#the solo brothers in the glass bottle

[forlix]

𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder. 

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds. 

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes. 

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too. 

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh. 

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode. 

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[houseofhyde]

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached. 

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts. 

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track. 

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him. 

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so. 

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure. 

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life. 

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother. 

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

[plasticferal]

what you want | chris sturniolo.

authors notes: okay i had fun with this one. longer read, finally smut with the love of my life.

warnings: mentions choking, kinda dom!chris but we know he can switch, explicit language, cunnilingus.

you and chris have a complicated relationship. you’re untouchable to him, and as enticing as he is, you enjoy the chase more than the prize. you don’t want to ruin your delusions by giving into him, giving into what you want.

he’s taken it as a challenge, and in his mind you’re already his. he’s made that very clear. the more you push him away the more he wants, so showing up to a house party you explicitly told him you weren’t interested in, is the perfect way to push him over the edge.

you swing the unlocked door open to the all too familiar house. music was blasting from the other side, only getting louder the moment you walk in. bodies move around you with red solo cups in their hand, people were making out in the hallway up the stairs, and eyes glanced up and down your body, making you hyper aware of your short black skirt.

with a sway of your hips as you stroll into the living space, your eyes lock with chris. you watch a smirk grow on his face, licking his lips slowly, and undressing you with his eyes. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, ankles crossed and one hand gripping the marble. he pushes himself up, and bee-lines for you.

“you made it,” he speaks deeply, sauntering closer to you, snaking an arm around your waist. you grabbed his arm, dropping it quickly.

“yeah, i wanted to see your brothers,” you smile, sickenly sweet, voice laced with sarcasm. he huffs a laugh, rolling his neck.

“not funny,” he replies.

“i thought it was,” you shrug one shoulder and nudge past him, re-directing your route.

“grab me something to drink?” he shouts. you turn on your heels while you walk backward toward the fridge, scrunching an eyebrow.

“come and get it yourself,” you match his tone, earning mumbles and laughs from the house party guests manoeuvring around the kitchen.

“gladly,” not caring about the attention on you two, and he follows you like a puppy.

you pull open the fridge and bring out a cold drink, closing it to see chris leaning a shoulder on the other door.

“you look good” he speaks, unprompted. staring you up and down again.

“i know” you twist the top off, bringing the glass bottle to your lips. he rolls his eyes.

“can i taste some?” he nods toward your drink. you swallow your sip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“come here,” you tempt, holding your drink out, just far enough, but he can’t reach it.

“y’gotta make me work for it?” he asks, shoving one hand into his pant pocket.

“have i ever made anything easy for you?” you grin. he gives a half suppressed laugh, taking the bottle from your hand. he hums after his gulp, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

“it’s nice. you know what would taste better, though?” he speaks as he passes the bottle back to you. you give him a bounce of your eyebrows as if to say ‘keep talking’.

“you.” he finishes. you fake laugh.

“who’s the funny one, now?” you tease.

“it’s always been me, sweetheart,” he winks, earning an eyeroll from you and turning your back on him again.

“where you goin, ma?” he’s hot on your heels, needing to follow the scent of your perfume like a lion to its prey, it drives him crazy.

“your room. i wanna change into a hoodie, something comfortable,” you speak while walking, hoping he can hear you. he’s keeping up, not caring if he’s pushing or shoving past anyone in his way.

to be fair, it’s a lot colder in the house than outside, despite the crowd. really, you just need an excuse to have him linger around you.

you walk and sip your drink, pacing down the stairs before you reach the serenity and contrasting quiet of his room. it’s hidden away from the chaos, and no one’s around now, making hearing him so much easier.

“do you always have to steal mine?” he sounds more enthusiastic about what he says than upset, but yet again he always does when he’s talking to you.

“mhm,” you hum a smile while sipping your drink, pushing his bedroom door open.

“weren’t planning on guests, huh” you mumble, looking around the room that’s in disarray. despite the fact he barely sleeps in his own bed, it’s still a mess. you didn’t expect anything less though.

chris leans both his arms up above his head on the door frame, forcing his hoodie to raise up, revealing the band of his branded boxers and tanned skin that cuts sharp to his waist.

you avoid staring, as much as you want to.

“if i knew you’d be in my room tonight i would have tidied up,” he grins obnoxiously, and you bite your smile back.

finally managing to find a fresh love hoodie that wasn’t tossed or in a dirty wash pile, you set your drink down on his desk. you bring your hands to bottom of your way too tight, kinda itchy, short sleeve shirt, beginning to pull it up but then pausing noticing chris’ stare.

“what, i can’t watch?” he plays dumb, tilting his head and pouting his bottom lip slightly.

“turn around,” you order, using your finger to point to the empty space he should be staring at behind him.

“what if i say please?” he takes half a step into the room before you snap at him again.

“christopher,”

“fine okay,” he whines, turning to face the wall behind him. you watch as he plants his feet, impatiently tilts his head back and forth and fold his arms over his chest.

you pull your shirt off and begin to slide on his hoodie through your arms, then stop in your tracks.

as much you love the fact he’s taking your orders, him finding it hard to resist you makes you rethink. it’s the perfect time to lean into torturing him. just a little.

“actually, chris?” you ask, tone endearing, inviting him to turn around.

“yea-woah,” he elongates his words, stopping suddenly when he turns to face you, being stunned at the sight of you in just your bra and skirt.

“can you find me a different hoodie? i don’t think this one matches my outfit,” you lean your heap out, which makes your ass pop, having one hand on your hip.

“mmm, i think i like this look on you better,” he slowly steps into the room. you ignore him.

“i like the hoodie you’re wearing. can i have it?” you toss the one you’re holding and step closer to him, putting your hands on the bottom of his attire and begin to pull it up. he grabs your wrists, and you’re taken aback by his sharp movement.

“you can have whatever you want from me, y/n,” he then raises his arms, letting you slowly pull the black hoodie over his head, and he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. he shakes his hair, fixing it, and you can’t help but look down his body.

of course he notices, and he’s happy to let you look. more than happy actually. you can see now that the hoodie isn’t hanging past his waist, that his pants are tightening around his cock. the subtle form of his dick pressing against his pants is enough to make you feel hot.

you turn away from him, beginning to put the hoodie over your head when he stops you by pressing his palm to your lower back. he’s towering over your shoulder from behind, and you can smell his cologne strongly. his bare chest brushes your half naked back, and you feel your entire body chill, a contrast to how warm his skin is.

“what else do you want, y/n?” his voice is a low, husky growl in your ear. it makes your breath hitch.

there was only so far you could go with a chase. you wanted the catch now, and he was bait waiting patiently, desperate to be caught. no better time like the present, you think to yourself.

you turn around to face him, chests brushing each other. you look up at him and he tilts his head slightly, absorbing every detail of your face. it’s the first time you’ve felt insecure, and truly exposed around him. he slides the cold tips of his fingers up your arm, over the hill of your shoulder and collar bone, then up your neck, making your knees week.

he uses his thumb and index finger to cup your jawline, giving a squeeze and forcing your head to look up even more, holding eye contact.

“use your words,” he orders.

“i want you.” you’re direct. he knows what you want, just needed to hear you say it.

chris crashes his lips onto yours, his lips are like silk pillows. gentle, but the kiss itself is rough and needy. he slides his tongue between your teeth and let’s it fight with your own, moaning into the kiss. his grip tightens on your throat, forcing you on your tippy toes and grabbing at his chest for support. he pulls away, strands of salvia pulling your lips and he wipes them with this thumb.

“where do you want me, hm?” he asks, loosening his grip and pulling your neck to the side.

he gives himself full access to plant kisses behind your ear and across your skin, near your bra straps. you can’t even think straight.

without using your words, you take his hand from your throat and slide it down your body, past your chest, past your ribs and waist and finally you push his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers hard against your cunt.

“shit, wet already. i haven’t even touched you yet,” he has a jump of amusement in his words.

“then hurry up before i change my mind.” you hold your eye contact with him and you watch as he slowly runs his tongue across his lower lip. he nods, more to himself, like he’s just agreed with his own thoughts.

he moves his hand from between your legs, curling it around your waist then under your ass. he uses both his hands to hike you up, and you wrap yourself around him. he kicks the door closed behind him and throws you on the bed.

chris crawls over you, and you dance your nails across his chest.

“do you know how long i’ve been thinking about this moment?” he asks, leaning down and connecting your lips again.

you grab his hair from behind, pulling the kiss deeper. you both moan into each others mouths, and his hand reaches for your throat again. his touch his gentle though, just kind of resting his hand there.

“i wanna take this off,” he tugs at your skirt with his free hand, pulling away from the kiss and both of your chests are rising and falling rapidly. his lips are hovering over yours and you can’t help but reach up and connect the kiss again. he pulls his face back slightly and you furrow your brows.

“i need you to agree with me, sweetheart” chris says, and you nod your head, giving him the green light to tear your skirt off. it becomes so real when he’s asking for permission instead of just messing around.

he only needs one hand to slide it off your body, and you raise your hips to help shuffle out of it. your panty line touches his lower stomach, and you feel his now hard cock press into your skin.

“chris, take them off,” you tug at the waistband of his pants.

“whatever you say,” and you chuckle at his response.

he shuffles them down, managing to kick them off the lower half of his body. your mouth is almost watering at the sight of how hard he is, pre-cum drenching the grey fabric.

chris has his hands planted either side of your head, and you lay gazing up at him. the look that his icy blue eyes give you is hypnotic.

“you know what i want, y/n?” the slight strain in his voice makes you want to pull him to you.

“what do you want, chris?” your tone is soft and airy, and it makes his cock twitch.

“i wanna hear you scream my name,” he plants a kiss to your collar bone. “i want you to cry out for me,” he kisses your stomach. “i wanna make you cum on my face” he kisses your pelvic bone.

he looks up at you from your crotch, his hands intertwining with yours by your sides. he takes your panties between his teeth and drags them down to your thighs.

chris dives between your heat and with an open mouth, sucking hard. his tongue is pressed hard against your clit and swirls circles around, making your body jolt and fuck into his face hard. he growls into your skin, eating you out like he’s been starved for a decade. you release your hands from his and dig your nails into his shoulders. you quite literally think you’re about to draw blood with the pressure you’re using.

“fuck, o-oh, chris,” you pant.

“m’god you taste so good,” he mumbles into your cunt, licking up your folds and circling, wiping his mouth and then going straight back in.

he takes two of his fingers and presses them against your entrance. he spits hard, and you gasp.

“sh-shit,” you roll your head back and flutter your eyes closed. he pushes his ring and index finger into you and curls upward, hitting your walls. he fucks his fingers back and forth into you while continuing to stimulate you with his tongue.

he hits a spot on your clit that almost makes you shatter then and there.

“right there right there right there” you plea, squeezing his hair in your fist. your legs are shaking and thighs are squeezing his head.

chris wraps his free hand up behind the back of your knee, so you’re like a vine wrapped around his arm. he pulls you so you’re tight around his face and grinding into his mouth.

“g-god i’m s’close,” you exhale, neck straining into the pillow. chris hums against your heat and the bed underneath you is drenched, a mix of your juices and his saliva.

his fingers curl and thrust and the sounds are so loud. the moans parting your lips are making chris rub into the quilt underneath with his dick. you’re convinced he could make himself cum from hearing you alone, with how dire his need is for friction.

your stomach knots and heat rises across your body. you thrust your hips up and chris’ face follows, gluing himself to you, pulling you close.

“i wanna hear you, pretty girl. say my name,” he’s catching his breath between his words before working on you again.

“chris oh my god, fuck, FUCK,” you scream out, pulling so hard on his hair you’re not sure how you didn’t pull any out.

your climax build up so fast that you feel you’re about to black out, chris moans into you and finally pulls away to let you cum. you’re shaking and clawing at any surface you can, the bed sheets, his skin, yourself.

opening your eyes finally you watch as he licks you up hard and slow one more time, and you twitch with shock. and his face is a glistening mess. his fingers slide out of your pussy and he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

“holy shit,” you’re struggling to regain your train of thought, and chris is crawling back up your body. he drops beside you with a hand on your waist, turning you so you’re both lying facing each other.

“that’s a sight i could get used to,” he presses your lips together again, and you’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, tasting it on your lips.

“that’s a feeling i could get used to,” you agree, and for once, you’re on the same page.

“now chris,” you speak, shifting onto his lap.

“yeah?” he traces his eyes over your body, hands on your thigh, looking up at you.

“what else do you want?” you mimic his actions, kissing his chest, down his torso, to his very subtle snail trail and hips. you feel his hips roll, and know he’s dying to break free of his boxers.

he stops you from getting too far down and grabs your cheeks between his grip, making you look at him again.

“i wanna fuck that pretty mouth,” he states, watching a satisfied smile grow on your face.

“how bad do you want it?” you tease.

“so bad, y/n,”

the moment you hook your fingers onto his waist band is the moment a pounding knock at his bedroom door is heard. you both audibly groan and you roll off of him, flailing onto the mattress.

chris jumps off the bed and adjusts himself in his boxers, wincing as he does. you can only assume how much built up pressure there is that he’s waiting to release.

“what?” he opens the door just a crack, so only his head is peaking out. you hear matt’s voice on the other side and he’s begging chris to come back up to the party. which you had forgotten about by this point.

“alright alright, i’ll come up.” you hear chris’s frustrated tone snap back. he slams the door shut and scratches his head, sauntering back over to the bed. you support yourself on your elbows and watch him walk back.

“you’re going back upstairs?” you piece his sentence and actions together.

“fuck no, come here.”

needless to say your relationship has become a lot more complicated. maybe it’s less of a what you both want, but what you need.

[phoward89]

Happy (late) 420! I tried to get this out yesterday, but that didn't happen. Anyways, here's some Dealer!Coryo x Reader in honor of 420.

Weed, drugs, guns, cussing, Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow, p in v, slight degradation?, um that's bout it

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1:

“Your brother's drunk again?” Coryo, your weed dealer and fuck buddy, asked as he flung the door to his section 8 apartment open as soon as he saw you thru the peephole. 

He knew what was wrong with you just by the sullen look on your face. Anytime you had that look on your face it was because your brother was either drunk and fighting with you or your ex (who Coryo nearly beat to death after the last time he cheated on you- which if you ask the dealer shouldn't have happened cause only a fucking idiot would stick their cock in a skeezy cunt when they've got your perfect, tight cunt to fuck on the regular) did something (like cheat) to upset you. 

After getting beat within an inch of his life, your ex skipped town. Rumor has it that he went to California. So, Coriolanus knows that there's only one reason you're on his doorstep looking like an anxious mess: your brother, Rein.

“Yep.” You popped your tongue.

“Come in.” Coriolanus ordered, moving aside to make room for you to enter his shithole. As you walked by him and into the apartment that smells heavily of cigarettes, weed, incense, and rose scented glade plug-ins, your favorite drug dealer announced with a lopsided smirk, “I was just ‘bout to roll a joint.”, while shutting and bolting the door.

“It's been a while since I smoked. I could use a few hits to calm down.” You admitted, making a beeline to the lumpy couch and in extension the glass coffee table nestled right in front of it.

A glass coffee table with chipped corners that was cluttered so much that the glass could barely be seen. It was a cluttered mess of magazines, rolling papers, plastic sandwich baggies, large bags of weed, a scale, a few empty beer bottles, an empty chip bag, a red solo cup, zippo, and a cheap ashtray.

Sometimes you wonder about Coryo, who could be a dead ringer for Eminem. Hell, his looks got him the nickname of Paneminem. You know, cause he's the Slim Shady of your small bumfuck Colorado town of Panem. 

A town that both you and Coriolanus Snow, known to a very small select few as Coryo, hate with a passion. 

But, anyways, sometimes you wonder about the dealer with the platinum buzzcut (which you were shocked to find out was his natural hair color) that lives alone. He doesn't have a lot of friends and the only family he's got is a cousin, Tigris, that's a stripper at Pluribus’ club. But they had some kind of falling out after he got a dishonorable discharge from the army and barely talk anymore.

And you only know about Tigris and his brief stint in the military cause you curiously asked him about his dog tags, chewing on the corner of them during a half-high afterglow while cuddling with him.

“What dumb shit did Rein do this time, baby girl?” The hardened drug dealer asked, following you over to the sofa. A sofa that has a board under it to level and prop up the saggy seat cushions.

“He’s pissed that I got laid off and can't find another job.” You told Coryo as the two of you sat down on the couch, making it dip under your combined weight.

“So, does that mean you're gonna start helping your favorite dealer sling shit for cash?” Coriolanus slightly chuckled, slipping his hand underneath the hem of his oversized white T-shirt and pulling his gun out of the waistband of his baggy jeans; placing it down on the coffee table.

You've seen the black Glock so many times, gosh it must be at least 50 by now, since you started buying weed and hooking up with Coryo. Him handling the weapon around you doesn't even phase you anymore. It should. It really should, especially since you weren't raised around guns or violence- but apparently the more time you spend around Snow (Coryo's surname and one of his street names- the other being Snowball) the more you're being corrupted by him.

Unknown to you, Coryo doesn't want you to become corrupted by him. He thinks you're a really sweet girl that had some shit luck of being abandoned by your mom and raised hovering above the poverty line by your much older half-brother and his girlfriend. Despite your crappy conditions, you’re as sweet as honey. Or at least to Coriolanus you are.

For some reason, the hardened drug dealer that's a couple of years older than you wants to keep you safe from any and all dangers in the world. Hell, Snow's not supposed to have feelings for you, a girl that occasionally buys weed from him; comes over to his place to vent about her life, but he does.

And that's not good because feelings are dangerous in his world. The drug underworld. The side of town, hell life, that decent people don't see. 

