#they pass a bottle of scotch back and forth

[lovehotelreservation]

Thighs of Heaven - Warm Welcome

Summary: You left without a word all those years ago, and yet here you were, hoping you would be taken back.

Needless to say, they would take you over and over.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Abbacchio/Buccellati/Giorno/F!Reader/Mista/Fugo/Narancia

Hello 🙇‍♀️

It's been a while and I hope you've been well 🫂

I took a walk down memory lane and this piece came forth as a result 🙏

Thank you so much for the love and support you've shown this collection all these years 🥹💖

As always, I hope you enjoy 🤲💞

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How long has it been since you were last in this building?

Out in the countryside not too far from Naples, there was a villa–a restored structure maintained across the decades since it was first constructed during an era long past. At first glance, there wasn’t anything that made the building too uncommon from other houses and properties within the area. Though, what did help the villa stand out was the humble field of tomatoes and grapes that was located towards the back of the house–an inheritance from the previous owner, a beloved local producer of pasta sauces and artisan wines.

There was a time when you saw this building as home, as sanctuary.

At once, you were all smiles and mirth as you stepped forward within the villa’s halls, surrounded by the six men who you swore to remain loyal to until your last breath.

Now, you were sullen and silent while you were led forward alone, save for the man who walked by your side, one arm curled behind your waist while long and calloused fingers were clasped around your wrist.

It wasn’t even a brutishly painful grip either.

If you tried with all your might, you could break away and take off running.

But you already knew you wouldn’t make it far. The moment you were escorted through the front door just a moment ago was you stepping right back into your cage. 

After all, there was simply no way that Buccellati would ever let you leave this house again.

And the same could certainly be said for the others as well.

As the two of you passed along the current chaotic mix of decor between priceless paintings that were carefully set upon the wall and holiday decorations that were most definitely strung up by clumsy and bickering hands, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer until you would be reuniting with your former famiglia.

By the sounds of holiday music and the familiar lively and raucous back and forths coming from the living room, you took in a deep breath as you were guided inside.

“Oi, oi where’d you disappear off to, Buccellati–?!”

As quick as his head snapped to face the living room entryway, Narancia went from grinning jovially with a mouthful of panettone to his jaw and his cake piece dropping in absolute shock.

Similarly, a glass of scotch shattered and spilled onto the marble floor below, Abbacchio just barely catching himself from allowing the rest of his bottle pouring needlessly in waste as he stared at you with widened eyes.

At a loss for words, Fugo could only stumble his way over to the speaker system to shut off Narancia’s holiday music playlist, needing and demanding immediate silence as he took in the current situation.

Once being reclined in pure and utter relaxation on a sofa chair, Mista jolted up onto his feet the moment he caught sight of your face, taking a step forward before freezing in place, unsure of how to react.

You lowered your head, casting your gaze to the floor.

With everyone dressed in their loungewear at that too, witnessing their reactions and the abrupt shift in atmosphere only deepened a sense of shame within you, a guilt for intruding a place you didn’t belong to anymore. 

All eyes were on you.

Except for the man who currently had his back towards you as he gazed out the grand arched window that looked out towards the tomato and grape fields, long and golden blonde locks tied into a loose braid, his house robe regal and rich. Just seeing his silhouette and the way he stood alone, he looked and carried himself more and more to be the Don that Passione so desperately needed.

He did not look back, even as he heard yours and Buccellati’s footsteps move closer to the center of the room.

“While you all were marveling at your presents, I found our former comrade wandering around the outskirts of the villa,” Buccellati remarked as his gaze met each of his companions, never once loosening his grip on you.

Typically, a remark like this would’ve drawn the ire of an easily stoked Narancia, but no one dared or could bring themselves to speak.

Silence hung heavily in the air, save for the crackling flames of the roaring fireplace, each second spent with nary a word from any of the men furthering the tension that was wracking through your body.

Up until one voice and one word caught hold of your attention.

“Amore.”

By instinct, you lifted your head, even as your chest tightened while your heart fluttered.

It had been years since you heard his voice call out to you with that affectionate term, but despite how conflicted and tense you felt to stand in this very room, you finally found it within yourself to speak at last.

“Yes, Giorno?”

And then, at last, the man by the window turned around to face you fully. While you were relieved to see that there was no look of anger or disgust on his features, you could not fully be at ease as he proceeded to make his way over to where you stood.

“No other gift can compare to what I–to what we see before us at this very moment,” he began, his turquoise eyes boring right into yours while he gestured towards you with his hands.

It was only when he was mere inches apart from you that Buccellati finally relinquished his hold on your waist and wrist.

You dared to not even shrink away, however. This was a test, after all–a test on your motives for daring to show your face after what happened between you and the six all those years ago.

Your physical freedom was short-lived however, as you soon found your face being cupped by Giorno’s soft warm hands. Similar to Buccellati, while he cradled you gently, he imposed an aura that you knew would be inescapable should you even think to flee.

“The day you left Passione, left us…,” he continued, the thoughtful look on his features dropping to one of morose as he dredged forth those memories. “...not even mercy from God could salve the heartbreak we all felt.”

He proceeded to look around the room, making eye contact with the others like Buccellati did as he sighed, “I don’t think any of us truly recovered from your departure.”

“Hmph even as you tried to poison us all in one go,” was Abbacchio’s grumble, his arms folded across his chest while his eyes narrowed towards your direction.

Were it not for Giorno’s hands, you would have lowered your head in shame.

With another member breaking the silence–Abbacchio at that too–Narancia felt more confident in speaking up, even as his voice shook ever so at this chance to finally speak to you directly again. “Doing that even knowing you were up against us–you must have loved your famiglia, huh?”

“A famiglia that turned its back on you and had since fought within itself until its recent collapse.”

Your hands swiftly curled into fists at Buccellati’s words, a painful storm of memories rushing through your mind, from having allies that you were willing to double-cross the country’s most feared famiglia for only to be cruelly cast aside after failing to get rid of Passione’s highest ranking members to watching your former home succumb to a fiery storm of betrayal and vengeance.

By the gasp of everyone aside from Giorno, it seemed as though only he and Buccellati were aware of this transpiring–it was always those two who had their ear to the ground on these sorts of things. 

“When I received the report, I knew it was only a matter of time until our paths crossed again, tesoro, whether we went hunting for you, or well…this,” Buccellati elaborated, his composed tone implying that perhaps him finding you was less on coincidence and more on expectation.

He knew you too well. They all did.

“And so the stray comes crawling back.” Harsh as his words may have been, the way that Abbacchio continued to look at you was stained more with heartbreak than hatred.

Mista immediately jumped in to speak. “But it’s not like we’re any angels here either, as you know damn well, right bella?” A grin formed on his lips as soon as you faced him, having longed to take in your beauty again after so long.

“It would be hypocritical for us to say otherwise.” Your heart ached hearing the quivered breath of Fugo. While you witnessed firsthand his renewed loyalty to Passione, you knew how much that his initial departure from the group was like that of a shameful scar from his perspective.

“Yeah! Yeah! Exactly! We’re not the church but we’ll forgive you over and over!” Narancia cried out, a plea for you to look at him as well. Once your eyes met his–now lining with tears–he begged, “Just don’t leave us again!!!”

It was at this very moment that you felt Giorno’s thumbs run over your cheeks in a delicate caress, prompting your attention to return towards him once again.

“Just looking at you, I know exactly why you are here, amore. Tell us, would you yourself prefer to demonstrate your renewed loyalty on your own–”

One hand relinquished its hold on your cheek to instead cup your chin, gripping it firmly as his turquoise irises–now darkened–stared right into yours. His tone low, he murmured,

“--or would you rather that we reform you as we see fit?”

You gulped, your chest tight but the pit of your belly warm. Your answer was simple but one that was difficult to voice out. However, as you found yourself once again at the center of attention and desire for these six men, you declared,

“...Both.”

The mood in the room shifted once again.

“You always were such a greedy one,” was the last chuckle that Giorno let out before he proceeded to smother his lips onto yours.

The others needed no further prompt to leap right onto you.

A tempest of lips and hands descended upon you, making quick work of your clothes and reclaiming your body for their possession by bites and nips to your skin.

Just before, you stood before them all to plead your request to be accepted by them once more. Now, you were knelt in the center of all of them in fealty, offering your apologies with parted lips and stroking fingers. No matter which hand was guiding your head or tugging at your hair, you kept your mouth open wide to gratefully take in their cocks, pre-cum being smeared against your cheeks while your palm weighed and massaged their balls.

When you first sought to complete your mission to eliminate the six as assigned to you by your previous famiglia, you prepared yourself to do whatever it took to get in their good graces, even if it meant going to bed with whoever.

But with the pleasure and the love demonstrated to you over and over across the time spent with them all, you could still feel their phantom touch throughout the years that followed after your betrayal.

Now you were grateful to be together with the six once again. With you right in the center of them all, you had finally returned to your proper place, regardless of whichever position they had you take.

“Shit, how’d you get even tighter since we last saw you, bella? Guess we’ll have to work on loosening you up more, yeah?” While Mista’s tone was light, you knew this was nothing short of a promise while he was kneeling before you, squeezing your thighs while his cock hammered into your core at a tremendous pace.

“I hope you haven’t been fucking other men while you were away! Because we’ll definitely find them and teach a lesson on respecting other people’s belongings!” Narancia huffed as he continued to straddle your chest, his hands gripping your breasts while he slid his dick right in-between them.

Having situated himself by your head, Fugo had a handful of your hair while you had a mouthful of his balls. While he eagerly looked forward to coating your face with his cum, he hissed out, “For now, you must be punished.”

Mista, Narancia, and Fugo. The three who would do whatever it took to bring a smile to your face, whether it was gifting you anything you desired or eliminating any fool who dared to look at you wrong.

By contrast, however–

“Are we too forgiving or too foolish?”

His hands cradling your hips–his grip much tighter compared to when he was escorting you inside–Buccellati posed his question out loud with an amused timber while he remained beneath your body, having you bounce up and down the long length of his cock.

“It’s both.” 

Snarling lowly, Abbacchio continued on with making a mess of your shoulder blades with messy kisses, a streak of black lipstick along your skin all while he plunged his dick deep into your ass.

“I guess it’s what happens when you’re so helplessly in love,” Buccellati chuckled while he gazed at you adoringly, his heart full from this blessed chance to see you gorgeously writhe in pleasure once again.

As you remained on your hands and knees, you kept your eyes looking up towards the looming figure who stood before you, the same one whose cock was currently stuffed right into your mouth.

Admiring the look of debauched obedience on your face in contrast to the affectionate expression on his features, Giorno stroked your hair fondly while he glided the full length of his cock in and out your mouth.

His other hand returned to your face, by which he was fond of the feeling and sight of his tip pushing against your cheek from within.

Sighing out with bliss, he mused, “We’ll take you over and over, we’ll take you back over and over.”

Marveling at your current disarray–your cheeks stained, your eyes yearning, your submissive form–he continued, “Because you could run to any place in the world but we’ll be there to bring you back to where you belong by any means necessary, amore.”

Buccellati, Abbacchio, Giorno. The three who would tear the world apart for you, whether at your wish or if doing so would bring you back.

And as all three soon released inside of you, it did not take much longer for you to be passed onto the next man. Regardless of who it was, you were happy to offer your lips for kisses, the space between your legs for nestling, and your heart for affection.

It had been far too long since you were last in this house, and all six would make sure to make up for all the time lost.

After all, they would never let you leave them ever again.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 12

Speaks a Sober Heart

The lab was still, its usual hum of activity softened by the late hour. Machines clicked and whirred in quiet repetition, their sounds barely breaking the heavy silence. The faintest rhythm of air cycling through the ventilation system created a steady pulse, while the soft, constant hiss of a nearby cooling unit offered a subtle counterpoint. Red light bathed the room in a muted glow, casting elongated shadows across the counters and machinery. Strung on a wire stretching from wall to wall, rows of photographs swayed gently, still drying, their edges curling slightly. The images—indistinct in the low light—hung like ghosts of the day’s ordeal, captured moments suspended in time, waiting to be revealed.

Upstairs, it was a different world entirely. The air was thick with the haze of cigarette smoke, swirling in lazy waves illuminated by the warm, amber glow of a single table lamp. The light flickered occasionally, casting the room in a gentle, golden wash that softened the edges of everything it touched. A record played softly in the background, the scratch of the needle weaving in with the slow, steady rhythm of the music, the kind of sound that felt like it had always been there—something Fidds picked.

The two sat sprawled in their respective corners of the room. Fidds had claimed the couch, one arm flung over the back, the other resting on his chest as he stretched out, his legs kicked lazily over the armrest. He looked comfortable, his tension melted away by the slow burn of scotch and good company. Across from him, Ford was in the leather chair, the material squeaking as he shifted, one foot propped up on the edge of the coffee table and the other planted firmly on the floor, rocking him gently back and forth. His face was flushed, eyes bright, and his laughter came easily, spilling over between sips of the drink in his hand.

The coffee table between them was cluttered—a nearly empty bottle of scotch sitting prominently in the middle, its amber liquid catching the dim light. Cigarette butts crowded the ashtray, smoke still rising from the most recent additions. The remnants of the joint Fidds—of course— had rolled to accompany his drinks. Scattered leaf crumbs, the herb grinder that had not seen a kitchen since the day it was bought and the discarded paper from his first attempt. His hands were a bit unsteady the first time around and he had to roll a new one.

The bottle had started full, untouched at the beginning of the night, but now it stood as a marker of the hours passed, and the easy way one drink had turned to two, then three. Time had blurred at the edges, their conversation winding through topics both serious and absurd, punctuated by the frequent sounds of shared laughter.

Ford took another sip, the scotch warm as he drank. He leaned back, letting the chair hold his weight as he glanced over at Fidds, who was grinning at something half-forgotten. Ford couldn’t remember what exactly had been said, but it didn’t matter—they were drunk, loose, alive in this small pocket of time, far removed from the weight of the day’s events. He puffed at his cigarette, laughing between breaths at the story Fidds was telling, amused by how animated he got after a couple drinks.

Fidds stretched his arms above his head, letting out a low groan as the tension in his body relaxed even further, his hand reaching for the near-empty bottle of scotch. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, glancing over at Ford with a crooked smile. “Man, you shoulda seen your face earlier.” he shook his head and topped his glass off. “You looked like you were ready to shit yourself.”

Ford rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into his chair, though a smirk tugged at his lips. “Oh, like you were some kind of calm, cool sharpshooter back there? You were firing at that thing like it was duck season.” He gestured lazily toward Fidds with his glass, still grinning. Leaning forward, he ashed his cigarette into the tray on the table between them. “And another thing—you’ve been riding my ass for being ‘impulsive,’ but then you just stand there, like a goddamn statue, waiting for it to flatten you. What would I have told your lovely bride, huh? ‘Sorry, Em, but your husband was just jonesing for a round of chicken’?’’

Fidds snorted, shaking his head as he took a long sip from his glass. “Yeah, okay, Jersey boy, ‘round my neck of the woods, we don’t call that impulsivity,” he drawled, his voice slipping into a thick twang, his grin widening. “We call that guts.”

Ford couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in his chest. “Guts, yeah. Some ‘a your guts here, some over there.” He droned, swaying his drinking back and forth. “And if you look wayyy up and the trees, you might just see his glasses.” he joked, the residual adrenaline from the day’s chaos mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. He took another sip. “You’ve got some nerve, pal.”

Fidds gave an exaggerated shrug, unbothered, leaning back against the couch, his grin never fading. “I’d say it turned out fine, didn’t it? Besides, if I hadn’t stood my ground, who’s to say what might’ve happened?” He winked, raising his glass in a half-toast. “That’s mountaineer problem-solving for ‘ya.”

Ford snorted, leaning forward to set his glass on the coffee table. “Settle back easy, ranger. You’ve already gotten your flowers.” he shucked. “All I’m saying is it’s better to have some kind of plan beyond ‘shoot it’.”

They shared a laugh, the tension from earlier long gone, replaced by the comfortable rhythm of their banter. The warmth of the room—the dim light, the soft scratch of the record, the haze of smoke curling in the air—wrapped around them, making the outside world feel a little more distant.

Fidds shifted, the banter draining from his face as the conversation turned, his expression softening into something more introspective. “Before ya know it,” he said, his voice quieter now, thoughtful, “it’ll be time to show my little Tate his way around a gun.” He swirled the remaining scotch in his glass, staring at the amber liquid for a moment before looking back up at Ford. “He’s growin’ up so fast. Feels like just yesterday Emma Mae was tellin’ me she was pregnant.”

Ford let out a low chuckle, leaning forward to ash his cigarette again. “Speakin’ of shotgun,” he said, smirking, timing it perfectly as Fidds took a sip.

Fidd choked, sputtering and coughing into his drink, his free hand wiping the scotch from his chin as he shot Ford a glare. “Oh, fuck you!” he wheezed, though his laughter broke through, filling the room.

Ford leaned back, watching him with a grin that slowly faded, the humor slipping away as the weight of Fidds’ words settled in. He shifted slightly in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Tate’s what, four now?” he asked, his voice softer, genuinely curious.

Fidds nodded, a proud smile flickering on his lips. “Yeah, just turned last month. He’s already askin’ all sorts of questions. Wants to know everything—about the stars, the animals, the way things work. Smart little guy.”

Ford nodded, absently tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. “Sounds like he takes after his old man,” he said, but there was a slight distance in his voice now, a shadow of something Ford couldn’t quite name tugging at him, pulling him deeper into his own thoughts.

“Yeah,” Fidds said, a little wistfully. “Time’s flyin’. Hell, he’s already askin’ when he can come up here with me.” he said with a light laugh, then his eyes lit up, as if he’d just remembered something. “Wait here just a sec.”

