#even just champagne pits seem to be rare

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Im researching pitbull coat colors cuz the different ways different coat colors come about and present in cats and dogs is fascinating (clearly, considering how much I geek out about calico cats)

And apparently chewby had some rare puppies

(This website didnt specifically say that blue brindles are rare but other places im looking do)

Like I knew boosie had an interesting coat but I didnt realize precious (a blue fawn) was also not common

Also according to this boosie is technically a reverse blue brindle cuz blue is his primary color (he just looked blue as a puppy and developed brindling as he aged)

[wethotcrazy]

Tsunoda or Verstappen x princess reader where the media catches them?

Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!

pairing: Max Verstappen x Princess! Reader

word count: 951

a little short fic im a little unsure of this but i think its cute. i have never written for max so i hope you like it.

The hum of engines filled the air as the Belgium Grand Prix roared to life, the energy palpable even beyond the track. It was in this electric atmosphere that Max Verstappen, Red Bull’s ace driver and reigning Formula 1 champion, first crossed paths with Princess Y/N of a small but wealthy European kingdom. She wasn’t there for pomp or ceremony, but for her unshakable love of motorsports. Her fascination with engineering had brought her into the paddock, under the guise of a “guest of honor,” though she was far more interested in torque ratios than champagne receptions.

Max had noticed her standing near the Red Bull garage, her eyes sparkling as she watched the pit crew fine-tune his RB19. She wasn’t like the other VIPs who came to the paddock for photo ops. She asked questions—intelligent ones—about the aerodynamics of the car and how it adapted to the tricky Spa-Francorchamps circuit. When she turned to him and asked, “How does it feel to handle Eau Rouge at full throttle?” Max couldn’t help but grin.

“Pretty thrilling,” he replied, his Dutch accent softening his words. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

She blushed but didn’t shy away. “I might’ve simulated it once or twice,” she admitted, and Max’s laughter was genuine.

From that moment on, they were inseparable that weekend. Between practice sessions and qualifying, Max found himself looking for Y/N in the crowd, her royal guards standing at a respectful distance while she chatted animatedly with engineers. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and refreshingly down-to-earth for someone who could probably claim ownership of a castle or two.

By the end of the weekend, they had exchanged numbers. What started as lighthearted banter and shared interests evolved into long, late-night calls discussing everything from racing to the struggles of living under the public eye. Max learned that Y/N had been fascinated by motorsports since she was a child, but her royal duties had always kept her at arm’s length from the world she loved. Y/N, in turn, found Max’s straightforwardness and his dedication to his craft intoxicating.

From then on, Max and Y/N were inseparable. Between races and royal engagements, they carved out moments just for themselves. Sometimes it was a late-night call after a long day, Max’s voice soothing as he recounted the chaos of the paddock. Other times, it was quiet afternoons strolling through parks in cities they barely knew, their laughter blending into the rustle of leaves.

Max was careful not to share too much in public, but he couldn’t entirely hide his happiness. In interviews, he would casually mention his “girlfriend” with a sly smile, never elaborating but always leaving fans buzzing. Clips of him dropping hints circulated endlessly on social media, fueling theories and debates about who the mysterious woman could be.

Their secret didn’t last forever.

It happened one sunny afternoon in Monaco, where Max and Y/N were enjoying a rare day off together. A candid photo surfaced online of them sitting on the edge of the marina, her hand resting lightly on his knee as they watched the boats sway in the harbor.

The internet exploded. “Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!” read one headline. Others followed, speculating wildly about their relationship.

For a moment, the world seemed to close in. Reporters hounded them both, and social media was flooded with opinions—some supportive, others less so.

Max, however, remained unfazed. During the next press conference, when asked about the rumors, he simply shrugged. “We’re happy,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s all that matters to me.”Y/N faced her own challenges. Her advisors worried about the implications of such a public relationship, but she met their concerns with quiet resolve. “Max is kind, driven, and genuine,” she told them firmly. “He makes me happy. This is not up for discussion.”

Despite the noise, they didn’t let the spotlight dim their connection. Instead, it seemed to strengthen their bond. Y/N became a quiet force in Max’s corner, offering him calm reassurance during stressful race weekends. Max, in turn, encouraged Y/N to pursue her passion for engineering, helping her connect with teams and experts in the field. Their love only grew stronger in the face of scrutiny. Between the whirlwind of races and royal duties, they found comfort in each other. Y/N often joined Max in the paddock, where she quickly became a beloved presence. Mechanics respected her keen interest in their work, while Max’s team appreciated the grounding influence she brought to his often-hectic life.

On their quieter days, they escaped the chaos entirely. Max taught her how to kart, laughing as she spun out on the first few laps but cheering her on when she finally nailed a clean run. Y/N, in turn, introduced him to her world—showing him the intricacies of royal life and sneaking him into her palace’s private library, where they would talk for hours.

At the Austrian Grand Prix, Max took her on a private tour of the Red Bull factory. Watching her excitement as she examined the intricate details of the car made his heart swell. “You’re amazing,” he told her, his voice filled with awe.

Though their story seemed unlikely to outsiders, it made perfect sense to them. They shared a love for pushing limits, for the thrill of speed and the beauty of innovation. Most importantly, they found in each other a kindred spirit—someone who understood the weight of expectation but refused to let it define them.

And so, they continued forward, hand in hand, their hearts racing not just for the thrill of the track or the demands of the crown, but for each other.

[guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy]

i know the end - vettel

(gif not mine @usersewis)

pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

summary: Sebastian came into your life in 2015 and left in 2020 - but you fell in love with him and he just wanted a championship.

themes/warnings: alcohol, ANGST, no use of y/n, description of a panic attack, unrequited love, waxing poetic about ferrari - can you tell they're my fav team, kimi mentioned, charles is here too !! THIS IS FICTION

wc: 3.6k

a/n: someone on tumblr said that ferrari is a haunted house with a picket fence and i have never stopped thinking about it since. i have also never stopped thinking about sebastian vettel - subcategory of seb thoughts is seb in ferrari. also still open to do requests - trying out this whole fic writing thing. will also need help with organising my blog if anyone is keen :)

read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60713827

Sebastian joined Ferrari in 2015. The team were ecstatic to have the four time world champion join their ranks, determined to bring Ferrari back to its former glory. 

You were working on the strategy team, fairly new but established enough to be listened to on the rare occasion. 

You met Seb in the pre-season at his factory introduction. He made his speech, charming the floor with his near perfect Italian. He popped into the strategy meeting room during his tour, a war room that had become home for you with its laptops and papers spread out. Sebastian was the perfect gentleman, shaking hands with everyone, though you thought he may have held on a bit longer with you.

The season started soon after, the entire garage working overtime. You were given the opportunity to accompany the team at races, rather than being stuck at Maranello.This is how you became Sebastian’s favourite strategist. 

You’re not exactly sure when it happened. You made a good strategy call in Malaysia, a well timed pit stop in Hungary and by Singapore, the lion knew your coffee order from the Ferrari cafeteria, ensuring to always pass you some before a long meeting. 

Falling for Sebastian was drawn out, comprised of lingering greeting hugs, good conversation at team dinners, long nights at the factory and searing glances across foreign nightclubs. 

You didn’t realise it for a while, and you wouldn’t realise it until it was too late. The attention you received was perhaps just part of Seb’s charm, and he had the whole motorsport world wrapped around his infamous finger. 

2016 brought on a winless year for Ferrari, both Kimi and Sebastian unable to make it to that crucial top step. 

You found Seb at the back of the Ferrari motorhome after a particularly tough race, hiding between tyre stacks. You overheard his PR team scrambling to find him - you slipped out to the back unnoticed, knowing exactly where he was. 

The tyre stacks were sort of a shared place for you and Sebastian, free from the prying eyes of the world. The only person who knew about it was Sebastian’s head mechanic, who accidentally stumbled upon you two sharing champagne after a podium last year. 

I’ll be there soon. Sebastian recognised your footsteps before even looking up. 

You sat down beside him, trying to find the words while he absentmindedly played with his water bottle. 

I’m sorr-

I don’t want to hear it. 

Sebastian had never snapped at you. You knew the strategy calls were bad today, resulting in an ill timed pitstop and Sebastian falling through the other. This Seb, this was completely foreign to you. 

Seb stood and left, sparing no further glance at you. It was a punch to your gut. Did he blame you? Drivers were always temperamental, that you knew, but Sebastian had always been nothing but kind and mature with you. 

Your body went into autopilot mode, packing up what you can before the team debrief. 

Sebastian barely spared you a glance as everyone settled in for the debrief. Perhaps a sign that he calmed down during media duties, but you knew better than to play detective with another man’s emotions. 

Strategy seemed to be the biggest issue to tackle with your boss taking the lead. You half listened, taking notes occasionally until he mentioned your name. 

One of the plans you brought up in pre-race meetings was bold and daring. It was entertained, but ultimately shoved aside for what ended up happening during the race. However after witnessing what happened in the race, it would have gained the team some higher positions. 

Ferrari is a team, one where we win and lose together. Every aspect is just as important as each other. Admitting mistakes and learning for them is how the team gets stronger. 

The strategy admission had Sebastian sneaking glances at you for the rest of the meeting. You felt it, but you weren’t exactly ready to forgive yet. 

You returned to your home in Maranello without so much as another word to Sebastian. You were, however, greeted by a bouquet of peonies on your dining table, along with a note from the man you were so desperately trying not to think about.

By 7PM the same day, you and Seb were sharing a blanket on the couch and watching a romcom, having devoured pizza and now working your way through a giant bag of chocolate wafers. 

Unfortunately, Seb knew the way to your heart. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you realised that you never shared a conversation with him about Sunday and an even scarier thought, you had forgiven him. 

2017 saw you and Sebastian grow even closer. Movie nights at your apartment became the norm and Seb often took you to dinner on race weekends, despite your protests that the dinners were too fancy. He had to spoil his favourite strategist would always be his response. 

Sebastian returned to the top step of Monaco that year, the Italian anthem blaring across the track along with a chorus of devoted Tifosi. He sneaked off after the celebrations, pulling you with him to the tyre stacks, champagne bottle on the other hand. 

Seb passed you the bottle and you took a large sip, pushing down the thought that his lips were on it mere moments ago. 

Are you coming to the afterparty?

Yes, but I don’t have anything to wear? 

No party dress packed? Ye of little faith. 

You rolled your eyes and shoved the bottle back into his hands. The endless banter and teasing simultaneously made you forget about your feelings for Seb but also made you fall harder for him. 

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He kissed your cheek and walked away. 

Cheek kisses weren’t new for Seb, having evolved from greeting hugs long ago. But “take care of it”? Well, he better not be doing what you were thinking. 

You returned to your hotel room to a large black box on your bed, an extravagant red bow tied around it with a handwritten note, definitely scrawled on by a tipsy Seb. 

The box revealed a red dress, and on top of it, another small box. You opened it and out dangled a small necklace with a heart charm. Engraved on one side was the number 5. Sebastian. 

Sebastian knocked on your door two hours later, dressed sharp and ready for the night ahead. He took you in, the dress he picked out was the perfect fit against your skin. There was however, one missing detail. 

The necklace? 

It’s a bit much, no?

Nonsense. 

Sebastian walked into your room and spotted the necklace on the bed. He took it out of its pouch and motioned for you to stand in front of the mirror. He stood behind, putting the necklace on you. His fingers ghosted over your neck, raising the tiny hairs on your skin. 

Team number 5. 

Sebastian kissed the side of your head and his fingers trailed down your arm to grab your hand. You followed him out in a daze to the elevator. 

The dim light of the elevator and Sebastian’s intoxicating cologne enveloping the cramped box. The elevator dinged, letting in more people. The sound woke you from whatever spell Sebastian cast. You counted down the floors until you had to leave the warmth of Sebastian’s side and his calloused hand around yours. 

Ground floor. The air was clearer as you exited the bubble - reality. Because despite everything, Sebastian wasn’t yours. He is Ferrari’s. You are Ferrari’s. For now, sharing a home would be enough. 

You never left Sebastian’s line of sight all night. Between partying with your girlfriends, sharing a drink with your boss and a few dances with Seb, the clarity in the haze of the club was Sebastian. 

As the night began winding down, Sebastian approached you at a booth. He was holding a mystery drink and his pupils were blown wide. He began blabbering about something Kimi did, the Finn possibly to blame for Sebastian’s current state. You took one look at him and began arranging a cab back to the hotel. 

You managed to drag a half asleep Sebastian back to his room. You sat him on the edge of the bed while you filled up a water bottle. You came back and found him spread eagle on the bed. At least he took his shoes off. 

Goodnight Seb. 

You were halfway out the room when you heard it. 

I love you.

You froze. Looking back, you saw Seb snoring peacefully, hugging a pillow to his chest. No, he’s drunk and sleeping. It wasn’t for you. It could’ve been for his bed for all you cared for. It didn’t matter, despite your heart wishing it was for you.

2018 was another successful year for Ferrari. Sebastian came home with five wins that year, placing second in the drivers standings and Kimi in third. All in all, you were quite proud of the team’s efforts that year and you knew you could unlock more of that potential. 

However, you could feel something bothering Sebastian. An itch that had been present all season. You had asked a few times, but Seb always insisted it was nothing. You knew Sebastian well enough by this point. You could read him, to an extent. But if he truly wanted to hide something, you would be helpless at getting it out. 

Sebastian invited you to stay at his farm in Switzerland for a week during the winter break. You happily obliged, having not seen him since wrapping up in Abu dhabi. You could use the tranquillity of farm life for a bit. 

Your days there were spent helping Sebastian with the animals. He taught you horse riding and you taught him baking. You let yourself get lost in that life, if just for a mere moment. Perhaps in some alternate universe, this was your home with him, that you weren’t only playing house for a week. 

You and Sebastian were laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, sharing a bowl of attempted smores. It was your last night there before you had to jet off back to Maranello to begin pre season work. 

Seb got quiet, not exactly rare but it was different when something was on his mind. 

Would you ever leave? 

Leave where?

Ferrari.

No. Ferrari is home. 

Sebastian hummed, adding nothing more but deciding to bite into another smore. A bit of chocolate dripped onto his chin. You chuckled and wiped it off with your thumb.

Besides, you don’t need to worry about that new French kid. You’re still my favourite, world champion. 

Sebastian laughed, but you missed the melancholy in his eyes and the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

Being a Tifosi came with many highs and lows - any balding Italian man can tell you that. It was felt even more within the team, especially for Sebastian this year. 

2019 saw the meteoric rise of Charles Leclerc, the predestined. He cemented his place as not only the future of Ferrari itself, but of the sport as well. 

Charles was full of energy and light. You grew fond of the kid and it was nice to have his company amidst the turmoil surrounding the team that year. 

You went into that year determined to get Sebastian his championship he so desperately craved. You were instead met by cheating rumours, bad calls, power shifting and well, an increasingly frustrated Sebastian. 

Sebastian who has been chasing that championship feeling for years. Sebastian who bleeds Ferrari red. Sebastian who is determined to bring the team back to the top. Sebastian, who is not quite yours, but you devoted your red heart to. 

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this position. 

Sebastian pulled you into his driver’s room after a race. The habit has raised a few eyebrows from passing crew, but none have said a word. 

Nothing ever happened anyways. 

Seb would sit you on his couch and you’d listen. Listen as he rambled in a heinous mix of German, Italian and English. Listen as he let out his emotions after a race and all the lows he went through that weekend. 

You’d bring up some of these points to relevant crew members. It would be worked on and by the following race, it would be better. But it was never enough for Sebastian. 

You understood, he was supposed to bring Ferrari back, follow in the footsteps of his mentor and hero. It was an immense pressure and responsibility that has been carried for years. Now, the Italians have put their faith in his teammate, throwing him aside like an old toy. 

It was draining for you too, being subjected to this almost every weekend. It wasn’t your burden to bear, but this was Sebastian. He is still Rosso Corsa, and you weren’t one to deny a cry for help. 

Singapore rolled around, one of Sebastian’s favourites. He crossed the line in first place that night. You haven’t been so happy in months. 

Sebastian found you at your desk after media duties. You were still on the adrenaline high, but the tiredness began seeping back into your bones. You knew you weren’t sleeping well, the stress of the season getting to you and your eyes looked darker than ever. For Ferrari, the pain was always worth it. 

Come out tonight. 

Seb, I feel dead. 

And the race winner is personally inviting you. 

You could never resist him, which is how you have an extremely plastered Seb on your arm as you walk back to the hotel. Apparently being part of Team 5 also meant babysitting when he’s had one too many. 

I LOVE FERRARI! I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE! FORZA FERRARI! 

Sempre. 

May 2020. F1 was still on the break. The only place you went was your home in Maranello and occasionally the factory. You hadn’t seen Sebastian in months and to be honest, you haven’t heard from him as much as you wanted to. 

Then, the announcement. Sebastian Vettel to leave Ferrari by the end of the 2020 season. 

It came as a shock to you. Seb’s contract was up for renewal, you knew that. But he never said anything about leaving, at least, not to your face. And to find out from Instagram, rather than from the man himself, that was a whole other issue. 

You left several messages on Seb’s number over the next week, all remained unanswered. You knew he was a bit of a recluse sometimes, preferring quiet company over the glitz and glamour other drivers seemed to surround themselves with. Ignoring you however, that was unheard of. 

You asked some of Seb’s mechanics, but none have heard from him. You even asked Charles, but all he received was a polite thank you message. 

After a while, you gave up on contacting him. You knew better than to beg for a man’s attention, even Sebastian’s. It broke your heart to walk away, but you had to keep pushing and Ferrari needed to keep pushing. 

Red Bull Ring, Austria. The first race back was a much quieter environment than what you’ve been used to. Despite wanting to stay in Maranello, mainly to stay safe but also to avoid a certain German, your boss wanted you at the races. Who were you to deny the call of the Prancing Horse. 

You ignored him all weekend, refusing to make eye contact or be in his general presence at all. It was perhaps a bit petty, but you deserved to be after the last two months. 

Charles placed P2, a great result from the team for the first race back. You chatted to him at your desk after the race. Charles was a young man that had raw talent, immense passion and was wise beyond his years. You were lucky to call him a friend. 

Mid conversation, Charles glanced behind you. You knew exactly who was standing there, but he could wait his turn. 

You finished up with Charles, giving him a hug before he left. 

You stared at Seb standing awkwardly in the doorway. He shifted on his feet, for once not knowing what to say to you. 

Please say something. 

I have nothing to say to you. You’re the one who went radio silent for months. 

I’m sorry. 

You shook your head and looked away, not wanting him to see how much this affected you. 

I didn’t know how to tell you. 

Seb moved closer, stepping into your space. He reached out a shaky hand to yours. You gripped his, you couldn’t help it. A silent sob escaped your body. 

Come with me. 

You whipped around, searching his pleading eyes. 

Come with me. To Aston Martin. 

His other hand came up to the side of your head, cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears on your cheek. 

Come with me. I need you. 

His hand brushed down the side of your neck, fingers finding the necklace he gifted all those years ago. 

Team 5. That’s our home. Please. 

Sebastian fiddled with the charm. He found the engraved 5 turned around, no longer facing outward like how you’ve always worn it. 

You took Sebastian’s hand and pressed a tender kiss to it. 

Ferrari is my home. I can’t come with you. 

You dropped his hand and looked anywhere else but him. You couldn’t bear to see the tears welling in his eyes. 

Please leave. 

Sebastian walked out, hesitating at the door. He took a last look at you and left. 

You let the cries come out. Every emotion you’ve kept the last few years came out in a tidal wave. 

You felt an arm wrapping around your shoulders, recognising Charles’ hand. He helped you to the floor and let you lean against him. 

I’m sorry. 

You requested to be transferred to Maranello for the rest of the season, citing health concerns. The team was sad to see you go, many of them enjoying your company on long race weekends. 

You only saw Sebastian in passing for the rest of the year, heard about him from mechanics, through strategy feedback and once from Charles. He knew not to press, but you didn’t miss the occasional flicker of sympathy from his eyes. 

Sebastian came by the factory after the season ended, a formal goodbye to Ferrari. There was food and drinks passed around and some quick speeches made. 

Sebastian was the last to come forward. 

It has been my dream to race for the Scuderia since I was a boy. Here I stand now, as a Ferrari driver for six incredible seasons. It still feels like cloud nine everytime I get to walk into this beautiful place and be greeted by the passion from every single one of you. I thank you all for the hard work you’ve put in all these years. 

Sebastian took a breath, as if hesitating on what to say next. You found yourself waiting, a small part of you hoping for him to say something, anything that would allow you to forgive him. 

I want to say a special thank you to those who have been by my side. You know who you are. I know I haven’t always made it easy, and I am sorry for that. But I am eternally grateful for you. 

Sebastian’s eyes found yours in the crowd. You found yourself fiddling with the necklace for comfort, forcing your eyes to hold back tears. 

Thank you all. Forza Ferrari sempre. 

The crowd erupted in cheers, applauding Seb as he made his way back into the crowd. 

Your ears were ringing, vision blurry and the swell of the crowd was suddenly too much. Your feet relief on instinct, turning you around and leading you towards the exit. 

A hand found your arm as you reached the lobby. Charles. The youngster took one look at you and said something about a car and to wait. Your body curled into a ball as you heaved. 

This was it. Sebastian was leaving. Leaving Ferrari and the home you built in it, with him. And neither of you could muster the courage for a proper goodbye. What an irony, Ferrari who creates heroes and legends but two of their best and brightest are cowards with each other. 

A sleek black Ferrari pulled up to the front. The rumble of the engine was enough to push yourself to stand and stumble your way to Charles who had opened the door for you. 

You turned, taking a look at the building. Ferrari is always going to be home, but the people in it give it meaning. Sebastian left, and your sun set, but it will rise again soon. 

You were at the door and hesitated for the briefest moment. That was enough for Sebastian to come running into the lobby. 

You stood in the moonlight with windswept hair and teary eyes. From the distance, Sebastian could just make out the glimmer of the necklace he gave you all those years ago and the most important thought - you were still the most beautiful woman he ever got the chance to know. 

He loved you. Loves you. It was real all along, not some drunken stupor that he convinced himself it was all those years ago, hiding because it would be easier than to let himself fall. 

He understood. You were always by his side, and he was too late to notice it, much less be grateful for it. You can't forgive him now, and he’s caused too much harm. It would be selfish of him to keep you tethered.  

 He needs to let you go. 

Sebastian nodded at you from his frozen place in the lobby. This is the end. You touched your hand to your heart, where your necklace fell. In another life. 