Coryo's got people that would love to put a bullet in him; the cops also want to lock him up for at least half his life too. Having you around him so much, getting wrapped up in shit isn't good at all. It's not good for you or for him. It'll only end up bad and in heartbreak.

And Snow can't have that. Oh, he has to protect you from his world. The world of drugs and all other illicit activities that transpire in the criminal underworld. You're just too sweet to have as a permanent fixture in his life, which is why he doesn't hang with you unless you're buying weed from him. He won't actively seek you out, despite the fact that you always bring a smile to face and warm his cold, black, dead, frostbitten heart.

“Coryo, you're my only dealer.” You dryly remind him, watching as he perches on the edge of his couch; leaning forward to grab the items he needs from his chipped coffee table to roll the joint with. “And no, I'm not gonna help you deal.”

“Only dealer, favorite dealer: same thing from how I look at it.” Coriolanus retorts while his long fingers nimbly work to fill and roll a joint for the two of you to share. “It was a joke, baby. I wasn't serious.” Your dealer dryly told you before giving out a lecture of, “My line of work’s dangerous, babe. I'd never send you out into that shit just to make a buck.” Waggling a long weed scented finger in your face, he added in, “And I would've fucked some goddamn sense into you if you’d agreed to my fake offer.”

You’re not stupid, you know that Coryo’s not just a weed dealer, but that he sells some hard shit and it makes his job- hell his life- dangerous. But you don't care. You accept him as he is. You're not trying to fix him; you're fine with him the way he is. You're also fine with being his customer/sorta friends with benefits.

You know that Coryo has a lockbox full of various pills and coke that he deals. The box is shoved in the side table, that looks like a weird ass octagon, caddy cornered between his sofa and a heavily duct taped easy chair. You saw it once when you were over, crying about being cheated on by your ex and needing some weed (and maybe some big dick) pronto to make you feel better and calm you down. 

Coryo had a customer he needed to meet and sell some powder to, so he prepared the crap right in front of you. After cutting the white powder finely with a credit card (that you're sure he stole from somebody) and portioning it up in a baggie, he made you swear to never touch the hard shit. He even said that he'd shoot whoever dares to give you the shit right between the eyes if he ever found out that you dabbled in the hard shit.

And then he sent you on your way with a few joints and a promise that he'd stop by to check up on you; see if you need anymore post getting cheated on weed to help feel better with. He kept good on that promise, he stopped by and took you out for a ride. A ride that ended with you desperately riding his cock in the backseat of his car- which was parked in some alleyway in a seedy part of town.

“Calm down, Coryo. God, don’t pop a vein over there.” You sarcastically tell the platinum blonde while he finishes rolling the joint. Watching him pick up his zippo off the table, you assure him.“You don't need to worry about me being in danger from the big bag drug dealers; I'll only make my money legally.”

“Y/N…” Snow mumbled warningly, slipping the joint between his lush lips and lighting up. Taking his first hit, he sighs, “The more you hang ‘round here, baby girl, the more you might be putting your sweet lil ass in danger.” 

“I’m a big girl, Snowball. I can take care of myself, plus I trust you and know that you'd never hurt me.” You said, watching him take his second hit. 

Passing the joint over to you, he dead ass says, “I got enemies; if they think we're a thing they'll fuck you up to get to me.” Shaking his head, he leans his elbows on his knees (of course he was manspreading- he always does when sitting on the sofa). “Cops would haul you in; jam you up just to try and catch my ass.”

Your brows furrow at his words. At their implications.

“So, what, you don't want me coming ‘round anymore?” You asked, brushing your fingertips against his rough, calloused ones as you took the joint from him. “Want me to find somebody new to buy weed from?” You took your first hit, coughing slightly. “Maybe I'll drive a couple hours to Denver and buy from a regulated dealer: from the man.” You threatened, taking your second hit and passing the joint to the broad shouldered man next to you.

“You're not driving down there for weed. You hear me?” Coryo sternly ordered before taking a deep hit off the joint.

“Then don't say you don't want me around, Coryo.” You countered, watching your dealer sexily blow a large billowing cloud of smoke from his perfect O shaped mouth.

“I didn't say that, babe.” Coryo snapped, his voice a bit hoarse from smoking weed all day (or at least you think he's been smoking all day). “I don't wanna have a heavy talk while smoking. Let's table this for now, yea?” He told you before taking a second, even longer hit from the joint perfectly pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yea, my life's stressful enough.” You agreed, taking the offered joint from Coriolanus as soon as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

Coryo didn't say a word, just leaned back into his couch and snaked an arm to rest behind you. He gave you a lazy thin lipped smile as you took your hit. His icy eyes, usually void of emotions, were shinning with fondness as he watched you instead of whatever bullshit was on his tv. 

A very nice large flatscreen that somebody gave him for payment. Fuck, the damn thing was worth nearly a grand since it was some top of the line Samsung smart tv. Snow knew it must've fallen out the back of a truck, but he didn't give a shit. Meant he didn't have to use he crappy tablet to watch stuff anymore.

But instead of watching tv, his attention was on you. God, Coriolanus loves watching you smoke. He thinks you're so sexy when you smoke. This cute, lil sweetheart taking in a large burning lungful and letting it waft out of your mouth expertly. 

It turned him on.

“It's not polite to stare, Coryo.” You remind the menacing man next to you, your tone a bit teasing, while passing him the joint after finishing your hits.

“I'm not staring, so don't know what your talking about.” He firmly denied, acting like he wasn't just caught ogling your gloss coated lips, while taking the joint.

You're starting to feel a bit hazy from the weed, unlike Coryo you don't smoke around the clock so a few hits mellows you out quickly, and lean your head against his shoulder.

“Your such a fucking lightweight.” The platinum blonde chuckles, shaking his head with a hint of an taunting smirk on his lips. 

“Not everyone can smoke and fuck all day, Snowball.”

“I don't smoke and fuck all day. I'll let you know that if I don't sling my shit then I ain't making any bank.” Coryo sneered, sounding a bit insulted by your remark, before taking a quick hit and holding the joint out to you.

Your fingertips brush over his, sending shockwaves through both of your buzzed bodies, as you take his offering. “You know, I'm still having a dry spell.” You reluctantly sigh between taking your two puffs and passing him back the joint.

Coryo's not stupid, he knows why you've been having problems finding somebody to hookup with let alone date. Word on the street is that he's sweet on you. That you’re Snowball's baby. Or at least Plinth and Creed, his only friends that are also dealers, told him that's the word.

Been the word since somebody saw you and him at some house party few weeks back- disappearing into a bathroom together for a good 15 minutes or so (yea, long enough to fuck).

“Maybe I can do something ‘bout it then, yea?”

“Maybe.” You coyly shrugged.

Even tho both you and Coryo knew that as soon as the joint turned into a roach; was snubbed into the ash trash, you'd be making out and undressing each other on his sofa.

“Hmmm…Coryo, that feels so good…” You loudly moan, feeling your cunt twitch and grow wetter, as you ride Coryo's cock.

Coryo's sucking on one of your titties while roughly squeezing the other in his large, calloused hand. His other hand is holding onto your ass like it's the most prized jewel into the entire world. 

“God, Coryo, I needed your cock so bad.” You admit to him, your voice nothing more than a pathetic mewl, as your wrap your arms around his neck- one hand pressing into the back of his platinum buzzcut while the other holds the back of his neck- while you leverage yourself to bounce faster on his dick.

His cock, very long and thick with veins that catch every velvety piece of your walls, fills your cunt up perfectly; turns you into a whinny mess. His tip hits against your cervix, causing the coil to begin to tighten inside of your lower body with every move. And the way his cock presses into your g-spot just right- oh fuck he's completely ruined you for men.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you're addicted to Coryo's cock. He's the only man that can fuck you just right. God, you would be all hot and bothered over your dealer.

Your nipple falls from Coryo's mouth with a loud, wet pop. He looks up at you, baby blues smoldering midnight with lust, and slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby. Ride my cock, ride my cock like the lil slut you are.” His hand slides over your chest, leaving one tit and going to kneed the other, as he lands two quick slaps to your ass. “Baby, your cunt feels so tight and good. Ride me, baby, ride me.”

“Fuck…Coryo…think I'm gonna cum.” You breathing tell him, forehead pressing down against his; hair curtains around your faces, as you grind your hips faster against his.

“Yea?” He asks, his voice heavy from lust and hoarse from smoking weed, as he places his hands on either of your hips. “Hold on, baby. I'll make ya cum.” Coryo tilts his chin up, sloppily kissing you, before digging his fingers into the meat of your hips and thrusting fast and hard up into you.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling your insides literally getting rearranged, as Coriolanus’ cock plunges deep inside of you. Deeper then you’ve ever felt it before (and that's saying something since the man’s cock always leaves an imprint in your lower stomach everytime you fuck) and it's making you see stars. 

Your arms are tightly wrapped around Coryo's neck in a vice grip as he pounds up into your cunt at such a strong, punishing pace. He's fucking you so hard and good that you can feel the rubber band inside of you get ready to snap. “Coryo…I'm gonna cum.” 

“Cum, baby. Be my good lil slut and cum on my cock.” Coryo orders, his baritone rough and raw, as he presses you against his chest while bucking his hips at lightning speed.

And you do. You cum hard, moaning a string of curses mixed with Coryo's name, before leaning limply against him and panting to catch your breath. Your head's pressed into the crook of his neck and he's now holding holding your back to keep you afloat while chasing his own high. Coryo pistons his cock in and out of you quickly before groaning a couple fucks and your name while shooting his hot load of thick pearly ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

“Damn…” Coryo trailed off, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Your head's still resting in the crook of his neck as you unwrap one of your arms from around his neck. Running your hand up and down his toned chest, you blurt out, “I'm hungry.”

“Of course, you get the munchies now.” Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. “I got some pizza rolls in the freezer, I'll nuke us some in a lil bit. Okay, babe?” He offered while trying to enjoy his blazed out afterglow moment with you. 

Honestly, he just wanted you to cockwarm him for a while because he didn't know when you'd be in that position again. 

And Coryo knows that he's going to have to cut you loose eventually. You're a liability in his line of work. Snow, the cold hearted drug dealer that doesn't think twice about popping a cap in somebody's ass, has a soft spot for you. Hell, to be honest he cares for you.

He cares a lot.

And that's dangerous. Feelings are a weakness that he can't afford in his life. The thought of you being used against him makes him sick.

And Coriolanus will never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him.

He knows that he'll have to cut you loose soon. Put his combat boot covered foot down; lay down some rules for the two of you to abide by. Something like he'll drop your weed off at your house then leave type of deal.

But right now, for a few minutes, he just wants to bask in your warmth.

And for right now, you're Snowball's baby.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[spidybaby]

Begin Again | Part two

Summary: After your son was born, your friend made you realize how much you were wrong for hiding him from Pedro.

Warnings: Cursing.

A/N: The dividers I'm using are from @cafekitsune All credits to them ❤️✨️

Part one

September 2026

"Cómo estas?" He says happily. (How are you?)

Elena only smiled, not knowing how to react. Her friend was not there but she still felt the pressure.

"Tas solita?" (Are you alone?)

"No, de hecho estoy con unos amigos, como estamos celebrando mi cumpleaños." (No, actually, I'm here with some friends celebrating my birthday).

"Joder, feliz cumpleaños." (Fuck, happy birthday).

He hugged her, that's when she noticed he's drunk.

"Tu estas solo?" (Are you alone?)

"No," he laughs. "Bueno, si." (Well, yes).

"Si o no?" She got serious

"Fernando se enojo conmigo, peleamos y se fue. Entonces me quedé porque conoci a John, es un tipazo, quieres conocerlo?" (Fernando got mad at me. We got into a fight, and he left. So, I stayed and I met John, he's an awesome dude, wanna meet him?)

"Quieres que te lleve a tu hotel? Estás ebrio Pedro" she grabbed his arm, taking him outside at a little table that was alone. (Do you want me yo take you to your hotel? You're drunk).

"No, tu estas celebrando." He says laughing. "Te invito a un shot por tu cumpleaños." (No, you're celebrating, let me buy you a shot for your birthday).

He grabbed her hand and took her back inside. She was worried about him. He used to not drink until getting drunk unless he was with friends or people he trusted. He was alone.

"Two shots," he shouted at the bartender.

"Pedrito," Elena called his attention. "Luego del shot nos vamos a tu hotel, si?" (After this, we're going back to your hotel, okay?)

He nodded, his shot glass and yours making noise as they made contact.

"Esperame acá, por favor." She sits him at the bar chair. "Pete, hand me a bottle of water, and charge the shot onto my tab." (Wait for me here.)

She hurried to her table, explaining to her boyfriend and friends the situation. Her boyfriend gave her the car keys.

"Pedro, puedes darme tu telefono y cartera?" (Pedro, can I have your phone and wallet?)

The state he's in makes him obey your order.

"Pete, how much he owes?"

The bartender prints the check.

Elena almost fell back when she noticed he owned more than twenty thousand.

"Pedro! Por qué pediste cinco botella de champaña y dos de tequila?" (Pedro! Why did you order five bottles of champagne and two tequila ones?)

He only laughs, not caring about it.

"Voy a pagar, no tienes algo que ir a buscar? Ya nos vamos." (I'm paying, you need to get anything from your table?)

"Noup," he says as a little kid.

Elena handed the bartender his card, paying the crazy bill. She knows that John dude probably ordered most of that.

"Vamos, Pedrito" (Let's go, Pedrito).

He takes her hand and let her guide him.

"Me cago, los putos paparazzi." (Fuck it, the fucking paparazzi.) Elena says, mad about the whole crowd. "Pedro, vamos a salir y correr hasta mi carro, si?" (Pedro, were getting out and running to my car, okay?)

He nodded, not caring.

When the security guy opened the door, the flashing from the cameras didn't wait to capture the moment, the same guard helped you making space.

Holding harder into his hand, Elena starts running. Pedro did the same as he laughs, finding the whole thing funny.

Once they reached the car, she opened the door for him, seeing his stage. Elena made a mental note to thank her boyfriend for the dark tinted windows.

"Desbloquea tu celular." (Unlock your phone).

"Por qué?" He's in that stage where he's acting like a toddler.

"Pedrito, por favor."

"Noup" he laughs

"Por la que te parió, Pedro González Lopez desbloquea el teléfono, tengo que llamar a tu hermano" She says angrily. (For fucks sake, Pedro González Lopez, unlock the phone, I have to call your brother.)

He unlock his phone and hand it back to her.

She goes quickly to the phone and calls his brother, easy to find as it is basically named "Fer Hermano"

One, two, three calls and Fernando didn't answer.

So she decide to call him from her own phone.

"Hola?" Fernando says. "Hola?"

"Fer, Hola." She says happy, relieved he picked. "Soy Elena, me recuerdas?" (Fer, Hi. It's Elena, do you remember me?)

"Elena," he laughs. "Tu prima y yo estamos juntos, claro que te recuerdo, más porque estuvimos cenando juntos hace un mes." (Your cousin and I are dating, of course I remember you, especially because we had dinner a month ago together.)

She feels the blush creeping her face.

"Era una prueba. Y pasaste." (It was a test, you passed).

"Aja, que sucede?" (Mhm, what's going on?)

"Tengo a Pedro en el asiento del copiloto, borracho, dice que estaban juntos." (I have Pedro on the passenger seat. He's drunk and says you two were together.)

"Eras tu llamando desde su celular?" (It was you calling?)

"Si, idiota." (Yes, idiot.)

He stayed silent, Elena only heard his breathing.

"Dile a Fer hola por mi." (Say hi to Fer)

"No, ponte el cinturon." (put your seat belt on).

"Estamos en el Midland," Fernando says, hearing her brother getting scolded by Elena.

"Bien, estamos algo cerca, llegare en un rato."

She hang up without waiting for him.

The trip to the hotel was fast due to the time. It was past one in the morning. Pedro was answering some text messages, he was quiet.

Once she made it, she asked for permission to enter the parking since the guard was a fan of Barça, he agreed.

Elena helped Pedro reach the lobby and then his room.

"Si sabes que mañana estaremos en las noticias, verdad?" He asks. "Lo siento, te hice dejar tu cumpleaños." (You know we're going to be all over the news, right? I'm sorry I made you leave your party).

She only nodded, smiling at him. He was so different. He has big bags under his eyes, and he looks tired.

"Venga, te voy a buscar ropa limpia, date un baño." She lightly pushed him towards the bathroom. "Quieres algo de comer? Te pediré algo." (I'll get you some clean clothes, go take a bath. Are you hungry? I'll order you some food).

"Te quedaras a comer algo conmigo?" He asks, looking at her. (Will you stay with me for a bite?)

Elena knew she shouldn't. She knew you wouldn't be okay with that, but she felt bad for him. She knew about his baby, and he didn't. He was losing it. And you weren't.

"Si, me comprarás a un pedazo de pastel." She says laughing. (Yes, you'll buy me a piece of cake).

She went to his luggage, picked a normal t-shirt and some exercise shorts.

"Hi, I want to order some food." She says on the phone. "Room 626, I want to order a club sandwich, a very black coffee with no sugar, please."

She says thank you as the lady confirmed the order for the room.

When Pedro was done, she waited outside for him to get changed.

"Elena, pasa ya." (Elena, come in).

Just in time for the room service to arrive with the food.

"Y tu pastel?" Dijo un ya más sobrio Pedro. (Where's your cake?)

"No había, pero no importa, te voy a robar patatas." (They didn't have none, it's okay, I'll have some of your french fries.)

They ate and have a nice talk, Elena showed him the tweets about them, and they laughed at some of the comments.

"Cómo esta ella?" Pedro asked. That question was burning his brain out. (How is she?")

