#one of the last mirror selfies at this house... i move on friday!!

[jesterjamz]

^ the me

[octuscle]

I'm your average joe who works an average desk job and at 45 I have nothing great going for me. Sometimes I just wish I could do it over again. Maybe take up a diffrent major in college, something that would set me up for a more adventurous life. Can you help me achieve this?

Okay, who wants to be average? And who wouldn't want to know what their life would have been like if they had made a different decision at some point? I mean, your decisions weren't actually bad. Bank apprenticeship, business studies, going to the gym twice a week… You have a house in the suburbs, a cool car. It could have been worse! But also better. We can manage that! Monday, 12:00 noon, let's get started!

When you finish work in the evening, you're still full of energy. Even though you worked until 19:00 today. It's paying off that you started making the gym your home seven months ago. When you arrive at the gym at 8 p.m., Steve greets you at reception with a fist bump. Everyone here greets you. Some of them are good friends of yours. The rest at least know you by sight. No wonder, you're here every day. In the morning before work. In the evening after work. And the effort pays off. From a very well-built man with the typical rolls of flab, you have developed into an athlete. A machine. Not one of the big boys. But close. You call it a day at 22:00. You need seven hours' sleep, you want to be back here at 07:00. One last critical look in the mirror. Not bad for a man in his mid-40s…

Get up, gym, office… You work like clockwork. You're good at your job. The development of your body has boosted your career. Today you have another lunch date with a division manager. He asks you if it's time to take the next step in your career. It's been two years since you moved to the "Digital Research and Development" division. That was also the initial spark for your physical transformation. As an accounting employee, you had previously become a lazy and saturated couch potato… You smile and, as if by chance, flex your huge biceps. You know that makes him hot. And the prospect of a blowjob after lunch is tempting. Of course, he immediately notices that your cock is getting hard… You have his hand in your crotch for the rest of lunch.

When you arrive at the gym at 7pm on Wednesday, you first have to go through your post. As the largest shareholder, you are only the chairman of the supervisory board. But many people confuse that with managing director. Idiots who are just stealing your precious time on the weights. Since you introduced the "Meathead Gym" brand and turned your old gym into the flagship of the new brand, you feel even more at home here. No classes, no machines, no women. Just honest, hard bodybuilding. Dress code is at least off-the-shoulder. In fact, shirtless is preferred. It goes without saying that you don't wear a tank top either.

You're the first one in the gym on Friday morning. Good thing you have the keys. You look around. Your empire. It was a big step to leave your good job almost eight years ago and start working at the fitness start-up. For hardcore bodybuilders, you are now the market leader as a fitness studio, but also in nutritional supplements and gym clothing. Steve arrives at 05:30. He has the early shift at reception. You greet him with a fist bump. Good man. A little weak in the chest. At least compared to you… But he'll get there!

You visit a school friend at the weekend. His son is a handsome stud. He could turn into a real gym hunk. He asks if he can take a selfie with you. Sure, I'd love to, you say. He asks you if you can give him any tips on what he should do now. He's finishing high school now. You ask him what position he plays football. He grins and says that he prefers to spend his time in the gym. You can see that. You tell your school friend to listen away for a moment. And then you tell your son that he shouldn't bother with college and university. You're glad you didn't do that either. You started pumping iron straight away. And then brought your dream to life. Live your dream, you tell him. And that you'd be happy if it could start at your company.

[umemiyan]

Happy Friday Robin!! ❤️ tell me, what does the weekend routine look like in the Aviary?

HELLO MY WONDERFUL PRECIOUS sorry i didn’t answer this last night i was so damn tired fjdndjskks

but omg okay so weekends are reserved for family fun time <3 aka all the little birdies are forced to get together and do activities because mother says so. also in my fantasy land i don’t work on weekends, so this is actually possible LMAO

on saturday we’ll usually go out and do something or maybe stay home and do like a movie marathon or game night or something like that. it depends on the activity but we usually end up leaving the house sometime in the early afternoon because it takes everyone a while to get ready, but i’ve devised a plan that somewhat moves everything along a little bit faster

belphie and nagi have to get their asses up. i usually employ the help of either tanjiro or suga for this because they’re good motivators while also being capable of gentleness to avoid irritation. hajime can also be good for tasks like these.

denki has to decide which jacket and cologne he wants to wear. hajime has to fix his hair. oikawa’s taking mirror selfies. i have to be kissy kissy with katsuki to keep him from blowing up because “all you damn extras are taking too long” etc. even tho i'm lowkey feeling the same way. it’s a whole process truly, like taking a huge family with lots of children out

some of my good boys like megumi are just sitting off to the side waiting because he in particular has been up since 6am. yuuta’s there with him because that bitch barely sleeps

i usually try to have everybody ready to go by a certain time, but depending on the progress that’s made we sometimes split up. hajime or someone will be like “you go ahead and take those guys and i’ll get everyone else rounded up. we’ll be right behind you.” so me and my little brigade of punctual/efficient babies are loading up in the van to go to the mall or whatever LOL

sundays are way more chill like everyone is just getting up whenever they want and tanjiro will probably try to make two or three different waves of breakfast because he feels bad if somebody misses it fkdjdkdjdn i’m like “tanjiro it’s okay they can just have cereal” but he’s literally already cracking eggs into the pan

everyone’s mostly just chilling around watching tv/movies or playing games with some designated chores mixed in. it’s not an organized family event but it may end up being a whole group thing depending on what we’re watching or doing. even katsuki’s competitive ass cannot resist a mario kart tournament or something djdjsksjje

anyways yeah we’re a big insane family but it’s so much fun <3 oh and we usually have a nice homemade dinner on sunday evening!!! most everyone ends up pitching in one way or another whether it be cooking or setting the table because they’re not allowed near the stove lmfao

[prettybutter-flyy]

An Overreaction: A short story.

Ugh. Why won’t I die?

I wake up. Again. Why? I stumble out of bed and head to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I try smiling at the man I see - but I don’t even recognize him. When did he age? When did bags begin growing under his eyes? When did he start losing his hair? I don’t feel like the spry, enthusiastic man I once prided myself on being.

In my youth, days started with a spring out of bed and gratitude for the chance to participate in society, to socialize, to connect, to learn! I used to love to move and dance and flirt or, sometimes, even work! The synergetic zeal of getting into a flow or tossing ideas back and forth with people you trust… God, time has beaten that out of me. Beaten me senseless.

I don’t think time is my enemy here, though. Time itself has not robbed me of my faith in humanity - in my faith in myself. A fatherless childhood will do that, too. A promotion that should have gone to me did it. A woman that would have been happier had she picked me did it. Ending up alone in a huge house that I own, with no one to fill it with new memories, did it. So now I haunt my own home, stalking about for stimulation. For purpose.

I am utterly useless, and I seem to be the last one to figure it out. Every single day. When will I die? I roll my eyes in the mirror, dismissing those happy morning thoughts, to actually do my bathroom business.

…

The sun shines through the windows of my house. I don’t feel its warmth on my skin; instead, the air conditioning isolates me from the heat of a Texas summer morning. I take my first bite of the stale breakfast I made for myself today (like I do every day): cereal. The sugar gives me a rush. As I’m eating, the young woman I see every day, jogs down the street.

I wonder where she could possibly get the energy and time to run. Maybe if I didn’t have cereal every morning, I might have some energy to go on an early morning run, I think as I crunch on my Frosted Flakes. I know they’re bad for me, but I love them. I think we all have little vices we indulge in to make life a little more exciting.

I see her every day with her dumb little dog. She usually comes by a couple of times; I assume she does laps around my small block.

Today, she stops in front of my house and takes a deep breath. She is huffing and puffing as she pulls her phone from her pocket and snaps a “selfie.” While she does this, her dumb little dog begins to do its business. Disgusting. Then I chuckle because, judging by the angle the girl was standing, she may have captured her dog in a compromising position.

Then, to my indignation, the woman continues her jog, as if her dog had not just dropped a fat turd on my lawn!

The nerve of this girl! To drop the burden of cleaning up her dog’s bowel movements on me, a feeble old man - what right does she think she has to my time? To my lawn! I feel the rage pent up inside of me—I don’t even finish my cereal. I march myself to my garage, open my garage door, grab a lawn chair from the pile of fishing gear in the corner, march myself to the lawn, and set my chair—and my butt—next to the stinky excrement.

The smell is potent, and my anger is all-consuming. The hot morning air was likely to thank for that. But I stayed there. She comes down the street multiple times a day, every weekday (I know this because we often wave to each other), and it is Friday. She will be back. And she will answer for this crime. And it is a crime; in this county, it is LAW that you must pick up after your dog. I should call the police! They can air her out without much escalation. As much as I would enjoy teaching her a lesson, they can teach her a much more expensive lesson. One that will ruin her month(ly budget).

I seethe. Much like the stench of this dog dropping, I am festering in this Texas heat—really, how can anyone run in this?! My vexation jumps out of my body, tapping my toe to the ground, crossing my arms so tightly I fear I may get a heat stroke.

When she turns the corner for the second time, her dog trotting along her side, I begin to shake. Her stupid dog’s happy little face also enrages me. The woman smiles and waves at me—like she usually does—as she runs closer and closer. I feel my own heartbeat in my chest, my face puffy and red, as if I'm the one running.

I stand and wave back at her angrily to get her attention. “You’ve got some nerve!”

Now she seems to understand that I’m talking to her. She slows her jog until she’s jogging in place and takes out one of those high-tech earphones from her right ear and places it in her hand.

“Excuse me?” the woman stops jogging in place. The dog sits, calmly, happily. “Is something wrong?” She’s not even tired from the running, no panting. I don’t think I even see the glisten of sweat! What is she? Some kind of Olympian?

“‘oH Is SoMetHiNg WrOnG?’” I mock her. “Uh, yeah, you let your dog poop on my lawn, and you just left it here to stink up the whole neighborhood!”

“Oh!” She covers her mouth, eyes wide with embarrassment. She is older than I’d thought, maybe only 20 years younger than me. Up close, she has kind eyes and a muscular build. She pulls a bag out of her pocket. “I’m so sorry! Max here pooped before we got to this house, and I had to use my last bag, but I just ran to get some more so I could clean it up when I looped back around!” She bends down to pick up the poop and pet her Max. “I’m sorry!”

“Good!” I grunt, “Don’t you EVER pull an entitled, lazy stunt like that again!”

She continues to make excuses, like she’s some quirky awkward protagonist in a coming of age movie, “It’s funny, when this happens, I take a picture of the house he did it on, go grab a bag, and come back!” She shows me the photos on her phone, which she wasn’t in at all. Just the mailbox and the dog poop. She swipes a couple of times to show similar photos.

I scoff, “So this happens often?”

“I mean, as often as it happens to most dog owners.” She fiddles with the bag.

I roll my eyes at her back-sass. “Well, I should have called the cops. They’d teach you some kind of lesson about personal responsibility. What, do you think everyone just cleans up after you? That you’re the main character of the world? Is that why you think you can just do whatever you want to other people’s property?”

“I don’t think,” she stammers. “I just—” She looked like she may cry.

So I continue. Maybe I can scream a tear or two out.

“You probably don’t even own a house in this neighborhood, do you? You’re probably a renter, aren’t you? Because if you owned a house, you would understand what it was like to keep your shit nice and protect it from those who want to destroy the life you’ve made for yourself!”

“No one else has had a problem with me here. I pick it up every single time! I didn’t mean to disrespect you but what was I supposed to do? Pick it up with my hand?”

“You don’t know ANYTHING about respect! I had to work for 55 years before I could finally retire in this house. I’ve taken care of it every day of my life, because I RESPECT my things. My lawn is not public property! Stay off of it, or I will call the police next time! It’s illegal to not clean up your dog’s SHIT!” I spit at her. As I speak, the embarrassment in her eyes fades and changes to something else. A different type of embarrassment?

The woman was (probably) about to give me another round of excuses, but almost like someone flipped a switch in her brain, her face eases. “Ohhhhh,” she says as she puts her earphone back in her ear. “You just want to argue with someone.” She begins to jog away, almost nonchalantly. Almost.

“I do not!” I start shouting again. “You need to learn some goddamn respect! What, your generation can’t even have a conversation without getting oFfEnDEd? Do you know how much a fine for littering—”

She whips back around, angrily, ripping out both of her fancy earphones this time. For a second, I feared she might hit me. The calm runner I saw every day was gone. She was basically panting, like what she was about to say would take all the energy she had left.

“You came outside from your rEspECtaBle, cold air-conditioned paid-off retirement home to sit in the hot Texas sun with DOG SHIT. And then you yelled at me for a misunderstanding that—” she holds up the doggy bag. “I HAVE CORRECTED and have apologized for, and now… you’re STILL yelling at me?” She scoffs. “Because you know soooo much about respect!”

She shoves her earphones back into her ears and she and her dog skip along their merry way, but not before leaving me with a pitiful, “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

I watch her jog away, the sun cooking my skin. I could just run with her. I used to have energy like that, long ago. Now I glance back at my home, not wanting to go back in.

…

After putting up my lawn chair and closing my garage, I return to the kitchen table. My skin cools down, and it feels as if someone’s poured ice water on my fire. That other embarrassment was pity. I know, because I feel it for myself now. I return to my cereal. It is soggy.

[starkly]

Home Prom

Peter misses his prom due to Spiderman-ing.

Luckily his dad Tony makes their own prom. Complete with dancing, snacks, and sex in the back of a car.

3366 words. NFF. Incest, anal sex, car sex. Unstated age (written as 18, but up to interpretation)

---------

Peter was excited for prom.

He had missed his homecoming due to his date's Dad being a villain, so was looking forward to getting to experience a normal, fun day, to dance and have a nice time.

Of course he couldn't bring who he wanted as a date, but having his friends there would make up for it. He could dance with them instead.

He grinned at his room's mirror, his suited reflection smiling back at him, as he straightened his jacket for the last time, turning to his bowtie, attempting to wrangle it into submission but only achieving a tangled mess for his efforts. He huffed in annoyance.

Peter left his room and raced down the hallway, calling as he did; "Dad?" "Yeah, Pete?" His father responded walking towards the sound of his son's voice, stopping in his tracks and exhaling an awed breath at the sight of him. "Ohh, Peter. Look at you." Reverence in his voice.

Peter blushed, looking down at his feet. "Do I look okay?" "You look incredible."

Peter lifted his head slightly and smiled up at Tony shyly, before remembering with a start what he had left his room for. "Oh! Can you help me with the bowtie?"

Tony gave his son a toothy grin, "Of course." He replied, coming closer and untying Peter's mess.

As Tony focused on the tie Peter kept his eyes locked on the older man's face, admiring him. Taking in the familiar sight of his well trimmed beard. And his eyes, usually tired from how hard he worked himself, but always bright and full of love around Peter. His brow furrowed slightly as he focused on his task.

"All done." Tony said, hands moving from Peter's tie to his shoulders, rubbing gently, as he looked at Peter with love. "Oh! Wait, stay here." Tony left the room quickly, returning with a camera, turning it on with one hand, and leaning in to pinch Peter's cheek with the other, before soothing over the spot, thumb stroking gently over his cheek.

"Daa-aa-d" Peter whined with feigned annoyance.

"Oh hush you. My baby's going to prom. What kind of father would I be if I didn't take pictures?" Tony responded, moving both hands to hold his camera properly.

Peter smiled, and let Tony direct him to pose for far too many photos.

-----

After the photoshoot the two stood at the door, Peter waiting as Tony fussed, hands gently cradling and caressing Peter's cheeks as he spoke, "You sure you don't want me to drop you off?"

Being the son of the Tony Stark had a huge number of advantages, but a number of disadvantages too. Namely that when he was young and first going to school people wouldn't leave him alone, wanting to get to know the son of Ironman. After a while it died down, getting used to Peter just being Peter, their strange, nerdy classmate, not Peter, the Son of Tony Stark.

He got used to it until his classmates saw his dad dropping him off.

And then he'd gotten no peace all week, the other students swarming around his father, then swarming around him, pretending to like him, or even not pretending, and simply threatening, in attempts to convince Peter to let them go to his house, or get something signed by Tony Stark. Some students even being pressured by their parents to do so.

So Peter preferred not to have Tony near school more than necessary.

"No, dad. I promise I'll be fine." Peter gave a reassuring smile.

"Alright, but if you change your mind let me know. And don't drink the punch unless you know no-one's done anything to it, you know your mutation makes you weird with alcohol. And call me if you or your friends need a ride or an Uber or something, And-"

Peter cut Tony off by tugging him forward by his collar, laying a tender kiss on his cheek.

Tony paused. "Just have fun, okay?"

-----

"Hey, guys!" Peter waved at his friends, the group of them seeing each other just outside the school's doors. Students were littered across the area and loud music filtered through the open doors to where they stood.

"Hey, loser." MJ responded.

"Hi, Peter!" Ned responded, more enthusiastically.

They talked for a few minutes before deciding it was time to head inside and get their prom officially started, but Peter paused in his steps towards the school, head twisting and staring off into the distance.

"Oh, boy. Peter-Tingle?" MJ asked.

Peter much preferred the other name they had chosen for his ability; 'Spidey Sense', but with people around who didn't know his secret identity who might overhear, he had to accept the more mortifying name for it.

"Yep." Peter said, still looking away. His hands curled into fists and loosened again and again quickly, using his nervous energy as his mind raced. "Okay. So-"

"It's okay, man. Go be a hero." Ned smiled.

Peter gave him a grateful look. Waving at them both as he ran away from the school, looking for somewhere no one would see as he activated his suit.