He set his drink down and, with a slight stumble, pushed himself off the couch. He shot Ford a grin as he headed toward the back room. “I wanna show you somethin’.”

Ford watched as Fidds disappeared down the hall, his heavy footsteps creaking on the old wooden floor. He listened to the sound of drawers opening and closing, punctuated by the occasional mutter as Fidds searched for whatever he was after.

A moment later, Fidds returned, his face beaming as he held an envelope in his hand. He plopped back down on the couch, pulling out a small piece of paper. “Look at this,” he said, his voice soft with affection.

Ford leaned forward, taking the paper from Fidds’ outstretched hand. It was a drawing, clearly done by a child, with bright, uneven lines and mismatched colors. In the center of the page was a small cabin, drawn with thick, wobbly lines. Next to it, two stick figures—one labeled ‘Daddy’ and the other ‘Uncle Ford.’ with a backwards ‘e’. Above them, the sky was filled with a giant, crooked sun, and in the corner, the unmistakable scrawl of a child’s handwriting.

Ford’s throat tightened as he stared at the little figures, their stick arms reaching out toward each other, standing proudly in front of the cabin. He blinked, his chest warming with a quiet, unexpected emotion. “Uncle Ford, huh?” he said, his voice softer than he’d intended.

Fidds smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah. You know he talks about you all the time. Whenever I call, he always asks if you’re there. What you’re doin’.”

Ford ran his thumb over the corner of the drawing, feeling the crinkled texture of the paper. He couldn’t help but smile, a soft, almost wistful expression pulling at his features. “Damn… Didn’t realize I was makin’ such an impression.”

Fidds chuckled, leaning back against the couch, looking at Ford with a kind of easy affection. “Well. Guess you’re stuck with the title now.”

Ford set the drawing down in the table and picked up his glass again, staring at the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught on the surface, shifting slightly as he swirled it around. He barely heard Fiddleford’s question at first. It was a simple one—innocuous, even—but the weight of it settled over him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and thick.

“You ever think about… settling down?” Fiddleford’s voice had that lazy, easygoing drawl, the one that usually slipped out after a few drinks, when the edges of his words softened and slowed. It was a casual enough question, but there was something about the way he said it, something that made Ford tense, the muscles in his back tightening like someone had pulled a wire too taut. “Startin’ a family, all that stuff?”

Ford’s fingers tightened around the glass as the silence between them stretched. The warmth of the scotch did little to ease the tension that had suddenly wedged itself into the room, turning the comfortable haze from before into something heavier, more difficult to navigate. He stared down into the remaining liquid, watching the way the amber rippled, distorted by the dim light of the room, and tried to focus on anything other than the knot in his chest.

It wasn’t even that the question had caught him off guard. It was the fact that it had—that he had no immediate answer, no gut reaction. A question like that shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, shouldn’t have sent his thoughts careening toward Bill in a way that felt… wrong. Not wrong in the moral sense, but wrong because it didn’t fit. The idea of family—settling down, having children, creating something domestic and stable—had no place in the space Bill occupied in his mind. But the moment Fiddleford had asked, it was Bill who came to him, unsolicited, in the quiet spaces of his thoughts.

Bill hadn’t been there, though. Not really. Not since that dream when everything between them had felt closer, more charged. He should be here now, Ford thought, not for the first time that day, but the absence was undeniable, an unsettling void where there should’ve been something familiar. Where is he?

The scotch burned down his throat as he took another sip, and Ford could feel Fiddleford’s eyes on him, watching him, waiting for a response that wasn’t coming. He shifted in his seat, trying to push the thoughts away. But the memory of Bill’s presence—or lack thereof—gnawed at him, nagging like a dull ache at the back of his skull. He couldn’t feel him like he usually could, that faint hum of awareness always in the background. He could sense, somehow, that Bill was still there, somewhere, but it felt distant. Quiet. And it hadn’t been quiet in so long.

Ford blinked, realizing he’d left Fiddleford hanging for too long, but the thoughts were jumbled, his words slow to come. He cleared his throat, his voice rasping out like it had gotten lost somewhere in the mess of his head. “I, uh… never really thought about it.”

Fiddleford’s expression was unreadable at first, though Ford noticed the slight shift in his posture, the way his shoulders eased as though something in him had clicked into place. Ford knew that look—he knew what it meant. Shit. Fiddleford was pulling back, making his own assumptions. Of course, he was thinking that.

Ford winced, feeling the weight of his friend’s gaze, and for a moment, it wasn’t just about Bill, or about the conversation, or even about the distance between him and everything that “family” represented. It was about the way Fiddleford had always looked at him with this quiet patience, that understanding Ford never asked for, but was always there, waiting. Now, that look was loaded with something else, a hesitation Ford didn’t know how to tackle.

Fiddleford’s smile was small, a little awkward. “Didn’t mean to make it weird.” He chuckled lightly, but Ford could tell it wasn’t his usual easy laugh. “Just, you know… been thinking ‘bout my own boy lately. Gets a man wonderin’ about things.”

Ford managed a thin smile, though it felt more like a reflex than anything genuine. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, but the words came out hollow, barely convincing. He didn’t get it. He didn’t know what it was like to think about a family in the way Fiddleford did. All he could think about was Bill. And that fact alone was enough to make him wonder what the hell was going on inside his own head.

Fiddleford scratched at his mustache, glancing at Ford from under his brows. Ford could see the gears turning in his mind, the hesitation hanging between them now like the smoke that drifted lazily through the room. It was as though Fiddleford was putting something together, piecing it all out, and then—

“You know, you don’t gotta explain nothin’,” Fiddleford said quietly, his voice softer now. “If it’s… if it’s somethin’ else, I mean. You don’t have to want a family.” He wasn’t looking at Ford now, his eyes trained on his drink, his fingers tapping absentmindedly at the rim of the glass.

Ford’s throat tightened. He could feel the weight of the unspoken words, the suspicion Fiddleford had harbored for weeks, maybe longer. If it’s something else. Ford could almost laugh at how absurdly accurate that was—It certainly was something else. But this, right now, wasn’t about that. Fiddleford thought this was something simpler. He could see the gentle question in his friend’s expression, the tentative offer to talk about something Ford hadn’t even realized was hanging in the air.

But how could Ford explain any of it? How could he untangle what was happening with Bill, how it had started—how it had crept up on him, threading itself through every part of his life until it was too late to separate it from himself? It wasn’t even just about the strangeness of it all, the ways Bill shifted and changed, something cosmic and inhuman made to look like a person. No, it was how consuming it had become, something that didn’t fit into the neat boxes that real people used to define their lives. Normal relationships, normal feelings—those things didn’t apply here. They never had.

And yet, how far off was Fiddleford, really? Bill had a male presentation most of the time, or something close to it—give or take the sharp, unnatural angles and shifting, dream-like features. It wasn’t like Bill had a body in any conventional sense, but the shape he took, the way he appeared in Ford’s mind—it wasn’t a coincidence. It was Ford’s mind that shaped him, wasn’t it? Bill had said as much himself, that his form, his figures, were deeply influenced by Ford’s subconscious desires, his preferences. So what did that say about him? Ford had never thought much about those preferences before—had never really had to—but now, with Bill, there was something different.

But people… people were a different story. Ford could remember vague crushes, fleeting interests over the years, but none of them had ever felt like this. None of them had ever taken over his mind the way Bill did. There had been a few men, sure. A few women, too. But no one had ever gotten under his skin like this, no one had ever made him feel so—what was the word? Connected? Controlled? Ford couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. It was all tangled up together, this mix of desire and obsession, this need to be seen, and Bill saw him in a way no one else had. Did that count?

“I appreciate it, Fidds,” Ford said, his voice tight, trying to keep it steady. “But there’s nothing—” He stopped himself, feeling the lie even before it hit the air. He swallowed, took a breath, then tried again. “It’s not what you think.”

Fiddleford gave a slow nod, his eyes searching Ford’s face, but there was no push, no further question. Just that same patient understanding, the kind Ford had never known how to handle.

“I figured as much.” Fiddleford’s voice was soft, the words carrying a quiet acceptance, and Ford could feel the knot in his chest loosen just a fraction. But the moment still felt fragile, like one wrong word could crack it all open.

And then Fiddleford leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling, and let out a long sigh. “Still. One of these days, someone’s gonna want to settle you down, Stanford.” He smirked, though it was more tired than teasing. “Just hope you’re ready for it when it happens.”

Ford huffed a laugh, though the sound came out strained. Settle down. The idea was so distant from his reality that it was almost laughable, but something about it made his stomach churn, made him think of the way Bill’s absence had felt all day, like a shadow that had shifted just enough to leave him disoriented.

As Fiddleford took another sip of his drink, Ford glanced toward the window, his thoughts drifting. Where are you, Bill?

Fiddleford clears his throat, breaking the silence that’s stretched too long between them. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could loosen the awkwardness that’s settled there. Ford still hasn’t answered, not really. Still hasn’t offered anything concrete. Just vague responses, like he’s dodging, and maybe he is. Fidd’s not sure why he even brought it up—he’s drunk, sure, but not that drunk. He knows better than to stick his nose in like that, especially with Ford. But something about the day, the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the scotch… it had all blurred the edges of his usual restraint.

“Right, well,” Fidds says, standing up with a groan. “I think it’s about time I hit the hay. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and I’ve had too much to drink already. Only Wednesday.” He laughs, but it sounds a little thin, even to him.

Ford watches him go, feeling the weight of the silence that’s left behind. The room suddenly feels too big, too still, with just the faint hum of the record spinning its last few grooves. Fidds saunters off, muttering something about needing to quit the habit of late-night drinks, and Ford nods absently, barely registering his words.

Once Fiddleford’s door clicks shut, the house seems to breathe in, the quiet settling in full force. Ford stares at the empty space where Fidd had been, his mind heavy, thoughts thick. It’s like he’s been trying to outrun them all day, like the physical exhaustion from the hunt and the fear and the shock could somehow keep them at bay. But now, alone, it’s all catching up to him.

He grabs the bottle, still warm from their hands, dragging it off the table as he stumbles toward his room. The house feels cold, shadows too sharp, and his own footsteps sound too loud as he walks down the hall, and they were, his steps heavy with drunkenness. His fingers are clumsy as he fumbles with the door, pushing it open just enough to slip inside, collapsing onto the edge of the bed.

He drinks straight from the bottle now, not bothering with the glass, not bothering with anything except the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat. He lets his head fall back, eyes half-closed as he tries to sift through the chaos in his mind. But the more he tries to sort it out, the worse it gets, the more tangled it becomes.

Bill.

It’s a reflex now, his mind reaching out for him, searching the space where Bill always is. But there’s nothing. Barely a hum, a distant flicker. He should be here. He’s always here. Ford’s grip tightens around the neck of the bottle, his knuckles taut as he brings it to his lips again. “Bill…” His voice is rough, hoarse from the drink and the long day. “Please, say something.”

But there’s no answer. Just the empty quiet of the room, the faint creak of the old house settling. Ford presses his fingers to his temple. His breath comes in ragged, shuddering bursts as he tries to swallow down the confusion, the frustration, the emotional welling up in his throat. Why can’t he feel him? Why now, of all times, does Bill choose to go quiet?

Ford lets out a long, shaky breath, the weight of it trembling in his chest, his ribcage feeling too tight, like he can’t quite fill his lungs all the way. He stares blankly at the ceiling, eyes tracing the familiar cracks and shadows, but nothing sticks. His mind is a storm, a wild, churning mass of thoughts that collide and scatter before he can pin a single one down. They slip through his fingers like sand, frustrating him with their elusiveness, leaving behind a mess of emotions he can’t name. Anger? Regret? Loneliness? His fingers curl into the sheets beneath him, the fabric bunched tight in his fist. He takes another long drink, the liquor hot and sharp as it burns its way down, cutting through the numbness that’s been creeping in. But it doesn’t bring him any clarity, only another layer of confusion, only another layer of weight pressing down on him.

He waits. He keeps waiting, straining to feel something, anything—a flicker, a word, a sign that Bill is still there. But the silence stretches out in front of him, unbroken, endless. It’s like staring into a void. His heart thuds in his chest, heavy and uncertain, the quiet louder than any noise he’s ever heard.

Ford sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, the bottle resting between his hands. The scotch had started to go down easier, numbing the edges of his thoughts, but it couldn’t drown them out completely. His mind kept spinning along with his vision, kept circling around the same thing—Bill—and the strange, painful silence that had been pressing down on him all day.

He took another swig, slow, deliberate gulps that singed his throat, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. The emptiness clawed at him, gnawing at his insides. And through it all, that insidious, creeping feeling of rejection slithered into his mind, stinging like an open wound. Ford hated it. Hated the idea of being abandoned. Used. Forgotten.

He shook his head, voice low and rough as he muttered into the quiet. “I’m sorry.” The words felt thin, insincere, and they caught in his throat as soon as they left his mouth. Why are you apologizing? He grimaced, rubbing a hand over his face. “What the hell am I even apologizing for?” The frustration in his voice rose with each word, the anger beginning to bubble up, just beneath the surface. “You can hear me. I know you can.”

But there was no response. Just that faint hum, the barest whisper of Bill in the back of his mind—present, but distant, like a signal he couldn’t tune into. The rejection burned hotter now, the sting sharper. Why won’t you answer me?

Ford’s grip on the bottle tightened, the liquor sloshing around as he swirled it in his hands. His thoughts spiraled, one frustration feeding into another. Bill had protected him before, saved him, it was awful, but they did it together. And now, when Ford had faced danger again, Bill had done nothing. What, do you not care anymore?

The thought twisted in his gut, a knot of frustration and bitterness that he hated. He hated how raw it made him feel, how exposed. Vulnerable. Weak. The anger flared, crawling up his spine, and he took another drink, letting the burn of the alcohol fuel it, sharpening the edges of it. He wanted to feel something other than this gnawing sense of repudiation. His voice rose, louder, more insistent, slurred words spilling out before he could stop them. “You didn’t even fucking try. Just let me fight it off on my own. What, am I not worth the effort now? Did I make things too complicated for your… infinite bullshit?” He spat the last word like venom.

He scoffed, bitterness thick in his throat, choking him. “That it? You’re what—too powerful, too important, too far above it all to give a damn now?” Another swig. The taste of the scotch made him groan, and he smirked bitterly, glaring up at nothing, as if Bill was hovering just out of sight. “Or did ya like it a little too much? Watching me scramble. Watching me need you? That do something for you, huh? You sick fuck.” he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

His chuckle came out broken, twisted with anger. “You can fuck me every night—get me right where you want me—but a little kiss? That’s too much for you? That’s where you draw the line?” His voice cracked on the last word, a mix of disbelief and fury, his fingers shaking around the bottle as he brought it to his lips again. The emptiness of it all—the silence—was unbearable.

He stood up suddenly, swaying slightly as the room tilted around him. The bottle was nearly empty now, but he wasn’t done. He wasn’t done talking, wasn’t done demanding answers. “You… you get what you want, right? And now you’re just… done with me? Is that it?” His voice cracked, the anger and hurt blurring together into something raw and ugly. “What, am I just not good enough anymore? Is that it, Bill?” his lip quivered slightly at the next thought that slipped into his mind. “Is there someone… else..?”

Nothing. The silence stretched out, suffocating, filling the room until it felt like it was pressing in on him from all sides. Ford’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his fingers clenching around the neck of the bottle. He could feel the fear of abandonment sinking deeper now, festering in his mind. And with it, the resentment grew, sharper and more vicious with every passing second.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he snarled, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “All this power, all this bullshit, and you’re scared of a fucking kiss?” He growled, his anger peaking as he stepped forward, his pulse roaring in his ears. “You’re scared of what, Bill? Feeling something? Is that what this is?”

Still no answer. Still that infuriating, unbearable silence. Ford’s teeth clenched, his knuckles going white as he gripped the bottle, fury surging through him. He tilted the bottle back, the remnants of what remained inside sliding into his mouth, leaving it empty. He stumbled a bit when he pulled it back from his lips, looking at it, empty. His heart was pounding, his mind spinning, and he needed—needed—something to break, something to shatter under the weight of all this anger. All this rejection.

“Fuck you, Bill,” he spat, voice thick with venom as he hurled the bottle across the room. It smashed against the wall with a sharp, violent crack, shards of glass exploding outward, scattering across the floor. The sound echoed in the small room, punctuating his words, a final act of defiance.

But even that wasn’t enough. Ford stood there, chest heaving, staring at the mess, waiting—waiting—for anything. For Bill to react. For him to appear, to fight back, to argue, to do something.

But the silence persisted.

Ford slumped back onto the bed, the adrenaline bleeding out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. He scrubbed his hands over his face, his anger fading into something else, something weaker. Why did I say that? The regret settled in now, swirling through his already muddled thoughts. “I didn’t mean it,” he muttered, the words barely audible. “I didn’t mean it.”

Still nothing. The silence gnawed at him, digging deep into his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words falling flat. “I’m sorry.”

He lay back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as it spun, the alcohol began to pull him under, his body heavy and sluggish, but his mind still racing. You can’t ignore me forever, he thought, the bitterness creeping back in. I’ll see you in my dream. You’ll have to face me.

But even as he thought it, even as he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him, there was a part of him that knew something was wrong. That this night wasn’t like the others. His eyes fluttered closed, his heart twinging with anticipation and uncertainty.

But before he knew it, he woke up. He blinked, disoriented, his head pounding, the world pressing in with a dull ache. His mouth was dry, tongue thick and heavy against his teeth. For a moment, he lay still, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. The room was dim, sunlight barely creeping through the curtains, but the haze of the previous night clung to him, sharp and bitter. Slowly, the memories trickled back—what he’d said, the way his anger had flared, the accusations he’d hurled into the empty air.

