#his right arm is literally over Charles. possessive much? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spidernerdsblog · 4 years ago

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Can I request reader going to meet mob! tom's friends and when tom gets there, everyone tells him about the hot girl who just walked in and how they wanna fuck her tonight and when he tells them it's his gf they are like 😳 oh and you know tom being the most fearless mobster has trouble controlling his rage and maybe both y/n and tom have some jealous sex. pls I hope this doesn't trigger you and only write this if you want to and stay safe

I literally listened to where you belong by the weeknd while writing this the whole time lol. Hope you like this.

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings : 18 +, SMUT, mature content, dom/sub dynamics, light bondage, language, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Where you belong

It was like any other night where Tom had to attend one of those lavish parties thrown by the biggest crime families in the country after all he's the mob boss but this time it was little different as you were going to join him tonight. After dating for six months Tom finally thought to introduce you to his underworld friends. Tom was dressed as usual in his business clothes which was a nice ensemble from Prada looking dashingly handsome as always. On the other hand you chose to wear the skin tight dress which Tom liked the most according to him it brings out the best of you.

Reaching the venue you stepped out of the car as Tom hands the valet the car keys to park his car. Just when you were about to go inside together Tom remembers that he had an important phone call to make.

"Love, you go inside I'll be right behind you" He says to you.

"Okay come fast" you give a smile.

"Yeah I will" after making the call Tom goes inside the hall to find you when he heard some of his friends call out to him.

‘‘Hey Tom!’’ He momentarily forgot about you and made his way towards them.

"So what's up boys?" He pats Michael’s shoulder taking a drink from the ushers.

"Tom, mate, you have no idea what you just missed’’ he informs all excitedly.

‘‘Oh really? What was it?’’ he asked, amused.

‘‘Ask who was it, she was a fucking bombshell man, who just walked right through that door!"

"You should have looked at her ass mate god I just want to fuck her so bad" Charles added.

"Keep dreaming you suckers because Roy is already at it, look over there" Liam chuckles pointing out to them. Tom followed their gaze and his jaw clenched as soon as he saw you, smiling and talking to one of his friends, he inhaled sharply in anger at the fact that all this time his friends were just talking about fucking you in front of him.

‘‘Damn Roy is gonna get lucky tonight just look at those tits’’ Michael remarks as everyone chuckles except Tom who was fuming with rage.

‘‘You say another fucking word about her and I’m gonna cut that filthy tongue of yours!’’ He spat at him.

‘‘Woah man, relax. What got you so riled up?’’ Tom turned to them with a death glare.

"Listen you morons I want to make this loud and clear, she’s my girl’’ everyone’s eyes went wide in shock as they gulped hard in fear because the last thing anyone would want is to piss off Tom ‘‘and if anyone of you even dare to have improper thoughts about her I’m gonna put a fucking bullet in your heads! Do you fucking get that?!’’ He growled as everyone hung their heads low in fear agreeing to him. He then strides his way towards you.

‘‘So all by yourself?’’ Roy asks with suave in his voice.

‘‘Oh no, I’m with my boyfriend, Tom Holland you might know him’’

‘‘You- you are Holland’s girl?’’ He stutters in fear knowing that he is good as dead if Tom comes to know that he was trying to bed his girl.

‘‘Yeah’’ you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear smiling.

"Hey darling" you felt a familiar pair of hands wrap around your waist possessively.

"There he is!" you chirped as Tom knelt down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Where were you?" you pouted.

"Sorry darling was just catching up with some friends"

"Hey Tom" Roy says awkwardly trying to act friendly

"Hey Roy" Tom gives him a hard glare and turns to you.

"I think it's time for us to leave" He says pressing his lips in a thin line.

"But Tom we just arrived won't you have a couple of drinks" you frowned at the sudden change of plans.

"I think I actually had enough darling, let's go now" He says sternly, you noticed his hard gaze and stopped yourself from questioning him further.

"Okay" He literally dragged you out of the place to the parking area. You got inside the car and sat on the passenger seat as Tom sat on the driver's seat slamming the door shut with such force that startled you.

The whole ride back was completely silent; you occasionally saw him gripping on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. You knew your boyfriend as the most feared mob boss who was also known for his short temper. And by the look on his face he seemed angry for some reason which you are unable to figure out. Surprisingly his angry demeanor was turning you on, you shifted on your seat uncomfortably as you felt heat pool between your legs which didn't go unnoticed by Tom.

Tom didn't want the night to end like this but here he was furious and raging from inside. He was very well aware of his anger management issues and since the day you walked into his life he has tried to be the better man for you including keeping his anger in check because he would do anything for you. He was never the kind of man to be triggered with such petty things but when it comes to you he just can't control himself he couldn't get over the thought of his friends were literally eye fucking you in front him. It wasn't your fault though you were no doubt beautiful and he feels extremely lucky that he gets to call you his. But seeing you talking and laughing with Roy just lighted up his fuse. He knew you were just being nice to him but when he knows what Roy's actual intentions were with you just makes him see red.

He just wants to be reassured again that you belonged to him and only him which he is going to make sure tonight. And seeing you getting all fidgety he knew that you were soaking with arousal making him smirk internally at the effect he has on you.

You finally reached the driveway of your mansion as Tom pulled over the car. You couldn't take the silence anymore and finally spoke up.

"Tom are you OK?" your voice was full of concern reaching out a hand to his forehead "You are sweating" He grabs your hand with a death grip making you swallow hard as your gaze shifted to his brown orbs which were now swirling with rage and pure lust, yes he was angry and you know exactly what is going to happen next you found yourself getting even more wet just at the thought of it.

"Bedroom. Strip and wait for me" his voice sharp and dominating. You nodded and let out a small "Yes"

"Yes what?" He demands.

"Yes sir" you say submissively, the corner of his lips curl up to a smirk as he brushes your cheekbone with his knuckles gently.

"Good girl"

You got out of the car and immediately went to your bedroom. Without wasting any time you did just as you were told, taking off your dress, you sat on the bed on your knees in just your lace panties with palms laying flat on your thighs as you waited for him in anticipation. Every passing minute felt like an hour as you felt your nipples harden in the cool air and arousal pool between your legs, you rubbed your thighs to get some relief from the growing ache.

He finally arrives after some agonizing moments later the tux he was wearing already discarded and some of the buttons of his shirt unbuttoned giving a nice peak to the solid abs underneath.

"Such a good girl, aren't you princess?" he cooes as he walks in and sits in front of you.

"Only for you Tommy" you say sweetly. He knelt down and grabbed your jaw roughly to capture your lips hungrily his tongue prys open your mouth exploring your mouth. He gently sucks on your bottom lip tugging it lightly before pulling away you look at him through your lashes gasping. He brushes his thumb against your swollen bottom lip which you eagerly wrapped your lips onto, sucking and swirling your tongue around it as you hold onto his arm.

"Now don't be so greedy" he purrs as you release his thumb with a pop.

"Give me your hands" He demands as you reluctantly extend your hands to him. Tom knows how you hate your hands being tied up with how much you love to run your hands through his hair and hold him close to you making you feel safe in his arms but today he had to establish that you were only his, he takes out his tie that was stuffed in his back pocket and ties up your hands with intricate knots.

"Is this OK?" he asks tugging on it.

"Yes" you affirm, he pushes you onto the bed as you fall back on the soft mattress with him hovering over you as he unbuttons the rest of the buttons of his shirt and takes it off in a swift move.

"So beautiful and just for me" he says with hooded eyes while his hands trailed down your inner thigh as the coolness of the gold rings on his finger sent shivers right up your core. He pinned your tied hands above your head when you tried to raise them.

‘‘Uh uh princess I thought you were my good girl’’ He patronizes

‘‘I am’’ you whimper in his strong hold.

‘‘Then behave if you don’t want me to leave you like this’’ he says kissing down your throat. You let out a gasp when you felt his warm mouth latch on to your hardened nipple. He smirked and continued sucking, teeth grazing on your soft mounds making you moan.

"How dare those bastards look at what is mine?!" he growls in between littering your skin with wet kisses and marking you.

You were so helpless and completely at his mercy. Writhing under him and craving him so badly, snaking a hand inside your soaked panties, "so fucking wet" he observed as he spread your slick around your folds, pulling a desperate whimper from you. He brings his fingers to his mouth.

"Tastes so sweet every time angel" he hums sucking them clean. He then trailed kisses down your stomach, on your navel, before he found home between your legs as he hooks his fingers to the waistband of your panties and simply rips it off you. He stared at your bare, glistening pussy hungrily as if you were his last meal. He dives down right into it sloppily licking through your folds making you arch your back but he holds you down placing a hand on your stomach as he continues his assault.

You felt dizzy, your brain barely able to comprehend your surroundings. The only sensation you felt was Tom and his calloused fingers which he expertly worked up your dripping cunt and threw you over the edge. When he pushed three of his fingers inside you, you felt delirious and came all around his fingers.

Tom quickly gets rid of the rest of his clothes and holds himself above you resting his forearm on the side of your head one hand reaches down to grab his throbbing member as he swipes his tip through your slick folds coating it with your arousal before pushing it in your aching hole. You gasp as you feel his tip slide past your entrance and fills you entirely, the stretch making you close your eyes in pleasure.

‘‘Always so fucking tight!’’ He grunts feeling your walls warm and snug around him. Your eyes shoot wide open as he pulls his hips back and slams right into you without even letting you adjust to him, drawing out a loud moan from you.

You were writhing underneath him wriggling your hands desperately wanting to feel him and hold on to him. Tom finally took mercy on you as he snakes a hand to your wrists and unties your restraints. As soon as your hands were free you flung them to his back pulling him closer as possible, one hand went to tug on to the roots of his hair. You wrapped your legs around his hips, hooking them behind his back. You could never get enough of him, you needed him deep inside you exploring parts of you that no one could ever reach. He nips at your neck sucking on your skin harshly, making sure for everyone to see who you belong to.

"Who is making you feel this good princess?" His voice raspy and breathless.

"You…" your voice trailed off as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"Didn't hear you princess" he reaches down to rub where your bodies were connected.

"You Tom! You!" you shrieked out at the added stimulation.

"That's right baby, I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, no one can make you scream the way I do, no one knows where to touch you like I do" he rubs harsher circles on your sensitive bud and moves his hips to thrust into you deeper, your moans growing louder and louder boosting his ego as your walls clasp around him.

"Fuck! I need to make sure everyone knows who you belong to eh? Maybe put a baby in you, what do you say?" He reckons while he continued to rut his hips

"Yes Tom fill me up, fill me up with your babies" you nod your head furiously as the sound of skin slapping against each other fills the room along with your grunts and moans.

"You will look so pretty baby, all round and beautiful with our child" He brushes your hair gently from your sweat covered face, you were a babbling mess by now unable to form any proper words except his name, his words only spurring you on to your impending climax. He keeps pounding into you even harder than before as you feel your body tense up, toes curling as the coil inside your stomach tightened.

"C'mon baby cum all over my cock, make me fill you up and mark you as mine" He urges and you screamed out when you felt the coil inside you finally snap your walls tightening around him as you came undone raking your nails down his back while his lips captured your swollen ones swallowing your moans as he finally cums inside you filling you up with his warm release and collapses on top of you.

"Mine" he mumbles into your skin between ragged breaths.

"All yours" you say reassuringly running your fingers through his hair soothingly catching your breath.

..................................................................................

#tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #mob!tom #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #mob!tom holland

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pseudofaux · 3 years ago

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would you like to do some more spicy dream hcs for ikevam?any character is fine :)

I WOULD. :D Thank you so much for asking for more of these! Last time I did Comte, Dazai, and Mozart hearing their MC having a spicy dream next to them. This time let's do... Theo, Leo, and Charles-Henri.. eo. Please enjoy!

(Requests are closed, I am trying to finish up outstanding ones ASAP. Seven left after this! I'll post a masterlist when they are all done.)

He'll tease her when she wakes up, but until then he's content to. Well. Tease her.

You know you don’t get to get to have all the fun, sognatrice…

“Tell me everything,” he whispers brightly. “Everything you remember about your dream just now. Don’t you dare leave anything out.”

Theo is so attuned to her that her first shift in sleep opens his eyes. He closes them easily enough, but tucked close as they are to one another (big snuggle couple), he feels and hears every other way her body reveals what kind of dream she's having. Soft whimpers and whines are too obviously the sounds she makes during sex, and Theo's not usually one to take this kind of liberty... but he's also not one to deny they're literally sleeping in each other's arms because they're together and in love. He'll tease her when she wakes up, but until then he's content to. Well. Tease her. He'll gladly slide his hands down her back to her ass and pull her closer, and he will rock right back against her. If he ends up whimpering or whining from the way it feels to have his woman against him, oh well. Her fault. Theo won't be able to wait long, he'll kiss her or pinch her awake after a couple minutes. And then if she really needs it, he'll gently raise one of her legs so he can press inside, slow and full. He loves the idea of sleepy sex (because he likes her that domesticated and content). But in the morning he’ll be telling anyone who will listen that SOMEONE wouldn’t let him REST last night…

Leo laughs (beautiful bastard) when he realizes what kind of dream she must be having, and plans to leave her alone. He probably touches her cheek and mutters fondly that he'll let her sleep it off. But when her hand slides inward from her hip, he's not about to leave that alone. He’s on that wrist in a possessive flash. He won't be so careful when he tugs the hand to his mouth that there’s no way the movement will wake her, but if she stays asleep... he might nibble her palm, or maybe breathe all over her collarbone and throat, warming her and taking in the scent of her skin. He loves the way her body is present in his breath as it comes back into his body. If he truly thinks she’s still (somehow!) asleep, Leo will prop himself up over her and keep her in place with his hips on hers, gently but immovably pinning her to the bed since she’s so determined to keep dreaming. You know you don’t get to get to have all the fun, sognatrice… He will only move when he’s ready to touch himself, and then he’ll get off easily as he grins over her, dark and pleased over his sleeping beauty.

And then he’ll slide down slow, so all his mess moves with him as his mouth goes between her legs. There, Leo will pull out all the stops to wake her up: lips and tongue, and of course those deep rumbling murmurs she won’t be able to help but feel once he’s got her as sensitive as she made him.

Charles knows something is about to happen to her before it actually does. Her smell changes and her body tenses a little, like when she’s about to sneeze, but... not. He is across the room, working on something as she dozes late at night, but of course he’s conscious of her every breath, and the way soft sounds leak into a few of them. He goes to her on silent feet, curious how much of this he’ll be able to observe without waking her (she is delightful when awake, but so full of movement and she looks away so often). When he kneels by her chair, he is delighted by the gentle but unmistakable scent of her arousal, and he has to ball his hands into fists to keep from touching her. He’s so torn, because of course he wants to wake her-- he suspects she would be needy or at least extremely receptive, which he loves-- but he sees this for the opportunity it is to watch her as closely as he wants without making her fidget, for once. He settles for hovering his hands over her thighs, and his nose in front of her belly, and bites his lip to keep his own soft sound from escaping.

When her hips make an innocent but indecent roll in the chair, he can’t take it any more. He nearly tears her skirt trying to get it up and out of the way, and wakes her up with an eager kiss and the strength of his arms lifting her out of the chair and then settling her back down... onto his lap.

“Tell me everything,” he whispers brightly. “Everything you remember about your dream just now. Don’t you dare leave anything out.”

Perhaps he pulls a little more out of her than she actually dreamed. But he makes it up to her by making true the dreams she does confess.

#pseu slings #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp HCs #ikevamp theo #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp charles #ikevam headcanons #ikevam HCs

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

Text

happiness - peter maximoff

yay a new peter fic <3 i was feeling a little unmotivated for a few days (since our boy wasn’t in episode 8 at all :/) but im back 😎 although im back in school so i might be on and off for a while 😩✋🏻

!!!it’s not a songfic those lyrics at the start are just my inspo!!!

word count: 5k <3 😳

warnings: maybe swearing but i dont think so i cant remember, peter being sad, angst, but mostly fluff, WandaVision spoilers maybe??? I pretty much made up this plot so idk, endgame spoilers, reader was an avenger, kissing but it’s not graphic😽 probably some mistakes yk how it is

feedback is appreciated <3

tagging: @enchantedcruelsummer (should i make a peter maximoff taglist? let me know and I’ll do it)

masterlist

haunted by the look in my eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

& there is happiness

Loneliness had always been something that plagued him. That and a plethora of other negative emotions.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Peter Maximoff wasn’t made to feel like a loser. Admittedly, he’d never held himself to a high standard, he grew up thinking that he’d never fit in anywhere and eventually that thought mutated into a lifestyle as he began isolating himself from the world around him, either far too good or heartbreakingly not enough to be a part of that crowd.

He liked spending time with himself. Nobody else knew him the way he knew him, and still, he found nothing but an overwhelming hollow space where his deepest most important hopes, aspirations, dreams and self discoveries should have resided.

Peter had always put this feeling of exile down to the fact that he was a mutant, it was the most likely explanation, right?

It was only when he’d decided to join the X-Men that he finally came to the conclusion that maybe the rest of the world wasn’t the problem, nor was his mutation the problem, but that he himself was the problem. For even in a school full of people exactly like him he was still the same loser that he was in his mother’s basement.

And he was under no illusions that that was exactly what his teammates saw in him; nothing. No potential. Just a space holder to bring the numbers up.

Super speed was incredible. That’s how Peter acknowledged jobs well done, he praised his speed but never himself. He just saved Charles and Erik from a room full of armed guards? No that wasn’t him, that was simply his speed. He saved an entire mansion full of people from a potentially fatal explosion? Nothing special, Kurt probably could’ve done the same.

Forget all of the good deeds and saved lives because the bottom line of it all, to him at least, was that all he was good for was cheeky one liners and hopeless kleptomania.

His life took a turn for the worse when he found himself being mind controlled in an alternate universe. And even then, he was playing the part of someone that wasn’t him, the thought humbled him, reconnected him to his roots and reintroduced him to his life long philosophy that he’d never be anything more than a social pariah. Not even an alternate reality could accept him for who he was. There wasn’t a warm welcome and despite not knowing what was going on, the definition of “imposter” or the weirder, “recast”, still shot to kill.

He settled on the notion that he was an inter dimensional waste of space. At least in WestView he could be blissfully ignorant, let the real him be drowned mercilessly in favour of being an integral part of someone’s life- to feel important, even if it wasn’t real.

When WestView fell apart he was completely lost. In every sense of the word. In a new world with no way home and as it turned out, nobody was looking for him. Although he didn’t expect anyone to care, it still stung that nobody did. He always hoped that one day Erik would step up as a father figure for him, this; getting kidnapped and smuggled into a different dimension, seemed like the perfect moment for that epic father son moment, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if his father has yet to notice his disappearance.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he came into contact with a beacon of hope. A guiding star that might possibly lead him to an existence consisting of something other than misery and self loathing.

It offered him a choice; return to being the self proclaimed loser he was known as or start fresh as someone new and mysterious, with first impressions yet to be made and conclusions about him yet to be drawn. Peter had known himself to be rash in the past, when it came to making decisions he had the tendency to act impulsively, never putting too much thought into how his decisions would affect his life in the long term. The choice before him now is no different, he knew exactly what he wanted going forward, however selfish the choice may have been, the second he realised it was an option his heart was set on it.

That previously mentioned beacon of hope arrived to him in the form of a girl, in the form of you. An ex-avenger and close friend of Wanda’s, you were hired by S.W.O.R.D to help them clean up the more ‘sensitive’ fallout that the fall of WestView brought about. Obviously, they were sticking you- the only other avenger with magik- on babysitting and rehabilitation rather than letting you go after your best friend who had gone completely off the rails. Having said that though, you didn’t want anyone else handling him.

You hadn’t watched WandaVision, nor were you even aware that any of it was going on until it had reached a boiling point and you got a call from Monica Rambeau, she’d begged you to come and wait on the edge of town while she went in and act as her eyes on the outside along with Jimmy Woo.

That’s where you stayed until the hex broke down.

As soon as the barrier came down the base you manned was overrun by an armada of terribly confused and distressed citizens, Monica and Wanda were not among them but in their places stumbled in Darcy and the man playing the role of Pietro.

Jimmy appointed himself to Darcy, who in all honesty seemed relatively unscathed by the situation while you made a beeline for the dirty blonde charading as your former, dead teammate.

Peter was, to put it simply, completely enthralled by you as soon as you’d strolled over to him and in the moment he’d put his almost magnetic attraction to you down to the fact that you were the first friendly face he’d seen upon breaking free of Agatha’s possession.

But one thing in particular struck him; you’d asked him his name. You hadn’t immediately assumed him to be some knock off Pietro, as everyone else had. You acknowledged that he had his own personal identity and despite how often he caught himself hating the person he was, he found that when it was torn away from him that he wanted it back. The simple question you posed gave him the opportunity to regain his identity.

“Peter. My name is Peter.” He answered you, almost unsure of himself and you found your interest in the man piqued even further.

He remembered with perfect clarity the way you’d offered him a grin, tilted your hand, extended your hand and said, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, I’ll be your babysitter for the next while.” There was something about the way you’d laughed after saying the words and the slight, yet unmistakable, glint of mischief in your eyes that had him captivated from the get go.

With you came a whirlwind of new emotions. After only a few weeks of knowing you, Peter noticed he wasn’t as lonely as he had been back home. He didn’t hate himself half as much either, he wasn’t entirely free of self deprovative tendencies and maybe he never would be, but undoubtedly, he likes himself more in this world than he ever had in his last. He thanked you and your determination to make him “a functioning member of society” for that.

It didn’t feel belittling, the way you helped him. You hadn’t dragged him to your favourite mall every weekend just to taunt him about how he couldn’t stop himself from stealing something. Even the very first time, when he’d sped away from you and returned within a second adoring a pair of freshly stolen sunglasses. Your only reaction had been to laugh and casually place your hands on both sides of his face.

“At least remember to take the tag off next time, speedy.” You’d muttered, subtly pulling the tacky stickers off the arms of his shades. No, you weren’t dragging him sight seeing or forcing him to help you go clothes shopping because you thought he was a loser who needed reforming you were doing it because you were a true friend who wanted him to succeed.

The pair of you seemed like two peas in a pod. Which to be fair, you were. Peter Maximoff intrigued you in every sense of the word. He was new, quite literally other worldly, he was kind, he was funny, he was perfectly mischievous and completely wonderful.

What caught your eye the most was the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. It became apparent to you that he lacked confidence with the phrases he usually tacked onto the ends of his sentences. When you’d invite him to hang out in the beginning his response would always be something along the lines of, “Sure. If you want me to.” But the excitable puppy dog eyes told you that he was dying for someone to want him to tag along some place.

There was a certain understanding between you. You were both more than accustomed with the harrowing feeling of being alone and even though you’d never exactly voiced those thoughts with each other, you couldn’t deny that his was a spirit kindred to your own and he felt it too.

Since the Avengers has disbanded, one of your best friends, Natasha, was dead and your other best friend, Wanda, was gone completely off the rails and the people chasing her wouldn’t let you anywhere near her or even attempt to help pull her out of her darkness. You were being kept as a wildcard in case they needed her taken down. Peter was no stranger to the feeling of being cast aside and so he quickly responded to your frustrations, and in doing so, forced himself out of his comfort zone to be there for you. To his complete shock though, you’d been so appreciative of his efforts.

You never failed to thank him for the little things he did for you, always complimenting his mutation when he’d use it and giving him the recognition he never received at home. The friendship he formed with you was so… two sided, again, something he wasn’t accustomed to before. It didn’t involve him giving everything he had to offer and receiving nothing in return, you matched his energy meticulously and never left him hanging.

In a series of firsts, he didn’t wonder whether or not you genuinely liked him, never feeling the need or want to question it as you’d left him with no reason to doubt.

As he walked around the mall with you now, his mind brought his attention back to the question you’d asked him rather casually a few nights ago. You were both lounging on your couch, watching some ridiculous reality show (a favourite of yours and Peter’s) when you’d turned your head to look at him, a thoughtful look on your face. “Do you think when S.W.O.R.D figures the technology out to crack into other realities, you’ll go back to yours?”

The question had taken him aback for a second, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about going home, not when he was with you at least and considering he’d become your roommate about three weeks after he got out of WestView, the thought of returning to his old life had barely crossed his mind.

Being an ex-Avenger you were fairly well off, you lived alone in a two bedroom apartment in New York that you’d bought to be closer to Stark tower. Peter had nowhere to go and aside from having a spare room to offer you’d also been sort of lost in the current of the busy city with everyone you once loved in the area either dead, on the run or busy elsewhere.

While the question hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind, it had crossed yours on several occasions. He’d been staying with you for six months and the moment you realised that he was becoming one of the most important people in your life, the thought of him leaving you too weighed on your mind but at the end of the day you wanted him to feel happy. He deserved to feel happy and if going back to his reality brought him that happiness then you’d support him.

“Dunno,” he’d replied, turning to face you, chucking a handful of popcorn at you when you looked incredulous at his response, “To be honest I haven’t really thought about it, m’way too busy babysitting you anyway.” He joked, effortlessly dodging the few pieces of popcorn you attempted to throw at him.

For the last few nights, the question haunted him, but it wasn’t just the question that was bothering him. You were at the forefront of his mind as he replayed the past six months of his life which also happened to be the best six months of his life. WestView put him through hell but coming out the other side of it and meeting you felt like heaven.

He weighed up the pros and cons of returning to his native timeline. The cons: he’d have to leave you behind, he’d go back to being the loser who nobody took seriously, his talents would be downplayed and disregarded and he’d inevitably end up revisiting his lifestyle of solitude. Then there was the pros: he’d get to reunite with his pac man machine. He couldn’t manage to think up anything else.

If he stayed he’d have everything he ever wanted and needed. You’d be there and he knew you always would be, besides he couldn’t leave you knowing that you needed him. If he left who would wake you up when you had night terrors about the catastrophe that your reality was still recovering from? There would be nobody there to comfort you when you woke up from the nightmares, reliving the deaths of Natasha, Tony or Vision and the experience of being snapped out of existence? If he wasn’t there to make you laugh when you were about to cry then who would be? In his heart of hearts he knew you had a huge support system at your disposal, he’d met most of them. Even though he was well aware that Sam visited you as often as he could, that Bucky wrote you letters on a monthly basis and sometimes tagged along with Sam on his visits, that Stephen Strange appeared in your apartment whenever the urge struck him, that the literal god of thunder invited you out for beer whenever he was visiting Earth, that the little spider-kid, also named Peter, swung by your apartment at least once a week to tell you all about school and his good deeds. Despite knowing all of this and knowing all of these people loved you dearly, Peter wanted to be your main source of support, he didn’t want to be someone who came and went, who’d love you then leave you. He wanted to be with you through anything and everything and the feeling that you’d love him for a lifetime had him satisfied with the decision he was about to make.

If leaving his old life meant he could stay here, with you, and experience happiness for more than a fleeting moment then he’d simply; leave it all behind.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other night.” He spoke through a mouthful of curly fries. You were sitting in the food court of the mall when he decided to let you in on his desire to stay with you indefinitely.

You raised your eyebrow, “You? Putting thought into an answer? Peter, I think I’m starting to become a bad influence on you.” You told him teasingly, taking a long sip of your drink as he rolled his eyes humorously.

“You’re a terrible influence which is exactly why I’ve decided to stay here and put you on the straight and narrow.” The glee you felt at his statement was undeniable, your eyes lit up and your lips curled upwards.

“You’re staying? Really staying?” Your smile was contagious, Peter’s face now painted with a wide grin as he nodded his head.

In a moment of weakness he frantically added, “Y’know only if you want me to though. If you don’t that’s completely cool.” He rushed through the words, feeling more embarrassed when the fond look on your face never faded.

“Of course I want you to stay. You mean a lot to me.” You reassured him, a gentle smile on your lips as you reached across the metal table, intertwining your fingers with his.

Peter squeezed your hand gratefully, holding it in his grasp securely and allowing his smile to return to his face, “I know. You mean a lot to me too.” It was somewhat of an understatement, he was starting to understand that you didn’t just mean a lot, but that you meant everything.

His resolution lifted a huge weight off your shoulders that you wouldn’t be losing yet another best friend. You were glad he’d be with you when everything blew over with Wanda, the two of them definitely had the potential to develop a beautiful sibling relationship and they both deserved that. Of course, Peter would never replace Pietro and having known them both it was obvious just how different the two men were, the only thing they had in common being their powers and last name. Still, he and Wanda would still be able to work on it. He didn’t hate her after WestView and you knew Wanda well enough to know that she was kind hearted and she’d be more than willing to give him a chance. When she eventually comes back to her senses, that it.

As the months went on, life with you and Peter seemed to only get better. You never stopped laughing, your nightmares died down and Peter had taken on a whole new lease of life. Yourself and Peter were the perfect example of meeting the right person at the right time, you balanced each other out and accentuated the other’s good qualities.