Ned and MJ went inside.

---------

Peter returned home hours later, prom long over. He was covered in sweat, and yawned as he entered.

Peter had swung away from school to stop a mugging. He was ready to rush back to prom when he ran into a lost child. After getting the little boy back to his mother, he started back towards school, stopping to help an old man across the street. Then find a stolen bike. Then take selfies a little girl in a Spiderman onesie, celebrating her birthday. And so on until he'd looked at how dark it had gotten around him, time flying by without him realising.

He stood there in silence staring at the sky. Realising he had missed the party. Peter felt tears well in his eyes, he felt stupid for being upset. It was just a party.

"Pete? You home?" Tony called from the living room just as Peter left the elevator. "Had a good prom, baby?"

Peter didn't respond.

"Peter?" Tony looked up at him, heart breaking at the disappointed look on his son's face. "Oh, Peter. What happened?"

Tony opened his arms where he sat on the couch and Peter moved to him, collapsing into his embrace. Peter let his upsets about the day spill from his mouth, telling Tony everything, and rubbing his face on Tony's shoulder, trying to stop the tears before they fell.

Tony's hand combed through Peter's hair the whole time he spoke. His heartbeat soothing Peter where they sat pressed together, "I'm so sorry kiddo. That must have been disappointing." He pressed a lingering kiss against Peter's hair.

"It's fine." Peter responded. "I'll get over it."

----

Peter didn't seem to be getting over it.

Often when Peter was upset, letting that feeling out by venting - and sometimes crying - to Tony, and then getting some sleep would have him over it and back to his usual cheerful self.

But this time...

After talking to Tony about getting caught up in being a hero and missing his prom, they had sat cuddling for a while, before Tony got up, got the food he had ordered for their late dinner.

They ate Chinese take-away together on the couch, Peter leaning heavily against Tony's side as he ate.

Afterwards they went to Tony's room and crawled into bed, Peter's head pillowed on Tony's chest, Tony's hand tangled in his hair, petting it as they slowly drifted off to sleep, comforted by each other's presence.

When Peter woke up, rather than grinning and jostling Tony, joking about trying to wake him up while Tony was clearly already awake as he often did, Peter saw the light streaming through the window and curled tighter to Tony.

After a while of lying together, watching the light play with the shades of Peter's hair, Tony untangled himself to make them both breakfast. Peter simply pulled the blanket higher over him.

---

Tony brought Peter pancakes in bed. Peter pushed them around with his fork, but only took small, nibbling bites. Tony couldn't handle seeing Peter upset. He had an idea to fix it.

Tony reached out and brushed Peter's hair behind his ear. "I have an idea. Why don't you spend some time with your friends, and when you get home I'll have a surprise for you."

Peter perked up a little at that. "Surprise?"

"Mhm," Tony nodded. "But first, pancakes."

Peter gave a small, but genuine smile. And while still mostly pushing the pancakes around the plate, took larger bites, and making little happy noises at the taste.

----

Peter left to hang out with Ned and MJ in town.

Tony knew that Ned would be a decent distraction while he put the rest of his plan in motion.

Part of Peter was upset that he cancelled on a meeting with his friends, so feeling like he was making it up to them by hanging out together would make him a little happier for a while.

But the rest of him was disappointed. He had missed his homecoming, and now his prom. He just wanted to have some normal, fun experiences, and once again he missed out.

Tony didn't want Peter to miss out.

And he couldn't go back in time. And he couldn't force the school and all its students to have the prom again. Well he could, he was Tony Stark. But Peter probably wouldn't want that. So he was left with one final option.

He'd make their own prom.

----

"Dad?" Peter arrived home after hours with his friends, finding his father out of sight.

"Peter, Boss is in the Lab. He has requested you come down wearing your prom suit." Friday announced.

Peter winced a little, prom still upsetting him a little though he'd been trying hard to hide it. "Thanks, Friday." Peter said, getting dressed into the suit as requested, the tie draped over his neck untied, and stepping into the elevator, heading to the Lab.

As the elevator went down he heard the faint sound of music, getting closer. Calm, soft music, not the kind of thing his dad listened to as he worked.

The doors opened and Peter's jaw dropped.

The Lab was completely different. Each of the tables had been pushed to line the walls, chairs stacked on top of them along with half finished projects. Even the cars his father collected and worked on had been moved, slightly, to be closer to the walls. Leaving a wide, clear area in the middle of the room. One one side of this space was a table ladened with treats: cupcakes, finger foods and drinks. On the other side the bots, each with a bowtie wrapped around part of their metallic frames, were spinning along to the music.

And in the middle, Tony.

Tony with slightly damp hair, clearly having needed a shower after the workout required to get the room so different.

Tony wearing a suit of his own, form fitting, showing off his muscles in a very flattering way.

Tony giving a slightly self conscious smile, gesturing to the room before moving towards Peter. "Well? What do you think?" Hands moving to Peter's bowtie.

"It- I- What's all this?" Peter questioned, eyes darting across the room, Tony's fingers brushing against Peter's neck as he finished the bowtie.

"Well," Tony looked a little sheepish, unsure if Peter was liking this. "I know you were upset about prom. And while I can't go back and get you to that one, I thought maybe making our own, just you and me-" Dum-e beeped. "-and the bots, might make up for it in a way. Let you still experience it, even if a bit strangely."

Peter's eyes were a little glossy, beginning to tear up as he stared up at Tony. Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "Although if you don't want- Mhhm" Tony was cut off by lips slamming into his own.

"Thank you." Peter grinned against Tony's mouth, voice cracking with emotion.

Tony gave a wide smile in return, placing his hands around Peter's and giving a nod to the ceiling, signalling for Friday to turn up the music. "Shall we dance?"

----

Peter and Tony swayed gently around the room. The bots spinning less gently in circles, every so often getting tangled in streamers Tony had placed around the room, and dragging them down, along with anything nearby. Peter and Tony tried to ignore the crashes, looking over to ensure the bots were still upright before focusing back on each other.

Peter rested his cheek on Tony's collar bones, their hearts beating in sync. Peter smiled as he felt the vibrations of Tony humming along with the music as they danced.

After a while of dancing around the room, Tony lead them towards the table he had set up earlier, picking up a cupcake and unwrapping it, holding it up to Peter in offering, as Peter bit in and lifted his hands to hold it for himself, Tony grabbed his own cupcake too. The two leaning into each other, taking a break from dancing to breathe.

"A decent replacement prom?" Tony asked in a light-hearted tone.

Peter nodded into his cupcake, accidentally getting frosting on his nose and quickly wiping it off. "I love it. Thank you." He licked the frosting off of his finger. "How does this measure up to your prom?"

"Well." Tony thought about it. "I was 14 at the time, surrounded by my almost adult classmates usually trying to hump each other on the dance-floor. So the company's a lot better for starters." Tony joked.

Peter giggled, then stared at his cupcake deep in thought. "Since you we're 14 did you go without a date?" Peter asked, looking up at Tony and seeing his responding nod. "Didn't get to have the same experiences as your classmates... Well. I guess this is the first proper prom for both of us then!" He smiled.

Tony laughed. "I guess it is."

-----

They went back to dancing. Peter trying to lead, accidentally stepping on Tony's feet every once in a while. Laughs mixing with music. Each focusing on the feeling of their loved one's touch, their closeness.

Peter leaned in and kissed Tony, lips brushing against each other tenderly. Tony's hand reached up to Peter's cheek as they separated, bringing him in, exchanging more and more kisses as they moved.

"So!" Peter began, slowing their dance to mostly just be swaying without moving their feet. "Was there anything from your prom you wished you got to experience?" Peter asked, both for Tony and so he could get his own experience as close to perfect as possible.

"Hmm." Tony's face scrunched up. "It's been a long time. I haven't thought about it."

"Well, what about instead of what things you felt you missed, just what things did you see people doing?"

Tony looked up in thought. "People came in, danced. Kissed. Poured drinks from home in the punch and got drunk," Peter made a face, "and then after most of them filtered out to go have sex in the back of their parent's cars."

Peter's head snapped up at that. "Oh?" He looked to Tony's car collection, staring at it with a thoughtful look. "Sex in their parent's cars?" He paused, still staring. "I guess you missed out on that bit..."

Tony looked back at the cars too, catching on and turning back to Peter, Tony said: "So did you. Want to rectify that, Sweetheart?"

----

Peter grabbed onto Tony's tie, pulling him down to his lips, and dragging him, first to one of the desks. Tony opened the drawer and reached, pulling out a half empty bottle of lube. It wasn't the first time they'd fucked in the Lab, though usually it was over a desk, relieving their frustrations of projects that weren't coming together as easily was hoped, so they were well prepared. After the drawer closed Peter continued dragging him along to the nearest car, one of Tony's favourites. He'd put it together himself.

Tony pushed Peter up against the car, exploring his son's mouth with his tongue.

Peter reached behind himself and grabbed the handle, moving them away from the door to open it, ducking down and crawling in, lying on his back, making grabby hands at his daddy.

Tony climbed in on top of him, shutting the door behind him, lube next to Peter on the seat. Tony pressed his weight down on Peter, his lips going to Peter's neck, biting down, before licking over the bite, soothing it, and moving on to sucking on Peter's neck.

Peter moaned and writhed under him, hands going up to cling to Tony's back. "Fuck me, daddy." He groaned.

Tony pulled off his tie. his teeth scraping against Peter's neck as he pulled his jacket down his arms, throwing it to the car floor, hands moving back up to unbutton his shirt, Peter doing the same, they met in the middle and Tony tore the shirt off fully, focusing on getting Peter naked as Peter ran his hands over Tony's muscular pecs and discoloured scars.

Peter's flexibility came in handy as he arched up to pull his jacket and shirt off, hands moving down to unbutton his pants and pull them down, getting naked in record time. Moving his arms back up to wrap around Tony.

Tony pulled his own pants down, trying to maunder them over his hips and onto the floor with the small space they had.

Tony leaned in to settle more securely back over Peter, his large cock bobbing with the movement, bumping against Peter's ass, drooling Precum over the plush cheeks.

"Oh!" Peter groaned, his cock twitching, pressed between their bodies. "Want to be fucked by your daddy, sweet boy?"

Peter whined. "Daddy, don't tease me. I want you inside of me right now." He grabbed the lube. Squirting some on his and Tony's hands. He reached between them to coat Tony's cock as Tony pressed two fingers inside of Peter, his mouth going to Peter's neck, wanting to tease and rile him up before the big event.

Peter wrapped his legs around Tony's torso and, arm between his legs, pushed Tony's hand away, pressing his father's tip against his hole. Tony pushed in slowly, both moaning softly as Tony's cock slid into his son's body. Tony gave a gentle thrust into the welcoming heat, starting a gentle rhythm as he kneeled over his son, knees and palms cushioned by the soft plush of the car seats.

"Ohhh!" Peter moaned, wrapping his arm around Tony, bringing their chests together, feeling sweat exchanged between them.

"Fuck, Pete." Tony gave a throaty groan, thrusting faster, biting at Peter's neck, sucking hickeys that would heal quickly after.

Tony's pounding got harder, Peter jolting as his prostate was hammered. Moans filled the car.

Peter felt the thrusts push him inch by inch across the seats, hand slamming up to brace against the window, keeping himself in place.

"Baby, oh god." Tony sat up higher, one hand braced on the seat, the other joining Peter's against the now completely fogged up window, his movements became wild as he felt Peter's hole clenching around him with every good thrust, squeezing his cock in its loving, velvet embrace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Peter felt himself reach the edge, so close. Tony's hand slid between their bodies, jerking him off in quick, shaky tugs.

"Ah, Daddy!" Peter yelled, cum shooting onto his and Tony's chest, hand sliding down the window as his other grasped the seat so hard some of the stitching tore.

"Fuck, Peter, I love you." Tony groaned out as he came inside Peter's fluttering hole, curling inwards, forehead pressing against Peter's shoulder as his cock twitched and emptied inside his son.

They panted into each other, Tony flopping down gently against Peter, knowing he was strong enough not to mind.

"Fuck, baby." Tony said breathlessly.

Peter grinned and kissed his temple as he caught his breath.

"A good prom, sweetheart?" Tony asked.

"The best prom. I'm glad I got to spend it with you."

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part six

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x Reader

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

      Posting new chapters every Wednesday and Friday!

          Getting to know you

While a certain member of the Seven entertained violent thoughts at the upper levels, Sarah sat at her desk filing papers. To be honest, she was studying more than she was doing her job, but there wasn’t much of a workload anyway. Keeping her textbook laid flat against her knees, she quickly went through the lines of text before typing away at her computer for a few minutes.

Martha was perched on her desk reading through some folders.

“You do know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Sarah sighed and finished the paragraph she was reading on molecular recognition.

“I know,” she conceded, before defending herself. “At least I’m doing something constructive.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and shot, “Look at Sierra, over there.”

Her friend moved naturally, looking over at the clock while noticing the young woman taking a string of selfies with her coffee. Martha grimaced, shaking her head.

“No girl, just no.”

“I know.”

“Someone needs to tell her, she won’t stop.”

Sarah laughed, “She’ll learn someday.”

Checking the clock herself, she found herself growing hot. She pressed her sweaty palms into the wood surface of her desk, letting her legs stretch out underneath it. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she masked her unease by bringing her hand back to her mouse, clicking away at the screen.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sarah made a noncommittal sound, not letting her eyes move away from the screen in front of her.

“You look...” Martha trailed off before finding the right word, “squeamish.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Just what I like to hear.”

Martha sighed, her eyes narrowing at her friend. “You know I worry. You sure everything’s okay?”

The sight of Black Noir occupying her couch was seared into her mind. She could no longer hide. She could only face it and be smart about the information she disclosed.

Her friend was still watching her, and Sarah finally pushed away from the desk.

She pushed her glasses back up and, pinching the bridge of her nose, she bowed her head down.

With her hair falling around her face in soft curls, she murmured, “I’ve made a contact.”

Martha immediately put her papers down and turned to fully face her. “What do you mean?”

“Someone reached out. It’s dangerous, but it could be very rewarding.”

“Who is it?”

Sarah looked around and brought her hands back to the keyboard.

“I really can’t say.”

At Martha’s pointed look, she further explained. “I really can’t tell you. It’s someone—,” she wasn’t sure how she could describe Black Noir without giving it away. “It’s just someone really high up. Lots of info.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s B.N. isn’t it? You said he made contact.”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe.”

Martha stared at her for a few moments before accepting her friend’s silence.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Sarah nodded, “You know I am.”

Her friend shook her head. “I know you are, but we’re getting closer. Things could get hot.”

The room grew even louder and more boisterous as lunch time rolled around. Sarah proceeded to close the files she’d been working on.

“Oh, and you’ll have to tell me all the deets, understood?”

The young woman laughed, wondering deep down if she’d be able to tell her anything at all. The dead don’t speak.

“I’m ready for lunch, let’s go find Annika.”

.

The hours after lunch were spent worrying and suffocating that same preoccupation with fool-proof schemes. It was an endless cycle, really. Every time she found a flaw in her set of questions, it sent her spiraling into self-doubt. Could she truly pull this off?

She was more and more convinced that he hadn’t been sent by Vought, simply because he was a trained assassin who didn’t need these long and ambiguous methods to extract the information he needed. He was more than capable of inflicting mind-blowing amounts of pain. And pain always loosened the tongue.

So maybe he wasn’t doing this for Vought. Maybe his fixation and stalkerish tendencies towards her could be chalked up as misguided and genuine. In that case, he was still a dangerous wild card since she wasn’t who he thought she was. If he’s truly loyal to the company, her identity might prove to be an issue.

And so, it went on and on. She went through potential questions she could ask, and questions she should steer clear of. She recalled all the tips and tricks Mallory had taught her, from the phrasing of the questions, to the body language she should maintain. The goal was to ask a series of common questions and sparsely slip an inquisitive one into the mix. But would this work on him?

She’d have to work much slower to access some, if any, information.

Most of all, she was afraid of her body giving her away: her fast heartbeat and shallow breathing, paired with the subtle interrogation could give it all away. And this terrified her.

Sarah watched the clock tick closer and closer to five o’clock with increasing dread.

When it arrived, she waved over to Martha, gathered her things and walked out the door with as much confidence as physically possible.

.

In his living quarters, Black Noir stood in front of a mirror. He remembered Sarah’s reaction. The woman apparently concealed it well, but he’d caught onto her fear, her state of agitation and turmoil. Was it because of his dark appearance, or was it something deeper, a reaction to the violence he represented? He tilted his head to the side. Or did it have to do with her file, something she’s hiding?

The tall man couldn’t think of any way to convince her of his good intentions towards her. All he could do was respect her boundaries and listen to her; hope she’d accept him.

He usually avoided the mirror in his room, not really needing it for any aesthetic reason. He wore the same armored suit every day and was almost always covered from head to toe in tough black material. And yet now, he stood tall in front of it and took in the sight. He was closed-off, impenetrable, dangerous and stealthy. He appreciated the simplicity of the reinforced suit. It wasn’t flashy like the ones his teammates wore. And it didn’t convey any light-hearted or patriotic meaning. It was functional and allowed him to blend into the shadows and kill. His skull-like mask was the last thing many men saw before he proceeded in tearing them apart. Seeing it in daylight had nothing on witnessing it come out of the shadows at night. Like a nightmare taking form right before their eyes.

And now Sarah had witnessed a small violence on his part, the skull he hid behind and the strength he possessed. It was perfectly normal for her to be afraid.