Shame curled in his chest, a low, twisting knot that tightened with each second of clarity. He groaned, covering his face with his hands, the weight of his own words pressing down on him. Fuck you, Bill. He winced, his voice from last night echoing in his skull. The things he’d said—what had gotten into him?

But the strangest part—the part that made his stomach turn with a new, sobering unease—was the emptiness. For the first time in what felt like forever, there had been no dreams. No confrontation. No Bill. The familiar presence that usually lingered in the background of his mind, always just out of reach, had been completely absent. There hadn’t even been the subtle hum of awareness, the quiet pull that told him Bill was somewhere, listening. Nothing.

The silence was deafening.

It’s Thursday.

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[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 30

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Grayson nor Bone get what they want.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.1K

Grayson tossed the most recent Enforcer reports onto her desk in a haphazard flourish. Leaning back in her chair, her wide hand roughly scrubbed at her face.

Things were a fucking mess.

Somehow, despite increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity, the Children of Zaun were yet to be ferreted out. It was as if their adversaries were not just a few dangerous malcontents, but the whole of the Underground. Not one Undercity citizen had come forth to relay any information. Not even a monetary reward was enough to persuade them.

How were they supposed to cull a terrorist group if a whole section of Piltover’s population was involved?

And things were only getting worse.

Since Council’s most recent crackdown, Enforcer-issued skips had been vandalized. Enforcers attempting investigations were met with even more resistance and vitriol: garbage and rocks thrown at them from the dark shadows of alleyways. Business owners refused to serve any officer who crossed their threshold. Some Trenchers had taken to skulking around the Undercity’s side of the Bridge. A sneering, intimidating, spiteful version of the attendance hut and barricade on Piltover’s side of the River. While those leering and cat-calling any who passed through, no one had been physically assaulted. Yet. But it had discouraged Piltovans from venturing into the Undercity.

The worst development came from the Undercity’s shoreline, and from the murk of their narrow alleys.

For several weeks, Enforcer squads tasked with tailing suspicious activity were found beaten and bleeding. Their weapons, masks, and badges missing. Once retrieved and treated for their injuries, none of the officers could give useful information, but all the squads’ stories were the same: They’d be following a group of suspicious-acting Trenchers. Their quarry would weave and loop through the labyrinth of streets and alleys, moving in a nonsensical fashion, thoroughly disorienting the Enforcers. When a backtrack was attempted, they would be rushed. No one could say how many there had been, nor where they’d come from. From behind, from above, from the very shadows themselves. The assault would be fast and furious and unforgiving. They would fight with their fists and metal.

The skips that hadn’t been damaged were being shot at. One Enforcer had been killed thus far. LeDaird had turned parts of the Undercity upside down looking for whoever was storing such weaponry. His efforts produced nothing. Piltover’s foreign relations began to strain as they wondered if some nation was supplying the Undercity with an arsenal.

And all of this made it near impossible for Grayson to tend to her deal with Councilor Bone. She hadn’t even seen him since before Snowdown. A combination of her Captain duties and his illness had kept them apart. She had heard, though, when in Chambers he was fighting tooth-and-nail to curb Council’s discipline of the Undercity.

The situation was a powder keg.

There was a knock at Grayson’s office door. She jolted in her seat, the wood creaking as the chair swiveled side-to-side.

“Come in,” she called, righting herself and spinning back to the desk.

LeDaird opened the door, looking angry and haggard. It had been his most common expression since the airship crash. Grayson stood up from her seat.

“Sheriff.”

“At ease, Dora. I am not hear to deliver news. Nor give official orders.”

This did not put Grayson at ease, but she returned to her seat all the same. LeDaird tiredly placed himself in the one in front of her desk. He eyed the papers on it, and sighed heavily.

“This is a bloody fucking mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

She opened a low desk drawer and took out the heavy bottle of scotch that lived there. LeDaird managed a smirk, but shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

Grayson looked at the bottle, considered, and then rehomed it. They sat in silence for a minute before she broke it.

“What is it you need to ask me?”

LeDaird sat back in his seat, a large hand swiping down his face.

It was a long moment before he said, “I need you to speak with Councilor Bone.”

“Sir?”

“I need you to speak with Councilor Bone,” he repeated. Leaning forward, he braced his large forearms on his knees. “I need you to convince him to stop stymying Council’s efforts. It is making our job impossible.”

“Sir – “

“I do not know what he wished to speak with you about all those weeks ago, but he sought you out. Perhaps you may be able to talk some sense into him.”

Grayson grimaced, and sat back in her seat, rubbing at her eyes. She knew Council was being pushed by aristocrats, nobles, and other Piltovans to be even harsher with their treatment of the Undercity. They wanted to beat their citizens into compliance. It would go against the promise she made Bone all those weeks ago.

After a moment, she reached for the top righthand drawer of her desk, and withdrew the reports Bone had given her. She placed them next to the ones about the Children of Zaun.

“What is this?”

“When Councilor Bone asked for that audience with me,” she began, opening the files, “he wanted my help and support in his endeavors to curb Enforcer brutality within the Undercity. He presented me with all these reports and evidence that shows a distinct disparity between legislative and judicial inequity when it comes to its citizens.”

LeDaird sat up, spine straightening. He eyed the files Grayson had put on her desk suspiciously.

“What does this have to do with what I am asking you?”

Grayson’s heart thumped against her breastbone.

“Sir, after going over the reports he provided, I believe there is cause for concern. And now, what with the Children, tensions between Enforcers and Undercity citizens has only become worse. Asking Bone to back down will not work. And pressing any harder on the Undercity will not either.”

“The Undercity is not leaving us much of a choice. Leniency is not an option anymore – “

“Leniency was never attempted.”

“Politics are not our job, Captain,” LeDaird barked. Out of habit, Greyson’s spine snapped straight at his tone. “Our job – your job – is to enforce the Council’s will.”

“Our job is to protect our citizens.”

“Whose safety is ensured by our laws.”

“And what happens when those laws do not apply to everyone? Or when our laws prevent certain of our citizens from thriving?”

LeDaird pinned her with a fiery stare. It was a look she’d never been on the receiving end of, and it sent her heart thundering. Despite that, she held it.

“The Children of Zaun got the Undercity into this mess, and no one from the Underground seems keen on getting themselves out,” LeDaird grit. “Leniency can come once justice is served. Go to Bone, and do your job, Captain. I will not entertain this nonsense.”

The Sheriff rose, posture and movements militant. Lethal. He paused at her office door, and glanced over his broad shoulder.

“You’re a good Enforcer, Dora. Your father would be proud to see where you are sitting. Don’t jeopardize it.”

The cold season had not been kind to Bone. The freezing temperatures had seized his lungs, near stilling any attempts for breath. He had visited the Council physician with the intention of getting stronger medication. But, after an examination, he was told that little could be done. The blight in his lungs was too pervasive. Even increasing his dosage of decongestant was unlikely to do much of anything. The doctor had looked at Bone somberly, and apologized. At this point, the only means for relief would be morphine.

Bone refused.

He wouldn’t be able to do his job under the influence. And with the Council, Enforcers, and Rynweaver squeezing the Undercity, his presence in Chambers was needed more than ever.

He arranged a temporary living space for himself within the Council Building so he would not have to travel in the whipping winds and snow. His Council peers – save for Heimerdinger – whispered and hissed about it.

If Bone was so ill that he could not venture outside, should he not resign?

Unfortunately for them, Bone’s body was failing; not his fortitude. And since he was lucid, and could still get to and participate in assembly, there were no grounds to remove him.

Every day, when Bone sat in the small apartment he had carved out in the Council Building, he stared out the window at the Promenade across the river. He watched his home, the city he was fighting for.

The city that was desperately, dangerously fighting for itself.

From his seat, Bone could make out some of the larger graffiti emblazoned on Promenade buildings.

FREE ZAUN

FUCK TOPSIDE

WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY

He thought about that day in the café. Of the owner and that customer mentioning The Last Drop in a way that left his weak heart pattering. When the warm came, he told himself, he would travel down to the Entresol and pay The Last Drop a visit.

The warm came.

Bone moved back into his loft on the Promenade after the first full week of consistent above-freezing temperatures. He shuffled about his space, wiping down the dust that had accumulated on the surfaces. He tossed away the old food in the icebox, wincing at the waste. He vomited several times into the toilet, and sputtered bloody globules into the sink. The warmer weather did not ease Bone’s breathing. It kept him from fully choking, but it did not relax his lungs like it had in the past.  

Bone blotted his clammy forehead with a handkerchief, staring down at the sizable, glistening wad of blood, mucus, and tissue in the sink. His hands were shaking, but not only from the effort of keeping himself upright.

Fear sluiced through his veins. Not for death itself. Fear that he would not be able to temper the conflict boiling between the Underground and Piltover. People had already died.

He had to try.

Despite being told it would do little good, Bone took a double dose of the decongestant, wrapped a long scarf around his neck, mouth, and nose, grabbed his cane, and set out for The Last Drop.

It had been a long while since Bone had traveled low into the Undercity. For no other reason than time and his health. But as he stepped off the conveyor car and hobbled down the lanes, a jabbing pang of regret prodded his heart.

For one, the Undercity was beautiful and impressive. A testament to the tenaciousness of her citizens.

Two: His constituents – those that recognized him, anyway – regarded him aloofly. A thin veil of suspicion clouding their eyes when they looked at him, and were tight-lipped if they spoke to him.

He wanted to be able to comprehend their distrust. Logically, he could arrive at an understanding: even though he was from the Undercity, he was still a Councilmember. And Council was notorious for their abuse and neglect. And despite what Bone had been able to accomplish during his time on Council, it was barely a stitch in the gaping, festering wound.

But he couldn’t help but feel a small slice of anger and sadness at his peers’ recoil. Hurt that his work and love of their home was not acknowledged, or believed in.

Hurt that they were lumping him in with them.

The Lanes were a kaleidoscope of color covered in a miasma of grey mist. The Enforcer presence was heavy, but that did not seem to stop anyone from going about their evening. People crowded around food stalls, meandered in and out of brothels, haggled at trader stands. Trenchers had always kept a wide berth around Enforcers, but now the air between them was charged to dangerous levels.

An Enforcer wiped away Zaun propaganda from the side of a building, and nearby Trenchers fixed them a look so hateful it took away what little breath Bone had. The minute the Enforcer stalked on, a young street urchin popped out of the alley shadows. Armed with a chunk of chalk, they redrew the Zaun graffiti. Bone frowned deeply behind his scarf and carried on.

It had been years since Bone had been to The Last Drop. When the establishment came into view, he felt a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. In his youth, he and the crew of miners he worked with would gather there after a too-long shift. They would be tired, battered, and filthy. Perhaps they should’ve just gone home, but they would fill the chairs around a table, and drink ale anyway. The togetherness relieved them in a way that sleep could not.

Bone’s heart ached as he neared. They were all dead now. And soon he would be, too.

The inside of the tavern was as he remembered it. Clunky mismatched tables and chairs, swaths of warm orange, yellow, and green light, large barrels of Fissure Froth tucked right behind the bar. The young man behind the counter was robust-looking, built broad and tall.

Belatedly, Bone realized some of the patrons nearest the door were eying him carefully, whispering amongst themselves. He shored up the grip on his cane and pressed forward. His gait was slow, but purposeful. His jaw grit with determination. As he continued, the cheerful chatter dwindled. The young barmaid – a slip of a thing with loose indigo plaits – held her serving tray to her chest before whisking back to the bar.

The customers there – all young folk themselves – spun at her sudden appearance. The barkeep leaned over as she hurriedly whispered to them. Then, they all looked in Bone’s direction. Varying levels of shock, concern, and irritation covered their faces. But Bone pressed forward. He sidled up to the bar with confidence only age brought.

“I am here,” he said in a light croak, “to inquire about The Children of Zaun.”

The barkeep’s face vacillated between tightening and softening, as if he were unsure to deal with Bone coolly or openly.

“Go lock the door, Annie,” one of the other men growled.

Bone glanced over to him: young, lean and made of angry angles, with a mop of wavy dark hair. His nose . . .

Bone’s mind guttered to a halt and his feeble heart skipped a beat. But he kept his face schooled. Now was not the time. His light eyes tracked over the man’s shoulder and his heart stuttered again.

Viktor’s sister.

“I don’t work for you!” the barmaid spat.

“Go lock th’door, Annie,” the barkeep said.

The barmaid – Annie – huffed, and swept away. The other patrons, who had quieted to a low hiss, watched her trajectory before turning their heads back to the bar.

“Can I get’cha something, Councilor?” the barkeep asked, setting massive, bruised hands on the counter.

“Information.”

The barkeep smirked. The thin young man sneered. Viktor’s sister grimaced, her pretty face turning pink.

“Aye. I got that. Anything t’go with? Ale? Schnapps? Tea?”

“Water is fine.”

The barkeep nodded, rising back to his full height. “Benzo, clear your table fer the Councilor.”

Behind Bone, another swarthy-built young man rose, and shooed away the others sitting with him. They readily scattered, taking their drinks, and stationing themselves nearby to watch and listen to whatever was about to happen.

Bone only hesitated a moment before stepping over, and stiltedly took the proffered seat. He kept it to himself, but his knees and hips groaned in thanks. It had been a long time since he had traveled so far on foot in one go.

The foul-faced young man slipped from his barstool, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips, and prowled over. The Councilor searched him, looking for any other signs of Rynweaver. Physically, there was nothing else but his nose, and perhaps the color and texture of his hair. Bone did not recognize his other features, but they were striking. He wondered how many more illegitimate children of Rynweaver’s were hidden in the crags and crevasses of the Undercity. How many of its women and girls he had terrorized in more ways than one?

He wondered if the young man knew. He wondered if it would be a tactical advantage to mention it.

Moving like smoke, he slipped into the chair to Bone’s left. A tall glass was suddenly plunked down in front of him, and the barkeep lowered his enormous body into the chair on the right. The rest of the tavern had turned to face them, the weight of hundreds of eyes settling heavily on Bone’s chest. The only sound left was the occasional uneasy tap of a tankard on a table’s surface.

“We were wonderin’ if you’d show up eventually,” the barkeep hummed, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“It is difficult to show up when one does not receive an invitation.” Bone looked around the room. “Is this everyone?”

“Your even more of a fool than I thought if you think this is everyone,” the blade-nosed man spat.

Bone’s upper lip twitched. He looked between the two. “You’re the leaders then, are you? What’re your names?”

A stream of smoke shot from the thin one’s mouth. “Like I said: Fool.”

“You are foolish if you think my purpose in coming here is only to turn you in to the Enforcers. I could’ve come here with Enforcers. I did not.”

The silence in the space quivered, uncertain and precarious.

“What’d’ya want then?” the barkeep asked.

“To talk,” Bone said. And then: “To reason.”

The silence broke into sharp, angry hisses and whispers. The barkeep waved a massive hand in the air, instructing the crowd to settle.

Once they did, he fixed the Councilor with firm, earnest eyes and said: “Name’s Vander.”

Vander glanced across the table to his compatriot, who did not look back. He kept his glare firmly fixed on Bone. After a several-second stare down, he sat back in his seat.

“Silco.”

Bone nodded, eyes flitting between the pair. Then around the room. They landed on Viktor’s sister for a beat longer than anyone else. He turned back to Silco and Vander.

“Where is the money from the airship crash?”

Silco snorted, shaking his head.  The cherry end of his cigarette glowed persimmon-orange as he took a long drag.

“That’s all Topside cares about. Their money.Their ego. Their status quo.” Rumbles of agreement rippled around the room. “Even if we could give them their coin back, it won’t keep them from punishing us.”

“They are punishing us now,” Bone reminded. “The trade blocks and inspections. The Bridge. The increasing number of Enforcers in the Underground.”

“And whose fault is that?” Silco’s voice was a low, predatory growl. It seemed to be another thing he’d inherited from Rynweaver.

Bone frowned. “I am the only one managing to hold them back right now. I have been keeping Piltover’s fist loose enough that we can still breathe. They will not back off until the threat of the Undercity seceding is terminated.”

“Maybe the tactic should be cuttin’ off their hand,” Vander said with a shrug. “Instead of tryin’ to loosen it.”

Bone sighed, and ran a hand over his head. After a moment, he took a sip of water. The cool trickles seared his ravaged throat.

“You’re not the first, you know,” he rasped, “to dream and ache about such things. Years ago, my friends and I would sit in this very bar, and listen to others talk about independence – “

“But that’s all it was: talk,” Silco said. “Talk gets one only so far. To see a dream through, it requires action. Fighting – “

“You will get people killed – “

“People have already been killed,” Vander countered.

“And will continue to be massacred, whether the Children of Zaun disband or not. There is nowhere to move but forward. Toward our freedom.”

Bone’s lips pulled tight. He looked around the room again. At the angry and hopeful faces of his fellowman. He’d seen glimmers of those expressions in every person he’d ever heard speak about independence from Piltover. It was only ever a flicker, not enough to nestle into the lines on their faces; not enough to become fully imbued with the dream they were concocting. Because they knew –

“The Undercity will not survive a war with Piltover,” the Councilor said lowly. There was no defeat in his voice. Just the flatness of fact.

Silco’s eyes flared. Vander frowned deeply.

“We lack the funds and supplies,” he continued. He spoke with the grounded authority of a parent, and The Children bristled under him. “Piltover and the Undercity rose up from the same place. From Oshra Va’Zaun. They are sisters. They’re meant to be together. They will be stronger, safer together. That is what I have been working on in Chambers – “

“Fat lotta good it’s done!” a voice deep in the crowd cried. A roil of agreement swelled through the Drop.

“All due respect, Councilor,” Vander said, and his tone matched the sentiment, “Topside has had plenty o’ time to pull the Undercity up. They’ve no interest. An’ despite yer heart-felt efforts – “ Silco scoffed at this – “we’re still livin’ n’ dyin’ in squalor. Bodies covered in soot, lungs full o’ Grey, barely two cogs to rub together despite all the work we do.”