[midnightsun-if]

Have another untitled if ask for you cause I have brain rot for it.

You mentioned that Ilyran/Ilyria hasn’t looked the way they used to in a long time? What do you mean by that?

From this ask (for anyone confused).

Here’s an excerpt from Chapter One

Ilyran Excerpt:

“It’s quite disheartening that people like that man are the ones pledging undying loyalty to me.”

The voice, suffused with an almost amused purr, bounces off the embellished walls of the room— ricocheting within your mind like the stones grazing across the lakes surface from your youth. It wasn’t loud, it never was, but it commanded attention all the same; an intrinsic pull, lulling anyone close to the dive beneath the dark depths beneath the surface.

Of course, as Lady Luck would bless you so fortunately, you’re the only one that’s actively able to hear it— along with the man it belonged to.

A man that is now leaning against the door his disciple had just exited through, boredom etched across his face. You’ve read books within The Spire’s library depicting tales of ‘The Forsaken One’; the man that had willingly, and intentionally, fallen from the Divine’s grace and light, even when he had been proclaimed as her chosen. Within each of those tales grand depictions of his beauty, of his grace and elegance, denoted large portions of the text— as if the authors couldn’t comprehend how someone like him could do what he’d done— but the illustrations were the eye catching part: depictions of a tall man, with hair the color of the lightest gold, a fair complexion that seemed to shine underneath the Divine’s Grace, and emerald eyes that sparkled with the depths of his compassion.

Former High Priest Ilyran, as he stands now, is only a mere echo of what used to be.

Champagne colored hair has now darkened to a tarnished gold, brushing the top of his shoulders in artfully crafted waves. He rarely ever wears it loose, it seems the ruckus that the disciples caused had disturbed him more than he was letting on, typically preferring to wear it in a simple ponytail. The pristine white of his robes, embossed with threads of the purest gold, were replaced by the darkest black, a hue that would put the deepest pit to shame. Of course, it did little to detract your gaze from the fairness of his complexion and how a deep obsidian had suffused itself across his fingertips and down towards his hands— like tendrils of darkness reaching out to taint the rest of him. Wishing to poison the last bits it hadn’t been able to get to. It’s that same obsidian black that has completely taken over his once viridescent gaze, eclipsing all other color with its presence. However, at times, in the silence of the night, you think you can sometimes see flecks of green flickering into life once more before they vanish back within the darkness.

An almost wicked smile upticks the corner of his mouth, revealing a sharp canine. “Though they have evaded capture thus far. Suppose that deserves a bit of commendation.” Obsidian eyes roll skyward. “Something I may be inclined to do if they weren’t such imbecilic fools.”

Ilyria Excerpt:

“It’s quite disheartening that people like that man are the ones pledging undying loyalty to me.”

The voice, suffused with an almost amused purr, bounces off the embellished walls of the room— ricocheting within your mind like the stones grazing across the lakes surface from your youth. It wasn’t loud, it never was, but it commanded attention all the same; an intrinsic pull, lulling anyone close to the dive beneath the dark depths beneath the surface.

Of course, as Lady Luck would bless you so fortunately, you’re the only one that’s actively able to hear it— along with the woman it belonged to.

A woman that is now leaning against the door her disciple had just exited through, boredom etched across her face. You’ve read books within The Spire’s library depicting tales of ‘The Forsaken One’; the woman that had willingly, and intentionally, fallen from the Divine’s grace and light, even when she had been proclaimed as her chosen. Within each of those tales grand depictions of her beauty, of her grace and elegance, denoted large portions of the text— as if the authors couldn’t comprehend how someone like her could do what she’d done— but the illustrations were the eye catching part: depictions of a tall woman, with hair the color of the lightest gold, a fair complexion that seemed to shine underneath the Divine’s Grace, and emerald eyes that sparkled with the depths of her compassion.

Former High Priestess Ilyria, as she stands now, is only a mere echo of what used to be.

Champagne colored hair has now darkened to a tarnished gold, falling to her shoulder blades in artfully crafted waves. She rarely ever wears it loose, it seems the ruckus that the disciples caused had disturbed her more than she was letting on, typically preferring to wear it in a simple ponytail. The pristine white of her robes, embossed with threads of the purest gold, were replaced by the darkest black, a hue that would put the deepest pit to shame. Of course, it did little to detract your gaze from the fairness of her complexion and how a deep obsidian had suffused itself across her fingertips and down towards her hands— like tendrils of darkness reaching out to taint the rest of her. Wishing to poison the last bits it hadn’t been able to get to. It’s that same obsidian black that has completely taken over her once viridescent gaze, eclipsing all other color with its presence. However, at times, in the silence of the night, you think you can sometimes see flecks of green flickering into life once more before they vanish back within the darkness.

An almost wicked smile upticks the corner of her mouth, revealing a sharp canine. “Though they have evaded capture thus far. Suppose that deserves a bit of commendation.” Obsidian eyes roll skyward. “Something I may be inclined to do if they weren’t such imbecilic fools.”

[bandaigaeru]

one in a million - bang chan

→genre: strangers to lovers →synopsis: it’s rare that one night stands are good, but ones you simply cannot remember? their chances of turning out well are one in a million, and chan has proven himself a douchebag by your standards. things pan in a different direction on a coincidental cabin trip. →pairing: chan x fem reader →word count: 7.4k →warnings: mature content (suggestive, light smut?), swearing

I.

There is a boy in your bed.

Drowsiness triggers his pouted lips to plump out further. He rolls over, facing the wall, as he tugs the duvet over his bare, broad shoulders. Admittedly, it suits the boy; but, you can’t exactly focus on his naked beauty right now. Mainly because he is, well, naked.

Panic travels the lengths of your veins as you attempt to remember the details of last night. New year, new boy toy. It’s a resolution anyone can have—some might even be jealous of you right now. Which would be fine, of course, if you knew who this boy was.

Sharp pain in your frontal lobe disrupts your attempt at recollection. You silently hiss, a hand pointlessly flying up to aid the internal aching.

Who is this boy? You must have met him at Hyunjin’s New Year bash. Where tons of free alcohol was presented before you. Peach champagne lingers on your tongue still. And a hint of something else. Is that beer? You must have been completely out of it for the free drink of choice to be beer.

Maybe he’s one of Hyunjin’s friends? He seems oddly familiar. Like you’ve seen his face in a passing Instagram post or something.

You glance to the bedside table beside the mysterious sleeping boy. Sure enough, your phone is there. Plugged in, too. At least you were responsible enough not to lose it in your drunken rampage.

Stealthily, you crawl out of bed, locating forgotten clothes that belong to you on the floor. You ignore the strewn heels and underwear, stealing the black dress as a shield before dashing into your closet. You drop the dress when the door latches shut with a single, loud click. Blindly, you search in the dark for new garments of protection.

Admittedly, the situation is bad, but you acknowledge the positive fact that you are in your house. Shame would drown you if you had to borrow a stranger’s clothes.

Clothed and slightly warmer than before, you step back into the familiar bedroom. Your eyes scan the room like a hawk to your phone. Next to it is his. Overflooded with curiosity and presented with an opportunity to quench it, you rush over.

You tap on the screen, displaying a selfie of him and one of his friends at the gym. They are both flexing their biceps. A smile with hints of laughter rests on the face of the boy who now sleeps beside you. He has dimples tucked in the plush of his cheeks. You roll your eyes. An avid gym-goer with an ego so inflated he has a picture of himself as his wallpaper? Are you serious? You couldn’t have bagged a peculiar boy who could make this investigation a bit more intriguing?

You unlock your phone after discovering he was smart enough to put a passcode on his. You open your text logs, hoping to steal even the tiniest of hints. Nothing new, though.

If anyone, Felix or Saerom would know, they were with you all night—from what you can remember.

You scroll to their group text, promptly typing a vague inquiry along the lines of “did you see me leave with anyone?”

The bubble that pops up to alert you that Felix is typing sends a pit of butterflies wild in your stomach. Please offer some insight. Please.

Lee Felix: Hmm, not sure. Why? Did you score? Lol

Frustration triggers an unintentional huff. The boy stirs from the noise. You wince.

Felix was supposed to be the designated driver. He should have been alert to make sure you didn’t slip away with someone of harsh intentions.

Saerom holds the most hope for you now. You just pray that she didn’t go wild with the alcohol like you apparently did.

You slip your phone into your pocket. The boy is hugging your dog plushie like it’s the last thing he’ll ever hold. He suddenly whimpers, whispering in his sleep, “Don’t leave me.”

Investigation takes over your vision, and you step around the discarded garments to further your search. You crouch beside his pants. They’re nice, expensive black cotton. A tie lays a few feet away. Hmm. Part of a suit.

Maybe drunk you’s option wasn’t too bad? Fashion sense outweighs the factor of his potential narcissism.

You slip a hand into the pocket. Relief flushes over your skin as you feel the thick leather of his wallet. His driver’s license gives you the greatest hint of personhood.

Bang Chan. DOB: October 3rd, 1997. He wields a serious, blank face. So different from the one he shows in the peace of sleep. But still, you don’t know who he is. Sure, you have a name to match the face, but that doesn’t make him any less of a stranger.

You return the wallet to its home while your phone continuously vibrates in your pocket.

Lee Saerom: Oh, I watched you leave with that guy in the suit. One of Changbin’s friends. Chan maybe?

Lee Felix: No way you fucked Bang Chan

Lee Saerom: Do you have a pic of him?? I can confirm his identity.

Lee Felix sent an image

Lee Saerom: Yup. That’s him. They looked pretty close haha.

Lee Felix: Oh Seungmin’s gonna love this

You rest your forehead against your palm as you stare at the chat. A deep sigh escapes your lips. “Fuck,” you mutter.

Seungmin, you’ve heard that name. Is he the tall one who was mocking Hyunjin about his new haircut? You think so, but that could have been Minho.

Hyunjin and Felix have too many friends to keep track of.

Behind you, the boy groans as he disappears from his dream world. You sit on the floor, looking up at him. A hand flies up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Shit,” he blinks hard, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. His eyebrows knit.

“Hi. Good morning?” you start.

He flinches at the sound of your voice, sitting up defensively. He glances down at his chest and yanks a pillow to cover himself.

You sputter a laugh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Who am I?” your eyebrows jump in amusement. “I should be asking you that, considering you’re in my room.”

He takes a long look around your room, finally acknowledging the possibilities of last night. “Right,” he draws the word out. “I’m Chan. Bang Chan?” He doesn’t seem too sure of his own identity. Perhaps he thinks this is some unthinkable dream.

“Friend of Changbin?” you ask.

Confused, he hesitantly nods.

“Hmm. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you. Soberly.”

This rises a half laugh from him. The smile lingers on his face, and there those dimples are, peeking out so boyishly your heart tugs. “You too.”

After a disturbingly long silence (what do you say to someone after you’ve drunkenly had sex with them?), you say, “Seungmin���s probably going to make fun of you for this.”

“You know Seungmin?” His tone tips upward in curiosity.

“No, my friend does. But he said, and I quote, ‘Oh, Seungmin’s gonna love this’ end quote.”

He tilts his head to analyze your face. Maybe he thinks he sees familiarity in your features, but you’re sure he’s never seen you before this encounter. “Who’s your friend?”

“You have a lot of questions,” you observe.

His eyes narrow at this. “I feel like I have the right to.”

“Fair point. His name’s Felix. Now, what do you remember from last night? Because personally, I got nothing.”

His face lights up as though you’ve just told him he’s won the lottery. “Oh shit, you’re friends with Felix?” he laughs.

You nod. “Four years now. We met at the airport. He was flying to Australia, I was going to the States for a rendezvous with some guy from Tinder.”

“That’s crazy. Felix never talks about you.”

For some reason, this alerts a harmful pang in your chest. You thought you were closer to Felix than that, but maybe this just proves this Chan guy is so different from you that Felix has never felt the need to introduce him to your existence.

“Okay, answer my question now,” you say.

“I don’t remember anything either,” he admits.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I don’t exactly trust you on that. You’re a gym rat after all. You could be some gross dude who uses girls for sex and I’m the perfect prey,” you snap. It was the Felix comment. Hurt triggers some mean words.

“How do you know I’m a gym rat? I’m not a gym rat,” he defensively shakes his head, letting the pillow rest in his lap.

Right, you think, because non-gym rats have perfect pecs and a set of abs that look chiseled carefully by the gods.

You tip your chin towards his phone. “Your wallpaper.”

“You went through my phone?” he scoffs, face twisting into shock.

“I didn’t exactly know who you were. You’re not Mr. Popular, you know.”

He stares at you with wide eyes. “Other girls would disagree.”

You marvel at this oh-so-manly admission. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

You lean over and grab his pants, promptly throwing them at him. The last thing you want is to continue this conversation. You don’t even listen to your guy friends talk about their game, so the interest of listening to a stranger speak on this is skyrocketing in the wrong direction.

Pulling yourself up, you say, “Do you want breakfast?”

“Um, sure?”

“All I have are Eggos.” He gives you an incredulous look, causing you to add, “Be grateful I even offered.”

II.

Saerom and Felix sit on your couch while you pace the room, recounting the angering fling in great detail.

“Are you sure that was Chan? It doesn’t sound like him,” Felix shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, does he have an evil twin with the same name or something?” you throw your arms around to emphasize the tense feeling in your stomach.

“No,” he mumbles, sinking back into the couch.

“He could have at least been grateful for the Eggos,” Saerom chimes in.

You’re glad she gets it.

“I don’t even remember the sex,” you admit.

“That wasted?” Saerom’s lips press into a fine line of shared disappointment.

“What a great start to the new year. Do you want to know something about Chan to make you feel better?” Felix inquires. His eyes are warm and welcoming, and you can’t bear saying no to him.

“Chan’s not a one-night-stand kind of guy. He probably just didn’t know what to do when he woke up. And he’s not a gym rat. He spends more time at work than anything. Changbin just drags him along every Saturday. I know because he tried doing the same to me. Except I’m not a sucker for my friends the way Chan is.”

“You are a sucker for your friends, though?” Saerom comments.

Felix offers her a short look. “Not as bad as Chan is. One time, he drove three hours across the country to pick Minho up from a dance competition gone wrong. I would never waste my gas like that.”

“Felix, this doesn’t make me feel any better,” you say.

He takes a deep breath, contemplating his next words with great concern. “If you run into him again, just give him a chance. Alright? I wouldn’t hang around a douchebag. You know that.”

You doubt you’ll willingly run into this man ever again, but you do have mutual friends, so you don’t dismiss Felix’s words entirely.

III.

You have made the executive decision to skip Hyunjin’s upcoming rager. Not because of the Chan dude. It’s been months since the fling even happened and you honestly forgot about it until Felix interrogated you about skipping.

“Chan’s not even gonna be there, you won’t risk running into him,” Felix had said, and you had to stop and think about who Chan even was.

Parties are just too much sometimes. Plus, you and Saerom have had plans to go up to the mountains for weeks and the party just so happens to fall upon the same weekend. It would be rude of you to miss out on a trip you helped plan.

“Should I pack a bathing suit?” Saerom asks over the phone. “I mean, the Airbnb has an indoor hot tub listed in the description.”

“Sure, I’ll pack mine too,” you say, backtracking to your dresser and grabbing the first suit you could find. You toss it in your suitcase.

“So you know how we’re sharing the place with another renter?” you start.

Saerom hums.

“Do you think it’ll be anyone cute?” you smile to yourself at the possibility.

“I hope so,” she chuckles on the other end. “The host told me there would be a group of boys around our age but she said they reminded her of frat boys.”

You throw your head back in agony and groan. What is this luck you have?

“Hey,” Saerom defends, “Frat boys can be nice. It’s just a-”

You cut her off, picking up one of your sweaters and holding it to your chest before tossing it on your bed, “One in a million chance?”

“Right.”

Saerom starts asking about music for the drive but is promptly interrupted by an incoming call.

“Shit, sorry, Hyunjin is calling. I’ll call you back,” you profusely apologize before accepting the new call. Felix probably told him you were bailing.

Before you can say hello, Hyunjin’s voice bombards your ears. “Are you skipping my party to go see your secret, mysterious boyfriend in the mountains?”

A laugh drifts past your lips. “Hello to you too.”

“Answer the question, Y/N.” He can’t possibly be angry at you for this, but he’s making a show.

“Since when do I have a secret, mysterious boyfriend?” you counter.

He huffs. “Nevermind. You have to come to the next party though, okay? It’s mandatory for maintaining your status as my best friend.”

“Ha! Best friend? Really?”

You’re truly amused by the silence that follows as he tries to spin a believable lie.

“Just free up your schedule, okay?” he whines.

“I’ll think about it.”

He makes a noise of histrionic Hyunjin-ness. A mix between a scream and a groan. Exaggerated in a way only he could pull off. “Please? I’ll get you that peach champagne shit again.”

“Hmm,” you consider.

“And I’ll make sure your boy shows up,” he hurriedly adds.

“My boy?”

“Yeah, well, a boy. Not necessarily yours.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What else do I have to throw in to convince you?”

You take a moment to draw his neediness in. Finally, you admit, “I was honestly just waiting to see if you’d bribe me. I’ll go. But make sure that peach stuff is there. It was really good.”

You think he’s screaming into a pillow for a second. He comes back to the phone, voice completely even. “I will ensure that the peach alcohol is waiting patiently for your return. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a minute. Have fun on your trip. Be safe. Tell your mystery boyfriend I say hi.”

Before you can shut down the secret boyfriend accusations, Hyunjin has already hung up.

IV.

Saerom has earned the award for the best Airbnb scouter in the history of your friends.

You hadn’t seen the pictures until the drive up. Saerom wanted to keep it a surprise but failed in the final hours. The log cabin is straight from a movie—one with a budget of a couple million. The high ceilings, the exposed support beams that add to the character, the tall windows that offer a view of the nearby mountaintops. Beauty doesn’t end there. A miniature theater, the hot tub room shares a view of the snowy trees, even the bedrooms have unique personalities.

“This is so cool!” you exclaim, spinning slowly to take in the living room. The leather couch is in pristine condition. Not a single scratch. You offer a round of applause for the owners of this place. They even put a wicker basket of blankets next to the couch for optimal coziness.

“Let’s go claim our rooms before the other group gets here,” Saerom grabs her suitcase handle and starts for the hallway adjacent to the kitchen. You trail after her like an amazed child, looking around with saucers for eyes.

She takes the room on one end of the Jack and Jill bathroom and you take the other. It comes in agreement that it would be too awkward to share a bathroom with a random (allegedly frat) boy.

In true vacation format, you have packed a book or two to reach maximum relaxation. So here you lay, on the queen-sized bed feeling like royalty with a book hovering over your face. Your phone lays beside you on Do Not Disturb mode. Royalty doesn’t feel obligated to respond, so neither should you for this weekend away. Still, you check it periodically to make sure no one’s dying.

Sudden noise alerts you that the other group has arrived. Saerom rushes through the bathroom.

“Should we go say hi? Scout out the cute ones? I’ll let you pick first dibs.”

You grin, setting the book down and following her anticipating footsteps. She peeks out into the living room, greeting them joyously. Before you analyze faces, you take a headcount. One, two three, four. Four boys. That’s kind of intimidating-holy shit is that Chan?

The moment your eyes fall on him, your heart skips at least two beats. His eyes catch your stare. You’re sure he sees the abrupt shift of your expression because he offers a small, apologetic smile. Then, in case that’s not enough, he mouths, “Sorry.”

You break eye contact, glancing to Saerom for advice, but she’s busy introducing herself.

The other boys are named Bambam, Minghao, and Seokmin. Against your own thoughts, they seem rather nice. Not outwardly frat-esque. Chan keeps trying to steal your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the one talking, nodding along to his words, and playing your best acting role.

In the moment of silence, you say, “Well, I’m gonna head back to my room and get some reading done. It was nice meeting you all.”

The boys chorus their regards before you sneak back into the hallway. Shutting the door behind you, you take a deep breath. It offers temporary calm. You grab your phone as a distraction. Noticing Felix has sent you a Snapchat, you rush to open it. It’s a screenshot of his location tracker that shows you and Chan being in the same place. Beneath the picture is an array of question marks.

You quickly type back: I had no idea he’d be here. Saerom got a dual boarding bc it was cheap. What are the chances of this??

One in a million, you think. Likely less than that, if we’re being realistic. You’re three hours away from Seoul. How? Just how?

Lee Felix: Hmm. You sure he’s not your secret boo or something?? Seems pretty convenient

Felix’s words trigger a light switch in your brain. Angrily, you scroll down to Hyunjin’s contact and click the call icon. You hold the phone to your ear, impatient at every ring that echoes.

When he fails to answer, you leave a frustrated voicemail to call you back when he can or text you at the very least.

At the same time, Saerom texts you.

Lee Saerom: Holy shit?? Is that the guy you slept with at the beginning of the year? The super rude one who scoffed at your Eggos offer??

You text back a simple frowning emoji, and she understands instantly, apologizing profusely. She swears she didn’t know.

You: No, it’s okay. I know you couldn’t have known who the group would be. I’m just gonna be avoidant and it’ll be okay, but don’t let me ruin your vacation. Socialize!!

Really, you try to be genuine. Maybe you won’t even have to avoid him. Maybe he really just feels bad. As Felix said, he probably just didn’t know what to do. Everyone has their moments.

Lee Felix: Remember what I told you, okay?

It’s like he can read your mind. You’re typing a response back when there’s a knock on your door. Your eyes shoot up. The sound echoes in your ears as you realize who’s on the other side. You keep quiet, drafting your text back to Felix when the knock repeats. Again, you stay silent; but, the knocker persists.

You start for the door, swinging it open. “What?”

Chan’s fist is hovering to knock again, and his eyebrows jump in shock when he acknowledges that you stand before him. His arm falls to his side. “Can-Can I come in? I just want to talk about…you know.” He nervously looks to his feet, then up to your stony eyes, and then back down.

There are mean words waiting on the tip of your tongue, but Felix’s heavy voice rings in your ears and you sigh, stepping out of the way and quickly waving him in.

His shock intensifies at this, but he steps inside. You close the door behind him and turn to look at him, arms crossed expectantly. “Go on,” you urge.

“Look, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t present myself in a way I would proudly do now, so I would like a redo if you would graciously allow me that,” he spits the words out in a hurry.

