#literally cracked open a bottle of vodka before i could even start going through these screenshots

[cheelduh]

How to get your crush to walk you to the nurse’s office (Highschool AU)

This is part 3, but it can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of a monster schlong, and unedited.

Parts: 1 2

Synopsis: Childe offers Lisa a shady deal to yet again sit next to you. However, all his efforts are in vain after he makes a complete fool out of himself by tripping over literally nothing because of a stupid cold. Maybe getting a cold isn’t so bad if he gets to be escorted to the nurse’s office by none other than yourself.

Note: Pure unedited crack luvs. Can’t wait for Childe rerun tmr I hope I get the ginger and the emo nun! 🥲💖

The eyes on you are suffocating, to say the least, enough for you to consider peeling a layer of your own skin off just to breathe. Every now and then, you get a teasing glance from a classmate, and you're sure you'll be an entire puddle of guts on your desk before home room even gets a chance to begin.

There's no doubt it's Signora that spread the news of your date yesterday as a means to some sick revenge. Knowing this was going to happen, you packed some salt in your backpack to cancel out all her evil. Now all you need is a chance to knuckle ball it in her face.

Fingers crossed, you pray to the archons that Childe didn't slip anything about your...brick slip yesterday. It's a good thing you weren't in a school uniform yesterday because that would've been the end of your high school life right there.

Thinking back to it, you collapse into your open hands. How could you have beaten a bunch up losers up...risking your flawless reputation for a sadistic ginger with an affinity for chaos? And worst of all, why did you care about them shit talking him in the first place?

"You okay dear? Something you want to tell me?" Lisa feigns concern, already knowing why.

With a sigh, you blink an eye open through the gap in your fingers. "Doing just fine."

"Oh it couldn't have been that bad." Her eyes shine in mischief. "I bet Childe was a real gentleman."

"He sure was." Kaeya pipes up from the back, leaning in to show you the image on his phone. It's a picture Childe took of you absolutely oblitering an ice cream cone.

You groan and slump deeper into your chair from embarrassment as Kaeya and Lisa engage in chatter, mostly revolving around your date.

Ignoring them completely, you start to ponder about Childe. Where is he? You were sure he'd be here bright and early to reminisce on your eventful date yesterday, which mostly consisted of a competition of who could win the most stall games at a local festival.

Maybe he'd even tease you about the Monoceros Caeli keychain attached to your phone. The very one he'd won for you, and the reason that started the competition in the first place.

Your cheeks warm when you fidget with said keychain, and you can't tell if the fast pace of your heart is because you're nervous to see him or because of the biology quiz you have second period.

So wrapped up in all these foreign emotions, you fail to notice the shadow that looms over you, a glittery finger guard tapping at your desk.

The student council President, Ningguang, plops down a stack of budget files on your desk during homeroom. She's gives you a light smile, and you know what's coming when you meet her alluring gaze.

"Be a dear Y/N," Ningguang smiles, tight lipped, all pretty with her hair pinned back to crown her face. "Even with all hands on deck, i'm afraid the student council's efforts will not come to ripeness concerning all of this paperwork."

This isn't the first time you've done her a favour by becoming the president's personal accountant, and it definitely isn't going to be the last.

Ningguang is powerful, with wit like no other, and you want to be able to call in a chit when the time comes.

"Of course," You reply with a smile that rivals her own. "I'll have them done by the end of the day."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Y/N." She departs elegantly, probably opting to sit next to Beidou and bicker.

You're halfway on the third sheet for total income, a minute before class starts, when you're interrupted. Childe stumbles through the door quite noisily, a shitstain of a grin plastered on his face that is directed at you.

You sigh and shake your head as he approaches you. Thankfully the seat next to you is occupied by—

Shit! Where's Lisa?

Across the classroom, Lisa gives you a thumbs up with a bar of vending machine chocolate in her hand. You should've known she'd betray you yet again.

Childe slides in smoothly after bumping fists with Kaeya, and he falls short of containing his giddy nature.

"Hi Y/N." There's something weird about him today, because you're sure you haven't seen his cheeks so flushed ever. His eyes land on your phone, which is splayed on the desk, and the keychain widens his grin.

You snatch your phone and hide it in the middles of your thighs, but the damage is already done. The urge to shrink against the wall has never been as strong as it is in this moment.

"Hi." It's a miracle you haven't combusted on the spot. Is it usually this awkward? Everything went so fine yesterday, so why can't you ease into it today?

He takes that as a go ahead and instantly reaches for your hand on the table, but you retract at the speed of light.

"Don't even think about it." You're ready to connect the tip of your trainers to his bleached asshole, nose crinkled at his behaviour.

Kaeya whistles lowly, leaning forward for the HD show that is your life.

Childe's smile is sheepish as he's scratching the back of his head. "So we're not on that stage yet huh? I seriously thought you had a change of heart after you beat up those high schoolers for m—"

You muffle his statement with a hand on his mouth, and send a pointed glare to Kaeya. "You didn't hear shit."

The Captain of the skating team nods innocently, and salutes. "Yes boss."

Returning your gaze to Childe, who looks like he's having the time of his life with your small hand on his mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Stop trying to spread rumours."

He can only hum in reply, but you feel a weird pressure on your palm and—

The smug asshole kisses your palm.

You pull back your hand and wipe at your pants, full of disbelief. "Did you just??? Did you just? Kiss my hand???" Mouth twisted, you have no idea what to think.

Childe's throws his head back, and his laugh rings in your ears. You hate yourself for wavering slightly at the sound before smacking his arm. His laughs turn into coughs, probably because he may have swallowed his saliva down the wrong pipe. Charming.

Where the fuck is Zhongli? It's already been five minutes too long into homeroom.

Rolling your eyes, you opt to continue and scribble down budget numbers and add sums up or whatever you were doing earlier after Childe pipes down, choosing to admire you quietly by leaning his weight on one arm. It's enough to make you squirm, face flushed.

"Can you not?" Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you don't look up as you speak.

"If you give me a kiss, then maybe." Childe's cheeky, ridiculously so, and he points a finger at his cheek.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists." You deadpan, fingers itching to choke something or rather...someone.

Childe pouts, and then his eyes close for a second, almost as if he's exhausted when he gives you a sort of smile. With how he's leaning in so close, you can easily spot the swelling in his eyes and the paleness of his face.

For the first time today, there's no bite in your tone when you ask with a slightly raised brow. "Are you okay Childe?"

"Yeah!" He's quick to answer ecstatically, snapping out of his tired haze by straightening himself up. "Better more than ever now that I've seen you, girlie."

You blush madly, the compliment enough for you to drop your pen on the ground. It rolls over beyond your reach.

"I'll get that." Childe jumps out of his chair and you're unable to stop him as he goes to go fetch your pen like the chivalrous idiot he is. There's a slight pause in his movement, his body taking longer to process the messages his brain is sending.

He recovers from the muddle in his cognition by shaking his head, and casually goes to pick up the pen, then ends the move by falling over backwards in unconsciousness.

"Childe!" You lunge for him, managing to catch him a second prior to his ass hitting the floor with the help of Kaeya, who somehow looks like he's expected this outcome from the very start.

The entire classroom clamps up and turns to look for the root of all the commotion.

"Don't just sit there and watch!" You hiss angrily, waving them off. "Someone get Zhongli!"

Aether doesn't need to be told twice as Venti and him race down the hall together. Venti probably just to use this opportunity of sudden chaos to skip homeroom.

"Looks like a fever." The Captain accesses the situation as a small crowd forms around you two. "There's no way he didn't feel it in the morning."

"The absolute idiot." You groan at his words. "Of course he'd try to have a pissing match with a cold."

"I'm still here you know." Childe slurs, leaning into you for warmth, chest rising and falling softly. "Just a...a little sleepy. Am I dreaming angel?"

You roll your eyes, but don't make any moves to lean away from his touch. "Anyone got a water bottle?" Curling your hands around his shoulder, you shift your gaze towards the crowd.

Somebody passes you an emerald green water bottle with dandelion charms that clink against the hard plastic handle from a nearby desk. It screams stupid, but you don't have time to judge the owner.

Opening it up hastily, you're about to let Childe take a sip until it's snatched away from you at the speed of light.

"Hey what gives!" You call out to Kaeya, who inspects the bottle closely with his one eye. He then nods in affirmation as if his suspicions are confirmed.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Is all he says when he motions for you to take a whiff, which you do so reluctantly, eyes closed.

The scent hits you all it once. It's watered down vodka, except without the watering down. Tears form from the intensity.

"The goddamn bard." You choke out, and it earns you a drained chuckle from the ginger that has his head situated on your forearm.

He has half the mind to nuzzle in further, but the position is convenient enough for you to crush his skull if you wish to do so. So he refrains, albeit reluctantly.

Zhongli manages to make it in less than two minutes, sipping on a cup of steaming tea as he breaks apart the crowd to crouch down. "Is everything alright? I came as soon as I could after I made this tea. I assumed it was just another prank."

Everyone in the room shakes their head incredulously.

"Unfortunately it isn't a prank. Childe fainted briefly." You tell him politely despite the urgency, since you're whipped for all your teachers.

"I didn't faint!" Childe groans, exasperated. "Got a little dizzy s'all."

"Yeah," Kaeya cuts in to summarize the situation. "I'll be happy to take him to the nurses office with Y/N—"

Zhongli clears his throat. "You won't be going anywhere Mr.Alberich. I'm sure you have five overdue assignments in my class. Y/N here can walk him just fine." He then attempts to wink at Childe secretly like the wingman he is, but everyone in the classroom and their grandma notices.

The facepalm you do is not enough to render you brain dead.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh for the nth time today, and it's only eight thirty in the morning. "No worries, Lisa can help—"

"Sorry cutie. I'm manifesting for the biology quiz." Lisa deflects, lighting three candles on her desk unceremoniously with her eyes closed.

You don't understand why no one has confiscated her box of matches yet. This entire school is a law suit waiting to happen.

You succumb to the team effort everyone is trying so hard to display. "I guess I can go." The hall pass is already written, signed, and neatly folded into the chest pocket of your uniform. "How did you even..."

You don't even get a chance to finish before both you and Childe are whisked away to the outside of the classroom, the door shutting behind you with a slam. Your ears perk up at the sound of a lock clicking in place.

"Looks like you're stuck with me." The smug bastard still has the audacity to beam even when he's pale in the face. "Might have to hold my arm. If I fall and crack my skull—that wouldn't look too good on your record." He makes grabby hands, like a toddler.

The smile you give is unnerving, and with the speed of a snail, you manage to loop in your arm with Childe's. "Another word and let's move on to how your hospital record is going to have more than just a cracked skull."