“We deserve more,” Silco growled.

“We do,” Bone agreed.

“So work with us,” interrupted Vander. “Like I said, we were wonderin’ if ya’d ever come knockin’. It’s clear ya love the Undercity, but Topside won’ listen.”

“They’ve thrown you placating crumbs,” Silco sneered. “Just enough to think that your agenda for equitability is possible. And you’ve gobbled them up.”

Bone glared at him. After a long beat, he addressed the room quietly, “Your anger is righteous, real, and well-founded. But freedom is too costly a thing. For both the Undercity and Topside. Our people will be decimated. They will get further away from their humanity.” His eyes settled on Viktor’s sister. “Lives will be ruined.”

She stiffened under his stare, and he was glad the message landed.

Silco leaned into his eyeline, redirecting Bone’s attention back onto him and Vander. There was a wild sharpness to his eyes now, like they’d been cut from ice. Cold and deadly. The back of Bone’s neck prickled. This one was dangerous. Like his father, he’d run the Undercity into the ground if let loose. So, Bone turned his attention back to the other revolutionary.

“I understand that it is not what you want. So often what is best is not the thing we want. Peace arguably requires more work. Requires humbleness and a swallowing of pride. From both sides. It requires forgiveness. But it preserves life. That is what we should be working towards.”

“You’re a stark raving, idealist fool,” Silco hissed.

Agreements slithered around them. Vander’s lips flattened. He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

“We have to try, Councilor.”

Bone’s heart tapped an agitated, uneven rhythm. Heat bloomed beneath his collar, frustration and grief gripped his throat. He coughed, pulling the scarf back over his nose and mouth, turning away from the table.

He felt defeated. Like the blight in his chest, there was nothing to be done here either.

He would have to contact Grayson. He would have to do as much work in Chambers as he possibly could before his illness finally choked him out.

When the fit passed, Bone braced himself onto the strength of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. No one stepped forward to offer a hand. The inkling of alienation that had been brushing up against his insides since before Snowdown became a scythe that gutted him.

“Thank you for the water. I will keep doing what I need to do to protect the Undercity.”

“So will we,” Silco volleyed.

Slowly, the tap of his cane filling the room, Bone rounded the table. Before he began the journey to the door, he paused in front of Viktor’s sister. She held his gaze, but he saw the muscles in her jaw flutter manically with anxiety.

“You should be ashamed,” he whispered.

A chair shrieked behind him as Silco shot to his feet, but he did not react. Bone watched doubt flicker in the young woman’s eyes before they glazed over defensively.

“Get out.”

Bone heeded her and limped toward the front door. The crowd parted with each hobbled step. Annie unlocked the door, and opened it for him. Despite his better judgement, Bone looked back over his shoulder at the angry and hopeful faces he recognized so well. Guilt hung heavy on his heart.

“Good luck,” he said, and stepped out back into the Lanes.

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Coming Up Next: The Children reel after Bone's visit

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[absynthhh]

later that night we both open a bottle of scotch, passing the bottle back and forth, getting drunk off liquor and each other. whispers and light hearted giggles fill the halls of our little 4-walled home we take solace in.

you drag me to bed, a familiar look in ur heterochromanic eyes, and we spends hours in tangled sheets, making a mess of eachother and shuddering into the limbs of the other.

you hold me close afterwards, and i count each puff of breath you take, releasing it to the crown of my head.

“i love you.” i mumble unconsciously, and you shift, pulling me closer and the syllables spill from your swollen lips. “i love you too baby..”

we stay like that for a few moments, listening to the rhythmic patterns of breaths and heart beats. i feel you drag a finger across my cheek, and wipe a tear i never realized i let slip. you shuffle, and take a hand, cupping my jaw and angel it towards you. theres an unreadable expression on your face, hidden with emotion.

you whisper to me. . “what happened? what happened since i last you?” and your gaze digs into mine. i open my mouth, closing it, only to open it again. unsure of what to say.

i feel myself stiffen. “i… i’m-“ unable to finish my sentence. and you nod your head slowly in a encouraging, tentative manner. my voice starts to crack and i can’t contain my emotions. various flashbacks come to mind, all hitting at once. and i feel myself hyperventilate, shaking as the ambush comes to mind.

“brianna.” i croak out before my body racks into sobs. and it hits me all once. the ambush. the amounts of deaths she had to witness, the bodies she stumbled over, bri- her throat slashed, eyes wide open, lifeless as blood gushed from her throat, her blonde friend no more.

and it hits me all at once, and shake into your arms, croaking and whimpering as i tumble into hysterics. and you wrap your arms around me and kiss the side of my forehead.

“ i know baby, just let it all out. its ok… im here… im here… i know…” you whisper in a soothing manner.

“why?” i shatter. and you hold me closer sighing, your voice barely above a whisper. “yeah…. i know that feeling too.”

later i fall asleep in your arms. dreaming of better days where you and i were never haunted.

idfk i cant write when N is on the phone making loud noises and asking me to feed her eggs.

opinions?

I want to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you lay your head on my chest. I'd run my hands through your hair and kiss the top of your head. We would intertwine our hands together while you tell me every terrible thing you've done, and let me love you anyway.

[nightly1602]

meniName: Ivan Zarina

Age:26

Place Of Origin: Lūza, Latvia

Occupation: None

Orientation: Gay

Species: European Werewolf

Descriptive Traits:

Human: About 5ft 7, pretty average sized, he isn’t really skinny but isn’t chubby either. Definetly has a bit of a beer belly starting. His dirty blonde hair is usually buzzcut short and he’ll hide it under a touque that Austin knit for him. He has steel blue eyes that have been known to freeze people in place. His face is very narrow with sharp cheek bones. His smile could literally poison rivers. It’s very mischevious and taunting. Usually he wears a lot of sweaters that are pastel colours and chinos of the khaki and olive green variety. An instagram influencer would appreciate his style. He once tried to convince Tori to buy him a fanny pack so he could wear it across his chest and Tori just shook her head. Austin was very supportive of the Idea

Werewolf: Ivan has a very beautiful deep gray and white mixed coat. He is probably the quickest out of the pack. Being a European wolf he has deep golden irises when he shifts. He is the size of any other European wolf. Actually him and Nore are the same height.

Family: Mother: Fuorina Zarina (Werewolf, Deceased)

Father: Janis Zarina (Werewolf, Deceased)

Siblings: Edgar Zarina (Brother, deceased), Matais Zarina (Brother, deceased) Kristine Zarina (Sister, deceased)

Pack: Austin Djembole (Werewolf, Mate, Deceased), Tori Laclaire (Pack leader [No not the alpha, who the fuck goes by that Ivan? this isn’t 14th centruy Germany ffs] 24, Werewolf) Shaya Carvalho (Jurupari Sage, Age Unknown)

Personality: If it were a different time, Ivan for sure would be a pastel e-boy. He likes his grungy punk music and his trap beats in a club. But where Ivan seems like he is a boisterous, loud mouth that isn’t afraid to be sarcastic, deep down this boy is depressed af. Ivan Zarina is bogged down by a traumatic experience that led to his family getting killed by the Berlin pack. Someone framed his family for giving information to hunters that resulted in the Berlin alpha’s mate getting killed. The Zarinas were completely innocent, but because the Latvian packs are very close knit with hunters and have been known to work with them to keep rogue werewolves under control, they were blamed. Ivan was able to escape because he was and still is a slippery motherfucker. He tries not to let the overwhelming dark shadows slip out but there are days where Tori knows when to just let Ivan run off and get fucked up. He’s got a good sense of humour and is basically the pack’s class clown. Funny how it’s the most broken ones that make people laugh.

Languages: English, Latvian, Russian, German

Likes: Pink, Getting lost, Noah (the little shit keeps him busy), saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal (this has become a sort of ritual for Noah and Ivan), The sounds of rivers, k-pop, rap, Pelmeni, Russian Cat memes.

Dislikes: The Berlin, Hunters, onions, smoking, homophobic shit bags

Vices: Partying 

Fears: Being Alone 

Quote: The World is ruthless. Thank any god that I am not the world.

Song: Coyote - Mako

Thank you Picrew for the lovely icons -> Picrew.me And for @sangled, @lullindo and @Makowwka for their icon maker! Ty!

[littlemissnoname13]

Walls & Veils (Draco Malfoy x Reader): Vol:2

Masterlist | Vol. 1

Summary:

Wednesday to-do-list:

Buy a red dress

Find out who replaced Harry at the DMLE 

Eat that almond biscotti everyone is still talking about

Draco Lucius Malfoy (There, I said it. Happy?!)

(Where Draco and the reader work for the ministry and communicate every day via “work reports” passed back and forth and have no idea they are actually talking to each other)

Genre: Fluff, workplace romance, enemies to lovers (ish)

Warnings: none except some light swearing, making out and mentions of food and one mention of scotch

Words: 2900

A/n: This is my second post for the Harry Potter Writing Event (Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated). I hope you enjoy reading this part just as much as I enjoyed writing it :) <3

Malfoy continued to oggle you with a never before seen expression on his face. His silvery eyes had darkened into slate grey and he was clearly grinding his teeth underneath his clenched jaw. You couldn't tell what you’d done to irk him this way. If you did, you’d probably do it again. And again. Just to get a reaction from him. 

“You seem tense.” You commented and he looked at you like you were asking him for his gringotts vault password. Like he was straight up mortified.

He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. Instead, he began pressing the open button on the elevator excessively till the door finally opened halfway. Then, he ducked out without a word. 

****

He was now taking the stairs to the roof. He’d rather climb the 142 staircases at Hogwarts over and over than ride that elevator with you in that pretty red dress. 

Maybe the colour of your dress had been a mere coincidence. But then again, what were you doing in a party that was mostly people from the DMLE? The only explanation would be that you either worked for the DMLE and he was completely oblivious or you knew Linus personally. If you knew Linus personally, it probably meant you were the one dropping those files off every afternoon. 

When he finally reached the roof, Draco simply straightened his tie and pushed his hair away from his face. All those steps and he still hadn’t broken a sweat. Atleast, his insomnia driven runs were keeping him fit. 

Draco handed Linus the bottle of scotch and gave him a stiff side hug. Human contact still made him a little queasy but he liked Linus enough to do it. He was a good man who’d never judged his death eater roots when he first started working for the Ministry after the war. After his brief interaction with Linus, Fay Dunbar and that guy that always waved at him when he entered the office, Draco felt a little at ease.

 It wasn’t that he wasn’t thrilled that his washing-machine girl had been you all along. He was just worried you wouldn’t be so thrilled to find out he was the one you were talking to and it pained him. 

He’d never admit it, not even to himself but he purposefully came to work late sometimes to see the look of pure joy on your face as you shut the elevator door on him. It felt like a ray of early morning sunshine that seeped in through the door and drenching his entire body in warmth. 

Everytime he let the words “Morning Sunshine.” slip out of his lips, he’d meant it. 

“You’d rather take the stairs than ride the elevator with me.” He heard you quip as you took long, purposeful strides towards him, a flute of champagne in hand. 

“Why are you following me?” He deadpanned.

You let out a snort. “Why do you think I’m following you?”

“This is a DMLE party.” Draco reached for a glass of champagne himself and took a quick swig to wet his desert dry throat. “ You work for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes–tell me, what is it that you do again?”

“Muggle-worthy excuse committee. Thank you very much.” You hissed before downing the entire flute of champagne. “And I was invited to this party. I think I know more than half of DMLE where you supposedly work.” You coughed. “Although, I think you hardly do any work in the department.”

“Why are you talking to me if you know more than half of the DMLE then?” He watched your cheeks burn the same shade as your red dress. Your pretty and ruffled red dress that reminded him of carnation petals. 

“I actually have a question to ask you.” You replied, making his blood freeze. Maybe you already knew it was him. Maybe someone had told you and you were there to tell him that you no longer wished to talk to him. Maybe you wanted the instructions manual back. His brain was spiraling. 

“Hm?”

“Do you know who is substituting for Harry?” You asked, scrunching up your nose. “I asked Linus and he told me to talk to you. So I’m assuming you know.”

You had no idea. He could still salvage this. Think Draco. Think. 

His eyes danced around the entire premises of the party, sweeping through the floors, the crowds of ministry employees, the finger food and the photo booth in the far corner, separated by a white coloured backdrop between thin, opaque curtains of fabric on each side. Anyone standing inside the photo booth would positively not be able to see the person standing next to them. The fabric acted as a wall, essentially a veil. Perfect. 

“Why are you looking for him?” Draco arched his brow. He needed to play along for a bit. It didn’t help that he actually wanted to talk to you. He’d have done anything to woo you as himself but you were clearly more into Harry's substitute. He could tell from the nervous energy you radiated. Tucking your hair behind your ear, running your index finger along the rim of your champagne flute. 

“Just curious.”

“How do you even know him?”

“He goes through my reports.”

“Isn’t going through muggle-worthy excuses just a formality to maintain communication within the departments?” Draco asked. He had no control over what he was saying and now he was coming off as condescending and rude about your job. He wanted to bang his head on the wall. “Please tell me you aren’t here to talk to him about work. It's a party Y/L/N.”

“You are a biscotti stealing know-it-all and no, I do not want to talk to him about work!” You seethed. 

“Then what do you want to talk to him about?” 

“Not about work!” You blurted, and instantly looked like you regretted every word that came out of your cherry painted lips. 

“Oh?” Draco wiggled his brows. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

 It felt all sorts of weird pretending to be two people at once but Draco couldn’t help himself. He was curious. His heart was pounding and his palms were clammy.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think I saw him near the photo booth earlier. Maybe you’ll see him there.” Draco shrugged. Yes, his plan was foolish and a little bit deceitful but he was going to tell you the truth somehow, by the end of the night. 

****

You waited by the photobooth while minutes ticked away like seconds–Fast and fleeting like days during the winter.With each second gone, you began to lose hope in seeing the “replacement guy”. Maybe he’d already seen you and decided that you weren’t his cup of tea. 

To make the waiting situation a bit more entertaining, you entered the photo booth with a few of your DMLE acquaintances and struck a few poses. Strips of black and white, moving photos were dispensed from the camera and your friends excitedly grabbed their copy and left. You decided to stay back, collect your thoughts. Maybe you would speak to the replacement guy about work. Just like Malfoy had suspected.

You shook your head to yourself but couldn’t fight the small smile itching at the corner of your lips. He looked handsome in his tightly tailored shirt and dress pants. The fabric of his shirt stuck closely to his biceps and torso and you could have sworn you saw ripples and cords muscles on his back through the fabric as he’d ducked out of the elevator in one swift movement. He was perfect and It was so unfair.

“I have a question.” A familiar voice seeped in through the curtain on your left. The emphasis on certains vowels, the pitch and the coarseness made you shiver. You knew this voice. Was he who you thought he was? Did you want him to be?

“Yes?”

“Do you really think Microwaves produce radiation that can harm the human body?”

“So you have a problem with microwaves too now?” You laughed.

“Not as much as washing machines.” He replied. This made your hunch turn into full blown suspicion. You hadn’t just been bickering with Draco Malfoy every single day just to forget what the croon of his voice sounded like. His voice was so distinct in your memories and that dream you had on him two nights ago. 

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.” You extended your hand through the gap in the curtain and he grabbed it. The contact made your skin sear. He had long, nimble fingers that were far too large compared to your own and you could feel the textures of his ring denting itself into your skin. It was Draco. You were sure of it when you managed to trace the serpent on his ring. 

“Nice to finally meet you too.” he replied. “You look lovely by the way.”

You instantly blushed and thanked Merlin that there was a veil between the two of you. Behind the veil you were both two different individuals. You weren't Draco and Yn who spent every morning bickering or shooting insults like arrows. 

“I’m dead sure I’d have to return the compliment if I got to actually see you.” You tested him and his grip on your hand tightened. 

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Am I?” You teased, picturing Draco with his clenched jaw again. Maybe you could kiss some of that tension away. You quickly backtracked and blamed the champagne for the lewd thoughts now sowing seeds inside of your mind. 

“I don't know Y/n.” He murmured. “You tell me.” 

Draco had seen you. He knew it was you and yet, he was still there, holding your hand, telling you that you look lovely. But why hadn’t he revealed his identity to you? What was holding him back?

“Let me see you.” You said softly, rubbing tiny circles on his hand with the pad of your thumb. “Please.”

“I don’t know if you’ll like what you see.” He said quietly, giving your hand a squeeze in return. 

“Try me.”

You heard him let out a nervous little sigh and it made your heart swell. You felt drunk on the idea that you were somehow capable of making Draco Lucius Malfoy nervous. It had always been the other way around. 

“Fine. I might take a chance.” He whispered, letting your hand go so he could lift the veil between the two of you. You’d be ready when he did, you embrace him and everything about him with open arms. “Only because it's you, y/n.” 

You sucked in a breath and waited in dizzying anticipation. Any moment now…

“Linus is making his speech.” Fay Dunbar jogged towards the photo booth, rouged cheeks and short of breath. “Come now Y/n..” She lifted the curtain between you and Draco. “...And Malfoy, you too.”

Draco coughed loud enough for most people to turn their heads towards your direction. You just sat there pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Did I..” Fae alternated between looking and you and Draco. “I feel like I walked right into the middle of something…”

“For the love of Salazar Slytherin…” Draco groaned more or less to himself before looking up. “What does it look like, Fay?”

“It looks like you two were having a moment…I’ll just–” Fay mumbled something about getting more wine and vanished, leaving you and Draco sitting next to each other. The veil was still in place but it did little to nothing now that you both knew. 

“Hi.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you with a wonky and awkwards smile. 

“Hi.”

“Why are you following me?” He asked, and you lightly punched his right arm. 

“Why do you think I’m following you?” You asked and he caught you by the wrist the second time you punched his arm, pulling you closer.