You’re only doing this because of Felix. Kind, beautiful Felix who has never intentionally hurt you, and thus you trust his judgment, despite your inner contradicting thoughts. Sticking a hand out, you say, “I’m Y/N, very nice to meet you. And you are?”

He takes your hand in his, “Chan. A pleasure to formally meet you in a sober state in which I’m not a douche.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you smile, playing along.

“Right, I don’t know what I’m talking about either,” he laughs, and his dimples are on full display.

Chan stays for a bit longer, sitting next to you on the foot of your bed. You learn that he’s a hopeful actor, but in substitution for his lost time, he’s studying law. He only goes to the gym when Changbin fears he’s too involved in his studies, by means of distraction.

You were wrong about him. In all ways but one: his beauty is strikingly overwhelming. When he talks, you catch yourself glancing down at his lips with a weird sense of hope. In your defense, you’ve already reached peak intimacy with him so there’s no point in acting like attraction requires levels of achievement.

Some people have to be friends first. Some people skip that, and that’s decently fine. Friends to lovers? Overdone in your book. Failed hookups to lovers? It’s new. This is the path that you wish to explore, but you still want to admire the beauty along the way.

V.

In the morning, you sneak into the kitchen to make breakfast. Plans abruptly change when you see the boy on the couch nearby. A blanket pulled to his chin, his lips gently parted. Light snores escape from the gap.

Was the walk to his room really that troublesome?

You step over a forgotten throw pillow and push his shoulder. He groans, burying his face in the blanket. You try again. “Chan.”

“What?” he whines, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I’m about to make breakfast. Either endure the noise or help me.”

His sleep swollen eyes try to make out your face. “Fine. Since you ask so kindly.”

If you were to have a nickel for every time you’ve seen this man wake up, you’d have two, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice given the context of time between you (or lack of).

After an intense debate, you settle on French toast. You monitor the pan while Chan dips the bread into the egg mix. Perfect teams always derive from people who were recently strangers.

“The girl you came with,” Chan starts, “Saerom?”

You hum, urging him to continue.

“She’s nice. Was she at the party?”

“Which party?” you ask, though you know which one he’s talking about.

“The only party that I could be talking about. You know,” his voice trails off.

You laugh at the pouted look on his face. “I’m just messing with you. She was there. She was the one who told me your identity the next morning. And Felix was the one who notoriously spilled the beans because he just so happened to be in the group text.”

He nods, letting the information permeate. The look on his face. It begs to ask more, but he fails to act on it in time. One of his friends has blanketed the space with his presence.

“Good morning,” Minghao yawns, stretching his arms above his head.

“Morning,” you turn to him. “French toast?”

“Please.”

You still don’t know why Chan showed up again. Coincidence? Fate? Often mistaken for each other. Fate proposes an idea of hope, and getting your hopes up is a crime in the changing world we live in. You shake the idea. It’s just a coincidence. But if the path allows, you plan to travel it.

VI.

The boys decide to hit the slopes as a token of their vacation. When prompted with the notion that the check-in cabin offers loan skis and garb, Saerom shrugs and joins them. You lag behind, making up some excuse to stay home. What you really want to do is sit in the hot tub for an hour or two.

A phone call from work delays your entry. And then a call from Hyunjin (“When are you coming home? I probably look so suspicious at the ABC store right now trying to scout all of their peach shit.”). And another from Felix (“If I were a worm, would you build me a haven? No, Y/N, this can’t wait. I must know ASAP.”).

By the hour the time comes, the sun is tilting towards sunset. What was meant to be a solo relaxation is now threatened by the group’s return. Regardless, you sink into the hot tub and bask in the warmth. The view really is no joke. You look onto it for so long you lose track of time, and yet, you can’t find yourself being bored of it. The world is ever changing. There will always be something new to admire.

“Tsk. Beat me to it,” a voice says from behind you.

You jump at the sudden appearance of the intruder, splashing water everywhere as you turn to look at them.

“Don’t do that! You don’t just creep up on a girl like that!”

“Sorry,” Chan winces, offering a meek smile as further apology.

You breathe out, looking back to the sea of trees past the glass.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not particularly,” you glance back at him. There is a hint of a smile on your face, you can feel the muscles betraying the internal want to be alone.

“I will return, then,” he says, disappearing back into the house momentarily.

You check your phone in the meantime. A few texts from Felix (“Are you sure about what you said about my worm transformation?”) and one from Hyunjin—a simple picture of a cart filled with peach flavored vodka, beer, and the likes. You laugh to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Chan asks, pulling the glass door shut behind him. You glance up. He’s in swim trunks, of course. Chest fully exposed. Collarbones. Abs.

It’s a lot to take in.

“Oh come on,” he points at your awed face. “You’ve seen me naked!”

You sputter, looking back to your phone, “Oh, shut up.”

He sits opposite you, a smug grin resting gently on his lips.

“How was snowboarding?” you ask, setting your phone back down before dunking your arms in the water. You nervously trap your hands between your thighs.

He shrugs. “It was fine. Cold.”

You chuckle. “I expected that much.”

“How about you? What did you do all day?”

“I was stuck in the dimension of phone calls for most of it. Work, Felix, Hyunjin.”

His neck vein pulses outwards as he makes a yikes face. “Let me guess: worm haven?”

You laugh and shake your head. “How’d you know?”

He struggles to get the words out in between laughing, “He asked me the same thing last week. Wouldn’t let me leave his apartment until I gave him an in-depth response on how I would structure his worm utopia and everything.”

“Sounds so very Felix of him.”

His laugh wanes into a faraway smile. Those eyes of his stare into yours like they hold the moon, and he’s always wanted to see the moon up close. He pushes himself to move towards you.

“I’m not the best with words,” he offers.

“Who says you had to be?” Your eyes linger on his lips as he draws closer. Falling back into the habit, one that doesn’t beg to be broken.

With his body virtually flushed against yours, you jump to meet him. He breathes a laugh through his nose, which tickles your upper lip. His lips feel so familiar against yours. Matched. Fated. The warmth from his body (or maybe that’s just the water) ignites a hive of buzzing bees in your stomach. Different from the butterflies associated with proximity. Bees are less archetypically beautiful, and yet they hold this specific beauty at the moment. Who would ever want butterflies when there are bees that he offers you? This is how love is addictive. Yet, you will fall for its ruses if it means kissing Chan like this. His hand reaches up from the water and cups your cheek, all the while holding you closer to him.

Despite your attempts to hold on to the moment, he pulls away. “Have you ever kissed anyone in a hot tub before?”

You shake your head, confusedly staring back at him.

“You sure? Feels like you’re a pro at this.” He leans back in, pressing a quick kiss at your lips before submitting to a longer one.

Your stomach feels warm—and you’re 99% certain it is not of fault by the hot tub.

VII.

He dedicates his night to getting to know you better, claiming that one with your capabilities should not simply slip through his fingers. Plus, tomorrow you return to Seoul. It’s only appropriate to pull an all-nighter seeing as you aren’t driving.

You lay on your bed, staring up at the blank ceiling. He beside you, though with considerable distance.

“Where do you work?”

“Confidential information,” you declare.

“Oh, come on. You’ve used that same excuse for the past three things I’ve asked you.”

You roll over to look at him. “Some things you don’t reveal before the first date.”

He squints at you, convinced, “Touche.”

You press on, “Because how do I know you’re not one of those psychos who show up at my place of work and harass me?”

“I won’t,” he shakes his head.

“How can you be so sure?”

“First of all, I’m studying law. If I wanted to stalk you, I’d do it in a way that wouldn’t get me convinced. Plus, Seungmin’s a law student. He’d kill me or any of his friends if we tried something like that, and he’d especially kill me if I tried to abuse the law.”

“Seungmin’s a law student?”

He nods.

“A gossip-loving law student. Seems oxymoronic, doesn’t it?” you laugh.

“You’re right, but I hope you know we’re going to be his favorite spectacle for a while,” he chuckles, reaching an arm around you and pulling you closer.

You melt into his touch. “Can I blame him? Not really. We are a spectacle.”

VIII.

The morning you leave, you get Chan’s number and text him the whole ride home.

“What are you smiling at?” Saerom glances between you and the road before you, a teasing smile of her own on her lips.

“Nothing.” Your voice is that gross, nasally intimate kind. Part of you hates it, but another piece of you loves the thrill. Right now, the concept of being with someone is still a game. Nothing is set in stone and nothing is serious. You are navigating things at your own pace, just the way you want it to be.

Saerom drops you off at your apartment, and you thank her for the getaway.

“Anytime you need, just call me and I’ll book us a place. Keep me in the loop with Chan,” she winks.

Despite shooting her a threatening look, a smile creeps onto your lips. You wave her off as you advance toward the building, suitcase in tow. You greet the doorman with a bouncy nod of acknowledgement. His eye curiously follows you, but he fails to question you by the time you step into the elevator.

A call disturbs your silence.

You glance at the contact. A smile graces your face.

“Hello?”

“Are you coming to my party this upcoming weekend? I know you’re home because I’ve been ardently supervising your location.”

You suck your teeth. “Hmm. I might have plans.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Hyunjin groans.

Once the elevator doors allow, you step into the hallway and follow it until your door. Pressing the phone against your shoulder, you struggle with the key. “I’m playing. I’ll show.”

If he had continued to ignore your calls, you might have been serious about skipping another one of his parties. As it turns out, Hyunjin knew Chan was going on vacation at the same spot but didn’t mention anything to you or him. He simply sat back and watched like a man graced with playing Cupid on one special occasion, armed with precious secrets he couldn’t reveal until his accidental plan followed through. As for Felix, he was out of the loop too. Simply a coincidence that he used the same words as Hyunjin.

Coincidences are weird, aren’t they?

“Sweet. Knew I could count on you.” He blows kisses through the phone before returning you into the world of quiet. After the weekend, it’s peacefully comforting. The vacation was relaxing, but Chan and his friends were a little loud. Especially when video games entered the mix.

Tired, you rest the suitcase by your bed before throwing yourself on the mattress. You wrap your arm around your midriff, expanding the illusion of someone else’s arm. Within minutes, you are completely out. Who knew car drives could be so draining?

When you wake, there are texts waiting for you. Saerom announced she made it home safe with only an almost minor crash at the intersection by the city’s huge grocery store—infamous for its dangerousness. A selfie from Chan and Felix. Below it, Chan sends a saccharine text regarding how excited he is for the next meeting with you. Your stomach swells with glee.

IX.

The week drags on. Mundane workdays that stretched into your free time. Winddown time went into napping. You barely had time to interact with your friends.

But, the weekend is here. As you promised, you will make an appearance at Hyunjin’s party. Chan will be there too, so that means you must devote special care to your evening look. You call in the big guns (Saerom and Felix) to aid your search for the perfect outfit.

They sit at the foot of your bed while you stand before your closet of options.

“So, are you and Chan gonna,” Saerom hesitates before gesturing a finger into a hole established by the okay signal.

“No!” you shout. Heat rises to your cheeks and, oh my god, is this embarrassment? You’ve never been ashamed of your sex life before. Why now? This is the danger of becoming attached.

Felix’s shoulders shudder in a failed attempt to suppress laughter. “Chan’s favorite color is black. Not that you’re dressing for him or anything.”

You rush to agree. “Right.” Meekly, you add, “I’m dressing for me.”

Neither of them believes you, but they help you nonetheless. Saerom points at your closet. You follow her aim to an article that has been left forgotten since the fateful party. “Isn’t that what you wore to the New Year’s party?”

You turn back to her, dumbfounded but forcing a nod.

She tilts her head in contemplation. “Hmm.” She makes her plotting thoughts known. All she needs is someone to question her before she continues.

“What are you thinking?” Felix beats you to the punch.

Pleased that someone has fallen into her trap, she confidently states, “If it worked the first time, it’ll work again.”

You stare at her. She has a point.

“What if he thinks I’m some weirdo who only owns one dress even though I actively attend these hustler parties?” you ask.

Felix shakes his head, almost with the same intensity as someone who’s offended. “He wouldn’t think that. If anything, he’d just be like ‘wow this girl has a favorite dress and it looks good on her.”

“Plus he said he didn’t remember meeting you before the sober wakeup anyway,” Saerom jumps to add.

“Drunk him liked the dress, so sober him will too,” Felix assures.

This is all the convincing you need. The dress does look good on you. And it’s one of your favorites. A black bodycon dress has never failed you, so you hope that fate does not change tonight. You can pair it with those thermal tights to combat the outside chill.

You smile gratefully at your friends. “Thanks. Wish me luck, then.”

X.

Per usual, Hyunjin’s large house is a staple for college students seeking a fun time. It helps that Hyunjin has connections as his recent alma mater. And his roommate, Jeongin, is still a junior. The kitchen is crowded with beer pong games and chatting groups. You stalk into the living room where you last saw Saerom. Unfortunately, you don’t see her perfectly styled hair among the sea of people. However, you do catch the eye of a boy with dimples on either side of his smile. The smile broadens when he notices it’s you, and he steadily evades a conversation to approach you.

“Look at you!” he says, wrapping an arm around you while balancing a drink in his hand. He’s in casual clothes, but he still wears them as though they were businessy. With confidence and poise. His cologne is strong. Vaguely woodsy but particularly resembling the sea.

He steals away quicker than you hoped.

“Did you just get here? Do you want a drink?” he presses.

“Yeah, I just saw Hyunjin so I stopped to talk with him before I came to find you. Hyunjin’s getting me stuff from my hidden peach alc stash,” you chuckle, and he mirrors it.

“You’re on that good terms with Hyunie that he has alcohol specifically for you? Damn. Jealous.”

You shrug. “It was a bribe so I’d keep coming to these things. I feel too old to be partying with college kids. But, Hyunjin has referred to me as his ‘best friend’. So that counts for something, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Chan trails. He glances back down to your body, quickly returning to your gaze.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you grin. Mission accomplished. You add, reaching out to adjust how his black tee sits on his shoulders, “You look good too.”

“Psh,” he shakes his head, “I came from the gym with Changbin. So apologies if I smell bad. Sweaty.” He shudders in disgust.

“Very much the opposite, you smell nice.”

Hyunjin interrupts your conversation. Two red solo cups rest in either hand. He juts the one in his left hand out to you. “Yours.”

“The man of the hour,” Chan declares, pulling Hyunjin in a disattached friend hug.

Hyunjin sheepishly laughs. “Jeongin orchestrated this one. All him, man.”

They engage in an overbearing bro-conversation that you tune out of when you hear the word ‘gym’. Hyunjin grabs Chan’s muscles, but his words fail to permeate your ears. You zone out completely.

Until Hyunjin waves a hand before your face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Sorry,” you blink, taking a sip of the drink (vodka?) to regain consciousness. Chan looks at you curiously.

“I asked how your love life is going,” Hyunjin says.

You glance quickly at Chan. Playfully, you ask, “I don’t know, how is it going?”

Chan’s cheeks blister red. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head. “I think it’s going pretty well, but that’s how I see things. We should probably go on an official date soon, though.”

“And with that, I take my leave. Have fun, lovebirds,” Hyunjin shakes Chan’s shoulder, a means of encouragement, before stepping back and shooting you a wink. Gone he is, and thus your night begins.

“Date, huh? That’s a scary word.”

“Only if you want to,” he quickly amends.

You nod. “I’ll go on a date with you. Felix hyped you up too much, and now I’m curious.”

If it were possible, his cheeks grow lusciously more crimson. He takes a deep breath, “Right. I hope I’ll live up to the standards Felix has set for me.” You don’t say, but he’s exceeded them so far. With this in mind, you remind yourself that all good things must come down. But, for now, you think you can enjoy the high safely. Heartbreak is merely a conditional clause of messing around with someone.

Only a few hours later, his lips are hungrily pressed against yours. Your back is against the wall of his bedroom door, and despite the liquor in your system, you are unequivocally here. In the moment. His cold hands sneak under the cloth guarding your shoulders. He breaks from your lips only momentarily to ask a simple question. “Is this okay?”

Fervently, you nod, hurrying back to the kiss. His hands move from your shoulders. They curve past your ribs, down to your hips, and land on the underside of your thighs. “Jump,” he orders huskily. Of course, you oblige. Your legs link around his hips. You steady yourself by wrapping your arms around his neck.

Despite the neighboring alcohol in his system, his walk is steady as he guides you to his bed. Gently, and never abandoning your lips, he sets you down. His palms press into the freshly washed duvet, holding himself confidently above you.

He slips away from you to remove his shirt. You reach up to trace the outline of his abs as he hovers over you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he pants. Eagerly making out causes you to lose your breath, break a sweat. It’s a workout better than the gym could offer.

You nod. “Yes. I’m here this time. Decently sober. So at least I’ll remember this in the

morning,” you joke. He releases a breathy laugh.

“Are you okay with this?” you counter, absorbing the moment in great detail. You want to remember this. The way he looks at you. The way gravity plays with his hair, leaving it to hang off of his forehead.

“Yeah. 100%. No, scratch that. 110.”

“Alright then,” you say, snaking your hand around his neck and pulling him closer to

return his pretty lips to yours. Euphoria takes hold of your body. The buzzing bees strangle your insides.

Before you proceed, he mumbles lazily against your lips, “I’ll take you on all the extravagant dates you deserve starting tomorrow. Free up dinner so I can see you. K?”

“K,” you smile.

XI.

When consciousness meets you again, the smell of unfamiliar laundry detergent and distant cologne tickles your senses. Abruptly, your eyes shoot open. There is a moment of time in which you look around the empty room with great confusion. It passes quicker than it came.

You roll over, stretching your legs beneath the comforter as you reach for your phone.

It’s 10 AM.

There is a text awaiting you.

Bang Chan: Good morning, beautiful! Sorry I’m not there, I had an 8 AM lecture that I completely forgot about. I should be done by 11. Do you need me to bring anything on my way back?

Bang Chan: Oh btw, help yourself to any clothes you need.

You bite your nail, giddily smiling to yourself.

Before you, there is a path. An unbelievably rare and unique path, a one in a million chance of exploring it. You anticipate the flourish ahead of you. Oozing with finality, you glance behind you before taking a lavish step forward.

[likeastarstar]

Boredom, Disinterest, & Intimidation.

Summary: Jungkook's in that suit and he's bored and you're not impressed by much...except for him. and then you fuck him in a public restroom.

(A/N: WARNING! SMUT AHEAD! for the anon requesting striped suit jk...I got severely carried away this is so much longer than I intended...feedback is appreciated.)

masterlist.

You weren't impressed by much.

Men were too boring to be impressive most of the time. They watered their personalities down, made themselves too accessible to be deemed worth it for your effort. Basically, you thought you were better than most of them. Your friends said you should lower your standards or risk being forever alone, but you didn't really understand why that was such a bad thing. At least you liked your own company, preferring to fly solo most of the time.

That's what you were doing at the event you were at, a networking thing that your company sent you to in order to make connections in different industries your CEO was interested in. You were the go-to for this sort of thing, where you had to be coy and work a room with no commitment.

You stared at the glass in your hand, wondering how many flutes of champagne the woman standing next you had consumed. She swayed off beat to the instrumental music playing and you couldn't help but guess that it wasn't a lack of rhythm that was causing it. Someone called your name and you lifted your gaze, falling on a bulky looking man with a kind smile. You recognized him as the PR connection your company had, one who was in charge of not only your own company but several larger clients in the entertainment industry. You smiled at him easily, floating over to where he was.

"Let me introduce you to my friends, they're in the music industry." He said pleasantly, gesturing to the group of men standing beside him.

You scanned the group neutrally, recognizing them instantly. Of course you knew who they were. You wondered why you were being introduced to them but soon connected the dots when you heard they were looking to explore the possibility of expanding their tour set-ups, primarily in the technology area, an aspect your company could help with. The tallest man did most of the speaking, his warm smile and easy going humor making it easy to see why countless people were in love with him. Your eyes stuck on another member of the group however, one standing towards the back with an uninterested look on his face.

While the rest of the men looked towards you eagerly when you spoke about previous experiences with audio and performance oriented tech expansions, he stared off to the side with his hands in his pockets. You studied his figure- black and grey striped suit tailored to a tee, skimming the length of his lean body. Straight shoulders, thin waist, legs for days- his proportions were scientifically perfect. His hair was gelled and neatly parted, jet black matching the inky color of his eyes. Everything about him was unapproachable, from the bored purse of his lips to the eyebrow piercing that reflected the light in a sort of warning. Another one of the group began saying something, sparking his attention.

His eyes flickered to you, flying over you at first and then doubling back to study you more closely. He frowned slightly, blinking a couple times before realizing you were staring back at him, refusing to look away.

"Seems like they're about to start the dinner, where are you seated?" Someone asked you, causing you to tear your eyes from his.

You just happened to be seated across from the man in the striped suit, who's name you had heard a couple times but had forgotten since you didn't personally pay attention to things like that. You ignored him and the way he slouched over in his chair, pushing his hips forwards with his neck stretched to the side so his head could rest back on the chair, watching the rest of the room out of the corner of his eye as if he couldn't be bothered to interact with it himself. He was distractingly handsome, chiseled jaw cutting a sharp line through space.

You started a conversation with a woman to your left who ran a charity organization or something, the details weren't really sticking in your mind since a certain someone had decided instead of zoning out, he'd zero in on you with total focus. You turned your head slowly towards him when you couldn't take the tension you felt from seeing his gaze locked on you out of the corner of your eye anymore, the knot of anticipation only tightening when you noted his smirk.

"Do you normally stare at people?" You asked in a flat tone.

"No," He said simply. "I actually make it a point not to make eye contact with people at these sorts of things. I'm making an exception."

He leaned forward in his chair, face tilted slightly so he was looking up at you through his eyelashes. You resisted the urge to squirm in your chair- this wasn't you. You didn't get intimidated easily, you were the one doing the intimidation usually. He rolled his broad shoulders back, sitting up straight as if to let you get a better look at him.

"Don't bother," You quipped.

"Aren't you bored?" He asked, a slightly surprised expression breaking the air of neutrality around him. "Don't you want to do something fun?"

"I'm working, I don't worry about having fun while I'm on the clock." You said, rolling your eyes before refocusing on the conversation you were having before as the appetizers were served. He was right though, things like this were incredibly boring. Rarely did you ever have fun at company events. You thanked the waiter, words hitching slightly when you felt a stiff shoe glide by your heeled foot, an ankle hooking around yours brashly. You blinked and looked back towards the man in the striped suit, a neutral expression on his face other than slight lift of his eyebrow, the silver hardware of his piercing sparkling. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to resist saying anything, trying to stop the heat pooling towards your lap.