"If you'd nurse me back to health, it'll all be worth it." The quip he sends without a beat lacks its usual goof, but it does manage to get some sort of reaction out of you.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

—

Childe's busy thumbing at his phone while you pace at the foot of the bed, arms crossed with a frown etched on your features. You hope you don't look too worried, don't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Can we just get this over with?" He wails uncharacteristically from his spot on the white sheeted bed after ruling out everything he wanted to do on his phone. His hair is tousled more than usual, as a by-product of his constant restlessness.

"Shut up." You answer monotonously, arms crossed as you lean against the wall. "Let her finish her tiktok."

Barbara—the daughter of the school nurse, has her phone on the window, lip syncing and dancing to some music on beat as she films a tiktok with the utmost of important.

It's concerning that her father isn't here to tend to your needs, but apparently he's in the middle of a meeting with principle Varka. Said meeting had been going on for the past few months, but this school is devoid of logic anyways so nobody really questions anything.

"I'm literally dying here."

"Archons you're such a baby," Shaking your head, you approach his bed with a newfound annoyance. "Barbara has to create a tiktok at least once every twenty four hours or her fan club goes feral and..."

"Tries to jump off the roof as the ultimate sacrifice to her majesty." Childe sighs, and for the first time you sense his irritation. "Got it."

Just in time, Barbara finishes her cute little dance and comes over to where Childe is laying.

Childe doesn't miss the way your scowl has dissipated, and you give Barbara your undivided attention, hearts in your eyes from all the adoration. He has half the mind to call you out on it, no doubt a little jealous over how the young highschool idol can get you to show more emotion than him.

"I'm so sorry! I started those tiktoks out of mild interest but now I have an obligation to my fans." The younger apologizes profusely, getting to work almost immediately.

"No worries." Childe starts, staying still as the blonde examines him. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Y/N here is being dramatic, she probably just wants to spend some alone time with me."

You inhale sharply, turn to Barbara, and ask. "If I jumped out of the window right now from this floor, would it be a quick and easy death?"

The younger girl's eyes widen, and Childe stifles his snort.

"Kidding." You raise your hands up to cease her worries, and then motion towards him. "Common cold?"

"Yes," Barbara moves on and writes down something on a slip. "We'll just keep him here until his parents can pick him up."

"My parents can't pick me up." He asserts in a casual tone. "Don't call them."

"We still have to call them. If they don't come, you're to stay in this bed all day." She hands you the note, which is a viable excuse for all the classes he'll miss today. "Give this to his homeroom teacher. You'd also better get to class, your hall pass is about to expire."

"Hold up." You remark, barely paying attention to the note that you've shoved down your pocket. "I'm not leaving him here alone." There's no room for argument, your decision is firmly stated.

Childe hypes you up in his weakened state, disoriented. "You tell em girlie."

"He won't be alone." Barbara flashes you a reassuring smile. "I'll be monitoring him until his parents get here."

"No, no, you don't understand." You argue, inquiring all the doubts you have. "He's gonna try to pull some shit and I'll have to be here to stop him."

"Ease up babe." Childe tries to calm you down, despite the giddiness in his chest at the realization that you want to take care of him.

His subconscious begs him to let you stay, to let himself be doted and cared for the way he's always wanted you to, but he knows he can't let you skip class. Not when you've worked so hard and come so far. "I'll be okay for a few. You can go back to class and then visit me during break."

You bite your lips, head jumbled with all the different possibilities of how shit can hit the fan. "I can't! What if Signora shows up? She'll poison you in this weakened state to get back at me for trying to exorcise her." The hesitation in your features gives away everything.

Childe's eye twitches at the thought of Signora out of all people getting the best out of him, and also the absolute audacity you have to be calling him weak. Clearly all his efforts towards the little shows of dominance (e.g. Shoving Pallad against a locker, spraying a hefty amount of cologne on, being an asshole in general, etc.) have not bore fruit.

"You tried to exorcise her?" Barbara gasps, momentarily reminding the two of you that she's still present.

"Her evil has no bounds." Your expression is hard to read, dead serious. "I do not regret my attempt at cancelling Satan's hell spawn."

Childe himself has been cancelled hundreds of times over the span of highschool because of all his problematic traits (e.g calling Venti a twink) and it is not a pleasant experience.

Though it does give him a sense of comfort, knowing that arrogant bitch Signora is finally getting what's coming to her, even if she is one of his friends.

Serves her right for trying to Pavlov her stupid Chihuahua into biting the closest human being just by the snap of her manicured finger. As if it's persistent yapping and tendency to run in front of cars isn't enough torture to deal with on a daily basis.

Childe's yanked out of his thoughts rather forcefully at the sound of the door opening abruptly, the handle crashing into the wall, shocking Barbara's attempts to reassure you.

He knows who it is because of his top tier gaydar, dreading what's to come.

Scaramouche is a morose son of a bitch with a mean streak that hasn't been broken since he was an itty bitty shit in the fourth grade.

"I can't believe you let yourself get sick!" The navy haired boy exclaims in disbelief, doubling over with tears, clapping his hands to add on some extra effects. "Natural selection finally decided to stop pussy footing around your primate-looking ass."

You press your lips together. "Isn't he supposed to be your best friend?"

Scaramouche sputters violently, using the wall as leverage to hold himself up. "You told her I'm your best friend? Oh fuck. Oh this is good. What else did you tell her huh? That you have a monster cock?"

"First of all, you make me reconsider my opinion on the death penalty, dickhead."

Barbara is mortified. Childe continues on anyways.

"—and I do have a monster cock. But why are you so interested in my monster cock huh?"

Scaramouche scrunches his face up in disgust, amusement nothing but a distant memory. "You don't have a monster cock you plebe."

Childe has an awfully scandalized expression on his face, but smoothly enough it transitions into an unsettling grin that you're all too familiar with. "You didn't deny not being interested in my monster cock though."

It's your turn to be mortified, shaking your head at the banter that goes on back and forth.

"How did you even know he was in here? We aren't even in the same class."

Scaramouche raises a brow as if you're some sort of toddler that's babbling out a mixture of Cheerios and spit, maybe a few digested strawberries here and there. He waves his phone in front of you, "posted it on his story."

"What the—give me that!" You snatch his phone right up, staring at the screen in bewilderment.

There's a video of you doing trick shots with your tech deck on the ledge of a nearby window with a pressed expression while waiting for Barbara to finish up, captioned with: "In the nurses office rn pray for me 🙏, there's this cute girl in front of me should I ask her out?"

You check the poll and ninety five percent say yes. Scaramouche voted no. You have mixed feelings.

Shaking your head, you give Childe, who's unable to sit still, a look of pure exasperation.

Scaramouche claws his phone back from you rather harshly, the bells on his hat jingling, making it hard for you to take him seriously when he sneers your way.

"You should be thankful you're the lover of my comrade." He shivers slightly at the word comrade. "or I would have obliterated you on the spot for that little stunt."

Childe doesn't even pretend to look fazed at the older's threat when he says  "as if I'd allow a kumquat headass like you to touch my girl."

You and Barbara hastily jump in to stop the bloodbath that is seconds from happening. "No!"

Luckily, no limbs are teared apart.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #kaeya alberich #childe #childe x reader #fanfic #genshin oneshot #genshin tartagalia #tartagila #aether #venti genshin impact #genshin impact venti #kaeya genshin impact

[myfearless-love]

89 for deckerstar please

I am so ASHAMED for taking this long with this one. Also, warning: this is a long one. I hope you like it! :)

89. "Mmm...you're warm."

.

Cold.

Freezing, fingers turning blue cold.

That's the first thing she becomes aware of after gaining consciousness. Her head is throbbing, and she feels dizzy and on the side of her temple, there's something warm trickling down...up?

What the hell is going on?

She tries lifting her hand to wipe at her face, but sharp pain shots through her shoulder at the movement, and she lets out a small whimper. The seat belt is digging into her sides and she still can't open her eyes in fear of emptying the contents of her stomach.

She tries desperately to recollect her memories, but her mind is all kinds of fuzzy and the only thing she can remember is that she's probably somewhere near Lake Arrowhead and is supposed to drop by the local sheriff's station for a joint case.

After a minute or so, she's also able to recall the heavy snowing hitting her halfway through her journey and the radio warning her to seek shelter.

And that damned deer jumping in front of her car.

And after that, darkness.

She needs to get out of this wreck. Fast. Or she's going to die of hypothermia in the next hour.

The only problem with this particular plan is that she can't really get her body to cooperate, and her legs are already starting to feel numb from the cold. Oh, and she's also upside down, and she must have bruised her shoulder pretty bad, making it almost impossible to free herself from her seatbelt.

She tries not to panic, tries not to think of what happens if she can't find a way out and somewhere warm. She can't think about how they are going to find her cold and injured dead body, about how Dan or Trixie would feel, about how…

About Lucifer.

The thought of him sends a wave of guilt down her spine. The last time they had any interaction was more than four months ago when she flat out declared she doesn't want to work with him anymore.

Through a text.

Not in so many words, but her "I need time and space. Away from you" was probably just as clear as a bottle of vodka.

After that, she ignored his many calls and voicemails, even going as far as hiding in the evidence closet room when he attempted to catch her at the precinct. Because really, how do you deal with finding out your partner is actually the Devil, Lord of Hell? They don't make textbooks for this.

A part of her is still in shock at the revelation, but if she's honest with herself, another, bigger part of her that had some time to process all the biblical nonsense that is apparently true, had already come to terms with this knowledge. She just needed a little time away from him and to rant her mouth dry, preferably to someone with a psychology degree.

It was both uplifting and infuriating to learn that Linda is also part of the In The Know club. Chloe was angry at first because clearly, Lucifer trusted the doctor more than his partner slash almost girlfriend. But Linda helped her a lot in realizing why he actually held this particular information from her.

Why he only voiced the truth but deliberately showed her no evidence.

She basically proved all his fears right.

She has long since regretted her behavior following the weeks after the showdown with Pierce.

But before she could fall deeper into the great abyss that is her guilt, her survival instincts take over at her body temperature dropping rapidly and having little to no strength to drag herself free from the car. Her shoulder is still throbbing like crazy, her head is spinning and she sees double when she attempts to open her eyes. True panic is rising high in her throat and when her adrenaline level finally reaches its threshold, she finally manages to free herself from the seatbelt and tries to soften her fall with her good arm.

She still lands with a thud on the roof of her car and tries to hold back a cry with little to no success. She waits for the pain to pass, or at least until it becomes bearable, before reaching for the door handle. She pushes at it, but it doesn't even budge. She tries it again and again, and with a frustrated sigh, she realizes it's stuck.

Change of tactics.

She tries to bring her leg up to the window, gives it a forceful kick at the glass with her boots, and soon understands that either she's too weak to cause even a slight crack or she's literally buried under the snow and it's not just a thin veil of white powder coating the glass.