“Because you are always around, Y/n.” He began with his peppermint cool breath tickling your face. “When I try to take the elevator to level two every morning, when I want that one last almond biscotti…” His free hand trailed across your cheeks before setting down near your jaw, cupping your face. “I try to go to bed and you even follow me into my dreams, bicker with me–Merlin, you talk so much sometimes I just want to…”

 His lips ghosted an inch away from your, and his eyes were lowered to look at your lips. The intensity in his gaze made you nervous and loopy. You had to anxiously chew on the bottom part of your lip to keep yourself together and that proved to be more counter productive because now, Draco was licking his own lip. 

“Want to what, Draco?”

****

He took one last, long and meaningful glance at your lips. He’d kissed you so many times in his dreams before. Sometimes they were innocent, sometimes they were filthy. But whatever type of kiss it was in his dreams, he’d never been nervous. How silly he’d been to think it would be the same in reality. 

All of Draco’s senses were heightened as he drew his face closer. The place where you held him, your fingers twisted right along the hairs at the nape of his neck burned. Every little movement of yours lit his entire existence ablaze. He was nervous. He was so fucking nervous that he had to look into your eyes to see if you wanted this as much as he did. 

You closed your eyes and parted your lips slightly and that little breath that escaped you was as soothing as rain. It was the reassurance he needed to press his lips onto you and oh, he did. Firmly. 

When your rain met his fire, it sizzled. When his tongue met your tongue, Draco couldn’t help but let out a satisfied hiss. No feeling compared to the feeling of kissing the woman that he’d been pining for since the day he first met her. 

 “....that one time, I flirted with someone in the ministry and it had to be you.” Draco whispered in between suckling your lower lip. “What are the odds?”

“Slim to none.” You mumbled, clearly too preoccupied fighting for dominance with his tongue to think of anything else to say. 

“Either that or you’re following me.” Draco chuckled, as the two of you finally broke away. It was a work event. DMLE did not need more gossip, that one rumour going around about two interns getting it got and heavy behind the storage room was enough for now. 

“You got me, I am definitely following you.” You agreed and he pressed a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose. “You know, we probably missed half of Linus’s speech right?”

****

When you went back to the Ministry for work the very next day, you were humming. You were waving hello to everyone you bumped into and you hadn't even had your morning coffee yet.

The elevator called you towards it like a siren and you waltzed in, expecting Draco to show up any minute. You had to press the open button two to three times while you waited, assuming that he was running later than usual.

“Level 4 Please.” A man entered the elevator and waited for you to press the button and though you were hesitant, you had no choice but to oblige. Draco had missed your shared morning ritual. 

Another surprise hit you when you entered your cubicle and opened your file. Long wordy feedback, pros, cons and the DMLE stamp. Harry was back. 

Flinging the file back onto your desk, you raced to the elevator and pressed the Level 2 button so hard, the button almost went inside completely. Harry wasn’t supposed to come back for a few more weeks. 

“Draco–I need to talk to Draco.” You asked the new front desk clerk who just looked at you with owlish eyes, widened in confusion. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” You murmured impatiently. “I work for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee and I need to talk to Draco Malfoy, immediately.”

“But do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid I must—”

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” Fay walked by, with a mug of black coffee, looking like the epitome of hangover after the party.

“I came to see Draco. Do you know where he is?”

“I think he went to the Atrium. Something about a cookie, I think.”

You said a quick thank you before you ran like hell to the elevator and the Atrium all over again. In a way, it felt like your whole relationship with Draco had come to a full-circle when you saw him standing in front of the pop-up shop with a brown paper bag in his hand. 

“Morning Sunshine.”He grinned and you scowled back at him in return. “What’s wrong?”

“I waited for you at the elevator and when I didn’t see you at the DMLE, I panicked.” You threw your hands up in frustration. “And you are here, getting a cookie?”

“Almond Biscotti, last one.” He held the brown paper bag tight, looking at you with an amused look in his eyes. “They always run out so I had to come in early and stand in line.”

“You little thief.”

“Here.” He lifted a brow that perfectly framed his face and extended his arm to hold the paper-bag within your reach.

“Is this for me?”

“No Cookie, it's for another girl I ride the elevator with. That’s why I wasn’t there with you this morning.” He smirked and watched you take a nibble of the elusive biscotti.

“You know, I take mixed martial arts lessons after work….” You threatened, with your mouth full and Draco palmed his forehead suppressing a laugh.

Everyone was right. The biscotti did taste like lemon groves and almonds and all things good. You would have even said it was the best thing you’d ever tasted had you not just kissed Draco yesterday. 

Nothing tasted better than him.

Draco Malfoy aka department of magical Law and Enforcement employee, arch-enemy, love interest, extremely attractive and…almond biscotti thief. 

