#unlike me hes not on a few glasses of champagne and ???? glasses of wine

[beeqisch]

he stole my nye clothes smh

red hair ver so he can be just like me fr

[infi8ity]

∞

IMAGINE THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING, your nerves are through the roof and your bridesmaids are trying their very best to calm them. every suggested method-- immediately shut down by a very frustrated and on-the-verge-of-a-mental-breakdown-bride. no amount of breathing exercises, ice packs, glasses of wine, or whatever the fuck helped. 

how could they when nothing was going as planned? the photographer that you had booked months in advance cancelled last minute, on the way inside the building the wedding cake designers’ assistant tripped and dropped the expensive wedding cake your parents paid for, everyone was bombarding you with questions you didn’t have the answer to, the room was hot as balls and for gods sake you couldn’t-

“breathe, y/n. do the exercises we talked about.” your maid of honor says comfortingly to your reflection in the vanity where you perch.

“you look beautiful. everything will work out. just breathe. in and out. out and in.” she squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. for the fifth time, you obey her advice. 

and for the fifth time, it doesn’t work. of course it doesn’t. you knew what, who, you needed— to calm you down. your bridesmaids did too. 

you could feel a lump crawling its way up your throat and place a shaking hand over your belly. has it always been this hot in here? has this dress always felt this tight? you snatch your phone from the vanity dresser. 

4:30 PM

27 MISSED CALLS.

thirty minutes before you were set to walk down the aisle and all 27 from your mother and mother-in-law combined. you stand, a little too quickly one might add-- and the room begins to spin. Hands reach out to grab you.

you shake them off and stumble your way to the door. your bridesmaids stand in unison. the maid of honor inches towards you wearily. 

“y/n. please, it's bad luck if the groom sees his bride before the wedding.”

“and how much bad luck do you think it’d be if the bride jumped from the goddamn balcony?” you hiss, slamming the door in their aghast faces. 

fuck. that was completely unlike you. you’d have to apologize to them later. but now, you needed to see him. your heart began to beat faster. louder. you could feel tears threatening to spill. his number was saved on speed dial and he picked up on the first ring. 

“y/n?” his husky voice thick with concern was like music to your ears.

you clutched your chest tightly. “i need to see you right now please.”

“meet me at the gazebo.” 

∞

he beat you there, of course, knowing him— he probably ran. the slight heaving of his chest and shoulders was of plenty enough indicator. the clack of your heels alerts him of your presence. when he turns, it seems as if the world slows. you don’t think you’d be able to formulate a sentence without choking up. so you two say nothing.

there you two stand, with nothing else in the world mattering but each other. all you can muster is a smile from ear to ear that he reciprocates and the strength to fight back sobs. for a few beats, he cannot find the words that were nearly applicable enough to describe your beauty in this moment. 

and unsurprisingly, it’s him who cries first. 

you break your intensive stare, exclaiming, “don’t cry! fuck! now i’m gonna-,” its as if the ball in your throat bursts. one second you were fighting to keep your composure and the next, well composure be damned. 

his body slammed into yours as he pulled you in a damn near rib shattering hug filled with nothing but love as you wail into his arms. 

“how can i not?” he starts through sniffles. “i’m marrying the woman i’ve loved for damn near a decade and you look-”

“don’t say beautiful,” you choke out.

“divine. alluring. stunning. lovely. radiant. exquisite. shall i go on?” he drawls, without skipping a beat. 

“don’t let me stop you.” you joke, sharing a laugh. and perhaps its the nerves, or the wine and champagne or the fact that your wedding day was going to shit; you couldn’t help but laugh harder. confused, your fiancee laughs at your state. perhaps contagious, you both double over, shaking with laughter. wheezing, together you collapse on the wooden planks until your laughter dies down. 

“what are we doing?” you say through an exhale of breath as you push yourself up against rails of the gazebo. your fiancé follows suit.

“getting married?” he says, serious.

you lightly punch his arm. “well duh. but why all of… this? this isn’t we wanted. or how we wanted it to go. we always talked about something simple and private.” you say, referring to the wedding guests. 

“you’re right, its what our mothers wanted.”

“i don’t even like half of the people in there.”

“at least your mom didn’t invite your primary school bully.”

“she invited all four of them actually.”

“jesus.” he comments, scoffing. 

a beat.

your groom takes your hand in his, squeezing lightly. “d’you wanna leave?”

you smile. “that’s the best fucking idea i’ve heard all day.” you exclaim. locking eyes with you, you grab his face into your hands and kiss him passionately. a kiss so fervent, you lose your breath. this man before you was your husband. till death do you part. 

“i love you so much.”

“and i love you infinitely.” 

∞

© infi8ity. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[footballerimaginess]

Will you marry me?

pedri being super anxious to propose to reader! Anything else is up to you!! Thanks!! Xxxx Word Count: 674 It had been 4 years since you and Pedri got into a relationship, you had never looked back. Everything had been so perfect ever since, you first set eyes on him in the gym.  To celebrate your anniversary Pedri wanted to make the evening as special as he could. 

“Oh wow” Pedri muttered under his breath as you walked downstairs in a tight black dress with black heels.  “Do I look okay?” you asked him as all he could do was nod his head as he held out his hand for you to walk down the last few steps.  “You look.. incredible” he smiled up as he gently nuzzled your knuckles against his stubble.  “Thank you, you look beautiful too. That colour suits you” you complimented Pedri as the pair of you headed out to the restaurant.  The journey to the restaurant was so quiet, all you could do was hold hands and stare at one another.  “Here sir” the driver smiled as he opened the door for you both.  “Thank you so much” you smiled as you got out of the taxi.  “Here we are ”he smiled as he opened the door for you.  “Why is it so quiet here?” you looked at him puzzled as the entire restaurant was completely empty which was confusing as the restaurant had always been popular.  “Oh just guess nobody is out this evening” Pedri laughed as the waiter took you to a table.  “You okay? you seem a bit off” you asked Pedri as you glanced at the menu.  “Yeah I am okay, just hungry” he replied quickly as he didn’t take his eyes off of the menu, not even once to look up at you.  “Do you want to share something for starter and then the main meal?” you asked him as he simply nodded.  Pedri ordered for you both as you handed the menu over to the waiter as you sipped for your wine.  “This is so nice, this place” you smiled as you admired the decor as you tried to make small talk with him whilst he was in his world of his own as he has been all night it seemed.  The starter arrived as the waiter placed it on the table in the middle of you both.  “Thank you” you smiled as you tucked straight in as you rumbling stomach couldn’t handle the emptiness anymore.  “These are so nice ”you bit into your food.  The rest of the night went so well, despite Pedri being awfully quiet which was very unlike him.  The waiter passed you both a glass of champagne.  “What is this for?” you questioned as you watched Pedri stand up and bent down as he opened up a small box.  “y/n, today we met four years ago and those past 4 years have been the best years of my life. I can’t imagine life without you, Will you marry me?” he gave you his hand into yours as you felt a tear gently roll down your face.  “Oh Pedri, yes I will marry you. Yes I do” you grinned as he slipped the ring onto your ring finger.  “You did this for me?” you gasped as he gave you a cuddle.  “Yes I did, did you like it? Sorry I was so nervous all night” he laughed as you pulled away from the cuddle.  “That is okay, I noticed how weird you were acting. I was getting a little worried, but I am glad that this is what it was. This is so beautiful” you gave him the biggest cuddle.  “Congratulations” the waiter smiled as he commented as he was walking past.  “Thank you so much” Pedri shook his hand.  “So guess this explains why the restaurant was empty, I was concerned that people had gotten sick” you smirked.  “Oh no babe, I wanted to do this for you” you grinned.  “I love you so so much, the best day ever” you held his hand tightly.  “I love you too baby” you left the restaurant becoming a fiancee.  Taglist: @footballffbarbiex​ @percervall​ @mrseriksen​ @football-and-fanfics​ @footballxixstars​ @simpingmyassoff​ @0alanasworld0​ @ghwoticz​

[en-whims]

𝄞 FAINT LINE | PARK JONGSEONG

the fifth instalment from the "Narratives from the Walkman: a 90's love collective" series

genres: fluff; ex rival!jay; ex fubu!jay; enemies to lovers (?); angst if you squint | wc: 2k | pairing: jay x fem!reader | warnings: non-explicit sexual themes; mentions of the words synonymous to ‘sex’ | tagging: @yenqa @yjjungwon @sophialosthercardigan @saucyjaeyun

[ 👤 ] SIDE A ; BOY 5 ㅡ PARK JONGSEONG

°❝ won't find the answer in anyone else

will be a secret song for ourselves

i'll write you a letter to read when you're down

you'll be the promise that i want to keep. ❞°

[ 🎧 ] SIDE B ; TRACK 5 ㅡ fall into you by devinta trista

Turning up at your college friend’s wedding reception was one of the unexpected things you did tonight. You were drowning in paperwork lately, and you just wanted it all to be finished by the following day.

But here you were in a body-tight, velvety black dress, champagne glass in hand, and a throbbing heart with a mind full of what-ifs. You impulsively thought of the things that could go unplanned tonight. What could go wrong, right?

The colorful lights glimmered across the hall as the disco ball gradually turned itself around. You weren’t sure why you came at first, but now that you were feeling the vibe, it made you want to go back to the graduation ball of ‘95 when you spent it with your best friend turned lover for the night turned best friend again in his flat after a few wine and chaste kisses.

It’s been a while since you last saw Heeseung. A good seven years to be exact.

Unlike Ni-ki and Sunghoon, Heeseung sent you messages of comfort and even flirting at times, until he got himself a girlfriend in the same place he had been working at. You would find yourself smiling at random, thinking about him finally getting the love he deserves.

You walked further to where some of your old classmates were huddled at. A glint of happiness flashed upon your face when you saw Jungwon— a close friend of yours since college. He was always reserved and there were oftentimes when he just disappeared from your side and you would find him in the library the next instant.

You got used to it, after all, you were always assigned next to one another in seating arrangements for the whole course of your college years. You felt like you knew him pretty well.

He’s just… always there. But you’re not that comfy with each other compared to your best friends, the ones that left you. Jungwon’s got a squad of his own where people called them ‘nerds’ or ‘geeks’. Of course, at one time you were a part of it, but after the whole shenanigans with Jay during your sophomore year, people started looking at you like a different person.

To them, it was a good thing, but to you and Jay, it never was.

But Jungwon’s another story for another time.

“Hey, there cutie!” You gently nudged him on the side.

“Y/n— h… hi,”

“Not gonna lie, you look way more handsome without the glasses. Dude, when did you get rid of them?” Jungwon ran a hand across his nape as he smiled sheepishly at your compliment. “I thought maybe getting rid of it would help me from being too dependent on them. I guess it worked.” He shrugs.

In the midst of your catching up, a slow, romantic song played through the speakers hanging against every corner of the hall. You hang your lips on the brim of your wine glass as you look around, slowly feeling the awkwardness between you and your friend. You were never this loud and chatty with him.

The things you would often talk about were mostly centered around your course— mainly the subjects you’re taking and the advanced classes he took.

“Y/n?” You quickly shot him a look of surprise when you felt the warmth of his breath against the back of your shoulder blades. “Do you… can you… would you like to dance with me?” You always find it cute when he nibbles the inside of his lower lip and he knits his eyebrows together in contemplation.

A habit of his when he stutters and finds it hard to rephrase his words. “I would love to.”

He gently grabbed your hand when you locked your fingers with him, guiding you to the center of the hall together with a few other couples slowly swaying their bodies to the ballad. You thought it was very manly of him to dominantly put your hands on the back of his neck and gently pull you closer to him, giving you two a fair distance as he rested his gaze upon your lips.

But far from the slow dancers and the gradual turn of the disco lights, stood another man with a hand tucked in his pocket and the other slowly swirling a wine glass, carefully squinting his eyes in observance at an oddly friendly pair.

With Jay's mouth agape and eyes opened wide, he knew he must keep himself very still while he waited for a chance to longingly look at that familiar face for utter proof. But there was no use in waiting when your name bounced off the room in repeated cheers and awe.

He walked towards the direction of where you and Jungwon were with a plan in mind until your dance partner twirled you around, making Jay stop in his tracks and look at how genuine your smile was with another guy. Everyone cooed and whistled at Jungwon's little stunt, but the latter wasn’t one to let his guard down.

Jay walked further to where you were and knowingly cleared his throat just for everyone to look at him in awkward silence. “Can I have my girl back, Jungwon?”

You stood there for a long while until you leaned in closer to Jungwon's ear for a whisper that made him walk away from you with a forced smile etched on his face.

Everyone then went back to what they were doing, and you walked closer to where your former rival was. “Nice way to steal everyone’s attention.” Your fingers brushed against his dashing tux with a smirk plastered on your face.

“There’s an art to getting your way and twirling you around like that isn’t one of them.” You could only blush at him with the thought that he still knows you so well. As the slow, sweet song continued to play, he took the chance to slowly pull you closer to him as he rested his hand on the small of your back with his cheek leaning against your temple.

“I’ve been checking you out.” He whispered with a deep voice that made your heart throb faster than before.

“Let’s see, you slightly embarrassed me this evening by telling everyone I’m your girl, only to tell your old foe you’ve been checking her out.” You say to his face as you click your tongue. “The way you flirt, Jay, is so shameful. You haven’t changed at all, have you?” He could only chuckle. “But it’s okay. I mean, I told Jungwon you were my date tonight so,”

“Oh yeah? You really told him that, didn’t you? Wow, Y/n. You never changed.” You felt proud of yourself for a little while before Jay slowly pulled you into a tight hug and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You recognized this little trick of his as it’s his favorite among his many ones because he can easily put you at ease with just one snuggle.

And you did. You felt so good and relaxed in this state that you almost, almost whispered an 'I love you’. But you gulped down the deafening thought thinking he’d never look at you the same way.

You two have always drawn a solid line between romantic attachments and fooling around. Impulsively telling him your feelings would only make things worse, you thought.

You were holding Jay very close, close enough that you can smell his hair. You sniffed on it and whispered, lips too close you’re both almost an inch away from a peck. “I don’t like your new shampoo.”

“Still not over my sage-scented one, huh?”

