto a side road, Dick grabbing onto the door handle.

“Jesus Christ, slow down!” He’s got nothing against going fast, but Jason is being absolutely criminal with his speeds. It’s a wonder he can even see anything that blurs past them. Cars beep as they see the Batmobile, whether in anger or appreciation he can’t tell. He can’t even see the expressions on people’s faces. Holy hell, if Jason doesn’t end up killing them both he’s going to strangle him.

At least Jason has the foresight not to park next to the observatory and instead hide it in a nearby grove. Dick’s legs wobble just the slightest bit as he exits the car, leaning on the vehicle. He waits for his heart-rate to return to normal, for his sight to slow down with the rest of the world. Jason jumps out laughing.

“Like a rollercoaster. If Bruce ever doesn’t want this baby, I’m taking it.” He taps the Batmobile, smoothing his hand over the shiny paint job. He glances over at Dick. “You okay?” His voice almost sounds concerned.

Dick holds his hand up to his mouth, keeping his nausea at bay. “‘M fine.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We should go.”

“You sure you can walk?” Jason asks with a snort. Dick shakes his head to clear it, standing up straight.

“Yeah.”

The observatory glows from here, a few hundred feet away. He’d love to take Barb to a ball sometime soon, she’d look great in a dress. Maybe when they don't have work to do.

Tonight is unusually warm, Dick barely feeling the cold winds through his suit. And Jason, well, he’s comfortable as can be in his leather coat. They run over to the building, Jason deciding to make a little conversation.

“How long has Tim been Robin?”

“I think he started a few months after you...left.” To be honest, the actual events that happened while Jason and Bruce were in the Middle East are hazy to Dick. First he’d heard that Jason had died, then that he was in the hospital, then that he was fine but wouldn’t be coming home. He still hasn’t figured out what the truth is.

“And he’s good?” Jason says, voice neutral.

Dick nods, an awkward move since he’s running. “Yeah. Bruce doesn’t really trust him for anything too big, ever since the incident. I guess he wants Tim to have more experience before tackling a big challenge.”

Jason slows a bit. “Makes sense, but how does Tim take it?”

“He doesn’t complain too much, but I know he’s itching for some adventures of his own. Why?”

Jason shrugs. “Just wondering. He seems nice. You know, from what I’ve seen.”

“You should hang around more,” Dick says. He hasn’t seen Jason in at least a year, no wonder he’s missed out on the new member of the Wayne family.

“Maybe,” Jason doesn’t sound all that convinced, upping his pace again so that he’s ahead of Dick. The conversation is apparently over, leaving Dick to realise the younger man has basically turned into Bruce. Broody, stubborn, and ‘independent’. To be fair, he has a better sense of humor, but the fact of the matter is he and Bruce are more alike than not. He should just come home.

The duo nears the back door to the observatory, opening it quietly to look at what waits for them inside. Jason slips in, Dick following and activating his comm.

“Batman? We’re in.”

*

There’s the go ahead.

“I need you to scope out the area,” Bruce utters quietly. His eyes flicker as he takes in the whole room, making sure no one is in hearing range. He can’t see Tim anymore, and he wants nothing more than to sneak off, don his batsuit and get into the action. This job might wear him out, but he’d rather do that than go to glittery balls. Apparently star themes mean deck out the decorations with sparkles. It’s a little blinding, actually. Too garish.

As it stands, for now he’ll be protecting the wealthy in his three-piece. He’s made a little conversation, friendly banter, rumours of what’s supposed to be at the auction, what the fundraising goal is. The better the items the more money raised, but nobody really knows what’s up for grabs. Strange.

“Bruce Wayne.” He turns to see Gordon nearing him. He inclines his head in greeting.

“How goes the surveillance, commissioner?”

Gordon gives a one-shoulder shrug, his body language tense. “Nothing’s happened so far.” He stands out from the rest of the crowd, dressed in his usual uniform. A hand rests on his hip, lighting on the gun he always wears. He’d be crazy not to, but the sight of it always rubs Bruce the wrong way. “How’s the party?”

“Nothing’s happened so far,” Bruce says with a smile. Gordon spares a one syllable laugh, likely the only time he’ll laugh tonight. “How’s Barbara?”

“Busy. Lots of schoolwork, you know.” Gordon cards his fingers through his hair. “It’s funny, she almost seems to work more than I do.”

Bruce laughs, though he wonders when, if ever, Barbara plans on telling her father just what she does. He has to be getting suspicious at this point. But he won’t be the one to say anything. It’d be one more thing on Gordon’s list of worries, his daughter helping fight some of Gotham’s deadliest criminals. And judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Bruce figures he should let Gordon focus on this tonight.

He says goodbye and moves on, picking up a glass of champagne as he goes. The moment he does he realises he probably shouldn’t drink anything that could slow him down, offering it to someone he passes. The more he glances at his watch the slower time seems to pass him by, so he decides to walk out onto the balcony for some fresh air.

The stars peek out from behind passing clouds, threatening rain or snow later tonight. The wind rushes past Bruce as he leans over the banister, a telescope to his right. A couple stands there, peering through the eyepiece, shivering in their formal attire. The woman’s wrap does nothing to keep her warm, a thin silk that threatens to blow away. It’s almost scenic.

He closes his eyes and just listens to the people around him, hoping time passes faster. He’d do anything to be with the others, actively doing something instead of just watching for danger on the sidelines, making sure nothing happens up on the main floor. He knows they’re capable, but he hates relying on others regardless.

“Bruce Wayne?” He purses his lips slightly before turning around, a fake smile on his face.

“Yes?” Oh. It’s a solicitor.

The man goes into his spiel of what he’s advertising, Bruce looking at him quizzically and tuning him out best he can while still maintaining an air of politeness. Dick updates him occasionally, Bruce humming and trying to look like he’s agreeing with the man in front of him. His hands clench just a little, a couple of times he’s tried interrupting, he even tries to cut him rudely off at times, but it’s futile. He’s trapped by a salesman on steroids.

His saviour comes in a crisp white suit, a purple flower on his lapel. Bruce flashes Joker a grateful smile, thinking he’ll steer the man away, provide a means of escaping with a clever joke.

No such luck.

Instead the clown decides to drape himself over Bruce, nipping at his ear. “Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice saccharine. The annoying solicitor steps back, eyes wide. Bruce has no choice but to hold Joker, no way he’s just going to drop him, even if he is being a nuisance at the moment. He’s going to cause a scene.

“Of course,” he says. “But I’m in the middle of something.” He gestures to the solicitor, who frowns.

“Who the hell are you?”

Joker steps forward, holding his hand out to shake. “John Doe.”

“Right. Isn’t that a name they give unidentified dead people?” The man says skeptically, arms crossed. Joker pulls back with a pout.

“It’s my name.” He looks back at Bruce as if to say Can you believe this guy? He narrows his eyes at the salesman. “Now unless you were selling ways to avoid annoying conversations, I’d leave. My boyfriend and I are busy.” He keeps his arms around Bruce, waiting. Bruce knows if they weren’t at a social gathering in normal clothes the solicitor would be on the floor. As it is, if looks could kill...

The solicitor hems and haws at the situation, Bruce not wanting to comfort him but knowing how intimidating Joker can be, even when he isn’t out terrorising the city. Finally he mumbles an excuse and walks away, shooting a glance at Joker. Bruce breathes out a sigh of relief. He also shoots Joker a look, a mix of curiosity and annoyance, verging more on the side of the former.

“Your boyfriend?” He asks the man, who relaxes his grip.

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” Joker says flippantly. “Don’t like it?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I just didn’t expect it. I like it.”

Joker smiles smugly. “I thought you would.”

“How did you get in?” Bruce asks. This Gala was basically by invitation only, as far as he knows.

Joker’s less than amused by the question. “You don’t honestly think I wouldn’t be able to sneak in, do you? It was easy-peasy.” Bruce focuses on him, his hand lifting up one of Joker’s lapels. “Like the suit?” He places his hand over Bruce’s and flattens it over his chest, where a steady heartbeat pulses under Bruce’s fingers.

Bruce nods appreciatively, noting how it hangs on the clown’s frame perfectly. He doesn’t bother asking where the suit’s from, he doesn’t want to know. “It’s nice. Suits you.”

Joker snickers, keeping his voice quiet so that it isn’t his trademark laugh. “Your puns are awful.” He leans back on the banister, breathing in the cool air. “So, tonight’s the night. You ready?”

“I have to be,” Bruce says, looking out at the crowd. “Anything could happen at this point.”

A half hour to the auction and it feels like the calm before the storm. He’s going to have to just wait at this point, Joker sitting on the narrow railing casually.

A glint catches his eye, a person flipping a coin next to him. He looks up to see the person already looking at him with a grin.

“Nice night, isn’t it? For fireworks?” He says. Any other person would have shrugged it off, maybe commented yes, or how they didn’t know there’d be fireworks tonight. Bruce shrugs, though he’s on immediately put on guard and wants to punch the man in the mouth. The coin gives it away, of course it does. It’s a sign of Harvey’s plans.

“I guess, but I didn’t know there’d be fireworks,” he says, voice air-light. Joker smirks. The man smiles.

“They’re supposed to be explosive, you know what I mean? The main event.”

Bruce maintains his calm demeanor, nodding. “I had a friend who used to do that,” he points out, gesturing to the flipping coin. “Harvey Dent. He’s in Arkham though, right?”

“Didn’t you hear the news? Crazy son-of-a-bitch got out. No one knows where he is.”  The man is terrible at lying, Bruce can hear the joke in his voice.

“I hope Gotham’s safe.”