Fin.

~~~

Draco Fluff Taglist: @found-againn @haroldpotterson @Lolo2bougie @Cha_woozii @immeli_ssaaa @onlyangelsweetheart @thehalfbloodedwitch @mvdbldd @onyourgoddamnleft @delsij @i-have-my-issues @forevermalfoysgirl @evahpmcu @marcela6malfoy @official-fangirl @drxylvr @awkardnerd @itsnotquimey @vodkandjin @dracoslittlesunflower @darckxlady @bokutos-babyowl @wobblymug @Simrah1012 @myshamalfoy @dilf-lover21 @carnationbasement @arianagreyy @o-rion-sta-r @naisnape @youreso-golden @maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @dlmmdl @desiredmalfoy @trainintersection @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @lolooo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @dracomalfoyisindahouse @sycathorn-slush @lalunemoonstone @supermisunderstoodoceans @belladaises @riddleswh0r3crux @justreadingficsdontmindme @axdxis @97santoki @laceycallisto @haroldpotterson @thetipsysaquatch @darlingmalfoy @letsmariya @malfoysbiitch @turn-to-page-394-please @malfoysgem @m4lf0ym1lk3rs @ameliasbitvh @slythermuf @wolfstar_lb @underappreciated-spoon-321 @yiamalfoy @louweasleymalfoy @fa-me @dracoswhore007 @xiayre

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[goingtothebes]

[On “This Year”] "You have these little moments that you don’t know are saving your life because they feel tawdry and squalid at the time. I had a corduroy coat that belonged to my father that he had given to me because he had moved on to a new corduroy coat and I noticed that it had a rip in the lining so I could put a fifth of Cutty Sark in there and go to school. Cutty Sark is terrible stuff and hard to stomach when you’re seventeen but I figured it out. So, Cutty Sark. It’s a scotch whiskey, and it’s not very, how do I say this, it’s not very good. But I had some. And I had it in the lining of this old corduroy coat that belonged to my father which seemed kind of important to me. He was sober, he’d been on the program for a decade at that point but I myself was not, because I was having a pretty bad year of it when I was seventeen and I was getting worse and worse as a person. I was not getting— it was bad— it was real bad, but you have these moments, I was saying, where people are sort of saving your life and I spent a Saturday afternoon hanging out in a parking garage that was under construction at a place at Harvey Mudd called the Mudd Hole that had the Gorgar pinball machine. That machine knows who its boss is. They had Crystal Castles featuring Bentley Bear. They had Quiz & Dragons later on, but at this time they mainly had a hallway where me and a friend could sit and pass a bottle of scotch back and forth while I waited to go back home to get my ass beat. This is called This Year." - John Darnielle, The Fillmore, 2019

[sjamescentre]

Fluffbruary - Day 15 - Vintage John

Prompt was drink. I took it literally - a short history of John's drinking life. And bonus points for the pic. for @fluffbruary

It's also here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/37152175

Vintage John

John had his first beer when he twelve. Stolen from his grandfather's fridge on a dare, he carried the bottle to school the next day, wrapped in an old jumper and buried in his backpack beneath his maths homework. Hiding behind the garden shed after school, he and Tommy Leith passed the bottle back and forth between them, laughing and belching loudly. They buried the empty bottle under a rock when they were done. John pocketed the cap for luck and carried it in his back pocket all through secondary school.

The first time he got drunk, he was sixteen and had a crush on a girl who barely knew his name. He'd just finished reading a Hemingway novel in which every character drank to forget the pain of unrequited love. All he could find at the back of the pantry was a half-empty bottle of peach schnapps and a dusty bottle of Celteg elderberry wine. He grabbed both bottles, tucked them beneath his flannel jacket, and headed to the woods behind the house. He was a quarter way through the bottle of elderberry wine when the trees began to blur. He liked the feeling of a world less solid than the one he was used to. He liked how the wine filled that part of him that had always felt hollow. He was three quarters the way through the bottle when he threw up all over the library's copy of "The Sun also Rises." It was dark when stumbled home, singing "Anarchy in the UK" before vomiting, one last time, in his father's boots.

By his third year at uni, he drank every weekend at local pubs, listening to cover bands and playing it cool. He learned to love the burn of scotch against his throat, the slow fire it fueled in his gut. He liked how the music sounded when it was filtered through a haze of cigarettes and whisky. The first time he kissed a man – in the alley behind the Pig and Whistle in the middle of February – he was drunk on Highland Black Whisky and the dangerous feeling of his hard-on pressed up against another man's cock.

Home from Afghanistan, he drank every day. One shot because he was thirsty, two because it had been a bad day, three because that's how many it took to blur the jagged edges of his life. Six and he didn’t care anymore that his job, his flat, his life was complete shite. He knew it was becoming a problem when Harry told him she was worried about his drinking.

It was Sherlock who introduced him to good wine. He taught him about Pinot Noir and Beaujolais and Cabernet, about balance and nose and finish. How to identify the parts that made up the whole, like the notes of a sonata. Sherlock showed him that good wine wasn't always expensive, and expensive wine wasn't always good. That Chardonnay tasted better after sex. That bad wine was worse than no wine.

Later, Sherlock taught him that drinking never cured a broken heart.

Four years later, when he and Sherlock were finally finding their way back to each other, John kept a bottle of Glenlivet under the sink in the kitchen. He called it scotch tape – they only seemed to drink it when they needed help putting together the broken pieces of their lives.

It was only years later, after they made the move from London to Sussex, that John discovered that Newcastle Brown Ale, sucked out of the hollow of Sherlock's neck, was the only drink he ever needed.

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction | Angsty Arguments Part 2 [Request]

 PART ONE

Seokjin:

The moment you walked out on Jin he knew what he had done was wrong, he felt guilty for yelling at you. Snapping the necklace he'd gotten you and saying all of the things he had said to you just because he was mad at that moment in time. He never meant a word he said to you so he was going to do everything and anything to make it up to you but the problem was trying to find you.

"Namjoon, please...Just tell me where she is." Jin pleaded with Namjoon who had been the one to help get you to a hotel, a decent one and put you up with accommodation for the next week while you figured out your next move.

"Why would I help you? I know we're friends Jin but you were an arse," Namjoon's voice was laced in disgust as he looked at someone he thought would never hurt another person for as long as he lived.

"I made a mistake, I have to talk to her and right the wrong," Jin pleaded once again, it felt as though he was begging but if that was what it was going to take to see you again. Then he would beg all of the time he had left on the earth. He wouldn't give up until he got to talk to you, apologise for his actions.

"If I tell you where she is, will you leave her alone if she doesn't want to talk to you?" Namjoon quizzed, he could see how upset Jin was about all of this and he could see all of the guilt that was weighing him down.

"If she won't talk, I'll leave." Jin had a better idea than that, he'd write a letter before he went to you that way, if you didn't want to talk to him he could drop the letter off and have everything explained in there.

(X)

You slowly pulled the door open to reveal Jin, you knew he was coming over because Namjoon had called to warn you beforehand.

"Come in," You whispered, moving out of the way so that he could walk into the room. Only hours before this you had been fighting about what he thought of you, all of the words he'd called you were still swimming around in your skull.

"I want to say sorry, I never meant anything you know that right?" You knew that he probably didn't mean them but when he said it, it hurt more than anything. It was bigger than any fight you had, had before with him and it was weighing down on you the more you thought about it. As you looked down at the floor you saw your promise ring on a new chain, it was tangled between his fingers as though he'd been nervously playing with it.

"I-I fixed it," He whispered as he held up the chain for you to see, you smiled weakly at the thought of him going through the effort of finding a new chain for it.

"Jin we can't pretend this never happened...." He nodded at you, slowly taking your hand in his he placed the necklace down into the palm of your hand.

"I'm not asking for you to forgive me right away...I want to make things right. I don't want that to be the end of us, I was just mad and feeling insecure about you spending time with someone other than me." Your expression softened as he opened up to you about what was really going on in his head and you squeezed his hand.

"I-I think some time away from each other will be good...Just this week, then I'll come home," You promised him as you handed him the necklace, turning so he could attach it to your neck where it belonged.

"I'll be home." You promised him, leaning up to leave a small and gentle kiss on his lips as he blushed, holding onto your waist not wanting to let you go just yet.

Yoongi:

The moment the door to the apartment shut Jungkook came out from his hiding spot. Trying to comfort you but you just shook your head, begging him to leave you alone.

"I-I don't want to be around anyone right now," You whimpered but Jungkook stood his ground. Helping you to your feet as he took you into your bedroom if you were going to be alone and cry he at least wanted to make sure you would be comfortable.

"I'll kill him." Jungkook mumbled as you continued to sob hysterically into the pillows, thinking over everything that he'd said to you.

(X)

"What the fuck!?" Yoongi slurred as the bottle of scotch he was drinking was smashed against the floor. Jungkook, much to Namjoon's dismay, had stormed into Yoongi's room to have words with him.

"I should be asking you that! What was that back at Y/n's place?!" Jungkook demanded to know answers from his Hyung. He'd never seen him so mad at something before and it was starting to bother him.

"You called her a slut, accused her of cheating?!" Yoongi, in his drunken state, frowned as he looked at the Maknae.

"Did she come crying to you!?" He slurred but Jungkook groaned at him, as Jin walked into the room. Holding a large cup of coffee to try and sober Yoongi up a bit.

"No, I was the man in the house. The shoes, the coat...All mine. Believe it or not, we were planning on doing something nice for your birthday," The words cut through Yoongi easily and he was left staring at Jungkook. His mouth opening and closing like a fish as he was lost on what to say.

"She wasn't cheating on me?" Jungkook shook his head, scoffing as he made his way to the door.

"Funny that, if you'd given her time to talk maybe you would have heard the truth,"

(X)

 You weren't sure how much time had passed since Jungkook left you in the bedroom. You'd had the curtains shut so you didn't know what time it was, your phone was downstairs. You'd heard it ringing but didn't bother to get up and shut it off.

"Y/n I'm coming in," Yoongi's voice filled the air but you didn't move, you knew he was in the apartment. You'd heard the door open and close, then his desperate calls of your name.

"Babe-" You shuddered at the smooth tone of his voice, moving away from him as he sat down on the bed beside you.

"Baby...I didn't mean-"

"But you said it," Was all you could say before the tears began to roll again. Streaming down your cheeks as you looked away from him not wanting him to see you this way.

"Jungkook told me it was him in the house...I never meant it, I said it because it was easier for me to hate you if you did cheat..." You frowned as you tried to make sense of anything he had just said to you.

"I would never-"

"I know you wouldn't, but an insecure part of me always thinks you will. I think you'll find someone better and leave me...I-I thought that last night was the night you would leave me." He was crying now, you could hear the way his voiced cracked. Crawling over to him you laid your head in his lap, wanting to comfort him even if he had been the one to make you sad.

"I love you Yoongi, I would never do that, you know this." You whimpered as he wrapped his arms around your body.

"Can you forgive me?" The question on your mind as well, if you could manage to forgive him for everything he'd said.

"It won't be a quick fix...But I'll do everything to make it up to you." He promised, kissing your forehead as you slowly nodded at him. Not wanting him to let go of you now he was back beside you.

Hoseok:

You'd tried your best to ignore Hoseok for as long as you could, you stopped replying to his texts. You had the locks on your apartment changed and even stopped talking to the rest of the boys. If it was true what Hoseok had said none of them would want you to be around them,

"I'll take it to go, please," Your voice came out hoarse as you spoke to the barista in front of you. Paying for your drink before you went to wait in the corner, There were hushed tones coming from the table behind you and when your name was called out a small gasp followed.

"Y/n?" You turned to see Hoseok walking over to you, you shook your head. Your worst nightmare come true, that he would find you and try to say it all to you again. You left your drink on the counter, walking out of the cafe and down towards the parking lot. It was the first day you'd forced yourself to go out in months and now you were deeply regretting it. Hoseok kept up with you and then followed you up to your car, trying to get you to talk to him but you kept your head down.

"Y/n, talk to me please." He begged you, grabbing onto your hand but the moment he came into contact with you you broke down. Crying out as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you carefully and shushing you.

"I'm sorry, I know what I did and said was wrong, I'm sorry." He repeated as you both sank down to sit on the floor beside your car, you continued to sob against his chest. Pushing him away from you but every time you pushed he pulled so he could hold you. Not wanting you to be alone after everything he'd put you through.

"I didn't mean it, I was stressed, I was annoyed, it was wrong." He whispered over and over again as he began to rock you back and forth in his arms. Kissing your shoulder and promising you that he didn't mean a single thing he had said that day.

"I'm sorry, you were trying to do something nice and I ruined it." He mumbled as he kissed your shoulder again, he knew it was that one spot that made you weak at the knees and helped calm you down no matter what.

"I'm sorry," He repeated over and over again until you finally stopped crying and shaking. Just laying in his arms as he held you close to him. Begging for you to go back home with him, not to leave him.

"I-I can't," You whimpered as you rose to your feet, looking at him as you awkwardly tried to leave him.

"I have things to do at my place...I-I have a cat to look after," He chuckled weakly at the thought of you owning a cat.

"I left for a month and you got a cat?" You groaned at him and he smiled sadly.

"Let me come and meet the little one...We can talk more at your place," You knew if you were agreeing with him to come back with you, you would be taking him back so you nodded at him. Wanting to talk more later when you could be alone without ear listening in on every word.

Namjoon:

Namjoon waited until Jin left your apartment that night, he had no idea where you'd gone after you sound out about him cheating on you so he followed Jin. Jin was the only one you'd allowed to come and see you since the breakup last week and Namjoon knew that.

"Did you forget something?" You giggled thinking it was Jin knocking on your door but the smile fell when you saw Namjoon standing there,

"Are you sleeping together?" He stormed into the apartment looking around for any signs that you and Jin had been together tonight but you just stared at him from the door. Waiting for him to leave again but it looked as though he was going to stay.

"No. We're not. Unlike you Namjoon I have loyalty. He was helping me move furniture around," It wasn't a lie. You and Jin would never do that to Namjoon even if he had been the one to cheat on you. The boys were friends first and you could never pull the apart.

"How do I know you didn't cheat on me first?!" You scoffed at his statement, pointing outside of the apartment as you waited for him to leave you alone.

"I don't want to talk about this right now, I don't even want to look at you. You disgust me." It was harsh but it was the truth, it had taken you all week to work up the courage to even say Namjoon's name in front of Jin and now here he was accusing you of being the one to throw the relationship down the gutter.

"I didn't do anything-"

"No, no, of course, you didn't. You were just fucking another girl behind my back." You stood your ground, you weren't going to let him blame all of this on you when you had nothing to do with it.

"You were the one with your dick in someone else, not me." He walked out of the door, turning to face you before you had a chance to slam the door in his face.

"Can I make it up-"

"No. We're done. I never want to see you again. I-I can't go back to someone who would destroy my trust like that," With that you shut the door, locking it before you slid down onto your knees. Crying into your hands as you tried to keep your sobs to a minimal. Not wanting Namjoon to hear you like this. Once a cheat always a cheat. Was all you had to keep reminding yourself about. If he did it once he would do it again and as much as you loved him you could never let it happen again. It was soul destroying.

Jimin:

Jimin raced to your hotel room trying to make everything right since he'd been the one to fuck up. The whole ride over he'd heard nothing but snarky remarks from Jungkook who was telling him badly he'd fucked up.

"She's not here, you fucked up," Jungkook remarked again as they stood in your empty hotel room. The only thing there was a hoodie he'd given you before and the pair of earrings he'd gotten you the year before.

"You don't think I fucking know that?! You don't think I see that I've thrown the only good thing for me away!?" He yelled, shoving past Jungkook and heading out of the hotel again, he got into the car telling the driver to head for the airport. Ignoring Jungkook as the maknae reminded him they had a show to get ready for but right now nothing mattered. Nothing except for getting to you before you got on a plane and left him for good. He didn't want to risk losing you like this.

(X)

"Flight 180 to Seoul, Korea now boarding." You got up from the metal chairs you were sitting on and began walking over to the gates when you heard someone yell out your name.

"Y/n! I know you heard me, don't get on that plane!" You turned around to see Jimin rushing over to you. He was still in one of the outfits he'd been wearing when you heard him on the stage.

"What?" You questioned coldly as he finally reached you and stood in front of you. He was drenched in sweat as he panted, trying to get words out.

"You can't go-"

"I can, and I will." You mumbled, trying to move away from him but all he did was take your wrist in his hand. Looking up at you with puppy eyes as he tried to explain himself.

"Flight 555, last call."

"Jimin. I have to go." He shook his head, demanding that you stay with him, that he had to talk to you.

"You said what you said, it's over. I'm leaving now." You mumbled to him as you began to walk away from him again.

"Y/N! PLEASE!" You stopped when you noticed people turning to look at him now. All of them starting to realise who he was,

"Jimin. Not here," You whispered, rushing to his side as he continued to yell out and profess his love for you.

"Jimin. You called me annoying, you called me obsessive why would I ever-" Your argument was cut short as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pushing his lips against yours. You melted against his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck as you relaxed against his touch.

"Don't leave. I-I was a jerk-"

"I would have a better choice of words," You mumbled as he leant his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes as he tried to explain himself again. He knew there was nothing on this earth that could make it up to you.

"I was showing off, in front of the sound guys. I wanted to act like I didn't care when we both know it's not true. We both know that I could never find you annoying," He was reaching up to cup your face, you snuggled into his hand and he smiled weakly.

"I'll make it up to you," He whispered as he kissed you again. Only this time it was interrupted by his manager, yelling at the both of you for making the show late.

Taehyung:

The decorations were all in the bin as you finished cleaning up the empty cafe, the workers had gone home and left you the keys to the shutter. You were pretty close with the owners so they knew they could trust you,

"We're closed." You called out when you heard the bell above the door go off. Without a second passing, two arms wrapped around you tightly and Taehyung placed his head in the crook of your neck. You whimpered as he began to whisper how sorry he was to you, sorry wasn't good enough this time. Not after everything, he'd put you through in front of everyone. The embarrassment of having to explain what had happened while trying not to cry in front of families and friends.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," He mumbled against your neck but all you did was wiggle out of his grasp and walk away from him. Taking the bin bags into the back storage room and throw them in the garbage chute.

"And yet you did," You mumbled back to him as he continued following you around the store trying to get you to talk to him.

"I was being an idiot, Jimin had been mocking me all week about getting old...I just-"

"You just what? Thought it would be okay to take it out on me?" You turned to look at him, raising your eyebrows as you waited for some kind of reasonable explanation from him.

"I didn't mean to, I just- I'm sorry." This time he was the one crying, tears rolling down his face as he mumbled out words of apology. Your heart sank as you realised just how sorry he was about all of this,

"Tae-"

"I know I don't deserve you to accept this but please...I didn't mean it. I will spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you if you'll let me....Please." The bell above the door sounded and you walked away, leaving Taehyung in the back while you went to tell whoever this was that you were closed.

"He didn't mean it. I've been on his case all week Y/n...Go back to the apartment...Talk to him, help him see sense-" Jimin continued telling you what had happened that week and why Taehyung had been so harsh when Taehyung came out from the back.

"I already told her..." Taehyung mumbled as he went to leave, your hand reached for him and you stopped him from leaving by taking his hand in yours.

"W-Walk me home." You whispered to him, looking at him as he stared at you,

"O-Okay," Jimin walked out when he saw that you were in the process of making up with one another,

"You're forgiving me?"

"Not completely...You can make it up to me tomorrow with breakfast in bed," You whispered as you left the cafe together, locking the door behind you.

Jungkook:

When you came out of the bedroom Jungkook was sitting in front of the bedroom door, tear-stained cheeks as he looked up at you shaking his head when he saw the bag over your shoulder.

"Don't." He whispered, throwing the bag into the room as he forced you to go and lay on the bed with him. He wrapped his arms around your body but you sat there, as still as you could get and he whimpered.

"Don't leave me. I was angry. I didn't mean anything," He repeated over and over again as he laid down beside you. Kissing your cheeks as he tried to get you to forgive him,

"Jungkook you still said it," You whispered to him, remembering how he screamed at you to leave. How you could see how badly he wanted you out of the house.

"I'm doing what you wanted. Let me leave." You didn't want to leave at all, Jungkook was the love of your life and you would go anywhere he told you to go. Do anything he told you to do.

"Jungkook-"

"I was angry. I didn't mean it, we all say things we don't mean." He repeated as you felt more of his tears roll down onto your shoulder, you broke down turning around to face him as you wrapped your arms around his body. Snuggling into him and trying to ignore the nagging inside of you that was telling you to go. There was no way you could leave him like this, or ever. You loved him far too much and you knew he loved you too.

"I'm sorry," He whispered in your ear, kissing you softly as he repeated it over and over again until he drifted off to sleep with you in his arms. Clutching onto you the whole night so you wouldn't be able to leave him.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @rjsmochii​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @bisexualmess007​ @sw33tnight​ @innersooya​ @agustdjoon​ @sweeneyblue1​

[awkward-froogy]

Forgotten [Otto Octavius x reader]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Summary: The party really doesn’t go as planed.

A/N: Ok, I’m kind of scared for how this one turned out. If you like Norman as the sweet guy don’t read this, he gets a little persistent. But more soft Otto content sooooo...

TW:  There is SA so please be careful when reading this part.

Walking the 'red carpet' was defiantly an experience, everyone yelling at you to look their way with large flashes of light, asking many questions, like who you are, what the internship is like, and more personal ones. "Y/N are you and Doctor Octavius a couple?", you never responded to those questions hoping Otto didn't hear them. The question made you rather flustered. You finally discuss with one reporter, "Doctor Octavius and I are not a pair, just good friends. Sorry to break it to you, but no drama here." 