But the knife, a small part of him reminded. Yes, that was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. But he’d take his time, god knows he could be patient. Especially if it was for her. The mysterious Sarah Burns.

.

As eight o ‘clock crept closer, Sarah could be found in her kitchen, finishing up her dinner. The creamy pasta she’d made sat heavy in her stomach, the knowledge of her impending doom adding an extra ton. After quickly washing the dishes, she sat at the table and scrolled through the memes Martha had sent her. When she realized they revolved around Homelander, she grew interested. There was no way the Seven’s leader would accept this, and the inner conflict it would produce was the perfect cover for her plan to proceed.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Sitting still, she tensed, ready to whip up and out of her chair. A dark clothed hand came up and over her shoulder moving towards her cell phone.

She almost jumped out of her skin as her mind thought of the worst possible outcome of having his hand so close to her neck. And yet, he simply leaned over and promptly pressed the heart icon below one of the memes. He liked the meme.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak and closed it a few times. He finally retreated from his spot hovering over her and went to stand at a respectful distance, his back to the wall.

She spun around and stood up, her heart still clogging her throat.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed, eyes wide and a hand raised to her chest.

He simply watched her with that magnetic gaze she couldn’t seem to escape. She picked at the hem of her shirt, not knowing how to proceed. How had he even entered the house?

His gaze settled on the small notebook she’d left on the table for their upcoming meeting. He moved slowly and gave her wide birth as he took it up into his hands. He flipped to a blank page and wrote.

Are you afraid, he paused before adding, of me?

He passed the notebook to her. She took it hesitantly, and once she read his message, her eyes kept flicking from the page to his mask. You could snap me like a twig. She was indeed very much afraid.

“No,” she answered, with a slight shake of her head.

He tilted his head slightly to the left before raising his hand to his chest. He lightly tapped right over his heart. Sarah initially didn’t understand the meaning of the gesture, but soon realized he was referring to her heartbeat.

She brushed it aside, “Oh...” You probably have a dozen different instruments of death concealed in your suit. “That’s nothing, I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

She hummed, looking for a way to grow her confidence and gain control of the situation.

“Plus, you kind of came out of nowhere. In my house.”

He was still, unsure of how his sudden appearance would pan out. He almost wanted to hit himself for not thinking it through.

“How did you even get in here? I know everything was locked.”

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly, before offering his hand. She passed him the notebook and pen.

Trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you :)

Her heart almost stopped cold before she regained composure. If it weren’t for the smiley face he’d added towards the end, she might have died right then and there. And she laughed, she actually laughed. Maybe it was the tension, or the insane fact that Black Noir was in her home, attempting to crack a joke.

“I guess I don’t really need to know,” she surmised with a small smile.

He nodded before adding more to the page.

Your day?

“How was my day?

He nodded, captivated by the fluid movements her hands naturally made as she spoke. He’d noticed it immediately the first night he’d seen her at the gala. Over the next week of watching her, he’d quickly filed it as one of her mannerisms.

“I can’t complain. Honestly, I don’t really like that job, it’s more something to keep the bills payed until I get the position I want.”

He wrote, PhD student. Applied Physiology

“That’s correct,” she confirmed. “Why am I not surprised you know that?”

I know some things. Not everything.

He wanted to apologize for making her uncomfortable but ultimately found it too difficult to actually write down. He wasn’t accustomed to apologizing; he’d never actually needed to. Not out loud, or on paper.

She accepted the quiet confession. “That’s okay. I’m not all that interesting, and there’s nothing to hide.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Black Noir understood her need to protect herself. She’d share the truth with him once he’d won her trust.

“How was your day?”

He straightened and thought of how to approach this question. Thinking on his toes, he went with the easiest, most believable story.

Meetings, promotional event. He added for emphasis. Boring. I slept.

There was no way he could tell her he’d spent most of the day fantasizing her ex-boyfriend’s murder, only to have it executed a few hours ago.

She laughed lightly, “Who knew, I thought you’d be off on some top-secret mission.”

Her hopes were crushed when he answered with a simple shake of the head. She hummed. He leaned against the wall, ever observant of the woman facing him.

“Oh, you can sit. Here let me—”

She got up to pull a chair out for him, but he stopped her with a raised hand. He crossed over to her side of the table and angled the chair she’d been previously occupying before abruptly standing and knocking it out of the way. She slowly sat and let him push her in. He calmly took a seat in front of her.

“Thank you”

I have manners :) 

She nodded, “Yes, you do.”

She squirmed under his stare, under the black mask she was starting to grow accustomed to.

Sarah broke the silence, “I wanted to thank you for the other day. I could’ve handled it, but I’m glad you intervened.”

He watched her and she continued, “It was a bad relationship, and seeing him really threw me off balance. Then you showed up, and I was just…,” she trailed off.

He reached out and briefly touched her hand before sharply retrieving it. It was what he’d seen other people do in society, or in the movies he watched in the privacy of his living quarters. As he understood, it was meant as a way to show affection and give comfort. But were they at a stage where he could do that? He honestly didn’t know.

He jotted down a line, I understand

“And thank you for the gifts, I mean, the flowers and the earrings—they’re all so beautiful but you really don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

I want to

She smiled reading the words. She leaned back in her chair and took him all in. Who was this man? The Black Noir she’d gathered intel on for Mallory was nothing like the man sitting in front of her. Well, maybe that was extreme, she had seen proof of his deadly work. And yet, she was not seeing the ferocious, sinister monster she’d come to imagine over the years.

He was a more complex sort of enigma, one that was maybe as complicated as her own. While she needed to maintain her guard around him, she found herself slightly relaxing in his presence. There were multiple layers to this man, and maybe she could appeal to the human, well-mannered side of him.

.

They spent the rest of the next hour exchanging questions. They mostly revolved around their likes and dislikes, jumping from books to foods, and finally to movies. She quickly realized he was well cultured on cinema, especially war and action movies which he clearly enjoyed.

“Hmm, how about Tears of the Sun?”

He nodded. A favorite.

“Black Hawk Down?”

The large man nodded with enthusiasm.

“What about Saving Private Ryan.”

He snorted. Don’t insult me

“What’s your favorite movie ever? Like the perfect mix of action, shooting and humor.”

He thought for a few seconds before deciding. Die Hard

When he pushed the notebook towards her for her to read, he emphasized his point by tapping on it and sitting back, arms crossed.

“Well, I like what I see. Yippee kay ye, am I right?” she said with mirth. “Yeah, I think that’s Bruce Willis’s best movie.”

He was glad she liked it as well. Early that morning, he’d made a rapid search on the Internet before having to attend meetings. He searched, “How do you know your first date is going well.” He wasn’t quite sure if it was an official date, but in his mind, it was as close to it as it could get. His search gave a wide range of answers. After reading through a bunch of them, he gathered that for it to go well they needed to click. There had to be a spark, whatever that meant.

More precisely, there had to be common topics, common likes and dislikes. The conversation should come easy, and awkward silences should be avoided at all costs because, while they might not disturb him, they may be uncomfortable for her. And while they’d gotten off to a rough start, things were now going quite smoothly.

Sarah thought long and hard, “What about Pearl Harbor? It isn’t as action-packed but it’s still a really good historical war movie.”

No

She nodded, and shyly added, “Well, if you’d like to, you could come over and watch it. Actually, we could watch Die Hard one time, and Pearl Harbor another.”

He watched her, the way she was so self-conscious. Sarah constantly touched her cheeks, her curly hair, her neck. If only she could see herself the way he saw her.

He wrote. I would like that

Checking her watch, she barely contained a yawn.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s just late for me,” she assured.

I’ll go

“No, it’s okay, really.”

He shook his head. I don’t need sleep. You do

I’ll be back for those movies

Sarah smiled, “All right.”

Black Noir rose to his full height and she watched him with a twinge of fascination. Who even was this man?

When can I see you

“Well, tomorrow night I’m going out with my friend, but we can definitely schedule Die Hard for the night after. Eight pm?”

I’ll be here.

She walked him to the door and leaned against the wood. The doorway seemed smaller as he walked through. He clicked the switch turning her porch lights out and quickly jotted a few lines down.

Turn them on when I leave. Safer

She nodded with a small smile. How could someone as dangerous as him be so concerned with her well-being, she didn’t know, but she found herself liking it regardless.

He quickly scribbled something down before shutting the notebook and handing it back over.

Facing her, he raised a hand as if he were about to wave. His hand twisted into a thumbs up before he took his leave. Walking away, he crossed under a single streetlight before disappearing into an alley.

She stayed there for a few more seconds, just peering into the darkness. Heeding his advice, she shut the door and switched the porch lights back on. Retreating further into her home, she flipped through the pages looking for his last note. It was a small smiley face he’d doodled on the edge of the page.

She steeled herself against feeling anything but contempt. She reminded herself of the danger he could pose to her. But as much as she wanted to suppress it, she couldn’t help the small smile on her face as she fell asleep.

Giulia

PART 7

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724​  @proximio-5​ @damiminator

Let me know if you want to be tagged!! Or you can like this post and I’ll add you :)

[badstoriesaboutgoodpeople]

Finally Mine

SO this turned into a full blown fic and I definitely didn’t expect it to. Thank you SO MUCH to the anon that sent this in it was so much fun to write! I went totally overboard and I really hope you like it. I’ll write the other request I got tomorrow because it’s 1 AM and I need to sleep eventually. 

Word count: 2,726

Warnings: mentions of a break up and cheating, smut, bit of swearing

The breakup seemingly came out of nowhere. You’d been dating Mat Barzal for almost a year, and everything was going well until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Mat grew distant and you tried to tell yourself it was just stress, and once the Islanders clinched their spot in the playoffs he’d be able to take a breath and return to his usual self. That didn’t happen. One night you were sitting on the couch after a frustrating away stretch waiting for Mat to come home. You heard the door slam and cringed, knowing he’d be angry. He walked into the living room and blurted out that he’d cheated on you. He announced that he’d get his stuff and leave in the morning, and turned on his heel before you could even get a word in. You weren’t exactly shocked, but that didn’t stop you from feeling sadness burning in your chest and beginning to spread throughout your body. Your eyes began to water but you willed yourself not to cry, you’d promised yourself you would never cry over a boy. You felt the sadness morphing into something more, into unadulterated anger. Since when did he think he could just waltz in here and tell you he’d cheated on you with no explanation, no apology, nothing? He didn't even wait for your reaction, was too much of a coward to hear what you had to say to him. You hadn’t truly begun to process what happened, but you numbly turned the volume up on the tv, and stared at the screen until you fell asleep.

A few weeks later, once Mat was well and truly out of your life, you decided enough was enough. You needed to get out of the house. You got dressed up, put on your tightest dress, one that Mat would never let you wear, and hit one of the many clubs in your area. You also decided to post a picture on Instagram, a mirror selfie of you from the side, back ever so slightly arched. You did everything you wanted to do while you were with Mat but were never allowed to do.  You noticed while in the back of the Uber Pierre Luc Dubois had liked your most recent post. You recognized the name, you’d seen him like a few of your posts before. You found yourself scrolling through his page, and you had to admit we was definitely attractive. You liked a few of his photos, and put your phone away as you pulled up to the club. You thought nothing of it until the next morning when you woke up, a slight headache forming at the base of your skull. You didn’t get wasted the night before, but you definitely had more than a few drinks. You checked instagram and saw you had one new DM. It was PL, and he’d simply said “Hey, couldn’t help but notice you deleted your pics w Mat, did something happen?” You smirked, clearly he spent quite a bit of time scrolling through your page if he noticed those photos were gone. You knew PL and Mat knew each other, you’d heard Mat talk about him occasionally, so it wasn’t totally outlandish that he would be scrolling through your page every now and then. You decided to respond him, he was in Columbus anyway, what could possibly come of it? “Yeah we broke up, he walked in one day and told me he cheated, then left before I could say anything” you typed in response, before getting up to go get some Advil and a glass of water. He’d already responded by the time you came back to bed, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “What a shithead, I’m here if you wanna talk about it.” You smiled to yourself, and even though you barely knew this boy there was something that was drawing you to him. “I’m starting to get over it, we grew so distant the last few weeks it doesn’t feel a whole lot different without him :( I would however like to get to know you, I’ve seen you liking my posts :p”. He started typing almost instantly. “What can I say, a pretty girl like you deserves attention.” You felt your face heat up slightly at that, allowing yourself to enjoy the flattery without looking too deeply into it and wondering whether or not it was all just for a quick fuck the next time he was in the city. You two talked for the rest of the day, getting to know each other. You gave him your number and the discussion moved to iMessage.

You talked for weeks, everything from goofy selfies on Snapchat to late night Skype calls that lasted hours. You felt like you’d known Luc for longer than a month and a half, your conversations always flowing seamlessly, as if you’d been friends for years. It hadn’t taken for your conversations to begin to turn sexual, but you certainly weren’t complaining. It had all started because you’d continued to post revealing photos on your Instagram and VSCO, the kind Mat always yelled at you for, but you loved. You were confident and you wanted to show your body off, and saw no harm in doing so. Luc had liked the photo, and quickly sent you a shirtless selfie, a slight flush decorating his muscular chest. The caption had said something about how incredible you looked, and how hot and bothered he was for you. You’d sent him some others you’d taken, a lace bodysuit and tight skirt decorating your body. You were rewarded with a photo of him, the outline of his dick showing through the material of his sweatpants. You sent a photo of just yourself in just the bodysuit, and he eventually sent a photo of his abs, now covered in his cum and his dick, just beginning to soften. He was impressive to say the least, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get off to the thought of him fucking you and send him a video of you moaning his name.

One day, Luc texted you in the middle of the week asking if you had plans for the weekend. Once you told him you didn’t he disappeared for a bit, before texting you half an hour later. He had sent you info for a flight to Vancouver. You’d mentioned it one day in a conversation, saying you’d always wanted to see the city and go to a game there. He explained they’d be there a day early and asked if you wanted to fly out for the weekend and meet him. You immediately accepted his offer, thrilled to finally have a chance to be with him in person. Before you knew it you were on your way to the airport on Friday morning, and soon enough you were in Vancouver. You spent the day wandering through the city after checking into the hotel Luc had booked for you and refused to let you pay for. You visited all of the most popular spots, and ate a delicious dinner before returning to the hotel for the night. You sent Luc a snap, a selfie of you wearing nothing but a lacy bralette, thanking him for everything. He replied with a selfie as well, saying “The pleasure is all mine, baby”. You talked for a while before he had to go to bed, the time difference combined with an early flight for him tomorrow meaning it was still fairly early for you. Before he left he asked “Can I come to your hotel once we land? I have something for you.” You responded with a yes, and gave him your room number. You decided to watch Netflix for a bit before you too went to sleep. The next morning you awoke to a text letting you know Luc’s flight had just left. You decided you would just hang out in the hotel until he got there, not wanting to leave when you looked outside and were greeted with the sight of grey skies and rain. You showered and did your hair, throwing on a t-shirt and jeans and a bit of makeup, wanting to look presentable for the first time you met Luc. Soon enough you heard your phone buzzing, seeing a text from Luc letting you know they had landed and that he had just left the airport, and was gonna drop his stuff off at their hotel before he made his way to yours. You texted him a thumbs up, before attempting to distract yourself on your phone. You felt excitement buzzing in your chest, eager to finally have Luc in your arms. It was about an hour before you heard the gentle knock on your door. You opened it and couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face when you saw him. He stepped into your room and shut the door behind him, and dropped the bag he was holding on the floor before wrapping you in his arms.

“Hi,” he said simply, your face pressed into his neck.

“Hi,” you responded, before moving to kiss him, something you’d wanted for so long. It was everything you’d waited for, his lips soft against yours. The kiss quickly grew heated, and it wasn’t long until Luc was reaching for the zipper of his jeans.

“God please, Y/N, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said, tone not far from begging. You’d told him one night how much you liked getting on your knees for someone, but you didn’t know it had this much of an effect on him. You sank down without a word, hands moving to help him pull his jeans down a bit. His boxers soon followed, bunched over his thick thighs along with his jeans. You didn’t hesitate to press a gentle kiss to his tip, before gently running your tongue over it. Luc’s hands quickly found their way to your hair, and he let out a groan as you took him further into your mouth. You brought a hand up to stroke what wasn’t in your mouth and looked up through your lashes to see Luc’s face flushed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. As you started to build a steady rhythm, Luc couldn’t help but let out small sighs and grunts, especially when you took him as far into your mouth as you could.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so good at this, can’t believe I finally get to do this,” he choked out. You hummed around him, and he bucked his hips lightly at the vibrations. He went to pull away and apologize, but before he could you shook your head, a silent signal that you were fine. It wasn’t too much longer until he was coming down your throat, letting out a low moan he had tried to contain by burying his face into the crook of his arm. You watched as his knees threatened to give out, and felt his grip tighten in your hair, gently pulling you off when the overstimulation became unpleasant. He looked down on you with a look you could only describe as awe on his face. He stared at you for a second until he was able to speak again.

“Please, let me return the favour. Fuck, I have to thank you for that.” You wanted to say he didn’t owe you anything, that he had brought you to Vancouver and that he didn’t need to repay you, but then again who were you to turn down whatever he was offering. You stood up, and his lips were quickly on yours again. He guided you towards the bed in the middle of the room, and sat you on the edge of it. He gripped the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it over your head before undoing your jeans and sliding them down your legs along with your underwear. He dropped to his knees and your stomach dropped when you realized what he meant by returning the favour. It had come up in conversation one night and you’d mentioned that Mat rarely ate you out. Luc seemed scandalized by this information, claiming that that was completely unfair. You never thought much of it, but now that Luc was kissing up the inside of one of your thighs you realized just how badly you wanted it. His beard scratched against your skin, and he sucked marks into the sensitive skin where they’d be easily hidden. Once he finally turned his attention to where you wanted him most, you were practically dripping for him. He started slow, placing a kiss to your clit before running his tongue through your slit, moaning quietly to himself.

