#I’m musically morphing into her at this point

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (i)

grumpy!matt sturniolo x sunshine!fem oc / reader

summary : matt is a grumpy tattoo artist and y/n books him for her first tattoo.

warnings : needles and pain (not very detailed tho)

mickey speaks : i don't have any tattoos so i actually know nothing ab the procedure lmaooo just guessing but i’ll be writing multiple parts for this. also i am very much self indulging bc i headcannon y/n as poc! but obvi anyone can read there's not much exclusivity ab how i write her, i js wanted to note that for any poc readers <3.

THIS IS PART 1 BTW!!!!

“SHITTT,” you draw out the last syllable at the rumble and screech of your car engine as you continue your attempt to start it.

eventually you throw your head backwards in defeat, annoyed by the unbudging car. this is the actual worst timing. you're supposed to be at the tattoo shop (that is a 12 minute drive from your apartment complex) for an appointment in less than twenty minutes.

you truly want to scream and border on throwing a tantrum but decide it would probably be better to find a solution than complain about the agony further.

you quickly find your roommate's contact, raising your phone to your ear and pinching your eyes shut as the vibrating ring hums through your skull.

"y/n? what's up?" andrea answers confused as you had only just walked out of the door five minutes ago.

"hi drea... so i know you have your own plans right now but is there any way you can give me a ride... please?"

you hear shuffling on the line, "mmm, where to?"

౨ৎ

“thank you again for driving me,” you smile at andrea and squeeze her hand before reaching for the door.

“yes, of course. you can call me when you’re done and i’ll head over here- m’sorry i can’t stay with you.” she replies and exaggerates a frown.

"i'll be fine, i think- i hope..."

"you will be fine. just don't stress or it'll hurt more."

౨ৎ

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you make your way into the shop (in its form of an oversized warehouse, fixed up to look stylish and comfortable- something you’d never really seen before). the rickety jingle of a small bell kindly indicates your presence to the rest of the shop.

a few people sitting in a waiting area look up before continuing their conversations (though some continued to stare as you walk by). you see a surprising amount of people crowding in a brightly decorated lounge area, housing many arcade games and a kitchenette.

you reach the receptionist desk and are greeted by a young man dressed casually, humming along to the music playing in the background of the space.

“um, hi. i’m here for my 1:30 appointment.” you state with a smile, you’re suddenly aware of how nervous you truly are.

the brunette looks over to a desktop screen with a soft scrunch of his face, “for y/n, right? huh, that’s crazy…” he rubs his chin, “1:30 was like nine minutes ago,” he looks up at you, almost like he was questioning you; who do you think you are? and why do you think you’re important enough to be late?

as soon as your face begins to morph into fear and embarrassment his own face splits into a large smile as he laughs softly. “i’m sorry- i’m such an ass but i had to- your file said you’re new clientele so i just had to fuck around.”

“you’re sick! i was fully prepared for a fucking lecture on timeliness or something,” you let out a soft laugh.

the boy comes from around the desk holding a paper and clipboard. “yeah, sorry, i’m chris,” he reaches a hand out to which you willingly return and restate your name to him, “‘m not usually up front so you probably talked to asha over the phone when booking.”

you nod and smile at the familiar name, “yeah, she was so helpful over the phone.”

“she’s awesome, i miss her,” he touches each of his shoulders then forehead before kissing his hand and pointing to the sky.

"oh my god? i'm sorry for your loss."

his eyes squint and lips pucker in confusion, "oh, she's not fired she's just on vacation right now."

"so why'd you...?"

chris cuts you off by handing you the clipboard and grabbing a pen from a cluttered mason jar on the desk as he explains, “okay, we’re just gonna have you fill out this quick consultation form; just so you and your artist will be on the same page about things.” you nod in understanding. “keep it brief, matt’s not big on reading large bodies of text,” chris laughs.

“got it,” you smile before turning to find a chair and begin writing. you truly were relieved that chris wasn’t hard on you about being late, for a second you thought you would be lectured and have to carry the guilt of dissapointing someone into a room where you'd be paying to lie in excruciating physical pain. (damn, double homecide)

the sheet had general information to fill before the questions specifically about the tattoo you’d be getting today came.

you go back up to chris once you’re finished.

“cool, follow me we’ll set you up with matt.” he leads the way and your nerves are suddenly back as it's feeling more and more real with each step. you pacify your thoughts by looking around at the many images and messages written in sharpie along the walls of the hallway. there's also plenty of hanging shelves around with vintage trinkets and succulents that compliment the space around.

chris reaches a curtain and dips his head past as if he were checking for something before giving you a chance to see. you notice the small "Matt" embroidered on the black curtain. chris then opens it wide enough for the both of you to walk into the surprisingly large space.

(who you can only assume to be) matt sits comfortably in a wheeled desk chair, legs spread. his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he holds his head up with two of his fingers, as his middle finger grazes his irritated mouth with a stern look on his face while he scrolls on his phone.

he doesn’t move his position when he looks up at the two of you.

“alright! matt this is y/n,” chris motions between you two. matt hums, placing his phone on the desk and placing his hand out expectantly for the clipboard. chris goes to hand it to him and whispers, “fix your face, jackass,” then turning around to leave you some reassuring words, “good luck y/n, the tat’s gonna look amazing.”

but chris doesn’t see matt exaggerating a large, sarcastic smile from behind him in defense of chris’ words (he immediately drops it though). something that would make you at least giggle if you weren’t so nervous.

“thanks,” your voice is a little hoarse as you haven’t used it in some time. matt watches the boy leave before looking over to you. he rolls the chair closer, reading over your short (as requested) responses.

“you can sit down.” he forms it almost as a question like are you going to sit down or do i have to direct you to do everything?

you sit on the black cushioned bench, lined with a disposable white cloth and begin to fidget with your fingernails as matt goes over your paperwork quietly.

“''kay, so you’re getting a small hello kitty on your lower hip?” he summarizes while checking and signing a few lines on a paper.

“yeah, um, i told asha over the phone that way you could have it sketched already- she told me that’s best and saves time for the both of us.”

his response is a slowed nod and a breathy, “yep,” as he rolls over to his desk and places the clipboard on the surface before opening a drawer and digging through it.

you gaze around the room and wonder if he decorated the space himself or if he wasn’t the type to be bothered enough to add personal things to his work area. almost all the posters are of music artists or tattoos, the most personal things you see are a small picture frame on his desk and a pokémon plushie sat on a chair in the corner of the room. all of which just pose more questions in your working brain.

you notice him switching to a different swivel chair that is lower to the ground and bringing himself (as well as a moving table with already prepared supplies) closer to you.

you’re nervous again. even after your roommate and older brother have both given you advice on first tattoos and the pain expected you’re still finding yourself scared of what to expect. your ear piercings would have nothing on this.

“first tattoo?” matt clarifies, as if he could read your mind. you nod and go to speak but stop when he gestures for you to lay back on the cushion.

you’re sure that he only was searching for a quick confirmation from you and is not too interested in your life or what brings you here but you’ve found that talking relieves your own stress and you absolutely cannot just lay there and only speak when spoken to.

“yeah, i guess m’nervous. i just hope i don’t, like, die from pain or hate the outcome or curse myself in a couple years for the placement- but it's not that i'm doubting that it'd be cute. younger me would be screaming at the fact that i'm even here..." you pause just for a second. "but then again i'm not sure how much forty year old me will appreciate it. so i guess i just don’t know. you know?”

you lean yourself up to get a look at matt, only to realize he has airpods in and simply has not been listening or interested in you (just as you expected). he’s moving his head the smallest amount to the beat as he works on his sketch.

he notices your movement though and takes a headphone out of his ear, “are you okay?” is all he asks.

a pretty broad question. and an anxiety inducing question to ask a girl who's been questioning her decisions as much as you have. you hope you’re okay. will you still be okay when this (mostly) permanent decision is etched into your skin forever? is he okay? will he give you any sense of encouragement or comfort during this process? are tattoo artists typically like this or are you just considered especially needy clientele?

“yeah, i just was- like, curious, i guess.” you mumble a little and internally hate that you feel so insecure in this situation. so out of control.

“was just adjusting my sketch to be a smaller. nothing crazy happening over here.” he shrugs. “you can go ahead and pull your shirt up, though. i’m just gonna clean the area and prep before inking.” he explains to you very straight and to the point.

you fall back into place and obey, inching your shirt up further to expose your lower stomach. you drape your arms over your face to gain composure as you hear matt rip some packaging.

the coolness of the cleaning pad sends your stomach butterflies and you try to not think too hard about the fact that matt’s hands will be on your lower stomach and hip for a good length of time.

eventually matt speaks to you again, “i’m starting so if you’re feeling the need to get the fuck out you gotta do it now or for forever hold your peace.”

you smile a little at his dry joke but when you turn your head to see him fully serious you blink, “no, i’ll be fine. thanks though.”

he just nods his head and goes to put his airpods back in before you’re interrupting again, “wait. whatcha listening to?”

he’s suprised by the question. his clients rarely get too involved in what he’s doing. mostly because he does a great fucking job no matter how few words he may utter over an entire session. there's a mutual understanding there that he's never had to speak up about to anyone. other artists use a strong bond or charisma to secure returning customers but matt finds there’s nothing better to display than his pure talent and passion for his craft. that’s how he keeps clients. they ask and he will always deliver; and that’s how he particularly likes it. no questions and minimal conversation.

the sound of the tattoo gun begins and just for your sake he decides to answer the question without malice, “just some frank ocean instrumental tracks." he places his hands back onto your skin, "don’t start moving.”

you pinch your eyes shut and squeeze your forearms as soon as the initial pain takes over. it’s a feeling you can only describe as a needle poking into you a trillion times at once. which is literally what's happening to you.

you’re not oblivious to matt’s disengagement with your attempts at conversation but you need him to continue to speak to you or else you’ll think too much about the needle actively puncturing you. “oh yeah? i’ve never listened to him before…”

“surprising. he’s pretty big.” matt mumbles slightly, focusing on his work far more than his slight interest in your knowledge of frank ocean.

“mhm. i’ve been meaning to give him a listen. could you share?”

matt’s eyes just move to look up at your face as he tries not to beg you to just be quiet and let him do this so that you both can leave within an hour. “i’m good on that.” he returns to tattooing.

“huh? you can’t share music?”

“i would prefer not to but-” he doesn’t even know why he’s continuing to fuel this anymore.

“what if i add a pretty,” you pause to wince a little as the needle moves lower, “pretty please?”

“i’m almost done,” he mumbles the lie.

“matt?”

he pauses for only a second to glance over to you. he’s met with a face scrunched in pain with an attempted smile that he thinks makes you look more like a doped up hippie than the cute effect you were going for. you plead after his glance, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes and sets his tattoo gun down, reluctantly swiveling over to his desk. before you even realize what exactly he’s doing there’s a airy beat of drums and piano playing from a small speaker in the room.

once he's back over to you he can tell you’re smiling even though your face is mostly covered by your arms. “thank you, i needed a distraction or something.”

he mumbles an “mhm” and returns to his work.

౨ৎ

there was generally no talking after that. only a few moments you observed (due to your need to cling on to literally anything going on besides the pinching at your lower side) that were any indication of matt's quiet presence. you noticed when matt would softly hum the lyrics to the instrumentals over the speaker and when you began to tap your fingers out of boredom and nerves, to which he simply placed his hand over them to force them flat while muttering a small “stop.”

when matt was completely finished he asked you if he could take a picture to add to his instagram and you agreed eagerly. he then added a strip of tattoo film over a layer of protective ointment. after he helped you to fully stand he explained how to care for it and how important cleaning is because “that shit will get gunky as fuck.” and you told him that you promise to do everything he said. he also gave you a detailed list on a card for you to follow just in case you forget.

you glance down at your tattoo one last time before you begin to leave the room you’d just spent a lengthy hour of your life in. you assume matt doesn’t want much else from you until he calls your name from his desk. you turn and see him still looking at his phone before glancing up, “uh, what’s your insta handle, so i can tag you in this?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised but you are.

you agree to exchange handles with him before deciding to compliment him once more, “my tattoo is perfect, by the way. i love it so much, thank you.” you want to tell him that you hope you didn’t annoy him too much but you don’t know if that will annoy him more. so you take his nod and hint of a smile as his way of showing appreciation, keeping your own smile bright to mask the crushing feeling of someone seeming so indifferent towards you.

after walking past the curtain and through the trinket-filled hallway you’re back to the main area of the warehouse. you see a different collection of people gathered playing pool and some more huddled on a couch looking at a girl’s phone in awe. chris is busy talking with what seems to be a close friend when you walk up to the reception desk.

when his eyes find your bright expression he’s bouncing back with energy, “hey! i’m assuming it went well?" he asks.

"very well. glad it's over though, i can't lie." you laugh while taking your debit card from your purse.

"yeah, definitely not the best feeling. especially when matt's ugly face is that close to you." chris jokes and takes your card to cash you out.

you laugh along with him but assure him that matt's looks weren't an issue. he raises his eyebrows and has a growing smirk that travels to his eyes when he gives you your card back. you try not the blush at the implication, "i didn't mean it like that."

"right," he nods and chuckles softly, "well hopefully you'll be back for another eventually?" he hands you a receipt.

"i mean how could i not with such a sweet receptionist asking me? i'm sure you get everyone to come back," you joke.

chris shrugs with a cocky grin, "somethin' like that."

౨ৎ

"oh my god it's fucking adorable, what?!" andrea exclaims with a spoonful of frozen yogurt still in her mouth.

she initally begged to see it as soon as she picked you up but you dramatically told her you had just experienced the worst pain of your life and you'd need a sweet treat if you were planning to not sleep the rest of the day away. so she just rolled her eyes and demanded you show her once you both arrive at your favorite frozen yogurt shop (conveniently down the street from your apartment complex).

"i knowww," you respond and quickly pull the lower part of your shirt down with a smile, taking a seat across from drea.

"how'd it go, though? i'm curious. i've only been to warehouse 79 like once, and it was for an event."

"it was good, they were all generally kind and my guy did exactly what i wanted. i'm pretty happy."

"'my guy,' oh okayy?" she takes a bite and smirks.

"not what i meant! i should have just said matt. like, the guy who did my tattoo-"

"mhmm."

"stop.” you smirk, “i mean he was not ugly by any means but he seemed to not care to get to know me at all. which is fine, he's not paid to care about me. but i doubt i'll ever see him again." you shrug taking another bite of frozen yogurt.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

#this took way too long #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #sturniolo triplets smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #tattoo matt n yn

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

Drunk reader meets rafe while he’s talking to his friends. Your drunken status leaves you falling asleep on his lap with him taking you back to his house so your safe

but you came right on time

pairing(s): rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption

summary: after having one too many drinks, you find yourself talking to outerbanks’ golden boy.

authors note: guys i’m so sorry for not updating but with school starting last week, i’m literally dying rn. i changed it up just a tad :) thank you for the request though and i really hope you enjoy!

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

you were currently sat on the couch with a cup of cheap beer in your hand, waiting on your friend to return from wherever she’d gone. she was your ride after all.

“dude, shes smokin’ hot,” you heard a boy say from your right. you then saw him point to a girl across the room. he was standing with a green beer bottle in hand while talking to another guy sat right next to you.

the boy next to you was very pretty. he also looked very troubled.

“are you okay?” you drunkenly asked, trying to provide him some sort of comfort.

his blank expression immediately morphed into one your couldn’t quite make out when he looked towards you. “what?”

you had thought it was a pretty straightforward question. “are you okay?” you repeated a little louder this time incase he couldn’t hear over the music.

he looked almost confused. “yes? why do you ask?”

you opted for a simple shrug before you took another sip of your drink. “you look upset,” you replied. “jus’ wanted to see if you were alright.” then you held out a hand in front of you. “y/n.”

he hesitantly took it. “rafe.”

“cool name,” you slurred out. once your hands were freed from one another, you leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder and cuddled into his side in desperate need of a nap.

you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to slowly find sleep.

rafe hadn’t even noticed, still engaged in a conversation with topper and kelce. but when he did, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to protect you in your vulnerable state. he gently grabbed the cup from your hand and placed it on the table along with his own. “i think ‘m gonna get going,” he alerted the other two.

“so soon?” kelce asked. “it’s just getting started.”

topper chuckled and hit the boys chest. “you gonna take her to your place or somethin’?”

“what else am i supposed to do? leave her here?” he asked with a quirked brow.

the blonde smirked. “i’m sure any other guy here would gladly take her home.”

“you’re disgusting, top,” kelce grimaced.

rafe simply rolled his eyes, not wanting to engage in a conversation with the idiot he called his best friend. he slowly stood up while making sure you wouldn’t fall over. once he was up on his feet, he lightly tapped your shoulder. “hey.”

you grumbled and stirred slightly. “what?”

“c’mon. ‘m gonna take you to my place, okay? i need you to follow me though,” he said softly, grabbing your hands and gently pulling you up on your feet. you drunkenly stumbled into his chest before finally gaining balance. “ready?” he asked as he snaked a hand around your waist for stability.

you nodded and leaned into him a little closer as you walked towards his car. once you arrived without falling over, he opened the passenger door and helped you get in and buckle up before shutting it and doing the same for himself.

fortunately, the ride to the cameron residence was short.

and to make things even better, his parents weren’t home. nor were his sisters.

with his assistance, you two had successfully made it up the stairs and into his bedroom.

“here,” he said, handing her an unopened bottle of water on his bedside table he’d placed there before he left earlier in the day. “take a seat and drink it.”

you groaned, closing your eyes as you sat down. “i don’t like water.”

his brow raised in confusion. “you don’t like water?”

you immediately shook your head slowly to avoid worsening your headache. “no. too bland.”

he couldn’t help but chuckle. “well, i need you to drink a little bit then you can head to bed.” he began to rummage through his drawers before dropping something onto the mattress next to her. “here. change into these. if you need anything, i’m gonna go get some ibuprofen from the kitchen.”

you nodded lazily and waited until he closed the door behind himself to change into the clothes.

when he returned, he knocked softly and asked a soft, “can i come in?” when he got no answer, he slowly opened the door to find you knocked out already. you were dressed in his hoodie and sweats that absolutely swallowed you. he glanced over at the water bottle as he headed to the closet, noticing you’d taken a few sips. he pulled out a soft blanket from inside and draped it over you in hopes of making you as comfortable as possible.

the thought of you not being here with him right now and having someone else take you home to do only god knows what to you was making his blood boil. it didn’t matter though. after all, you were here with him.

he grabbed out another blanket from the college and a pillow, making his bed for the night on the floor. if this were anyone else he was sleeping on the ground for, he’d be pissed. but knowing you were here and protected by him somehow just made him feel a whole lot better.

#gracie writes rafe cameron 🌺 #gracies asks and requests 💌 #rafe fic #rafe cameron x y/n #outerbanks rafe #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #obx #rafe cameron fanfiction

[slutforitoshi]

sae and rin itoshi - aphrodisiac *:･ﾟ✧

ft. sae itoshi x f!reader x rin itoshi, 18+ minors dni

cw: threesome, rin and sae literally fight over your body, f!masturbation, oral m!receiving and f!receiving, fingering, unprotected sex, cumming on face

synopsis: your hangover leads you to make the best mistake

wc: 3k

A/N: so fucking feral for this duo <3 also as for requests, i’m open to prompts but it’s not a guarantee i’ll write it T-T (please send in ideas though i’m always looking for inspo!)

you woke up with your head pounding incessantly, mimicking the music from the clubs you hopped the night before. you don’t even remember how you got home. fuck, why did you think it was a good idea to drink like you were still a freshman?

you fumble for your phone at the edge of your bed, hoping you remembered to charge it before you passed out. near the top of your notification stack was a text from your roommate.

roomie: headed back home for the weekend! i was gonna say bye but you were still knocked out lol. introduce me to your new friends again sometime, they were cute ;) 

what was she talking about? as far as you remembered you came home alone after a night out with some old high school friends that your roommate already knew. well, as far as you remembered was around 6 shots in, barely past the 1st club. 

you laid a bit longer in bed, trying to recall the events that ensued after your old friend challenged you to match her. how were you supposed to know she could outdrink any frat guy multiple times over? the night started coming back to you in flashes, like you were watching a compilation of embarrassing clips that got increasingly worse.

dancing on a table, throwing up in a bush, getting close to kissing the bartender for free drinks…was there anything you didn’t do??

the pounding in your head grew in intensity, pushing you out of bed and straight to the medicine cabinet. tylenol, tylenol, tylenol…aha there. you grab the white bottle and pop the cap open, downing two at once, dry (that’s how desperate you were for the migraine to subside).

the couch was your next destination. you felt the soft cushions and way too many pillows and plushes rest against you, giving you immediate relief from the aches in your body. see? i told you it was a good idea you said internally at your mom who was complaining how the couch decor was “excessive”.

you waited for the pills to kick in, to give you any relief from the persistent pressure that surrounded your temples. and it did…only to move down lower. it starts off as a slight pressure on your abdomen, then blossoming into heat. you weren’t innocuous at this point in life, and recognized exactly what it was: you were horny.

and the heat only grew, morphing into a roaring fire, with the incinerator located right between your thighs. you could already feel the dampness, threatening to leak past your folds onto cloth. this cannot be right. who gets aggressively horny during a hangover??

you begrudgingly hoist yourself up from the soft plushes, and make your way back to the medicine cabinet, starting to wonder if the tylenol might’ve been expired or something. the bottle itself looked normal, until you looked inside it. tylenol isn’t supposed to be pink.

you fish a pill out, looking for any engravings that might tell you what the fuck you ingested half an hour ago. libido-max. from the name of it alone (along with your still intensifying symptoms) you should’ve realized what it meant. nonetheless you resort to good old google to help explain.

“libido-max is an over the counter sex enhancement pill for women complete with a warming formula for maximized pleasure” your hand clasps over your mouth as you continue reading, “the recommended serving size is one pill as the dosage is quite strong.”

it dawns upon you that you took double the recommended amount. shit. you were definitely never drinking like that ever again. you contemplate texting your roommate why tf did you switch out the tylenol for female viagra, but decided against it. technically it was on you, too. leave it up to your dreadfully hungover self to swallow bright pink pills without thinking twice.

as you felt the temperature in your body continue to rise, there was only one method you could think of for relief. switching to incognito you pull up a porn site, settling on a video you thought would do. you skipped through all the bad acting in the intro, right into the action, desperate for some release. 

“harder…fuckk” the woman through your screen moans, and you could feel your clit throbbing in response. reaching down, you’re met with more slick than you’d ever encountered touching yourself. squelching noises echoed your room, growing louder than the sinful moans coming from the speaker of your phone.

your small fingers slid easily into sopping entrance, and the sensation was more than welcomed. small moans began to escape your lips as well, harmonizing with the other woman’s. you synchronized your fingers with the thrusts in the video, imagining it was you getting pounded, fucked so mercilessly by a thick cock.

after a particularly loud moan through your phone, you can feel it. like you’re at the edge of a cliff ready to drop before-

knock knock.

aand you lost it. grumbling, you exit out of the tab and pull up your already drenched panties. if it was another old lady trying to recruit you to join a pyramid scheme, you weren’t sure if you could resist slamming the door.

“look i’m not interested in-” instead of a short old woman with a fake smile, you’re met with a pair of teal eyes. two actually, now that you noticed the second figure behind him. 

“oh my gosh i’m so sorry, i thought you were- well nevermind um can i help you?” you stumble over your words, half out of embarrassment and half because you realized the two guys standing in front of you were attractive. 

“we stopped by to return your jacket” the one with light maroon colored hair says, holding up the familiar coat you left your house wearing last night. 

“shoot, thank you so much” you take the coat out of his hands, noticing that they’re veiny with long fingers. you try to ignore the flash of heat the observation causes.

“how did you know it was mine though?” you cautiously ask.

“oh she must not remember” the taller one says softly. your mind starts racing. what the fuck did you do in front of them?

“it wasn’t anything that bad” the one in front reassures you, seeing the panic settle on your face. “you just passed out in our apartment and we had to carry you here.”

wasn’t anything that bad??? you were mortified. you knocked out in some random (really attractive) guys’ apartment and they had to bring you back. well that explains how you got home last night then.

“oh my gosh i’m so sorry,” you replied, clearly flustered. the guys don’t give much of a response though, simply shrugging. you noticed that they were pretty expressionless.

“it’s ok, we live next door anyways” the green haired one says, looking to the right. “we were taking out the trash and came back to you on our couch. your roommate called you a bit after so we knew where to take you.”

ah, they must be the cute new friends your roommate texted you about.

before you could respond, a pair of cold hands were on your cheek (or maybe you thought they were cold because you were still under the effects of the pills).

“are you sick?” the owner of the cold hands was the maroon-haired one. you flinched away from his hands, turning an even deeper shade of pink. 

“n-no, probably just a bit hungover though” you nervously laughed, hoping they’d just accept that.

“you look like you’re burning up, maybe a fever?” the other one steps forward, taking a closer look at your flushed appearance. yeah it’s because you feel like a fucking dog in heat and having two insanely hot guys in front of you is not. helping. 

“no i promise i’m fine” you try harder to convince the duo, “i probably just need to rest up from last night…”

neither of them move from the front door, and the green haired one cocks an eyebrow. they clearly don’t believe you. 

“do you need any medicine? we should have flu medicine-” the green haired one starts.

“nope no flu medicine needed here” you let out a nervous chuckle, trying not to let your knees buckle. the knot in your abdomen grew significantly since you answered the door. you needed to cum, and soon.

“hey we don’t mind getting you some. i think your roommate mentioned she was leaving this weekend and you shouldn’t be home alone without medicine-” this time the maroon haired one is cut off.

“i promise i’m not sick” you exasperate, now having to lean against the frame for support (clearly not a good look for your case). the shorter guy’s eyebrows furrow in concern. both pairs of feet were still planted in your doorway, and you realize they weren’t leaving until you either accepted the medicine or told them the truth. 

looking back, the other option was clearly the more logical and less embarrassing one. you’d blame the hangover for the words that spilled out of your mouth next.

“it’s not because of a fever. i…i accidentally mistook sex enhancement pills for tylenol and took way more than the recommended dose,” your bit your lip, hoping they’d leave now that you were honest. the two look at each other, and the teal glint in their eyes served as a signal that they were thinking the exact same thing.