The memories were still vivid up to now; of how you two used to screw each other a lot but at the same time, kept the rival reputation stable in the public eye.

Jay would never admit it, but he genuinely loved spending time with you, especially without the screwing part. There was just something about you that made him feel so safe and still is.

“Do you hate me, Y/n?” Jay mumbled under his breath, but audible enough for you to hear.

“I could never.” He only sighed in relief with that pretty smile on his face.

“Why? Do you hate me or something?” Jay moved away from the comfort of your neck and turned to look at you. He moved a few strands away from your face to put them behind your ear and slowly brushed his thumb against your rosy cheek. With an intense gaze shooting straight through your hazel orbs, he replied.

“Or something,” he chuckled. “I’m actually quite in love with you, really.”

And that’s when you realized that Park Jongseong had been knowingly walking the faint line in balance all along, just waiting for the finest moment to finally declare his almost a decade-worth of adoration for you.

You suddenly closed the gap between you two by smashing your lips against his. And for the first time, your kisses weren’t rough and sloppy, but slow and passionate as he took his time to explore your lips and their every curve like how an adventurer would familiarize himself with a map.

Your hands slowly crawled from his nape to his hair as you gently tugged it on impulse. Jay just let out a breathy chuckle under your lips before diving in for another one.

“Funny, I used to be very in love with you too.” You whispered under breathy exhales.

“Used to?” he chuckled. “What went wrong?”

“Everything.” His eyes stared up from your lips to your sincere eyes.

“To be very honest, you gave me a really great time, Jay.  Screwing or not, you were my favorite person at one point. I could still remember the mornings when my head didn’t hurt from crying too much the night before, and you were there to hold me so close because I was losing my shit. I will always thank you for those times, the most.”

“Why do I feel so nervous about what comes after that statement?” You softly chuckled, and it felt relieving to hear him return the favor.

“What we had was mainly temporary, we both knew that too well. Things were never gonna end with us, Jay. You and I screwing with each other was just for the fleeting pleasures and satisfactions. Love is far too different from lust, I’m afraid.”

“I know. But at some point, I was really in love with you. I got it bad and until now, you still brought a fire in my heart like it was just yesterday.” Jay found some loose strands almost covering your other eye so he slowly tucked them at the back of your ear while taking the time to run his fingers against your scalp. You sharply inhaled at his slightest touch.

“It was really comforting to see you again. I kinda missed our little yesterdays, but I don’t want to think that sleeping with each other would be the sole reason that could lead us to what could have been if we tried harder.”

“You will always be my favorite muse.” Jay planted a soft kiss on your forehead and remained there for a whole minute until the song ended. It would be wiser, you thought, if you finally gave each other the needed closure.

He was a playboy after all and up until now, you still think he is. Jay covering his traces of broken hearts with new tattoos was utter proof. You remembered finding your overused line on his shoulder blade that says ‘temporary’.

And you knew that if the both of you happened, you’re only going to break his heart, over and over again, and he will too because that’s something you both have in common; something that ignited the weary fires in your hearts when you both agreed to something that night, something you never expected to last longer than your other friendships.

With Jay, it will always be fairy lights on dim nights, chasing stars, and dancing silhouettes on white walls. Just when he thought he was getting closer to knowing where he belonged,

you break his heart for one, final time. —

leave an ask or a message by the front desk if you want to be added on the taglist!

© EN-WHIMS, 2023. all rights reserved.

[peachybeom]

Illicit ♡

Beomgyu x reader. tiny bit of angst, slight suggestive!

Your head was throbbing, the tight Versace dress you were dawning squeezed the living hell out of you. If it weren't for the third glass of champagne in your hand, you'd probably be on the verge of losing your sanity.

In the distance, on the other side of the large banquet you could see people mingling and pretending to be having the time of their lives. This was an yearly occurance for you but somehow you still haven't gotten used to it and dreaded it with all your soul and body.

The Gala you were attending tonight was one of the most prestigious and renowned event for any multi national company in the world. It was basically a hunting ground for power hungry business moguls and their families. Stocks were discussed, positions were conspired and million dollar deals were struck over some expensive wine and steak.

Being the daughter of one of the most sort out and respected man of the industry, you were practically obliged to go to these every year or else the media will have a field day making assumptions and conspiracies.

You let out a sigh and closed your eyes. Only a few more hours.

Eyes slightly droopy, you relaxed slightly in the corner until you felt a shuffle around you.

"I didn't think you would show up, princess. Fancy seeing you here." You heard a deep masculine voice speak up next to you. However you didn't need to open your eyes to figure out who it belongs to.

"How do you manage to find me everytime?" You replied with genuine curiosity, eyes still closed.

You had made sure to observe and then pick a perfect dark corner of the hall where you could hide and no one could forcibly engage you in a conversation about things like luxury cars and real estate.

"It's not that hard, just got to look for a timid yet sexy presence lurking in the corners I guess," The man replied smoothly as he took a sip of his own whiskey neat.

"I see... trying to seduce the rival's daughter. Classic." You said and opened your eyes to give him a look but froze in place as soon as you saw the man standing next to you.

Beomgyu was handsome you already knew this. The whole world knew this. but tonight as he stood facing you in his expensive tailored black suit, hair parted neatly and face carved to perfection, you realised he was a meal waiting to be devoured.

"That's the most fun part though," Beomgyu replied teasingly. Fully aware of his effect on you.

You coughed and quickly changed the topic,

"But I assume you have better things to do than charming the wallflower though?"

Unlike you, Beomgyu thrived in the corporate world. Deals, negotiations, contracts- they were his forté so naturally he was a busy man, not to mention he was announced only a few months ago, the new CEO for Choi Corporations.

The same Choi Corporation that your father had tried so hard to get rid off as they were his strongest competitor.

"That dress... You look breathtaking, didn't believe you'd come," He replied, ignoring your question.

"Oh quit the pleasantries Mr. Choi," You said in a sarcastic tone and attempted to wave off the compliment however the blush creeping under your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by Beomgyu.

"It's Gyu for you my love. And what did he blackmail you with this time anyway?" He asked, coming closer towards you.

"Threatened to get them to prepone the exhibition schedule way before due date" You admitted to him without putting up a fight. A tone of sadness evident in your voice.

It was common knowledge that you and your father did not get along. His only daughter choosing art over a well established family business did not sit well with him at all.

But in the end you won the battle-well kind of, as he still had a big influence on whichever person you worked for.

"That's more like your dad," Beomgyu chuckled but then in a serious voice he said, "You know I would never do that to you right?"

Your breath hitched at his words.

The relationship you had with him was a strange one. It had only started a few years back at a night just like this. You were bored out of your mind, finding ways to piss off your dad and Beomgyu was dazzled by your extraordinary presence. One thing led to another and since then you found youself waking up next to him a few hundred times.

"Follow me." You replied after a pregnant pause. The alcohol in your system definitely taking over your right to reason.

"That was surprisingly fast, we may have a new record here" Beomgyu joked before giving his assistant a discreet look to tell him to manage things while he was gone as he obeyed and followed your lead.

Beomgyu was known to be one of the most collected and strategic man in the business, trained to be the best in the game ever since he was announced the heir of his father's empire but when it came to you, it felt like he lost his senses just by your one single touch. Following your lead like a lost puppy.

Passing the reception you made a beeline towards the end of the hall, not bothering to stop and turn around to ask for directions. The hotel was frequently used to host these kind of parties and this was one place where you ended up during most of them.

Heels clicking on the posh marble floor, you passed gentle smiles to the few staff members as they passed by, in return all they could do was bow to you in haste, very much aware of the intimidating aura walking right behind you.

Once inside you practically pounced on him, wrapping you arms around his neck and capturing his lips inbetween yours.

"Easy there, Princess." Beomgyu chuckled, as took a few steps backwards to balance himself.

The first time you kissed him, it was out of spite. You had run into him at the bar after getting an earful from your father about tarnishing the family reputation. Beomgyu recognised you and jokingly mentioned if you wanted to plot against your father and make him more mad.

To his suprise, you agreed by pulling him to the side and kissed him, hard.

It felt so good.

But it was recently you realised you weren't getting the high by defying your father anymore, but because of the man who held you in his arms. And that's when you felt you were in deep deep trouble

Even in anonymity Beomgyu treasured you, he always made sure to make you forget whatever it was that got your mood sour in the first place.

Then it clicked you. This wasn't the reason why you had brought him in here tonight.

"We shouldn't be doing this," You murmured quietly against Beomgyu's lips, your voice and body both betraying you.

"I know." He replied, one hand dangerously close to the hem of your dress while the other gripped your side tightly.

His touch was fire and you were melting underneath it.

"Gyu...." You tried again but only breathy moans left your mouth as he started leaving wet kisses down your neck.

"Beomgyu." This time you said raising your voice and pushing him back a little.

He pulled apart from you with a confused look.

'This is wrong'

'It's too risky'

'One of us will end up getting hurt'

Thoughts were circling your mind like a hurricane, there were so many things you could have said at that moment but it was like you're mind went blank as you started at his face, looking back at you with concern but his gaze still held so much adoration in it.

"I like your eyes" Words left your mouth even before you could make sense of them.

Beomgyu laughed at your words, and then placed a hand on your cheek.

"Yeah? Well I like you." The loving look in his eyes was something you never expected from the otherwise stone faced Beomgyu.

"And I want to show you off to all those people outside." He continued, leaning in so close that your noses touched.

Your lips twisted up in a sad smile.

That was complicated, you both were aware that too much was at stake for you two to come out and publically announce any sort of relationship.

But tonight you prefered to live in oblivion.

You realised it was time to change the topic as soon as you felt tears forming in your eyes.

"Mmm, maybe one day. but till then this could be our dirty little secret," You said circling your arms around Beomgyu's neck.

"Yeah it can be dirty, scandalous and illicit," Beomgyu whispered, voice deeper with every syllable.

"Illicit?" You laughed at the dramatic word. Shifting the tone of the room.

"Hey don't ruin the moment and my fantasy!" He whined before successfully sliding down your satin dress from your body, making it pool between between your feet.

------

ivy's note: reblogs and comments would really be appreciated cause i spent way too much time contemplating whether to post this or not ><

[usernoneexistent]

At the Christmas Office Party

It's the how I met your mother version for Jacob and Juniper's parents.

Warnings: Alcohol and not office appropriate behaviour

A loud pop echoed through the office, followed by the workers' cheers in the International Co-operation department. Tinsel lined the office walls while some witches charmed the Christmas tree with glittering bobbles that turned on their own. This would be Julia Moss' fourth Christmas office party since starting working there before spending Christmas day with her father and her sweetheart, Thomas O'Brien.

Usually not a drinker, Julia sipped on a glass of champagne. It was the few occasions she allowed herself to drink something. The glass almost slipped out of her hand when someone bumped into her.

"Sorry," The wizard behind her said. There was a slight Arabic accent. Julia turned and recognised him, Jalil Hasni. The first Algerian representative in the British Ministry. He was handsome, with his dark skin smooth and silky to admire. He looked down at her wine-red jumper; some champagne managed to cause a dark stain. She noticed it, too.

"Don't worry about it. I can clean it." Julia laughed it off. However, the wizard refused to move past the incident.

"No, here, I can clean it if you allow me?" He offered. The stain was gone with a click of his fingers and some sparks. African wizards were indeed in another league, Julia wondered. They never used wands.

"Well, look at that. Just like magic, ta." Julia shyly grinned. Jalil squinted at her slightly, unable to make out her accent. Her voice was rough compared to her round face and softer features.

"You're welcome." He politely said. Instead of leaving, he stayed with her. His dark stare lingered, looking at every curve. "I've seen you around often."

"It's the hair, isn't it? "Julia pointed towards her styled blue hair.

"Perhaps. "Jalil gave a slight smirk. "I haven't properly introduced myself. My name is Jalil Hasni, and your name is?"

"I'm Julia Moss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

The two continued chatting as Julia sipped on more champagne. She wondered if the bubbles made her mind fuzzy as she was drawn to his quiet confidence, leaning closer. They spoke in an odd mix of English and French, laughing loudly and spending most of the party enjoying each others' company. Jalil didn't even mind when they made out under the mistletoe as she explained to him the European tradition. It was a harmless kiss that she was sure her lover, Thomas, back home, didn't need to know about. Just a Hogwarts sweetheart who was all that Julia had. She didn't have many friends, if any, only a few work colleagues that she was friendly with.

The night ended with her sitting on his lap. The champagne confidence was convincing her to not care about any office rumours when she would come back to work. Jalil was sweet, unlike Thomas, who was recent not paying much attention to her. He hadn't even sipped a single drop of alcohol to show her such tender kindness and truly listened to her. Why not have more for the rest of the night before coming home?

[hshmimi]

@vrnvuld​

“ then take something from the bottom shelf. don’t waste a good bottle on chugging, ” arnauld sighed. “ besides, if getting drunk is the goal, you should care about percentages not the grape. ” why was it so difficult for everyone to stick to one or two glasses in the evening ? that was all you needed for relaxing. that was all you needed. “ who did you argue with ? ” he highly doubted she could top him, be it the person or the subject matter. as much as fanni’s response frustrated him, he couldn’t feel quite comfortable with his own approach. familiarity had tricked him into unpreparedness. he had been confident in his ability to predict her reaction but had failed to slow down to choose an approach. whether he would have been able to follow it through was also another question he would not get an answer to. “ hmm… ” he absent-mindedly moved the glass to make the wine swirl. hearing a somewhat original idea that wasn’t just an invitation for chaos from mimi managed to make him feel hopeful. “ it will be fair business and if someone gets upset, they should have worked harder to keep their clients. you’ll be able to shrug it off. ” arguments were only difficult if they were personal, he had come to notice. “ it’s quite alright. there’s not much else to talk about. ” the topics he chose for dinner parties were unlikely to engage mimi. “ i’ve been thinking about returning to paris. this place is too much of a bubble. it almost feels like the reality is being warped. ” [ ;; @hshmimi​ ]

Mimi snorted, “shall I go alphabetically, or chronologically? My father, this morning. He’s upset with Mama, and taking it out on me. --Then I argued with her, because he’s right to be annoyed. She’s been keeping...A gentleman, in Monaco. And sending ‘care packages’” of gold-flake champagne and boudoir photos, “to Klaus, in Switzerland. --He’s the one who wears the, uh, ‘boytoy’ necklace. --Although I assume he has...made himself known to you?” He’d asked to be introduced several times before. Mimi was used to it, unfortunately. Several schoolmates had kept posters of Arnauld above their beds. “But that’s par for the course,” Mimi shrugged. “The really annoying one was with the Panamanian Princess. Do you know her?” Probably not. Recognising lesser, foreign royalty by name was his assistant’s domain. --Mimi was sure he’d forget hers, if she didn’t wear it on a charm around her neck. “She was at the wedding; she was the sad one wearing white....Anyway, she’s gone on a bit of a power trip. It’s fucking with my investments.”