“God, you taste delicious.” You couldn’t answer because he had moved to focus on your clit again, and all that left your mouth was a startled moan. He was eager to please you, and his calm and precise movements quickly grew sloppy as he started to bring you closer to the edge. He’d slipped two fingers into you at some point, and that combined with his skilled tongue had you seeing stars. He easily made you come all over his face, your legs shaking slightly. You bit down on one of your knuckles in an attempt to stop the noises that threatened to pour out of your mouth as he drew out your orgasm as much as he could, but you still cried out his name. You whimpered when he moved away from you and he offered an apologetic look. He slid his fingers out of you and brought them to him mouth to lick clean, savouring the taste of you. He stood up and placed a kiss to your forehead, before explaining that he had to go. His phone had apparently been ringing for the past five minutes, but you’d been too far gone to notice it buzzing in his pocket. He had to go meet the guys for dinner, but he made you promise to meet you somewhere after the game tomorrow. You remained on the bed as he fixed his jeans and his hair, which was a mess after you had spent the past little while running your fingers through it and giving it a gentle tug every now and then. He placed the bag he had brought on the bed beside you and placed one more kiss on your lips before he let himself out You mustered the energy to put some pajama pants on, and you returned to the bed to see what he had brought you. It was a jersey, with his name and number on it. You gripped the navy blue fabric tightly, admiring the 18 on the back, excited for Luc to see you in it. Mat had never given you one of his jerseys, always finding excuses when you asked him about it. You texted Luc to thank him, and he responded with, “Any time. Can’t wait to see you in in ;)”.

You walked into Rogers Arena the next night barely able to contain your excitement. You found your seat, and decided to go down to the ice for warm ups. You watched the team skate out, doing their usual drills and stretches. You caught Luc’s eye and offered him a small smile. He mouthed “nice jersey” at you and you merely winked in return. The game was amazing to say the least. Columbus won 5-0, and you’d been able to watch Luc break his scoring drought in person. He;d texted you to meet him by his car that night, and you both skipped the team’s celebration in favor of heading back to your hotel. You wasted no time as Luc wanted to be back before everyone else. He fucked you with your jersey still on, admiring his name across your back.  

“You look great in my jersey,” he commented as he got dressed, looking at you fondly while he buttoned his shirt.

“I’ll make sure to wear it when you play the Isles Tuesday. Maybe you should come to my apartment after the game?” “I’d love to, if you promise you’ll be wearing that and nothing else when I get there.” “Sounds like a plan to me.”

[justsomebucky]

The Three Date Minimum - 2

Summary: Reader is the last single person at her office, and while she puts on a good front, she’s lonely. Will dating apps find true love, or will she swear off romance for good?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,377

Warnings: language, drinking, minor angst?, fluff…this is fluff.

A/N: Please enjoy this chapter. Have some bartender!Bucky.  Also - please note that I tried everything to fix this stupid spacing issue. I would recommend reading on a normal browser or your mobile browser (or Ao3) and not in the app.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be in that neighborhood, can you believe it? The bus was late and I had to make sure my daughter got to school okay so I just drove her myself. So anyway, there I was just minding my own business, and out of nowhere I see –”

DING!

“I’m so sorry,” you said, offering a forced smile to the guy across the table. “I think our time is up.”

Your current speed date, Scott Lang, looked genuinely disappointed that he couldn’t finish his story about the time he met some famous somebody-or-other.

“Definitely rating this date as my best of the night, so far,” Scott said as he stood, reaching for your hand to give it a peck. “It was great to meet you, Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, too.” You tried to force a smile to your face for his sake. “Take care, Scott.”

He flashed another boyish grin and gave you a wave before awkwardly wandering over to his next date’s table.  

Well, now you felt awful. It wasn’t that he was a bad or boring guy, it’s just…there wasn’t any spark. Maybe that was stupid, but it was how you felt. And while you believed him when he said his daughter was an angel, you weren’t ready to be a step-mom.

Anyway, first speed-dating experience wasn’t all that great, just as you had predicted.

Your dates so far were a lawyer who seemed suspiciously interested in your driving record, a dentist who tried to get you to show him your teeth and then commented that he could see the plaque from across the table, a guy who had just moved to New York following some time spent in jail for insider trading ('white collar crimes barely count' according to him), someone who couldn’t stop talking about his mother, and now Scott Lang, nice guy extraordinaire. To be fair, Scott was the best of the bunch.

Meanwhile, Natasha looked like she was having the time of her life. She had so many free drinks and more than once you saw guys arguing when their time was up and they didn’t want to leave her table.

Wearily, you glanced at the clock on the wall. There was still another forty-five minutes to go.

For a bar called The 107th in the middle of Brooklyn, you would have thought the experience would be a little more interesting. It was new place, supposedly trendy, and had a confusing name (it wasn’t on 107th street??), but to you it seemed like a normal local bar.

And even after your last semi-decent date, the thought of going through yet another three-minute introduction with someone new made you anxious. Before the next guy could get to your table, you gathered your coat and bag and ripped off your name tag, making your way over to the bar.

---

“What’re you having?”

You eyed the bartender, not bothering to reply just yet since you were mid-sip. He must have just started his shift, because when you first arrived there was a tiny woman with mermaid hair tending to customers.

The alcohol was just a band-aid for the situation, really. You never used it as a crutch, but some situations called for a little backup. It was liquid courage for some, and a little liquid tolerance for you.

When you put the now-empty glass back down, you pushed it toward him like you were in some kind of cowboy movie. “Rum and coke.”

He gave a nod and turned away to refill your drink, looking a little bored with your choice.

You let your eyes flicker up to the mirror above the shelves and shelves of liquor. Behind you, the speed-dating was just wrapping up with the final round. The results would be handed out soon; you hoped Scott Lang had found someone better suited for him.

As for you? Most of your time had been spent at the bar and Natasha hadn’t even noticed.

“I heard a rumor that dating used to be an organic thing,” the bartender mused, breaking you out of your reverie. He set your new drink in front of you. “You know, meeting someone, feeling a spark, going on a first date…”

You shook your head. “That’s not how it works anymore. It’s the digital era of dating. Now you’ve got to have a pristine profile complete with model-level selfies to gain anyone’s attention, or come to shit like this in a basic bar and hope someone finds you tolerable.”

He didn’t seem offended by your little insult. “You’re a part of that group, right? So why are you sitting over here instead of talking to your last date?”

Your brows furrowed a little. “You ask a lot of questions for a bartender. Is that normal?”

He gave you an amused look. “Just curious. These events cost money, right?”

“They do,” you confirmed. “But the only reason I’m here is because my roommate paid. She caught me watching TV in my pajamas on a Friday night again and she wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to go.”

“Nice. So which one is she?” The bartender leaned over, arms resting on the bar top as his eyes scanned the crowd.

There was no point in hiding her. He would have spotted her eventually, anyways.

You reluctantly spun on your barstool and found her almost immediately. Her megawatt smile lit up the room; how could anyone possibly miss her in a crowd?

“There,” you said, pointing. “Natasha, the beautiful redhead standing over in that corner.” You glanced back at him to see him squinting that direction.

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to instantly drool over her like everyone else tends to. That confused you, since he wasn’t unfortunate-looking himself.He would definitely be her type.

“So if she’s your friend and she brought you here to help you, why has she not noticed you over here drinking all alone?”

The barstool squeaked as you turned back around. “Because this is what happens.”

He stared at you blankly.

“She gets the attention,” you explained, taking another sip. “I get the hangover.”

Your nosy bartender didn’t look convinced. “How do you figure that? Didn’t you just have a few speed dates?”

“Yes, but they’re in rotation, they had to come to my table. She literally had guys fighting to have more than three minutes with her.”

He made a face but didn’t say anything, so you continued.

“And I know because it’s happened always. Every friend I’ve ever had has been more enticing than me, from high school all the way through college, where my roommate then was also a bombshell who turned heads everywhere she went. I’m so used to being invisible that it’s second nature.”

“Well…I’d say your name in a scolding tone, but you ripped your name tag off already.” He shifted on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. “It sounds to me like you’re making excuses to protect yourself. When is the last time you put in any effort? Do you just brush everyone off? Do you even try?”

“Try?”

“Let yourself be open to the possibilities?”

The possibilities? What the hell was with this guy? Was he some kind of failed psych major? It took all your strength not to splash your drink in his face and leave. He was lucky you were trying to be nice.

You could feel your blood pressure rise. “First of all, whatever your name is, I don’t think you know me well enough to sit behind your bar counter and judge me!”

The corner of his mouth lifted a little in amusement. And no, he was most definitely not more attractive in that moment. Absolutely not.

“Name’s James, but my friends call me Bucky.” His head tilted a little and you saw that his eyes were a cool blue-grey color, with just a little obnoxious twinkle in them. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, do you try?” He had that stupid, infuriating little hint of a smile again. God, it was amazing that this place was still in business with an obnoxious guy like him at the bar.

“Yes, I try. I just sat through five three-minute dates, for fuck’s sake. I just…I’m not meant for anything like that.”

“You know when I said try, I didn’t mean actively push people away.” Both eyebrows raised as he assessed you again. “Because I think that’s exactly what you’re doing, even with me right now.”

The door opened then, and a huge crowd of women donning matching pink shirts walked in giggling with a girl wearing a sash that said Bride. That was your cue to get the hell out of that bar.

You downed the rest of your drink quickly, offering him a small fake smile as you set the glass down. “Yes, well…I think I’m going to swipe left on this conversation. It’s been…enlightening, James.” You reached into your bag to pull out some money, but the bartender waved his hands.

“Call me Bucky. And it’s on the house. You seem like you needed it.” With a nod and wink, he turned away again to make the million shots a newly-arrived bachelorette party wanted.

As if you would ever accept something for free from someone with that attitude…

“Thanks anyway, James,” you muttered. Without a glance back to him, you set the money on the bar and stood up, determined to either pull Natasha away or leave her there.

---

“One date down, two to go.” You stretched your legs out under the table and leaned back. Wanda wanted to hear all about the event the night before, so the two of you went to a nearby café for a quick lunch.

Wanda eyed you over her coffee cup. “That only counted as one date?”

“Apparently,” you muttered, picking at your scone. “Natasha’s rules.”

She leaned forward. “Got any ideas for the next two?”

“No, not unless you know someone?”

“There are lots of someones on dating apps, Y/N.”

You groaned, putting your head in your hands. “Wan, not now.”

“Come on,” she chided, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “If you give some of the apps a try, I’ll…I’ll do your donation calls for a week.”

That had you interested. Not only could you potentially be left alone for a month, but have less work to do. “Two weeks, one for each remaining date.”

Wanda held out her hand and you shook it.

She had the nerve to look genuinely excited, that absolute witch. “First I think we’ll try Tinder. My neighbor’s husband’s sister met the love of her life…”

You sighed as you tuned her out, trying to enjoy your last moments of Tinder-free life.

---

After lunch, Wanda came over and teamed up with Natasha to harass you until you agreed to download the dating apps.They helped set up your account, even forced you to take about fifty pictures before they were satisfied with your profile.

“Wait, what do I do?” You glared down at the offending app on your phone, trying to ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach.

Natasha flopped down on the couch next to you. “When you see a profile of someone you’re interested in, you swipe right. If they swiped right on you too, it’ll tell you that you’ve made a match.”

“What’s the blue star thing for?”

“A super like!” Wanda’s eyes lit up. “I wonder if you will find any of those!”

Unlikely.

“So, in theory, I could like all these people and they could loathe me and I would never know?” That didn’t sound so bad. It was like less hurtful window shopping.

“Sometimes you’ll get the occasional douchebag and you’ll have to put up with bad messages, but yes, that’s generally how that works.”

You played around on the app in silence for about five minutes, going through and swiping left on most of the profiles you read.

“What was wrong with that last one?” Wanda asked, frowning at you. “He seemed cute? He had a kayak and a puppy! You love puppies.”

The last one she was talking about was also wearing a shirt that said Federal Boob Investigator, but leave it to the romantic to not notice that.

“Just wasn’t feeling it.”

Natasha scoffed. “Are you gonna swipe right on anyone?”

You gave her a look. “Maybe.”

Before you could react, Nat grabbed your phone from your hand and started swiping right on almost everyone with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Stop it! You’ll make me look desperate,” you screeched, trying to grab the phone back.

She let out a gasp, then turned the phone to you. “Y/N! Look at this guy. Look at him! His name is Wade and he is perfect!”

He was handsome enough, but his profile was pretty weird. “No, Natasha. He probably thinks he’s hilarious and has deep-rooted abandonment issues or something.”

“Exactly. You need someone different and exciting like that. We’re getting you out of your comfort zone, remember?”

You watched in horror as she swiped right.

Then, that wicked gleam in her eye got even brighter as she showed the screen again.

“It’s a match!”

“Natashaaaa….”

“Oh shit, he messaged you already!”

“He did?” You snatched the phone back, crawling over her to get away. You didn’t want to admit it, but your stomach was in knots. “Oh my god, he did!”

“What’s it say?” Wanda leaned over. “Read it!”

“He wants to see me tomorrow.”

You read the message over and over. A handsome guy, who most definitely probably definitely had some issues but also seemed cute and funny, wanted to see you.

God, you hoped you didn’t regret this.

When you glanced back up, they were both staring at you. Something about this whole situation seemed too good to be true. There was no way in hell that anything would last.

Logically, if you went into it thinking it was just a one-time date with a hot guy, there wouldn’t be a problem, right?

“Well?”

“Are you gonna reply?”

And if there weren’t feelings involved, you could stand to have a little fun.

You grinned at them. “Of course. I have two bets to win now, don’t I?”

---

Part 3

Masterlist

 no taglist

[preface2adreamplay]

Under Your Spell (Part 2) - I’m Still Breathing

Summary: A Jared Padalecki/OFC fiction.

Stef is a musician, recently gone solo. Happy with her life as a forever single person until Jared makes it his mission to get close to her. (For the purpose of this fiction, I have liberated some lyrics from various artists and their videos. This is fiction, with real people mentioned.)

Ratings: 18+ (Smut, Angst, Fluff). Flirting, mentions of sex, swearing.

Chapter WC: 2,471

Series Masterlist

Waking to a pounding on the car window, Stef jolted from her sleep to see Ari standing outside. ‘You ok, honey?’

Sighing with relief. Heart hammering, she rolled down the window. ‘Just getting some shut eye before driving home.’

‘Night shoots are a bitch. Loved working with you though, seriously. Call me if you want to do anything else, yeah?’ Ari put her hand to ear and walked away smiling.

‘Will do,’ Stef shouted at the disappearing figure. She had only been asleep for 25 minutes. That’s a perfect power nap, she thought, starting the engine. 

It had gotten a little chilly. Turning up the heat she checked her phone before turning out of the lot. No new messages. Perfect.

As soon as she closed the front door, she relieved herself of her jacket and boots, pulling her jeans off and tossing them toward the laundry room. They landed…somewhere. She was too tried to care. 

Her cat stood blinking at her from the sofa. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. Did I wake you?’ Stef stroked his soft head, pulling an ear in to the palm of her hand and squishing it in her fingers. He loved that, his big eyes squinting, hind leg lifting to give the other ear a scratch.

Since her son had moved down south for school, she lived alone and quite liked it. Just her and Brendan, her ‘large and imposing’ Savannah cat. Stef chuckled at the comparison, leaning down to place a kiss on the furry monster’s head.

Toying with the idea of making tea or just sleeping on the sofa, she chose the latter, pushing Brendan down to the other end so she could lay down. 

Just before she dozed off, she sent a message to the unknown number.

Wonderful, have run around a forest looking both terrified and aroused for hours.

When she woke up, her stomach was grumbling loudly. Not surprising as she hadn’t eaten in about 24 hours. A quick pasta dish was heated up from the freezer, Brendan was munching happily on some stinky cat food and Stef was sitting curled up on the sofa, channel surfing.

Her phone dinged.

Is that something else you only do in private? ;)

Definitely Jared. Stef cringed a little, he was eluding to their conversation from the previous day. Oh god, why did he remember the embarrassing things she said? She groaned aloud, throwing her head back onto the sofa. 

‘Kill me, Brendan. Get the shotgun.’

The cat looked at her and turned away, not giving one single fuck.

‘Hey that gives me an idea for a song.’ She exclaimed, grabbing her notebook and scribbling down a few lines in a flurry of inspiration. 

‘I may even name this song, ‘Kill me, Brendan”.

Tongue pushed between her teeth in concentration, she wrote almost two full verses. Quick work. Jared was a good muse. 

Deciding to browse social media for a bit, she looked up Oscar’s twitter. Nothing new. There were a few friends updating with photos from their Friday night out. Stef didn’t mind, she preferred sitting in to clubbing. 

Maybe I should check Jared’s? Knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea, but did it anyway.

Having scrolled through several pictures of him with his beautiful wife and adorable children, she’d had enough.

Texting both Oscar and her son a ‘How are you?’ She shot a quick message back to Jared,

‘Wouldn’t you love to know.’

Sent.

Too late to take it back.

It wasn’t even one minute before her phone lit up. Stef picked her phone up and tentatively unlocked the screen. 