“there’s still a way we can help you though”

~~~

“rinn” you moaned as his fingers ghosted over your already pebbled nipples through the thin tank you had on. 

pleasantries and introductions were quickly exchanged as they kicked off their shoes and began undressing. you could hardly believe your ears at their suggestion, but you weren’t exactly in the position to refuse such a tempting offer. in fact, you were more than eager to accept.

now, you were draped over the couch, your head facing who you now knew as rin. sae was on the opposite end, marveling at the mess you made through your cotton shorts. 

“it’s like a fucking flood down here,” and he starts pulling at the waistband. 

rin continues to tease your nipples, never giving you enough friction. you were so responsive, even the slightest touch had your back arching. please, more, you beg internally. rin seems to recognize your pleads though and finally pulls your tank down to reveal the hypersensitive skin.

his lips are upon them immediately, sucking harshly, causing an exceptionally loud moan from you. from your half-closed lids, you could see sae’s eyes darken. as if unhappy how his brother could emit such a reaction from you. he was determined to do better.

you were fully exposed waist down now, and sae slowly runs a finger down the soaked slit, taking note of how you shivered from the action. he presses two fingers and is amazed at how easily they slip in, prompting him to add a third.

“fuck sae…so full” you moan out, which sae responds with a smirk before he starts moving his digits. in and out, in and out, and you could feel yourself tiptoeing the side of the cliff again. what does it for you is rin though.

“stop hogging her pussy” he says, rising from your chest. one of his hands move down, pausing precisely at your clit. as soon as he’s circling them you feel the push over the edge. 

“i-i’m cumming!” you scream out, followed by waves of intense moans. you weren’t sure if you’d ever cum so hard before. it took a minute for you to recover, only to see the brothers’ hands had left you.

“what the fuck rin. that was my moment” sae spat, clearly pissed he wasn’t the catalyst to your orgasm. 

“you should’ve been faster then” rin responds, a glare settled on his face. the warmth in your stomach was still growing, and you were still desperate for their touch.

“i want another” you whine, and teal orbs immediately snap back to you. right, the match was far from over. that was just the first goal.

they assume their old positions, except sae intends to use more than his fingers this time. it felt like fireworks the moment his lips hit your heat. the soft muscle of his tongue circled your clit, then moved down to dip inside the leaking hole. the added combination of the pill’s effects along with the sensitivity from your last orgasm had you bucking your hips which sae quickly restricted. he pins down your lower waist with his arm, and you could feel how strong he was. 

rin’s lips instead sought out yours, messily kissing them as he fumbled with his belt buckle. then his lips were off yours. a light push causes you to fall onto your back, and he pulls you forward abruptly so that your head is left hanging off the side of the couch. sae’s tongue never leaves you, moving forward with the pull. 

you see your first cock of the day, and it’s pretty. long and curved upwards, towards an insanely handsome face. you instinctively open your mouth, tongue slightly hanging out against your bottom lip.

“fuck, i could cum to this view” rin sighs before pushing his length into you. it almost immediately hits the back of your throat, but he pushes further. tears prickle from the invasion, but you refused to push him off you. not when he’s making such sounds.

breathy moans leave his mouth as he thrusts harshly. you could swear that alone made you grow even hotter. the sight of the bulge that forms at your neck every time he pushes in makes him delirious.  

sae utilizes his fingers with his free hand again, pressing three fingers into the entrance that happily welcomes them as he laps up the slick that continues to flow out. he curves his fingers just right, hitting the spot as if he’d known the exact blueprint of your body. and the second set of waves come.

“that’s right, cum hard for me”

even sae’s arm couldn’t hold you down as your next orgasm shook you, not that he minded. your move rin he mentally said, but rin had other concerns. your throat had gotten tighter, and the vibrations from your moans were pushing him to his own threshold. 

your mouth is hit with a new heat, coming from the man positioned above you. as much as he tried, he couldn’t contain it, and thick white ribbons hits your throat which you struggled to swallow all of. 

as he pulled out of your abused cavern though, his length still remained. it was as if the pill’s effects were contagious. 

sae had risen from his position, taking the time to free his own cock. thick was the first word that came to mind. it no doubt had a wider circumference than his brother’s, although a bit shorter. he uses his strong arms to flip you over, pulling your ass up near him. what a sight. he aligns himself at the entrance, eager to chase the next crash of waves.

usually rin would object to letting his brother take such a pretty girl first, but frankly, he had to take a break; fucking your throat left him breathless. instead he focuses his attention back towards your lips, laying more gentle kisses against them this time. 

sae was still full of need though, and rin’s soft kisses were starkly contrasted with the abrupt stretch of sae’s girth into you. your mind went into a haze, not knowing where to focus your consciousness as rin begins to knead at your hanging breasts. 

“taking cock so well” sae grumbles as the sounds of slapping skin grows “like you were fucking made for it.”

sae’s pace is merciless, and it persisted. you couldn’t fathom the extents of his stamina, seeing as how he didn’t even break a sweat. your voice began to grow hoarse from the repeated moans, and sae’s pride grew knowing he was the cause. 

“hey, mind sharing?” rin deadpans, growing impatient at his brother’s greed. he’s met with a glare, but sae begrudgingly pulls out, leaving you empty. you began to protest, but rin quickly reassures you.

“i’m right here. gonna fill you up real quick” he picks you up with ease, placing himself under your figure. his cock twitches as the tip prods your entrance, reveling in the way your slick coats him. he swiftly bottoms out in one push. sae’s previous work makes it easy for him to quickly pick up the pace, and you’re left an incoherent mess once again.

“f-feels so good rin” you stammer between thrusts. 

“wanna make you cream on my cock. need to feel you cum around me” he mutters

sae’s taken rin’s old position, lining his girth directly in your line of vision. you know what he wants and you happily open your mouth once again. sae begins his attack of new bruises against the back of your throat, relishing in the feeling as you hum in pleasure from rin’s length. 

harder, faster you think, desperate to dissipate the pool of heat in your abdomen.  

even with your mouth full, rin seems to understand you perfectly, hands gripping harder at your waist to help him reach new depths in you. your muscles began to involuntarily clamp around rin, a sign that you were looking over the cliff again. his thrusts also grow erratic as he’s close to his high. 

“f-fuckkk!” you exclaim, losing strength in your lower body. rin continues to pound through your climax, increasing his speed even more until he inevitably shoots strips of white into another tunnel of your body.

sae follows soon after, except he opts to pull out and mark your face instead. 

the three of you collapse on your couch, utterly exhausted from the intensity of the session.

before you could catch your breath though, you felt a familiar warmth start to pool once again down below. 

“still..still hot” you pant, overheating by the second. 

“you heard her rin,” and the brothers shift towards you again, ready for another match.

#rin itoshi #rin #itoshi rin #itoshi sae #sae #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae smut #sae itoshi smut #rin itoshi smut #rin smut #blue lock #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk smut

[sethsclearwater]

request: can I request an imagine with paul? perhaps he gets mad over something and is about to phase, but his imprint calms him down in time? ty :)

warnings: nothing really, some smutty-ish themes towards the end

word count: 2.0 k

…

you and paul had been dating for almost 4 years now, before he shifted you had some sort of friends-with-benefits thing going on that quickly turned into a relationship when he imprinted on you. you were accustomed to his short temper at this point. he rarely got angry with you and when he did, it was only because you had put yourself in some kind of danger. other people though, he got angry with quicker than the average person. 

you were out at a house party in forks with paul and some friends of yours, it was meant to be a small get-together but had morphed into a full-on house party by the time you and your friends had gotten there. you were wearing a pair of jean shorts and a black bodysuit that hugged your body in all the right ways. paul nearly had a heart attack when he caught you leaving but knew better than to try and tell you what to do so he had just huffed and helped you into the car.

you could hear the music blasting from inside the house as you stepped in, paul’s hand resting on your lower back protectively. he quickly slid his hands to rest on either side of your hips, guiding you into the kitchen with the rest of your friends. 

one of your friends, cassie, had handed you a drink and you smiled, gladly taking it from her. paul politely declined the drink cassie was handing him, letting her know that he was driving you home tonight and couldn’t drink. one of the many perks of having a werewolf boyfriend meant you always had a DD because of his inability to get drunk due to his abnormally high body temperature. 

paul sat down on one of the barstools, pulling you to sit on his lap while he talked with one of your old friends from high school. you hummed, leaning into his chest as you sipped at the drink. the vodka mostly masked by the pineapple juice cassie had put in it. 

“y/n,” cassie called softly, getting your attention, “can you come to the bathroom with me? i feel like i’m gonna explode.” she laughed and you nodded, looking up to paul who nodded and pressed a kiss to your temple before releasing his grip around your waist so you could get up. 

cassie took your hand, pulling you through the crowd of people to the bathroom. you both let out laughs when you finally reached the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind yourselves so cassie could pee in peace. 

“why aren’t any of the other boys with you guys tonight?” cassie asked as she sat down on the toilet, referencing the other boys in the pack who she’d met on a few different occasions.

you smiled, “i think they just had work or something. i don’t really know.” you explained, not sure how to explain the concept of patrol to her without blowing paul’s secret. 

“you’ve seriously gotta get paul to set me up with embry. i can’t stop thinking about that guy!” she exclaimed dramatically, both of you laughing at her confession. 

you rolled your eyes, “i’ll try, that guy is hard to get out. he’s an introvert cassie - not like you.” you laughed again, leaning off the sink as cassie got up to wash her hands. you could faintly make out the sound of yelling outside the door but decided to ignore it, chalking it up to some dumb drunk guys getting into a fight. 

she giggled, “i think i could bring it out of him. he’s definitely got a wild side.” she explained as she washed her hands. the yelling started to grow louder which caught both of your attention, “oh my god is that paul and tim?” cassie asked incredulously, pulling back the short curtains on the bathroom window to look out only to see paul screaming at your ex, tim.

before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you had the window open and were throwing yourself out it, screaming paul’s name. you hit the ground pretty hard, the adrenaline taking away any of the pain you otherwise would’ve felt as you sprinted over to your boyfriend and ex. 

“paul!” you yelled again as you got closer, quickly getting to him and getting in front of him so you were in between him and your ex.

paul ignored you, stepping around you as he continued to yell at your ex, “say it again.” he growled, towering over tim as he got up in his face.

tim smirked, looking up at paul, “i said,” he started, laughing a bit to himself before continuing, “y/n liked it better when i was fucking her.” 

before you could react, paul had both his hands against his chest, shoving him so hard he went flying back, hitting the ground and landing with a loud groan. before he could go over and do more damage, you got back in front of him, pressing your hands to his ribs as you felt him shaking under your touch, “paul look at me,” you pleaded, knowing if you didn’t get him calmed down soon he’d be phasing in front of half of forks. 

he ignored you, moving to step around you but you stopped him, cupping his face with your hands and pulling him down to look at you, “paul stop.” you whimpered, eyes filling with tears as you tried to figure out how to navigate the situation without help from anyone else who knew paul’s secret.

your whimper caught his attention and he seemed to snap out of it, looking down at you and scanning your face for any signs of injury, “i can’t help you if you shift right now.” you whispered, frowning more when you felt the wet tears begin falling down your cheeks, “please.” you pleaded, bottom lip quivering as you prayed he’d calm himself down quickly.

he let out an exhale, shoulders slumping as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, hugging you tightly as he took some deep breaths. within a few moments, the shaking subsided and paul pressed his lips to the crown of your head, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ against your hair.

you nodded, taking a deep breath yourself and looking up at him as he loosened his grip on your hips, “can you go get the keys? i wanna go home.” you whispered, paul’s thumbs brushing the stray tears off your cheeks as he nodded, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead before releasing you and heading back into the house to grab the keys.

lucky for you, he had managed to not draw too big of a crowd and the only people outside were cassie, your ex, you, and a few other people who had come out to make sure you were okay. no one was a big fan of your ex so you were relieved to see no one was concerned about him as he got up from the ground with  a loud groan.

you looked over at him, shaking your head slowly as he smiled again, stepping closer to you but cassie stepped in, placing her arm in front of you protectively, “you know,” tim started, brushing his hands off on his jeans, “i think i was right. you did like it better when i was fucking you.” 

you weren’t one for a short temper but you saw red and before you could think about a response you found yourself yelling, “shut the fuck up tim! for fuck’s sake do you ever shut your mouth?” your fist colliding with his face before you had even processed what you were doing. paul’s familiar hands came around your hips, quickly grabbing you and turning you so he could throw you over his shoulder as you continued to yell insults at your ex.

cassie also was yelling a slew of insults at him, following you and paul back to paul’s car. once tim was out of sight, you let out an exhale you didn’t know you’d been holding in, allowing paul to carry you back to the car. 

“good for you, finally putting that fucker in his place!” cassie cheered once you reached the car, both you and paul letting out shaky laughs as paul let you down and put you in the back seat with cassie. 

you took another deep breath before everything washed over you, “i can’t believe i punched him.” you laughed, looking over at cassie who was grinning.

“finally! everyone was rooting for you too! that guys sucks!” she exclaimed, both of you laughing again as paul drove you back to his apartment. 

“and the way you jumped out that window too! you jumped down at least 10 feet! i have no idea how you didn’t break anything doing that! you’re like supernatural or something!” she continued on, and you caught paul looking at you through the rearview mirror, both of you letting out knowing laughs. 

paul pulled into the parking lot, putting the car in park before turning to look at you both, “i think embry is over, cassie i don’t know if you mind.” paul started, cassie quickly cutting him off with a loud squeal as she jumped out of the car and ran into the apartment complex. 

you rolled your eyes, looking over at paul for a moment, both of you trying to figure out what to say to eachother. finding nothing, you unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed into the driver’s seat so you could sit on paul’s lap.

he sighed softly, pulling you into his chest and holding you there while he took a deep breath, “i’m sorry,” he murmured again, “i don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there-” paul started and you shook your head, shushing him as you looked up at him.

“we both lost it.” you murmured, cupping his face with your hand and sighing, “what did he say to you?” you asked softly, “aside from the fact that i apparently like being fucked by him more than you.” you added, exhaling a soft laugh.

paul shook his head, “i don’t really remember if i’m being honest with you.” he sighed, reaching up to reciprocate your touch and cupped your jaw with his hand, running his thumb along your lower lip as the two of you processed how horribly that night out just went.

you couldn’t think of anything else to say so you tugged him forward, pressing your lips to his for a soft kiss. paul quickly wove his fingers through your hair, tightening them as he pulled his lips away from yours and gently peppered your neck with kisses, only stopping when he reached your collarbone and began sucking at the soft spot there, eliciting a low whine from you as you closed your eyes and relaxed into his lap. 

“paul-” you whimpered, gasping when you heard a knock on the window, eyes flying open only to see embry and cassie standing outside the car, both laughing. 

both you and paul groaned, paul pressing a quick kiss to your lips before turning the car off and opening the passenger door, helping you out before stepping out himself. 

“so i hear you finally punched your ex?” embry mused, cassie standing next to him beaming. you rolled your eyes, paul’s hands sliding around your waist as he rested his chin on your head,

“she finally did.” paul reiterated, all of you laughing at how dumb the whole situation was. 

“nice,” embry smiled, “so are we ordering pizza or what? i say we have our own party tonight instead.” he suggested and you glanced over at cassie who was nodding, grinning from ear to ear. 

you and her both giggled, “that sounds like a good idea to me.” you mused, paul humming in agreement as you all started to head back into the apartment. 

“i told you i could bring the beast out of him!” cassie whisper-yelled to you and you laughed softly, nodding. you could even faintly make out embry’s smile from ahead of you as you headed in. 

if anyone could make you feel better, it was her. and paul. and embry.

#paul lahote #embry call #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote blurb #paul lahote x reader #twilight imagine #twilight blurb #tts #sam uley #jared cameron #jacob black #quil ateara #emily young #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #edward cullen #bella swan #rosalie hale #alice cullen #jasper hale #bella cullen

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ɪɴꜰᴜʀɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅɪᴇꜱ || ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ! ᴀᴜ ||

a/n: guess who procrastinated and ended up writing a thing :) 

In all seriousness I’m a complete and utter simp for Cole Brookstone and he is unreasonably attractive in looks personality and everything in between, especially for a goddamn lego man.

Playlist reference: https://youtu.be/j45ogZNaCis

Soulmate AU: Everyone has a soulmate designated to them since the moment they’re born. The tell-tale sign to single them out are the fact that you can hear what songs the other is listening to at any moment of the day.

Ugh. Not this again.

You groan, sitting up as the all-too-familiar sound of soft rock starts playing in the back of your mind. You shake your head slightly to rid the grogginess threatening to lull you back into comforting sleep.

You grab your headphones, immediately sliding them onto your ears as the soothing sound of chill pop music quickly drowns out the soft rock. On the bright side, it means that your soulmate exists.

On the other hand, it also means that whoever they are, they get up at ungodly hours of the day.

You stare blearily at the digital clock.

Five AM. 

You'd gotten used to the routine by now, but the days when your soulmate slept in were few and far between. Nonetheless, it's surprisingly boosted your productivity since the music started playing a couple months ago. 

"Stop it already!" 

You grumble, grabbing a pillow and covering your face with it. You press your face harder into the soft material, willing with all your might for the music to stop.

It'd been three days since it had started, and you abhorred every second. 

It was annoying, repetitive, and not your preferred genre at all.

You'd seen many compatible couples with similar music tastes, so why was your soulmate so adamant about having such lousy taste in tunes? Feeling bitter, you decide to drown it out with a playlist of your own. It was custom-made by you, and it took you ages(half a year, to be exact) to put it together.

It was a compilation of your favourite songs and the exact opposite of your soulmate's preference. You knew it annoyed them because every time you played a specific song they hated, they'd play something else you usually shut out in the first three seconds by aggressively playing the music they disliked on repeat.

It took a while, but you had finally called a truce(for now) with your soulmate by playing one of their favourite songs, and they begrudgingly did the same for you in return. 

Your friends were weirded out when you first revealed that you hated your soulmate's music taste. Obviously, they had never faced that issue. You were met with confused questions, your friends clueless and oblivious that people could dislike their soulmates. 

It was a foreign concept, but it was one that you were living. 

At first, you were excited that you could finally hear the songs your soulmate liked to listen to. 

That same excitement soon morphed into disdain for the genre they listened to. 

Now, you survey the bedroom you're in, taking note of all the scattered cardboard boxes. They were filled to the brim with various items of yours, some containing knick-knacks you've picked up randomly off the streets or in night markets. 

"Are you ready to go?" You turn your attention to your mother entering your room. She eyes the mess with a disapproving gaze, and you smile weakly. "I'll clear it up before the moving vans come?" You negotiate, hoping to escape an earful after getting out of bed so early.

She sighs. "Fine, but make it quick." She leaves the room with a pointed glare, shutting the door behind her. You sigh in relief, grabbing a roll of duct tape from your dresser and taping the boxes shut. You grab a marker and label each box with the contents inside.

 It took a while, but you were finally done. You wipe the sweat off your brow, glancing around at the now neatly packed and stacked boxes, arranging the last one in front of you. You grab the bag you had packed the night before, all the necessities inside. By now, the music from your soulmate had stopped playing(thank god for that), and you were halfway through your playlist. 

"Ready to go?" Your dad calls from outside. 

"Yeah, coming down in a sec!" You yell back, standing in the doorway. You look back at your room. The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath. 

Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your parents are waiting.

"Are your friends not seeing you off?" You're immediately greeted with a question as soon as you shut the car door, sitting in the back. You look up to see your dad looking at you with a raised brow, waiting patiently for your answer. You pause the music, and the sweet sound of silence greets your ears.

"Yeah, we already said our goodbyes yesterday." You reply with a shrug. Alicia and the rest of your friends brought you out for dinner at the pizza place you often frequented, and you spent the night giggling and reminiscing past memories. 

They dropped you off at two AM, and you snuck into the house without anyone noticing. Your friends had made you promise to text often, and you'd definitely update them as soon as you reached Ninjago City. 

Your dad seems satisfied with your answer and starts driving off. 

Your phone beeps and you pull it out to see messages from your friends. 

'Send souvenirs! Or face my wrath when we meet up again.' - Alicia

'Brooo' - Brenden, image.jpeg attached.

'Call when you reach! And make sure you drink plenty of water, you dehydrated fungus.' - Nico

You giggle at the messages, opening up the group chat to see a short video they filmed in the morning before school. You slide your headphones onto your ears, pressing play.

"Yo, have a safe trip or whatever!" Brenden's black hair is frizzy and unkempt, a clear sign that Alicia had probably dragged him out of bed for this. He's shoved aside, and the phone is grabbed, a familiar face coming close to the camera. 

"Nico, she can't see your face properly if you hog the camera!" Alicia complains, grabbing Nico by her coat and snatching the phone away. A head of red hair comes into view, a stark contrast to the shy brunette beside her. 

"Bring souvenirs!! I heard that the candy over there is to die for." Alicia demands with a bright grin, and you roll your eyes. 

"Guys, Ms. Fergurson is coming!" Nico warns. 

Alarm is apparent in all of their eyes. "Oh god, okay, we gotta go now, or we'll get caught! Bye, Y/n, love you stinky three thousand." The video is cut short, and you stifle a laugh at the sudden ending.

'Thanks guys, love you stinky three thousand.' 

You quickly type out the response and continue to scroll through Instagram for the remaining time it takes to get to the capital city. 

You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you. 

You're here. 

Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. 

"That's the school you'll be attending tomorrow." Your mum points out from the passenger seat, and you follow the direction she's pointing to. You stare at the large school on the right. 

‘Ninjago High School’

You hum in thought, already filled with anxiety for the following day. It didn't help that you were from the outskirts and had a different(and probably lacking) curriculum. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush. 

You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and your mum instantly turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything. 

She turns back around, choosing to let it pass. 

You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. "Dad, could you drop me off here?" He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk. 

You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront. 

'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'

"There's a Chinese takeout nearby if you wanna grab dinner before meeting us at the new house." Your dad has a GPS pulled up on his phone, texting you the address of your new home. 

"Yeah, I'll grab some food on the way back. Gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow." You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back. 

"See you later then, kiddo. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around." 

Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. 

"...Ninjas?" You mumble in confusion before shrugging it off. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent. Your mum usually just went along with his whims. 

The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him. 

"Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?" 

"Well, right here, of course!" You cringe at his response, realizing how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you. 

"Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?" 

"Uhm, I'm Y/n. I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man.

"Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too." 

Your brows furrow, wondering why everyone around you knew what these ninjas were, but you had no clue. "Ninja?" 

Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips, and he waves off your question. "You'll find out soon enough." He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating. 

"It should be fine then…." He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up. 

"Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics." He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over. 

The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.

Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze. 

He’s kinda cute.

You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gave you. It wasn't a good one; it was more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.

You finally find the issue you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair. 

After all, what would you be if not cursed with bad coincidence?

You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Rude.

Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. 

"She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first." Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.

"Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay." 

Damn.

You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pant’s voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier. 

Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.

"I trust Rufus. He's a good friend." 

"...Maybe." 

"Is that…? OMG! It's them!!"

You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past fifteen minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago.

You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you. 

"Oh no." You watch all the color drain from Greenie's face while Mr. Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression. 

"Not again…" You hear him mutter.

The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realize that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both. 

"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.

"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.

At least now you know Mr. Grumpy Pant's name. 

You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the Chinese Takeout store and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.

You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from the Chinese Takeout, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost fall. 

A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier. 

His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, punching his chest weakly. Unfortunately, your body's affinity to whatever created muscles in your body was little, making you regret not going to the gym after years of procrastination.

He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. You hear the gradual approach of his fangirls and realize that he had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.

"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your punches slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist. You allow him to do so, your mind blank and realization slowly dawning on you. 

Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.

Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.

Your soulmate's a celebrity?

You'd think that being a celebrity would mean that his music taste would be of at least adequate quality.

"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.

"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. 

Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you. 

"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seemed to display. "And what do you mean nauseating song? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily!"

You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper. 

"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants. 

You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realizes the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory. 

"You really gotta get more variety." Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line. 

"Speak for yourself." You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd definitely mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you actually are.

He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. "How on earth are we even going to get along…." You mutter to yourself.

Cole looks up, seemingly having heard your quiet mumbles. "I could say the same thing. I can't be with someone who can't tell the difference between good music and bad!"

How insufferable.

But you can't help ogling his arms when he props his hands on his hips, the muscle ready to tear through the thin material. You tear your gaze away, crossing your arms. Unfortunately, he catches your eyes wandering, a cocky smirk tugging the corner of his lips up. 

Your cheeks instantly warm, and you look away in embarrassment.  

"Well, whatever. Just find me when you want to learn what real music sounds like!" 

"Fine!"

"Fine then!"

With that, the conversation ends, and you both turn to face opposite ends of the alleyway, walking away from each other with flushed faces and burning cheeks.

'Wait, I didn't give him my number.' 

You realize, turning around.

"I'll find you!" Almost as if he senses your hesitation, he answers your unasked question.

You turn with a huff, “Didn’t ask!" You yell back. 

To drive home your point, you place your earbuds back into your ears and hit play on your playlist.

Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated sigh, but surprisingly enough, the tune didn't sound as vexing as before. 

It might even be a little bit endearing.

#ninjago #ninjago x reader #soulmate au #ninjago soulmate au #cole brookstone #cole brookstone x reader #lloyd #enemies to lovers #cole x reader #fic #lego ninjago #lego ninjago x reader

[jujutsukatsuki]

All Of The Drugs || K. Bakugou

|| TW: drugs, pills, depression, angst, sadness, fighting, talks of saving people ||

|| influenced by all of the drugs by the brobecks. ||

‘Save her’ his mind screamed as he watched her from across the room. The way her eyes got kinda distant and hazy and she wasn’t the girl he fell in love with. He watches the way she rubs her nose, her make up is fading away as she laughs and swings her hair around. The music at the party they are at is loud.

‘Save her’ he hears his fifteen year old self scream at him as she morphs from the fifteen year old she first met into the broken girl that he would have died for. His hand clutches the bottle of water.

‘Save. Her.’ He whispers to himself as he pushes his way through the crowd. The crimson red drips from her nose as he catches a glimpse of the girl he loved. He watches the way her throat tightens with anxiety as she sees the blood on her hands.

He pulls her into a bathroom and gently dabs at the blood that now runs down her lips and chin. He watches as her eyes focus in on him.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers as her fingers wrap around his wrist

“Don’t.” He mumbled back as he reaches into her clutch and pulls out her pressed powder. He gently reapplies it for her. He’s an expert at this point.

“Take me home.” She buried her face in his neck.

She stumbles with him to the car, her eyes get that hazy and distant look in her eyes once more. He buckles her into the car and drives to his apartment. She stares out the window as she watches the streets turn to the familiar ones that felt like home. The streets that she kissed him in the rain when she came home from rehab for the first time. The very streets that he found her slipping someone money for the very thing that got her put in a rehab. The same streets she broke his heart in.

He leads her to his apartment, the walk is silent. It’s full of things they wish they could say. All he can think about is how he hopes this will be the final time they’ll do this walk of shame. That she’ll give it up. She’ll come home to him.

The thought crosses his brain that he’s a sucker for all her lies. She’s the only person who can break his trust again and again. The only person who can tell him pretty little lies that leave him surprises every time they are a lie.

He glances at her as he unlocks his door, the way she’s slumped against the wall, staring off into space. He can’t read her mind anymore like he once could. They use to be so close.

“When’s the last time you eat?” He asked, she shrugged and picked at her black nail polish. He sighed as he led her to the kitchen. His grip on her wrist was tight like she’d fade away from him.

He rummaged through his fridge before he made her some eggs. Something light. He turned on his heels as he looked at the way her eyes drooped, the way the dark circles seemed darker tonight.

She ate as he watched. The second she was done, she put the plate in the dishwasher and they walked to the bedroom. They had a routine.

She grabbed a shirt from his closet, he unzipped the zipper of her mini dress. He pressed gentle kisses to her shoulders as he undid her strapless bra. Old habits die hard.

“Come on, arms up.” He hummed

“I got it. I’m not a child.” Her voice was weak as she raised her arms anyways, he helped her slip the shirt on before he stripped down to his boxers.

“Suki?” She asks gently as they laid face to face, staring at one another. The way she says his name is so fucking perfect to him, it makes his heart yearn.

“Hm?” He hums as he rolls over and reaches for the make up wipes on his bed side table.

“Thanks.. for… you know.”

“Hm.” He said as he gently wiped her skin down, getting rid of the products on her face. The dark circles under her eyes are worse now that the concealer isn’t there to hide them.

He remembers when they promised they’d be together forever. It was them against the world. Fuck everyone else. They were fifteen. Can a dream even exist in reality? Or does it turn to stone the second it leaves your mind?

“I love you.” She shouldn’t.

“I mean it.” She doesn’t.

“I know.” He doesn’t.

“I love you too.” He shouldn’t.

Her eyes flutter shut, she’s slowly coming down. He watches her as she starting to fall into a proper sleep. He can see the red flag that’s being waved over her like this was a NFL game. ‘DO NOT BECOME EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED WITH ME’ it screams. It’s too late. He’s trapped under her chipped nail polish.

He worries about just making it through tonight. He knows that tomorrow she’ll be back in his bed, just like she is 90% of the time.

He brushed a piece of hair out of her face and kept help but think that seven years later, she’s still all he wants. He imagines a perfect life. She’d fall asleep cuddled into him, the idea doesn’t seem that bad. She gives him hope when she shouldn’t. He never imagined himself to be a dreamer. He wants her to be happy and healthy, with or without him. Preferably with him. He wants her to love him forever. It’s a long shot. Life has a way of ruining everything.

The next morning, she’s not in his bed. He can hear the sink running. He stands from his bed and makes his way into the bathroom. He pushes the door open and sees her, hands gripping the counter, two round blue pills sitting on the counter. Her eyes have that hazy and distant look once again.

“I’m sorry.” She’s not.

“After this, I promise I’m done.” It’s a lie.

“I’ll go back to rehab.” It won’t work.

“I love you.” She shouldn’t.