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Mimi hummed, “I’m supposed to be Godmother to their - Catherine and The Swiss King’s - new baby...Though, to be honest, I’m not much in the mood for parties and babies, recently.” Absent, manicured fingers drummed against the ornate coffee table. “Plus you’re right. This place is...We’ve been living too closely. We’re too enmeshed with one another. --Whatever happened to the days of having a foreign prince shipped over based on nothing but papal recommendation and a portrait? You got married, you made polite small talk for a few months, then you died in war or childbirth. Nice and straightforward.” She sighed, mock wistful, but it turned serious when she looked back to her cousin. “Though are you sure that’s a good idea? Being alone there? --At least here you have Giselle and Jules’ help...I’m not saying you’re overworking yourself,” she splayed out her hands in a gesture of surrender already. “I wouldn’t know ‘overworking yourself’ if it hit me in the nose. Arthur Jr. style,” she mimed throwing a punch, trying desperately to lighten the mood (and probably achieving the opposite) before she said, “but I know you’re not taking coke to party longer.”

[zot3-flopped]

I am wondering what is in the future for the other 4. Harry is obviously set for life at this point, creatively and financially. A hard worker who went at it right from the get-go, and who has talent, work ethic, connections and creative interests enough to give him a great career.

Liam struggles, and I can see him being in and out of rehab for years to come. He has some talent. His little SA tour might give him a push and it might not. He gets in his own way but partly that’s his addictions and his odd brain chemistry. But with a dwindling audience he can’t hope to get very far without some major changes.

Niall will plod along. He’s a hard worker and he seems ok to work with, interested in music certainly. He’s not very interesting but he doesn’t seem that bad. I predict he’ll slow the music down and rely on his golf business. I think he’d enjoy that.

Zayn I can imagine will just carry on the same as now, maybe a couple more revelations about the band ending just to garner sympathy or attention. He’s obviously had talent and not nurtured it, and I wonder if he can turn that around. He’s so MOR in the genre he’s chosen that I can’t see him having much longevity to be honest.

Louis fascinates me, because he has the least talent by a long long way but by god he is screwing what he can out of it. But, how much are these attempts costing him, financially? His tours cannot be profitable, unless there’s some metric we can’t see (always possible). It costs money to make a documentary and if he covered those costs then great but he needs profit. With no talent and with the image he’s crafting for himself being so unattractive, he doesn’t really have a hope of progressing. I can imagine him doing one more album and then not touring it. I can’t imagine he’s cash rich at all and it takes investment to tour. Look at his outfits and stage set-up. That’s not a man who can afford to put on a show. He does seem to be caning it on tour and will that be a long-term drinking problem afterwards? Will he go quiet a bit, concentrate on helping to raise his son, and disappear? He seems too stubborn (unfortunately). But what else can he (afford to) do?

Agree that Louis is investing a lot of his own money into his projects and barely getting any return, particularly in the case of his documentary. He must have spent at least £3m on AOTV, thinking that a big streaming service like Netflix or Amazon would pay him a nice chunk to have it on their platform - but they know a vanity project by a has been when they see one, and they weren't interested. He tried to finance the Asian tour on his own too, but got cold feet and pulled out at the last minute.

The AFHF is unlikely to be the annual event he wants it to be because only a few thousand Louies buy tickets for it. He's really struggling to sell tickets this year. I think he'll bring out one more album and tour it in small venues, and after that he'll just have to admit defeat, unless he wants to go bankrupt.

Niall is probably sick of doing the utmost when it comes to promo - on every platform possible - and not receiving the recognition he thinks he deserves in terms of certificates and awards. He's already prioritising golf over music when it comes to planning his year.

Liam needs to stay away from the party scene if he's serious about his sobriety, but it's the only lifestyle he knows and his girlfriend loves it too. Kate romanticises alcohol and can't resist posting photos of artfully framed glasses of wine and champagne. He has no chance with a selfish partner like that.

Zayn has just released an earworm that could do well on the charts with some TLC, but he still won't leave his farm. His new label don't seem to have much influence over him. IG stories with chickens are cute but won't expose his new single to a wider audience like performing on a breakfast show would.

[ladyvesuvia]

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@justadreamyhufflepuff: GSJSVSKSBSJD BABY CONGRATS- CAN I PLEASE GET A 🎠 -> Harry potter + soft love + fluff + prompts 9, 10, 32, 42 from prompt list 1. || for my 300 followers celebration

Prompts:

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

32. “Make a wish!”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Moving into your new house with Harry.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff but with slight and subtle mentions of sexual activities + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: omg yay harry fluff :DDD ok sorry go ahead btw this hasn’t been proofread yet mbad

After years of setting things up, they could finally move into their house. Of course, there were some parts of it that still needed fixing but they’ll eventually work it out. Right now, they wanted to bask in the comfort and triumph of their own house.

“Got your key?” said [Y/N], holding out her own key. She had already attached a duck keychain to it.

“Got it,” replied Harry, showing her his own. They both sniggered at his ridiculous bathtub keychain, which looked undeniably out of place but she was glad for it nonetheless. See, she had bought it years ago when they first talked about getting a house. “Will you do the honors?”

“You know, we could easily Alohomora the heck out of this bas —”

“Do the honors,” he teasingly urged, poking her on the waist where her tickle spot was and she recoiled. “Do it, [Y/L/N].”

“Ha! I’m Potter now, too. Ergo you’re not so special anymore,” she said as she marched up the raised porch. It was a lovely sight indeed — she could already imagine inviting the others to come over: roasting marshmallows either here or at the backyard and such. She giddily walked towards the door. This is it, she thought. “Wait, this is unfair. You carry me as you open it so I’ll be like a pretty wife.”

“That you are,” said Harry as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a whoop of approval, patting his cheek as he put the key in and swung the door open.

All their boxes were on the floor already, with a lot more scattered all over the house. “Ooh, this is a lot of work. Wanna sleep it off?” she yawned, kicking some boxes aside on her way to the stairs. “What, you gonna protest, Mr. Potter?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Potter,” said Harry, and they both stopped and looked at each other, eyes narrowed while scrutinizing the name. “Mrs. Potter.”

“Does it sound a bit weird to you? I mean, no offense. I mean, I’ve waited for this half of my life but — you know?

“Yeah, like, [Y/N] Potter,” he said again, making arm gestures as if parting a curtain. She started to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

“You look like a . . . getching shooba driver but on land,” she said with a yawn.

“A what?” This time, Harry was the one stifling his laughter.

“Glitching scuba diver on land,” spat [Y/N], taking off her jacket. When she saw he’d been eyeing her with a dazed expression on his face, she made a show of getting off her right jacket sleeve with a suggestive smile on her face. “Wait, uh, can’t get it off. Sweat, I think. Help?”

“Will do, will do,” said Harry, approaching her and reaching out to pull it off her with a tight smile in an awful attempt to keep his laughter.

“Whatever. Can we sleep now, please? Where’s our bed again?”

“There,” he pointed somewhere in the kitchen room.

“I thought our room was upstairs?”

“Our room is upstairs, the bed is here.”

“Why would that be the ca—oh, no. D’we really have to assemble it?” she whined. They had to travel by Muggle transportation due to issues with the Floo network and they wanted to minimize suspicion, and the it was finally taking its toll on their entire energy: [Y/N]’s back was cramping from the long ride, Harry’s head was already hurting like hell. To make matters worse, neighbors were peeking through their windows so they had to go inside immediately.

“No, we can just bring the mattress up and assemble it all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a moan, tossing the jacket on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, are we — ?” He shrugged hesitantly.

“No! I mean, do you want to? Now?”

“Do you?” The two chuckled nervously. They were standing there for probably around half a minute or one when the doorbell dinged and the two of them jumped. [Y/N] volunteered to get it.

A woman younger than her for about a year stood in front of her doorstep when she swung the door open, carrying a tiny baby probably about a few months old in her arms. [Y/N] managed a friendly smile as she wiped away a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Karolina Martin. I live right across and I brought you something!”

“The . . . baby?” [Y/N]’s shoulders tensed as she thought about this over an over until she realized that was highly unlikely.

“No! You’re hilarious, though. I like you. I actually came here to give you” — the woman put down a bag she hung over her shoulder down on the floor — “this.”

Inside was a basket with a bottle of what [Y/N] could only assume was fine wine or champagne or whatever it was couples with a number of chocolates and cookies inside. She realized with a start there was also a pot inside.

[Y/N] laughed, holding up the pot. “Funny, because we’re Potters?” she asked, setting it back down again.

“You are?” Karolina said, impressed. “So which do you suggest I should start with first? Stoneware or earthenware? Ooh, what about fire clay?”

It took a few seconds before [Y/N] realized the direction of the conversation. “Oh! Well, heh, not that kind of potter.”

Karolina flinched, eyeing [Y/N] with suspicion. “You smoke — ?”

“No! Not that kind of potter. We don’t smoke po—Sorry, that’s on me, I should have clarified. I’m [Y/N],” she said. Karolina still looked confused. Composing herself, she managed a tight smile. “[Y/N] Potter.”

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Karolina chuckled. “I was a bit confused, I’m really sorry. I haven’t met someone around here about my age.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the welcoming gift, by the way. I just moved in with my . . . husband.” It still sounded surreal to call Harry that way, but she liked it all the same. Her eyes fell on the chubby little kid.

“Right! This is baby Sydney, she’s turning six months old next week. Would be really nice if you and your husband could come — and kid or kids, if you have some?” Maybe it was the coos the baby made or her adorable eyes and hints of two teeth growing, but [Y/N] felt intimidated by the little kid. She was bigger than she thought babies would be. Is this what she’d push through her bottom? She shuddered. “Do you . . . want to hold her?” asked Karolina, oblivious to the thoughts going on in [Y/N]’s heads.

“Listen, I’m really grateful you stopped by but we’re kinda tired. I’m so, so, sorry! Thank you a lot for these stuff. We’ll definitely come by next week — me and Harry, just Harry and me.” [Y/N] chuckled nervously again, smiling at the baby.

“I totally understand. Me and Joey were also very tired when we first moved in, hence Sydney.” Karolina laughed. [Y/N] simply chimed in the laughter as well, not wanting to jeopardize a newfound friendship over a joke. “Have a lovely evening, [Y/N]. I’ll see you around!”

When she shut the door with the bag over her shoulder, she jumped in fright at the sight of Harry just behind the door with an amused grin on his face. “What?” said [Y/N] as she rubbed her eyes.

“Husband?” he mused. When she shot him a glare saying not to push it further, he resorted to giggling. “Sorry, my wife.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she said. “Now, where’s that damned mattress?”

“Worry not, I got it upstairs already, all we gotta do now is take a quick shower and go to bed.”

After they finished dressing into more comfortable clothes, they made it a point to plop down as hard as they could on the mattress. To her relief, Harry had settled a plain white bedsheet on top of it earlier while she was talking to Karolina. She was the first to jump in, stretching her legs all over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing at a spot right next to her. Harry took off his glasses and was about to jump in next when she asked where the pillows were.

“Er — Accio pillow!” She could hear the sound of boxes moving downstairs bumping each other when a pillow came hurtling in and landed on Harry’s chest, forcing him to plop down on the mattress.

A shrill squeak sounded, and the two of them froze. [Y/N] narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at him in accusation. “Did you fart?”

“No, we just still haven’t removed the plastic from the mattress.”

“You want to remove it?” she suggested, ready to get up and get her own wand when Harry gently nudged her back down.

“Okay, where’s my wand?“

[Y/N] looked left and right until she found it tying on an old bedside table he managed to set down earlier that day and said, “There! Bedside table.”

“Eh.”

“Agreed, let’s just say you did fart.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, who unconsciously wrapped his legs and arms around the pillow on top of him and closed his eyes to sleep. [Y/N] was quick to act. Not to take his pillow, but to turn him into one — metaphorically, of course. She laughed at the thought of using Transfiguration to turn Harry into a literal pillow.

Just as he wrapped his limbs around the only pillow, [Y/N] did the same to him. He woke up with a jolt, but did not take her off him. “I’m the little spoon?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, and I happen to like little spoons a lot,” she said casually. Harry turned his head in her direction, with a wide grin on his pretty face. “Okay, that sounded wrong. It’s just that you hogged the only pillow so now I’m using you as one.”

“Well, do you want it?” he offered obliviously.

“Nope, I like this set-up. Go back to sleep.”

And he did — they both did. At some point during the night, they turned each other into a pillow. Harry, however, awoke to the sound of her snoring. It wasn’t like his Uncle Vernon’s, though. Looking at her face seemed to dull it all out. It wasn’t exactly an endearing sound, but the sight of her was more than so — tousled hair, mouth slightly open. . . . With one last smile on his face as he watched her sleep, he felt himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A loud clanging from downstairs awoke Harry. Had he overslept? He found that his back ached whenever he did so much as move, but knew better than to bide his time if there was danger nearby. He reached out to the bedside table to grab his wand, but realized he had to put his glasses on first.

Harry ran downstairs, clutching his wand tightly with his outstretched hand as he listened for anything there was to hear. He paused. A stranger walked out of the kitchen, and he pointed his wand at them.

The stranger held their hands up with a bewildered look on their face until [Y/N] came out of the kitchen all sweaty with a frilly apron. “Harry!” she cried in bewilderment at the sight of him pointing his wand at their new neighbor. “Alright, uh, Karolina, this is my husband, Harry; Harry — stop pointing your . . . stick at her — this is our neighbor who lives across from us, Karolina.”