"Esta bien, trajando duro, hace un rato no hablamos. (She's fine, working hard. We haven't seen each other).

He nodded. Staying silent.

"Bueno, ya comimos, ya estas listo para dormir, estarás bien?" (Well, we ate, and you're ready for bed, will you be okay?)

He nodded.

"Gracias, por todo, por cuidarme, por traerme, por asegurarte que comiera, por todo." (Thank you, for everything, for taking care of me, for bringing me back, for making sure I eat)

"No digas gracias, tu y yo hemos sido amigos por años Pedro, pero por favor, no te juntes con curros llamadas John, te has gastado una buena pasta en el bar y nisiquiera fue para ti." (Don't say thank you. We've been friends for years now, but please don't hang out with dudes named John. You spent good money at the bar, and it wasn't on yourself).

He laughed but agreed.

Elena helped him with the plate and cups. She filled a glass of water and left him two pills for his hangover tomorrow.

Once she's back to the club, she texted you, sending you the tweet and explaining everything. She believes you'll be mad with her.

But you weren't, you didn't thank her but you did say that you appreciate her taking care of him.

Even when you decided that you didn't want to inform him about your baby, you would never wish anything bad to happen to him, no matter the rumors, the girls, nothing. You loved him, and he was the father of your baby.

You dismissed Elena, texting her to go back to partying and to drink in your honor.

October 2026

You were ready for your baby to come to this world.

Paulo was so excited about that. He helped you with the nursery, and even his girlfriend was there. He couldn't wait to be a uncle.

"Te sigue doliendo?" Eliza, the girlfriend of your brother, asks you. (Still hurts?)

You knew you shouldn't eat too much. You already were uncomfortable with he swelling and being tired all day. But here you're, with stomach pain because you decide to eat three taco bell burritos.

"Solo es el dolor momentáneo." (It's the slight pain).

Eliza looks at your actions, and without telling, she pays attention to the time. Just to make sure.

"Te traeré agua." (I'll bring you some water).

Your parents and brother were outside, having some dinner, while Eliza and you were enjoying a movie.

The pain came back exactly twenty minutes later. "Me arrepiento de ese burrito." (I regret that burrito).

"Ahora vuelvo." Eliza says, leaving the room.

She messages Paulo, telling him that she believes you're in labor. Explaining that the stomach pains were contractions, but she didn't say anything because she didn't want to make you nervous.

Paulo and your parents arrived quickly. When you describe the pains to your mom, she explained you're in labor.

She helps you pick everything you need and puts you in the car. Once you arrive at the hospital, thank goodness your mom has everything ready, and they let you in quickly.

"Yo quería que naciera en Barcelona, como nosotros." (I wanted him to be born in Barcelona, just like we did.) You say to Paulo.

"Tranquila, ser Italiano no es tan malo." (Relax, being Italian is not that bad).

"Ay callate, lo sé" you laugh (oh shut up, I know).

You were thankful for the birthing process. The pain was light.

The doctor who was taking care of your full pregnancy and the one who was going to help with the delivery walks into the room.

She checked you and explained that you're ready to push. Paulo left, and your mom took his place.

You can't help the sad feeling. She was supposed to be there, yes, but he was also supposed to be next to you, holding your hand, saying sweet words while you push his baby.

But he wasn't, and that's something you wanted. You needed to remind that.

March 2027

"No puedo, me rindo." Elena says. "Cómo lo haces?" (I can't, I'm giving up. How you do it?)

"Lena," you laugh. "Es un pañal." (It's a diaper).

"No puedo, ya voy tres y no puedo." (I can't, I've used three, and I can't).

You laughed at her being mad about not knowing how to change the baby, even after you slowly showed her, not once, not twice, how to do it.

You baby was beautiful. He looked like the perfect combination between Pedro and you.

He has his long lashes, his lips, his eyes, but your nose, your eyebrows, and thank God his hair.

"Sé que me odiaras por preguntar." Elena says. "Pero, en serio no quieres que él sepa? Te la pasas diciendo "el cabello de papá, los ojos de papi." Pero, no te parece que él merece saber sobre su hijo y Polo merece saber sobre su padre? Ahora puede ocultarlo pero en unos años cuando Polo pregunté que diras? "Lo siento bebé, no tienes." O que excusa diras?" (I know you'll hate me for asking, but do you really want to keep this a secret? You keep saying, "Daddys hair, Daddys eyes," but, don't you think he deserves to know about his son? And don't you think Polo deserves to know his father? When he asks you, what will you say? "Sorry baby, you don't have one," or what excuse will you use?)

You stayed silent. You knew he deserved to know. Pedro and you talked about having kids, how many and how you were taking them to the stadium for his matches, with the little "Papi" on their backs and his number.

"Yo entiendo tus motivos, pero no puedo callar lo que pienso, soy tu amiga y siempre te he dicho las cosas claras, la estas cagando Y sé que tus padres apoyaron tu idea, incluso y aún que lo niegues se que tu madre te dio esa idea. Pero vamos, ustedes no tienen que volver, solo déjalo saber." (I understand why you did it, but I can't keep being silent. I'm your friend and I've always told you the things straight, you're fucking up. And yes, I know your parents supported the idea of you keeping it from him, even if you tell me it's a lie. I think your mom gave you the idea. But c'mon, you don't have to get back together. Just let him know).

You remain silent, fixing the diaper.

"No crees que Rosy y Fernando merecen ver a su nieto? No crees que Fer merece ver a su sobrino? No crees que estas siendo injusta?" (Don't you think Rosy and Fernando deserve to see their grand baby? Don't you think Fer deserves to see his nephew? Don't you think you're being unfair?)

After a while of the silence, Elena moves off the floor.

"Yo te amo, eres mi mejor amiga, mi hermana si quieres, pero esto esta mal. Tu lo sabes." She says, grabbing her stuff."No sé que te dijo tu mamá para que estés tan firme con esta idea, pero en serio piensa las cosas, tu hijo no tiene porque pagar por los errores que ustedes como pareja cometieron" (I love you, you're my best friend, my sister even if you like, but this is wrong and you know it. I don't know what your mom told you for you to be so stuck up into this, but please think twice. Your son is not the one to blame for the mistakes you and Pedro made as a couple).

You heard the front door, she was mad, and Elena is a very calm but electric person, and she was right. Even if you hate to admit it.

"No, deja de pensar en tonterías." Your mom says. "Elena no entiende, ella no es madre. No le hagas caso." (No, stop thinking that Elena doesn't understand. She's not a mom, so don't pay attention).

"Mami, pero tiene razón." (Mommy, but she's right).

"Claro que no, que quieres? Que Pedro te quite al niño? Porque es es lo que estas buscando." (Of course not, what do you want? For Pedro to take you to court and take your son away? Because that's what you're looking for).

"Pedro no seria capaz, no digas esas cosas." You say in a serious tone. "Pedro no es así, deja de querer dejarlo en mal." (Pedro would never do that. Don't say that. He's not like that. Stop trying to make him the bad guy).

"Okay, y/n. Entonces haz lo que quieras, toma." She hands you the phone. "Llámalo, pero cuando te quite al niño no vengas llorando a pedir ayuda." (Okay, do whatever you want, here, call him, but when he takes the baby away, don't come back crying for help).

You shake your head.

"Mami, pero Elena si tiene razón, Rosy y Fernando tienen los mismos derechos que ustedes, como te sentirías si yo no te dejara ver al bebé?" (Mommy but Elena is right, Rosy and Fernando have the same rights as you two. How would you feel if I denied you to see my son?)

"Bueno, ya te dije. No vengas llorando cuando él se quiera quedar con tu hijo." (Well, I already told you, don't come back crying when your son is taken away from you).

"Puedes parar! Pedro no es así, no haría eso." (Can you stop, he's not like that, he wouldn't).

She only breathes deep and gives the baby a kiss goodbye. "Haz lo que quieras." (Do whatever you want).

She left angry at you.

You don't know what to do. You think about it, and the words of your mom scare you. Deep down, you know he would never try to take your baby away. But as a new mom, these insecurities that you never had before are now raising.

"Tranquilo Polito, déjame pensar bien las cosas, si? Estoy nerviosa, no sé que hacer, tu tía Elena tiene razón." You say bouncing the baby on your arms. (Don't worry, Polito, let your mother think everything. I'm nervous, I don't know what to do, Auntie Elena is right).

You like to speak with him, even when he couldn't answer, he just listened and looked at you with those beautiful honey eyes.

"Mira, no le digas a nadie, pero tu abuela me asusta, y yo sé que papi jamás haría algo de lo que ella dice. Sabes algo? Papi tiene un corazón tan puro, es muy amable, y estoy segura que te va a amar incondicionalmente." (Look, don't tell this to anyone, but grandma scares me. And I know daddy would never do anything she's saying. You know, Daddy has such a pure heart, he's so kind and I'm sure he'll love you unconditionally).

You smile at the way he's looking at you, so focus on your words.

You think for a while, and remember the email you got. A work offer in Barcelona. The company you work for is opening a new business in Barcelona and asked you to be the head of them, since you used to live there and you know the language.

"Sabes, tal vez tu tía esté loca, pero tampoco digas eso, si? Eso es entre mami y tu" you kiss him. "Pero, razón no le falta mijo, y tus abuelitos merecen conocerte, tu abuela Rosy va a amarte tanto. Sobre todo tu tío Fer, te va a querer vestir como él, pero no como tu tío Paulo, Tío fer tiene un estilo totalmente diferente, te gustará." (You know, maybe Auntie Elena is crazy, but don't say that. That's between Mommy and you. She's crazy but right, your grandparents deserve to know you. Oh, your granny Rosy is going to be so in love with you and your uncle Fer. He will be head over heels for you. He will dress you like him, but not like Uncle Paulo. Your uncle Fer has a totally different style. You'll like it).

You put him to sleep and sat down, answering the mail with the decision of accepting the job. You know you want to go back, you know he'll be mad, but he's not taking him away.

You feel your phone vibrating next to you. It was a text from Paulo.

("Look at what I just posted. Eliza told me to post it." "You posted where? Outside?" "Instagram, smart-ass. Also, send me a picture of Polito.")

You laugh at your brother, obsessed with your son.

(One like and I'll stole him)

You laugh hard and like the post. Oh, you love your brother.

Your boss answered the email quickly, asking to talk with you tomorrow morning, wanting to give you all the details about the work.

You texted Paulo about babysitting Polo, and he immediately say yes.

You closed the laptop and walked over to the crib in your room. "Voy a hacer lo mejor para ti." (I'll do the best for you.)

"We are so happy to have you as the new head for Barcelona."

"I'm happy too, I can't wait for this."

"And please, since you're basically working for the other location now, uses this time for the moving. If you need any help, please let me know, I'll help you with everything.

You shake hands with him and finish with the whole signing of the contract.

"Thank you, again. I'll do my best."

You say your goodbyes and excited for this, texted Elena, you needed her to know, after being the biggest cheerleader for this to happen. After you received the message, you called her, apologized, and asked her for advice.

A notification for Instagram takes you out of the chat, Paulo posted something and tagged you on it.

(Petition for @/yourusername, to let me dress Polo forever).

You shake your head smiling, oh, to be Polo, so loved and always being shown off.

You were nervous, but you needed to do this. For yourself and for your son.

And even if you don't say it out loud, you were doing this for Pedro. For him and your son to be able to grow together, for him to hear his first words, see his first steps, and even be able to teach him some football.

"Okay, let's go home and pack." You say to yourself. "Barcelona, here we go."

Tag list:

@alwaysclassyeagle @footballerficsposts @gulphulp @cinderellawithashoe @jajajhaahaha @bellinghambby22

[swissboyhisch]

Bubba's First Game

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader

Summary:  Unbeknownst to the public, Luke has a baby and it's time for both of theirs first NHL game.

Word Count: 542

Warnings: kids.

SWISSBOYHISCH MASTERLIST

Tonight was Luke’s first game for the New Jersey Devils. His first NHL game. Not only were his parents in the crowd but his girlfriend and a couple of his teammates made the journey to Newark to celebrate. It was going to be a big night for the Hughes family.

Unbeknownst to the public, Luke and you had a beautiful baby girl. Nicknamed Bubba by all her uncles. She was only 6 months old. Living proof that birth control wasn’t 100% effective. But she was the most loved baby in the world. Her grandparents loved her to bits along with the hordes of uncles she had from the UMich team and the Devs. Including her two actual uncles who spoil her to bits.

After you dressed Bubba into her custom jersey, you in yours as well, you went down to the lobby to meet Ellen, Jim and the boys in the lobby. Ellen immediately cooed at the sight of Bubba in her father’s jersey.

“Oh look at her.”

You were happy to hand her off to her grandmother while you got to chat to Dylan, Mark and Ethan. You all made your way down the street towards the Prudential Centre. The hotel was only a couple blocks from the rink. 

“My turn,” Ethan stated, holding his hands out for Bubba. 

Bubba was handed around the group. She just loved the attention, being such a bubbly little girl. When you guys got the the arena, you held Bubba while you guys made your way up to the suite Jack had organised for you. If it wasn’t for the six month old, you guys would have probably been in the crowd but Luke and Jack didn’t want anything to go wrong. Didn’t want you or Bubba to be hurt. 

When the countdown neared zero for warmups, you walked down to the glass with Bubba in your arms. Luke didn’t know you were planning on being at the glass during his rookie lap. Well he didn’t know about that until Jack made sure he got the solo lap. 

You held Bubba on the ledge. Her headphones made her look smaller than she already was. She looked around the ice, enamoured with all the stimuli. Then Luke was announced to be doing his rookie lap. He took to the ice circling before spotting you at the end. The rest of the team joined him and Jack made his way to where Luke was standing in front of you. Bubba recognised her Dad immediately, trying to bounce and get to him. Then Uncle Jack was there and she went crazy. Two of her favourite people were right in front of her. 

Then she realised she can’t be held by either of them and she started to cry. You laughed, cradling her before waving goodbye to the brothers in front of you. Staying down there for a couple extra minutes to soak in Luke warming up with the team. You got a fan to take a couple pictures of you holding Bubba. 

Once you were back in the suite, you got comfortable between Ellen and Dylan. Bubba passed out pretty quick after a bottle. Leaving you all to enjoy Luke’s first NHL game for the New Jersey Devils.

yourinsta just posted!

Liked by lhughes, umichhockey and others

yourinsta: Daddy's first game with the Devs and Bubba's first NHL game ❤️

view all comments

yourbestie: how stinking cute is bubba

jackhughes: thank god for the padding. Lukey boy doesn't look like a bean pole.

lhughes: rude.

elhughes: ahhh this is so cute!

lhughes: love my girls forever ❤️

dylanduke: my favourite niece!

yourinsta: your only niece my dude

TAG LIST:

@penny4yourthoughts @mp0625 @hischierhaze

[babydollmarauders]

AUGUST PT 2 — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

THIS IS A VERY LATE PART 2 TO THIS FIC

summary: in which y/n has been in love with Quinn for years and now she deals with the emotional consequences of a summer situationship.

specific lyrics: “you weren't mine to lose.” and “i can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away into a moment in time. 'cause it was never mine. and i can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine. 'cause you were never mine.”

warnings: underage drinking

notes: this is almost five months late…. better late than never, right? ummm….. i hope y’all enjoy 🫣

**SEPTEMBER 21ST 2018**

the last week of this summer passed by in a blur. my final seven days being spent with Jack and his friends, and my nights being taken by his brother. i never did confess my feelings to Quinn, and as a result, i now sit back in my bedroom at home, watching snapchat stories of him at a party. my focus zeroes in solely on the girl clinging to his arm in the most recent picture. he wears a smile on his face and in the hand not occupied by the girl, he holds a generic red solo cup.

i have no right to feel jealous. to be so upset. he was never actually mine, no matter how much i wanted him to be. we were never exclusive. our rendezvous last month were just good times for him, and i knew that. so why did it still hurt? why did it still feel like my heart was broken?

i suppose i could chalk it up to the fact that he never clarified anything. he never outright admitted that our escapades meant nothing to him, but he also never said they meant anything either. however, they meant everything to me. they gave me hope that maybe he felt the same feeling that i’ve harbored for four years. but then he left with a simple ‘goodbye’.

i foolishly hoped that he would call me when he got back to school, that maybe he was just too nervous to say anything to my face, but now it’s 3 weeks later and the only Hughes’ i’ve heard from are his brothers. Jack texting me random updates of his life every day, and Luke and i speaking on the phone when i wished him a happy birthday earlier this month.

and i can’t make the excuse of ‘he’s busy.’ because i see him on social media, partying after wins and hanging out with friends between classes. he surely has enough free time to call me or even send a simple text. but, i suppose he doesn’t care to contact me because it never meant anything to him; and i guess he assumed it wasn’t anything to me either.

**NOVEMBER 16TH, 2018**

a glass of wine secured in my hand, i’m sat on the couch, scrolling through social media. my parents went out for a date night, leaving me with a house to myself for the night, and i’ve taken advantage by cracking open a bottle of wine and actually leaving my room. it wasn’t much, but i was relaxed. my thumb swipes over my phone screen, scrolling down my instagram timeline, and i stop at a picture of Quinn.

His arm is around a blonde girl’s shoulders as she hugs his waist, a small smile gracing his lips while she wears a large, toothy grin. it’s been months since i’ve last spoken with him, yet it doesn’t make it sting any less to see him with another girl. tears well in my eyes at the remembrance of his easy dismissal of me. the way that he left at the end of the summer with nothing more than a ‘bye.’

maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins, maybe the fact that i’m over feeling worthless over a guy, or maybe it’s the nearly entire bottle of wine that’s flushing through me right now; but i’ve finally had enough. swiping out of instagram, i scroll through my contacts until i find the one i’m searching for, my thumb hovering close over the call button but too hesitant to actually press it.