Which would explain why the temperature is dropping so rapidly and why she can barely feel her fingers anymore.

She looks around for something sharp, anything to at least make a tiny crack on the glass, and then maybe she can shatter all the way and crawl out and away.

To survive.

She looks and searches but there's nothing within her reach, her gun flew off somewhere in the vehicle and her badge is at the other side of the car, but she's unable to move more than a few inches in her cramped state.

And that's when she lets the tears fall and the realization hits her.

She's going to die.

She feels the incredible tiredness taking over her, first her limbs, then her eyes and mind. And then she starts to pray.

She prays to Dan to not be angry at her for going alone for this case, to take care of Trixie, and not let her grief consume her.

She prays to Trixie to be well and have a happy, long life without her.

She prays to her mother to be strong, to keep it together for herself and her granddaughter.

And finally, she prays to Lucifer. To forgive her for shutting him out, for not accepting him. To carry on with his life and not grieve her passing.

And before her brain shuts off completely, she could swear she hears a rustling noise and metal squeaking, but she's also almost certain it's just her withering mind playing tricks on her. Or it's the first step towards Heaven or Hell. Probably Hell.

And then the darkness finally takes her.

˘. . . ° . . . ˘

When she opens her eyes, all she can see is white, white, white, and she's almost convinced she just touched down in Heaven. She doesn't know how much time has passed, or if there is a time at all. But one thing she knows is that she's not supposed to feel any pain in her eternal rest and her shoulder is still killing her, the slight slash at her temple is still throbbing with every heartbeat.

You are supposed to feel happy and whole in Heaven, right? Isn't that the whole point?

Which means she's probably in Hell.

That would explain why she is jostling around like she's in some kind of weird rollercoaster, why she still feels awful and achy, and about to empty her stomach. And then cold, bitter wind and snowflakes hit her face, making her shiver and tremble during her hellish rollercoaster ride.

"Oh God," she lets out as another wave of nausea shots through her battered body and something tightens around her back and legs.

"Not yet, Detective. Not for a long time if I have anything to do with it," says an accented voice above her that is dreadfully similar to Lucifer's. She chances a glance up, just enough that she doesn't have to lift her head since she's already in a weird position, and catches sight of a familiar stubbled jaw and cheek. Those oh-so-captivating dark brown eyes lock with hers for a millisecond before he quickly averts his gaze.

She doesn't know what he means, but there's a slight grimace contorting his graceful features. She would very much like to chase it away and give him his usual teasing smile back. But just him being near her is something she never thought she would have again and maybe, if he stays, being dead isn't so bad after all.

And then a realization hits her. Lucifer is here. He is the Devil. And he is carrying...flying her? She almost lets out a loud gasp as she notices that the whooshing sounds are his giant white wings, and the roller coaster feeling is from being carried in the air.

She really is going to Hell. And Lucifer is taking her there. Most probably, because she has no other explanation for what she's experiencing.

But why is it so goddamn cold?

"Am I in…? Are you…?" she has to ask, though she cannot seem to utter those words.

She doesn't really need to, his immediate sharp intake of breath indicates he understood her train of thought just fine.

"No," he bites out sharply, like the whole idea is preposterous, a blasphemy in itself, and the frown on his forehead deepens even more and, again, the urge to smoothen those lines with her fingers and soft words of apologies hits her with double force.

It seems she just can't stop hurting him. Directly or indirectly, her actions are causing him pain when the truth is, she didn't mean her question to be a jab, she really doesn't know what's going on. She could either be in Hell or be alive, the latter seems very unlikely given her previous very dire situation and injuries.

"You are not in Hell, Detective," he confirms it almost as though reading her mind and something like hope and happiness spreads through her body, nearly forgetting the stinging of her cuts and bruises. "You will never know that wretched place, not if I can help it."

He says this with such conviction that she can feel her eyes fill up to the brim with tears, almost spilling over. Even after months of ignoring him, hurting him, he still wants to protect her.

He still saved her miserable life.

She lets out a soft "thank you" because she doesn't really know what to say, it seems so little in light of what he just did for her. He really saved her life from certain death (and God knows what after that). He doesn't respond, though, only gives her a low-spirited smile and faint nod before turning his attention back to flying her to...somewhere.

But before she could think about their possible destination in the middle of nowhere, the cold wind suddenly picks up and Lucifer falters slightly in the air. He tightens his grip on her, and she can feel the warmth of his fingers through her not at all winter-friendly jeans and stuffed jacket as he clutches her closer to his chest while trying to maneuver his way through the sudden turbulence.

The wind doesn't ease up as they continue on, and the snow starts falling even heavier. Chloe has to close her eyes at the incoming snowflakes. Lucifer tries to keep them steady, but the blizzard hits cruelly in this area of California, and even his divine abilities are appearing to be failing him. She finds herself holding onto him just as firmly and buries her face in the crook of his neck, her nostrils fill with the mix of musk and violet of his cologne.

Christian Dior, he once told her. Her favorite on him.

But she doesn't have time to get lost in the familiarity because his strangled "hold on, Detective" is all the warning she has before they are descending.

She does take on his advice and holds onto him for dear life, her fingers are turning white from clutching his neck and shoulders, no doubt leaving bruises on him in the process. She closes her eyes from their impending collision with Mama Earth because she doesn't really know what his aim is. Not only that, but she still can't see anything but white in the storm, and she doubts there is anything in a 50-mile radius that could shelter them for a couple of hours... or days.

But he clearly sees or senses something nearby, so she is choosing to just trust him.

She feels him zigzagging in the air, not sure if it's the wind throwing them around, or it's deliberate movement on his part. But then she hears cracking sounds around them, just like when she and Trixie take a hike and there are twigs snapping under their feet. She chances a look around just as Lucifer lets out a loud hiss, and she realizes that her guesses were right, they are somehow at the height of trees and their unforgiving sharp branches.

Soon they land in a heap of confusion and limbs tightly gripping one another. Lucifer is half-kneeling in the freshly fallen snow, but he's still holding her in his arms. Her eyelids slowly crack open when she's sure they are on firm ground and looks around.

Sure enough, her eyes land on a small wooden cabin not twenty feet in front of them, its steps leading to the front door and railings on the small patio are covered with snow. It doesn't look like anyone is occupying at the moment, it looks slightly neglected.

"Not my most graceful landing, but it could have been worse," his tone is light but Chloe notices the slight edge of worry and frustration too. She's absolutely certain he would have dusted off the snow and leaves from his jacket if it weren't for holding her, a movement he does every time he is annoyed or nervous.

He looks her over with searching and tense eyes, no doubt making sure she didn't acquire new injuries during their journey.

She wants to do the same because she remembers his sharp intake of breath when they reached tree level, but his wings are not attached to his back anymore. She doesn't have time to dwell on the physics of Angel Anatomy because he starts walking with purposeful steps towards the house.

Still in his arms, he takes the steps of the cabin two at a time and she hears a click when they reach the front door, then it opens with a creaking sound. When it closes behind them, she can finally let out a sigh of relief at not seeing white and feeling the bitter cold air on her cheeks.

It's not exactly warmer inside, but the temperature is finally higher by a few degrees.

Lucifer gently deposits her on the worn, dark green couch and she finally has a chance to properly look around their temporary shelter.

The house isn't exactly big, only a one-bedroom shed. They stepped into a large living room with a large fireplace as its centerpiece. There's also an open kitchen area and a door leading to - what Chloe thinks - a moderate bathroom.

The walls are decorated with animal trophies (she hopes they're not real) and other decorations, a few pictures of nature. The thin and short curtains on the few windows seem quite unwashed, the once white materials obtained a grayish shade.

If she had to guess, it must belong to a hunter, the cabin is clearly not designed for people to live in it for a longer period of time. Its owner must use it only during hunting season. It would certainly explain the thin cover of dust on every surface and musty scent filling the place.

She hears the front door open and close and watches as Lucifer carries a few logs of wood, shaking the snow from his head as he puts them in the fireplace. She doesn't know how (probably her mind is still going blank from time to time) but the next moment there's an intense fire dancing in front of her, the burning wood is slowly emanating some heat, and she wants, she desperately wants to get close, to finally give her body the warmth it was deprived for a long time, but her limbs just refuse to cooperate.

He must sense her struggle (because of course, he does) and walks over to her to pull her to her feet and gently guide her and help her sit on the shabby rug in front of the fireplace. She lets out the biggest sigh of relief of her life and is able to lift her popsicle-like fingers towards the fire, feeling the heat and life finally returning to them slowly.

She thanks every deity that is possibly real as well that her clothes somehow remained dry and she doesn't have to take them off (she doesn't even remember which of her underwear she chose to wear today, but she's pretty sure she opted for comfort rather than seductiveness). She's mortified enough as it is, being a damsel in distress and having the person help her who she actively and openly pushed away for the last four months.

Yeah, she doesn't need one more thing added to the list.

She faintly hears him walk away and open a door, and she's so focused on getting her body temperature to rise to a reasonable level that she doesn't notice when he appears at her side again, crouching down next to her, holding a box in his hands. She slightly jumps as her brain catches up with her, and she immediately regrets it because his face quickly takes on a crestfallen and hurt expression.

She rushes to reassure him of his absolutely wrong assumption, but he beats her to it.

"I...I apologize, Detective. I didn't mean to startle you," he hastily deposits the box on the floor that she recognizes as a first-aid kit and takes a few steps back, holding up his hands.

She wants to kick herself.

"No, no, Lucifer...I...Would you help me with this?" she asks hopefully.

He is blinking at her furiously now, opening his lips to say something, but for a few moments, nothing comes out. Then he seems to have gathered his thoughts. "Are you sure?"

She nods with a smile.

"Very well," he sighs, but the corner of his lip twitches as he gets closer to her again, picking up and opening the first-aid kit.

He grabs a few cotton balls and dabs one into the disinfectant before lifting it to her temple. She nods at his silent question when their eyes lock and he touches the cotton lightly against her wound. Even though she expected it, the quick and sharp sting of the alcohol makes her hiss and squeezes her eyes shut until the pain passes. When she opens them again, they fall on Lucifer's apologetic smile and concerned eyes before continuing to clean her wound.

"There...All better," he informs her when he finishes off by placing a band-aid on her temple. "The cut is superficial, nothing but a bad memory will remain in its place."

"Thank you," her voice comes out hoarse and she has to clear her throat from the ball lodged in there because damn it, he is so gentle with her and she doesn't deserve his kindness.

"May I see your shoulder, Detective? I noticed you favoring your left one," he asks, voice uncertain, like he's half prepared for her to say no to his offer.

