#tongue in the game like it’s buffet

[choiwonder]

mark u dont have to lie if u wanna have sex in a kitchen just say so nobody is judging 🤷‍♀️

[we-survive-endlessly]

Love that Mark keeps writing songs with lyrics that he would have trouble explaining in an interview. Very on brand.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena tipped back the last of her scotch and savored it, letting the smooth, piquant insistence of it roll across her tongue and sting between her teeth. She’d poured herself three fingers of a thirty year old single malt from the Macallan and had tasted it every drop, letting it stay a while. Indeed she’d indulged so slowly that she was barely buzzed.

A distant memory struck her. The sting of heavy smoke in her mouth, acrid and unpleasant but as rich and complex in flavor as her single malts. The effect was ruined by her idiotic decision to breath it in rather than allow a brief visitation in her mouth before being set free into the night air. She had been thirteen and Lex had given her a puff on a cigar he’d stolen from their father’s humidor while he and Lillian were away.

“This is a Dominican,” he’d told her. “I’ll give you a Cuban when you have enough experience to appreciate it.”

She turned the glass in her hand before setting it in the sink. She thought of Lex almost every day- not the raving, incoherent loon who’d tied her to the chair or the bitter shell of a man he was when she fired five bullets into his chest, but the boy he was, about to go off to college, full of adolescent bravado that matched his genius. She thought of the man he might have been if he hadn’t let his base jealousy consume him, if he’d had enough empathy to follow a better path. Her path.

It was a hard one to walk, but-

There was a tap at her balcony door and she nearly jumped out of her skin, wheeling.

It was Kara.

Lena motioned for her to open the door and she did, stepping inside.

“Can you ever use the inside door like a normal person?”

Kara shrugged. “I went for a fly to clear my head and I ended up here.”

Lena sighed. “I was just heading to bed, darling. It’s late. Too late to watch cartoons on my couch.”

“Will you fly with me?”

Lena quirked a brow. “You know it’s not any fun for me. I really do hate flying.”

“I know but, I was just… would you?”

Lena looked at her. Kara looked back, her eyes soft, expression hopeful and fearful, inviting. It made Lena fight the urges that dogged her. She felt a need to stride across the distance between them and tuck away a few wind-tossed locks of Kara’s hair, cup a warm hand to her cool cheek, soothe the pain that always seemed to hide in her eyes, like the reflection of something dark in the gloss of a family photo.

“Okay.”

She got her jacket first to protect herself against the night chill, then wondered how to do this. She was used to Kara flying her, but it was usually after being caught from a fall or scooped from danger and whisked to safety. Casually flying hadn’t really been their thing.

She settled on looping her arms about Kara’s neck.

She hesitated. “Lena, are you sure? Your heart is beating pretty fast.”

“You won’t drop me?”

“Never.”

Lena nodded and Kara swept her arms under Lena, one arm under her knees, the other curled around her waist. Of course it was effortless- for Kara, raising a cement mixer over her head was effortless. She stepped up to the railing of the balcony and paused when Lena tensed.

Lena closed her eyes as Kara stepped into empty air. She realized that she didn’t know how Kryptonians fly; she suspected Kara didn’t know either. It just happened.

Lena kept her eyes shut. Kara flew, holding her gently but firmly. If not for the wind buffeting her, Lena wouldn’t have known she was hundreds of feet in the air.

Finally she felt the soft impact of Kara’s boots on the ground and opened her eyes as Kara lowered her to her feet.

“Where are we?”

Lena looked around. They were in a baseball diamond, probably for little league games, in a small park.

“The suburbs. No one bothers me at night if I stop here. It’s a good place to think.”

Kara walked over to the bleachers and sat down. She looked so forlorn, so terribly sad, and Lena quickly sat beside her.

Kara didn’t speak. She saw the slight tremor of Lena’s restrained shiver, and without a word unclasped her cape and swept it around Lena.

“Thanks,” said Lena. “This makes a good blanket.”

Kara smiled. “That is a blanket. Kal… Clark’s birth parents, my aunt and uncle, sent it with him to Earth. Martha made it part of his first suit. The one she made.”

Lena stared at her for a moment. She rarely spoke of her cousin, and when she did, it had an odd, detached tone to it. A kind of resentment. She sounded fond now, and familiar. Lena knew who he was, of course; once she knew who Kara was, deducing who her cousin was turned out to be a simple thing. Yet Kara had never dropped his name so casually in conversation. It was intimate. Familiar.

“Speaking of Clark,” said Kara. “He sent me a message today. He’s staying on Argo with Lois and their child. He’s not coming home.”

Kara caught herself, eyes wide. Lena waited, holding a tense breath.

“Kara, what is it?”

“I can’t remember when I started thinking of Earth as home,” said Kara. “Just like I can’t remember when I started thinking in English instead of translating my thoughts.”

Lena poked an arm out of the cape to rest a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“You’re thinking about joining them.”

Kara looked down. “I almost did before, but I was needed here. I don’t feel needed so much anymore. There’s so many more heroes now- Bruce has a whole team he’s built, and there’s Diana now and of course Barry and Oliver and… they can handle a lot of it. I don’t even put the suit on every day anymore.”

Lena felt a terrible, frigid chill. Colder than the night, colder than death. She looked at Kara, really looked at her, lit by lamplight, a golden beauty in the dark. She was so hauntingly, achingly beautiful. Lena could still remember the feeling when she saw Kara for the first time in her office, how her face must have betrayed her. My God, who is this?

“Are you thinking about going?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do. My people need every Kryptonian to come home and rebuild our culture and way of life. I have a sacred duty.”

Lena met her gaze levelly, feeling undone by it. Kara’s eyes were soft, full of an aching, unasked question.

“You keep talking about being needed, about duty,” Lena said. “The whole time I’ve known you it’s been about oaths and obligations and responsibilities. What do you want, Kara? What is your heart’s desire? Whatever it is, if you ask me, you deserve it. Whatever debt you think you owe the universe, you’ve paid it back in full with interest and gratuities.”

Kara looked away. “I know what I want, but I’m scared to ask for it.”

“I’ve never known you to be scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of hurting someone else. What if I’m wrong? I’ve always been wrong about this one thing. I don’t want to lose you by asking the wrong question.”

Me? Lena thought. Why would…

Lena’s heart raced anew. The shock felt like she’d spilled cold water from her heart, racing down her limbs. She felt as heavy as stone and as light as a feather, and the flutter in her belly made her regret the scotch.

“I don’t want to go,” Kara sighed. “This is my home now. Krypton… Krypton is gone and it probably should be. I hope Clark can show the survivors a better way. There were a lot of things my people did wrong.”

“Kara, you can’t go. Okay? You can’t. You are needed here. I need you.”

Kara turned abruptly, eyes wide.

“Why did you wait so long?” Lena whispered.

“After everything I did, I… I was as afraid. I hurt you so much, caused you so much pain. Why would you…”

“Because you get so excited when you land on Park Place,” said Lena. “Because you sing to yourself when no one is looking. Because you’re bored to tears watching documentaries with me but you do it anyway. Because you always flex your muscles when you pop a cork from a bottle. Because you save me and cherish me and treat me like a queen, and you always have. Yes, Kara, you hurt me, but no one is perfect. I’m just as guilty.”

“What do you want, Lena? What’s your hearts desire?”

“I think you already know that and you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Stay with me. Choose me,” said Lena.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I seriously thought you’d never ask,” said Lena.

Kara tilted in close. Sitting on the old faded wood of the bleachers with a blanket around her, she felt so young. She hadn’t been this giddy about a kiss since middle school. No; she’s never been this giddy ever, not a day in her life. Kara’s lips touched hers and despite the chasteness of it, she let out a soft moan.

Kara took it as an invitation and the kiss deepened, and she slipped under the blanket so they were both wrapped in it and her arms found Lena’s waist. When she tucked her head under Kara’s chin and pressed into her arms, she felt so safe, so sheltered. It was perfect, like finally finding home, and they were still there when the sun found them and Kara carried her into the morning sky.

[captain-hawks]

“you’re so goddamn predictable,” atsumu barks out a laugh as he looks down at the tray of misshapen onigiri. 

osamu scowls at his twin, whipping his bicep with a rag before lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair, sighing as he glances down at his—admittedly—shoddy work. 

atsumu jumps and lets out an undignified yelp as he grins, “ain’t seen ya make a rice ball that sloppy since you got absolutely wasted and decided to make ‘em at three in the morning back at uni.”

“fuck off, ya unemployed freeloader,” osamu grunts, menacingly clapping a pair of metal tongs in his brother’s direction just as he grabs one and stuffs it into his mouth without asking. 

“just admit you’re a pathetic simp who can’t even focus on shapin’ rice when a pretty girl is in the restaurant,” his brother says around a mouthful of rice, gesturing through the serving hatch toward where you’re currently facing away from them on a stool at the window. 

osamu exhales noisily in annoyance, turning to wash his hands at the sink before stealing another glance over at you. his heart thuds insistently in his chest as you absentmindedly smile at the sight of someone with several excited dogs walking past on the street outside, the late afternoon sun bathing you in a soft, golden glow. 

“i even have to do free labor for your distracted ass,” atsumu calls out from where he’s now stepped out of the kitchen to ring up a customer, if only to rub it in his face even more. 

“s’not free labor when ya treat this place like an open buffet,” osamu grumbles when he walks out a few moments later, hip checking the blonde as he comes to stand beside him. “can ya even count?”

“the register does it for me,” atsumu smugly tells him, handing the customer their change and sticking out his tongue at his brother. “but the real math question here is, do you even know how to ask a girl for her number?”

osamu doesn’t bother to correct his brother on his completely illogical connection between the points. instead, he looks up as you stand from your seat, mouth curving upward as he mirrors the shy wave you offer to him on your way out. 

“it’s a real burden to be the sole twin blessed with all the game,” atsumu sighs wistfully, watching you leave. “bet she likes blondes better.”

osamu could tell him that you’ve been coming to onigiri miya for the past week on your lunch break, and none-too-subtly flirting across the counter in between customers—thank you very much. 

“kiss my ass,” he says instead, delighting in the frown of defeat that crosses his brother’s face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carefully folded piece of paper you’d insistently handed him after he waved off your money when you tried to pay earlier. 

“hope ya didn’t serve her one of those ugly ass ones back there,” atsumu grins. 

osamu punches him in the shoulder and shoves him aside as the bell above the front door jingles and another customer approaches. 

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 8 pt 3

masterpost

“I have a high degree of confidence that the tools are collected from this neighborhood. I have compiled a list of buildings where a workshop might conceivably operate.”

Cass nodded, engaging the locks on her batcycle. Damibat started pulling up the cover and handed it to her to snap into place. “Thank you,” she said, belated. Cass ran her tongue over the backside of her teeth. “Engineering power?”

“No conspicuous consumption,” Damibat reported. Professional for sure. “In light of the unknown power source for the tools themself, my leading theory is that the mechanic uses this unknown material for their workshop.”

She nodded. Made sense. Fit together, puzzle pieces that click together. The hunters both clicked through the belt mechanisms for grapples and then they soared together. Air blew into Black Bat’s face, buffeting her into an embrace. They cut through the air silently, Black Bat a second behind the case lead, Robin. 

His leads were:

Former car shop. Abandoned 4 months.

Basement floor of apartment building owned by mob affiliate.

Store front, shut down after cashier-owner murdered, gun crime.