He sighs gently as he runs his hands over his face in defeat.

“Why?” He asks gently, he knows why. He knows her speech.

“No matter how hard I try suki.. I can’t make this perfect. I can’t… I can’t contain it in a bottle and keep it perfect. Reality is too hard to ignore. There’s.. there’s chemicals and shit involved.”

Normally he’d sigh in defeat and force her to eat but he feels like it’s at a breaking point.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He scoffs and stares at her.

“These-“ he picks up the pills. “Are your fucking crutch.” He throws them in the toilet and flushes them.

“No!” She yells and watches as they disappear. A fight breaks out between them. She’s yelling and crying and he’s screaming at her and trying to get through to her. To make her understand. To make her want to live.

He watches as she lays down and cries on his couch. He sighs and sits on the coffee table, he rubs her back slowly as he coos that it’ll be okay.

“I love you.” He shouldn’t.

“I love you too.” She doesn’t.

‘Save her’ his mind screams. He wants too, really he does.

‘Hi suki.’ Her voice is soft as she talks, she leans her head on his shoulder as they sit on his bedroom floor in the moonlight.

‘Hi.’ He whispers and lays his head on hers.

‘I don’t think I can try anymore suki.. it hurts.’ She sniffles and buried her face in his neck.

‘I know.’ He whispers and kisses her forehead.

‘But it’s you and I against the world, okay? I don’t want you to forget that.’ She reasons and he nods again as they star gaze on the cloudy evening. He know she was sad. That she looked at herself like she was the cloudy evening when to him, she was the one bright star that shined through the dark.

“And she takes her pills and she tells her lies. And she breaks my heart and breaks her word but I still act surprised.”

#Bakugou katsuki x reader #Bakugo katsuki x reader #Bakugo x reader smut #Bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakgo x reader #katsuki x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader

[bcofl0ve]

Invisible String (Part 4)

(Part 4/9) surprise new cover (-:

ship: austin butler x fem!reader

summary: a summer fling when you were working on the set of the shannara chronicles turned your life upside down with a positive pregnancy test after austin returned to the united states. a pregnancy test, and a daughter that you never told him about. until the elvis biopic found him back in your orbit and forced you to face the music.

chapter summary: the fallout of the paparazzi showing up outside your house reveals some things, some unexpected and some not so much. 

word count: 3200

authors note: this chapter is rated m for some brief sexual ish

i live for comments and love talking about my writing, feel free to pop me an anon anytime!

xxx

May 31st, 2020

You were still shaking when you got Cora into her room, the four year old no longer half asleep like she was just a few minutes ago. A part of you hated how perceptive she was even so little, tears pooling in her eyes as you got her into pajamas.

“What happened?” She asked, looking towards where you’d pulled her blind down, chin wobbling. Bringing a hand to her cheek to wipe her tears with your thumb, you tried not to sound as rattled as you were.

“Everything’s okay Cora, we just don’t let people we don’t know take photos of us.”

“Bad guys?”

The second those words left her mouth you heard the front door slamming again down the hallway. And you knew it was Austin, but Cora didn’t put those pieces together, her sniffles morphing into full blown hysterics. 

“Hey, that was just daddy- there aren’t any bad guys here.” You said as you pulled her into your lap, rubbing her back as she cried into your shoulder.

A few minutes passed, and just when you thought you’d gotten her calmed down enough to get into bed she was wiggling out of your arms and tearing out into the hallway. You followed after her, but the attempts to call her back were futile and she went right for Austin.

He was pacing your living room on the phone when he saw her, telling whoever was on the other end that he’d be right back before sitting it on the TV mantle. When he bent down to Cora she walked right into him, bottom lip wobbling.

“T’at was scary,” She said through sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Austin looked overwhelmed but you could see him trying to mask it for Cora’s sake, sitting down on the couch and lifting her up onto his knees. 

“I know it was really scary sweetie," He said, wiping the tears that had resurfaced on her face with his thumb. "But daddy is gonna make sure that that never happens again."

That wasn’t a promise he could keep, and you almost wanted to be angry at him for it. But it seemed to calm Cora down at least.

After telling her he’d come in to say goodnight in a little bit if she listened to you and went to bed Cora reluctantly climbed off of his lap, following you down the hallway as he picked his phone back up.

---

Austin was off the phone when you got Cora settled and came back out into the living room. Head knocked against the back of the couch, he squeezed his eyes open and shut, the stress evident in his face.

He lifted his head when he heard you come in and sit down next to him, pinching the bridge of his nose as he talked.

“I had to call my manager Kayla. She’s uh, comin’ here now.”

“I’m sorry,”  You started and he shook his head, dropping a hand to your knee. “Don’t even start with that, okay? It was gonna happen at some point, justa' matter of when.”

You knew he was right and still hated all of this. Though were grateful you hadn’t gotten as far as actually kissing him before the paparazzi showed up. And it crossed your mind that he probably was too. Maybe it was a sign from the universe to never do that again, you thought and a wave of grief rolled through you.

The two of you sat in silence until there was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later and Austin got up to answer it. You’d seen his manager around before, both at Elvis and the Shannara Chronicles. But you’d never actually spoken, nor were you thrilled about this being your first conversation. She walked past Austin as he told her to keep it down because Cora was asleep, her whole body tense. 

Opting to lean against the TV mantle instead of sitting down on the armchair across from the couch, Kayla released a sigh before she started talking.

“Y/N, you should know that it’s in Austin’s best interest to be completely honest about this in his statement, regardless of the scrutiny that’ll unfortunately befall you with.”

You nodded, and understood that even if you didn’t like it. But when you glanced at Austin out of the corner of your eye he didn’t seem to share that understanding.

“I appreciate the public respecting our privacy, that’s all I’m saying.” He stated bluntly, a hand returning to your knee. When you saw his manager do a double take at the gesture your cheeks felt hot. “Y/N did what she did to protect Cora, not hurt me. I won’t throw her under the bus.”

“By not being honest you’re throwing everyone who has things riding on Elvis under the bus Austin. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She replied, voice strained.

There was a pause, and the air felt just like it had outside, an almost identical sense of dread creeping in. You looked at Austin and saw it on his face too, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Did you know?” 

Oh shit.  

She swallowed, hands folded tightly in her lap and that was all the you both answer needed. When she opened her mouth to explain Austin rose to his feet before she could, agitation in his voice.

”You knew,” He started, hand shaking when he ran it over his face. “How long? I swear to God if you tell me four years,”

Your head was spinning just as much as you were sure he was, how significantly this was going from bad to worse making you nauseous. You’d been so careful, and didn’t think for a second that your mom or best friend had told a soul. Apparently, they didn’t have to.

“A production assistant sent me an email saying they’d heard you were pregnant.” Kayla started, voice directed towards you, and you heard Austin mutter a harsh “Oh my god.” under his breath.

“Then when your daughter was born he pulled the photos from your Facebook and sent those.”

Well, that would do it. You’d limited how much you posted of her because of how much she looked like Austin even as a baby. And you only shared the photos you did post with the people on your friends list, which was composed of more family members than industry acquaintances. But even that wasn’t enough, you thought now as your head started to ache.

“You need to leave.” Austin said bluntly, taking a step forward when Kayla didn’t budge. “I never want to see you again. Out,” 

She did move then, but only finally sit down in the arm chair, looking at Austin squarely.

“If you want me to negotiate with TMZ about the pictures you can't fire me right now.”

As much as you hated this woman, she had a point and Austin appeared to come to the same realization. He sat back down next to you, arms crossed over his body.

“After tomorrow you’re done.”

She didn’t bother arguing with that, and another fifteen minutes of back and forth hammering out a plan for the next morning she was gone. When the door shut behind her Austlin mumbled something about saying goodnight to Cora, disappearing down the hallway faster than you’d ever seen him walk.

When ten minutes went by without him reappearing your concern outweighed the desire to give him space and forced yourself off the couch to go check in. You heard soft crying when you turned down the hallway, your chest tightening when you realized it wasn’t coming from Cora. Austin was standing in her half open doorway, his head down as his shoulders shook.

“Austin,” 

He turned around at your voice but didn’t say anything, swallowing hard.

“Come on,” You started, stepping across the hallway to open your bedroom door and motion him in with your head. “We can talk above a whisper in here.”

When he followed you inside and closed the door you sat on the edge of your bed, Austin dropping down next to you. He lowered his head into his hands and when he finally did look at you after a minute his eyes were red, nose snotty from how much he’d been crying.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I would’ve been on the first flight back if I knew. I wouldn’t have missed a second. Four god damn years, I don’t understand how that woman slept at night.” He said, voice threatening to give out on him. His hands were shaking as he gestured around and you’d never seen him this upset. Not that you didn’t understand. 

And you hadn't believed him that first night in your kitchen. But that was over a month ago and this was now. Things had changed. A lot of things had changed.

“I do believe you, and that’s why I can’t let you fall on the sword here Austin.” You started. “I know what’s in here,” 

You moved your hand from his shoulder down to over his heart and his gaze followed it, adam's apple bobbing. “And I know that in this industry you have to make sacrifices.”

“I can’t do that to,”  He started and you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Cora? This isn’t about Cora, you’re doing this to protect me and I’m the last person who deserves that.”

You barely finished your thought before you felt Austin’s lips crashing against yours, his hands coming up to either side of your face. But just as you started to reciprocate he pulled back, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” He rushed out, and went to get back on his feet until you pulled him back down by his shirt and kissed him. You met his mouth with more fervor than he had yours before but he matched your passion soon enough, hands rising back up your neck as you draped your arms around his neck.

Along the way he’d maneuvered the two of you to where you were laying back against your pillows and headboard, though he stopped short of getting completely on top of you. You were both breathless when he pulled back.

“Hey,”  You whispered, and he sucked his bottom lip in for a second.

“Hi.” 

Something about how nervous he sounded was ridiculously attractive to you and you reached a hand out for the side of his neck, thumb brushing against his jawline.

Austin turned away to flick off your bedside lamp before crawling on top of you and diving back in, a knee slotted between your legs as you tugged his shirt off.

---

June 1st, 2020

You’d gotten so caught up in one another that he didn’t leave your bed that night, something that you didn’t particularly mind until you were woken up by Cora’s excited voice a few inches from your face.

“You guys had a sleepover?!”

Her exclamation woke Austin up too and it didn’t help your case that he didn’t have a shirt on. But the two of you managed to throw together something about you being scared after the paparazzi incident that Cora deemed an acceptable answer.

It was an early call day for Austin on set so he was out the door before you could really talk about anything past what Kayla had managed to negotiate about the photos. The story was still coming at some point in the afternoon, but they were giving you the "courtesy" of blurring out Cora’s face. 

Your phone rang with him on the other end when you were on your way to set after dropping Cora at daycare and you smiled as his voice came through the speakers on your radio. You ran through the Instagram post he had drafted, before he pivoted the topic around.

“So you wanna talk about uh, us?”

Dishonesty had gotten you two into this mess in the first place, so no more of that, you decided with a bit of anxiety.

“I,” You started, tapping your fingers on your steering wheel nervously. “I just don’t know if us being in a relationship is a good idea Austin.”

“Okay, that's alright."

The thread of upset you heard in his voice made you want to eat your words, but you couldn’t do that. Not now.

“I- I care about you, I do. But I have to think about Cora. If we tried this again and it didn’t work out- she’s already lost you once.” You said and he mhmed along, pausing before he actually answered.

“I understand Y/N, you gotta know Cora’s my priority here too.”

You had to delay a reply to lean out the window and show your ID to set security, an exchange that Austin heard through the phone. You drove through and he spoke up again, ditching the last topic entirely to tell you the code for his trailer in case you wanted to hide out during your downtime. Thanking him, you hung up as you parked your car.

The photos not being out yet didn’t make you feel any less anxious as you went about getting ready for the afternoon, every glance towards you that lingered a little too long making you ansty. 

It was just ten minutes before everyone broke for lunch when you glanced at your phone to a text from Ellie confirming that the story had just dropped. And you practically ran to Austin’s trailer when you were dismissed, typing in the keycode and dropping against the door as you slammed it behind you.

You heard your phone ping as you sat down and gulped as you tapped the post notification from Austin. You hadn’t seen him all morning after having been assigned to help with setting up lighting on the Vegas soundstage while he was off filming somewhere across the lot.

The Instagram post was a photo you’d taken of him with Cora at your mom’s house the day before, paired with the caption you’d helped him with on the phone. The comments were turned off to everyone expect people he followed, and you were tempted to go looking elsewhere for what the public was saying. But the trailer door creaked open before you could.

Austin gave a little smile when he saw you, slipping off his shoes and running a hand through his hair to unstiff it from all the gel. He was wearing a black lace shirt, most of the way unbuttoned and tucked into white slacks. He looked damn good, if you did say so yourself. 

You didn’t realize you were staring until you heard him clear his throat as he made his way over, plopping down on the couch next to you.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He said, the Elvis drawl he must’ve been talking in all day still in his voice. He laid an arm across the backside of the couch behind you, leaning his head back and looking at you with a glimmer in his eye. 

You brought a hand to his shoulder, rubbing the lace of his cuffed sleeved between your fingers. “Don’t have to be in a relationship to make out, right?” You asked quietly and he bit his lip. “Mm, don’t think so.”

He leaned in then and you were quick to meet him halfway, darting your tongue into his mouth as he pulled you onto his lap. He pulled back to kiss down your neck as you grinded on him lazily, the friction of his thigh against your clit stealing your breath even though you were still wearing shorts. 

“Y/N baby,” He said suddenly, hand squeezing your thigh as he pulled back. The pet name was a first, and you could sense that you were blushing as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “We don’t have to be in a relationship for me to fuck you ‘fore we gotta go back to work, yeah?” 

You answered that question by rolling your hips down against his erection, putting your hands in his hair to guide him back to your neck. Austin let out a soft groan against your skin and it went right to your center, the part of your nervous system telling you that you needed to quit while you were ahead failing to block its path.

---

June 20th, 2020

You still didn’t know if being in a relationship was a good idea, so you weren’t in a relationship. As Austin had put it one night when you were both tipsy, you were “just hot parents that had sex”. You set ground rules. No sleepovers, no PDA in front of Cora or anyone, and in the interest of not making another film set baby- using protection was nonnegotiable.

But the ground rules did their job. Both you and Cora liked having Austin around more, not to mention that the sex was somehow even better that it was in 2015. 

You told him that much to his face one night after a particularly mind melting orgasm, Austin chuckling as he came up from between your legs. But something felt wrong when the moment passed, his gaze falling to the wall.

“Is everything okay?”

“I have to go back to the states for a week tomorrow.” He spat out as you sat up and felt around for your shorts.

“What, why?”

“Baz uh, he got me on some film school panel. Said it’ll be a good palette cleanser for the media. Give ‘em something else to talk about.”

The circus surrounding the news about Cora could’ve been worse, but it was still a circus nonetheless, largely because of Austin’s insistence re: not giving anyone even a lick of detail about your history. Theories of every color swirled around the gossip circuit, from Cora not really being his child to the suggestion that you’d been paid off to keep her hidden away.

“He’s not wrong Aus,” You said. 

“I know, just gonna miss you and Cora is all.”

With that he turned away to figure out where his own clothes were to get re-dressed to leave. Something you were realizing you didn’t want him to do, ground rules be damned.

“Stay?” You said and he looked back at you as he tugged his shirt on. “Tonight, I mean. If you have to go home and pack that’s okay but I’m off tomorrow, we can drive you to the airport,”

“You gonna lecture me about the rules if I say I was hoping you’d say that?” 

The rules had morphed into a bit of a running joke as of late, but you still hadn’t broken them. Not until tonight at least. 

You laughed softly and he kissed your head as he laid back down. Austin rolled onto his stomach next to you, a hand reaching out to brush over the back of your hair and down your face. You grabbed it in one of yours, holding his fingers where they had come to rest against your cheek.

He smiled as he met your eyes, the look on his face the same one he got around Cora, you realized. 

The same and different, in a way you would say you couldn’t place if that wouldn’t be a bold faced lie. 

You knew down to the letter and it terrified you.

He parted his lips and closed them again, like he wanted to say something but hesitated at the last second.

“What?” You whispered and flickered his eyes across your face. 

“I just,” He started, biting ever so slightly on his bottom lip. “I really am gonna miss you, you know.”

You nodded in his hold, pressing a kiss to where your fingers had become intertwined. 

“I love you.” 

“Me too.”

tag list (tags don’t always work, i do my best!): @chernayawidow @theinvisiblecapricorn @aalishifts @mavericksicybabe @cryingabtab @kittenlittle24 @invisiblee-smoke @mrs-munson-quinn @cevans-winchester @kikilovesdankmemes @oh-austin @chrissie-soula @starcatchxr @butlervol6 @thedeviltohisangel @redhoods-gf @gabrielajimenez @stlover288 @alqvarde @loudwombatmugkid @austinbrainrot @ab4eva @m0ndayagain @marlowmode @kingbouji3 @gardenavenue @yeonimii @eliseinmemphis @blurredcolour @tiddieshakeshownu @fallininlovewithurlove @briannaisanxious @amiets2 @karamelcoveredolicity @amnmich @mrsniallhoran505

#invisible string by bcofl0ve #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin butler imagine #austin butler headcanons #austin butler imagines

[kendsleyauthor]

Starstruck

~8700 words

Warning: Dehumanization, fearplay

Summary: When Lorelei stows away in Andres’ bag with a drunken wish of seeing Micah Tate, her dream of meeting her favorite rockstar quickly morphs into a nightmare. She finds herself at the mercy of a hotel bar, and then in the hands of Micah himself. But is he really the monster that he appears to be?

A Christmas gift for the beautiful lovely amazing @marydublinauthor​ 🌸 We had an idea about Lorelei being a fan of Micah, and what it would be like if she had the chance to meet him. Here is the result of those thoughts 😘

Read more Print/Trinket Universe stories here.

 “You know, you kinda look like a disappointed dad right now. Would you be mad if I say that’s kinda hot?” Lorelei peeked up and tried a sheepish smile, but Andres was far from smiling back.

He sat at the table with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at her. She would have been scared out of her mind if he ever gave her that look before she really knew him. Even now, knowing that he’d never lift a finger to hurt her, he looked downright terrifying.

She flinched when his irked voice finally rumbled out. “What were you thinking?”

“I… I had a few too many drinks, okay? And your bag was open. So I didn’t really think. I just did it.” Lorelei pouted and played with the hem of her silky nightgown, hoping to score some cute points—not that it ever worked with Andres. “You know, how in a game when there’s a perfect move right in front of you, and you just have to take it?” She reached out as if trying to grab something invisible, just out of reach. “Like it’ll disappear if you wait a moment too long? That’s what it felt like.”

“This is nothing like that, Lore,” he growled. “How do you expect me to keep you safe when you do something like this? You could have been crushed or seen, and for what?”

“To be fair, you didn’t have to tell me that Micah Tate was staying at the same hotel as your winter tournament. This is his first time playing in Argentina—and who knows when he’d come again?”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Did you think you were going to meet him?”

Her face flushed. She felt stupid enough as it was without that derisive tone in his voice. “I was drunk, Andres. I told you—I didn’t think anything.”

“Why do you like him at all? You know what he does to trinkets.” He grabbed his phone and typed furiously.

Lorelei pursed her lips and turned away, knowing what he was searching for. They’d had this argument more than once. But it had always been hypothetical. Now, it was painfully, horribly real.

Sure enough, he pulled up several articles showing how Micah treated the trinkets that were served with his drinks. Even if it made her sick to her stomach, she took a glance. There was an image of him dangling a trinket helplessly over his mouth, and another of him raising a glass with a trinket clinging to the rim. He wore a devilish smile on his face that made Lorelei’s throat tighten.

“You don’t get it,” she said meekly.

Andres practically slammed the phone face down, making the table rattle. “What, because you like his music, you’re fine with him doing this? I thought you were smarter than that, Lorelei.”

“Of course I’m not fine with it! Just… Listen. Micah stayed at my hotel a few times.” It was strange to say it that way—as if she owned the hotel instead of being enslaved to it. “There was a rumor going around with the other trinkets that he actually fakes it.”

Andres sighed, unimpressed. “Fakes it?”

“Yeah. That he’s actually with the Rebellion. Trinkets have a habit of disappearing around him.”

“Do I need to explain to you why trinkets actually disappear around him?” Andres looked at her almost pleadingly, like he was begging to not be the one to tell her Santa Claus wasn’t real.

She crossed her arms. “It was a nice thought, anyway,” she mumbled.

“He is a celebrity, Lore. A spoiled brat who only has to pay a fee when he has no trinket to return.” His expression softened somewhat. His hand slid across the table slowly, a fingertip brushing the back of her hand. “I understand—wishful thinking. You and the other trinkets… You wanted to believe that.”

“Hey.” She touched his finger and squeezed. “All my wishful thinking worked out when it came to you, right?”

He drew a deep breath and pulled away. “That was different.” Before she could argue that it wasn’t, he gave her a more serious look. “We need to go home. Now. You are lucky this tournament was local—no planes.”

“Give me some credit. I wouldn’t sneak in your bag if there was security to deal with.”

“You said yourself that you were not thinking,” he said, a colder edge to his voice. “You put yourself in danger. Do you understand that? Both of us, in danger.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

There was absolutely no way she could make it up to him. Had she done this months ago, she would have been genuinely wondering if he might simply leave her behind at the hotel for making such a crazy move. But he wasn’t like that. He was grumpy and intimidating, but he wouldn’t leave her—not again.

A sharp knock came at the door. Andres scooped her up without warning, cupping her close to his chest. She squirmed in alarm, only for him to hold her tighter and shush her. When it became apparent that the visitor wasn’t going to barge in, he relaxed somewhat.

“¿Señor Soto?”

“¿Que necesitas?” Andres said—Lore flinched against his chest at the sound of his voice.

“Lo siento. Su oponente está esperando.”

Andres cursed on his breath. “Dame un momento, por favor.”

The footsteps trailed off, and Andres set Lorelei back on the table. She bit her lip hard, realizing there was at least one thing she could do to make it right. Andres couldn’t miss this tournament.

“He said your opponent is ready, right?” Lorelei rested a hand on his knuckle. “Go. You have to play in the tournament. You can’t miss it because of me.” She could see he was about to argue, so she pressed on, “How would it look if you checked into the hotel and then left right before your first match? If you do that, you’ll draw attention. You have to go, Andres.”

He clenched his jaw. He knew she was right.

Still, he hesitated.

“Hey.” Lorelei forced a smile and let go of his hand. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just like old times, right?”

She stayed at the table, picking at the breakfast that had been brought up for Andres. With her lack of appetite, it looked like medialuna had no more than a few crumbs scraped from it. Lorelei paced instead, feeling worse by the minute. If Andres couldn’t concentrate, it would be her fault. He always won this tournament. Anything less than first place would make people think he was losing his touch.

As a human, she had never attended this particular tournament, though it had always been on her list. If she wasn’t so agitated, she would have been fascinated by the loveliness of the hotel. Its architecture was historical, but it had all the modern upgrades that elite guests would demand—not that she could reach any of them. On the surface, it was a far cry from the overly-sleek facades of the hotel she was once imprisoned within.

Huffing, she came to a stop at the edge of the table and sat with her legs hanging over the side. She gazed out at the landscaping below. The room was high enough that she didn’t have to worry about anyone spotting her. The lawn below was decorated festively. A massive, fake pine tree had been extravagantly adorned with ornaments and tinsel. She was still getting used to the idea that winter was the hottest time of the year in Argentina. With Christmas only a few days away, it felt more like the Fourth of July should be rolling around.

Her mind wandered to Micah Tate. After tonight’s show, he’d be back home, celebrating his own green Christmas in California, probably. He was finishing out a quick winter tour in South America. She wondered what he was doing right now. For all she knew, he was wandering around the bars, getting drunk off fancy cocktails and trinkets at ten in the morning. Lorelei shivered.

In the time Andres had been gone, footsteps had trailed up and down the hallway, but she’d paid them no mind. So when someone approached the door, she didn’t think anything of it until she heard the swipe of a keycard. Even then, she didn’t move from her spot on the table. She figured Andres was coming back after his first match, and her only worry was that he might have thrown the game just so they could leave early. She would know right away if he was lying or not when she asked.

But the door didn’t shut. And he didn’t call to her. When she turned around, it wasn’t Andres in the doorway.

Her heart stuck in her throat.

There was a woman in a light blue maid’s uniform, using her cart to prop the door open. Lorelei thought there must be a mistake in the scheduling—until she spotted a door handle sign sitting on the table with her. No molestar. Andres had forgotten to put it outside before he left.

And considering Andres had just checked in, no one would be coming in at all if he hadn’t ordered food to tide her over while he was away at his matches.

There was no time to hide. The maid’s eyes landed on her as she scrambled to stand. Lorelei held her breath and trembled. It had been months since anyone other than Andres had looked at her. And to have someone look at her like an object—a piece of furniture, a trinket—made her knees buckle.

Andres excelled at making her feel tiny yet unafraid. One look from this unknown woman made her remember what it was like to always feel terrified every waking moment.

For a second, Lorelei worried that she would be noticed as an intruder immediately, but the anonymity of being a trinket saved her. Perhaps like every other establishment that offered trinkets, there was a constant turnover. Who would bother memorizing the faces of people who are going to be crushed, drowned, or swallowed from one night to the next?

The maid largely ignored her, clearing up the breakfast tray and relocating it to her cart. Lorelei had no choice but to stand meekly and act as though she belonged there. She thought she might be in the clear, but the maid returned to the table, and Lorelei was horrified to find a hand reaching for her next.

“N-no!” Lorelei stepped back and raised her arms in defense. Her heels were dangerously close to the edge—there was nowhere to go. “H-he wants me here! He wants me to stay!”

The woman frowned at her with her hand suspended halfway. Lorelei realized she probably couldn’t understand her.

“U-uh… el me quiere… a-aqui,” Lorelei said through heavy, frightened breaths. Her accent was terrible—so terrible that she wondered if the maid understood her at all.

It didn’t matter. The maid scoffed and reached for her all the way.

“N-no!” Before Andres had saved her, Lorelei had gotten quite good at remaining calm and keeping the tears in. She couldn’t help but sob now. “Por favor, please listen to me—no!”

Even if she could string together something more comprehensible to explain that Andres wanted her to stay in the room, she doubted she would be listened to. This wasn’t the Onyx Citadel, her previous hotel where they had known Andres’ preference for her. Here, she was just another trinket. If he wanted her, he’d have to ask for her. Until then, she was at the mercy of the hotel bar and restaurant.

Lorelei was snatched into a hand that was none too gentle—especially when she started to struggle. Her breath left her body as she was clutched tighter, and she swore she blacked out for a second. The next thing she knew, she was being dropped into a glass case that held five other trinkets. She leaned against the wall and pulled herself up, looking around frantically. They were on the second tier of the maid’s cart—just part of last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast being collected and cleared away.

The cart rolled into motion. Lorelei staggered to her knees and crawled into an empty corner. She hugged herself, gagging on the scent of alcohol that hung heavy in the air. The other trinkets didn’t look at her. One of them was passed out, shivering. Lorelei covered her face and tried to catch her breath.

Don’t panic.

Everything would be fine. Andres was smart. He’d see the clear table and know what happened. He’d get her back. She would be easy to identify. Her trinket hair had been vibrant orange, but he’d helped her dye it into the darker red shade of her natural color as a human. Then, once Andres had her, no one would notice if she vanished with him, considering she didn’t belong to this hotel.

It would be fine. It would be fine.

She didn’t have to endure the cart for very long. Before she knew it, the glass case was taken downstairs and emptied into a shelf beneath the bar. The trinket area was marginally nicer than the one she was used to but no less depressing. She hurriedly found a change of clothes from a box in the corner, not wanting to draw attention to the nightgown Andres had commissioned for her. She settled for a glittery miniskirt and a crop top that didn’t reach halfway down her ribs.

Once again, she put herself in a corner and tried not to talk to the others. She’d stick out even worse if she was the only one who couldn’t fluently speak Spanish.

That was alright. It wasn’t unusual for trinkets to be silent, scared, and distant.

Nonetheless, someone approached her. She tried to ignore him, but the trinket startled her by throwing a blanket around her shivering shoulders. He knelt in front of her, and she peeked up. He had light blue hair and a kind, sad face. He sought her hand and squeezed it.

“Disculpe. ¿Eres nueva?”

Are you new?

She nodded mutely.

He gave her a grim smile. “Lo siento. Haz lo que dicen y estar segura. Buena suerte para todo.”

Lorelei blinked back tears. I’m sorry. Do what they say and be safe. Good luck.

“Gracias,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back. “Me llamo Lorelei.”

“Mateo.”

They sat in silence for what felt like hours before they were disturbed. Several trinkets were taken out and put on display at the bar. Lorelei did her best to avoid it—the less she was out, the better. If Andres requested her, she needed to be easily found. But there was little she could do when the hand overhead reached for her.

At the Onyx Citadel, they had been strict about where their trinkets went. Here, they were expected to roam freely at the bar, as long as they stayed within range and were entertaining their lunchtime guests. The others apparently knew what to do—she had missed orientation and could barely bring her legs to move. If someone liked her too much, they could easily take her back to their room.

Mateo urged her along gently, pointing out a young man who was drinking by himself at the end of the bar. Lorelei decided he looked safe enough, and she gave Mateo a silent nod of thanks.

On her way over, she stopped in her tracks.

Andres.

He was across the lobby, wearing a distant expression on his face. He hadn’t noticed she was gone yet—he had to be on his way to the next match.

Lorelei lost herself entirely. She started to run—straight past the person she had intended on entertaining, and just kept going. If Andres spotted her, everything would be alright. He was another guest, another customer. They would oblige him if he wanted to take her with him.

But before she could make it to the edge, a bartender’s hand slammed down and stopped her. She fell back and swept into a tight fist. She whimpered and struggled violently. She would have screamed if she could, but things were too tight to even take a full breath. In her despair, she could hear his voice ringing in her ears. You put yourself in danger. Both of us, in danger.

The world rattled as she was carried back. She was still encased in darkness, but she heard the phone at the bar ring. While still clutching her, the bartender answered. His muffled words were hard to discern, but she was certain she heard Señor Tate pop up several times in his professional tone.

The moment he hung up, his hand unfurled slightly. He studied Lorelei distastefully as she coughed and struggled to catch her breath. Her stomach did backflips as he grabbed a tray and set her on it. She didn’t dare move as he prepared a drink.

She trembled, looking around desperately to spot Andres again. But he was gone. She did, however, see Mateo staring at her from several guests away at the bar. They locked eyes, and he gave her a bleakly encouraging look before a massive hand swept him up. Lorelei looked away and shuddered.

The drink was set down next to her. A classic old-fashioned with a cherry. She wanted to throw up.

The bartender called over one of the servers, sweeping up the tray with Lorelei on it.

“Señor Tate,” the bartender said. Then in a lower, confiding voice, he added, “Corredora.”

Lorelei’s breath caught. Runner.

Micah Tate’s reputation preceded him. What better way to get rid of a troublemaking runner than to make sure she never returned? She could do nothing but sit there and brace herself against the whiskey glass as she was carried off. The single ice block within clinked the seconds to her doom on the way to a private seating area off the side of the hotel bar.

The overhead lights were off. Garlands, adorned with string lights and glowing ornaments wound through the room. It was a small area with booth seats lining three of the walls, tables placed in between. There were half a dozen people lounging around, drinking and speaking a mixture of English and Spanish, though Lorelei couldn’t catch a single word with the ringing in her ears. Smoke hung heavily in the air and made her nauseous.

She heard his laugh before she even spotted him—she’d heard that laugh dozens of times in interviews, but it never sounded so sinister. He lounged at the back of the room like a menacing shadow.

As the server approached, Micah Tate’s eyes zeroed in on Lorelei. She scrambled back in horror until she could go no further. The server took immediate notice and put a stop to her cowardice. In a single, smooth motion, she was lifted from the edge of the tray and dropped directly into the freezing drink. Lorelei coughed and sputtered, trying in vain to avoid contact with the ice.

The tray lowered, and a hand surrounded the glass—Micah’s. She was entirely at the gargantuan rockstar’s mercy. He lifted her to his eye level. Below, a smile curved on his lips. She leaned with her back against the glass, hyperventilating. The glass dropped, then tipped toward his mouth. She cried out and slipped against the ice painfully, though he thankfully didn’t take more than a sip.

One of the women beside him leaned over and gazed down at Lorelei as she recovered. “A redhead,” the woman crooned, reaching for her. “Me encanta—”

“No,” Micah said, yanking the glass away. For a second, his gaze sparked dangerously. Then it flooded with mischief. “Mine.”

A shadow filled Lorelei’s world overhead—Micah’s other hand. He reached in to grab her, and Lorelei let out a shriek at a volume she didn’t think she was capable of producing. Even Micah flinched and paused, gaping at her.