Joker coughs, trying not to turn it into a laugh. “Batman’ll save us. Always does, right? From those evil, nasty villains.” Bruce elbows him slightly, hoping he’ll knock it off.

“Hm.” The man smiles cryptically. Bruce narrows his eyes slightly, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray. For appearances, again. He takes the tiniest sip, feigning indifference to the man but feeling every bit on edge.

“Anyways, I should get going, this party’s a drag.”

“Aw, what a shame,” Joker says, and Bruce knows he’s fighting not to roll his eyes. “Leaving before fireworks?”

“Never been a fan,” the man says as he walks away. Bruce decides not to follow him, Joker’s grip on his arm tightening.

“I’ve never liked that guy,” he murmurs, taking the glass from Bruce and swirling it. “Too cocky. Harv won’t let me take him out. You’re gonna let him go?”

“Of course not.” He comms Tim, who tells him he’ll make quick work of the man. He’s probably still in his suit, but so long as he isn’t seen he should be fine, Bruce is sure.

A crackling noise comes through the earpiece then, Bruce wincing at the sharpness of it.

“Oracle-”

“Hello, Bruce.”

A chill runs down Bruce’s back. “Harvey.” He edges further away from the crowd, making sure he’s out of earshot.

“Enjoying the gala?”

“Disappointed you’re not here,” Bruce deadpans. Harvey laughs. “How did you escape again?”

“Again? Sorry, Batman, I think you’re confused. Or maybe I pulled a fast one on you.” Bruce can almost see the smirk on the villain’s face, and has never wanted to reach through a phone and throttle someone more. “Anyways, how’s Alfred? A little lonely, I think.”

Bruce’s jaw clenches, his grip on the balcony tight. He doesn’t look at Joker, who he knows is listening intently to what Bruce is saying. “Leave him alone.”

“How about a race?” Dent asks smugly. “You getting here by the time I find the man. Shouldn’t be too hard for the Batman.” There’s a click, and his voice is gone, Oracle’s flooding through.

“He’s not at the manor yet. If you leave now you might be able to beat him there. I’ll warn Alfred.”

Bruce gnaws at his bottom lip anxiously.

“Can’t you let your kids deal with this?” Joker asks, noticing Bruce’s mood. His eyes are clouded over, the way they tend to get on long nights. He’s tense, ready to fight at moments notice. But Bruce shakes his head.

“I don’t want them to deal with everything happening here, not until the worst is over.”

Joker rolls his eyes, dragging Bruce further away from the crowd and into one of the darker halls, where they can’t see the main area. “Bats, they’re old enough to fix this, don’t you think? Let them take care of it.” Bruce listens, and the clown continues, “What about Robin?”

Bruce thinks about it. He could have Tim up on the main floor, nothing to worry about too much...

“Come on, you can’t always be the main hero. Go save your butler, he’s more important. Be selfish, just this once.” Joker’s eyes glimmer in the dark, reflecting like a cats. They focus on Bruce, who knows he’s right. He could trust Tim to do this, he’s been practicing for this for ages. But if something goes wrong… “You’re always taking care of the city, take care of yourself just this time.”

Bruce makes up his mind, albeit with more than a fair share of reluctance. “Alright, fine. Robin could handle this. Let me just check up on how everything else is going.”

*

Jason and Dick sneak past most of the thugs, rushing into the next room, where they find a whole machine rigged to the walls.

“Holy shit,” Jason breathes out. “They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted all of them dead. Bombs and...did we not get all of Crane’s toxin?”

A moderately large beaker of green liquid rests on top of a crate, a pump siphoning out the liquid into what Dick guesses leads to the emergency sprinklers.

“I guess not. It was probably just a diversion, when it comes down to it.” Dick kneels down next to the timer, glancing at the time. 00:45. “This gives us quite a bit of time, actually.” Right up until a few minutes into the auction, if the clock’s right.

“Don’t jinx us, Dick,” Jason warns. He stands near the door, making sure he doesn’t hear anyone stepping too close to where they are. “Here, I’ll disarm it, you stand watch.” He goes over and nudges Dick away from the timer, the latter standing and taking his place at the door. The walls are cold, the lights flickering. The perfect basement atmosphere, Dick thinks.

“I’ve never seen this kind of timer,” Jason mutters. “Sionis must’ve worked overtime to make it.” He pulls out his tablet, plugging it into the dangerous box. “It’s like the world’s deadliest relay. Everyone puts in their part and Dent finishes the race.”

“Not today he won’t,” Dick says. Steps come closer to the door, and he waves Jason away so that nothing seems out of the ordinary. He steps away from the door, and the thug walks in, the door shutting behind him.

“There’s no way I’m staying here while the bomb goes off. It’s a death sentence,” the thug mumbles. He carries his gun lazily, swinging it around like a baseball bat. Dick rolls his eyes, these people aren’t very loyal. But maybe that’s why they’re expendable in the long run. In any case, it’s time for the man to take a little nap. He steps out from behind, covering the thug’s face with his hand until he goes limp in his arms. Dragging him away so that he slumps against a wall, he returns to his spot at the door.

“Babs? I need you to turn off the mechanism for the emergency sprinklers.”

“Sure, but what about the explosives?”

“They’re on timer, Jason’s figuring it out, don’t worry.”

“I’ll send you what I have, Barb,” Jason says through his comm.

“Right. Is everything else alright?”

“So far so good, I’ll update you.” Dick hears a knock on the door.

“Hey buddy, you okay? You been in that room for a while.” Dick leans on the door, preparing his best thug impression.

He meets eyes with Jason, who watches him expectantly, ready to leap if need be. Lowering his voice, he answers. “Yeah, man, sorry. Just taking a break before the Bat shows up, making sure the bomb’s okay.”

There’s a pause. “You sound sick, you sure you’re okay?” Jason muffles a laugh, Dick faking a cough.

“I’m fine, honest. Just got a little cold, I’ll be right out.” He hears receding footsteps and breathes out a sigh of relief. Jason lets out his laugh, shaking his head.

“Nightwing the sick henchman. Amazing.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Dick retorts. “I’m an amazing voice actor.” A glance at his watch. Twenty-five minutes to the auction. So long as the bomb is disarmed in time they’ll be fine.

*

Tim looks back over his shoulder as he traverses the main room of the observatory, weaving around people and sneaking glances at the items behind the makeshift stage at the things being auctioned. A couple times he’s been looked at warningly, so he makes sure not to overstep. Or to overstep when he’s sure no one’s looking. Though he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for. Anything could happen at this point. It’s a pile of fancy vases, jewelry, diamonds... nothing he’s particularly interesting, and nothing he’d count as being out of place. And yet he has a sneaking suspicion.

He makes the mistake of getting caught snooping, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man says gruffly. He scowls at Tim, who shifts back so the hand falls.

“Sorry,” he tries. “I’m just super curious.” He laughs it off, quieting when the man doesn’t reciprocate. He sure doesn’t look like the usual upper-class type. His coat doesn’t fit him right, he’s not clean shaven, his hair is pushed back messily. Dick steps back away from the items, out of the man’s line of sight and away from anyone’s hearing.

“Bruce, some of these people aren’t the usual kind of millionaires. Just saying.” He states it casually, hand in his pocket as though he were just chatting to a friend though a bluetooth earpiece.

“Got it. No sign of Mr. Dent?” Bruce’s voice is just as relaxed, if Tim didn’t know him better he never would have noticed the slight tension in his tone.

“Not yet. Five more minutes and the auction starts, what do you want to do?”

“Well-”

“Haha! We finally disarmed it! Boy, imagine if it had gone off,” Jason pipes up. “Oh hell, I think they heard us. Dick, why didn’t you stop me?” He goes off his comm. Tim doesn’t know whether to laugh or worry about them now.

“Should I go help? I wore my suit under my clothes…”

Bruce sighs, and Tim can tell something isn’t right with him. “Yes. I’ll take care of things up here for now. But be careful, and hurry back. There’s something I need to take care of.” Tim enters the men’s bathroom, slipping off his coat. He doesn’t bother being too careful with his shirt, he can always get a new one later, but he makes sure to takes his mask out of his pocket. He exits the stall, and shoves his clothes into a bag he’d hidden in the small closet just in case. In hindsight, he hadn’t realised just how prepared he was.

Just as he prepares to sneak out someone walks through the door, blinking at him in astonishment.

“You’re Robin, right?” The man’s eyes are wide, not sure if he should move or stay and talk. Tim stops, fidgeting. He puts his hands on the man’s shoulders, switching places with him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, but I gotta go, you know, protect you guys, so I can’t really talk.” He rushes out, still grabbing onto his bag, feeling the man’s gaze still on him. Well that was awkward. Wonder if it’s ever happened to Bruce…

The basement is empty save the men crowding around the door, where he assumes Dick and Jason are defending themselves best they can. Tim purses his lips, they won’t get anything done with the barricade of thugs. He sneaks up to the distracted men, pulling one away easily and knocking him out quickly. It’s not the best move and he knows they’ll realise they aren’t alone anymore. But he figures after the second man he takes out he can hide and cause a distraction away from Jason and Dick. Which is basically what happens.

He slides behind a divider, shifting away silently to avoid getting caught. He does not want to get riddled with bullets tonight. Or any night, come to think of it. Footsteps thud past him, and he glances back to where the door is, seeing Jason slip into the room quietly, staying in the shadows. Tim assumes Dick is taking care of any thugs that might have gotten into the room.