“this is stupid.” i mutter to myself, hanging my head. it’s in that moment that my dog decides to come over, sniffing me and nudging at the back of my phone, resulting in the tapping of the button. “shit!”

it’s too late now, the damage is done. he’ll get notified that i called him, regardless of if i were to hang up right now anyways, so i bring the phone up to my ear, listening to it ring. once. twice. a third time, before it connects.

“y/n? what’s up?” his voice is raspy and i wonder if i woke him. it’s only ten at night, but if i remember correctly, he has a game tomorrow, so it doesn’t surprise me that he would be asleep this early. i take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the words that need to be said.

“you’re a shitty person, you know that?” i surprise even myself with the anger that comes through with my words. my honest feelings being spoken.

“i’m sorry?” he sounds confused, but it’s not an actual apology, it’s more of an ‘excuse me?’ if anything.

“you heard me. you’re an asshole.” i tell him, rising to my feet to pace around my living room, my dog following me like a shadow. “i wish i had never met you.”

“okay, ouch, hold on, what did i do?” he questions. i hear shuffling in the background and i assume he’s sitting up in his bed now. “we haven’t even spoken in like, what? two and a half months?”

“exactly! that’s the problem!” i’m acutely aware that i’m raising my voice at this point, but i just don’t understand how he doesn’t see the issue with this.

“you’re mad at me because i haven’t talked to you lately? i still don’t understand.” i halt my pacing at his words, my dog bumping into the backs of my legs at my abrupt stop.

“i’m mad because you strung me along this past august. i’m mad because you left me with nothing but a simple ‘bye’. i’m mad because i’ve liked you for the past four years and then you didn’t even have the decency to explain to me whatever it was that we were doing this summer!” i huff. “i would’ve understood if you just told me it meant nothing to you. that you just wanted some action or whatever. but instead you didn’t tell me shit! you let me believe that maybe you liked me back. that maybe we could have been something. and then you just left me with radio silence and i have to see you on social media with girls hanging off of you and wonder if i just wasn’t good enough. that’s why i’m mad.”

Quinn is silent for a few moments, maybe holding out to see if i’m done, maybe gathering his thoughts, but it’s eerily quiet. but then as quickly as the silence started, it ends.

“y/n.” he sighs my name, sounding exhausted. “if i knew how you felt, i would’ve tried to define what we were doing. i wasn’t sure what was happening, just that i liked spending time with you and i liked being close to you.”

“being close to me? or fucking me?” i ask him.

“both, y/n/n. is that what you wanna hear?” he’s getting frustrated, i can hear it. “yes. i liked fucking you. and i liked being with you. just us two. i’m sorry that i didn’t call you, i thought that’s how you wanted it. but, i see now that i should’ve talked to you about it instead of assuming. i didn’t realize that what we were doing meant so much to you. but you could’ve ended it at any point.”

“why would you think i would do that? that i would end it? i’m literally telling you right now that i wanted more.” i heave out a breath, dropping back onto the couch and pulling my legs up to my chest. “Quinn, i just wanted you to call me. to say something, i don’t know! say you had fun this summer, say you can’t wait to see me next summer, say you like me, say you hate me, anything. just don’t go silent on me and make me think i’m insane for thinking you like me as much as i like you.”

“i’m so sorry, y/n.” he mutters, i quiet and slow. “i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve told you that i felt the same. i should’ve thought about how you were feeling and not just me. but now that i know, i’d really like to try.”

“you would?” i inquire, keeping my antsy fingers busy by picking at a stray string on my hoodie. “how?”

“maybe… maybe you could come to one of my games? and we could go out to eat afterwards?” he sounds unsure, like maybe he’s afraid i’ll say no.

“like a date?” i ask meekly.

“yeah,” Quinn chuckles and my heart picks up at the sound. i’ve always loved his laugh. “exactly like a date.”

i’m quiet, my bottom lip captured between my teeth, holding back a squeal.

“what do you think?” he pipes up again, once again seeming nervous.

“i think, i’d really like that.” i confess before burying my face in a throw pillow beside me, muffling my excited scream.

when i raise the phone back to my ear, Quinn is laughing; apparently the pillow didn’t cover as much of noise as i thought it would.

“next friday, i have a game against Wisconsin, does that work?”

“sounds perfect.” i grin, nodding my head, even though he can’t see me.

“okay, i’ll see you then?”

“i’ll see you then.” i confirm.

“goodnight, y/n/n. i can’t wait to see you.” he tells me and i repeat a ‘goodnight’ before we hang up.

i look down at my dog, who stares at me with his head tilted.

“Ollie, you are a matchmaker.” i coo, scratching behind his ears. his mouth drops open, his tongue falling out in content as i dote on him.

**November 23rd, 2018**

today is the day.

i spent all morning getting ready; my hair is done, my makeup perfected, and i tried on about six different outfits before my mother told me to stop worrying and just go.

and after a three and a half hour drive, in which i had to pull over twice to shake myself out and get my jitters out; i’ve pulled into Yost Ice Arena with 10 minutes to spare before the game starts.

Quinn and i have texted non-stop since we planned tonight, and he assured me last night on the phone, that there’ll be a ticket waiting for me at the front.

pulling the keys from the ignition, i grab my purse and do a once-over of my face in the rearview mirror before exiting the vehicle. stretching my legs, i make my way inside the arena, stopping to get my ticket before i head in towards the seating.

i’m sat towards the middle, a perfect view of the ice. my legs shake in anxiety as the crowd roars, the players filing on the ice and getting faceoff position.

it’s amazing how much i’ve learned about hockey in the past four years of knowing the Hughes’.

it’s a rather uneventful first period, neither team scoring. the second isn’t much better, Wisconsin scoring once mere minutes into the period, but that’s the only goal. Michigan ties it up in the third, with Quinn landing an assist on the goal, and i’m shaking in nervousness as i hope for a second Michigan goal. but it never comes.

moving onto overtime, neither team scores, resulting in a tie. but the teams still go on, starting a second overtime of three-on-three to determine who gets the extra point. it’s not even a minute into the second overtime when Quinn passes the puck to Josh Norris, who i’ve met once or twice at the lake house, and Josh lands the puck in the back of the net.

the crowd goes wild, me included, jumping up to our feet and cheering as the guys celebrate.

both teams file off of the ice relatively quick, and in result, the crowd begins to fan out. fans leaving the arena. but i stay back.

Quinn told me to meet him out front of the arena in half an hour, so i opt to lounge here for an extra few to kill time, scrolling through instagram and reading Jack’s texts; asking why i’m in Ann Arbor and if i plan to come see him before i leave. stupid Life360.

i call him rather than text, making my way out of the arena as he picks up.

“what are you doing in Ann Arbor?” he cuts straight to the point, not bothering with any catch up.

“well hello to you too.” i chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“yeah, yeah, hi. what are doing in Ann Arbor?” he repeats.

“i came to see Quinn’s game. i promise, i’ll come and see you tomorrow morning before i drive back home.” i assure him. “wait, are you even gonna be back from Illinois in the morning?”

“yeah, we’re on the bus back now.” he assures me.

“okay, good. i saw online that you got an assist! congrats bub!”

“thanks. we still lost though.” he tells me, his voice full of dejection.

“you’ll get ‘em next time!” i reassure, pacing outside Yost, pulling my jacket tighter to my chest to keep myself warm in the cool Michigan air.

“yeah.” he breaths. “so why are you at Quinn’s game?”

his tone is teasing, as though he doesn’t actually believe i’m here for Quinn.

“we’re going on a date.” i admit, preparing myself for his response.

“oooh! you’re finally getting out of the friendzone?!” he exclaims, and i can hear Trevor’s voice chime in from beside him, telling him to quiet down. which i find ironic, considering Trevor is ever the loud mouth.

“what?! you knew i liked him?!” i question, making him chuckle.

“uh, yeah. it was so obvious.” he replies through laughter. “i also know you were hooking up with him this summer. you weren’t very subtle.”

my jaw drops in astonishment.

“we were so subtle!” i shout, and i can hear Trevor piping up again on the other side of the phone.

“who? y/n and Quinn? oh yeah, everyone knew.”

“shut up, Zegras!” i yell, and i can hear both boys bark out in laughter.

“why didn’t you say anything?” i ask.

“who was i to say something, when you were trying so hard to keep it on the down low?” he teases.

i look up from my pacing feet when i hear footsteps, locking eyes with Quinn, who smiles at the sight of me, nearly taking my breath away.

“i gotta go.” i breath out, and Jack lets out an immature ‘oooooooh’

“have fun with my brother!” he calls out and i groan.

“shut up. i’ll see you tomorrow.” i sing, before hanging up.

“my brother?” Quinn questions, as if he already knows the answer.

“yeah.” i nod. “apparently, i found out, we weren’t as subtle as we thought, in August.”

“we were so subtle!” he exclaims, making me giggle.

“that’s what i said!” i tell him. his hand reaches out towards mine, and i anxiously intertwine mine with his. “so, where are we going?”

“there’s a really cute diner, about a fifteen minute walk from here.” he explains, as we begin walking. “i figured we could go there.”

“sounds perfect.” i breath out. his eyes are glued to the cement, watching his feet, but i watch him. “congrats on the assists! i know a tie wasn’t really the outcome you guys were hoping for, but it was a riveting game.”

he laughs, his head dropping back, and a bright smile overtakes my lips at the melodious sound dropping from his.

“babe, there were only two goals in a full hour of game play.” he reminds me.

“babe?” i question, and his hand tightens around mine for a second.

“yeah.” he shrugs, attempting to seem nonchalant, but i can tell by his face, when he turns to me, that he’s nervous. “you’re my girl now.”

“i’m your girl?” i smirk. “i like the sound of that.”

“me too.” he brings us to a halt, turning his body to mine.

his hand rises to cup my cheek, his face lowering to mine until our breaths mingle together. my eyes flutter shut, slowly, and the next thing i know, his lips are crashing against mine in a deep kiss.

and i know, in this moment, i’ll do anything to keep him. because now, he’s mine to lose.

[jedimordsith]

Deleted Scene from Latibule

Luke looked up from his reading when the door to the Organa-Solo apartment slid open. Han wandered into the sitting room a moment later. His sense was warm and relaxed, and his attire matched. His formal jacket was slung over one shoulder, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his spavat had been untied and hung loose at his collar.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted. “Pretty quiet in here. You didn’t sell my kids to the circus, did you?”

”Not for lack of trying,” Luke quipped back, marking his spot and tossing his data pad on the lounger beside him. “Ringmaster said they were too small yet. Since I have to wait and try again next year, I dropped them back in their beds. They’ve been out cold for an hour. How was the event?”

“Just like every other one,” Han shrugged and flung his jacket over a nearby chair. “Lots of fancy people who like to listen to themselves talk eating fussy hors d'oeuvres and drinking wine that’s more label than taste. Leia had a good time until she and Winter got cornered into a hush-hush meeting with Mon over something.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you go, anyway? You like museums.”

“I’ve already been,” Luke said casually, rolling to his feet and grabbing his glass from the side table.

”This was the grand opening,” Han objected. “What, did you get some kind of special Jedi tour?”

“Something like that,” Luke offered noncommittally, angling past his brother-in-law toward the kitchen.

Han’s demeanor turned smug. “Let me guess — it was one of your excursions with Jade.”

“It might have been,” Luke shot a sly look over his shoulder. “But I’d keep that suspicion to yourself if I was you.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

”Because you have a life day coming up, and if you don’t do anything to bring unwanted attention to Mara, a bottle of Whyren’s gold might find its way into your gift pile.”

“Gold label?” Ambling after him, Han whistled. “How’re you affording that on a Jedi’s salary?”

”Mara’s getting a couple cases at a pretty serious discount,” Luke confided, rinsing his glass and putting it in the cleaning unit. “Someone at the distillery owes her a favor.”

”That’s some favor.” Han cocked his head. “She seems like the type who knows how to collect ‘em, though.”

The Omega in Luke bristled. He immediately quelled the reaction, but not before Han caught it.

“Hey,” he said, lifting his hands, palms out. “You know I’ve got nothing but respect for Jade. The NRI might jump to tawdry assumptions, but that’s just because they lack imagination. Me,” he lowered his hands, pointing at his chest. “I’ve been around the system. Flesh is easy and cheap. You want to collect real favors, you have to get into the weird stuff.” Raising his eyebrows, he held his hands a short distance apart, palms parallel to one another. “Saw a guy trade a whole moon once for this ugly little statue — this big, looked like it oughta be a doorstop at a tacky cantina.”

Amused, Luke felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He clapped a hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder as he passed back toward the sitting room.

He’d known, intellectually, that it would take a while for the NRI to warm up to Karrde and, by extension, Mara. The Intelligence community was skeptical of smugglers as a whole and less than thrilled at how deftly Karrde’s organization had shoe-horned its way into the respectable echelons of the New Republic government. The fact that they couldn’t find a single record of Mara’s existence prior to her work for Karrde only exacerbated their frustrations. He didn’t begrudge them their caution, really.

But after three heats spent in Mara’s bed, the Omega in him had unavoidably begun to think of her as his, and he couldn’t entirely suppress the instinctive resentment that flared when she was disrespected.

Their secret Force-healing and training sessions didn’t help the situation. Mara was intensely careful about her shielding, only ever letting him into one small section of her mind or body at a time, but the anxiety singing at the edges of his touch each time left him profoundly aware of the risk she was taking, entrusting him with even that much. There was something incredibly intimate about extending his own control over the Force into her body, knitting together the fine sheathing around ravaged nerves or unraveling knotted scar tissue and seeing her entire body soften as a long-borne pain slipped away. About the way she smiled when they finished, as if he could see a little more light behind her eyes, a little more spaciousness in her breath.

Then there were their “excursions” as Han called them. Mara had grown up on Coruscant and, much to his delight, Luke had discovered that she had a mischievous streak. When the mood struck, she would appear from nowhere with a glint in her eyes that made his heart rate kick up with the same bright anticipation he’d known as a youth when he raced his skyhopper toward the canyons to Thread the Needle or when sneaking round bases during the early days of the war with the Rogues, intent on pranking another squadron. Ditching whatever he was supposed to be doing, he’d follow her at all hours of day or night. It was through those stolen moments that she introduced him to all the intriguing places that existed beneath the surface —often literally — of Coruscant’s glittering cityscape. Private libraries. Greasy cantinas whose menus were as obscure as they were mouth-watering. Junk shops whose backroom shelves mysteriously stocked the most hard-to-find parts for anyone willing to ask no questions about their provenance. And, occasionally, secret tunnels and camoflaged peep holes through which they accessed yet-to-open museum exhibits or dress rehearsals of the most in-demand new performances.

In her determination to prove her independence from her former master and the life he’d shackled her into, Mara was steadily, and entirely accidentally, achieving the one goal she’d believed wholly out of reach: capturing Luke’s heart.

It’s fine, he told himself for the hundredth time, gathering his data pad and bidding Han goodnight. It wasn’t like they slept together outside of his heats, and Mara was genuinely the perfect Alpha. She would never claim him, would never try to bind him or prevent him from keeping his vows of independence and service to the new Jedi Order that he was building. As an Omega, it wasn’t like he could claim her, and her traumatic past meant that even at his weakest he would never ask her to claim him. If she ever found another Omega to bond with, the loss might kill him. Unless or until then, however, he intended to enjoy every moment he could manage with her.

[stardew-shitposterino]

Stardew Valley Random Harvey Headcanons

Its beginning to look a lot like I’ve fallen for the dorky doctor. How long does it take for me to have a thing for the holy trinity of dilfs (give me another week) enjoy!

Content warning: nsfw at the bottom MINORS DNI

-Harvey was not a very popular person in school. He always rocked his dorky glasses and even had braces back then. His fascination for aeroplanes didn’t make him any more likeable amongst his peers. Poor baby, but it made him have an even better personality (and looks, that stache is exquisit)

-Harvey’s social life began to get better in college when he got rid of his braces and was amongst (relatively) like-minded people. He was still one of the quieter, reserved students there, but he still got invited to some hangouts and found friends

-He had his first kiss with another man at one of the college parties. It was during a “spin the bottle” type game. A lot of alcohol was involved, otherwise Harvey wouldn’t have participated in something so promiscuous (he’s shy and well…hadn’t had his first kiss till he was 20, he isn’t exactly flirty)

-The kiss was meant to be for shits and giggles and of course Harvey was well aware of that…but no one knew that it a.) was his first kiss and b.) would awaken a gay/bisexual panic within him. Harvey had a weird crush on that random guy for 5 weeks after that lmfao

-Harvey is a demiromantic/sexual king 👑 that’s why he hasn’t dated a lot in his life. It’s not that he didn’t want a partner, he just hadn’t found many that he shared a strong platonic bond with in order to build a romantic relationship around it. There was one more serious relationship in between the failed dating attempts, but the love of his life is the farmer

-He is highly intelligent. We all know that he isn’t stupid, the man is a doctor, but he has an above-average IQ which also isolated him further from peers as a kid. He had a deeper understanding of his surroundings which his peers lacked at that age, so he never found common ground with them. Maybe one of the reasons why he’s still a bit socially awkward at times

-Maru reminds him of himself in a way and that’s why he developed a mild crush on her. He feels understood by her, though their personalities aren’t exactly alike, but her fascination for science and the desire to learn more about it makes him feel validated in his love for his own hobby.