Otto overhears this conversation, hoping that you didn't just send him into the friend zone, where he normally is put. The two of you finally reach the entrance to what seems to be a huge ballroom. Who knew that Norman could actually throw a decent party. Most of the people there were talking in little huddles around tables, holding glasses of liqueur to calm their nerves. You look at Otto, "Want to get a drink?", Otto looks over the crowd of people, "Maybe later, I'm going to go talk to some colleges, meet up later?" Otto what are you doing, you're passing up this opportunity with Y/N to talk to colleges, really? You just look at him with a little sadness wiped over your face, "Oh, yes that's perfectly fine, see you later." You slowly part ways, walking towards the bar counter, him moving towards the crowd. "Gold mine please," you ask the bartender. Receiving the drink shortly after, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around you see a tall figure come into frame, they reach their hand out, "Hello, I was just wondering what a starlight person like yourself is doing here all alone?", You look up their eyes fully engulfed in yours, giving you the full attention. "Well, it seems my date has gone out into the crowd." you respond, "Hmm, would you like to dance then?" You look over at the crowd, trying to find a glimpse of Otto, but he is nowhere to be found. "Sure, why not." They over you their hand while slightly bowing, leading you to the dance floor you realize not a lot of people are dancing quite yet. They spin you around enough for you to catch your balance upon their chest, and the two of you start slow dancing. You depict that this new person is relatively close to your age but you have never seen them before at Oscorp, maybe they were another intern? With your hands over their chest and arm, you could shape out their physique. Quite fascinating, the feeling of muscle but not enough to be a gym rat, and a little plump in the midsection, which you have always adored in a partner. You sway back in forth for the remainder of the next couple of songs.

Otto looks around by the bar in hopes of finding you. Asking the bartender for a simple scotch drink he turns around to lean on the counter, finally laying eyes on you. Otto lights up until he sees who you dancing with. His gut starts to turn, out of rage, jealousy maybe, he doesn't know. Seeing this person swaying with you, looking like a perfect match in each other's eyes. He can't help but feel forgotten, as always. "Bartender, on second thought, give me the bottle." Otto decides to leave the party early, bottle in hand. He doesn't go home, he'd have to wait too long to drink if he did that. He goes up to his lab. Once there, he throws his coat and vest on the ground, going to the couch in the corner of the room for a seat down to drink his remainder of the night away.

Your dance with this mysterious person finally comes to an end, they place their hand on your cheek and slowly lift your face to theirs. Before anything gets too far you state, "I have to go to the restroom, please excuse me?" You slowly walk away, until they grab your hand and pull you back in for a gentle kiss on the cheek, and let go. As you walk toward the bathroom your hand slowly raises to the mark of the kiss.

As you turn the corner you are quickly pinned against the wall. It is Norman. "Well, Hello darling," he says with a sinister smile. You can tell this isn't your Norman anymore, he's different, less gentle, more demanding. "Why do you think you can embarrass me like this, showing up to my own party with my friend, your mentor? Then, dancing with that... that hooligan!" You look into his eyes out of full horror, his hand is on your throat slightly squeezing it. "Don't be scared," He moves his hands into your hair, pulling your head slightly back, "Norman I..." he quickly silently shouts, "Normans on sabbatical honey." Confusion overflows you, what is he talking about, Norman is standing right there. He starts to run his hands over you, he starts to force himself on you pinning you on the wall. He sloppily kisses your lips, not in a passionate way, but in a demanding, possessing way. You quickly shove him off you, Norman stumbles back losing his balance. "Norman what the hell is wrong with you. Stop it. Your insane." "INSANE. Your just lucky I haven't taken you right here, right now." His eyes gleamed in a green glow. You quickly step back and slide out of the situation as fast as you could, running away past the people, past your dance partner, to the elevator. You unconsciously press Otto's floor, hoping you could hide in the lab until the party was over.

Slowly make your way into the laboratory, dragging your feet across the floor. Walking into the lab you lay eyes on Otto. He's sitting at the counter looking over his work, he slowly looks up seeing the state you're in, he abruptly stands up, rushing over to your aid. "Y/N what's wrong?" Your eyes start to glaze, "I...I told him to stop, he.. he." Otto slowly shushes you, telling you that you don't have to explain yourself to him. He slowly grabs you into his arms, making sure it is ok. You lay your arms upon his chest letting the tears run down your cheeks, dampening his shirt. Being in his warmth is care enough, he overs to take you home, you agree. You get out of the building through back entrances and such to keep out of the eyes of the crowd. Sitting in the cab, you cuddle up toward Otto, laying upon his chest. "Y/N, what's the address?" Otto looks down to see you calmly sleeping, he doesn't want to wake you up, you've been through enough tonight. He can't recall your address, and cant make his way down to his coats pocket to check. He decides to take you back to his place. Arriving, he slowly picks you up to take you inside. Once in the apartment, he makes his way to the bedroom and sets you down on the bed gently. Going back into the living room to grab a blanket to drape over you. He starts to leave the bedroom once more, you reach out from under the blanket to grab his arm, "Otto, stay please?", "Y/N I..", "Please Otto." Otto nods, he goes to the other side of the bed staying above the covers. Otto tries to stay on his side of the bed as best as he could, it's hard after all he is a large guy. As he tries to keep his distance, you have the complete opposite idea and start to slowly move closer and closer to him. Barely touching him at first until you were fully at his side, you can feel him twitch at each inch you got closer to him. Otto's heart starts to race, what do they think they're doing, he thinks. Feeling his warmth only hoping he was under the covers with you, you want his arms to wrap fully around you. Squeezing the air out of your chest, to never let go of each other. The warmth of his core connecting to your own, telling you everything will be ok because he's there to protect you, always. You want to feel his heartbeat against your back, showing how scared he is of the situation but excited as well. A sudden shock falls upon you, your falling in love with Otto Octavius, a small smirk covers your face. Suddenly a memory of Norman squeezing your arms to pull you closer to him flashes across your consciousness. You jolt forward, losing connection with Otto, "Are you, ok dear, I didn't mean to..." Otto is convinced this is all his fault, he starts to fluster. This always happens to him, he always seems to mess everything up, Otto tells himself. Otto starts to get up until you turn over, face to face with Otto, putting your hand on top of his chest, rubbing it back and forth to show comfort that he did nothing wrong, "Otto, hold me?" opening the covers for Otto to come under them, you get closer to Otto's core again, now fully indulged in it. You move your hands over his midriff, feeling over every curve of his body. It's soft but strong at the same time, Otto tenses to the new tension over his midsection, he quickly looks down at you. You continue to tightly squeeze your arms around him, lifting one leg up to his waist. It takes Otto a longer time to relax, you help guide his arms around you, over your back. Otto rests his head on yours, he picks up the scent of your shampoo, it's perfect. He starts to make small comfort circles on your lower back. In this position, the two of you slowly drift off into sleep.

[dejwritesarchived]

Pssst *opens wallet* how much for a Shuya angst fic—after what we just talked about my mind is spinning😭😭

HE WAS SURE HE GOT HIS ANGER FROM HIS FATHER. When you grow up witnessing your father use his hands to express his anger in such a bloody way, what do you expect? Perhaps Shuya's words were a bit harsh. He was a blunt person. An asshole by nature if you asked some. The ones whose face he bashed in when they were late on paying their debt off. Large rough hands that have been stained with others' blood countless times. Burning up his own clothes with blood splatters on them. Being his father's son was the reason he was such an angry man.

Currently passing back and forth in his office, fingers combing through his messy hair, tie to his nicely tailored suit loosened around his neck. Despite hating his father's guts, Shuya still hated to disappoint the guy. So finding out a man who was in debt with his father had fleed New York City caused the eldest Sato brother to grow easy. Guzzling down the expensive scotch in his glass before eventually grabbing the bottle and taking a long sip from it. He's plopping down in the large black chair, his youngest brother on FaceTime on the giant Apple desktop computer screen.

"Don't panic, we have men in each state that could track him down. Plus dad's been getting sicker and sicker, he probably doesn't even fuckin' remember who owes him," Shao answered truthfully. "But we gotta find him, people find out people that are in debt with us is getting away...it's not a good look."

"I know that Shao. Thanks for being fucking captain obvious," Shuya rudely spat at his brother as his head fell back on the chair he was sitting in.

"No need to get rude, asshole, but I have to go. I have to officially finalize this deal with this gang." Shao says. "Just don't stress out about it, make your men work overtime to try to locate him. For all we know, he probably still in New York City."

The call ended leaving Shuya alone with his own thoughts. Even when his father was close to croaking, he still could feel the harsh burden burning at the pit of his stomach at the thought of disappointing him. He took another sip of his alcohol hearing his office door creak open. When he saw the beautiful woman at his door frame, on usual days his cock would instantly get hard at the sight of her. Tugging her in for a stern kiss while his large hands cup at her asscheeks. She always playfully pushes him claiming that his version of PDA is gross. [Y/N].

He didn't really want to be bothered right now. Especially with the shit that's been piling up on his plate at the moment.

"I don't really want to be bothered right now [Y/N], I'll get my driver to drive you back home." Shuya firmly said as his eyes were glued to his phone attempting to get updates on the current situation.

"But you promised we'll go out to dinner tonight. I spent two hours getting ready and you're not even properly dressed and you're already drinking," [Y/N] lip gloss-covered lips parter. Her arms crossed over her chest. Her skin already radiating so much heat in annoyance. He didn't even bother to look at her and take in her beauty.

"I said I don't want to be bothered right now." Shuya firmly repeated as he's leaning over, taking another sip of the alcohol in the bottle.

"You said that last time." [Y/N] argued. Even though he had already made up for canceling the last date (at the last minute), it still pierced her heart even thinking about it. So here the young woman was challenging the eldest Sato brother with so much confidence.

"I know what I fuckin' said. I made up for it, didn't I? You're literally wearing it." Shuya spat at her as his brown-colored eyes went back to his phone.

[Y/N]'s mouth gasps open. Her hands are firmly placed on his desk as she's leaning forward. "Is it another woman? I know you seem to can't keep your shit in your pants Shu, so I wouldn't be shocked if you fucked another woman."

"You're pushing it [Y/N]. Just go home, we'll talk about it tomorrow. I just have-"

"No, we're going to talk about right now. Are you fucking other women?"

Shuya's nostrils flare as he's breathing in a sharp breath. He was getting frustrated at her actions, her words. No, it wasn't frustration. It was annoying. Why couldn't she understand that he just didn't want to be bothered right now? He had shit to clear up right now.

But instead of communicating that with her. He chose the same route his father used to do with his mother, pushing her away.

"Do you want me to fuck other women? I can call up Isabella right now and fuck her right here in front of you." Shuya says as he looks at her. The same challenging eyes that she once was giving him softened. That tug some strings.

"You're such an asshole, go-ahead..go fuck Isabella. I don't care."

"I will and I'm going to enjoy it too," Shuya says. He's really watching himself ruin a perfect relationship.

[Y/N] lips parted to argue, but instead, she twirled around in her red bottoms leaving his office. The door slammed shut so aggressively behind her it caused a picture that was on the wall to collapse to the floor.

Shuya's head fell back into the chair once again as he took a sip out of the bottle once again. His hands trembling out of stress, frustration, and anger.

"FUCK!" He would yell before tossing the bottle halfway across the room as it collided with the light-colored walls.

There you go Shuya Sato pushing away people again?

[wondersofdreaming]

Shades of Blue

Characters: Henry Cavill x female reader

Word count: 1.872

Warnings: Lots of fluff. Lots of emotions. Lots of feelings. Making love. NSFW!

Author’s note: @jolly-polly​ and I were discussing about the Greek Islands, and how much I loved the culture, the food, the people, the ocean and so forth. So she told me to write a cave scene, and I in turn challenge her to write a cabin scene ;)

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

Thank you so much to @radaofrivia​, my angel, who send me lots of pictures, ideas, advice, sounds of the ocean, and lots of encouragement to write this piece.

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

The yacht was rocking slowly side to side, a soothing motion that was lulling you to sleep, together with the sound of water splashing against the tall cliff. Seagulls were diving into the azure ocean for fish or trying to steal each other’s catch. You could hear your friends swimming happily close to the shore, their laughter reaching your ears, making you smile widely.

You were laying on one end of the yacht, absorbing the sun’s rays and just enjoying your holiday in the Mediterranean Sea, when a large shadow blocked the warm light. You took off your sunglasses and shrieked when the brisk ocean water started dripping on you.

“Henry! That’s cold!” You told your boyfriend laughing as he pulled you up. His smile shone brightly through the shadow he cast and bent down to give you a gentle kiss.

“Come swim with me, my love,” he tried to coax you. His abs were glistening in the sun, his wet hair curling, and his cerulean eyes challenging you.

“How can I say no, when you give me those puppy dog eyes?

”You stand on the tip of your toes to kiss his nose, then wiggled out of his grip.

“The last one in the water is a slowpoke!”

Henry’s sweet laughter could be heard as he ran after you. You dove into the clear blue sea, enveloped by the cold refreshing liquid. You opened your eyes and watched an explosion of bubbles happening next to you. Henry’s grinning face came out of the foam and swam towards you. He wrapped his muscular arms around your waist and with a few kicks of his strong legs, he broke to the surface, gasping for air.

“You cheated,” he accused you, but his teasing eyes and grinning lips were telling you, he didn’t mind that you had won the impromptu race.

“I did no such thing,”

“How about a consolation prize for the loser?” He pouted.

An amused look spread on your suntanned face as you went to meet his full lips. Even while he was using a lot of strength to hold you both above water, he kneaded your ass and took over the kiss. He was like a starving lion, hungry for anything you would give him. What he didn’t know was that he already owned you, body, heart, and soul.

His tongue touched the rim of your lips, seeking entrance to your warm mouth. You opened up to him, trusting him to keep you from drowning. The tip of your tongue moved to touch the roof of his mouth. You felt the vibrations of his moans through your entire body. One large hand palmed the back of your head, deepening your coupling.

“Oi! Lovebirds! We’re going to get something to eat, are you coming?” One of your friends yelled from the shore.

Henry’s lips spread as he smiled into yours. He slowly moved away, pecking your well-kissed lips one last time, before turning his attention to your friend.

“No thanks, mate. We’re good.”

“We are?” You asked him. His signature panty-melting smirk gave you a hint that he was hungry for something other than food.

“I have something special planned for us,” he whispered, licking the shell of your ear. A quiver went down your spine in anticipation of what was to come.

You swam towards the yacht. Henry helped you out of the teal coloured ocean.

“Stay here, we’re going to the shore in just a minute.”

He went into the bedrooms and collected a waterproof rucksack. His large hand wrapped around your smaller one as you dove back into the Aegean Sea, swimming the short distance to the beach.

Your friends waved at you from the bar, sending you cheeky smiles. Henry pushed you gently the opposite way.

“Henry, where are we going?” You asked, keeping up with his long strides.

“It’s a surprise. I promise you’ll love it.”

After a few more minutes of walking, Henry stopped and put his large palms over your eyes.

“Take a few steps until I say stop,” Henry told you. You giggled and took a cautious step, not knowing what was in front of you except sand. He guided you a little to the left, into the ocean until the water reached your knees. You then wadded through the waves for a few metres before Henry told you to stand still.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

Henry’s chuckle made you smile. You had gotten goosebumps from the excitement. Henry removed his hands. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the very bright sun.

The scene in front of you made you start to tear up.

“I got a little help to set this up,” Henry leaned his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your torso.

“I love it, babe. Thank you,” you told him and kissed his scruffy cheek.

Smiling, he led you to the laid out black and blue blanket that had been set up with a picnic basket, a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice, and a single red rose lay on top of an envelope.

You opened and read the card out loud:

“Have fun, lovebirds 😉”

A burst of laughter escaped your lips. You set the card down and handed the cooled bottle to Henry.

The bubbly liquid spilt over his hands when the cork flew up in the air. You quickly held up the two glasses for him to pour in the champagne.

Henry fed you fresh Vietnamese spring rolls, Scotch eggs, blueberry muffins, scones, a large variety of chocolate-covered fruits, different cheeses and loaves of freshly baked bread.

“When did you have time to make all of this?” You asked curiously while biting into a Scotch egg. The yolk was soft and gooey, just the way you liked it, and the crumb was crispy and bursting with flavour.

“Most of the food is from a restaurant in town, but the Scotch eggs and scones I made on the yacht, while you slept in this morning,” he told you and took a large gulp of the golden wine.

“How sneaky of you. That’s why the kitchen was so clean when I got up.”

“Well, I had to clean the mess I made, so you wouldn’t become suspicious.”

“Very clever of you, Mr Cavill.”

The grin on his handsome face hinted on more surprises to come.

“You’re hiding something, my love. Out with it.”

Henry ate the last bite of the food, before he stood, dusting some sand off his trunks.

“I do have something I want to show you,” he held out his hand, helping you up. You helped him pack the blanket and empty champagne bottle into the rucksack. The rest was shoved into the picnic basket.

Henry intertwined your fingers together as you walked further down the beach, which was getting narrower and narrower. Henry put the rucksack and picnic basket down and waded into the clear water when there was no more sand to walk on.

You would follow him to the end of the earth if it meant being with him forever. When the ocean reached your chest, he picked you up and swam to the other side of the rocky wall.

A large entrance to a cave loomed over your heads as Henry inched closer. You could hear the waves hitting the cavern walls, it made the eerie-looking grotto less intimidating.

“Oh my gosh, Henry. How did you find this?”

“We sailed past it yesterday,”

“Huh, I didn’t even notice. Someone was distracting me by walking around in nothing but these tight swimming trunks.”

Henry laughed and paddled into the cave. The sea went rapidly from light cyan to midnight blue. The light couldn’t reach that far inside, but your eyes swiftly adjusted to the dark. A tiny island sat in the middle of the grotto, and it looked like the rocks there were moving.

“Look, Henry! It’s turtles!”

It was quite the sight, as the turtles moved to make room for the two of you. The surface of the island was flat and smooth. You sat at the edge with your feet in the water, shivering a bit from the cold air inside the cave.

“Come here, my angel.”

Henry manoeuvred you into his lap. You felt his rising excitement beneath your bottom. His lips grazed your exposed shoulders. A fire was slowly building up inside you, as his lips explored your chest, removing your bikini top.

His nimble fingers moved between your bodies. It felt as if he was touching you everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You burned for him, wanting his soft touch at your most intimate place.

“Henry…” you whined.

“Patience, darling. All good things come to those who wait.”

You huffed out an annoyed groan. But two could play the dirty game, so you moved your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp, pulling gently at his curls, while you clashed your lips to his. The grunts that left his lips made you grind your pelvis to his groin. His eyes turning to a dark sapphire colour.

In one swift move, he had you on your back. The surface of the island cold, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was Henry. He whispered words of love in your ear as he made sweet passionate love to you. Your moans echoed through the cavern as you moved as one being. The sound of the water splashing in the background. The turtles jumping into the ocean to give you space. Your bodies moved as fluidly as the waves.

All your senses were heightened, but they were concentrated on Henry. Tears of joy and tears of ecstasy from the intense emotions that were welling up inside you ran down your reddened cheeks. Henry kissed them away, drinking the salty sea pouring from your lust-filled eyes.

It felt like an eternity had passed that you had spent forever in the cave, but only a moment had gone by. Time had stopped while you two devoured each other in a passionate pairing.

As the waves crashed against the island, so did the ecstasy burst inside your satisfied body. You fell into the abyss of euphoria together. You were panting as if you had just run a marathon.

Sweat mixed with salty seawater dripped down your back. Henry moved to lay down next to you, pulling you on top of him. He kissed your forehead lovingly, telling you how much he loved you.

After you caught your breath you put your bikini back on, even made Henry help you tie the ends together. You jumped headfirst into the indigo water and out into the horizon dipping sun. A turtle swam past you, gracing you with its fin.

Henry dove beneath the waves to swim after it and you followed him. More turtles joined your little swimming party as you danced with Henry in the waves. The sky had gone from cornflower blue to shades of orange, red, pink and purple.

“Thank you for today, handsome. I do have one request before the day is over.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“You just rocked that tiny island, do you think we can make the yacht rock too?”

[fivelakesinwriting]

Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) Part Eight

Warnings: All characters are aged 18+. Sexual innuendos, sexual tension. Swearing, name calling (not in the fun way). Angst.

Author's Notes: I'm sorry this took me so long to release. I had severe block for this - I knew where I wanted to go with it, but it was just a matter of hoping over those stones. I think this is a good start.

*This is a direct continuation of Part Seven.

Please see my masterlist for all other works . My work is NOT to be transferred, translated, reposted or copied to any other sites without my permission. But feel free to reblog on here if that tickles your fancy. Thank you for all your support xoxo

Rafe scanned the dance floor where he saw Gemma standing with Sarah, the two giggling as they passed a bottle of wine back and forth between small hip shakes. Rafe ran a hand through his hair as he stomped over to Gemma. He grabbed the wine bottle from her hands, slammed it on the table and pulled her out to the terrace.

"What the fuck, Rafe?" I was talking to Sarah." Gemma slurred as she pulled her arm from his grip.

"You're drunk, and your fucking boyfriend just got tossed out of here." Rafe spat as he pointed a finger in her face.

"You got kicked out?" Gemma asked as she reached for his lapels.

"Not mme! Fucking Maybank! Did you tell him to come here?" Rafe yelled , his eyes wild with rage.

"No! Why would I do that?" Gemma asked as she recoiled from him. They had been in more fights than she could count, but he always scared her when he yelled.

"Because you can't stay away from him." Rafe glared as he looked her up then down. He was briefly disgusted as he thought about the way she moved under him, and wondered if she was the same with Maybank.

The slap across his face was quick, he didn't see it coming. Rafe pursed his lips as he registered what had happened. He leaned down to her height, his hands in his pockets.

"Bitch."

"Fuck you, Rafe. Suck your own dick tonight." Gemma replied before she turned to walk away from him.

Rafe grabbed her elbow and pulled her against him once more. He held her tight against his chest and looked down at her.

"You're coming home with me tonight, Mercer." Rafe spat as he held her close with his left hand and his right hand held her face, his eyes fixed on her painted lips.

"Why would I go home with you, asshole?" Gemma glared as she tried to push him away, but he was simply too strong.