You looked away quickly and he laughed, it's charming silvery tone ringing in your ears in a way that only distracted you further. You pushed your foot against his unconsciously, rolling your ankle around his as you carried on listening to the conversation around. It wasn't until he pulled away from you, touch ripped away that you realized you had been so forward with your actions. You watched him rise out of his chair, body limber and lean, looking down at you with a menacing intensity. He quirked his eyebrow again and you watched him stalk off towards were you knew the bathroom of the restaurant to be.

Even his walk was distracting, the way his shoulders rolled, hands swinging slightly, practically gliding across the room.

"What were you saying?" The woman next to you asked, tapping on your shoulder.

"I," You started, still staring off in the direction he disappeared to. "I was saying that...You know, I actually will be right back, I have to make a phone call."

You got up quickly before you really knew what you were doing, pushing through the waiters still trying to serve the large room full of VIPs. You passed the hallway to the bathroom when a hand snaked out and yanked you to the side, a now familiar pair of eyes staring down at you.

"I thought you didn't want to have fun?" He asked, a small smile on his face.

"I'm making an exception," You mocked, repeating his words from earlier before kissing him brashly.

His lips were soft on yours, tongue fighting against yours for control of the kiss almost instantly. His hands smoothed down your body and pushed you into the bathroom, ass pressing against the countertop. You matched his ferocity, biting down on his lip and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down closer to you. He lifted you onto the countertop, hands still kneading any part of you he could get his hands on. His hand settled on the jut of your hip, breath panting out as he moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there.

"Don't fucking leave a mark," You snapped, words venomous despite your hands pulling him between your knees. You hooked your legs around his figure, sighing as he pushed a sleeve of your dress off your shoulder and bit down on the space of your skin that was previously covered, laving over the spot with tongue.

"I'll be careful," he promised, "No one will see. My name's Jungkook, by the way."

You felt a lick of heat in the pit of your stomach, something animalistic that told you to keep going, ask for more, demand it from him. You didn't bother telling him your name and he didn't ask for it, pushing a hand up your dress instead. His hand rubbed circles on your skin and you realized he had rings on, cool metal pressing into the flesh of your thigh. Your brain felt like it was fizzing out, dial tones going off instead of coherent thoughts. God, why did his hands feel so good on your body? Why was he such a good kisser? What cologne was he wearing?

"Tell me to stop," He dared, pulling his lips off of you. He rested his forehead on the top of your shoulder, hand freezing in place. You said nothing, watching instead as he tilted his head back up to you with a surprised expression.

"Don't," You mumbled, voice so quiet you'd think he didn't hear you if he didn't smile at you. It wasn't a smirk this time, not a sly little expression, no cockiness in sight. He looked...sweet. Pretty. His eyes were sparkly and his cheeks fluffed up when he smiled like this, nose crinkling slightly. You felt your heart pang and wondered what the fuck was happening to you- who the hell was this guy?

"You wanna get fucked by a stranger in a random bathroom?" He grinned, going back to the cocky motherfucker you had known all night. He stood to his full height, hand still kneading into your skin as he gazed down at you, eyes catching on your parted lips. He tilted his head and leaned in, stopping just shy of contact. You skated a hand down his body, pressing fingertips against the firm abs you could outline under the silky material of his shirt, smiling slightly when you heard his breathing stop as you dragged your palm over the crotch of his pants, outlining his hard cock with your fingernail and wrapping your hand over it. You squeezed lightly, feeling Jungkook's fingers push up your leg and pull your panties to the side, "You're interesting." He mumbled, frowning slightly.

"No, I'm not," You said flatly, just before he dragged a finger through your folds. You breathed in sharply, feeling him brush past your clit and press down lightly, hips bucking up slightly. He thrust two fingers in you suddenly and you moaned. Jungkook kissed you, muffling your noises of need with his mouth on yours. Your back arched up to him, mind completely blank as he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Slow-"

"No, fast." He grunted, "Gotta open your tight little pussy up if you want my cock. You do want my cock, right baby?"

You kissed him desperately, feeling his fingers split and scissor inside of your pussy, his thumb rubbing into your clit in rough motions. Nothing about what he was doing to you was gentle or soft, pushing you, stretching your limits, teasing you where he could.

"Yeah," You nodded, "Yeah, I want you to fuck me."

Your breathing became labored and you felt your chest heave as he curled his fingers, looking for a certain spot until a jab of his fingers had you spasming. He kissed you still, smirking against your lips as he angled his fingers to hit the same spot over and over until he had you cumming around his hands, wrapped around his finger like a cute little bow, willing and able to do anything he wanted you to. He was staring at you again, inky eyes locked on your face, scanning your expression as you came like he was trying to memorize it. He pulled his hand away too quickly, taking your panties with him.

Jungkook tucked your now ruined lace panties in his suit pocket and gazed at you, grinning as he unzipped his pants, "Okay, I'm gonna fuck you now."

"Okay," You said weakly, feeling your pussy spasm around nothing.

He shuffled closer to you, standing in between your legs as he pumped his cock. You peered down, wanting to see what his cock looked like before it entered you. Shit- he was huge. Maybe he should've used another finger. You watched him reach in his wallet and pull out a condom, tearing it open quickly before rolling it over his cock. You bit down on your lip nervously, realizing how much this was about to sting.

"What? Nervous? Wanna stop?" Jungkook asked, tilting your head back up to look at him with a finger underneath your chin.

You locked eyes with him, eyes warm and inviting. His lips were flushed pink and had some of your lipgloss smudged on them, cheeks flushed and a glow on his skin. He was really pretty like this. He was just pretty in general. No, you definitely didn't want to stop.

"No," You said simply, "I want you."

He smiled and nodded shortly, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in with one smooth motion, "What pretty girl wants, pretty girl gets."

You laughed shakily, leaning into the slight burn of his cock splitting you open, "Whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want," He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before starting to move his hips, cock pulling and pushing against your pussy walls. "Shit- you feel really fucking good around me."

You moaned at his words, feeling his hips snap back, pulling his cock almost completely out of you before slamming back in. You were glad you were sitting on the countertop, you weren't sure your legs were working at the moment, curled tightly around Jungkook's body. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling your dress up and out of the way so he could watch your pussy take him, liking the wet noises that came along with how turned on you were.

"So wet, you have a crush on me or something?" He joked, laughing in a dry sort of way. You rolled your eyes and gripped a hand over his bicep, digging your nails into the muscle there underneath his suit jacket.

His thrusts quickened and he released one of your hips to slip his fingers around where your pussy was stretched around his cock, rubbing the folds there, adding stimulation that ripped the air from your body, making your head spin, body beginning to float away to nothingness.

"You're so fucking sexy," You moaned, gazing at him and the look of total concentration on his face as he fucked you into the bathroom countertop. His brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his face, pink tongue sticking out between his lips slightly. There was no way there was another guy on the planet like him- no one was this attractive.

You saw him blush and look up towards you nervously, suddenly shy to make eye contact, "Yeah? Y-you are too."

It was your time to smirk, rolling your body onto his. You felt his fingers latch onto your clit, rubbing incessantly. You clenched your pussy around him and he groaned, keening over and smashing his face into the crook of your neck, breath stuttering. He changed his pace suddenly, rolling his hips onto yours with an even faster speed you didn't know was possible. He was precise, pushing on the sensitive spot in your pussy with his fingers on your clit matching, pulsing, squeezing, tugging sharply.

"Your pussy felt so good cumming around my fingers," He mumbled against your skin, "Wanna feel it around my cock too, can you do that for me?"

"Okay, only because you asked so nicely." You smiled, feeling his hand squeeze your side in response. He bit down on the same spot of your shoulder he did earlier and that was it- you were unraveling around him in an uncontrollable way. You whined out his name over and over, triggering his own release as his hips finally faltered, shoving against yours for the last time. He stilled in you, moaning against your skin in that silvery tone that rang out like a bell in your ears. You felt him empty into the condom that separated yourself from him, feeling oddly angry that he had worn one to begin with.

You had just gotten fucked hard and were already wondering what it would feel like to have him do it again without a condom, what it would feel like to be stuffed with his cum. You squeezed around him unintentionally, getting turned on again at the thought. He winced, feeling oversensitive and pulled out of you slowly. His hands were shaking slightly, pulling off the condom and tying it closed before throwing it away in the trashcan.

You pulled your dress down as you caught your breath, floating back down to earth. Your eyes fell on the clock- you had been gone for 20 minutes.

"I should've been back at the table already," You noted, staring at the clock.

Jungkook tucked himself back into his pants and fixed his appearance, frowning at the mirror, "I should've kept fucking you for longer."

You laughed and ran a hand through your hair, "Maybe I should just go home- it'll be suspicious if we both go back at this point and I've made enough conversation for the night."

Jungkook stood in front of you, looking too happy but otherwise rid of all evidence of being freshly fucked, "Give me your number at least, I want to see you again."

You pursed your lips and debated it for a moment, staring at the hopeful look on his face. Normally, you'd say no. But something about him...

"Fine," You said nonchalantly. "But don't expect anymore exceptions from me. I'm hard work."

"I'm okay with that," He grinned, pulling his phone out quickly.

You really hoped that he was because he officially impressed you.

[illusionsofdreaming]

This is my first time asking,but may I please have imagines about the TCF boys (Cale,Choi Han,Alberu and Beacroix) accidentally imagining you in a wedding gown because reader was wearing a white dress for a festival or for a ball?.(I'm so lonely and desperately need hope for the week.I love you're writing and rarely see any fics about Trash count that's an xreader,so to find your account is the greatest thing that happened to me this week!)

Notes: I know you’ve been waiting for this for a while so I hope I did it justice. Writing this gave me cavities I’ll never recover from.

Ft: Cale, Choi Han, Alberu, Beacrox

Female reader

Cale Henituse

The sound of the ballroom was muted behind glass-paned doors of the thankfully empty balcony as Cale leaned against the railings, tugging on his collar to release the first few buttons with a tired sigh. Socialising really wasn’t his forte, but even he couldn’t afford to avoid an event held within the Henituse territory. An event that celebrated the opening of the kingdom’s first community school and the duchy’s first step in a long term project to reimage and repurpose the once uninhabitable Forest of Darkness.

The concept of an all-inclusive school regardless of one’s station or species had not been taken well by most of the nobility class, however, what once was the Henituse county was now the Henituse duchy. And with the kingdom’s Silver Shield Hero personally backing the project, not even the nobility was willing to risk ending on Henituse’s bad side.

He attended as a leader, an ally and a threat all wrapped in one. Though Duchess Violan and Basen were there to divert most conversations from him, there was still too much attention on him. He couldn’t stop the growing sense of dread that he’d never escape from this pit of responsibilities that only seemed to grow deeper each passing day. Thankfully, though his attendance was required to make a statement, no one said he had to stay indoors the entire time.

He wondered how much time had passed when the balcony doors opened once more.

“So that’s where you are.”

It was a smart move of yours to dress simply to show your family’s support as supposed to dressing extravagantly which would’ve gone against the purpose of the school itself.

You wore a slim, form-hugging white dress that fanned out towards the bottom. Free of excessive gems and accessories, the lack of decorative arrangements drew everyone’s attention towards your natural beauty accompanied and enhanced by the light makeup you wore.

Cale was never one to wax poetics, but even he could not deny that with the warm lights of the ballroom framing your back like a gentle halo and muted waltz music playing in the background, he was absolutely spellbound.

“My, how much did you drink tonight already?” You clicked your tongue as you joined him by the railings.

He glanced at the untouched glass of wine in his hands. “Not much.”

He would’ve taken offence at your disbelieving hum but found himself watching you as you swirled your glass of champagne.

You were close enough that he could feel the heat of your arm just inches away, tantalisingly close and yet still so far away. Your eyes closed as the fall breeze blew past and played with a strand of hair that had strayed from the delicate bun plait you had on tonight. Underneath the stars, a rare moment of peace shared with you, he found himself suddenly envisioning a future-

-white chapel halls and high arches. Rows and rows of benches and tables filled with many of the world’s delicacies. Surrounded by familiar faces and laughter. It was chaotic and noisy, a combination that would’ve surely irked him but somehow he found it bearable. His focus was drawn to the beautiful ring on your finger, of your hand tightly woven with his and your smile, so lovely and mesmerising, just for him.

A formidable lump seemed to have formed in his throat as his throat dried. His fingers clutched the thin stem of his glass as he raised the wine to his mouth.

“Take a break,” your hand covered the top of his glass before it reached his lips and took the cup from his hands. “Can’t have the hero of the party looking like a drunkard can we?” Tipping the drink into the ferns below.

What a waste of good wine. He had only a moment’s time to mourn for its loss when he flinched against the sudden feeling of your hand on his forehead, only slightly cool from the night air, yet freezing against his skin.

“You’re getting really red.” You frowned in concern.

“It’s…” he blinked at you, the after images of his daydream swam vividly in his mind and made it infinitely harder for him to gather his wits. “…I’ll be fine.” He guided your hand away from his face, turning his gaze outward as his heartbeat pounded by his ears. “..I just need a little air.”

He could see that you were suspicious but he was thankfully saved from further questioning as the muffled sound of someone calling your name was heard through the glass doors. For a moment you looked torn between two ways, but a decision was made when your name was called for once more.

“Don’t stay out here too long.” You moved towards the doors but paused as you cast a glance back over your shoulder.

“You still owe me a dance.”

The glass panes closed behind you with a resounding click, leaving Cale behind running a tired hand down his face, head filled with complicated thoughts.

The shape of a tiny square box digging into the side of his thigh never felt heavier in his pocket.

Choi Han

“Choi Han did you hear?” You must have ran a fair bit for you to be flushed and panting this early in the morning. Instantly he was alert, his training sword lowered as he turned, “_________?” concern lined his voice.

You grasped his hand in excitement, eyes wide and shining so bright it took him by surprise. “The spring fair is here! Let’s go together!”

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。  .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。  .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。  .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。  .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Lately, you’ve been worrying about him overworking and not taking enough time for himself to rest, so to you news of the fair came at just the right time as you took it upon yourself to encourage Choi Han to let loose and have fun.

With his hand captive in yours as you dragged him around the fair, Choi Han didn’t have the heart to tell you that no matter how tired he might’ve felt, any sense of exhaustion would be washed away by simply being in your presence.

It’s been a while since he attended public events and even now, the crowds and people can be overwhelming. But your excitement was infectious, melting his wariness as you dragged him from stall to stall. You tried every kind of snacks from sweet to savoury and made it your mission to find souvenirs for everyone back home. You bought flower crowns from a little girl selling handpicked flora and happily crowned both you and him in daisies and forget-me-nots. A passing grandma’s sincere compliment of you being adorable couples sent blood rushing to his face.

Though hesitant at first, at your insistence, he tried the game booths and within a matter of moments, racked up an impressive pile of stuffed toys and gifts. The most he did was hurl plastic rings at a target with deadly accuracy, yet for some reason, the other booths suddenly seemed to have developed a fear of his approach, some even began begging for mercy.

“Was that not what I was supposed to do?” he queried with concern, looking back at the sobbing booth owner now emptied of gifts.

You only laughed in response and ushered him to the next area after you have returned half the prizes back to the booth owner and donated the rest to the children around the area.

He never thought himself a spontaneous person, but when it came to you he found that he didn’t mind. Even when it meant being dragged to dance in the middle of the city to the hearty beat of a festive dance.

There was no order to the dance and Choi Han was surprised to find how incredibly addictive it was to be led by the beat of the rowdy music and let his body take the lead. As the music built up to a high, he lifted you up by the waist, your white sundress fanned out as he spun you and you burst out laughing with thrill. The image of you against blue skies, your beautiful white dress accompanied by a crown of flowers and your cheerful laughter was burned in his mind. He was hit with the strongest urge to hold you close and never let go. A deep and primal longing he’d been always careful not to prod was now exposed and he shuddered at the weight of just how much he felt. He had never craved something so much like this moment with you. He needed this. He realised. He needed you.

“Choi Han?” you asked still breathless from laughing so much, “the song ended, you can release me now.”

For a moment, his arm tightened in resistance, “I… “ he faltered as his heart thudded against his ribcage. “Yes..” he lets you go, like a spell’s release, his arms dropped back down by his side. You moved on to peruse the other activities of the festival, blissfully unaware of the hero behind glancing at the jewellery store just by the side.

Alberu Crossman

He suspected that your dress was designed with your family crest, Lily of the Valley, in mind. Bright accents of spring green weaved into sheer fabric and white silk that curved around your shape just perfectly. It’s a design that’s a refreshing breath of air in a ballroom filled with heavy colors and weighted gazes.

As he pulled you in for a twirl, his hand supported your weight easily and his fingers smoothed down the soft material.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Absolutely breathtaking.

And he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Your smile was knowing as you tipped your head back, revelling in the searing gaze he traced against the line of your neck. “So you’ve told me, several times this night.”

He guided you back upright and held your hand as you switched places with practiced steps. “You seem to doubt my words?” He hummed with a smile.

“Your tongue is washed with honey your majesty,” and your smile widened at the amused chuckle that slipped past his lips. “forgive me if I don’t swoon like a fragile maiden.”

“I’ll try my best not to take offence.” he replied smoothly, pulling you close as he lost himself in the depths of your eyes.

The ballroom was packed with nobles and opportunists, all vying for even a second of his attention. But they might as well have been invisible, for Alberu had been hopelessly and willingly bewitched by you from the moment you entered the hall in that gorgeous white dress. He followed the sway of your body and his fingers twitched by your waist, wanting to follow the trail of embroidered patterns of your dress and only just holding himself back.

Your dress was simple, basic even, but perhaps it was the atmosphere or having you so close he could feel the heat of your body through the thin layer of fabric that threatened to destroy every semblance of sobriety he’d gathered up. He was hopelessly smitten, enraptured by the spell you held over him.

He can’t help but think that you would look amazing in white and gold too.

As the music faded out, you both took a step back and bowed however, before you could leave he’d captured your hand in his.

Your confused expression was adorable even as you allowed him to pull you close.

“Would milady be interested in joining me for another dance?”

“Again?” You sighed, exasperated, like you’ve somehow expected this. “This would be our third dance.”

“And hopefully not our last?”

“You’re not planning on taking all my dances tonight are you?” Your suspicion was charming and very correct, not that he would admit it aloud. He only flashed an innocent smile at your tired sigh.

“Have anyone told you that you’ve quite the nasty personality?” You whispered even as you took his hand for your third dance.

“No one would believe it.” He whispered back and something in his chest filled with warmth at the laughter it prompted from you.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re beautiful.” He returned with a grin.

Though you scoffed with exasperation, he was thankful you’re willing to entertain his selfish desires to keep you close.

He just can’t stand the thought of you being in anyone’s arms but his tonight.

Beacrox Molan

He had returned to the mansion late at night after finishing a reconnaissance mission for the Young Master when movement by the corner of his eyes alerted him. Instantly, his hand pressed against the hidden weapons on his person as he turned to search for potential intruders until he happened across the strangest sights.

Of everything that he'd expected to find, you dancing under moonlight surrounded by fireflies was not one of them.

“___________?” he couldn’t keep the incredulity from his tone as he stepped forward.

You didn’t stop dancing even as you were alerted to his presence, dressed in your nightgown as you swayed to music only you could hear.

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, there’s a song stuck in my head and I just had to get it out.” you chuckled. “I must look quite silly.” you smiled but it was not said in shyness, you were never one who cared about the judgement of others.

The moment was rather… surreal. “Not at all.” his voice was low. “You look..” his voice faltered. How does he tell you that when he first spotted you, for an incredulous moment, the flash of white amongst the dark colors of the garden, he thought he spotted a fairy.

You had your hair down from your usual up-do, makeup-free and yet still the prettiest person he’s ever seen. He’s suddenly reminded of a dream of his, one that’s been reoccurring more and more often lately, where you held his hands to join in matrimony.

You hummed softly, “Join me?” you requested so gently, so oblivious to the desires that pooled within him. Daring to reach out to take his hands which had inflicted pain and suffering on so many others. He glanced down at your delicate wrists as morbid thoughts crossed unbidden past his mind. He knew exactly which tendon to press to cause the most pain, which vein to slit to bleed a person dry, these hands of his could easily break yours- yet, he was pliant, boneless as he followed, so easily led.

He stumbled through the first few steps, “I…” he started, “don’t know how to dance.” he admitted, feeling his hands burn as you placed them on your waist.

“It’s alright.” you smiled, “I’m not great at it either.”

Liar. He thought as he frowned. Surely, you know what you’re doing to him. Your smile and every sway of your hips stole the very breath from his lungs, luring him like a siren’s call to wade into a depthless ocean at night. Evoking feelings a person in his line of work shouldn’t harbour at all.

“You’re very quiet tonight.” you remarked.

Beacrox grunted in reply, glad that the night was dark enough that you probably couldn’t see that the tips of his ears were burning.

Thankfully, you’re used to him being sparse with words so you didn’t take offence, instead, filled the air between you by humming a tune. You pulled him along in your imaginary dance and he’s a puppet helplessly drawn along to your directing, every sense of his attuned to you.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, dancing with only the moon and stars as witnesses, his dreams and reality overlapping. It could’ve been a few minutes but it might as well have lasted an eternity.

His eyes traced the shape of your face, noted the subtle flush of your cheeks and serene smile as you enjoyed yourself. His gaze trailed lower to your exposed shoulders, wondering how you’re not feeling chilled by the autumn air- all too suddenly did he remember what you were wearing. Instantly, he pulled you in tight, holding you to his front firmly as his gaze sharpened.

“What were you thinking, coming out alone to the gardens so late and in nothing but your nightwear?”

You let out a breath of surprise at the sudden movement but didn’t seem too alarmed as you pulled back slightly to raise your eyebrow in face of his sudden grouchiness. “I told you, I couldn’t sleep and I was getting ready for bed, what else would I be wearing if not my nightwear?”

“Others could’ve seen you.” A muscle underneath his eye twitched at the unpleasant thought.

You rolled your eyes, “No one comes to the gardens at this time of night.”

“I did.”

“..except you.” you corrected, huffing lightly through your nose. You pushed against his hold and he released you easily, despite the irritation on his face.

“You can relax Bea, I was only out for a little while.“

“Yet, long enough to feel the chill of the wind.” he said, having noticed the gooseflesh that rose against your skin. He shrugged off his coat and dropped it over your shoulders. “Take it.” he frowned, “Return it later.”