There’s a solitary thug stepping a little too close to him, he decides to kick his feet out from under him, knocking his head back hard against the floor and choosing a different spot to hide. He sees Jason taking care of two, though he notices there are less than before. Maybe they were smart and ran before the bomb exploded. Self-preservation is a good quality in a person, it makes them reliable that way. It also leaves less people to waste energy on, at the moment. He meets eyes with Jason, who drops silently to knock a man to the floor. Dick’s finally left the room to take care of the last two men who’d been frantically waving around their guns, looking a little too trigger-happy for Tim’s liking.

When the coast is clear he walks out, Dick passing out high-fives. Jason complies with a weak hand, Tim returning it with more energy. Now all that’s left is Dent, who Bruce can probably take care of, but not in his fancy suit. He’s probably feeling super antsy just thinking about it.

Tim opens his mouth to talk, but he freezes when he hears a click.

“Don’t move, any of you.” Tim fights the urge to turn and face the thug, Dick watching him. Jason growls. “Put the gun down. Your hands are shaking, you probably can’t even use it.”

A round of bullets goes off, flying right past Tim’s ear, who at this point is barely even breathing.

“You think I can’t? Turn around slowly.”

Tim pivots to face the man, trying to stay expressionless.

“There’s three of us,” Dick states. “Think about it. Take down one of us and two more will pin you down.”

The man’s expression is steely, eyes on Dick. Tim nods just the slightest bit at Jason, who brings a hand up to his ear slowly.

“Imagine if we had a blackout right about now,” he says casually. The man turns to him angrily, but Jason just holds his hands up innocently. Barbara’s voice comes through all of their headsets, Tim smiling just the slightest bit.

“Heads up.”

And then the lights go out.

[wise-girl11]

Part 2: Someone in the Crowd

Characters: Reader and all Marvel's characters!

Summary: [Y/N] is one of the many aspiring actresses who live in Los Angeles in search of the Hollywood dream, earns her living as a waitress while performing a lot of test casting. Bucky is a pianist who lives on the second performances that are presented to him, and his dreams are to have his own club where to pay tribute to the purest jazz. Despite their differences and their different personalities, thanks to a series of events will make their paths cross.

Inspiration: La la land movie

Warning: none? :)

Word Count: 2,418

Tags are at bottom.

Listen it on Spotify!

https://open.spotify.com/album/3GU8BzFEAdFSRjc8jZkL3S

https://open.spotify.com/album/0nQJa9mRvan1HnkwbYuxAN

Video:

https://youtu.be/A7RmBgq4tT4

A/N: Hi there! This is a new series I've been writing. It is based on the movie "La la land". I loved that movie with all my heart, so I want to pay homage by doing this fic.

Most of the dialogues will be based on the movie and will integrate some lyrics of the songs. However, some things I will change them and I will try to include names of actors, series, comics, films of the MCU.

If you want to be tagged just tell me!

Thank you cute and spongy marshmallows!

'I don't speak English very well, but I do what I can. You can tell me my mistakes and I'll check it. I promise. Just don’t be so rude >o<'

<<<Preface Part 1: Another Day of Sun Part 2: Someone in the Crowd>>>

[La la land Bucky Barnes x reader Masterlist]

[Y/N] opened the apartment door and tossed her backpack into the chair. She continued to advance to her room and threw himself face down on the bed, bouncing a few times. Tears threatening to leave the recording studio, came out of her eyes. After a few minutes of self-pitying mourning, [Y/N] decided to go into the shower, because the next day she would have to work. After a good hot bath and aromatic salts, [Y/N] felt better. She came out of the shower wrapped in a towel and defocused the mirror. Her reflection looked sad and with the others swollen, but still hummed the song her aunt sang as a child. A beautiful lullaby, which she later discovered, was "Living on a prayer" by Bon Jovi version Aunt Christine. The green tiles and the pink paint in conjunction with the water vapor made [Y/N] look like a music video, so she smiled at her reflection before being interrupted by Natasha opening the door and saying, "Good heavens, do you want to open one window? This is like a sauna " [Y/N] laughed and said: "I was trying to give you a entry"

[Y/N] waved at Natasha's cheek and noticed that she was wearing a nice, elegant red dress.

"Well thank you," Natasha said with a smile to the sink.

"[Y/N]!" Shannon said. "How was your audition?" She exclaimed before putting a fry in his mouth.

[Y/N] did not say anything but smiled sadly at her friend.

"Yes, just like mine" the blonde replied, staring at another cheese fry. "Who was? Hela or Alexandra?" Shannon asked.

"I don't know who they are," [Y/N] replied with a shrug.

She didn’t want to talk about the interview and her failure.

"They're terrible”  Shannon said.

Suddenly they heard some heels in the corridor where they were Shannon and Mia. It was Wanda.

"Why is there a convention in the bathroom? "Asked Wanda, smiling.

"We're talking about [Y/N] audition," Shannon said, swallowing the last fry in the bag.

"Two minutes girls," exclaimed Natasha enthusiastically. "[Y/N], you come, right?" And even though it was a question, it sounded more like a statement.

"I can’t Natasha, I have work tomorrow" [Y/N] said tiredly.

"What?!" said Natasha, Shannon and Wanda at once.

[Y/N] gave a forced smile and went into her room.

[Y/N] took her pajamas and put them on. Flannel and cotton after a shower were always good. Maybe after the girls left, she would order food at home and watch Christmas movies on TV. It was not the best way to spend Christmas Eve but it was better than nothing. When [Y/N] was looking for the restaurant menu, someone knocked on her door. It was Natasha. She entered the room and said:

"I'm sorry that today you didn't do well in your audition, but I have four papers in my mailbox that would be perfect for you and I'll suggest you promise. But now you have to come. It'll be fun!" Natasha concluded, raising her arms. She was an up-and-coming actress and had dozens of proposals for both television and film. She was beautiful and had started from a very young age, which had made the way a little more enjoyable.

"No," replied [Y/N], folding her arms.

"It could be," Natasha contradicted, heading for her closet.

"No, it will not be. There will be a lot of climbers in a large glass box.” [Y/N] waved her arms. The reason she didn’t  like these people was because he had seen how his aunt Christine struggled against everything to climb to the top and never hung on anyone's fame or did anything like that to jump into stardom.

While [Y/N] was saying her speech, Natasha pulled out a beautiful blue dress from the wardrobe and put it on, pretending she was wearing it.

"This looks familiar" Natasha said with a smile on her face.

[Y/N]'s cheeks reddened with embarrassment. That was Natasha's dress, only that she had stolen it to go to an audition long ago. After they did not give [Y/N] the paper, she put it in her closet.

"I ... I was going to give it back," [Y /N] said. "How long have you had it?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not long ago," [Y/N] said, hiding her face on her knees.

Shannon, went into [Y/N]'s room as well and said:

"Come [Y/N], what other opportunity will you have to see the Hollywood clichés in the same room? We'll make fun of them together. "Shannon sat on the bed next to [Y/N], leaning her arm on her shoulder. Although this was a good reason for [Y/N] to go to the party she was not convinced.

Natasha left in dress on the chair in front of the dressing table and took a chew and some sunglasses. Natasha put them on and said in the voice of Hollywood actress of the fifties: "You disappoint me, it will not be cliché, it was society at its best"

They all laughed

"You have the invitation," Natasha said, pointing to the little one on [Y/N]’s dressing table.

Wanda entered the room putting on some beautiful gold earrings and then, kneeling in front of Mia said to him: "A small opportune meeting may be what you were looking for" and taking the hands of Mia concluded: "It may be that at this party know the one "and giving a last squeeze to his hands he left the room next to Shannon.

"We'll be leaving in ten minutes," Natasha said. "It's Christmas, you deserve to have fun. And let Jane fuck off if she thinks you're going to work tomorrow. Also, you owe me one for five years ago, this would be a good opportunity to pay me "

Natasha came out of [Y/N]'s room with a smile on her face because she could not say no after what she had remembered.

[Y/N] tried to plead, but it was too late.

It was true that he owed Natasha a great debt, owed him more than he wanted to admit. She still remembered how Natasha had asked her to talk on the phone that night in that restaurant. She was too drunk and how she had escaped from the party where she had been there was no one to take her home. After calling someone named Nick, who as [Y/N] remembered, was his father and will refuse to pick her up, she hung up dramatically and told her that she would have to accompany her home and give her a hundred dollars in return. [Y/N] felt a great responsibility for her, since she only had a small dress and was almost drowned in alcohol. So they took a taxi and [Y/N], next to her suitcase and a strange drunk they went to the center of Los Angeles. The stranger paid with a hundred dollar bill and she do not ask the chauffeur to change. [Y/N] helped her up the seven stories of stairs and helped her open the door of her apartment, since she could not insert the key by herself. [Y/N] left her in a room that was next to the livingroom, which today was her room, and helped her to get dressed. The stranger told her that she could take the hundred dollars from her purse, but [Y/N] refused and only took her bags. Before she left, the stranger asked her why she carried the suitcase and [Y/N] replied, "I'm new to the city, this is my first night in Los Angeles"

"Wow, then you have nowhere to sleep ..." asked the girl.

"No, but I'll be fine," [Y/N] replied with a smile.

"If you want you can sleep in the armchair," interrupted the girl before [Y/N] will walk towards the door. "It's Christmas, there will be no place available until after the holidays"

"Really?" Asked [Y/N]

After the girl felt it, she fell asleep. So [Y/N] slept on the couch is night. That night became a week, that week in months and months in years as the friendship with Natasha and later with Shannon and Wanda became stronger and it became increasingly difficult to leave them.

So when Natasha reminded [Y/N] of the debt five years ago, she had no choice but to don the dress, high heels and run out of the apartment to reach the girls.

"Girls, wait!" Cried [Y/N].

"[Y/N]!" Exclaimed Shannon and Wanda.

Natasha only smiled when she saw [Y/N].