She nods vehemently, because it's still throbbing and yeah, she just wants him to touch her, so sue her.

He helps her get rid of her jacket and t-shirt, the process tortuously slow, as she can't seem to lift her right shoulder without pain shooting through her arm. When she sits before him in her black bra, he does a show of looking anywhere but her chest, his jaw set. He motions for her to turn around, and when she obeys his request, she bites into her lip, her cheeks getting pink.

She feels the tips of his fingers brush over the skin of her shoulder, barely touching her, but before she could ask what he is doing exactly, an involuntary shiver runs down her body. He gets the wrong idea (again) and quickly snatches back his hand.

She hears him clear his throat. "Nothing is broken or fractured, only a slight bruise is visible. But since you seem to have a decrease in range of motion and pain, I'm guessing it's sprained," his voice is emotionless, clinical. "I'm quite familiar with the human body," he adds, attempting at a joke when her head turns to the side, eyebrows raised in question.

She wants to ask if there's anything that can be done to cure it or whatever, but he's already on his feet again, answering her unspoken inquiry.

"Right," he clasps his hands together. "Icing it would be the best route of action until you can get proper medical care. But let's leave that to when your body is thoroughly warmed up, shall we?" he smiles down at her when she turns back towards the fireplace.

He disappears again from he line of sight again and then she suddenly feels something weigh on her shoulders (not metaphorically this time) and glances up to see Lucifer place a thick, patchwork blanket over her. She tucks it around herself gratefully.

"The square pattern has been out of fashion since the eighties, but I believe we can overlook such transgression this time," he gives her a smile and she can finally put a name to his unusual his manner now that her physical and mental state is approaching normal again.

Hesitancy.

She hates seeing him like this, so unsure of what to do around her, she can literally see in his eyes the emotional wall he erected - the fear that she would bolt in any second (no matter how absurd and unlikely that scenario would be given her current state and the weather outside).

(But even without those circumstances, she wouldn't do that)

This is her fault. She made him put his guard back on, she made him think that his presence is not welcome, that it's frightful to her.

So she makes up her mind.

She pats the floor next to her in an inviting gesture and at first, all he does is tilt his head just to the side and barely visibly narrow his eyes, looks her up and down, as he always does when she says something he just can't comprehend at the moment.

She lets her lips pull into a soft smile and taps the empty place next to her again, and this time he starts moving, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves before descending to the floor, sitting cross-legged next to her.

Well...next to her is a bit of a stretch, because there's at least three feet distance between them and he looks straight into the flames, his posture rigid. He reminds her of a freaking statue.

She watches him for a few seconds, he doesn't move, he doesn't even blink and she's sure he stopped breathing altogether too. If she wants to guess, he tries to appear as nonthreatening to her as possible. Which is totally ridiculous because one, she's not afraid of him (she never was if she's honest with herself) and two, he just carried her in his arms a few minutes before, with wings and all, and also played nurse with her.

She hates this. She hates how cautious he is with her, how his usually nonexistent verbal filter is somehow...existent now. She never thought she would say this, but she hates how he didn't say even one sexual pun or innuendo, not even during him playing doctor.

She hates the distance between them, both physical and metaphorical.

She even misses his complete inability to stay out of her personal space.

So to rectify that, in a sudden determination, she scoots closer to him and nestles herself at his side. His cologne immediately fills her nostrils, but before she could get lost in the familiarity of it, he lets out a surprised yelp and lifts his arms, leaning away from her but stays seated.

"Det...Detective?" he asks, eyes wide, and she doesn't know if she should feel hurt by his reaction or just sad.

She should've expected such a reaction from him. She ghosted him for months, after all, complete radio silence, and now she's all but rubbing up against his body.

She must be giving him whiplash with her ambivalent behavior.

"Lucifer, I…" she starts, but she doesn't know what she's supposed to say. How can she explain that she just wants things to go back to normal (or forward) without him believing it's just her half-delirious state speaking?

"Detective, I think you should get some rest now. The storm won't let out for another few hours, and sadly there's nothing any of us can do about that. As soon as it's safe to travel again, you have my word that I'll get you home safely." he smiles at her reassuringly, but it still doesn't reach his eyes.

He makes a motion to stand up, and she acts instinctively, grabbing his arm and tugs him back down. This time he doesn't recoil from her proximity and doesn't try to free his arm either. There's a question in his eyes, though, but he doesn't say anything.

The ball's in her court now.

"I'm sorry," she manages, but she has no idea how she should continue. She had a whole plan and speech, but now that they are here, face to face, all thoughts are flying out of her brain.

"Whatever for?" he asks, his expression completely baffled.

"For...shutting you out, for not answering? I realize it was selfish of me to just...disappear-"

"No, no, Detective. It's completely understandable, I-"

"It isn't. It wasn't fair how I handled this whole...thing," she sees him opening his mouth to disagree with her again, probably, but she holds up a finger and he lets her continue. "I should've come to you, I should've asked...about all of this. Yes, I needed time to deal with everything, but I didn't have to completely push you away in the process."

He hums, contemplating her words and for a few moments, silence stretches over them.

"And...have you dealt...with everything?" he speaks up after what feels like an eternity, his voice uncertain and he's not looking at her.

She wants to hug him.

Instead, she says; "Yes, I think I have," she catches him raising an eyebrow at her, his expression showing skepticism. "I mean, this is still crazy and there are so many things I still don't understand, but maybe you can...explain? Sometime?"

For the first time in months, a genuine smile graces his lips. "I shall be happy to answer any and all of your questions, Detective."

"Good. Because I have a lot," she fails to stifle a yawn, but she doesn't let her tiredness derail her. She still has one thing she needs to clear. "But not now. On Monday? In the precinct? I have an unsolved case that I could use my partner's wonderful insights anyway."

She smiles up at him, raising her eyebrow in question, and hopes he gets her and says yes.

He opens his mouth and closes it, once, twice, seemingly doesn't know how to respond. Then he gathers his thoughts and suddenly his expression is joyous, his eyes glisten. She has never seen anything more beautiful.

"I...I would very much like that, Detective."

She feels his arms go around her shoulder, tentative, and she snuggles closer to him, nuzzling her face into the crook of her neck. After a moment he rests his head on top of hers, she feels him inhale and hum in content.

"Rest, darling. As soon as this blasted storm ceases, we can leave this sorry excuse of a house," she feels him shudder slightly under her cheek and she holds back a chuckle.

She missed his snobbishness.

"Mmm...you are warm," she murmurs into his collarbone after a while of comfortable silence.

"One of the few perks of living in a fiery pit for most of my existence, I believe," he breathes into her hair.

"Hm, yes, Hell…" she sighs, closing her eyes, letting the tiredness slowly took over her.

She's amazed at how easily she can joke about it now. Maybe it's her still mushy and half-hibernated brain, but she no longer feels the urge to run away or shut out the Heaven-and-Hell topic like she actively did a few months ago.

They still have a lot to talk about and stuff to figure out, but the most important thing is that their partnership is back again.

#my fics #lucifer #lucifer fanfic #deckerstar #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer x chloe #lucifer ff #deckerstar ff

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings​ @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #I've already got a room in Hell y'all welcome to book one nearby

[fakeloveaskblog]

Patty have you ever asked Janus to join for dinner when you meet him? Maybe that can somehow help Logan with his flirting? Or at least get Janus more relaxed?

(btw you're adorable ily!!)

(*cracks knuckles* Oh yeah baby we’ve gotten to the angst. Words: 2364 )

Patty: ": D Oh hello lil magical bird who just talked to me! I love you too!! I didn't want to barge in too much into their relationship but now when my honeypie has asked him out once already I guess I can help just a bit!"

Patty had sunglasses on to look like a secret agent. This was an important step in her plan, she swore on it. She sneaked into the open library while chuckling to herself.

She glanced around and almost immediately caught her eye on Janus standing in the reception. She did a few sneaky walks between the bookshelves before sliding up to him.

"Hello Janister!" She greeted with a bright smile while putting her elbows on the reception to lean closer.

"Hiya PatPat. Logan is off helping a customer but he'll be back soon"

"Oh silly I'm not looking for him right now. I am actually here to ask if you could come over to our place tonight. You see I'm planning on making Jambalaya but I always make too much! I'm talking leftovers up to the roof!! But if a third person was there maybe I would be able to make a perfect amount" She lied. She was making jambalaya for Janus purposes alone!

Janus' heartrate shot through the atmosphere "To- me?- your place?- tonight?- I uh- I don't know if I have time-"

She pouted and did her puppy eyes "You sure? You don't have to if you don't want to!! But it would be nice!"

He let out a happy sigh "Sure"

She took his hand and let out a sqeaul "aaah Great! It'll be so fun!!"

---

Logan was leaning down so Patty could help him with his bowtie. "Are you completely sure I look adequate?" He asked.

"Oh honeybee, You look super duper ultra adequate. You're literally wearing a sweater with a math pun on it!!"

"Hmm sound argument. I can not deny the sexiness of math puns"

A knock came on the door. The couple stared at each other. Logan stimmed out of nervousness. Patty gave him a quick kiss before pointing between him and the door. They did a good luck high five.

Logan combed his hair back and leaned on the wall to look cool as he opened the door. Janus stood on the other side looking like a sardine that had just been pressed into a can.

He had on a purple vest with embroidered flowers details and with a long sleeved black button up under. Also a very funky pair of stripped pants with even funkier yellow snake socks under.

"Greetings Jan. You are looking" Like a dream. Like someone he wanted to kiss right this moment. "Very good"

"Aww are you trying to be a snake charmer Log-boy" Janus replied with a smirk.

"I am not a log or a boy. I'm an adult man made out of meat"

"You better be because I'm starving" He had downed 2 shots of vodka before coming to try to and cool his extreme anxiety. He was a lightweight.

Logan lead him into the living room "Are....Are you implying cannibalism?"

Janus shrugged while smiling.

The apartement truly did look like a mismatch of the couple's personalities. The walls were filled with maps of constellations and uplifting cat posters. On the bookshelfs cook books and travel books were stacked next to thick philosophy books and essays. The decorations were either cute porcelain animals, magical anime girl figurines or figurines of characters from Lo's different hyperfixations. The sofa was filled with fluffy blankets and pillows and stuffies were scattered around the light blue carpet filling the living room.

“Do you want to watch star trek while eating?” Logan asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“As long as I get to watch your beautiful face as well” Janus flirted back while doing an unsteady fingergun.

“Oh- Of course” His crush’s sudden forwardness was making his heart flutter.

Janus curled up in the corner of the couch, making himself as small as possible. Logan sat down pretty far away from him.

He started the first episode. Janus had a constant smile on his face as he listened to Logan go between telling him facts and gushing over his favorite moments. All while he could hear Patty in the kitchen half singing along to dad rock.