You looked at the coat on your shoulder, fingers touching the material before looking up at him through your lashes, knowing smile on your face. “Jealousy is unbecoming on you.”

He felt his expression darken and instead of responding to your teasing, he closed the front of his coat. “You shouldn’t wear white.”

This seemed to surprise you as your eyebrows lifted and you glanced down your front. “Oh.. does it not suit me?”

His hands tightened against the jacket around you and in one swift movement, he pulled you close, leaning down to breathe by your ear.

“It suits you too well.”

[strandnreyes]

what else would this be other than another au... one that’ll be bite sized compared to my most recent ones though 

“And what is it that we’re after?” Carlos steers the conversation back in the right direction. Strictly business, that’s what TK’s here for and Carlos doesn't want to admit that he’s starting to consider taking him up on his offer, that the promise of an adrenaline-pumping, heart-pounding heist isn’t calling to him. That he doesn’t miss the life he used to share with TK.

There’s a flash of something in TK’s eyes when he realizes Carlos isn’t immediately turning him away. “The client wants an amulet that has the gods Iris and Harpocrates engraved. It’s only about this big,” he holds his fingers in what can’t be more than two inches apart, “but it’s pure gold and nearly three thousand years old.”

Carlos nods slowly. It’s not the biggest theft they’ve undergone together, but this by no means seems like a dud of a piece. He would think that even if it weren’t for the way TK’s intrigue is building like it always does when he talks about the subject of their operation.

“And where is it?”

“The Louvre,” he says casually and any interest Carlos had in the operation vanishes.

“The– are you joking?” The strain in his voice is evident and it’s the most emotion he has let show through, but the way TK doesn’t seem to bat an eye at the prospect of breaking into one of the most famous museums in the world forms a pit in his stomach. It’s reckless and dangerous and it reminds him of the TK he met way back when, gray and numb and desperate to feel something, consequences be damned.

TK pins him with a look. “Don’t act like we hadn’t planned to steal from there before.”

Okay fair, Carlos thinks, but that was worlds away from where they are now. That was a carefully orchestrated plot that had taken months to plan and would’ve involved far more people than the two of them if they had not fallen apart. It was when they knew each other, down to every thought and every move. Not this, a spur of the moment decision.

“There were a lot of things we planned to do before,” Carlos shoots back and TK’s confident smile falters. “Besides, I’m not doing that high scale of an operation after almost a year of being out of the field.”

His smile is back, this time smug and fake in a way that says he’s putting up a front. Carlos hates that he knows that, he hates that he still knows TK better than anyone like no time has passed at all, but most of all he hates that TK can likely read him just as easily.

“Why? Scared you’re rusty?” he quips. “That I’m a better pickpocket than you now? A better shot?”

Scared I’ll fuck up and get you hurt the voice in the back of his head tells him. “My skills are just fine. And we’re not breaking into the Louvre. We’re not doing something that dumb.”

Carlos doesn’t even notice he’s talking in the present like he has already committed to this, but the hope in TK’s eyes tells him he sure has.

“Relax, we’re not,” he says, dropping the façade and Carlos’ heart rate right along with it. “It’s not on display right now, it’s in storage with a ton of other Egyptian antiquities.” TK pauses, a grin taking over his face as he slowly adds, “Except for on Saturday, when the entire collection will be temporarily moved to Jean-Luc Dupont’s home just outside of Paris.”

Carlos’ brow furrows. “Who?”

“He’s an art history professor at the University of Oxford, but originally from France, where his mansion is. The one that he will be hosting a private, charity event at with our intended amulet on display. Guests come in, drink four hundred dollar champagne, get an exclusive look at rare artifacts, and donate to a good cause all at the same time.” He shrugs and as if he can tell that Carlos’ resolve is slowly breaking, he adds, “It’s the perfect storm for us, really. Large crowd, private home, don’t have to deal with museum level security. It would almost be foolish to pass it up.”

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[tricksters-captain]

Colin Bridgerton Imagines - Champagne Problems

AN: Anonymous requested Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and Colin Bridgerton

(Want to request your own character and song inspired imagine? Send me an ask!!)

(Y/N) - Your/Name

(Y/L/N) - Your/Last/Name

Summary: Colin has been courting you since day of the social season but when it comes down to the hard decisions... you crack...

Pairing(s): Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,717

Warnings: None, Angst

“My mother will not stop asking whether you will be attending her birthday ball this Friday eve as if you haven’t already accepted the invitation.” Colin complained as you strolled along the riverside. 

“Do you think she likes me?” You smiled up at the boy as you squeezed his arm lightly. 

“Likes you? I think she’s trying very hard to refrain from inviting you to her weekly afternoon tea that are strictly for Bridgerton women... and Penelope, of course.” Colin proclaimed which only made you roll your eyes. 

“I cannot imagine I am on Penelope Featherington level of acceptance just yet.” You stated. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Colin gasped, “A lady of the ton just rolled her eyes at a Bridgerton?” 

You laughed and shook your head at the boy. 

“Believe it or not, I have discovered that the Bridgerton boys are far less caring for proper lady behaviour than many may think.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Colin cocked his eyebrow at you. 

“I am simply saying that you and your brothers don’t really care for all that is prim and proper behaviour.” You tried to explain. 

“Ah yes, well, once you have grown up with Eloise nothing can shock you.” Colin teased his sister which made you whacked his arm lightly.

“You should not be so cruel about your dear sister. Eloise is great company.” You scolded him playfully. 

“Hearing that is making me start to wonder whether I’ve been courting the right girl all along...” Colin frowned but you knew it was only banter. It didn't stop you from giving him another whack though. 

“If you keep hitting me in public people will start to see and brand you as an unladylike brute.” Colin warned you as he winced down at you. 

“I should think they’ll actually be wondering what on earth Colin Bridgerton could be saying that is forcing such a beautiful, sweet woman to hit him.” You quipped back. 

Colin only laughed and shook his head again. 

“I suppose this is a good moment to end our walk as I have to be meeting my brothers.” Colin halted in his step and faced you. 

“Mustn't keep the viscount waiting.” You smirked back at the man. 

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night then?” Colin lifted your hand to his lips and placed a small kiss upon your covered knuckles. 

“If you are fortunate I may make an appearance.” You quipped playfully. Colin already knew you wouldn’t want to upset Violet Bridgerton by not attending. 

“Until then.” Colin bid adieu and then left you to see his brothers. 

Your chaperone had been your lady’s maid who had been keeping a distance behind you two. 

You rejoined with her before returning to your home. 

Friday evening swiftly arrived and soon you were sat in your carriage with your mama on your way to the Bridgerton house. 

“I wonder if he shall propose tonight.” Your Mama spoke up, drawing your attention away from the window and to her. 

“Who?” You questioned. 

“Don’t be daft! Mr Bridgerton, of course!” Your mother chuckled at your obliviousness.

“Colin?” You furrowed your eyebrows at her. 

“It is his mother’s birthday ball after all! It is the perfect event to welcome a new family member.” Your mother explained. 

“Yes but he wouldn’t want to take the evening away from his mothers celebrations.” You argued, a small ball of panic emerging in the pit of your stomach. 

“Please (Y/n)! Everyone knows that the best gift a Bridgerton could give their mother is a fiancé and even more so a love match.” Your mother exclaimed with a patronising amusement. 

You knew that Lady Whistledown had mentioned the possibility of a love match between you and Colin but it had only been a mere mention. Lady Whistledown very rarely spoke kindly about you and Colin otherwise. 

“Oh! We’ve arrived!” Your mother’s voice and the slowing of the carriage brought you out of your head and back to the present. 

You climbed out of the carriage and your mother was quick to get you inside the Bridgerton house. 

“(Y/n)!” Eloise practically jumped on you when you entered the ballroom. 

“Eloise.” You smiled at the girl as she took both of your hands. 

“Have you seen Colin yet?” Eloise asked with an excitement that only made you nervous. 

“Not yet, Eloise. I have only just arrived.” You smirked as Eloise realised she hadn't even given you a moment to wish her mother a happy birthday let alone see Colin. 

“Well I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” Eloise turned to search the room. 

“I think I'll go speak with your mother first, El.” You excused yourself from Colins younger sisters presence and made your way over to Violet Bridgerton. 

“Thank you for the invite, Lady Bridgerton. I hope your family have spoiled you for your birthday today.” You embraced the older woman as she beamed a bright smile at you. 

“Thank you, dear. And how many times must I insist you call me Violet!” She scolded you to which you just smiled. 

“Have you seen Colin yet?” Violet asked, her eyes scanning around the room briefly before returning to your face. 

“No, not yet. I expect he’s by the refreshment table.” You knew that Colin had the biggest appetite out of anyone in the ton by far. 

“Yes, I expect so.” Violet laughed as she agreed. “I had to instruct my cook to double the quantity of food this year after Colin demolished half the refreshment table in ten minutes last year.” 

“Talking about me again, Mother?” Colin’s voice arose from behind you which caused you to spin around. 

“We were just wondering where you had gotten too.”” Violet informed her son as he bent down and kissed her cheek. 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mother, I was actually making my way over here to ask Miss (Y/L/N) to dance.” Colin turned to you with bright smile that seemed to light up his whole face. 

“Oh don’t worry about me, it’s not like it’s my birthday ball after all.” Violet was only teasing her son. Colin had rolled his eyes which resulted in a small slap on the arm from Violet.

You took Colin’s hand and let him guide you to the dance floor. 

“You look absolutely beautiful.” Colin told you as his eyes ran over your dress. 

“You seem to say that every time you see me.” You retorted. 

“That’s because it’s true. Every time we meet you look beautiful.” Colin placed his hand on your waist as the band started up. 

“Thank you.” You felt your cheeks tinge pink at the honesty of Colin’s compliment. 

As the dance commenced, you let your eyes take in the room. 

All the Bridgerton siblings were in attendance which wasn’t surprising considering it was Violets birthday. No, the unusual thing was that all the Bridgerton siblings had their eyes on you and Colin. 

“What are you looking at?” Colin asked, “What could possibly be more interesting than me?” 

“Nothing.” Your eyes shot back to him. 

Colin noticed your face had drained of colour and you were looking rather unwell. 

“Are you unwell? What’s wrong?” Colin’s eyebrows dropped in concern. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” You responded just a tad too quickly for Colin to drop it. 

“(Y/n)...” Colin frowned. 

“I’m perfectly well. I assure you.” You steadied your breathing to seem more convincing. 

“If you insist.” Colin had to give in. 

You continued to dance but when you saw Colin start to appear a little nervous, you felt your stomach flip again. 

“(Y/n).” Colin started, “I have been your dance partner since the very first ball of the season. I can tell when there’s something bothering you or something is on your mind and so you can most likely tell when something is on my mind too.” 

You didn’t respond. 

“I had to visit my brothers yesterday because I had an important question to ask them. I wanted their blessing and then swiftly after, I visited your father...” 

You stopped dancing. Your heart was in your throat as Colin spoke. 

“Colin...” Your voice came out all strangled. 

“Please I have to say this, (Y/n).” Colin tightened his grip around your hands. 

But before he could continue, you had pulled your hands from his and fled the dance floor.

Colin couldn’t even chase after you. He was in shock. 

He looked over at Anthony and Benedict who both looked confused and concerned whilst muttering to each other. 

Colin left the dance floor and made his way through the door you had disappeared through. 

“(Y/n)!” Colin called after you as he caught a glimpse of your dress at the end of the corridor. 

He chased you until you finally stopped in the garden. 

Tears had stained your cheeks. 

“(Y/n)?”Colin stepped towards you but you stepped back. 

“Colin. Don’t.” You stopped him. 

“I don’t understand.” Colin uttered, looking hurt and addled.  

“Colin, I can’t marry you.” You were candid. 

“What? Why?” Colin only seemed to grow more and more upset. 

“I just can’t.” You shook your head completely unable to form words to explain how you were feeling in any sense. 

“When did you decide this?” Colin beseeched. 

“I don’t know! I just know I can’t marry you.” You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks. 

“So what? You just let me chase you all these weeks?! Let me fall in love with you and then just decide you can’t marry me?!” Colin’s voice shook with anger and pain. 

“It’s not that simple!” You disputed. “I didn’t think––”

“––No clearly you didn’t think! What did you expect was going to happen at the end of this social season? That we would just part ways until the next?!” Colin’s voice had risen to almost shouting which you weren’t doubting was attracting. attention. 

“Colin.” A voice had said Colin’s name as you did. 

It was Anthony’s voice.

Colin turned to see his older brother with a face of stone. 

“Colin, go inside.” Anthony commanded to which Colin did with little argument (for once). 

You frantically wiped your face with the back of your hand. 

“I think it’s time you leave.” Anthony confronted you.

You agreed. 

AN: I don’t usually write for Colin but I actually really enjoyed it despite the sad circumstance 

[bailey-reaper]

A drabble where Barok finally asks his crush out on a date but everything goes wrong? with a happy end? :)

A Comedy of Errors... (but Barok's not laughing)

Notes: 😂 Even though I love Barok having happiness and love and kindness to counterbalance all the suffering and turmoil he's endured... I do also love it when he loses his rag at people / things go wrong and irk him. I *love* everything that goes on in his office during the 3rd case in the 2nd game... it's my favourite part of the whole thing! He gets so angry and it's glorious!

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: schadenfreude; cringe; things going wrong; frog mention...

"It's a date!" they said with a big smile and a rosy blush on their cheeks. It almost felt like a dream – Barok had said he was 'deeply fond of them' and invited them out to dinner with him; a date.

"Yes..." Barok nodded, similarly blushing but trying not to acknowledge it, "I'm... looking forward to it," and he was. Deeply.

"Me too!"

The two agreed to meet a week later at a restaurant that Barok was familiar with; he explained it was not because he thought his taste was better, but rather because he was on good terms with the proprietor and, thus, far less likely to be poisoned...

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

At last, after a week in which the two of them thought of little else, the day of their date arrived. Despite a few annoying things going awry prior to him leaving the home, such as a button popping off his shirt when he accidentally rolled his shoulders back with a little too much gusto and his favourite cravat still being too wet to wear, he was determined not to let himself be downhearted.

He arrived at the venue promptly and waited outside for his beloved to arrive. Much to his frustration, a pigeon decided to relieve itself from its perch just above him -- leaving an unpleasant stain on the shoulder of his dinner jacket. Thankfully, he spotted it before his beloved arrived and was able to remedy it with a handkerchief before they saw it.

That didn't stop him scowling up at the pigeon, who flew off in a hurry as it clearly sensed danger.

"Barok!" their voice drew his attention, and took his breath away as they approached looking as radiant as ever. They were clearly dressed for the occasion.

"You look lovely," he remarked as he took their hand and kissed the back of it, "Thank you for coming."

They giggled, "The devil himself couldn't have stopped me."

He smiled at that, "I'm glad..." before offering them his hand, "Shall we?" they nodded, accepting his hand, and allowed him to lead them inside. Barok regarded the maître d and frowned slightly. Something was niggling in the back of his mind; déjà vu but not in a pleasant way, "Good evening," he pushed the feeling away. It would not spoil this date, "I arranged a table for two, name van Zieks."

"Ah yes!" the head waiter said, smiling, "Good evening, Lord van Zieks, allow me to show you to your table."

They were led to a lovely little table that offered a wonderful view of the inner courtyard and the fountain that was situated in the centre of it; it was an appropriately intimate space for a date. Barok pulled the chair out for his beloved and tucked them in, before sitting down himself. The head waiter handed them both menus and set a wine list down on the table, leaving them to look over the fare on offer.

"Wow," his beloved breathed, "This place is amazing."

Barok smiled, "I'm glad you like it... it's a fitting venue for one as beautiful as you."

They blushed and buried their nose in the menu, "T-...Thank you..."

"What wine would you like?" he picked up the menu to inspect the selection on offer.

"I think you're best suited to choosing that!"

"Hmh... very well."

Finally, the maître d came over, "Can I take the order of the two lovebirds~?"

Barok peered at him once more, cocking his head slightly as he studied the grinning man; there was definitely something... odd about him. It gave rise to the most curious irked sensation in the pit of his stomach, "Ahem... We'll have a bottle of the House Sauvignon--"

"Oh do forgive me, sir, we're fresh out of the Sauvignon Blanc..." the waiter said, vaguely apologetically.

"I see," Barok sighed, "Never mind... we'll have a bottle of the Moselle..."

"Mmmm... we're out of that one, too...."

"How about a bottle of Hock?"

"Sorry... none of that, either..."

"Well, in that case... a Burgundy?"

"... Ah... I regret to inform you...."

He grimaced in disbelief, "What the devil is going on... has your cellar dried up or some such? What wines are on offer, then?"

"Well... actually we're fresh out of wine, sir."

"Then why didn't you say that at the start?! More to the point, why bother bringing the wine menu over?"

"Well... on the other side are a number of other drinks that are available..."

"....." he sighed and turned the double-sided drinks menu over to peruse the other beverages on offer, "Fine. A bottle of Moët & Chandon. Black label."

"My, my! Someone has expensive tastes!" the head waiter remarked with a jovial laugh.

"..." The seething glare Barok offered in reply seemed to have the effect of making the man wither somewhat, "Just... tell me you have the damned thing in stock."

"Yes! We do indeed."

"Well that's a relief. Now, before we even bother with food, is there anything not on the menu?" he wasn't going through that... ordeal again.

"No, no!" the annoying man said with a shake of his head, "The kitchen is fully stocked!"

"A small mercy," Barok observed, before looking over at his beloved, "I'm... sorry about that rigmarole regarding the wine... what would you like to eat?"

They smiled and shook their head, "Oh, no, no, don't be!" then, they gave their order to the maître d before folding over their menu and returning it to him.

"Excellent taste!" the waiter said, before looking to the dour reaper, "And what can I get to delight you, sir?"

"Frogs legs to start," he said, "Followed by the steak, rare, with seasonal vegetables."

"Very good, very good!" he made a careful note, then took both the food and drinks menus, "I shall bring over your champagne in a moment and your food will be ready shortly. Do enjoy the wonderfully ambient surroundings, perfect for a date like this!"

Barok peered at the waiter as if he were more than overstaying his welcome; finally, he left them in peace.

"Gods..." he shook his head and sighed, "I do not remember the head waiter ever being that... vexatious. What has gotten into him?"

His beloved smiled, "Oh it really doesn't matter, I'm just happy to be here with you."

"Yes..." he nodded, "You're right, I'm delighted to finally have a chance to spend time with you... like this," it was a blessing that they'd reciprocated his feelings and were amenable to a date with him. No doubt most would be intimidated by his pseudonym and the general way in which he carried himself. But not them, not his beloved. They seemed to accept him as he was, and that was greatly welcomed.

They talked, mostly about how their weeks had been and about shared interests, such as the books that had taken their fancy of late. It was surprisingly easy to converse with them, which was a welcomed change from Barok's perspective. His beloved made for far more enjoyable company than the wooden aristocrats who drove him to the depths of boredom with their inane nattering and inconsequential opinions.

"This champagne is really lovely," they remarked, after taking another sip from their flute, "I'm not normally that fond of bubbles... but this has such a nice, fruity after taste."

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a nod; relieved that the beverage had a) materialised and b) wasn't corked or in some other way undrinkable. The way this date had been going thus far, outside of the interaction with his beloved, had left him wondering what else might go wrong.

Sadly, he didn't have to wait long...

"Your starters!" the waiter announced as he came over with two plates, their contents concealed by silver cloches. He set the two plates down, one in front of each of the diners, then lifted the first cloche, before turning to Barok's, "And, for the gentleman, frog's legs..."

Only, it was not frogs legs. It was a whole, live frog. After a few blinks of its beady black eyes and inflations of its vocal sac, the amphibian launched itself off the plate and into Barok's hair.

"What?!" he reached up in a bid to grab the creature, but his unwelcome passenger hopped out of the way and on to the floor, before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. Barok glared at the waiter, "What is the meaning of this?!"

"Gracious me! I do apologise! I must have written 'raw frogs legs' by mistake!" the maître d said with a look of shock that was strangely disingenuous, "Do forgive me! I shall put in your order immediately--"

"Don't bother," Barok snapped, "Just make sure the main course isn't an entire living, breathing cow."

"Now, now, don't be ridiculous, sir...."

Once more he levelled the waiter with a withering glare.

"Please," Barok said to his beloved, "Don't let your food go cold."

They smiled, "Shall we share it, perhaps?"

"Oh..." that brought a blush to his cheeks, "No... I... couldn't possibly take from your plate..." but, to his surprise, a piece was already being presented to him. He decided against continued declining, and leaned forward to accept the mouthful, "Thank you..." he said, once he'd finished chewing and swallowing.

"It's good, isn't it?" his beloved said.

"Yes..." perhaps all the more so, having come from their plate.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

Thankfully, the rest of the date seemed to go surprisingly well -- in so far as there were no more frogs or similar cock ups (though his steak was medium, much to his disappointment, he decided against complaining as the mere fact the thing was edible was relief enough).

"I've had a lovely time," his beloved said to him as they finished off their dessert course.

"So have I," Barok replied, smiling softly, "Thank you, for agreeing to join me."

"Oh.... no... it's my pleasure... I've enjoyed myself a great deal in your company, Lord van Zieks."

"I'm glad to hear it... this has certainly been an... eventful date. I'm sorry, again, about all the oddities that have occurred."

"Oh, no, don't be! It's been a wonderful and memorable date, I loved every minute!"

"Oh ho! It seems this date has been a marvelous success, dear fellow!" announced a familiar voice. Barok knew that voice. It brought a scowl to his lips and a furrow to his brow almost instantly; as if the very muscles in his face were conditioned to respond in this manner.

"Herlock... Sholmes?!"

The maître d tore off his disguise and grinned happily, "Yes! It is I! You never suspected a thing!"

"... What are you doing here?!"

"Why! I had heard rumours that the Reaper was going on a date, so Iris and I took bets on whether that was the truth or not. Alas, it seems I now owe her five pounds..." he looked momentarily crestfallen, "But who can be glum when such a lovely couple is here before them? Truly, you two are as sweet as syrup together!"

"Hehe, thank you," his beloved smiled happily at the compliment.

". . . . . . . So you came to sabotage my date?" Barok hissed.

"What?! No! I came to ensure that you had a most memorable and eventful night, and I think I've exceeded expectations on all fronts!"

"You have indeed!" they said, nodding.

"Well," Barok folded his arms, "In that case, I shall leave the bill to you," he stood up smoothly and took his beloved by the arm.