They all hugged and went to [Y/N]'s car, at least they would not have to take a taxi.

"Okay, girls, do not be alarmed. We are on a mission. This is the real audition.” Shannon said as they entered the party.

"Audition? "Asked Wanda.

"Yes, God help us all." exclaimed Shannon, heading for the open bar.

It was a beautiful house, or rather mansion. It was huge and had a pool. There were waiters hovering around tables and armchairs with trays full of champagne and snacks. Everything was very elegant but decorated with Christmas lights.

Wanda went to the dance floor promising that they would see each other later.

Natasha took [Y/N] by the arms and said, "If you present faith the right way, at the end of the night everyone will know your name." And giving a last smile she went to say hello to a woman who had been calling her.

[Y/N] was left alone in the crowd, did not know what to do, so she went to an armchair and sat down.

[Y/N] had the crazy idea that when she knew the love of his life, he would be in the middle of the crowd, and yet he would lift her off the ground and take her where she would have to go because they would be ready to meet. However, none of that happened at that party. First, a girl approached him and after introducing herself as Darcy, and telling her that she was alone at the party because her friend had not been able to get there, they began to talk. Everything seemed to go well until another girl named Kitty showed up and got along better with Darcy than [Y/N]. In addition to that she began to talk about the evolution of camera lenses from recording studios didn’t help. So Darcy and Kitty left, leaving [Y/N] alone. Then an old man approached [Y/N] trying to seduce her, so [Y/N] excused herself from going to the toilet and made her run. She put the latch on the door and went to the mirrors. She looked at his reflection and wondered if she really, when you find your soulmate, is the only thing you see in the crowd. For the world kept turning, never stopped, gravity would not lift you off the ground and take you to it. Maybe that was not the case. That [Y/N] knew why he didn’t find his love that night, only found rejection and repulsion, or so she thought.

[Y/N] stuck her head out the door and went out to make sure the old man who harassed her was gone. [Y/N] crossed the dance floor and saw her friends dancing a slow song with some guys. Natasha was hugging a guy with curly hair and khaki pants, plus a plaid shirt. [Y/N] thought the types of khaki pants were not her type, but if she liked it, it was fine. Instead Wanda, was hugging a subject a little older but ash blond hair, they looked happy. At least her friends were enjoying the party. She didn’t saw Shannon, but she supposed she'd gone home with some hot boy.

[Y/N] walked through a crowd of dancing couples and left the mansion.

"NO PARKING TO BE HELD FROM 21 PM TO  06 A.M." read [Y/N] on the sign where she had parked her car.

"No, no, no, no," said [Y/N] over and over again. How had he not seen that sign? Also, were there any cranes at this time? It was Christmas Eve for the love of God.

[Y/N] had no choice but to walk to a main avenue, because although it was not too late, it was a luxurious neighborhood, no taxis passed by.

[Y/N] walked and walked and suddenly felt a chill, perhaps it would have been a good idea to bring a coat. However, a sound caught his attention. It was a piano. It came from that restaurant, which had a pompous name and a mural painted on its facade. [Y/N] walked into the restaurant guided by the music and settled in the entrance full of curiosity.

And there, in the middle of everything, she found the music manager. He was sitting at the piano and playing as if there was no tomorrow. He was intense and passionate. It was inspiring. It seemed as if a reflector had been placed on him and illuminated him in his act. The boy moved his fingers nimbly from one key to another, making the melody both soft and fast and strong. Her jet-black hair fluttered to the rhythm of the music. And giving his last note was interrupted by an elegant guy.

[Y/N] continued to stare at the boy who was talking to the other guy who had interrupted him earlier. They seemed to be arguing and trying to keep it from being noticed.

[Y/N] didn’t hear anything they said but saw the pianist let out a sigh of resignation and went to the piano to pick up his scores.

[Y/N] had to talk to him, his music as well as his performance had been exceptional, had inspired her like no one else had in a long time. So she approached the pianist as he stepped off the stage and began to say,

"Hello, I know you do not know me but I just wanted to tell you-" The guy gave him a disdainful look as he walked, and bumping against her to pass, went to the door without saying anything.

[T/N] was stunned for a while. She was shocked by what had just happened, however he could not do anything, so she took the dignity she had and left the restaurant.

Tag List: @whyisbuckyso @taliajromanoff @possiblypointlessrecord

[sofeyhh]

BTS Private Boarding School Au

Part 9 / ?

It was the night of the Annual Fundraising Gala and every household in that suburban town was dressed to the nine, donning every expensive accessory they owned and taking out their luxurious cars for a ride. Let it be known that for this night, it was a battle of riches and reputation.

And Yoongi wanted no part of it.

His footsteps echo in the desolated building he calls home. It was heart-wrenching to know it used to be filled with beautiful classics playing from his mum’s prized gramophone; a family heirloom that she treasured. Her father had gotten it as a gift from his father, she said, and hence passed down to her when Grandpapa passed. Now that she no longer graced the rotten soils of Earth, it belonged to Yoongi. But the vinyl classics that came from their yellowing paper jacket just doesn’t sound beautiful anymore. It screeched and whined against the gramophone needle as if trying to remind Yoongi that his mother was gone.

The keys in his hands jingled as he starts the onyx black Jeep Wrangler he had gotten for his 16th birthday. His father had gifted him a number of cars, a way of showing compassion after his mother’s death, but none of them seemed to fill the void in his heart. The Jeep Wrangler though descended from his mother’s hands and so he feels homely whenever he takes it out for a drive.

Yoongi’s father was not a person of emotions; a cruel thing to have been passed down to Yoongi. He was all bolts and screw, no hint of affirmation in his bones. His idea of making his child happy was to shower Yoongi with materialistic things. But his mother, she was a priceless gem and the sweetest human being alive. Everything she does, it was done with genuine love and care. Her touches were soft, her words were hymns and her love for Yoongi bubbled out of the pot. But his view on life vanishes of colour and was only seen with black and white lenses after she passed. The grief in him never went away.

Yoongi takes the winding back road to the greying building of St Strachan Rutherford Academy. The humongous building looked droopy and gloomy in the dark of night, a stark contrast to the grand look it held during the day. He steers his jeep off road and parks it by the side of the gate near the dorms. What an irony for him to be breaking into school when during the day, he was desperate to get out.

---

“Honey! Can you please come down? The guests are arriving!”

Jin hears his mother’s shrill voice from his room. It was a wonder how that petite woman could exude such a bombastic sound. He hears his mother fret about the servers’ sloppy attire as he straightens out his tailored blush pink suit. Jin’s freshly dyed blonde hair went well with his pink ensemble and he made a note to himself to personally thank Alfred for his suggestion. He was never a fan of garish blonde dyes but after he was referred to Alfred’s talented friend, he decided, the two deserved a new pair of Cartier watch each.

He skips down the marble steps and steals a cold glass of strawberry champagne off of a tray passing by. Jin makes his way to the east wing of the house, or as his friends called it: the Kim Castle, where the event was held.

Being the son of the city’s Governor had Jin living with a silver spoon for all his life. He lived in a beautiful house, owned 2 luxurious cars by himself and was given everything he wanted without having to beg or work for it. People would call him an arrogant spoiled brat living under his parents' wealth. And honestly, he was okay with it. It was the truth, wasn’t it? Why should he be ashamed for it just because they had valued less than him? The hateful words of strangers never managed to pierce his thick skin, a trait he learnt from his father.

Personally, he found himself to grow up into an amazing person. He wasn’t like others, who would slack around and depend on their parents’ money to get them their future. No, he was ambitious, he was determined and he topped the school’s grades along with Namjoon. Quite frankly, he had the whole package of the perfect eligible bachelor in town; his mother would not stop bragging about it.

“Darling, your posture is horrible. Is it the new suit?” Jin’s mother trots over in her heels. She grabs hold of his wide shoulders and pushes back. “I hope you don’t forget the guests’ names like last year. And remember smile with teeth. You were blessed with perfect ones so put them to use.”

Jin takes a long sip from his glass, silently wishing it had been hard liquor to drown out his nerves. The nerves weren't coming from anxiety, it was coming from his mother’s fingers fleeting all over him and her condescending voice.

Not many people seem to realise that before the rainbow forms, there was the cloudy rain. They were too blinded by the rainbow’s beauty to comprehend the misery that the sky had to suffer to produce it. That was Jin’s life. He fronted a perfect image of the idolised family but behind closed doors, there was a blanket that suffocated him.

He knows his parents mean well but the pressure they instil in him weighs heavy on his shoulders. They expect him to be the smartest, the richest, the most in everything. Most of the time, it tires him out. But there was no going back and Jin was afraid of disappointing his parents.

“Jared! Alison! It’s always so nice to host the Brentaris in our humble home,” Jin’s father beams at the couple, their first guest to arrive.

His mother snatches away his flute of champagne and shoves him forward, her bony fingers pinching into his shoulder blades. With the brightest smile he could will his lips to do, he shakes hands, greeting his guests.

---

“Such a beautiful house,” his mother sighs after taking his hand and stepping out of the car.

They arrived at the Governor’s mansion at prompt timing, being the few people who had the decency to stick to the mentioned time. Blue hues of the setting sky created a ring of halo around the brick castle, making it look majestic and magical. It took them at least a minute to drive up the long paved road to reach the actual house.

Namjoon links his arm with hers, his tall figure almost twice her size - he got his 5’11” genes from his father. Jin’s house was beautiful, he had to agree to that. But knowing the scraps of stories his friend has confided in him about, the house was merely what it is, not a home. The giggle of a girl, like chimes blowing in the wind, captures his attention. His little sister runs and launches herself at him.