Peter could now say with complete confidence that he was happy and what’s more is that he was finally sure that he was making someone happy.

Up until nearly eleven months of living together your relationship had been purely platonic, save for the constant flirting but flirtation pretty much ran in yours and Peter’s blood. Peter wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d fallen for you the second you’d peeled the security tags off his stolen sunglasses.

You, on the other hand, had been fighting with yourself because yes, you love Peter but you couldn’t have told him when there was the possibility he’d eventually leave and now so much time has passed and you’ve got such a good thing going you didn’t have it in you to ruin it.

However, all of that changed when your original Maximoff best friend came knocking on your door.

Wanda was on the run. She’d caused an amazing amount of chaos but Stephen Strange and S.W.O.R.D were hot on her trail and now she needed a place to lay low with the twins. She figured there was no place more reliable to go than to the always open arms of her best friend, who conveniently had a divinity for earth magik and could muster up a protective barrier without raising suspicions. And that’s exactly where she found herself; outside your door.

You’d been chasing Peter around the apartment when you heard the knock on the door. Peter was on the opposite end of the kitchen to you, using the bar as a shield from you. “You better get that.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You glared as you spoke, it was his own fault really. What sort of idiot jumpscares a witch while she’s mid-meditation? He’d frightened you so badly you accidentally blasted a ball of your signature green energy and ruined your favourite couch throw pillow. When you were ready to pounce on the scared speedster the knocks sounded again, more frantic this time.

With one last glare towards Peter you stomped towards the door. Your anger melted away completely when you saw her. Her hood was up and she looked completely exhausted, two small hooded little boys by her side.

“Wanda…” You breathed out, relief flooding your system at the sight of her alive. She didn’t get a chance to speak before your arms were pulling her against you tightly, hugging her as if your life depended on it. Wanda returned in your embrace, allowing herself to relax for the first time in nearly a year, she sniffled against your shoulder, holding back tears as she realised how much she’d truly missed you.

Billy and Tommy watched in confusion as their mother cried into your shoulder. They didn’t know who you were, all their mother had told them was that they were going somewhere safe.

It was the yell of one of the boys that caused you and Wanda to separate, “Uncle P!” With that you felt a familiar rush of air across your leg but instead of Peter appearing one of the kids was gone.

You shared a perplexed look with Wanda, although your confusion was for different reasons.

“Hey hell raisers!” Peter responded, catching the mini speedster who all but threw himself at him barely regaining his balance before the other child had flung himself into the hug.

“Wanda? Those two… are they...?” You started, at a loss for words Wanda cut you off quietly, her tone as disbelieving as yours.

“My children? Yes. Is that…?” You nodded your head numbly, anticipating the end of her question.

“Your fake brother? Yeah.” Quickly, you realised you and a wanted woman catching up with the door wide open wasn’t ideal and you ushered Wanda inside, shutting the door when she walked in.

“Hey.” Peter greeted her simply, as if he hadn’t been used as a meat puppet in her altered reality. It wasn’t in his nature to hold any grudges.

“Hi?” Wanda replied, her voice still twinged with confusion.

“Peter, will you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Wanda and I have some catching up to do.” You asked him with a nervous laugh, just thankful that Wanda was too tired to argue with your suggestion.

Peter ruffled the boys’ hair and gave you a grin, “Only if you stop trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to lead Wanda into your bedroom, “You’re on probation, jerk.” You called over your shoulder.

Once you were securely in your bedroom, the door locked and sitting comfortably you fixed Wanda with an amused look, “I’d ask you what’s new but I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

Wanda gave you a sad smile while she shook her head, “No, you probably don’t. I will tell you tomorrow, I don’t want to get into it tonight. I’m so tired.” She admitted, her voice overcome with sadness.

“I’ll pump up the air mattress and you and the boys can sleep in here for however long you need. I’d offer you the spare room but that’s where Peter’s been staying and I don’t think empty food containers are the kind of decor you’d be into.” Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand gratefully.

“So his name is Peter?” She asked, curious about the man Agatha had used to trick her in WestView.

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Peter Maximoff, actually.”

Wanda’s brows came to a furrow at that, “Maximoff? So he’s a relation?”

“Yes and no. Peter is from a different reality but he’s still a Maximoff and he’s got super speed. So, and this is just my theory, while you’re not directly related he could still be your brother- if you wanted him to.” You explained, as gently as you could, not trying to push her too far but to nudge the idea in her direction.

Wanda, to your surprise, didn't seem to hate the suggestion, “What is he like?”

A genuine smile made it onto your face then, as you shot into your description of your roommate, “He’s caring, funny, a little bit of a kleptomaniac but he’s working on it. He’s understanding and moronically selfless, moronic in the sense that he doesn’t even realise he’s being selfless. Huge pain in the ass too.” Wanda had a soft smile on her face by the time you’d finished.

“You like him.” Was all she said and you let out a laugh in disbelief, standing up and opening the door.

“Go grab a shower. I’ll have Peter blow up the air mattress while I go introduce myself to my god sons.”

“I thought you’d at least wait until I actually asked you.” Wanda laughed as you walked out of the room.

Things moved fairly quickly after that. As promised you introduced yourself to Billy and Tommy as their god mother, which they seemed more than thrilled about and you assumed that excitement had to do with whatever description of you Peter had given them. Wanda and the twins were all cleaned and fed and had all but collapsed into bed, foregoing the air mattress and huddling together in your double bed instead.

“Where are you sleeping, mother Teresa?” Peter teased as he noticed your eyes drooping where you stood.

“On the couch probably. Or the air mattress.” You mumbled, cutting yourself off with a yawn.

Peter, unimpressed with your options, scoffed, “No way. Come on, you can bunk with me.”

Much like Wanda, you were too tired to argue and you let Peter pull you to his, surprisingly clean, room by the hand.

You both crawled into the bed, lying close together despite the amount of empty space on the mattress.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Your soft voice broke through the silence and Peter turned his head to look at you.

“About Wanda?” You nodded your head, watching him intently as he rolled onto his side, facing you more comfortably.

Peter shrugged lightly, “I’m feeling ok. Just glad the twins still see me as their cool uncle.” You let out a small laugh at his response.

“Wanda was asking about you. Seemed interested in getting to know the real you.” You informed him, your heartwarming as you watched a hopeful look fall across his face.

A lull settled over the room once again and Peter caught himself staring at you. His eyes drifted over every visible part of you, reminding him of most of the points on his pros list for staying in your universe; your eyes, your lashes, your nose, your lips, you.

“What’re you thinking about?” The sound of your tired voice pulled him out of his thoughts and ultimately pushed him to bite the bullet and tell you how he’s feeling. With you curled up beside him, in his bed, fighting sleep just to stay in his company for as long as you could; he knew there would be no better time.

“Just about how happy I am to be here with you.” He answered you honestly, the butterflies in both of your stomachs fluttering in sync at his words.

You trailed a hand under the duvet and onto the bedsheets between your bodies, feeling around until you found his hand and gently intertwined your fingers. “I’m happy you decided to stay.”

“What you’ve all gone through in this timeline sucks- don’t get me wrong-“ Peter started sincerely, scooting closer to you and dropping his head back down on the edge of your pillow, leaving the pair of you practically nose to nose as he went on.

“And I hate that Wanda had to go through so much… but I’m really glad that it led me to you.” Peter swore in that moment, right after the confession left his mouth, that he could die right now and be completely content knowing that you now knew how he felt.

His heart stopped, and he thought that maybe he was about to die, when you gave him the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of and whispered, “I feel the same.”

Time moved in slow motion as he felt you moving your intertwined hands towards your lips, your lips pressed gently against the back of Peter’s hand before you brought them to rest against your chest.

It was a fact to say that Peter Maximoff had never felt intimacy quite like this before. But, experiencing it now, with you, led him to wonder how he’d ever survived without it. He wasn’t sure whether it was natural to crave more, especially when the affection you were showing him was so gentle, but he didn’t care as he let the impulsive side of him take over.

Not sparing another word, Peter closed the small distance between your lips and his. His free hand cupped your jaw while yours wasted no time in getting tangled in his silver hair.

His lips moved softly and surprisingly slowly over yours and he savoured the feeling of your hand holding his while your other got lost in his hair, your body pressed up against him, the way your jaw moved against his palm as you reciprocated the movement of his lips and the taste of your lips, promising himself he’d never let the memory slip from his mind for as long as he lived.

With complete clarity, Peter could say he had felt true, genuine happiness and he had no doubt in his mind that there was absolutely nothing Charles, Hank, Scott or anyone else from his original timeline could say to make him leave this happiness behind. Because in the process of forgetting his old life, he couldn’t deny that he has undoubtedly found himself in the position of a man who had so much more to live for.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wandavision x reader #wandavision spoilers #x men x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader

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captainsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

“I Could Fall in Love”

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I hope you enjoy this little drabble as much as I enjoyed writing it. Cutting it close to midnight on Valentine’s Day but hey, it still counts. xx Moni

BUCKY BARNES X READER DRABBLE

Warnings: none, simply fluff!

Word Count: 3000+

Song Fanfic: Listen and enjoy!

It wasn’t that you hated Valentine’s Day, you just didn’t see it as purely romantic. In your opinion, it was supposed to represent so much more than just romantic love. Friendships, beginnings and endings, the actual historical event, elementary school card giving, baked goods, and a nice dinner for either yourself or in the presence of others. So, no - you didn’t hate it. In fact, you actually quite enjoyed the giddy feeling of seeing other couples go all out for a single day, the sweets that were always available, and the awesome discounts.

“Come with us!” Natasha whined, filling up her glass with some oat milk and passing Steve some utensils at the same time. She wasn’t whining excessively, as that wasn’t in her nature, but she did raise her voice as her tone shifted from playful to annoyance. You rolled your eyes and chewed on your bagel, shaking your head dramatically. You plastered on your best grin, but it was overpowered by the massive chunk of bagel in your mouth. So you sat there, stupid bagel-filled grin covering your face, and tiny giggles threatening to escape as Natasha’s face also dropped into a silly one.

The rest of the crew was planning on attending a private Valentine’s Day party hosted by a close business partner of Tony’s. It sounded like a lot of fun and a perfect excuse to dress-up, but you had a tiny mission to go on before it. It was not a ‘mission-mission’ so to say- more like a ‘get in, get out, this will literally take two seconds and I could do this any other day’ type of mission. Natasha had given you such a disapproving look when you told her what your actual plans were for tonight, but she expected nothing less. You always had something else up your sleeve.

And that you did.

Since your mission was a quickie, you would be able to return to the compound before everyone else and bake your special pink cupcakes they all knew and loved. A sweet mixture of vanilla and strawberry, no flavor overpowering the other. You had recently perfected the recipe, only having Natasha and Bucky taste the final product, and because of their genuine surprise and praise, you were ready to bake dozens for everyone proudly.

She finished her glass and went to wash it. “Still, I think you’re missing out! I hear the food is gonna be great!”

You shrugged, “Eh, we have food here.”

You heard Natasha release a tiny scoff, “Please tell me your actual reason before I laugh too loudly and wake everyone up.”

“I swear, I’ve been putting off this mission for so long that tonight just seemed like the perfect time. Everyone’s occupied- I don’t know. I mean, criminals gotta get laid too, right?”

Natasha snorted, “That’s very true.” She eyed you suspiciously while drying her glass.

“You know, you and Barnes are the only one’s not attending. Obviously, his excuse is that he’s literally on a mission right now but you see my point.”

“No, I don’t see your point.”

Natasha smiled, as if secretly knowing your other very valid reason for not attending the party. “We all have dates. You know that if he were here you would be going with him, even as friends. But since you would literally be the only one of us without a date, it seems reasonable you wouldn’t want to attend.”

Okay, she hit that spot-on.

You groaned and lay your arms across the counter dramatically, “Stop, it’s scary how right you are all the time.”

Natasha laughed and rounded the counter, going over to pat your shoulders. “I’m not making you go. Don’t worry. Just give yourself some self-care and I’ll see you tonight to let you know I got home safe.”

You nodded and waved goodbye to her, ready to finish the everything bagel you had abandoned.

Bucky wasn’t one to dress-up for a night out anymore. He just didn’t have the motivation to do anything unless it involved stake-outs, knitting, painting, and binge-watching some stupid series you were watching. It always happened the same way, too. You would be casually chilling in the main common room of the compound, barely starting the first episode of a new series with stacks of junk food ready for your eager taste buds, when Bucky would randomly come in and ask what you were watching. And the next thing Bucky knew, you two were discussing the hidden elements of The Crown and debating whether a scene actually happened the way it was portrayed. By God, how much Bucky absolutely detested Prince Charles.

And you were so determined to knit that sweater for Natasha by her birthday that you came to Bucky’s room five times a day now rather than your usual three. But Bucky was extremely patient, helping you hook the remaining yarn that kept falling off your needles. Each time you pouted over the ‘horrible knot you made’ or when the yarn would tangle, Bucky would grin and tease you about, his stomach twisting pleasurably.

And each time he would reach over to help you fix it, your heart fluttered ever so slightly.

Bucky had actually planned on taking you to that Valentine’s Day party but his mission carried on longer than it was supposed to. Rather than returning a day before the party, he would now be returning towards the middle of it. He wondered if you were still going to go, but he highly doubted it. Not because you had told him explicitly, but because you had joked that if he wasn’t able to go, then ‘why would you bother?’.

To see you in that red dress you had jokingly placed over your already clothed body and modeled for him - Yeah, he absolutely hated he was missing this party tonight.

His mission had just ended and he was currently on the flight home, resting in his tactical gear but with the headphones you let him borrow in each ear. He chuckled lowly, realizing that most things he had in his possession, whether that be the headphones, hair bands, lotion, and Spotify account, all belonged to you. It brought him some comfort as he fixed himself in his seat, settling on your ‘Love me please?’ playlist to match the special holiday.

Lovebug by the Jonas Brothers. Tonight by FM Static. Oh, dozens by Taylor Swift. You’ll Be In My Heart by Phil Collins. And a whole lot of Selena songs.

There was one song that caught his attention, as if the title spoke to him. It just made sense. He clicked it, surprised by the upbeat beginning and rhythm of the drums, finally closing his eyes as he heard the melody from the acoustic guitar.

He lost count of how many times he replayed that one song as his plane touched land. He quickly woke himself up and gathered his things, ready to jump into a warm shower and watch an episode of The Crown behind your back. The drive to the compound was short and he entered the living quarters somewhat alert. There were no sounds his super soldier ears could hear besides the clicks of keyboards by overtime workers and computers humming. Kind of sad and joyful at once, Bucky realized he was alone for the first time in a long time. Maybe he would try that face mask you had urged him to buy tonight. And those very comfortable pajamas.

Ever the procrastinator, you never did go on that mission.

You were humming along to your Valentine’s playlist as you cracked the eggs into your bowl. You stirred quickly, bowl in your arms and a strike of flour along your unknowing cheek. You had your earphones in, enjoying the solace of such a peaceful night. The mix was coming together nicely and as you waited for the oven to preheat, you took out all of your cupcake supplies to set on the kitchen counter.

You could have sworn you heard some noises a few doors down so you took one earphone out to listen closely. At first you heard nothing, but you could have sworn you heard the likes of a toothbrush tapping against a bathroom counter. But as you stood there comically, bowl in your arms and whisk held up like a weapon, you settled on no disturbance.

You set the bowl down quietly and ran over to the door, looking down the hallway. Once you saw it was completely empty, you couldn’t contain the grin that spread across your face. You raced back to the kitchen and called for Friday.

“Friday? Could you please connect my phone to the living room speakers, please?”

“Done.”

You scrolled through your playlist and settled on a song that would for sure damage your vocal cords but delight you nonetheless.

“I could lose my heart tonight

If you don’t turn and walk away

You swayed around the kitchen as you traveled to grab each new ingredient, singing at the appropriate level the song called for.

Because the way I feel I might

Lose control and let you stay

Bucky had just finished brushing his teeth and putting a warm pair of socks on when he heard Friday play the exact song he had been listening to for the past two hours. At first he wondered if Friday had mistakenly connected his phone to the speakers but realized his phone didn’t even have the Spotify app open. He quickly walked down the cold floors of the hallway, his warm socks somewhat doing their job. He stopped at the living room entrance and leaned his shoulder on the doorway, beaming with a huge grin.

Because I could, take you in my arms

And never let go

You twirled around and used the whisk as a microphone, and to both your and Bucky’s surprise, hit every note perfectly. Bucky knew you were a great singer and although he would never admit it, he had heard you singing in the shower quite a few times. It was impossible not to at the level of volume you sang, but each time he would come into your room to grab something random or to ask you a question, he would sit outside the shower door and listen to your angelic voice as it sailed through the steamy air and into Bucky’s ears. But here you were, belting out the exact song Bucky had just learned all the lyrics for on his way home.

I could fall, in love, with you

It was in that moment that Bucky realized he was in his ‘comfortable pajamas’, which consisted of a loose long sleeve and bottoms set, with a nice dark blue color and white stitching along the pockets and buttons. But the sleeves, incredibly so, were far too long for his arms so he would crunch them up in his palms. And his socks had stripes on them. But he remained still on the door frame, watching you sway to the music and enjoying the scent of your first batch of cupcakes already in the oven.

I could only wonder how touching you

Would make me feel

You halted immediately when you saw his tall form resting on the door frame, a giant grin plastered on his newly shaven face. You yelped in surprise, putting down the whisk and patting your hands on your little green apron.

“Bucky, oh my god! Say something if you’re going to enter a room!”

Bucky just shrugged, walking over to the kitchen counter, eyes never leaving yours. He leaned over and placed his chin in both his palms, smiling as the music continued playing in the background. “I like this song.”

You squinted at him, “You know this song?”

Bucky nodded, holding his hand out now for you to take. “Like I said, I like this song.”

But if I take that chance right now

Tomorrow will you want me still?

You reached over hesitantly and let Bucky lead you over to the carpet. He wrapped one arm around your waist and rested the other higher up on your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing for his large frame to sway you both to the rhythm of the song.

“Nice pajamas.”

“Shut up.”

The room was dimly lit, cupcake aroma circling you two, and his snuggly pajamas seemed to also provide you the warmth you were previously getting from the oven. You smiled up at him, low giggles emitting from your lips. He did the same, enjoying the feel of your body pressed up against his.

So I should, keep this to myself

And never let you know

“When did you get back?” you asked, reaching up to touch his shaven cheek. You were undoubtedly curious about the feeling.

Bucky let you roam your hand all over, “About an hour ago. I didn’t think anyone was here.”

You chuckled, “I am! I told you I wasn’t going to bother going to that party if my plus one wasn’t coming!”

Bucky lifted his arm and twirled you slowly, happy that you followed his lead. “So, I’m your plus one now?”

You rolled your eyes, “Always.”

I could fall, in love, with you

“How did you even hear about this song?” you asked, hands now resting comfortably on Bucky’s chest. He had his arms wrapped around you, hugging you to his chest as you two swayed.

“We share a Spotify account, doll.”

“Yeah, but it’s a love playlist. Were you just in the mood for some ballads and stumbled across this one?”

“Exactly. It’s quite the tearjerker.”

And I know it’s not right

And I guess I should try

To do what I should do

He looked so relaxed at this moment, fresh and calm, enjoying the dance he pulled you into. He was resting his chin on the top of your head so you felt his little puffs of air escape his nostrils. And as he breathed in, you could feel his chest rise and lower below your palms. You were tempted to reach up and grab his face, pull him into yourself and share a sweet kiss, but you decided against it. For some reason you knew that this was different. You had snuggled before during naps or binge watching, but they never had a romantic undertone. And if you acted upon your desires, you were frightened it just might ruin your friendship. It took you two years to build up such a rapport with this man, and dare you say you were extremely proud to harbor some of his deepest secrets, and him yours. But his breathing calmed you immensely, as if the gentle rhythm was enough to put you to sleep, and you wondered if he was thinking about the same thing.

But I fall in love, with you

So I should, keep this to myself

And never let you know

Bucky seemed to hug you tighter as the lyrics encircled the room. Over the last few weeks he had felt a shift in your relationship, where sharing food was no longer as innocent as it seemed, barging into each other’s room was not seen as drastic, and partaking in each other’s hobbies was never a bore. Steve had commented on it before, asking Bucky if there was something between you two. And Bucky confided in both Steve and Sam, hands pulling at his hair as he paced in a safe room and his friends sitting patiently on the lone couch. They let him act out his worries in peace, and once Bucky tired himself out they both explained how he should ask you out or how to bring up the topic with you. Bucky listened intently and pushed down the tiny voice in his head that joked about Steve being the one to give him romantic advice. But if he ended up with you on his arm after this little pep talk, it would all be worth it.

But now the song was coming closer to its end, and he knew that if he didn’t act now then he probably wouldn’t have the courage to bring it up ever again. He leaned down to your left ear, and whispered the lyrics to you. In Spanish.

Siempre estoy soñando en ti

Besando mis labios, acariciando mi piel

Abrazándome con ansias locas

Imaginando que me amas

Como yo podía amar a ti

[I am always dreaming of you

Kissing my lips and touching my skin

Anxiously hugging me

Imagining that you love me

Like how I love you]

You knew Bucky knew several languages. You knew. But it made you incredibly excited and hot that he specifically knew Spanish. He spoke in such a gentle manner, breath hitting your skin and voice practically drowning your mind. It was all foggy for a moment, but you quickly refocused your attention on his face.

“Oh, wow.”

Bucky smiled, “What?”

You scoffed and swatted his chest lightly, “Don’t ‘what’ me! You just confessed you like me!”

Bucky pushed you away for another twirl under his arm, but kept you at arms length once you turned around. “No, I confessed I love you.”

You stumbled slightly, staring at him with wide eyes. You thought about how absurd that confession was, but as quickly as that thought entered your mind, it left - because let’s face it, you did know each other for over two years and were best friends. This was right. This felt right.

“You love me?”

Bucky breathed in deeply but your reaction didn’t change his mind. It was now or never. “Yeah, I do. Seemed like the moment to tell you.”

You grinned, pushing your body forward to be engulfed by his strong arms once more. “And to think you could have just told me at this damn party when I was looking all hot without freaking flour on my face.”

Bucky let out a loud laugh that originated from the pit of his stomach and reached his hands up to your face. He pulled you in and kissed you sweetly, the taste of your lip gloss driving him wild. He tasted like toothpaste and chapstick, a perfect combination for your superhero.

“I love you, too.” Bucky let his eyes close in complete bliss.

You could have stayed like that forever, but as you left his lips and looked up at him, you suddenly remembered you never set a timer.

You pushed Bucky away, your sudden strength sending him backwards onto the couch. “My cupcakes!”

And as you rushed to pull the burnt tops from the oven, you could hear Bucky slide off the couch and hit the floor, his laugh louder than the speakers.

I could fall, in love

With you.”

Happy Valentine’s Day. All the love. xxMoni

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Text

I watched it begin again

Chapter 4 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Reader runs into Spencer again a few weeks later!

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~1800

It was a few weeks later before you ran into Spencer again, literally. You stopped at the grocery store on your way home to pick up some snacks for the binge-watching you were planning for your evening. As you placed the third dessert item in your cart, you turned the corner and ran straight into something- no, someone. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed as you reached for the popcorn you had knocked out of his hands. “Let me get that for you.” As you stood back up, something about the scuff marks on this man’s converse reminded you of someone.

“Hi Y/N.” You finally manage to compose yourself and hand him the popcorn before stuttering out a greeting in return. Spencer glances at your cart before asking, “planning a party?”

“What? Oh! No, I just had a kind of long day and I wanted to go home and hide from the world while indulging in some sugary treats.” A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you realize you just admitted the multitude of foods in your cart are in fact all for you. “I couldn’t decide what to get, so I figured a little bit of everything would solve the problem.” You laughed awkwardly as you try to explain your cart. It looks as though a three year old had free rein.

“Trust me, I understand.” Spencer laughed with you. “I always have something sweet nearby. I am definitely known to have a sweet tooth.”

“Oh, well would you care to join me?” You instantly froze when you realized what you said. You aren’t normally so forward. “I could use a friend.” You add on in hopes of diffusing the growing tension.

“Um, yeah I’ll, uh, I’ll join you.” Spencer is rubbing the back of his neck as you begin walking through the store.

“Great! You can pick the ice cream flavor!” You turned and started walking before you could come up with something even more awkward to say.

You pick out a few more sweet treats before paying for your groceries and heading to your car. Spencer says he will meet you at your place after he helps you load the groceries into the trunk.

15 minutes later, you’ve returned home and put the groceries that need to be kept cold away. You move everything else to the coffee table so you and Spencer can reach whatever you want easily.

You are reaching up to get some bowls for the ice cream when you hear a knock on your door. You glance through the peephole just to make sure it is Spencer before swinging the door open with a grin. “Welcome to the sweetest apartment in the building!” The two of you laugh as you close and lock the door.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” You aren’t sure what to say now that he’s actually in your apartment. You don’t have the same barriers you had last time. You are both perfectly sober and neither one of you just went through a massive breakup. “Yeah, sure”

“Got any preference?” You ask as you look through the available movies on Netflix and Hulu. “Oh, uh, no you can pick.” Great, you hate making decisions.

After a slightly awkward few minutes filled with overanalyzing your movie choices, you finally decide on Mr. and Mrs. Smith because it had a bit of a comedy, action, and romance. “Well, dig in!” You don’t know how else to start the conversation as you rip open a zebra cake, offering Spencer the second one in the bag. He smiles at you as he takes it, easing the tension in the room.

You fall into a comfortable silence as you both watch the movie. You find yourself sneaking glances at Spencer whenever you really want to see his reaction to a certain scene. You can’t really tell if he’s enjoying it, but he has laughed a few times.

A half hour into the movie, you decide you want some ice cream. “I’m going to go change and grab some ice cream. Want any?”

“Oh, yes please” Spencer sounds slightly surprised at your sudden question, but you just walk into your room to find some pajamas. You slip on some shorts and a t-shirt pulling on a pair of fluffy socks as you make your way back into the kitchen to get the ice cream. You decide just to bring the two bowls, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and sprinkles with you so Spencer can add his own toppings.

You somehow manage to balance everything as you walk back over to the couch. You are so focused on not dropping the sprinkles that you don’t notice Spencer has been staring at you since you exited your room. He blinks a few times as you set down the toppings exclaiming “it’s a build your own Sunday bar” as you hand him a bowl and a spoon. You sit back down on the couch, closer than before since you need to reach the toppings.

“Can you pass me the whipped cream?” Butterflies form in your stomach as your hand brushes his.

“Whipped cream as we know it today was invented by Charles Getz in the 1930s. Of course, hand whipped cream can be dated back to the 16th century. They would use tree or bush branches as a whisk to incorporate air into the cream.” You could listen to Spencer ramble for the rest of your life.

You smile at him while you squirt enough whipped cream to completely cover the ice cream and then some. You look up to see Spencer staring. Quickly, you look away and hand him the whipped cream. “Sorry, I just really like whipped cream.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize! I’m just happy.” A confused look forms on your face as you look back, urging him to continue. “I, uh, I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough to be yourself with me. Most people wouldn’t have even admitted this was their plan for the night. I’m happy that you invited me to join you. I absolutely love sugar.”

“I’m happy that you’re here too. Who else would provide me with unending knowledge about all the sugary treats?” You laugh as you grab the whipped cream, pointing it at him like a weapon. “Now, tell me who invented chocolate or prepare for the consequences!”

Spencer puts his hands up in mock surrender as he rambles on about chocolate. “Chocolate dates back to 450 B.C.. The Aztecs believed that cacao seeds were the gift of Quetzalcoatl, the god of wisdom, and the seeds once had so much value that they were used as a form of currency. Originally prepared only as a drink, chocolate was served as a bitter liquid, mixed with spices or corn puree. It was believed to be an aphrodisiac and to give the drinker strength. Today, such drinks are also known as "Chilate" and are made by locals in the South of Mexico. After its arrival to Europe in the sixteenth century, sugar was added and it became popular throughout society, first among the ruling classes and then among the common people. In the 20th century, chocolate was considered essential in the rations of United States soldiers during war.” He finished his ramble with a slight smile and a nod.

You are so taken with his ramblings that you can’t form a response. In a panic, you decide to spray him anyway. Whipped cream goes flying all over the place as he flails in surprise. “Gotcha!” You shriek as he grabs the can and turns it on you. “Not fair, I answered your question! Now you have to answer mine.” He stops to think for a second before asking, “What language is the word dessert derived from?”

“Now that’s not fair! You are a literal genius. I run a book store.” Spencer laughs at your feeble attempt to protest. “Just answer the question.”

“Fine, ummmm, Latin?” You are completely guessing and by the smirk growing on his face, you are not correct.

“Nope.” He says popping the p. “French!” You grins even wider as he sprays the whipped cream, landing some on your face despite you trying to block it with your hands.