“Er — hello, Karolina. Sorry about the wa—” [Y/N] shot him a dirty look. “—ander. Wander. Sorry about the bad . . . wandering. You know what? I just woke up on the wrong side of bed and I got paranoid with the . . . new house and all.”

“He tends to get jumpy,” said [Y/N] in hopes of wrapping this up immediately. “Anyway, five minutes left till it’s done. Thank you so, so much for the help, Karol! One last thing, for the whipped cream, do I. . .”

He then noticed that some of the furniture were already arranged such as the sofa and the dining table. Some cabinets were decorated with non-magical framed pictures of them. Harry begged to disagree, though. Each picture there was more than just ma— Is that a baby? Sleeping in a car seat on their couch?

Harry blinked. It stirred, eyes fluttering open. Harry was now holding his breath in anticipation. It was watching him curiously. When he did not move, the little thing started to giggle. Smiling sheepishly back, he made a show of raking his hand through his hair and walking into the kitchen.

It was still messy, but the fridge was on now, and some condiments were put where they belonged.

Karolina was washing a bowl on the sink when the baby outside started crying. She washed her hands quick and ran out, excusing herself while smiling apologetically at the two of them.

[Y/N] opened the oven, pulling out something that smelled of a scent that made Harry’s mouth water.

“Is that Treacle Tart?” he blurted out.

[Y/N] almost dropped the pan of delight she held in her mittened hands. She cleared her throat in an attempt to maintain her composure as she set it down on the counter and pulled off her mittens. Still panting, she looked at him and said, “Harry, darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss against her head.

“Don’t do that, my hair stinks. I haven’t showered yet,” said [Y/N].

“What do you mean? It smells just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s greasy. Is it greasy?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like Snape from where I’m standing. Ow! Sorry, bad joke. Okay, keep doing what you’re doing while I. . .” he trailed off as he grabbed her wrist gingerly and pulled off the scrunchie off it and started braiding her hair whilst she shook the whipped cream. “Could you just stop moving and let me braid your hair?”

“Oh, shut up! This tart’s for you, anyway.”

“So it is a Treacle Tart?”

“Uh, Doy,” she said mockingly. “It’s for your birthday, genius.”

“But it isn’t till next month,” said Harry.

“Eh, well, thought we could spend some time together in our new house without a crowd for a while. Why’re you even braiding my hair?”

“That baby got me thinking about it,” said Harry, as the child’s sobs started to cease. “You know, like . . . do you think we’re ready?”

“Well, what will be, will be.” She squeezed whipped cream on each side, scanning the final product with narrowed eyes. Harry tied the poorly-done braid with the scrunchie, letting her hair fall down to her back. [Y/N] turned to him. “Honestly, I’m kind of scared about the whole thing, you know? Like, aside from the . . . bloody pushing, it’ll be a huge responsibility. And I want to know if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” he found himself saying so casually.

“Okay?” [Y/N] repeated to him, with an expression the combination of excitement and disbelief. “Okay as in, ‘okay let’s start trying?’”

“Okay, yes! Let’s start trying now!”

“Okay, but not right now, though,” said [Y/N] under her breath.

“Why not?” he said. Merlin, I have to stop.

“For one, Karolina’s right there at the doorway with Sydney.”

Harry shifted his gaze from [Y/N] to Karolina, who was now trying hard to stifle her laugh with a sleeping Sydney in her arms. “Okay, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that,” she said with a suggestive smile. “I’ll get going now, [Y/N], Harry.”

“Oh, you won’t try the Treacle Tart out?” called out [Y/N].

“Nah, we’ve eaten a lot of that already. We’re having cheesecake for tonight. Anyway, see you two.” With a friendly wave, she went off her way, leaving the two of them alone in their house.

Harry expected her to berate him, but she was already facing him with a slice of a tart resting neatly on a plate with a lousy candle set in the middle of it. “Make a wish,” she told him.

“Uh. . . I’m bad at wishes, you know that.”

“Then wish to be better at making wishes then make a better wish next month,” she said.

“Okay, I wish to be better at making wishes,” said Harry before blowing the candle out. [Y/N] pulled off the candle and lead him to the living room, where she put down the pan and separated the entire thing to put it on an adorable floral plate she loved.

“Happy super advanced birthday, Just Harry,” said [Y/N], kissing his head this time. “Have some Treacle Tart. I tried, okay?” Laughing, she put a fork on his plate and went to slice one for herself.

“Thank you, soft love,” said Harry as he helped himself to his slice. “Merlin, this is per—”

[Y/N] bursted into laughter, a couple crumbs spitting on the table. She had to get a tissue and wipe the table as she bellowed. “What’d you say?”

“Soft . . . love. Does that mean something bad?”

“No, no, no. It’s just funny to hear it from you. Say it again,” she said, resting her elbow on the top rail of a chair, eager to hear him.

“Soft love?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Oh my— Who told you to say that? Where’d you learn that?” choked [Y/N], wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, sorry.”

“Er — you see, before we left to go here, Ron told me to experiment with . . . pet names.”

“So you delivered?”

“Do you not like it?” said Harry, his fork frozen in mid-air.

“Oh, I do. I so do,” she replied, chuckling. “I’ve had enough of tough love, I could use some soft love. But d’you know what it means?”

When Harry shook his head, she took one step forward to run her hand through his hair, grinning. “Means you accept all flaws instead of trying to build up a wall just to better and correct those flaws.”

“Then what’s so funny?” he asked with genuine curiosity rather than annoyance.

“Oh, Harry. Nothing! I just find you trying new stuff very, very amusing. Moving in here was a good choice, you know. Now I get to find out new things about you,” said [Y/N].

Harry smiled back, his cheeks a tad warmer than usual. “So which do you prefer? Tough love or soft love?”

“Eh, a relationship can’t work with just one of the two. Both works. Now eat your slice before we get working on this house,” said [Y/N] as she snapped her fingers, picking up her own plate and savoring her own work. “Chop chop.”

“You mean home?”

“Yep, I mean home,” answered [Y/N] without any hesitation. Oh, and, just one small update: they didn’t remove the plastic wrap of the mattress until next week.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @mrzweasley @gwlvr @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @greenlyblue @henqtic @meiitanoia @badass-yn @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[after-witch]

The Pain Sweeps Through [Yandere Jareth x Reader]

Title: The Pain Sweeps Through [Yandere Jareth x Reader]

Synopsis: 

You’re not the first one he’s brought into the Goblin King’s Labyrinth. You’re not the first one to best him, to get to the center and beat him at his own game. But you are the first one to beat him and give in: “Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.” What happens when the magic fades, and you’re left with is the muddled consequences of your decision? 

Word Count: 2550

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, drugging, mentions of noncon

You hate the ballroom. You hate the gowns and the glitter and the music. You hate all of it. 

How long have you been here? Time is fuzzy and of no consequence here, and the clock--you’ve planted yourself in front of it, staring--never behaves as it should. The novelty of the whites and golds and pinks of the ballroom, of the swirling dancers and their impossibly endless stamina, has long worn off. Well before this particular peach, well before this particular ball, spinning and swirling together like rainwater down a drain.

The gown that you once admired, that once had you blushing and twirling in its beauty and delicacy and shimmering glitter, weighs your shoulders down. The delicate glass-like heels refuse to budge from your feet, though no one will ever dance with you--a grin and a laugh is all you got, when you dared to ask--but they still feel sore from your wandering, your half-hearted spinning and attempts to lose yourself in the dream, all the same.  

Everything, everything is sore. Your body and your head and your heart. The room feels fuzzy, not unlike the skin of a peach. Fuzzy and unreal and disorienting. And you’re so, so lonely. 

The people here are dreamlike and blurry, talking amongst each other in giggling whispers, which is the most you’ve gotten out of them. Laughter. Do they mock you? Or are they trapped in some fugue-like state, unable to do anything but drink and dance and laugh?

Perhaps you’re not the only one here who has bitten peaches.

The clock in the corner strikes, but when you glance at it, its hands are winding aimlessly. There Is no hour and you’ve been here forever, it seems, and you might be here forever still.

All you can do is wander, your glass heels clicking against the ballroom floor, dodging the dancers who swirl or gather to sip champagne that flows freely. Wander and think, because getting lost in the haze makes you terrified that you might become one of them, unable to do anything but laugh and dance and your feet will be even more sore.

Which is more sore, you wonder--your body or your heart?

It doesn’t hurt much, anymore, to try to think about your friends and family only to realize that their faces and voices and actions are foggy and lost. They are loose memories that you can never grasp tightly onto.

But the loneliness is something you can grasp, and often do, feeling it keenly and sharp in your stomach. You feel his absence keenly, too, in the wake of no better company--here or there or anywhere. When you’re in the castle or in this ballroom or trapped in another fantasy.

When you’re in the castle (you admit, you miss its stone walls and the open windows of his throne room and even your room, oppressive though it was) you are often left to your own devices while Jareth does what he does. The goblins are stupid, and only want to roughhouse with each other.  You aren’t allowed outside of the castle, so any entertainment or companionship you might obtain with others--assuming they didn’t hate you, assuming Jareth hadn’t killed them or tossed them into some oubliette to rot forever after assisting you into the center--is impossible.

And so Jareth is the only one you can have a conversation with; the only one who isn’t half-there.

Not that you openly pine for his companionship, either.

What started out as a nervous acceptance of his offer, a buzzing in your head and body that reminded you of your first sips of champagne, had dulled down too swiftly. You were his queen, yes. He was your slave, perhaps. But to a point--to a point.

You remember the first time he led you to your chambers, a near replica of your bedroom at home, albeit with a few twists: such as a closet stuffed with the most sumptuous clothing you’d ever imagined, some of them literal recreations of gowns you’d drawn in your notebooks or pinned to your wall.

It was beautiful and too much and all for you. And then he’d kissed you goodnight so gallantly and you’d sat nervously on the end of your bed. But when you tried to leave, the door wouldn’t budge. It was stuck, fast. You knocked. No one answered. You walked backwards to your bed and crawled under the covers and thought, maybe, this was a dream, and when I wake up I will be at home.

You woke up in your room, with the sequins of ballgowns winking at you from the closet.

When the door swung open and he stood there, dressed more modestly than you’d seen him before, you inquired about the door; ever so quietly, politely, unsure, nervous and realizing with the clarity of sleep that he was a goblin king and you were just some nobody who had agreed to give up the world and family and friends and your sister, safe at home he said, but did he tell you the truth? And he threw his head back and laughed ignored your question. 

He told you to pick a gown for breakfast. A gown at breakfast seemed an impossible choice and perhaps he read your mind because he took one out for you, a pale green gown with sparkling puffy sleeves, and you hoped you wouldn’t get food on them. Did it matter if you did? The realization of who you were and where you were seemed to hit you again and again. 

But as you dressed and as he adorned your neck with an emerald necklace, you were feeling better, a little less nervous, a little more excited. Your dreams--here they were, laid out in front of you like a feast. You were in a castle, you had anything you wanted apparently at your fingertips. And a king to hand it to you, his touch both gentle and firm as he took your arm like a gentlemen and led you into the hall.

As your own door shut behind you, you caught sight of it: a heavy, gilded padlock on the outside of your door, the padlock that had kept you from budging it the night before. Your stomach dropped.

“Why is that there?” You’d asked, looking up at him. He smiled, and it was not exactly a nice smile, you realized. 

“To keep my queen inside her chambers. What else are locks in castles for?”

Your cheeks felt heated, and you’d blurted out--oh the memory of it makes you feel stupid, now--”If I’m your queen, you can’t just lock me up in my room.”

He stopped. His arm around you tensed and it made your heart speed up.

“Can’t I?” It was all he said, practically murmuring as he looked down at you. Then he’d continued, and you stumbled for a moment before following him in silence.

You had no words to answer him.

Fear him, love him, obey him; the words on loop echoed in your head as he led you to a dining chamber, bustling with goblins who tripped over themselves carrying trays and goblets to and fro. You barely remember sitting at the ornate, carved chairs in front of a haphazard meal--how well could goblins cook?--or the way Jareth insisted on giving you cup after cup of wine. 

You barely remember the way the day seemed to jump by, and after dinner your head felt heavy and then there was a bed underneath you, his bed, large and sumptuous. The smell of peaches was in the air and your dinner gown, pink and velvet and scented like roses, bunched up underneath you as he was above you.

The days after that were often blurry. You asked to take it back, you asked to go home. He refused and locked you in your room. You asked to just be let outside the castle, at least, and inquired about the friends you’d made in the labyrinth. He refused and locked you in your room. He fed you peaches. He sat by your bed, petting your hair as your head swum in dreams, waiting to pull you out whenever he deemed it suitable.

Ah.

You’re lost again, lost in memories, when you’re suddenly in someone's grip and spinning,  your back instinctively leaning as you twirl.

“Did you miss me?”

It’s Jareth, of course. No one else would touch you. He’s wearing a suit made of embroidered purple velvet, and when you glance up you see that he’s chosen makeup to match. And glitter, of course, always glitter. You swear you can see it flying off him as you dance, as he sparkles as much as anything else in the room.

His grip on you is familiar and firm, and when he spins you around the weight of this dream-like room seems to lessen. Your shoulders feel lighter and the glass around your feet doesn’t feel like it might break and shatter into a million pieces.

Your mind aches to talk to him. To have a conversation with a person, not a laughing caricature. To hear him ask about your favorite books, ones you didn’t own, so he could procure them. To listen to him tell you about those who didn’t make it through the labyrinth--though you hated these stories, grim as they were, and he stopped telling them. To cross your arms nervously and murmur out your fantasies at his behest, things you’d always wanted to see or do; unicorns and fairies (though you’d seen them before the castle, and they bit you) and jousts (not quite as gallant, with goblins as the knights) and anything else your heart desired.

You might tell him this. You might tell him that you did miss him, because without him you’re a heavy, aimless dancer stuck in this room that you hate with people that don’t view you as human and are they people at all? You might tell him that you do appreciate what he’s done for you, the gifts and gowns and dreams, but that you wish he wasn’t so commanding towards you, wasn’t so demanding of you. You might tell him that his passion confused you and his kisses were too intense and you don’t understand why he wants you, why anyone wants you.