“Yah!” he chuckles. “You’re getting so heavy you know that.”

Her grabby hands were peeled away from him as his father wrangled her away. She clambers onto his shoulders, ruining his perfectly coiffed hair.

“Kim Nara,” their mother tutted at her.

The seven-year-old was a bundle of energetic youth, a noisy addition to the Kim household. Nevertheless, she was still a blessing to them; a miracle if you will. His mother had been able to conceive Nara at a late age and was warned about the complications. But by the grace of God, his sister was born healthy and beautiful.

The family of four walks in, a fresh sound of giggles and chatters to greet the rigid atmosphere of mingling guests. He spots his friend with his stiff back, mechanically greeting the old couple - that puckering stingy white-haired couple the kids in town avoided. The Seymours, they were named, were never pleasant, always chastising the little things. They inhabited the house adjacent to the Kim’s but never seen mingling with the neighbours.

Jin’s blonde hair caught Namjoon off guard, his heart stuttering for a second at the new look. He fidgets with his glasses and gulps. Jin looked amazing with the blush pink and blonde hair and he couldn’t help but gawk.

“Does he know?” Namjoon’s mother nudged and whispered to him.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” he asks, flustered from having caught staring at his long-term crush.

She giggles, similar to Nara’s, and pinches his cheeks. “You’re adorable Joonie. I can’t blame you, he’s a hottie.”

Nara chose that time to overhear their conversation and caught the word ‘hottie’, asking what it meant. His parents only laughed, loudly at that,  teasing him further. Everyone else, including the blonde ‘hottie’ and his family, turns to look.

“Ma!” he grumbles, his cheeks getting hot.

Namjoon swears that he had done something in his previous life to anger the gods and was now serving his punishment as the only sane one his family. Without a doubt, his family has got to be the most embarrassing bunch of people to exist. He still loves them though.

---

Jungkook sticks himself to the side of the car door and watches the glowering sky pass like a moving picture. His eyes briefly glance over to his mother, sitting opposite him. She was a puzzling creature to Jungkook, never one to show how she really felt on the inside. Her calm demeanour and smile said: I’m happy to be spending time with my family. However, her shaking eyes and the small gulps she makes showed fear. It scared him to see her like this.

It scared him even more to be locked in a car with his father, currently ranting with a red face while flipping through pieces of documents. Jungkook’s father was stressing out over the school’s overall grades and standards. According to him, St Strachan Rutherford Academy’s performance was dropping well below a grade A… and that it was all Jungkook’s fault.

“This is on you boy,” his father hisses as he jabs his finger at Jungkook. “You skimmed the bottom pit of grades for the last two semesters with 3 failures. How do you expect other students to score well when the son of the damn school Director can’t even pass the average grades?!”

Jungkook flinches away, biting his cheeks to keep his own anger exploding. His father has played this game one too many times with him, putting the blame on Jungkook for everything.

“Seung-Woo darling, it’s the night of the fundraiser. Can you please tuck away those files,” his mother soothes as she hesitantly places her hand over his father’s fist.

He swats her slender hand away and dives back into the files. Once again, his mother sits back and dons a facade of serenity. She avoids his gaze this time and wonders back to her silver band on her finger. Her thumb rubs the cut of diamond that rests on top of the ring as if trying to convince herself the night was going to get better.

Jungkook tears away from his mother’s fumbling fingers. He hated that piece of jewellery with all its shining glory. Even if his parents chose to be oblivious about it, he knew that the ring was the only thing that bonded the couple, keeping them together. The only thing his father ever loved was his job and the only thing his mother ever loved was his money.

-To: Kim Tae (bastard)

Is the bar open? I need you. and vodka.

Jungkook chuckled at the chat message he has with Kim Taehyung. They were friends, sure, but Taehyung stuck with the new kid and the linguist while Jungkook stayed close to the brainiac and the hustler. Their personalities were on extreme ends of the spectrum. Somehow, Taehyung was deemed his personal drinking buddy. And that was all they ever talked about in their chats.

-From: Kim Tae (bastard)

...I’m not even there yet.

Jungkook sighs and leans his head on the cold window. Useless.

---

It was a sickening sight, truly. Taehyung stuffs his phone back in his pocket and stares at his father swallowing his girlfriend on the hood of his car. Oh, check that, his new wife and stepmother to Taehyung. Heck, as if Taehyung would call her mother. She was barely 5 years older than him and to see his father, at the ripe age of 47, fondling her plastic breasts churned his stomach.

“I’m driving there on my own,” he mutters to his father, throwing a disgusted look at the pair.

His father hums and waves his hand while his lips were busy marking the girl’s neck. Real classy dad, Taehyung sighs to himself as he ducks under the open door of his white Porsche. He quickly shuts the door to refrain from hearing the elicit whiny moans of the red head. Taehyung has heard enough of it in the house - everywhere he went, he hears and sees them getting intimate; the kitchen, the patio, the pool. Because of that, he frequents the Academy's dorm.

Taehyung roars past his father’s car and immediately dials for his mother. His heart jumps in hopes of seeing her at the Gala tonight. It’s been months since he’d last seen her and from what he has heard, she was back in town.

Taehyung’s mother was a queen in his eyes. She was fearless, outgoing and the life of parties. His interest in the fashion world developed from her, a fashion icon in Paris, Milan and so many other countries. She was famous for working as designers for major labels as well as dressing up celebrities for big events. He misses her dearly after being apart for so long.

“Ma?” Taehyung calls out over the phone, his eyes trains on the winding road. “I can’t hear you. Where are you anyway?”

“Oh, honey! I’m at this fabulous pool party on a yacht!”

His grip tightens on the wheel, hopes of seeing his mother crushed by some fucking pool party. Sometimes he forgets, as fun as his mother is in his eyes, she was still a young maiden. Rich and beautiful at that. Being a mother had never been in her planned future.

“You’re not going to the fundraising gala? You used to go every year.” Taehyung tries to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Baby boy, if you’re on a yacht in Rio, a fundraising gala is definitely not on your priority list. I got to go!” She hangs up on him, leaving the boy to drive alone in silence.

The sob that spills out of him surprised himself. Why did it hurt so much this time? Taehyung recalls Jungkook’s text to him: ‘I need you. And vodka.’ Lana Del Rey plays on shuffle and he lets her velvety miserable voice take him away from the silent void.

The second he gets to the Kim Castle, he was going to find hard liquor and Jeon Jungkook.

---

The navy blue and white pinstripe blazer weighed heavy on his shoulders as he shrugs it on. Hoseok pinches the lapels between his fingers, feeling the little ridges of the expensive material. Gucci - what had he been thinking? Guilt gnawed at him, inside and out, making his lips quiver. Here he was, the only son of the family spending hundreds of dollars that they couldn’t afford on a damn piece of suit that he’ll only be using for a night.

“You look dashing sweetheart.”

Hoseok’s mother comes up from behind and fixes his lopsided bow tie. He never learnt how to properly tie one. She was clad in her comfy robes - not the silk ones father bought from Milan - and her hair was piled like a nest on her head. The ends were brittle, her roots were greying and the shine fading. She hadn’t been to the salon in a while, he noted.

“Now remember, if they ask, say that we’re overseas, handling one of the international branches.”

She holds his face in her hands and rubs his cheeks with her thumb. They weren’t soft like it used to be and they didn’t smell like the exotic herbs of her foreign hand lotion. It smelled like stale dishwasher soap.

He nods, unable to speak from the lump forming in his throat. His family was in a rut, he knew that. The billion dollar paper company his father owned was drowning in debts and loans and losses. To hell with this new technology crap, his father had said, it’s all to drive our family businesses to the ground. He was a grumpy greying man at the old age of 57; Hoseok visioned it’s going to be what Yoongi would look like in a span of years.

Now that people like Elon Musk, Steve Jobs and Tony Stark exists, our world has come to the digital age where paper is considered an artefact. Yes, technically Tony Stark is a fictional character but don’t tell that to Jungkook. Paper businesses like his father’s are being boycotted for Ipads and Iphones, resulting in them possibly ending up bankrupt by the end of the year. It wasn’t big news but the town they live in was small and rumours travel fast. His parents were too embarrassed about their failure to show their faces at the gala and so they’re sending their only son as a representative of the Jung household.

-From: MiniJiminie

We’re right outside :) Don’t rush though.

“The Parks are waiting for me,” he murmurs as tucks away his phone.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you for this sweetie. But try to have fun tonight. I’ll be with my phone if you need me.”

Hoseok sighs as he wraps his mother in a hug. Between them, they knew it meant more than just a goodbye hug.

---

“Mum, stop fidgeting with your hair!” Jimin chuckles at the sight of his mother getting anxious. “That $200 you spent in the salon is going to go to waste if you keep messing it up.”

His mother has never been the type to be ticked with nerves. But for tonight, it was their first ever Fundraising Gala in the town they moved in just half a year ago, so it was understandable. Even his father looked on edge. He keeps glancing at his reflection in the limousine’s window, which is very uncharacteristic for him.

The town they lived in, Ashborne Village, felt like a dollhouse for the family. Almost too perfect as compared to their previous neighbourhood. The palm trees that lined the streets looked plastic, the streets were spotless, the huge houses had no mouldy streaks on the sides. It felt like they were walking on eggshells when they first moved in, afraid that if they tripped on a stone, the entire town was going to crumble. Soon, their 7-year-old Honda was traded for a sleek Mercedes and their Walmart houseware traded for Italian crystal vases.

“He should be on the way out,” Jimin said.

They were picking up Hoseok for the Fundraiser. It was unfortunate that his parents couldn’t make it. Jimin’s parents were close to the Jungs, the first friends they made and was hoping that the seasoned couple could be their guide at the event. They see the lights in the house go out and soon Hoseok was jogging down the driveway with his signature goofy smile.