-Harvey is a closet perv😮‍💨 yeah that’s right, the socially awkward mess of a doctor isn’t himself when he’s with a partner. He loves to whisper risky remarks to them and has a weakness for heavy make-out sessions. He isn’t like that when he is partner-less, but once his demisexuality lets him develop feelings for someone else, oooohh brother…he’s in it deep (if you let him, sure )

-Harvey has always been curious about gay sex. He has never dated a man before, though he would have loved to, so it peaked his interest in those moments where he was alone with himself, feeling a bit lonely and in the mood. He knows that watching porn isn’t exactly healthy for the brain, but he couldn’t resist to at least search up erotic audio recordings of men guiding him through his solo-sessions every once in a while

[bvlladonnas]

is that OSCAR ISAAC ? oh, no, that’s OLIVER AYALA, a FORTY-THREE year old OWNER OF INHERITED ESCAPES who uses HE/HIM pronouns. they currently live in CASABLANCA and the character they identify with most is OBI-WAN KENOBI FROM STAR WARS. hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

BASICS:

full name: oliver ricardo ayala  nickname(s): oli, ricky (by his mother)  age: forty-three gender: cis man  pronouns: he/him sexuality: very fluid, doesn't particularly enjoy labels  date & place of birth: june 30 in guatemala city, guatemala occupation: owner of inherited escapes faceclaim: oscar isaac piercings: one lobe piercing on each ear he got just to feel something at age 20 traits: kind, welcoming, wise, snarky, closed-off, pessimistic similar to: obi-wan kenobi (star wars), george bailey (it's a wonderful life), tony stark (iron man), dean winchester (supernatural), han solo if he had swag and calmed down a little, jim halpert (the office)  aesthetics: late night coffee, tea with milk, books with worn edges, round reading glasses, gold jewelry, merlot, baseball caps, & vintage cars

* warning for alcoholism, parentification, & parent death

BULLET POINTS:

– born in guatemala city, guatemala; had a lot of siblings and had to grow up pretty quickly to help take care of them, especially since they weren't the wealthiest and his parents had to work. – his main model of a relationship growing up was his mom & dad, which ... not great. his father was a mean, mean man, and drowned himself in a bottle most days. he left when oliver was twelve years old, and from then on oliver was considered the man of the house (this action will have consequences)  – had to sacrifice a lot of his own personal growth and happiness for his family. while his siblings, especially his younger brother, got to go to school dances, out with their friends, and even to college, oliver was stuck, stagnant – eventually (sometime around oliver's 25th birthday) his father contacted him and asked him to come visit him in chile, where he resided and had opened up a small bookstore (what would become inherited escapes as it is today) – oliver denies him immediately, but after mulling it over, he decides to go. it strains him and his mother's relationship, but it's fixable – his dad is dying, and the new family he created in chile is of no help. having fallen into the same patterns, he's created children who resent him, and a wife who no longer speaks to him unless necessary. he asks oliver to come live there, to take over the bookstore when he dies – again, oliver denies him, but it eats at him. the more he thinks the more he wants to go, to finally do something for himself. by the time his dad dies, the last of his siblings is nearing eighteen and he could, feasibly, make the move. – a blowout fight with his mom is what triggers him to leave; she says he doesn't do anything for them, that he'll leave them when they need him most. he realizes that with his siblings now adults or nearing adulthood, he doesn't need to play parent anymore (and realizes he never should have had to play parent in the first place). – up and moves to chile at 26, becomes the owner of his father's bookstore; his other family puts up no contest. – renames it to inherited escapes and fashions it into a booming business that people actually come to see when they hear about it. – now runs the business full time and lives in the pretty spacious apartment above. it's weird for him, to continue the legacy of a man he hated so much, but that's why he changed the name, right?

HEADCANONS:

— does not believe in love. how can he when his parents' relationship sucked so bad ? – as a child and young adult drowned himself in books and escaped to new worlds to forget his situation at home. could often be found under a sheet with a flashlight reading at 2 am – as a result thinks no love will ever be able to compare to what's written in stories – hosts the bookclub at inherited escapes ! – accidentally adopts little nerds all the time ... sorry about it – secret hopeless romantic – loves trash tv. could tell you everything about the selling sunset universe and why alex hall needs to be jailed – kind of sassy like ... calm down old man??? – dry sense of humor

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

— i'm plotting. i'm scheming. i'm masterminding (i don't fucking know i'll be back here soon) – actually i lied. here the fuck i am. who is going to verify his belief love SUCKS. could be sad and also a bit unserious – who is he adopting like a stray kitten outside of his store. who is the child he is giving free drinks and going "you'd like this book here take it" – WHO IS IN HIS BOOK CLUB.  – who is going to make him believe maybe love does exist .... ooooh drama .... – whose face is he playing in lmao. "i don't want anything serious" is his favorite sentence like ...

[pinkipeachiikeen]

And The Stars Will Guide Us Home

A Dazai x Fem!Reader Bungo Stray Dogs/Batfamily crossover

Chapter one ----> Next

Y/n swore to herself the day she got onto that plane that the only reason she’d ever return to Yokohama would be to burn the hellscape to the ground and dance in the ashes. Yet, ten years later she stands in the heart of that very city, swirling cheap booze in an even cheaper red solo cup.   After all this time, the only thing she can conjure herself to think is; How, in the everloving fuck did I get here?

A decade after Y/n escaped fled from Yokohama and shed herself of her past she's sent back with a new name and new goals.

-Protect Atsushi Nakajima at all costs

-Don't let your past catch up to you

But some things are easier said than done with the port mafia on her tail and when increments of her past come in the form of a shady, bandaged detective.

All Y/n knows is that Yokohama is in danger, and she'll be damned if she sits on the sidelines, doing nothing to protect the city that failed to protect her

Even if it's at the price of losing all she's worked for, and remembering all she died to forget.

DISCLAIMER: You do not need to be a Batman fan to read (but you do have to be a BSD fan, obviously lol), everything you need to know is mentioned in the fic. If I had to make a guess the fic is 80% Bungo Stray Dogs and 20% Batfamily, only appearing in the flashbacks of the first few chapters until much, much later.

Series warnings (as of now): All warnings kind of coincide with the warnings of the series, such as; violence, mentions of abusive/neglectful guardians, swearing, past character deaths, nightmares, mentions of self-harm, nightmares, Mori being kinda a creep, panic attacks etc.

Chapter warnings: Swearing, panic attack, nightmares, Dazai makes a creepy joke (Y/n tries to remove Atsushi's tie when he's passed out so he doesn't harm himself in his sleep, Dazai implies she's trying to take advantage of him; she's not.)

WC: 5104

Y/n swore to herself the day she got onto that plane that the only reason she’d ever return to Yokohama would be to burn the hellscape to the ground and dance in the ashes.

Yet, ten years later she stands in the heart of that very city, swirling cheap booze in an even cheaper red solo cup. 

 After all this time, the only thing she can conjure herself to think is;

How, in the everloving fuck did I get here?

“WHO WANTS TO SEE ME CHUG THIS GALLON OF CHOCOLATE MILK?!” The detective with a funky hat announced to the cheers of the younger overall clad detective, glugging it down with the vigor of an intoxicated frat boy trying to impress his brothers. Another detective, adorned with a bob and a hair clip that shimmers so slightly in the fluorescent ceiling lights of the office, drunkenly slurs something incoherent to which the scrawny kid in suspenders. Although Y/n couldn’t make out what she said, she can only assume that she was trying to convince her new coworker drink along with her, given the outstretched bottle in her shaky hand and the suddenly very flustered face of the other new hire sputtering something along the lines of ‘uh- i’m too young to drink! S-sorry!” 

Y/n sighs in both wonder and defeat before taking a sip of her drink, settling into the wall she’s leaning against. This is what I'm doing now, I guess. 

“Not a party person?” a  smooth voice asks as he slides next to her, red solo cup also in hand. 

Her eyes tilt to face him, a seemingly uninterested glace. ‘You could say that.” She nurses her drink, eyes scanning the room once more. “Although I have never been to a party where you chug chocolate milk,...” Her eyes peer to see the scrawny kid from earlier (Atsushi, if she’s correct) who fell into peer pressure, chugging a carton of chocolate milk with cheers from office staff and the younger detectives while Glasses scolds Hair Clip on appropriate workplace behavior. “..but they sure look like they are having fun. Sure looks better than jungle juice.”

“Ah yes, chocolate milk, the drink of champions and school age kids alike.” he quips. “Although I believe strawberry milk is superior.” 

She takes another glance at the man. Dressed in layers of stiff, restrictive clothing, and even going to the extent to hide sensitive, vulnerable areas (such as the neck and wrists) in copious amounts of bandages. His hair was long enough to cover what the bandages on his neck couldn’t and was also long enough to hide if need be. His trenchcoat, although worn open and freely, is there as a mere taunt or a front of sorts. Drawing people in while simultaneously keeping them out and away. Or that's what she would think, if she couldn’t see the frayed and worn edges around the cuffs and the discoloration at some more well loved spots. The trenchcoat is obviously sentimental in some way or another. His armor. 

Everything about him suggests that he would be a loner, the quiet type, an avid avoider of all things small talk, yet his actions and body language was smooth and fluid. He was posed freely against the wall, eyes gazing upon hers as if he had nothing to hide.

Alright. She downs the rest of her drink. I’ll bite.

“Do they always throw parties for the new hires?” she asks, now giving him her full attention.

“Well, no. But we don’t often get two newbies at once. Especially when one of them’s the prez’s daughter.” 

She gives a tight lipped smile. “So I was an orphan all my life and now I'm a nepo baby.” she retorted dryly. “Great.”

“Y’know, I never really thought of Fukuzawa as a dad, y’know? No, that's a lie.” he corrects himself. “He’s like the dad of the agency.”

“No shit.” she mutters. “‘Learned that from the welcome committee.”

He gives a quick chuckle. “Yeah, Ranpo’s sure is an eccentric one.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Says the man who asked me to commit a double suicide upon the first three seconds of meeting me.”

He throws his hand back to his forehead dramatically, as if he was a helpless maiden. “Oh but Belladonna, can’t you see! I’m just a lonely man, plagued by misfortune and misery,” he grasps her hands, fingers dancing around the solo cup in each of their hands. “the only way to cure my ailment is-”

“DAZAI, DID YOU ALREADY FORGET WHAT FUKUZAWA TOLD YOU, YOU OBNOXIOUS TWAT?” the scolding glasses fellow yells from across the office, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Kunikidaaaa,” Dazai whines. “Do you really have no faith in me?”

“None.” he quickly replies. 

Yoru bite back a laugh with a cough.

Dazai  gasps. “Rude. I was just telling her my dream of a double suicide with a beautiful woman, not inviting her to have one. There’s a difference” he informs, crossing his bandaged arms. “But ‘twat’, that’s a new one! Good for you on broadening your vocabulary!!” he cheers with a thumbs up.  

Kunikida just rolls his eyes and goes on to lecturing Overalls on how ‘in no circumstances would bringing a cow into the agency be even remotely logical, yes even for chocolate milk, Ranpo.’

“I thought Fukuzawa was the dad.” Yoru comments.

Dazai laughs. “Fukuzawa is who Kunikida wishes he looked like. If we were talking about parental roles here, Fukuzawa would be the corporate 9-5 father while Kunikida would be the overworked mother that no one listens to.”

Yoru chuckles. “I don’t know… He seems like he’d be a hell of a PTA mom. 

Dazai shudders. “Now that’s a terrifying thought.” He takes another sip of his drink. “So Fukuzawa definitely has dad energy, I just don’t think I can picture him with a child. The man is wayyyyyy too serious. A real ‘married to my work’ kind of guy, I don’t ever think he’s been on a date, let alone got some.”

And there it is. The actual reason for this conversation. 

“I mean, all men have needs though, can’t ignore that. I bet he’s the strong silent type- oooh I bet he-”

“Dazai, right?” she interrupts

“That's me.”

“I’mma tell you something, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she starts putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’m not a fan of all the ‘subtle, hinted at, implied,’ shit. If you wanna know something, just ask. It saves everyone time and energy.”  she tosses her cup in the nearby trash can. “Maybe you can learn from him how to ask about someone’s parentage without talking about their father in bed, m’kay?” She smiles bitterly. “Thanks.” 

Dazai’s eyes widen the slightest amount, his mouth opening slightly to speak-

“AY, YORU COME TRY THIS!” Hair Clip calls, waving a bottle, nearly hitting the copper top detective in the head. 

Y/n breathes out a laugh, “Alright, only if someone else pours it, though, and you put it down.” she jokes, taking the bottle away from her and away from the heads of others.  

You would think a guy weighing 120 pounds wet wouldn’t be so hard to carry. Y/n has had to carry many people out of burning buildings or away from hazardous areas but none of them seemed to be this heavy, and they usually work with her in some way. They weren’t a jumbled ball of intoxicated dead weight, limbs flying every which way and silver hair flying into her face.

 “Come on, kid.” she grunts, throwing his arm around her neck. “Work with me here.” Fate clearly wanted to work against her since his leg nearly sent both of them into the rough sidewalk. “GOD DAMN IT.” she grunts. “How much did this kid drink?” 

“He only had a sip!”

“Gah!” she nearly drops the boy.

“Oops, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, lemme help!” he offers, taking an arm.

“No, I-” she starts  before he throws the older boy over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. “Well, alright then.” 

“Dang, he is kinda wobbly.” he admits to a slight groan from the boy over his shoulders. How he did not wake after being manhandled like that, Y/n has no clue. “Sheesh, I never met anyone this much of a lightweight. He only had the tiniest amount of sake.”  he shakes his head in disapproval. “Anyway, you are going to the dorms, right?” 

She nods.

“Okay, right this way!” he points and continues on, like he wasn’t balancing a person nearly half a foot taller on his shoulder. 

Alright, I guess. 

“How are you liking the agency so far?” he asks, kicking a stray pebble.

“It’s… definitely something.” she admits, resting her hands in her jacket pocket.

He nods, hair tickling Atsushi's waist.  “I’ll be honest, I really was surprised when Fukuzawa came back from his business trip with someone, let alone his own daughter! That threw us all in a loop!” he confesses.  

Y/n gives an awkward half laugh. “Yeah I bet.”

“I’m sorry Ranpo was kinda rude to you, he’s just…like that.”

She chuckles. “You mean blunt?”

He nods. “Yeah, blunt. That works.”

“Yeah I'd be kinda surprised too, I don’t blame him for being shocked. I was too.”

“It must be hard packing up all your stuff and moving here! I mean waking up in a whole different continent one morning must be so weird. Must be like waking up on a whole ‘nother planet!”

She smiles. “Kinda. But it’s not nearly as strange as when I moved to the states in the first place. At least I already know all the customs here, not to mention the langauge.”

He paused. “Why’d you move in the first place?” he asks, quickly following up with “Not to sound rude or anything, just curious!”

She shakes her head, “don’t worry, you’re good.” she clarifies. “hmmmm…”She thought for a moment. “Sometimes people just need a change, y’know.” she reveals. “A fresh start.”

“How does it feel to be back?”

She takes a deep breath in, brisk night air tickling down her lungs, staring into the polluted Yokohama sky. 

Suddenly, she was 14 again, staring down the very same lights she sees now, saying goodbye to a land that never felt like home. 

“It….” she starts. “It almost feels like I never left.”

“Home sweet home,” Yoru mutters, unlocking the door and welcoming Kenji in. 

Kenji looks around. “Where should I put him?” 

“Over there is fine.'' She tilts her head to the left tatami mat, covers slightly tousled while hanging her jacket over the coat rack. “Honestly, you should just shake him awa- or that. That works.” 

Kenji dusts his hands of the invisible dirt after casually tossing him onto the mat as if he was merely a jacket, leaving Atsushi in a poor tangle of limbs and guaranteeing a crick in his neck and back pain when he awakens. Then he lets out a big yawn and says his goodbyes before heading to his own dorm to retire, muttering something about ‘finding a midnight snack.’

Left alone (besides the intoxicated weretiger, who she grew more concerned about by the minute), she sighed. I guess this is my life now. She hears a subtle groan and suddenly regrets not taking Yosano up for another drink. 

Flipping Atsushi into a more breathable position (i.e, in a position not akin to a marionette,) and reaches to take off his tie.

“Wow, Yoru, I never really took you for the type.”

Whipping her head around she sees Dazai, lounging slyly against the doorframe. When the hell did he get here? Didn’t Kenji close the door? “The type for what, exactly?” she questions. “I don’t know what the hell you are trying to imply, but i’d rather my roommate wake up with a hangover, not dead. Thank you very-”

In an instant, the weretiger shot up and shuffled away from Y/n in a panic, hands protecting his face in a desperate attempt to protect himself.

An action Yoru knew all too well.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!” 

Yoru’s harsh eyes immediately softened, her stone cold, almost apathetic exterior melting away to the surprise of Dazai whose eyebrows raise, just for a moment.

She lowers her hands to her sides and sits up straight, creating some distance.“Atsushi…”

Atsushi curls himself into a ball, head dug deep into his knees with his arms blocking out any possible sources of light. Rocking slightly back and forth, he whispers i’m sorry, again and again like a mantra. Hoping, pleading for his own safety with his breath getting only heavier and quicker after each word. 

“Atusuhi,” she says calmly and clearly, “You’re having a panic attack, I need you to breathe for me. Just a few deep breaths. Can you do that for me?” 

Y/n wasn’t sure if he shook his head no, or if he was just shaking, but she  doubts if he even heard her as he continues his ‘i’m sorry’s, voice only getting more choked after every word.

She takes a deep breath in. “You are safe, Atsushi. It was just a nightmare. Nobody is going to hurt you here, I promise you. I need you to do something for me, okay? Nothing hard. Just need you to answer an easy question, okay? It’s a little silly, but I need you to bare with me here. Can you tell me something you hear?”

No response.