In the right neighborhood, Black Bat started to feel a certainty. This was the right place. The mechanic was here. Something in her heart told her. It thudded, warm and reassuring, a reminder that she was breathing oxygen and pumping blood. Everything was well. Nothing was ghostly.

One by one, the Bats Black and Small crept in through windows and around blocks, looking for clues. 

Former car shop: Genuinely deserted! Black Bat felt proud of Gotham. It was nice that no one was creeping and crawling. Well. She was creeping and Robin was crawling, but that was different.

Basement floor: occupied, by many rats and still water. Biohazard. Black Bat put her breathing filter on and resigned herself to writing a report and request for cleanup. Very dangerous. Possible Legionnaire’s disease and others. Yuck.

Store front: Gotham fail. In use as a marijuana growing facility. Big sigh.  Do better, friends.

“Hardly a real crime,” Robin scoffed. He snapped his cape behind him and pulled out his grapple, angry with himself. Must have been wrong. Incompetent. I don’t like me when I fail. “Wasted time.”

Cass frowned, hesitating to follow. “No…” she said. The certainty hadn’t left her. Something in her hunting instinct knew. There was at least one trail to follow. She could sense it nearby.

Robin snapped to look at her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking: That’s unusual. Why is she uncertain? What does she perceive?

She cracked a faint smile behind her mouth mask. “Follow,” Cass requested. Robin, sweet and disciplined Robin, switched roles seamlessly. He followed her and she followed a sense that she hadn’t noticed before today.

They went over one block, and then up, up, up. A low income apartment building. Windows were dirty on the outside, smog and birdshit. The residents didn’t care to enjoy the view outside: there were curtains, UV blocking film, and taped up posters. She came to the ledge outside a 7th floor apartment and paused, frowning. 

“Here?” Robin breathed it so quietly that only their shared headsets picked it up. 

Cass nodded. 

The window was obscured. Unfortunate. Cass wiped at filth forlornly, but there was a poster taped on it. There was a small peeking spot to sneak a look through, about two centimeters wide. Black Bat spidered her way across the window to line her face up to look into the apartment.

It was dim, lit by a green glow from a big screen, probably. Video game? Black Bat spied the back of a sofa and a shadow cast by legs hanging over the edge. Someone was sleeping there. Hmm.

She turned her face expectantly to Robin. He was typing into the wrist computer. “Leased by a young woman,” he reported sotto voice. His eyebrows went up. “A civil engineering student at Gotham U. No other residents on the lease.” He tilted to show her a pale young woman with a narrow face and brown hair. Flat color: dyed? Suspicious or fashion choice?

Cass squinted back inside at the sleeping person. Must be Jacqueline. Criminal mechanic was female? Neat. Go girls, go! Go to jail in this case, but still. Neat.

“Shall we enter?” Robin was clearly ready to go.

Black Bat shook her head. “Daylight,” she said practically. Pass to the Signal. It’s only fair. Optimal time to sneak and creep is when school is in session; apartment empty. Nighttime is better for confrontation. “Docks now?”

Comms clicked. “I was waiting for you to ask,” Oracle said, smug, good timing, I have everything under control. “I have what might be Lex Luthor moving something across the bay tonight. Interested in taking a look at what he wants to sneak out of Gotham?”

Hell yeah.

[strawberryforks]

focus // finnick odair x reader

summary: it’s the 65th hunger games and district 4’s tributes are best friends. what’s unfortunate is that everyone knows there can only be one winner…

warnings: violence, suicide, underaged drinking (which i do not condone), no happy ending

word count: 2099

author’s note: this is my first fic and as i’m new to writing for “reader” or “y/n” the format may be different on others! but hopefully this is angsty enough <3 ALSO, REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!

sitting on the train, in a booth, beside your best friend finnick you were the furthest thing from present. you paid more attention the the blur of trees and buildings than him and your mentor, mags. your cheek was pressed against the glass and your hot breath was causing it to steam up.

was dragging your finger overtop it and making various smiley-faces more interesting than whatever finnick and mags were discussing? well, yes. still you couldn’t delude yourself into thinking it was the best use of your time. just like you couldn’t be surprised when finnick’s elbow found purchase in your side. it wouldn’t bruise but it didn’t feel nice. “focus,” he scolded. “you have to listen to what mags is saying. she’s been through this already. she won. she can help us.”

finnick, with his hopefulness, blonde hair, blue eyes and fourteen years worth of boyish charm was perfect. sometimes too perfect because you would catch yourself staring. eyes stuck and cheeks turned redder than a tomato whenever he caught you. embarassing, really, because it’s common sense. you just don’t look at your best friend like that.

“sure. sorry mags. i’ll pay attention.” the victor nodded and continued her explanation—told you and finnick that your best bet would be getting away from the cornucopia as soon as possible. you nodded and though you did your best to listen, you just hoped finnick had, because wherever he went, you would follow.

—

“what are you doing?”

you were doing something you shouldn’t have–but caught, the sounds that spilled from your lips weren’t hurried explanations. you just giggled. “uhm,” you held one hand out in front of your face like a shield and sat the cup of bubbling liquid down on the dresser.

drinking. you were drinking. you moved in front of the dresser hiding the evidence with your body. finnick stepped forward quickly, crossing the room and making it to you in no time at all. he was frowning, he saw the drinks and he wasn’t happy which you didn’t understand because you were overflowing with the stuff. everything was greater than it had been, you were smiling, laughing at things that weren’t funny, and felt a bit like you were floating. “that’s not allowed—where did you even get that?”

“there was a buffet table and,” you burped, “they had drinks. y’wanna try?”

he didn’t. finnick shook his head–didn’t understand why you weren’t taking this seriously. usually he loved your attitude and outlook on things, ‘whatever happens, happens’ was usually said on your adventures but this wasn’t that. this was serious. now was not the time. he just wanted you to focus. “we’re almost at the capital. you can’t do this again, you understand?”

you bite your tongue so your inner monologue doesn’t get out. because yeah, you wouldn’t ever get to do this again (drink, legally or not). you wouldn’t get to do much of anything ever again. your days were numbered. in your last ones you would smile and wave, play pretend with your best friend at your side.

finnick was quite possibly the best and worst person to be in this situation with. on one hand, you’d be with someone you loved in your last moments, on the other… there was no world in which you won this.

finnick swapped your drink with a tall glass of water. sat by you while you sipped at it and helped you to bed. morning came and he was still there. your eyes cracked open, narrowed by bright light and confusion. “you’re good now, yeah?” he asked.

your head hurt but you nodded it anyways. there were purple bags below his eyes. “did you sleep?” you asked despite the answer being obvious.

“someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit and i didn’t want to tell mags.” lest you disappoint another person. is what he was nice enough to omit.

you weren’t fast enough with thanking him and he left you alone with the myriad of thoughts you just wanted to ignore.

—

“i know what you’re doing.” it was mags.

you turned around to face her—had just finished being interviewed by a loser in an extravagant suit, and felt like a loser, dressed in a blue frilly dress. you kind of looked like a loser too, one late for tea time.

“i don’t know what you mean.”

mags sighed and shook her head lightly. “it’s honourable but he’ll hate you for it.”

you shrug. you don’t care, your mind is more than made up, and has been since you heard his name called alongside your own. “if he’s alive to hate i’m okay with that. you know there can only be one winner.”

mags knew more than most. “i won’t tell him. don’t worry.”

“Tell him,” you made her promise, “that i’m sorry. you know, tributes are vicious but the capitol is worse. keep an eye on him for me please?”

“of course.”

—

then you trained.

“come help,” he called. finnick was practising tying knots, all which he was excellent at. “sure,” you said, allowing him to interrupt your people-watching. you were worried about the careers but figured that together you and finnick could handle them. they were adults but… most of the others were. it was fine, would be fine.

“think you should try something else? you’re pretty good at this.”

finnick laughed and you tucked the sound away in your mind. “thanks, but you? You’re not.” He gestured to the mess of rope on your end before scooting closer. his hands overtop yours, he moved them and showed you the right way to do what you had been failing at. “and there’s no way you’re telling me to train something else. have you even picked up a weapon?”

you shrugged. “i’ve just been watching. i know how to shoot a bow and use knives, i get either of those and i’ll be just fine. a few days of preparation with either won’t change much. i've used them since i could walk, y’know?”

“i just want us to be prepared.” he said.

you smiled and stood, you held his hands and pulled him up with you. “the arena’s usually have tridents, right? you’re great with those.”

and he was. you didn’t care about impressing the judges but finnick did so effortlessly.

“we’ll stick together in the arena, right?” you blurted once the two of you were alone and resting.

“until the end,” he said with a sad smile.

then, almost out of nowhere, his smile brightened. “sleepover?”

that was something you did a lot. Sleepovers under the stars, in your bed, on your father’s boat. it was your thing and somehow the idea of one last sleepover was enough to make everything okay, even just for a little while.

you crawled into the big bed the capitol provided, finnick at your side. you pulled up a blanket at the same time he pulled you into him. he held tight. so tight, for a second you forgot to breath. it meant so much. so, so much. your back was pressed against his chest and his arms were around you–hours later, you were grateful he was such a heavy sleeper. finnick was warm and safe. he was home. you were thankful he was a heavy sleeper because otherwise the way you shook as wet trailed down your cheeks would’ve woke him.

–

finnick’s knots came in handy. you stuck to higher ground, perching in trees and climbing cliffs, and managed to booby trap most of the area around us. after tributes were caught in a net finnick made, you would take turns finishing them off. you, who’d been preparing to kill since your name was called, went first.

a teen who killed without issue was concerning but so was a civilization that made their people fight to the death for glory and entertainment so what could you do?

you killed the first one with an arrow—having got both the weapons you wanted, and finnick took the second, ending a thirty year old man who had more muscles than brains with a trident that had been gifted to him by a sponsor.

two days later and you both were still kicking. In the final four.

you knew what had to be done. your plan only solidified when the other two–also allied, found you. the fight was fast. finnick went up against the remaining tribute from district ten and you fought against the tribute from district two

you were uncomfortable with the distance between the two of you. you both had stuck together like glue the entire time and now fighting and separated? you hated it. if something– “shit,” the man swung the axe and you barely threw yourself out of the way in time. you list some hair and some skin off your shoulder but nothing you really needed. the axe buried itself in the ground behind you and before your opponent could yank it back you struck. you buried a dagger in his stomach and twisted it. his hands found your throat and black dotted your vision but you kept slicing and he went limp.

you rolled the man off of you and immediately ran to help finnick.

another minute and his opponent was dead. you was down a dagger but one was enough. you smiled so wide my cheeks hurt and flung yourself into finnick’s arms. he hugged you hesitantly at first–like he was wary of you. like he expected you to bury a dagger into his back. you would never. besides, your last one was… occupied. “we did it, finn. we did it.”

“only one of us can win…”

you pulled back. both of your hands–both shaky, both covered in blood, cupped his cheeks. “i know, i know. it’s okay. you did… you did great.”

“what? y/n what are you–what do you mean?”

your legs picked that moment to give out. you dropped, knees slamming into the rock. still, you wore that lazy smile. you were losing blood quick and lots of it. you saw the drone that recorded everything begin to inch closer, zooming in as terror finally flooded finnick’s face. he fell to his knees beside you. “no, no, no, no.” his hands pressed on either side of the dagger you had yet to pull out. “what did you do?” his voice broke and his eyes glistened with moisture. you wanted to wipe them away. it was okay. it would be okay. you made sure of it.