“The Parks got a limo! Way to go, you guys know how to party!” Hoseok grinned as he climbed into the car.

“Does it make us look cool then?” Jimin’s father asked with a serious face until he realised his words. The tip of his ears goes red as he mumbled into his hands, “Oh god, it’s like prom night all over again.”

“My god dad, why would you ask that!”

Hoseok bellowed out a laugh, clutching his tummy and slapping his knees. “Aw man Mr P, I bet you were quite the hunk back then huh?” he teased.

“Quite the opposite actually,” Jimin’s mother mumbled as she hides her smile.

The whole car erupts into fits of laughter as they drove off. Jimin always loved having Hoseok around. The older boy had a way with people that makes everyone comfortable, even the adults. It was an understatement to say that Jung Hoseok was the life of the party. He brought life to this stiff town and Jimin wasn’t even exaggerating.

“So, Hoseok, since it’s our first Gala that we’ll be attending, is there any advice you can offer?”

He hums thoughtfully, sitting back and adjusting his buttoned sleeves. The pinstripe suit fits him so perfectly, Jimin was almost jealous. Though his outfit has been validated by Taehyung to be the best tonight. The silky material of the flowy white shirt clung in all the right places and the dark loose vest made the whole outfit look sultry - which was something Jimin never knew could ever describe him. Like a sexy virgin pirate, Taehyung had said.

“For one, you’ve passed the dress code. That’s the most important,” Hoseok joked cheekily as he pointed out the newly bought dress and suit. “There’s nothing you should be nervous about honestly. All they do at the Gala is stand around with their flutes of champagne, mingle while servers walk around with silver trays of foie gras. Then they’ll have the 5-course dinner - prepare your palettes because last year’s dinner had me eating raw uni out of its shell - followed by the auction. The items can be pricey and if you don’t plan on spending tonight, just be the first to bid on anything. That way people would see that you’re at least taking part.”

Jimin’s parents looked like kids who were about to cram for a Cambridge examination with the way they had their eyes wide open and heads nodding, trying to process every bit of information Hoseok was spewing.

“So uh,” Jimin’s father started as he leant forward. “What’s uni?”

He plunges his face into the palms of his hands, furiously embarrassed by his father. How can this man be a genius when it came to investments and not know what the heck uni is. Jimin hears Hoseok explaining to his parents that uni is, in fact, a Japanese delicacy, that is also known as sea urchin.

My BTS Au Masterlist

[kmindset]

The Lifetime Dress(M-ish)

Member: Jin (Seokjin x Reader)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut mention

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Adult Language, Suggestive situations, Mentions of sex

A/N: I suppose there there isn’t much to say on this one. I truly am proud of this though. Please enjoy.

Masterlist  ~  Vmin Page  ~  To Do list

You never understood the concept of spending thousands of dollars on a wedding dress to wear for only a day then pack it away only to be looked at when moving things to the attic or showing it to your child before their wedding day. To you, no matter the price, it shouldn’t be that way. Your connection to your dress was many and meaningful. It was a reminder of the day you married the love of your life. It made you think of they way everyone admired your glow. For these reasons, anniversaries weren’t lead up to with finding an outfit because you already had it.

1st Anniversary:

He knew about your feelings on the dress. For this reason, he thought he should do something worth the formal look for your first anniversary. Two tickets to Paris were bought much to the excitement of his bride. On the day itself, the French restaurant was empty. Minimal staff and a rather showy but sweet amount of lights were hung. After the satisfying dinner, you returned to the hotel for one more bit of spoiling from your husband.

“Seokjin, can’t we just retire now?” You pouted, swinging his hands in yours cutely.

“Ah, not before this last thing.” He dragged you out to the balcony. You stood barefoot, crossing your arms in impatience. He checked his watch with an excited smile.

“Look” He pointed to the sky. A barrage of fireworks lit up the Parisian sky. Your favorite colors crackling against the starry night.

“Oh Jin!” You muttered dreamily as you stared at the colors. Fireworks were so enchanting to you.

The feel of his chest against you and his arms wrapping around you made the moment more perfect. “To a year and many more.”

His warm hands retreating from around you to unzip the dress. You repeated in a sultry whisper. “To many more.”

2nd Anniversary:

The next year was similar but closer to home. You couldn’t be too far from Soo Jin. Mrs. Kim reassured you during every call to her safety. It took Jin’s loving insisting to not call for the fifth time. He helped you into the dress, laughing as he caught you eyeing your phone. Seokjin knew there was one way to remind you why Soo Jin was not there. His lips captured yours in the most relieving and heated kiss you had had in awhile. Which in retrospect ended up reminding you of how Soo Jin got there.

That anniversary the dress didn’t see the outside world, just the hotel floor.

5th anniversary:

The fancy candles and dimly lit restaurants were already growing old. And after so long with the changes of life you decided to abandon the every year dress tradition for every few years. Either way after 5 years, your love didn’t need to be validated by something so cliche. It was getting tiring. So this year he switched it up. He told you to get ready earlier than usual. The children were handed off to Joon and Shaletta and the house set to be cleaned by hired maids. Once you had finally donned the half decade old gown, he took your hand and led you out of your home and up the stairs. Your curiosity grew with every flight. Upon reaching the rooftop, you were less than impressed with the destination until he pushed open the door. It as beautifully decorated with the most glorious view the city skyline. The usual Champagne waiting with Sprite and scotch as well for multiple options.

It was perfect.

It was nothing like you imagined. It was better. It felt as though you were getting to know each other again. Seok Jin mentioned stories you never heard and you cracked him up at the story of how you punched a dude in the nose at a cafe in the US during his military service because he told you that your engagement ring didn’t mean he couldn’t “get you off real quick”.

As the sun set on the horizon, dipping down to the level of the lowest buildings, he held you close and you danced as if it was your first dance again. Just you and him on the dance floor at your reception, swaying though neither of you could really dance.

10th Anniversary:

This year was a bit different. He suggested the renewal of your vows. The children happily donned their dresses and tuxes, flowers in hand. All 6 boys, now men sat happily with their own families. It was small but enough. He was enough. Both of your parents looked on with joyful tears. None of you could believe a decade had passed. Your tears flowed more than anyone’s not only because of the time spent happily with Jin growing your family but the private thing he had done for you. He knew you would want your special dress for this occasion but the years of building your family had left you a different size than your younger self. He had seen you attempt to try it on and the tears that fell at the failed attempt. He consoled you, thoughtfully explaining how you looked beautiful in his eyes no matter your size. However, he couldn’t let you just find a meaningless dress to wear to celebrate your union. Secretly, he had you measured for a “new dress” but when it arrived in its tailor specific box, you recognized the bodice right away. As you stood under the lacey altar surrounded by loved ones, you thanked the universe for your forever love named Kim Seokjin.

50th anniversary:

It happened. The dress had become one of the dresses hung melancholy in the back of the closet over the past year. After much thought, you took it from where it hung. Hesitant hands slid it off the hanger and onto your body. The illness had taken off quite a bit of weight, at this rate the amount it was taken out over time was pointless now. You were stood in front of the mirror for longer than you wanted. The reflection staring back at you not being the aging person but the bright-eyed and happy youngster marrying the love of their life in the dress that would grow to hold more meaning than even originally thought.

“Mother.” The mature woman before you dressed in an off-white. “Father is waiting.”

You gave a smile. The walk was purposefully reminiscent of the walk to the altar. Awaiting you as the first time was your love, this time smaller and colder than before. You held onto him tighter as you walked to the balcony. As you waited for the wind to blow and the sun to set, you whispered fleeting words.

“Forever and always.”

As the moment was perfect you released your hold, spreading your arms to let him be free. All your children gathered at your side with tears to comfort you. You grandchildren watching in confusion and sadness. You gave them all a reassuring smile before turning back to watch him float away on the breeze.

“Happy Anniversary my love.”

[romancevsreality-blog]

the bachelorette, season thirteen, episode seven: y’all, i think i invented a cult

WELCOME TO SWITZERLAND.

Rachel’s walking through the European streets, wearing a blazer, feeling herself. I’m very envious. Meanwhile, the four front-runners and Matt and Adam are sitting around in whatever sponsored hotel room ABC got them this time discussing how they’re a week away from hometowns. I get filled with dread because y’all know I think hometowns are the most boring episode of the season, followed by The People Tell All, the most boring reunion episode of all the reunion episodes1. Rachel literally walks in looking like Olivia Pope in an all-white outfit.

I commend anyone for wearing an all-white outfit. Seriously. I wore this to a party a month ago and wound up covered in dirt, red wine, and god-knows what other kinds of fluids.

It was a great fucking night.

She hugs four guys and two complete strangers, and she’s here to switch it up. There’s no rose ceremony - instead, there are three one-on-ones, and a three-on-one, and depending on how those go, some guys will get roses (and we know who) and some guys won’t (Matt and Adam, two guys who just stumbled into the room). She tells Bryan to suit the fuck up because they’re heading out on their one-on-one. All the guys are straight shook because he gets more time with her.

Rachel and Bryan are going on a “high-end date”, which in New York (or pretty much anywhere in the world) usually implies that the girl is getting some kind of monetary compensation for spending her time with a male companion. But no, Rachel’s taking Bryan out in a god damn Bentley. THIS IS WHAT BENTLEYS ARE USED FOR - ridiculous situations of reality television dating shows. You don’t take a Bentley to Kroger for milk, that’s what the Benz is for. They’re going to be driving around Geneva in this car, and for a second I was like, “wait, why is Rachel getting into the right side of the car, don’t they drive on the left in Switzerland?!” and then shots of horrible car accidents ran through my brain. But no, fun fact:

They drive on the right side of the road in some European countries!!!!!!!2 THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION TO ME. And then I realized that in my semester abroad in Prague, they also drove on the right side of the road, and I have confirmation that I am, in fact, a fucking idiot3.