“Damn, I guess this is only fair.” You say rolling your eyes. He just stares at you in response, his mouth falling open just enough to be noticeable. Right as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he reaches over and brushes the whipped cream off your face. Before he can reach a napkin, you grab his hand. Pulling it toward you, you wrap your mouth around his fingers, licking all the whipped cream.

You have no idea what possessed you to do that, but instantly you are trying to back track. “Can’t waste any whipped cream!” The two of you had gotten much closer together throughout your whipped cream battle. Close enough that you can look into his warm hazel eyes.

He leans closer whispering “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Something in his voice spurs you on. You whisper back “you have some on your nose.”

Leaning impossibly closer, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery he replies “you better take care of that seeing as it’s your fault” in an equally hushed tone.

You reach up and steady his face with your hands, leaning in to lick the whipped cream off his nose with a slight kiss. Your face flushes as you look into his eyes. You don’t know if you’re moving or he is but you are shifting closer and closer.

The sound of explosions break the moment as you both jump back and shift your gaze to the television. “You know, neither one of these two would make a good profiler if they couldn’t tell that their spouse was an assassin.” You laugh at how matter-of-fact that statement was, the moment on the couch drifting to the back of your mind.

“You’re probably right.” You don’t know what to do with your hands anymore, so you pick up your ice cream. He pulls you back onto the couch and the two of you lean into each other as you eat and finish the movie.

Two hours later, the two of you are falling asleep on the couch. After the movie ended, you put on random episodes of Parks and Rec. You finished eating and turned off the lights about 45 minutes ago under the ruse that you can see the tv better without the lights. You’ve been talking to each other pretty much nonstop as the episodes play in the background. Nothing too big, just random information about your lives. Your eyes fall shut, yet again, encouraging you to go to bed, but you don’t want the night to end. He seems to feel the same way, and the two of you fall asleep on the couch wrapped up in each other’s arms.

tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years ago

Text

*Found this image on Pinterest. No idea who to give credit to. Let me know if you know so I can properly praise them.

*This is it. This is the finale of “Small Time Witch”. It’s been on AO3 for a while and I sort of forgot to post it here. I hope those of you who have been reading it enjoy the ending. Comments and feedback are always welcome and encouraged.

Small Time Witch (34)

When you were 12 years old, your biological father was back in your life and fighting your mother for custody. It was the height of the “mutants are bad” craze which made a sympathetic judge rule in his favor. You spent a few weekends with him over the school year. Every Friday afternoon you would beg your mother to let you stay home. And every time she would have to force you into the car with him.

The custody agreement stated that you would spend your summers at his parents home in the Hamptons. The week leading up to your trip was horrible. Your mother and Helene fought daily. Helene wanted to hide you. Your mother was afraid if she didn’t comply that the judge would take you away forever. You cried in Bethany’s arms every night.

The day your father picked you up you could sense something was off. He was overly nice to your mother and Helene. He put his arm around you and called you “kiddo”. Helene made you promise you would call every night.

The drive was long. You had never been to the Hamptons before. You were sort of excited to meet new kids. He told you there would be a lot of them. After lunch you put in your earbuds and fell asleep. When you woke it was early evening. You were parked outside of a facility that looked like an old school house. Your father patted you on the head and said, “It’s for your own good.” Dr. Reyes introduced herself and two men forced you inside. You were a resident of The Milbury Hospital for two weeks.

They told you you would be working with the X-men but that was a lie. They experimented on you and pushed you to the point of excruciating pain to understand the source of your abilities. When Logan and Wade finally found you, you were near death and traumatized. You never saw your father again. Charles Xavier promised you that you would never again be used for your powers. He vowed you would never again be harmed or controlled by the government. He intended to keep his promises.

When he and Max arrived in Asgard, he reaffirmed this vow. In the most Charles Xavier way possible he told you to stay out of it.

“Wait, Professor, you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious. Do you think this is the last time we will face this kind of harassment? I assure you, my dear, it isn’t at your expense. You will remain on Asgard. Your family is safe. The Kale’s have been handled. You’ve done all you can.” He held your hand and smiled at you. You were ready to fight him on this when Max stepped in.

“Y/N, we have larger factions than you know who are fighting on our side. Some even within the government and SWORD. You have to trust us. Now show two old coots around the palace will you?”

Was it possible that these two old men staring down the barrel of senility Jedi mind tricked you into walking away? They sure as fuck did. And, what’s more is that you welcomed it. You finally let out the breath that you had been holding for ages and it felt glorious. There would be no more fighting. No more crying and screaming and battling. They effectively took it off your hands and told you to go live your life.

You showed them the palace, the gardens and the plaza. They shared a meal with you and your new family in court and were taken home before Wheel of Fortune. Why did this feel too perfect? Too wrapped up?

Noticeably your husband was quiet the entire time. That’s near impossible for him. He only spoke on occasion to share a bit of history or wax poetic about family traditions. His mouth was zipped shut when the two septuagenarians told you to make like Elsa and let it go.

In bed that evening you were beyond mad. You were indignant. How could he? He just didn’t take up for you at all. With all of your guard down he felt you working yourself up. He slowly turned the page of his book peeking at you from the corner of his eye. Your arms were crossed and you tapped your fingers incessantly against your opposite arm. You muttered something under your breath about how you would stick up for him.

“What was that, wife?” His tone was mocking and his lip drawn up in a smirk. You wanted to slap that stupid look off of his face. Your hand twitched as you flattened it against your thigh. “Something to say, darling?”

“Nope.” You extinguished the light on your side and rolled away from him. Every time he turned the page of his book you could hear the sound of the paper sliding over his finger. The angrier you got the louder it got. “Goodnight” you said through gritted teeth.

“Good night, pet. I love you.”

You snorted into your pillow and did not return his affections. Fuck you were petty. Little did you know you married the literal god of pettiness. He invented this game and he was willing to play until you were waving the white flag.

He raised one elegant eyebrow and chuckled to himself. If you were actually mad he’d be worried. Whatever this was was kind of cute. He continued to read until your chest was softly and rhythmically rising and falling in deep sleep. Your lips parted ever so slightly letting out soft snores. He pressed his lips to yours and situated himself around you. In the morning you wouldn’t be mad. He was sure of it.

——————————————————————

When you awoke the next morning Loki was wrapped around you like usual. You were a little embarrassed by how you treated him. You disengaged yourself from his grasp and rolled him onto his back. You slid under the covers and unceremoniously swallowed his cock. He arched his back and sucked in his breath.

“Good morning, Pet.” You didn’t stop. You were a woman possessed. He moaned and called your name as he fucked your face. You moaned back in encouragement. He filled your throat with his spend and collapsed back onto the bed.

“Morning.” you said as you wiped your mouth.

“If that’s your way of apologizing I accept. Would you like to talk about it?”

“Can I say no?” He stared at you waiting for you to continue. “Fine. I was upset that you didn’t take up for me with Max and the Professor.”

“Why would I when I agreed with them?”

Damn it. You agreed with them too. “I thought you’d be worried if I didn’t do what Mobius ordered.”

“About that. I’m going to handle it.”

“What? No!” You scrambled to your knees. “Lok, I’ve got this. He put his hand over your mouth to stop you from rambling.

“I rarely tell you what to do, Y/N but this time I must insist. You need to rest. Please don’t say another word. It will be handled.”

He felt responsible for all that transpired and what you had become. He knew those stones would overtake you one day. He had to make things right. Had to take this burden off of you. Had to get you through this so you could both finally rest.

He explained everything that Mobius told him. He had a lot to fix but assured you you wouldn’t even miss him. He would leave that afternoon and then you could live the rest of your lives. With his half of the Yggdrasil firmly affixed to his finger, he was off.

He was gone and back in less than twenty seconds. His hair looked longer and he was dog tired. But, it was all done. Before he could even kiss you the two of you were sucked down to the TVA. This time you faced upper management.

“Loki and Y/N Odinson. You have fulfilled your requirements to the TVA.” The manager in the middle rubber stamped a few files and dismissed you.

“Ummm, ma’am? Am I allowed to go back to Earth?” you asked sheepishly.

“Of course. I don’t know why you’d want to but yes.” You were downright giddy.

“Yay! That means I can see my mom and aunts. Oh I can’t wait. Maybe we can build our cottage again. She’ll be thrilled to have our babies running around. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He was on the verge of tears. “Y/N. The timeline was set back on course. Back to 2023. Your family is gone. Natasha is gone. Vision is gone. Tony is gone. And Steve….was the one timeline I didn’t fix. They let him go.”

“What do you mean? Who let him go?”

“After he put back the stones, he went back to Peggy. I was tasked with bringing him back but I just couldn’t do it.” Who knew Loki was such a softy? Before you could grieve you thought of your friends who were left behind.

“Wanda and Bucky?!”

“Bucky is ok. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Wanda is an entirely other story. I’ll explain along the way. Let’s go home, wife.”

When you got to your cottage it was exactly as you left it. The Avengers had defeated Thanos but left the world in utter chaos. All of the people who were snapped were back. It would take some time to sort out.

Sam was back home visiting his sister. Bucky was in DC. You had him over as soon as he was comfortable traveling. You spent a very drunken weekend crying over Steve and cursing his name. You wanted to make him forget but he was tired of people fucking with his head. Why would he want to forget his best pal? At least he still had you. He and Sam would continue to work. When Captain America called, you would always answer.

When you went to check in with Stephen Strange he filled you in on Wanda and Aunt Agatha. He told you in no uncertain terms that you should not try to wake Agatha. You wanted to go to Wanda but he warned against it. You were heartbroken that she had to grieve alone. What she went through. You couldn’t even fathom it. For now, you would stay out in your cottage where Strange could keep an eye on you. He didn’t trust either you or Loki with the stones.

You took Loki to visit New Asgard. Most of the citizens were happy to see him. Hilde not so much.

“Uh uh. No way. If you think you’re going to….Thor made me…I will send you back to Hel if you think you’re taking my crown.” Her knife was against his throat but he didn’t flinch.

Loki bowed to her, “My king.”

The smile that crossed her face was the most beautiful sunshine smile you’ve ever seen. She pulled you to her and kissed you deeply. You kissed her back despite the anger wafting off of Loki. You couldn’t stop giggling. You knew what she was doing. When she pulled away she pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a picture of his face. “That’s better than him bowing to me.”

“God you’re a bitch.” you said as you peppered her neck with kisses. “I missed you, Hilde.”

“And I you, Kærasta.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just call my wife Kærasta?” You and Hilde broke into hysterical laughter.

“Relax, Lok. A lot happened when you were away.” You tried to soothe him but he pulled away.

“Looks like we’ll have to re christen the bed.”

“You’d better do the tub and hall shower while you’re at it. Oh and the kitchen table. Remember that night, Kærasta?”

You tried to change the subject, “Is Thor here?”

“Yeah actually. He heard you might swing by.” She drove you to his little hovel on the hill. He was sitting outside with Korg waiting for you. When you got out of the car he clapped his hands and laughed.

“I told you you were clever, little sister!” He wrapped you in a bear hug and thanked you over and over again.

With tears in his eyes, Loki hugged his brother. “It seems the sun is shining on Asgard once again, Brother.”

“So it seems.” Thor whispered against his hair.

You spent the night in New Asgard telling tales of the timeline you left. They were mightily impressed with your battle skills and how you defeated Thanos. Thor was happy that, in another universe, his parents lived. He was happy you were able to meet them and become so close.

The next morning you woke feeling much too hung over. You crawled back to the car promising you wouldn’t be a stranger. You were ready to go home.

“Come along, darling. I have to catch up on the last two seasons of Game of Thrones.”

“Oh. Honey. This gonna be a long weekend.”

And so you went back to your lives in the the only way you knew how. You spent eternity bickering and laughing. Fighting and fucking and all the while remaining madly and passionately in love. Two souls that would always be entwined no matter the circumstances. Two souls that were never really apart in the first place.

Outside of your little corner of the universe, the world was on fire. Nothing was normal. In between the battles and the bloodshed, your found family had a place to lay their heads and forget about life for a while. In your home there was always a clean bed and a hot meal and all the alcohol. In your little cottage built in the glen where the sun would shine through every morning like a spotlight, there was happiness.

#loki of jotunheim #loki x reader angst #loki tv #loki smut #witch #mcu witches #small time witch #loki of asgard #loki x you #loki (marvel)

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miminorenai · 4 years ago

Photo

Surprised by the sudden question, I reach back into my memory, but I don’t recognize him... He hands over me something like that — “—··· I hope to see you again.”

CHAPTER 02

The man with crimson eyes “...Have we ever met somewhere?”

Surprised by the sudden question, I reach back into my memory, but...

MC “...I don’t think we ever met, probably...”

MC “Because I just came to this place a month ago...”

(...At any rate, it just doesn’t seem that I’ve forgotten. I think I’ll never forget such a beautiful person if I ever meet one.)

The man with crimson eyes “Really...?”

MC “...? Yes...Ah!”

When I *get a hold of myself, I notice that there’s a wagon with flowers is placed beside the person.

(*領き返し - 領 means territory, reign, possession, something you acquired, get hold and owned, while 返し means return, put back and restore. It’s still in hesitation, but I put my own mixture and analyzation that the sentence means ‘something that you possessed being returned and restored’, hence getting hold of herself. But if other readers have better explanation, or perhaps better translation, drop in the comments or DM, alright?

The flowers are unprotected and exposed to the snow, dyeing the petals white.

(That’s not good...!)

MC “If we let them get hit by snow as it is, the flowers might be ruined, you know? Let’s carry it over there!”

I put my hands on the wagon and run towards the eaves of the confectionery in the snow.

(...They won’t get hit by the snow here, right?)

MC “...I’m glad they are all right. It would be sad if such beautiful flowers wither.”

The man with crimson eyes “...”

The moment I feel relieved, I realized the person is staring intently at me, as if to probe into my heart.

MC “...I’m sorry. Did I do something unnecessary...”

Then, the person in front of me gently shakes his head.

The man with crimson eyes “No...thank you.”

After saying that, he suddenly turns his crimson eyes towards the flowers in the wagon, and touches the flowers with beautiful gesture.

And then, the person makes a bouquet of colorful flowers in a blink of time, as if he’s using magic.

The man with crimson eyes “Hmm, this is fine. If it’s this big, it should fit in your arms.”

The man with crimson eyes “Here, as thanks for your help.”

A big bouquet gently jumps into my chest.

MC “...I can’t afford to receive such a big bouquet. I didn’t do much...”

The man with crimson eyes “Just accept it.”

The person untied his pursed lips and smiles sweet enough to captivate me instantly.

The man with crimson eyes “Since I was so happy.”

The man with crimson eyes “Well then, I’ll go with this.”

With a delightful smile, the person puts his hand on an empty wagon and starts walking through the snow.

MC “Excuse me...”

When the person stops walking, he looks up at the sky again...and draws an arc on his thin lips.

The man with crimson eyes “Oh...the snow will stop soon.”

(Huh...?)

Staring at the similar scenery as reflected by the crimson eyes, the snow gradually becomes sparse...

Then, the snow stops.

(...It was a sudden snowfall.)

As I look up at the sky, leaving behind only the signs of snow, a clear voice flows into my ears.

The man with crimson eyes “—··· I hope to see you again.”

When I look back in a sudden, there is no one there anymore,

I feel like I’m dreaming while it was snowing...

(He was a beautiful person...)

(Somehow it seems that he’s a human, but sort of like not human too...he was such a person. Even so —)

I wonder why did he look at me as if we had met before?

(...Have we ever met somewhere after all?)

While I’m thinking about it, I heard footsteps right next to me.

Leonardo “I’m sorry to have kept you keep waiting, Mimi. Huh...? What’s with that big bouquet?”

Leonardo “Leonardo-san! To tell you the truth, just now —”

***

Leonardo-san grunts and stifles his laughter as I tell him the whole story of what happened while it was snowing.

Leonardo “I think he was happy with your kindness. ...Hmm?”

Leonardo's fingertips touch the light blue petals that bloom quietly among various kinds of flowers.

Leonardo “Forget-me-not flowers shouldn't bloom in such a cold winter. Is he growing them in a greenhouse? Or.”

Leonardo “—*Off-season flowering, huh.”

(*狂い咲き - 狂い means insanity, madness and crazy while 咲き means to bloom. Literally it means a crazy flower that’s blooming out of order

Shakespeare sets foot into an old castle and finds the lord of the castle in a beautiful garden.

Vlad “···— 𝅘𝅥𝅮 ···”

Wearing a coat that’s darker than the night, the figure that’s gazing on the flowers illuminated by the moon is so beautiful that you leave it as it is.

Slowly approaching, Shakespeare stands next to Vlad and opens his lips.

Shakespeare “My lord, is there anything good happened to you?”

Vlad “Yeah, something really nice.”

Nevertheless...as he mutters, the pair of eyes with different colors directed his gaze towards the flowers that are blooming in the flower bed.

Shakespeare “Forget-me-nots shouldn’t bloom in this season, and this flower too. ...Ah, this flower too.”

Shakespeare “How on earth are you growing them...?”

Vlad “Rather than that sort of thing, it’s rare for you to come here, Will. Don’t you have something to talk about?”

Shakespeare “...”

Shakespeare’s expression becomes stiff when a straight gaze is directed towards him.

After a seemingly eternal silence, a faint shaking voice echoes through the night.

Shakespeare “In search for tragic real experiences for my creation, on that day I left the mansion...I joined hands with you.”

Shakespeare “I’m in pursuit of tragedy, while you’re trying to revive the great men for your ambition. Our interests were aligned.”

Shakespeare “My heart was certainly moved by the person you revived for your experiment.”

Vlad “...”

Shakespeare “But things like disregarding lives and treating them with disdain, I just can’t accept it no matter what.”

Shakespeare “...I understand that it’s a selfish excuse, but I don’t want to get my hands dirty anymore —“

Vlad “Hey, Will.”

Shakespeare “...?”

Vlad “Do you know why forget-me-nots came to be called by this name?”

Although confused by the sudden question, Shakespeare easily/leisurely repeats the words.

Shakespeare “Knight Rudolph tried to pick flowers that bloom on the river quay for his lover, but...he accidentally fell into the river.”

Shakespeare “I know it got its name from the anecdote that was left behind saying [Don't forget me] at that time.”

Vlad “Yes, that’s correct. As one would expect, a rare playwright has an extensive knowledge.”

Vlad “I think, the great men in the Count’s mansion look a lot like this flower.”

Vlad “Although their lives have ended once, they were afraid that their existences would disappear from this world.”

Vlad “That straightforward obsession so far as cruel and abnormal has brought them back to life again. Hey, Will.”

Shakespeare “...Yes.”

Vlad “They will surely be the cornerstone to grant this heartful ambition. That’s why I have to choose.”

Vlad “—··· A strong person to help me, right? I thought you understand what I wanted to do.”

His voice is calm like a calm sea, but the air Vlad’s cladded in is too sharp and ferocious...,

But Shakespeare raises his voice to encourage himself.

Shakespeare “I can’t dance in your palm anymore, but I’m the first one who took your hand.”

Shakespeare “If you want to kill me, do it then. Since for you...I’m an unnecessary flower.”

Vlad’s hands extend towards Shakespeare’s neck.

Shakespeare “— !”

But, the beautiful hands on his small neck move away on a whim.

Shakespeare “...Why...”

Vlad “’Cause it seems like a severe punishment for Will is to continue living and suffering. See you then, Will.”

When Shakespeare’s figure disappears, the footsteps of Charles and Faust echo in replace.

Faust “Is it fine to overlook the playwright easily, Your Excellency? It seems to me that the treatment is very sweet...”

Charles “Lord Vlad has Lord Vlad’s own *consideration. Isn’t that right, Ōsama?”

(*考え - thought, idea, intention, expectation

Responds with only a smile, Vlad turns his beautiful crimson eyes towards the night sky.

Vlad “The world is still beautiful today. That’s why I can’t give up this ambition in my heart.”

Vlad “We still have a long way to go, but...I’m sure it will be done.”

Charles & Faust “...”

Without minding both of them who are becoming speechless at the profile with appalling madness in his beauty,

Vlad straightly crouches down on the spot and watches forget-me-not flowers intently.

Vlad “Don’t forget me, huh. Did that girl forget about me?”

Vlad “We met on a distant snowy day...”

Charles & Faust “...?”

Vlad “I hope we can meet again. Fuaa~...”

Charles “Eh, Ōsama?”

Charles “...He falls asleep.”

Faust “Sleeping in a place this, after muttering an incomprehensible monologue.”

Faust “Truly a selfish old man. Shall, I’m going back.”

Charles “Eh, let’s carry him, Doc.”

Faust “If you leave him alone, it seems that he’ll wake up soon.”

Charles “Eh? People would usually die if we leave them behind in this cold winter.”

Faust “Your Excellency is unusual, so there’s no problem.”

Charles “But, he’ll catch a cold, right?”

Faust “Haa~ He’s really such a troublesome old man.”

The profile of Shakespeare who’s leaving the castle is as lifeless as a doll.

As he looks up at the night sky with dark eyes, the moon, which is about to transform into a full moon, comes into view and brings back a certain memory.

A month ago, a woman who appeared in front of him in what sort of fate, was an ordinary human without any talents.

Vlad doesn’t need that kind of person...he thought so, and didn’t give any information about Mimi.

— That’s to say, he put up a façade.

Somehow she felt like a factor that could change this chaotic situation, for better or worse.

He felt that even God didn't know if Mimi’s fate and that beautiful person would cross.

Shakespeare “What can I do right now is keeping an eye on what’s about to occur after this, and if anything happens, I’ll *firsthand —”

(*身を以て - with one's own body/action/experience

Every time I went to the city from that snowy day, my eyes came to search for that person who looked like a snow spirit.

However —

(...Isn’t it hard to find him in this big city?)

(If only I asked for his name at least, I could get a clue to search for him.)

I want to convey a proper gratitude for giving me an armful of flowers.

Also...I can’t put it well into words, but I wish to meet that person again, truly from my heart.

MC “I don't know when, but...I want to see you again."

As I mutter alone, I could smell something like floating spring mixed in the winter air.

When I follow the scent that gives color to the cold winter —

The man with crimson eyes “...”

The person is beside the wagon with plenty of flowers, as if he’s bringing along the spring.

(...At last, I met him.)

As I approach him, his crimson eyes slowly catch me —

The man with crimson eyes “I found you ‘again’, after all.”

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevam vlad #vlad #i haven't read much yet #but mc definitely meeting the little vlad through the door lol #hence not the 1st meeting for vlad

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

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The Splendor of These Exploding Skies (Yet All I See Is You)

Chuck Grant x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, drug use to combat PTSD (also y’all’re in California and weed just happens sometimes I’m sorry but it’s very true), light angst, light jealousy, fluff bc I’M FEELING LONELY AND COULD USE SOME CUDDLES, fireworks (both literal and metaphorical).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Even after knowing and loving you for almost half a decade at this point, Chuck Grant still found himself in awe of how beautiful you were.

Despite the fact that for the first year at Toccoa the two of you hadn’t been able to stand being in each other’s presence for more than five minutes at a time- he still was able to acknowledge how attractive he found you. If anything, that awareness only added to his resentment of you and anything to do with you.

You were too easy on the eyes to be as annoying as he found you. It just wasn’t fair.

In hindsight, he’d made a complete ass of himself during your first interaction- he’d been too drunk and too confident in his abilities to sweet talk women and too hyped up from his friend’s encouragement when he’d decided to make a move on you. Chuck couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but what he did remember was putting his hand on your ass and being slapped so hard his ears were left ringing for the next few days.

And, because he was young and cocky, he’d immediately labeled you as a prude and made it his mission to hate your guts. Even though he knew that he was in the wrong. Because that’s just how he was back then.

Had anyone asked Chuck then if he’d one day willingly share a home with you, let alone a bed, he probably would’ve punched them in the mouth. He imagined your response would’ve been similar.

My, how far the two of you had come.

Chuck leaned against the doorframe at the mouth of your bedroom, crossing his arms across his chest and smiling at the sight before him. As much as he knew that you got embarrassed by his open admiration, he still couldn’t find it within himself to curb this bad habit.

The vision of you at ease was a sight to behold- especially after seeing you on edge for years on end.

Right now, you were sprawled on top of the bed the two of you had bought a month ago, dressed in one of your old stretched-out t-shirts and thick-knit socks and a pair of black underpants that showed the cute divet where your buttcheek met your thigh (a part of you that you also scolded him for paying so much attention to). The window towards the foot of the bed was open and the cool air from the ocean delicately tossed the finer strands of your hair around your head, the lights of the city at night making each hair glow like some radiant halo.

All of the lights in the bedroom were off, the skyline illuminating the room in a warm blue cast that never failed to make him feel at ease. Your head was propped up on your hand as you gracefully brought your joint to your lips and took a deep drag, tapping the train of ash onto the clay plate you’d made at a pottery class sometime before the war. Purple grey smoke slipped through your parted lips attractively, and Cuck felt his chest ache at the knowledge that only he got to see you like this.

“Are you going to stand there like a creep all night, silly boy?”

When Chuck refocuses, he realizes that you can see his silhouette reflected in the window’s glass, and he can hear the teasing smile in your voice. Stubbing out the smoldering joint onto the plate, he watches you press yourself up onto your elbow and turn to look over your shoulder at him.

He bites back a smile of his own as he hits the light switch in the hallway so the room is entirely dark, closing the door softly behind him as he starts to toe off his shoes.

“Sorry, Dollface,” he says in faux seriousness, using the terrible pet name he’d called you the first night he’d met you. “Got distracted by the view…”

You snort a laugh at that, turning back to look out the window and shaking your head.

“Careful, buddy- my boyfriend’s got a mean right hook.”

He rolls his eyes despite the fact that he knows you can’t see it, stripping down to his shirt and boxers and coming to join you.

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’ve heard you’ve got a nasty backhand as well.”

Using his hands to map out where your legs are, he carefully fits himself behind you like a familiar and comforting puzzle piece. While the side effects of his head injury were relatively minor compared to the severity of the wound, he still wasn’t always able to trust his eyes when it came to their depth perception. You didn’t seem to mind his way of accommodating this certain handicap.

You weren’t shy to admit how much you liked his hands on you.

With the sort of ease that only comes from years of routine, you turn your head at just the right time for him to pluck a kiss from your lips, the taste of chocolate and cannabis on your lips. Chuck lets his legs tangle with yours as he rests on his elbow beside you, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of your head and keep your lips on his for a few moments longer. When you hum happily, he can’t help but smile.

He knows that today is difficult for you- the noise and the bright light and the cool bay breeze bringing back memories of foxholes and biting frost and heartbreaking exhaustion. You didn’t smoke weed often, even less now that you’d been out of the military for a few years, so he knew that when you did that you just wanted to not remember for a little while.

You wanted to forget the bad and go back to the days when these festivities brought you joy and wonder. Chuck got that. The desire to shut it all off and just live was too familiar to him.

And if you were willing to be there for him, he’d be damned if he didn’t do the same for you.

Pulling back, he lightly presses his fingers to the base of your skull, chuckling warmly when you nearly moan in relief.

“Hey there.”

You slowly open your eyes at his greeting, gaze open and slightly lethargic.

“Hey yourself,” you say with a sigh. “I missed you today.”

Chuck knew what you meant. After living together day in and day out for so long, coming home and establishing lives and routines of your own had initially been difficult. He’d felt bad about leaving you this morning, knowing how difficult this day in particular was for you.

“Such a sap.”

Your easy expression twists into a comical scowl, your eyes rolling as you turn back to the window and make a sound of annoyance.

“Of all the idiots who propositioned me, I had to go and pick the most obnoxious—”

Chuck freezes at that, furrowing his brow in surprise and using the hand on the back of your head to gently fist a handful of your hair and turn you back to face him.

‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Your eyes scan his face before a slow smile breaks across your lips, clicking your tongue admonishingly at whatever it was that you saw.

“Charles Grant, as I live and breathe,” your voice has taken on a wicked quality, one that he both loves and hates at the same time. “Is that jealousy I detect?”

He frowns at that, hating how well you can read him- even in your slightly intoxicated state.

When he doesn’t reply right away, you purposefully lift your backside and press it against his stirring cock. God, you knew how to irritate him- you could be such a brat sometimes.

Luckily, he had learned long ago the most effective way of curbing your obnoxious provocations.

Tightening his grip on your hair infinitesimally, you let him crane your head back and hiss quietly at the sweet sting of it.

“Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were trying to make me jealous.”

You smirk, wetting your lips before rolling your hips against him once again.

“Me? I’m just being honest- you can’t truly think you were the only one to make a move….shoot your shot, if you will….”

Chuck feels heat curl in his stomach, shaking his head at your insinuation. When he angles your head to bite at the lobe of your ear, you tremble beneath him with excitement- your antagonizing behavior had become a strange turn on somewhere between Alderborne and Normandy.