“Does she want help with that?” Janus, known gentleman and also nervous wreck, asked.

“She’ll tell us if she need it. She likes cooking. I like baking. It usually works out”

Janus got an amused look on his face “You’re into baking? So all those times at work when you brought desserts, that was your making?”

“Yes. And they were delicious. Anything wrong with that?”

“No. No. I simply didn’t take you for the type”

“Well cooking involves creativity and there’s room for your own ideas. Baking doesn’t. It is only about following a structure and doing kitchen chemistry. Of course I love it” He lowered his voice “It is also tremendously good for when you need to flirt without words”

“Oh really? I better start looking up recipes then” He pulled in Logan's bowtie “You have any favorites?” 

In his head he had the guts to say ‘Your lips against mine would be my favorite’ in reality he said “HehuHFKdjf jam drops in the shape of heart. The heart part is important. It adds to the taste”

“It usually does”

Janus slowly looked him up and down. And then he realized what the fuck he was doing. He shot back into his corner of the sofa like a naked rat. Logan sat still with blushing cheeks, staring at the tv but not taking in anything that was happening except his racing heart.

“Done!” Patty exclaimed, coming in with a big ass fucking pot of jambalaya and a just as big bottle of wine.

She saw the nervous state both of the guys were in and quickly made up a plan. She slammed the pot down onto the coffee table and moved the blankets so they took up about half of the couch. Then she sat down using up as much space as possible leaving the guys no choice but to move closer to each other, If both of them sat their hands down they would touch.

Patty cuddled up to her husband with a proud smile on her face. Logan moved his arm around her. 

“It looks great sweetheart” He pressed a kiss to her cheek making her giggle.

“So do you!! And so does mr. star trek captain man!”

 She enjoyed the hell out of her jambalaya while the two idiots sent each other awkward smiles. Janus downed his glass of wine in record speed. (He took it slower with the food, he didn’t want to seem disgusting). 

The whole star trek episode went by. Logan asked Janus a thousand excited questions about how much he liked it. All of his answers made the nerd happy stim. They put on a documentary none of them were really interested in the background while continuing to chat. Patty went on a long epic story about how a kid at her daycare had tried to bite her finger off last week.

“Soooo” Patty sudenly changed the topic. She said it with an innocent tone “My nerdy lil honeypie over here had the biggest crush on Data for a while. It was adorable. ANd while we’re on the topic” The look she gave Janus was happy but it still sent shivers down his spine “You having any crushes lately? Just curious!”

Both of the men internally gasped at the audacity. The gall! The sheer power!! Janus was sweating like a naked rat who had just been clad for the first time.

“...Well.......I have actually been meaning to....Ask about the polyamourous thing?” 

The couple exhanged knowing glances before looking back at him “Mhm yeah Mhm” “I am poly and also a thing so I am an expert in this”

“So...I totally haven’t fallen in love with 3 people. 2 of which I met in the span of around a week”

Patton did a double thumbs up. Logan took a long sip from his wine. “We’re all gossipy bitches here. Tell all about it”

“Well. The first one is Remy-”

“The one with the sunglasses?”

“...Yes...Are....Don’t tell me they’re a serial killer”

Patty broke up into a chuckle “Logie-bogie tried to kiss them while he was drunk once”

“I threw up on their shoes”

“He threw up on their shoes!”

Logan saw the terror in Janus’ face as he worried that maybe 2 of his crushes were exes and quickly added “We are only acquaintance and I was momentarily struck by the impressive lenght of their legs” 

Janus went on to gush about Remy and Remus. Why he loved them. All the dates he had daydreamed about. And then finally his voice was shaking when he mentioned just having a third crush.

Patty let out a long yawn before he could say anything more. She stood up “Well looks like it’s time to snooze! I assume 2 big burly ultra masculine men like you two can handle the dishes”

“It will be a challenge but we shall do our best. Goodnight honey” Logan kissed her.

She leaned in and whispered “Good luck Logie-bear! You got this”

She giggled mischievously while going off into the bedroom. She closed the door behind her. Only the two lovebirds were left now.

“So the third crush? Who’s the lucky gentleman?” Logan asked.

Janus held onto his newly refilled wine glass so hard it nearly cracked. He forced a smile “Wouldn’t you want to hear about the fake couples counseling I go to together with Remus instead?”

“Fake what now?”

“Well me and Remus, who I am hopelessly in love with even though he clearly doesn’t feel the same way, started going to a therapist pretending we were a couple to see how long it would take before he realized we didn’t know each other. He hasn’t realized anything yet. It’s great!”

It looked like Logan’s eyes was about to bulge out of his skull “That sounds illegal. It should be. You are dragging shame onto the face of psychology you double dumbass!”

“I have done nothing wrong ever in my entire life and frankly I deserve to waste even more therapist’s time” Janus replied.

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose “Which therapist is it that you’re harassing exactly?”

“Dr. Picani”

Logan’s eyes widened and he shut his lips tightly “Emile Picani?”

“Yes.....Please don’t tell me he’s a serial killer”

He slowly looked away while taking a sip from his wine “I have had intercourse with that man”

Janus choked on his drink. He coughed while staring at his friend with wild eyes “YOU FUCKED MY THERAPIST????”

“No.......He fucked me” Logan replied in a quiet tone. “Besides he’s not even your real therapist”

“He is still a sort of therapist man to me! I told him I enjoy Lana Del Rey. That was a very intimate moment for me!”

“Well I had a very intimate moment with him too”

Janus looked at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. He let out a chuckle which turned into a laugh which turned into Logan not being able to not laugh along which turned into the room filling with nothing but flustered happiness and laughter.

Logan grabbed onto his crush’ arm just to have some contact with him while his eyes teared up from laughter. Janus leaned his head against his shoulder and curled up close to him while giggling so much his stomach hurt.

“Oh we’re idiots” Janus sighed.

“We are. We truly are”

They stayed sitting like that. So so close. Logan’s arm around him. Janus breathing being felt against the other man’s skin. Their hands touching. Only comfortable silence surrounded them.

A few minutes went by. Janus looked at him shuly. His thoughts worrying about everything and anything “Should we- ehm- the dishes?”

The moment broke. Logan moved away before standing up “I uh yeah- we should”

It was strange. Just dishing together with his crush made Logan happy. All he could think about was getting to be this close, this domestic, with him every day. Getting to wake up next to him. Kiss his knuckles. Share a morning with him.

“Who was the third crush by the way?” Logan asked, glancing over at his crush.

Janus stared down into the water “I- I can’t say it”

“Understandable”

He stopped and turned fully to look at Janus. He had never been more unsure of where to put his hands before.

“Well I can...Say it I mean....I....I...Janus.....You make me happy just by being near me...You are so wonderful...I....I love you”

Logan couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He took a step forward and cupped Janus’ cheeks. He leaned forward, so close, so close that their noses and foreheads were pressed against each other. It felt like had been starving for this.

Janus froze. His wide eyes stared in shock at the other man. His hand moved up to his chest on instinct, to try and push him away.

Logan noticed his reaction. Of course he did. It was blindingly obvious. He forced himself to move away. He forced the desire to kiss him to simmer out.

“I-I’m sorry-” He mumbled out.

“No....Lo..” Janus took his hand. Holding it so so lightly in his own “I know” He looked up at him “I know. I’m sorry. I should go”

A horrible feeling of guilt filled Logan’s throat “You don’t have to” 

“I should go” He repeated, letting go of his hand.

Logan walked after him as he went to get his jacket “A date. Do you want to go on a date? Not just a hangout. Janus I- I want so badly to be close to you. We could go to the zoo, look at the snakes?”

Janus held his hand on the handle of the door. He didn’t look at Logan “Thanks for having me over”

He left. Logan stood alone in the hallway. His arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

#(: #loceit #mini fic #logicality #logan sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders

[worldcrawlerhp]

Draco and Hermione flirt at a party...

Likely to be the first draft of the first chapter of one of my WIPs, but can stand on its own(ish)... not the same one as what I had posted a while back but I am nothing if not working on multiple things in one go!

So enjoy the snippet - set a few years after the war, picture university age characters.

-----

Hermione flounced into one of the quieter rooms off of the main party. She found Theorode Nott, hands entwined with Pansy Parkinson, sharing a love seat, and the sight of a rather disheveled Draco Malfoy on one of the comfy armchairs. There was an enchanted gramophone in one corner, playing out some tranquil music which seemed to starkly juxtapose the ferocity of the party in full swing downstairs.

The smell of cigars permeated the air, and there were two bottles of fire whisky on the table - one empty, and one well on it’s way to be so. Draco sat on the armchair sideways, his legs up on the armrest, his jacket slung over the backrest. His bow tie had been undone, formal shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and he held whiskey tumbler in one hand.

When she stumbled in, she thought about turning around and moving away to find an empty room in which to sober up, but she hesitated in the doorway long enough for Malfoy to take notice of her. A drunken grin split is otherwise sour face, and Theo’s amused expression turned from Pansy to her at the door.

“Granger! What a sight for sore eyes! Come join us,” he called, amusing himself by putting her on the spot.

Hermione stepped into the room, thinking she must be even more drunk than she initially thought if she was actually about to crash this afterparty.

Draco straightened up his posture, swinging his legs around to sit normally on the large armchair.

“Plenty of room here Granger,” he drawled, indicating his lap.

“Keep dreaming Malfoy,” scoffed Hermione, head high with determination as she headed across the low table and collapsed on a longer sofa. She quickly turned so she was lying down, head to the armrest closest to the door, and heels on the other.

“Oh I do, Granger, I do,” he chuckled, pale cheeks rosy with alcohol.

“Bit drunk Granger?” asked Pansy, a touch of her school-time haughtiness still about her, but no malice in her tone.

“Just a tad. Don’t worry I only need to sober up enough to apparate and then I’ll leave you in peace,” replied Hermione, groaning and throwing one arm to cover her eyes as the room spun around her.

Theo and Pansy went back to slowly kissing one another as if there were nobody else in the world, and she could hear Draco pouring himself another glass of firewhiskey.

“You know,” started Draco, pointedly ignoring the couple in the corner, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk Granger.”

“Well feast your eyes Malfoy,” she laughed, turning to face him. She knew this tone from him. He was bored, and looking to get her riled up for his own amusement. Not tonight she thought, as she held up a hand to stop him from speaking as he opened his mouth.

“Let me guess, is my hair even more of a mess than usual? Lipstick a poor attempt at making my mouth look appetising? ‘Why bother wearing heels Granger when you totter about in them like a giraffe on a tightrope’” She said imitating his voice, putting as much scorn into insulting herself as she could while sporting a teasing smile. She swung her legs from the armrest onto the low table in front of her so she could sit up and look at him better. “‘And what are you wearing! Merlin Granger, a bit of class might improve you somewhat!’”