“i helped you win...” you assured.

finnick pushed harder on your stomach and you sobbed. he pulled his shirt and pressed it around the blade. pushed again. “finnick. finn, no,” you told him—pleaded with him. you moved your hands… wanted to move his but was too weak. “you didn’t–this isn’t helping. ” he shook his head and more tears fell. “why? you can’t leave me. friends forever, remember? what about that?”

“you-you’ll be okay.”

“not after this. not without you.” agony, finnick was in agony. an ugly sound tore it’s way out of his chest. you couldn’t leave him, not like this.

“c’mere,” you begged. he did, how could he argue with you now? the damage, the irreversible damage, had been done. you pulled his head closer to yours as he choked on more tears. the capitol had taken many things from both of you—and you decided that they could have your life, your future, your finn (you hated that most, but at least he would get to live. get to have his shot at happiness) but they couldn’t have your last words. those… well, they were only for him. “i love you finn. focus… on that.”

“no. no! focus on me, on my eyes—dammit, don’t close yours. no, no, no.”

then your eyes closed again for the last time. he called your name over an over like a prayer, one that went unanswered. but you tried, you swear you did… you just couldn’t get them open again. not as finnick sobbed, not as he stood up and faced the drone. “help her!” he cried, “help her dammit!”

“kill me instead, take me instead. i’ll die, i will! just bring her back, help her! you can’t—you can’t do this!” he begged and when that didn’t work he screamed at the cameras, cursing the capital until the footage stopped being streamed.

when your heart stopped, he refused to let go. clinging to your corpse, to his best friend, he hugged you for the last time.

finnick had won, but he didn’t feel like a winner.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 11- Smile

FICTOBER Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

1.3k

Warnings- incubus/succubus, smut, threesome mention/ sex w other people mention, mmf/ffm mention, demons, blood, halloween etc

“It’s never a good thing when you smile like that…” Y/N whispered as she tugged her partner’s arm towards her, eyes narrowed in humorous speculation as she watched his smirk grow. The club was dark and foggy from that god awful fog machine the hired DJ had brought, the scents mixing in the room making her want to plug her nose. 

Halloween made it much easier for them to be their authentic selves. Harry and Y/N often had to hide their eyes, curtain them with human presenting ones when they went out to search for trouble. Tonight, Halloween night, had to be the best of the year. Mischief and sex, costumes galore, sin city personified. Their black eyes were assumed contacts, Y/N’s sharp black nails dragging over the front of Harry’s chest. A short black skirt barely covered her thighs and a lacy black corset top was doing little to hide her swirls of black markings down her neck and back. Harry’s were slightly more hidden, but his form always got attention. It’s what made them so good at what they did. 

Succubus and Incubus. 

“It’s a good thing you love to be bad, isn’t it my love?”

Y/N chuckled, trailing her fingers up his bare skin and catching his jaw, nails digging into the skin as she turned it back towards him. “What’s the point of wearing a shirt if you’re barely going to button it, hm?” She squeezed his face, her own saucy smile rising on her lips. “Who’s caught your eye, darling? Someone pretty that we can feed on?” Her eyes met his, reading that he had done exactly that. 

When they normally went on the prowl, they’d take their time- but it was like a buffet tonight. People ready and willing, eyeing both of them up. They were made for pure sexual attraction, humans being drawn to them like a magic spell as their energy infiltrated a space. To be chosen by both of them? The human would have stories for days. Being in a threesome with two of the best looking people they’d ever seen, bragging rights for days. They wouldn’t miss the blood that either of them took, nor would they mind their sexual energy being feasted on. For humans, it was a magical experience. No loss, no hurt, only one of the most pleasurable and euphoric experiences of their lives. The haze would follow them for days and they’d feel their touches for weeks on end, but it wasn’t harmful. Wistful, perhaps.

 The only drawback? No one would ever compare. 

They’d search the world for a human who’s cock was able to press right into that spot like Harry’s had, someone’s tongue that swirled around their most sensitive bit the way Y/N’s did, desperate for a taste of either of them, but they wouldn’t. Not unless they came about another of their kind. 

Their routine varied, as Harry claimed that ‘Variety is the spice of the afterlife’. Sometimes her chose, sometimes she did. It wasn’t like there was a lack of interested participants who approached them either. But Halloween was a night that all sorts of guidelines were lifted, and their rule for only having one encounter a day was lifted. With the ability to keep the spread of diseases, they didn’t have to wait to leave from one club to another, working on their third now. The high was lifting them up, their first two playmates safely tucked in cabs to get back home and surely sleeping off the exhaustion they had given them. 

“Show me, H. I chose last time, so it’s your turn now.” She watched his eyes flutter shut as she dragged her nails back down his throat to rest at his chest, a subtle growl leaving his throat. He loved pain, loved her nails, and his one and only soul mate. The sex with others was fun and games, a way to provide energy, but his real lifeforce was loving his sweet goddess. No one would ever compare to her, to the way she made him feel both inside and out of the bedroom. 

There was a difference between fucking for fun and for their needs, versus the love they made to one another. Their lovemaking varied between soft, soppy morning sex to bloody, rough, primal sex. There was no doubting what they preferred, and it was always each other. His arm wrapped around her waist, swinging her swiftly in front of him as he dipped his face to press cheek to cheek. “The one in the little devil costume.” He murmured, brushing his cock against her ass. “We did an angel earlier, but I’d like to see what the little devil has in store. Bet it’ll be a lot of fun, don’t you think?” He brushed his lips against her cheek, pecking it lightly. “Messy girl. Still have a bit of blood on you.” Swiftly, his tongue licked against the corner of her lips and hummed before tightening his grip on her. “We’re only halfway through the night. Already getting messy for me?” He clicked his tongue at her, feeling her eye roll despite knowing her arousal was at the top. 

“It’s the one day we can be. I can get blood all over my outfit and no one will blink an eye, think m’just a sexy creature.” She laughed, turning in his strong arms to peer up at him. “You know how much I love a mess, but you’re worse than me, aren’t you?” Her thumb was gentle now, brushing his bottom lip. It was still swollen and some of her lipstick stained them a cherry red, enhancing his pale skin even more. His clean shaven jaw was sharp as a tack and his white teeth tried to nip at the pad of her thumb playfully, but she was too quick. Her man was too handsome for his own good. “Mm… I know you love to bury your tongue in holes, any of them, and get all wet.” She had seen it firsthand just 30 minutes ago, the woman writhing under them as Y/N sat pretty on her face and watched Harry lose himself in the taste of their new friend.  “I can still smell that girl on you. She was a fun one, wasn’t she? Had to revoke those wings as soon as you touched her.” She purred, wrapping an arm over his neck. “And you love when they choke on your cock. The other boy I chose did such a nice job taking you into his throat, hm? Amazed him a little with how much you can cum… All over his face, and his ass too.  So don’t tease when you’re just as bad as me.” Her voice floated to him, making him groan. His cock was against her tummy this time, perpetually hard and her words only made it worse. “And if you want to take care of the hard time you’re currently having, throbbing against me, you better go pick up our playmate and bring them back to me.” Her hand slipped rom his neck, dow between them and cupping his erection. 

His cock was her favorite and alway would be. Perfectly thick and curved, she’d never met a person who didn’t like it, but to her it was perfection. Her prized possession. Having a soulbond with someone who pressed right where she needed, that filled her up to the brim and fucked her good enough to have her growling was all she needed.  Leaning up, her lips pressed against his own with a soft ‘pop’ as she pulled away, not getting too carried away yet. “Go on, pretty boy. Since you know how much I love to be bad… get us a slice of our trouble for the night. We’ve got so many more friends to meet.”

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: We Can't Make Any Promises

The morning after, Feyre takes a calm and relaxing breakfast in the gardens.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read!

Snippet below the cut!

Feyre told herself to be calm.

The collection of early risers, herself included only because of Nesta’s insistence she not be left alone, had gathered for breakfast in the gardens. The heat had broken last night and retreated back to a mild spring morning. The smell of fresh grass and blossoming flowers filled the space in between the lavish buffet set out before them.

Families and couples mingled and wandered, with small tables set out in clusters. Segregating everyone into small parties of six or ten. Meaning choosing one’s social group, and dodging subtle (and not so subtle) rejections was the social game of the morning.

She had never quite been so thankful for the Grand Duke, who, spotting them across the lawn, gave an easy smile and waved them over to his empty spot at the edge of the gathering.

Feyre spent every moment scanning the crowd.

Would he come to her?

Would he stay far, far away?

Feyre sipped her tea, scalding her tongue, to stop her spinning thoughts.

Not a single thought had been free of him since she had slipped out the window last night. She thought of him as she reluctantly bathed him from her skin before settling to bed. And when she woke, it was to the memory of his dark eyes as he watched her face as he worked his fingers in her.

She wondered if he had lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a mess like she was.

All she could feel was his lips on her skin. The hot breath against her ear, the deep rumble of his voice in his chest.

The breathless, reverent way he had whispered her name against her neck.

Feyre.

“Feyre are you cold? Should we go back to the room to fetch your shawl?”

Jolting back into the moment, Feyre took a minute to smile at Elain and scan the crowd again for dark hair and violet eyes. “No, Elain, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look a bit -”

“I’m just a little tired from all the festivities. Maybe I’ll take some more tea.”

She stood abruptly and ignored Nesta and Elain’s stares as she walked through the growing throngs of breakfast goers.

Surely, they could all see it on her. God, it was all over her face, and her body. Though she had checked her throat multiple times that morning for bites or marks and found nothing, she couldn’t understand how the searing feeling of him against her skin wasn’t plain for all to see.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

He was a rake, known far and wide for his proclivities. He was probably courting a Grand Duchess. She might not even be the only woman he was sleeping with at this party.

Whatever this burgeoning…obsession was, she had to get it under control.

Even if last night had been - well, it had been –

Feyre paused on the way to tea to hide behind a tree at the edge of the crowd and bury her head in her hands.

She was not a virgin, although she worked hard to hide that fact from her father and sisters. They could never, ever know. Even if she puzzled at the shame of it.

Left mostly on her own from age eight, she had learned plenty about the conjugal act from her best teacher: nature in the wild and on the farms in the run down village. She had learned even more from the old widows and the one boisterous tavern wench who deigned to speak to her when she came to town to trade.

But when she and the local farmer’s son Isaac had tumbled into his father’s barn, it felt anything but sinful or unnatural.

Still, it had been nothing like last night. Nothing like the Viscount and his clever hands and the pleasure he pulled from her like a virtuoso with his chosen instrument.

“Are you in need of an escort, Miss Feyre?”

Feyre’s heart stopped as she turned to the voice behind her that she had been dreaming of all morning and all night.

The Viscount Sterling stood behind her, as regal as ever in black and linen. Her eyes scanned over his familiar form - the silky hair that had been beneath her fingers, the high cheekbones, the golden skin, those piercing eyes. The plush lips that had been all over her.

His mouth downturned into a small frown.

He was magnificent, not that she would ever admit that to him. Beautiful and refined in a way she hadn’t known possible.

And last night, he had been hers.

A fleeting connection, she was sure. One she needed to start getting over now.

“I - I was just on my way for tea,” she said, trying not to blush.

“Allow me, then.” He offered his arm.