You might tell him, yes, I missed you, please take me out of here and take me with you.

You might tell him this.

Stubbornness wins out.

“No,” you say, ignoring the ache in your feet. “I was just bored.”

He chuckles, but he’s not amused.

“And here I thought you wanted to join me in the castle.” He releases you from his grip with a final flourish, and the endless dancers around you begin to push in, separating you two in their increasing mania.

“Well, if you didn’t miss me, I’ll let you get back to your ball.”

The music swells with his words, as he backs way, disappearing among the nameless throng of guests.

It might be weeks before he shows up again, and instantly, stubbornness loses.

“Wait!” You push against the moving wall of people, their tulles and sequins scratching your arm, their heels stepping on your toes. Someone laughs, a barking, harsh laugh.

Through sheer force of will, you reach him, grabbing the end of a velvet sleeve and gripping it tightly with your fingers.

“Please,” you beg. “Don’t leave me.”

You see the glimmer in his eyes, a ghost of a smile. You bite your lip. Words are important here. Words are contracts and wishes and pitfalls all in one. “No, wait. I mean. Take me with you.”

He dips low then, taking your hand and pressing it with a gentle kiss. Someone in the crowd lets out a saccharine sigh.

“Whatever you desire.”

When his lips meet your skin, the ballroom collapses and inverts and you wake up in your bed with a slamming force that has you sitting so quickly that your head swims. You reach out and grasp the headboard and wait for the world to stop falling, wait for the pain of gowns and glass slippers to stop sweeping through your bones.

When you stand, slowly and gently, a discarded peach rolls onto the floor.

Your stomach curls when you remember biting into it. What can you do, when you’re locked up in your room with nothing to eat but what shows up on a golden tray in the morning? You’re stubborn and disobey him, and he locks you up in a room. In your room, you can only eat what he sends you. And he sends a peach, so you must eat.

And his peach sends you to the worlds of your dreams, worlds of ballgowns and princesses, glitter and lace, soft music and oh-so-much-prettiness. You scoff at the you that you used to be. The you that accepted the invitation into the labyrinth and in the end, capsized under the temptation of fantasy being reality. Of being his queen.

Though it’s hard to feel like any queen, even the queen of goblins and labyrinths and bogs of eternal stench, locked in your room, still dizzy from a peach.

When the door opens, he’s wearing something new. A costume change, because as long as you’ve known him (how long? He refuses to say, and time of course, no longer has meaning) he can never resist wearing something new.

It’s a gold suit this time, glimmering and shining. The gold glitter above his eyes seems to dance as his hands open and a large golden gown drops onto your bed. You look down at it and your heart aches. How you would have loved such a gown, before. How you do still love it, and you can’t hide the way your fingers slide over the fabric, earning a pleased chuckle from Jareth.

“What’s the occasion?” You murmur, fingering the delicate golden lace at the fringe of the sleeves.

He lifts you up and tugs at your night gown, and you obediently raise your hands this time as he undresses you. Layers and layers first, then the shimmering gown. He pulls matching shoes out of nowhere and you slip them on, sighing a bit when they’re comfortable and soft and not made out of glass.

“I’ve ordered our subjects to put on a performance.” He smiles, and if it’s not a nice smile, you push the bitterness down. “To celebrate the return of their queen.”

You allow him to take you by the arm, and you keep your eyes straight ahead this time. The door shuts behind you and you refuse to look back at the padlock.

“I trust you will behave,” he tells you, not stopping in your progress down the hall.

You nod and grip his arm tighter. At least he’s real. At least he speaks to you. At least you’re in the castle.

Tonight, you hope, his bed chamber won’t smell like peaches.

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter One}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara's blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

5 years later….

Nyx looked at his birthday cake and the lone candle that was lit atop the icing before looking up at Feyre with a confused expression on his beautiful, little face.

His mother laughed, quietly, before leaning forward and taking out the candle. She had just blown out the flame when Rhys barely pushed the cake closer to Nyx, who put his chubby, little hands smack-dab in the middle of the icing and dug in.

Everyone had come to celebrate, and even Nesta couldn’t stop her smile from showing. At least, she let it show when she was on the opposite end of the house from the one and only, and massively self-centered, Cassian Nazari.

Of course, he would be at Nyx’s first birthday party. He was Nyx’s uncle - maybe not by blood, not that blood mattered when it came to Cassian, Rhysand, and their other lifelong friend, Azriel.

He, too, stood across the kitchen, watching as Elain snapped picture after picture of the jubilant baby, the mess atop his high chair the largest Nesta had ever seen. She knew Elain was taking notes for their own daughter’s birthday party, though she was barely three months old.

Rhysand’s smile was as big as Feyre’s as they watched their son, listening as his giggles filled the kitchen. Nyx realized quickly that the cake was for him alone and after smashing it for a few moments, he lifted a large handful to his chubby face and took a bite. His eyes lit up and that started the giggling anew.

Nesta loved her nephew and niece, had loved him since the day they were born, but she didn’t envy her sisters and their happy families. Unlike them, she had remained perfectly content on her own, especially after the endless string of disaster dates she had been forced to sit through throughout the years.

And children? It wasn’t that Nesta disliked kids. Not all kids, at least. She loved her nephew and niece, anyway. Having one of her own, though? Having to be around one every day? Every night? Having to constantly try and make a tiny person content?

No, thank you. That was a challenge she had little interest in.

A deep rumbling laugh came from across the house and Nesta looked up to find Cassian entering the kitchen, still chuckling at something Mor had said.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep her lip from curling slightly as she looked at him. It only infuriated her more when he caught sight of her as he raised his beer to his lips and winked.

He was absolutely insufferable.

After their catastrophe of a date years ago, which Nesta had made Feyre promise was a stunt she’d never pull again, she had only been forced to be around Cassian Nazari a handful of times.

One of which was during Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, only months after their date.

“You only have to walk with him for thirty seconds,” Feyre had sighed, while Mor continued to pin and curl her hair into place. “You don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Good,” Nesta said, draining the glass of champagne in her hand. “Because I’m not.”

As Feyre’s maid-of-honor, it was customary that she was supposed to walk out of the wedding arm in arm with Rhysand’s best man. She wished that he’d picked Azriel, but since it seemed the Cauldron hated her, it had to be Cassian.

Elain, who was harboring the world’s most obvious crush on Azriel at the time, was thrilled with how they’d be exiting the wedding. Nevertheless, she said to Nesta, “I think you two got off on the wrong foot. He’s a really good guy, Nes.”

Nesta shot her youngest sister a look of pure annoyance through the mirror’s reflection. “Have any of you ever been on a date with the guy? And not only a date, but the worst date of your life?”

Feyre snorted, fully aware of where this conversation was headed. “No.”

“Then you have no room to talk,” Nesta snapped, admiring herself in the mirror. “Mother’s tits, Feyre, he wore jeans to the nicest restaurant in Velaris!”

“At least he didn’t wear his boots,” Mor muttered, then she caught Nesta’s glare in the mirror. “Really? He wore his boots?”

“He was dressed for an all-night, summer bonfire,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “And he’s completely full of himself. And, he forgot his wallet!”

“Not like you can’t afford dinner,” Feyre said, and Nesta’s lips snapped shut. She was fully aware that the conversation had somehow become a let’s-pick-on-Nesta session.

Feyre added, “You have to walk back down the aisle with him, share an entire table during dinner, and that’s it. No one is asking you to dance with him, but be nice.” Nesta met Feyre’s eyes, her jaw set. Feyre sighed, “Fine, be civil.”

She scoffed, but nodded. “Fine.”

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch. It was beautiful and elegant and the perfect wedding Rhys and Feyre had always wanted.

She ignored Cassian’s unending looks the whole night, managed to give her maid-of-honor speech without snarling at him, and after that, took advantage of the open bar her sister and new brother had so kindly provided.

She was coming out of the bathroom, a glass of wine still clutched in her hand, doing her best not to trip over her own feet when she walked into a wall.

A wall of solid muscle that turned out to be Cassian’s back.

When he turned around and she looked up at him, his eyes were nearly as glazed as hers.

“Hello, Nes,” he said, smirking down at her.

She bit out, “Don’t call me that.”

“That was a pretty, little speech you gave,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I know true love exists cause I’ve seen it first hand. Poetic.”

Nesta scoffed, brushing off the skirt of her dress as if he had tainted it. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t referring to you. I was talking about Feyre and Rhys, in case you thought otherwise.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he promised. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were talking about anyone. Just some fluffy shit that sounded sweet. Unless it’s that guy that showed up at the restaurant and ruined our date. Oh, wait,” he began, tapping his chin as if in deep thought, “You dumped him though, right? Poor bastard.”

“You’re a prick,” Nesta bit out. She refrained from saying that Tomas hadn’t ruined their date. It was sad that seeing her ex was one the bright points of her night, rather than seeing the Greek god standing before her. The pretentious, cocky asshole of a Greek god.

He only grinned. “But am I a liar?”

Nesta’s jaw locked. She eyed his tux. “I’m just glad you decided to clean up for your own brother’s wedding. No jeans?”

He scoffed. “Is that the worst you’ve got?”

“Do you prefer me to give you my worst?” she asked, brows furrowing. “If so, you may want to be careful what you wish for.”

Cassian said nothing, just lifted the beer she hadn’t noticed in his hands to his lips.

Nesta rolled her eyes, brushing past him, and made a move to head back into the reception.

His voice called out behind her, “You don’t have to be such a miserable bitch, you know?”

She froze, looking back at him. He was no longer smirking at her. Instead, his eyes were intense. “Excuse you?”

“You’re so miserable that you won’t allow anyone else to have any fun, won’t allow yourself to either,” he said, still leaning against that damn wall. He crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his dress shirt tight and loose in all the right places. “You want everyone else to suffer, just because you’re forcing yourself to, for whatever reason.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she bit out, stalking back over to him. She was so close she had to look up into his face.

“I don’t,” he said, words clipped. “I tried, but you didn’t seem very inclined to let me get to know you during our date. You were more concerned with my attire and your ex than you were with me. You thought all I wanted to do was fuck you.” His eyes, still glassy and glazed, dragged down her body and back up again. “Besides, you’ve got that damn stick shoved so far up your ass, there wouldn’t have been room for my cock even if I’d really even tried.”

A blink was Nesta’s only reaction. Then her hand was moving of its own accord, splashing her full glass of wine directly in his face and all over that pretty, white shirt.

“Go fuck yourself,” was all she’d said before she walked back into the ceremony, leaving him there to drip on the venue’s fancy carpet.

“Nesta!”

She blinked, Feyre’s voice drawing Nesta out of her memories, looking over at her sister. She stood next to Rhys and Elain, who had her camera in her hands, and Cassian stood behind Nyx’s high chair.

“I want a picture of him with his godparents, come here,” she beamed and Nesta tried not to cringe.

She had been so proud, her heart feeling like it would burst when Feyre and Rhys had asked her to be Nyx’s godmother. There was no hesitation when she said yes, tears lining her eyes as she’d hugged both her sister and brother-in-law.

She tried not to think about the fact that when they’d told her Cassian was his godfather, she nearly asked them to give the distinction to Elain.

But she hadn’t, wouldn’t. Despite what others, especially Cassian, thought of her… Nesta loved her nephew.

She loved her family.

With a sigh, Nesta meandered over to Nyx’s high chair. “Alright.”

“Closer,” Feyre ordered, gesturing Nesta to move in closer beside Cassian behind the high chair.

Nesta’s lips pursed but she took another step toward the boys for her sister’s sake.

“I’m not poisonous, Nesta,” Cassian muttered, smiling at the camera as he spoke. “You won’t burst into flames if we brush arms.”

“You’d be so lucky to brush arms with me,” she muttered back, hoping the smile she was giving her sister was convincing - and knowing full well that it wasn’t.

Without another word, Cassian tossed his arm around Nesta and said, “Cheeeeese!”

Nyx was giggling, looking up at his godparents behind him. There was so much joy and adoration in those big, beautiful eyes that Nesta didn’t have the heart to storm off, leaving Cassian in her dust, no matter how much she wanted to.

The camera’s flash went off and Nesta pushed Cassian’s arm off her shoulder.

The rest of the party was perfect. Feyre took Nyx up to the bathroom to clean him off, while Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian hauled his many gifts out into the living room. Feyre opened them one by one, despite everyone knowing Nyx had no clue what was going on, though he did clap his chubby little hands and giggle at a few particular items. Nesta stood off to the side with Elain, holding a milk-drunk, sleepy Seph in her arms.

Azriel and Elain’s little girl had been a surprise, neither of them planning on Elain getting pregnant so soon after they got married. They both fell into the role of parents so seamlessly though, that Nesta knew another baby would be in their near future. They adored the baby girl, and she was the most perfect baby Nesta had ever seen.

Persephone hardly cried, only doing so when she was hungry or needed to be changed, and once whatever wrong was taken care of, she became a happy, smiley baby again.

Nyx, on the other hand, had been a hellion as a baby.

Which was to be expected, considering who his father was. Although responsible when necessary, Rhysand was just as much of a madman as Cassian...especially when infused with alcohol.

“You look good with a baby,” Elain crooned from beside her sister.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You can keep trying to push me down the marriage-baby road, but I just won’t take it. Wasting your time.”

Elain sighed, dramatically, with that little grin remaining on her soft pink lips. “As long as you stay such a good auntie, I suppose I can’t complain.”

Nesta looked down at the sweet, sleeping infant in her arms. She didn’t mind those little snuggles.

She did mind the diaper blowouts, constant spit-ups, and loud crying, though. That’s usually when she gave Seph back to her parents and blissfully enjoyed her independent life.

Feyre gasped and Nesta looked up. She was holding a little guitar that had Nyx’s name and the night sky engraved into the dark-stained wood.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Cassian.

Cassian smiled, fondly, at Feyre. “I know he won’t be able to start messing with it for another few years, but I couldn't help myself.”

“He made that himself, you know.” Nesta’s eyes shot to Elain, who was watching the scene before them. She whispered again, “He doesn’t do it for a living, of course, but it’s a hobby of his, making guitars. He’s really good.”