Oscar: ‘Tired. Still on set, putting the hours in so I can get home and see my family.’

Stef sighed contentedly, it was sweet, Oscar was always sweet.

Stef: Flying down on Friday evening, can you pick me up?

The flash of ‘typing’ came up on screen. She waited, wondering what the hell he was typing that was taking him so long, rolling her eyes when finally he pressed send.

‘Yes x’

Another beep.

Dar: great, studying.

Stef: yeah right.

Dar: 😋 🍻

Stef: behave.

Stef looked up at the framed pictures on the fireplace. The centrepiece photo was her and Darius on the beach. He was 4, she was 20. Damn, he was a cute kid. Oscar had insisted on bringing them to the beach so he could take photographs of them, they had hiked half way there after the car had broken down. That was a fun day. 

Her eyes were drawn back to her phone when it dinged again. Jared.

‘You busy? You wanna grab a drink?’

Considering the offer, she decided to send a selfie of her and Brendan laying on the sofa covered in blankets. Having taken a photo, she reconsidered. Make it sexier. Pulling her tank down a little it gave more than enough cleavage. Just the look she was going for. 

‘I’m wiped after the night shoot. I have beers in my fridge. Can’t move from this sofa.’

Picture and message sent.

A beer would be good right about now. But so would a shower. She rubbed a hand down her face, deciding.

Shower first, beer after. 

Just as she was tying her hair into a messy bun, Jared sent another text. 

‘Damn girl. I’m with the guys.’

Stef: ’Who are ‘the guys’. 

Jared: ’Jensen and Misha, they want to know why I’m blushing.’

Stef: ’Why ARE you blushing?’

Typing. Typing. 

Stef put the phone down and stood under the hot water, the water pressure was so damn good. Choosing the sweetest smelling shower gel from her ridiculous and varied selection of bath products, she lathered up and gave a quick shave to the key essential areas. Better to keep on top of it then to panic shave later on.

Jared: ’I don’t usually get pussy pictures.’

Stef giggled when she saw the latest message pop up on screen. 

Stef: ’His name is Brendan and he asked me to give you a nonchalant glance.’

Jared replied with a laughing emoji. 

Stef: ’Also, me mentioning beers in my fridge was an invitation for a chilled out drink at mine.’

Slipping into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, she looked herself over in the mirror. Relaxed AND sexy. She was certain this was one of Oscar’s old shirts, she didn’t listen to The Clash. Now that she had invited Jared for a drink at hers, she didn’t really know what to do with herself. From feeling relaxed on the sofa thinking she would binge watch some Rick & Morty to feeling as if nothing would satisfy her. 

Beep. 

She checked her phone. ‘I can be there in a half hour. I need to talk to someone interesting. Sick of looking at these guys.’

Sure, she thought, who would get sick of looking at Jensen and Misha? 

Texting her address and directions to her ‘out of the way’ house, she fixed the living room up a little. 

Brendan had slinked past her and made himself scarce. Probably upstairs asleep on the bed, where he was absolutely not allowed to be.

‘You better not be in the bedroom!’ Stef yelled up the stairs. Jumping in fright when a knock came on the door behind her. 

She peered though the peephole. Jared standing with his hands in his pockets, a tentative look on his face.

Smiling, she pulled open the door. 

Jared looked her up and down and gulped, ‘I’m not in your bedroom.’ 

‘Oh,’ Stef covered her face, flushing. ‘The cat likes to sneak in when I’m not looking.’

One side of Jared’s mouth pulled into a half smile, raising his eyebrows at her. 

‘Come in,’ gesturing to the living room to the right of the hallway. ‘I’m still a little foggy from the lack of proper sleep.’

Jared stepped into the hallway and stood a little too close and she pushed the door closed behind him.

‘Why is your cat called Brendan? And why do you live in a weird house in a weird neighbourhood?’

Stef looked up into his confused face, she could see he was trying to hold back a laugh but he was earnest in his innocent inquisitiveness. 

‘I have so many questions,’ he grimaced. 

‘Well come on, let’s grab a drink and you can ask me all the questions you like.’

Jared’s long legs almost reached the fireplace as he lay draped across half of her sofa. She was sitting with her legs across the arm of the comfy armchair, angled so that she could see the tv, be close to the fire and near enough to Jared without being too familiar. He was watching her talk about the last album she recorded, enjoying seeing her small feet press against the cushion on the sofa, curling her toes as she remembered how she almost blew out her voice. 

‘There was a lot of passion in that song.’ He agreed, placing the bottle to his lips and taking a quick sip.

Stef raised her eyebrows, ‘So, you’ve listened to a lot of my music, then?’ Taking her turn at drinking, swishing the beer around her mouth, watching him while he considered his answer.

‘I have. Even the stuff you did with the electronic band,’ he said, as if he didn’t know the name. 

’And when I heard you were looking for someone for your video, I decided to throw my name out there. Especially after hearing the song, it was one of those moments when the lyrics reached in and really grabbed at you. You know?’ 

He placed a hand over his heart, his long fingers slipping into the gap between the buttons. His face was was set in a frown, one of those faces you see when someone is talking about something they love and feel as if no one else really ‘gets it.’ 

Stef bit her lip, ‘Thank you’ she whispered.

He leaned forward and clinked his bottle against hers, ‘Cheers to that. And please, keep making music.’

Laughing behind her hand, she threw her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

‘I write all the time, it’s like a river flowing through me, it never stops. My mind is running at a hundred miles an hour these past few days. I can’t seem to switch off.’ 

Jared nodded. ‘You paint as well? he asked, getting up from the sofa. 

‘I paint, but I’m not great at it.’

‘These are are yours?’ He gestured to the art covered walls.

‘Yeah,’ she gave him a tight lipped smile, ‘I sell some. Can you believe people buy this stuff?’ 

‘I believe it.’ 

‘You’re too kind.’ Stef shimmied out of the armchair and stood next to him, she came up to his shoulder at full height. 

Jared stilled when he felt her arm brush lightly against his. 

‘So. Are you up for the party on Sunday?’ He asked, without looking at her.

‘Yeah, I think so. Can I bring a friend?’

Jared cocked his eyebrow at her.

‘A girlfriend,’ feeling the need to clarify. ‘I don’t like showing up at a party alone. It gives me an excuse if the party sucks or if the guys are creepy,’ she grinned up at him. His eyes meeting hers.

‘Creepy guys eh?’ He grinned while taking another sip of beer.

‘Well, it can’t be too bad, I have already seen you in your underwear. I’ve choked you during pretend sex too.’

They both laughed, beer spluttering from her mouth and splashing on to her shirt.

‘Oh fuck.’ she exclaimed. ‘True, seeing me drunk is probably going to be such a non event.’

Jared threw back his head and laughed, pulling the beanie from his head and letting his hair tumble free before raking his fingers through it. 

‘Bring your friend, that’s cool with me,’ he smiled down at her. He liked this girl. Whatever about the flirting and the excitement of working with someone he admired, he actually liked her. She was quickly becoming one of his favourite people.

Jared moved along the room, looking at each painting individually, stopping at the framed pictures along the fireplace. ‘Cute kid.’

‘Yeah. That’s my son, Darius.’ 

Jared whipped his head back to look at her, ‘Seriously?’ 

‘Seriously.’ 

‘I did not know you had a kid,’ he rested his eyes on her face, his focus soft as he imagined what she was like as a mom. 

‘He’s grown now, in Texas for school.’ 

Jared wanted to tell her she couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. ‘How grown is he?’ His brows furrowed. 

‘He will be 21 next weekend, actually.’

Jared’s jaw dropped, searching her face for any kind of indication that she was messing with him. On seeing her gaze drop to the drink in her hands, he took a step towards her. ‘Sorry.’

‘For what?’ Stef looked back up at him.

‘My reaction, I didn't mean any disrespect.’

‘That’s usually people’s reaction, honestly. I’m not offended. Most people can’t believe I have a 20 year old son. And yes, I was 16 having him. Teenage mom.’

‘Damn. That’s admirable. I appreciate it’s hard raising kids and I started my family in my late twenties!’

Jared squeezed her arm a little before pulling away. 

‘Did the dad stick around?’ Unsure if whether he wanted to ask the question or not but he felt he needed to know more about this woman. The more time he spent with her, the more of an enigma she seemed to be.

Stef cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Yes, he did, we broke up years ago. But, luckily, we are still close.’

Jared pursed his lips and looked back at the photograph. ‘You keep that hidden well.’

‘Private life stays private.’ She stated. Jared nodded in agreement.

‘It’s not on your wikipedia.’

Stef could see he was hiding another grin.

They stood in silence. Both looking at the picture of the dark haired little boy tucked into his mothers side, smiling at the camera.

‘He’s studying to be a vet.’ Stef broke the silence. ‘He always loved animals. This house has had its fair share of odd creatures and creepy crawlies. A few times things would ‘go missing’ and I swear I couldn’t relax until they were found and locked away again.’ Shivering at the thought, she drained the last of her beer and motioned her head toward the kitchen. 

Jared followed close behind, walking his fingers lightly up her spine. ‘Ugh,’ she cried out, ‘don’t do that.’ Grabbing his hand and pushed him away, fingers touching for a little longer than was necessary. 

A disgruntled hiss startled them both out of their teasing. 

‘Wow, that’s a huge pussy.’

Stef snorted a laugh and bend down to pet Brendan. ‘Jared, Brendan. Brendan, this is my friend Jared. You two will also have to be friends.’

CHAPTER THREE

[rufeepeach]

Rumbelle AU - TV/movie costars

A/N: for once a straight interpretation of the prompt! Extra bonus points for anyone who catches the inspiration >.>

She sees it when she watches the tapes.

"I hate watching myself," Belle says, when the question is broached. "If I hate watching myself act, why would I want to watch essentially home movies?"

"You're not in them a whole lot," Ruby retorts. She's rather defensive of the whole enterprise, honestly, which Belle can understand. The studio had approached Ruby of all the cast members on Enchanted Forest to do a behind-the-scenes video diary for the second season's DVD. It had made sense: she was easily the most famous, the most open, and the bubbliest member of the cast. Belle has always valued her privacy, and she couldn't imagine the reaction if they'd approached Elias Gold, the show's antagonist.

"Then why are you insisting I watch them?" Belle shoots back. Ruby shrugs.

"They're gonna be on the DVDs," Ruby says. "And you're on there. I'm doing you a massive favour here, you know. If there's anything you're ashamed of on there, this is your veto."

Belle rolls her eyes, but takes the memory stick. Ruby's right, as usual. Anything embarrassing on here today would be a gif and a meme in a week's time, and her career could be over when she's only just got it moving.

"Fine."

Ruby claps her hands. "Text me once you're done!" she says, already halfway out of the hotel room.

She pauses, turns. "Oh, and Belles?"

"Yes?"

"I was right."

The door closes before she can explain.

Belle doesn't chase after her. Ruby has another party tonight - launch party for some new artisan liquor she's a spokeswoman for - but Belle has the night off. She always needs downtime, after the season wraps.

So, she watches the tapes.

She fast-forwards most of it - Ruby pretending she has a make-up blog, Ruby chatting to other costars, Ruby filming the crew filming the show...

She's right, Belle realises with relief: she's barely in it. Probably because her best friend since drama school understands the boundaries, and that while she's cool putting every ugly selfie on Instagram and tweeting her grocery list, Belle has clear walls between work and home.

It's not until an hour in (fifteen minutes on fast-forward) that Belle sees it.

Ruby had been sick, she remembers, the night they were contracted to open a weekend music festival in Santa Monica. She'd been unable to get on the plane to fly down from Vancouver. Elias had been put in at the last minute.

That had been one of the best weekends of Belle's life.

They'd talked for hours on the flight down, catching up since their scenes this season had been sparser than in season 1. His character, the notorious sorcerer Rumplestiltskin, had been banished in the first season finale, and spent this season plotting his return. Her character, Lacey, a bartender dragged into a magical world by accident, had spent the season in an insipid love triangle with a prince and a thief. After the first season, where their characters had been in scenes together more often than not, Belle had missed filming with him.

He was kind, was Elias Gold, and generous. Nobody believed it, he was so taciturn, so grumpy, and truly loathed the press. His public image was surly, even a little dangerous. Rumours had circulated for a long time about his estranged mother, his wastrel father, his childhood in Glaswegian poverty. When he'd suddenly become famous in Zoso Beggs' gritty drama, Dark Ones, he'd been forced into the centre of a maelstrom of press attention and scrutiny. He'd hated every second of it, and that hatred now applied to every journalist who came within a hundred miles of him.

But anyone who acted with him knew differently. Well, anyone who was generous in return, and could hold their own against him. A good sense of humour helped, and a modicum of intelligence. He and Belle got along like a house on fire.

It didn't help that she'd nursed a crush on him since his Dark Ones days. However she had imagined him back then, the reality was so, so much better.

They had become fast friends, but that was all it ever was.

That weekend, Belle and Elias had hung around together until the event, bantered on stage, introduced the first band, and then gone to dinner with some mutual friends. The flight back, Belle had been comatose, sleeping off a hangover she blamed on Elias Gold's brilliant plan for a second bottle of red wine.

Ruby had lent her the camera. Belle had forgotten that she'd filmed much of the experience.

For the most part it was just her, goofing about at the airport, reviewing the book she'd bought for the flight, and failing to convince Elias to appear on camera. She had kept it in her bag after they landed, and forgotten about it until they got to the venue.

But then, she saw it.

They were in the make-up trailer, prior to their appearance on stage. She'd asked Elias to hold the camera while she did her make up. He must not have realised he was in the shot, clearly visible in the mirror.

"Oh, god," Belle murmurs under her breath. She would barely recognise him.

On the tape she is talking about nothing - where to eat that night, or their flight time the next morning. Belle can barely hear her own voice. She is fixated on Elias' face.

He's staring at her. His eyes are huge and dark, and he barely blinks. Belle doesn't think she's ever seen such naked devotion, adoration, on a human face, and it knocks the wind out of her.

"How do I look?" she asks on the tape, smoothing her hair and checking her lipstick.

"Beautiful," Elias replies. He looks heartbroken.

"Turn around, you idiot," Belle mutters under her breath, staring daggers at her oblivious earlier-self. Instead, that earlier Belle is just smiling.

"Why, thank you," screen-Belle teases. Gold nods, and when she makes eye contact with him in the mirror his face is calm and smooth, maybe a little amused. The yearning from before is wiped away, but Belle knows what she saw.

She rewinds, rewatches their previous shots. This time, knowing what to see, she sees it a hundred times. They're in the background of the shot, in line for Kraft services while Ruby yammers about the process of filming, and every time Belle looks away, Elias is looking at her. They're between scenes, in chairs on set, reading scripts: her eyes are on her paper, but Elias' are on her. She's talking to Ruby, he's in the back on his phone; for moments, seconds at a time, he looks up to her.

He's always watching her, she realises slowly: those soft, dark, gorgeous puppy-eyes follow her everywhere. And yet, she has never noticed. He's never said a word.

There are other shots, too. Shots where they're talking and laughing in the background, her hand on his arm, and she's in creases at some terrible joke he's just told. Shots where she's looking at her phone, grinning ear-to-ear, and Belle remembers he'd just sent a picture of his son with jam all over his face, or a bad joke about a fellow castmate.

She smiles often. She's a smiley person. But these tapes are living proof that she never smiles more, or wider, or with such genuine joy as with Elias Gold. It's written all over her face. She lights up in his company.

How had she missed it? How had she lived these past two years with this overwhelming crush on her costar, and never once caught him looking back?

She texts Ruby: you were right.

Ruby texts back instantly: i know rite!!!

How did I not see it??

Because you're too busy hiding from him to LOOK at him!!

Belle thinks about that. The next number she dials isn't Ruby.

It rings, and rings, and rings. Belle's heart is in her throat.

It connects. She waits to hear his low, sweet voice.

Instead, a woman answers. "Hullo, Elias Gold's phone."

"H-hi," Belle stammers. Her heart drops to her knees. Elias doesn't have an assistant!

"Who is this?"

"This is...  ah... Belle French," she says. The woman sounds British, London if Belle had to guess. But Elias is Scottish, and he doesn't have any family...

"Oh yeah, from the show," the woman says. "Elias is just in the shower, can I take a message?"

"N-no," Belle feels something awful, black and thick welling up in her throat, clogging her lungs. Happiness turned to dispair, to disappointment, to brutal self-loathing that she could have been so blind, waited so long, and been too late. How would she know if he was seeing someone? It's a Friday night and he's a handsome man, of course he has a date! "No it's fine. It can wait. I'll call tomorrow."

"Okay then," the woman says. "Goodnight."

"Night."

Belle hangs up. She takes a deep breath. When she begins to cry, at least there is no camera to record it.