They walked back into the sunlight of early morning, across the grass and into the crowd of breakfast-goers, some chatting merrily and others still recovering from the late hour of the ball.

He kept his voice low, as they were surrounded by fine folk mingling and eating and no doubt gossiping already at their conversation. ��Is your father here this morning?”

“No. He was feeling ill and is still in our rooms.”

The frown continued to deepen on his face. “The three of you are often alone.”

“Are we alone if there are three sisters? We’re fine, Nesta is determined to keep us out of trouble.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible when it comes to you”

Feet stopped short and they looked at each other, the truth trembling between them.

The frown deepened. “Miss Feyre, I feel that I need to apologize.”

Feyre’s heart froze in her chest. It was a mistake, a defeated voice whispered inside her mind. He regrets it. He regrets you.

Part of her couldn’t believe him - about to shatter her to pieces here in the middle of breakfast with all of London society to witness.

Breathe, just breathe. Her mind was already harried by her sleepless night, and the frenzy he’d worked her into. So much so that she barely noticed how unruffled he was - tongue-tied, his eyes darting around nervously. He removed his hat, running a gloved hand through his hair, a lock of it falling onto his forehead as he dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I should have had more control last night. I was angry and…jealous, and I let things get out of hand.” Brows furrowed, she tried to parse through his words while steeling herself. “If I was truly a gentleman as I claimed, I would go to your father immediately and ask for your hand. But I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite short of that title, and I am not in a position to marry you, Feyre.”

“Marry me?”

A delirious giggle escaped from her lips before she could clamp her hand over her mouth. Oh, this was going terribly. Something manic inside her was about to escape. A few breakfasting couples glanced their way, curious.

The Viscount took her by the elbow, lips pursed, and gently guided her to an unoccupied spot by the garden hedges.

“That’s not usually the reaction one expects at a marriage proposal.”

Feyre huffed. “Was that a proposal? Forgive me, lord, it sounded like a threat, instead of a question requiring an answer.”

“Don’t you think we should marry after last night?”

A picture flickered before her eyes. Cold, half-empty mansions, social calls and boring afternoons indoors, endless balls and dinners and curtseys and heavy jewelry around her neck like a noose.

And the Viscount…yes he was handsome, and had money enough beyond the Archeron’s dreams, but his arrogance, his pride, his strange reliance on the Duchess…not to mention she would be Viscountess, locked in a manor her entire life, not just a reluctant guest but a host to endless dinner parties. Meant to birth heirs and embroider sweet scenes on little pillows. No more charcoal-stained fingers or the smell of canvas.

No. Absolutely not.

She ground her teeth. “Maybe if you actually ask me, then you’ll find your answer.”

“Feyre –”

She was angry, and humiliated, the feelings swirling together and growing inside her. “What do you want, my lord? You say you should marry me, but you cannot? Do you want me to talk you into it? To shed a tear? Are you here looking for absolution?”

He dragged a hand through his hair again. “I - I don’t know.”

Feyre clenched her fists open and closed, scrambling for her thoughts. He seemed reticent enough - was this an act he had perfected with all the ladies he lay with - too cowardly for outright rejection, instead some concocted story about his mysterious inability to marry?

“Do you want to marry me, Rhysand?” His eyes shot up to her at the use of his name. Mouth parted open, gaping like a fish.

She supposed that was answer enough.

“Feyre, you know what we did. You know the expectations…”

“No one knows what happened last night but the two of us.”

“And God.”

She bit her tongue, to stop from rolling her eyes. “And it should stay that way, Rhysand. Unless you can’t keep your mouth shut. I promise you that I can.”

He looked annoyed again, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want to…make things difficult for you.”

Far, far too late for that.

Feyre felt the sting of his rejection. He had his fun, maybe after too much wine himself, and now he regretted it all, would cast her off with a sad-eyed apology. Already she began to worry about finding a new salary, she’d have to make some new connections, risk making deals on the ballroom floor again…

And find some way to rid her mind of all these memories.

Lost in her silence, he kept going “I’m sorry -”

“Please, stop. I’m not asking for your apology. You didn’t…deflower me, if that’s your concern, sir. And I certainly knew your reputation before I joined you in that sitting room. I assure you, I did not go into that room with you looking for a husband. So do not feel any sense of obligation on my behalf.”

Something had gone cold in his eyes. “So you’re saying it was my reputation that threw you into my arms?” Feyre clenched her fist in frustration. She remembered being dragged, but if he wanted to split hairs –

“I’m saying I went into that room and got exactly what I wanted from you.”

“And what was that?”

“A distraction, I suppose.”

The Viscount blinked once. Rolled his neck and then placed his tophat back on his head.

“I see. Then forgive my error. I appear to have nothing to concern myself with here.”

She huffed. Something fragile crumbling in her chest. Unable to stop the pour of her anger out of her. “That’s right. If you’re apologizing then consider it accepted. If you regret it then don’t worry, we can never speak of it again. Now please excuse me, I need to get back to my sisters.”

Feyre stormed off the best she could across the soft lawn of grass, trying to outrun her embarrassment.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

[euphoricfilter]

For the Drabble game! “They smiled at each other, lost in their own world.” with Yoongi!! Smut and Fluff for the tags but if you think the other tags fit better the others look fun too!! Thank you💜💜I love your workkkk!!! 💜💜💜

in the silence of the studio:

pairing: producer! yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || established relationship || non-idol au

summary: no one ever seems to bring up why you and yoongi always disappear during the company’s release parties.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff, smut in the forms of: fingering, studio sex, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), a singular slap to her pussy, creampie, cum play, implied cockwarming

notes: prompt from the drabble game <3 i've never written such short smut before.. :')

drabble masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

They smiled at each other, lost in their own world; sea of people long forgotten as Yoongi’s arm slips around your waist, your hand falling onto his shoulder as your bodies sway, hearts in sync. Music far from slow, some fast-paced disco beat of a song he’d heard playing on the radio. Something easy to drown out when he’s got you all dolled up in front of him.

The prettiest little dress he’s bought for you, probably an anniversary, glittery eyes that shone in flickering spotlights and pretty pink lips that he finds himself leaning forward to kiss each time you open your mouth to say something.

Neither you, nor Yoongi had ever been very fond of the listening parties that his company hosted. Your boyfriend merely showing up out of politeness while you stay to show your support of his career. It was no secret that his parents had been sceptical of his dream, and that’s why you made it a point to make sure that no matter which road he decided to wander in this life, you’d always walk beside him.

No one ever seemed to notice how the two of you would slink out of the room after greeting as many familiar faces as you could find, how neither of you stayed long enough to hear the thank yous for coming, or the buffet to be laid out pretty like a feast on a table in the far corner. Hard to wait for the celebrated artist to make their speech when hands get impatient, teasing in places they shouldn’t with so many witnesses. Beady eyes that could easily fall in your direction, greeted by the sight of rose dusted cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

The lights often become a blur of colours, vibrance reflected in glassy eyes, low base vibrating down your spine as hands grope bare skin, and nails rake stark red marks under thin shirts or naked thighs. Where doors are swung open and lips mould together as the elevator makes its ascent to the top floor of the company. Hallway empty except the two of you.

Neither of you seem to have any shame, honey like moans dripping off your tongue when Yoongi’s hands slip up your skirt, teasing lacy underwear as your fingers tangle into his hair. His tongue laving over your neck, teeth nipping at sweet spots and kissing over red skin; something a little primal purring in his chest at the fact everyone knows you’re with him.

His to claim, his to mark.

Both of you fumble with the password to his studio, distracted by the pleasure that thrums through your bodies as your hand slips down the waist of his slacks, and Yoongi’s fingers brush over your panty covered clit.

You bounce when you fall back onto the couch, skirt of your dress hiked up around your waist as Yoongi unzips his pants, hands desperate to hold onto your skin; grab your hips, or the meat of your thighs, perhaps sink his teeth into your plush skin.  

You kick your panties off as he shucks his own clothes somewhere on the studio floor.

“God, you’re so pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, lips pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, working his way over your stomach.

“You do tell me quite often” you whisper, fingers skimming over his happy trail, your boyfriend’s body lurching forward when delicate fingers wrap around his cock, pearly bead of pre-cum slipping down his length as his arms cage your head.

“Fucking tease”

“Sorry” you giggle, balancing on one your elbows, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw as you continue to languidly stroke his length.

Your thighs clamp shut as his fingers tease over your wet folds, thumb running your arousal over your clit.

Your mouth falls open into a silent moan as he slips his index finger past your walls, a pitiful dribble of slick following his sudden intrusion.

Your hips buck upwards in time with his thrusts as Yoongi’s hips kick forward into your loose fist.

“Another” you whine, free hand tangling into his hair, rough as you bring him down for a wet kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, sodden mixture of your saliva coating your chins shiny.

A second finger slips into you, and Yoongi groans as you clamp around him, unrelenting as he thrusts knuckle-deep inside of you; ever the tease as he brushes over that little patch inside of you that has your thighs shaking.

“Fuck me, Yoongs, please”

“Yeah?” he curls his fingers, and you whine when he pulls them out of you, your own hand pulling away from his cock.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it, stinging pleasure making your thighs twitch; thick pleasure causing another wave of arousal to dribble out of your pussy when Yoongi places a mean slap over your clit.

“Please” you beg, hips rutting upwards in search for any sort of relief.

“My pretty thing” he croons, hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance, “I love you”

“I love you too” you look up at him through your lashes, wet with unshed tears that he kisses away—gentle as he presses the head of his cock into you.

Unashamed, you let out a breathy moan, Yoongi grunting as his hips rock forward; his hands pulling your ankles over his shoulders, your knees knocking your tits as he bends forwards, hips jerking enough that he bottoms out inside of you.

“Move please” your hands hold the backs of your knees, cunt squeezing his length.

With the walls of his studio soundproofed, neither of you have any shame as he starts to rut into you, harmony of moans filling the silence of the studio.

“Play with yourself for me, baby”

Your hands slip between sweat slicked bodies, fingers dipping into the creamy essence that clings onto Yoongi’s cock each time he pulls out of you, slicking your clit up before you’re drawing tight circles.

“Gonna cum” you warn Yoongi, hips rutting upwards to meet his own.

“Cum with me, pretty”

You feel the peak of your high, hiccup of a moan swallowed by Yoongi’s lips as you tip over the edge, cunt clenching sporadically around his cock as it twitches between your walls, thick wave of his seed coating your insides creamy.

“So good” he grunts, softening cock pulled out to the tip before he’s pushing back into you, concoction of your orgasms clinging onto his length.

You whine in bordering oversensitivity as he thrusts back into you, making sure his cum stays snug between your walls, as far into you as possible.

The air is punched from your lungs when Yoongi falls over your chest, chin hooked over your shoulder.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he tells you.

“I know. You like to remind me” you run a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, “I love you too, you know?”

He huffs a laugh, “I know” and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your cheeks as he presses a featherlight kiss to your bare shoulder.

💫 thank you for reading! and feedback is always encouraged

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[baxteravenue]

Can You Shoot & Score?

PART ONE.

Summary: You don't listen to Jack Harlow but because your friend is seeing his best friend you find yourself at his concert and at the center of his attention.

A/N: This is a three parter, so stay tuned!

“You’re coming,” Your roommate practically begs, “Y/N please for me! I literally never ask you to go anywhere and I’m literally on my knees.”