There was a silence, and then Draco laughed - a sound so foreign to her and even to Theo and Pansy to some extent - that all eyes looked at him. It wasn’t a scoff or a chuckle, but a real laugh.

“Actually Granger, I was going to say you look more ravishing than usual in that number, but I can see I will have to work harder at changing your opinion of me if you believe I would still say any of that shit about your looks.” He told her, leaning forwards and looking deep into her eyes. “Securing your affections is further away than I had imagined!”

“Ha! Securing my affections Malfoy?” She raised one eyebrow at him.

“Yes, have I not mentioned I intend to marry you?” He slurred, gazing at her longingly.

“You may have mentioned it last time you were sloshed,” she countered, rolling her eyes. From the way she saw Nott sit up a bit straighter in the corner she realised he had not been in on this little joke.

“Well then, it cannot come as a surprise,” continued Malfoy, leaning back in his armchair looking rather smug with himself that she remembered.

“Oh please Malfoy, just drop whatever little game it is you are playing - I know this is just your latest scheme to ridicule me. I’ll humour you for a bit but it’s going to get old really quickly,” she replied, mirroring his behaviour and falling backwards into the couch.

“No games here Granger, not this time. See I’m absolutely smitten with that big brain of yours, and the way your body turned out isn’t bad either,” he said with a smirk over his whiskey glass.

Hermione snorted.

“Right, and you’ve come to this life changing realisation when exactly?”

“Oh… probably third year when you punched me…”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh out loud.

“Like a bit of rough and tumble do you Malfoy? Hoping I’ll slap you up a bit in the bedroom?”

Had Hermione been sober, she would never have engaged in this level of banter, even if she might have thought about the witty response in her mind. But drunk Hermione had no such filter, and was feeling exhilarated with her current verbal sparring match with her ex-nemesis Draco Malfoy. And she she didn’t even feel slightly embarrassed herself but was solely focussed on seeing how far Malfoy would push his apparent flirtatiousness. She would make him crack. Hopefully before she threw up all the vodka currently flowing through her body.

She took in Malfoy’s shocked expression and hoped she had pushed far enough, smirking at him in a way she had actually learned from the Slytherins that surrounded her in her life.

The shocked expression melted off of his face in an instant, eyes smouldering with something dark.

“For you Granger, anything,” he said darkly, holding her eye contact. “When we’re married we can try all manner of things your heart desires. You can have a whole wing of the house to play out your little fantasies ”

“And here I was thinking we were talking about your ‘little fantasies’, Draco” she purred, leaning towards him. His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Oh Granger, I already have my own wing,” he murmured, “I’ll gladly show you any time you want.”

She was opening her mouth to retort, sure she had him on the run from her, but Blaise Zabini sauntered into the room, greeting them all, and placed himself next to Hermione on the sofa, seemingly taking her in for the first time that night.

He raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow at her and gave her a the smile of a predator having just caught sight of his prey.

“Well Granger, so lovely of you to join us this evening,” he said smoothly, arm coming to rest over her shoulders.

“Oh please not you too! This is ridiculous!” She spluttered, taking his arm off of her shoulders and depositing it by his side.

“I’m not sure I follow? I see a beautiful girl sitting here by my side - I cannot help but try,” he said smoothly, never one to take a rejection.

“Zabini. Non sono interessata,” she hissed at him in Italian. It was more than passable - as was everything she tried to study to perfection - but her cheeks burned as the words left her lips, making her feel stupid to have thought to speak to him in his mother tongue at all. The game was up - she couldn’t handle two Slytherins mocking her at once.

Blaise laughed and relaxed away from her, leaning over her outstretched legs to grab a whiskey tumbler and pour himself a glass.

“Message received Granger. Don’t mean to interfere where I’m not wanted! How has your evening been?”

“Bizarre,” she huffed, glancing over at Draco who was watching them intently. “I only came in here to sober up a little, but if you’ll excuse me I think I’m going to hunt down some water and leave now.”

Hermione stood up, pleased with the way she was no longer wobbling so much.

“Have a good night,” she called to the remaining occupants of the room, and then headed off to the bar without a backwards glance.

Back in the room she just left, Theo and Pansy no longer tried to conceal the fact they had been listening to the whole exchange.

“Did you just admit to Granger you’ve been in love with her since third year?” Theo blurted, twisting to look his friend in the face.

Zabini raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between his friends. “Is that what I interrupted?”

“No, you interrupted Malfoy fucking it up,” replied Pansy.

“Well I couldn’t not tell her anymore!” said Draco, a scowl starting to form on his face.

“We know that! But she doesn’t know that!” Theo sighed, slapping his forehead in frustration. It had taken them an eternity to get Draco to admit it to himself, and now he springs it on Granger - not the first time either!

“Look Malfoy,” cut in Pansy, “you can’t just tell her you love her and then have banter about some fucking sex dungeons - she’s not going to believe a thing! You need to show her!”

“Show her a sex dungeon?” asked Zabini, somewhere between confused and intrigued.

“No! Show her he is serious about her!” cried Pansy, getting frustrated.

“And is he serious about her?”

“I’m literally right here,” growled Draco, irritably, “and yes, I am serious. I have to get married or lose the inheritance, and with the ministry finally passing a ban on all familial contracts stipulating anything to do with blood status, legally, I can choose to marry her… if she’ll have me. Otherwise I will face being forced into one of the Greengrass’ arms, and then I’ll never… never get a chance… to be with her…” His voice was pained and longing, having lost all the protection of the walls he had built for himself during his upbringing.

“Hmmm. She won’t just fall into anybody’s arms,” said Zabini, thinking out load “and especially not yours mate, not with your history.”

“Great thanks for the votes of confidence —“ started Draco, slamming his glass onto the table. Zabini held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t done.

“So, we will need to do this the hard way,” he continued. “We will have to train you to get her to fall for you. And unfortunately your pure-blooded, rich arse is a negative when it comes to the girl of your dreams,” he sighed.

“So what do I have left?” asked Draco, feeling a little despair creeping in.

“Why, your fabulous personality of course!” Cried Theo, grinning at him.

Draco Malfoy groaned and downed the rest of his drink.

#dramione #snippet #worldcrawler #wip #my writing #harry potter #fanfiction #dramione fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione

[infernwetrust]

To Take Care Of [Duncan Shepherd x Jim Mason] Part 2

PART 1

Summary: Duncan comes to visit Jim in California one last time.

Warnings: PURE SMUT, fluff, angst, swearing, drug use, emotional

WC: 3.0k

A/N: I can’t believe I literally cried writing this at 6AM lmao. If anyone likes to listen to music while they read for a real tear-jerker, I was listening to Show You by Kasbo the entire time that I was writing this. Thank you for reading! -Juno

GIF by langdonsblood

The entirety of dinner, Duncan and Jim never once stopped speaking. What they could eat in an hour turned into 2 because they always had a lot of catching up to do when Duncan was back in town or if Jim went down to D.C. It was a sight to see and the both of them couldn't stop giggling about it; how completely opposite the two dressed in the styles that they taught each other about. And when Duncan got up to stretch before clearing the table, Jim's eyes shot straight down to the print between his legs. Jim was always staring at Duncan when he had the chance. Whether it be because he simply adored the man or because he was beyond horny, he could almost never take his eyes off Duncan Shepherd if it was just the two together.

After dinner, the two made their way into the parking garage of Jim's apartment complex and into his car where they shared a joint or two... or three. It's a good thing that Jim always kept a case of water bottles in his trunk because both of them had a very serious case of cotton mouth.

"Fuck, I can't drink it fast enough." Duncan said as he gulped his water down and his cotton mouth still wasn't going away. High off his ass, Jim bursted into giggles at his boyfriend's failed attempt to get his mouth and throat wet. Mouth full of water because he happened to be drinking, of course he sprayed most of it all over his dress shirt.

"Guess I gotta take it off now." Jim said, still giggling.

"No, no." Duncan replied, licking his lips and watching as the water soaked through the material, exposing Jim's toned chest. "Leave it on."

"Okaaaaay." Jim threw his head back, sighing happily before returning his gaze back to Duncan. "So how long is this trip?"

"It isn't." Duncan answered, his eyes glossy from his high.

"What do you m-,"

"I'm not going back to D.C., Jim. I- I'm leaving everything behind. So that we don't have to keep doing this. I miss you a lot when I'm gone. No amount of texts, calls, and video chats can compare to just being here with you."

"Duncan are you se-,"

"Yes. Remember when I told you a couple months ago that I was working on something huge?"

"Yeah." Jim answered, his voice trying hard not to crack.

"I sold what I could and packed what I could. I'm having a couple things shipped down here. And I knew that if I told you while I was back in Washington you'd try to stop me, so I just did it, slowly. I'm discussing buying a house with a couple property owners out here, just have to go see them in person. I was hoping that you would mo-," Jim cut Duncan off, slamming his lips against his in a fiery kiss as he finally let some of his tears go.

"Duncan..." he said as he pulled away, leaving his forehead against his. "I always could of just moved to D.C. You know I'd drop everything for you."

"I know, but I didn't want to. You have a nice little life here in LA and out of PV. It's simple. You're away from the lime light. Private life. DC was so hectic and I was so stressed all the time. Being here with you and loving you, the sand in my toes, a whole lotta margaritas and vodka cranberries, and some of the best sex I've ever had." Jim blushed at Duncan's words.

"California is an interesting place, I can say that for sure. I love it here."

"That's something someone not from California would say." Jim chuckled, causing Duncan to laugh.

"Besides." Duncan continued. "You're still so young and full of life, Jim. DC will suck that right out of you. It's only good for a visit, I promise you that. I've never felt so fucking old."

"Duncan you're only 33."

"And you're 27."

"You're not old, Dunc. At all."

"Oh, I know that now that I've actually been doing things other than working." He winked at Jim.

"And when you're like 76 and I'm like 70, you'll still be my sexy young man."

"Very funny."

"Duncan, I love you." Jim said, turning his body slightly in his seat so that he could face Duncan a little bit better.

"I love you too."

The two sat in silence for a while, staring at each hazy eyed before their gazes finally drew their lips together again, but this time they kissed hungrily. They were handsy.

"No. Not here." Duncan moaned out as Jim's lips made their way to the side of his face and down to his neck.

"Okay. Okay. Fine. C'mon though." Jim quickly hopped out the car, Duncan following behind him. Locking the doors behind them, the two ran through the parking garage like teenage boys; giggling as Jim looked back at Duncan who was hot on his heels. When they got in the elevator, Duncan pinned Jim up against the wall, putting his lips back on his in a breathy kiss filled with hard pants and their hands roamed freely once again. Duncan gripped Jim's ass tightly, pulling him closer, when the elevator dinged. Jim grinned against Duncan's lips before taking off again down the hall. Another chase that Duncan somehow managed to keep up with. How he managed Jim's level of energy he was unsure of, but he loved it anyway.