“Who?”

You said nothing, your breath hitching in your throat as you feel the press of him against your backside. You knew how much he hated when you did that- knew how frustrated your silence made him. It’d been your silence that had led him to kiss you for the first time- the arrogant way you’d held your tongue to his baiting teases driving him so crazy he was willing to risk your wrath just to get a response from you.

With an angry sigh, he fixes you with a glare.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I know how to get what I want out of that pretty mouth.”

Chuck swears he sees a self-satisfied glint in your eye, but before you can revel in your mirth he pulls away from you and makes you whine.

“Chuck, don’t go—oh!”

The feeling of his hands gripping your ass tears a gasp from your throat, your head bowing into the mattress as he grips your hips and pulls them up so he can reach beneath you and squeeze your sex possessively. As expected, you’re wet and warm for him- a confirmation of your desire for more.

His name sounds sweet on your tongue, your voice muffled in the soft down of the comforter as you arch into his touch. Chuck’s mouth waters at the sight of your shirt’s hem sliding up your spine and revealing the bare skin of your back to him, and he doesn’t hesitate to press hot kisses to the newly revealed skin by your hip bones.

“How about this, Sweetheart?” he asks innocently, using the hand not rubbing at your sex to yank your underwear down your thighs. “I’ll give you a name, and you tell me if they were stupid enough to try something with you, hm?”

Your groan is unintelligible and unclear but when he looks down the slope of your back he sees you nodding vehemently.

God, you were perfect.

Using his index and ring finger, he holds open the petals of your sex and begins to play with your clit.

“Luz?”

Even with your face in the blanket, he can make out your scoff of ‘no’. Good. he hadn’t thought so, but it still made him glad to hear it.

“Shifty?”

One of your hands swats at his thigh, and you turn your face so you can make your words clear.

“Charles, you were there when Shifty accidentally saw me changing- what do you think?”

Chuck chuckles at the memory of that- the poor kid had been so embarrassed that he’d nearly run into a wall in his attempt to escape the ‘improper sight’.

When you open your mouth to say something else, CHuck smacks your ass and your words are lost in a yelp of surprise.

“Chuck—”

“Bull?”

“No. Obviously no, geez…”

He goes through the roster of Easy Company, getting the obvious ‘no’s out of the way: Buck, Winters, Sink, Strayer, Sobel, Blithe, Lipton, Speirs, Welsh. With each negative response, he lets you roll yourself against his hand- the sight of you so desperate for him working him up so high that he knew he was going to have to get inside of you soon.

The first ‘yes’ you gave was for Talbert, which earned you a bite on the curve of your buttcheek despite the fact that Chuck had already figured as much. Same went for Christenson- which he’d known already because he and Pat had first bonded over the fact that you’d rejected both of their advances.

Then came the first surprise- Nixon.

“What?! Are you serious? Lewis Nixon?”

“Does that piss you off, Silly Boy?”

Your tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice that catches him off guard.

It did, actually- piss him off, that is. Chuck didn’t want to think too hard about why.

Not when this little game of yours just started to get interesting.

With another resounding smack to your backside, Chuck grips himself in his fest and coats his cock with the slick from your sex that had soaked his fingers. The idea of you with someone like Nix simultaneously inspired rage and pride in his chest- anger at the concept of a married man, your SO, looking at you in a way that was less than professional and pride at the fact that you’d still chosen him despite Nix’s advances.

“Chuck,”

When he looks back at you, he sees that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with desperation, your face flushed with arousal and subsequent denial.

“I want you, please don’t make me wait anymore…”

Well, he never had been very good at making you wait.

The sound you make when he slips inside of you almost has him bursting right then and there- the sound so broken and full of want and lewd promise that it almost hurts him to hold himself back. Your hand has reached up and behind your head to grip his hair, pulling him down and over you in a haunting pantomime of how he’d covered you from enemy fire in the hellish woods outside of Foy.

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, babbling as you slip into a state of carnal bliss. When he kisses you it’s desperate and messy but you are still craning your head back at an angle that must be painful in order to continue it.

All jealousy takes a back seat to the feeling of this- your skin under his hands and your breath on his lips and the squeeze of you around him. It doesn’t matter, none of those other men and their understandable attraction to you matters because you are undeniably his.

You chose him- you chose him when he was the picture of health and when he was nearly dead on an operating table. You’d held his hand as he healed and you’d taken him as your husband in a shelled out Austrian church with a priest and Ron Speirs and God as your witnesses.

You were his, and that was all because you wanted to be.

His throat feels tight with emotion as he slowly thrusts in and out of you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades as you cry for more- taking each rough rut of his hips into yours with a beautiful moan and a challenge for another.

Sex with you was more than a physical release, it’s a renewal of unspoken vows of devotion and dedication despite the knowledge that neither of you had escaped your war unscathed. His promise that he’d be yours each and every night when the horrors of memory plagued your dreams, and your reassurance that you saw him for more than his experiences, his trauma.

It was more than he ever could have hoped for in this life. Pre and post war.

Your chest vibrates beneath his, and when he is finally able to refocus he realizes that you’ve been trying to talk to him.

“Look!”

The fireworks show has begun, the bursts of light looking magical and surreal over the glass surface of the bay. It’s beautiful, and he knows that despite your fear of the sound of explosives you cannot help but find yourself entranced by its splendor as well.

Chuck turns his face so he can see the reflection of your face in the mirror, the fireworks making the drawn pleasure on your face clear and coloring you in its brilliance.

When he makes you come apart beneath him, you’re awash in purple light and infinitely more glorious than the celebration outside. The bite of your nails into the meat of his thigh sends him tumbling into pleasure right behind you, and when he squeezes his eyes shut he feels like a firework himself- hot and infinite and sparkling in the cold air coming through the open window.

Your body is quaking beneath him, the electricity of your orgasm still dancing through you and making you clench around him painfully every so often.

Blind from his own pleasure, Chuck moves his hands up your sides to get a feel for where you are, repositioning his weight so he isn’t crushing you with his boneless body. The boom of the next firework shakes through his chest, and as he feels you coming down he smooths your hair from your face clumsily.

“You married me.” his voice sounds far away, his mind just as lost as he reminds himself of the most important part of his life. “You married me and you make me happier than I can say.”

The feeling of your lips kissing his palm has him opening his hazy eyes to take in your state of disarray. You were looking at him with more love than he had ever thought to wish for, and when you nod it brings tears to his eyes.

“Happy Fourth of July, Chuck Grant.”

Lifting his gaze, he looks back out of the window, where the firework show is coming to an end and soon the two of you will be left with the warm blue light once more.

You were right. This was a happy Fourth of July.

~ ~ ~

THIS IS JUST OKAY AND I UNDERSTAND THAT BUT THANK YOU FOR READING IT ANYWAY!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @teenmagazines @liebgotttme

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #chuck grant x reader #chuck grant imagines

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justlikeeddie · 4 years ago

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I always mean to do an end-of-year fic roundup post and then never get round to it, but...... literally what else am I doing rn

merely players RPF, David Tennant/Michael Sheen, 2.9k, E

“You like this?” Michael asks, honestly intrigued. “You've done this before?”

David looks slightly surprised, but he says, “Yes.” And then, after a moment of consideration, “Not with a man.”

(Sorry, but realising I wrote this THIS YEAR - or at least it was this year yesterday - is absolutely insane. The faint memory of writing this feels like decades ago. Lives ago. If you’d explained the concept of “Staged” to me I would have killed you on the spot)

Your Mirror Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, 28k, E

“What I’m saying is,” said Crowley, carefully, “You. Me. Running around up here by ourselves. Nobody really paying us that much attention, as long as we put in the paperwork.” He glanced briefly at the ceiling, and then at the ground, and then back at Aziraphale. He flickered his tongue over his lips, raised his eyebrows, and said, softly, “I think that we may have some mutual interests.”

Crossing The Line, written with @laurashapiro-noreally Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, 10.5k, E

“So how do we actually -- make it happen?” Crowley asked. “Funnily enough, you’re the only one of us who’s possessed someone before.”

“Have you never?”

Crowley pulled a face, shook his head. “Nah. So unsubtle.” Aziraphale, despite everything, smiled again, less nervously. “Well, bit of a last resort, isn’t it? It’s practically admitting you’re not up to the job, temptation-wise. Oh, I couldn’t actually convince that human to do anything immoral, but don’t worry, I just puppeted them like a bodysuit instead. Amateur hour, seriously.”

because it’s you that sets the test X-Men, Charles/Erik, 7k, E

Erik says, “I’m not afraid of you, you know.”

Charles frowns at this. “No, of course not. You shouldn’t be. Why would you be?”

Charles, who can sift through a mind as easily as sand, could presumably shatter a person’s reality from the inside, if he tried. Or without trying. Erik doesn’t know. It makes his pulse quicken, when he thinks about it.

“I think I probably should be, actually,” Erik says. “But I’m not.”

form and land X-Men, Charles/Erik, 0.9k, G

Charles picks up his brandy and knocks it back, and looks down at the chessboard. “It's been a while since I've played.”

This is not the man that Erik remembers. Charles would never have evaded a matter so important; hell, Charles was never the one to break eye contact. Charles drank exclusively for pleasure, and not with the brisk, mechanical movement of someone taking their alcohol medicinally.

“I'll go easy on you,” Erik says, and a strange kind of sorrow twists at him. “It might finally be a fair fight.”

The Parting Glass, written with @the-omnishambles Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, 16.8k, G

“But anyway, what are you doing for lunch?”

Aziraphale blinked. “This is an abbey, Crowley, you don’t do anything for lunch, you just – eat lunch. In silence.”

“Sounds dull, but all right.”

“What? You obviously can’t join.”

Voluntary Stupidity Due South, Fraser/Vecchio, 1.3k, G

But when he does speak, all Fraser says is, “—Ray.” It’s weird, the way he says it. Not the way Fraser usually says his name, not any of the ways Fraser usually says his name. It sounds surprised and a little strangled, but sort of soft, too. Almost kind.

Ray kind of hates it, actually. Hates that Fraser can look him in the eye, right after Ray went berserk and kissed him in the middle of a bank heist death trap, and then sound like that.

North West, written with @the-omnishambles Due South, Fraser & Vecchio, 11k, G

Of course, Ray reflects - merging seamlessly onto an underpopulated freeway - he mainly suggested this plan out of guilt. He’d been casting around for things that might help, back when Fraser was convalescing and miserable and Ray would have done anything to make amends. Then there seemed no way to back down. You can’t break a deathbed promise, and hilariously (is it hilarious? Ray isn’t sure whether he’s far enough away from all this to have a sense of humour yet), Fraser’s never suggested taking a bullet might be enough, and Ray no longer has amends to make.

Maybe Fraser just plain wants them to go. Maybe he thinks it’ll be good for them, or maybe he actually does need the help. Who the fuck knows what the Mountie is thinking, ever? The point is, there’s no turning back now.

Deduction Due South, Fraser/Kowalski, 3.9k, E

Ray has rather long fingers, his nails cut short. His thumb is bent into an obtuse angle against the glass. His silver bracelet hangs as usual on his wrist, producing the faintest click-swishing sound whenever he moves his arm. And the nearness of him brings a raft of familiar smells: coffee, a sugary sweetness, stale smoke, motor oil.

“Fraser?” says Ray, from above him.

Fraser starts, and takes the glass from his hand. “Thank you.”

“Uh— ” says Ray, and then clears his throat. “Did you just smell me?”

Trash Hard Core Logo, Joe Dick/Billy Tallent, 3.7k, M

“I thought you were gonna walk right off stage. But then you looked at me and you didn’t look angry, you looked— like— I’d never seen you look like that, man, I don’t know. It was like you’d ascended.”

Billy thinks it’s funny, dumb, when Joe says things like that— or else he thinks he’s showing off. He curls his mouth into that little smile that manages to be indulgent and mocking all at once. Usually catches the eye of whoever Joe’s trying to tell the story to, maybe a quirk of the eyebrow. He’s always trying to get other people to gang up on Joe with him, in tiny, pointless ways. Like he’s trying to prove to Joe that he can make friends with other people, and that he can do it better than Joe can.

Also, big shout-out to what felt like hundreds of other fandoms on this hell journey of a year that I apparently became re-invested in enough to read fic, even if not to write it, which I think were uhhhh DOCTOR WHO. HANNIBAL. JONATHAN STRANGE. 2010-ERA CHARLIE BROOKER RPF (DON’T @ ME). SLINGS & ARROWS. TORCHWOOD (DON’T FUCKING @ ME). RAFFLES. Extra special shout-out to whatever the fuck my relationship is with the Supernatural fandom now. okay peace done I’m out

#good omens rpf #good omens #xmfc #cherik #due south #hard core logo #xmens #fic #my fic

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notfeelingthyaster · 4 years ago

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Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids) Mark of Athena Pt. 2 AU (4/7) or (9/12)

So yeah it got... big. I wasn't expecting it - but sure! Here it comes part 2 of 3 of 5! Check the masterpost before reading - it's essential for the understanding. And read the warnings before proceeding. Enjoy and leave reviews and suggestions :))

Hazel, Leo, Frank, and Perseus go back to the Argo II, to find Piper trying to wrangle the Cornucopia into not just dropping mountains of food.

Perseus tries to help - and between him and Jason, who is the son of a fertility god after all - they manage to get a picnic - which, great because it's already evening and they're all hungry teenagers.

That's when they discover that's Jason's birthday - the 23 of July, coincidentally, Neptunalia - and begin to swarm him. It's shocking that he never had a birthday party - or birthday cake. The Romans don't care about it - their prowess in the training fields is what marks them as children or men.

Perseus - who was kidnapped in mid-November, months after his birthday - is internally shocked - but can do nothing about it.

He doesn't think he could give anything useful to Jason in such short notice - so Perseus promises to, after this all ends, take him to see something new - perhaps Cairo? He is sure Carter would be happy to see him.

Ah, yes. The Kanes - one of his only adventures in between those two big prophecies. He went - with Nico of all people - to help the Egyptian sorcerers - and almost ended up possessed by Sadie's god boyfriend's mother. Overall, a bizarre experience.

And he never wants to share a body with Neftis again. It's weird, it's bizarre, he doesn't like it, he gets body disphoria - no.

Even though the Egyptian Underworld is really cool - there are a lot of snakes down there. And a lot of space - which is weird, because Hades also takes a lot of space. Are these hells in different dimensions?

That's not even counting the time he and Thalia mind-wiped a Titan - with Lethe's water of all things. He left Bob/Iapetus under Persephone's care - and then promptly disappeared. Not literally - Perseus just had no time for the titan, and it's something he regrets deeply.

Maybe after this all ends, he can go visit Bob and the Kanes. Maybe it's time the pantheons are no longer apart.

Perseus knows that all pantheons eventually cross - Isis is as Greek as she is Egyptian - but they don't talk about it. They pretend their Isis and the greek one are different - while the goddess has so many aspects she might as well be a thousand different deities.

Is there a Hindi pantheon? A Polynesian one? Is Amaterasu real? The Orixás? Quetzalcóatl? The Nordics? Are the Celtics aspects of the Norse? What about the Welsh? How many Underworlds exist? If any worshiped god appears - does God with a capital G exists? Perseus is going to find out. But now he has more pressing issues right now.

Leo doesn't want to discuss Nemesis, but, after singing happy birthday to a very embarrassed Jason (who is probably pondering the implications of Perseus' offer - Leo is pretty sure the guy isn't asking his bestie in a date, but who is he to shatter his buddy's delusions?), Perseus corners him.

He doesn't know what to do about the price - he isn't sure of much. Perseus promises that nothing will harm him under his watch. It's weird - Nobody ever cared about Leo before. Perseus hugs him - the first time he starts a hug himself - and Leo feels like, maybe, that's what having a family feels like.

He wonders if Charles Beckendorf was for Perseus what Perseus is trying to be for him - he wonders if Percy is doing this out of guilt. Leo can't complain - the arms feel warm around him.

Percy and he return to the party, to see Piper in a panic. She asked Katoptris for a way to Nico - under Hazel's prompting - and it showed her a vision of Nova Roma organizing the army to invade Camp Half-Blood - Reyna is stalling them, but not for long. She prays for Perseus to come back - she can't do this with no allies.

The reason for it is apparently the abduction and coercion of two of their praetors, their General and a Centurion - enough to start a war. Perseus could shadow travel back - but it would take at least a week to come and go - and they do not have a week. Any Iris Messaging would be useless - they would think he controlled by Piper.

So they go to sleep, hands tied. Doesn't Octavian see they have bigger fish to fry? Lady Terra, Gaea, is out there - planning to destroy everything. He might as well be on league with her.

Perseus sleeps and has another one of his prophetic dreams. It's a giant - one he doesn't recognize - explaining to Ephialtes why do they need Perseus.

Apparently, to wake up Gaea, they need a mortal son of the Earth and a mortal daughter of the Sea. Daughters of the sea are easy to find - all children of Aphrodite are technically from the sea - but children of the Earth can only be children of Hades or Pluto.

And she tried other options - they tried to sacrifice a son of Demeter and a daughter of Venus Victrix - but it wasn't enough. The power in their blood was too diluted, their connection to life only enough to give Gaea this bare level of awareness that she uses to torture them. To wake up completely, she would need Perseus' blood - Perseus' and Piper's - the strongest daughter of Aphrodite alive.

Gaea voice taunts him from somewhere, telling him to not worry - she took the girl who loves him forever, that Annabeth and Malcolm will no longer be a problem.

The vision changes and shows a spiral staircase near the forum, and Perseus can hear their voices screaming - but he knows there's the place they need to go if they want to find Nico. He is not scared - he went through worse. Perseus has no time to dwell in Gaea's taunts - it's probably just her messing with his mind again.

He wakes up and tells his dreams to Jason. They decide they should go - and take Piper and Hazel - the more involved with this side quest of theirs - with them.

Jason goes first - he breathes underwater, and looking at the giant well, Perseus is almost regretting coming. When he comes back, he tells them he had found something, which turns out to be a Nymphaeum.

The nymph Hagno - who Perseus mentally calls old Hag - and others - the nine nymphs that watched over Zeus with Gaea when he was born - appear and flood the chamber with evil water - they say it's payment - the gods' own them. Perseus can see where Zeus' entitlement comes from.

He starts to panic - he shouldn't have come. He hates water - he is going to drown here, under this muddy water that looks way to much like the muskeg for his liking. Hazel is trying to calm him - with no success because she starts panicking too - she is a child of the sky, after all.

The nymphs begin to drain the three of their power, stealing Jason's control over water, Perseus' control over the earth, Hazel's control over electricity, and Piper's beauty in order to be young again.

Perseus is so tired that he keeps paying for the gods' debts, that he keeps giving and repairing their mistakes - that these people keep throwing their grudges unto them. He just wants to let go - die, finally, but they will just throw their problems to new innocent people.

Because Perseus is innocent. They all are - they are children! This can't keep happening, the gods can't keep throwing their shit onto them! And there's no stopping it - he thought last time he solved everything, but alas, he can't solve every little squabble the gods start.

He helped the demigods and minor gods. And then there are nymphs, dryads, satyrs, fauns, centaurs, spirits, personifications, titans, children of titans, primordials, rivers, monsters. An array of immortal beings who would keep on asking, keep on holding eternal grudges that demigods would pay for.

There is no number of wishes that could ever solve this. They would have to reform the whole Olympus - to be the ones making the decisions. To be the ones to stop sending twelve-year-olds in harrowing death missions.

Maybe, this time, Perseus should become a god. Maybe if he is the one judging, he might be able to help. He might be able to stop the gods from doing stupid decisions that only prejudice their kids.

But what if he can't? What if he becomes one of them? Is he prepared to lose everyone he cares about? He was always a loner - but is he able to leave everyone behind? His friends? His mother?

While Perseus wallows in his own panic and misery, Piper comes up with the idea to funnel all their positive thoughts into the Cornucopia, which releases the positive emotions as clean water. It's lucky they have Hazel and Jason - because Perseus is in a very dark place right now.

As the three release almost all their power into the Cornucopia, the nymphs become young again and spare them, as the power they gave them as a gift, and they restore the four back to full strength, as well as telling them the location of Otis and Ephialtes.

Perseus doesn't take this as an apology. He doesn't think it's enough - the nymphs tortured them for their own sake and act as if it's a favor that they restored them - and he has a grudge.

They took from them - and didn't give anything back. A little bit of information and the powers that are already theirs? The hags steal their powers and give them back - and think this is mercy?

Perseus is going to show them what mercy is like. As soon as they are out of the Nymphaeum, the earth trembles - he makes the whole thing collapse into an opening in the earth. He is sending all of them directly to Hades - they took from him and had the gall to tell him to be grateful.

The others in his group look at him worriedly, like he is going to kill them next. Perseus is okay with that - it's not the first time someone hates him because of what he can do. He tells himself it doesn't hurt.

It's a lie.

They go back to the ship. The sun is rising - Hazel gives the others the bare bones of the story, leaving out the part where Perseus freaked out and killed ten nymphs out of rage.

No one asks why they are so tense - why Perseus stormed to the training arena and didn't left since, why Jason doesn't make eye contact with anyone else, why Piper went to her room in silence.

Jason goes to talk with Perseus later - Percy doesn't want to talk. They spar twice before the son of Hades' relents and cries - he didn't want to kill anyone, he just wanted someone to pay.

Jason tells him no one hates him. That those nymphs were monsters - empty platitudes. Perseus says how much he hates drowning - Jason shares how much darkness scares him sometimes.

Piper comes in halfway and lays down on the floor with them, and shares how it's still hard for her to feel like herself - to look at her body and see a girl. How she hopes one day to have the right parts, to be able to wear what she likes and don't feel like a boy.

Leo is the next to wander in - "Are we sharing traumatic life stories?" - and tells them how much he still feels dumb, inferior to those around him - the way his fire always damned him. Frank comes next - him and the peril of ever dying, the crippling anxiety of a piece of wood.

Will is the last to join in. Will tells them about being the responsible one - how it was hard when Lee lost his arm, when Michael died and he was only thirteen.

He tells them how Lee got depression after Michael died and the one-armed boy couldn't help, couldn't save his brother. Will tells them about how he fears for his twelve siblings - how he is the youngest acting counselor because his only older brother doesn't leave his bed anymore.

They just lay there on the floor, together. Until Hazel appears - she had a vision. Nico has no more time. They thought they had some hours more to mindstorm - but alas, it's time.

Not everyone can go - it's a rescue mission, a stealth one at that. And Leo needs time to steer the ship towards the giants. So Perseus, Jason, and Hazel go after her little brother - and Frank, Leo, Piper, and Will will meet them there.

The trio finds the cage - suspended meters over the air. Hazel uses her powers over energy to bring it down - the metal is so overcharged that is simple for her, while Jason battle the two giant eagles with a mini hurricane.

Hazel frees her brother - who is barely breathing - and it seems too easy. The giants appear - and while they cannot kill Perseus, their onslaught against the other two is immediate.

Perseus fights against Ephialtes while Jason battles Otis. Hazel stands guard over her frère's prone body - no one is taking any more family from her.

It's a sight to go down in the myths - Jason is fighting with his sword - Undisonos - against Otis. His chest keeps emitting a sound - the siren song - which keeps distracting the giant, while they strike against one another.

Perseus is not doing worse - stone spikes appear every time Ephialtes tries to stab him - shadows curl around the giant's throat, strangling it.

Ephialtes taunts Perseus - says Annabeth and Malcolm are already lost, already gone. That this is his legacy - causing the death of his friends. It only serves to push him further.

In the midst of the battle, a hydra appears - and Perseus has no qualms in spearing each of its heads with a stone spike, before burning them with hellish fire, draining his powers to kill Ephialtes before the giant destroys him.

Hazel gets caught in the earth trembling - and passes out by Nico, who has no forces to defend her. It's Jason who ends up defending both of them, after a well-localized jab into Otis sternum.

It's not enough - they start to reform immediately, seeing the lack of a god's help. Perseus - who is sustaining himself into the wall and can feel at least four broken ribs and a twisted ankle - rages. He doesn't stop when Dionysus appears.

Dionysus is not Bacchus - he isn't a mindless drunk. But he is a selfish bastard - and says he will only help if they entertain him enough.

Perseus wants to scream, didn't they entertain the gods enough?! Didn't he die enough for them, for their cushioned, easy lives?! Didn't he do enough?! He lost all his teenage years - his whole life - to keep their asses safe, from Hyperion, Kronos, mythical monsters, his own friends.

Jason and Perseus agree to fight together this time and charge the two - both of them at the same time, both equally about to drop down - but rage fuel both of them.

Perseus is drawing strength from the earth below - the same earth that reforms the giants again and again - while Jason pulls force from the river behind them.

Jason blasts the giants with a wave that can only be compared to a small tsunami causing the fake mountain the two were holding to fall on Ephialtes.

Otis charges the two and Perseus trembles the earth, throwing him into the lake, and the two slash at him - Perseus with his ax, Jason with his sword. Jason then uses the water to keep the dust from reforming.

It's like fighting with an extension of themselves - where Perseus fails to block, Jason appears - when Jason misses a step, Perseus is there to cover him. The earth starts to shake - stronger this time - and they know they are doing this together.

Ephialtes then escapes from the fake mountain and charges the two, but they are keeping up. It's difficult, however - Perseus is drained to the point of exhaustion, and Jason is only going because of the water behind him.

A misstep and Ephialtes almost takes Jason's head off. Perseus is only safe because Gaea needs him - for her sacrifice, for her everything.

But the Argo II appears overhead and blasts the giant with Greek Fire from the cannons. Leo is whooping from the balustrade with sunglasses perched at his nose - Perseus can faintly hear "Fireworks" from Katy Perry blasting from inside the ship, and wonders if he has already lost any of his remaining sanity.

Dionysus considers that the show was entertaining enough, and finishes both giants with his Thyrsus, claiming the victory to himself. Perseus resists the urge to punch him - he is getting way better at this.

Before he leaves, he confirms Ephialtes words - Annabeth and Malcolm will be lost to the weaver - and tells them where to find them.

Back on board, Nico - under the care of Will, who can barely touch the over-energized guy - tells them he was captured by the twin giants as he looked for the Doors of Death.

He tells them he never found the other side - for he could not go into Tartarus - but the earthly side - close to where he was captured - was in the House of Hades - heavily protected by monsters.

Perseus thinks that only he will be able to go into Tartarus - they have to close the Doors both ways, after all. But there's no returning - and no way for him to survive down there.

Will this be his legacy? Dying in an Underworld wasteland, alone? Nico looks at him and must catch what he is thinking, because when everybody leaves the infirmary, Nico holds his wrist.

"Don't do it, Percy-..." He coughs "Please don't do anything stupid. I can't lose you."

"How could I?" Perseus answers "You carrying all the stupid with you. How could you think it was okay to just-..."

"Promise me, Percy" Nico interrupts, as seriously as he can. "I know I did a lot, and you probably hate me..."

"I don't hate you, Di Angelo" Perseus sighs. "I promise you - you'll never lose me okay? I didn't come all this way to save your ass for nothing."

And he leaves, still uncertain. Is it worth it? Could they find a better way? Or does he need to die - over and over again? Were the Fates mad the first prophecy didn't take him?

Annabeth tricks Arachne - and is tricked back by her own hubris against her brother, who keeps telling her to shut up, taunting the already defeated monster - who ends up opening the hole into Tartarus.

They blast a hole into a parking lot - just in time to rescue the children of Athena, who partially already rescued themselves.

"Hey, Wise Girl"

"Hey, Corpse Breath"

Everyone works together to load the statue into the ship. This time, there's two children of Athena. This time, there are ten people in the ship. This time, Nico has never walked into Tartarus.

But in somethings, history never changes: Arachne attaches a thread to Annabeth's weak leg. She tries to bring the child of Athena to the pit with her. But Perseus - who is just behind her - is quicker.

Perseus uses the shadows - with the last of his reserves - to pull Annabeth back, cutting the thread linking her to the pit with his ax. Annabeth is safe - one of her hands holds to the ladder.

But Perseus is not.

He flickers - like a ghost. These were the last of his energies, and he topples backward, into the Pit. A hand holds on to him - Nico. He tries to fly them out - but he is still too weak.

It's time.

"It was always supposed to be that way, wasn't it?"

Nico holds on in despair - he can feel hands holding his calves, trying to push them back - But Perseus is muscular and tall, and there's no one to help.

"No, no, Percy, don't you dare to let go, don't you dare!"

It was always his destiny - the one who sacrifices himself for everyone else. Nico thinks that, if Perseus doesn't ask for his own peace this time, he might ask on his behalf.

"Someone needs to close it from the other side. I am the only one who can."

There's a smile upon his lips - resigned to his fate. There are tears on Nico's eyes. The hand slips.

"You promised!"

He can hear Annabeth screaming, trying to get to them. The floor is too slippery. Nico feels Perseus slipping - the boy flickers again, like a ghost.