“D-don’t!” she screamed. “Don’t touch me!”

The nearby conversations petered out. There was soft Christmas music playing in the background. They were all staring, but Micah wasn’t looking at them. A terrible smirk grew on his face as he studied her.

“Don’t touch you?” His voice was an eerily playful purr. “How can I not touch what was made to be touched? Look at you.”

His fingers inched closer, and she screamed again. His hand came so close, she could feel his warmth, and a desperate part of her wanted to lean in to get relief from the ice. Micah took notice of her trembling and rerouted his fingers to grab the cherry instead.

“Since I can’t touch you… Guess I’ll just leave you there to freeze huh?”

Survival dug its claws into her. She couldn’t climb out on her own. If he decided to be such a sadist, he could sit back and watch the life leave her, one ice-bitten breath at a time. “N-no!”

Some frantic, animalistic instinct sent her scrambling for the very fingers that terrified her. They were already retreating, the cherry stem plucked between them. She latched onto the fruit itself, and by the time she could make sense of anything, she was dangling high above the glass, right before Micah’s amused stare.

There was no time for her to think of her next move—the stem couldn’t hold her weight with the cherry, and it was slowly snapping off. She tried to leap up and grab the stem, but the sudden movement only made the inevitable come quicker. The fruit broke away from the stem, and she was sent plummeting.

All the breath left her lungs in a single cry as she landed on her back—right in the middle of his palm. The cherry lay halfway across her middle. She started to push it off, but Micah had different plans. This time, it wasn’t his other hand that darkened her view overhead. It was his mouth.

He leaned in. His lips brushed her skin, tongue skating across her abdomen as he plucked the cherry off of her. She could only lay there in silent horror while the humans around Micah made noises of razzing approval. She gaped at the overwhelming view of him chewing and swallowing the cherry.

As she started to sit up, Lorelei realized some of the cherry juices were still on her—and Micah took notice as well. He closed in again, but she didn’t freeze up this time. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to stop him from closing the space, she pushed herself into his depraved kiss instead. The moment he was close enough, she bit hard on his lower lip, clenching tight enough to draw blood.

A deafening shout rang out from him.

Silence, other than the music. A line of blood trickled from his lip while Lorelei breathed heavily at the sight of what she’d done.

The others stared—some of them at her with disgust, and some at him with interest at what he would do to retaliate.

When she looked directly at him again, she was sure he was going to lose his shit and crush her in his fist. Instead, his fingers closed slowly around her until she was locked in place—but he didn’t squeeze. Her head spun as he moved. She could picture him vividly rising to his feet, walking with his hands relaxed at his side, one fist clenched to keep her trapped. There were murmurs, but no one questioned him or begged him to stay.

Her heart pounded wildly. The lighting changed. There were at the bar, then the lobby, then an elevator. His pounding footsteps had to be carrying her to his private room.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing.

That was the thing about Micah Tate. He was a showman. An attention seeker. A depraved rockstar who had an audience when he toyed with trinkets. But no one ever saw how he killed them.

A door opened and shut. Micah came to a stop, but he didn’t move for what felt like a full minute. His hand lifted, then lowered and opened, releasing her onto a soft surface. She squinted in the light. A pillow. He’d placed her on a pillow and was looming over her.

She could picture what would happen—he would unbuckle his belt and get a sick look of satisfaction on his face as she screamed and begged for him to stop. Maybe he’d order another drink, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d break all her bones or squeeze until the life left her eyes. All she knew was that she was going to die in this room at the whim of her favorite rockstar.

The blood had stopped dribbling, but it created a vivid line from his lip to his chin. Although he was looking at her, his gaze was a million miles away. He was probably thinking of the most painful method to do away with her after humiliating him in front of his groupies.

Something snapped inside her. She sat up and threw her arms out on either side of herself, frightened tears flowing down her face. “Make up your mind and get me, motherfucker!”

He took a step back, looking just as shocked as when she’d bitten him.

“I’m sorry,” Micah Tate croaked in a voice that was nothing like the one from the private bar room. “I’m so fucking sorry. Are you okay?”

She stared up at him in disbelief. “No!” Her voice cracked painfully. “I’m not okay! Would you be okay?”

Micah pushed a hand back through his hair and looked around helplessly, muttering under his breath. “Fuck-fuck-fuck—okay, um…” He finally seemed to settle on a decision and disappeared through a nearby door. Lorelei flinched as he came back into the room, holding a white washcloth.

“What—what’s that for?” she demanded, skittering away from his approach. “Stay away from me! Are you g-going to smother me? Because after all that, it’d be a really chickenshit way to kill me, don’t you think?”

“No—I mean, yeah, that would be chickenshit, but I’m not gonna—” He huffed. “You look cold.”

He sounded so sad, like his heart was shattering at the sight of her. His fingers dug nervously into the cloth as he regarded her. Then he sprang forward, dropped the cloth beside her, and backed up again before she could scream—as though his proximity to her should be ripped off quickly like a band-aid. It didn’t stop her from covering her face with fright. When nothing happened, she peeked through her fingers.

Micah had backed himself to the nearest wall. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll give you space. You’re safe—from me, from everybody.”

As he began to retreat, Lorelei snapped, “Wait!” He froze and locked his overwhelming stare on her. She swallowed hard and wiped her cheeks. “What the hell is happening? What are you going t-to do to me?”

“Nothing!” His volume gave her a start, so he repeated himself softer. “Nothing. I know you can’t believe me after what I put you through, but I swear, I won’t hurt you. If… if I don’t keep up appearances, I…” He looked at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

His tone was unbelievably gentle, and that made her cry harder. She’d dealt with plenty of guests who played games before. Soft voices and tender words were meant to lull her into a foolish sense of hope before they cruelly reminded her that she was nothing more than a plaything.

“Please,” Micah started again—and she thought he was going to beg her to believe him. “Please, can you wrap yourself up? You just—you look really cold.”

Her teeth chattered, and she obeyed out of necessity. Never taking her eyes off him, she scooted over to the washcloth and crawled into it. She sank into the plush fabric and tugged the folds up around her. The moment she glanced down to fully situate herself, Micah began to exit again.

“Would you hang on?” Lorelei said. “Why d-do you keep trying to leave?”

“I… I can’t look at you.”

“Why?”

“Because—” He gathered himself and sighed, looking ashamed. “Because you look so scared, and the more I look, the more I want to hold you and hug you and make you feel safe, but I can’t do that because I’m a fucking monster.”

She stared. “... What?”

After that bit of supposed honesty, it was like the floodgates had opened. He leaned back against the wall and sank to a seat on the floor. “I know I have to make it look real, but what does it say about me when people really believe it? I mean—the way they were all looking at me after you bit me, it’s like they were excited to see what I would do to you. And even before that, the thing with the cherry? Who the fuck thinks of that? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Lorelei gave him nothing when he chanced another look in her direction at the end of his ramble. Years of chess games made it easy to school her expression as she got a hold of herself. Buried beneath her unreadable mask, she was utterly bewildered by his vulnerability. If his emotion was real, her heart threatened to melt at how pitifully dramatic he was being. If it was fake, he was the world’s biggest psychopath.

“All of that back at the bar,” she said. “It’s an act?”

“Yeah, it’s… Yeah.”

Relief was on the brink of tipping through her, but she held it back desperately. If she allowed herself to believe him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from begging him to take her to Andres. But this could still be a sick game, and if she revealed the truth, she’d put Andres in danger.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Lorelei said.

“It’s usually easier to prove when she’s here, but… She couldn’t come. She was supposed to, but some stupid last-minute travel restrictions popped up before the holiday season, and she wasn’t allowed.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

All at once, Lorelei couldn’t contain herself. Her jaw dropped. “Hang on—when did you get married? How do I not know that? Did I know that?” She racked her brain, but she couldn’t even think of a time when he’d had an official girlfriend, let alone been engaged to anyone.

Micah smiled a little. “We’ve kept it a secret to protect her.”

“Oh…” She sighed. “That’s so romantic.” When she noticed the tightness in her chest was beginning to loosen without her permission, she snapped out of it. “Well… what does your wife have to do with proving anything?”

Reaching into his pocket, he dug out his phone. After flicking through the screen a few times, he pushed himself to stand. For a moment, he idled by the wall and looked at Lorelei with whipped puppy dog eyes. “Can I come closer so I can show you my phone? I won’t touch you, I promise.”

It didn’t seem like they would get anywhere if she said no. She nodded jerkily, bracing herself.

His shadow fell over her once more, even though he tried to keep his distance as he sat on the edge of the bed. She focused on the screen instead of the fingers clutching his phone—the fingers that had held her captive just a few minutes prior.

She narrowed her eyes at the phone. Micah was showing her one of his selfies. He was beaming that trademark smile of his, but he wasn’t alone. A print woman was sitting cross-legged on his shoulder, smirking and looking like she was in the middle of rolling her eyes. One of her hands was braced on Micah’s neck, and though she looked annoyed, her posture was utterly relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.

“Who’s that?” Lorelei asked blankly.

“Everly. My wife. Don’t ask me how I landed the most beautiful woman on the planet—I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Lorelei’s wide-eyed gaze drifted up to Micah’s face. “That—she—what—” She all but abandoned the washcloth, crawling forward on the pillow. “You’re married to a print?”

He shut off the phone and pulled it away. She didn’t realize how much of a barrier it was between them until it was gone. She went rigid, but she didn’t flee. Not that there was anywhere to go.

“Safe to say you don’t believe me?” he said.

“Fuck no, I don’t believe you!” She laughed, but deep down, it was such an absurd claim that part of her wanted to believe it immediately. “Video-call her or something. I want to hear it from her!”

He pointed at her. “You’ll say I’m forcing her to go along with it.”

“I’m really good at reading people.”

“Oh? Why can’t you read me, then?” The challenge was accompanied by a soft smirk that didn’t have a hint of malice in it.

Lorelei shook her head. “You’re… a lot. I can’t.”

“Fair.” His face became a touch more serious, and he looked at her apologetically. “I can’t call her. It’d be too dangerous to talk about this over the phone—never know who could be watching or listening in on these things. I’m sorry. I won’t put her in danger like that.”

“How will you prove it, then?”

“Hey. If it’s between keeping her safe or making you believe I’m on your side, I pick her. I’m always going to pick her. I love her more than anything.” It should have been horrific to see his face darken like that, but somehow, it made her more inclined to believe him.

Lorelei hesitated. “What do you love about her?”

He sighed, his eyes softening to a degree she didn’t know was possible. “What don’t I love about Ev? She’s smart as fuck, for one thing. She’s a problem-solver. Anything that gets put in front of her, anything with wires or circuits, she can figure it out faster than anyone I know. She’s got this crazy good memory—she remembers lyrics to my songs even better than I can.”

He was crawling onto the bed like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Lorelei didn’t make a peep or move a muscle. He wasn’t prowling closer to her, just reclining across the middle of the sheets like he was a teenager in love.

“The world’s been so shitty to her, but she still finds things to make her smile. She knew me before all this rockstar stuff, and I had the biggest crush on her. When my music blew up, I wanted to give her everything. But that’s not Ev—she refused to just take it. She started engineering the lights and pyro for live shows, and the stuff she thinks up is unreal.”

Throughout his speech, Lorelei climbed down from the pillow and inched toward him. His hand was resting near his head, relaxed.

“And she pretends like she doesn’t give a shit, but she does. She’s so brave when it comes down to doing what’s right, it’s like nothing shakes her. She cares so deeply and beautifully about the people she loves, and if she sees a way to help someone, she will do it in a heartbeat, no question about it. And, oh my God, the way her eyes light up when she’s figured something out or thought of something—and don’t even get me started on her laugh—it’s fucking angelic.”

“Micah?” Lorelei rested her hand on the pad of his little finger. It twitched slightly in response to her touch.

He turned his head. When he saw how close she was, he looked like he wanted to move away again. But he froze. There was nothing monstrous or conniving in his eyes. He was overwhelming, yes, but as Lorelei began to weep again, it was from crushing relief.

“I believe you,” she said with a teary smile.

“You do?” His hand shifted suddenly, finger cupping behind her. He hesitated when he saw her stiffen with alarm.

“I… I do,” she said, bravely leaning back into his grasp.

His touch was so warm, there was no going back the moment he scooped her up. He sat up on the bed, tipping her gently into the stretch of his palm. His gaze was intense, and though she should have felt exposed in her meager garments, she could tell he wasn’t looking at her in that way. He was searching for any sign that she would revoke the permission to hold her. When he found none, he relaxed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lorelei Weaver. Call me Lore.”

“Lore?” Micah’s voice jumped in disbelief. “Your name’s Lore? That’s so cool.”

She sniffled and laughed, her cheeks flushing. Micah Tate thought her name was cool. She might have fainted if not for the residual adrenaline still pumping through her veins. Even so, she felt lightheaded as she gazed up at his face without fear. It all began to sink in—this time in a dreamlike way instead of a nightmare. She was alone in a hotel room with her favorite rockstar, and all of his attention was zeroed in on her.

“Micah Tate?” she uttered.

He gave her a knowing smile that suggested he knew what she was feeling. “Lorelei Weaver?”

She bit back a squeal at the way he said her name. “I want you to know… I love your music.”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

“I went to a few of your shows. You were… spectacular every time. You’re the best. And the lights and the pyro? You’re right. Everly’s unreal.”

His face became an odd mix of sorrowful and pleased. Sorrowful for the mention of the human life she’d lost. Pleased for the compliments that fanned his ego—and there certainly was an ego she could sense under all the kindness. At least it didn’t make him an asshole.

“Lore.” His other hand came close and cupped behind her. His thumb brushed away the last of her tear trails with a touch that suggested he’d done this before. “I’m gonna make sure you get somewhere safe. There’s a local contact that’s going to come by to collect you and any other trinkets I can get my hands on before I leave tomorrow morning. She’s gonna take you to the nearest Rebellion outpost. You’re safe now. Understand?”

Her breath caught, leaving her speechless.

“You get what I’m saying?” Micah’s hands curled slightly like he was giving her a hug with his fingers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again. How’s that for a Christmas present?”

“I knew it!” she shouted.

He flinched, fingers uncurling at her sudden volume. “What?”

“I knew you were helping the Rebellion!” She pumped her fist once in the air, feeling the same rush she got when she beat Andres at a chess game. She beamed at Micah, who was giving her a perplexed though amused look. “My friend said I was crazy for thinking that you were actually helping trinkets. He said it was just wishful thinking. But I was right!”

“Oh. One of your friends at the bar? If you tell me what he looks like, I can make sure to get him, too. Then you can gloat all the way to the base.”

“He… He’s not…” She bit her lip. “Well, there is one trinket I know at the bar. Light blue hair. His name’s Mateo. Will you make sure he’s safe?”

“Of course.” Micah was sincere, but he cocked his head at her sudden, sober attitude. “What’s wrong?”

“But the friend I was talking about. He’s not a trinket.” She shifted to hands and knees and crawled to the heel of Micah’s palm. She looked up at him pleadingly. “I have a secret too. Sort of like yours. Can I trust you?”

“Of course you can trust me,” he said readily. He frowned, trying to process what she had said. “He’s not a trinket, but you’re friends with him… Does he work at the hotel?”

“No, but he’s staying here. Look, it’s a long story but Andres saved me. He risked everything to take me away from the hotel I used to live in. He snuck me on a plane and brought me to Argentina, and I’ve been living with him ever since. I appreciate your offer to send me to a base, but…” She trailed off, wondering if Andres might try to convince her it was better that she go through with that. “I need to talk to him.”

“Hang on… You live with some guy that took you from a hotel?” Concern flooded the huge face before her, and it strangely gave her butterflies. “Does he… I mean, does he do anything to you?”

“No! No. He’s not that kind of person.”

“But he brings you with him when he travels?”

“No…”

“Then how did you get in this place, then?”

Lorelei palmed her face to hide her blush. “I snuck into his bag before he left. He didn’t know I was there until he got to his room and started unpacking. We thought I’d be safe in the room while he was away, but a maid came to clean up breakfast and took me away.”

Her attempt to plow through the events didn’t help. He still looked puzzled. “Why did you hide in his bag?”

She groaned and covered her face entirely. “You,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” He leaned in closer, brows furrowed.

“You!” She didn’t want to look at him, but that was hard to avoid when his face filled her entire field of vision. At least he had cleaned away the blood from her bite. “Andres told me you’d be staying at the same hotel as his chess tournament, I had too much to drink, and I thought it was a great idea to go along with him. So here I am.”

He was quiet for so long that she wanted to die on the spot. Then he chuckled and she wanted to die even more.

“Wow. So you’re a superfan?” Mischief glinted in his eyes—nothing the hostile kind from the bar, but it made her squirm nonetheless. “You’re not mad at me for secretly being married, are you?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. “Can you go back to groveling?”

“Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

His warmth became more pronounced. When she lifted her eyes, she realized he was coming closer. His lips gently pressed to the top of her head and made her freeze. She forgot how to breathe or think about anything other than the fact that Micah Tate kissed her. Kissed her. With his stupidly soft lips. She felt lightheaded all over again.

He pulled back and smiled teasingly. “Better?”

A quip rose up her throat and almost made it past her lips, but when she looked up at him, all she could do was release an utterly enamored sigh. She wondered how Everly could function on a daily basis with this as her husband.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Micah said. “Let’s get you back to your friend. You said he’s in the chess tournament?”

“Huh-what?” Lorelei blinked at him and shook off her daze. “Oh—yeah! Yeah. He’s a champion. He always kills it at this tournament. Maybe you could go down and find him, but…” She shook her head. “You’re too recognizable, and he might freak out if he sees you holding me. Can’t have that.”

“I wouldn’t want you out there, either,” Micah said. “Do you know his number? I can’t risk saying anything in detail. Maybe just the room number and your name. He’s bound to notice you’re missing soon.”

She nodded. It would be cryptic, but it seemed like the safest move. All she could hope was that Andres hadn’t gone back to the room yet to find her gone.

Micah relocated them to the table, taking the washcloth with him and setting it on the surface. He put her down gently, tucking one of the folds around her shoulders. While he sent the message, she gazed around in wonder at the room. It was more luxurious and spacious than Andres’ room—intimidatingly so.

“A chess master, huh?” Micah smirked at the idea after setting down his phone. He propped his chin in his hand and gazed down at her—it still made her knees feel like jelly. “Have you picked up a thing or two from being around him?”

She smiled innocently. “Yeah. He’s taught me some pretty neat moves. How about we play while we wait for Andres? You can download an app on your phone. If you want to—of course.”

Micah was all too happy to oblige. It seemed he was ready to do anything to make her happy and make up for what he had done at the bar. He placed an order for lunch to be brought to the room and downloaded the app. With the phone placed between them, he started off the game with an abysmally dumb move that made her clench her jaw to keep from laughing.

She beat him in four moves.

“Huh. You’re pretty good,” he said.

They were briefly interrupted by a knock at the door. Lorelei’s heart fluttered with relief until she realized it was room service.

Micah gently scooped her off the table with the washcloth and held her hidden on his lap under the table while the server dropped off the food. A thrill of fright ran through her, but one hand stayed huddled gently around her. A fingertip stroked between her shoulder blades, calming her.

When they were alone again, he brought her back to the tabletop and murmured an apology.

“I-it’s fine,” she said, willing the color out of her cheeks. “Another game?”

By the fifth game, it became abundantly clear that she knew what she was doing—and that was when another knock came at the door. This was not the professional knock of a hotel employee, and there was no voice announcing who was there and what they wanted. As Micah started to sit up to answer it, the knock came again, even more aggressive.

Micah glanced at Lorelei with raised eyebrows. She was sitting at the edge of a plate, picking at a roll from their meal. “He’s worried,” she told him with a shrug.

There was a third round of knocking just as Micah was unlocking the door. He pulled it open and smiled charmingly. “Oh, hey. Wow, you’re not what comes to mind when I hear ‘chess player.’ You must be—”

Andres burst inside and shoved Micah in the chest with both hands. He shut the door behind him as Micah staggered back in shock.

“Andres, no!” Lorelei called.

He turned in the direction of her voice, gasping. His eyes immediately fell on her sitting on Micah’s plate, wearing little more than lingerie. She didn’t think about how that would look until rage filled his expression.

Grabbing the front of Micah’s shirt, Andres pushed him into the wall and pinned him. “She is mine.”

The shock on Micah’s face morphed into disgust. “She’s not yours.”

Completely misunderstanding what he meant, Andres raised his fist.

“Andres, stop it!” Lorelei ran to the edge of the table. “You do not punch Micah Tate! I was right! He’s with the Rebellion!”

Andres lowered his hand a fraction, still glaring and breathing heavily. “Is this true?”

Micah looked between him and Lorelei. “Does he always act like he owns you?” he said.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Lorelei assured. “Andres, back off!”

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Micah and looked him up and down. “Rebellion,” he scoffed. “What do you want, really? Are you going to use her to bribe me? To threaten me?”

“Why don’t you relax and have a seat?” Micah gestured at the table as though he hadn’t just been one wrong word away from getting his nose broken. “No one’s threatening anyone—except you threatening me. I’m just trying to get Lore home.”

Something flashed in Andres’ eyes at the way Micah said her name so casually. But he went to the table anyway. Maybe not to do what Micah said, but to get a closer look at Lorelei. He brought his hands on either side of her—swift and gentle—and scooped her up. Though his expression was stony, his gaze bore a hint of frenzy as he looked her over for injury.

“I’m fine,” she told him, hugging his thumb with relief. “He didn’t hurt me, Andres. It told you—he saves trinkets. Isn’t that amazing?”

Andres sank to a seat and gave her one last look before turning his glare to Micah, who sat across from him.

“You’re a chess player,” Micah said with a weak laugh. “Why are you so strong?”

“You’re a musician. Why are you bad at making music?”

“Andres!” Lorelei gave Micah a mortified look. “He doesn’t mean that—he was just worried about me.”

“No, I hate his music,” Andres said matter-of-factly.

“Can’t please everyone.” Micah shrugged, looking perhaps ninety-nine percent unbothered. It was the bothered one percent that made Lorelei want to run across the table and hug him. His eyes softened on her. “You’re sure you wanna keep living with this guy?”

Andres’ hands tensed around her. “What?”

“There’s… there’s someone who’s going to take the hotel trinkets Micah rescues.” Lorelei hesitated. She felt the weight of Andres’s stare on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. “They’re going to a Rebellion base.”

A heavy beat of silence.

“Do you want to go?” Andres said, sounding detached.

“Do you want me to go?” she countered, finally forcing herself to look at him.

The moment they made eye contact, the answer was clear. His finger wrapped a little closer around her, and she snuggled in comfortably. Yes, she annoyed him sometimes, and yes, he could be intimidating, but the thought of leaving him made her go cold inside. She peeked over at Micah, who was watching them with silent understanding.

“I’m staying with him,” Lorelei said.

Micah nodded. “I figured.” He glanced down at the phone, which had Lorelei’s latest win still clear across the screen. “I know you’re a champion and all, but I’m sure she could give you a run for your money.”

Andres scoffed. “Of course. She is a better player than I am.”

Upon seeing Lorelei’s sheepish smile, Micah made a playfully insulted noise. “Did you hustle me?”

“Is it hustling if no money was involved?” she said.

“Right. Just my pride.” He shut off the phone screen and shook his head. “Man, that’s actually kinda a relief. I was starting to think I was just dumb.”

“You are, pelotudo.” Andres stood. Before Lorelei could demand he apologize, he sighed and looked back at Micah. “Thank you. For helping her. She is… important.”

“I know,” Micah said. “Take care of her.” He was brave enough to get within grabbing reach of her while she still stood in Andres’ hands. “I’ll save as many as I can, Lore. I promise. Okay?” He held his hand out to her.

She touched his index finger and nodded, relishing her last contact with Micah Tate. “Thank you, Micah. You’re… amazing.”

Andres was quick to pull away after that. He paused at the door to help Lorelei into his pocket. She lingered at the edge of his hand and gave him a long look.

“What?” he muttered.

“I dunno. You just…” She smiled and patted his finger. “You seemed a little jealous back there.”

“Of him?”

“Who else?” She lowered her voice even softer. “You know what’s even hotter than the disappointed dad look? Seeing you and Micah Tate fight over me.”

He shut his eyes for a second and gathered himself. “His music is banned from the house,” he decided.

“Aw, what?”

“Banned.” He took a deep breath and gave her a more soulful look—one that was so rare from him that her breath caught. “Mi reina. You scared me.”

He tipped her into his front pocket. She could feel his fingers shivering with relief as he hugged her through the fabric. She leaned into his chest, more certain than ever that she had made the right decision.

((Author’s note: What a rollercoaster for Lore! Does she have any regrets? Probably only that she didn’t get more kisses from Micah. But she’s willing to let that go now that she knows his secret 😘))

#gt #g/t #giant tiny #gianttiny #gt writing #g/t writing #gt story #g/t story #gt fearplay #g/t fearplay #hurt/comfort #print universe #trinket universe #print universe story #trinket universe story #my writing #oc: lorelei #oc: andres #oc: micah #oc: everly

[freaky-munson]

My cute drunkie - B.Hargrove x reader

it’s a requested fic with prompt 1 from my 25 random dialogue prompts; i hope you will like it!

navigation

words: 1,457

warnings: some curses; some misunderstandings, overall fluffy

Parties were never Y/n’s thing; they were always loud, crowded, full of horny and drunk teenagers not knowing the meaning of personal space.

Although Billy Hargrove was her thing, and parties were the must go in boy’s mind therefore Y/n felt obliged to accompany her boyfriend. Was that matter of jealousy? Lack of trust? Yes and no.

At the beginning of their relationship the girl learned about her boyfriend’s life approach hard way; she was aware that her lover had his quite share with sleeping around, was a wet dream of all high school girls who had no shame in flirting with him openly in front of her and being the figure of attraction of most of the older women, not being treated well enough by their husbands. So jealousy was common feeling she experienced when she was with him.

But she trusted him with her life. She saw the love he held for her in his bruised heart. His trust issues strongly mixed with commitment ones were constantly present, sometimes making him make stupid decisions but overall her being his choice of at least trying to have a first real relationship, warmed her heart. Made her feel special that she was the only one who got to know his whole persona, from his dreams to his nightmares.

It didn’t mean they didn’t fight. Her stubbornness and his hot headed personality were explosive together. Adding to that mix alcohol never ended well.

So she tried to compromise - they go to the party but they cut down alcohol to bare minimum, just to have fun and to effortlessly go back home. There were ups and downs but it was never a big problem.

Until it was.

Boys’ pride and their very delicate ego were a big bullshit to Y/n; it was an easy excuse to go alpha male and get into stupid unnecessary fights with other boys.

Losing a basketball game, alongside with bickering with one and only Steve Harrington, worked on Billy like red colour works on bulls.

He was snarky, snappy, avoiding his loving, concerned girlfriend all evening, drowning himself in cheap beer at some house party with random teammate as the organiser.

Y/n was worried; she lost Hargrove boy as soon as the stepped into the house. She was wandering everywhere, asking all familiar faces if they saw the boy but always getting negative responses.

After a while her concern morphed into anger. He knew she hated all of this, these fake people, drinking to unconsciousness, dancing to some stupid music and yet he left her so easily to do God knows what.

She heard him before she saw him. His loud, messy exclamation of defeating someone at beer pong. She was hoping she was wrong thinking that he was hammered almost to the point of tripping to the floor.

Discovering her worst assumptions decorated with two half naked girls leaning on his sweaty, toned body, playing with his hair, occasionally kissing his neck and chest was her breaking point.

She wasn’t his fucking mother to babysit him every time and everywhere. If he wanted to destroy his life, this relationship it was on him.

Not even waiting for him to spot her she hastily left the room, barely keeping herself from crying.

It wasn’t big thing; she knew that getting loose wasn’t wrong, she didn’t want to cage her boyfriend, giving him lectures, slowly pushing him to hate her. But getting cozy with girls having in mind only one thing while she was worryingly looking for him made her nauseous.

“If I’m already sick, what wrong could some fucking drinks do” she mumbled to herself, pouring generously tequila in her red cup.

On the other hand Billy was having time of his life; free beer, winning all drinking games in order, everyone cheering for him, what else could he want more?

Maybe his personal cheerleader by his side, stealing his kisses from time to time.

He realised it wasn’t Y/n’s scene, knowing her he was sure she always accompanied him just because it would make him happy. Not really to control him as one could think. Even with his problems he trusted her and in reward she trusted him. But that didn’t mean their self consciousness and jealousy left for good.

Since his mother left, he was egotistical asshole, not caring about people and their feelings; at least to the point in his life when he met the sunshine in the form of girl.

At first she was a challenge for him, but getting to know her made him forget it all and fall for her. Hard.

She never pressured him to anything knowing well he was all new to this love stuff and for that he was grateful, even though most of the times his actions didn’t show it at all.

Not seeing his girl anywhere near him turned his possessive, jealous man mode. He understood that earlier that day he wasn’t the nicest to her, but he didn’t cope well with stress and Y/n was familiar with it and wouldn’t start fight over some trivial. So she had to be somewhere here.

Then what surprised him was not that she stayed, but what state she was in, dancing on the table with bottle of tequila on her.

That sobered the Billy as fast as it could.

“Y/n what the hell are you doing up here?” he calmly but firmly grabbed his girl from the crowd of staring people and from the shaky furniture and took outside to the empty front yard to pull her together.

“Oh baby, now you see me?” she giggled visibly drunk, almost falling asleep on the boy “The girls already sucked you off and you got bored?”

The girl stunned him; what was she talking about?

“Y/n baby, what the hell are you saying? And why are you so wasted? We said that we don’t drink much”

Y/n scoffed, removing herself from firm chest and moving away

“So big bad King Billy can have fun but his bitch can’t? How rich of you. Maybe you should go back to this beer games and your naked friends. Shocked I know? I was looking for you and you were already having fun without even caring about me. And you promised me. You fucking promised me you wouldn’t leave me for getting drunk. That you would always choose me and love only me.” her babble was full of sadness mixed with madness almost unrecognisable to the confused boy; key word almost.

He knew she had a lot episodes of unnecessary jealousy, as well as him, but he wasn’t even astonished. Even when he openly said he already had the girl of his dream, some braver girls under influence still tried to get their way with him. He just ignored it and usually got extremely annoyed and pushed them away.

Tonight he wasn’t that drunk, in comparison to what his girlfriend said, that drunk to forget about ‘accidentally’ making out with other girl. This has never even crossed his mind, let alone happened while he was madly in love, in serious relationship with Y/n.

“You’re talking stupid. You’re too drunk to think properly. I will drive you home and we will talk tomorrow morning”

“No, Billy. I don’t want to come home with you. You stink! Go back to these ugly bimbo girls for gods sake!”

Then he caught up. You must have seen him after his little victory when those two sophomores stupidly came to him and got uncomfortably touchy.

“You little jealous baby. Yes I drank some beer but you are the one who broke our promise, you cute drunkie. It’s disappointing that you didn’t stay longer just to ogle my hot body and see that as soon as I realised that it wasn’t you I pushed them away. You know that I love you. And that sexy ass of yours is the only thing I dream about. Don’t get me stared on that tight pussy of yours”

Blushing furiously Y/n’s eyes widened and her hand covered her boyfriend’s mouth before he could say anything else.

“Stop being dirty! I only got drunk because I was sad and angry with you! So it’s your fault either way.”

Billy chucked and took his girl into his arms, where she immediately cozied herself like a little koala bear.

“Okay baby, it’s my fault. Now, will you allow me to bring you home and cuddle the shit out of you?”

“Only because you want it so bad, I will allow it Billy. But tomorrow you will have to apologise properly to me with some food, zburgers and shakes”

“Whatever you want princess.”

taglist

@screambih

#stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x female reader

[randombush3]

Floss Got Hot III

florence pugh x reader

[series masterlist]

summary: you globetrot with your girlfriend and some added complications

words: 11086

warnings: drinking, drugs

notes: i digressed, to put 11k words into 2.

tell me to stop posting fanfic at 2am. tell me to because i can’t tell myself.

Florence is amused when you sit her down with a powerpoint about your family. Slowly her smile fades, guilt settling in her chest.

You click through pictures of important family members, most only in need of a brief explanation and the label appropriate to your relation. It won’t be your brother’s birthday gala without the competition for a larger share in the business.

Nerves push at the back of her stomach the moment you disclose your familial status. She is going to take this seriously. You can’t be embarrassed.

While Toby isn’t particularly in favour of your relationship, he is quick to comfort his sister. “You’re going to be fine.” Neither believe it. “They won’t even bat an eye.”

He is completely and utterly wrong, to the point where it almost feels like a betrayal, for when she checks both your coats in and joins you in front of a particularly confusing original Picasso, the hum of the event dulls as their gazes locked upon your hand position. Pulling her protectively into your side, you continue your conversation with… God, is he an investor or a friend of your father’s?

“My youngest adores you, Miss Pugh.” She wasn’t expecting to become an active member of the chat, but relaxes the minute you squeeze her waist. “In fact, she’ll slaughter me for not bringing her. Your films are her favourite topic of conversation.”

“I’m flattered,” she replies, grinning at him. “It’s always fabulous to hear that someone likes me.” Her joke earns a low chuckle, which you’re sure is an achievement considering you were previously discussing the severity of the cost of living crisis. He’s a stoic man, but warmed to her immediately.