Sholmes fell over, arms flailing, "Wait... WHAT?!"

"Farewell, 'detective'," Barok called over his shoulder as he escorted his beloved out the door. It brought him no end of delight to think that the man would be washing pots until the early hours.

(Let that be a lesson to you, you second-rate crime scene botherer!) he thought, smirking to himself. This was a most pleasing end to what had been a wonderful date, despite Herlock's meddling.

"You have some truly interesting and intriguing friends, Barok," his beloved observed as he walked them home.

"I'm not certain that 'friend' is the correct word here, my dear," he replied, though he was still smiling to himself as he held their hand and squeezed it fondly. It seemed that despite the ... characters that plagued him, they were not enough to deter his beloved.

That was certainly a huge relief.

[furikakyo]

a return to roots | 4

pairing: kita shinsuke x f!reader

summary: y/n is a rising star in the music industry, having almost everything you could have ever hoped for as a small-town country girl. now after releasing two triple platinum albums in consecutive years, you face the dreaded artist’s burnout… in order to recover, your manager suggests, you should return to your hometown in hyōgo for a long-deserved break. 

genre: socmed/smau, slice of life 

warnings/tags: timeskip!, mutual pining, slow burn? more like rekindling, slight canon divergence

masterpost 

If you were to be completely honest, you'd wanted to wear a dress you’d been allowed to keep after a photoshoot. However, it wasn't a good look for someone of your status to re-wear outfits, especially statement pieces. You couldn't remember who had designed it, but it had been mostly tulle and made you feel like a princess... all things that could not be used to describe what you were wearing now. For your dinner plans, you chose to wear a simple yet smart-looking bodycon dress, one that you were regretting as you stepped out of the car. You pulled at the hem from over the long coat you wore, conscious of the fact that there could potentially be paparazzi waiting to snap a photo of you from an unfortunate angle if you weren't paying close attention. Unlike American paparazzi, reporters here didn't flock at the entrances of exclusive clubs or restaurants, but it never hurt to be cautious.

"I won't need a ride home," you told Ichiro, who nodded stiffly and then shut the door of the car after you got out, “I can get a ride home."

You adjusted the sunglasses on the bridge of your nose, aware that you looked out of place in the nightlife, and then walked to the doors of the hotel. A concierge opened the door to greet you and Ichiro, who trailed behind, scanning the area. "Welcome, Miss. Your party called ahead and made us aware of the arrangements to be made. You can follow me to the elevator, where I will escort you to your destination."

"Thank you," you said coolly, then took after them. While in the elevator, the concierge spoke nervously, emphasizing how much of an honor it was for someone like you to visit their establishment. You smiled politely, silently willing the elevator to reach the right floor faster.

A restaurant specializing in molecular gastronomy, Kuroo had explained to you on the phone the night before. He'd sounded probably the most excited you'd ever heard him. You had looked it up yourself after the call had ended. It was on the 29th floor of a luxurious hotel, one that you had never been to yourself. Only eight people max were allowed to dine in, and the chef made all of the food in front of you, four courses.

You were dragged out of your thoughts when the elevator finally dinged and the concierge guided you to the glass doors of the restaurant, where Ichiro recognized the occupants and left you alone to be greeted by Kuroo, Lev, his sister Alisa, and, surprisingly, Kenma. You took off your sunglasses and slipped them into the pocket of your coat before that too was taken by a waitress, who calmly swept them away from you and into a closet, presumably.

"Hi, guys!" you gave a bright smile and then slipped into the empty seat in between Kenma and Alisa.

"We thought you might want to sit next to Alisa," Kenma explained quietly, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt.

You smiled again, settling into the chair. "Thanks," you nodded your head. "You look nice, too, Kenma! You're all dressed up!"

Kuroo leaned back to make eye contact with you, laughing. "He almost cancelled on dinner plans with us when he heard that he couldn't wear his sweatpants. He lives in sweatpants exclusively."

Kenma sighed, muttering under his breath, "Maybe I wouldn't if you didn't make a big deal about whenever I'm not." Only you heard his comment, since he was on the edge of the table, but you didn't have any time to reply because the head chef came out of the kitchen, accompanied by a couple of workers behind him, holding the ingredients.

One by one, each round of dishes came and went. Earlier, you'd been worried about wearing a bodycon dress because of the impending food baby you were sure to conceive, but with only dessert left, your stomach felt hardly filled with the sizes of the previous dishes. The process of making each one was mesmerizing to watch, and the flavor profile of each small bite was beyond anything you could have initially imagined when the plates were gently placed in front of you-

You watched the chef spoon generous amounts of black caviar onto the dish. Not dessert, you corrected yourself. Why did you assume to get a deconstructed piece of fried dough when they had called the dish "Donut"? You eyed the tweezers which carefully placed tiny, delicate flowers on top of the spread. A single waiter poured out flutes of champagne and then distributed them to you and your friends, the only noise in the room the fizzing of bubbles in your drink. In fact, the entire affair had been silent aside from the head chef, who explained each meal to your group.

Once the waiter and chef cleared the room, Lev was finally the brave soul to break the silence, who cleared his throat and then, turning to you, asked, "So Y/N, you're moving back home, huh? Is there anything to even do there?”

You knew Lev didn’t mean to say anything offensive, but it still stung a little. He was just blunt to a fault sometimes, you reminded yourself, instead giggling and sending some witty remark back at him which made everyone burst into laughter. You shivered a little, finished the last of your remaining champagne in one undignified gulp, then stared out at Tokyo's skyline, shining and glittering like stars. It was cold in the room, you decided. Ridiculously air-conditioned to the point where you would be glad when you got your coat back and could leave.

The rest of the get-together flew by, only spending a little longer in the restaurant before exiting into the lobby. Kuroo had agreed to drive you back to your apartment, since he'd taken his own car and hadn't drank a lot. Lev gave you a bear hug and told you he would miss you, and that he would try to visit if his modeling schedule worked out in favor of it, but he wasn't sure. Alisa also hugged you tightly, telling you to take care of yourself in the countryside, to which she wrinkled her nose at playfully. When it came to Kenma you refrained from a hug, knowing that he didn't like physical contact. He gave a small smile, appreciative. "I might visit sometime; we can play Animal Crossing."

Then, just like that, the three of them left, Lev and Alisa taking the same car and Kenma having a driver. Kuroo turned to you and raised an eyebrow. "Well? Ready to go?"

You nodded, following him to the front where a valet had already pulled Kuroo's car to the curb, waiting for the two of you. Once inside, you pressed your forehead to the cool window, your breath fogging up the glass. Kuroo made no comment, the only sound to be heard the traffic in the streets.

For what seemed like a few minutes later, you felt yourself being gently shaken awake. "Y/N?" Slowly, you roused, rubbing at your eyes sleepily. You froze, sitting up. Shit, you'd had mascara on.

"Y/N?"

You turned to see Kuroo looking slightly concerned, but you just waved your hand at him. "I'm awake now. Thanks for the ride."

He stared at you, opened his mouth, then shut it promptly, stopping you from opening the car door. You rarely saw him speechless or without something to say. "What's wrong?" You frowned, trying to think of what could be worrying him or making him act like this.

Kuroo shook his head then leaned back in his seat. He scratched the back of his head and looked down. "I'm not sure how to say it, so I'm just going to say it." Immediately you felt dread in the pit of your stomach. Oh, god. Did he have, like, a middle-school crush on her? Was he tongue-tied? You did not want to lose one of your closest guy friends; plus, if you weren't friends with him anymore then you couldn't really be friends with Kenma-

"I'm worried about you, Y/N. Just... take care of yourself in Hyōgo, alright? You're there for a reason; to take a break." He ran a hand through his hair again, nervously. "You know what I'm saying? So just take care of yourself. Don't eat junk food all the time, it's not good for you. Also don't stay indoors all the time, it's good to get outside. You need to synthesize vitamin D," Kuroo rambled, "it's good for your skin, too-"

Finally you broke your silence, smiling and laughing at him. "Aw, Kuroo, you nerrrd," you socked him on the arm, evoking an 'ow' from him. "You're so sweet, what the hell? And don't worry, I'll be fine! I'm great at taking care of myself!" You gave him a thumbs up. When he looked at you dubiously, you added on, "Kaa-san and Tou-san don't live too far from where we used to live, so I can go to them if I need to, too." After a pause, more giggles bubbled out. "I thought- I was really scared that you liked me," you cackled, going into hysterics when he made a face. "I know, I know- I just got worried because I didn't know what you were going to say."

Kuroo rolled his eyes. "Uh, no, I don't like you. Not even platonically, after this," he grumbled, already getting into his theatrics. "I can't believe you're harassing me for caring. You're awful, Y/N!"

You opened your car door, still laughing. "Ok, ok, I'm awful, I'll admit it." You shut the door, and Kuroo rolled down the window.

"Whatever. Just make sure Osamu is driving safely. And text us when you get there. And," he levelled his gaze with yours, "do whatever you feel is best about Kita. Hopefully you take this break to sort through your feelings." Without giving you any time to retort something, Kuroo peeled off in his car, leaving you alone.

Quickly, you made your way into your apartment and finally took off your heels, leaving them near the entrance and sighing when you could walk flat-footed on the cool floor. Next you took off your coat and threw it on the couch, and instead of getting ready to sleep, jumped into your bed and face-planted into the pillows.

You fell asleep in less than five minutes.

You sent your Hyōgo address to Kenma and then flopped on your bed, accidentally banging your head on the headboard. “Fuck,” you hissed, clutching the back of your head. You sat there for a few moments, lamenting why you had to jump onto the bed and how the consequences of your action hurt so bad.

Then your stomach rumbled, begging to be filled, and you forgot everything you had been thinking about, making your way into the kitchen. You opened the fridge, peering in at the contents- or rather lack thereof. At least you didn’t have to worry about clearing your fridge by tonight, right?

Your stomach growled again as you shut the door, instead looking to the freezer. What did you have in there…? It slid open and you were glad to see that it wasn’t as empty as your fridge, rummaging through the frozen meals you had for a late-breakfast-early-lunch.

You pulled out a twelve pack of frozen gyoza and set it aside on the counter, pushing all of the other stuff back into the freezer. When you finally slid it shut again, you sighed in relief, and turned back to the food in question. You read the instructions on the back even though you were pretty sure it was easy to heat them up, and then turned the stove on. Pulling out a pot from your cabinet, you filled it with water and then set it on the stove, topping it with a lid to make the process faster.

Then you got to cleaning. Your apartment wasn’t all that messy since you didn’t spend a lot of time in it before going on hiatus, just a few stacks of paper filled with lyrics: some you’d tried working out, others hadn’t fit your two previous albums, but most you just didn’t like.

You checked on the pot of water to make sure it wasn’t boiling, and after seeing it wasn’t, you continued cleaning, moving into the kitchen once more. You scrubbed the plates and bowls you’d left in the sink for a couple days. Most of the stuff in the sink was silverware from eating takeout or having frozen meals, though.

When you heard and saw that the water was boiling, you added the gyoza and lowered the heat before going back to drying the dishes. By the time you were done with the task, your dumplings were ready, and so you turned off the stove and took the pot off. With a pair of chopsticks, you scooped up the gyoza and placed them onto a plate. You’d eat six and then leave the other half for dinner, you decided, putting them in a bento box for storage and then the fridge.

“Ah…” You sat down on the couch with your food and then turned on the TV, watching mindlessly and eating your gyoza one by one. After a couple of hours, you got up, washed and dried the dishes you’d just used, and then finally went to your room to pack.

Should you take all of your clothes with you? It’s not like you knew how long you were planning to stay in Hyōgo, so should you just pack everything, then? You opened up your closet all the way, clearing out the sections of your regular clothing and placing them on your bed. You turned back to your closet, now significantly emptier. All that was left were things you’d worn on tours or designer pieces you’d been allowed to keep. Most of them you could look at and remember the venues you’d worn them to; recall the quality of your performance and how big the crowd was. It would be pointless to take them with you, right? You couldn’t wear a custom Versace piece to the middle of nowhere.

You sighed and shut the closet door with a resounding thud, and then turned to face the monster pile of clothes you were going to try to fit into two large suitcases…

Ah shit, and you hadn’t even begun to think about shoes.

a/n: help the chapters keep getting longer even though i outline for this fic????? h o w

taglist (pm me to ask to be added): @papiibuprofen​, @duhsies, @succulentmom​​

some ~fun facts~ 

- lev and alisa are models, as in canon

-the food was served in test tubes and other scientist apparatuses LMAO (kuroo got really excited because he’s a chem nerd)

- i based the restaurant off of an actual one in japan but changed some things about it... so for legal reasons™️ all similarities are a coincidence 🧍‍♂️

- i hope y/n doesn’t sound whiny but i find molecular gastronomy to be super esoteric,,, reminds me of that bar scene in parks and rec lmao

- kenma tucks his sweatpants into his socks like the wrestlers at my old high school do... this is unfortunately also canon... 

- yaku couldn’t make it to the dinner event because he’s still in russia, playing volleyball there. he will be coming back to play for japan in the olympics!

- kuroo drives even though he drank a little... don’t do this

- kuroo is NOT interested in y/n romantically 

- i made two kita shirts with my friends during a haikyuu watch party we had… my favorite one got a little messed up and i’m sad 😃 edit: i fucking hate it here they got put in the dryer without my consent and now they’re both ruined ❤️

[ijustwant2write]

Model Wife-Thomas Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @nofckingfighting​)

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I HAVE ALSO CREATED A PROMPT LIST HERE IF YOU WANT TO TAKE SOMETHING FROM THAT)

Masterlist

Requested by @justsimplyme93​: ‘Hey! How are you? I read the last tommy shelby one you did and i love it. Could you do another arranged marriage with tommy where he still go’s to lizzie and the reader asks to speak with him.’

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Cheating, sex, swearing, arguing slight violence

                                      *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sipping on my tea, I looked around at our guests in the house, all members of the ‘Grace Shelby Institute’. We had to keep up appearances, and although both Tommy and I hated socialising with people who used to turn their noses up at people like us, they were the ones providing the money. Normally, we would keep most events out of the house, but Tommy had pissed me off, and seeing as he was too busy to help organise it, I made all the arrangements; being petty was sometimes the only way I could get back at him.

“Mrs Shelby, what a lovely home you have! And the decor for today is just lovely.” an older, highly posh woman gushed to me.

I smiled.“Thank you. I am quite proud of myself.”

“I have not had the chance to speak with your husband yet. It seems he keeps vanishing into thin air.”

“Yes, he does have a habit of doing that.”

Knowing that there was no point in trying to track down Tommy, I suffered through an awfully dull conversation with the lady, having to disguise my boredom with polite smiles as more women joined us. They were all much older, I had seen a few young women here, all married to very rich men who were twice their own age; I suppose I couldn’t judge, it wasn’t like Tommy and I were actually in love.

“You know Mrs Shelby, I have always wondered how you met a man like Thomas Shelby.” one of the women said.

She was bold to say something like that, especially to me. I refrained from sighing as I started to recite the story Tommy and I made up.

“Well, it seems very cliche, I must say. We met when he was meeting with my father, obviously wanting to unite our businesses. I ended up being in the right place at the right time, we easily fell into a conversation with each other which was unfortunately interrupted by my father. Thomas was very confident to take me out to dinner, right in front of my father may I add! Surprisingly he was a charmer, and I guess we just fell in love along the way.”

The ladies all cooed, some covering their heart with their hand as if it were the most romantic thing they had ever heard. It was all bullshit. We had to make it as vague as possible, make sure that they had nothing more to gossip about. Both Tommy and I had been married before, they were our real loves; and both had been murdered by a rival, but who received more sympathy after they died? And who was called vicious, degrading names when she re-married to a wealthier, more powerful man? People of ‘society’ were disgusting.

“Finn,” I called out as I approached him, luckily escaping the women,“have you seen your brother?”

“Which one?” he smirked.

I smiled back, ruffling up his hair to annoy him.“The one I’m married to.”

He quickly smoothed it back down.“Not sure. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Alright, just keep an eye out for him, yeah?”

Although it wasn’t uncommon for Tommy to disappear (especially to avoid these groups of snobs), he had been gone for a while. He may have been frustrated by my choice of venue, but he would still inform me if he had to leave for business. This made me all the more suspicious.

Leaving the main room, I hastily walked down the halls, leaving the noise behind me. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, wishing that I didn't have an idea of where he could be...and who with. Brushing past staff carrying food and beverages, I made my way upstairs, checking our bedroom first. He was the lowest of low if he was up here; luckily, they hadn’t used this room. Checking through our bedrooms, it was only two doors down from our own when I heard heavy breathing. Taking a deep breath, I gripped onto the handle, bursting in and confirming my suspicions. 

“If you’re almost finished, we have guests waiting for you downstairs.” I stated, averting my gaze away from the scene before me.

Lizzie had been bent over the bed, with her dress pulled up over her hips (how classy), and my husband right behind her. She bolted upright, shimmying her dress back down and pulling her underwear up; even after being caught in the act, she looked smug, head held high as she walked past me. Looking back at Tommy, he had an annoyed expression as he did up his trousers. I didn’t want to speak to him, but he called me back before I had a chance to leave.

“We need to speak about this.” he said.

“We do. But not now, not whilst I am hosting this event for the organisation you created for your dead wife.” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind me.

Luckily I had put a time limit on the event, and this time there was a genuine smile on my face as they all left. That was before I remembered what I had witnessed earlier. It was going to go down much messier than I first anticipated, especially since the tension between us had been building up after I caught them in the act. My footsteps were heavy on the way to Tommy’s office, not even bothering the knock before entering. In his usual spot at his desk, whiskey already poured, there was no reaction from him when he saw the fury in my eyes.

“Glad you’re settled for the evening.” I spat, hands on my hips as I stood opposite him.

“This is about earlier?” he coughed.

“What else would we talk about?”

“I’m guessing it has upset you.”

“Not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

He didn’t reply, instead lighting a cigarette.

“Tommy, I understand that there is that bullshit saying ‘all men have urges that need to be fulfilled’, but it doesn’t mean you can disrespect me in my own home.”

“Your home?”

“Yes, my home. I’m here a lot more than you are anyway. And of all the times to be fucking her, you chose the annual Grace Shelby Institute meet up?”

“Don’t say her name.” he mumbled.

I scoffed.“It’s the only way I can get your attention nowadays.” 

Tommy raised from his chair, still smoking.“Attention? Since when have you ever wanted my attention?”

“We both knew that this marriage wasn’t based off of love, nor were we ever going to fall in love along the way. However, I have been nothing but a model wife to you. I keep up appearances on your behalf, I make up excuses for your disappearances, I also ensure that your reputation isn’t tarnished by people speaking about you behind your back! And if that doesn’t deserve some fucking respect then I don’t know what does! Also, don’t you think I miss the touch of a man? How many times have I come across men that have shamelessly flirted with me whilst you’re not around, and how easy would it have been to sneak away for just a moment to gain some satisfaction?!”

I could feel my face burning up as I ranted, hating that I wasn’t gaining any sort of reaction from him. Was he this blank with Grace? Was he this blank with Lizzie?

“So you’re asking me to stop seeing Lizzie?” 

“I’m not asking you that, because even if I did, you would keep doing it anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I just want respect. I don’t deserve to be humiliated like this.”

“No one knows.”

“Your family does! And even if they didn’t, that means I don’t deserve respect?”

He sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette.“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You said it nevertheless.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Really Tommy? I want some common fucking decency.”

“Ask and you shall receive.”

I groaned, leaving before I said something I truly regretted. He was acting as if he didn’t give a shit (which he probably didn’t), which only angered me more. Who would want to be stuck in such a place? Letting out an angry scream, I picked up an expensive vase, raising it high above my head before throwing it on the floor with all my might. The pieces glided out across the hardwood floor, some spraying onto my shoes. A few servants rushed in, obviously alarmed by the noise. Instead of apologising, I marched past them, heading up the long stairs and to the bedroom; I would have preferred to grab the leftover bottles of champagne as a nightcap, but exhaustion from my anger would have to do.

Tommy still slept beside me that week, he still ate breakfast with me, sometimes dinner if he wasn't busy. He also tried to have normal, short conversations with me, though even when we glanced at each other, the tension was thick between us. It pissed me off that he was acting normal, and I knew that's why he was doing it...making me even more mad.

"I have a potential business partner coming here today." He informed me over breakfast.

"Why are they coming here?" I asked.

"I couldn't have a meeting elsewhere."

"I thought you said you don't like bringing business home...though come to think of it, you don't really do that either."

"Glad that's settled then."

I assumed that Tommy would want me out of the way when this 'partner' arrived. A good place to go was out to the stables, tend to the horses to take up time. However, I wasn't in the mood for riding or mucking out, instead opting to watch them be trained for racing. Leaning against a fence, I wasn't surprised that my mind was elsewhere, wondering why Tommy was still being so nice to me. We very rarely argued, mostly because neither of us wanted to face the problems at hand, especially when there were more pressing matters to deal with. But after yelling at him like I had, I expected some sort of silent treatment, or even for him to avoid me completely.

"Mrs Shelby?" a butler said from behind me. He continued as I turned around."Mr Shelby's meeting was to commence at twelve, but he is not here at present. However, his business partner has arrived. And..."

"And?"

"And Mr Shelby has asked that you keep him company whilst he is gone. He has assured me he shall be no longer than half an hour."

It was highly unusual for me to meet any of Tommy's associates. This meant that the man couldn't be any sort of threat, he wouldn't expose me like this. Following the butler back inside, I followed him to the parlour, preparing to act as a good host and a good wife.

"I'm sorry that my husband has kept you waiting, he's never been great with time keeping." I said as I walked in, the man having his back towards me.

As he turned around, my eyes widened, as did his.

"Christopher?!" I exclaimed.

"(Y/N)?!" He smiled, rushing towards me.

"Is that really you? What are you doing engaging in business with the Shelby's?"

"My firm is expanding, for some reason Thomas Shelby stepped forward and offered to become partners. I haven't heard about you for years!"

"Neither I about you. Ever since you moved away, we lost contact."

"And now you're the new Mrs Shelby. Bit risky isn't it?"

I laughed."Come sit down, u want to hear everything you have been doing since we last saw each other."

Christopher was a very old friend of mine. We had known each other since we were eighteen, becoming friends after our families were connected through business. We had been young people wanting to rebel, wanting to have fun; we were never in a relationship together, though we would sleep with each other, spend long nights out drinking with our friends. As a lot of my friends went off to get married to higher business men, he was still there, until I selfishly left him behind to marry my husband, the man I truly loved. I had loved Christopher, not so much as someone I wanted to spend my life with, though neither just a friend; it sounded more complicated that it was.