"Di Angelo, please"

A figurine of Zeus. A pavilion full of spartoi. Grover telling him stories. A white cell in Olympus. Green eyes flashing black. An invincible demigod against a thousand monsters.

"No, no, I won't fail you, not again!"

A greek with no memories in a toga, a fist punching his face, the warmth of a hug, walking through ruins, his capture.

"Nico, let me go."

Nico's mistakes pilling up, adoration swelling in his chest like a thousand suns. Maybe that's what love feels like.

"No!"

The hand keeps slipping, the Pit pulling him in, and Perseus flickers again - his hand can barely hold on to his ax.

"I see you on the other side"

He falls.

Alone.

Silence. There's a scream caught on Nico's throat - he won't be able to recall the next minutes. Somehow he takes Annabeth back to the ship. He doesn't remember climbing the ladder.

He thinks he wants to jump after him - but restrains himself - it was not the time to play the martyr.

They ask about Perseus, but neither of them can speak - their voices are gone. The parking lot collapse.

Jason keeps asking - if Perseus has shadow travelled, if he called for Blackjack, if he got lost.

"He is gone"

Nico finally answers, because he can't take the questions anymore. They don't understand.

"Gone? Gone where?" Asks Leo, still confused.

"He fell" It's Annabeth, in shock, who replies "He... He fell in the Pit. To save me. Percy fell. He... he's gone. He is in the Pit. Oh, oh my gods Percy is in Tartarus. It's all my fault I can't - I can't, he is gone, gone!"

She starts crying copiously. Malcolm holds her - he is the only one able to do so. Jason falls onto his knees, lost to the world. Piper sits beside him in shock. Will goes overboard and vomits - he looks like he is about to pass out.

Frank supports Hazel as the girl starts crying, trying to breathe and finding no air. Leo sits - there's tears in his eyes, but a determined look in his face. He looks at Nico, as if prompting him.

"He asked us to meet him on the other side." It's everything he needs to say. No one stops crying - but everyone is startled into motion.

"Festus, raise the sails. We've got a brother to save."

They are going to the House of Hades.

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thelioncourts · 4 years ago

Text

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 11722 for chapter nine (9/?); 62773 all together

Rustling from across the room woke Damen up from sleep. When he pried open his eyes, he was met with utter darkness, all except for his extremely familiar clock blinking in red numbers at him, ‘4:11.’ Damen groaned, threw the pillow over his head, and gruffed out, “Are we ever going to wake up at normal hours again or is this life from here on out?”

Nik, who was the source of the rustling, didn’t look up from the duffle bag he was rummaging through when he said, “I mean, maybe. If you take that job, it definitely might be your life from here on out. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure what all a social media manager is supposed to do.”

Damen groaned again.

Last night, after the whirlwind of yesterday’s events, Damen finally managed to tell Nik all that he could. He began where the craziness had, telling of the demon spawn from Etoile’s office leading him to an impromptu meeting where he was offered a job without Nik. Then Damen went on to explain how the same demon spawn was harassing him at the rehearsal party and that, somehow for some reason, led to an interrogation by Laurent who snapped back to normal so fast it gave Damen whiplash. By this point in his storytelling, Nik was already drinking again and Damen still had more to tell. He finished by telling of Laurent not eating, and none of the other models eating either, before telling of the apparent fight between Laurent and his uncle and Laurent’s followed drunken escape and insinuation Damen might try something unseemly.

“Basically,” Damen had ended last night, “I can’t wait to get out of here. And we’re never doing anything with models again. Not ever.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nik had said before downing the remainder of a bottle.

Later, and much more quietly, Nik had asked a still-not-sober-enough Damen, “Were you thinking of taking the job?”

The tone of the question had had Damen looking away from the details on the ceiling to look at his friend. Outwardly, Nik had looked as he always did. Outwardly, Nik might as well have been asking what Damen wanted for breakfast when they woke up to start the day tomorrow. But there was something intoning, something that had Damen wishing he desperately had another drink suddenly.

“Hell no. I like to think I’m a pretty good guy, but working with people like the ones we’ve met? I might go homicidal.”

That had seemed to drive away whatever had possessed the tone of Nik’s voice, but the memory of it — and everything else — flooded Damen’s mind at Nik’s lighthearted jab of the job offering. No part of him wanted to face the Etoile entourage today, but every part of him wanted to get today over with so things could go back to a semblance of normalcy. That, and his refusal to allow Nik to go about this alone, were the only things that made him get up.

Damen stood and stretched, arms high above his head, and his shoulder popped loudly, the joint both grateful and full of protest at the movement. Cool air swept over his sleep-warmed torso and he walked behind Nik to go and begin brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Do I need to wear the suit right now?” he asked around a mouthful of toothpaste. “The show’s not until 10:30.”

“Just bring it along,” Nik said, his voice muffled as his head was half inside his duffle bag now. Then, with something akin to a flourish, he found a lens that must have gotten misplaced at some point and began to clean it. On the bed were already three other lenses, each one shiny and perfect. “They said we can change in the dressing room with the models.”

“Living every guy’s dream,” Damen said. He turned and spit into the sink.

As he only had to bother with bringing the suit in its garment bag, Damen was ready to leave in a matter of minutes. Nik hefted his own bag over his shoulder and shook his hair out of his face. Then he grimaced in Damen’s direction.

“Seriously?”

Damen looked around himself, looked down, looked up, and looked back at Nik and mocked his face. “What?”

“I know I said bring the suit along, but you literally threw on a sweatshirt and...and that’s it.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all bougie hanging around the models,” Damen said, adjusting his own bag where it was knocking at the backs of his knees.

“When did you start saying bougie?” Nik asked in response, laughing now.

“I don’t know. I think the kids are saying it.”

“Seriously, though, can you at least try?”

“I promise, cross my heart and everything, to actually put effort in when we start getting ready. Maybe I’ll even steal some fancy hair gel or something. Deal?” Damen said.

Nik sighed. “Fine. But I want you to put on that gaudy suit and own it. I want you to behave as if Etoile has been the air you’ve breathed for the last twenty-seven years of your life. If I have to be seen out in public with you like this,” he motioned at the frumpled hem of Damen’s sweatshirt, “it’s the least I, and the rest of the patrons of Paris, deserve.”

“Let’s go then,” Damen said, and he shoved at Nik’s back to get him moving. “I need coffee first.”

“No time. We’re going right to the Grand Palais.”

“No time?”

[Continue on AO3]

Nik had been serious about the ‘no time.’ They were lucky that the streets were mostly empty and they could get to the Grand Palais without a fuss, because when they got there it was, in apparently constant Etoile fashion, bustling. They didn’t appear to be the last ones, or even remotely close to being the last ones, because neither of them saw a single model. Instead it was Charls and his crew running around like the world was possibly ending, though if Damen were to be given three guesses as to why, he would bet he’d be ruled correct when he said the others were feeding off of Charls’ energy.

“How long does it take to set up the same shit they set up yesterday?” Damen asked Nik from the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know, but I know that yesterday they were like this for two hours straight. And, as you can tell, the models aren’t even here yet and I don’t know when they will be.”

“Well, they’re clearly preoccupied and you’re probably about to be as well. I’m going to use this time to get myself some kind of caffeine. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“Damen,” Nik sighed.

“Forty minutes,” Damen tried again. “It’ll keep me out of the way and will let you settle in. Do you want anything?”

“No. I don’t need anything adding to my jitters.”

“You’re going to be great, and I’m going to be caffeinated. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Damen turned and exited the very doors he and Nik had just entered through. The sun was low in the sky and the city was dark and its air damp from the river. A quick look at his phone said it was a few minutes nearing five and he was certain there had to be some Parisian café open to the earliest of customers. Logically, he knew he could have searched it on his phone and found an answer, but the city was quiet. Damen opted to simply walk instead, eyes peeled for a storefront alive with lights.

A bell, somewhere in the distance, chimed out with a song, its ringing carrying across the city, the melody travelling with the breeze, and Damen sighed into the chilled air. The bell’s song ended, then came the singular sounds, bass so low he felt it in the pit of his stomach, indicating the time. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He crossed a bridge, stopping for only a moment to peer down into the dark waters of the Seine. The tops of the ripples and waves were golden with streetlight and the last bits of moonlight, but when the ripples settled and the waves fell, it was all pitch black. There was a beauty in its darkness, in the remembrance of the history of a place like this, and it all seemed that much more beautiful when, in the dying of the bell chiming came from just a block away the faint sound of music.

Pushing off of the stone railing of the bridge, Damen followed the music. It got closer, or rather he got closer, as he turned down the first street the rest of the way across the bridge. There, along with the music, were the storefronts alive with lights. There were only a few stores with lights on, but there were enough that Damen could make out the few people out and about as he was in the before-dawn streets of Paris; or, in the case of one gentleman he saw, still out from the evening. One front was a bar, though it appeared to be in the quick process of closing for the day, the sign turned on the door and all the lights off except for the one overhead a bartender at a register counting the drawer. Another was a bakery, its inside in a similar state as the bar in regard to a singular man, only this man was dusted with flour and rolling some kind of dough on the flat surface of the counter. But there, almost the storefront at the corner of the end of the street, was a café.

Coffee shop would probably be a more appropriate term for this place. As Damen came right upon it, he immediately wanted to go inside. It was a hole-in-the-wall looking place, no big signs outside announcing its name, no fancy gold seats like the café closer to the hotel, and the only thing Damen could think was cozy. Perhaps that came too from the small, intimate space inside, only one couch at the window and two other seats possible to sit in, or perhaps it came from the warm color of the walls or the bookshelf, however small, perched above the seat nearest the door. Or perhaps, as expected, it was the delicious smell of coffee wafting from underneath the door, the two baristas inside hard at work.

There wasn’t an open sign on the door, but there was a person inside, sitting comfortably on the couch and hidden in a book. The worst thing that could happen was the baristas told Damen they weren’t open quite yet and he turned and went on his way. But, not wanting to overlook such a place, he pushed open the door, its own little bell ringing out, clear and high.

“Are you open?” he asked in French, pitching his voice lower as to not disturb the reader on the couch. Both baristas nodded yes, one smiling wide, and Damen bid them both a good morning. “I’m glad. It’s just cold enough out there I need the caffeine to both get through the day and to warm my hands.”

He ordered his usual, a simple espresso shot, and it came to him quickly in a small white cup, the liquid hot and welcome.

“What are the chances?” a voice sounded out from behind him quite suddenly and Damen, who had been attempting to figure out which of the two available seats he should take, nearly tripped over a chair leg in his attempt to acknowledge the person whose face had been in the book the entire time.

There, on the couch, was Laurent.

He looked the least like the Laurent that Damen had seen yet. He looked, for lack of a better word, cozy, like the shop. His lithe form was drowning in a baby blue sweatshirt that was plain in everything except for the lettering going vertically up his left side that said ‘Givenchy.” His legs, which were curled up close to his chest, were swathed in simple black, the sweats high quality but unnamable, and on his feet were simple white tennis shoes. The blond of his hair was loose and spilling over one shoulder and the blue of his sweatshirt made his eyes pop, the color of the it reflecting in them the same way the lights of the city had reflected on the dark water of the Seine.

The sight struck Damen somewhere deep in his chest and he became all too aware of two things. The first was that this was the first time Damen had seen Laurent in something not meant to be on a runway, for even his clothing when Damen and Nik had ran into him outside of his apartment all those days ago would have looked perfectly in place on a stage; his face was cleared of makeups, his hair free of products, and he was dressed as twenty-somethings did when dressing casually (minus the price tag of the sweatshirt which had to be over two thousand). The second thing was that he looked more beautiful than ever, as though the comforts of a sweatshirt and tennis shoes softened him into something Damen was terrified to reach out and touch because he might break him.

“I mean, honestly,” Laurent continued, as if totally unaware of Damen’s crisis at hand, “what are the chances?”

“Laurent,” Damen said. Laurent’s name left his mouth like the first gasp of air after being underwater too long and Damen cleared his throat, bringing his espresso closer to his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Unexpectedly, Laurent shifted on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for Damen to join him. He looked smaller like that, curled on the sofa with a worn cushion nestled behind him. On the stage, he looked like a god, like Apollo, swimming in gold and larger than life. It was the angle, the length of his legs, Damen reminded himself, but it didn’t change the fact that it was how it felt. But here he looked — Damen didn’t finish the thought. Instead, after a moment’s hesitancy, he sat down.

“I’m hiding,” Laurent provided, just as Damen was settling. “I don’t have to be at the Grand Palais until six-thirty, but, as per usual, I was told I would not be given any food or anything to drink this morning. I can forgo food, but caffeine is a necessity. Not getting it will only lead to a massive headache that will put me in a murderous mood. This café is far enough away I doubted anyone from the show would wander over. Yet, here you are.”

Damen didn’t respond to that right away. Instead he said, “Your normal mood isn’t murderous? Gods, I’d hate to see you get to that point then.”

It was said jokingly, but as soon as the words left Damen’s mouth, they brought with them an onslaught of memories from only last night, each one so concrete in detail because of the closeness in time. Laurent’s scathing interview after Nicaise had insulted Damen to the nth degree, his clenched fists as he talked quietly with his uncle, the ease in which he told Damen, a smile on his face and everything, that if he wanted to get assaulted he would have just gone to a party, the way he didn’t want help, didn’t trust help, to even get across the street.

As if reading his mind, Laurent spoke in a voice Damen had yet to hear from him. It wasn’t a quiet voice necessarily, something that may have been expected in this context, but it was absolute in its apology. It made Damen dizzy.

“I’m sorry about last night. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember enough to know you helped me to not get ran over by a car, despite whatever insulting things I had no doubt said to your face.”

“You seemed stressed yesterday. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it. But I am sorry. I’m normally much more controlled than that,” Laurent said. He fell back further into the cushions, his blue sweatshirt pooling around his arms. It looked like it was almost too big for him with the way it fell down to cover his hands.

“What made last night different?” Damen asked.

“This and that,” Laurent said vaguely. He took a sip out of the cup in his hand and Damen watched with amusement as Laurent’s mouth puckered and he squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out the taste that way. Sensing Damen’s eyes on him, hearing the small chuckle he had let out, Laurent brought the cup away from his lips to say, “I didn’t get my usual additives of milk and sugar. It’s not exactly pleasant.”

“That’s just espresso?” Laurent nodded and took another painful sip. “Why not get something you like? This looks like torture for you.”

“It is. Very much so. But, as I told you, I came here because I knew they wouldn’t allow me anything once I arrived at the show. I couldn’t make it obvious I had anything though, thus, a disgusting, bitter, black espresso shot is what I get.”

“But what —”

“As I do remember telling you this last night, it’s all in relation to not eating leading up to a show. Even a simple cup of coffee or latte could lead to bloating. We don’t even drink water for the same reason. Water weight, and all that,” Laurent said.

“That seems excessive.”

“You look like a guy that likes to workout,” Laurent said, and before he continued the sentence he downed the rest of his espresso in a quick gulp, like a child trying to take medicine before the taste registered. “What’s the best way to show muscle definition?”

“Dehydration,” Damen answered quickly, then it was his turn to make a face. “But it’s not healthy to do, especially often.”

“You can tell my uncle that.”

Damen allowed the silence to speak for him then. Outside, the city was coming more to life with every passing minute. Damen could see shop owners arriving and slipping inside their businesses, ready to begin the day. He could see men in suits, harried and on the phone already, walking down the street with purpose unbecoming of such early hours still. He could feel those blue eyes watching him watch the city.

Then Laurent said, the tone to his voice much more familiar, “Tell me you’re not wearing that. Or, if you are, tell me you’re going to not associate with anyone that is part of Etoile. Not a one of us has the time to explain why we’re dealing with obvious amateurs.”

“We’re wearing the exact same thing,” Damen said, looking down at the sweatshirt and sweatpants protecting his body from the chilled air.

“No. I’m wearing Givenchy, steamed free of wrinkles. You’re wearing —” Laurent trailed, “Champion? Or is that outfit from a convenience store?”

“First of all, this is all Nike. Second of all, it was all a gift from Nike leading up to the release of their new winter stuff last year.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Laurent said, sounding anything but. “I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of fame. Can I get your autograph?”

“You’re really telling me this mood isn’t murderous?” Damen asked and, gods help him, he was laughing.

“This is me being quite pleasant, I assure you.”

“Well, if it qualms any of your worries about your dear status here in Paris, I’ll have you know that your uncle had Charls create a suit just for me to wear at the show today and it, direct quote from the note inside of the bag, ‘will bring out the warmth of my skin.’ Your embarrassment can be staved yet another day,” Damen said.

Chin perched on his own hand, Laurent scanned Damen up and down. Then his lips quirked up, just at the corners, and it was suddenly far too hot in this sweatshirt. “I bet Charls is having a grand time fitting you. He’s not accustomed to people quite so —” and then Laurent stopped himself.

Instinctually, Damen leaned in closer. “So what?”

“So culturally simple,” Laurent finished.

Damen leaned back, and rubbed at his neck. He hadn’t meant to —

Just then, Laurent’s phone vibrated on the table in front of them and Damen watched as Laurent grabbed it and silenced the sound.

“And with that, I must be off. Charls will have a coronary if I’m even a minute late.”

Copying Laurent’s earlier move, Damen quickly downed the rest of his espresso. “I’ll walk with you. Since we’re going to the same place.”

They brought their cups to the bin near the front where workers could later gather them and then they were off, the bell to the shop ringing behind them, its fading followed by a flash of light from inside.

Outside, Damen had to sidestep several people to keep up with Laurent’s confident stride. Every moment, a new onslaught of cars or pedestrians or even busses seemed to be arriving in this area of the city, each one adding to the growing chaos. With a kind of fascination, Damen watched as people getting out of cars lugged heavy camera equipment, watched as people getting off of one of the busses — the oldest of them not possibly older than twenty-five — descended its steps in insane shoes, watched as garment bags were carried this way and that by undescriptable people.

“Is this all for fashion week?” Damen asked.

“Where have you been? It’s been like this since three days ago,” Laurent answered. The sun was finally over the horizon.

“I’ve been at rehearsals and parties and whatnot all for Etoile. I didn’t realize Paris itself got like this.”

“We’re the fashion capital of the world. Every year gets more intense, more insane, than the last.” They were crossing the bridge over the Seine now. “Just be thankful you haven’t been assaulted by the influencers. Oh, wait. You are one.”

“I am not,” Damen said, annoyance heavy in an instant. “And what do you mean assaulted by them?”

“Don’t you follow the tabloids? Every year, we get more and more famous Instagram stars or YouTube stars or whatever the newest craze is that think they belong in our front rows. Or, in some awful cases, that think they belong in our shows. And they show up, acting like the next best thing whilst the rest of us, who have worked for what we have, bristle at their lack of critical thinking. It’s quite fun. The most fun I have is bitching with the rest of the Etoile group over the one thing we all have in common: the hatred of entitlement.”

Once again, Damen chose one particular thing to latch onto. “You can have fun then? You’re not entirely incapable?”

Laurent’s lips quirked again. “I’m not above setting security on you.”

They finished the rest of their excursion to the Grand Palais in silence, Laurent’s eyes ahead and Damen’s unable to decide if they wanted to look at the city or at Laurent more. The closer they got to the building, the more evident it became that there was a line forming outside the entrance, and an official one at that. It was roped off by velvet ropes, ones that kept the direct walkway out of public reach. When directly in front of the building, let in by Laurent’s face only, Damen watched the frenzied crowd that only continued growing.

Damen felt like an athlete awaiting his time to take to the field.

“Does this not bother you?’ he asked as they ducked in the door.

“I’ve done many of these. Even if it did, I’d be long used to it by now.”

They were walking right through, not being given any attention from the bustling that rushed over them with a wave of anxiousness. It only added to the feeling low in Damen’s chest.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Damen said. He narrowly avoided running into a man pushing a cart with boxes stacked double of his entire height.

“It wasn’t a no either,” Laurent said.

Somehow they had made it all the way to the elaborate stage from yesterday. It looked just as magical, just as identical to the Hall of Mirrors, as it had the day before and Damen was still floored at the dedication to its artistry. Charls was on the stage, shaky fingers pointing people this way and that way and, like time slowed, Charls turned and, catching sight of Laurent, made a noise near inhuman.

“There you are!” the designer said, bustling quickly down the stairs.

“Yes, Charls. And I’m earlier than you asked me to be. As I always am.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Charls fretted, “I’m just always so relieved to see you walk through the door. It calms me tremendously.”

“I’m glad,” Laurent said. He sounded like he genuinely meant it.

“Good luck today,” Damen said as Charls began to lead Laurent away, back toward where the dressing rooms were far behind the stage.

“Thank you,” Laurent said curtly, his tone much crisper with just those two words alone than it had been the entire morning. Charls didn’t seem to be paying them any mind, his own thoughts far too focused on getting Laurent in the dressing room quickly and seamlessly, but Laurent seemed hyper-aware of Charls’ presence in that instant. Then he was gone.

For the next hour, Damen roamed. He felt more comfortable doing so than he had yesterday, and it was fascinating to watch everything behind the scenes come into place if he were being honest. If he had thought the sessions that had been arranged in those earliest weeks had been busy, or if he had thought the dress rehearsal yesterday had been busy, those were nothing in comparison to what was happening today. Models were arriving entirely un-modeled up, some of them, but not many, unrecognizable with their undone faces and hair and normal clothes, and a few were stopped at the door by Vannes who snatched beverages from a handful of them, mumbling something in French that Damen couldn’t discern from where he was standing, but that sounded unkind. At one point there was yelling from somewhere in the back, and the set designers were spending equal amounts of time running between the expensive seats set up for the crowd and the atual set itself, doing the most mundane things like painting a bolt on the back wall, near the bottom, gold.

At seven-thirty, the doors opened to let in the second round of crew members, this group consisting of the lighting and technology company, a catering crew that Damen noted wouldn’t be providing food to the models, and, unexpectedly Damen’s possible new boss.

Etoile’s creator was dressed the part for a man that owned a modeling and clothing design company. His suit dripped with money, from the quality of the material to the gold fitted to his cufflinks, his belt, his lapel, and even the buckles of his shoes. But other than the gold, it was a tame suit, predominantly a deep red with flashes of white to compliment the gold. At the entrance, he stopped and talked to Vannes, the two of them speaking lowly. Then the man gave a nod and kept walking, walking right into a yell of cheers at his arrival, led by Charls and several of the honey-eyed boys that would be walking first.

A tap on the shoulder stole Damen’s attention.

“How was your coffee?” Nik asked, and even though he had just tapped Damen’s shoulder, he was already fiddling with the camera in his hands.

“Good,” Damen said. He reached out and made Nik stop moving, pushing the camera to Nik’s chest. “Laurent was there.”

“Why would you say that to me? Can you not see that I’m already at the point I’m near crawling out of my own skin? There’s no reason to add to my stress.”

“It was fine,” Damen said, laughing. “I didn’t tell you that to stress you out, I just told you because it was unexpected.”

“He didn’t kill you so I suppose it wasn’t too bad,” Nik said. “And whispers are that he’s in a tolerable mood today. The whispers also say that can change faster than a strike of lightning, but we’re all hoping for the best.”

“His uncle did just arrive so I wouldn’t put that thought too far back in your mind.”

“Great.”

Outside, though it was incredibly muffled, the bells Damen had heard on his earlier excursion began to chime again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

“Oh heavens,” Damen and Nik heard from the stage and there was Charls again, looking ready to faint at the next thing that made him startle. “Attention, everyone, attention!” he called out, his voice ringing from the glass ceiling and the multitudes of mirrors in the room. “It is eight in the morning which means the doors will be opening in one hour for the show. That means it is time. It is time to get the models makeuped and dressed, it is time to test the sound and the lights, it is time to run through every scenario in which something could go drastically wrong and ensure we have a solution in place. This is it. The press will be let in first and that will tell the world what we are doing here today. Places, everyone!”

“They told me we could go get ready now alongside the models,” Nik said, hanging his camera around his neck.

“Most of the models have been here since before seven. What have they been doing the last hour?”

“Warming up. They had them doing stretches and exercises to loosen their joints and get their legs ready for walking and complete stability or whatever Herode was rambling about.”

Damen pursed his mouth in thought. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Nik asked.

“I’d like to see you get up there and walk across that stage in heels and not fall on your face,” Damen said.

“I bet you would like to see that,” Nik joked, and then dodged a thwack from Damen. And for a brief moment, surrounded by gold and glass instead of the vastness of the ocean, they were twelve again, roughhousing their way to the back room before quick composure had them standing upright and tall.

The door to the dressing room was shut, but the noise from inside was loud and brought with it a spike of something akin to anxiety.

“Let’s see what you’ve gotten us into,” Damen said.

The dressing room was, of course, not like a standard dressing room, because Etoile did nothing simply standard, not even its behind-the-scenes stuff. Everything was white, stark white to be precise; the walls were unblemished, not a color in sight, and everything else was white as well, as if it was saying ‘Look at these models. Their beauty is all the decoration needed.’ Lining the left wall was a seemingly endless line of vanities, each adorned with a mirror dotted with bright lights for the makeup artists, and several models were in the chairs, getting their makeup and hair done. To the right were two separate stations, one being full-body mirrors and a stand for models to wait on as the design team fiddled with their clothing and spent excessive amounts of time making sure there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight, a tear the width of a strand of hair, and so on, and the other station was a finalizing station near the door with an empty chair was waiting for Laurent’s uncle to make sure everything was approved before he sent them out. Near the back of the room were clothing racks stuffed with clothing, some of the garment bags almost exploding with how much fabric they contained, and that’s where Damen could spot Charls, Vannes, and Herode.

In the makeup chair closest to the door, Ancel was getting his red hair teased to a high, the fiery strands cascading over one shoulder like a crimson waterfall. When he saw Damen and Nik in his peripheral vision, he turned just a little more and winked before saying, “Can I just say thank you to whoever brought the eye candy for us? For so long we’ve been the only eye candy in the room, and I’m not sure many of us are each other’s tastes, but these two make a majority of us very happy.”

Nik held back a groan of something, Damen could practically feel the metaphoric grip he had on it, but Damen, much better with this kind of attention, walked on in and said in response, “We aim to please,” and Ancel let out a noise that could have practically been a purr.

Over on one of the stools the models were getting dressed at, some already draped in fabrics, others getting refitted due to something gone wrong, was Aimeric who was getting sandals laced all the way up to his knees by a frazzled looking woman who undid the knots at least four times, clearly unhappy with how they looked.

Several other models were in the expected places. Damen spotted a sandy-haired boy with a beautiful curl to the ends of his hair — Erasmus, Damen thought his name was — getting a pair of pants hemmed by a design intern, and near him was a dark-haired boy with a hand on Erasmus’ bare shoulder, the hold almost protective in the curl of the boy’s fingers. A boy with skin the shade of chestnut was getting glittery body oil with gold flecks applied to his chest, the brush being used large and round and moving in perfect clockwise circles. Near the back, one model was stripped down to almost nothing, standing patiently whilst Vannes, now moved from her conversation with Charls and Herode, was scanning the clothing racks for the right bag.

“I didn’t know they let animals back here,” came the unmistakable voice of the devil Nicaise who, with strength unbefitting his size, shoved past Damen and Nik, going as far as to walk between them, breaking the trance of watching the organized chaos of model-magic coming to life. He was dressed like a model, unsurprisingly, his small form bathed in a deep red dress with sheer sleeves covered in sparkling gold. The red brought out the rosiness of his cheeks, a sign of the youth still there, and strewn throughout his hair were similar gold specks, each one flawlessly places as though he was naturally as shimmering as he appeared.

“Gods above, I’m going to go take some pictures of everyone getting ready,” Nik mumbled, a furrow between his eyebrows made only deeper with every second Nicaise stood there, a hand on his tiny hip.

“Yeah, they let us out into society sometimes to see how civilized people work,” Damen said, not missing a beat. Nik was already halfway across the room, raising a hand to Jeurre who was talking with his nose upturned to a cowering boy helping set up drinks and food.

“Where’s your collar with your owner’s number on it? I’d like to call and report you missing. Maybe they’ll send out animal control,” Nicaise said.

“Nicaise,” came yet another unmistakable voice and there, in one of the chairs, was Laurent again. He must have been blocked by his makeup artist when Damen walked in, that was the only way Damen would have missed him. He was wearing a white robe, one tied loosely at the waist, coming down only below his knees, and at the legs it was falling open some, revealing one thigh the same color as the robe. His eyes were shut, the makeup artist applying delicate strokes of gold on the space of his eyelid. To allow the makeup artist access, Laurent’s head was tilted back so his eyes were higher, but it only showed Damen the elegant column of his neck leading to the sharp lines of his collarbone. “No one needs you back here antagonizing. Wait until after the show.”