[mexicanketojourney]

💖Beauty is about being comfortable in your own skin. It’s about knowing and accepting who you are.💖 . 🔹FACE TO FACE FRIDAY🔹 This face to face is different but still keto related. . Keto has improved my skin and has evened out my skin tone. I am now comfortable again being in public without any makeup. Heck, I have even posted selfies without any makeup! . I was not always someone who wore a full face of makeup. I would wear light powder and mascara just to say that I at least wear some makeup to work. . Four years ago while I was in my car headed somewhere out with the family, the sun was shining bright on my face. I have the habit of having the visor mirror open. Well, with the mirror in my face and the sun in my face, I saw all my face imperfections. . Coincidentally, that same week I saw an ad about a local make up artist giving make up classes. I TOTALLY SIGNED UP! . Two weeks later I was wearing a full face of makeup everywhere, even to drop off the kids at school or for a quick milk run to the grocery. . I remember my husband asking me, “Why do you wear all this makeup now?” My response was, “I’m only getting older and you can tell!” . So that was me for four year, wearing a full face of makeup at 7:00 AM just to go drop off my kids at school. Having a newborn, I had to be fast because I was not going to leave the house without any makeup! . This school year has been a crazy busy one and I was obligated to wear less makeup due to lack of time. . I have gone several times without any makeup but only if I was only going to pick up the kids at school and not run other errands. . Well, last week I had a day full of errands plus the moving and I did not bother with makeup. I just worried about showering and doing my hair. 😎 . . . #keto #facetofacefriday #betterskin #evenskintone #nomakeup #nofilter #beyou #beyourself #selflove #loveyourself #selfacceptance #selfworth #ketoweightloss #ketotransformation #transformation #weightlosstransformation

[adventureswithtyntyn]

4/3-(7 miles & barre) I actually woke up not so tired! I went to bed at like 10:15 because as I said I was just exhausted last night. I haven’t been starting my Tuesday/Thursday runs until 6:30 and that extra half an hour defiantly helps. The reason I’ve been moving it back is because there’s no reason for me to be getting up at 5:30 and running at 6 unless I have a test or something I need to do before class. I can shower in a half hour and then eat so why get up earlier? I started off my run with 2 slower recovery miles. It was an overcast, rainy, humid morning so I headed to the gym and started my tempo and man did that one hurt a little! I was able to finish it unlike last week so that’s good, but I’m still not as fast as I would like to be. I don’t know what it is about that last mile, but it gets to me. I was able to keep going by going starting slower and just not going as fast, but it still wasn’t easy. It’s just something I need to work on, going faster for longer. My overall pace ended up being around 8 minutes and my time was 32:03. So I can’t beat myself up to much because last year this was my tempo pace for 3 miles. I just have to keep working at it. Post tempo I did 17 minutes of arm weights. I didn’t use as much weight and eased back into it because I’m not trying to mess up my shoulder. After that I did 25 minutes of abs & stretching & rolling. Then a sloooow 9:40 pace mile back to my dorm to make 7 for the day! A pretty good workout overall even though I struggled a little with the tempo, that struggle is what makes us stronger:) Post run I showered, ate some oats and headed to 3 hours of class. Then I was off to another 40 minute barre class. The reason I take all these midday classes is 1) my schedule allows me too 2) they are short & sweet 3) cross training of course! Tuesday barre is always slightly easier and I took it pretty easy today. It was a good class overall, but I was just a bit tired....This weather is making me tired let me tell you. After that I ate some lunch because taco Tuesday and then I was off to more class (ugh). The rest of my day was pretty uneventful, but still good. I went to a study aboard open house, did some school work, ate dinner, went to a meeting and then more work + lots of cereal eating! After a lot of debating I’ve decided to move my long run to Thursday (which means no HIIT this week because I’m not trying to kill my legs). It’s going to be snowing and 20mph winds tomorrow morning and honestly I just don’t think I can attempt 15 miles in that type of weather. So instead I’m going to get up super early on Thursday (5am lol) and get that long run done before class. It won’t be as cold and the winds will be light so hopefully that’s the right decision. Instead I am running Thursday’s run tomorrow. The only thing that’s changing is I’m not taking HIIT, but like I said missing one class won’t kill me and I’m already busy enough this weekend that I’ll have enough physical activity. I have my 12 hour dance marathon this weekend which means 12 hours on my feet all Saturday night to Sunday morning (pls pray for me). Anyway I hope moving it will be for the best, I think it will be! Friday’s run & yoga will stay the same:) Today I’m thankful for non existent drones & Raisin Bran lol Oh and also back at it with the mirror selfies...what else is new?

[littledaydreamsofyou]

Flying Visits

So, I haven’t done this before but here goes ....

I submitted this a couple of months ago to @stylesunchained and thought that I would post this here and see what happens.

I would love to hear what you guys think, if anything at all ....

---------

"Please, it will be so fun. You're not an 'merican too so I'll have someone to get though all of the USA’s with” Harry had all but pulled out the pouty lips and puppy dog eyes as you had Facetime’d one Monday morning for you, Sunday evening for him, what with the time difference and all to the East Coast of America. “I don’t know, it’s not as easy for me to just jet off somewhere.  Some of us have to work you know” you teased whilst sipping on your freshly made smoothie trying not to gag on the green slop, so much for the Summer body!  “Oh come on, I know you’ve been banging on to Gemma about needing a holiday.  Just do it, come see me.  It’ll be great.”  Harry did have a point, I had been harping on to Gemma about needing a holiday ever since I went back to work after Christmas and with money saved up the only thing in my way was my manager and a signed holiday form.  “I have no doubt that it would be anything other, I’ll just have to speak with work and see how that goes before we put anything in motion”, “Oh, so it’s uh not a definite no, then?” Harry sounded a little shocked, apprehensive almost.  “It’s a ‘I’ll see what I can do’ I’m going to have to go, speak soon H”, “Yeah sure, speak to yeh later”.

That conversation took place before 7am on Monday morning and by 11pm on Friday evening you had taken off from Heathrow with Los Angeles as your destination. By some miracle your manager gave you annual leave after the Bank Holiday so you could have like 10 days or so in the California sunshine.  You’d had dinner with Gemma on the Thursday to divulge your plans - you had known her longer than Harry, when you first moved to London a new work colleague hooked you up with a friend that was on the lookout for a new roommate, that person was Gemma and as a result you had eventually met Harry.  Now you were on your way to see the other Style’s sibling albeit with more butterflies than were present in your tummy at Thursday dinnertime.

“Hey you!” Glenne engulfed you into her arms in the Arrivals at LAX who you had approached the familiar face holding the cliched sign with your name on it.  “Hi stranger! How come you’re here?” Admitted you were surprised to find Glenne here, Harry had said that he would arranged for you to get picked up but you were expecting the usual silent type, dressed in all black who called you M’am the entire journey. “Well we have the weekend off and so I nominated myself to be your designated driver, welcome to LA!” Glenne explained as you wheeled your suitcase out into the glorious sunshine and towards the multi-storey car park to find her SUV, the quintessential staple of a California girl it would seem. “So what’s the plans for the weekend? I’ve never celebrated an American holiday before so I’m expecting big things, huge in fact”, “Well I hope that you won’t de disappointed.  Jeff’s family have organised a little party out in Malibu on Sunday for Memorial Day which we’re all going to and that’s the only thing set in stone at the moment”. “Oh cool, I’ve never met them before..” I started, “They know you’re coming and can’t wait to meet ‘Harry’s Friend” Glenne winked at me as she drove. “God, is that what i’m being referred to as, wink and all?” I internally cringed, the last thing I wanted was people thinking I was some money-grabbing girl who was here for a free ride. “No winks were present, they’re just looking forward to meet Harry’s friend from home and H is really looking forward to having a piece of home out here with him too”, “So, is the the one where everyone wears white?”

With Glenne successfully explaining what the appropriate attire would be for the Memorial Day bash in Malibu, a quick stop at In-N-Out Burger for me and Glenne pointing out all of the tourist highlights on the way, when we pulled up at Harry’s new Los Angeles home he was nowhere in sight. “I think Jeff had mentioned about them going to a new spot for Brunch or something” and it seemed that she was right when the both of them turned up within 45 minutes of us parking on the drive. “Ah what a sight! That face! God you look like home!” Harry screamed out as he walked through the hallway to where you stood in the kitchen in clear view of him. “Nice to see you too” you spoke at normal level with Harry’s arms wrapped around you and your face pressed into his neck, he still looked and felt the same as he did before he became Number One in 84 Countries and took off on promo.  That was a great comfort. “I can’t believe you’re here yeh know.  Always turned me down before” Harry pulled back, still keeping his hand on your shoulder.  “Like I said, some of us actually have to work” you repeated squeezing his wrist on your right shoulder and smiling at him, had he always looked this wonderful? Did jet lag set in this quickly?

With Saturday being your first day in LA the four of you had decided on a day at the house and ordering in dinner and making a plan of action for tomorrow.  With an itinerary in place, a wake up call of 8am for yourself decided on and a departure time to Malibu at 11am agreed upon, Glenne and Jeff left for the night. “Bloody hell, what have you got in here?” Harry huffed as he carried your bag up the staircase.  “Options, lots of options” you murmured feeling the time difference just slightly.  “Always prepared, right?” Harry questioned pulling the door open to one of the guest rooms, “So you’ve got towels in the bathroom, the TV remote is on the bedside. Oh, um, there is a uh, a blanket in the wardrobe for  yeh, know how yeh get cold and that”, “Thanks H, you’re the best” you yawned out giving him a side cuddle.

“Harry, are you ready to go?” you showed up the stairs, the clock just about to hit 11am. “I thought having your hair cut off meant you could get ready quicker?” “Quite the opposite actually. Yeh see, I’ve got to uh, make sure the quiff is right” Harry came down the stairs with his keys, wallet and phone all in one hand. “Whatever you say Princess, do you want a bottle of water for in the car?” You asked opening up the fridge and stalling for a second, “Jesus, Joseph and Mary, who’s done a big shop for you?”, “Well I knew yeh were coming, and uh I did it myself, there’s some of you’re uh favourites in there”  Harry reached in behind you grabbing two bottles with his spare hand and shutting the fridge door before it started to beep, “Ready?”.

As your father said, American’s did not do things by half.  The Azoff’s had rented out a whole restaurant for their party and there was a BBQ in full swing, canapés going around for those who were only peckish, cocktails and mocktails being circulated and the bathrooms had the best mirror for a full length selfie which you and Glenne had taken full advantage of. You could get used to this life you thought as you leant against the railings overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  The atmosphere was amazing and as your eyes fell on Harry you laughed at yourself thinking of all of the times you and Gemma had ripped into him about his LA lifestyle and now here you were lapping it up.

You had been doing a scan of the terrace whilst considering a trip over the to BBQ for a second time that afternoon when you saw Harry coming towards you, sashaying and swinging his hips to make you laugh, stupid grin on his face and two margaritas in hand. “Happy Memorial Day!” he cheers’d his glass with you “Right back atcha! Why don’t barbecues back home have this vibe?” you pondered taking your first sip “Generally because it starts to piss it down an hour into it” Harry decided for you, “Yeah, and you can’t make margaritas like this for shit”.   “Heeey, play nicely” he nudge your shoulder as you stifled a chuckle at your own joke. “So whilst you’re out here, is there uh, anything that you maybe uh wanna do?”, “I’m not too sure really, I really want to do Disneyland..” Harry groaned, “What’s wrong with that?” you asked him, standing a little taller ready to defend your suggestion.  “You’re just such a girl that’s all”, “Yeah well, whatever.  I’m happy to just play it by ear, I think Glenne had mentioned having a day together going to lunch and shopping and all that girl crap that you don’t like”.  Taking another sip of your drink you heard Harry take in a deep breath and simultaneously noticing a group of girls staring in your direction or more like at Harry. “Well if you’ve got some free time in and amongst all of that uh girl crap, I’d uh, I’d like to take you out. Just me and you, uh sometime, if you’d like?” Harry turned to face you, you guessed to gauge your reaction. “I would like” you nodded smiling at him. “Great, sounds like another word I want to say right now” Harry spoke, holding your spare hand and leaning back against the railings, together.

[youcancallmecirce]

MariChat May Day 13: SIN

I took some liberty with this prompt, as well. I’m trying to keep this to a single, continuous story arc, and I wasn’t ready for them to get naughty just yet. So, you’ll just have to make do with LUST rather than SMUT this time.

This is for @siderealsandman. You set the sin bar high, my friend. If anyone wants to read incredibly well written sin, go check out Sandman’s AO3.

****************

Marinette checked her reflection in her mirror for the umpteenth time, because she was too antsy to sit still. Which was silly. She didn’t even know that he would be coming over. She swung away from the mirror with a groan, and began pacing. They hadn’t made any plans, but he had made a habit of dropping by on Friday evenings. He didn’t always come, but he did whenever he could.

And since she’d finished her Chat Noir outfit earlier in the week, she’d decided to go ahead and put it on, to surprise him with the complete look. After his reaction to the choker, she was quite looking forward to seeing his reaction to all of it. But what if he didn’t show tonight? What if he showed, but he thought it was ridiculous? What if he thought it was slutty?

She stopped. Why was she freaking out over what Chat Noir thought of this outfit? Sure, a bit of anticipation and even nerves made sense. She did want him to like them, after all. But this level of anxiety was over the top, even for her. It was just Chat Noir, and regardless of what Alya thought, they weren’t dating. It wasn’t like that for them, it wasn’t anything like she was waiting for Adrien to show up.

“Get a hold of yourself, girl,” she muttered. She resolutely pulled a new library book from her desk, and sat on her chaise to read. Either he would stop by, or he wouldn’t. She opened the book to the first page, and set about getting herself engrossed in the story.

It was late when Adrien was finally released from that stupid black tie affair with his dad. It had been boring and superficial and excruciatingly long, just as those events always were, but this one was worse because it fell on a Friday night. It had somehow become routine to go visit Marinette on Fridays, and now, he couldn’t stand to miss one. So, even though it was probably already too late, he called for his transformation as soon as he was sure that Nathalie wouldn’t be bothering him any more for the night.

The journey across the rooftops was freeing, as it always was, and he’d managed to lose some of the tension from that interminable dinner by the time he reached her balcony. Her lights were still on, which was always a good sign. He peered in through her skylight, and saw that she was curled up under a blanket on the chaise, with a book. He tapped on the glass to get her attention, and waved. Her face lit up when she saw him, and when she waved him in, he wasted no time in joining her.

“I’d given up on you coming over today, Chaton,” she said as he came through the opening in her ceiling.

“Eh, I got tied up as my civilian self.” He pulled the trap door closed behind himself, and began to climb down from her bed. “I almost didn’t come over, as late as it is. And had your light been off, I’d have turned back.”

“Well then, I’m glad I left my light on.” She pushed the blanket back to stand, then turned to set her book down, and Chat realized that she was wearing something other than her customary pink.

She was wearing black.

No, she was wearing black and green.

His colors. She was dressed entirely in his colors, and he quite suddenly forgot how to breathe. It must be the outfit that she’d designed from her sketches of him. She’d elected to stay surprisingly close to the design of his suit, and the sight of Marinette’s trim form clad in something very much like his suit was wreaking havoc with his equilibrium.

She’d made herself a pair of black skinny jeans, but rather than using black thread and a traditional cut for pants, she had cut these to echo the lines of his suit and stitched them with heavy green thread. The result was striking, to say the least. When she’d bent to put down her book, he’d gotten a very good look at the horizontal line across her derriere, as well as the twin lines that traveled down the backs of her legs, making them appear even longer than they were. The waist band sat at her hips, like the belt that circled his own body, and was likewise stitched in the heavy green thread.

By this time she’d turned to face him, and he saw that while her top also echoed the lines of his suit, she’d taken greater creative license with it. It was not made of denim, like the pants, but of matte satin, and was trimmed all the way around in piping of the same green as the thread. In some ways, it resembled a cheongsam, though she’d taken a great deal of liberty with that, as well. She’d clearly modeled the shape of the cap sleeves on the lines on his shoulders, so that they came to gently rounded points. In place of the high neckline, she wore her bell collar necklace above a low “V” neckline that would have shown cleavage on a bustier woman. The green line continued straight down the middle of the shirt to the hem, and was further embellished by two matching green frog closures.

She’d found a way to combine the style elements of his suit with elements from her own heritage, and the over-all effect was stunning, and…provocative. He moistened suddenly dry lips with his tongue, and allowed his gaze to rove over her again.

“Um, Chat? I-is it ok?”

He jerked his eyes to her face, finally aware that he had been staring, and saw that she was watching him anxiously. “Guh, Marinette, you look—er, I mean, this is—this is incredible! And—are you wearing chopsticks in your hair?”

“I am!” She turned to show him her hair, which she’d coiled into a bun and secured with a pair of shiny black chopsticks, which were embellished at the ends with tiny green paw prints. “So, you like it?”

“Like it?” He stepped closer to her, and touched a claw to the paw print on one of the chopsticks with something nearing awe. Not only had she dressed herself in his colors from head to toe, but she had made every last bit of it herself. She’d all but marked herself as his. “I fucking love it,” he breathed.

She whirled to face him, grinning happily, and he found himself staring down into her blue, blue eyes, which were presently very, very close to his face. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips without consulting him first, and in that moment, he found himself faced with a very intense desire to sweep his hand over her curves, pull her against him, and press his lips to hers. He watched in fascination as her grin faded, and her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips before tugging the lower one in between her teeth. His breath caught, and he found himself swaying toward her.

“Ch-Chat,” she whispered, and he didn’t know if it was a question or an invitation or a rejection, but it was enough to bring his brain back online.

He straightened abruptly, and took several hasty steps back, aware that his pants were feeling uncomfortably tight. What in the hell? Where had all of that come from? She was watching him, wide-eyed, with something like disappointment on her face. He mentally kicked himself, hoping that she wouldn’t notice his uh, problem. Why did he have to go and make it awkward between them? He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that he was probably blushing enough for it to show around his mask. “S-sorry about that. I, um, ahem, I love it. You did a great job.”

She opened her mouth to speak, apparently thought better of whatever she was going to say, and closed it again. She looked down, tugged at the hem of her shirt nervously, and one half of it pulled briefly away from the other, revealing a flash of the skin beneath.