“Atsushi, I need you to tell me something you can hear.”

His rambling slows down to harsh breaths. There we go. 

She starts to repeat her command before she hears the boy whimper something.

“Hm? I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You. I can hear you.”

She smiles. “That’s right, good job Atsushi. Now can you tell me something you see?”

The sounds of labored breathing echoed in the room before he slowly peeks his head to murmur “Mats. There’s a mat.”

Y/n nods. “Yes there is a mat. You are doing great. Just one more question. I need  you to tell me something you smell.” 

“C-chocolate milk.” he sniffs. “I spilled some on me earlier.”

Y/n puffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you did go a little crazy with the chocolate milk.” she jokes. 

Seeing the gleam in Atsushi’s eyes over his knees, she scoots a smidge closer. “You are safe here,” she repeats. “The only people here are me and,” she turns to the door to find it closed, no sight of Dazai. “Just me. I’m the only person here.” testing the waters, she scoots closer, now by his side. “I really doubt that anyone is dumb enough to break into the Armed detective agency’s dorms. Sounds kinda like a death wish to me.” she joked. 

He gave a half smile, sniffed and used his wrist to rub his eye. “Yeah, yeah you are right.”

“Besides, if someone did, I'd kick their ass. I’m a lot tougher than I look. But I think you are tough enough to win by yourself, Tiger boy.” she teases with a slight playful nudge, making the boy blush a little. “Anyone in their right mind would haul ass as soon as they see a fucking tiger. Imagine you are trying to rob a joint and you break in all sneakily just to find a huge tiger staring you down!” she shakes her head. “Yeah, I'd change career paths real quick. Find god and become a priest or something, sheesh. They’d go out to their van with all their thieving pals like..” she musters up a deep voice “Dude, where’s all  the goods? And why are your pants wet? And…why does it smell like pee?”

Atsushi chuckles this time, fully emerging from his bundle of limbs he was hiding in. “I- I don’t think I'm that scary.”

Y/n gives him the ‘are you kidding’ face. “Please, I've seen someone crap their pants after seeing a doberman. Someone pissing themself is not out of the question when confronted by a giant angry white tiger.” she ruffles his hair. “Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo.”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “It’s just the truth.”

He shakes his head. “No, not for that, well I guess that too,” he corrects before shyly looking away, running his pale hand through his tousled hair. “For everything.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.”

His eyebrows raise. “The best of us wake up to panic attacks?”

She sighs, and settles into a more comfortable position. “Well, I do.”

His heterochromatic eyes widened. “Really?”

She nods. “Yup. And I can’t quite say I'm the best, but I'm pretty damn great. In my opinion at least.”

He’s silent, for a few moments, before almost whispering, “Do they ever stop?”

She takes a deep breath in, biting her lip. “No. No, they don’t.”

He casts his eyes to his knees again, tears rimming his eyes. 

“Atsushi, I'm not gonna lie to you. You deserve to know the truth. What you went through affects your brain in the way other memories don’t. This isn’t just something you can forget over time, no matter how much you want to.” Atsushi gulps and bites his lip, holding back tears. “You went through something so harmful it changed your brain and how it processes things. And no matter what you do, you can’t change that.'' She places a hand on his, drawing his attention to her words “But if I learned one thing in my 24 years of life is that nothing I can do will ever change what happened to me. But just because I suffered a great deal before, doesn’t mean i’m incapable or unworthy of living a full and happy life.” She looks at him in his glassy eyes. “Atsushi, I don’t quite know what you went through, or for just how long, but I know for a damn fact that you deserved none of it. No matter what you did, you were a child that deserved to be protected. You might not feel that way now, but you will one day. Because although we may never be free from our past, we can heal from it.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Have you heard of the word ‘trauma' before, Atsushi?”

He nods.

“Well, just like physical trauma, there’s also mental trauma. With physical trauma you get physical scars, and with mental trauma there is…” 

“Mental scars?”

She nods. “Yes, mental scars. If you ever are seriously injured in a way that leaves physical scarring, the effects of it linger for your whole life. Sometimes it's just with the physical reminder that its there, and sometimes it's pain from something that happened so long ago.”

“So, you are saying that I'm always gonna be afraid like this?” he whimpers. 

She shakes her head. “That’s not what i’m saying. Atsushi, ten years ago i’d wake up almost every night crying, and that's the days that I could sleep. I could barely hold a conversation with anybody, because anyone could be a threat. I was too scared to share my name let alone talk to you about my past like this. Now? I have nightmares once every few months, most of them just leave me a lil shaken and I drink some tea before falling back to sleep. What i’m saying is that it gets better. I promise. 

“A-are you sure?”

She huffs out a playful laugh. “Yes, I am 100% sure. But it takes time, Atsushi. Some days are gonna be worse than others, and sometimes things trigger bad memories. For example, someone touching around your neck while you're sleeping. I’m sorry for that, by the way. I was trying to take your tie off.” she apologizes.

“I-it’s okay!” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just trying to help!” 

“Speaking of help,” she starts, standing up and stretching her legs. “You know what I used to do with my friend after having really bad nightmares?”

“What?” he recipes as she walks over to the small dorm fridge. 

“Eat ice cream and watch kids shows.” she said, picking up a pint. “Here, catch.” she said tossing it to the were-tiger who awkwardly juggled it before catching it properly. 

“Um is this a common practice when it comes to nightmares and panic attacks? A-and where did you get the ice cream?” he asks as she sits down next to him, two spoons, her tablet and her own pint.

“Nope, but it always made me feel better. And Fukuzawa asked if some of the secretaries could go buy some food to make me feel more at home.” she  shared, setting up her tablet. “Anyway, what's your favorite show you would watch as a kid?”

“I never really watched tv as a kid. Or ever, really.”

“WHAT?” she said a bit too loudly, making Atsushi jump in his seat. “Sorry, but how have you never watched any tv as a kid? When I was in group homes they just sat us in front of the TV all day.” she lied, partially at least.  “Are orphanages really that different?” he shrugged. 

“Well today's your lucky day kiddo! I’ve got just the show for you!” she said, fiddling with her tablet. “This was my favorite show as a kid, I probably watched every episode of the original series 10 times, at least.”

He sits up, intrigued. “What's it about?”

“It's about a boy going on mighty adventures with his companions learning skills and training to be the masters of their field.”

“Oh, sounds interesting.”

“Oh it's also about monsters they use to fight that they keep locked up in containment.” she reveals, pressing play on her tablet.

“Wait WHAT.”

“I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was..” the tablet sings. Yoru smiles at Atsushi’s dumbfounded expression. “Pokemon?” he asks. She nods. 

“What else?” she smiled. 

“I had no idea Pikachu was such a jerk when he first met Satoshi.” Atsushi shares, taking another scoop of his ice cream, eyes transfixed on the pixilated glory that is 90’s anime.

‘Well,” she starts, taking a scoop into her mouth. “Houw wood you feeel eef shome ranoom keed wok’d ober ta ou an startet bossin ya round?” she said nearly incoherently. 

He nods, completely understanding what she said. . “True. Hey, what ice cream flavor is that?”

“Curry.” she says, coherently this time. “Wanna try?” she asks, holding out her pint.

He shrugs, scooping some onto his spoon and into his mouth, before immediately coughing. “Why,” he coughs. “Why is it so spicy?”

She shrugs. “It’s curry flavored, and curry tends to be spicy.”

“It just tastes like cold curry!” he shakes his head in disapproval. “I know there's a lot of strange flavors out there, but this has to be the strangest i’ve ever tasted.” He admits, taking a scoop of his vanilla ice cream to drown out the spice. 

“You don’t like it?” 

He shakes his head. “Not really. It’s definitely not a flavor I think of when I'm craving ice cream, that’s for sure.”

She nods. “Yeah, me either.” 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ““Then why are you eating it? And why did the secretaries buy his flavor out of all of them and not a more common one like matcha?”

“Because I asked for two pints, a spicy curry one for me and any other flavor to share with you. Ice cream is better shared, y’know.”

He gives her a funny look, the adventures of Satoshi and Pikachu disregarded. “Well yeah I guess it does taste better when shared, but that doesn’t explain why you specifically asked for a flavor you don’t like?”

She sighed, taking a lick of the gooey orange substance. “It reminds me of someone i once held dear. And sometimes,” she looks into the pint, reminiscing on lives past lived, “Nostalgia is the sweetest thing of all.”

Once Yoru was sure that Atsushi was lulled to sleep by the overly animated voice of Pikachu and friends, she turned off her tablet and put away the slosh that remained in the ice cream pint. Gazing over his peaceful figure, she smiles softly, and drapes his comforter over him. Basked in the peaceful silence, she finally releases a breath she’s been holding ever since she boarded the jet to Yokohama. Grabbing her jacket and lazily sliding it on, she heads out to the terrace, the starry night sky greeting her once again

.

“hey Kanako, look at that one! it’s so bright” the little girl pointed out, small scrawny hand cast to the sky in amazement. Laid besides her, her sister sighs. “Kasumi, they’re all so bright, we live in the middle of nowhere.”Kasumi responds by nudging her playfully. As Kazumi watches the stars, Kanako watches her sister, a rare smile graces her face watching her sisters unbridled joy. 

“Hey Kanako,” Kazumi says, eyes still attached to the stars

“Hmm?”

“Ya wanna know why i like stars so much?” she asks, her usually happy go lucky voice hinting at something more

“Sure.”

Shes silent for a second, before she answers. “They make me feel less alone.”

Kanakos was well prepared to respond with ‘How do you ever feel alone, i’ve been by your side since we were in ma’s belly’ before she saw the look on her sisters face. Her once joyus smile has slipped into something more melancholy. 

“We live in a world with billions of people, even tho’ our world only consists of each other  really. Not that i mind spending every day with you! I just wanna explore the world like they do in the cartoons! Or at least like the other kids our age.” She explains, her eyes still glued to the starry night sky. “Everyone’s life is so different than ours…” She nearly whispers. “but the stars!” she suddenly brightens, as if she was a star herself. “Everybody sees the same stars. No matter how big or small you are, no matter where you live, we all see the same stars.” She turns to her sister, meeting her eyes. “Even if we ever part, we  could just look to the night sky and we’d know that the other one is looking at the same stars.”

Kanako furrows her eyebrows. “Why would we ever part?” 

She shrugs.

“Don’t ya ever wanna run away?”

“Huh?” Kanako shuffles to sit up. “What do ya mean?”

 Kazumi pushes herself up to sit next to her sister. “Y’know, run away from home. no more mom or dad, no more stupid, podunk town.”

Of course she has thought about it. She thinks about it every time she takes her sister to hide under the table when their father gets home reeking of beer and bad decisions. She thinks about it whenever their mother finds any and all reasons to insult and berate them. She does so everythime she sees the other kids in the neighborhood with their parents, hearts full of joy and parental love and affection. Something that was so foreign to her. 

But she doesn’t live in a fantasy. 

She was more than capable of running away, hell she doubt her parents would notice for a few days at least. Although she is young, she’s more than capable of providing for herself, as she has been providing for herself and her sister for years.

But thats just it.

Sweet, sweet, Kazumi. She’s always been the more fragile child, trailing behind her and speaking in soft whispers to anyone but her sister. Kanako learned from a young age that she’s her sisters keeper, even before she fell ill. she’s always been sickly, from the moemnt she was born,  she needed extra care and support. It was assumed she would grow out of it, that babies are just very fragile and susceptible to illnesses and complications, but alas, that was not the case. Kazumi’s life has been plagued by illness since the day her life began, there was no way she could survive the trek out of the boondocks they lived in. 

Kanako would love to run away. to finally feel free and have the weight lifted off of her shoulders, but she knows she never would.  Kanako was only elder by mere minutes, yet the gap between them was one of decades. Kanako has a responsibility that no child should bear; protecting one’s innocence while their own has been shattered. She knows she can never leave Kazumi, the one she promised to protect till their dying breath.

So she shrugged. “Sometimes, i guess.” 

“Oh come on,” She whined playfully. “Don’t cha wanna go on adventures, like they do in Pokemon?”

“I don’t think the real world is as amazing as Palet town, Kazumi.”

“You wouldn’t know! we never leave this stupid town, anyways.” She shifts to her side to face her sister. “Don’t you wanna leave? Away from….. everything?”

“I don’t know.” she said, looking at her tiny, worn out shoes. 

She didn’t didn’t have to say why, Kazumi already knew. 

The crickets hummed to fill the silence, before she adds a quiet “I wouldn’t blame ya, y’know.”

“No.” Kanako quickly snaps. “I don’t know what you got in your head that makes you think i want to leave ya, but you need to get rid of it. I’m not going anywhere without cha. we’ve been together all our lives, what makes ya think that i wanna leave ya now?” She asks.  

Kazumi simply shrugs in response, ashamed to look her sister in the eyes.

Kanako sighs and throws her arm around her sister. “Listen. one day when we are older, we are gonna run as far as we can away from this town, got it?” she said, pullin her closer. “and no one could tell us shit!” they both giggle at the ‘dirty word’.

“It’ll be our little adventure!” Kazumi cheers.

Kanako nods. “Yeah. our little adventure.”

You really shouldn’t be able to see the stars out here in the city, pollution from the smog of factories and the lights decorating buildings, calling people in and keeping them awake. But yet, if you know where to look, and don’t mind squinting, you can always spot them and they’ll wave to you like an old friend. Sighing, y/n pulls a cigarette out from her jacket  pocket, lights it and takes a slow, long drag.

“I guess this is another adventure,” she states to no one in particular, rubbing the pendant on her neck. “Right, Kazumi?” 

And that's chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it because there's a LOT more to come. If you have any questions or comments (I love comments <3 the make me more motivated to write!!!) don't hesitate to let me know!

[niko-ur-local-moron]

I have no idea why but my brain went "Topez merman AU"

Luis lives with his mother and siblings near the sea in a big hut and they live off fishing and Luis' turn to go fishing

Tony casually enjoying the sunrise above surface when he notices a very handsome and muscular fisher on his way to the dock

He obviously falls in love with him and after a few days of watching Luis from far away one day he just pops up next to the dock to casually say hi and Luis freaks out and falls into the water

They bond, they have long talks everyday, Tony's somewhat silly and cheeky a perfect match for the grumpy and reserved Luis

They keep their friendship a secret, obviously and Luis' older brother, Ernesto starts to suspect something because lately Luis' seems waaayyy too eager to go fishing, taking turns for his family and goes to check on him now and then, Tony usually managing to sneak away and Luis and Ernesto get ina fight as usual

Tony's super curious about the surface world and Luis brings him new stuff every day. A necklace (often things that are shiny which are Tony's favorite), silverware, glass bottles, watches, ......socks. One day he brings him a pair of shades and Tony absolutely LOVES them

The other day Luis introduced him to the internet and Tony spent the entire day watching a Netflix's series on Luis' phone, much to his annoyance shsjskskk

Ernesto manages to walk in on them but only hears Tony's voice but he disappears underwater and he starts to catch on but doesn't know how to squeeze the info out of Luis

Eventually Luis and Ernesto swim out to the open sea on a small boat to catch more fish and a storm arrives (Tony watches over the boat worryingly all the time) and they're kinda fucked. They get into another fight and Ernesto comes up with a plan to make the water creature reveal itself-- he pushes Luis into the water. Luis is NOT a good swimmer and the furious waves eventually take him under. Ernesto suddenly panics because UMMM I JUST KILLED MY LITTLE BRO OH SHIT

Tony freaks out even more and jumps in after him. He brings him back to the surface and Ernesto helps him drag his body back in the boat but he's unconscious and he doesn't know what to do. Then Tony remembers something called CPR that he saw in that Netflix's series where the characters ended up in a similar situation and he climbs up onto the boat too and performs it on Luis with shaky hands and keeps begging him to wake up.

It works and Luis wakes up and coughs out the water while Tony keeps hugging him and shaking and thanking whichever god there is that he is alive. Luis eventually calms down and realises that they're all in the same boat and that the secret's out and he's like "well shit"

Ernesto is neutral about it, decides to not tell anyone for now and Luis comes back to fish on the dock while chit chatting with Tony

The other day he swims out solo during nice weather and Tony's EXTRA curious cuz he's only in his swimming trunks (siiimppp). Turns out he wants to be a better swimmer so the situation from the storm doesn't repeat so he might as well train for now in the calm water. They swim around talking and at some point they stop, facing eachother and Tony wraps his arms around him and Luis just doesn't know what to do. He knows where Tony is going with it but is he really capable of falling in love with a man? And a man that is not even human?? Like how could that work out, for the rest of their lives? They can't even be in a one room together!

Tony leans in and their lips brush against eachother but Luis pulls away and swims back to the boat. They swim back home in silence and they depart.

Some days later they're back to normal (well somewhat, stuff still feels awkward between them) and they're hanging out while a group of men approaches. Ernesto is behind them, beaten up and apologises to both Luis and Tony about the fact that he accidentally mentioned Tony. They're trying to capture Tony, Luis puts up a fight but a big boat that belongs to the enemies arrives and they manage to capture Tony in a net and they're dragging him out to the sea to another country. Luis and Ernesto rush to help in a small rotor boat and they eventually catch up with the kidnappers.