She blinked, the information catching her off guard for whatever reason. But all she said was, “That’s nice.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon, ignoring the man as much as she could, as she always did. But as the guests began to dwindle, as Nyx and Seph went down for their naps, the three sisters gathered in the living room, while Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian went out back to inspect the small jungle gym Rhys was building for Nyx. Again, he was too young to use most of it, but the tiny swing and slide would be hours of fun for the little man.

Feyre brought two cups of coffee out to her sisters before collapsing next to Elain on the couch. “That could not have gone better if we tried.”

Nesta leveled her a look and raised an eyebrow.. “If we tried? You had a minute-by-minute itinerary for a one-year-old’s birthday.”

“Everything was perfect,” Elain smiled, cutting off Nesta, blowing on her coffee gently. “Nyx had a good time, neither he nor Seph had a blow-up, Cassian and Nesta managed to be in the same room without stabbing each other. All in all, a good day.”

Nesta rolled her eyes before throwing a vulgar gesture towards her sisters, who were both laughing.

“Fine, new subject,” Feyre grinned. “Oh! Before I forget, Rhys and I are going out of town for our anniversary in a few weeks. I was hoping you could watch Nyx for a few days.”

It took Nesta a moment to realize that Feyre was talking to her. She froze, having been blowing on her own hot coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

Feyre laughed, quietly. “I was hoping that you could watch Nyx while Rhys and I go away for a long weekend. We’re going to the mountains for our anniversary. To his family’s cabin.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Elain said, looking at Nesta.

Who blinked, having only unfrozen to set her coffee down on the table between them. “You want me…to watch Nyx…for the weekend? Alone? By myself? Just me and him?”

“That’s what I was hoping for, yeah,” Feyre said, nodding as she sipped from her cup. “You can come here, where all of his stuff is in one place, and make yourself at home.” She shrugged. “I’ll leave money for takeout and the key to the wine cabinet.”

Nesta hesitated. “I’ve only babysat Nyx a couple of times…all for, like, an hour each.”

“It will be fine,” she said, a genuine smile on her face. “It will only be three nights, really. We’ll leave after work on Thursday and be home Sunday evening.”

Nesta stammered and shook her head. “I have to work on Friday, the restaurant-.”

“I’ll keep him during the day on Friday,” Elain offered. “I don’t have any shoots that day, so he can spend the day with me and Seph.”

“You could keep him the whole weekend,” Nesta tried, looking at her younger sister hopefully.

“Seph is enough of a handful,” she chuckled, glancing at Feyre, who was nodding as well. “I don’t think I can handle two at once for an entire weekend.”

“Please, Nes,” Feyre said, drawing her eldest sister’s eyes to her. “I know you can do it and it would be nice for you to spend some time together, just you two.”

“And you can call me, if you need anything,” Elain added.

Nesta looked from Feyre to Elain. “You two already planned this.” They at least had the wherewithal to look guilty. She sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Fine. But I’ll probably end up calling both of you every thirty seconds.”

“I can work with that,” Feyre said, just as Elain said, “Then it’s settled!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “But, I hope you know that I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.”

“Oh, I know,” Feyre grinned, “which is what makes you such a wonderful, wonderful big sister.”

“I am pretty damn wonderful,” Nesta agreed, grinning as she sipped from her mug.

As she drank, she peeked out the window, where the boys were putting together the playset. Once she did, only one thing caught her eye.

Cassian was already watching her.

And when he caught her gaze, that stupid little, cocky-ass grin appeared.

She hated that grin, hated it with every ounce of her being.

And she wouldn’t feel bad for it, no matter how much her sisters adored the guy.

She hated him, hated Cassian Nazari.

And she always would.

[lowkeyorloki]

lbd

After a fight with Loki, you wear the smallest dress you can to an Avengers press event...

(smut smut smut)

~

The party was awful.

Stark’s press events often were. It was interesting, how the media had changed over the past eight years. In 2012, you and the rest of the Avengers would only be seen on news stations. Now, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to for your names to be in tabloids next to celebrities like Taylor Swift or Noah Centineo. The team wasn’t just heroes anymore, you were public figures as well.

Hence the formal attire, the flashing cameras, the expensive wine. These events only happened about once a year- they were manageable. Just a pain. Besides, you always had Loki to endure them with.

Except, not tonight. And so, the party was awful, not just boring.

The argument you had with Loki last night carried over into today, and when you were asking him about the event, he gave you no answer. Never in a million years did you think he would ignore during this. The press, the world, had never really forgiven him for New York. He was hated by the general public. It didn’t help it was a well-known fact he was with you: you, the youngest Avenger. You, who had been America’s golden girl until Loki corrupted you.

That was what everyone liked to say. Really, you just got older. And cynical. You couldn’t fight the worst of the worst throughout the universe and remain idealistic. 

You and Loki had to stick together for public appearances. The reporters tore you to shreds if you didn’t. And besides that... You didn’t like not being around the god. It was so much better to face things with him. You were together. Even when things were tense, the two of you could always lean on each other. That was the nature of your relationship.

And yet, here you were, halfway through your third glass of champagne, giving Steve a half-hearted smile as he spoke. Every so often, your eyes scanned the large hall, eventually falling on Loki. He avoided your gaze each time.

You wanted to be angry, or bitter. That’s what you felt earlier today when he wouldn’t speak to you. Loki wordlessly dressed in his suit, looked you up and down in your floor length dress, and left your shared room. In a fit of rage, you had dug through your closet for something that would anger him. No, not anger. That wasn’t the right word.

Entice him. Make him protective. Despite your life with him, you were still seen as the innocent Avenger. The normal girl who stumbled into justice. You never wore short or form fitting clothes anywhere there would be cameras. You were modest. That was the role you were pidgeonholed into. Social media, combined with constant interest and exposure, ensured that. In 2020, half of being an Avenger was perception. Every team member was an archetype. Every team member adhered to that. Outwardly, at least.

So when nothing in your closet would accomplish what you wanted, you raided Natasha’s. She helped you pick out something no one would expect you to wear: A silky black body con dress. When you tried it on, it barely came halfway down your thighs. There was little left to the imagination, considering its length and low neckline. 

You paired it with heels, and painted your nails Loki’s shade of green. Natasha gathered your hair into a messy bun, leaving your neck exposed. Even Wanda joined in, brushing sparkles over your collarbone. You looked unlike you ever had before.

Honestly, you looked like Natasha did on a daily basis. That brought you some amount of comfort, knowing you wouldn’t be sticking out. But it went without saying you didn’t look like yourself, and no one had ever seen you like this. The press would have a field day.

But it wasn’t them you cared about. The only person you were thinking about was Loki.

And he didn’t even do a double take. When you first walked into the room, his eyes rested on you just a second. Then he turned away.

So you didn’t find yourself angry like you were just a few hours before this. When Loki ignored you, you only felt... Sad. Empty, almost. You had been upset with each other for less than a full day, but you missed him. If there was no animosity between you two, Loki’s hand would be on the small of your back right now, and he would be whispering into your ear. Sharing jokes about everyone at the party, wrapped up in each other.

You fought so little. It was something you weren’t used to. 

“Hey.” Steve sticks an elbow into your ribs, pulling you from your thoughts. Next to him, Bucky wears a worried expression. “You okay?”

You sigh. Tipping your head back, you drain the rest of your drink and then nod.

“I’m fine, Steve.” he looks uncertain. “I mean it. I can last one night without him. Just because I’m in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m any less independent.”

“I believe that.” Steve agrees.

“You only believe her because that’s how you are.” Bucky grins at Steve, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from Captain America. Steve smiles, just barely, and holds Bucky’s hand in his own after the dark-haired man pulls back. Your eyes flicker away, but a genuine smile grows on your lips. You love to see your friends happy. They deserve it, your whole team does. 

It’s moments like these, when Steve is focused on Bucky and you on Loki, you remember you and Steve used to date. It seems like a completely different time, but it wasn’t even ten years ago.

You were with Steve when Loki attacked New York.

“I’m going for a refill.” you state. Both men look uncertain. You pay it no mind. “Do either of you want anything?” 

They shake their heads in response, so you make your way over to the bar. There’s no one there, not even the bartender, which bothers you at first. Then you realize it’s exactly what you need. Just a few minutes alone to clear your head. The bar is in same room as everyone else, so classical music and conversation are all around you. Still, you manage to find solace.

It’s quickly interrupted. 

“Hello, darling.”

Loki.

His breath tickles the back of your neck as he speaks. As soon as you’re aware of his presence, his smell envelops you. You shiver, noticing how close he must be to you.

You don’t turn around.

“Hi Loki.” you greet him back, eyes forward. You voice almost shakes, and you exhale, willing yourself to keep cool. Loki was always so calm and collected, something he used as a weapon. Clearly, even against you.

Loki hums, and his fingers softly begin to dance over your bare shoulder. 

“You look different,” he states. “With those shoes, you almost reach my height. But darling, you have never looked so small.” Loki’s voice drops on that last word, and a wave of heat flashes through your body. You set your glass down on the counter next to you, worried whatever Loki does next will cause you to drop it.

“Funny.” you say. “I don’t feel small.” You know Loki, know what the word small is code for. “Or weak.”

Loki tuts, and his large hands slide from your shoulders to your hips. Your dress is so short that his pinkies lay on your bare skin.

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Loki leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he talks. You can’t help it, you tremble, your surroundings beginning to fade away as you focus on the god. “I bet you felt quite powerful, teasing me in this dress. Talking to Steve Rogers.” Suddenly, Loki pulls you into him, and you gasp. His length presses completely against your ass, and you are barely able to bite back a moan.

This is harder than you’ve ever felt him. Your breathing becomes hitched, but Loki’s strong grip keeps you glued to him. His fingers dig into your hips, and you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

“Did you think,” Loki rolls his hips against you, causing a mewl to escape your lips. “...that I would forget your past with Rogers? That it had just, slipped my mind that he is the only man you have ever laid with besides myself?” Loki’s lips connect with the crook of your neck, pressing wet kisses there that are anything but gentle. “Or was that the point? To make me jealous?” Loki’s next words shake you the most. “Can you even count the amount of times I have been inside you?”

Just like that, his hands relax, and you begin to catch your breath.

“Smile.” Loki points, and you notice the groups of reporters making their way to you, cameras flashing. Loki pivots, turning both of you so you face the them. He drops one hand to his side, but the other snakes around your waist. It won’t be obvious in the photos, but his fingers are dangerously close to your heat, filling you to the brim with want.

Just as you manage to get yourself under control, the cameras begin flashing. You force a smile, and when you look at Loki, he’s staring straight ahead, expressionless.

You hated getting photos taken, knowing the headlines they would be paired with. But Loki hates it even more. You were always the victim in the media’s eyes, but Loki had never outgrown the villain. He worked so hard to be good, so hard to change. And for what? No one believed him, save for you and his brother.

Your heart grows heavy, and despite the fight, despite the teasing that left you melting in his arms, you want Loki to know you appreciate him. 

You tug on the front of his suit jacket, capturing his attention. Loki looks down at you, confusion in his eyes. You reach forward, placing your hand on the back of his neck and tugging him down so his lips met yours.

It was filthy, the way he kissed you in front of the press. Loki once again pulled you to him, your chests pressed together. He laid his hand on your back, and thank god he did, because it kept you grounded. Your teeth clacked together more than once, and Loki gave you no opportunity to gather yourself before he sucked on your bottom lip. Your were eyes closed, but you still heard as the reporters went wild, cameras snapping as they each tried to get the juiciest shot.

Loki was the one who ended the kiss, tugging away from you. He took your hand in his, waving with the other. In the crowd, you could see Steve standing in shock, arm around Bucky’s waist. Stark was next to them, looking furious.

Loki makes eye contact with you before he briskly walks away, tugging you with him. You have no time to ask where it is he’s taking you before you somehow slip into the kitchen unnoticed.

The kitchen staff stops, and you realize what this must look like to them. Loki, with a hungry look in his eyes, and you, swollen lips and practically half-naked. Jesus, was this where you thought the night was going?

“Get out.” Loki addresses the staff. They share glances, unsure of whether to listen. Loki sighs. “We are two hours into a four hour party. No one ever comes for food, they just want to drink. You are no longer needed. Now, get,” Loki’s irises flash green. “...out.”

They listen then, rushing out of the doors and through the backroom that will lead them from the building. The locks on each door click shut, surely a result of Loki’s magic. 

“You.” you squirm under the god’s harsh gaze. “Are a very. Stupid. Girl.” with each step Loki takes forward, you take one backwards, until your back is against the tiled wall. Your heart begins beating fast. You look to Loki’s pants, taking in the tent. Your heart rate accelerates even more.

He places his hands on the wall, one on either side of your face, trapping you with him. Wordlessly, Loki begins sucking on your collarbone, his lips moving down your breasts until they hit the neckline on your dress. Your eyes roll back, and you grip Loki’s hair tight. He rams his knee in between your thighs, and you cry out. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he rolls his hips, and now that you’re alone, you can feel and experience it to the fullest expense. Your mouth falls open as Loki presses his clothed length against your clothed sex, moaning and letting out a string of curses. “Look at me, darling.” You listen, obeying Loki as he removes his knee. 

Loki makes full eye contact as he takes your left breast in his hands, kneading and massaging you as he gauges your reactions. You begin panting, and soon enough, Loki grabs the front of your dress with both hands and rips it, exposing your bare breasts.

You hiss at the sudden cold, but it doesn’t last long as Loki sucks on your nipple, running his calloused thumb other the other. Loki swirls his tongue, and you whimper, arching your back. As the sensation builds inside you, Loki takes a steps back, drinking in the sight of you.

“The media won’t soon forget this. Until now, the worst they had caught us doing was holding hands.” he growls. His lips are redder than usual, and his hair was messy because of your fingers in it. “I can imagine the scolding from Stark.”

“Who cares about Stark? You just ruined Natasha’s dress.” you say, your voice strained. His absence is noticeable, and your body aches for Loki’s touch. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sweet girl, whose fault is that? None of this would ever have happened if you simply dressed appropriately.” the hair on your arms stands up. Loki hums. “I think you should make it up to me. You got us into this mess, did you not?” Loki smirks.