Jim couldn't get his keys in the door fast enough, pushing it open immediately as soon he heard the click. He tossed his keys on the counter and Duncan pounced on him again. This time, he picked Jim up, Jim wrapping his legs around his waist in yet another steamy kiss, Duncan carrying him to the bed. Jim left his shades open, the moonlight that shined brightly through his window being the only source of light they had to guide them. Duncan set Jim down by the bed, quickly pulling his hoody over his head before ripping Jim's shirt clean off. Jim, too high off marijuana and Duncan's love, didn't seem to care as he fumbled with his belt before finally unbuttoning his slacks and pulling them down.

Duncan pushed Jim down onto the bed before pulling his sweats down. He climbed on top of him, sinking between his legs, planting soft kisses along the surfer boy's neck as he grinded against him through the material of his boxers. Soft kisses were soon turned into harsh sucks and love bites as Duncan left behind a few hickeys on his neck and chest. Jim whimpered underneath him, thrusting upwards for a little more friction, but Duncan planted him back down, thrusting right back. The both of them loved the feeling of the other growing hard in response to each other's touch.

Jim's breathing got heavier as Duncan trailed his tongue down his chest down to his abdomen and just above the hem of his underwear. He slowly pulled them down, leaving kisses and bites on Jim's thighs. Jim let out a low hum in approval before Duncan put him inside of his mouth.

"Mmmmm, Dunc." Jim moaned as he got to work on him. Duncan moved slowly at first, swiveling his tongue over the head. Jim propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view. He bit down on his bottom lip as his breathing became uneven. He gripped the bedsheets beside him, slowly moving his hips to try and match Duncan's rhythm. But then Duncan sped up, completely throwing Jim off. And he was a mess again, slumping back down into his mattress as he let out a deep moan. He grabbed a nearby pillow, throwing it over his face attempting to keep himself from getting to loud, but he knew was pointless. Duncan pushed Jim all the way to back of his throat, allowing for Jim to thrust even further upwards as he bit down hard on the pillow.

"Fuck." he growled as he sunk his hips back down, allowing for Duncan to start bobbing his head back up and down. He was sloppy now, slobbering all over Jim as he moaned, groaned and whined. Tossing the pillow to the side, his hands found their way in Duncan's hair, tugging gently as he brought him closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so close." Jim moaned out, but Duncan didn't stop. Using one of his hands he massaged Jim's balls. His stomach twitched and he knew he was close and when he was right there about to spill over, Duncan stopped, flipping him over into his stomach. He quickly pulled his boxers off, getting his hand wet enough and stroking himself a few times before pouring himself inside of Jim.

"Shit..." Duncan mumbled as Jim's walls wrapped around him, inviting him in. "Still so nice and so warm." Jim bit down on his pillow for the second time tonight. Duncan slapped his ass before he began sliding in and out of Jim whose leaking erecting rubbed back and forth against the soft and warm sheets.

"Missed you so much.." Jim said, barely above a whisper, but Duncan heard him.

"I missed you too." Duncan replied in his ear, speeding up his pace, his hips rocking back and forth. Pure nostalgia filled Jim as he Duncan fucked him with the same intensity he did the first night they met, the second time they got to see each other, and the night that they made it official. Submerged in a world of pleasure, Jim closed his eyes and replayed that memory again, vividly.

"Wanna go for a walk along the boardwalk?" Jim asked Duncan as he shoved his last piece of fried Oreo in his mouth. "And I don't knooooow, maybe tell me what's on your mind? You've been awfully quiet since we sat down to take a break."

"Yeah, come on." Duncan got up rather quickly. Jim got up too throwing his trash away before the two began their walk. They walked closely together, so close that Duncan managed to slip his hand into Jim's and the two intertwined fingers.

"So you're not mad at me for something?" Jim questioned, looking over at Duncan.

"Mad at you?" Duncan asked confused before finally sighing and stopping all together, standing completely in front of Jim.

"Well yeah, you haven't been-,"

"Jim, I love you."

"I know Dunc, I love you t-,"

"No, Jim. I LOVE you. I am IN LOVE with you. I can't keep visiting you and having you visit me and not letting you know how I feel. And you know I'm not all about labels, but this is a label I want. It's a label I need." Duncan poured out. "Every moment I spend with you, I've never felt so alive. Every call we make, every text we send, every time your name or face pops up on my phone, I'm flooded with nothing, but good memories.

"And I know I can come off as a little passive sometimes or shut down, but it was never because of you Jim. I have my own issues that I'm working on. Every time I have to leave or you have to leave, I start counting down the days until I can see you again. Jim you make me so so so happy." Duncan continued. "Fuck this is a lot, just be with me Jim. Please?"

Jim threw his arms around Duncan, pulling him into the tightest hug he could manifest and when he pulled back he pushed his lips up against his in an effort to not start crying in front of all these people.

"Duncan I-," but Jim couldn't even finish his sentence before he hung his head low, arms still wrapped around Duncan's neck.

"There you guys are!" Jim's sister, Medina shouted as walked over to the two. "We've been looking for you guys for a while." Duncan drew his attention away from an emotional Jim, to smile over at Medina.

"You just told him didn't you?" she questioned, smiling right back. When Duncan had landed in California a few days before he already knew what he wanted to tell Jim, but he was nervous and they had gotten so comfortable without their label, he didn't want to ruin that. So when the opportunity presented itself, he sat down with her and poured his heart out, to her, about her brother. She did nothing, but encourage him to go ahead and tell Jim how he was feeling. She wasn't going to let him know how crazy in love Jim was with him too. She wanted Jim to do that himself.

"You knew about this?" Jim snapped his head up to look around at his sister.

"I did."

"She did. She helped me, actually. This confession probably would have been waaaay worse had I not sat down and talked it out with Medina." And for a moment, Jim let go of Duncan, throwing his arms around his sister and lifting her up off the ground in a bear hug.

"Why are you so good to me?" Jim asked her.

"Remember when all we had was each other?" she asked back. "Everyone deserves a shot at happiness Jim and you helped me find mine, so why not bring you closer to yours, hm?" Jim chuckled as he put her back down, giving her boyfriend, Calvin, a fist bump before returning his attention back to Duncan.

"Duncan, I love you too. I'm in love with you." Jim breathed out quickly before his tears could catch back up to him. "And I have so much more to say, but I'm trying so hard not to cry. For a fucking brick wall at times you sure are a tear-jerker. And be yours? I was already yours, Duncan. In my heart, I was already yours. No one was ever going to take me away from you."

"Picture pleaseeeeeee." Medina squealed as she took her phone out of her backpack. "This is too good of a moment to not capture on camera."

"Think you can hold your tears back one more time for a photo, boyfriend?" Duncan questioned, Jim's heart fluttering at the word.

"Shit, I don't know, but it has to be quick." Jim said, a mixture of laughter and a cry. "Because it's coming."

"Jim?" Duncan called out, pausing his thrusts as he held onto Jim's hips. "Why are you crying? Am I hurting you? Do you need me to stop?"

"God, no, Duncan." Jim said. "Keep going. Please. You make me so so so happy." Those words alone were enough for Duncan to realize that he and Jim were thinking about the same memory. And with our further question and without pulling out, he flipped Jim over, so that he was now on his back.

"Just like old times, huh, ocean eyes?" Duncan asked Jim, biting his lip at him. The familiar nickname gave Jim goosebumps. The moonlight illuminated the both of them to each other perfectly, casting shadows around the rest of the apartment.

"Mhmmmmm." was all Jim could get out before Duncan kissed him, slowly, tenderly, and sloppily as he slowly began to move himself in and out of him. Jim's hands tangled their way into Duncan's hair as the kiss deepened and so did Duncan's movements. He took long, deep, and slow strides in and out of Jim, wanting him to feel each and every one of them. They whispered sweet words to one another between their heavy breaths and moans.

Jim wrapped his legs around Duncan as his own pre-cum pooled and pooled against his stomach and he wanted nothing more than for Duncan to take him there again. Duncan took this as an invitation to speed up, moving a pillow behind Jim's head so that it wasn't slamming into the headboard. It was messy now, erratic, Duncan's movements. The both of them were struggling to keep themselves together, struggling to keep each other together with how good they felt. Jim clawed everywhere, especially at Duncan's hips, in an attempt to pull him right back into him when he would thrust out.

"Right there... right there... right there." Jim moaned every time Duncan slammed into his spot and before he knew it, he was coming undone underneath Duncan, hands free. Duncan noticing, grabbed Jim's cock pointing it upwards so that it painted him instead of Jim, stroking him fast as an aid. Duncan's name left Jim's mouth repeatedly as he let go, gripping at Duncan's thighs as hard as he could to stop himself from shaking uncontrollably.

The sight alone was enough to send Duncan over the edge and threw his head back, moaning out Jim's name in return as he pushed all the way in, holding himself there, releasing all of himself deep inside of Jim. He rode out his orgasm before pulling out. He was going to grab for a towel when Jim yanked him back down on the bed, climbing on top of him. He slowly trailed his tongue across Duncan's chest, getting up every last bit of himself.

"Faster clean up." Jim mumbled against Duncan's lips before laying against him all together. Duncan pulled the covers up over them before wrapping his arms around Jim, when Jim heard him sniffle. "Are you crying now?"

"No." Duncan said, obviously lying.

"Uh huh.." Jim said propping his head up on Duncan's chest to look at him. "I love you."

"I love you too. But, um, above moving in with me once I get one of those houses; would you?"

"Of course. If it means that I don't have to go a couple months without seeing you, then of course." Duncan smiled, kissing Jim on his forehead.

"Never have to worry about that again."

"Good..." Jim mumbled, beginning to doze off. Within a few minutes, Duncan found himself asleep, right along with him. Home.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake  @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @mikhalxngdon​ @theneverendinghunger​

#cody fern #cody fern imagine #jim mason smut #jim mason imagine #tribes of palos verdes #duncan shepherd x jim mason #duncan shepherd smut #duncan shepherd #house of cards

[theyaskedmeto]

It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.

For which ever ship you want

to forgive you

part of the everything means everything verse

pairing: kurt x blaine

summary: the night before, blaine stood kurt up. this is how they forgive each other.

read on ao3 or read the rest of these little fic prompt fills here

———————

He waited for ages. They don’t usually do stuff like that; go on dates and act like a ‘real’ couple should - normally they just make out under the bleachers instead of going to class, or try to escape dinner and find themselves at Scandals, the shitty gay bar on the outskirts of Lima. But it was their five-month anniversary, and, even though it wasn’t exactly a significant amount of months, Kurt does sometimes feel like they could be doing more for each other.