Maybe you shouldn’t have had to fight off your panic attack last night.

“I implore you both to visit us,” he states, bidding farewell. Flo is hugged and smiled at, and strangely he feels he can hug you as well. Does Flo make you less scary? (And is that a good thing?) “My daughter will disintegrate.”

You now take the time alone – albeit alone in a gallery full of people – to ask her if she’s okay so far. She met with a friend who happened to be in Paris to pass the time before today’s six o’clock start. Unfortunately, work goes on whether or not you wish it to, so you were forced to leave her naked in bed at the crack of dawn.

Toby reassures her that your workload fluctuates every so often and that it is nothing to fret about, but he has given incorrect advice already, leaving his sister in a position of mistrust for the both of you. She’s certain you’re not having an affair. That’s a plus at least.

Above the chatter and the music and the unmistakable sound of your brother and his friends having a drinking competition despite the event’s formality, you lean towards her ear and whisper, “you look beautiful, if I didn’t mention it before.” She’s inclined to melt into a puddle on the polished floor of the Louvre, but holds the emotions in her clenched fists. “I can’t wait to take that dress off you.” It will be a task – you know because you’ve taken off your fair share of expensive evening dresses.

She places a cool palm on your chest. How provocative. “Slow down, tiger. There will be plenty of chances to fuck me later.” Florence is bemused by both your constant distance and desire. She can feel you thinking of her throughout the day, but you are annoyingly professional. It’s her least favourite thing about you.

“You’re not opposed to bathroom sex, are you?” Attempting to remain impassive, she only raises an eyebrow. You assume she will linger near you at all times considering these are not the high profile people she is used to, but your response to her coy smile catches in your throat when the smile morphs into the back of her blonde head and her voice is now the soft clicking of her heels. She has walked away.

Perplexed, your eyes follow her to a group of four women. You recognise three to be the wives of the CHAOS board, and the other to be the lady who stole the title of ‘first female board member’ from your teenage grasp. Though you barely tame your competitive fire whenever she speaks, you can’t help but mark the group as your destination.

The smell of their matching Flowerbomb Haute Couture (Christmas gifts from your mother, whose friend group this truly is) would be overwhelming to someone who did not grow up with them. It must be. It’s potent.

Flo stands between your mother’s best friend and First Female Boardmember, who doubles as your father’s favourite sister and the mother of your youngest cousin. Said cousin is twenty-one, and she’s standing behind you.

“Y/n, how wonderful to get your precious attention!” They’re lying. They hate you because you are the antithesis of your mother. “We were just telling Florence about last year’s gala.”

“And how you weren’t there.”

The gaggle of wealthy old ladies pumped with botox are never going to let you live that down. How could you, after all? It isn’t like Aunt Boardmember had voted for a policy that would have shattered the infrastructure of her family business, leaving you to clear up the rubble and put it back into place.

Once you join the group, Flo feels pushed out, drifting away until a hand catches her arm and pulls her towards the exit.

“There’s a more fun party this way,” the kidnapper states, voice hushed and excited, though Flo renames her Kid Napper due to the fact she’s barely in her twenties. She’s not fazed by the actress one bit, and though that flogs her ego, it also relaxes her.

Flo is taken to a room that the sophisticated guests have kept at least twenty metres away from. The music pounds so loudly that twenty metres would be insufficient to deny its existence, and the haze of drugs and alcohol sets in before you get through the makeshift door: two heavy, velvet curtains, black to give the illusion that no one has spilt their drink on it.

Many have.

Many.

Inside she finds it’s crowded with faces who go from the car to the imitation of a club without a spare second for their darling parents who fund everything they do. Champagne flutes clink like their own song, but it doesn’t concern the shockingly talented DJ as she keeps the perfect tracks to snort cocaine to on a loop.

“Chubs!” Flo recognises the slur and the lilt of the voice: your brother. It’s his party after all. “Chubs, darling, have you caught Y/n as well?”

He’s on top of a table, hands on the hips of a girl dressed head to toe in Chanel. She kisses his cheek before he hops down, grinning at your girlfriend and the woman beside her.

“Chubby,” he cheers, kissing her cheek. “Old enough to come!”

Chubby turns to your girlfriend, softening at her slightly alarmed expression. “I was a very fat baby. Only family really calls me that, so I suppose you should too.” And before Flo can question how she is included in that term, your brother has his arms round the both of them and is pulling the girls towards a large table covered in very full shot glasses.

When Flo almost backs out, your brother asks if she’d like to return to your side. Her mouth forces her to knock back a shot before answering that, while she loves you, she hates this. These events are not for her, in whatever state of celebrity she becomes. A rare positive, she can ogle at you. Regrettably, it’s hot when you talk business, but she cannot allow herself to think filthy thoughts when you are discussing things with a seventy-year-old man with five grandchildren.

“Though my dad only offered me her position for ceremony, I am glad I turned it down,” your brother says, handing her another shot. “She used to be fun, Toby will attest to that.”

A glum look briefly surpasses Florence’s smile. “How do I get her to loosen up?”

She can feel you being split between her and work, constantly fighting being severed in two. It’s not possible to leap to each side and please them both.

“Mummy’s had me working as her assistant all summer,” Chubby chimes in, “and Y/n’s building a new hotel. Mum thinks that she’ll step down afterwards.” Then, she covers her mouth, horrified. She was not allowed to tell anyone that. Especially not your brother and your girlfriend.

Something twists inside of Flo, wrapping a coil around her thoughts; squeezing them like a python. “I need way more shots!”

You’ve only just decided to escape sophistication and join them, meaning it will take at least an hour to actually reach your brother’s club. He knows you’re on your way, so he makes sure Flo has a lot in her before you get there.

- - -

Breakfast that morning feels like being rammed by a truck in the arsehole over and over again for Flo and your brother.

They were both equally as far gone as the others in the ‘fun’ section of the party, so herding them into the right cars and getting everyone back to Chaos Paris was, well, chaos. Safe to say that she is integrated into the younger side of your family.

The morning is where she’ll meet your parents properly, however, meaning that she needs to not throw up and stomach whatever she’s going to be served. Hopefully it’s a full english.

“Good morning,” you say, dropping your hand from the waist of your probably still-drunk girlfriend. “Are we last to arrive?” Your father nods, eyes fixing on the new face suspiciously.

“An actress?” He scoffs, supercilious, lips pursed. “Very well.”

You take your seats at the breakfast table in his suite. Though you offered out of respect to have him stay in the apartments, he declined and chose the next best thing. He had the trademark mahogany trench table brought down. It’s covered in a white tablecloth and a variety of dishes, and manned by two maids which Flo thinks is rather extra considering the state of most of the breakfast participants.

Your brother, for instance, hasn’t bothered to change from the suit he was in last night, though the white shirt is stained with wine and other substances. She resents you for convincing her to actually wear a tank top on top of her bra when he has powder smudged around his nose and rosy lipstick smeared along is neck. The latter most definitely belongs to the woman beside him, whose hair is teased and tousled. Her dress is falling down but she hides it by sitting civilly opposite two empty chairs reserved for you and Flo. She is one of you. Flo is not.

The table is completed when you sit: nine set spaces occupied. Technically, it seats fourteen, but this is an intimate event. At the head sits your father, child bride to his right. You are next to your stepmother, smiling when she politely hugs you because if you comment once more on her age your father will disown you and his spending account will no longer be shared. Flo is obviously to your right, with Chubby next to her and Aunt Boardmember next to her. Separating your mother’s best friend and your mother is your mother’s dog, Rupert. Rupert is far more dear to her than either of her children.

It’s a frightful surprise that your father has let your mother sit at his table, let alone the opposing head, but you assume it’s to look functional in front of his sister. He likes to impress his sister. It is commonplace in this family to outdo one another, and with Chubby’s parents’ impending divorce it seems your side is the victor this time.

Flo finds it impossible to associate what you told her was a formal breakfast with the sight before her when she is sat beside the youngest guest who is in a unicorn dressing gown. Not even Rupert would wear something so fluffy to breakfast hosted by your formidable father (and Rupert does wear things) so everyone admires the balls it must take to keep wearing it. Chubby walked the entire way in her fluffy socks.

“Did everyone sleep well?” begins the conversation; chirpy and caring. Only your stepmother could be so happy on a morning like this. You wonder if she’s pregnant seeing as she isn’t hungover, and then almost vomit at the thought.

“I think the better question is if everyone slept at all.” You glance at Flo, who has gladly dug into the food in front of her, being reminded of last night. There was something delightfully comical about watching Florence ‘I can handle my drink’ Pugh be carried out of the Louvre bridal-style by an old friend, absolutely sloshed. The paparazzi were waiting for important attendees, and they enjoyed snapping pictures of a comatosed rising star being hauled into the allocated Mercedes-Benz while you held the hand of whatever wandering drunk is too close to the road. She doesn’t remember half of it. It’s very well documented if she ever wants to.

“You know,” your brother gestures with his fork as he always does, “if Y/n hadn’t gone down the commercial path, she’d make a bloody good shepherd. Phenomenal.”

“Thank you,” you laugh, tipping your glass of champagne towards him.

“We could have you tend the land in the country, like a farm hand.”

“How are you still drinking?” groans Chubby, dressing gown hood pulled over her eyes, face buried in her mother’s neck. “I’m never going to drink alcohol again. I feel like I’ve been sat on by a hippo.”

“I feel like the hippo’s still sitting on me,” interjects Flo. You rub her arm affectionately. “This happens every year?”

“Every year,” your brother confirms, smirking. “Chubs, the hippo will be the MDMA, babe.” Only your stepmother looks affronted by his casual toss of the word. “You’ll be okay.”

Flo catches your eyes quickly to tell you that she didn’t do anything. Toby would drag a knife across your throat if you let his baby sister ping when you’re not even there.

Unfortunately, your mother is the one to change the topic. “Y/n, why haven’t you officially introduced your girlfriend to me?”

“Mummy, this is Florence—”

“Please, call me Flo.”

“And she acts. And I’m very happy with her.”

Your mother peers at Flo curiously, her reluctance less palpable than your father’s, though he lacks her extremely intimidating features. “Aren’t you Tobias’ younger sister?” she finally questions, deliberately selecting his full name to distance herself from the general informality.

“I am,” Flo answers, maintaining her smile despite the response.

“I suppose no age gap can be worse than my ex-husband and...” She looks directly at your stepmother: “Gosh, I can’t remember your name.”

He slams his hands on the table then.

Only the three significant others flinch.

“You cannot refrain from being a cunt, can you?” Your brother presses his lips tightly together, not daring to look at you because you will both burst into a fit of laughter. “No one has commented on your rat having his own seat.”

“Rupert is, at the very least, an adult.”

Your father stands — his premature departure a usual occurrence when the family is reunited — and points his index accusingly at the head of the table. “I never want to be near you again, you pathetic excuse for a woman.” Chubby, your brother, and you mouth along to the dialogue. Your aunt would too if she wasn’t too busy polishing off the last of the almond croissants.

“I only do this for my children, you cheating bastard — not that you acknowledge their existence. Of course Y/n is fucked up: you used her birthday parties to make business deals!”

“And those deals made you a billionaire’s wife!”

“I was set to marry Prince Edward. I have never once needed your money.” It made her a very popular woman. She won’t ever let it go. “Your son despises you, your child bride will leave you when she realises everything will go to Y/n, and your daughter is a lesbian! Do you know what Freud said about that? It’s the fault of the father.”

“His daughter was a lesbian!” you chime in, having had this same line since you were fourteen and this argument first arose, your most favourite thing in the world to say.

“And like you should be, she was with a suitable woman of similar social standing.”

The mouths stop moving. That’s a new one.

“Florence, what do you do?” your father asks, drawing every pair of eyes to her.

At some point, she will tire of this question. “I act.”

“She’s successful,” you add proudly (and necessarily).

“Do you strip for the public? Sleep with directors? Are you talented enough to be wanted for more than a nude scene?”

“You went to the fucking Little Women premiere, Daddy, and you liked it!” you shout, joining your parents in their anger now. That wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have said that. “You are not about to ask my girlfriend if she slept her way to fame. Not when you are marrying a woman who is clearly a gold-digger who you’ve seemingly picked up from prep school!”

He scoffs “Is that the only thing you have against me?” Your mother sits to watch the show, because there are lots of things you haven’t been able to tell him as of yet and he’s given you the perfect opportunity.

“You’re going to die alone, because you’re sour and mean and unlovable. Hear that? You’re unlovable.” Not even brushing on the premise of harsh. “And I tried really fucking hard to deny that, because I thought you made an effort to come to my birthday each year because you loved me back and I thought that my admiration for you wasn’t naive and stupid. Your own sister always takes Mummy’s side. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“It tells me that the women of this family are deranged.” He glances at your brother for a murmur of support, but your brother shakes his head and continues to watch the show. Florence is engrossed in it.

“Rupert is the only man I will ever love.” Back on script, you sit down. Flo holds your hand under the table, squeezing it. “He only makes a sound when he sees a squirrel. No unwanted opinions, no unnecessary advice. Surprisingly, my chihuahua yaps less than you!”

Your father pulls your stepmother away from the table, ignoring the fact that she’s just had the maid pour her a cup of tea, and storms off. If you were to look for him (which you aren’t at all about to do), you’d find him at the golf club. Hence why you steer clear of all golf clubs.

The rest of breakfast is spent discussing whether cocaine or MDMA is better for a party, because your brother’s declaration that cocaine is a sign of wealth always clashes against Chubby’s fact about the two to four hour high of ecstasy. Flo takes an active part in the conversation, mediating due to her rather Hollywood belief of weed trumping hard drugs.

“Hard drugs all the way,” you quietly state, fearing for her reaction. “I’m not that estranged.”

“Debatable,” mutters your brother, eyeing your put-togetherness of clothes that aren’t last night’s. Nothing beats your mother’s fresh full face of makeup, but no one expected you to. His cutlery clinks against the porcelain. “Well, Mummy, we’re off.”

Flo has finished eating. It’s your cue to leave as well.

“If either of you are flying to London, could you check on the house? We’re off to a retreat in Bali tomorrow.” You're not quite certain of the division of property in your parents’ divorce, but your mother makes a point to remind everyone who got the family home. “And, Y/n, darling, are you really building…” The rest becomes white noise, for it has suddenly rushed back to your girlfriend what exactly happened last night.

You joined her after she had downed at least a dozen shots of tequila. She had her hands around your neck while you danced to the painfully loud music. You had kissed her in front of everyone after a long game of dares with an old friend from school, and they’d cheered when she got half your shirt buttons undone before being stopped by your brother. They had definitely booed at your brother.

And she also remembers being told you were going to step down after you’ve built a new hotel.

“Good thing Dad has left,” you mutter, sitting back down to discuss.

“The board thinks… Well, it’s just not a coincidence. The location.”

“She hasn’t built it in Florence, has she?” Never has your brother had welcome input into a conversation.

Flo stares at you, blushing hard. And grinning even harder.

“The land was going cheaply!”

“You bought it for—”

“Chubby, shut up.” Your cousin quiets, drawing her hand back tentatively. “It was a business move.”

“You’ve basically bought her a £50 million engagement ring.” He turns to Flo. “I vote that you turn her down.”

This was supposed to be a foolproof plan, and it was such a good one. A work of genius.

Your brother spoils everything.

A city hotel on the smaller side in Florence’s Old Town takes two years to build. Yes, you haven’t yet told her that you love her, but you’d assumed that by the time the two years were up you’d be on the brink of a proposal, and that the hotel’s opening would be the perfect time, place, and moment. And if things didn’t work out (or she turned you down), you figured that there would at least be another hotel making money for the company.

“Are you going to say yes?”

All eyes are on Flo as she thinks.

She wants to ramble and stutter and explain thirty thousand feelings in two hundred thousand words, but she’s noticed that your family are confident and definitive and… professional. She gets one sentence at most.

“We’ll see.”

Great answer.

- - -

When you get back to your hotel room, she and you launch into a messier conversation. One that is full of interruptions and screaming and laughing and at one point you have your lips kissing a trail from her mouth to her collarbone.

“I wasn’t proposing to you.”

“Okay.”

“I will propose to you. If you want to get married,” you continued, “but it doesn’t have to ever happen. You can say no.”

The initial surprise has subsided, but she still feels the need to bury her head in the sand. Seeing as you are in the middle of Paris, she buries her face in your neck instead. “I do. Later, not now, but I do want to marry you.” You chuckle quietly at her choice of words. “£50 million is a lot considering we’re flying economy back to London.”

“How do you think we stay billionaires?”

She pauses. “Can we talk about money?”

That’s an important conversation. There have been a lot of important conversations recently. Like in Greece, you talked about living together (theoretically, though, because neither of you actually have a permanent place to live right now). And on the plane on the way back, she told you about how her work makes it hard to date someone who isn’t in the same boat.

You have had healthy, communicative talks before. You can have one now.

Why is it making you anxious?

You sit on the edge of the bed, mentally preparing yourself as she follows suit. “I know it’s going to be awkward to discuss. I get that,” she begins, “but this has to be healthy, else I’m not…”

“No, I agree.” You're not an idiot. She isn’t the kind of person to stay in a redundant relationship.

While Flo has, in fact, researched how to talk about this, she forgoes any financial foreplay. It’s against the articles she has read where they say to ease into it with caution, but you are not the average person who worries about student debt and which supermarket is most affordable (or maybe you are — hence the conversation).

“You’re a billionaire?”

Straight in.

“Yep.”

Flo can deal with that; a short answer that cuts to the chase. “How much of a… billionaire?”

“6.4.”

“Okay,” she replies. Calmly. Like it’s nothing. “Is it all clean money?”

“Most of it isn’t money, but, yes. It’s clean.” There’s a legal way of being a billionaire and paying very little tax in which you get minimum wage for your job. “The company has its faults like any other big corporation. Nothing I spend is dirty.”

“That’s cryptic.”

“I’m not an expert in finance,” you answer, shrugging. “I will get you the exact information by the end of today.” She nods, she’d like that. “What about you? I’ve always wondered what actors do with their money.”

“Compared to you I have peanuts.”

“Don’t compare, it never ends well.” The warning is warranted because you’ve had this argument before with the woman you ran and hid from.

She apologises, and then sheepishly admits she doesn’t know what to do with her money. “I bought that place in London, and that’s about it. There’s nothing to do with what I earn. It’s boring.”

You almost tell her to buy drugs as a joke, but not everyone finds that funny. “We both know that neither of us is struggling. I’m not going to tell you to call me if you’re ever in need of a pound. My accountant would advise against a joint account.”

“What about our bills? Would you pay for water and I’d pay for electricity?”

You raise your eyebrows at her.

“You’re not asking me to move in, are you?”

There’s a moment of silence before she picks up your question to reveal the answer, but that seems to tell you all you need to know. “It’s not ready to live in yet, but when it is… You see us getting married. This is the first step.”

“Moving me in will also be granting a shelter for the rich and disowned,” you state plainly. At her dissatisfied expression, you don’t hesitate to tell her it’s a joke. “I usually send them off to a hotel anyway.”

“Do you have a flat?”

You can’t just be living in the hotels. (You can.)

“No! Have you seen the London prices? I was thinking of buying a flat in Oxford, but the tours I booked had to be postponed because they wanted me in Sydney. Something close to family would be nice though.”

Sometimes Flo forgets her life before you were her girlfriend. Like how she basically had an extra older sister for years, and though those same years were chosen by a younger, puerile version of her to yearn and pine, you had spent them joining a family that had found you and taken you in. Raffie calls you her older sister. Deb always says she has five children, not four.

The Pughs are just as much your family as they are Florence’s, and it makes your relationship complex if you argue and don’t talk. Like how in Greece none of them quite knew what to do when Flo and you had disagreed on a tiny, insignificant thing that spiralled into more than it was worth. Dinner that evening was incredibly awkward, as if someone had taken the newfound dynamic and snapped it in half. Everything went back to what it had been like growing up for an hour — Flo ignoring you and you not making an effort to fix it.

“Y/n?” You look up at her, reclining back on the bed in response to both the delayed hangover and the fact that you’d rather have her on top of you than beside you.

She inches closer, naturally. Her fingers play with the hem of your tank top, rolling the fabric up and then down. There’s nothing stopping her from pressing a kiss to your exposed ribs, so she does.

“Yeah?” you breathe, stilling your body in an attempt to hold the feeling of her lips on your skin despite the fact that they’re now hovering over your face.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her down, feeling comforted by her weight pressing you into the covers. She makes an effort to keep her head above your smothering.

“I didn’t hear what you said.” You did. “Say it again.” She will.

She moves her head so that her lips are beside your ear, and she wants to shout but deems it an intrusive thought and something that neither of you would appreciate after last night. Instead, she repeats the three special words, this time sultry and with a heavy implication that neither of you will have your clothes on by the time you say it back.

“God,” you groan, annoyed.

“What?”

“Toby’s going to kill me.”

Flo laughs, and then recalls Greece. The holiday waa torturous when it came to finding time alone, especially when you spent majority of it in a suite shared with Raffie. The thinking behind this was that she’d be out all the time and it would be less stand-offish than fucking off to your own floor. Instead it became a competition of who had to leave to be alone; you and Flo or her and her boyfriend. Toby wasn’t aware of the arrangement. “He walked in and you’re still alive.”

“That’s sex. Now I’m in love with you. I love you. I’m building a hotel for you, and I want to move in with you, and—”

“Y/n, I don’t give a flying fuck about what Toby has to say.” She kisses your neck as if resuming an activity she’s constantly doing.

“Stop.” She pulls away. You hold her face between your hands, squeezing her cheeks together so that she sticks her tongue out to get you to let her go. You do. “I love you too.” She gives you a curt nod. “Okay, you can go back to convincing me to sleep with you.”

- - -

You almost give into her incessant kissing and touching, to the point where you ignore the text from whatever driver you’ve been set up with that says she’s outside and waiting, but you come to your senses and get her to put her clothes back on so you can leave. Checkout isn’t necessary — someone does it for you.

Technically you’re only supposed to use the airlines affiliated with the hotels, but a simple hour and fifteen minute flight doesn’t call for thousands of pounds worth of tickets or a first class lounge. You quite like following Flo around DutyFree, carrying the basket happily. No one looks at her too long to notice anything other than the telltale signs of a hangover.

She doesn’t like your obsessive checking of the flight information, nor the way you eventually begin to hurry her as to not miss boarding, but you’re forgiven when you surprise her with a toblerone that says ‘Daddy’. Flo says the packaging doesn’t matter — though it is hilarious to you — it’s what’s inside. You take a picture of her consuming the entire thing, posting it to your Instagram story like you would any normal photo.

Except lots of people are now following you. A lot more than before. You’re not bothered, switching your phone onto Do Not Disturb.

“I can’t believe you’re making us wait,” Flo murmurs into your shoulder, falling asleep against you as you wait at the gate. The seats are hard against her aching limbs. She groans. “Why can’t we wait in a lounge?”

“You’re spoilt,” you laugh. It’s fun watching different people go to different places. One family is going to miss their flight because the son is in flip flops and the plane departs in five minutes. A teenager, who probably just left for their gap year, rifles through their documents to find a passport they’d never had to have been responsible for until now. You love airports because they are a melting pot of personalities all waiting to get on a metal bird in the sky.

Budget airlines are the best for your people watching.

Flo follows your line of sight curiously, enjoying the scene in which it lands: four twenty-something men, sunburnt from a seemingly splendid holiday, arguing over which one of them had the job of booking seats together. It’s a brash display of gruff cockney accents and testosterone, and you watch every minute of it like it’s a soap opera.

Eventually, their arguing ceases because the first passengers are called to board the plane. You shake your head when Flo assumes you’ve paid for priority. You’re not doing that for a Jet2 flight.

“You are unbelievably stingy.”

Just to be petty, you order a necklace to be delivered from Tiffany & Co. While you don’t explicitly shove your phone in her face while you do it, she knows you buy it because of what she said, rolling her eyes at the price (£5,600). “Do you like it?”

“I don’t like the price,” she answers, regretting it when you raise your eyebrows. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s yours.” Flo tilts her head, squinting. She’s checking if you’re serious. “I’m not joking.” You're finally called for boarding. “Wasn’t that a great way to pass the time?”

“You are insufferable.”

You stand with your bags — Paris was only a three day trip and was able to be carried out with hand luggage only — and join the queue of fellow passengers. In front is a little girl who is fascinated by the pair of you, mesmerised by the way Flo holds your hand and nestles into your side. You give her a wink and she blushes, turning back to her family.

That’s, what, two girls’ gay awakening? Big ego boost.

Flo tells you to stop smirking, but you smirk your whole way through the flight.

The flight is actually very pleasant; a well spent hour and a half of your life.

Your seats are in the middle of the plane, row 18, A and B. Seat C was originally occupied by the standard father of a family of four, but his daughter suddenly decides to swap with him. You let Flo slump against the window (and then against you).

Twenty minutes in, the girl beside you has seemed to have garnered the courage to introduce herself.

With the clearing of her throat, she says, “hi, I’m Hannah.” You smile at her subtle efforts to confirm both your identities.

“I’m Y/n.” Your voice matches the videos she's seen of you. Fans scoured Toby, Raffie, and Scarlett’s Instagrams once they devoured the small pile of video interviews you’ve granted reporters. “Flo is very hungover right now, so we should ignore her. I’m way more fun anyway.” Hannah nods. Hannah is starstruck. “How are you?”

This launches a long conversation about both of your trips to Paris. Hannah has been dragged away from her friends on a family holiday, you have suffered through a gala. Your new friend knows that because she’s seen the pictures but she doesn’t tell you.

In her sleep, Flo sprawls on top of you, mumbling something about not being close enough. You make a face at Hannah as you get suffocated by your girlfriend, “as I said, she is very hungover.” You kiss Flo’s hair.

“Are you guys, like, actually together then?”

“If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll tell you the whole story,” you whisper secretively. She nods, eager to know.

“I won’t if you make a TikTok with me.”

You scrunch your nose at the thought. “Fine, but it has to be really good. I want to go viral.” She agrees with a pinky promise, scrolling through the possible sounds while you set the scene.

Later, Scarlett sends you a screenshot of a celebrity gossip Instagram account called DeuxMoi. Its story slide is someone’s DM: ‘Florence Pugh on my plane from Paris to Heathrow with girlfriend, Y/n L/n. Actress slept on top of her while she chatted away to the girl in the next seat. Seemingly very normal and lovely couple!’

Scarlie: Cute.

You: There are pictures??

Scarlie: If people didn’t think it after those drunk pap pics then they will now

You: Oh well.

You: We’ve just left the airport, Floss is sleeping in taxi. In town or no?

Scarlie: Yeahhh! Come over for dinner? Tobs is offering up our spare room

You: I’ve got to check on the house so we’re heading there. I think I’ll let her sleep through the afternoon while I make some calls

You: Will take a cab for 7?

Scarlie: T is going to the studio later and says he’ll swing by to get you at 6.15

You: Oooh new music

Scarlie: It’s just him going la la la rn.

You: Oh dear. How unpleasant for you.

Scarlie: I'm dying inside

Scarlie: He wants to know if it’s your mum’s house?

You: Yeah that’s the one

You: She asked me to check if the Fabergé is still there

Scarlie: Funny!

The egg is intact when you check, thankfully, sitting pride of place in the formal dining room atop an antique cabinet that probably belongs in a museum. If you were to look at the cabinet for long enough, you’d see a dent that your head made when childish Y/n thought slipper-sock skating on the polished floors would be a good idea. Flo finds her way to a sofa as quickly as possible, and sinks into it, feeling as though her natural state should be horizontal.

Instead of joining her, you walk around the house trying to pinpoint any changes. Usually you stay in the hotel, so finding that the family portrait on the landing has been swapped for an oil painting of Rupert doesn’t come as a surprise. Rupert sits proudly, overlooking the house. You smile at the initials in the bottom right-hand corner. Your mother always loved to paint when you were younger.

You become uninterested in the minute differences when Flo starts to call you back, asking to be cuddled. The grandfather clock in the hallway tells you that Toby will be here in two hours, so you close the velvet curtains that are exposing you to the sun and slip in beside her.

“You know how I managed to get a week long break from filming?” That sounds like bad news. She’s been in Budapest filming the second Dune, but weaselled her way into seven days off by meddling with the schedule and making sure she had no scenes to shoot.

“Do they want you back tomorrow?” She nods, you can feel the movement against you. “Chaos Budapest does need attention…” You could pay her a visit. For the remaining three months of filming. “I can work remotely.”

“You don’t have to follow me around,” she says, privately wanting you to come with her to the ends of the earth. She cannot bear the separation, even if your jobs are wedges of iron between you.

Sighing, you shake your head. “I want to come. I like the city, I have friends there. Nothing’s anchoring me in London.”

“You’ve moved so much recently.” Don’t you want a break? is what she’s asking. You don’t particularly need one, because if you’re going to work yourself into dust you might as well be doing it near her. “Won’t Millie be frustrated? Surely she hates you for never staying in one place.”

“Millie’s fine. These assistants aren’t long-term placements. They work for me for two years and then they leave with a stellar recommendation from me that gives them twenty thousand different job opportunities.”

“Like in The Devil Wears Prada?” You laugh. “Yeah, it is like that! That’s exactly what Andy did.”

“I’d like to think I’m a much nicer boss.”

“Right.”

She runs her fingers along your bare forearm, nails grown out ever so slightly. “I don’t want you to get lonely while filming.” Flo scoffs. You’re acting as if she doesn’t have a whole cast and crew to keep her company.

“If you can work remotely, can’t you just live with me?”

“So now you want me to come?”

She smirks. “I always want you to come.” You swat her hand away from your waist, but it slithers back even further down.

“Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Not anymore.”

There’s a woman in the doorway, peering at the two of you politely, duster in hand. She looks familiar.

“Miss Y/n,” she says from where she’s standing. Flo looks embarrassed. “Only this room is left to clean. I wasn’t aware you were visiting today.”

“I’m not staying for long, Mum asked me to check everything was okay. We’ll get out of your hair.”

By that, you mean you’ll go upstairs to your bedroom. Flo marvels at the state of it. Though it’s clearly cleaned on the regular, the faint smell of cigarettes lives on from a chain smoking youth. “This place is so cool.” She doesn’t give it a second thought, however, because she decides she’d rather pin you against the door than admire the various posters stuck up to cover the wood.

You don’t let that happen, because you wrap your hands around her body, keeping her arms at her side, and walk her back towards your bed. She falls with a soft grunt, and you straddle her the minute she’s lying down.

“Your publicist called Millie.” Her text about it was received in the taxi, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. Flo looks at you, disappointed. “Those pictures of you drunk are fine for now, they keep you looking fun. She wants me to sign some contracts as a precaution.”

She furrows her eyebrows, frowning.

“Because of… you know,” you explain carefully. “Just an NDA in case I decide to expose you when you’re taking a passive stance on the whole thing.”

“Are you going to expose me?” You say you aren’t; of course you aren’t. “Then no contract is needed. I wasn’t consulted, and it’s an insult to you if I make you sign something instead of trusting your word, even if it’s just as a precaution. I trust you.”

“I love you.”

She nods her head triumphantly, already forming her text to her publicist in her head. “It’s off your mind now. Can we carry on?”

“You never actually started anything,” you combat. She doesn’t hesitate to place her hand on the back of your neck and push your head down towards her. You sink into her welcome embrace, letting her do most of the work. You’ll make it up to her another time.

- - -

Toby wants to smash his head against the steering wheel as he turns onto your road in his dilapidated Honda Civic that he uses to haul his guitar to the studio and back. He’s surprised a security guard doesn’t shoo him away with the assumption that he’s a hobo. He certainly feels like one in comparison to the mansions you’ve grown up around.

He parks across the road, unsure of the gate code, and finds that you’re already waiting outside, sitting on the doorstep with his sister, lazily making out.

For some reason, actual sex hasn’t been enough to satisfy Flo. She wants to climb into your body and merge the two of you together, but has to settle on a rather intense public display of affection, grabbing at you to keep you close.

Her brother is weirded out (rightfully so). He honks the horn and can’t even find it in himself to enjoy the startled look on both of your faces, unlocking the car and hoping you won’t sit in the back together. You don’t. You sit next to him, and for a fleeting moment Flo feels as if she’s tagging along with her big brother and his best friend. Then she remembers how his best friend was on top of her only half an hour ago. Imposter syndrome isn’t given space to live in her memories.

Toby doesn’t forget what he saw but reminds himself of how excited he is to see his best friend again. He eagerly catches you up with the minor, mundane details of his life, to which you respond by recounting the gala using stories Flo doesn’t think you’ve told her, dropping names that he knows and she doesn’t. “I can’t believe he hasn’t changed,” Toby says, laughing at a character description of a person Flo hasn’t met. “God, that’s fucking fantastic.”

He takes a route Flo doesn’t recognise. She asks him where you’re going. You answer, “to buy weed,” and she feels like she’s being treated like a child. She’ll bring it up later. Your relationship is still sort of new, and is going to take some getting used to. “Did you tell them we’re dropping by?”

“We’d never be allowed to leave if I did.” It’s fair, it’s true. You’ve been going to these guys for over a decade.