The shirt didn’t close all the way down, he realized. Those frogs weren’t just decorative; they were the only things holding the silly thing closed. He leaned heavily against the ladder behind him, feeling poleaxed all over again.

“Thanks,” she finally said, with a small smile.

He blinked, an idea forming in his mind. “Hey, uh, Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I took a couple of pictures?” Crap, was that weird? He really hoped she didn’t think it was weird.

Her smile broadened, and it reached her eyes again. “Not at all.”

He tugged his baton from behind his back, and brought up the screen. After tapping the pad for the camera, he snapped a couple with her facing him, and lowered it again uncertainly. “Could you, uh…”

“Turn around? Sure.”

She smiled again, and turned away from him so that he could photograph the back. She had her head turned to the side, so he was able to capture her face in profile. Had she always been so…sexy? He gulped, and hoped that she couldn’t hear. “Perfect. Thanks, Princess.”

“Of course!” She moved to the desk, then, and picked up her phone. “Would you mind taking a selfie with me? I don’t have any pictures of us together…”

“Only if you promise to give me a copy.”

“You know I will, Chaton.” She brought up the camera on her phone, and moved to stand beside him, but the angle was weird.

“Here.” He took the phone from her hands, and stood behind and just to the side of her, and held his arm out to take the picture. He pretended not to notice that her face was right next to his, or that only a few centimeters separated their bodies. He took a few pictures before straightening and taking another step away from her.

He was discovering that her proximity was inversely proportional to his ability to think. He managed to say goodnight without embarrassing himself, and then made his escape. When he was safely several houses over, he stopped and looked pensively back toward her balcony.

They’d grown close over recent months, and he considered her one of his dearest friends. If he had found himself attracted to her, he’d chalked it up to the fact that she was a pretty girl and he was a normal 17 year old guy. He’d never thought beyond that, because he’d been so focused on pursuing Ladybug. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might develop feelings for someone else, and if anyone had asked him yesterday if there was something between him and Marinette, he’d have scoffed.

Now? He wasn’t so sure any more. She’d somehow left him aching without ever touching him, so whatever else he felt for her, he definitely desired her. He adjusted himself in his pants with a sigh, and continued on his way.

**********************

Anyone want to guess what he’s going to be doing when he gets home?

[thatsrightmytrash]

Somebody Else Pt 4

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 5

Rating: NC-17

Genre: Smut, Angst, college AU

Pairing: Jungkook x reader x Taehyung

Warnings: Cheating, Explicit sexual content.

Summary: You had met Jungkook on a summer day at the age of 10,  at 12 you became best friends,  at 14 you had your first kiss,  at 15 you fell in love and at 16 you made love. You’ve never really knew what heartbreak was until at the age of 18 he broke your heart.

Inspired by Somebody else by the 1975.

A/N: Sorry if i have grammar mistakes, English is not my first language.

I wasn’t gonna post this today but here it is :)

You didn’t hear his almost inaudible whisper as he stroked your hair, hugging you closer to him “What am I going to do with you? You make me crazy”. You looked up to him, his strands of blonde hair matted in sweat pushed back. “That was amazing” you whispered.

“I know right? I was made for this” he cockily grinned. “Oh my god you are such a tease” you hit his chest and he grabs your hands as he places his finger against your lips. ”But I know you love it”. He says before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

  A week went by and all you could think about was Taehyung, his kisses, his very touch, his beautiful laughter, his silly way of being… he was the calm after the storm. But you couldn’t stop Jungkook's name from crossing your mind at least once a day. Since the fight he had sent you dozens of texts, he even called you. But you had ignored each one of them. You had decided with Taehyung that you would keep your "relationship" secret for a while until you were ready to tell Jungkook. You really didn’t know what to tell Jungkook; “I like one of your best friends and I want to try to have a relationship with him?” You knew that wouldn’t work, you knew that the moment you would see Jungkook, the name Taehyung would disappear from your head. You knew that the moment you tried to leave Jungkook he would follow you and absorb you again, so strong was your attachment to him, so strong the name of Jeon Jungkook was buried in your heart.

A nocked sounded at your front door and you hurried to get out of the couch to open it,

You looked through the peephole of the door to meet a young man with blond hair, you smiled to yourself before opening the door with a smile on your face. "What are you doing here?" You asked.

Taehyung stood in front of the now open door with his characteristic grin. "I just wanted to see you" he replied; entering to your house with a long step to shorten the distance of your bodies. He cupped your cheeks in both of his hands and gently pressed his pink lips against yours. A feeling of calmness running through you right away; It was always like that with Taehyung, he managed to generate that effect in people; Tranquility.

You closed the door by pushing him against it, melting in the kiss deeper. If you were thinking about Jungkook just moments ago; that name was now in the depths of your head.

Taehyung was the first to separate his lips for air. "someone is anxious?" He chuckled softly. "Yah! You appeared out of nowhere in my apartment” you said blushing. "Speaking of which, what are you doing here seriously?"

"You didn’t want to see me?" He asked frowning, pretending to be hurt. "Firstly I really wanted to see you and ... secondly there's a party at Jackson's tomorrow, you should go ..." he said as he walked towards the sofa to sit on.

"Uh oh Jungkook will surely be there Tae, I'm not ready yet" Saying the name of your ex aloud still was hard and more with the man who was in front of you at the moment.

"Listen… I know Jungkook will be there, but this is an opportunity to show him that you are more than an object with which he can play and then throw away." He stopped and then continued. "I'm not telling you to tell Jungkook about ... our relationship" The last word came out in a sigh, the way he said it made you feel bad, you knew that Tae wanted to be with you officially, wanted to show everyone how happy he could make you, but it was not yet the time when Jungkook still fluttered in your mind. "Just go, take Minah with you, have some fun," He finished smiling, giving you security.

"You're right, I could have some fun after all..." you agreed with Taehyung that leaving your house wouldn’t do you so bad, you could always leave the party if you felt uncomfortable. "If you want to leave just send me a text and we’ll leave together, what do you think?" He said in a seductive voice, intending to continue what had happened a few minutes ago between you two.

That ended up convincing you; you had Minah and Tae if something went wrong. Maybe you wouldn’t even see Jungkook with the number of people who used to attend the parties of Jackson.

The reality was that Taehyung was everything you wanted to have after Jungkook broke up with you, someone who was there for you, who would listen to you, who would talk to you, distract you from the horrible thoughts that inhabited your mind. Since the black-haired young man left you, the only thing you could think of was that you weren’t good enough, beautiful enough or intelligent enough and that's why he left you. You couldn’t help thinking that there was something wrong with you, that you had done something mistakenly, you still didn’t understand very well how fate had made you cross with a person as wonderful as Kim Taehyung, and how he had accepted you with his arms open even knowing how broken you were. There was more of Kim Taehyung than you knew.

Tae's deep voice brought you back to the real world. "What are you thinking?" He asked and you looked at him in surprise. The question shocked you a little, pushing the thought to the back of your mind, hiding them, with your best smile you answered; "I was just thinking about what to wear tomorrow," you lied.

"Ah, I do not care what you wear as long as you take it off for me." He grinned and winked at you as you rolled your eyes at the comment but you couldn’t help but smile.

"Are you thinking about impure things already? What a slutty woman."

"YAH! What are you saying!? You're the one who was talking about taking off my clothes!" You replied by throwing yourself to him and hitting him on the chest with both hands.

Suddenly he grabbed you gently but strongly enough for you to not be able to move and turned you around, locking you on the couch with his legs "Or ... you can take off your clothes now, I wouldn’t mind," he said before kissing you roughly.

Here we go again.

It was Friday and you were in your department with Minah deciding what to wear; In the day you had thought about not attending Jackson’s Party but Taehyung was going to be there and he had asked you to go but you weren’t sure because Jungkook was going to be there too. Tae assured you that it was okay, that this was an opportunity to test yourself and not succumb to Jungkook.

But your mind was fragile to the black haired young man and you knew it. Your mum always said: Dress to impress if you are feeling with little confidence in yourself and it was true, it was funny how just a little piece of fabric could give you all the confidence you lacked. You were wearing a short black leather skirt, red crop top, high heels and a little black leather jacket just in case the night would turn cold.

"Agh no, I can’t go" you grumbled looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Y / N ..., you are going, there is no turning back and I won’t take a no for an answer" your friend told you while she combed your hair. "You have nothing to worry about; you can’t go through life thinking that you will cross with Jeon stupid Jungkook"

"You're right, it's just ... it’s hard for me," you replied with a sigh. "I know, but I will be with you at all times, I will be like a tick, I promise" said your friend, assuring you that everything would work out.

You laughed at the comment, imagining what your night with Minah would be like, you finished your look with red lipstick, something you usually didn’t use but your friend had convinced you that it was the finishing touch you needed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror happily for the image you had in front of you until your phone buzzed:

-TaeTae: See you tonight, right? 

You smiled as you read the text on your screen.

-You: Yess, we're about to leave.

You took a selfie with your cell phone and you sent it to him.

-TaeTae: I'm thinking more about the time to leave the party than to go.

-TaeTae: And your body without clothes...

Your cheeks flushed at the thought of the beautiful naked body of Taehyung, it was something from another world, and it was all for you.

-You: Perv.

You saved your cell phone in your purse as Minah yelled to you to get out of the apartment.

 The party was full of people as usual, you had arrived a little later than usual so it was no surprise that some high school students were already drunk, who let them in? Although it was not uncommon for frat parties to invite high school girls; they were easy, full of hormones, and got drunk easily.

When you went to high school you didn’t usually attend fraternity parties, but if you did you never put yourself in the state of these girls. Your tolerance for alcohol in itself was high, and you also had Jungkook to take care of you in case something happened.

The memory sent shivers down your body, you hated to have every daily life event tied to a memory of Junkook. You gripped Minah tightly. "I need a drink." Minah smiled and nodded to you.

Together you went to the kitchen to serve yourselves a couple of drinks, the taste of alcohol was not something you really missed, after the proposal Tae gave you; you no longer needed to get drunk or be with other guys, so you spent most of the weekends in your apartment, sometimes Tae stayed to sleep, others he stayed just a couple of hours and leave to not generate suspicion.

When the alcohol started to have some effect on your body and Minah's, your friend grabbed you and took you to the living room where the dance floor was to dance the worries away. She knew you were nervous but she promised to be with you like a tick, and that's what you would do.

You already been an hour and a half at the party and fortunately you had not seen Jungkook yet, although you had not seen Taehyung either. You really wanted to see him but you didn’t want to look for him because he was surely with his friends and in that group would be your ex.

"Hey..." Jaebum said behind you, grabbing you by the waist. You and JB had made out once in front of Jungkook and Bora, JB was fucking handsome and seductive, not as ripped as his friend Jackson but he countered it with his personality and a look that drove mad anyone. In spite of all these things JB was not somebody that really turned you on, sure he was hot but you only had made out with him to make Jungkook jealous.

"Hey JB, how are you?" You asked trying not to be rude, after all the boy didn’t do anything wrong and it was also good to start a conversation with a boy that wasn’t  Tae to dissipate suspicions but what you most wanted right now was to be under his naked body in some corner of the house.

"I’m fine but I could be better..." he said, approaching you, quickly you managed to interpose your drink between both bodies, drinking a little of it as you thought some excuse to tell him. You looked sideways at your friend who was now dancing with Jackson.

Shit, you sighed. You'd have to fix this on your own, after all your friend deserved a bit of fun too, you were not going to be a cockblocker.

"I'm sorry but I really have to go to the bathroom" You excused yourself from the boy in front of you, turning on your heels quickly,  you started to walk through the crowd and up the stairs to go to the "bathroom".

When you climbed the stairs the hallway was as crowded as the rest of the house, the doors of the rooms closed, some with socks on the handle, indicating that you couldn’t enter because some horny couple was having sex.

You sighed at the thought of how many times you were the one inside a room fucking with Jungkook in a stranger’s house.

 The bathroom was empty, which was an almost miraculous event since the bathrooms were always full of alcoholic girls painting and laughing with laughter.

You went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror, you really didn’t have anything to do there because it was just an excuse but you took the time to retouch your makeup.

A very familiar voice got you out of you. Jungkook.

You lay still in the bathroom without making a sound, but someone started knocking on the door repeatedly to get in.

You grabbed your stuff, stuffed them inside your purse and opened the door handle, ducking your head with your hair covering your face so Jungkook wouldn’t see you.

You took a few steps until you felt a hand grasp your wrist. Shit.

“Y/N... what are you doing? Why are you ignoring me? Jungkook said somewhat enraged. You hadn’t seen him for almost two months, you had not answered any of his texts or calls, he once went to your house but Minah told him that you were out.

"I'm not ignoring you, I just didn’t see you ... I'm sorry?" You replied quickly trying not to make eye contact.

"Oh sure, that's why you ignored all my calls and texts, and now that I see you face to face you can’t even look me in the eyes," he said even more angry. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the urge to shout something at him, you knew that the moment you raised your face to see him and say something, all your shields would fall and break into pieces.

"Please, look at me ..." he sighed softly letting go of your wrist and bringing his hand to your chin to lift your face up.

Slowly you looked up and saw him, god. You would never get tired of seeing that face. You hated yourself for thinking that way but you couldn’t help it.

Jungkook took a lock of hair away from your face and caressed you gently, traveling with his fingers down your cheek, through the chin to your neck, stopping in the gap between your shoulder and collarbone. Your body convulsed in warmth.

"I know what I said last time was wrong, I'm sorry, you know I don’t really think that about you, God, you make me so crazy" He sighed moving his head down to your neck, you could feel his warm breath on your skin, the alcohol in your body and the actions of Jungkook were melting you inside.

"I'll never get tired of your scent" He sighed on your neck before giving it a soft kiss.

That was just enough to succumb to the charm of Jeon Jungkook, the name of Kim Taehyung long forgotten, the suspense was torture.

You raised your arms and positioned them around his neck, drawing your body closer to his. You didn’t dare say a word, letting Jungkook lead.

Jungkook finished sticking your bodies together with his hands on your waist, slowly traveling up your back to your ass. You could honestly barely even function right now, warmth spreading throughout your body.

His lips went up through your neck, your jaw up to your lips. You felt his need immediately as his mouth opened against yours begging for entrance. You gave in easily and felt his tongue inside your mouth, playing with your own and sweeping along your teeth. He pulled out and moved in again, tilting his head for depth. He tasted incredible. Like desire and lust tinged with a bit of the alcohol he’d been drinking.

All the anger you felt, the urge to never see him again, vanished in 5 seconds.

"Jung..Jungkook" you groaned softly in his mouth, the hallway was crowded but it didn’t bother you at all because the only thing you could think of at this moment was in the clash of your bodies, in the taste of his mouth and the familiar feeling that was building between your legs.

"Mhm Y / N ..." he whimpered, with the sound of your name coming out of his mouth, your legs parted more and moved in between his, pressing against your center and you felt him, hard.

"Let's go somewhere more private ..." he said in your ear as he separated from you. The words were like a spell, a small voice in your mind said that what you were doing was wrong, but a kiss from Jungkook turned it off.

He grabbed you by the waist with one arm and took you to the end of the hall, opened a door and entered the dark room locking it behind him.

You quickly joined your bodies again, this time more aggressively, your hands in his hair, his mouth at your neck, making you moan in pleasure, your core wet in excitement.

You wanted it as much as he wanted. You felt his hands travel from your waist and climb up to your breasts; you moaned and he reacted at your voice bringing your hard limb to his crotch, pressing lightly.

The two stared at each other, desire and lust in his dark eyes, your arousal was already out of control.

"I can’t take it anymore" you purred, taking off his shirt, his soft, toned abdomen was something that made you wet even more. “Like what you see babe?” He grinned before taking your clothes off of you, leaving you in your bra and panties.

You watched as his eyes darkened and you bit down hard on your lip. You were giving up, giving in to the desire. He made his way down to the mounds of flesh of your breasts above your bra, you reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling open the button feeling the pressure underneath. You pushed his jeans away, his boxers a little wet with precum.

His hand was running up your thigh as he pushed you backwards onto the bed behind you.

 He began to rub his body against yours, the tension growing more and more, you groaned for the friction generated from his member in your core. "Fuck Jungkook" You moaned again.

"I'll never get tired of hearing my name moan from you babe," he said, pushing even harder against you. You palmed his lenght through his boxers, the action generating a grunt from behind his throat, "Aghn Y / N don’t tease".

His hands were traveling down your hips, going up your waist to your breasts and then to your neck, touching and feeling every corner of your body. You could feel his familiar fragrance, his very own smell sending you shivers through your spine.

With a simple movement of his fingers, your bra was gone, Jungkook lowered his head to your breasts and licked one with his tongue, pushing it into his mouth, sucking gently "Do not stop please" you moaned hard when you felt his wet lips on your nipple.

You started to grind on his body strongly causing him a growl by the friction of your bodies. Jungkook brought his hand up to your clit and began to move his fingers around it, you tilted your head back because of the feeling, your panties totally wet. "You are so wet babe" he smirked cockyly.

Suddenly you pushed him away from you, and you turned around, now his back on the bed and you on top of him, you locked him with both legs one on each side of his waist and you started rub your pussy at his length.

Before he could say anything, you got on your knees on the floor, you lowered his boxers, throwing them away , without warning you put his hard cock into your mouth and started sucking it while he growled and choked curse words “Fuck, keep going".