Tony's kept on a boat, still inside the net and it's really uncomfy because his tail is getting dry and the kidnappers only splash him water from time to time. When Ernesto and Luis make it inside the boat somewhat, somehow Tony would be pushed out of it into the sea-- that's great but he is still in a net. Luis jumps in after him with a knife and swims down to his level and he just sees how scared and uncomfortable Tony is inside that net and how he has no idea what's going on and just wants to be with Luis back the shore and their dock and his heart aches because gosh he wants to protect that old mermaid forever. He starts cutting the net and Tony's eyes never leave him and he's finally free and Tony grabs him to help him swim back up to the surface but they just also keep staring at each other and in one moment they just both lean in a kiss each other passionately. Not for long tho cuz yeah, Luis is a human and they gotta swim up eventually. (stupid human lungs>:[ )

They're kinda flustered about what happened but they get Ernesto back to their boat and they swim back home. The next day Tony is awaiting Luis, excited to see his favourite person as usual and he arrives as always and jumps into the water to greet Tony and he's so so happy to be back in their safe place and just wrapped his hands around Luis and since they were above water so he just kept kissing him non-stop, using the opportunity.

And that's all I have for now I guess?? Came up with this on a whim like my brain went "Topez.......but one of them is a merman" and I was like "hell yeah a decent thought"

Cringy aus LET'S GOOO

[therisingkings]

Have a Drink

Check it out on Ao3

The music was bordering on too loud. Damen hoped and prayed with all his might that, for once, the neighbors might be chill and not call the cops. Logically, he knew it was rude, but it was a Saturday night, what did they expect? 

Plus, the semester had finally ended, plunging the city of Ios into the warm summer months. Everyone here was either celebrating their victory over finals, or trying to forget their defeats. 

Damen plucked the red solo cup from Nikandros’ hand. “I think you’ve had enough, friend.”

Nikandros gave him a quizzical look. “Since when are you the babysitter?”

“Someone has to be.” 

Nikandros rolled his eyes as he plopped onto the couch beside a plastered Pallas. Pallas slung his arm over Nikandros’ shoulders and it was a testament to Nikandros’ state that he allowed such a thing. 

Over the music, the doorbell went off. Damen’s brows knit. Who the fuck rung the doorbell at a party?

He opened the front door to find Auguste and Laurent, the former who held up a bottle of vodka. “Couldn’t come empty handed.”

Damen grinned. “Welcome in. Hey, sweetheart.” He smacked a kiss on Laurent’s cheek as he closed the door behind him. They’d been dating for just over a month now and only very recently had Laurent’s icy exterior begun to thaw. He’d even gone as far as initiating a cuddle session the other night. Damen would be lying if he said he hadn’t almost passed out from shock when Laurent crawled into his arms. It also didn’t help that Laurent was fucking hot. There was no other way to describe him. He shared many features with Auguste, but had a kind of feline quality to him. His blond hair was paler than Auguste, though they shared the same glacier cool eyes. He was dressed a little too finely for a party like this: fancy trousers, a crisp button down, perfectly polished loafers, a watch that looked more expensive than anything Damen owned.

Damen didn’t mind. Those trousers showed off Laurent’s ass deliciously as he went to the kitchen.

“You know, I’m right here,” Auguste groused. Damen and Auguste would both be graduating next year, Damen with a degree in political science and Auguste with one in sports med. They’d become fast friends their freshmen year after they were paired together for a project in bio. It wasn’t until their third year that Auguste started dating Nikandros. Nik had warned him about the little brother, claiming he was “a frigid bitch, so just your type.” Nik was, evidently, proved correct when Damen ran into Laurent at a bonfire and promptly asked for his number before even knowing who he was.

Damen chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “My bad.”

“Where’s Nik at?”

“Couch. Please don’t make out on it though.”

Auguste gave him a wink, passed him the bottle of vodka, and went to find his boyfriend.

Damen, in turn, went for the kitchen. 

Laurent was sitting at the bar already, typing something out on his phone.

Damen had a highly developed sense of wrongness. Something was off. While Laurent definitely wasn’t the most bubby type, he wouldn’t normally be ignoring Damen like this. That being said, if Damen just assaulted him with questions, it would scare him off. He settled on, “Do you want a shot?”

Laurent glanced up from his phone just so Damen could see him wrinkle his nose. “You know I don’t drink that shit.”

Damen shrugged and poured one for himself. He rounded the bar top glass in hand to lean into Laurent’s space. “Wanna be my chaser, sweetheart?”

Laurent’s eyes were chips of ice. “We both know you don’t need one.”

Fine. Damen downed the shot, the liquor burning his throat. He was already a little tipsy, but if Laurent was in this kind of mood, they both needed to get blackout drunk. He reached for the bottle again. “What do you want? You’ve got to drink something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Laurent—”

Laurent pushed away from the bar. He was small enough to disappear almost instantly into the crowd. Damen made to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Give him a minute,” Auguste said, seeming to manifest out of nowhere.

“Did something happen?” Damen’s brows knit together.

Auguste didn’t answer him at first, pushing a shot into his hand. He waited until Damen drank it. “He’s just hungry. He hasn’t eaten in a while.”

“He’s hungry?” Damen cringed, setting the shot glass back on the counter. “There’s pizza—”

“He can’t have pizza.”

Right. Laurent had a ridiculous amount of dietary restrictions, so much so that they never went out to dinner because Damen was always afraid the restaurant wouldn’t have things he could eat. 

“Well, is there anything I can get him?” 

Auguste glanced at something over Damen’s shoulder, but stopped him before he could follow his gaze. “He’ll be okay. You know he doesn’t like crowds.”

Damen nodded. He’d invited the DeVere’s to the party knowing how much Laurent hated them, but he hadn’t wanted Laurent to think he’d forgotten about him. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected Laurent to show up. 

“Alright,” Damen said after thinking for a moment. “You're in charge. I’m serious about the couch and if the neighbor shows up, pretend you’re deaf.”

Auguste laughed. 

Damen went to find Laurent. He wove between colleagues and classmates, asking around when he couldn’t immediately find him.

“Upstairs,” Pallas said in between Lazar’s kisses.

He was right. Damen found Laurent in his own bedroom, thumbing through Damen’s old highschool yearbook. At least he wasn’t on his phone anymore.

“Hey,” Damen said, shutting the door behind him. The music was much quieter up here, stripped down to just the rhythmic thumb of the bass. “Your brother said you might be hungry. There’s a gas station just down the road we can walk to if you want. Find something there.”’

Laurent set the book on the bed beside him. “That’s alright. Come here.”

Damen did so without thinking. He stood between Laurent’s legs, bracing his hands on either side of him so he could kiss his mouth. It was light, sweet, and nowhere near what Damen actually wanted to do right now. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I—” Laurent cut himself off, shuddering. 

“Cold? Let me—” 

“No. Come here.” There was an almost musical quality to his voice that made Damen want to fuck him senseless.

He went as Laurent bid, kissing him again and again. They hadn’t had sex yet, and although Damen didn’t want their first time to be with two dozen college kids the floor below, he’d learned to take what he could get with Laurent. He cupped his face, guiding Laurent onto his back so he could properly crawl over him. The kiss deepened. 

Laurent’s nails dug into Damen’s side, pulling his weight properly over him. Damen let out a groan of approval, grinding their hips together as he moved his mouth down to Laurent’s neck. Maybe he ought to leave a few hickeys, let the guys downstairs know that this hot—

Laurent flipped them over with a strength Damen hadn’t been aware he possessed. He straddled Damen’s hips and began to unbutton his shirt.

Damen sucked in a sharp breath. This was fucking hot. Like wet dream kind of hot. He groped Laurent’s ass through his slacks, sitting up so he could capture his mouth once more.

Laurent made a soft sound of protest that had Damen pulling back.

Had he gone too far with the groping? But he really didn’t want to let go of Laurent's ass—it was the first time he’d been allowed to touch it. And it really was a fine ass. “What’s up?” Damen asked, unable to keep the horny breathlessness out of his own voice.

Laurent stared at him. He wasn’t even breathing hard, which Damen found a little insulting given his own wrecked state. “Damen, I’m sorry.”

Damen’s brows lowered. He pried his hands off of Laurent’s ass in favor of cupping his face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Do you want to stop? We can stop.”

“No, I…” Laurent ran his delicate fingers through Damen’s hair before gripping it at the root. “I really am sorry.”

God, Damen wanted to fuck him so bad, see those stunning eyes roll back as he pulled pleasure straight from the core of him. 

Laurent was still looking at him strangely, almost sadly. He stroked his free hand up Damen’s bicep to his shoulder, gripping there as his other hand pulled on Damen’s hair until he exposed his throat.

Warning bells went off in Damen’s head a moment too late. Laurent struck, so fast Damen didn’t even see the unnaturally large canines before they pierced right into his veins.

And it felt… it felt like coming and dying at the same time. Damen couldn’t even drag up the wits to struggle as Laurent took the first mouthful of his blood. Damen swore he could feel every drop as if it were pulled from him by a string. He moaned, hands flailing without purpose. Should he push him off? Pull him closer? The thoughts swarmed like bees, but he couldn’t grasp a single one.

Laurent pinned his hands to the bedspread as he took another drag, grinding down on him. It was intoxicating, arousing, and fucking terrifying all at once.

Damen’s head rolled back, eyes fluttering shut. Perhaps this was a hallucination, brought on by the alcohol. That was the only other way to explain why Laurent was currently sucking him dry and not the way Damen preferred.

“Laurent!” The name didn’t come from Damen’s mouth, but he heard it as if he were underwater. Muffled. 

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. Damen fell back onto the pillows, barely summoning up the strength to crack open his eyes.

Auguste had Laurent by the shoulder—Laurent, whose lips were red, blood trailing down his chin. “You can’t take that much,” Auguste insisted. “I know you're hungry, but you almost killed him.”

Damen was floating. Or maybe he was dying. If that were the case, at least Laurent was on top of him. What a way to go.

There was a shift and then Laurent’s weight disappeared. Damen let out a sound of protest, but couldn’t so much as grab him.

“He’s fine. I’ll get him some crackers or something.”

Auguste pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just be careful, okay?”

Damen’s sluggish mind finally caught up to what was happening. He tried to speak, but it came out all gurgled.

Laurent’s eyes were impossibly brighter as they fixed on him. “You were right about Akielons,” he said conversationally. “They taste of the sea.”

“Yes.” Auguste laughed. “Just get him fixed up and then come back down.”

Damen tried to move as Auguste left. He managed to roll onto his side, bringing a hand up to his bleeding neck.

“No, don’t sit up.” Laurent caught his wrist, pulling his hand away. “Just rest for a minute.”

“What…” Damen’s tongue was heavy and dry in his mouth .He swallowed. “What the fuck?”

[tilly-tilly-2827]

Leave It By Degrees #4

The unhinged love story loosely based on Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost that I can't get out of my head.

Synopsis: "How are you going to keep that?"

AO3 post from here!

Previous story from here!

No sex. No porn. No wanking. No phone. No digital devices. No social media. No alcohol. No drugs. No smoking. No Substance. No women are allowed in the Villa. (No men for Benedict). No work. No family issues…   

“How many no’s do you plan to include in this list, dear brother?” 

Anthony glared from his thick-framed glasses, closing his bulky volume of The Brothers Karamazov, carefully placing a leather bookmark on the pages. 

“Read the next page, there’s more.” 

Wake up at 5:00 in the morning. Only drink water. Complete the morning stretch and weight training by 6:00. Cold showers only. Complete 10km run. Meditate for three hours. Fast Every three days. Study Japanese for three hours. Journaling in the morning. Practice trumpet. Yoga. Pirates…

Benedict went through the 95 contents of the list, and as he read on, he could feel the three sheets of paper become heavier and heavier in his hands. 

“This is quite a list, brother. Might I ask how you made this?” 

“Well, it’s a combination of Andrew Huberman’s morning routine, Kelly McGonigal’s the Willpower Instinct, added with the basic ideology of tantra, which has roots in Hinduism and Buddhism; the term referring to “Text, theory, system, method, instrument, technique or practice… ”

“Sometimes I forget how nerdy you are, brother.”

“Call it thirst for knowledge and self improvement.”

“And so you say, brother.” Benedict shook his head, dropping the list on the table between them. “By doing all this, you think you can get over her?”

Anthony nodded grimly. “Why do you think I would even do this?”

“Perhaps you’ve lost your mind after five bottles of whiskey.”

“My mind had never been clearer than last night, brother.” Anthony grunted. “If it were not for the whiskey, I wouldn’t have planned this,”

“Brother, you are going to the Maldives.A Fucking beach resort. Probably full of hot models and influencers that will just drool at your mere presence. I doubt you could keep the oath even a day.” Benedict continued, munching on raisins, “Plus, why do I have to be dragged in your sadhana?”

Anthony simply rolled his eyes, and returned to his book. “Brother, you seem to have forgotten that you were the one begging me to take you with me.” 

Damn. He remembered. 

Since meeting the love of his life, his muse, and his inspiration four years ago, his artist career had been going on the rails; first making it through the Wells Art Contemporary, then having a piece submitted in the National Gallery, and even getting a solo feature in the Art Monthly. He had been trying to keep himself away from his hedonistic habits, the pills, weed, and alcohol. But there were just some nights that he just couldn’t resist the temptation. And yesterday was one of those nights. Anthony had given him a call from the pub, half crying half laughing on the other end, presumably drowning himself in whiskey. Benedict had been sent to pick him up, only to get terribly drunk with Anthony again. The new gallery was coming up in three months, yet Benedict found himself at quite a loss, feeling absolutely blank facing the white canvas. His latest submissions had been relatively well received ,with positive reactions from viewers and good sales, but some critics had slandered his work; criticizing that it never had originality. And for all those reasons, Benedict had decided to get wasted with his dear brother. (After 5 hours, Simon had come to the pub, dragging the two men into his Lamborghini.)

The breakup must have been rough, Benedict had thought as he watched his usually disciplined brother lose himself in intoxication. From a brotherly standpoint, Benedict could see that Anthony had been serious and committed in the relationship in his own way, but it wasn’t enough for the uprising pop star Sienna Rosso. During that night, Anthony had dabbled about relationships ruining his life and the necessity to improve himself to the highest potential. For those purposes, he declared firmly that he was going to go on a digital free Celibacy, and Benedict, who had been utterly drunk, had agreed to go with him. More accurately, he might have pleaded. Benedict wasn’t really expecting his brother to remember his oath, much less drag him into the private jet to the Maldives on the very next day. 

“Come on, brother. You’re self-employed.” Anthony had grabbed him in the neck and plunged him into the car. “I’ll do my journaling, yoga, running, and meditation, and you can set up a studio in a villa.”

Apparently, the digital free rule had applied the moment they boarded the plane, the TV screen in front of him had been covered by a black cloth, and even the music plug had been closed as well. 

“Woodson, and you agreed to do this?”

Benedict turned his head around to the only employee from the Audrey Foundation, who sat timidly in the 4-box seat at the far end of the jet, quietly tapping away in his silver MacBook. Poor man, Benedict thought to himself, his own life being at the mercy of one Anthony Bridgerton. 

“Uh, um, yes, Mr. Bridgerton.” He fumbled, adjusting his brown frame glasses nervously with his fingers, “If m,Mr. Bridgerton chooses to pursue a goal, it is my greatest interest to support him in any way possible.”

“Yet, I see you working on your computer.”

“Mm, Mr. Bridgerton had asked me to do a briefing every morning from the day before, and I’ll be the one correspondence for M, Mr. Bridgerton in case of a family or a corporate emergency.”

“The list specifically stipulates no work.”

“Benedict, I’m running a company with a hundred thousand employees on my shoulders.” Anthony said, settling himself deeper in his seat, “It’ll be worse for my mental health if I don’t hear from the company at all. This was decided with my therapist, brother, and we both agreed that once a day would be suitable…”

“Yes, yes, I get that, but why did you have to bring Woodson? If you just need a briefing every morning, just open up a computer or get a call! You didn’t have to bring the poor fellow all the way to a beach resort to just work and do a celibacy with a grumpy boss…”

“It’s a digital-free holiday, Ben,” Anthony grunted, not removing his eyes from the book. “It won’t be digital-free if I open a laptop.”

“And getting a briefing every morning counts as not working? It’s only been three minutes since we boarded this plane, and you’re already breaking the oath you firmly declared…”

“Mm, Mr. Bridgerton.” Benedict slightly raised his eyebrows as Woodson interrupted his words, but Woodson continued awkwardly, “I, I’m from Maldives, Mr. Bridgerton. I was born and raised there, and Mm, my parents and my sisters still live on the mainland.”

“Oh.”

“Woodson is merely an emergency liaison, and nothing more.”

Anthony growled from the back of his throat, and Benedict understood that it was Anthony telling him to shut the fuck up. Benedict couldn’t suppress a smile, as authoritative and grumpy as his brother could be (99% of the time), the attentiveness his brother had over his siblings and his employees was something that Benedict greatly respected and deeply admired about his elder brother. While Benedict tended to focus on one thing and one thing only (being an artist, it was a positive trait), Anthony had keen eyes on everything and everyone all at once. Benedict knew the Audrey Corporation would have been in shambles if Anthony hadn't been the firstborn.

Come to think of it, it was the first time in six years Anthony had even chosen to take a holiday. Since he took over the company at the age of 26, Anthony had chosen to devote body and soul to his father’s legacies, working non stop to keep the company running. Nights and Nights of negotiations and board meetings, conferences, while supporting his seven siblings and keeping them from falling apart from the sudden death of their father. There was always a sense of guilt he felt towards his brother; the way Benedict had chosen to run away and escape from the responsibility, while Anthony took all the burden of the family on his shoulders. 

“I will swear to the Celibacy oath, brother. Also the drinking, smoking, and the pills. Digital free oath as well.” He kicked his brother’s feet playfully with a grin on his face, Anthony eyes stayed on the book, but he saw a satisfied nod. “You have my full support, and I concentrate on my art as well.”

“Good.”

“By the way, brother.”

“Mm?”

“Why did you laminate this list?”

“I plan to take it everywhere with me.”

“What kind of CEO uses a laminator?!”