Once Toby’s parked, you all get out of the car and ring the bell. Flo is curious about this insight into you and Toby’s very secretive young adult life. She asks how much you’re picking up. You shrug, saying that it depends how much they’ve already smoked.

“Toby!” The door opens to the face of a very pretty woman, dressed in tiny shorts and a sports bra. She readily hugs him, but pauses when it comes to you. She agreed you could have an amicable breakup. She doesn’t like the way you’re holding Flo’s hand.

“Maya,” you cordially greet. Aftsr she inspects you from top to toe, eyes unapologetic because she’s seen it all before and she wants Flo to know that, she hugs you like she hugged Toby, clutching you in a familiar way. She feels the same. “Nice to see you. You look great.” You remember Flo. “This is my—”

“My little sister, Flo. Remember the one who I used to pick up for?” You thank him silently for that one. Maya can be overly emotional at times. “Is it just you here?”

She shakes her head. “The guys are all outside. Come!” You follow her through the house. It’s miniscule compared to your family home, but, to be honest, you did a lot more growing up here than in Kensington. “Toby and Y/n are back!” There’s a merry cheer from the small courtyard beyond the patio doors.

Flo can’t help but notice the very strong smell of weed (obviously) and the spiritual sculptures decorating the interior. She’s not stupid, she can tell Maya and you have at least slept together. Is that your type?

“Ooh, she’s got herself a girlfriend,” taunts the man who practically saved you when you were younger. “Toby’s sister?” Flo nods. “I like your films.”

“Thank you,” she replies, smiling. He pats the space beside him on the mattress they keep outside instead of furniture. She sits on top of the brightly coloured throw, leaning back on the plump cushions behind her. “I’m Flo.”

He holds his hand out, “Marty.” She relaxes as she shakes it. No one else has made the effort to talk to her, instead obsessing over you and Toby, catching up, ranting and raving about your own individual adventures.

Marty watches Flo let her guard slip. He can see the insecurity pecking at her, demanding she believe she’ll always be just shy of good enough. He places a hand on her shoulder.

“Y/n is talking about you.” Neither of them can hear the conversation, but he knows it’s true because you’re grinning like a love struck fool. “Maya’s scowl is just her being jealous, ignore it. They dated on and off since they were, like, eighteen. It’s good that she’s unhappy — it means you’re worth being jealous over.”

Eventually, you leave the house, wrapping your arms around your neglected girlfriend, enveloping her with kisses. “That’s enough,” Toby groans when you don’t let go the whole way through the house to the car. “We’re only half an hour away. Shut yourselves in the spare room. I’ll just burn the bed sheets when you’re done.” Flo looks amused as he physically parts you both, sliding into the back seat without another word. All Toby wanted was to spend an evening with his best friend of almost twenty years.

He manages to keep his cool the whole way there, even allowing the PDA in the lift. You’re doing it on purpose just to piss him off because he’s so funny when he’s cross. Scarlett has to give him a comforting squeeze when you get to their flat. It’s filled with things picked up from their travels, along with framed pictures of each destination. You feature in most of them, and if not, you probably were the photographer. They have a talent for finding the hotel you’re hiding in.

Scarlett hands you beers on entry, and you all sit around their dining table while Toby shuffles a pack of Uno cards.

“How was the gala then?” Scarlett asks with a smirk, knowing what Flo was doing the whole time. “I feel like your brother went above and beyond for this one.”

“Honestly it could’ve been worse. He wanted to do it on a boat. The Louvre was a compromise.” You’re surprised he didn’t get a boat on the Seine as well. Maybe he’s saving for one. “And I suppose being called an incompetent CEO in front of the Mona Lisa is better than being called anywhere else. I swear the painting smiled at it.”

“God, who said that?” This is the first Flo’s heard of it, so she agrees 100% with Scarlett’s reaction.

“My dad! Can you imagine?” You take a swig of beer. Toby slides your hand of seven towards you, the rest of the table following suit. You are so going to win this game.

Flo goes first, flipping over a blue three and placing down a blue eight. “He’s just jealous. What’s he doing now anyway?” Toby groans when he has to pick up two from Scarlett’s turn.

“I think he’s bought an island for tax evasion. Retired and remarried old men do that kind of shit.” You have nothing interesting to put down, so you settle on a blue five. “Although I’m not sure if he is retiring. There’s been talk of him buying that plane company. You know the one…”

“That’s been in the news! It’s him?” You nod. Who else would be such a prick and do that? He’ll ban you from it, you bet, meaning you won’t be able to get cheap flights at all. “Floss, how did you find Y/n’s parents?”

Toby catches your eyes and silently asks if she did actually meet them. Flo says your mum seemed okay, and your father is as bad as he sounds. They agree. “Your cousin’s sweet. She’s so young, like, very close to Raff’s age, but she’s so sophisticated and refined? She’s like a mini-Y/n.”

“Chubby?!” She’s not refined. Entitled, yes. Speaking of naivety, “Do we know how Raff did in her A-Levels then?”

“Mum said she did great.” Lots of drinking, lots of partying. No one’s heard from her, but that’s probably good news. “I remember when I got my results. You laughed at them!” Flo hits you with a +4, but you’re too focused on his accusation to pick the cards up just yet. She gets them for you, throwing them in your face while you giggle at the memory.

“You got BCC. I got all A*s. You did well, you did well,” you insist. “It’s not like Flossie did any better.”

“Hey, I was working. I was filming a fucking movie!”

“Okay, sorry, sorry.” She throws another card at your face. “I said I’m sorry!” You begin to shield yourself from her assault, feeling ganged up on when Toby and Scarlett take her side. Toby grabs you, hauling you over to the sofa. You squeal when all three of them whack you with cushions, declaring that you have the joint and that they shouldn’t hurt you, they should love you.

“When did you guys go to Maya’s?” Everyone pauses as Scarlett looks between you, Toby, and Flo. “You did not bring your girlfriend to your ex’s place!”

“I accidentally proposed this morning so it’s not as if—”

“You WHAT?!”

Flo bites her lip. You’re digging yourself a deep grave here.

“She didn’t say yes,” you amend. Scarlett shakes her head, giving you room to sit up. Flo sits beside you, both of you rigid in front of your stand-in mum and dad. You feel like you’re about to be told off.

“You two hooked up in April, and it’s now August and you’re together — okay, that’s fine — but you proposed? That’s not as fine. I wasn’t consulted. I should be consulted.”

Scarlett takes a different approach, staring hard at Floss. “How come you said no?”

“Y/n’s building a hotel in Florence, and it was supposed to be a proposal in two years, ‘cause that’s how long hotels take to build.” Toby still looks betrayed. “And I wasn’t supposed to know.”

“Toby, you are not supposed to be consulted,” Scarlett says, rolling her eyes. “So you’ve set a date for two years where Y/n will propose and you will say yes?”

You glance at Flo. “We hadn’t thought about it like that.” Why didn’t you think about it like that? That’s such a smart thought. “But when Flo’s flat is ready, I’ll move in.”

“You’re moving in?”

“You’re not a nomad?”

He’s asked if you wanted to live with him many, many times. He’s always met with a no. Maybe Toby is feeling slight jealousy that you said yes to Flo and not him. How come you’re capable of permanently living somewhere with Flossie, the little girl who ran away from the thought of you, and not him?

The conversation suddenly shifts when Flo and Scarlett start to discuss something that neither you or your best friend can have any input in. While they’re distracted, Toby jokes, “was being in her not enough? You had to build a hotel there as well?” It’s crass — unbelievably so — for him, but you suppose if he’s joking about it he’s not as angry.

“Do you want to leave these two and go smoke?” He nods. You creep outside to the balcony, not that your girls would notice.

“I’ve missed you being happy,” says Toby, taking a long drag of the joint before passing it to you. “You deserve to be happy.”

You outdo the length of his inhale, breathing out the smoke as you speak, “I love her.” He isn’t alarmed, nor is he taken aback. Something about your insistence to talk to his little sister all the way back in April made him think that this one was different. He knows you very well.

“You want to marry her.”

“I should have at least mentioned how serious things were getting,” you concede, tapping the ash on the iron railing of the balcony. By now Flo and Scarlett can smell the weed, but choose to let you two have your conversation in private. They’re both content preparing something to eat (Flo hasn’t eaten properly today for lots of reasons and needs to cook the edge off her mood before it curdles and she breaks down), Scarlett taking a picture of the two of you and uploading it to her Instagram story. She tags Flo, addressing her: ‘when you remember they love each other more than they could ever love you’ followed by several heartbreak emojis. The story slide must have been screenshotted at least one hundred times when Toby and you return inside.

Upon your return, Flo finds it very difficult to cook with you wrapped around her. You engulf her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder and your hands on her stomach. She grumbles about the restricted movement, but is smiling through her moans because you can’t see her. Scarlett’s story is elongated by a short clip of the swaying you’re both doing to Billie Holiday. It’s sickeningly sweet.

You’re so in love that it makes others want to kill you. Especially Toby. But what can he do? Right now it feels as though nothing and no one will come between you and Flo.

- - -

It’s a temporary feeling: work comes between you and Flo. It doesn’t take long, it doesn’t take much effort. In fact, it takes the lack of effort.

In Budapest she is filming at least twelve hours a day, every day. You’re no stranger to being worked to the bone, but even you think it’s excessive for her to be told what to do and how to do it constantly.

When she gets back to the Airbnb she isn’t met with a girlfriend who’s made dinner and ran her a bath, because you’re working in five different time zones and trying to fend off the impending request for you to make your way to either London or New York. Tokyo is on the table too. Millie is okay with that alternative.

It’s not that you’re arguing, but more so that she climbs into bed as soon as possible and finds that you join her hours later. When you do, you don’t hesitate to cuddle her, knowing that she’s stressed and exhausted and feeling very overwhelmed. Guilt clouds most of your day when you realise that she needs you and you can’t be there.

Fixing everything commences with one very short, blunt email to Millie.

I’m taking the day off for Flo.

Millie can only reply with an agreement that it’s necessary, glad you can’t hear the scream of frustration she lets out four miles away in Chaos Budapest. Today you were scheduled to discuss the renovation of your most frequented resort. Millie braces herself for the shit storm your absence will cause.

You hail a taxi and give the address of where they’re filming. The driver smiles at your poor Hungarian, getting the jist of where you want to go. A posh sounding woman wants to be taken to where they’re filming a fancy film. That adds up.

The taxi parks outside of the set. It’s closed, security guards posted in front of the only pedestrian entrance. You approach them confidently, tapping into the CEO mode you reserve for dealing with old men who take a particularly dehumanising stance on a woman’s net worth being ten times more than theirs.

“Can I help you?” asks one of the security guards nonchalantly.

“I’m here to see Florence Pugh.” They exchange glances with each other. They’ve been instructed to keep people away from her in particular, seeing as her publicist is becoming increasingly more cautious about who is a reporter ready to drag her client’s name through the mud.

“And you are?”

“Her girlfriend.”

Security Guard 1 is nudged by his friend. “Isn’t she dating that billionaire? You know, the one with the hotels?”

“She is,” you confirm. “We’re very happy usually, but not so much right now.”

“I know how that feels,” another chimes in.

“I’ve come to surprise her, because I love her and she needs a really big hug, okay?” You take a step forward and they don’t seem to stop you. “Thank you.” They nod at your effort, letting you pass because they’re pretty sure your face matches the one in the gossip magazines.

Set is terrifying. You feel out of place. You’re definitely not cut out for the film industry.

Flo mentioned having an intern dote on her, and so you search for them until a young man with curly hair dyed red at the tips stops you, analysing your features. “Here to see Flo?” he asks quickly. He keeps up with who each of his boss’s are most likely going to be inviting to watch them film. For Flo, top of his list is you. “I can take you to the actual set, or you can wait in her trailer. Would you like a drink?”

“Coffee, please.” He understands that you want to watch her work.

In doing so he gives you a brief tour of where your girlfriend has been spending most of her days recently, sometimes using terms you don’t understand, sometimes explaining parts in greater detail than the rest. You assume those are his favourite bits of set.

“What’s it like working at this place?”

“Busy, tiring,” shrugs the intern. “I don’t have a trailer so it’s not like I can have a nap or a shower until I get back to my hotel.” To ensure you don’t assume it’s unethical, he adds, “The leads are all really pleasant, to be honest. Flo offers her bed and her bathroom. When she’s not using it.”

“Is she sleeping here?” You sound more worried than you realised. Your heart seems to break in your voice.

You’re about to receive your answer when he quiets and motions for you to do so too. The red light means that they’re filming. You lighten your steps, avoiding the various wires running along the floor, recognising one of two voices. Flo sounds upset. You’re not sure if she’s that good of an actress.

“You are just what we need right now.” Someone seizes you by your shoulders, steering you towards the conversation you overheard. The crew tiptoe around two people standing in the middle of the camera set up. The man Flo is talking to seems as concerned for her as you are. “I brought you a gift, Florence!” calls your captor.

Before a ‘now is not the time’ can pierce through her contained crying, she catches sight of your bag, and then your clothes, and then your face. It would take energy that she doesn’t possess for her to not run into your arms.

She’s shaking. She’s not as okay as you’d thought.

“I took the day off,” you explain in advance, before she can mumble into your hoodie about working and priorities and how you don’t need to care so much. “Can she have a break?” An authoritative man who you presume to be the director nods. “Okay, let’s get you away from everyone.”

You find a deserted spot behind a cluster of trailers, ignoring the price of your white jeans and sitting on the dirty tarmac. She sort of lies on top of you, head in your lap. You ask her if she’d like to talk. She says not just yet.

While people do accidentally stumble upon you, they hastily move away. The intern you spoke to earlier is the one who drew the short straw, the one who has to call the actress back, but the director is at a loss. He’s not sure whether you’re going to demand a day off for her. Florence is a necessity, but not when she’s like this; half-heartedly saying lines and then rushing off to her trailer to cry in private. The scenes aren’t being done properly, so what’s the point? he thinks. So though he sends the intern with the intention of getting her back to work on her lines again, when he returns with a only nervous smile, Denis Villeneuve gives up.

Today is a day when Florence Pugh will be loved. Nothing else.

You leave the set in favour of crawling back into bed, holding her as if she will break at any minute. She hates you for it, for treating her like a porcelain doll, but her mouth limits itself to opening and closing for food and water and nothing else.

Slowly, she regains her body’s movement, it’s been there all along but she hasn’t been willing to use it. It’s hours later when she begins to feel alive again and you have resorted to camping out on the sofa and checking in every half an hour or so. She’s slept most of the day.

Her legs swing out of the bed you share in the two bedroom apartment in search of you, her girlfriend, in a desperate, lonely frenzy. She all but storms her way through the furniture, bumping into wooden accents with soft grunts. They don’t deter her, though you are soon alerted of her mobility via an especially loud thud. It’s not her that has fallen, rather a heavy book. You pay it little to no mind. She seems to be coming to you.

Flo is somewhat furious when she finds you waiting for her. How could you drag her by her ears away from a job she adored only to not stay by her side the whole time she was at home? Home. This isn’t home, she chided herself, this isn’t her home.

“You’re awake,” you say, shutting off your phone and placing it face down on the coffee table.

“You weren’t next to me when I woke up.” You can tell she’s angry about it. It’s needy, but it’s adorable. “You can’t take a day off for me and then leave me to it.”

“I don’t even know what I’m leaving you to,” you shrug dismissively, “because you didn’t want to tell me. That doesn’t matter, you don’t have to.”

“I wasn’t crying for the obvious reasons,” she states, fiercely staring you down as if you’ve accused her of being pathetic. She’s really the one hurling accusations around, labelling herself with a plethora of adjectives inside.

“Okay. Why were you crying?” You had already ruled out work the minute the director bowed out of a battle with you about breaks and days off. He was a hardworking man, but a sensible one; he was not about to come between you and your love for his actress.

Florence weighs out her options, you can see it in her eyes. She can tell you and cry more over the very inconvenient situation, or she can withhold the facts and let you carry on as normal. Though you’d be keeping a watchful eye on her. She can’t bear the thought of being monitored as if she were a child, so she acquiesces to answer your question honestly.

“You have to meet Zach.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @sophie-xox @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh one shot #florence pugh #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh imagine #florence x reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh angst

[n7punk]

"City of Angels" Fic Notes

CoA is done! This was a fun little ride. It ended up a bit longer than I predicted but this is the first fic in a while that didn’t become a runaway so I’ll take that. Actually nvm I just checked and I predicted this fic would be 15k. Oops. The share link will be up later tonight, but for now, here’s the fic notes!

Playlist:

My playlist for this one was less emotional stuff and more “LA sucks” songs, so it’s shorter, but honestly it worked really well. For me, a playlist is something that either 1) helps with the mood/ideas while I’m writing or 2) something that makes me WANT to write when I hear it because I tie it to those ideas, so the LA songs actually worked really well even where they were less relevant. The emotional songs are all centered around the breakup/conflict at the beginning, but the playlist still worked.

City of Angels — Em Beihold.

LA — The Veronicas.

Arizona Pretty — Kailee Morgue.

The Very First Night — Taylor Swift.

Strangers — FLETCHER.

I’m Not Mad — Halsey.

Good Idea At The Time — The Wombats.

MODERATION — Lilyisthatyou. (I’ll be honest I think I added this when I was writing the club scenes as, like, the kind of background music they would be hearing to get in that mood because it’s not relevant to the rest of the fic, but it is a banger lmao)

Epilogue Life:

For a while, Adora and Catra are infuriatingly vague to the press about each other. They’ll go to events together and act like a couple, telling stories and clearly knowing each other well, but they just get all mysterious when asked questions. Eventually, after many months of dating, they’re a bit more willing to talk about their relationship. At that point they confirm that they are dating and later admit that they went to the same acting school, having known each other since they were kids. It takes a long time — “coincidentally” shortly after Catra’s career really solidifies her as someone to watch for years to come — before it comes out that they were foster kids with the same guardian who trained them in acting. They basically just say “yeah, she was our teacher so it was kind of like being in class 24/7” and don’t comment on it further. They (well, Catra at least) would love to dig into Weaver, but saying anything bad about Weaver is basically signing a ticket to have her try to sell every one of their secrets she knows. The closest they get is when someone bothers Catra about the “mutual guardian” thing with her then-fiancée and she basically snaps “that was not a family, that was a boarding school. We were not her children or siblings” and the clip ends up online. Mysteriously, they never hear anything from Weaver in retribution, but DT soon after stops having a favor owed to them at two different tabloids.

Adora and Catra both settle into each other’s places and lives. They keep calling their places “Catra’s apartment” and “Adora’s house” for a long time because each is definitely more owned by one of them (both legally and practically), but in daily life it really has morphed into the apartment in the city and the private house passed the edges of town. Their relationship rekindles beyond where it used to be and, despite them never really publicly “clarifying” their relationship once they’re on the same page about being traditional girlfriends, everybody treats them as a couple up until the point where they get married and become wives instead.

For a while Adora remains more famous/ubiquitous than Catra, but her career peters down over time while Catra diversifies and has such a range she becomes one of the go-to magicats in Hollywood. Adora is very happy with her moderate success and wildly successful wife, though. I don’t remember if I kept the “joke speculation” about this in the fic, but eventually Adora leaves show business to direct a small children’s theater group with the love and warmth she was missing in her own education. She loves it. She loves working with the kids, she loves the low stakes of community plays, and — as referenced in the fic — she loves stage acting.

Catra keeps up in Hollywood all the way until she’s a gray fox, always attending her award shows with her wife on her arm, which is pretty much the only time Adora steps back into the limelight. Adora had her fun, but her own mental health does better in her new career path. It barely pays, but that’s what Catra and Adora’s old investments/savings are for. Occasionally one of her kids really goes down the Hollywood path and Adora does a little networking for them.

Chapter 1:

⦁ Neck kissing is enough of a thing for Adora that it was a total red flag that it wasn’t doing it for her and I find that hilarious.

⦁ Catra’s reputation for calling shit out really bit her as soon as the public picked up on her interaction with Adora. The theory Adora was secretly racist was slowly gaining some traction within Catra’s fanbase, as well as outside of it when that seemed more scandalous — ie, profitable to talk about — to gossipers/tabloids. Catra had been avoiding Adora for years as she built herself up, but when that started spreading, she reached out for Adora’s sake as much as hers. Being friends with some of Adora’s friends, all the stories she has heard seemed to show Adora as she remembered her and not some egomonster twisted by fame, but even starting to wonder if the Adora she loved still existed and their relationship could be repaired, she stayed away until she had a name of her own to stand on. Partly because of pride and partly, yes, because of the stupid superstition.

⦁ Catra was really trying to puff herself up for the encounter, scared of Adora getting under her skin again, but the end of it really threw her off. She made the dig about Adora’s talent and realized — at least a bit — how much it hurt from the way she retreated, and then Adora backed down which she doesn’t do, and then she said she missed her and left. It was the first step to Catra really starting to consider her again.

⦁ When I went to write the first chapter end note, I realized you could easily consider DITM, ASGNE, and SaD “celebrity” fics, not to mention stuff like 5GR that brushes up against fame in some other way, or even SLAS with the socialite aspect. I only really consider DITM and maybe ASGNE celebrity AUs, though, with the others just dealing with some level of fame or notoriety in their specific area (cosplay, sports, etc).

⦁ I was supposed to do a whole fic extra about this, but I didn’t, so I’m just going to whack it up as a block of text here regarding Adora’s reputation and public perception: Adora came out of nowhere and played a kind of a-typical character to be the lead of an action series. She was so similar to her character and dorky in interviews that she immediately grew a very attached fanbase. You know that gif of Jennifer Lawrence looking at Anne Hatheway at the Oscars “like she’s a unicorn” because she’s fangirling herself that everybody reblogged back in 2014 or whatever? Yeah, that exact gif exists of Adora and was kind of the vibe that inspired her public perception here. That and the girl who played April Ludgate saying weird shit in interviews. Adora seems ~quirky and relatable and down to Earth~ (AKA doesn’t know how to cultivate a public personality or censor herself) so she gets a lot of fans pretty quickly. She has this cocky thing that works for lesbians and this “girl next door” vibe that works on everybody else, so she keeps getting “typecast” in those roles because that’s what everyone wants to see her in and her fans will follow her from movie to movie without hesitation when those similarities are there. Of course, the truth is taking on a totally different character is difficult for her, but between auditions for other stuff not working out and more of that fair calling for her, she has been legitimately typecast at this point. She’s way too honest in interviews and it works out for her. Everybody feels connected to her despite how there are sides of herself — the fragile ones — she never lets anyone see, and she’s a household name with her face synonymous with an entire franchise.

Chapter 2:

⦁ Perfuma was there to make sure they didn’t end up hooking up in the bathroom as much as she was standing guard, it’s just that no one ever said that to Adora. Perfuma was supportive of them reconciling now she was getting to know Catra better, but she thought that just might be counterproductive to it.

Chapter 3:

⦁ Catra knew there was a chance of them meeting at the party since she closely associates Randor’s name with Adora. She assumed Adora wouldn’t happen to be on the other side of the country to come to the party, but it was in the back of her mind as a possibility, so she wasn’t that surprised when Adora showed up. Mostly she was grateful for someone she could seem like she was engaging with socially while really she could just relax.

⦁ I rarely put Catra in skirts but in this case it was insurance to make sure her tuck never showed or anything.

⦁ Imitation is part of my larger universe of fics, with it being one of Catra’s movies that she won an Oscar for in DITM. Gunmetal was one of her movies in that fic, and later one of Sea Hawk’s in ASGNE (he was also in it in DITM), and in this fic it’s the third of Adora’s trilogy of movies.

⦁ Catra’s name being “Beth” in her breakout role is once again a reference to the “her real name is Elizabeth” joke from crew.

⦁ Alright the premise of Adora’s breakout trilogy is basically you have a classic action guy who’s secretly a spy and he’s in love with his next-door-neighbor (Adora) who he greets in the hallway every morning. And then in the first ten minutes of the movie he goes missing, and Adora accidentally witnesses suspicious activity at his place and then he never comes out to greet her in the mornings anymore and it starts her down this track of investigating for herself and finding his secret spy gear and going on a mission to rescue him without any knowledge of the spy organization he actually worked for. The whole movie there’s this assumption by the audience that she loves him back and that’s why she’s going to these lengths. She talks with another character about how they’ve known each other since high school and you think oh when she rescues him there will be a confession, and then she does rescue him and, when he’s finally in the movie again after an hour and 42 minutes (at no point was he shown before that so the viewer is just as unsure as Adora whether he’s still alive), it’s revealed she was his babysitter back in the day (she’s a few years older) and she sees him like a younger brother and has no connection to him like that, on top of being a lesbian with a girlfriend he didn’t know about because it turns out he really didn’t know that much about her at all having only had some conversations with her in the hall after they happened to move into the same building after going to different colleges. It’s partially a joke and partially a commentary, although not as progressive as it’s going for considering they casted a 20-year-old for the female lead and an almost 30-year-old for the male despite him supposedly being younger because in Hollywood women HAVE to be young and attractive. It does solidify Adora’s character though, because she went through all of this just for a guy she once knew as a sweet kid and that she was worried about. The sequels are set up by his spy agency inviting her to join them at the end of the first movie since she proved herself by rescuing one of their own. It’s a good button on the end of a single movie and was also a great setup for sequels when they were greenlit. The last two movies have an overarching story connection with the agency turning out to be corrupt and his capture was an inside job, though they can be viewed individually. He’s, once again, barely in the movies and has been demoted to deskwork (which does end up giving him a critical moment where he witnesses something at the office that blows the corruption open, so he’s still important but not the focus). Adora’s struggles with balancing her secret life with her girlfriend are a sideplot in the sequel and in part III they’ve broken up due to Adora being a shitty girlfriend (big oof, Superzero parallel there but it also hit too close to home for in-universe Adora) and she’s gets a new love interest in the form of a sidekick. At the end they basically found their own agency together after taking down her old one. Lesbians love the power dream. In the first movie (and in later movies, but especially at first where she isn’t a part of this world) the character Adora is playing is basically… herself, but with action hero skills, which is why she was cast, because basically as soon as the team saw her audition they were like. That’s the girl. That’s who we’re trying to get someone to play and that just is her. The movie ended up being successful enough that it spawned a graphic novel followed by a comic book series which ran for years and kind of went off the rails into cloning and shit. Typical comic weirdness tbh, but the technology in the comic is noticeably more futuristic (and impossible) than that in the movies. It’s almost like the comics are set 60 years later.

⦁ Catra started blockers and hormones younger than… like 99% of trans people. Part of there being less transphobia means it’s easier to realize your identity and a Lot easier to get access to healthcare, so her natural voice isn’t deep or anything, but when Adora talks about it getting rough that’s Catra letting go of the training she has done to keep it controlled, not just in pitch, but also in cadence.

Chapter 4:

⦁ The tabloid website description is based off my (likely inaccurate) memories of the one time I stumbled into an article on the extremely trashy Perez Hilton gossip magazine website. My memories of it are that they were being truly disgusting about how a like, 16 year old Disney actress was dressed.

⦁ Being that this is a transphobia lite AU, name/gender change process stuff is better and more effective. Catra got her birth certificate and everything updated at a very young age, so unless someone wanted to dig specifically into name change orders from the county she grew up in the year she did it, it would be very hard to find out she used to have a different legal name or gender.

Chapter 5:

⦁ There’s a lot of talk about Catra being “more” talented, and while it’s right, it’s relative. Adora wasn’t cut out to be a great actress. She has honed the skill until she was capable of doing it, but Catra is more naturally inclined towards it and, having had just as much time to hone her skill, is still better. That doesn’t make Adora untalented, it just means she’s not naturally inclined to acting and she was set up to a losing game when Weaver made sure that was the measure by which she valued them and taught them to value themselves. Of course, Weaver still views Catra as mediocre (because she “doesn’t apply herself” and “surfs on talent without honing her skill”) and she views Adora as having the dedication, making her more favorable, but not having enough because otherwise she would perform better than the “lazy” Catra. She also just views Adora more favorably because 1) she does well at stage-acting, an art Weaver’s shitty intellectualism views as superior (in the way that people writing Adora’s biographies in twenty years will say she was even greater than anyone ever knew because she was a good stage actress too), and 2) talent or not, Adora got more roles, and more results meant she was clearly better. Whatever Adora’s technical faults, Catra’s sour attitude was clearly holding her back. If Catra would “just change” then she could finally live up to her potential, and thus she must be personally spiting Weaver by holding back. Weaver’s view of the world is very self-centered.

⦁ Part of the reason Catra said “never again” despite liking the dance was the possibility of them being seen. It would be easy for the tabloids to paint her as a toy or somehow to diminish her worth with it. The rest was that while it was hot, it could become problematic behavior if it were in a pattern — and maybe behavior in line with the selfish, attention-hungry version of Adora she built up in her head when they broke up.

Chapter 6:

⦁ Catra sends Adora that smile after mentioning sleeping in a limo because she’s thinking about how they almost hooked up in the car, it just kind of went over Adora’s head.

⦁ Alright, hybrids and makeup. So far mentions of Catra’s makeup in others’ fics where she’s “supposed” to be human are the number one immersion breaker for me in those (because I just imagine Catra as a magicat regardless) but I do think hybrids could/would wear it. It varies by species obviously (lizardfolk essentially have scale paint they can wear and claw polish/strains, but nothing else that looks traditional beauty products), but a lot of the hybrids could wear some level of the typical stuff. There’s kind of three camps on Catra’s appearance (full fluff, general fluff but not on some places like faces and hands, or no fur just skin). Obviously in the third she can wear all regular beauty products, but it’s noncanonical and not my usual interpretation. I guess I’m somewhere in between them, but either way the skin just around her eyes could probably take fairly traditional products, and she could wear things like blush if there were a special style of product for it that doesn’t exist in our world to accommodate fluffy cheeks. As such, I think wearing lipstick or eyeliner isn’t out of the question for Catra ever, but things like eye shadow and blush get more iffy depending on your interpretation, and foundation is pretty far out there. All that “possible hybrid products” stuff established, Perfuma’s line has a lot of stuff like that included and that’s part of why Catra was talking about the differences in formula for their different kinds of skin. And if you always picture her hairless then I suppose she was just talking about the colors on different skintones to you.

⦁ I had a whole thing I cut out from this chapter about how Catra transitioned under Weaver but I deleted it for the transphobia. I’m going to cover it here, but like, trigger warning. Basically, context matters a lot, so stuff that’s just problematic for reasons unrelated to transphobia in their world is awful in ours. With it being socially acceptable, Weaver didn’t have a lot of reason to say no to Catra’s transition other than it being expensive, which led to things like Catra borrowing Adora’s clothes until she had outgrown the ones she already had and Weaver would let her buy new ones from the right department now she had to spend the money anyway (did they look much different than the ones she already had since neither of them are super femme? No. Did they feel better? Yes). Adora mentions Catra doing HRT young, which was absolutely what Catra wanted, but the part I cut out was that this was one of her few choices that Weaver fully supported her in. Support is kind of a bad word, though, because the reason she approved was she thought that Catra needed to transition as early as possible if she was going to do it because otherwise she might not fit beauty standards and not get any parts. Growing up ugly might as well be every pageant mom’s worst fear and has little to do with gender in-universe, but IRL this is just horrible. There’s so many people who have thought that they couldn’t/shouldn’t transition because it was “too late” and I didn’t want to include anything like it in the fic. I’m only including it here because I’ve previously thought about how controlling Weaver would be in a situation where either of them transitions (in AUs or canon) so I had to think about what would lead her to supporting it and keeping it “a secret” in this AU over the years of Catra’s fame. At this point revealing Catra is trans wouldn’t gain Weaver anything other than making Catra uncomfortable about strangers knowing her deadname or just thinking about her genitals at all (I’ll never forget that Laverne Cox interview where the interviewer thought for some reason they could/should ask about if she had bottom surgery and she just had to laugh it off and say “I’m very happy with the situation down there” without clarifying).

⦁ Regarding timing, my trans headcanons for them fall in line with my sexuality headcanons for them. Catra knows and falls young, but Adora takes a lot longer and might need a big push. In the case of transitioning, Catra realizes very young she’s a girl and is insistent on the fact no matter what others try to tell her. Adora tries to push through it and doesn’t understand why she can’t live up to macho standards or whatever (or never feels like she is, anyway) until eventually enough shit piles on and the realization breaks that she never wanted that set of standards anyway. She would absolutely be the one to be like “Well I’m just Aware™️ of toxic masculinity because I listen to my female friends so much and that’s why everything feels wrong, no need to question the masculine part tho!” with her blinders on full force.

Chapter 7:

⦁ Adora is continually baffled by Catra’s ability to not measure things or use a recipe.

⦁ Entrapta is primarily a VFX and CGI artist in this verse but not a force on Earth could stop her from hacking sometimes.

⦁ Part of the reason Catra wanted the site down was for Adora’s sake. She knows the joke bothers her too.

⦁ Chapters 5, 6, and 7 are interesting because they all contain a scene that was originally in one of the others. They saw a lot of rearranging, which is the main reason I took three days before posting chapters 4 and 5 as I got 5/6/7 settled. I’m ordering this by how things originally started and putting where they ended up in parenthesis. Originally, Chapter 5 had the morning after scene (CH5), an Instagram scene (deleted, I’ll explain in a sec), the the aquarium scene (CH6), photoshoot scene (CH6), and the confession scene (CH6). Then the fic rolled right into the final chapter, 6, with the talk show (CH7) and Clawdeen scenes (CH7). More stuff from the final epilogue was planned to come after but by then I had new ideas and ended up inserting two new chapters to accommodate them. The cut “Instagram” scene featured Adora seeing Catra with the Star siblings on Jewel’s Instagram story and wondering about where things stood with her and Tali. She tried to focus on her shoot, but that night Catra texted her for a booty call and Adora accepted. It gave Adora some confidence that Catra was coming to her when Tali was more convenient, but she also didn’t know if Catra had just struck out. The truth was that being around someone she used to hook up with got Catra thinking down those lines again (horny) so she called Adora up. This felt like too early or them to hook up again, though, and writing that scene got me thinking about the dynamic between all three of them, which gave me the idea for the club dance scenes. When I initially wrote them, they opened chapter 6 following the confession scene and were really different. It didn’t fit with them already being “official,” even if it was casual. I didn’t want to have two scenes centered around the Tali thing either since it really wasn’t a big deal in their lives, so I cut the earlier Instagram scene in favor of the dancing and moved it to before the confession by moving the photoshoot and confession back to chapter 6. I also wrote the scene in Catra’s kitchen at that time (originally opening CH6) but moved it back because (conversely) it didn’t fit with them not being together yet. That’s when Chapter 6 took it’s final form in the fic. I changed the concept of Chapter 7 to go from “wrap up/epilogue” to “public interacting with their relationship” with epilogue following in Chapter 8. I moved the kitchen scene in to 7 and paired it with the talk show and Clawdeen scenes for the final version in the fic. Whenever I moved a scene, it needed rewriting to fit within the tone of their relationship in its new place in the timeline, but sometimes that was the entire reason I moved scenes. The club/dance scenes did not feel like they took place when their relationship was confirmed, so I moved them back to before it. The scene in Catra’s kitchen didn’t feel like it took place before they were confirmed because Adora should have been freaking out about the implications of people thinking they were dating a lot more, so I moved it after. All these moves still required tweaks, but I think everything flows way better where it is now and the chapters (5, 6, 7, and 8) are all decent lengths rather than the final two chapters turning out to be behemoths. After writing this note, I realized I had to go back and rearrange bullet points in my fic notes too since the relevant scenes had moved LOL

Chapter 8:

⦁ The reason Adora’s house is so far out is because that’s what it takes to get a quiet neighborhood where no one will rat her out to the press. Some of her neighbors recognize her, but so far everyone has been chill.

⦁ I’m putting it here because I kept waiting to squeeze it into the fic and I never did so this is my last chance: Weaver’s “backstory” in this is that she wanted to be a Hollywood star and thought she had gotten her big break when she was cast in a soap opera that showed promise. Season one was so bad it crashed hard and almost sabotaged the careers of anyone associated it. Still, hate watching numbers are still numbers, so it came back for a second season that had such low viewership numbers (since it wasn’t even interesting enough for hate watching really and that kind of thing always has a limit) that it was canceled halfway through and the rest of the filmed episodes never aired. Weaver pretty much never got cast in anything again. When she started to age, she “accepted” it was over since Hollywood likes young and beautiful women. She became an acting teacher, and after one of the children from her first set of classes went on to get a successful role, Weaver saw the dollar signs and the chance to maybe grasp at a fraction of the fame she wanted. She decided to foster two potential cash cows and try to raise them up with her as their stage manager so she can directly attribute their success to her (this was as important to her from a personal vindication standpoint as it was a financial one) and finally say that she clearly had what it took to make it in Hollywood since she could steer others through it, she just got unlucky guys :(

⦁ Before I wrote anything for this AU I predicted it would be 5 chapters and 15k, but by the time I went to post it that... was obviously wrong and I said 6 chapters at 30k. It ended up at 38k and honestly at this point I'm calling that win with my history.

⦁ Okay this AU. is interesting. Normally I would put an “Original Outline” at the end of the chapter summary but this one is really brief so I’m just tacking it onto Chapter 8. The idea for this AU came when I was listening to City Of Angels and went “the Catradora vibes are so here,” so I put it on my possible AUs list as just “City of Angels AU” and moved on, waiting for that idea to catch. A few months later (back in February or March probably?) I randomly got the idea for — essentially — chapter 4. I outlined the award show scene with the stupid golden touch joke, them talking on their date (though when I outlined it the conversation had no context) and then them in the car and going home together after “some party.” I had other fics at the time that I was working on, so it had to wait in line, but it was really stupid and fun. I didn’t have much overarching planning ahead of time, so there’s not much to go over other than stuff like the changes around Chapter 5, 6, and 7, but I will say the old plan was for the stuff I labeled as CH5 to, well, be in chapter 5 and then the final chapter would be  award show stuff and them at a party together. As I was writing I watched Eddy Burbank’s video on the death of late night TV and added the interview scene (I find those a lot of fun anyway so it was kind of glaring that one was missing in hindsight) and then the Clawdeen scene just kind of happened and led to other changes. The final scene of the fic was outlined before all the major changes that added two more chapters, but it just added to the roster of scenes that required the buffing out.

Upcoming:

So. Here’s the thing. I kind of promised I wouldn’t do something a long time ago and like, I’ve dabbled adjacent to it, but now we’re. we’re just doing the damn thing. So the next AU is called Trade Today For Tomorrow. And it’s going to be up like, in the next day or two probably. Because I’m insane. I wrote over 7000 words in one day. Actually I did something similar for this project, I had like two 6k~ days. I’m in my unhinged era.

#im fucking INSANE for my next project so i had to edit this so i could post it and be able to start doing that #i mean i finished CoA 4 days ago. ive just been posting every other day while i work on the new thing since its fucking long #but brrrrrrr its almost time so lets get this up tonight #coa #fic notes #ficmeta

[nuatthebeach]

you knew that i'm a mastermind, and now you're mine

comment here on AO3.

mastermind may be an unlikely choice from Taylor Swift's Midnights, but i hope this short fic explains why it's the right one. more on that here.

gifted to @corneliaavenue for ranting with me about this damn album and finding new ways to apply its songs to hinny every day.

At first glance, the press can feel quite irritating.

Not in the she's-Harry-bloody-Potter's-wife sort of way - though there is plenty of that kind too, don't get her wrong - but in the you-are-famous-so-you-must-be-asked-all-sorts-of-intrusive-questions kind of way.

Over the years, she's come up with methods to circumvent those, and she finds herself fairly satisfied with the results.

Ginny flicks her eyes to her watch and claps her palms together. "Right, you lot. You know the rules: one hour, free for all," she raises her eyebrows in question, "Except for?"

"Respect boundaries, no use of passive aggressive questions, don't bring up Mr. Potter, limit discussions to Quidditch but deviations are allowed if not intrusively personal," the small press group chants obediently before one adult with rough skin tacks on, "And absolutely zero tolerance for any - and I quote from you directly - '1950s shite that implies anything about being the Chosen One's baby factory.' We should know better, and we should be better."

She grins, eyes brightening. "Correct, Peter! You learn quick! How are the kids, by the way? Sarah finally crawling?"

"Yes, Mrs. Potter, but we've got a new problem, unfortunately. Changing her nappy has become a bit difficult."

Ginny can tell. The man's hairline is already beginning to recede at the tender age of thirty eight, poor thing. She's not too much of a cow to point that out, of course.

"Ah, well, changing a nappy is a two person job," she states instead, "Maybe get Meghan to hold her arms down?"

"That won't stop her kicking, I suppose. But it is a start."

"And you, Sully?" she turns her attention to the lanky man standing in the back right, the words 'Highway to Hell' spilled colorfully on his shirt, ever the lover of Muggle music that he is. "Did you try that Indian restaurant I told you about last meeting? Remember we talked about expanding your palate to something a bit more…tasteful?"

He smiles a gap-filled smile, his remaining enamel a perfect match to the withering gray of his hair. At least one can't sue The Daily Prophet for ageism, she thinks off-handedly.

"Yes, I did. The curries were to die for. I've got a recommendation for you too, if you'd like."

Remembering his past insistence that she should give a taste for haggis, a quite fascinating Scottish delicacy of a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs mixed intricately with oatmeal and onions, Ginny fights to keep the smile on her face.

"Er, yeah, Sully, let's circle back to that, for sure."

One woman in the front raises her brightly manicured hand, practically bouncing in her eagerness to ask her first question. Ginny obliges, noting that she's among the newer, younger faces. "Hi, Gi - er, Mrs. Potter…I'm Jasmine! I've been cheering for you since your starting position with the Harpies! As someone who has also grown up in a testosterone-fueled house, I can tell you that seeing you earn a place in every league, every tournament you've been in has just - I am honor - I mean, you're just so amazing, and I - fuck, okay, I'll wrap this up."

Ginny laughs, startled but pleasantly so. She mouths a quick 'thank you,' touched beyond words.

Jasmine takes a deep breath and struggles to morph her expression to the likes of the other serious faces around her, self-consciously tucking a piece of chestnut hair behind her ear. Ginny wishes she wouldn't. Her energy is refreshing. She promises to tell her this one day.

"Since your projected wins have been accurate thus far, my question is, what do the stats say about the likelihood of the upcoming game resulting in the Chudley Cannons ranking above the Ballycastle Bats for the first time in seven years? They've certainly pulled their weight this season."

"Well, if you asked my brother, he'd say 100%, but since I'm obligated to tell the objective truth…" They all laugh appreciatively, and Jasmine's smile returns to the avid nature it once was. "On a more informative note, though, I'd say the realistic chances are…"

And this goes on for a while, the push and pull of conversation and banter, like gentle waves yielding to an easy tide, and this, this is the energy Ginny wishes she had been surrounded with throughout her professional life so far. She had never once blamed this particular lack on Harry, of course, for only a dimwit would believe he had somehow orchestrated this whole thing.

And if he still believes this sometimes, he's her dimwit, so he doesn't really count.

And it's not like she cares about what other people think.

Though it is another thing entirely to say it can't be a pain in the arse sometimes. A nail in an already infected foot.

But she refuses to let that bring her down.

It's her life, and she weaves the web of her own destiny. After all, she's spent enough time letting people use shears to tear them down.

"Mrs. Potter, I don't believe you ever addressed your oldest rumor back in your Hogwarts days?"

Ah, she spoke too soon. The Shear Personified.

"It's been overheard from several of your old classmates that Mr. Potter has identified you in his Amortentia during potions class." Oh, Jeffree, don't do it. You were quiet for so long. As you should have remained. "I mean, has there ever been an instance where you slipped in a love potion, let's say, in his pumpkin juice during breakfast? At least once?" I could have introduced you to Aunt Muriel, and you could have been miserable gossips together. "It's just a bit hard to believe - "

She doesn't even have to open her mouth because all of a sudden, the small crowd starts to chatter angrily, glaring at the admittedly social-cues-lacking middle-aged man.

"Boo," gap-toothed Sully chants, throwing his unlit cigarette butt in an aimless direction.

"Poor form, mate," Peter's head shaking causes a child's toy to go off in his nappy bag. "You should know the rules by now."

"Get. Out." This high-pitched but firm squeak is from Jasmine herself, and it's honestly more effective than any of the group's efforts thus far.

Ginny looks around at the mayhem, touched that her little fan circle is responding so strongly on her behalf.

It means the world, truly, considering that she'd gotten comfortable with the accusations and hate for so long, she forgot it had ever bothered her.

The turn of her lips, though slight, is full of awe, taking in the sight around her.

When the din finally quiets enough, she catches the end of Jeffree's defensive words: "All I am saying is that they were adolescents when they first got together, and reports say - "

"Who gives a damn what reports say?!"

"Er, thank you, Jasmine. Reports say that he was soon on the run for months, and - and - " he falters when he sees Ginny's cutthroat eyes, clearing his throat, "even at the last game, there are images of Mr. Potter staring in a 'daze that rivals a sacrificial victim ensnared by an enchantress,' to quote your own colleague Rita Skeeter - "

"Well, I'm glad Rita finds me enchanting," Ginny cuts in dryly, "But what are these images that you keep babbling about? At least have the gall to put your money where your mouth is before throwing accusations in the middle of a private press meeting."

With irritatingly un-shaky hands, Jeffree pulls out the "Exclusive Celebrity Papers," a Rita Skeeter new edition - as if she's written anything else in the past - and jabs at the pictures with one stubby finger.

She narrows her eyes, observing grainy-image-Harry gaping at grainy-image-Ginny, who had been commentating that day for the recent Appleby Arrows and Tutshill Tornados match, his gaze utterly distracted and…unfocused.

That is peculiar, Ginny wonders. Was it possible that he was stupefied earlier that day at work? No, the spell doesn't usually last that long, and he would have told her if he was, and besides, she's seen that look before she just can't place it -

And then, Ginny sees where exactly he's ogling at, and everything immediately clicks together.

"I know love potions are supposed to bring about feelings of lust, but I hate to break it to you, those trousers are known to do the same."

Her crowd laughs appreciatively, and Jasmine lets out a hearty whoop.

At this point, Jeffree's cheeks are a deep maroon.

"That - that's not very appropriate."

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Neither are your questions. I have a fit arse. My husband knows this. The sun rises in the east. Celery is a shite vegetable. Life goes on."

"Oh, please."

Great, here comes Ginny's least favorite part of these press meetings. She had been foolish to think it was put in the past, but alas.

When a man feels hurt that their ego isn't stroked, they spend their time feeling the need to let everyone know, thinking they'll care.

Like a child crying for attention. Only with these types of men, it's not a phase.

"Let's not pretend that everyone here is not wondering the same thing," the prat starts, "What, you think they care what restaurant taste you have? Your daycare advice? We all came here for one thing. A story."

This sends the room in a heated flurry again, but Ginny cuts it short, her biting remark a crisp breeze on a two-in-the-morning walk home.

"I don't need a love potion for my own husband to want me. And I don't care what you think your opinion is."

She skips, of course, the rant thrumming deep within her veins about how she, of all people, would know on a personal level what it's like to lose autonomy and would be the last to take it away from someone else. Such an obvious argument would only go over this dense sack's head.

Besides, she doesn't owe anyone any explanation.

Instead, she settles the building friction in the room with a cool: "But if you dare insult anyone in this room again, you'll find that the next story you cover is the one outside the toilets of the Ministry. And spoiler alert, entries into the departments are not all they use them for."

The rest of the press - no, her friends - cheers in delighted unison, Jasmine going so far as to hold the door for Jeffree's exit.

Sully swipes Rita's paper from his hand and rips it in two.

xxx

Harry laughs, listening attentively to Ginny's recount of the entire debacle, peppering remarks of "it is a great arse" and "if I see Jeffree covering the toilet entries I'll be sure to leave the seat up" and "ah, classic Sully. Maybe we should try the haggis he's always talking about," to which Ginny replies "or maybe we shouldn't" and grins as he affirms "yeah, maybe we shouldn't."

When their low-lit living room falls to a hush, Harry leans into Ginny's side, refilling her wine without her asking, and she ponders at how being with him just fits.

Like dominoes cascading in a line.

She puts her glass down and snuggles under his chin, preferring his clean scent as her method of intoxication instead.

"It's amazing," he breaks the companionable silence after a while, rubbing her back.

She lifts her head curiously.

"Only you could turn around a whole group of paparazzi and make them not only respect your boundaries but adore you. As a person. You just win over people so easily."

Ginny laughs and playfully nudges her elbow into his side, pressing her forehead to his. She knows he's really saying You win me over too, you know. Every day.

And all the rich colors of the grass around the world can't capture the natural comfort that his sage eyes make her feel.

She just has one final, teasing question to ask him.

"I mean, are you really surprised?"

His smirk is wide.

"Not in the least."

#hinny ficlet #harry x ginny ficlet #hinny fluff #ginny deals with press and it's hot

[witchthewriter]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒.

Personalised story for @leniabranch  Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 2.7k

The clash of swords rung throughout the battlefield. Screams of pain morphed together, the men forming a choir of death. The sun was harsh in the sky, heating the soldiers in their armour, singeing any bare flesh that came into contact. Crows cawed from the trees, like spectators at a tourney.

    A man with blood matted in his hair looked across the battlefield. A Targaryen breastplate laid at his feet. He kicked it, spat, and ran. He did not care that he was a deserter. The Targaryen’s didn’t stand a chance. Not with their armies, not with their dragons.

                                                           -✶-

   It felt as if the heat had never left your cheeks. Life had never felt more full. Your heart was a steady thump in your chest, reminding you of what truly mattered. Another sibling. Someone else to join the family. The thought brought a smile to your face, as you sat in silence at your vanity. This moment was the first in three days that you had a chance to yourself. House Branch had been celebrating nonstop; continuous music without pause and a bright smile on everyone’s faces.

  You promised Papa that you and Sanah would only be an hour. You both wanted to freshen up, but more importantly, to sit down. The basin of water had gone cold, but neither you, nor Sanah cared. The cold water felt wonderous against your warm skin. Even for a Summer’s day it was hot. Like the sun had decided that he too needed warming up.

  You sat down on your vanity’s chair. Even the brass backing was warm. But you didn’t care about that either, all you could think about was your aching feet. You had danced more than you thought.

Sanah slumped on your bed, laying in a starfish formation. Her light brown, nearly blonde hair, flung out in all directions. Her face was as red as a tomato, and yours wasn’t much better. Celebrating was a well-known, and cherished tradition in House Branch. And it was one that you were glad for.

   “Boy or girl?” You asked, turning around in your chair to face your sweaty sister.

“Huh? Oh, umm… boy. I think Darrick would appreciate not being the only boy. And not feel so responsible for the House’s legacy.”

  Although Darrick was a quiet young man, he and Sanah were always in some sort of tiff. If Sanah had been born a boy, she would have made a great heir. She kept her jealousy well hidden, but not enough that you couldn’t pick up on it.

  “Hmmm, good point,” you replied, turning around to face yourself in the mirror. Your brown hair hung in thick ringlets, and the braid was barely keeping it off of your face. You quickly pinned it back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the castle grounds. Down below, you saw a familiar mess of dark-hair. Darrick hadn’t been at the celebration, but you realised that you hadn’t noticed until now.

   “Tell Papa I’ll be back soon, I’m –“

“Going to see Otto?” Sanah teased, wiggling her eyebrows and smirking. A bright red blush crept from your neck to your cheeks. So you weren’t so great at keeping secrets either?

  You rolled your eyes and threw your shoe at her lying form.

                                                        -✶-

Your footsteps were light and unheard. Barefoot and uncaring, you made your way over to your brother. Darrick’s head was in his hands, his back against the foot of the apple tree. The same apple tree that Otto had saved you under. A common place for destinies?

A thought popped into your head, was Darrick upset because of the news?

 “Darrick, what’s the matter?” Your voice drifted across the courtyard. The distant sound of drums could be heard from your position.

He looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. His notebook of drawings was crumpled in his lap. Pages were torn and balled up around him.

  “Oh, Darrick-“

         “Don’t,” he interrupted sharply. Darrick sniffed and tried to get rid of his running nose. All he did was smear boogers over his shirt’s arm. Seeing Darrick cry was uncommon. His emotions were usually in check, his head always levelled, and he never once cared about the opinions of others. So, it was completely out of character for him to be crying, and in public.

 “Please, tell me what’s the matter?” You cooed, the nurturing instinct showing itself.

“I’m the worst heir the world has ever seen. So bad that they had to make another son because they knew I’d fail!”  He brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around them.

   “No, no! That’s not it at all,” you crouched down next to him, placing a gentle arm around his shoulders. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean in either.

A moment went by. Then two. When Darrick didn’t answer, you continued on. “And you’re not the worst heir. There are a lot more horrible boys than you.” You tried to weasel in a joke but regretted it. Seeing his brown eyes so upset made your heart crack.

     “But to fulfil my duties, I need a …wife. And how am I ever going to do that?” The reason behind his mood suddenly seemed so obvious. A girl. You thought. His first crush, and first heartbreak.  

  You smiled kindly at him, and an idea popped into your head.

                                                         -✶-

Sanah followed behind you and Darrick, who was helpless in your grasp.

   “No, Lenia, what are you doing? Let go-” your brother struggled against you. His smooth artist hands were no match for your own strength.

 You stopped suddenly, and let your brother go. He stumbled for a moment, not expecting you to obey his command.

  “As you say, Milord,” you bowed slightly and hinted at Sanah to do the same. “But you need to trust me,” you whispered to your brother, a mischievous smile on your face.

You had stopped in the hallway before the large oak doors. The music from inside drifted throughout the castle, and now it seemed to make the stones vibrate.

Redness started to blotch its way onto your brother’s neck and face. But he nodded his answer.

   You smiled. Your usual toothy grin that promised goodwill and fun.

As if those inside were awaiting you and your siblings, the doors threw themselves open as soon as your hand started to push against them.

     “My children!” Your father boomed, his voice drowned by the flutes, drums, and guitars. The tune was different than earlier but no less lively. The energy in the room felt warm like something was quivering in the air, making everyone feel alive.

  “Papa,” you all responded and waited for him to kiss each of your heads’. His face was bright red, and a sheen of sweat made his face glisten.

You looked at Darrick, anticipating some sort of reaction. But all he said was, “congratulations.” The sadness in his eyes were still there, and a silent droop in his frame told you that it took a lot for him to say that.

  “Come,” you motioned to both of your siblings and when they hesitated, you grabbed onto their hands and pulled them onto the dance floor.

  The three of you glided across the dancefloor, getting into position. You looked over at the musicians, your cousins, who could play nearly any song in the six kingdoms. With a quick nod, the band stopped and played a song the three of you knew all too well.

   It didn’t take long for you to beckon Rhaenyra onto the dancefloor, her need for fun outweighed any nerves. She kept in time and hardly missed a beat. Her shoes were soon thrown off and kicked underneath a table.

 “I like your family,” Rhaenyra shouted in your ear. Her arms in high arcs above her head. Her cheeks were warming, and you smiled back at her.

    Soon, the gloom in your brother’s eyes had long disappeared. Darrick was laughing, as Rhaenyra spun him around the dancefloor. The heirs were barefoot, and you realised you had no idea where your own shoes had gone. Such matters would be rectified later, now it was time to celebrate.

                                                             -✶-

   Alicent’s tears seemed to be an unending sea. She felt alone. Undesired. Rotten. The babe in her belly wouldn’t stop moving, it’s tiny feet kicking at her stomach; rolling, and fidgeting. She laid on her side in the bedchambers. It was too difficult to walk anywhere, her bump so large it felt like she would tip over.

How do other women do this? She thought solemnly. Even though pregnancy was the most natural thing in the world, Alicent couldn’t stop thinking of how wrong it felt, for another thing to be moving inside her. Those that came before her had been able to do this without much trouble. But some women didn’t make it through the birth. She wouldn’t even be in this position if a woman hadn’t died in childbirth. Aemma. Viserys’ first wife, and the woman he truly loved, ripped from this world by an act of love.

  Alicent knew Viserys would never love her as much as he did Aemma and Rhaenyra. And yet, she couldn’t help the yearning from deep in her chest. The pull, like a hook that had been stuck between two rocks. Alicent couldn’t free herself from the desire to be loved. To be adored and cherished.

But did Alicent want a love like Viserys’? Who sacrificed his wife for an heir. Alicent could see the regret in his eyes, every single day. There were a few moments where the cloud of grief seemed to lift, but it didn’t go far.

 Is that what love is? Like a mind-altering fever with which even the most level-headed men could be changed?

  Tears welled in her eyes once again, and she let them flow down her cheeks.

                                                         -✶-

The music was infectious, so much so that a faint smile made its way to Otto’s lips. The Hand of the King was sitting beside the fire, the only light emitting in the chamber. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and there were books scattered on Otto’s bed. His beard had not been trimmed since hearing the news about Lenia and Ormund.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Otto’s thoughts were pulled from their spiral and he only just registered the second knock before the doors opened. He knew immediately who it was.

   “Alicent, how’s the babe?” Without looking up, he brushed the creases from his tunic and stared into the fire. A moment went by until a voice spoke.

“Not Alicent, my lord,” a young squire did his best not to quiver in the Hand’s presence.

The open-door filtered in more light. The brightness seemed to expose Otto and the mess in his chambers. Embarrassment crawled up his skin.

But the embarrassment soon faded as Otto near-flung himself from the chair, his appearance and state of his room of little concern to him now. He knew this squire, and what it meant.

    “I thought the war was nearly won?” Otto’s voice sounded deeper than usual.

“It nearly was sire. But the Martell’s chose a side and we were outnumbered.” The young man clutched a letter in his pale blotched hand.

   Otto grunted, the only sign of panic. He took the letter and tore it open.

 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑉𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑠,

𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑚.

𝑄𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑁𝑦𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙

 Otto clenched his fists. His mind siphoned through hundreds of different possibilities, but he came to one conclusion.

  “I know I speak out of turn, but I cannot help myself,” the young lad looked to the Hand of the King with hopeful eyes. “What does this mean?” He whispered the rest of the sentence with bated breath.

 Otto took a second to register the squire’s question. This was the only moment that he would allow such an insult.

            “The Dornish, they’re coming.”

#personalised story #otto hightower x lenia #lenia branch #otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd #game of thrones #got #got imagine #got fanfiction #witchthewriter #otto x lenia #otto hightower x lenia branch

[adultswim2021]

Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge: “Pilot” | February 16, 2010 (online) | Pilot Debuted on DVD on October 27, 2009 Aired on television March 29, 2010 @ 12:15AM 

I’m not sure I’ve watched this since it aired on TV in 2010. There’s a reason for that.

Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge originally debuted on DVD as part of the Adult Swim Pilots DVD, which was originally part of the Adult Swim in a Box DVD set. It had it’s non-home-video debut online as part of the Burger King Big, Über, Network Sampling event, where people were invited to log on and vote between two shows that were ostensibly competing with one another for a shot at airing on television and then, MAYBE, becoming a series. The first match-up happened on February 16, and was between this and Snake ‘n Bacon, which previously aired on TV and was covered already.

Cheyenne Cinnamon is a vapid pop-star in a similar vein as, uh (tries to look up who was a current female pop star around in 2009), Britney Spears (sorry, it was too hard), projecting a wholesome image while having an unsavory dark side that involves drugs and promiscuity.

Cheyenne lives in her Sugar Town Candy Fudge which presumably exists as a sorta girl-version of Neverland Ranch. The difference between boy Neverland Ranch is that it exists to aid and abet the molestation of little boys. Girl Neverland Ranch exists presumably for similar reasons, except she is in a permanent state of arrested development due to her own sexual abuse. But that’s not really what this is about. It’s more about how whoreish pop stars are HYPOCRITES. 

Emily is a young fan of Cinnamon’s, voiced by Kristen Schall. She’s an awkward girl who was impregnated by her softball coach. She lives in Detroit, which is depicted as a dystopian hellscape, basically Robocop stuff. Cheyenne Cinnamon’s magical land is just outside of Detroit, and Emily seeks her out for guidance. Cheyenne Cinnamon is of no help, and winds up doing more harm than good. There’s songs, which are okay. Cheyenne Cinnamon is voiced by Neko Case from FREAKING HIPSTER MUSIC, but her singing voice is actually Sofia Toufa, likely a contractual thing. They do make jokes about Cheyenne clearly lip-syncing; at one point she loses interest in her song and wanders away, lighting a cig. 

The animation was CGI, and it looked roughly a little better than Lucy: Daughter of the Devil. But not as good as Xavier: Renegade Angel. Does that make any sense? Probably not. And yet it’s completely true. 

This was created by Dave Willis and Matt Maiellaro. There’s a lotta familiar voices in this thing, including one Chris Ward, aka MC Chris. I read, and vaguely remembered, that he was the one who rallied his fanbase to vote for this during the Burger King event. It subsequently won, subsequently aired, and subsequently sucked. I hated this!

Snake ‘n’ Bacon > Cheyenne Cinnamon

Burger King Big, Über, Network Sampling 

The BKBUNS (hey, it was an acronym this whole time! Who knew?) was, as previously mentioned, an event where viewers were urged to vote on various pilots that went head-to-head in various match-ups. Then the winners from those match-ups went against each other until there was a clear victor. Spoiler alert, Cheyenne Cinnamon won. 

I don’t fully recall how it worked, but I do remember it seemed a little bit like a mess. One pilot had multiple versions presented, and one show wound up having TWO pilot episodes, the second of which dropped after voting already started. I think. I don’t actually know that, honestly. I remember feeling discouraged from voting because it seemed like the stuff you were voting on kept morphing into different versions of itself, like if a presidential candidate suddenly sprouted a second head on election day.

Starting with this year, I’m making a push towards legitimizing online content in certain cases. Originally the idea was to just cover what aired on TV, but the line between online and TV had already begun blurring. Most shows primarily have their TV airdates available, but I’m not going to go out of my way to determine if they debuted online a few days before. I think I mentioned this elsewhere, but there was a time when they actually debuted new episodes online first, then they’d air on TV a few days later. Pinning down all those dates seems like a nightmare, though. But stuff like this just makes more sense. 

The matchups will be mentioned as I cover each pilot. My original research for this told me that a UK version of this existed that used “Gumball” (The Amazing World of, I assume?) as one of the pilots? But that piece of information seems to have disappeared. Could it be bogus? I don’t think I care either way!

I am pretty sure that screenshot is from one of the promos. I couldn't find one to check (I didn't really try, honestly), but I think they literally were mostly text, and that bit of Robot-Chicken-style animation was like, 2 seconds long and just was of that guy smiling. A terrific gift. I hope I dream about this man tonight. Goodnight!

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter fifty-two // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 7.3k warnings for this chapter: exhibitionism, public sex, a little dubcon?

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Fifty-Two:

I wake with a start. I know I’m in the living room, but I’m not sure how I got here. My head aches and it hurts when I open my eyes. They adjust to the dark, taking in the light streaming in from the kitchen.

I only notice Thomus when he moves his arm. He’s sitting in the armchair, one leg perched over the other. The glow from the kitchen casts shadows on his face, the ridge of his brow and glasses hiding his eyes. There’s something about the set of his shoulders that radiates tension and it puts me on edge.

I’m just gonna ignore my unease for now and push up onto my elbows. “Hey,” I say, my voice relays how dry my throat is.

He doesn’t respond to me. This is weird. Is he angry? What for?

“Oh… kay,” I murmur and shove myself into a sitting position up against the armrest, my legs curled under me. There’s a blanket laid over me, I clutch it closer to my chest. “What is it?”

He still stays quiet. Yeah, he’s gotta be angry with me. My heart thuds with nerves while I mentally trace my steps as to how I got here. I remember listening to music, baking, crying… dancing, and then… nothing.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Well, I wasn’t expecting him to ask me that. “My head is killing me, which probably means I drank too much and didn’t hydrate.” I press my fingers against my brow, pushing in to relieve some of the tension.

“I’m glad we both agree you over indulged.”

“And… your point?” I ask. “Are you scolding me?”

“No,” he answers smoothly.

“Then why’re you being so…” my hand makes an unintelligible gesture as I search for the word “I don’t know it just feels like you’re mad at me.”

He shifts in his seat, re-crossing his legs and looking away. “I am angry,” he says, “but I’m not angry at you.”

I let that sink in for a moment. “So I didn’t do anything to embarrass myself?”

He lets out a chuckle that surprises me, his entire demeanor shifting. “I never said that.”

“Right,” I huff, letting out a laugh. “So what did I do? Vomit all over myself?”

“Loads. It was disgusting,” he deadpans.

I look down at myself and then into the kitchen, a horrified look morphing onto my face. Everything’s all cleaned up now, so he’d have to have taken care of me while I was piss drunk.

Thomus laughs again, and when he speaks his voice is soothing. “No, you were far from vomiting, which is impressive considering how much you drank.”

I shrug. “I’m a big girl. I can handle my liquor.”

“Not to mention how much I spun you around,” he says as stands. He reaches down for the blanket tucked on me, and I realize it’s his cloak. When he takes it back I feel chilly and exposed, noting the loss of his scent.

His words confuse me, but then, “Oh, right, dancing.”

Thomus drapes his cloak over his arm and walks closer to the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, his head tilting adorably as he speaks. “How much do you actually remember?”

I bite my lip. “I’m afraid it stops there.”

Thomus looks back at the stairs. “Interesting.” He heads up them, two at a time, then pauses. “Edinburgh on Friday.”

I don’t know what’s worse – going to Edinburgh or the gap in my drunken memory.