“I don’t even listen to him, besides that one song.” You shake your head, “And I don’t know if I can be the best wing woman.”

Jack Harlow is in town and for the past few months on and off your roommate has been messaging with his best friend or photographer… you’re not really sure but you do remember his name because of how random it was. Urban.

“I will literally play Animal Crossing with you for an entire month, please! Just the show and the club after and you will get me to fully dive into the game you’ve been wanting me to play for the longest.”

“Way to make me sound boring.” You stick out your tongue.

“So?”

It’s silent for a bit before you eventually melt, “Fine. But I’m wearing what I want to wear.” 

Nina, your roomie practically jumps up and down in a fit of glee. “Yay and fine! You could literally wear a trash bag and still look hot.”

So that’s how you ended up being escorted from the box office all the way to the backstage area, backstage passes plastered on both you and Nina. 

It’s awkward at first when you walk into a room crowded with girls wearing full on club outfits, you slowly begin to feel self conscious with your choice of clothing. Your trusty pair of Levi’s and a random black mesh tank. You slowly lean into Nina, “Did not know we were going to a Fashion Nova runway show.”

Nina giggles, “You look beautiful.”

You recognize Urban first, Nina had shown you his instagram first. He completely disregards all the girls lingering and walks up to Nina with a huge smile on his face and a cherry wrapped joint behind his ear. 

He hugs her tightly and you smile, you can’t hear what he says but she smiles and he gives her the blunt. 

“This is Y/N, Y/N this is Urban.” Urban smiles, and for a second you see his eyes dart behind you wiggling his eyebrows a bit before snapping back.

“S’nice to meet you, did you need anything? We got some drinks over there and some chicken sandwiches and oh shit do you smoke? I got Neens her favorite but I completely forgot to ask if you had any preferences.”

You melt at Urban’s nickname for Nina and shake your head, “Thank you but no. I don’t smoke, I get paranoid and I’m not a big fan of alcohol.”

“Respect.” Urban nods, “What about a chicken sandwich?”

“Sure.” You shrug. 

Urban leads you over to a whole buffet, constantly looking over your shoulder. “Help yourself to anything,” Glance, “Literally anything.” Glance, “Give me a second I’ll be right back.” 

Urban leaves and you look down, giggling at the Jack Harlowified wraps of the KFC chicken sandwiches. 

“It’s funny huh?” An unfamiliar voice says from beside you. 

You look up and then back at the wrapper and then back up, “They kinda did you dirty, you look like the unabomber.” You immediately cover your mouth with your hand, “I didn’t”

“Holy shit.” He laughs, “Okay, wow.”

“I didn’t mean to actually say that out loud.” You can feel your cheeks getting red.

“It’s fine,” He smiles looking back down at the rapper before laughing, “Shit you’re kinda right.” 

You shake your head, “M’sorry I’m just gonna eat my chicken sandwich in the corner and stay quiet.”

“Wait no!” Jack says a little too eagerly for his liking, “Nah it’s cool… What's your name again?”

“I never said it, It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N…” Jack tests the name on his lips, “I like that name. It’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, I like the name Jack too. It reminds me of how obsessed I was with Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas, so much that I had my parents buy me this onesie costume and I wore it almost every day for the entire month of April which is like an insanely random month to develop a hyperfixation on that and sometimes I ask myself like why not October or like even December? But then again I did watch Stand By Me over and over again from November to…” You immediately stop realizing how many words are coming out of your mouth, “Sorry.”

Jack has the cheesiest smile, loving every single word that’s coming out of your mouth. “No please continue, I was just going to say how I watched Save The Last Dance secretly every night for two months straight, I swore I was gonna pop out at my seventh grade winter formal like no other.”

You throw your head back in a fit of laughter, “I kid you not I used to stand in front of the T.V. and try and mimic every single one of Moose’s dance scenes from Step Up.”

“And how did that go? Can you move like him?” 

You snort laughing, “Oh hell no. I have no rhythm. I was doomed from the start and I think if I remember correctly I dislocated a bone.”

Jack can’t stop laughing with you and neither can you. Everyone sees how deep the two of you are in conversation, laughs coming out every few seconds. Urban, all of Jack’s friends, and Nina are smiling watching from a distance. Meanwhile every other girl who had hope of a shot frowns with disappointment and jealousy.

You’re telling Jack about how you used to play basketball in high school when his eyes light up. 

“Wait for reals, you used to play? You can shoot?” Jack has an up to no good look on his face.

“It’s been a while but I think so, I’m not the tallest but I have a good arm.” You shrug.

Jack nods, “Alright… alright. You’re gonna be watching from the side stage or were you gonna be in the crowd?”

You look over at Nina who’s staring at you already along with everyone else. You give her a confused look before turning back to Jack, “Uhm it’s honestly up to Nina, I came with her so…”

He nods as someone tells him he’s on in five.

“I hope you enjoy the show.” Jack gives you a wink, “And I really hope you can shoot.”

You don’t know what he means but before you can even ask you both are being dragged in different directions. Jack to his spot on stage and you to side stage to watch with Nina and Urban.

You’ve never really listened to his music but you find yourself enjoying the music. You laugh as he interacts with the crowd.

“We even got a basket up here and… a ball! Who thinks they can make it?”

The arena immediately roars in cheers, Jack laughs looking at all the raised hands. “Alright. Alright. There's no way y'all can all make it. Hmmm, you!” He points at a girl right at the front, “You think you can? Alright c’mon.  And you my boy in the middle you got it? Alright let's go. And mmm alright you look like you got the spirit you come up too!”

It’s sad to see all of the fans miss, but regardless they look happy that they were even up there getting to be near Jack.

You giggle as he nicely kicks the fans off joking about their lack of baskets before looking around, “You know I think I have another person who said they can shoot… Y/N, you wanna give it a try?”

Your eyes widen as the light moves to you, Jack pulling at your arm. “C’mon I need one person to make it. Everyone Y/N said she’s got it like that!”

The crowd cheers.

You shake your head, “What? No!”

“C’mon Y/N don’t make us go out sad!” Jack pouts at you, before turning back to the crowd, “Unless she doesn’t got it like that then I get it. She doesn't want to embarrass herself.”

“Embarrass myself?” Suddenly you don’t care that you’re stepping on a huge stage in front of almost 16,000 people. You grab the ball from Jack’s arms, “No one’s gonna embarrass themselves.” 

“Oooh she got the ball! Let’s see if she makes it?” Jack taunts you to the crowd. 

Oh you were gonna make it, best believe that. Suddenly you were back in your high school prime ready to make a free throw and within second it swishes into the basket graceful as fuck and you cant help but let out a small scream jumping up and down. You were never great with pressure, but it was nice to know you still had it.

You feel your feet lift off the floor as Jack picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder screaming. “Let’s goooooo!”

You cannot stop laughing as he runs all over the stage, before gently placing you down at the side of the stage. “Man everyone give it up for Y/N! She redeemed yall!” Jack tucks the mic behind him, “You’re too fucking good, I think I’m obsessed with you.”

He doesn’t even give you time to respond before he’s running back to the center of the stage getting into the next song.

Your mouth is open slightly in shock and a bit of confusion. 

“Oh, he likes you bad girl.” Nina smirks.

[choiwonder]

mark is such a liar that song is not abt cooking eggs why does he do this

[heartfullofleeches]

Who's the best at giving head out of your ocs?

Liu. I'm not even just being a simp anymore. Ok I am, but A their tongue is highly sensitive B there's two of them and they're really long. There's also that thing about them being able to split open their cheeks thinking about sticking it in from the side makes me absolutely weak

Orion has the most skill but he's using his hand mouth so that's kinda cheating

C.C and Baron go at it like starving man at a buffet. C.C has more game than his big brother and piercings. The aphrodisiac in his spit can be transferred through this type of contact as well

Calliope has zero idea what to do when she actually gets down there, but she will use all the skills she learn from watching videos for "research" and not let you up until cum at least twice on her tongue. Hopefully that's before she passes out as she begs you to choke her with your thighs

The crown of best head giver out of our strictly human yans is Spencer. For the cows it's Peach. Cafe Hybrid.... Honey

Host is also has multiple tongue. As many as you desire.

As with their dicks, D.kay can change their tongue to your liking. I miss D.kay. Lemon and Lime are also good but who cares about them

[cuffmeinblack]

Azkaban. A fortress to hold the foulest of wizardkind, meant to keep us safe from their wrath. Yet for all we know of Azkaban, there is much more that remains hidden—a deep well of corruption rooted in government to hide the true horrors of the prison and its nightmarish keepers. Garreth Weasley is the first prisoner to walk free from its walls in centuries. As he tries to pick up his life from where he left off, he soon realises that his imprisonment has reshaped the man he once was. Battered and broken, he draws on the strength of a friend to right the wrongs he's suffered. In matters of justice and those of the heart, will truth finally out?

Garreth Weasley x f!OC (Adanna Egwe)

Tags: explicit | friends to lovers | dark themes | trauma

Prologue

Garreth took a tentative step towards his salvation, one foot in front of the other on quaking legs. They shook with fear, both inflicted and for what awaited him outside the towering stone walls. Malnourishment had set in months ago, withering his muscles and the spritely step he once held. Gone was the layer of healthy fat from years of Hogwarts’ delicious fare, and long had faded the glow of his skin, leaving only a palid complexion and freckles that looked more grey than golden. He didn't know this, of course—Azkaban didn't have mirrors, or bathrooms for that matter, only buckets and hard walls and harder floors—but he felt it in his bones and the way the woman now looked at him.

The first person to see him after the long nine months was not his mother, father or various siblings—it was a Ministry worker, unnamed and uncaring. The stout woman looked at him blandly without so much as a sympathetic nod, her lip curling faintly in what looked like disgust. Didn't she know? He was innocent! Garreth supposed she might not be privy to the details, assumed he'd been released on some technicality. A murderer walking free deserved no sympathy, no kindness. She kept her distance and waved him forward, the blazing white of her deer patronus keeping the foul creatures that had tormented him at bay. The cloaked figures of his nightmares lashed out, displeased to be losing their sustenance, only to be buffeted away by the powerful magic. The closer he walked towards her, the lighter he felt. A heavy blanket of despair was gradually peeled away and memories seeped through the edges. Smiles, laughter, a kiss, the smell of apple pie and the freshness of Spring. And then the air shimmered as he entered the deer's embrace, emotions he thought long buried flooded back in one great tidal wave that almost knocked him flat on his back. He remembered hope, once a constant companion that had been suffocated within a few weeks of entering the great fortress behind him.

“Steady, now.” The woman watched him stumble but made no attempt to help him. Garreth thought she moved to offer a steadying hand, instead it plunged into her pocket. He stood within arm's length of her now, could see every line of her face and the hint of warmth in her eyes that she didn't offer to Garreth. He felt suddenly self-conscious—a rarity for him—as he became more aware of his unwashed hair and filthy nails. He must have smelled vile. So distracted with his own dismal appearance, he almost missed her hand hovering between them. Atop her palm, a square of chocolate sat. He could smell the rich aroma permeating the damp and salty sea air, and he salivated. “Take it. It will take the edge off.” She jerked her head towards the dementors still straining against the patronus’ shield. “The portkey leaves in thirty seconds.”