“Gold washes you out. Has anyone ever told you that?” Nicaise asked, his attention switching from Damen to Laurent quickly.

Eyes still closed, Laurent smiled. “I’ll make sure to avoid gold in the future then.”

“I think gold looks good on you,” Damen said. Nicaise’s attention quickly switched back.

“Well we’re all aware of your lack of taste so that’s not surprising in the least.”

“What are you doing back here, Nicaise?” The line of gold on Laurent’s eyelid had been exaggerated in the minute they’d been talking, the thin line of the wing extended far out beyond his actual eye.

“Watching your final show come to close,” Niciase said. “I figure this is the closest I’ll ever get to watching something like an execution.”

The makeup artist put away the liquid gold she’d been using and reached now for a brown contouring stick. With practiced precision she made a line underneath the dip of each of Laurent’s cheekbones then grabbed a rounded brush. She blended the brown line in until it was smudged and faded, appearing as a natural shadow that emphasized the fine structure of Laurent’s face, made him look sharper and more untouchable.

“Just think,” Laurent started, “in a few years you’ll be in my exact position. I suppose it is good that you witness this.”

Nicaise flushed immediately at the words, the color all the way at his ears, and it matched the blush the makeup artist was now applying to the tops of Laurent’s cheeks.

“I’m never going to be like you,” Nicaise said, and the venom with which he spit those words out had Damen feeling as though he was hearing something he wasn’t supposed to be hearing.

“No?”

“No, I’m going to be better than you,” Nicaise said. “I’ll be better than you in every way.”

“I hope you are,” Laurent said.

“You’re intolerable,” Nicaise said, ears still red and venom still on his tongue. “I’m leaving.”

“Yes, I’m sure my uncle will want you right next to him one last time. I’ll see you after the show, alright?”

Nicaise, shoving past Damen again and, even though Nik wasn’t there, stepping on his foot, said over his shoulder, “I hope you fall flat on your face,” and then he was gone.

Laurent’s eyelashes, now darkened with mascara, were incredibly long. They rested on the blushed apples of his cheeks, the black of them a drastic contrast to his pale skin, but it was their length that had Damen staring. He hadn’t anticipated Laurent opening his eyes though, hadn’t anticipated what a lining of gold and a darkening of his lashes could do to the blue of his eyes. They made eye contact in the mirror and, for an illicit moment, Damen felt the electric shock of want hit him, felt the desire to see if Laurent’s golden hair felt as silk to the touch as it appeared.

“You still haven’t changed,” Laurent said. “I do hope you weren’t lying about embarrassing us all.”

“I’m getting ready to put my suit on right now, thank you,” Damen said, finding his voice. “I was actually looking for a place to change.”

Laurent hummed, the noise sounding near amused. “We don’t have places to change. We simply change.”

It made sense. Of course, Damen hadn’t been quite honest when he said he was looking for a place to change because he was mostly coming up with an excuse to not sound as winded as he felt, but thinking on it now...yes, he thought, taking a cursory glance around the room to the models in nearly nothing a they got fitted, there wouldn’t be a place to change.

“I promise no one will bite. Actually,” Laurent contemplated, “Ancel might. But everyone else is harmless.”

Nik had hung their bags near the back of the room, both off to the side as to not get mixed in with the models’ things, and Damen could see his hanging there, the note Charls had left on it visible from even this distance.

“I’m not shy,” Damen said. “I was trying to avoid having you fall desperately in love with me. But I guess there’s no help for you now.”

“My delicate sensibilities,” Laurent started, his voice superficially whiny, near mocking. Then he stood from the chair and began to untie his robe. “It’s as though I’ve never seen anyone in minimal clothing.”

The robe fell.

Damen hadn’t lied when he said he wasn’t shy; in Greece, he grew up wearing hardly any clothing, his adventurous self far too busy spending as much time in the ocean as humanly possible. And even when he wasn’t in the ocean, he was usually right by it, lounging outside at his family’s home in nothing but a pair of shorts or walking the shops that lined the water in the same thing. He wasn’t arrogant, or oblivious, enough either to not be aware that part of his and Nik’s following came from the lack of clothing Damen seemed to spend most of his time donning (or not donning). After all, the forever-loading comment section on every photo of fire emojis or the water dripping emoji or the panting-face emoji told him that.

Other people’s nakedness had never bothered him either. One didn’t bed as many people as Damen had in his lifetime and were bothered by nudity. But Damen was used to expecting it, was used to others making a show of it. His bed partners usually tried to be alluring with the way they lifted shirts over their heads, the way they revealed inch by inch of skin -- unless it was a quickie in an airport bathroom or something. Laurent didn’t do that; the robe simply fell, pooling on the floor in a puddle of satin white, and leaving Laurent in nothing but an equally satined, and poor excuse for, underwear that came up high on his hips as to not clash with the high slit in one singular pant-leg of his runway outfit that showed just enough skin to be considered temptation.

But Laurent wasn’t one of his bed partners.

That didn’t mean Damen didn’t want to know if his skin felt just as smooth as the satin of the robe now on the floor. It looked like it would.

Unbothered, Laurent walked over to one of the stands. Though all the models were each in similar states of undress, Laurent drew eyes to him as he walked, drew eyes as he accepted one of the designers hands to stand by the full-length mirrors. Damen could see Laurent’s face in the mirror, could see the shadows of his eyelashes again as he was looking down and talking to the same designer. Damen could see his ass which was near enough to short circuit his brain.

Across the room, Nik called for him.

“Please get dressed,” Nik said, his voice having taken on a near pleading tone.

“I was getting ready to.”

“No, you were getting ready to do or say something stupid to Laurent who, unaware of the fact that you have no ability to not stare at every beautiful blond you, stripped down to nothing in front of you,” Nik said. He shoved the garment bag in Damen’s hands.

“He’s —” Damen started.

“Don’t finish that sentence. I can guess what you’re going to say.”

They were somewhat behind the clothing racks, the most privacy offered in this room, and Damen, without hesitancy, ripped his sweatshirt over his head and shucked off his sweatpants in a matter of seconds, leaving him too in his underwear which was a nice tight pair of black briefs. Nik began to do the same, less quickly than Damen, and that’s when a wolf-whistle reached their ears.

“Now they’re giving us a show,” Ancel said and immediately half of the room was looking at them.

“I’m going to kill myself or them,” Nik muttered only loud enough for Damen to hear and he was unzipping the garment bag with enough force to nearly break the zipper. “I can’t decide.”

“Just ignore them,” Damen muttered back, holding in a breath of laughter, as Ancel began to have a very loud, and very graphic conversation about Damen or Nik or both’s cocks like they weren’t even in the room.

Nik’s suit was as he said it would be, black, black, black. It was nicely made, the material Etoile quality, but it was simplistic, all neat and straight lines, no embroidering, no odd tie, no anything. It was one of Damen’s favorite suits he’d seen because it did what he wanted outfits to do and that was highlight the person, not the clothing itself.

Damen’s suit was a little more complicated. The first step was a white dress shirt which was just a size too tight, forcing Damen to leave more than a few buttons undone at the top. The second step was the pair of red dress pants, ones that ended right above his ankles and had a perfectly straight crease down the central part of each leg. The second step were the shoes, white and shiny and blessedly left without decoration. The fourth step was a gold and red vest, one that accentuated the width of his shoulders. Lastly, it was finished with a red suit jacket with gold cufflinks identical to the ones Laurent’s uncle was wearing. It did bring out the warmth of his skin.

“I want your suit,” Damen said, pulling and adjusting the lapels.

“Too bad.”

“Alright, everyone!” Charls’ wobbling voice called out. If Damen had thought the man had looked stressed earlier, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. He looked sickly, white with a yellowed hue, red bright eyes, and a face that said it may end up over a trash can at any moment to expel anything and everything in his body. “It is nearing nine which means the doors are opening. Final touches will be made to the models’ faces and hair shortly. Photographers, it’s time to begin settling in where the show will take place, ensuring your positions are secured. We’re counting on you to capture the artistry that are our models, are these pieces of clothing, are the Regency. Everyone else…” he trailed dramatically, “we shall see each other on the other side.”

“That’s my cue,” Nik said. “And yours.”

“Let’s go, bigshot,” Damen started, but just as they began to walk, a hand reached out and clasped around Damen’s wrist.

He didn’t know her by name, but he knew she was a hairstylist, the same one that had been teasing Ancel’s hair up to a high and in a quiet voice she asked, “Can I do your hair? I promise it won’t take long. Your curls.”

“They need artfully tousled!” another stylist called over her shoulder.

“Yeah, Damen, get your curls artfully tousled,” Nik said.

“I’ll do it, but just so I stay out of your way since you’ll yell if you start to get all extra stressed.”

Over the girls excited squeals, Nik said, “Sure, that’s why,” and he threw a quick look to where Laurent was still on the stand by the full-length mirrors getting his golden corset pulled tighter and tighter.

The girl who had asked, Tilda, was practically skipping as she followed Damen who sat down in one of the open vanity seats. Without another word, she opened one of the drawers of the vanity they were in front of and pulled out three different bottles, each one gold like the everything else and Damen wondered momentarily if the brand they bought was purposefully gold, if it was coincidence, or, worse, if Etoile took their usual brand and put it into gold cans and jars to fit the aesthetic. He wouldn’t put it past them.

“I’m going to keep it quite simple,” Tilda began, grabbing a spray bottle off of the vanity’s top. “First I’m going to wet your hair, then I’m going to run this mousse through it. After that I’ll apply a heat protectant and blow dry those curls to a voluminous fluff, and finish it with a smoothing oil. Shouldn’t take any longer than ten minutes.”

She kept her hands perfunctory as they carded through his curls, at first turning them into a mess of frizz and uncontrollable poofiness. Then came the spritzes of water, dampening Damen’s hair but not soaking it. Just as she said, she first squirted the mousse into her hand, the smell of it light and the puff of the whiteness growing after exiting the spray can, and she ran it through until it had dissolved and sunken in. Next came the blow dryer that had Damen squinting his eyes, catching only brief glimpses of himself in the mirror. Last was the oil that Tilda ran through the ends of his hair, taming the strands that didn’t want to cooperate with the rest of the hair.

“What do you think?” she asked him and, if he were to tell her the truth, he’d tell her that it didn’t look that much different and that’s why he liked it. All that work seemed to do was tame the curls into a purposefully messed up, bedhead kind of look.

But before he could tell Tilda so, Laurent said, “I think he’s in my seat.”

Damen turned around in the chair. One of his curls fell over his eyes. Laurent was dressed in the outfit he’d walked in yesterday, missing only the crown which couldn’t be put on until they finished his hair. But everything else was perfectly done, from the makeup on his face to the golden shoes on his feet. The corset made him look impossibly small, like Damen could put both his hands on either side of those ribs and his fingers would touch. He looked sharp, untouchable, unobtainable, and like something out of a dream.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Damen said, pushing himself up to stand. “But if it means anything, I can’t embarrass you. I told you I’d clean up.”

“You look like one of Etoile,” Laurent said. He sounded displeased still.

“Hair looks good,” Ancel said, strolling by, heels clicking. “So does your chest hair.”

Damen snorted a laugh then tried to cover it with a cough as Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Right, sorry. Your seat.”

Maybe it was in imitation of the designer that had helped Laurent on the stand, maybe it was the corset that had to be uncomfortable, maybe it was the heels on Laurent’s shoes that had him nervous the other would trip, but Damen held out a hand for Laurent to help him into the seat. Laurent’s eyes narrowed more at the gesture, now directed at Damen’s outstretched hand. Then, of all things he could have done, he took it.

“Don’t you have to find a seat in the back of the show or something?” Laurent asked.

Tilda, holding back an obvious giggle and quite accustomed to Laurent clearly, began to brush out his long blond hair, holding it up so it draped over her arm, a Dali melting clock in person.

Exiting the dressing room, it didn’t take long for Damen to spot Nik. As the lights weren’t dimmed yet, Nik’s black suit stood out greatly where he positioned on the floor near the right side of the stage. In current-expected Nik fashion, he was fiddling with buttons and settings and Damen couldn’t wait for this to be done and over with so Nik would go back to actually enjoying what he did.

“Hey,” Damen said, getting Nik’s hyper-focused attention to switch over for even a minute. “Where am I sitting?”

“Vannes said all of Etoile was sitting together over there.” Nik pointed to the left side of the stage and the group of seats clustered right there, each one with a name tag indescribable from this distance on it.

“I’m not exactly part of Etoile.”

“You’re not exactly not part of it either. I’d check over there first.”

In the second row, right where the Etoile section ended and the rest of the seats began, was Damen’s name in the same fancy script that had adorned the garment bags. Damianos Vallis. There were six more rows behind his seat, each one curling around to meet at the other side of the stage, like an elongated horseshoe, and some of the seats were already full, predominantly with journalists who had gotten in with press passes, a few working the old fashioned way with a notebook and pen and a rest working with electronic devices.

Not knowing what else to do, Damen took his seat. He spent the next half hour scrolling through his Instagram, liking comments, liking photos, and even uploading a photo onto his Instagram story of his white shoes and the location tag of ‘Paris, France.’ Then, in an instant, it seemed like everyone invited was arriving at once, voices and excitement filling the air. Every person entering was dressed in something made to be worn during a fashion week. Damen wondered, watching an old woman draped in a green dress and covered with a, what had to be real, fur coat that fell to her ankles, how much money was in this room alone. Around him the seats began to be taken over, conversations occurring in a multitude of languages, many of which Damen knew but couldn’t process when happening all at once.

Two rows behind Damen, a group of guys around his age sat down, one of them, the one with all the attention of the others, was definitely wearing some of Kanye West’s strange shoes, and he looked familiar; it didn’t take Damen too long to recognize where he knew him from. The guy popped up on Damen’s on Instagram ‘explore’ page, a traveller that did inane giveaways like cars and iPhones all for followers. Damen rolled his eyes and focused back to the stage.

He did so with great timing. The rest of Etoile’s members were finding their seats all around him. First he saw Vannes and Herode taking their seats, leaving Charls alone in the back which seemed like a questionable move if he were being honest. Then he saw Nicaise saunter in, his head high, and his eyes never leaving a certain point of the stage as if waiting for someone. There were others Damen recognized, but didn’t know by name, like the set designers and the board of members Laurent’s uncle had mentioned at times, but none of them stood out, except for all the red they were wearing. It must have been coordinated for all of Etoile’s group to wear red.

At long last, the man himself came onto the stage. The lights dimmed, causing a few people in the crowd to squeal as if they had never had lights dim on them before, and the only bright light was a central one on the stage. Laurent’s uncle was a commanding presence, even when alone on a stage. Actually, with the spotlight making the gold of his outfit shimmer, he looked even more commanding. His voice, when it rang out, was strong.

“Welcome, all,” he began, and like with the lights, a few squeals pricked at Damen’s eardrums at the first sound he made. “I thank you all for coming. This is Etoile’s tenth Paris Fashion Week, a milestone in this company’s own life. In those ten years, we have accomplished so much. Our design team is world-renowned for its creativity, for its grace, for, as some of the bolder tabloids have said, its ability to make even the plainest of models look deserving of worship. Speaking of our models, they have also helped mould Etoile into what it has become today. Our models are sought out by all. Did you know that, between all of our models, someone from Etoile has graced Vogue in over seventy countries and have been in a total of three hundred and ten magazines? How extraordinary.” The entire crowd began to clap and cheer and Laurent’s uncle took it all in with grace, the smile on his face real and too humble for a man responsible for all of this. “I don’t want to keep you all as I know you’re here for the outfits and models and not for me talking your day away. Without further adieu, I give you Etoile’s spring line for Paris Fashion Week.”

Before the rest of the lights went out, Damen saw Nik across the way, his camera blocking half of his face. Then —

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice started, its pitch low and breathy, its French accented heavily. “The French Revolution began in 1789. We, the people of France, had grown tired of the disparages between our King and ourselves. There was struggle, and pain, but we emerged victorious from the battles and slowly began to make our country what it is today through hard work and dedicated leadership that focused on bettering each citizen. Now, the great places, like Versailles, are for the people, just as they were always by the people. Though we relish each day in our freedom, we keep the beauty of the past alive by embracing it through every step we take in our great country. Today, we bring the beauty and elegance of that timet to you. Please welcome Etoile and its spring line entitled The Regency.”

Around Damen, the crowd was already vibrating with anticipation, oohs and ahhs on the tips of their tongues, so when the first model came from stage left and began an elegant walk, everyone was quick to respond.

“Look at the lining!”

“Oh, he decided to be audacious with the shoulders this year.”

The models weren’t walking straight out. They were elegantly gliding horizontally, showing off the sides of their outfits, before finally walking straight out and taking their time at the end of the catwalk, their faces expressionless, the focus on the clothes. Or intended anyway.

The second model came out, then the third, fourth, fifth, sixth. All of them were honey-eyed, tiny things, three of them so similar in structure and face Damen thought they might be brothers. Behind him, that Instagram guy and his friends were making more comments about the models than the clothes.

“Look at that one.”

“Just how I like them. Small enough that I can just grab them and hold them on my dick.”

“Check out that one’s mouth. Already open.”

“You could just slide right in and —”

The next models began walking, one of them particularly eye-catching but simply because of his makeup that was done to match his clothing pattern directly, two bold lines of red dripping down his face like the two red lines running symmetrically with his nipples. He was followed by a model with pitch black hair and skin just as dark, the gold outfit particularly startling and wonderful on him, and he was followed by a model in a dress with a train that had to be going on two yards in length.

“Darling, you have to buy that for me as a wedding dress!”

“But we’re already married.”

“We can renew our vows then! I have to wear it, I simply have to.”

“Anything for you.”

There were a few more models after that one. All of them were in the colors of white and gold, prominently gold, and though Damen had seen it all yesterday, the opulence of it in this room, on this set, with all these people staring and absorbing everything, felt like so much more than what it was when the lights were on and bright. But then, like when the air took on an unnamable quality before the rain, there was a change.

It came with the slightest of pauses in the walking, in the way the stage stayed empty long enough to have heads craning to see what they were missing. It was exactly what Etoile wanted. The anticipation. Then walked in Aimeric.

The red rejuvenated a life in the crowd, a life that hadn’t truly diminished during the show, yet it grew now to astronomical proportions. Aimeric walked with a face that said someone had once told him he couldn’t do this so he was not set to do it better than anyone before him and the people watching were whispering praise for his sandals, for his outfit, for him. The excitement only grew when Ancel came out. Ancel walked differently than Aimeric. Ancel walked like he was aware of just how attractive he was, and it gave him something in his step, something when his heels hit the ground, that had many people in the crowd trying to keep a handle on themselves.

“He looks like he’d be eager,” one of the guys behind Damen said.

In par with his attitude, Ancel flipped his fiery hair at the end of the catwalk, letting it rain down over his shoulder in a show of its own, and a decent part of the crowd swooned at it, their voices full of nothing but adoration. Before he turned off the stage, Ancel kicked his heel back, as if needing to ensure everyone got one more look at his legs.

Then the lights changed. It was a subtle change, the lights brightening just a little more as if to draw yet more attention to the stage, as if everyone wasn’t already watching, completely enraptured. The murmuring in that instant got louder, like the crowd minutes before a concert began, and Damen realized something in that moment that hadn’t even occurred to him. All of these people were expecting Laurent.

He wasn’t sure why the realization of that made him feel as if he had just stumbled, but it did. Unlike him, unlike Nik, the rest of this crowd, assumingly, was into fashion and knew exactly what Etoile was bringing to the table. And Laurent, Damen did know now, was Etoile’s star was its muse practically.

If Damen had felt as if he had stumbled just moments ago, it was nothing to how he felt when Laurent came out on the stage. Logic told him he had just seen Laurent — in this very outfit and everything — just an hour earlier, yet seeing him on the stage, seeing the crown newly placed atop his head, he was golden, god-like, as if his likeness should be in one of Greece’s ancient temples and not here in Paris being ogled by people that just didn’t get it.

As he had at rehearsal, Laurent walked with his back straight, his core, tight, and it made him powerful. Nicaise’s wishes of Laurent falling flat on his face would go ungiven because Laurent was a professional, was seasoned. The crowd adored him, practically melted, and when Laurent finished his horizontal criss-crossing of the stage and began to walk straight down the remaining catwalk, the lights caught onto his crown, making him glow an ethereal pinkened hue.

“How much would you pay to get those legs wrapped around you, Ian?”

“Bitch like that, he’d only need to see my cock and he’d be the one paying me,” said an Ian. “Goddamn, look at him though.”

“You ever see those porn pics of, like, some chick before and after? You know, like how in the ‘before’ one she looks all cute and like she has her shit together and then in the ‘after’ she looks fucked out, makeup smeared, hair destroyed, mouth all swollen from getting reamed out a couple hundred times? Picture that with him. That crown practically sideways on his head, that gold and red makeup on his face smeared to hell from wacking your dick on his face too many times.” All the other guys made noises of agreement. Damen clenched his fists into his pants to keep from turning around. Instead he focused on the rest of the crowd that he could hear.

“Every year he looks like an angel when he comes on out.”

“What on earth is Etoile going to do if he doesn’t resign? No one else brings everything to life like he does.”

“Art. His existence is art.”

Damen was half-inclined to agree.

At the end of the catwalk, Laurent stood for just a second, and Damen could see Nik for the first time since the lights dimmed, his friend having followed Laurent down the stage. In a matter of only seconds after that though, Laurent turned and exited the way he came, all eyes on the red bottoms of his shoes and the way the corset gave him hips meant to have a hand on them.

When Laurent was gone, the stage stayed empty, the music still playing, the house lights still dimmed, all as if to allow the crowd the time to absorb what they had just seen. Then, like an explosion, all the models were coming back out in a sea of gold and centerpieces of red, and a few of the boys were motioning for Laurent’s uncle who climbed to the stage with an easy smile.

Damen watched the man get doted on by his models, listened to the crowd’s cheering turn into a roar, and watched as the man came to Laurent, held out his hand, and watched as Laurent took it. The two of them walked to the front of the stage, hands clasped, and together they looked like a king and a prince, like a king and a king, like a king and queen.

“Thank you,” Laurent’s uncle called out to the crowd which only seemed to get louder in response. Acknowledging he wouldn’t get another word in, the man gestured instead to the models behind him, then at Laurent, and the sound became near unbearable in volume. Laurent moved behind his uncle, their hands still holding, and motioned for Ancel or Aimeric or someone to grab his other hand, and Aimeric did. Then all the models formed a line down the stage and they all began to bow in thanks. It was only when they had left the stage that the lights returned to normal and the music stopped. Damen and Nik made wide-eyed eye contact across the already-dispersing onlookers.

“Everyone’s practically running out of here,” Damen said to Nik as soon as they were in hearing distance.

“I just asked Jeurre about that. He said that the next show is at the Luxembourg Palace and with the amount of people in the city right now, traffic is a mess and nobody wants to be late.”

Nik looked flushed, the kind of flushed that came after a good workout and it made Damen grin. “How’d it go?”

“I think it went alright.” Damen gave him a look. “I think it went really well. We’re supposed to choose thirty photos to send in sometime over the next two days. I don’t know if I can decide on just thirty.”

“I’ll help.”

“Photographers!” came Charls voice. He sounded infinitely better than he had earlier, as if a well-done show had him feeling like himself again. “Please come to the dressing room. I’d desperately love some photos of everyone now too, there is so much elation!”

“One last call for Etoile,” Nik said.

Talik, who had been on the side of the stage Damen was sitting, motioned for Nik. She was standing with Herode, his orange-red hair and beard a standout with this group. The three of them began to walk toward the dressing room together and just as Damen went to follow, he heard his name.

“Damianos.”

Turning, Damen saw Laurent’s uncle near the seat he had been in before he had joined the models on the stage. Nicaise was with him, holding his hand the same way Laurent had been.

“I’ve only got a moment before I need to leave and attend Halvik’s show at the Luxembourg Palace, but I’d like to speak to you before I go.”

“Of course.”

Nicaise’s fingernails were painted gold. It was all Damen could look at as he approached, their hands so drastically different in size. Peeking out were Nicaise’s golden nails, gold like the jewels in his hair.

“Congratulations on the show,” Damen said before he could say something stupid. “I think it’s all anyone is going to talk about for a while.”

Laurent’s uncle smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so. But do you know what would make it talked about even more? Social media attention placed on it.”

Damen nodded in agreement, dread filling the pit of his stomach.

“Have you thought about our conversation yesterday?”

“I have,” Damen said honestly.

“And?”

“And,” Damen started. He didn’t want to say no. No made it real and as much as he meant the no he couldn’t...commit to that not. Not when he hadn’t explored options. Not when — “And can I think about it a little more? It’s a big change from what I’ve been doing. I don’t want to rush into it.”

Nicaise scoffed.

“I can give you until tomorrow. But I’ll need an answer.” The man paused and perused the room with his eyes. “There’s nothing like this world, Damianos. There aren’t opportunities in abundance to enter it either. Think wisely about it. I’d hate to see a talented young man like yourself waste what you’ve been given.”

“I’ll think on it,” Damen promised, and Nicaise, the devil, scoffed again.

“Good. Now,” Laurent’s uncle held up Nicaise’s hand a little higher, a little tighter, “we’re off to Luxembourg then we’ll be celebrating. I trust you and your photographer friend will be at the party tonight?”

“I believe so,” Damen said, but it sounded more like a question.

As they left, Damen noted that Nicaise’s shoes were almost exact replicas of the shoes Laurent had worn in the show.

Grabbing his phone, Damen took a photo of the empty Etoile stage and posted it to his Instagram story, the same location tag of ‘Paris, France’ on it and simple hashtags: #Etoile and #ParisFashionWeek.

Within an hour, he had almost five thousand messages about it.

#captive prince #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #captive prince fanfiction #capri #capri fanfic #my writing #the mannequin gallery #mannequin gallery 'verse #the big show!#finally it's over

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saeryuart · 5 years ago

Text

Ikevamp Hugger Tiers

... Welcome to the first and last piece of writing I’ll likely ever post on here lmao. I couldn’t get this outta my head and this happened XD If your guy happens to be one of the lower tiers, sorry!

The entire list is just how I think it would go, soooo yeah. Though funnily enough, the guys listed in the tiers themselves aren’t necessarily in order lmao.

Includes Vlad and Charles! Because it’s gonna be a long af post, writing is under the cut!

TOP TIER HUGGERS

Napoleon:

-Honorary member #1 of the #GotThisSquad

-Man radiates big bro energy, and if you don’t know it right now, you WILL know it when he takes you in his arms. They’re warm, strong and protective.

The kinds of hugs he tends to give vary between being playful or protective. If he’s feeling playful, he’d probably hug you from behind and murmur teasing, loving remarks in your ear. He’s particularly fond of nuzzling his cheek in your hair.

-Man’s also got big hands, great for holding your waist, along with other things mhmmm~ ;)) they’re great for making you feel even more secure than you normally would, and that’s saying a lot

-With his hugs, he wants to tell you he’s not only protecting your body, but your heart and soul if you’re willing. They’re all encompassing, and are always gonna have you feeling safe, no matter what

-Sleepy hugs are arguably the best kind of hugs to receive from him though, bc all filters are off. Any reservations the man might normally have are gone as he pulls you into bed to hug the life outta you

-Hope you don’t have any important plans for the day bc you’ll be stuck there with his face buried in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you like a cat.

-Please hug him, you won’t regret it. .... If you don’t have plans.

Overall rating: 9/10

Comte:

-Leader of the #GotThisSquad, man knows what he is doing

-He’s super observant of people by nature, so he’ll know immediately what it is you want. You someone that’s more energetic and wants tight hugs? That’s what you’re gonna get. You’re a shy, hesitant bean that isn’t quite used to contact? He’s gotchu girl~ He’ll hold you gently but loosely, so you have the chance to step away if you want to

-but if he had it his way, he would put the person in the gentlest but secure hold. Especially fond of having his hands stroke their hair and back.

-Speaking of which, his hands are like magic, able to melt your worries and tensions away. They just coax you into relaxing in his arms

-He personally prefers to be the one doing the holding, but if you want to spoil him, you don’t need to work that hard to convince him - running your fingers through his hair is a surefire way to make a contented sigh escape his lips.

-It’s a bone-deep kind of satisfaction that Comte wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, cherishing the person in his arms

-It doesn’t matter whether you’re happy or sad, he’s your go-to person if you’re in need of a hug

Overall rating: Sugar Daddy/10

Vincent:

-Final member of the #GotThisSquad.

-Like a warm summer day, his hugs are super soft and sweet. Somehow, despite being a painter and hardly stepping out of the mansion, he smells like freshly washed sheets.

-His hands are gentle and soft, but a little calloused from constantly washing and handling his art supplies and paintings.

-While holding you, expect sweet nothings to be whispered in your ear. Man loves you so much, he has to make sure you know everything that’s in his thoughts, EVERYTHING.