The feeling in your stomach builds up again, lust taking over you. You take off you heels, and sink to your knees. Loki’s pupils dilate as you move closer to him.

You unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and discarding it on the floor next to you. Slowly, you unbutton Loki’s dress pants, your fingers catching on the tip of his underwear as you do.

You want to draw this out, to tease Loki as he teased you. But when you see his hard length, and the damp spot on the cloth holding it, you can’t bring yourself to. Loki is a god, much stronger and faster than you. When you turn to dust, Loki will be as young and full of life as he is now.

But his needs are the same as any other man’s. You’re determined to fulfill them.

You brush your mouth over him, causing Loki’s eyes to close momentarily. When they do, you waste no time exposing him. Loki fingers run through your hair immediately, grasping tightly. You can hear his breathing become just a bit irregular. 

You keep your eyes on Loki’s as you lick him, from shaft to head. You lap at the precum there, then slowly take him into your mouth.

Loki lets out a sigh, his lips parting, and you rub circles onto his hipbones with your thumbs. You bring your arms against your chest, pushing your bare breasts up to make them appear bigger. You want to give Loki the best view possible.

It must have worked, because Loki’s hips buck forward. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you almost gag. Instead, you moan around him. setting a slow pace. Every so often, you flick your tongue across his head, and Loki tugs on your hair when you do.

Loki quivers, and he’s thrown his head back now. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open, and he looks so pleased. Pride washes over you at the thought of you making him feel this way.

You bring your hand up, taking the parts of Loki that your mouth just can’t reach. With the added freedom, you circle his tip, switching up the pressure and surrounding him with your warmth. Carefully, you cup his balls, making sure every part of him is paid attention to.

Loki groaned as you fucked him with your mouth, cheeks hallowed. He begins panting, holding your head even tighter. His shirt has ridden up over his navel, and the sight nearly drives you crazy.

“I’m going to-” you don’t let him finish, picking up the pace until Loki jerks forward, spilling his seed with a curse.

There’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth before you can swallow it all. Your chests warms at the idea of part of Loki being inside you. You’ve barely leaned back to catch your breath before he’s pulled you up and into a kiss, groaning as he tastes himself on you. Your body becomes slack, relying entirely on Loki’s for support. 

“You’re insatiable.” he says into your mouth. He picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Loki carries you to a nearby counter and sets you atop it.

Your dress is hiked up to your hips now, leaving you covered in just a g-string. As Loki begins to take it off, you stop him.

“Wait.” you say. He stops, giving you a surprisingly soft look. “I just...” you splay your hands across Loki’s strong chest. “I want to see you too.” your voice is quiet. 

Loki places his hands over yours as you unbutton his shirt. You slide it down his shoulders, then trace his collarbones and curve of his abs. Under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, Loki looks even more pale than usual, the sharp contours of his body illuminated and exposed.

You never grow bored of the sight of him.

Now fittingly bare, Loki’s fingers travel up your thigh and stop at your sex. Similar to you, his gives you a few strokes over your thong before he rids you of it in one fluid motion. He angles himself to you, his tip teasing your entrance as he smirks at your noises. 

He enters you all at once. You bite down on his shoulder, nails raking down his back. You hold tight to Loki as he sinks into you, moving in a slow and almost tantalizing way. There’s sweat on both of your bodies, and despite your exposed state, you feel yourself heat up. 

Loki’s rhythm increases as you adjust to him. His hips move back and forth, and your bodies move in tandem, made for each other. You coo into Loki’s ears, moaning about how good he felt. How breathless he made you, how only he knew how to make you feel this way. No one knew your body like Loki.

The coil inside you finally snaps as Loki hits a pleasure spot deep inside you, and you let out a cry into his shoulder. Loki cums not long after, his body going tense as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

He holds you, rubbing your back as the aftershock rocks through your body. You shake, exhausted and satisfied as you close your eyes for a moment of rest. 

Eventually, Loki sets you back down on the floor. He tugs your dress down over your legs, and tucks stray pieces of hair behind your ears. You watch him wordlessly, allowing him to take of you.

After Loki is dressed himself, he gives you the jacket of his suit to wear.

“Oh.” you look down, remembering he ripped your dress. You slip the jacket on, buttoning it to protect the little modesty you have left.

He takes your hand, leading you to the door and back into the party. Before he does, you stop.

“I’m sorry about our fight.” you say. Loki lets out a chuckle, making you feel silly.

“Oh, sweet girl. After a tryst like this, I can assure you all is forgiven.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 10

Cult girl and Hannibal hit a bump in the road with the adoptive couple.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: pregnancy and childbirth, misogynistic language

“A girl!” Archie exclaimed, trying to smother his smile with his hand and failing. He squeezed Max’s hand so hard, you could hear his knuckles cracking. “Max, we’re going to have a daughter.” 

"Don't get excited yet, babe." Max said, clenching his fist trying to heed his own advice. "We still have another trimester and a half. A lot of things could go wrong."

"Ah, so you're a pessimistic pragmatist!" Hannibal said, bringing in a few wine glasses and a bottle. "A common symptom of general anxiety."

"Can you at least try to not psychoanalyze our guests within the first ten minutes?" You laughed.

"I could, but it would make for a dreadfully boring evening." Hannibal said with a smirk. He effortlessly popped the cork out of the bottle. "Champagne, gentlemen?"

"Please and thank you." Max said, reaching for a glass.

Archie playfully swatted his husband's arm, maybe a little too forcefully. Max retracted. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"I'd say it's pretty rude to drink when the lady of the house can't." He folded his arms and looked back at Hannibal. "No thanks, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal smiled and began to pour. "I admire your dedication to politeness, Mr. Thomas-Park, but I insist."

Max accepted the champagne. "See, he insists."

"Oh, come on." Archie gestured to you. "Don't be a shit. She's not drinking so I'm not drinking either."

"We aren't?" Max raised his eyebrows and smirked. "My dearest, yesterday you drank your weight in rumchata rootbeer floats to see if the caffeine and alcohol would balance each other out."

"Well, did it?" You asked.

Archie's face grew hot. "...no."

"I'll have to try it myself, once I get this parasite out of me." You said, sipping on your water and feeling, admittedly, a bit contemptuous that everyone else could drink.

"And does the parasite have a name?" Hannibal asked. "Have you considered it?"

Archie and Max exchanged glances. "We were thinking... Theresa Anne."

You choked on your water. The couple looked at you in surprise. You coughed, trying to find a way to make your objections known in the nicest way possible.

You pursed your lips. "Can you maybe pick a different name?"

"Well, it's not set in stone, of course." Max pushed his glasses up his nose. "Why?"

"Theresa and Anna..." You placed your water glass on the table. "Those are my cousins' names. They made my life absolutely miserable."

Archie's eyes widened. "Oh man, I'm sorry. If we had known-"

You shook your head. "There was no way you could have known-"

"Could you possibly, maybe think about it a different way?" Max piped up, his voice noticeably harder. "Like, we're naming our daughter after Mother Theresa?"

"Excuse me?" You raised an eyebrow.

"You're excused." Max countered.

Archie put his hand on his husband's shoulder. "Max, don't-"

"--I just don't believe you should get final say in what we name our daughter."

You took a step back. "You can believe whatever you want, but you're not the one growing a human from scratch, are you?"

"Max, it's fine." Archie cut in. "We can pick another name."

"With the amount of money we're paying you, I should hope I get to at least name my child what I want."

Hannibal was noticeably not holding you back. You briefly looked over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of him just standing aside, watching you. Observing you.

"I don't think you get it." You clenched your teeth. "I am not being torn apart and rearranged inside to make a new woman for some pompous finance bro to name her after the person who tortured me all my life."

Max crossed his arms. "And I'm not paying a sugar baby for her opinion on what I get to name my daughter."

"Max!" Archie scolded.

You shoved past him and headed for the kitchen. Suspended by a magnet on the fridge was a check for fifty thousand dollars. You snatched it down and brought it back to the dining room.

"You absolutely are not." You said, ripping up the check in front of him.

Archie winced in anguish as he watched the little pieces of paper flutter to the ground.

"Thank you for inviting us." Max said, through gritted teeth. "But we have to go."

"Yes. Yes you do." You said, trying your best to imitate Hannibal's face-melting glare.

You watched the two of them leave. Hannibal began to follow, but you grabbed his arm and kept him at your side. You wanted to let these ones leave.

"Shame." Hannibal said. "I quite enjoyed their company."

The next while was spent in mutually uncomfortable silence you hesitated to break. Hannibal did it himself.

"Would it be racially insensitive to turn Max into a Korean stone bowl dish?" Hannibal, whom you'd just noticed was flipping through a cookbook, posed.

You turned the sink off and placed the freshly-cleaned wine glass on the drying rack. "I don't want to eat Max."

"That's quite unlike you, darling." He said with surprise. "You usually love eating chauvanist pricks like him."

You groaned to convey that at least on some level, you agreed. "Yeah, but death is the easy way out. This way he has to live with the shitty thing he did."

"That's an excuse." Hannibal said, seeing right through you. "You just don't want to do that to Archie. You liked him a lot, didn't you?"

"You didn't?" You objected. "Don't pretend you didn't."

"I'm not pretending, darling." He assured you. "But Archie was a lot like you in the same way Max was like me."

You stayed quiet, too proud to admit he was right.

"We selected an adoptive couple in our own image."

You folded your arms. "That we did."

"Perhaps it's time we consider that we will never find an adoptive family that meets our standards." He posed. "That the only couple suited to raise this child is... you and I."

"Or we lower our standards." You said, only half-jokingly.

"Oh, [F/N]." Hannibal chuckled. "You know that's not an option. For either of us."

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 5

Previous chapter links:

Afterglow chapters Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader CHAPTER FIVE

Sometimes, the universe works in different dumb ways. You're one of the few lucky people if you get what you want, and one of those who aren't; the ones who run out of luck every damn time. There's nothing more miserable than finding what you're not looking for, meeting the right person at the wrong time (or vice versa), getting the wrong take out food, or riding the wrong cab.

Unlike your first cab ride, this one was different. There was no loud music, no speeding, no overtaking, and no yelling -- definitely not what you needed right now. See how the universe works in different dumb ways?

If Bucky wasn't hungover right now, you would've ran all the way from White Wolf to the bar. God, how much did he drink last night? After thirty minutes, the cab finally stopped in front of the bar. Bucky paid a generous amount. "Keep the change." He said casually before stepping out of the cab.

Without second thoughts, you walked the steps down that lead to the door of the bar. In front of it were sealed boxes and cases of different kinds of liquor -- beer, champagne, wine, whiskey, vodka; you name it. Luckily, you always had the bar keys in your pockets in case of emergencies. Lucky for Steve, one of his employees just lived right above the bar and had the freedom to come down any time she wanted. Steve lived all the way in Brooklyn. Why he chose to work in the Upper West Side, you might never know. He was a pretty secretive person. No one from the bar staff knew anything about his personal life -- except that his family was from Rhode Island (perhaps).

"That's a lot of boxes." Bucky caught up with you. "Good thing I'm here."

"Please." You scoffed. "You're still hungover." I bet he couldn't even carry one small box, and even if he could, he'd just spill them all over the floor. But you didn't really know Bucky. You just knew him from Peter's stories. So, when he carried two big boxes at the same time right before you opened the door, the shock came over you. You wondered, spending all his time partying and drinking, where he stores all the alcohol he consumes.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Bucky asked.

"Just right behind the counter." You replied. "If you need some help, let me know."

"I got it all, doll, don't you worry." He chuckled, placing the boxes on top of the counter then jumping over it to reach the other side. You rolled your eyes and got more of the boxes that were sitting lonely outside. You put a stopper right between the small gap between the floor and the door. "Nice place you got here!" You heard Bucky yell amidst the city noises. "Different kind of bar."

"You mean not like the kind of bar you go to?"

You heard him chuckle. "Yeah, that. This one's kind of vintage."

"Yeah." You replied, sticking your head out by the door frame. "Like you!"

He gave you a small chuckle. The bar did give off some vintage mood -- that was why it was a bar for everyone. The kids were now discovering and loving all kinds of vintage stuff, people in their fifties come here 'cause it reminded them of their time, and some are just curious.

On the inside of the bar, everyone was completely shut out from the outside. There were no windows, only color-stained glasses on the wooden walls near the ceiling. You can never tell day from night inside unless you look at the wall clock.

You pushed some of the boxes on the floor. You didn't have enough upper body strength to carry them all the way to the counter. By the time you reached Bucky, you carried the boxes one by one and placed them on the counter, then he carried them over to the other side.

"So vintage." He commented once again. "You even got a jukebox. Does that even work?" He motioned towards the jukebox.

You sensed he wanted to try it for himself so you told him he could give it a little push. He smiled and jumped over the counter once more. "You don't always have to jump, Bucky." You showed him the wooden counter pass-through he could easily open but his focus was set on the jukebox. He found the plug and waited for it to light up.

"Cool. Just like they do in the movies."

"Of course. What did you expect when you plugged that in?" You carried one box to the counter and stopped near the jukebox, leaning over it. "Besides, didn't you guys have this during your time?"

"You make it sound like I came from the fifties."

You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms. "So, what did you guys have?"

"Cassettes." He mumbled.

"We had iPods. But at some point I think we did have cassettes, then the CD, then the iPods. Still doesn't change the fact that you're basically a dinosaur." Then you made a roaring sound which you thought was the sound of dinosaurs.

"That's not how a dinosaur sounds like, Aria."

"Of course, you'd know." You teased before going back to get some more boxes.

Bucky started to push some buttons until a mellow song played. "It's been a long, long time." He mumbled.

"What?" You asked and stopped pushing the boxes.

"The song. It's named 'It's been a long, long time.' A buddy of mine's favorite song. He and his girlfriend used to dance to it. Haven't heard this song for a long time. Quite nice."

"It is nice." You commented. "But it's too dramatic. Put some Beatles on!"

He chuckled and pushed more buttons until a song from The Beatles played.