Garreth took the chocolate and shoved it in his mouth with little decorum, savouring the rich cocoa as it melted on his tongue and coated his mouth. He'd not tasted anything so delectable, though he knew it was likely the cheapest the Ministry could source. A far cry from the gruel that had barely kept him alive. The woman bent to pick up what Garreth assumed was his ticket out of this hellhole—a small gold pocketwatch of which the hands twitched back and forth with no progress. The time read one o’clock or thereabouts, yet judging by the stormy grey sky and waning light, Garreth put it closer to six. He was pretty sure it was now Autumn, though there were no trees with their copper hued leaves to confirm his suspicions. All he saw now was grey rock, grey sky and turbulent waves, all desaturated as if the dementors were not only capable of sucking the happiness from the landscape but the colour too.

“Ten seconds.”

Garreth placed his hand over the pocketwatch and the woman clasped him firmly, the cold metal warming between their palms. She herself was warm, her skin soft against his own calloused and clammy fingers. With a jolt, Garreth realised that this was the first human contact he'd had since entering the prison all that time ago. The last had been his mother desperately reaching for him as he was dragged by chains from the courtroom deep below the Ministry. She'd stroked his cheek and told him not to worry before he slipped into darkness, her tear-streaked face etched into memory.

“Five, four, three, two…”

On one, Garreth felt a pull behind his navel and he lurched forward with dizzying speed into the abyss, only to emerge and fall promptly to his knees. His bones hit cobblestones strewn with leaves and he doubled over, retching and gasping for air. Whilst his head swam, he heard voices, cries and screams. He thought this was a cruel trick, that he'd been taunted with the promise of freedom only to be deposited back in Azkaban for some sick amusement. They grew louder as the black spots cleared in his vision and he realised that they weren't cries of pain and hopeless wails—these were shouts of excitement, relief. They called his name and he managed to peer up into the sunset to find familiar faces crowding him. He was home at last, surrounded by countless copper manes and freckled grins, and two figures that hung back, different from the rest. Natty, he recognised by her flawless dark complexion and glittering smile, and the woman next to her by the way his heart leapt at the sight of her. She was here. She'd not forgotten.

He was barely aware of anything the woman from the Ministry was saying as hands pulled him inside the cottage and Charlotte—his dear little sister—was babbling on about such nonsense that Garreth couldn't help but laugh. The sound was strange to him and his voice was weak, so weak. His vocal chords seemed to struggle and creak like something old and long-abandoned, groaning back to life. “You're all here…,” he managed to say before a wave of exhaustion crashed into him.

“Give him some room. Charlotte, Hector, enough. He needs to rest. Oh welcome home, Garreth…”

Mum. She wrapped him up in his arms and he felt ten years old again. Here he was finally safe and loved, though almost inexplicably as if he didn't deserve it. His brother clutched an arm and helped him up the stairs that creaked less noticeably under his newly lithe form. More chocolate found its way into his hand, this square much silkier with chunks of honeycomb that stuck to his teeth. As soon as his head hit the pillow—his pillow—he drifted off to sleep and had his first nightmare-free slumber in months. He didn't dream at all, only surrendered to the sweet silence and infinite dark.

[stuffing-seattle]

Bunni’s Stuffing pt. 1

Bunni was nervous, and he saw this as she squirmed in the passenger seat. “What is it, baby?” He asked her. She pouted because she didn’t know exactly how to put it into words. She was nervous, but the good kind of nervous. Excited nervous, the way you get when you are in line for a roller coaster. “I asked you a question.” He said, a color of sharp discipline in his voice. “I don’t know where you are taking me, Daddy.” This was. A half-truth. She knew what she had done, and was sure they were on the way for him to deliver punishment. “Do you remember Daddy’s lunch in the fridge?”

“No.” She fibbed. He scoffed. “I bet you are it too fast to remember.” He scolded, eyeing her swollen tummy peaking out from her character-themed tank top. Bunni blushed and tried to pull the top further down to hide her belly, but it was no use. Even on an empty tummy, her naval now sat exposed by the shirt, and the rabbit that had once adjourned the chest looked more like a panda bear, due to the stretching. “Whether you remember or not,” Daddy’s words cut into her thoughts like a knife. “I had to go to work with no lunch yesterday. That must mean I’m not feeding you enough, so I wanted to make sure you got your fill.” There was a sadistic edge to his voice, and Bunni gulped as they pulled into the parking lot of the towns cheapest all-you-can-eat buffet.

As they stepped out of the car, he got to drink in her full figure. When they had first met she was a petite little thing. Rail-thin and no tits or ass to speak of. Bunni was a glutton for punishment though, and always found excuse after excuse to act up. Her Daddy, of course had to discipline her, and his constant discipline was apparent for the whole world to see now. Her Daddy’s dominance sat around her waist in a a beach ball sized slab of fat. Her thighs had pudged up and her tits and ass had simply exploded from the results of her bad behavior. This was evidenced by her ass cheeks comfortably hanging halfway out of her many-sized too small shorts, and the fact that her tits looked like a popped can of Pillsbury grands in virtually any top shelf wore.he had to restrain himself from bending her over in that parking lot and putting a baby in her right then and there. *Patience* He told himself. *That part comes later*

She could feel the stares of the other patrons as they entered the buffet. White hot shame rushed to her cheeks as she knew they were all thinking what a pig she was. An equally white hot sensation travelled from her over-plump belly and in between her thighs. God she couldn’t wait for her punishment. “Sit down.” Daddy commanded. She obeyed. “Now, you are going to sit here and eat every single plate I bring you. Hear me? Every. Single. One.” Bunni smirked at him, trying not to betray the fact that she was absolutely sopping wet under the table just at his words. “And what if I don’t?” She asked smugly. He didn’t answer. He only left to collect plates. Fuck. He didn’t take the bait. She knew that meant he was serious and not here to play games.

Daddy was not gone long, but even so, Bunni’s belly began to gurgle and groan. She laid a hand on her belly and tried to shush it. Just then, Daddy returned. He had a plate of every cut of fried chicken, three slices of pizza, and a half rack of ribs. “I heard your greedy belly gurgling from across the restaurant.” He teased. “This should be a good start.” She gulped at the word *start* but dutifully dug in to begin her meal.

She tore through the chicken like an animal, and finished off the pizzas in short order. It was only by the time reached the ribs that she began to slow down. Already her mouth was covered in grease, and the ghosts of fullness were beginning to press at her belly, though it still did not show through all her extra padding. “You need a bib little girl.” Daddy said to her. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Not too full to be sassy, I see. Well then I’m off for round two. I expect those ribs to be finished off by the time I get back.”

“Finish those ribs before I get back.” She mocked. She saw a twinge of annoyance in Daddy’s eyes, but still he said nothing and left to other more food. As soon as he was gone she dropped the act and rubbed her full tummy. He was going to absolutely destroy her later, and she just hoped she was able to cash the check that her smart ass kept writing.

Either way she got back to work and went at the ribs. Daddy had not gotten her any utensils, almost certainly as another small punishment. So he gnawed at the ribs, getting barbecue sauce and chunks of meat all over her mouth and dripping onto her ample chest. She had just taken her last bite when Daddy returned with her second round of food. This time a mountain of mashed potatoes, a roll of sushi, and two hamburgers with fries. As if reading her mind, he also brought with him two tall glasses of soda. “This is it?” She smiled weakly. “Not by a long shot baby girl. Now dig in.”

She tried not to let on how much that comment both shook her and made her legs quiver. Instead she drowned her feelings in the closest glass of soda. In less than ten seconds, she had guzzled down the drink. Lost for a moment in the ecstasy of the stuffing, and basking in her bloated belly, she forgot where she was for a moment. *BWWWOOOORRRRPPP* Bunni opened her eyes in horror as she realized that the whole restaurant had gone silent and everyone was looking at her with quizzical expressions. She apologized meekly, and Daddy smirked at her.

“You really want this whole restaurant to know how much of a hopeless pig you are, don’t you?” He said. She blushed even harder and the fire forming in her belly was getting harder to ignore. “Why don’t you go get my next course and make yourself useful?” She snapped in a bratty tone. “Hope your eyes aren’t bigger than your stomach he said ominously, as he sauntered off to find more food. Finally she was alone with her food. She tucked in and lost herself to the pleasure and pain of stuffing her gut. Was this the mashed potatoes? The sushi? She was eating too fast to taste and it tasted too good to care. Before Daddy returned she had crammed every last bite of food into her overgrown tummy and polished off her soda to boot. She reclined back in her chair and groaned, this time managing to stifle a second burp. Her belly groaned and burbled audibly. It was as tight as a drum and she couldn’t even put a hand on it to soothe it without it sending a painful quiver through her midsection. Fuck, she had over done it so bad. And she had asked for another helping, what was she thinking? She was done for. As these thoughts swirled through her almost comatose mind, Daddy returned.

When he returned it was with two large slices of cake and a small mountain of ice cream. Bunni whimpered audibly at the thought of having to stuff it all inside her. She might really blow up. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, I thought you could use dessert.” Daddy said. Bunni still sat slumped in the booth and weakly opened her mouth, but all she could muster was a sick “Ooorrrp”. Daddy could see that she was slipping into a food coma, and for a moment wondered if he had gone too far. He had one way to check. “I’m very proud of you, baby girl, you’ve been doing so so good. Can you finish all of this for Daddy?” Jesus he knew how to push her buttons. The praise managed to short circuit her brain, and the pain in her belly seemed to melt away. She sat up as straight as her belly would allow, and began to dig in. Daddy could see that it was taking all her concentration to keep the food down, so he just watched, enraptured by her gluttony. She finished off the ice cream and the first slice of cake. But once the time came for the final slice, it seemed as if Bunni’s hands were filled with lead. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick them up. She moaned which transformed into a burp halfway through.

“I can’t do it, Daddy.” She whined, tears welling up in her eyes. “You have to.” Daddy said gently. “You’ve been misbehaving too much lately, and it wouldn’t exactly be a punishment if it was pleasant would it.”

“Please my tummy’s gonna *uuuurrrp* pop.” She begged. Daddy was unwavering. “You have to finish baby girl. That was the deal. But I’ll help you finish this last piece.” He picked up the last slice of cake and held it in front of her mouth. Bunni clamped it tightly shut. “Open.” Daddy commanded. Bunni shook her head even as her cheeks ballooned out from another burp trying to force its way out. “Open or I’ll make you open.” He repeated. Once again, Bunni shook her head. “Fine.” Said Daddy. “But I tried to warn you.”

Daddy took his free hand and layed it on top of Bunni’s massively swollen tummy. Usually, it looked like a wad of raw pizza dough hanging around her waist, rather formless and blob like, but still sticking out. At this point though, it looked and felt as if she had swallowed a bowling ball. She could be mistaken for being 8 months pregnant from the stretch marks that were already starting to form near her back. She was so tightly packed with food, that the skin around her naval was beginning to turn pink even through her dark skin from all the pressure. This belly was a bomb just waiting to blow. So Daddy did what he had to do.

He placed his hand over her belly button, and gave it a jiggle. So many feelings washed over Bunni at the same moment. The disturbance of her belly caused a massive air bubble to come loose and travel up her throat. The feeling of Daddy’s hand on her bare skin after all this teasing with the food and his words felt like bolts of lightening traveling directly from her belly to her pussy. The monstrous burp that erupted from her caused her a sort of sexy embarrassment that she was only half-conscious of due to her almost comatose state. As soon as the burp was done, Daddy shoved the last piece of cake fully into her mouth, and the way it felt expanding in her throat felt like a cock. As it traveled down she could physically feel the cake stretch and warp her tummy, finding any last available space left. Each swallow that landed in her gut she could trace where it was coming to lie in her horribly overpacked tummy.