“Benedict, this was made by the latest model I specifically ordered from Japan that has 6 rollers which rapidly increases the speed of each process; the biggest length taking up 0.6mm, Benedict…”

And Benedict spent the next ten hours on flight listening to Anthony ramble on about the difference between a six roller laminator and the two roller version, the concept of hypersexual society and its effects to the modern toxic masculinity, and how the transmutation of sexual energy enhances their prana/ life energy. Six hours in, Benedict had begged on his knees for a glass of whiskey, but Anthony had apparently had banned them from even bringing them in on the plan. 

Fuck, he thought. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

Apparently, it wasn’t as hard as he had imagined it would be. The Soneva Fushi was a frequent place the Bridgertons had stayed in, being the very place their parents had honeymooned. Benedict had joined the family vacation there every year until he left the house at 18, so he knew the way around the place. The presence of Anthony was not intimidating as he had anticipated, but more soothing. He noticed that it had been years since he spent time with his elder brother, and found themselves chatting about their father and the childhood memories they shared. The time their father had taken out to hike. How he had taken them to horse riding. His terrible pranks using glue and shoes.

 Even at a beach resort, Anthony was the epitome of self-control and discipline, waking up at 5 o'clock sharp every morning. Anthony was kind enough (?)  to rip Benedict from the sheets every morning, dragging him to the beach for a morning jog. It was incredibly refreshing to start the day, with the morning light and the ocean breeze on his skin, and Benedict had never felt so fit and clear minded. Perhaps he was reaching his higher self, as his brother had said. 

However, no matter how healthy, how sober, or how disciplined he was, when he returned to the studio he had set up in the sunroom of the Villa, Benedict was still in front of the white canvas, staring at the endless white. To pass the time, he continued sketching, walking around the beach, the lobby, the bar, sketching the people around him, but when he sat in front of the canvas, he could do nothing at all. 

“You have to call me Benedict, Woodson.”

“Mm,Mr. Bridgerton, I really cannot.”

“But I’m not your boss, there’s no need for formalities.

“I,I must pay my respects to every m,member of the Bridgerton family”

“So you wouldn’t respect me if I wasn’t a Bridgerton?”

“I, I, I, I cannot answer that question, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“So you don’t respect me.”

“I,I call you Mr, Bridgerton to show my respect, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“You call my brother Mr. Bridgerton, how do you make the difference between us two?”

“W,well, I use the higher tone when I call Mr. Bridgerton, and I use a lower tone when I am referring to Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Woodson, I truly cannot hear the difference. Which is which again?”

“Benedict, stop interrogating my subordinate.”

After a week in the Soneva Fushi, the morning briefing had become a regular routine for the three, with Woodson running over the emails and the calls from the company as Benedict and Anthony grimaced over the caffeine-free herbal tea. The brief that morning had been the usual, nothing particularly important but Benedict noticed that Woodson tumbled on his words more than he usually does, especially on the M’s, and tripped several times on the S’s he normally flows smoothly.

“Anything troubling you, Woodson?” Benedict casually asked, trying to keep a light tone. 

“Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh………………” After that, there was a long pause. Benedict noticed that the birds were exceptionally chirping away happily that morning and Anthony took a nice long sip of mint tea from his mug, 

“I,I, I…..I've been getting multiple emails from the Gunningworth Foundation requesting a direct meeting to negotiate a deal with Mr. Bridgerton.”

“The Guuningworths?” Anthony raised his eyebrows suspiciously, sitting up from his seat, “I don’t think we ever had any deal with them.”

“Oh, no no no no, Mr. Bridgerton!!” Woodson shook his head fervently. “It is a deal for Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict chuckled softly seeing his brother's ears turn slightly pink as Anthony buried himself behind the newspaper. 

“I’ll remember that I’m referred to by the lower tone, Woodson.” Ben clapped his hand on Woodson’s shoulders, “Perhaps about the patron contract?”

Woodson scrolled through the screen, his brown glasses nearly slipping off from his nose. “Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“How much is Gunninworth willing to pay to my dear brother?”

“The email says that the amount would be negotiated, but coming from the Foundation, I estimate an amount of several hundred thousand yearly.”

“Perhaps this is not a bad deal for you, Benedict.”Anthony closed the newspaper, setting the mug on the table. But, Benedict simply looked out in the distance, watching a young couple snuggle together in a hammock on the beach. “ Gunningworth Foundation is a prestigious institution; especially in the arts division.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Any reasons?”

“I refuse to be controlled by an authority.”

“Benedict.”

Benedict signed at his brother's condescending tone. 

“I’m not a big fan of Araminta Gunningworth.”

As childish and immature his little brother sounded, Anthony could understand Benedict’s disdain. Araminta, being the substitute chairperson in the Gunningworth Foundation was a frequent guest in the London socialite; Anthony had greeted her several times. But there was a certain coldness to her that he could not decipher, the complete opposite from Benedict’s gentleness. Anthony also knew how much his brother hated control and restrictions, so it would be better for him if he wasn’t under a contract….

“And few associates from The Gunningworth Foundation are visiting this very place today.”

“WHAT?!?!”

Both Benedict and Anthony spilled the tea from their respective cups. Poor Hugh, the emails he printed out several hours ago from his house were drenched in ill-smelling liquid. 

“Isn’t that close to stalking?”

Benedict sputtered, his eyebrows knitted in a deeper frown.

“Unless the team forcefully tries to invade the Villa, i, it does not violate the law.”

“Jesus,” Benedict rolled his eyes. “This kind of behavior is the exact reason I don’t want to be involved in the contract, invading a private holiday just for a painting.”

“There is no need to respond to their offer,” Woodson continued firmly, “if any of them does something out of the line, I will call the security and the police immediately.” 

“Thank you, Hugh.” 

“B,but I recommend staying out of bars and restaurants, or lobbies, Mr. Bridgerton. They might be lurking everywhere to lure you into the deal..."

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

“Oh, Posy.”

Sophie could only sigh when her step-sister told her that she had booked three weeks in Soneva Fushi, not the one night stay she had originally planned.

“Poses, it’s a business meeting, not a holiday…”

Sophie groaned over her laptop screen recalculating the budget as Posy happily packed four bikinis and several sets of summer dresses in her suitcase. Beach towels, sandals, sunglasses, Posy’s red globe trotter travel suitcase were almost overflowing. 

“Oh, come on Sophie, it’s not every day Mom lets us go to a Beach Resort for a meeting. And I’m sure Benedict Bridgerton would want to talk in a relaxed environment, not in a stuffy suit.”

“But three weeks, Poses? There was no need to book that many days.”

“Sophie, do you really think Benedict Bridgerton would compromise in a day when he completely ignored your emails for the past months?”

“You have a good point, Poses.” Sophie had to smile, neatly folding the floral Guchi summer dress that was thrown over the floor. “You’re right. I’m might have been too overconfident,”

“Oh, and Sophie, I booked the three-bedroom Villa!”

“The suite?!”  

There are some times Sophie could forget how bold her stepsister can be. On usual days, Posy is just a sweet little bean, cute and bubbly, living in her own world of warmth and happiness. It was fascinating how different she was from her mother and her sister; but after 10 years of being by her side, Sophie had understood that her bubble of joy and happiness was also her defense mechanism, protecting herself from the snarks and the quips she often got from the family. She was mostly shy and hesitant around others,but every once in a while, she would make everyone’s mouth drop in astonishment. Like the time she said she was going to go to the Antarctic for her graduation trip. Or the time she got an alligator as a pet. 

“Poses, I love you, but imagine the cost, the expense! The finance department would be at their wits end when they see the bills.”

“I might have used Mom’s credit card?”

Sophie knew that Araminta never checks her credit card accounts. 

“Posy, you badass.”

Sophie did also not imagine that Kate would be showing up in the airport with a beautiful off shoulder teal summer dress. With a white Rimowa suitcase and Saint Laurent shades, she might as well have popped out from a summer cover of Vogue magazine. 

“Sophs!”

Sophie had been greeted with a big bear hug, already feeling the tropical breeze in her coconut and Lily perfume. 

“Kate, I thought you had work…”

“I’ve been working my ass off since I joined the Danbury Associates,” Breaking away from the embrace, Kate elegantly sipped on her chai, “I asked, and Agatha was more than willing to give me three weeks off.”

“But, the money, Kate…”

“I’ll pay for my own food and other expenses. Don’t worry about that.” Kate told her reassuringly, “Posy gave me a call a week ago, telling me that there was a spare room.”

“Oh, Posy.”

As Sophie quickly turned around, she saw Posy smiling from ear to ear, beaming in her beautiful yellow dress. 

“You helped me so much for the preparation, Sophie.” Posy shyly continued, taking her arm. “I heard you talking on the phone with Kate about the breakup, and inviting Kate was the only thing I could do.”

“Oh, Posy, you didn’t have to do this,” (Oi!, Kate interjected) Sophie wrapped her arms around Posy’s neck, giving her the biggest hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Posy. We’re going to make this deal, and prove Araminta wrong, okay?”

“Sophie, you’re choking me!” Posy giggled, wiggling around in her arms. Kate smiled softly at the sisters but quickly tossed her empty cup in the bin. 

“Come on girls, we’re going to be late. And I’ve been dying to go to the new airport lounge that reopened last January…”

As the three girls headed to the baggage inspection arm in arm, Sophie was beginning to regret she had only packed her navy suit and her formal black shoes in her suitcase. 

With Posy and Kate by her side, the ten-hour flight had passed in a second, reviewing the profile report she had made on Benedict Bridgerton while sipping on some glasses of wine. Posy had booked first-class seats, and Sophie was more than happy to get some sleep in the fully flat seat. Even after the ten-hour flight, she felt no fatigue or discomfort, she was in the best condition she could ever be. The Maldives had welcomed the three in the most pleasant weather possible, not a single cloud in the sky, the bright sunlight shining on their respective suitcases. 

Kate and Sophie could only stand in awe as they were taken to the private lounge in the airport, the clear blue ocean spread before them at the window. The surface of the ocean glittered and shimmered in the radiant sun, and the water was so transparent Sophie could even see the bottom of the ocean, the sand and the rocks gleaming like crystals.  

“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been Sophs.”

“Ditto. Ditto, Katie Cat.”

“Oh, this is only the beginning, girls!” Posy chirped happily as she munched on the cookies on the counter, “It only gets better from here!”

And as Posy had said, it only got better, better and better. Taken to the island on the private airplane, (“I didn’t even know these kind of things existed,” Kate muttered.) the three arrived in the Soneva Fushi. Dazed by the extravagance and the beauty of it all and the sweet tropical breeze, Sophie had taken the welcome drink unconsciously, clinking the glasses together. The Villa was exceptionally gorgeous as well, the one that was built over water, and as the footman opened the door to the Villa, Sophie just stood there in awe, taking in the beautiful scenery before them, the deep blue ocean and the clear sky opening before them. Both Kate and Posy squealed with joy, and quickly stripped away their dresses and divided into ocean.

“Heaven.” Kate declared, putting her gorgeous hair into a bun. “Heaven on earth have I experienced.” 

“We have to go to the beach, Katie.” Posy continued, quickly adjusting her ample bosoms in her lacy white Bikinis. “Oh you’re going to love the spa here, and the restaurant…”

“There’s a spa?!”

“Yes!!”

“Oh my god!”

“I know!”

“Sophs, come on, you have to jump in!!”

“I’m not wearing a swimsuit!!” Sophie laughed, no she wasn’t risking her to ruin her only New Yorker suit, “Besides, Poses, we got to get going.”

Posy groaned, dunking her head into the water. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Kate asked, settling herself in the deckchair. 

“I’m planning to go to the bar or the restaurant to get a chance to meet them by chance.”

“Sophs, as a lawyer, I have to advise you that is dangerously close to stalking.”

“It is, isn’t it?.” Sophie sighed, “but since he’s been ignoring all my emails, that’s the only plan I could come up with. If I could get a chance to talk to him once,”

“You think one chat could bring him to the table?”

“I did my research, Katie Cat.”

Kate only hummed in response, feeling that perhaps she shouldn’t inquire too deeply on her friend's measures. 

“So Posy, can you take the restaurant for me? I’ll take the bar.”

“Can’t we go to the spa first?” Posy gave a small wine, but Sophie gently shook her head.

“The faster we finish this job, the longer we can enjoy the holiday, Poses.”

“Fine…” Although in grumbles, Posy reluctantly got out from the lagoon, taking a towel from the rack. 

“I’ll join you in the bar at eight, Sophs,”

Sophie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Kate, you don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine on my own…”

“I just want to get drinks,” Kate laughed softly, putting shades on her eyes, “Won’t interfere with your work.”

“To get laid with some rich money?” Sophie grinned. 

“Oh, I’m still keeping my oath, Sophie.”

“That’s my girl,”

“Good luck Sophs.”

“Fingers crossed.” 

But even after 3 hours of dwelling inside the stalls, there was no sign of one Benedict Bridgerton. Sophie could feel her confidence shrinking as hours passed, and Kate gently rubbed her shoulders as the clock struck eleven.

“It’s only the first day, Sophs. You have more opportunity to find him in the next few days.”

“I just knew that he was going to be here,” Sophie said softly. “I thought I knew.”

“Sophs, hours of research on the internet doesn’t mean you could fully predict every inch of their action.”

“I was just being delusional, I guess.” Sophie signed, “I’m just going to finish this one drink. You go ahead, Katie. I’ll catch you up in the room in an hour.” 

“Will you be alright on your own, Sophs?” Kate gave her one of her teary puppy eyes, and Sophie simply giggled, softly shoving her shoulder playfully. 

“I’m all right. Night, Katie Cat.”

“Night, Sophs.” Kate left her side, gently touching her waist on the way out, and as soon as Kate was out of her sight, Sophie hastily took the pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Lightening the tip with a cheap lighter, she contemplated her thoughts.  She thought Benedict Bridgerton would appear here, she had a weird hunch that he would. Perhaps she was overconfident, she thought to herself, thinking that she understood everything about him after just one night…

Would he recognize her if he saw her? But she oddly knew that he wouldn’t, she didn’t miss his drunk slurs and blood shot eyes that showed his intoxication, and Sophie even hadn’t taken off her mask mid-coitus. It was four years ago, and it would be a miracle if he even remembered her….

“A lovely girl drinking all alone in the bar? It would be a crime to leave you all alone, my lady.”

[musewrangler]

For @fandomjumper247 ❤️

All of them were in their favorite spot in the Alliance Lounge, and bar droids were moving around efficiently with trays of appetizers and drinks. It was a much more subdued party than say, the one that Colonel Travis had allowed his people to have in Hangar Bay 17. That one was already passing into legend. Scuttlebutt said that General Veers himself had opened a bottle of champagne from the top of his AT-AT to rain down upon wildly cheering troops, but Matt would believe that if and when security footage showed up.

Currently, Veers was speaking to the Admiral and Skywalker over near the viewport.

Commanders Fox and Wolffe were present as well, which was a bit of a miracle since neither of them had desired to be part of any celebrations. Matt wondered who had worked the magic to get them here—-the Princess or her brother. Maybe both.

Vice Admiral Venka was speaking with them and didn’t even blink when Solo handed him a glass of something as he moved past to join the group at the viewport.

He sipped it, blew out a breath quietly, but saluted the former smuggler with it who grinned widely at him before clapping the Jedi on the shoulder.

That friendship was one that amused Matt continually—-Venka was a much more ‘by the book’ personality and Solo was….Solo. But the war had forged strange alliances, some of which had ended the moment peace was declared. Others however, had lasted and grown stronger as this group demonstrated.

[mayxthexforce]

@mutatiio said:

“ stay where you are, i’m on my way. “ ( dryden for han )

send in “ stay where you are, i’m on my way. “ for the sender to go out of their way to find the receiver in the middle of the night and bring them home safely from a night out.

Han Solo has a knack for getting into trouble. That isn't a secret to anyone. Usually, it takes five minutes of being in his presence to witness him getting into someone's nerves just for existing in the same space as them– though more often than not, it's because the other party believes that he owes them something. But onlookers don't know that.

Either way —and despite being known for two things: 1) being one of the best pilots money could buy, and 2) his proneness to getting into and out of trouble—, it still shocks him sometimes the kind of mess he can get himself into.

But, just like most other times, he finds his way out of the mess– sort of.

His head throbs as he stumbles. A quick stop at a cantina to try and lay low while Chewie was off to visit his wife had turned out far less relaxing than Han had hoped for. This time around, it was not his own doing that got him into trouble– No, the one who'd shattered a bottle on Han's head without as much as a warning was one of Shrike's old associates. One of the many people the man had ripped off. And no matter how many times Han said that he was NOT with the Shrike brothers anymore; to the average pirate, he would always be Garris' boy.

But he'd gotten away. Scurrying out of the cantina the moment there was an opening– granted to him by the fact that people, regardless of if their head is or isn't the one getting hit by a bottle, don't like to be hit with shards of glass. That was reason enough for a full-on bar fight to break out. The perfect excuse for Han to get out of there while everyone was too busy dodging chairs and fists to care about him.

He couldn't remember where he left the Falcon. He barely manages to get his comm to work with how heavy his fingers felt. It's a miracle he even got Dryden's comm code right. At least luck and muscle memory are on his side.

But that doesn't matter, not when he realizes mid-slurred conversation with Dryden that there's blood sliding from his temple and onto the fancy yellow jacket Dryden had gotten him. Not only that, but there's also a TEAR on the side from someone pulling on it the wrong way, completely obliterating the seams.

"Don't get mad," he half groans, half whines. Truly sounds like the worst has happened– and to Han, it has. He likes that jacket, it's the most expensive piece of clothing he owns. "But I messed up the jacket you got me. I'm sorry."