You resumed moving all the things inside. As the boxes got heavier, assuming they were mostly the new plates and glasses, Bucky removed his polo shirt and dropped it somewhere. He was still wearing the tank top he had yesterday. "Remind me to buy Peter some new clothes."

"You're really gonna buy him new clothes?" You grunted, carrying a heavy box on the counter, passing it to Bucky.

"Yeah." He made a face, clearly struggling with the box. "I kinda destroyed what was half in his closet."

"I heard, yeah." You replied while walking to the front door to get the cases.

"You got some more back there?" Bucky yelled.

"It's the last one. I got it."

For the next hour, you and Bucky spent unpacking and placing everything where they were supposed to be. You had a few phone calls from Peter, most were just him checking up on Bucky. You promised to tell him you'd tell the whole fiasco at the White Wolf when he gets here in the bar.

"I'll be there as fast as I can." Peter replied before hanging up. You told Bucky about the phone call and he mumbled something under his breath you couldn't quite decipher. You decided to leave him be as he unloaded the last box.

Before you could even ask about the mean drink he was supposed to make, he emerged from behind the counter, holding up two bottles in his hand. "You up for some drinks?"

"As long as you pay for it."

On his hands were two expensive unopened bottles. As long as they were still half full and paid by Bucky, you wouldn't get in any kind of trouble with Steve.

"I got you, doll. Don't worry." He popped both of them open and grabbed two cups and a shaker as you sat down one of the stools, shaking off the nickname he'd been giving you ever since you arrived here at the bar.

You barely paid attention to the song still playing on the jukebox as you watched Bucky make his supposedly mean drink. He started to tell a story about how he learned to make his own drinks. Unlike Peter, he didn't bother to beat around the bush. He kept everything short and precise: A bartender friend of his taught him how to make drinks then experimented on his own in his penthouse where he had a mini bar just for himself, which was inside his own office. Odd, you thought. Most people would have them on the corner of the living room, with wine glasses dangling on hanging wine holders and shelves full of liquor. Bucky's mind worked in a different way.

Bucky's very short story made you wonder of all the other classic Bucky stories you've been told -- the long ones Peter would tell you. You wondered if they were only adventurous and wild in Peter's words. Would they have been different if you'd heard them from Bucky?

"I'm gonna name this drink after you." Bucky snapped you out of your train of thought.

"What?"

"This one." He carefully  handed me the drink. "I made it based on your personality."

"Bucky." You chuckled, gazing at the drink before me. Then returned it to him. "You don't even know me."

"And to think we were just engaged a while ago." He pursed his lips and leaned on the bar counter, then licked his lower lip. You tried your hardest not to give a quick glance at it but you obviously failed, so you stared at the drink in front of you once again.

"This drink is basically your judgement about me." You replied.

"It's a good judgement." He retorted. "Trust me."

"You're gonna pay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." He playfully rolled his eyes. "Go on, try it."

Before you could even take a small sip, someone came in the door and your instinct was to say: "Sorry, we're closed right now" but it turned out to be Steve wearing denim on denim and a cap.

"Steve!" Quickly, you gave Bucky the drink he made you, then he hid it behind the counter where Steve could not take even a small peak. "Hey, I thought you were with your family."

Steve managed to catch his breath, leaning against the wall while keeping his eyes on you. "I have been calling you for the past few minutes. I thought you didn't make it here."

Your eyes widened, taking a quick glance at your phone which was on top of the bar counter. On the bright screen were a bunch of missed calls from Steve. You gave him an apologetic look and he just sighed as he walked towards the counter. Then, he caught a glimpse of Bucky who was right behind you.

"Right, right." You shook my head. "Bucky, this is Steve. He's my boss. And Steve, this is Bucky. He's Peter's stepbrother. He's just helping me out with the boxes."

There was an odd exchange between the two for a second or three. A knowing look. But you shrugged it off when Steve shook Bucky's hand over the counter. "Bucky. Nice to meet you."

Steve nodded. "Aren't you the owner of White Wolf?"

"That's me." Bucky chuckled, withdrawing his hand back after the friendly handshake.

Steve focused his attention back to you. "You could've called me y'know."

"It's okay. Bucky came to help. Besides," you gave Bucky a side glance, "he owes me."

"Zip it, doll."

You laughed, looking at Steve. "Aren't you supposed to be at your family gathering?" you asked, practically shooing Steve away, not wanting him to see Bucky making drinks behind the counter.

"Yeah, well I thought -- "

"Go, Steve. We're basically finished." You stood up and walked Steve out the door. Bucky yelled a simple goodbye as we walked.

"So," Steve whispered once we were at the door, "are you two..."

You gave him a look of disbelief. "What? No, no, no, no, no. We're not. We just met."

"That's what they all say."

"Rogers." You grunted as you opened the door. "Go."

"Wow, so eager to get me out of here. Are you gonna have sex on the floor?"

"Steve!"

"Please, don't have sex on the floor."

"No, we won't. Now go."

Steve laughed as he walked up the steps and hailed for a cab. "You say that now, Aria. Just remember to clean up afterwards."

[pinkchanelbag]

— there’s no one else; chapter two. 

a jean kirstein x reader mafia au.

last | masterlist | next

series summary: a boy caught in a web with his survival depending on balancing niceties between his predators. a prim girl on thin ice that leads down the path of least resistance. no one too close and no one too far, no allegiance unquestioned, and no child whose value and future goes without evaluation like a playing card that determines their worth. to be destined for big things is more like being doomed to them, but that’s the way it goes. it’s just family matter.

chapter summary: the party begins.

wc: 1.9k.

cw: still nothing lol

note: putting this out short notice cause it’s JEANBOYS BIRTHDAYYY BABYYY anyway enjoy heeheee and my apologies for the slow plot thus far i swear it picks up trust me bro.

the venue is obnoxiously grand. the garden is more akin to a football field than anything else. there is no central lighting, but rather pure white string lights everywhere, everywhere. tucked behind and underneath tables and wrapped around trees and laying in the overhead greenery and in the bushes that act as walls. wherever you look, your eyes are strained, and you’re sure the dining hall can be seen from the moon. 

speaking of the dining hall, the organizers cleverly blocked off the front entrance to the building so that one is forced to walk the expanse of the entire garden—surely to ooh and aah at its elegant taste—in order to get inside through the back door entrance. in other words, having to greet every single member of the family before so much as putting your clutch down. 

you apply a friendly, attentive expression to your face each time pieck stops to greet someone new, having mastered the art of being engaged but not so engaged it’s troublesome, while in reality being completely disengaged in any way. as pieck converses with a bulky man drinking wine and you pick apart the key points (“we don’t got the ammo to make deals with top contractors—legal team in shambles—not good to have a weak spot”), really you are letting your eyes wander over the shrubbery which has been trimmed to perfection. yes, the lights are a pain and the band is too loud so early in the event, and there is not enough walking space between the bushes so people squeeze together to reach the large clearing of the garden. a perfectly obnoxious party, except you can’t help but appreciate the greenery. somehow, it is the only thing about this evening that doesn’t seem ridiculous. or maybe you’re just unusually irritated tonight. 

your eyebrows knit so slightly at this realization. why are you being so disagreeable? impatience and intolerance seem to grow in your chest for no particular reason. you make a note to identify the source of your mood, and quickly resolve it. there’s work to be done.

karina braun is a kind, opinionated sheep of a woman. she is liked by all, and not because she’s particularly easy to like, but rather because she’s hard to hate. stuck in her times and not having much intellectual value, she is possibly the most important woman in all the families. being the mother of reiner braun and the head of the braun-galliard family, gives her luxury without responsibility. you’ve only met her once before, and she possessed the kind of ignorance many privileged older women have. but still she’s kind, so you can’t justify how she makes you weary. 

her birthday, funnily enough, constitutes one of the very few gatherings that frowns upon trying to discuss family matter during the events, unlike a young girl’s birthday. it has to do with respect, you suppose. 

you spend your first half-hour at the party hovering around pieck as she makes small talk with associates, becoming increasingly nervous at your lack of breakthrough in communication with the family. you know the most important thing is your encounter with karina, and that will open up further talks with others, but you stall to approach her, imperceptibly steering pieck further away from the centre table where the older woman sits. not yet. 

“are you going to keep leading me through the same semi-circle, or are you just going to go talk to her?” pieck asks calmly. you curse her intelligence in your mind. 

“i’m just nervous,” you murmur, smiling politely at a group of men at a distance that eyes you like the business deal you are. 

“you should be, but that doesn’t change that you have to do it.” your eyes flick to look at the woman beside you for a moment. her expression is not encouraging or consoling, nor is it unsettling. it’s fitting. what you and pieck have is less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. often you feel as thought she’s reading your emotions like an open book, which can be scary considering how many of them you really hide. but if and when she sees them, she doesn’t seem to care, whether they’re incriminating or worthy of sympathy. she sees you, and that is all. it’s not a comfort, nor a curse. 

“what are you waiting for?” she says, but it’s a genuine question rather than a push to complete the task at hand. you realize you’re waiting for porco. you want porco at your side. you want his strength and his jagged-edged ambition, and the forcefulness that makes you do the things your heart has no energy for.

“i just think it would be better if the boys were here,” you breathe. again, pieck sees your meaning, and your fright, and leaves it be. 

for the next eternity, you drink champagne and stretch back your memory to know if all parties are this boring once you become an adult, or if the braun family has a particular talent for making you crave the sight of paint drying. the closest thing to entertainment—and not the hired folk who attempt to call themselves singers—is gabi’s voice, which can be heard no matter where in the garden you stand. she tells stories, strikes up arguments, and gathers food and drink with her friends, all at top volume. for some reason, you don’t find amusement in this either, and really start to worry about this attitude problem you’ve got this night. to add on, porco’s meeting seems to stretch painfully long. it was a short-notice meeting, which either meant something very very good or very very bad—more so when he told you he was being picked up for it by reiner, colt, and annie. some of the most important family members gathering for an emergency meeting means trouble. your anxiety bubbles in your stomach, and you worry that your not approaching the woman of the hour is reaching a point where it might be seen as—rude. 

the guests are alerted that dinner is ready. it’s not long before each person has situated themselves along the tables that line the large garden. the seating plan is loosely maintained, but you have nowhere near the entitlement to mingle among other tables. you find yours and stay at it, and it’s only then that you get an idea of just how many people are at this event. each table is packed, holding roughly six people, and there are too many to count in the chaos, but they create a semi-rectangle in three respective rows. you make out countless bodies but few faces, just an endless sea of tuxedos and lovely dresses. at the front of the garden is the head table, where karina sits alone save gabi’s bouncing body going back and forth. your table is is only a few feet from hers, but you take a seat that puts your back to her front so you don’t make the unforgivable mistake of accidental eye contact. you’re to sit with porco, and his table—the galliard table—is the one closest in importance to the braun table. you are the only one at the table, further reminder of porco’s tardiness. the longer you fiddle with the white cloth on the surface, the more you worry about what exactly the meeting could mean. 

and then pieck comes and sits across from you without a word. as always, you know it’s only family matter—the concern that you look out of place—motivating her and not your obvious discomfort, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

as the servers stream into the garden like white-clad troops armed with dome platters, a champagne glass’s unmistakeable ding ding ding catches the attention of the guests. a table near karina’s opposite side, not quite flanking her but near enough to display some importance. a man stands with his glass raised, looking unfitting for the position with the way his arm hesitantly dips and re-straightens. bertholdt, yet another notable name in braun-galliard (and it’s your job to know all the names), seems to be the only person around able to give the welcome speech. it’s easy to listen only selectively to the announcements and shoutouts, disregarding all the thank yous and remember whens and listening in for honored guests (who are honored because they’ve proven themselves useful). luckily for you, bertholdt’s clumsy speech has a clear distinction between the two categories, his eyes downturned to cards in which he lists off important guests and whatever thing they did to end up on he list before him. 

“a special welcome to general theo magath of the mexican military, who has been so generous to the family’s trade routes…” bertholdt’s words are careful, partly because of the nature of the things he is sharing, but also because all his actions have been careful since his fall from grace. formerly one of the most reliable heavy men in the family, bertholdt’s reputation was shot to hell when an important—very important—family member was killed on his watch. despite having happened years and years ago now, it took extensive efforts to just convince the higher-ups that he wasn’t in bed with the killer. it’s common knowledge that bertholdt’s incident was the first and last time someone “had it easy” from braun-galliard due to his close friendship with reiner himself. 

“an especially relieving guest to see here tonight—“ 

and—finally—the stragglers stalk into the clearing. like most others, you hear of their arrival from the ripple of murmurs long before you see them, seeing as their whereabouts are blocked off by tables and bushes. a few people stand up, but are quickly beckoned to sit down again and redirect their attention to the speaker, who clears his throat nervously. 

“carry on, bertholdt,” reiner’s affecting voice breaks through the space, and it’s enough to settle the audience, or at least have them pretend to pay attention while the late-comers shuffle through the outskirts of the tables to find their seats. bertholdt proceeds slowly. 

“…a person i’m sure we will all come to rely on during this chaotic time…”

you catch the first glimpse of porco as he turns the final corner of the rectangle, reiner walking before him and colt and annie just behind. reiner is the first to arrive to his table, the invitees seeming to hold their chests a little taller for the family’s true head—in every way except on paper—as he slides into his seat and presses a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

“…a great legacy behind him and a bright career ahead, and we’re surely glad he’s kicked it off in our company…” bertholdt goes on. you and porco’s eyes meet, and immediately you know something is the matter; you’re just not sure if it’s fury or ecstasy in his gleam. 

colt and annie find their seats in the table just after yours, and finally porco is near enough to see—and ignore—the look of alarmed curiosity on your face. he arrives to the table, giving pieck a look of “we’ll talk later,” and briefly stopping behind your chair. his calloused hands are on your arms for a moment, running up and down comfortingly. 

“—a happy welcome to—“

“hey, doll.”

“—jean kirstein.” 

and your eyes flick away from porco’s and into the crowd of faceless bodies, and the anxieties that kept your brain buzzing with life halt and collapse to the floor of your mind like dead flies.

jean? 

[bookwormsid1015]

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by  a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist. 

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail. 

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves. 

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised.  “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!” 

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know. 

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did. 

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.