"You know, I always felt slightly bad for marrying and leaving you like that." I admitted.

"Only slightly?" he nudged me.

"It's not my fault I fell in love! We both said that we would never marry each other, it wasn't right."

"No, you are correct. Though, that didn't stop us doing things that couples do."

I giggled."And we did that a lot."

"I'm sure Mr Shelby keeps you busy."

"He would...if he was ever here. Though even if he was..."

"(Y/N)?"

"I've said too much already."

"Have the two of you ever...or haven't rather-"

"No we haven't. And I am telling you this in full secrecy, it must never leave your lips." I pointed a finger at him, becoming serious.

"I promise. I would never do anything to expose you like that."

"Thank you Christopher." I laid my hand on his thigh, thinking nothing of it until he placed his over mine.

Slipping away my hand, I looked away from him, feeling how intense our eye contact was becoming. It was stupid that my heart was beating faster, I was becoming hot under the collar over the tiniest amount of contact.

"I'm assuming your wife knows who you are making a deal with?" I said to start the conversation again.

"There is no Mrs in my life at the moment. I'm afraid work came first and well...there has never been much time."

"Oh Christopher, that's no excuse! Let me guess, you've lost your charm?"

"It's been working on you, hasn't it?"

He got me again. Glancing around, I saw no servants, though I wouldn't be surprised if they were eavesdropping. However, it was Tommy and I that employed them, if they wanted to lose their job, that would he the way to do it. Standing up, I gestured for Christopher to follow.

"We're going on a walk." I announced.

"What about your husband?"

"He will be ages before he gets here. And I'm allowed to show my old friend around the place."

We headed out of the front door, and without saying anything, I guided him down the path that led away from the house.

"(Y/N), I thought you were showing me around your home?" Christopher pointed out.

"I am. We're just starting at the beginning."

"What is that...hut?"

It was a small stone shed, one that would have been used to either keep guns or tools used to maintain the land, keep it tidy. Tommy had another one built closer, initially wanting to knock it down but soon forgetting about it. Now it was empty, the only things remaining being a desk and a chair. It was in front of the trees, slightly hidden by them. You would have to have a sharp eye to spot it, whether you were walking or driving by. Using my shoulder to budge it open, I stepped inside, closing the door after Christopher walked in.

"(Y/N), I'm not stupid, I know why we've come here." He said, staying close by me.

I hesitated to speak, knowing that I hadn't thought this through properly."Christopher... I wouldn't be doing this if-"

"Your husband is Thomas Shelby, this is dangerous for both of us."

"It isn't. He's allowed to go off and do what he wants, because he's Thomas fucking Shelby, and he's a man. Even if he found out about any of this, he wouldn't hurt someone if I asked him not to. He's good to me in that manner."

His hands came up to either side of my face."I'm worried about you, I've never seen you so..."

"Desperate?" I clung onto his jacket, pulling him closer.

"I couldn't believe it was you when you walked in. You're still as beautiful as you were when we were eighteen."

Although he was being a sweetheart and I hadn't received such compliments in a long time, I was inpatient. We both knew where this was headed, and it wasn't going to be as romantic or adventurous as it used to be.

Hungrily kissing me, his arms wrapped around my torso, reaching down to my arse as I pulled off his coat. Pulling away for a moment, he pushed me towards the desk, helping me scramble on top of it. My legs instantly spread as I ruffled up the bottom of my dress, using one hand to grab the back of his neck and kiss him again. I felt his hand slide up my thigh, gasping as he pulled my underwear aside. The sensation filling my body had been badly missed, and I felt myself writhing against his fingers. Leaning back against the wall, I moaned loudly, heavily breathing as I grinded my hips. He slowed down his movements, knowing how much it was frustrating me.

"Christopher..." I struggled to say."Fuck, please...don't stop."

He leaned in to my neck, sloppily missing it as he spoke in between."I loved teasing you like this."

I groaned as he removed his fingers, instantly reaching down to unbuckle his trousers. Before I could take a turn to torture him back, he pulled me off the desk, quickly turning me around and bending me over it. I yelped out in surprise, smiling at the thrill of it all. He tapped my legs apart, moving my skirts out of the way. I felt his skin on mine before he thrusted into me, making me cry out in pleasure. It didn't even matter if anyone could hear us, I hadn't fucked for God knows how long.

He was slow at first, building up the feeling that was in the pit of my stomach. I moaned out his name, reaching back to grab any piece of hm. He had a tight grip on my hips, especially as he started to quicken his pace. The noises escaping his mouth were somehow exciting me, I needed to feel and hear all of this. The pinching of skin from his hold didn't bother me, both of us shouting out each others names along with profanities before he came, but he kept going until I did too. With both of us finished and out of breath, Christopher gently collapsed over me.

"Fuck." I sighed as he pulled out.

Shakily straightening up, I made sure I was dressed correctly, kissing him gently one last time. My body couldn't believe what it had just gone through, and it already wanted more. Before we could say or do anything else, we heard the distant sound of a car, and it could only be headed this way.

"Shit." Christopher stressed, hastily getting dressed.

"It's OK! It'll be OK, Christopher!" I tried to calm him down.

"He's back already!"

"We'll head back and act like nothing happened. I was just walking around with you."

Making sure we both looked normal, we nervously made our way back to the house. My legs were still shaking as he speedily walked, but I said nothing, seeing the stress and fear plastered on his face.

"Ah, Mr Alexander, I see you have met my wife." Tommy was stood in the foyer, unnaturally smiling.

"We actually know each other. We grew up together." I explained, standing beside him.

Then it clicked.

"If you don't mind, I just need a quick word with my wife."

Christopher nodded, politely smiling at both of us before following the butler to Tommy's office. He turned to face me, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

"You invited him on purpose." I said.

"You might want to go lie down for a bit." He didn't say it maliciously, but I was still wary.

"Tommy, please don't hurt him. I initiated it, please don't-"

"I'm not going to do anything to him. He's done what I thought he would do."

"I'm confused. Why would you want him to sleep with me?"

"You said so yourself, why should it just be me doing what I want? You're Mrs fucking Shelby, you've got the power." He started to walk away, leaving me to still think about what he had done.

Still shaky but reeling from the events that unfolded, I ended up smiling."That scheming mother fucker."

[wingsofanillyrian]

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 3

Day late but here you go! Thank you to @acourtofcouture​ for beta-ing and putting up with me!

Chapter Masterlist

The six hour flight left Nesta well rested and refreshed as she checked into her hotel. She texted Jacob to check in and make sure none of his equipment had gotten lost on the flight. Having arrived a day earlier, he had been lurking around paddocks in hopes of capturing any drama on film.

He assured her everything had made it safely and informed her there were rumors flying about transmission troubles with the McLaren team. Nesta told him to keep an eye on it and unpacked her suitcase.

Nesta had just sat down when her phone rang. It was Tomas. Sighing, she decided she couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Tomas,” She answered coldly.

“About damn time you picked up the phone,” He replied, remorseless. He wasn’t earning himself any points. “What room are you in?”

She frowned. “How do you know if I’m even in Baku?”

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out flight numbers.” Interesting, he was keeping tabs on her.

“I don’t want to-”

“I said what room?”

Nesta sank back in the plush chair. Truthfully, she did want to see him, if only to determine what he had to say for himself. She couldn’t let go of the hope that somehow this was all a simple misunderstanding.

“Fourteen twelve,” She told him, instantly regretting it.

She heard him shuffling on the other end. “Five minutes.”

A knock on her door sounded a few minutes later, and she let Tomas in. “I saw the story.”

“Obviously,” Nesta scoffed, crossing her arms. Tomas reached for her but she stepped away. His eyes went bright with anger. She would not make this easy for him.

“I tried calling you.”

“I am aware.” Nesta picked at her nails to hide her trembling, trying to appear utterly nonplussed. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes.”

Nesta froze. Ever so slowly, her gaze slid to Tomas. Back straight, chin jutting out, staring down his nose at her. He still showed no sign of regret, nothing that would indicate he made a mistake.

“Why?” She rasped, fighting back tears. Tomas was not worth it.

He shrugged. “Because I wanted to. You and I are just fucking anyways. What does it matter?”

Nesta recoiled, blinking. “I can’t do this.” She had grossly miscalculated their entire relationship. Her palms began to sweat, her breathing increasing to a fever pitch. She pressed a hand to her chest, praying that the pressure would prevent her glass heart from shattering. Instead, it pushed the shards further into her lungs, making each breath ragged.

“Get out,” She whispered. Tomas scoffed, stepping forward.

“Nesta-”

“Out!” She repeated, more forcefully. She only needed to hold herself together for a few more seconds until he was out the door, then she could crumble.

Tomas’ face twisted. “Fine. I’ll see you at the paddock tomorrow anyway, I’m sure.”

Nesta let out a choked sob as soon as the door slammed shut. Her resolve broke, the dam inside of her punched through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she fell to her knees. She shouldn’t have loved him. 

Before they had met, she knew he was nothing but a heartbreaker. He went through women the way a drunk went through a bottle of liquor. Tomas viewed women in the same way as well; objects to be used until they were no more than empty shells and then discarded.

Nesta let the grief crash against her for a handful of minutes before she realized how useless it was. Tomas would never love her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was capable of feeling such an emotion at all. There was no use letting him affect her.

Gathering her strength, Nesta stood. She looked at the sorry image in the mirror, taking in the red eyes, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the disheveled hair. She wouldn’t let a man crush her. She had made it this far by blinding herself to the sneers and derogatory comments thrown at her. Why couldn’t she do the same to get over Tomas?

But as she climbed into bed, she realized how flawed that mentality was.

**********

Sunday’s race kept Nesta busy. Lucien and Azriel collided in lap three, causing a safety car and ultimately leading to the pair of them being unable to finish the race. Nesta had seen it on a television hanging in the Mercedes garage, the entire team letting out a collective shout when Vanserra didn’t yield to Azriel in the 90 degree turn and the Red Bull tangled with the Mercedes. Both cars were a mess of broken carbon fiber and snapped suspension bits.

Nesta managed to corner Azriel and get a few heated words out of him, a rare bit of annoyance showing through his usual calm. “Vanserra should have cut into the corner more sharply. He was way off the racing line.”

“Some people would say that you should have backed off and yielded the position to him,” Nesta added, hoping to get him worked up further. “What are your thoughts on that?”

Azriel glared at the camera, addressing anyone who dared think the incident had been his fault. “If you’re not allowed to defend, what’s racing about, then?”

Azriel turned on his heel and belined back to the garage. Jacob lowered the camera and turned to Nesta to ask, “You don’t actually believe it was Azriel’s fault, do you?”

“Of course not.” Nesta’s attention returned to the monitors and she grimaced. The racing incident had allowed Tomas to move up into first. Cassian was only a second behind, but struggling to overtake. At least she no longer had to be invested in Tomas holding his position. She couldn’t care less if he won or not.

In the end, it was Tomas taking home top points for Red Bull, Cassian bringing home 18 for Mercedes and Varian with a handful for McLaren spraying the champagne on the podium. Red Bull’s one stop strategy meant that when Cassian dipped into the pits on lap 38 for a fresh set of soft compound tires and one of the wheel nuts got stuck, Tomas was the clear winner. Cassian had no way to make up the 10 second deficit. The 25 points Tomas’ first place finish awarded him allowed him to slip past Cassian and snag the championship lead. 

And gods, was he smug about it.

Nesta told herself she didn’t care when Tomas sauntered into the press pen, his self-satisfied smile directed at her as he sat. Cassian and Varian filed in moments later, each silent as they took their seats. The room paused, Cassian’s hazel eyes flicking to where she sat front row. Everyone was waiting…. For her.

But her mind was blank. Not a single race related question surfaced. Nesta panicked, clenching a fist hard enough to feel her nails bite her palm. After a few beats of silence, the roar of the other reporters filled her head.

They had been waiting for her to ask something - anything - and she couldn’t come up with a single damned thing to say.

Jacob nudged her side. “You good?”

Nesta was too lost in the tangled web of thoughts to reply. This had all been a game to Tomas; his attitude now told her that. He had used her to gain favor with other teams and build a solid reputation with fans. After all, what better way to gain positive media attention than to have the sport’s most infamous writer in your bed?

She managed to keep her face carefully blank until the end of the conference. She didn’t say a word to Jacob as he packed up, shooting her confused glances all the while. The walls of the room pushed in on her, chest becoming tight. Standing on shaky legs, she fled down the hall, finding an abandoned alcove far from the cacophony of noise.

Chest heaving, Nesta tried to sort through her revelation. Tomas had used her. He had never intended to let this drag out. Those pictures had likely been a calculated move on his end, intended to spear her heart. Maybe breaking her had been his plan all along. He seemed to enjoy her emptiness, judging by the way he kept glancing at her during the conference. 

Her phone vibrated. Against her better judgement, she checked it. It was only Jacob, asking where she was. She only texted back to say that she was fine before gathering herself. She couldn’t just crumble in a hallway where anyone could see her.

She had just began to head towards the exit when someone jogged behind her. “Hey!”

“Not now Cassian,” Nesta said, annoyance evident. How did he always manage to find her when she wanted to be left alone? It was like he had some kind of sixth sense, focused directly on her.

“Hold on,” He said, fingers brushing her arm. The touch froze her, muscles coiling. It had only been a brief moment, but the surprise of it was enough to disarm her. “You okay? You didn’t say a word at the conference.”

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Why do you care?”

He did not flinch. Most would have. “Because I’m a decent person, believe it or not.” She searched his face for any sign of insincerity. She couldn’t find any; his hazel eyes held only honeyed truths.  

Nesta’s laugh was cruel, hot tears threatening to fall. “Right. Sure you are. Suddenly you feel like caring about how I feel instead of fucking with me. How about you leave me to my misery, Cassian? No need to rub it in.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t want to see the look on his face, whether it was anger or smug satisfaction, or something else entirely. 

Nesta managed to make it out and call a taxi to take her back to the hotel. She was silent the entire ride, not bothering with half-hearted small talk. Collapsing on the bed, she didn’t bother changing. She queued up a cheesy comedy film, one that was full of stupid jokes that were funny when it first came out, but not relevant in the present day.

Halfway through, Nesta grew bored and checked her phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

You okay? You never answered me.

"What the fuck," Nesta mumbled, rereading the message. How had Cassian gotten her number? 

Fine, was all she said back. She didn't know why she even bothered responding. Maybe it was because he had seemed genuinely concerned in that hallway and she felt slightly guilty for blowing him off.

I can buy you a drink if you come down to the hotel bar

Fuck off and leave me alone

Gladly.

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh and texted Jacob.

You gave him my number didn't you?

Jacob's response was only an emoji of a nervous smile.

"Little fucker," She mumbled, tossing her phone aside. She'd throttle him tomorrow on the plane. Right now, she was too hungry to send a snarky reply. If she slipped out the back, she could grab a burger without having to chance running into Cassian at the bar.

Grabbing a sweater - the desert got cold at night, she'd learned that the hard way - she made the trek down the fourteen flights of stairs, trying to piece together her life.

By the time she made it to a fast food shop, she was exhausted. She inhaled her meal in minutes, lounging in the dingy booth. She looked at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time, disappointed when there wasn’t so much as a text from Tomas.

She got up from the booth, tossed her trash in the bin and walked out. She took the long way back to the hotel, purposely winding through the streets. Why did she care if Tomas hadn’t texted her? It was her own fault that she had let herself fall for him in the first place. She knew it had been a horrible idea, and yet she had allowed herself to let him gain a place of importance in her life. They’d agreed on no feelings, and yet here she was. 

By the time she made it back to her hotel room, Nesta was exhausted. It took her three tries to fit the electronic key in the reader, and she used her full weight to shoulder the obscenely heavy door open. 

She didn’t bother with the lights, simply slipping out of her shoes and throwing her jacket in the general direction of the closet. She wanted to sleep; maybe that would reset her mind so she could feel less broken tomorrow.

“Hey-”

“Fuck!” Nesta jumped at the voice, fumbling for the lightswitch, heart in her throat. She squinted when warm light filled the room, shoulders relaxing when she saw who it was. Tomas, standing awkwardly by the desk, roses and a small box in his hands. Despite herself, hope bloomed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, unmoving.

Setting down the bouquet, Tomas stepped forward to hand her the box. “I came to apologize. I know I missed your birthday and that I’m a shitty person. But if you open that, I think you’ll see…”

He trailed off, nodding to the present she now held. She opened the hinged black velvet, revealing a small diamond necklace. It was delicate, nothing flashy, but enough to make a statement. Nesta glanced up at him, heart warring with her head.

“Do you think showering me with pretty things will make me take you back, after what you said?”

“I think it’ll help, when paired with the fact that I-” He swallowed, trying and failing to hide his grimace. “I love you.”

Any and all sane thoughts left her head upon hearing those three precious words. Gods, she had dreamed of this moment for months. He’d only waited to tell her because it was clearly hard for him to say. But now that he’d admitted it, she could teach him how to love.

Nesta laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Tomas. I always have.”

His hands rest on her back, not returning her fervor but she didn’t care. “Now will you take me back?”

The short answer was yes, absolutely. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to wrap herself up in him and get lost. But her head knew that she needed to lay out a defense.

“Only if you promise we can make this real. If we can be together. Which means no more stunts for the cameras. I can’t keep writing about it like it’s nothing.”

Tomas tensed against her. “Fine. I can do that.”

The weight on Nesta’s chest eased. She let him lay her back on the bed, ripping at his clothes. She only let him pull away long enough for him to whisper, “I can’t stay the night.”

@aphoeni @planet-faerie  @nina-zcnik @darlinminds @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland–memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @toastedroastedburnt @swankii-art-teacher @illyrianshadowhunter @bakingandbooks3 @maastrash​ @candid-confetti​ @flamingveritas​ @silentquartz​ @suckmykawaiidesu​ @18moneytoad​ @frosted-crackers​ @maybekindasortaace @lysandra-tiara9 @rowaelinismyotp​ @jlinez

[royalydamned-archive]

Devil’s Lullaby - Prologue

Summary: Everybody who meets her says she's cold, dangerous and untouchable, no matter how harmless she seems. They say Crowley hates when someone damages something his, but goes absolutely furious when they touch his pet, yet she can endure any kind of pain, any torture. He might be her strong spot, but she is his weak one.

However Sam and Dean are facing another apocalypse and they don't have time to choose. Desperate to save the world, they have to meet Crowley and along the way find somebody they thought they lost a long time ago.

The hum of the people was louder than the music quietly playing in the background, mixing into annoying sound all around the room. Glitter from women's dresses was illuminating the light from chandelier, blinding light reflecting on their jewels. Everything was elegant and so still. Nobody was dancing. Standing in small groups, they were talking. Promoting their own business or looking for rare goods they were searching for a very long time without the fear of being recognized in the future thanks to various mask their faces were hiding behind. They all looked the same, merging into one big mass of cloth and skin. No glitter made them stand out. No diamond, no expensive metal, no luxurious dress.

A man sitting by the bar was watching them all, waiting for his own business companion to arrive. With a glass of champagne in his hand he was searching the crowd, worried and nervous. 'How am I going to know it's the right person?' He had asked the man who told him how to get to the important people. 'Oh, trust me you will know right away'. He had answered with a wicked smirk that had made the poor man shrug uncomfortably.

'He was right' he thought to himself when he saw a breathtaking woman make her way through the crowd and slowly walk towards him. Her hips were elegantly swaying from side to side, heels clapping against the floor, everybody was clearing her path, both out of respect and fear her persona radiated. She was well known amongst them, she gave power to most of the men and women standing in there, tricking them or seducing them to give in into the dark side. She was the devil walking amongst men. The spirit of lust and gluttony, making the weak ones fall into the dark pit she called home. And yet she was the dream everybody fell for.

Her skirts were floating behind her like a cloak. Purely red like hell fire's flames, the dress was hugging her curves and drew everybody's attention when she walked past them. Caught every eye, lurking them, making them promises without opening her mouth--convincing them their souls were worth sacrificing. From her the darkest and most bitter demands sounded like the sweetest wishes everybody was willing to grant. Just for her. For her false smile or calculated touch.

"Mr. Rosswell," she greeted him in deep calm voice, taking her own glass of champagne from the bar. Cold as a winter night, eyeing him like a wild cat watching its prey. Her nails clinked against the fragile glass like claws, so deadly sharp like her gaze, bright red lipstick leaving behind a print in the shape of her mouth when she took a small sip. Despite the fear crawling up his back, warning him about her, he couldn't resist the excitement she awoke in him with every slow calculated movement. "The name's Dianne."

He gulped and straightened his posture, trying to appeal as confident as he could, making himself look bigger and more intimidating, so desperately trying to look like he was in control, like he was stronger. Was her own confidence just an act like his poor attempt to look more important than the world made him? Or was the threat of her connections and power as real as it could be? "Please, Raymond." He reached to shake her hand but she just looked at it, small amused smirk forming on right side of her lips, and met his gaze. The bright green eyes shining under her black shadows, red devil mask on her face hiding them even more. He wanted to see more of her skin. He wanted to see everything she was hiding under the costume, see if she looked exactly alike when she dropped the act. But nobody could touch her. The ones who did had never touched anyone after. She was dancing with the demons.

"Raymond," she tilted her head slightly, playing with his name on her tongue, sending tingles down his stomach. A few blonde curls fell to her face from a very difficult looking hairstyle on her head, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes never left his. She was hypnotizing. "Let's jump right into business, shall we?"

"Y-yes, of course" he stuttered and cleared his throat right after, to calm himself down. He could feel every last bit of self-control, leaving his mind, betraying his body. It was like she was made to make him feel nervous, distracted, unsettled.

Taking another small sip from her champagne, Dianne sat into the bar chair right next to him, crossing her legs so she could be slightly touching his shin with tip of her shoe. He drew in a sharp breath. "What makes you think you have a chance of eternal peace? When death is on their heels, people grow desperate to save themselves. Unfortunately, nobody is thinking about what comes after death when sealing the deal. What do you have, that we need?" She leant closer to him, her voice low and seductive, words sounding so sweetly delicious and yet so dangerous, bright green eyes piercing his damned soul, making him shift uncomfortably. He lost words. "I-"

She was making him exceptionally nervous. Her subtle smirk, her appealing scent, her body tempting his primal wants, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but her. Her foot touching his leg, her hands a few inches from his, lips crooked into a vile smirk. She was all over his mind, numbing his senses to everything but her presence. "Have you heard about the Winchesters?" He could see a slight change in her face. She clenched her jaw tightly, he could see she was trying to calm down, her grip on the glass tightening.