-His fingers tend to absently trace all the little things he loves about you; your hair, your cheeks, your lips, the way your eyes shine when they reflect his own loving gaze in yours... it all makes him want to hold you more and never let go.

-Particularly fond of holding your hand while hugging you, intertwining your fingers together as naturally as breathing. Also enjoys touching foreheads with your own, staring into your eyes.

-He hopes he makes you feel as beautiful as he sees you.

Overall rating: Sunshine Boi/10 **sobs**

HIGH TIER HUGGERS

Leonardo:

-BLAST FURNACE.

-This man is a portable heater who can’t stand not being in your arms for 0.000001 seconds. Especially when he’s ready to take a nap.

-Great during Winters, but the Summer... welp. Run MC. Other than that though, he gives great bear hugs.

-He’s so huge, he literally dwarfs any and everything under that hugeass coat. TBH you’ll either hate it or love it, depending on how good your blood circulation is lmaooo

-Man likes giving back hugs when in a teasing mood, but when he’s feeling more romantic, he prefers you to be facing him. Odds are, he’ll be pulling you into his arms, hand tucking the back of your head into his chest.

-His bear hugs are reassuring, those broad arms and strong chest doing wonders in making you feel safe and secure. Depending on how tall you are, he’d pull you into his chest or the crook of his neck. ... And did I mention that chest? Damn Daddy.

-Odds are, he’s gonna smell like tobacco too. If you don’t like that sorta thing, that could be something of a turnoff. Man’s a giant too, so odds are you’re going to be an armrest half the time, rip.

Overall rating: 8/10

Arthur:

-Like his personality, his hugs are playful and endearing. He LOVES cuddles and by Jove, if Arthur Conan Doyle wants cuddles, he WILL get cuddles.

-Repeat after me. CLINGY. MAN.

-It’s practically canon that, like a puppy, he wants your attention on him ALL THE TIME. So eye contact is a must, lots of small kisses peppered across your face to make you laugh; your laughter never fails to make his heart skip a beat.

-Skinship is practically a requirement, it’s Arthur’s love language. Up there with gift giving.

-He loves holding your waist while breathing in your scent in the crook of your neck. He wants to be enveloped by you, your presence assures him more than anything. But that doesn’t mean the hugs are a one-sided thing, either.

-If in a particularly good mood, he’ll hum some random English tune while swaying you side to side. Sometimes, that swaying might evolve into a full-blown dance, with him twirling you around the mansion floor with laughter.

-With you, he always wants you to feel as good as you make him, for you bring out the best side of him.

Overall rating: 8.5/10

Vlad:

-0/10, momma didn’t raise you to fall for no shady man, wouldn’t recommend.

-KIDDING, I’M KIDDING. .... Mostly.

-Bc he’s such a shady man with little to no experience in physical contact, one would think a hug from him would be the worst idea one could have if they ignored his pretty face and bewitching eyes-

-Warning: Once he’s in love, his hugs are the singular most addicting thing besides his kisses. MAYDAY, MAYDAY, ABORT!! Man is dangerously attractive, and he knows it.

-Bc he’s always around flowers, he always smells great. Like nectar from the sweetest flower, his sweet, honeyed words would coax you over until, before you know it, you’re trapped within his arms.

-He’s not planning on letting go either, because only he deserves to see such beauty and tend to it. As far as he’s concerned, the other weeds he calls ‘men’ could be nipped in the bud ok that’s enough flower puns, I promise.

-His hugs are unbelievably gentle, but possessive. You’ll be handled so delicately, you’d wonder if he mistook you for glass - no, even glass was handled with less care than how he’s holding you right now.

-He has to have eye contact while holding you. No exceptions. He has to know, what are you thinking right now? If you feel like breaking away, surely he has other ways of convincing you...

Overall rating: Intervention/10

Charles:

-TACKLE HUUUUUUGSSSS

-Hope you have a strong back, because he won’t be able to resist glomping you over half the time.

-If he’s particularly excited, he’ll be playfully swinging you around after. You getting dizzy? Tooooo bad, maybe after a couple more minutes. As long as you don’t throw up, babe~

-Man may be a doctor but dammit, he has the right to cuddle his honey, too! Hmm, this sounds familiar. Must be a doctor thing.

=Nose boops and cheek rubs. All that disgustingly cheesy and playful shit that makes anyone watching gag from the diabetes.

-If he’s feeling mischievous enough, he might bury his nose into the crook of your neck to blow hot air on your skin to make you squirm. It never fails to make him giggle.

-His main focus is making you laugh and have a good time, nothing else matter.s He likes the way laughter makes your eyes crinkle juuust right~

Overall rating: 7.5/10 bc his hugs will break someone’s back one day-

MID-TIER HUGGERS

Dazai:

-A surprisingly decent hugger.

-One wouldn’t think him capable of giving hugs with such genuity and emotion, unless you were the person he were doing it to. These special hugs are especially private, reserved for the irreplacable person in Dazai’s life.

-Despite his appearances, he is a compassionate person deep down, and wants to see you happy. Especially as the one who taught him to care for his own life.

-Like Arthur, he likes making you laugh. With his arms encircling your middle from behind, he likes giving surprise tickles to make you squeak and jump, promting his own quiet chuckles. Your reactions never fail to amuse him.

-His hugs are literally breathtaking, because you’ll be too busy squirming with breathless laughter to escape out of his arms. It makes his eyes light up in a way that’s startlingly different from the smile he shows the others; the closest thing to a true smile.

-For more somber moments, he holds you like he’s never going to hold you again. You can feel how much he cherishes you with how gently but securely he embraces you. He likes doing it from behind so you don’t have to see the pained expression on his face as he holds your hand for comfort.

-The only real downside is that again these hugs are especially private, so no one else gets to see. A shame too, or not, depending on how you look at it. uwu

Overall rating: Soft sad boi/10 whoops I kinda accidentally turned this into angst.

Isaac:

-Awkward Blushy Boi #1.

-Bc he’s so awkward and shy, his hugs are gonna be stiff af at first. He might not even respond at all, depending on how startled he is. Or how fast you let go of him

-If you do let go first, he’s gonna be lowkey highkey disappointed.

-Good thing is, because his hands are so used to delicate work, his touch is gentle and precise. So if you’re sensitive to physical sensations, he’ll pick up on that. If he does manage to brush against a sensitive area, expect a ton of stammered apologies and red cheeks.

-At first, his initial touches are shaky and unsure. But when he starts to gain confidence, his hands are curious and careful.

-Give him some time to let the hedgehog bristles come down a bit, and you’ve got yourself a teddy bear. Unfortunately, his hugs are going to remain awkward for some time bc-

-wHAT IF HE HOLDS YOU FOR TOO LONG, WOULD YOU GET ANNOYED??? DOES IT COME OFF AS TOO CLINGY, WHAT IF- ***incoherent anxious screaming into the void***

-Error: Isaac Newton has stopped working.exe

-Once he gets used to you though, his hugs become super comforting. Boy’s a string bean, so his arms aren’t the most buff. But the way he holds you is so awkwardly sweet, you can feel the sincerity behind his actions.

-Please give him a chance, he’s so worth it T_T

Overall rating: 7/10

Jeanne:

-Awkward Blushy Boi #2

-Similarly to Isaac, he’s super standoffish at first, especially with the whole ‘don’t touch me, you’ll get dirty blah blah blah’ spiel sHUT UP AND LET ME LOVE YOU.

-Don’t expect him to ever initiate hugs, not at first. It’s a long work in progress with this man. But pls stick with him, he is so, so worth it.

-Jeanne isn’t a person that gives away affection lightly, so whenever he hugs you, expect him to mean it. You will be weak-kneed at the sheer compassion and warmth behind his actions, even through his gloves.

-But if you do ever hug him, even though it’s hesitant, he’ll never fail to hug you back bc he’s a soft boi that doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.

-Despite having the tendency to push people away,his hugs are gentle and protective. They let you know you’re safe and not alone. Giver #2 of great comfort hugs.

-Once he’s comfortable, he’ll like the feeling of your bare skin against his palms, so he’ll start hugging you with his gloves off.

-Develops a habit of gently rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand; he likes how small they feel in his own. It makes him feel protective, renewing his vow of keeping you safe.

-Unfortunately, he gets points deducted for never initiating contact at first, as well as his hugs being rather stiff for a long time.

Overall Rating: 6.5/10 pls love-

Sebastian:

-Hugging? When you could be WORKING?? It’s more likely than you think.

-Man is normally reserved, and not one for physical contact. But his touch is surprisingly gentle and reassuring. Particularly if you’re feeling upset or stressed.

-He’s fond of back rubs and closeness as he’s holding you. Tucking your head under his chin, his hold is gentle but firm, reminding you of your good qualities and what he loves about you.

-Because he’s not as remarkable as the other men in the mansion, he might need some extra reassurance that he’s good enough for you. He’ll appreciate it if you rub his back, especially after a rough day.

-Under those gloves, his hands are rough and calloused from his work as a butler, but the way he embraces you couldn’t be more deliberate or careful.

-Sebastian considers you his little miracle, the fact that you came from the same timeline as him gives him a new level of comfort as a piece of home away from home.

-Despite his strictness during work, he makes sure you know how much you really mean to him. While he disapproves of PDA in front of the residents, he doesn’t mind sneaking a cuddle now and then... in privacy of course.

-But despite these qualities, the problem with Sebastian’s hugs is that they hardly get a chance to happen.

-Man is too busy working himself to death helping the mansion residents, and has an 18-hour work schedule everyday to spend time with you. Someone save him bls. You’ll be doing both of yourselves a favor.

Overall rating: Workaholic/10

LOW-TIER HUGGERS (I’m so sorry)

Theo:

-Ah yes, Hondje fetish man.

-Like his brusque personality, his grip may be a tad rough, but the way he holds you is protective and gentle. Likes holding the back of your head close to him, arm secure around your waist; he likes the feeling of you belonging to him

-Theo doesn’t really do comfort hugs. Unless your life was in danger or something, he’s much more likely to just pull you in when he feels like having cuddles hugs. Processing emotional depth greater than familial love is a bit of a learning curve for the man. He’s trying.

-His hold is possessive, but affectionate. He likes pulling you in close by the hip when in public; man claims he’s not big into PDA, but he’s proud of his girlfriend and WILL show that off, dammit.

-Also claims he’s not clingy, but he’ll hold onto you for as long as physically possible until he has to let go. So you’d better not be thinking of going anywhere Hondje, not when you have your Master to please. Yeah, sure ok sounds fake but ok.

-He doesn’t initiate hugs often, but he likes holding you in quiet moments when you’re alone. Not that he’ll admit that out loud. Like Vincent, he likes touching foreheads with yours to stare into your eyes. They’re like the perfect works of art to him, a masterpiece he can stare at for hours. He likes how expressive they are, the way they light up in so many different ways whether you’re happy, angry or excited.

-Honestly, despite the loving shit I give him, he’s only barely in this tier for a couple reasons. But one of them is that he’s not really an affectionate kind of hugger. Theo’s the kind of guy that expresses his love through uh... other physical means. If you catch my drift~ >3

-All in all, his hugs are protective and strong, but also a little rough. Perfect if you want to be assured of your relationship and loved, but not really recommended if you’re looking for something comforting and soothing.

-TLDR: His hugs are warm, but not versatile. Honest Tsunderes die if they are killed

Overall rating: 6/10

Mozart:

-Awkward Blushy Boy #3. The holy trinity is complete.

-Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to rank Mo as the worst hugger of the mansion guys for a couple reasons. One being his lack of human contact.

-Like Isaac, his hands are very careful. He cherishes you, and wants you to feel the devotion he has for you, so he often handles you as gently as he does his violets.

-But the stage to get there is unbearably long. Like, Jeanne kinda long. In fact, Mo is someone that, (even after he gets together with you), thinks that people only approach him when they have an angle, something to gain from him. But that doesn’t mean he holds back with you.

-His initial hugs are awkward at best, the but number of ways he hugs you is as innumerable as his compositions. A loving, encasing hug for a declaration of affection, a passionate intense embrace when recovering from a close call, entwining of fingers in a quiet moment... you’ll have it all.

-He sometimes hums some songs in your ear while holding you, particularly if you’re upset. His hand will also be rubbing soothing and gentle circles in your back. Mozart is a passionate, empathic man deep down, and will accept nothing less than your complete comfort.

-Unfortunately, while his hands are beautiful and practically close to perfection in appearance, they’re awfully cold from poor circulation. Doesn’t help that he’s a literal vampire.

-The temperature difference is bound to make you jump a little, but he makes up for it with his gentleness. It’s also why he likes stroking your hair, entwining his fingers together around your waist so you don’t feel the cold as much.

-But the big reason points get deducted off is-

...... I see you reaching for the Purell, asshole. >:(

Overall Rating: Ice Hands/10

Shakespeare:

-D.... do i really need to explain this? ;;

-Don’t get me wrong, the man is very romantic. He never fails to whisper sweet words to sweep you off your feet. Hushed poetics and compliments flow out of his lips with ease, making you feel like a princess in his arms.

-However, like Mozart, his hands are cold from poor circulation. Not to mention... do you smell a hint of blood, coming from him? No, it’s just your imagination, he swears.

-Like the man himself, his embraces are very passionate. He loves holding you close by the waist, making sure your bodies are touching as much as possible. He’s rather fond of bringing a lock of your hair to his lips, kissing it with the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

-He’s also rather... possessive. When he’s feeling particularly sly, he embraces you sensually from behind, resting his chin on top your shoulder. The way his arms slowly rise to curl around your waist feel like the sweetest trap you can’t bring yourself to escape.

-He’s also one that silently demands eye contact. As he keeps a hold of your waist, he likes to cradle your cheek tenderly, the mismatched wild yellow and blood red faze staring into your soul. The way he searches your eyes for your secrets steals your breath away, as the devotion he pours into the act belies any falsehoods he might’ve told.

-Again, this man is very devoted. Loves you to the point of obsession, really, But would I recommend hugging him personally? Aha ha ha haaa... gimme a while on that one. When the knife he has in his pocket isn’t poking my stomach. And NO, I don’t mean the one you want.

Overall rating: Romantic until someone dies/10 (I SEE those knives sticking out of your coat pocket Shakes, I want your arms, not the damn Iron Maiden).

Faust:

-Man wants you as a guinea pig. Why would you want to hug that.

-... Idk enough of him to actually add more than that. Sorry lmao.

Overall rating: Death wish???/10

--- Wow, I am never doing that again sdlkfjsd. I think my wrists have died along with my sinuses making this post lmao. Hopefully everyone was relatively in character! If you actually managed to sit through all of this, you deserve a big round of applause, seriously. I think I’ll stick to drawing tho, kek.

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pikaflute · 4 years ago

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god powers au but for all the gang

few notes: they all are immortal. and theyre eyes glow red when using their powers. also this is all tentative they can all get more powers down the road if i so choose.

nathan - as i said before his powers mainly consist of ones tied to the sea. he can breathe underwater, communicate with sea creatures, and control water (and later other liquids). he can transform into sea creatures as well and later on gets a cool sea monster form. he can also create things but that takes a lot of concentration so he just uses it to make chips. limitless flavors when youre a god. he also has his prophetic powers within his dreams. he has a blue aura when he uses his powers.

pickles - powers are all connected to his emotions. he’ll burst into flames if angry, he’ll flood a place with his tears if he’s sad, and burst into flowers (literally) if he’s in love (which he will be in this nickles au :smug:). his powers are the most unstable out of the group, and when their first starting to get their powers, its hard to keep pickles in check, and the only one to calm him down is nathan. he can control fire at will if he keeps his emotions in check, if he WENT TO THERAPY!!! he also has a violent demon form, but we, we dont need to think about that right now. he has an orange aura when he uses his powers

skwisgaar - life :). he can’t get injured anymore, and can also heal his band if need be (which is often considering the shenanigans they do once their powers come in). sometimes when he walks, little flowers will pop up behind him (like ammy from okami :)) he also gets wings! unlike floating like his band mates he can fly. he can turn into animals like nathan can, but like limited to ones on land. he prefers wolves and birds. also can turn into an angel, and im talking like bayonetta style angel, that cool looking shit. hell yeah. also can summon storms (like the duel remember the duel). he has a white aura when he uses his powers

toki - death. :(. he also can’t get injured, but he can transfer pain he gets to others. so if someone is pissing him off he just stubs his toe and touches them and they feel it. its funny :). like skwisgaar he gains wings too, these ones are black unlike skwisgaar’s white wings. he summons storms as well and unlike skwisgaar’s lighting storms, toki summons more snowy and icy ones. he also leaves like a trail of snow/ice behind him when he walks. he can talk to the dead and even summon the dead to help him, but he usually just summons some animals to hang out with when bored. he can turn into a cool skeleton monster too :) he has a black aura when he uses his powers

murderface - so in doomstar, he gets infected with that purple stuff right? that shit seals his own power away. while under the influence, the power he gains is very....violent towards the band. mainly his aura repelling his band away from him, which can either just be a physical push away from him or a shockwave that can physically hurt others. sometimes his powers manifest physically allowing him to having his aura to morph into things like large arms or weapons that can hurt others. he has a passive power that makes the band start to turn on one enough causing them to distrust and turn on each other. after the band frees murderface, his real powers come in. theyre very defensive. he still has the aura morphing stuff but he can use it to make shields now instead. hes also connected to the earth which comes as a surprise when he first starts to get his real god powers and there’s now just a fucking tree in his room. also can communicate with animals (poor pickles got left out LMAO), but can’t transform into them like nathan and skwisgaar can. he can also summon weapons from the earth which is really fucking cool and he goes nuts for it. unlike the others he doesn’t have a transformation (yet), probably due the traitor magic interference, but he makes up for that by using his powers to protect himself and others. when possessed, his aura is a dark purple. after he breaks through the possession, its a lighter purple.

charles - he has very similar powers to what mf had when he was possessed by that traitor stuff but much more focused on control rather than cause chaos. he likes to make his aura influence very subtle, but man does that shockwave of power from him knock you out good. charles also makes his aura morph into armor to strengthen his attack and defend himself to protect the band. he’s like their knight :) his passive power is to to bring order to the band. he likes to be over dramatic and snap his fingers when he uses this power which calms the band down and for a brief period of time gets them to finally listen. like murderface he doesn’t have a transformation. or does he? we’ll never know. a man has to keep his secrets. he has other powers insisted by nathan after some dreams he had, but charles denies it. again. secrets. also i think he can make a sword from thin air, because that’s sexy. yes he has an affinty for air but he is looking at me so i cant say anymore okay bye. he doesn’t have a visible aura when he uses his god powers, though sometimes he appears....blurry. unlike the band whos’ eyes glow red when using their powers, his glow white.

#metalocalypse #god powers au #gonna start tagging these posts with that just cause.

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sinner-as-saint · 5 years ago

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Want You Back (Mob! Seb AU)

Want You Back

Sequel to: Back For You

Run-through: After your quite steamy one night stand with the mob boss, it was rather clear via the note he left you; that he was not yet done with you. Despite the emotional turmoil you were caught up in, you were certain that he’d come back for you. But were you ready for that?

Themes: language, mob boss! Seb, smut, slight dark side of characters, Daddy kink, possessive! Seb, stalking tendencies, slight temperature play. A.k.a this gets pure filthy at the end so, hide your children.

A/N: The symbols “^^^” represent a change of POV. Don’t worry, it’s not confusing. Oh and, um, kinky shit ahead.

After he left your apartment, Sebastian drove straight to his hotel room for a quick change; given that he had left his shirt at your place as a souvenir. Then he drove to the airport.

Around 3 a.m. in the dark of the night, he boarded his private jet in his quest to France. There were certain problems which erupted there and he had to be there physically to get everything and everyone under control again.

Once he got inside the flight, he leaned his head back on his velvety seat and sighed out loud. He had a sly smile on his face as he remembered you; your face, your touch, the way you moaned his name under your breath and how your body moved sinfully under his touch.

Usually, he never gave the women that he slept with another thought. But you, you invaded his mind. You infiltrated his thoughts and he couldn’t fight back.

He felt bad for leaving you alone in your bed. And he couldn’t bring himself to wake you up before he left, because you looked like a literal angel, so he left you a note. And just so you wouldn’t get cold, he wrapped his shirt and your blanket around your sleeping frame carefully, placed a soft kiss on your forehead and left silently.

Sebastian thought about how you looked as you slept, your face prettier than before thanks to the afterglow, courtesy to him. Your lips were plumper than before, due to the amount of times he bit them. Your bare body was covered in the dark red marks he caused.

He smiled knowing that he would be the first thing you’d think about when you’ll wake up in the morning. He knew that you’d have a slight difficulty in walking and sitting down, his pride amplified as he’d happily take the blame for that.

He knew deep inside that you would soon find out who he really is. A cold hearted mob boss. But he also knew that you wouldn’t run away from him.

Of course you wouldn’t, he thought, you were his girl now.

He smiled at the thought of you being his, as he whipped out his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Chris! Hey man, long time huh? Yeah, it’s just real busy these days. Listen man, I need a favor. There’s a girl named Y/n who works at a pub called The Red Tavern, I need you to find everything you can about her. Family backgrounds, friends, ex-boyfriends, you know the drill,” he spoke, picking up the coffee cup the blonde hostess had just placed in front of him.

Through the phone came Chris’ voice.

“Sure buddy, I’ll get my people on it. By the way, who is she? A super hot stripper you simply can’t forget, huh?” he asked, followed by his signature laugh. Something which signaled that he was slightly drunk.

Seb shook his head, if this man wasn’t his friend, he’d have his head for his lack of seriousness in his work.

“Just do as I say, Chris. We’ll talk when you’re sober,” Sebastian spoke in a tired, monotonous tone and with that, he hung up.

Chris Evans, the Huntsman as many knew him, was exactly what he was titled as. A hunter, a man who could gather information about anyone and anything, anywhere in the world within the span of an hour or two. He was Sebastian’s closest friend and one of the very few people he trusted.

After the quick phone call, Sebastian took a quick nap; during which he dreamt of you.

By now he had memorized every curve on your body. He knew your weak spots, he knew that all it takes is a soft kiss right over the skin under your right ear and you lost all control over your own body.

Due to his…profession, he was required to be very observant. And he indeed was. He noticed how your back would arch off the bed sheets every time he dragged a finger down your clit, tracing your glistening entrance as your sweet slick coated his middle finger.

He noticed how goose bumps would follow the faint brush of his fingers along your skin. He took note of your scent; your slightly fruity scent– perhaps it was peach, and the faint hint of caffeine on your tongue along with the raw taste of your mouth. He loved it.

Your soft moans, his name sounded so sinful coming out of your mouth while you came undone under him.

He woke up due to the slight pain in his neck, because it was angled weirdly while he slept. And he woke with an excited member as well.

God… what is she doing to me?

He rubbed the sore side of his neck and had the boner taken care of by the mouth of the sultry hostess who was more than happy to assist him in his hardship. No pun intended.

Once he landed in Charles De Gaulle in the bustling city of Paris, he had his awaiting driver take him to the warehouse where those assholes who worked for him couldn’t even handle a bunch of other assholes who weren’t willing to let his cargo of weapons get through, and reach an ally.

The task was easy; talk to them in his ‘I-mean-business’ tone and see if they agreed to his demands, if they didn’t, he’d have his people ‘take care’ of them while he hired other people to do what he wanted.

Personally, call him crazy but believe it or not, he didn’t like easy things. Perhaps that’s what drew him to you; your ability to make him chase.

Fuck, there you were again. Invading his thoughts without any shame.

Once he had dealt with the men, he left.

In the car, on his way home; he received an email from Chris. He smiled as he clicked on it, everything one can ever know about you unveiling in front of his eyes.

Your full name, where you grew up, information about your parents, your school, your high school, college, the degree you pursued, your social media, your phone password, where you ever went on family vacation, some of your pictures as well. Basically, everything.

He sent a quick text to Chris thanking him as he scrolled through all your details.

The more he learnt about you, the more protective he got. You were his girl, and no one was touching his girl from now on.

He couldn’t risk leaving you his phone number, but damn he wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to feel you in his arms, he wanted to feel the soft brush of your hair on his face. He wanted you. And when the mob boss wanted something, he always got it.

^^^

You were freaking out, you simply did not know what to do.

Oh my good God, I just slept with the mob boss.

Those words repeated in your head and you were getting more and more worried. He said he’d come back for you. But would he really? Don’t powerful people like him have women around them all the time? Then why would he come back for a random one night stand?

Perhaps that was just his thing, maybe he left a note to every person he slept with. Maybe he went on with his life and forgot about them like a meaningless dream.

You still had the note in your grip, and your phone in the other hand.

What should I do? Should I call someone? You thought, but your inner voice didn’t reply.

You wondered if it were safe for you to stay here. Fuck, just digesting the fact that the notorious mob boss was here, in your apartment, in your bed, fucking you into your mattress just a few hours ago was crazy.

The thought of calling the cops rushed through your head very briefly, but what would you say? He was like fog, catching him was impossible because he has loyal people all over the world who covered his tracks. Even the police gave up on catching him long ago.

The thought which bothered you the most, was that you liked him. His mysteriousness, his broody nature, his…darkness. The way he touched you, the way he dragged his lips almost everywhere across your skin. The way his lips reminded you that you were his in that moment. You liked it all, but you shouldn’t.

He was dangerous, everyone knew that. But he was gentle, you thought.

There, you were losing your mind.

Mindlessly, you tapped on the screen of your phone and before you knew it, you were calling your dad.

You were closest with your dad, although you didn’t like his new wife very much, but he was still your favorite parent.

You didn’t know why you were calling him, but all you knew was that you had to reassure yourself that you weren’t alone in this.

“Hey honey!” came your dad’s cheery voice through the phone. It sounded as if he was somewhere very windy. A beach perhaps. Wait, there are no beaches in NYC…

“Hey dad, can- can we talk?” you wanted to get to the point straightaway. You obviously couldn’t tell him what happened, but you needed the support.

“Yeah honey, is everything okay? Are you okay?” his concerned voice came through, and a tear escaped your eye. You missed him terribly, and you tried your hardest not to sob.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about, uh, can- God, can I come and stay over for a day or two? It’s, I mean, being alone all the time isn’t that cool anymore,” you asked, hoping he’d say yes.

You didn’t quite like his wife, but she was never rude to you. You could easily deal with her for a few days until you got your thoughts in check and Sebastian out of your system.

God, even just saying his name mentally forced a shiver down your spine.

“Hey, peanut, are you sure you’re okay. I mean, of course you can stay over honey. It’s just that, Mariah and I are travelling at the moment. So, even if you come over, you’re gonna be alone for a long while before we come back, I-,”

“Oh that’s okay! I mean, maybe a change of scenery will do me good, yeah? I, uh, I have the keys that you left me. Can I go over, say tomorrow?” you asked, desperately wanting to get away.

“Of course you can sweetie, you’re always welcome to stay over! Just remember, there’s no food left so you’ll have to shop for some baby. We won’t be home for at least 3 weeks, feel free to have your friends over! Love you Y/n,” came your dad’s wife’s voice through the phone as she answered instead of your dad.

“Thanks Mariah. Love you dad, talk soon,” with that, you hung up, closing your eyes as you let a few more tears fall.

You finally understood why you needed to get away. It wasn’t because you didn’t feel safe, it’s because you still felt him in this apartment. His scent still lingered very faintly in the air, and knowing that he wasn’t coming back for you like he promised to – hurt. It hurt a bit more than you expected.

It was your own fault, you thought. You got attached too quickly.

You quickly booked a flight to NYC and started packing your bags. Hopefully being away from the apartment would help you get rid of the memories of the short-lived moments with the beautiful stranger.

You called your co-worker and let her know that you had to leave because of an emergency in the family, she was irritated at first due to the short notice, but understood nonetheless.

Before leaving, you debated whether or not you should call your friends and let them know that you were going to be in their city for a few days. And eventually, you did.

^^^

“What the fuck did you just say?” Sebastian barked into the phone, his anger getting the best of him as he couldn’t believe the words Chris just spoke.

“Dude, you’re really gonna make me repeat that shit? I said, your chick just left town. She booked a flight to New York just now and you’re not gonna like this part but she just called a number belonging to one of your rivals man, she might just be another bitch they set t-,”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! She’s not like that, she’s- look, just figure out where she’s going. I’m flying to New York within the next few hours. Keep me posted if there’s anything,” with that said, and receiving a sheepish ‘okay’ from Chris, Sebastian hung up the phone.

He paced around his room as the sunlight came through the windows, brightening the room. Yet, he thought, nothing matched the glow in your eyes as he buried himself deep inside you.

His thoughts raced, as he acknowledged every possibility of your sudden movement.

Could it be that you were trying to get away, thinking he couldn’t find you wherever you went?

That thought made him laugh, not in a good way.