All of these feeling combined were simply too much for her little food-impaired brain to handle and she had one of the largest orgasms of her life. There were several earth shattering contractions of her cunt. The first one soaked her panties. The second one soaked her shorts. The third one left her dripping and drooling into the tile floor below them. It was a good thing she had cake shoved down her throat or she would have let out an ear piercing scream.

Daddy saw Bunni quivering and shaking and was at first afraid she was having a seizure, until he heard the splashing on the floor, and smelled the unmistakable smell of her cum. He looked under the table at the small puddle forming below her and looked back at her in awe.

She was beautiful. Her mouth and tits were absolutely smeared in food. It looked as if she had been hit with a water gun of icecream and sauces. Her belly was taut and red, and visibly quivered under the excessive pressure it was holding. Even to Daddy, across the table, it audibly gurgled and groaned in an angry way. Bunni’s pants were ruined. Somewhere in the mayhem her button had popped off, and her belly had surged forward, pushing the zipper down. On top of that, her pants were soaked and she looked like she had pissed herself.

“Are you ok?” Daddy whispered, legitimately concerned. Bunni was slumped in the back of the booth, eyes glazed over, looking at nothing in particularly, and her mouth hanging limply open. All she could muster was a tiny “Burrrrrrrp,” that sounded like air being let out of a tire. “We gotta get you out of here, baby girl.” Said Daddy.

He stood up and put one of Bunni’s arms around his shoulder. He hefted her to her feet, and the jostling elicited a roar from her belly, and a barrage of burps from Bunni. Luckily they had been there so long that they were the only two left in the place other than the employees, who were doing all they could to give the noisy couple a wide berth. Daddy helped Bunni waddle her way to the car, her one free hand trying in vain to rub and soothe her churning belly. Once Daddy had her strapped in he said, “You did so good today baby, I’m proud of you.” He gave her stuffed gut a small pat. “BRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” Bunni moaned after the explosive release of gas Daddy had dislodged barreled out of her throat. “I just hope you are ready for the rest of your punishment at home.”

Bunni looked at him, horrified. “What?” Said Daddy. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy did you? After all the back talk you gave me today? And basically shouting out to the whole restaurant what a slutty pig you are?” Daddy scoffed. “No one came to the buffet today to see a whale beach themselves, but they got a show anyway.” Bunni could only rub her poor overworked tummy and try to keep everything where it was. She hoped her next punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

[kiwi-channn]

scared to love

(part 2)

John price × fem reader(nurse)