"What about them?" she asked in professionally masked calmness and forced a small smile, but he saw something in her eyes shift. She seemed like the blood was boiling inside her veins.

"I heard-" he started but stopped, carefully looking around them to be sure no praying ears were listening and leaned in closer. "I heard that they are working with angels, trying to kill Lucifer and advert an Apocalypse."

"You want to tell me, that two stupid humans are really planning to kill Lucifer and stop the apocalypse before it even begins?"

''Well it already kind of began. Lucifer is free from-''

"Yes, yes I know that" she interrupted him, waving her hand between their faces kind of annoyed, and pulled away from him. He bit his lower lip in disappointment. Her closeness was so addicting. "I work in hell, when Satan is let lose I usually know about it."

For a little while there was a heavy silence between them. He could see her thinking, lost somewhere in the past, memories swimming everywhere through her mind. She was supporting her head with her hand, deep in thoughts. He didn't know what to do with his body so he let his eyes kept roam all over hers, nervously playing with his fingers. But he was too scared to break the silence. He was too afraid to interrupt her, but he knew she wouldn't speak up anytime soon. He already missed the sound of her voice.

"So" he cleared her throat quietly, unsure, playing with his fingers in a nervous manner "may I-" Her head suddenly shot up and the words in his mouth got lost on his tongue as the green gaze pierced through him.

"May you what?" she snapped, the calm facade crumbling visibly.

"Does the deal stand?"

"Your deal was set ten years ago. The I formation you just gave me has no value. Enjoy the eternal damnation," she deadpanned coldly and stood up. The terror of reality fell on him. The indescribable fear and hopelessness when he knew his destiny clutched his stomach, making him feel like throwing up. Desperation clouded his judgment, making him oblivious to any consequences.

"Wait!" he called out little more loudly the he intended to get her attention again. "You-you can't!"

A flash of fury crossed her beautiful face, lips forming into a scowl but within a second it was gone, just a cold anger in her eyes. Ice that was much more dangerous that fire, ice that burned more painfully. "What did you say? That I can't?" She asked disbelievingly, raising her voice enough to silence the whole room and make them watch the fury in her slowly rise in dread.

"I gave you and most of these people in here the best ten years of your lives just like that" she snapped her fingers in front of his face and he jumped a little. She knew she wasn't the one giving them the money, the power nor the success, but she knew she was important. She was the bridge thanks to whom Hell was getting full of bastard like the man right in front of her. Perverts, liars, the trash of human race.

"Your odds of getting out of that deal was even smaller then the odds of you ever being successful without our help. You didn't give me what I needed, so why should give you what you want? Because you said please?" she spit out the last word, disgusted, like it was rotten, ill-tasting.

He didn't answer again, just gulped and tried to steady his shaking hands. A flash of realization crossed her features.

"Oh, is that what you thought? That you'll beg nicely? Or were you planning to threaten me? Why? Because I'm just a human?" Now she inched dangerously close to his face, he could smell her perfume again, her shampoo, feel her breath against his skin. She smelled so delicious, felt so hot. Her closeness jolted his every nerve despite the threat of eternal misery, he hated how she made him feel. But he couldn't help to love it. "I'm sorry to disappoint, Raymond," his name left her mouth with mocking poison, sending shivers down his spine. A vile, vile woman. "Mercy is not my specialty."

"Please," he breathed out weakly, frightened and hopeless, desperately trying to save himself from eternal torture, willing to throw away everything. His pride, his status and even his dignity. His end was getting near, he could hear hellhounds barking in his dreams. "I'll do anything. I'll give you anything."

Pulling back, she straightened herself, with elegance of a swan and bitter maliciousness, leaving yet another person alone and terrified, with a promise of endless pain and fear. Punishing yet another human scum, and oh, how much she loved the sight of them breaking apart.

Finishing her champagne in one swing, she turned to him, devilish smile playing on her lips, clearly teasing him, enjoying every second of her sinister fun. "You already gave me your soul, what more can I ask?" she said quietly and left the room, everybody swiftly jumping out of her way.

The weather was warm outside. Slight breeze was playing with her blonde hair, and she could smell rain in the air, the atmosphere muting out the sounds inside. Her conscience long gone after years of listening to helpless cries and pleads, she paid no mind to the man, falling down on his knees, sobbing violently back inside.

She groaned, annoyance from the encounter and unbearable whining stuck in her head getting to her and ruining any sign of good mood she had left, headache starting to pound in her temples, and reached into her bra pulling a phone out of it, letting Crowley know the new-found information.

They didn't know, of course they didn't, everything around Lucifer put hell into utter chaos, madness spreading amongst the demons as they were awaiting the Devil's return, but the complete disgust and pure malice would never let her to break the man's deal. She enjoyed punishing his kind the most, their screams were so sweet as the pride and cockiness they had slowly left their bodies, leaving them sobbing violently, begging to stop, but the pain just increased with every moment. She heard their voices echoing through hell, their soft aftermaths accompanying her as she drifted to sleep, like a dreadful Devil's lullaby.

A soft sound behind her startled her slightly, but she didn't move. As calmly as possible she reached into her skirt, thumb tracing the smooth lacy fabric around her thigh until it found thin blade subtly hidden there in case of danger, which she faced quite often, and swiftly turned around, the sharp point gleaming threateningly, but no one was there.

A tired sigh escaped her lips, it had been a very long day and she felt exhaustion taking over her body. Her feet were swollen and aching, each step hurt more and more and her scalp was all sore from the way her hair were styled, pulling the roots of her hair uncomfortably the whole day. It all made her more nervous than usual and she couldn't wait until she's back.

She straightened her back and took a calming breath. It was almost over, but until then, nobody could see her out of place. Nobody could see her scared, restless, or even in the slightest discomfort. It might be her pride, screaming inside not to let anyone know that she is really just a helpless person or the undying need to be the best, to please and be praised. The desire to be perfect, to suit Crowley, more like an accessory than a partner, a person.

Forgetting everything that startled her just a few minutes ago, she put the knife back, covering up any sign of the small weapon under her dress and turned to face a pair of hypnotizing blue eyes, so close to her face she couldn't see anything else. How could she not notice someone standing behind her, so very close she felt their presence all around her, unable to escape. She wanted to scream, push them away, but before she could react in any way, two fingers touched her forehead, their fingerprints brushing against her skin so surprisingly gently, and she felt her knees giving up under her weight, body falling onto the ground and consciousness into the darkness, but before she could hit the pavement beneath her, the stranger's arms caught her.

rest of the fic can be found on ao3

[blue-slush-writing]

𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐳

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.6𝑘

𝑆ℎ𝑖𝑝: 𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜𝑢 𝑥 𝐼𝑧𝑢𝑘𝑢

𝑃𝑜𝑣: 𝐼𝑧𝑢𝑘𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑚 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠

Izuku had been able to lucid dream for as long as he could remember. Every time he would close his eyes and let sleep over take him, he would find himself in unlikely places, a little too real for his liking. They were always so vivid and painful, that he felt as though he was actually living through each nightmare. They would leave his brain feeling scattered and would haunt him even after he had awoken. Some days he would wake up with tears in his eyes, or find himself in a pool of sweat. When he was younger, when his dreams had started, they all seemed too real and he couldn’t distinguish what was truly happening and what wasn’t. Even when he was awake he was afraid that he was only asleep. His mother would find him crying and mumbling to himself about needing to get back to his real family. In his mind, he had memories of people he loved that were waiting for him, and he felt trapped in his own reality. As he got older the dreams slowly shifted from light hearted and confusing, to blood curtailing nightmares. Night after night, his mother Inko would wake up to Izuku screaming in his bedroom.

Eventually, around the age of 10 he finally went to see a psychiatrist. He explained, to the best of his abilities, what had been happening, and how even though he was conscious in his dreams, he couldn’t control them. It felt as though he was being swept up by his own imagination. Once he began talking, it was like a flood gate opened and he poured all of his anxieties out onto the doctor. It was quickly made clear that, even though Izuku was scared of the things that went on in his dreams, what truly shook him was that he didn’t know he was awake. Things would be so specific and realistic that he couldn’t help but wake up in a panic. One night he had witnessed his parents murder, so vividly that when it ended he immediatly thew up, jolting himself awake. He was sure he could still feel their blood on his hands and see the way their guts spilled from their sides. He had sat and cried alone in his room, because he thought his mother was dead, and that he was all alone. When Inko eventually came to check on him, she found him in a pool of tears, biting his nails until his fingers bled. When the boy saw his mother he almost collapsed from shock and relief. In that moment he had been so certain she was gone, it hadn’t even seemed possible he had been dreaming. As his mother comforted him, he went to whip the puke off his face, only to realize even that had been nothing but a figment of his imagination. He could still taste it in the back of his throat and the smell penetrated his nostrils even out of rest.

With this knowledge in mind, him and the doctor devised a plan. Together they picked out an action that Izuku could feel. Something that didn’t hurt, but was just subtle enough, that if he tried it and felt nothing, he would know he was dreaming. It was like a tasieman to tie him to reality. They eventually settled on crossing his eyes. Whenever he would stare directly at the point of his nose he would feel a slight pull on his eyes that let him know he was awake. This little action changed the way he dreamt for the rest of his life. It was incredibly subtle, so if he ever felt uneasy about what was happening around him, he could simply feel for the sensation behind his eyes to ground himself.

After that day, every night when Izuku would drift off he would alert himself that he was asleep, and then he would be able to enjoy the dreams knowing that they were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. With no consequences in his land of slumber, his nightmares quickly turned into his own personal super power. Now 25, Izuku uses his dreams as inspiration for the novels he writes and finds great pleasures in his dreams. Or at least he did until his dreams once again took control of him.

______________________________________________

Izuku looked around his room, making sure everything was where it needed to be for the next morning. His clothes were laid out on his side table and his phone was plugged into his nightstand. His teeth were brushed, pajamas on. He was ready for bed. It was nearly midnight, and he knew if he didn’t go to bed soon that he would never wake up on time to meet with his editor the next morning. He rarely had a strict schedule, but when he did he made sure to stick to it. He could already feel drowsiness tugging at his eyes, and the stress from the day slowly seeping through. He needed to write a little more before finally going to sleep, but he could feel fatigue clouding his brain. If he tried to work now, the product wouldn’t even be usable the next morning. He had stayed up the whole night before finishing a chapter, and now he was ready to finally get some much needed rest. His manuscript could wait until the next morning.

Letting his legs lazily drape across his bed, he pulled the covers close to his chest. He felt warm and safe as he flicked off his lamp and rolled over on his bed. Part of him was already half asleep the second he hit the pillow, but in the back of his mind there was the slight buzz that he lived with every night. The rumble in the back of his mind excited to see the adventures the night might hold. He let his eyes fall shut and slip into sleep. Something strange as his final strand of consciousness broke and he blacked out, like a ball of fire was brewing in the pit of his stomach. but that was something he could worry about once the dreams had actually started.

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When Izuku opened his eyes he was sitting in a chair in the back corner of a lavish room. The ceiling was easily 18 feet and there were marble pillars lining the corners. The whole room was furnished with luxurious chairs and side couches, all finely detailed. The walls were white with golden accents and there were elaborate paintings lining the chamber. Across on the back wall there was a large closet. Everything was extravagant and slightly outdated as if he had been transported to a ball from the 17 hundreds. Izuku himself was wearing an opulent suit set with frilly green accents. The cloth smelled old and musty, almost like it had been pressed. He felt slightly stiff in the fashioned apparel, but somehow felt very at place with his surroundings.

Izuku wasn’t the only one in what appeared to be the parlor room. All around him were people taking off their over garments and fur coats, each dressed more costly than the last. The women in particular looked like they had walked straight from the kind of paintings you see in museums. If he was interested in women he would probably try to talk to some of them. After standing around taking in his surroundings for a moment longer, Izuku eventually made his way out of the small room, and was greeted by an even more magnificent opening hall. The domed ceiling had a mural on it and a two tier chandelier hung from the center. He was sure he must be in some sort of mansion, or maybe even a castle. There were people walking around, glasses of champagne in hand, talking and socializing with one another. He wondered whose party he had stumbled upon, and who he might be to the host.

He easily slipped through the crowd and began to make his way towards the main ballroom of the party. There were two finely dressed ushers outside the doors, who were handing out small note cards, presumidly with information for the night. He got in line behind a tall ash blond man, who was dressed in black and white. From behind him Izuku could see his muscles flexing from beneath his jacket, and the light outline of the veins on his hands. The man's hair was unkempt and spiky, and protruded in every direction. He was exactly Izuku ’s type, and it was a shame he wasn’t real.

In the time it took him to process the man before him, he had already disappeared into the crowd and Izuku was up next to recieve his card as well as a glass of some cocktail. The usher handed him an envelope which he promptly opened as he walked, only to stop dead in his tracks. In sharp red lettering, the only thing inscripted on the card were the words;

‘Don’t let them know you’re awake’

Izuku felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“W-what?” He stuttered looking back at the usher. What the hell did that mean? He was dreaming wasn’t he? From behind him, the man who had handed him the note gave him a small nudge.

“Please keep the line moving, sir.” He sounded as put together as he looked, but there was something behind his eyes that told Izuku that he needed to act as though he hadn’t seen the words on the card. He quickly scurried aways from the door, and stayed close to one of the walls. He looked down at the words again, tracing his fingers of the letter as if they would reveal their secrets to him if he asked. Never before in a dream had he ever had someone else acknowledge that he was conscious, and he felt as though something was vastly wrong. Then it occurred to him that he hadn’t even checked if he was dreaming. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he looked inward at the bridge of his nose, concentrating on the sensation he would feel behind his eyes. Right as he realized he was most certainly asleep, a pair of arms grabbed onto him violently, jolting him back to reality.

“Are you crazy?! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” The man before him whisper screamed, looking down on Izuku . To his shock it was the same blond man as before.

“What do you m-mean?” He asked nervously fiddling with his hands and trying to shrink away from the piercing gaze of the other. His eyes were so deep and real, unlike most of the people he encountered in his dreams. The blond looked around and shook his head before grabbing his wrist and dragging him in a different direction. Izuku let out a small yelp as he was pulled but was only met with a hush.

“We can’t talk here, you Deku.” He growled before pulling them into a small room off of the ball area. As soon as they were both inside he closed and locked the door. The blond slumped into one of the chairs in the room, taking a deep sigh as if he had just evaded a catastrophe. For a moment he didn’t look up at Izuku and just sat there breathing slowly trying to calm himself. He looked far less put together than when he had first seen him at the entrance, but he was still stunningly attractive. Finally he stood once again and towered over Izuku, trapping him in between himself and the wall.

“That was your tether wasn’t it? Crossing your eyes?” He took a step closer so that when he bent down he was right in front of the brunette’s face.

“My what?” Izuku asked, utterly confused. “How do you know about me crossing my eyes? You’re not real, are you?” The blond only shook his head, frustrated.

“What the hell are you talking about?! My name is Katsuki , and I’m a jumper too. Obviously. What do you think you’re doing going around the party flaunting that you’re awake. Even if you’re stupid, the warning on the card should have been a reminder!” He barked at him, making Izuku cower below him. His mind was whirling For the first time in so many years he couldn’t figure out what was real. It was impossible for there to be a real person in his dream. He was asleep. In his own head. And what was that he said about being a jumper? It was like there was something he was missing from this whole situation. There were so many things to process and he began to mutter aloud. Katsuki evidently noticed what he was mumbling about and cut him off.

“Is this your first time at a gathering?” He asked, running a hand through his hair. “Or am I going to have to explain everything to you ?” It was clear on the look on Izuku’s face that he didn’t understand at all. Katsuki sighed again and started his explanation.

“You know you’re dreaming right now, right?” He nodded. “Good. Then I’m assuming you know you are conscious during your dreams. Some people like to call it lucid dreaming, but It’s really much more complicated than that. We are Jumpers.” He looked down at Izuku , making sure he was following. “There aren’t very many of us, but for some reason when we sleep we can jump between peoples dreams. Most of us don’t realize we are doing it at first, which is why people mistake it for lucid dreaming. That’s why people need tethers. He took his pointer finger and poked in right between the eyes.

“It’s like how you cross your eyes. It lets you know you’re dreaming, and from there you can figure out where you want to go. If you really get the hang of it you can even choose which dreams you go to. That’s what parties like this one are for.” He gestured around the room. “Dreams like this are where Jumpers gather to be with one another for a period of time. Since you are here I assumed you were one of us.” He shook his head backing away a bit.

“But why did you get upset when I crossed my eyes?” He mentioned, still confused.

“I guess you really are just stupid.” His eyes whipped back to Izuku for a moment before he finished explaining. “ Like I said we are in someone else's dream. Normally it’s not a big deal, but if the dreamer gets alerted of our presence they might wake up, and then the dream would collapse around us. The way the dreamer would find out is if the human figments realize we are awake. They would freak out and alert them that they are dreaming. Does that make sense? You can’t just go around flaunting your tether like that. It will get all of us caught.”

A feeling of dread set over Izuku as realization set in. All this time he had thought he was just messing around in his sleep, but in reality he had been disrupting other people's dreams. Not only that but it was possible to get hurt if you weren’t careful. He started to hyperventilate and his eyes welled up with tears. He could feel himself begin to slightly shake and just like when he was little he wanted to scream and wake up.

“Hey, hey.” Katsuki stepped forward. “Now that you know it will all be ok. You might as well enjoy the party, right? Come on, I’ll get you some champagne.” He put his arm around the smallers shoulder and opened the door to their private room. Even though he was still utterly freaked out, Izuku felt somehow safer in this stranger's arms. It was hard to explain, but it was almost like there was an aura omitting from him that he was only able to feel in his dreams. He had sensed it before off people from when he was asleep, but never something so captivating. It felt like he was being attracted to a magnet, so he let himself be drawn back into the ballroom. Maybe Katsuki was feeling this way as well.

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A few hours, and many drinks later, Izuku and Katsuki found themselves alone on a balcony overlooking the estate's large lake. The moon was at its peak in the sky and it perfectly reflected in the water, leaving a white glow on both of their faces. Throughout the night the pair had begun to grow closer. They talked for what felt like an eternity, and they slowly had begun to understand one another. Izuku had realized just how much they had in common, and the fact that Katsuki was real made him all the more appealing. Izuku had just gotten out of a bad relationship with a guy that didn’t love him, and since then he had been weary of dating. He was worried that he would once again get his heart broken. But just for tonight, swept up in the moment of the ball, he felt like he wanted to dance with this man from his dreams. He would wake up tomorrow and it would be like none of this had ever happened, but within this mansion, it felt as thought it was only the two of them.

With the liquid courage bubbling in his stomach and looking a daring step forward and gave a subtle bow, extending his hand towards Katsuki. “The music’s just started. Would you give me this dance?” As he had finished speaking, he felt a calloused hand fall into his.

“Have you been buttering me up all night just to ask me that?” He pulled him forward so he was once again standing up right and took a step closer so their faces were only inches apart. “I would be honored.” Izuku smiled and took a step back, leading them to the ballroom.

They easily found their place within the crowd, and Izuku put his hands on his shoulders, while the other’s found their way around his waist. Katsuki was considerably taller than the brunette, but in the setting of a dance, they made perfect partners. One clearly the lead and the other ready to dance. The music started into a fast serenaded, with an upbeat melody and a rhythm that begged for movement. In an instant all the pairs leaped into motion, twirling around one another in sync, falling into a flow of motion as the notes of the piano sung in the air. Two steps back, left, right, forward. Izuku had never learned to dance, but he found that he already knew all the steps. His body swayed in time with a Katsuki and they moved like a well oiled machine. As they waltzed together he remembered why it was he loved dreaming so much. Izuku couldn’t help the smile that pulled across his cheeks, and his face flared up red as he beamed up at Katsuki.

The whole ball room seemed to shimmer in the light of the moon, and the chandeliers glow flickered off the glints of diamond and gold of the participants' clothing. The Tempo of music and the sound of shoes clicking against the magnolia begam to play a beautiful song that resonated through the whole building. Even those who weren’t dancing had begun to congregate around the hall to drink and watch the beautiful sight.

Just as the night began to feel alive once again, from across the room there was a loud bang. Everyone stopped their movement and looked towards the comotion. By the wall there was a woman staring at the floor, and the drink that had been in her hand was shattered on the floor. She looked around at everyone with a look of terror in her eyes, pleading for someone to do something. One of the ushers who had been near the door came up to her to ask what was wrong. From across the room Izuku couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear on the man's face that something was gravely wrong. Just as he was trying to process what was happening he felt a tight squeeze on his hand. He looked over to see Katsuki with a pained look on his face.

“What’s happening,” He said barely above a whisper. It was clear in his eyes he knew something was wrong.

“I think someone messed up and alerted the host they were awake.” He shook his head and took a slight step back. “You see that spot she’s staring at? I think someone might have morphed out right in front of her.” His eyes darted around the room, and he looked like he might start to panic. “I think this world might start to collapse. Do you know how to leave?”

Izuku nodded quickly. All you had to do to wake up was simulate falling. Just standing on a table and leaning back till you fell off would jolt you awake. “Yes”Just as he began to say that the ceiling seemed to start to crumble and the air began to feel heavy in his lungs. The first thing to go was the moon, that began to melt out of the sky, dripping into the lake below, painting the water a milky white. Small cracks began to splinter through the floor and one by one people around them began to fall backwards, disappearing into thin air.

“You have to leave. Now.” Katsuki began to lead him towards the baloney they had been standing on and stood up on the edge of the railing. He offered Izuku a hand to help him get up. Once they were both standing with their back to the outside, Katsuki once again took his hand.

“Jump when I say go, ok?” He gave his hand a light squeeze. Even as the mansion ceiling collapsed inwards, crushing all of the people inside, and their very surroundings began to deteriorate, they stood together.

“Promise me I’ll see you again.” Izuku said, looking into Katsuki’s eyes with determination. This night had ended far too soon, and he wasn’t yet ready to leave behind the blond.

“That sounds very demanding you know.” He smiled slightly and wrapped a hand around his shoulders. Before he gave an answer he let go and began to fall backwards.

“Go”

Izuku jumped as well, slowly plummeting downwards, and before he could platter against the ground, everything went black.