Since they’re in Switzerland, they do as the Swiss do - go and try on expensive-ass watches. Rachel treats them to $8k watches4 - or really, they’re sponsored gifts that they’ll forget to write off on their taxes next year - and Bryan kisses her in front of the watch guy. Bryan is so extra. They then drink champagne and go on a romantic boat ride.

We’re then treated to the most screen time Matt or Adam have gotten all season, and it’s mostly them talking about how jealous they are that the other guys. It’s literally two minutes of them talking because if it went on any longer, it basically becomes a lullaby. Basically, Adam’s jealous and envious and Matt’s like, “Imma relish all the time I get because Rachel pretty much forgot to eliminate me.” Dean, meanwhile, basically calls Bryan old, washed-up, fake, and from Miami. He says Miami in such a manner that you know it’s some shade. Neither he or Peter think that Bryan’s anything more than just a charmer.

Because he is. We get a scene of Bryan and Rachel swooning and smooching with champagne and I gag.

Back at the hotel, there’s a FUCKIN DATE CARD, WHAT

It goes to My New Boyfriend Dean5. He looks at Adam and says, “Don’t shoot me.” Because Adam IS PISSED.

Rachel has changed into a gorgeous white gown and they go to a romantic dinner in Victoria Hall. Rachel’s concerned that Bryan seems to be too good to be true, BECAAAAAUSE HE IS. We learn that Bryan’s last girlfriend didn’t get along with his mother, and that’s the reason that they broke up after going to a wedding in Colombia. She broke up with him because of his mom.

RED

FUCKING

FLAG

FLYING IN THE AIR

BLOWING AWAY IN THE WIND

THIS FLAG IS SO BIG YOU CAN SEE IT FROM SPACE

My very first relationship was with a man who had a very bad relationship with his mother. The man who sexually assaulted me had a tense relationship with his mother. My second relationship had a very close relationship with his mother. My third and fourth? Just right. Perfect amount. Date someone who likes their mother greatly and has great things to say about them but also can speak truthfully about who they are as a person. Date someone who sees their mother as a person, really. Do not date a man who has a bad relationship with their mother, and do not date a man who is far too close with their mother, because those two things will manifest themselves in your relationship in some way. You want someone who likes their mother and remembers her birthday.

If Bryan’s mother is the reason his last girlfriend broke up with him, then RUN AWAY, RACHEL. RUN RUN RUN RUN.

Bryan gets a fucking rose.

Rachel gets to wear the best clothes. Can I get that robin's egg blue trench coat she wears on her date with Dean? The two of them are going to church at a French Catholic mass, which...

WHAT KIND OF DATE IS THIS?

If any guy asked me to go to church on our first date I would ask what cult he was asking me to join, and what their demands on my body would be. If it’s like, grow a million children in your uterus and sell them into sex slavery, no thank you. If it’s like, shave your head and dance in the subway stations, no thank you. If it’s like, smoke weed, talk about pizza, and the idea of skepticism or making a list Hall of Famers for various industries… Okay. I’m on board with that.

Did I just invent a cult?

I get it, I’m one of the rare black people with zero interest in religion, God, or anything having to do with it. It’s not that I don’t believe, it’s just that whether or not it all exists has zero impact on my life. Imma keep doing me even if Jesus comes back and starts a breakdancing troupe. It’s hard not to see the things done in His name and not get disheartened sometimes, you know? I just can’t imagine that the big dude up there would be cool with a lot of shit people are trying to justify because of him. And that’s my issue to deal with myself and no one else. Don't @ me.

But faith is important to Rachel, so it’s nice to see some blatant religion on my television. With Master of None and The Big Sick’s beautiful portrayals of being both Muslim and.. you know, people, I think we need to do some normalization of all religions in pop culture and media. Maybe that’s just me. Rachel needs to find someone who shares the same values - I get it, it’s important to me that my boyfriend doesn’t get upset when I say “men are trash” because it’s not a direct attack on him, I’m just a misandrist - and they seem to have a nice time.

Rachel and Dean talk about how gorgeous it is on a Sunday in Geneva. Apparently, Aspen has a lot of Swiss influence, which is great. Dean is feeling conflicted about his “untraditional” family and how Rachel will take the information. Dean is v. closed off. They sit down to drinks and Rachel literally tries to get Dean to talk about his feelings. Dean’s not having it, though. Rachel wishes their relationship could have more depth.

Back at the hotel,

THERE’S A DATE CARD.

Of course, it goes to Peter.

Of course, Adam is pissed.

Bryan, Dean, and Peter are the front-runners, and Eric, Adam, and Matt are in the bottom of the boat looking for scraps.

Meanwhile, Rachel and Dean go to dinner, and Dean says that the day has been “Weird”. Rachel calls him out for trying to laugh his way out of the issue, and Dean basically admits that he really likes her a LOT a lot. His dad was a Fun Dad instead of being an Emotionally Supportive Dad. His dad is.. “Eccentric”, which frightens me. Has anyone been described as “eccentric” positively? It breaks my heart when he says that he wishes she could meet the family that existed before his mother died instead of the family that “abandoned” him when he was his most vulnerable.

Damn, Dean. Coming in with the hard stuff.

Rachel’s like, “Yo, I got my family, I don’t want yours. We can be our own family.” Rachel’s great. She all but quotes RuPaul when she talks about meeting the people who made him who he is - y’all, your family is who you choose it to be. DNA ain’t shit.

Dean gets a rose.

Peter and Rachel meet in a literal field and it’s glorious. They’re going on a helicopter ride to the Swiss Alps. I love helicopter ride dates because you know the producers couldn’t come up with anything else to do. Sorry, y’all, but Rachel looks at Peter differently than she does anyone else. At one point she rests her head on his shoulder in this way that’s so comfortable and natural I screamed. They go fucking dog SLEDDING, and I wondered when the last time I went sledding was, much like yesterday when I realized it is summer and I have yet to eat a single peach.

Sometimes the world is unjust.

I WANNA GO DOG SLEDDING.6 That is the only thing I would enjoy doing outside in this much snow. I went to school next to a lake. I no longer trust snow. Rachel and Peter sit and talk about his “dark days”, days when he was feeling unsure and wanting to leave. Rachel’s done a great job this season of really taking into mind the guys’ experience on the other end, having experienced it herself - I truly think she may be the first lead on this show to acknowledge doing so - but she’s happy he didn’t leave. Me too. They make out in the snow. Oh, honey, no. Too cold.

At dinner, Rachel asks Peter if he’s dated a black girl before, and he’s like, Nah, I’ve never dated a black WOMAN before and I screamed.

I literally screamed.7

Their relationship seems so real. Like, the fact that he goes, “Do you have any other questions?” after openly and honestly answering the initial ones goes so far and above Dean’s (charming) goofiness that masks his inability to open up to her and Bryan’s cornballishness just says a lot about him as a person, and about their relationship. He promises to be honest with her all the way - yes, it’s weird that you’re expected to propose to someone you barely know, but that’s what you signed up for? - and that honesty frightens Rachel, because she doesn’t want to get to the end and have him still be unsure.

I get it. No one wants to be Juan Pablo’d. No one wants to get to the end and not get a ring. But what’s so bad about being like, “I wanna date you because I see a future here but I’m just not ready, but honey, Imma buy you the biggest ring in like six months,” right? I’m conflicted. I mean, why not just do what Kaitlyn and Shawn are doing and get engaged for the show but really just resume dating for a while after the show? They seem to be in zero rush to get married, ABC contract be damned.

Anyway - Peter gets a rose. It is deserved.

The next day, the remaining guy and Matt and Adam are sitting around, talking about how rough the day will be for them. Eric, who had a one-on-one literally last week, is upset that he didn’t get another one. Has any contestant gotten two one-on-ones in a row? I don’t think so. Sit down, Eric.

Rachel’s outfit for the three-on-one is… ruff. Ruff Stuff. She is somehow both wearing a crop top and a winter coat. What is the weather here? The top is made from sweater material. Hrmmmmmmm. Anyway, they’re getting on a boat to France! They arrive at Chȃteau de Courdrée in Sciez-sur-Léman, France, where they’re going to have a four-way picnic? Adam gives a toast that’s kind of bizarre, but then again, I know nothing about Adam.

Rachel takes Eric aside first, and Eric does the usual “talk at you - tell you what I think you are” thing that Josiah did. Rachel talks about how she needs to be selfish in this but it’s difficult for her, and he’s like, “Well, life is hard.” BITCH SHE KNOWS BUT SHE’S STRUGGLING. I don’t like him. Meanwhile, Matt’s turn with Rachel comes along, and who is this person and why has he not been featured on the show more? He seems to be like a great, noble dude. He talks about how he wants her to be happy, and how it would be great if he could be the source of that, but if he can’t, that’s alright.

Fuck Lee, again, because if it weren’t for Lee’s antics, we would have gotten to know Matt. And Matt seems great. Rachel gets hella emotional when talking to him. Like, more emotional than she got sending Kenny home. She is snot-crying because she sees so much of herself in him and she holds him dearly in her heart and in any different scenario, they’d probably have a chance. She basically tells him she’s sending him home because he’s too normal to fall in love with on reality television, as seen by his non-edit. Matt gets kisses on the lips on his way out, which to me, is the most curious thing. Rachel really does seem crushed. WHERE WAS THIS ALL SEASON?