Using both hands and lips you pumped his precum-covered member from top to bottom, pushing deeper, deep throating him and growling his name in the process, the vibrations of your throat doing wonders. "Ughn Y / N ..." he cried out pushing his cock deep further into your mouth.

You took it all inside, moving up and down, sloppy sounds surrounding the dark room, Slowly you sucked and licked his tip before taking in some air. Your lips red and swollen by the event. He was breathless and you were intoxicated. He pressed a finger against your lips and grabbed you by the waist to lift you up so you were straddling him. With one swift motion he took your panties off throwing them somewhere in the room. You felt yourself losing control and your legs trembled around his hardening. He began to roll himself in your bared cunt. “Oh yes, fuck yes, god” you let a series of moans and curse words purr from your lips at the sensation, you wanted him inside of you so fucking bad.

You saw him grab his cock, red at the tip from all the friction and your previous actions glimmering with drips of precum and saliva. He lined up at your entrance; you could already feel the tickling in your inside.

He pushed inside fully, filling you as you dropped your head to his to kiss him, massaging the tongues together fucking his mouth with your tongue. His thrusts were fast and hard, sounds of wet flesh slapping together and moans from both of you filled the room, “Fuck yes just like that” he howled as he sucked your neck marking you.

He accelerated the pace, getting faster, stronger, in rhythm with your body, digging his nails into your thighs, you let a loud moan leave your lips as he hit your g-spot. “Jung… Jungkook just right there”. You sunk deeper into his as you splayed your hands across his chest. He suddenly let out of you, you felt the cold air in between your legs, he then turned you so he was above you and buried himself inside you again.

Sweat running down his forehead and his abdomen, his thrusts were consistent and rhythmic, you groweld at the sight in front of you.

“Faster!” You screamed. “Please Jungkook…”. He smirked and began to ride you as fast as he could. He lowered his head and kissed you swirling his tongue around yours raking your nails through his dark hair.

“I love when you moan my name baby” His thrusting started to get sloppy meaning he was close to his high and so were you. He looked down at you, his breathing was hard and unsteady. You felt a familiar wave rising inside you as he pulled out and the quickly pushed back in, fire pooling low in your lower part.

You pushed your hips deeper into his, as you lost yourself into shockwaves of pleasure, vision fading to dark, moaning the name of your ex as loud as you could.

His movements started to get sloppier and with a few more thrusts; you heard him grunt and his muscles tensed as he cum all inside you whining your name. He stayed a few seconds still inside you not wanting to let go of the feelings that were flooding him; he missed you so much.

He got up off the bed and returned with a towel and you watched as he cleaned your entrance. He lay on the bed next to you, exhausted, putting his arm on your stomach and covering you with the blanket cuddling you.

His palpitations were now calm and his breathing much more static, he lowered his head and his lips softly brushed your shoulder, he began to give small kisses along your neck and you couldn’t help but succumb to the feeling of having the man you had loved for years next to you, this time had been very different than other times, deeper somehow.

His warm breath trembled in your ear while he  stroked your hair, you turned to see him face to face, it was beautiful, hair damp with sweat disheveled up, his forehead uncovered, you tilted your head to be at the same height, pressing your foreheads together.

He leaned down a little to kiss your lips, This kiss was warm and meaningful, not like so many others that he had given you after fucking, you let yourself fall to the spell you were into.

But like any spell, at some point it ends.

  “I’m sorry” he whispered in your ear, “I don’t really want to go, but I have to” You knew he had to go, he always had to go.

You began to feel the void starting to grow again inside your chest, guilty crawling in. It didn’t matter how meaningful, deep or loving the sex was with Jungkook because after it you would always feel the same, empty.

I can't give you my soul 'cause we're never alone.

You got out of bed and gathered your clothes so you could dress up, looking in your purse to grab your phone you saw a dozen texts from Taehyung, and a few more from Minah. Suddenly guilt flamed through your body realizing you left your friend alone and worse; you left the guy that cared for you.

-Minah: Hey I’ve just seen Tae he is looking for u

-Minah: Where are you btw?

 -TaeTae: Where are u? :) 

-TaeTae: I’ve just seen Minah but she is not with u

-TaeTae: Is everything alright?

-TaeTae: Y/N u are worrying me

-TaeTae: did u leave?

-TaeTae: Where the fuck are you?

You gulped hard at the last text you received.

-TaeTae: Nevermind, I thought you were more than this.

He knew. You were sure he fucking knew what had happened, why on heart would he tell you that otherwise?

Jungkook was still dressing up, buttoning his shirt, you didn’t mind to look at him as you blurted out of the room.  

You ran down the stairs looking everywhere for a golden haired man, but you didn’t see him, suddenly you see Yoongi sitting on a sofa, you rushed to reach him no mattering the girl who was attached to his lips.

“Yoongi! Have you seen Tae?” You gasped desperately, concern shone in your eyes. Yoongi slowly pulled away from the woman at his side and looked at you with dead eyes as usual. “Yeah, he was outside a few minutes ago” he answered casually as he used to do.

You hurried out of the house, frantically seeing everywhere until you saw him; Sitting on the sidewalk, drinking a can of beer, head down.

Quickly you moved closer to where he was, your heart turned down at the scene that appeared in front of your eyes.

A dejected Tae, with no smile on his face, no expression but disappointment in his eyes.

“Tae…” you slowly sighed.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now” he answered coldly, the pain blooming in your chest at his words.

“I… I can explain” you choked, words not being able to get out of your lips.

“What do you have to explain? That you just fucked Jungkook upstairs in a fucking party full of people, in a party where I was in? he snarled increasing the tone of his voice “Namjoon saw you entering a room with Jungkook”.

You held the tears in your eyes, you knew very well that you were at fault and there was nothing you could say more than the truth. You had made a mistake.

“I’m… so- sorry” you sobbed low.

An apathetic Tae looked at you before leaving “Yeah, I’m sorry too for thinking you were more than this”. The comment felt like a punch in your face, your heart trembling at the sight of the man who had given you an opportunity without asking for nothing in return, walking away from you and your rotten soul. 

Next chapter 

[vitalmindandbody]

Misty Copeland: dancing into record

She was caught between her impoverished mother and the ballet mistress who offered her a way out. Aaron Hicklin meets Misty Copeland, the first black principal at the American Ballet Theatre

We cannot know whether Misty Copeland would have become Americas most celebrated ballet dancer if she had not met Cindy Bradley, the flame-haired instructor who first recognised and then sharpened her talents, but it seems unlikely. Then again, its doubtful that Copeland would have met Bradley if not for Elizabeth Cantine, the coach of her school drill team who urged her to check out the free ballet class at the Boys & Girls Club of San Pedro. Nor is it clear that Copeland would have joined Cantines squad without the encouragement of her adored older sister, Erica, a drill team star. It was Erica who helped Copeland choreograph an audition piece to George Michaels I Want Your Sex. And who, knowing her story, can omit the Russian gymnast Nadia Comaneci from this roll call? As a seven-year-old, trying to emulate Comanecis pyrotechnics, Copeland instinctively understood that rhythmic motion came as naturally to me as breathing, to quote from her memoir, Life in Motion.

This is life, a cascading series of chance encounters and arbitrary choices that shape our destinies, but for a young black girl in a working-class Los Angeles suburb, who characterises her childhood as packing, scrambling, leaving often barely surviving, catching the right breaks are nigh on impossible. Yet through whatever alchemy of grit, resilience and compulsion, Misty Copeland, a 65lb ragamuffin when she arrived at Bradleys class, beat the odds. In August 2015 she was promoted to principal dancer for the American Ballet Theatre (ABT), the first black woman to achieve the distinction in the theatres 75-year history.

For millions of Americans, Copelands journey to the pinnacle of her profession is an archetypal story of triumph over adversity. At the Boys & Girls Club where she practised her first ballet steps, todays visitor is confronted with a painting showing Copeland in a forlorn crouch, forehead resting on her knees. Around her swirl words like agony, hurting, desolation, hardship and rejection. Next to it is another painting in which Copeland pirouettes like a music box ballerina, music notes spiralling over her head. Nearby, a sign proclaims Great Futures Start Here. Copeland is the girl from the wrong side of the tracks who got to stand tall on pointe shoes. Im often asked if Im OK being referred to as the black ballerina, she says. And I say: I dont think thats something I want to change. Were still at a point where it needs to be acknowledged all the time.

Pointing the way: the ballet superstar who beat all the odds. Photograph: Danielle Levitt for the Observer

It is early afternoon, and in a small waiting area inside Steps on Broadway, one of New Yorks best-known dance studios, Copeland sits scrunched up on a bench trying to talk above the din of wailing toddlers as they wait for a class to begin. Although they might not know it, Copeland is the acme of what those little girls dream to be, and a riposte to classical ballets long history of exclusion. Its partly her Cinderella story that has made her a household name in a marginalised art, but its also a reflection of the astute way she has parlayed her visibility beyond the world of ballet. She has danced for Prince (in his 2010 Welcome 2 America tour), appeared in a 2014 commercial for Under Armour that quickly went viral, interviewed President Obama and made the cover of Time magazine in 2015 the first dancer to do so since Bill T Jones in 1994. Her memoir is to be turned into a movie.

Predictably, none of that has stopped the envious from turning her success into a question. People ask: Is she getting this opportunity just because shes had such a voice, and because shes black, or is she good enough to get this part? says Copeland. All of these things can mess with you psychologically and emotionally. Youd think it would get easier over time, but for me it gets harder.

Copeland did not always perceive the prejudice she was up against as plainly as she does today. As an adolescent, dance was a safe harbour where she felt entirely at home. Going to a school in southern California that was very diverse I never felt like I fitted in, she says. But stick me in a ballet studio surrounded by white girls, and I was, like: Oh, I belong here. I wasnt even thinking about the colour of my skin.

A cripplingly shy child, at her happiest hiding in the closet playing Solitaire or locked in the bathroom listening to Mariah Carey, Copeland was 13 when she discovered dance, a belated epiphany. Ballet was always an escape, she says. It was a place where I felt safe, and I didnt have that in any aspect of my life growing up. I was so introverted because I felt that something could hurt me. There wasnt always a man in our house who I trusted, or we werent always living in a place where I felt secure, and ballet was this one constant in my life that I could rely on.

Perpetual motion: does her life validate the idea that talent is innate? Photograph: Danielle Levitt for the Observer

In many ways Copelands life is a powerful validation of the idea that talent is innate. When I saw her in the gym, a tiny malnourished girl who stood with such poise and presence, I couldnt believe it, says Cantine. I just said: Ill take that one. Copeland not only made the squad, she was made captain. But when Cantine recommended Bradleys ballet class, Copeland was sceptical. I was, like, Absolutely not this is as far as I go outside my comfort zone. She went to watch, just to please Cantine, dutifully returning every day for two weeks until Bradley persuaded her to join in. Copeland quickly realised shed found her place. It was the first time I ever felt beautiful, she says. Just to look in the mirror and to be told: Youre what a ballerina looks like.

Bradley, a former punk rocker who had enjoyed moderate success in the 1980s with a band called the Wigs, took to her new pupil instantly. The affection was mutual. Within eight weeks, Copeland had learned to dance en pointe, a skill that most young ballerinas take years to master. The moment of triumph is recorded in a photograph that Bradley had the foresight to snap: Copeland is ramrod straight on the point of her right foot, a smile suffusing her face. Cindy was definitely a big part of my growth, not just as a dancer but as a person, says Copeland. I had never experienced someone forcing me to voice my opinion, and to communicate. I started to develop skills that were so underdeveloped in me.

Copelands growing intimacy with Bradley came at a time when life at home was getting harder. Her mother, Sylvia DeLaCerna, left one temperamental husband for another, and the family found itself living in a motel, sharing two rooms and pooling loose change to buy food. Copeland found her escape in ballet, but DeLaCerna worried the commute to class was too onerous, and told her daughter to quit. That was when Bradley persuaded DeLaCerna to let Copeland move in with her, sharing a room with her two-year-old son, Wolf. Id only been married for two years, and suddenly we had a teenage girl, and she stole our hearts, immediately, says Bradley. On Fridays, Copeland would make matzo ball soup and light the Sabbath candles. It just felt like this beautiful thing that they shared, and I think thats what I was drawn to, Copeland says. When the Bradleys had a professional family portrait taken, Copeland was part of it.

Girl prodigy: in 1998, as a child dancer. Photograph: Kevin Karzin/AP

Its not difficult to see how this would begin to grate on Copelands mother and siblings, who began describing their sister as brainwashed. When those pressures finally exploded, shortly after Copeland won a prestigious award for playing Kitri in her favourite ballet Don Quixote, the fallout was painful and highly public. DeLaCerna decided her daughter no longer needed the Bradleys; in response they encouraged Copeland to petition the courts for emancipation from her parents. DeLaCerna fought back, securing the legendary civil rights lawyer, Gloria Allred. Eventually, Copeland dropped her petition, but the damage was lasting. It was very traumatic having so much of my life exposed for everyone to see, she says. It took 10 years before I could talk about it without crying. It was no easier for Bradley. It was a huge void that never healed, she says. I had so many things to say to her. The two would not speak for 15 years.

In May, Copeland will play Kitri again, but this time in a production for the ABT. Its the role of a lifetime, one she has dreamed about since seeing her idol, Paloma Herrera, play it in 1996. But Copeland is 34 now, and her journey has been arduous. In 2012, days after her critically lauded debut in the title role of Stravinskys Firebird, she discovered six stress fractures in her tibia. It would take seven months of physical therapy before she could return to the stage. Last year, she finally got to reprise her Firebird performance, one of several lead roles she took on as part of the ABTs spring/summer season, including Odette in Swan Lake. She also married her long-time beau Olu Evans. Her promotion to principal dancer may be a vindication of her hard work, but she knows a dancers career is short. A couple of weeks after I was promoted to principal dancer was the first time I felt: This is the beginning of the end, she says. I was promoted at a very late age for a dancer, so my career as a principal will definitely be shorter than most. She thinks for a moment. The scary thing is what will fill that void. She laughs. My poor husband.

We live in an era, to quote dance critic Madison Mainwaring in The Atlantic, when Kim Kardashians selfies get more serious coverage than dancers who have dedicated their lives to their form. Copeland might be the exception that proves the rule, but the vitality of classical dance in America rides on the trail shes blazing. At a time of heightened consciousness around black identity, her story has lured new audiences to classical dance. Is it enough? The ballet world is constantly talking about how we need more exposure, to bring more people in, but they dont want to change anything about it, Copeland says, with exasperation. It doesnt work that way, something has to change and evolve.

Ruffling feathers: as Odette in Swan Lake in 2015 for the Washington Ballet. Photograph: Theo Kossenas Photography

Its a bright blue morning in San Pedro, and the city glows after weeks of abnormally high rainfall. In her black Volkswagen Beetle, Bradley is pointing out the landmarks of Copelands youth. Did you see the sign? she asks, pointing to a plaque that reads Misty Copeland Square at an intersection adjacent to the San Pedro Ballet School, a former bakery that Bradley and her husband, Patrick, bought in 1998. The plaque was unveiled just before Christmas in 2015, and if you Google footage of the ceremony, you will see a visibly moved Copeland thanking the Bradleys for giving me a path and platform to change not only my life, but so many little brown girls lives.

Bradley drives me to her former condo, near a bluff overlooking the ocean. In her memoir, Copeland recalls it smelling of cinnamon and the sea. We sit in the car for a while, and Bradley tells stories of Copeland helping to potty-train Wolf, dancing with him, being a sister. It seems like yesterday, she sighs. I knew it wasnt going to end well from the start. It was wonderful, but very scary, feeling that every minute was going to be our last. She pauses. But it worked out OK.

Our tour ends where the story begins at the Boys & Girls Club of San Pedro. Inside the gymnasium, Bradley indicates the lines of benches. She wasnt just watching casually she was absorbing while she was sitting there, she says, summoning the image. She didnt move, she watched intently for a few weeks and kept saying No, no, no, until finally she stepped on to the floor. She was a skinny, skinny brown girl with pretty hair.

Happy couple: with long-time beau Olu Evans, who she married last year. Photograph: Evan Agostini/Invision

Ever since Bradley could dance, she has wanted to teach. I just thought: Everybody needs to know this, she says. In Copeland she found her first prodigy. I touched her foot and thats when the magic happened, she says, lost in a private reverie. Ive never been able to describe it before, but I knew she was special. Blinking back tears, she shakes her head in astonishment. She hadnt danced! she says. It was an angels singing moment. That same day, Bradley offered Copeland a scholarship, sending a note home to her mother.

We walk back through the club, past the twin posters of Misty Copeland in despair and triumph, the pool table, the vending machine dispensing frozen fruit bars, the spray-painted symbol of the power fist. And as we emerge into the sunlight, Bradley recovers her composure. I have actually just found my second prodigy Enrique. She pulls out her phone. Ill show you a picture. Like Copeland, Enrique started late (at 16), and like Copeland, he is beset by challenges, most having to do with being a Latino man in a world still defined as white and female. Its the first Ive talked about him, because I learned the first time you should not talk about them too much, says Bradley. She laughs, before adding: Until youre ready to lose them. We both peer at the photo. This is a while ago, so hes more spectacular now, she says, beaming. Hes got it all.

Hair and Make-up by Bank using Pacifica at Factory Downtown; Producer Stephanie Porto; Digital Tech Jordan Zuppa; Lighting perry hall and JP Herrera; Set design Chris Stone; location Steps on Broadway, NYC

Life in Motion by Misty Copeland is published by Sphere, 9.99. Order it for 8.49 at bookshop.theguardian.com

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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