Phone still in his hand, with the picture of you puckering your lips and your middle fingers held high up above you head, as his lock screen; he threw his body on his bed. Oh how would he like to have you here with him, right beside him.

But no, you decided to run away and make him chase you even more. Your unpredictability was driving him crazy, and for some weird reasons, he liked it.

His thumb hovered his phone screen, right above your puckered lips as he took in your appearance in the picture. Denim jacket, black pants and boots – you looked like a badass angel and it made him smile.

“Babygirl, I was coming back for you. I thought you’d accept me for who I am, but here you are; running away from me. Why did you have to run from me? But don’t worry, I still want you back. You’re mine,” he whispered out loud, to himself, as the thought of having you in his arms again was all he could focus on.

He chuckled darkly as he closed his eyes, thinking about you.

When he’d find you, he’d make sure you never run away again. And Sebastian was a man of his words, and he was coming to find his girl.

^^^

As soon as you landed in NYC at around 4 p.m., you hired a cab and had the driver take you straight to your dad’s house. It was a spacious home, planted on an equally spacious property. Your dad was a nature loving person, so needless to say, the front yard was impeccable.

You fished out the bunch of keys and unlocked the door, stepping inside. You smiled as you looked around. The colors, the décor, the house was very warm and welcoming.

After roaming around for a bit, checking out the mini library area and the kitchen. You desperately needed a shower and food.

You settled for the room with the view of the back yard and had a quick, hot shower then made your way to the garage.

You drove to a café, grabbing a coffee and a croissant then made your way to the very busy grocery store.

When you parked your dad’s car, which you borrowed for the trip, you couldn’t help but notice a slick, shiny black Audi parked only a couple slots away from you.

You sat still in the passenger’s seat and watched it intently. The windows were tainted, just like Sebastian’s. But it couldn’t be him, right? I wouldn’t be him.

So many people owned black Audis, it could be anyone.

You convinced your heart that it wasn’t him, yet you couldn’t silence the little voice in your head which refused to believe you.

You roamed around the unfamiliar store for a bit, admitting that it was at least 3 times the size of the one you had back home in your little town. And there were so many people, and they were all in a rush.

Caught in the fast flow, you somehow knocked against someone’s cart and were about to fall, if two strong arms didn’t catch you in time.

Once you were back on your feet, stable, you couldn’t help your racing heartbeat. You were much more scared to turn around and find a certain blue eyed man, rather than the fact that you were just about to fall in front of so many people in an unknown city.

Reluctantly, you turned around.

And your fear subsided once you noticed that your savior didn’t have blue eyes. Instead, he had brown, soft eyes. And, an equally soft smile.

“Hey there, you alright?” he asked, his voice deep and his eyes comforting.

You blushed in embarrassment.

“I- I’m, yeah, sorry typically out of town girl. Thanks for saving me!” you chuckled, trying to reduce the awkwardness.

“Oh that’s alright. Be careful though. I’m Anthony, and you are?” he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was fit, given he looked like he was in his late thirties.

Weird, you thought, why did all attractive men have to be way older than you were?

Anthony flashed a gorgeous smile at you. His tawny skin shining despite the gloomy weather.

“Y/n,” and after that, you had quite a lengthy conversation with him.

He told you about his job, a martial arts instructor. He asked you how come you were in NYC and you replied saying you needed to get away for a while because you were trying to forget something.

You exchanged numbers and promised to get coffee before you left to go back home.

After parting ways with Anthony, you shopped for the basics and decided that it was only this much you could carry in one go. You’d come back for more stuff if you needed.

You had spent a good hour in the store and when you got back to your car, you noticed that the black Audi was still in its spot.

Paranoia got the best of and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver down your spine. Would he really follow you though, when he could have any other women, why would he waste his time on you?

You tried shaking your disturbing thoughts and drove back to the house.

Once you placed all your stuff in the pantry, the day’s activities took a heavy toll on you. And after putting together a quick turkey sandwich, you decided to call it an early night.

Only, fate had other plans…

^^^

He just sat there, in the dark, in her temporary bedroom. His trustee, shiny revolver was in his hand – not because he planned on using it, God no, he would never hurt his girl; but because holding it reminded him of who he truly was. And it was comforting.

He had followed her to the store, car parked not far from hers. She noticed, he believes, but she didn’t care. Why didn’t she care?

She looked good, he thought, she looked really good. He was proud that she was his, and he even had a smile on his face until he saw her talking to the tall dark dude.

He saw them through the glass panes and his jaw ticked. His hands itched as all he wanted to do was to smash that fucker’s face to the ground when he saw his hands on his girl.

He noticed that they exchanged numbers, and the fire inside him burned brighter, hotter with need. Need to get that fuck face out of the way. Need to have her under him and remind her who she belongs to. Need to remind her who he was.

But all he could do was wait. He waited for her to get out of the store and get back in her car. He noticed that she gave his car another puzzled look.

He smirked. His girl remembered him.

And now here he was, barged into her dad’s home and sat in the unlit bedroom, waiting for her. He toyed with his gun in his hands, the little light from the dark sky hitting the shiny metal as he sighed for the third time.

He was stalking her, he knew, but she was his. His alone.

A couple of minutes later, he heard her walking up the stairs, her soft thuds echoing off the walls of the empty house as his sinister smirk grew wider.

The bedroom door opened and in walked his babygirl. She hadn’t noticed him yet; given he was in the furthest and darkest corner of the room.

As soon as she walked in, she took her top off – closing the door with her foot. Then resumed to take her black jeans off as well, leaving her in her white set of underwear.

His eyes widen at the unexpected strip show, followed by a smirk as his pants grew tighter.

He watched as she picked up her clothes from the floor and threw them into the hamper and before she could turn around, she heard his voice.

^^^

You took your clothes of and threw them carelessly into the hamper, you didn’t know why, but you could never sleep with clothes on. As you were turning around, you heard a husky voice speaking from behind you.

“Well that was quite a show, can’t say I’m even the slightest bit mad though, babygirl,” it said, and once it finished talking, your heart sank as if it were dropped into a bottomless pit.

You turned around completely and faced him.

He sat on the antique, blue velveteen cushioned chair like as if it was a throne he deserved. He looked powerful, majestic and if you weren’t half naked in front of him, maybe you’d stare at him longer.

You hurried in grabbing the closest thing to you to cover your body, turns out it was a jacket you had taken off earlier during the day.

You held the jacket in front of you as Sebastian rose up from his seat, and only then did you notice the gun in his hand. And the sight knocked the air out of you.

“That’s- what are you doing, here?” you asked, your voice came out sounding way weaker than you imagined it would. You sounded scared, because you were.

He clicked his tongue, tossing the gun onto your bed and it bounced one time before settling right next to a pillow.

Sebastian walked towards your frightened frame, and with each step he took forward, you took one backwards. This pattern continued until your back touched the cold surface of the wooden door.

“Don’t hide from me. I’ve seen it all up close before, haven’t I? Now, I have questions for you, babygirl,” he spoke in a low voice; one filled with power and dominance and you looked up at him with your frightened eyes.

What do you do when a hot mob boss, also an one night stand from a day and a half ago suddenly shows up at your dad’s house?

Sebastian placed a hand right next to your head and looked you dead in the eyes with his blue ones. And despite your fear, you couldn’t help but be hypnotized by them.

“Once I was done with… my work, I was coming to find you again. But I was told you took off. Why did you run?” he asked and worry washed over you.

How the fuck did he know that? Who told him?

Seeing that you weren’t replying, he brought his lips to your neck. And lazily brushed them over your sweet spot, causing you to shiver at his touch. Involuntarily, you turned your head to the side and provided him with better access to your skin. He chuckled at your action as your face burned with embarrassment.

He placed feathery kisses all over your skin, no biting no teasing the skin – just his lips on your neck. The soft touches dragged breathy moans out of your mouth.

“See, your body remembers me, baby,” he whispered at the shell of your ear.

By now, your hands had let go of the jacket; which fell at your feet and your hands wrapped around his shoulders.

You shouldn’t be doing that, you thought. You shouldn’t like his touch or lean in for more. You shouldn’t be under his spell. But oh how you wanted to.

“You lied, you- you said you worked with influential people. But you don’t, you…,” your voice trailed off as he traced your trembling lips with the tip of the shiny metallic barrel of the gun in his hands.

He did that while staring intently into your soul, while your words came to a halt as soon as the cold metal came in contact with your body.

He wouldn’t, would he? He wouldn’t kill you, right?

“I’m what? Say it,” he urged darkly. His words laced with authority and lust.

“You’re the mob boss everyone talks about. You’re the Sebastian Stan, you’re…,” you words stopped again as you felt his fingers wrapped around your throat.

He didn’t choke you to a point where it was uncomfortable. He just wanted you to know that you were at his mercy, to a point where even your breath was his.

He smirked when he saw a damp spot forming at the center of your underwear, turning the white material slightly transparent.

So, his girl was kinky, huh?

Your wrists immediately wrapped themselves around his arm, involuntarily urging him to keep his hand there, at your throat. And he liked that.

“I’m what, babe?” he whispered again, resting the tip of the barrel against your left cheek. Indirectly causing to select your words carefully, very carefully.

“You’re…dangerous,” you simply said and he chuckled out loud. Despite the possible humor, you sensed the menace in his voice.

“Oh babygirl, I’m more than just dangerous. But you know I won’t ever hurt you, I can’t. I always protect what’s mine, and you’re mine. You’re safe with me. Just, don’t run from me,” he spoke, hand still gripping your throat lightly and the barrel of his gun still pressed to your cheek.

It could be the rush of the moment, or it could be fear, or the reflexive lust coursing in your veins; but somehow you sensed the presence of validity in his words. Although very much aware that it could simply be your delusional mind’s thought, your fear morphed into something else.

A familiar want. A raw desire which only seemed to surface when you’re with him. His mysterious aura, the electricity in his touch, the pure sin which dripped from his words – they all caused a magnetic pull which drew you to him. And despite it all, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you wanted him.

Memories of the last time he had touched your body resurfaced in your head and it accelerated the flow of passion which pooled into your underwear.

“Why?” it seemed like you directed the question more towards yourself than to him.

“Why what?” he asked back, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“You barely know me. Why would you follow me all the way here?” you asked, oblivious to the exchange which happened between him and Chris.

He let out a sigh and smiled.

“If only you knew, babygirl, if only you knew,” he spoke and released your throat, putting the gun by his side as he pulled you forward with one hand.

He dragged you to your bed and pushed you on it; onto which you landed with a bounce in a sitting position.

While you sat, weirdly calm, on the edge of the bed; he stood in between your legs and looked down upon you.

You wouldn’t lie, he looked better from that angle… fuck!

“I told you to stay safe. Daddy told you he’d be back for you, then why did you have to run? Do you know how angry I was to learn that my babygirl was disobeying?” he held your jaw gently in his hands.

It seemed like he wanted to be harsh on you, but something stopped him. He didn’t want to scare you; well he barged into your room with a gun, but you could tell that that wasn’t his intention.

His babygirl…

You were all for women not having to be treated like objects belonging to men, but damn did that turn you on.

It seemed like you could no longer control your body; because at this point, it listened to him just like your mind was under his enchantment.

You wanted to say something, anything. But you couldn’t. So you let him to the talking.

“And now she won’t even apologize! You really need to be put in line baby. Tell me, do you trust me?” he asked, bending down so he was on eye level with you. His thumb caressed your face gently as he spoke.

His stormy blue ones staring into your shining e/c ones. His eyes reminded you of a thunder storm over a rough deep blue sea; tempting but vulnerable.

Unable to speak, you simply nodded as anticipation occupied your mind. The mixture of recklessness, fear, lust and mystery made your heart race as you felt the heavy sexual tension in the air wrapped around the both of you.

“That’s my good girl, now lay down, hands over your head and close your eyes. Don’t open then or move until I tell you to, got it?” he instructed and waited for your reply, all while searching your eyes.

You nodded again and he smiled as he watched you follow the instructions he gave you. You almost immediately positioned yourself flat in the bed, closed your eyes and put your wrists above your head and kept them there.

Your other senses heightened instinctively and you could hear him walk around the room; opening drawers and closing them with a slam. Each sound made you jump a little but you didn’t dare to open your eyes just the slightest.

“You know, I’ve waited for a girl like you all my life. Won’t lie to you, doll, I’ve had a generous share of women in my bed. But none of them ever made me chase them like you do. When I first saw you, across the pub, for just a second a glimpse of our future flashed in front of my eyes. I saw myself coming home to you after a long day, I saw you with a beautiful bump, and my baby safe inside your womb. I saw us, doll. And from that moment I knew that you’d be mine, whatever it took,” he spoke, narrating his thoughts while he walked around the room, checking the drawers and closets.

He walked slowly, like as if he had all the time in the world and more, as he told you about his reveries. Part of it made you anxious and part of it didn’t.

A future with him seemed-

Your thoughts halted abruptly as you felt his hands on your body.

Sebastian ran his fingers along your thighs and left feathery kisses along your inner thighs. His mouth seemed so close to your heat yet so far.

Soon, he hooked his fingers to the seam of your underwear and dragged it down your legs until he got rid of it. Once done with that, you felt him straddle your lower body, trapping your legs in between his thighs and locking them in place.

“Your beauty amazes me baby,” he whispered as you felt him reach around your torso to unhook your bra and lift the material off your body.

Right after he did that, his lips found yours and caught them in a deep kiss. His skilled tongue found its way into your mouth as he occasionally sucked and bit on your lower lip.

His hand held your face while he assaulted your lips and bit around your mouth to mark his territory. You didn’t complain, not even once. Instead, you moaned into his mouth over and over again.

Your body squirmed, your back lifted off the bed just the slightest bit before he pushed you back into the mattress, breaking the kiss.

“Sebastian, please,” you moaned. Wrong move. And you learnt so by feeling a smack on your thigh.

You let out a whimper, but the burn felt good. And you wanted more but you wouldn’t tell the gorgeous man just yet.

“Somebody just can’t help but misbehave, right?” he spoke and right after he finished, you heard something click. Like a pen would.

After which, you heard nothing else. And Sebastian was silent as well.

Why would he do with a pen? You thought.

Moments later, a sweet, aromatic air filled the room. You took a deep breath through your nose to analyze the scent better and came to the conclusion that it was probably one of the Vanilla and white chocolate scented candles your dad’s wife wouldn’t stop talking about.

But why would Sebastian u-

Your rational thoughts came to a stop yet again as you felt a drop of a hot liquid fall right above your belly button. Instinctively, your back arched off the bed and you let an uncontrolled moan escaped your lips.

It burned, but it felt good. Again.

As another drop of melted wax hit your skin, you simultaneously felt the faint brush of cold fingers against your glistening folds.

“You’re always so ready for me, aren’t you? Such a good girl,” Sebastian commented and moved his hands faster against your needy core as the candle kept dripping on your skin.

He must have moved the candle upwards, because you felt the wax drip down the valley of your breasts and you couldn’t help but moan out loud.

“Daddy…please,” you moaned, your eyes shut, hands behind your head, legs trapped beneath his robust body and his hands all over you. You were the epitome of helpless. And he liked the sight of that.

He slowly traced your dripping entrance with his finger and chuckled.

“Please what, baby?” he asked as if unaware of the sweet misery he was inflicting upon you.

“I- I need you to touch me, daddy please,” you pleaded, with your eyes shut as you tried to pick up the sounds of his next movements but none came.

His fingers found their way in between your folds and into your tight entrance. And each time he pumped his two fingers into your wet heat, the filthy sounds it made caused your heat to drip even more.

“Daddy, please make me cum,” you whined again, turning you head to the side so your arm would muffle the sound of the moan which escaped your mouth.

He clicked his tongue.

“Not yet, babygirl. Daddy’s not done with you yet,” he spoke.

He rocked his fingers in and out of you at a pace so slow that it was almost painful. He was not gonna let you cum just like that; he wanted you to literally beg him for it.

He kept the candle above you, moving it inch by inch all over your torso and abdomen. It seemed like he was making a specific pattern but in the moment, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

Hot, melted wax dripped down your body; mimicking the drips of your desire as it flowed out of your and coated his fingers.

He adjusted his body as he straddled you and soon, you could feel a growing bulge against your thigh.

You lost all control of your senses when he allowed the melted wax to drop on top of your hip bone. A slow and passionate moan escaped your lips.

Hot, fiery; similar to your need to have him inside you.

“You are so beautiful, my princess. Daddy will always, always take care of you,” he spoke softly; a complete contrast to what he was doing to your body.

A few more specific drops of melted wax later, he seemed to have doused the candle and set it aside as he lifted off your body; for a brief moment.

You whined because of the loss of contact, and mainly because he got you so worked up only to not let you cum yet.

You heard the shuffling of his suit and a few seconds later, he brought his attention back to you.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your breasts, rubbing his hands up and down your arms while his lips attached to yours once again.

His kiss was slow and steady this time; he was in no rush. You felt each stroke of his tongue, each brush of his lips and each tug by his teeth. It was pure bliss.

He broke the kiss and dragged his lips down your body, until he reached your core.

He groaned as he allowed his lips to faintly brush against your wet folds.

“All wet and waiting for me, you’re very needy, aren’t you? Open your eyes, baby,” he spoke against your wet core, his warm breath hitting the damp surface and driving crazy with need.

You opened your eyes and noticed that he had dimmed the lights of the room, the air still smelled like vanilla and chocolate and as you looked down your body, you saw the now hard wax drops scattered all over your body; from your breasts to your hip bones. A sinful masterpiece created by the blue eyed man in front of you.

Sebastian had taken off his suit and shirt, leaving him in his black pants; which were now unzipped.

“Come here,” he said softly and you dragged your body until you sat on the edge of the bed once again. You knew what was coming, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“You’re gonna take daddy’s cock into your pretty mouth, yeah? You’re gonna let daddy use your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” he asked and you nodded in response embarrassingly fast, as you looked up at him with your glossy e/c eyes.

Once he placed his hand on your face, holding it gently – you got to work immediately.

You got on your knees in front of him and pulled down his pants while palmed his bulge through his briefs and he let out a groan and gripped your face tighter in his hand.

“Don’t tease me, babygirl, it’s not gonna end well for you,” he informed you as his hand moved to your hair, making a makeshift ponytail to hold on to.

You pulled down his briefs and his member excitedly stood in front of your face. You wasted no time in taking him into your mouth. Your tongue traced his slit a couple of times and you noticed that whenever you did, he’d buck his hips forward and let out a breathy moan.

You had never been with someone as big as him, so taking him completely into your mouth was slightly difficult. You took him into your wet cave inch by inch and as you did, his breathing got quicker.

You felt his length twitch inside your mouth and you felt the prominent vein press against your tongue as you bobbed your head up and down his member.

His tip reached the furthest part of your mouth and you realized that you managed to take all of him, and damn he was big.

“Fuck! Baby, your mouth feels so- so good,” he moaned as he tugged on your hair. Hearing him moan was the hottest thing you had ever heard. Of course, you had given blowjobs to past lovers, but this was different.

This wasn’t just a regular guy. This was THE mob boss; most notorious one the country had ever known. You knew people who were truly terrified of his power. He was a well-known, cold hearted criminal. His reputation, his pride and his dominance; they all preceded him.

Yet, here he was; a moaning mess with your mouth wrapped around him.

As he moaned, your core throbbed even more and you wanted nothing more than to just press your two fingers against your clit and alleviate your pain but you knew better.

He moaned your name a few times, and which each time; you worshipped his length more and more, hollowing you cheeks to suck him off better.

Within the next few moments, he held your hair tighter and bucked his hips against your mouth a little faster; fucking your mouth and also signaling that his orgasm was close. His cock twitched in your mouth again as you felt the salty precum trickle down your throat slowly.

Once his length throbbed again, you gave him one last suction and felt his load shoot into your mouth. The taste of him, along with your heat throbbing with need was a deadly combination.

You watched him as the feeling of pure bliss washed over him, his eyes rolled back and his head fell back as he came, hard.

Slowly, you lifted your mouth off him; giving his slit one last lick.

He groaned as his orgasm washed over him and pulled harder on your hair, looking down at you. You were on your knees, hands on your lap and a smirk on your lips. Lips which were wrapped around him just a few seconds.

God…you were a sight. And you were all his.

He pulled you up and threw you back on the bed.

“On all fours, baby. Now,” he instructed and you happily obeyed; your heat was clenching with need and nothing else mattered in that moment.

You got on all fours and waited for him. He stroked his length a couple of times as he watched you on the bed. So innocent, yet so sinful.

You waited for him to slide his length into you but instead came his hand, smacking you right on your ass.

“Ouch!” you yelled at the unexpected pain.

He smacked your left butt cheeks again and you yelled out again. It hurt, but it lowkey turned you on even more, although, your core was now throbbing even more than before. And Sebastian knew.

He gave you two more spanks and immediately massaged the skin. He smiled as he saw the stretch marks on your skin; it reminded him of how much more he would add when you’d be expecting his baby one day. The thought of you being thoroughly his was enchanting.

“Does it hurt, baby? Well now you know how much it hurt me when I found out you were running away from me,” he spoke as he spanked you one more time, followed by a bite on your ass.

You moaned out loud again.

“Daddy please,” you whined as another smack landed on your ass. It would probably leave a mark, you though. Maybe even a hand print.

“Beg,” he simply said and you groaned. He already had you completely at his mercy, what more did he want? Jesus!

“Seb, please! I’m sorry, just- just fuck me, daddy please. It hurts,” you moaned, accidentally calling him by a new nickname.

Seb… no one ever called him that. No one but-

He stopped himself before even thinking about that name.

Normally, he’d have the head of anyone who called him by that name. But since it came from you, he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He liked it so much that he decided that he had teased you enough for today.

“Come here, babe,” he whispered and pulled you up and rolled you over so you laid down flat on the bed with his body settled in between your legs.

When your sore ass made contact with the cotton sheets, it burned even more. But you didn’t care, you wanted him, and that’s all that mattered.

When you looked up at his body hovering above you, a tear escaped you eye. You didn’t know if it was because of the built up sexual frustration, the lust in your veins, or just the fact that your emotions were creating a ruckus inside your head.

Sebastian ran his thumb over your cheek and caught the tear before it fell further down your cheek. He hated it, he hated the sight of his girl crying.

But he knew he could make it better.

He captured your lips into a deep kiss and allowed your hands to wrap around his broad shoulders. You pulled him closer, until his chest pressed against your erected nipples and he moaned into the kiss. Nothing felt better than having you under him, under his control.

His tongue slipped through your lips and it stroked the top of your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss and he gently bit your mouth.

His lips travelled to your sweet spot and he assaulted the sensitive skin mercilessly; compelling you into becoming a whimpering hot mess under his touch.

While he left even more marks across your neck, he aligned his tip to your heat and gave it a slight push to slide it through your glistening heat.

Once your walls took him in little by little, the familiar bubble formed inside the two of you.

“Fuck, you’re so warm babygirl,” he moaned into your ear and your back arched off the bed once more as he filled you up entirely.

He kept still, not moving and you felt his cock throbbing inside of you. Your walls wrapped around him perfectly and as you moaned, he understood that you were well adjusted to his size now and took it as a cue to start moving in and out of you slowly.

He started out slow, and then gradually set the speed so both your body moved rhythmically against one another; giving each other a better angle at which you could feel all of him.

And you did.

He filled you up nicely and within seconds, you were a moaning mess.

“Seb! Fuck I- oh fuck, daddy please,” you whined against his cheeks, signaling that you couldn’t hold it much longer given your previous activities.

You felt his ragged breath right at you ear and he chuckled, rocking against you at a much faster speed now.

“I know, baby. I know,” he spoke and ended with a groan and he wrapped his arms around your torso and lifted your back off the bed a little bit.

You moaned as he hit your g-spot with each thrust in this position. A series of cuss words left both your mouths as you basked into each other’s presence.

You opened your eyes to look at him and his eyes were closed as he frowned in pleasure. You moaned out loud when one of his hand slipped in between both of you and rubbed your little bundle of nerves furiously.

“Cum for me, doll. Cum for daddy like the good girl you are,” he urged you and you happily obeyed once again.

You both knew you wouldn’t last long so as soon as he finished speaking, you let go. Yelling out his name and a few cuss words in the process; you came around him.

Your walls milked in relentlessly and soon, he came as well. His load shooting your warm walls and you could feel him leaking out of you as he slowly pulled out.

You were both breathing hard and fast, hearts racing and he rolled off you and settled by your side. A layer of sweat coated both your bodies; your ass cheeks were stinging due to the friction and the wax was still on your skin. And Sebastian just laid next to you, silently with his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly.

As you looked at him, a strange feeling took over. And the butterflies came back.

You inched closer to him and sheepishly rested your head on top of his chest. You placed your ear right on top of his racing heart and listened intently at the heartbeats.

Once he felt your head on top of his chest, he smiled and instinctively wrapped his arms around you. He discretely placed a kiss on top of your head and relished the feeling of having his girl in his arms.

“Not so dangerous now, am I?” he teased and you smiled, blushing.

I am naked in bed with a mob boss in my dad’s house, expect the unexpected indeed.

“I didn’t run from you,” you said out of nowhere and his silence signaled that he was listening.

His hand rubbed your shoulder and urged you to keep going.

“I ran from what I was feeling. I- it’s not you. It’s just, I don’t know, people talk you know. And even in the little town where I’m from, they talk about what you do. I’ve heard the stories about you when I was in college, a friend of mine cancelled her trip to Amsterdam only because she found out that you were currently there. People are scared of you, and I thought I should be too. So, I took off,” you explained and he listened without interrupting.

“I won’t hurt you,” came his reply to what you just said.

You didn’t know what to say, or feel. So, you kept quiet.

After a while of just cuddling and listening to each other’s heartbeat, you decided to take a shower together. After which, you cleaned the room and got in bed for the night.

“You’re mine,” Sebastian whispered into your ear.

You smiled despite the mixed feelings about this whole situation. Right after he spoke, his phone rang. He picked it up from the floor and groaned when he saw the caller ID.

“I’ll be right back, doll, gotta talk to these a-holes or else they’ll turn my world upside down with their stupidity,” he explained and walked out the room, leaving you in bed.

As soon as he walked out, your phone rang.

Weird, you thought, who would call you at almost midnight?

You stared at your phone screen and it said that it was an unknown number. If it were a few days ago, you would have ignored the call, but now that you’ve slept with the mob boss himself – nothing scared you and nothing seemed dangerous anymore.

You decided to take the call.

“Hello?” you spoke and immediately froze.

“Hello? Honey, its dad! Listen, peanut, this may sound terrifying but trust me, please. Okay, honey, I need to get out of the house. Right now. It’s not safe. Get your things and get out, now. There’s a black Range waiting in the driveway, it’s unlocked and inside there’s an address. I need you to get to that address. Please, honey, get there and I’ll explain everything. Okay? I love you more than anything, my darling. Please be safe, I’m waiting for you,” and with that, he ended the call.

Your heart raced at his words. What could this mean? Did your dad find out about Sebastian? How?

What the fuck is happening? You thought.

You could hear Sebastian barking orders at someone in French yet again, and from the sound of it, it seemed like he was in the kitchen downstairs.

So, if you were to grab your unpacked bags and make a run for it through the bedroom window, he wouldn’t hear a thing.

Between Sebastian and your dad, you trusted your dad better. But why did it feel wrong to run away from him again?

Okay, fuck this shit. If dad said something’s wrong, then something’s wrong!

So you scribbled a note to Sebastian, slipped your shoes on, grabbed your bag and stepped out the window. The jump wasn’t that high, you would make it.

So you made the jump. Along which, you made a grave mistake.

The mob boss just wanted your attention and your love. He wanted you to know that you were his. He wanted to give you the world. But now, he’d have to hunt you down and make sure you never run again. Because like he said before; he will always want you back.

This series’ tag list: (feel free to let me know if anyone else wants to tagged in future parts)

@crawlingnightmares @derekxsammy @coffees-and-constellations @josie605 @someone-i-use-to-know @enigma-xlii @fromtheheartandsoul @docharleythegeekqueen @nostagicgrant @undiscovered-misunderstood @moowaa-us @flipflopasshat @finallysomegoodfuckingcontent @spideyxxboi @everything-is-awesomesauce @fangirl-writer-awesomeness @euphoricbuckys @keepcalmandsosayweall @naurin-of-the-east @hadou-queen @a-kiddo-with-a-doggo @theunknowinglys @toinfinityandbeyondaffection @nerdytarah @purplechipsblog @bxxbxy @loving-barnes @msruchita @abehn @varvarafromgr @thehuntress26 @nojerama1996 @namebydot @carlya65 @mattmurdocksbitch @mustbeaweasleyginger @otakushifter @parker-barnes-af @ladifreakingda @nerdeey @airloe @studentville-struggles @yikes-buckybarnes

sorry if Tumblr didn’t let me tag you :( and i apologize for any typos, it’s midnight but i posted because i love all my horny ballsacks!!

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