~*~

As I wait around for Friday, not being able to remember what happened after we danced really starts to bother me. Thomus doesn’t bring it up again, and besides outright asking about it, I can’t think of a way to naturally bring it up in conversation. I’ve never been so drunk that I couldn’t remember what happened before.

Friday afternoon I spy him outside at the border of the property, walking along the stone wall. I watch him from the living room window as he recites incantations from a book he’s holding. An iridescent mist pours from the tip of his wand, it shimmers and clouds over the property line as it creates a wall that just goes up and up past my line of sight. As he walks away from it, continuing, the wall disappears.

I have a feeling that this new ward is going to keep out more than just our mysterious intruder. It’s going to keep out everyone else too. I’ll have to leave another note across the creek for Caelan or Kyle to find once Thomus is done.

While Thomus is outside, I practice my magic. Three days seems to be the magic number right now. Literally. Within a few minutes of concentration on that same lightbulb, it’s glowing in my hand. I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep this a secret. Especially since just me zoning out makes him suspicious.

~*~

Since I’ll have my magic for Edinburgh tonight, I don’t second guess the dress I chose. It’s getting chillier at night, but with the warming charm, I should be okay wearing a shorter dress with merely straps for sleeves. Granted, the shape of the dress isn’t all that different from ones I’ve worn in the past, but I’ve really only got a few options when it comes to styles that flatter my body shape.

The color is a few shades paler than my hair and I’m busy layering on a darker shade of pink onto my eyelids when Thomus moseys into the bathroom from his side. He comes up behind me to grab his comb off the vanity, his hand briefly touching my hip to keep me still. I step to the side anyhow to give him room, because having him directly behind me like that while I’m bent over the sink put the dirtiest images in my head.

I do my best to ignore him while I continue doing my makeup, but every so often I glance up, my eyes involuntarily drawn to the movement of him combing his hair out of his face. I freeze when he leans forward to turn on the tap and wet the comb before returning it to his hair.

You’d think I’d be used to his closeness by now. We’ve literally slept together, so how is it that he can still make me blush? I internally roll my eyes, because I need to get over my stupid crush on the man. He’s a Death Eater. It’s not like he’s ever going to feel the same. He’s not going to want the same things I do. Fuck, I’m still not over the fact that I want those things in the first place. Guess we always want things we can’t have.

I’m so focused on my makeup and my thoughts that I don’t notice Thomus has paused combing his hair. He’s leaning against the doorway to my room, fingers running up and down the teeth of the comb. My eyes flicker back and forth, uneasy that he’s just watching me. I almost believe he’s just looking at my ass, given how I’m leaned over the sink, but no, he’s… watching me do my makeup. I want to groan. He’s probably got a problem with my outfit.

“What?” I ask.

Our eyes meet in the mirror. Then his eyebrows raise and his gaze travels along my body. Ugh, I can’t decide if it makes my skin crawl or tingle.

“Nothing,” he says, but he’s clearly lying.

“What?” I snap again, irritated. “Something wrong with my dress?”

He hesitates and doesn’t return my irritated tone. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Yes,” I bite, finishing my mascara. I angrily toss it into the makeup bag before grabbing my toothbrush, squeezing the minty paste onto the bristles. “What’s wrong with it?”

I start brushing my teeth as I wait for his answer. He hesitates again, so I start spewing the worst I can think of. “Is it too much pink? Do I look…” I was gonna say fat, but of course I look fat, that’s a fucking given. “Bad?”

“Not at all,” he says quickly, then much slower, “I just wondered if you were going to be cold.”

I spit out some of the toothpaste/saliva mixture and snort. “Why? Planning on fucking me outside again?”

“No… not outside.”

My skin immediately prickles across my chest and my face burns. My eyes widen for a moment before I take a deep breath, trying to ignore how my heart thumping madly in my chest. When I look at him, he’s already looking at me, waiting for my reaction. Mostly I’m just remembering last time… and the several times I’ve fantasized about it since.

There are several witty responses I could say, but what actually comes out is a garbled, “Really?”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning and disappearing into my room. He returns a moment later to put the comb back.

“Once you’ve changed, I’ll be downstairs,” he says.

I resist the urge to sigh. Whatever it is, I’ll bet I have to redo my makeup.

~*~

The dress he wants me to wear is the one I wore to the Lot fights. I only adorn it with a belt, and leave the neckline as it should be, simply buttoned up to my chest. No tights this time, and he’s lucky I didn’t have to redo my makeup. I added wings on top of the pink eye shadow, so I wouldn’t look entirely like a clown.

He’s waiting for me by the front door and I have to pass him to step into my flats. Then I straighten and turn to him, expectantly waiting for the collar.

Thomus turns to me with his hand in his pocket, and I assume it’s to pull out the collar, but instead he asks, “Are you wearing panties?”

The question takes me by so much surprise that I’m momentarily speechless. When I do find my voice, it’s a jumbled mess of words. “I – um – mm – yes?” I say. “Why?”

He holds his hand out and says with all seriousness, “Hand them over.”

“Why?” I demand again, stepping back. My back hits the front door.

“You won’t be needing them,” he replies.

I snort. “Yes, I do need them. They’re my underwear.”

“Give them to me or I will take them off myself,” he warns.

I swallow hard and grit my teeth, glaring at him. There’s no humor in his expression, just calm expectation.

“Ugh, whatever,” I grumble. I stare pointedly around the room as I lift the sides of the dress, my hands finding purchase at my hips. I quickly slide them down, step out of them, and ball it up into one tight grip before chucking them onto the couch.

“Good,” he says, satisfied. He pulls out the collar and I turn around, already hating feeling exposed underneath my dress. “They’d just get in the way.”

I am both aggravated and intrigued. He said we weren’t fucking outside, so logically that means inside… somewhere. One of the private booths? A dark corner?

And then I’m just… confused. He’d said when he returned from Italy that he didn’t want me to kiss him. I’d assumed that meant he wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He’d said that night was a ‘terrible lack of judgement’.

Okay, maybe – maybe – I can understand. Thomus has to be in denial. He’s got a thing for fat chicks and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Plus, I’m not a pureblood, so let’s throw that into the mix, too. What’s so special about me? I’m everything that he hates, aren’t I?

Though I hardly doubt that me, some American witch who’s gotten herself mixed up in all of this, some girl who’s never had a boyfriend or a lover, could cause such turmoil in Thomus’ life. We’d interacted, what, twice before he just straight up bought me?

Why did he buy me?

I’m torn out of my thoughts when he reaches around me to twist the door handle and pull it open. He’s put the collar on me, and his cloak around his shoulders. We step into the night and I shiver when I feel a breeze ruffle the skirt, drifting up my thighs. I silently cast a warming charm.

He scoops up the leash and leads me down the path. At the barrier, he pulls out his wand, waving it slowly back and forth.

“Aperio Saltus,” he says. The iridescent cloudy shimmer I’d seen earlier today reappears, but fades to nothing where the wooden gate is. I pull up my sleeve and hold my arm out for him to take. He glances down to make sure his fingers touch the tattoo before pulling me through the barrier. He holds onto me when he turns back to the house. “Cludo Saltus.”

The protection spell reforms where we’d passed through and I only realize now that I can’t even see the cottage. It’s disappeared into the dark woods with no defining markers that a cottage exists here at all.  

~*~

“Nice one, Alder,” Will says as I sink a striped ball into a corner hole.

“You’ll tell me if we’re winning, right?” I mutter, resuming my stance next to him. This game has been long and I’m not exactly having fun. Will and I are partners, facing Astor and Thomus. There’s only a couple balls left on the table, the 8-ball, the white one, and two plain ones.

“Yes, you’re winning,” Thomus grumbles as he leans over the table, lining up his cue.

“Is that why you’re so grumpy?” I say aloud, crossing my arms, and giving him a pointed look.

He narrows his eyes and gives me a sour look. “Hush – I’m trying to concentrate.”

Just as he turns his gaze away, I stick my tongue out at him. He pulls the stick back, aiming the white ball at one of the plain ones. He light taps the white ball and it shoots forward, bouncing off one of the felted walls to knock against one of the plain balls. It narrowly scoots its way into a hole.

Thomus makes a triumphant gesture and holds the cue stick out for Astor, who’s busy flirting with a lot sitting a drink before him at the small round standing table. Thomus has to poke Astor with the end of his stick before getting him to move. It’s their team’s turn again since they sunk the ball.

Thomus comes to stand next to me while Astor lines up their last shot. “I can think of a few other places for that tongue to go since you’re so willing to have it out.”

I don’t even look at him, but my heart skips and my ears get hot. My eyes flicker over to the sea of couches and chairs where I know we’re going at some point tonight. The whole time we’ve been playing I’ve been overly self-conscious of the way the dress slides between my ass cheeks, almost like it’s doing it on purpose, every time I have to lean over the table. I always hope no one notices, but the way Thomus looks at me… he definitely notices.

Astor sinks their last ball and looks to me and Will. “Better say your prayers now.”

“I know a way to make our game more interesting,” Will says, a mischievous glint to his smirk. “Losing team has to admit the craziest place they’ve ever had sex.”

My eyes widen. Maybe it’s the location, Edinburgh being the current sex capitol of the Death Eaters. Maybe sex is just on the brain for everyone here. It’s definitely on mine.

“You’re on,” Astor says immediately, a dumb goofy grin on his face. Seems like he’s eager to boast about his sex-capades.

Thomus sighs, shooting a glare at Will. “Take your turn so we can get this over with. I’d like to actually have sex rather than talk about it.”

“Touche,” Will chuckles, unbothered by Thomus’ mood. He takes the cue stick I hold out to him and leans over the table. He misses his shot because it was just a bad angle.

Thomus leaves my side, taking the cue from Astor and attempts to save the set up Will had left. He somehow manages to get the white ball lined up just perfectly for the next player… which happens to be me. Will has a big grin on his face because he already knows they lost.

Will passes me the cue stick and without fuss, I easily sink the 8-ball.

“Fantastic!” he beams at me, holding his hand up for a high-five. I give him a small smile and return his celebratory high-five. He turns to the other team. “Well?”

Astor is finishing chugging his drink, but he answers Will with a handsome grin. “Flying carriage, mid-flight.”

The Lot still standing by the small table gasps at his answer and he turns to her, murmuring something into her ear. I wonder where Isobel O’Quinn is tonight.

“Well?” Will asks Thomus, who’s busy setting up the next game.

Thomus hesitates, glancing up at me and then back down again. “Azkaban.”

I know I look shocked, and I peek at Will to make sure I’m not the only one.

“How?” Will asks.

Thomus gives him an exasperated look. “Do I need to explain to you how sex works?’

Will scoffs. “No. I only meant isn’t that place supposed to be full of dementors and like despair?”

“Yes, it is,” Thomus replies smoothly, without hesitation this time. “Astor, are you playing another round? I’d like to win this time.”

Thomus pulls the triangle rack off the set balls, the 8-ball in the middle. He places the white ball in between it and the edge of the table. I walk over to him and line up my shot to break the set.

“Don’t beat me this time or I’ll have to prove my masculinity in other ways,” he says. My quick glance around ensure only I heard that. Will is standing too far away and Astor is still wrapped up in conversation with the Lot.

I snort. “Mustn’t have been all that strong in the first place,” I tease. I push him back gently with my elbow. “Now get out of my way.”

He smirks and steps back. It feels so nice to just simply flirt with him. It makes this round pass a lot quicker than the last, and I wish we’d been doing it a lot sooner.

A few turns go by, and my eyes wander the room like they did before. Before this round, the Lounge had been kind of empty with everyone still gathered in the Main Hall. Now there are more people, more Death Eaters coupled with their Lots scattered around the room.

A couple stands behind us and I accidentally back into the Lot. While I make my apologies and put distance between us, I just so happen to look down and see a tiny scroll, no longer than an inch, on the floor. It’s where the couple had just been standing. They’d adjusted as well, stepping to the side.

When I look up at them, the Lot is looking at the scroll on the floor, too. Her face has paled and she tries to mask her sudden anxiety, but I see it before she does. Her eyes jump up to mine and we both look down at the paper before meeting eyes again.

Silently, I step to the scroll, putting my foot over it.

Relief washes her face, and her eyes start to frantically dart around the room. I look too, trying to see who she’s looking for.

Eventually her eyes land and stay on Charlotte, who’s making her way towards us with a tray full of drinks.

Okay, so I need to get the scroll into my hand and then somehow into Charlotte’s. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that this is some kind of note being passed around the Lots.

My eyes are darting around, trying to come up with a plan. Charlotte’s stopped by someone, she’s still a distance away.

Thomus is focused on the game, as is Will. He’d just taken the cue stick before his turn, so I have time. No one else seems to be paying me any attention either. Except for the girl who’d dropped the scroll, but that’s a given.

Trying to be as casual as possible, I crouch down, pretending to adjust the strap of my flats. I lift my foot enough to grab flattened scroll and tuck it into the palm of my hand. When I straighten, no one’s overtly staring, thank god. Not that they would. Me dropping to adjust an article of clothing isn’t weird human behavior. I’m just paranoid.

Next time I lay eyes on Charlotte, she’s about to make her way past me. Astor’s waving her down, needing another drink. The only plan that pops into my head is a stupid one, but I’m gonna have to give it a go.

As she passes, I pop my foot out in her path. Not to make her fall, just to make her stumble.

My hands jump out to the tray, holding it as she gets her bearings. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were walking by!”

She blinks at me, an uneasy expression on her pretty face. “Don’t worry about it. No harm done.”

“Oh good,” I say, my hands slide to hers still gripping the tray. I quickly slip the tiny paper into a gap between her palm and the edge of the metal.

The subtlest of realizations crosses her face and she simply smiles at me. “Would you like a drink?”

“Not if I’m already being clumsy,” I smile sheepishly.

She nods and continues to Astor. Thomus appears at my side not two seconds later.

“Save the day?” he questions, an eyebrow raised.

I haven’t even had time to quell the adrenaline rush that whole fucking thing just gave me. My hearts racing with joy at my success.

“From disaster? Yes.”

~*~

What feels like forever a time later, after Will and I had beaten them again, Thomus is finally dragging me over to a section of couches. There are a few couples scattered about, their attentions solely focused on each other. It gives me minimal relief knowing that we won’t have an attentive audience, but I’m still practically shaking with nerves. Last time I got carried away by the moment and focused on Thomus. Hopefully I can do that this time too.

Thomus picks a couch, a spot with plenty of room for my legs to spread on either side of him. He sits, his eyes dropping to follow my hands as they lift the hem of my dress so I’m not crawling on it as I straddle him. His thighs feel so strong underneath me as I settle in, a hand on the back of the couch to keeps me steady as I gently lower my weight onto them. As always, I test for his reaction, terrified that it’s too much for him.

He’s not looking at me, though. Well, not at my face. His gaze roams my torso like his hands roam my thighs and hips. The thin fabric of my dress snags on his hands and it feels extra enticing over the areas normally secured by my undies. His fingers slowly trace the curve of my ass and hip and it’s almost as if I were actually naked. They even trail up to the rolls on my waist, an area he’d gotten to know the night we were here last. When his hands explored and worshipped my body as they do now.

That’s how it feels, at least.

Thomus is bent forward, I feel his breath on my chest as his lips kiss around the forgotten leash. His hands move forward, caressing my stomach, moving up to palm my breasts. I shudder when I feel his tongue and teeth lick and nip at the base of my throat. I ache from his attention already, and my hips shift, searching for the right pressure, my bare core spread across his lap. The cool fabric of his pants brushes against my skin.

Some men across the room laugh, and I’m reminded we’re not alone whatsoever. The momentary clear in my aroused haze makes me realize his hands have left my breasts and are now slowly undoing the buttons on the front of my dress.

“Thomus,” I protest, my cheek pressing against his soft curls to speak in his ear. My hands push at his shoulders and he relents, sighing as he sits back against the cushions. My fingers and eyes immediately go to the buttons, assessing the damage.

His hand grabs mine, stalling the rebuttoning. “Don’t touch those.” His voice is husky and I’m surprised to see his pupils are blown out as he looks at me. It’s probably the dim lighting. “I won’t threaten your modesty any further.”

“It’s not modesty,” I correct, shaking my head as if that were ridiculous. Which it is. “I just don’t want to be on display for dozens of men who’re literally strangers.” My body isn’t something that all men want to see and I don’t want their harsh judgement.

“I don’t want you on display for them,” he scoffs. He moves his hands back to my thighs, restarting their journey up my sides. “I want you on display for me.”

“If that’s the case, then why don’t we do this from the privacy of our own home?”

He takes the time to drag his eyes up to meet mine. “Because I enjoy publicly staking claim on what belongs to me.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Okay, so the tattoo, the leash and collar, and the fact you fucked me in front of a crowd last time wasn’t enough for you?”

As if reminded of their existence, he grabs said leash and pulls on it tightly, yanking me forward so I’m leaning against him. My hands support my weight against the back of the couch, but the new angle adds the precise pressure to my clit that I’d been searching for. I somehow manage to keep the pleasure from being written all over my face. His lips brush my cheek as his free hand presses against the valley between my breasts, pillows against the shape of it.

“I’m insatiable,” Thomus murmurs, his mouth quickly resuming its work against my skin.

Boy oh boy, my monkey brain is quickly winning the battle against my sanity. I release a sigh that borders on a moan as my body embraces being pressed on him. My hips move, rocking and pressing my core against what’s clearly his erection wedged between my thighs. He quickly picks up on my movements, his hands move to my hips, gripping them tightly, encouraging their grinding.

“Does that poor little clit ache to be touched?” His deep voice sends shivers down my body and as if it heard his words, my clit starts to throb. He flexes his hips and I release a quiet little whimper, nodding my head.

“Then touch it for me,” he says and my breath catches in my throat, my body freezing. “I want you to rub that pretty pussy for me.” He pushes back at my hips and I reluctantly leave the safety of his embrace.

My brain scrambles for a reason to object. I know this is the general nature of what we’re here to do, but that? In his lap? Never mind all these people here. My eyes immediately jump to the crowd, looking for faces turned in our direction, gazes providing me with their unwanted attention.

“Remember you’re here for me,” he says darkly, a possessiveness in his eyes. “Not anyone else. You’re going to touch yourself because I want you to.”

“But why?” I ask, my expression full of vulnerability and disbelief.

“Because I want to watch you.” He grabs one of my hands and pushes it against the soft curve of my fupa.

God I wish I could use my Occlumency right now. But if I do, he’ll obviously notice from this close proximity. So I take a few deep controlled breaths to keep myself from freaking out. How did I ever do what I did the first time we came here? I hardly even knew him then.

As I begin to adjust my body – sliding back on his thighs, tilting my hips up, positioning the dress so it won’t be in my way – I run my mouth.

“So exhibitionism, voyeurism, bondage, spanking – what else are you into?” I attempt to make my voice nonchalant, as if what I’m doing isn’t as dirty as I think it is.

He ignores my question, his eyes zeroed in on my hand disappearing beneath the green fabric between my legs. The position is awkward, I feel I need to lean back more, so my hand can have full access, but I don’t want to lose my balance and fall. Talk about calling attention to myself.

I grab one of his hands and put it on the outside of my thigh, near the crook of my knee, and I put the other on the juncture of my hip and waist. He’s already looking at my face when I look at his.

“Don’t let me fall,” I plead, and his grip immediately tightens where I’d placed his hands.

“Never,” he says. His voice is so serious and somehow so reassuring.

I tilt my hips again and lean one hand back on his knee. My dominant hand disappears beneath the dress again. I don’t know what he wants to watch. It’s not like he can see down there.

“You never answered my question,” I state. My fingers find my slit, quickly delving between my lips – holy fuck I’m really wet. I move my arousal up to my clit, rubbing and circling it directly with the lubrication. My scent wafts up into the air between us.

“What question?” he asks, and I wonder if he’s this easily distracted all the time.

I sigh, but I’m not sure if it’s out of pleasure or trying patience. “What’re you into? Like sexually.”

He glances up at me briefly. “You’re asking this now?”

“Seems the perfect time.”

He swallows and his eyes absently drift up as he considers.

“I already know you have a fat fetish, so you don’t have to bring that one up.”

His eyes snap back to me. “A what?”

“Fat fetish,” I enunciate slowly. “Or maybe it’s a kink – I’m not really sure the difference.”

“I don’t have a –“

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you don’t? What the hell am I then? You telling me that you have a history of being attracted to plus size ladies like myself that I don’t know about?”

I expect him to rebuff me again, but he surprises me with honesty. At least his tone makes it seem like he’s being honest.

“No,” he admits. “It’s a, um, recent development.”

“How recent?” I ask because I’m nosey as shit.

“Are you even touching yourself? You seem awfully distracted.”

It’s true, I am distracted, but I know my body’s subtle reaction to what my hand is administering. My thighs and ass have clenched, my hips slightly rock with every pleasurable jolt my clit sends throughout my body. I tilt my head and lick my lips.

“Yeah, I’m touching myself,” I breathe quietly. “I’m really wet.”

His hips flex beneath me and he lets out a heavy huff through his nose. “Yeah?”

My horny monkey brain is taking the lead on this one. “You wanna taste?”

He lets out the quietest whimper, like he was trying to suppress it. His lips are already parted when he nods.

I sink two fingers inside my core and make sure I give an appropriate gasp as I press them against my g-spot before pulling them out. Thomus’ gaze is full of hunger and want, eager for the middle and ring finger I slip into his mouth. His eyes close as his lips seal around them and his tongue laps at my juices. I let my fingers linger in his mouth, enjoying the hot wet suction.

When I pull them out, my hand goes to the back of his neck and I pull him forward to kiss him. Our lips smash together, tongue and teeth clashing in the fight for dominance. My hand slips down to his belt, quickly freeing him of the confines of his pants. He gasps when I start to stroke him against my palm.

The hand that had been behind my knee easily slips under the dress, his fingers prodding between my legs. I feel his chest shudder and his mouth becomes distracted when he feels just how wet I am. My hips jerk when he presses in on my clit, a little too hard, and I bite his bottom lip. This doesn’t deter him because he sinks two long fingers inside me. It’s my turn to gasp as his thumb presses against my clit and his fingers curl onto my g-spot.

“How’s that feel, my darling?” he murmurs against my lips. I rock my hips and the added pressure of my weight onto his hand makes me crazy.

I grip the base of his cock and drag my hand up it, twisting my palm against his head, smearing a bead of pre-cum. My lips leave his as I kiss my way to his ear. “How’d that feel?”

A light breathy laugh escapes him. “Trying to distract me won’t prevent me from taking an orgasm from you.”

I repeat the strokes of his cock, my tone light and curious. “I thought one is supposed to give someone orgasms. Not take them.”

“You give them to me and I take them from you,” he murmurs. As if to prove his point, his hand pulses, fingers flexing against me. “It’s not complicated – come on, darling.”

His hand on my hip encourages the enticing rocking they’re already starting to do. My cunt is throbbing with need and pleasure begs to be released. I whimper and give into his movements. I don’t go as wild as my instincts are telling me to, but I move just enough to push my orgasm higher and higher until it’s threatening to spill like water over the edge of a tub.

My body stiffens and by some miracle I’m able to orgasm in silence. His hand is rubbing my back as I come down from this high, trying to keep my panting to a minimum.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs into my ear.

Once recovered enough, I push myself away from him, sitting in his lap. He’s got the most irritating, smug grin on his face, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Without realizing it, I glare at him, and his response is to flex his fingers that’re still inside me.

I gasp and quickly grapple for his wrist, lifting my hips to pull his hand away. His hand is practically dripping with me and I put it the best place I can think of. I steer his hand down to his still-stiff cock, wrapping his fingers around it. My hand encloses over his as he shamelessly strokes himself, his breathing hard and his eyes on me. Soon my hand replaces his and I lean forward to kiss him again.  

“I need – inside you,” he breathes heavily between kisses. I quickly nod my head, hazy with anticipation. “Rise up for me a little bit?” he asks and I comply while he shimmies further down in his seat. I crawl forward a little bit more, and when I feel him pushing my thigh down, I lower myself until I feel his cock sliding up and down my cunt.

The tip of his head finds my entrance and I slowly start to sink down. When I’m fully seated, his cock stretching me out and pushing deeper than he ever has before, he lets out a long breath.

“Fuck,” he groans. He’s farther away from me now. He’s not lying down, but he might as well be. If I lean forward, I know he’s going to slip out.

I test how much I can move. This is a new position for me, one I’m definitely not comfortable with if I really think about it. My thighs burn when I lift myself up and sink back down on him. I circle my hips, focusing on how he feels moving in me. It feels amazing, but unless I have a finger on my clit, I don’t I could finish. And I already have, which makes the small noises coming from him all the more interesting.

His hands are on me, one behind my knee again, and the other sliding up and down my waist. His hand takes in my body just as his eyes are. I circle my hips again and he looks ready to combust.

I have one hand on the back of the couch to stabilize me, and I bring the other one to his jaw, cupping it. His lust-filled eyes go to my face.

“I got some questions for you,” I say, my voice sounding just as breathless as I feel. “And you’re gonna answer them.”

His jaw locks and he frowns. “Or what?”

“Or…” I lift my hips until only the very head of him is in. “I stop this ride.”

“That’s what you think,” he smirks. His hands are suddenly at my hips, pulling down on them while he pushes his hips up. He sinks all the way back into me and maybe even further, gyrating his hips, and I barely stop myself from crying out. This won’t fucking do.

“No,” I pant. I clamp my legs around him and really let my weight settle on his lap. He lets out a strangled gasp, and I try to tell myself I’m not hurting him, even as the negative thought takes root. “No,” I say again, my voice firmer. “I want answers.”

“What could you possibly want to know?” he grinds out, clearly irritated at being cock-blocked.

I lean forward, as close as I can be to his face. I keep my voice low. “Did you take a potion to do this?”

His eyes, which had fallen to the cleavage bursting out of the dress at this angle, snap to my face. He opens his mouth to speak and I just ignore him. “Or is it like what you said before? This place just makes you horny.”

He closes his mouth, long silent moments passing. I sit back up and grind down on him, squeezing him with those internal muscles. He groans and his hips flex beneath me.

“Answer me,” I breathe. “I’m tired of the back and forth. I just want the truth. I –“

“Yes,” he groans. “Of course it was a bloody lie.” He pushes his hips up again, thighs jostling me. “What does this fucking feel like to you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I hiss. To regain control, I rise and then lower myself a few times, watching his strained, annoyed face. “It feels like you’ve got a big hard cock for me.”

His hand smartly (and rather loudly) smacks me on my ass. “Ten points for Thunderbird.”

“What does that even mean?”

I circle my hips again and he hisses. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Why lie in the first place?” I demand. “Why say all of those awful fucking things to me right after we –“

“Because I’m not supposed to –“

“Right, you’re not supposed to find me attractive, but you do, right?” I grind down on him again on impulse.

“If that wasn’t fucking obvious,” he groans.

“But if that’s the case then – then why – do you – do you hate me?” I ask. I know our words won’t be overheard because of how softly we’re speaking, but my hearts pounding with nerves. I shouldn’t be having this conversation here. I shouldn’t be having it at all. My words aren’t indicative of the type of relationship we’re supposed to have. Master and servant, master and slave, Death Eater and sex slave. I speak as if we’re already equals.

Narcissa said to ignore what he says, and if I do that, then his actions imply that he… that he doesn’t hate me.

And I really want him to not hate me.

I’m lost in my thoughts, my eyes focused on his chest and not his face. I’m too terrified of what I’ll see there.

“Lift up,” he simply says, and I finally look at him. His expression is concentrated, intense focus. I raise my hips, pulling off of him, and he shoves himself back up in his seat. He doesn’t settle though, instead he pushes at me so forcefully, I’m lying on my back along the couch.

I don’t have time to see if anyone’s watching because he’s on me in the next instant. He settles between my legs, pushing my dress up enough for him to slide into me again. He plants a head next to my head and the other on the edge, keeping me trapped.

Thomus lowers his head and lips are on mine in the next second, taking taking taking. Taking the air from my lungs, the soul from my body, any sense I’d had left. He pumps his hips against me, his cock rolling deep and sure inside me. I moan into his kiss.

He finally pulls his mouth away, his lips finding my ear. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps. He slams into me again, this time so hard my whole body jolts. It feels so fucking good.

“This fucking body – I wanna sink my teeth into every glorious inch,” he’s starting to sound like a man possessed as he whispers in my ear, but my god I’m not gonna fucking stop him. He rocks into me, his pelvis angled just right – how the fuck does he get it right every time? “And your hair. This bloody beautiful color that makes your eyes so fucking green. Did you know I found strands of it wrapped around my cock in Italy? Couldn’t even escape you there.”

His breath is hot and fast against my neck as his pace starts to pick up. He’s close to losing it and so am I. This is a wild, feral version of Thomus that I haven’t seen before. Experiencing him like this is beyond what I’d hoped for.

Because my brain likes to remind me of things at the most inconvenient times, my eyes open to double check we’re not being watched, and the air in my lungs freezes when I see fucking Rodolphus sitting in an armchair a few feet away. Our eyes meet and he smirks, raising an eyebrow.

My hands – they’d been clutching at Thomus’ side and arm – release their grip and pat him to get his attention.

“Thomus,” I gasp when he doesn’t acknowledge me.

He only fucks me harder. “Say it again, darling.”

“Thomus,” I moan, my eyes closing. The orgasm that had been rising suddenly crests, the pleasure crashing over my body in a quick flush. Like I’d been dumped with hot bath water.

Thomus’ teeth sink into my shoulder as he finishes. I open my eyes and Rodolphus is gone. Thankfully, Thomus’ brain returns and he pulls out. He quickly sits up, pulling my dress over my legs. He takes my hand and pulls me up, too.

Then his hands are cupping my face and he’s kissing me. It’s tender, gentle, unlike the absolute wild fucking I just received. But that’s okay. I’m okay with both.

Thank you for reading and sticking a long with me this far! A reblog and comment will go along way, thank you 💕

#tom hiddleston #writing #the auction #plus size reader #tom hiddleston x reader #harry potter fanfiction #voldemort wins au #slowburn #enemies to lovers #the spare #dramione #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x plus size ofc #smut #lust potion #plus size oc #hurt/comfort #deatheater!tomhiddleston #tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fan fiction #harry potter au

[farm-witches-fic-recs]

It’s another fantastic Friday on the farm and we are very happy to bring you the first round of September recs from our friends!

Enjoy your weekend and give these fics a read from your favorite cozy spot. Be sure to leave the authors some love!

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Ain’t justice blind (marchtwentyfour) “One of the most underrated & best AUs i have ever read from the D&P fandom. The characters are fleshed out, the foundation for David & Patrick's relationship was laid out so believable it felt so earned when they finally got together. This fic also explored them navigating their relationship, growing into it, and the very satisfying happy ending they got. I love LOVE this fic and i re-read at least every quarter?”

Birthday spanking (@lisamc-21​) “This story exemplifies the perfect one-shot… a potentially humiliating meeting of our favorite co-workers at a club morphs into a blazing hot (yet tender) canon-divergent celebration of David’s birthday, just a few hours outside of SC. Lisamc21’s words paint the scene beautifully and efficiently, and her depiction of anxious sex god David and take-charge Patrick is A+!“

The fundamental things (@goodiecornbread​) “This Mutt/Jake fic—yes, trust me, just try it—is so rich, thoughtful, and fun. Mutt needs a place to sleep and Jake's got a bed. Magic ensues. There's lovely insight into their characters, some Schitt family backstory, quiet hobbies on winter nights, interactions with other Schitt's Creek residents, and lots of understated affection and intimacy.”

How long till we reach the door? (@lizzie-bennetdarcy​) “This is everything you could ask for in a one shot: sweet, hot, funny, tropey (in the best way) plus David escaping down a fire escape!”

I’ve never known anyone quite like you before (orphan_account) “I'm not even sure how to describe this piece. It's just so fucking beautiful. It's a different style but it's a masterpiece in 250 words. I beg you to read it.”

Keeping us tied and true (@whetherwoman​) “This fic was a huge surprise for me - there's not much omegaverse in this Fandom and I was quite wary of it but the tags won me over - it is very different from what you might be expecting from a standard omegaverse fic and I was so glad I gave it a try. It's tender and *very* hot and beautifully written. Plus did I mention also: fake relationship and only one bed. What more could you ask for?”

Music moves him (@smallumbrella369​) “Wow. Listen to this music and read this fic of Patrick trying to tell David what he meant by "slow", and how he makes him feel, like music under his skin. Phew!” 

Polaris (strangeluvz) “This is a super-angsty, post-breakup David/ Patrick fic, and it’s just so perfectly on point in tone, characterization, and atmosphere. I can’t get it out of my head!”

The start of something good (@khughes830) “It's sweet, and I love the way they gravitate towards each other from the very beginning. It's the knowing that they both carry. Also, everybody gets involved and it makes it fun. Cora Brewer and Ellie Mullens are such good fun!”

Time until the end of time (@ships-to-sail​, @yourbuttervoicedbeau​) 

“absolute perfection. iconic. unparalleled.”

“I honestly don't understand how this isn't being recc'ed everywhere by everyone?? It is stunning and heartbreaking and perfect and I feel like everyone is sleeping on it. Every single new chapter blew me away and the ending...I won't spoil it but the authors absolutely knocked it out of the park.”

“It was so beautifully written and so unique and creative. A very different way for our David and Patrick to meet and fall in love, and also an exploration of one’s life and a look at how we have affected people in our life. Even if we don’t realize it until it’s examined. Sometimes too late but to still know the love is there.” 

“Everything. Such a creative concept. So much love and care was put into it. It’s a beautiful exploration of how David became the person he is, seen through the eyes of current David (looking back at himself, how he felt then and how he feels now about it) and Patrick. Every chapter was an emotional whirlwind in the best way. It was all just so, so beautifully done. I am in awe.“

#friends of farm witches #friends of farm witches fic recs #FOFW Friday Recs #sc fic rec #sc fanfic #schitts creek fic #SC fic #david x patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #mutt schitt