I WOULD HAVE MUCH PREFERRED TO SEE MATT AND RACHEL’S RELATIONSHIP DEVELOP INSTEAD OF RACISM FOR THREE WEEKS. WHAT IS THIS?

So the final rose comes down to Eric and some other guy we know that isn’t getting the rose. The two men sit down to dinner with Rachel, and Adam takes her aside first. He flat out asks her if he sees a chance for the two of them to fall in love, and she’s like, “well, yeah, I forgot to eliminate you, so….” I literally zoned out during their entire conversation. I really did. I even went back and rewound and zoned out again. They talked about stuff and his family. He talks about how great their relationship is and I’m sincerely like WHO ARE YOU, STRANGER?

Meanwhile, we learn that Eric’s home life wasn’t great - he was raised in a rough neighborhood and dealt with a lot of drugs and prison and all of that. He tries to help people instead of taking care of himself. Eric’s never brought a girl home, which is alarming.

The two guys return to the table we saw before, and Rachel gives Eric the rose. Adam is disappointed, but not surprised. And then he tries to mansplain her decision by being like, “I hope you didn’t make a mistake.” and then she thanks him for being there, which I have said on dates where I knew I was never going to call that dude again. He claims she made a big mistake but, like, dude. How do we know that?!

Anyway, Eric seems shocked, but Rachel tells him it’s an honor to get to go home and meet his family. I love her.

We get a wonderful montage of Rachel talking about how humbled she is by the entire experience and that her hopes are high because... it seems to be working.

Get it, girl.

Next Week: Rachel followed her gut and she’s ready to have something deep with these guys. Next week looks sexy. Dean’s dad literally has a beard and a turban and Dean cries. Peter has walls up with Rachel, and Peter’s mom throws shade. Rachel’s sister doesn’t think Bryan’s sincere.

See you next week!

Random Assessments from the Desk of Amanda:

Ever since I pointed out that Matt looks like Mark Brendanawicz I literally can’t see anything else.

FUCK THE PRODUCERS (yet again) for misleading us into thinking Peter made Rachel cry.

My friend Alicia pointed out Rachel’s eyelashes and how phenomenal they are and I can’t unsee. They’re clearly fake but whoever got them on her did the lord’s work.

I was taking notes and looking at the screen and I seriously was like “Why are they showing that pepper? Oh. That’s the rose.”

Peter wins, right? Peter has to win. He’s gonna win. He got the “bump in a road” edit. COME ON.

We got an acknowledge of Copper in the credits, y’all. He’s okay.

Oh my god, that credits scene was my favorite thing. More poop conversations, please. Rachel poops with the door open - she’s just like us!

And I would know. My Official Ranking of Best Reunion Episodes: 1) Real Housewives of New York, Season 3. 2) Real Housewives of Orange County, Season 9 tied with Real Housewives of Orange County, Season 5. 3) RuPaul’s Drag Race, Season 9 4) Real Housewives of DC (there was only one season, a true tragedy.) 5) Real Housewives of Atlanta, Season 6 tied with Season 9, tied with whichever reunion Kim pretended she had cancer for 5 minutes in. All the rest can go in the garbage. ↩︎

Bless the creators of this website. ↩︎

In my defense… I have almost no recollection of my first three days in Prague. Time differences are a bitch when you nap as much as I do. ↩︎

To me, a watch is actually a really intimate gift. Something about the metaphor of time passing, but also because it’s a serious investment. It’s something that’s literally built to last. Any kind of gift given that's tangible and meant to be worn, to me, is like... srs bizness. ↩︎

I have a lot of Boyfriends from this franchise - Alex, Ben Zorn and formerly Wells. Wells and I broke up over his continued association with the biggest misogynist this franchise ever produced - Ashley Iaconetti. Ben Zorn is my Hot Hunky boyfriend because I would like to climb him like the tree he is and he has a cute dog. Dean woke as hell. Dean is my Practical, Savvy, Geeky Boyfriend. Alex is the boyfriend who probably has Russian mob ties and that’ll come in handy because I have a lot of enemies. Also, he lives in my hometown, so it’ll be nice to be able to see my mom more often. ↩︎

Speaking of dogs, where the fuck is Copper. Was Copper not allowed to come abroad?! WHO IS TAKING CARE OF COPPER’S LEG. ↩︎

It says so much about the state of society that I'm freaking out that a grown-man called a woman a woman. ↩︎

[thefaeriereview]

Blitz: Bad Apple

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RELEASE BLITZ 

Book Title: Bad Apple: A modern mpreg fairytale 

Author: Colbie Dunbar & Trisha Linde 

Cover Artist: Fantasia Frog Designs 

Release Date: September 17, 2020 

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, mpreg, reimagined fairy tale 

Trope/s: Forbidden love, bad boy romance. Fated love. 

Themes: Starting over. Second chances. 

Heat Rating: 4 flames 

Length: 36 000 words 

It’s the first book in the Once Upon an M/M Romance series, but each is a standalone. 

Goodreads 

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 

Amazon US | Amazon UK

There’s no such thing as fairytales—until there’s a happily ever after.

Blurb There’s no such thing as fairytales—until there’s a happily ever after. When mob boss Nico Drakos dies, his son, omega Zane, knows the time is ripe for change. Just because all the mob’s business dealings have always been illegal, that doesn’t mean they need to stay that way. Zane is well-loved by everyone, and the council is ready to follow him wherever he might lead them. Time to put his business degree to work! The only person that stands in his way is his father’s second-in-command, Donovan Morelli. Alpha Blaze was practically raised by the mob, groomed and trained to follow orders, no matter how dark. But, seething with jealousy, Donovan gives Blaze a command. One he can’t refuse. While Blaze keeps a wary eye on Zane, he falls under the omega’s spell. Then the alpha does the unthinkable. He defies his order. Zane needs a safe place to hole up, but he doesn’t give a damn about his surroundings because the alpha everyone considers a bad apple lights a fire in his heart, one Zane is powerless to extinguish. With a memorable cast of supporting characters, this classic fairytale gets a modern mpreg twist. For fans of alphas and omegas who give everything to be with the one who they love, this first book in Colbie Dunbar and Trisha Linde’s Once Upon An M/M Romance series checks all the boxes. It includes an alpha and omega who refuse to be defined by their past; seven men and women with whimsical quirks whose fierce loyalty to Zane earns them a place in his heart; plus a baby who arrives safely, despite the odds. And while there is no once upon a time, they do live happily ever after.

Trailer Video

Excerpt 

Chapter 3 Zane I studied the man on my doorstep. He seemed kinda familiar and his scent washed over me, reminding me of coffee and something else I couldn’t pinpoint. Why? He smelt nothing like a good brew. One of Sam’s co-workers, I guessed. I was disappointed and hoped my favorite delivery man hadn’t been fired or taken another job because I didn’t fancy this creep on my doorstep every time I craved a taco or quesadilla. I made to grab the bag and hand over the tip, but the guy held on tight to the food. That’s my dinner! My right hand crept to my pocket as I asked, “Is there a problem?” He nodded and his muffled voice said, “Payment didn’t go through.” He shrugged. “Gremlins in the app.” Seriously? Gremlins? No hit man I’d ever met—and I hated that I’d made the acquaintance of more than one— ever talked like that. Tension released from my body as the guy held up his phone showing what I owed. “Okay. I’ll get the money.” I was searching for my wallet, tossing cushions across the room and swearing, when an aroma that commanded attention struck me in the face and had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. A pair of boots appeared in my line of vision, and I reared away. “Fuck me sideways with a broomstick!” The words exploded from my lips. I’d never seriously considered having someone order a hit on me, but faced with potential death, my pulse sped up and my mouth became dry. Seconds passed, but time stretched out and it seemed like hours. It was as though everything was moving in slow motion. The grandfather clock ticked in the corner and dust particles floated past my head as my trembling fingers reached for the gun. The intruder cocked his head. “Wouldn’t a broomstick be painful? Not a place you want to get a splinter. Ouch!” He put his hands on his hips. I froze. Who is this guy? Air whooshed out of my mouth and I took a moment to compose myself. “You scared me. What in the hell are you doing barging into my house?” “You said you’d get the money.” His voice was echoing in that stupid helmet. “You must be new. Or been raised by wolves.” Come to think of it, wolves would have taught him better manners. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” I rubbed my forehead, convinced I’d aged ten years in the last few minutes. “Nothing. But next time, wait at the door.” I shoved a fistful of bills in his palm and curled his fingers around them. And that was my first mistake. One of many. Skin to skin. My breath fogging his visor. The warmth of his hand seeped into mine and a tingling sensation spread over my body. I should have let go. I should have taken a step back. I should have shoved him out the door and complained to the restaurant owner about the lousy service. But I did none of those things. I didn’t move and neither did he. If this was his first day on the job, he might think all his customers held his hand. Poor guy. I pulled away and he made a strangled sound. It was hard to tell with that stupid helmet. “You okay?” If he was choking, I could give him mouth-to-mouth. He bobbed his head. “I’m Zane.” He mumbled something. “Hayes?” More gibberish. “Rays?” Were there two of them? Ray One and Ray Two? “No.” Okay, I heard that loud and clear. “Take off that thing, please. If you’re going to be bringing my dinner a couple of times a week, we should introduce ourselves.”

About the Authors

Colbie Dunbar

My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.

Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.

As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

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Trisha Linde

Trisha Linde spends all her time immersed in books, both reading and writing, mainly because she lives where it's too cold to do anything else, and what better way to keep warm than a hot book. The first time she read mpreg, it was love at first sight, and there's no turning back now.

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