∆ reader has trust issues and doesn't wanna admit her feelings for price ∆

(reader referred to as "she - y/n")

~~~~~~~~~~🪻🪻🪻~~~~~~~~~~~

"so why am I here again?" she says calmly.. with a little frown...

"you are here to have fun..." John says shortly like it is nothing...

she clicks her tongue and pouts.... as she looks ahead at the big party thrown for the military figures...

"have fun here?!" huffs tiredly as she gives him a side look...

he chuckles a bit... he always finds how grumpy she is amusing and a little cute too... "darling just smile a bit, yeah?"

she frowns more and just glares at him... "I can't smile when I am stuck in here, captain!"

he smirks and gets closer, roaming over her... looking into her eyes... she gets nervous at how close he is... but she won't show him that she is shy or nervous... so she looks back into his eyes...

and they just stay like this staring at each other , having a staring competition....

but Laswell cuts their little game .. approaching them...

"What are you two doing?.... stop playing around... John, some people wanna talk to you.." Laswell says quietly, trying not to attract attention... and she glances at a few old men standing together...

john looks at Laswell and nods his head slightly... y/n feels so embarrassed by Laswell comment... looks away from John...

"Sorry kid, I need to go and have a boring talk..." John says sarcastically.... "but I will come back to you... okay?"

she crosses her arms and looks at the opposite direction, away from him...

"like i care... it is none of my business what you do..." snarls firmly...

john chuckles quietly and shakes his head... he knows that she will be upset without him around in this party, but she wont admit it...

and he just moves away from her and goes to a small group of men, Laswell with them too...

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

she stands close to the buffet as she puts a few pieces of food in her plate... and sighs tiredly... she hates this stupid party... why did she even come?!... yeah, because he told her to come... how can she just do whatever he wants...

"hey... from earth to y/n.."

his gruff voice gets her out of her thoughts and she looks at the man beside her.. feeling a bit relieved that there is someone she knows in this party...

"soap!... what are you doing here?..." she is confused by his presence in this speacial party...

"to party perhaps .." he says mocking her..

she glares at him and smacks his shoulder lightly..

"haha.. so funny!.... you that this freaking party is for the higher-up and people who the higher-up brings... so you nut head, what I mean is... did you come with the captain too?... cause he didn't tell me.."

"no, I didn't come with Price..." he says briefly making her narrow her eyes in confusion...

"then who did you come with?" asks curiously...

he just looks away from her... and she looks at the same direction... and she sees a blonde lady probably in her early forties, she is with another small group of men and women...

she takes a few minutes to process and she finally gets it and holds back her laughter...

"oh god, you really went for her... you are trouble, she is about 15 years older than you... I can't.." mumbles quietly as she can't hold back and she starts laughing hard...

"yeah so what?... stop laughing already!.... the heart wants what it wants okay?.." he frowns at her...

and she takes a deep breath and clears her throat... "okay okay.. don't get upset...."

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

after some time at this boring party... she was now sitting down on a table that had soap, his girlfriend, y/n, and two other women..

she wasnt really engaged in their conversation... her eyes start searching for john... and she sees him standing with laswell alone as they chat and laugh....

the more she keeps watching John and Laswell getting along, she feels a sting in her heart... she knows that Laswell is just a really close friend to John... but she can't stop feeling upset and she doesn't know why... why would she care who price is with?... or who is he having fun with?...

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

soap notices how annoyed y/n looks and he tabs her shoulder lightly to grab her attention...

"you okay, lass?"

"yeah yeah.. I am okay. I just... I think I should go home now..."

"what? you sure?.."

"yes.. I am sure..." says calmly as she stands up from her chair and grabs her purse...

"wait.. wont you tell the captain that you are leaving?"

she stays silent a bit as she thinks... but she feels so upset at John for no obvious reason really... but still, she doesn't wanna talk to him now...

"no need to.. and he seems busy anyway" says calmly as she waves goodbye to soap and she walks towards the door to leave...

she walks out of the hotel, and she looks ahead... feeling the cool air on the bare parts of her skin.... she hugs herself and walks down the stairs into the street... and he takes a taxi back home...

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

john glances at the table that y/n was sitting in and he doesnt see her... he looks around a bit but he doesnt find her... so he tells laswell that he needs to do something and he heads to where soap is

"soap... where is y/n?.."

soap looks back st price, his mouth full of food as he speaks..

"she left" soap mumbles as he chews on his food..

price feels surpried to know that she left whithout telling him..

"what? left?... "

"yeah... she seemed upset about something and she told me she would leave... I told her to tell you but she said there is no need to tell you"

john frowns and sighs tiredly... he wonders what happened and makes her leave without even telling him...

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 7 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? On to Chapter 8 >> << Back to Chapter 6

What really happened at Reginald's party

Chapter 7: His Painted Fingers

As far as the other servants knew, it was your night off given the fact Sir Lewis would be eating with Sir Reginald Hargreeves. You’d had to sneak out of the house in the gown Sir Lewis had provided you with, meeting him a little way down the road in his hired carriage.

“You look simply charming, my dear,” he gushed as he handed you into the carriage.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting as far away from him as the carriage will separate you. Being alone with him in a confined space is far from ideal. The carriage bumps slightly on the cobbles

“How far away is Sir Reginald’s house?”

“Patience, dove, patience. We’ll be there in five minutes or so.”

For the duration of the journey, you make desultory smalltalk, ignoring his none-too-subtle attempts at flirtation. Eventually, he says, 

“I hope you won’t mind, my dear, but I intend to leave rather earlier than customary this evening, around ten o’clock? I hope that meets your satisfaction?”

You don't respond. Any curtailment of the evening makes you less likely to meet Five if he happens to be attending. Lewis senses your disquiet. 

“The waltz will take place before then, I assure you, so you needn’t fear missing your opportunity to charm Sir Reginald.”

You roll your eyes, “It’s just a dance, Lewis, it doesn’t mean I have to fuck him.”

You look up at him quickly: you’ve never spoken to him so freely before, never without a regard for seeming part way ‘respectable’ according to this century’s ideal. He looks shocked for a moment before giving one of his rumbling laughs, starting under his breath and spreading to his belly, setting his jowls aquiver.

“You’ve got a bawdy tongue! I knew it was there, underneath that virtuous exterior. How piquant, to see you dressed like a lady and speaking as if anything but! Lord, I like you more and more.”

When the carriage pulls up, he insists on helping you out again. Le Roy Place is a large, three storey stone block between Mercer and Green streets. Its friezes, cornices and ornate balustrades speak of opulent Italianate neoclassicism. It looks nothing like Academy, but it still has Reginald written all over it. Sir Lewis takes your arm and pulls you companionably to his side as you join the small queue of guests by the door. 

When you enter, Sir Lewis immediately makes a beeline for the buffet room, dragging you with him. You scan the faces of the crowd with earnestness that makes some of them stare and some of them offer you friendly smiles. These you return distractedly, searching only for the familiar lines of one face; the eyes, lips and the strong arms you dream about. You know you’ve set too much store in the idea that he’ll be there: you’ve imagined reunions too many times to count, imagined running to him across the crowded room and holding him again, breathing his intoxicatingly familiar smell.

Eventually, you were forced to admit that your search yielded nothing and the rest of the evening was spent in a state of nervous preoccupation. You were introduced (as Sir Lewis’s cousin) to multiple people, but you were wholly inattentive to their conversations: you must have seemed strange to them, answering pretty much at random and constantly scanning the surrounding faces. You moved from dancefloor to ladies withdrawing room, a peep into the games room and then ended up loitering behind the dance spectators by the front door. You’d hoped that, if Five were here, you would see him enter or leave by its means. 

In this state, while Sir Lewis talks genially to a collection of his friends (two of whom you recognize from his dinner the previous week), you drink a couple of  glasses of wine in an attempt to steady your nerves. Your occupied eyes spot Reginald Hargreeves approaching before Sir Lewis does. When he comes upon you, dressed in a bright blue tailcoat, he smiles in a charming way you could never have expected from the austere portraits dotted around your home.

He and the gentlemen around you exchange bows and you bob a curtsy. After exchanging a few words with Sir Lewis and his companions, (gratefully acknowledging their compliments on the ‘fine gathering’ and ‘excellent wine’), he turns to you and smiles again.

“I’m glad you decided to attend, Mrs Hargreeves. Am I to have the pleasure of dancing the french waltz with you in just under an hour?” 

You look back at him and smile a little guardedly, 

“If you’re happy to dance with a terrible partner: Sir Lewis tried to teach me the steps but I’m afraid I’m still very bad.”

“I’m sure you’ll perform admirably,” he said, that incongruously friendly smile still on his face, “It is the company one values in choosing a dance partner.”  

Before you could answer he smiled  and bowed again to excuse himself. 

He left you feeling even more nervous. 

You were starting to attract stares now. You seem to have again somehow violated an invisible social taboo. Men seem to stare and chuckle while you pass, while women huddled in little groups whisper behind their fans. Something seems to tell them that Sir Lewis isn’t really your cousin. 

Sir Lewis leans over to you, breathing port-scented breath into your face, “Now, I hope you won’t mind, my dear, but Smyth and Chepstow haven’t stopped bothering me for a game of piquet. I shan’t be one quarter of an hour and I shall be out to chaperone you and ensure that Sir Reginald doesn’t get too carried away by your charms.”

He doesn’t really give you much choice in the matter, leaving you with a little wave and following his friends up the stairs. You hang around awkwardly. You know that you have to be introduced before you can talk to anyone and this is a sea of people to whom you either haven’t been introduced or now look as if they don’t want to know you. As the servant bearing a drinks tray passes, you take another glass of wine and replace it with your empty glass.

He’s much longer than fifteen minutes and with nothing to occupy you, you drink the wine a little too quickly. Now you think about it, tonight is the first time you’ve had wine since you sat with Lila chatting about Santi. Other than the odd finger or two of brandy with Sir Lewis, you haven’t had a drink since this whole mess happened, certainly not a sustained period of drinking, anyway. Between those surrounding the dancefloor, you watch partygoers, standing in sets of four couples and dancing within their little circle, switching partners and bowing as they meet in the center. Compared to the waltz, it’s a very sedate, very chaste dance. There’s no ballroom hold here: the closest men and women get is via a linked arm. The pomp and ceremony of it all strikes you as funny and you clap spiritedly along with the rest as the dancers bow to one another, the music fades and they leave the floor.

When Hargreeves approaches and holds out his hand, you realize you’re a little tipsy. It’s strange: though he and Five are not related, there’s something reminiscent of his expressions on Reginald’s face.  

You take his hand and he leads you to the very center of the dancefloor. As the musicians strike up again, he bows and you follow his lead, curtseying with a small wobble. When the music begins in earnest and you begin to dance, a little unsteadily, he looks down at you imperiously.

“Oof…this is harder than I expected.”

Lila had been mimicking Five’s power for minutes now; a vein stood out on her temple and sweat was rolling down her face. She lowered her hands with a gasped outward breath and massaged her wrists. For a moment, she looked troubled, but then she hitched a smile onto her face and turned to Aoife.

“Couldn’t get me a glass of water, could you sweetie? It’s a real workout, this!”

Aoife nodded, the knot in her stomach tightening. She knew when adults were trying to get rid of her. She blinked out of the study, reappearing, not in the kitchen, but instead on the other side of the study door, She pressed her ear to the wood.

“It’s not good, guys.” said Lila, almost immediately, “I don’t think this is working.”

“You serious? No, you just gotta try again.”

“ Yes , I’m serious. And I’m not saying it because I like the sound of my own voice: It’s. Not. Working!”

“Well what’s wrong?” Luther said, sounding almost offended.

“I don’t know. It’s…whatever Five’s doing, I can feel it: when I mimic him, the powers connect like they should. That part works; but there’s something missing. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not taking.”

“What do we do?” 

Lila sighed then, so hard Aoife could hear it through the door, 

“We’re got to hope your stupid brother comes up with something better. Otherwise, that’s it: they’re stuck wherever that rip spat them out.”

Aoife backed away from the door, a hot knife of horror sliding into her guts. Mom and Dad stuck there? All because she was a selfish, lying dumbass? 

The urge to run was strong: but run where? There were no parent’s arms to enfold her; nobody to tell her that she wasn’t as shitty and stupid as she knew she really was. She reached the main living room and leaned against the sofa, head spinning.

When she looked up to the grand mantel, there he was again: a full length portrait of Reginald Hargreeves. Her fault; all her fault. He looked down at her superciliously: she had failed worse than her father ever had: at least when he messed with time travel he only hurt himself. He didn’t put anyone else at risk. She turned ninety degrees to the smaller mantel, looking for comfort in the eyes of her teen father. Though his face was impassive and unsmiling, the eyes, to her, always looked like they were about to break into a smile. 

There he was, the boy of around her own age who’d lived under Reginald’s tyranny; had endured his experiments and rigorous expectations. He and the rest of the Umbrella Academy had been no more than tools to their adopted father: the best they had been able to run to when scared or upset was nannies, a robot or a talking chimp.

She approached her Dad’s portrait. He’d been gone only for a few minutes, but it felt much longer. She reached out her hand, palm coming to rest on the gilded frame and fingers brushing his painted ones. 

‘There’s something missing’, her aunt’s voice echoed in her head, ‘whatever he’s doing, it’s not taking’.

At some point in this boy’s eighth year, Reginald had apparently given up on her Dad’s ability to time travel and banned him from trying until he was older…and the journal revealing why was missing. There was only one thing to do.

On the dancefloor, you shrink slightly from Hargreeves’ gaze. It’s as if he can see your thoughts.

“I think you must know why I’ve taken this opportunity to talk to you alone,” he said, any gallantry in his gone now, replaced with businesslike conciseness. 

“No,” you say, too quickly, recovering yourself enough to flash him an ingratiating smile, “I’m afraid I don’t know why I’ve been given this honor.”

“You’re a good actress, but you give yourself away with your speech patterns. I knew as soon as I saw you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, feeling your face start to flush.

“You’re a woman out of place, Mrs Hargreeves.”

You look up at him, still trying hard to keep your feet in the waltz’s thankfully slow steps. He stares down at you, not missing any miniscule movement as he dances on the balls of his feet. His monocle is held in place before one hazel eye. You know he knows and the wine in your system makes lying even harder. Instead, you go on the offensive.

“It takes one to know one, Reginald.”

“Hm,” he says, letting a few steps pass before continuing, “I sense some hostility towards me. It seems rather unfair given our very short acquaintance.”

“I don’t need to see beneath that skin suit to know there’s something rotten underneath.”

You speak before thinking and his eyebrows lower. He hadn’t expected this and you realize the mistake immediately.

“I mean…I’m sorry.”

“I’m not offended,” he said, “merely curious. In fact, I’m glad to find you willing to speak so frankly. You are a woman out of place and I am a man out of place. I hope I might persuade you to be honest by being so myself. Has it occurred to you that we might be allies?”

Your stomach flips: ideas of corrupted timelines, paradoxes and apocalypses spring to mind. You may be a little drunk, but your brain kicks into high gear as he continues.

“I have plans for this place…business interests, you might say. So, when I became aware of an…anomaly here, I traveled a great distance to ensure the safety of my future.”

You nod. You know he has plans: his whole life was based on grand plans: always reaching from short term aim to short term aim and up towards his final goal. 

“What do you mean by an anomaly?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” he said, smiling, “time itself has undergone damage and it’s centered here. For a year now I have been searching for a cause, and when I met you, I had the sense I may have finally met with a stroke of luck.”

You clear your throat. This isn’t good.

“Mrs Hargreeves…” he says, contemplatively, “and a Mrs Hargreeves who seems to know me, no less.”

You falter in the dance and he stops, allowing you to find your footing before continuing. You look up at him, desperate now.

“Then you know that we shouldn’t be talking frankly.”

He seems to be thinking hard so you carry on, careful not to say too much.

“You’re right- there’s something. But I can’t tell you any more than that. Honestly, the best way I can be an ally to you is to tell you nothing.”

He clearly doesn’t like this response.

“Clearly, you mistrust me.”

“Well…” you struggle to articulate it, “I do mistrust you, but that’s not exactly why I’m not trusting you now.”

He draws your eye to his.

“You’re scared, aren’t you? Lost; cut off from those you love and set adrift in an alien world. I can empathize.”

“I am.” you say, “And I know that you’re not above keeping secrets from people for the sake of the greater good. I can empathize with that. ”

He considers, mustache twitching.

“The rift in time won’t heal itself. You and I are lucky in that we have time: based on my researches, relativity has become somewhat a law unto itself. It’s only on the other side of the rift that time is of the essence. I take it you have some knowledge of what happened, given that you are the symptom of it?”

You don’t give him any answer, but he looks as if you’ve as good as confirmed it to him. 

“Then I have a proposition, Mrs Hargreeves: I take it you find yourself stuck here and there’s somewhere you’d rather be?”

You nod.

“Then join me in my work. Trust me with what you know, aid me in any way you can and I promise to do my utmost to get you back where you belong.”

The dance comes to an end and Sir Reginald bows to you along with the other men on the dancefloor, but you’re so struck by what he’s offered that you don’t know what to say. You’re the only woman that stays standing while the others curtsey.

“I understand why you’re reluctant, so I will give you three days to think it over. After which, I’m afraid, I shall have to take matters into my own hands. If you don’t help me of your own free will, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you and I will have no regard for the outcome when it comes to you.

Then, he turns sharply on his heel and leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Sir Lewis’s booming voice sounds behind you,

“Ah, you were a vision, my dear. Quite as graceful as a swan. Now, you and I must be getting home. Come along.”

He ushers you towards the door and is handed an umbrella by a manservant. Putting an arm around your waist so as to keep you both underneath its shelter, he steers you out into the rain. You feel so numb, scared and conflicted that you barely notice Sir Lewis putting a hand on your ass as he helps you into the carriage, only reacting so far as to move yourself away from his hand as quickly as possible.

Sir Lewis climbs in and thumps on the carriage roof, signaling the driver to drive on. You find yourself staring at your knees.

Tonight yielded nothing except this intriguing proposition. Maybe working with Reginald was the best way to get home? Maybe Five isn’t coming. You finally allow yourself to turn over the idea that’s been lapping on the edges of your mind; letting it fill you like the encroaching tide: what if Five couldn’t come? Or what if Five coming would put him at risk? He’d have to stay, for Aoife’s sake. You wouldn’t expect him to do anything else. The idea of them making a life without you grips at your heart. They’d be fine, two peas in a pod as they were, and you want them to be fine, but it still makes warmth spread from your chest into your face. Tears play around your lower lids.

Yes, Sir Reginald Hargreeves might be your only chance…but should you take it? What if you risked Five and Aoife’s happiness or even their existence by doing so?

“Are you well, my dear?”

Sir Lewis leans forward, taking your hand softly as the tears start to fall.

“I’m fine. I…maybe just had too much wine.”

His mouth faded into a sympathetic smile, his voice softer and less boisterous than you’ve ever heard it:

“It pains me to see you unhappy, tell me what troubles you.”

“S-something Sir Reginald said. It made me think that my husband can’t ever come back for me.”

He squeezed the hand he was holding in silent support. 

“Does he know of your husband’s fate?”

“No…it was just…a chain of association.” 

“Then take heart,” he said, shaking your hand bracingly, “fortify yourself, my dear. You still have hope.”

When he helps you out of the carriage a little way down the road from the house, he doesn’t make any more suggestive comments or requests to visit your bedroom. He only wishes you a kind goodnight.

A little way across the city, Five approaches Selina. She meets his eyes invitingly and he feels a serpentine smile creep onto his face.

“Evening.”

“Good evening sir,” she says, knowingly, “and how is that wife of yours?"

He raises his eyebrows, dismissing this line of conversation and sits down across from her, hands on his knees. He allows his eyes to rove the curve of her neck and her half-exposed breasts.

“Is your offer of company still on the table?” he asks, barely moving his lips.

On to Chapter 8 >> Masterpost

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