"Because you're drunk and I'm not sucking my own dick. Not tonight, not ever." Rafe replied with a squeeze of her face.

As Gemma was about to speak they heard the commotion from around the corner off the side of the awning. Rafe released his hold on Gemma and took her hand, gently, a far cry from how he had held her seconds ago. He led her from the balcony terrace to the rest of the party where JJ was still being led away from the party.

"Get him the fuck out of here." Rafe yelled with a toss of his hand towards JJ.

"Rafe, stop. Please. Let's just go." Gemma begged softly with a tug of his sleeve.

JJ wrestled himself from David's grasp, held up his hands in defense and began to make his way towards the candlelit exit. He grabbed an expensive scotch glass or two on the way out, tossing back the contents for liquid courage.

"Don't leave with him Gemma. You're better than Rafe Cameron. Hell. You can do better than me. Just don't leave with that animal!" JJ yelled as he backed off the country club property, a finger pointed at Gemma but his eyes fixed on Rafe.

"I'm an animal? You're the one who can't keep his filthy fucking hands off my girlfriend." Rafe seethed as he pushed Gemma behind him to take a few steps through the crowd towards JJ.

Gasps, followed by an almost ear splitting silence. Rafe didn't mean to say that. Definitely it in front of everyone with money and power in the OBX.

"Gemma Nadine Mercer, get in the car. We are leaving." Anthony Mercer stated firmly behind Gemma with a hand on her shoulder.

"Dad. It's not what you think." Gemma stated quickly as she turned to face her father, all the wine she had consumed that evening leaving her body.

"What? That you're the whore of the Outer Banks? The fist fight I broke up the in the men's room earlier certainly makes sense now. Get your ass in the car. Now. You're more like your mother every day." Anthony Mercer spat beneath his breath as he took hold of his daughters elbow to tug her away from Rafe who still glared at JJ.

Gemma swallowed a sob as she ripped her arm from her father's grasp before she made her way through the rich gawkers of the OBX. She pulled her hair out of the twist Petra had helped her with earlier and tossed the pearl barrette into the well trimmed hedges.

"Now, you look like a respectable young woman."

Her step mother's voice in her head sent shivers down her spine. She already felt like a respectable young woman, and didn't want to be Petra's version of that. A loud sob was released from the back of her throat as she stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot looking for her dad's car. Her son echoed throughout the dark lot.

"Gemma! Gemma, wait!" A voice called after her as shoes scuffed across the pavement.

"Leave me alone!" Gemma screamed as she stumbled through the parked cars.

"Stop! It's me, Topper." He panted as he came up behind her and gently placed a hand on her hip.

"In what fucked up fantasy would I want to see you right now, Topper?" Gemma replied harshly as she turned on her heel quickly to smack his hands away from her.

"You forgot your bag inside." Topper stated as he handed her the small white clutch.

"Oh. Thank you." She sobbed as a fresh batch of tears rushed down her face.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Gemma. The fight we got into with JJ, Rafe and JJ getting in that screaming match." Topper stated as he pulled at his cufflinks.

"It's okay, Topp." Gemma smiled weakly as she turned away from him.

"You don't have to leave, Gemma." Topper called after she had walked a few steps away from him.

"I do, though. Dad said the whore of the OBX should get in the car. So, that's where I'm going." Gemma sniffled with a rub of her forehead as she stopped.

"You're not a whore, Gemma. And you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. Unlike you and Sarah, I didn't steal wine off tables all night long. I can take you wherever you want to go." Topper smiled softly as he pulled his car keys from his pocket.

"The beach. I want my toes in the water. But only if you still have your emergency bottle of vodka in your trunk." Gemma replied with a deep breath as she tried to call herself.

"Always have since I met you." Topper chuckled as he reached his hands towards her, smiling as she took it and let him lead her to his Jeep.

Topper pulled his Jeep as far down onto the beach as his could and parked it. He laughed as Gemma squealed then ran out of the car, her woes from not 20 minutes earlier seemingly forgotten.

"Gemma, careful. Wait for me before you run into the water!" Topper yelled as he pulled off his expensive suit jacket and tossed it onto the sand, then took off with a run after the drunk Mercer girl.

Topper grabbed Gemma at the hips and bent her over his shoulder, smiling at her uproarious laughter as he carried her away from the shore and back towards the Jeep. She clung to his hips as he carried her, her shoes at the tips of her toes at the ready to fall.

"No water. Got me?" Topper stated as he pulled Gemma off his shoulder to place her on her feet, with her back against the side of the Jeep.

"What will you give me?" Gemma giggled as she pulled at the collar of his shirt, her toes curled in the sand.

"Gemma, don't play games with me. You said you wanted to come here because you were sad. We can sit here, but don't tease me." Topper muttered but made no effort to remove her hands from his shirt. He quite liked her hands on him, and had missed her touch. But would never say that aloud.

"Fixing your shirt is teasing? Boy, you're easy to get going, Topper." Gemma smiled as she smoothed her hands down his chest then looked up into his eyes.

"I swear to God, Gemma. I'm not above fucking you in the back of my Jeep right here." Topper growled as he removed her hands from his chest to pin them to the sides of the Jeep.

He stared he down and he realized it was the first time they had touched since the night Rafe threatened to break his legs. He had missed her, as wild as she could be. And regardless of how much trouble she seemed to get him in.

As the two looked each other in the eyes, both of them daring the other to make the first move, Topper felt his heart beat in his ears.

"Gemma." Came a loud voice from the rocks that lined the beach.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment xoxo

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[canonicallysoulmates]

The first thing is the pie, not cake, pie because it’s what Dean prefers and this day is all about his brother. 

He quietly slips out of bed and makes the two-hour drive to Dean’s favorite bakery; it’s a long drive and an even longer wait in line for one of Mrs. Amy’s special caramel apple pies but his brother is worth it.

Then comes the drinks, he stops by the town’s liquor store and asks for a bottle of Dean’s favorite scotch. It’s indulgently expensive for their lifestyle but Dean doesn’t get to complain about Sam spending some extra money on him today.

It’s a two person celebration, and for most they won’t even be in the Bunker, so decorations aren’t truly needed. What they will need is a blanket, their last hunt ruined the one they used to keep in the car, so he rummages through boxes and trunks until he finds a bigger, more comfortable one and packs it in the Impala’s trunk next to the cooler.

Dean’s favorite shirt is a little too tight on him, but his brother has always had a thing for Sam wearing his clothes so for him he’ll endure the limited arm mobility. It’s not like the shirt will stay on the whole night anyways.

Cheap beer and candles go into the cooler next to the pie and the scotch. He can already picture the kidlike smile on Dean’s face as he brings out the pie with a bunch of little lighted candles on top and the mental image alone makes it worth taking on the impossible task of keeping Dean away from his Baby and from finding out Sam’s surprise.

All it takes is the puppy eyes and a watery glance at Dean’s chest, the location of Dean’s scar forever ingrained in Sam’s mind, for his brother to agree to drive them out to a nearby field.

The moon hangs heavy in the cloudless, star filled sky, the chilly air making Sam thankful for the blanket he brought for them; he very carefully puts the candles on top of the pie, lighting them, before grabbing it, the scotch and the blanket.

Singing Happy Birthday as he makes his way towards the hood of the car where his big brother is waiting, watching Dean light up as he opens his eyes and sees Sam; Dean’s smile and his laugh make waking up early, the long drives and waits, and money spend and hassle of keeping everything a secret worth it.  

He doesn’t bother cutting the pie. Just grabs the fork he brought and feeds his brother a bite.

Or serving the scotch. They’ll just pass the bottle back and forth between them in between caramel Scotch flavored kisses.

“Happy Birthday, Dean,” Sam says as he presses a soft kiss to the corner of his big brother’s mouth.

They’ll spend the rest of the night, feeding each other pieces of pie and exchanging kisses and scotch while they watch the stars. And, when his eyes start to get heavy and he curls up into his brother’s arms, Sam will be thankful as he listens to the steady beat of Dean’s heart, for it’s a special day, one he thought his brother wouldn’t get to see.

-

( The Winchesters are not one for celebrating birthdays but Dean knows how badly Sam needs to do this, he knows this isn’t just any other birthday that it means more to Sam. That it’s the celebration of something bigger.

So, he pretends not to wake when his brother slips out of bed, pretends not to notice that he comes back with a package that smells like his favorite caramel apple pie or that he didn’t catch a glimpse of a bottle of Scotch. He puts up an act, lightly pestering Sam into reveling what he’s planning so his brother won’t be suspicious but stays away from the garage and pretends to be busy in his Dean-cave.

His breath catches in his throat when his little brother looks at him with those watery eyes and asks for them to go for a drive. Sometimes, late at night, he wonders if it’s that pleading look that forced his heart to keep beating. Sam could ask him for the world with that look and he’d find a way to give it to him.

He settles on Baby’s hood, resting against the windshield and keeping his eyes closed as Sammy requested. Only when he hears Sam singing Happy Birthday does he open them to find Sam coming towards him pie covered in little lighted candles in one hand, blanket and bottle of Scotch in the other. 

‘This is what you live for’ he thinks to himself.

He blows out the candles and wishes for more birthdays like this, just him with his baby brother by his side.)

sad version | ao3

[darkheart-brightsmile]

Eye of The Storm (Part 2)

Part two of my Barson mini-series. Based on the prompt from the gorgeous Barson Babes on Twitter where Olivia ends up wearing Rafael's clothes. You can read part one here.

WC: 1726

Happy reading everyone!

***

Rafael sighed as he knocked gently on Olivia’s apartment door late that night, rolling his neck back and forth, noting the light footsteps approaching to allow him entry.

“Hi, Rafa, come in.” she said genially, opening the door wider allowing him to pass by. He set his briefcase down, slipped his shoes off, and tugged off his jacket, folding it over the back of the couch and turning to watch her as she moved into the kitchen. He took of his tie and threw that down too, expertly flicking open his collar to let his neck breathe for the first time that day.

She was rummaging in the cupboard, for snacks it turned out, a bag of trail mix, some pretzels and some cheese nibbles appeared on the breakfast bar as he took a seat on the other side.

The main lights were off in the living room, leaving only a few lamps lit and the kitchen was illuminated by a single spotlight. It wasn’t depressing or dark but calming. Olivia’s presence made it calm too, she had an aura about her that always made him feel at ease, at peace. He had noticed the faint scent of her perfume as he passed her in the doorway and that lingered in the air too, he tried to supress what it was doing to him, especially this evening.

“You want coffee? Or I can open some wine, or I’ve got scotch.” she asked without turning around, retrieving glasses from the cupboard above her. He watched intently and noticed her hoody slide up to reveal a slice of skin at her lower back as she moved to her tip toes to reach the top shelf.

When he didn’t answer she turned around and tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

“You’re wearing my hoody.” he stated simply, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her blush slightly and look down at her figure.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I was cold earlier, and I just grabbed this out of the clean laundry. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you.”

“Well, it’s a clear case of theft but I’m willing to overlook it given some negotiation.” he laughed.

“What are the conditions of this plea deal?” she smiled, still blushing in embarrassment that he had caught her in his clothes. She wasn’t going to tell him she had been wearing it most nights since he had given it to her two weeks ago. Something in his eyes and his tone made her insides do a back flip, they had always flirted mildly but this was encroaching on something different all together.

“I’m well-supplied with snacks, so I’ll take a scotch please. Then you can agree to have dinner with me on Friday.”

“Oh yeah sure, you can come here if you like? We can order pizza or something. Noah would love to see you. He was fast asleep over an hour ago otherwise he would have loved to see you.” she replied, spinning around to seek out the bottle of scotch she kept there just for him.

When she turned back around, she noticed him looking down at the bar counter, drumming his fingers and frowning and she realised what he had meant.

“Oh.” she whispered, it suddenly hitting her. “You meant dinner, dinner.”

“Like ‘let me take you out to a nice restaurant dinner’, yes.” he nodded, without looking up.

She took a deep breath, steadying her now trembling hands. “Okay then.” she said slowly, smiling and pouring them both a glass of the good stuff before sliding his over to him.

“I can pick you up if you’d like? There’s a really nice Cuban place not far from here.” he replied smoothly, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass.

She took a sip of her drink, savouring the way it burned her throat slightly, she didn’t usually drink hard liquor, but their conversation so far had unnerved her more than she cared to admit. Her hands no longer trembling but her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest any minute.

“That sounds lovely. If we don’t get caught in the rain, that is.” she laughed lightly, and he chuckled too, overjoyed that she had agreed to go out for the evening with him so easily. She was simply relieved she had managed to steady her nerves. “I’ll ask Lucy if she can stay late, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Well, let me know if it is and we can always do it another night.” he replied casually, trying not to let on how much he didn’t want that to be the case.

“No, no, it’ll be fine. I’ll text her now actually.”

She wandered into the living room to find her phone and he sighed heavily, grinning to himself slightly as he sipped his scotch and snatched up a handful of trail mix. He hadn’t realised he was still smiling to himself until he heard her voice next to him.

“What’s that smile for?” she asked curiously, tapping out her message to her nanny and hitting send before placing her phone on the counter.

“Nothing.” he replied quickly, taking another large swallow of scotch, and clearing his throat, his eyes trained on his glass and not her. He could sense her watching him and it sent a small shiver down his spine.

“You have a crap poker face, Rafa.” she laughed, dropping into the seat next to him and leaning over to grab her own glass.

“You can keep the hoody if you want.” he said quietly, “I really don’t mind.” choosing not to explain his mysterious smile. He felt too self-conscious that he couldn’t hide how thrilled he was that she had agreed to join him for dinner.

“Shit yeah, sorry.” she said quickly, standing up and before he knew what was happening, she was stripping it up and over her head and folding it neatly alongside his suit jacket.

He didn’t mean to stare but he did. His eyes roved over her shoulders, down her neck, across her collarbones, the valley between her breasts. He never saw her with this much skin showing, she was only wearing a thin strappy vest top underneath and it clung to every inch of skin it covered.

“I’ll just go and grab another top.” she said quietly, suddenly feeling nervous, if he looked closely enough, he would see her scars and that made her feel nauseous. She was turning to leave when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist and pull her back. She tilted her head to watch him and noticed how his eyes had darkened and he wet his upper lip with his tongue.

He stood slowly and tugged her closer, her free hand shot out to steady herself and it landed squarely on his chest. She knew he was in decent shape but the feel of the hard planes of his chest through his shirt. Unconsciously done, her thumb started rubbing back and forth, and his brain was screaming in rejoice.

“You don’t need another top.” he whispered, “I like you like this.”

She blushed demurely and looked down, her free arm wrapping around her stomach as if she was trying to hide herself from him. He simply grasped her jaw in his hand, moving her head up to meet his eyes.

“You are gorgeous, Olivia Benson.” his lips so tantalisingly close to hers and he felt her sharp inhale at his words.

She was going to think of something to say when he kissed her, and her eyes fluttered shut. Despite the brash, hardened exterior he maintained at work, the way he kissed her was anything but. He was gentle, warm, he took just enough control to make her want more.

Every press of his lips to hers was deliberate, calculated, just where she needed it, as if he was reading her mind. When she felt his tongue swipe her bottom lip, she moaned and sunk into his arms. Their kiss deepening, until they didn’t know who ended where. Her hands were clutching his neck, and his were holding her as close as he could get her. One was at her waist, and when she felt his fingers lift her top to graze her waist she gasped into his mouth.

Vaguely aware that they were stood in her kitchen and Noah could wake up at any moment, they slowed down, lips pulled away for a second longer each time, hands became gentle and soothing rather than fiercely trying to feel more.

“Wow.” she whispered.

“Wow, indeed.” he chuckled, kissing her softly again.

“Who knew a hoody could do that.” she laughed, her hands looping around his neck.

“It was the lack of one that did it, Olivia.” he smirked, dipping his face to tuck into her neck, breathing her in.

“So do I get to keep your clothes in that case?” she asked teasingly.

“You can keep whatever you want of mine, as long as I get to hold you like this.” he replied, his voice low and husky, and she blushed reflecting on the fact that she was thinking a similar thing.

“I think that can be arranged.” she murmured, stepping back, and taking one of his hands to tug him towards her.

He blinked a few times before he realised what she was implying. As much as he hoped that would be the next step in the evening, he hadn’t dared presume it would happen in this way. He cared for her far too much to just want sex and nothing more. His free hand grabbed his scotch, downing it in one gulp before he let himself be led away. She through him a dazzling smile as they approached her bedroom door and he had to focus hard that this was really happening.

“If you want to stay over that’s okay.” she said quietly as they stood outside her room.

“I would love that.” he replied gently, kissing her softly to punctuate his point, “I have stuff to sleep in here anyway don’t I.”

They both laughed as she opened the door, and as she pulled him into her room, he heard her whisper across his cheek. “Rafa, you know you won’t need clothes until much later.”

***

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[fortheloveofwonderland]

London Doesn't Hold A Candle - Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner

A/N - on the forth day of shipmas fortheloveofcriminalminds gave to me...Hotchniss Smut! All Shipmas fics will be posted at 7.30PM GMT. Requested by Anon. Find my Shipmas masterlist here. Find my full masterlist here. My taglists are open for Shipmas, Spencer x Reader and all works so let me know if you want to be added.

Also fulfils my Office Drinks Sqaure on my CM Bingo Card for @cmbingo which you can find the masterlist for here.

Requested: Yes l No

CW: drinking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob. I'm not going to lie, this was not my best attempt at smut ever, sorry in advance.

Plot: with Emily back from London, how will Hotch show her he missed her?

WC: 1K

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Alcohol wasn’t strictly allowed to be consumed in the BAU offices but when an old face was visiting from overseas, Hotch let it slide.

Emily was back stateside until tomorrow and she had a lot of catching up to do with the team and a new face to meet.

They could have gone to a bar, sure, but it was deathly cold outside and Rossi had a perfectly good bottle of unopened scotch so they’d hauled up in Hotch’s office drinking out of paper cups.

Hotch and Emily took the chairs, with Morgan, JJ and Garcia squeezed on the couch. Blake sat on the edge of Hotch’s desk, Rossi leant against a wall and Reid sat crossed legged on the floor.

They chatted amongst themselves the way only a tight knit family could. They filled Emily in on all aspects of their lives since she’d left and she regaled them with stories from London.

It was so good to have Emily back even if only for a short while.

They stayed well into the night knowing they would be exhausted and probably have some sore heads in the morning. But it would be worth it.

One by one everyone started to head home. Blake and Reid headed out first followed soon by JJ, then Morgan and Garcia before Rossi left too.

Emily finished her drink and placed the cup on Hotch’s desk.

“Tonight’s been fun.” She sighed in content. A part of her didn’t want to go back to London tomorrow.

“It has.” Hotch spoke, giving nothing away.

Emily never did know where she stood with Hotch. No one ever did.

She had Hotch had hooked a few times in the past after Hayley passed away but they never talked about it. And she never knew when Hotch would want to repeat it. So she always had to make the first move.

She sauntered around to his side of the desk and sat on the edge of it right in front of him. She pushed her breasts together subtly with her biceps and leant forward so he could see her ample cleavage.

“I’m not quite ready for it to be over.” She whispered seductively but once again Hotch’s expression didn’t change.

“No?” He asked, keeping eye contact. He didn’t once even so much as glance at her breasts.

“No.” She shook her head and she went for the kill.

She placed her hands first on his knees and then slid them up his thighs. She kept eye contact with him the whole time, his eyes never left hers.

Her hands came to a stop on the waistband of his slacks. His facial expression was still unwavering.

“Can I go on?” Emily licked her bottom lip, toying with the button.

“Please.” He spoke, and if she wasn’t mistaken she was sure his voice wavered ever so slightly.

She got his pants undone to discover he was already hard and waiting. She gave him a sly smirk before pulling him free of his pants and wrapping her hand around his shaft.

Keeping her eyes planted firmly on his, she started to pump him, slow at first but soon increased her speed.

“Have I told you,” Hotch spoke in a low whisper. “It’s good to see you again?”

Emily laughed and used her free hand to start undoing the buttons of her shirt.

“Oh you’re about to see a whole lot more of me.”

Hotch literally gave nothing away while she stroked his length and even when she got free of her shirt leaving her exposed in a lacy red bra his face remained unmoved.

When he moved, he moved quickly and with purpose. He stood up, grabbing her by the hips and pushed her back onto the desk.

“There he is.” She smirked to herself as he removed her slacks with ease. He moved her panties aside and wasted no time burying two fingers inside of her.

Emily’s head rolled back and her eyes closed. She had missed those wondrous fingers of his. He was dexterous and knew exactly where to move and how to get her off.

She was moaning, arching her back and wriggling closer so she could feel more of him.

He sensed her impatience, he too was impatient. It had been too long since they’d last been here and he needed her. Not that he would say as much,

He thrust his fingers into her a few more times before pulling out. He gripped her by her hips and brought her to the edge of the desk. Standing in front of her, he lined himself up with her entrance.

“Is this what you want Prentiss?”

“Yes.” she nodded, trying to hide her desperation from her voice but failing.

He let the smallest of smirks grace his lips before he thrust inside of her.

His eyes closed and he pursed his lips, his fingers digging into Emily’s hips.

Emily wrapped her legs around Hotch’s waist and grabbed his tie to pull him closer.

Their lips met for the first time in so long and the spark of passion between them ignited.

He thrust his hips, moving in and out of her with intense vigour. Hard and fast just how he knew Emily liked it.

She moaned into his mouth repeatedly which encouraged him to pick up his pace. He used one hand to rub circles on her sensitive spot and she clenched around him.

“Jesus,” she moaned loudly, slamming back against the desk. “More, more. I’m close.”

Hotch did as she said and increased his pace with his thrusts, his fingers deftly working her at the same time.

There was a sheen of sweat on Hotch’s forehead and she could tell he was close too.

It didn’t take much time at all for them both to reach their climax. They knew each other's bodies well enough to know how to get the other there.

They came together, Emily’s mouth falling open as she moaned while Hotch barely made a sound as usual.

When he pulled out, he helped her up off the desk.

“Shame London isn’t this fun.” She winked at him as she started getting dressed again.

Hotch sat back in his chair, tucking himself away in his slacks.

“But you’ll be back again. And I’ll be here.”

“I look forward to that Hotch. I really do.” And with that, she kissed his cheek and sauntered out of his office with a smile on her face.

London doesn’t hold a candle to this.

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