So, they arranged it - not anything major - just a small meet up at their park again - just wearing slightly nicer clothes this time.

And when Kurt arrived that night, nothing happened.

He waited for so long. That’s the problem when you’re in love - suddenly you feel so much more optimistic about everything. You’ve spent so long hating yourself and wishing you were living another life and then suddenly, this person comes into it and changes everything. Makes everything okay again. And then you start to think, well, if I could achieve that, can’t I handle everything else? And sometimes it just… gets out of hand.

And that’s what Kurt did - he got too optimistic. He spent too much time in that park that night, holding on to the last drop of hope until it escaped from his fingers and he was quickly filled with feelings of hurt and anger. Then eventually, he called Blaine.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Blaine had said, “it’s just… my mom’s going on another stupid holiday again tomorrow. And she won’t let me out. She said she ‘wants me all to herself’. Not that she even cares.”

“So you couldn’t even fucking text me?” And Kurt was already shouting at him by then. He couldn’t stop himself. He was angry and it was cold, and the halterneck crop top and skinny jeans he was wearing did not keep him warm.

Blaine was hardly listening. He hung up on him.

And Kurt walked home, shivering, lonely, and wishing he had a cigarette right then.

*

Sometimes, Kurt wonders when Blaine will stop throwing stones at his window to get Kurt’s attention from inside and just use the actual front door because believe it or not, he does care about what his dad will do if his temperamental boyfriend smashes the glass. But when Blaine does it for what feels like the one-hundredth time, the sounds sort of make him laugh - it’s a reminder of his boyfriend now, how they met, how everything built up to this. And it’s also nearly six in the morning during the summer holidays, and Kurt hasn’t even been awake at this time since graduation, so his brain isn’t exactly functioning yet.

Well, he would be happier with Blaine’s appearance if he didn’t stand him up last night.

Under his breath and eyes still sealed shut, he sleepily mumbles, “What the fuck do you want?” and stumbles out of bed, duvet flopping onto the floor as he moves towards the noise. He squints his eyes because the sun has already started to rise, and peers out the window where Blaine is standing there - almost stumbling, even - with a bottle of vodka in hand and a rather exaggerated expression on his face.

Blaine sees his figure through the window, and he shouts, words a little slurred and voice cracking, “Kurt!” and his hands shoot up in the air desperately, liquid in the bottle he’s holding sloshing around precariously.

It’s almost hysterical - he’s drunk, it’s six AM on a Thursday morning, and Blaine’s there with those desperate eyes and stumbling on the sidewalk, and Kurt has to wake up more because he is going to get himself fucking hurt and it will be my problem.

But if anything happens to you—

Kurt opens the window, blinks more as his eyes adjust to the growing sunlight, “Blaine? What the fuck is going on?”

“Kurt!” Blaine shouts again, “I wanna…” he stops for a moment, searching. “I’m drunk.” he finally says, struggling to find the right words after thinking about them for a while, “Please! I’m sorry for what I did.”

He looks like a fucking mess - his hair is tousled over his forehead - his eyes are partially hidden but Kurt can still see the dark circles under them. There are stains on his white shirt, and that signature leather jacket thrown on over it. He looks a fucking mess.

How does he still look hot?

He’s stumbling more, and there is a small bit in Kurt that panics because if anything happens to him— but mostly he’s angry because it’s fucking six in the morning and he was sleeping and his boyfriend is just there, drunk on the sidewalk, and Kurt doesn’t know what to say.

He settles on, “God, what the hell are you doing out there?”

Blaine gives an incredibly over-exaggerated guilty expression, looks around himself as if to say, what do I know?

He sighs, “Please, Kurt. I need— can you… please… let me in?”

Kurt stares at him - his eyes still feel like they could shut with the lack of sleep (he was up reading until two AM) - stares at his boyfriend, can’t even comprehend him for a single moment. He doesn’t know how Blaine can do this; how can Blaine seem like a fucking loser and stand him up and Kurt still has to love him?

Because every day he wakes up and thinks of him. Cares about him. God— he doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to him, and yet Kurt is still so aware of how fucking shit he can be.

But then he’s also aware of the pain, the hurt Blaine had to go through to be here, to be in this state, and he thinks about his own pain, too. God, he misses the time when he didn’t really give a shit about anything. And now, Blaine…

Is still standing on the sidewalk with that bottle of vodka in his hand and Kurt wants to hate him but he can’t, because there’s a pulling in his heart and it sings Blaine.

Back to the moment, and Kurt raises his eyebrows, rolls him eyes as he leans on the windowsill. He sighs, and his eyes are just focused on his boyfriend for a moment, then says, “Fine. I’ll let you in.”

*

He has to walk down the stairs quietly because even though he’d love to be an adult with complete free-reign over his life, he’s not. And his dad will kill him if he sees Blaine’s here at five fifty-two in the morning, not that he’s ever that happy with seeing Blaine over at his at all, especially after Burt knows what Blaine did to his son last night.

For a moment, he thinks about whether he should get changed but then remembers that his boyfriend is literally standing there, drunk on the pavement in the clothes he always wears and it doesn’t mean a thing, and he doesn;t deserve it anyway.

But Blaine still needs to be safe.

He opens the front door, and there Blaine is: leaning on the porch railing, so obviously drunk it’s absurd. Kurt doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand and drag him inside, muttering under his breath, “Jesus fucking christ Blaine, I actually— what the hell were you thinking?”

Blaine, now considerably closer to Kurt after he’s grabbed his arm, slurs, consonants fading into each other from the effects of the drink, “Dunno. Got bored,” he nestles further into the crevice between Kurt’s shoulder and neck and Kurt knows he’s lying. “Hmmmm,” he moans lightly out of contentment, “‘s warm here.”

“Okay, then. Come on,” Kurt says, still not being able to really believe the situation at hand, still angry at him, and hauls him up the stairs, “There’s only… twelve steps. Come on.” He says again, and Blaine has basically plastered himself against Kurt now, groaning, “‘s just… stay here.”

“No, Blaine. Come on. Twelve steps. And I’m fucking tired, so you should be thanking me for even letting you in after last night.”

“I said I was sorry!” Blaine argues back, then says, as if he’s completely forgotten the conversation, “Were you… trying to read Mrs— Miss—” Blaine lets out a humph and gives up trying to pronounce the correct word, “You were reading Dalloway again.” He slurs, and Kurt can feel his weight on him getting heavier, and god they really need to get up these stairs.

“It was only until one. Now. Come. On…” Kurt urges him again, giving his arm another tug. He really is too tired for this right now.

After a rather large amount of struggle, they make it to the top, and Kurt’s pretty amazed they haven’t even woken his dad yet. They stumble into his room, and the minute Blaine sees the bed he flops onto it, still holding the bottle of vodka. After realising he still has it, Kurt snatches it off him, says, “Why were you even up at this time, Blaine? God, even for you this is a stretch.”

“I wasn’t—” Blaine starts, words still slurred, “I woke up. At five.”

“And?”

“Was thinking about you. Couldn’t… couldn’t get back to s—sleep.”

“So you drank nearly a whole bottle of vodka.”

Blaine sighs melodramatically, “Yeah. Look, Kurt, it’s not— my mom’s not in town.” he says, as if that’s a perfect excuse. “I dunno. Then I thought of you. I’m so sorry.”

Kurt hesitates slightly, “You thought of me?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout how much I… care about you.”

“...I… care about you too,” Kurt says, as it’s hardly coherent he does - voice just above a whisper, like saying it louder would make the words so much harder to come to terms with. He knows Blaine will understand, even when he’s drunk, that those words are an acceptance of his apology.

It’s so weird, sometimes, because on the outside, around others, Blaine is just… different. And then when he’s with Kurt he’s so sweet, so soft and giving, and sometimes Kurt loses himself in it.

There are still so many hurdles to cross before Kurt can fully comprehend this - what he and Blaine have together - this sudden love that fell on Kurt’s shoulders so quickly. But it’s not a burden. Hardly anything but that, really. Every time he spends with Blaine it feels lighter, and it’s just something he doesn’t understand. How can one person make another feel that way?

They’re staring at each other for a moment, just falling into the other’s eyes again. And it’s nice. But thinking about this so deeply, this connection, Kurt finds himself becoming very aware of it. So he takes a deep breath in as if to say, anyway… and comments, “You need a new shirt. And we need to sleep. Take one of mine.”

Kurt throws a random T-shirt at Blaine, who huffs and toes off his shoes. Kurt has to help with removing his jeans and top and putting on the one Kurt has given him. Kurt doesn’t try and hide his blatant staring.

When Kurt slides into bed with Blaine he pipes up again, “Can I have the bottle back yet?”

Kurt tries not to laugh, “Blaine. You’re not having more vodka. It’s six AM.”

From somewhere inside the covers Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine mumbles, “Fuck you.” but he’s not too sure. He can’t stop the giggles that erupt from his chest.

With the curtains drawn and the sun only half seeping its way into the room, they fall asleep again, with half of Kurt wondering how he will be able to hide Blaine from his dad when they wake up again, and half of him not caring at all, just being here, wrapped in the blankets with his stupid, beautiful boyfriend, and forgives him.

#badboy!blaine #skank!kurt #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #klaine fanfiction #everything means everything #elsie writes #glee fanfiction #klaine #kurt x blaine #klaine fic #glee #masterlist #klaine prompt post fills

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Guilty. (Part 11).

Part Eleven.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: A bit of dirty talk, You’re unsure about how Steve feels about you until he decides to make things official. You say the three words. Angst, fluff, a bit of smut? Wanda is a bitch, but in a meaningful way? Natasha is the long lost sister I always wish I had.

Notes: As you can see, I know nothing about law so I grazed over the actual trial. However, we’ve reached a stepping stone in the relationship. Everyone give Steve a slow clap for making progress with Y/n. 

Masterlist

Part Eleven:

Of all things to anticipate to go wrong, you never prepared for Steve being late. At first you figured he was just stopping for coffee, had to swing by the office or something. Because you hadn't heard from him yet, which is uncommon for Steve. He never runs late, and he never runs late without calling you to explain why.

But you're starting to work yourself up into an anxious nervousness, pacing the lobby of the court house, Natasha watching your every move, Tony looking beyond bored, Rumlow half asleep in one of the chairs lined up against the wall. Bucky Barnes looks like he's about to pass out.

Steve promised to lead this case, he promised to win this case, and now he's running late.

The confidence you felt, the confidence you all felt in him is dwindling away by the minute.

The trial is scheduled to start in less than half an hour, you were supposed to prep one last time together, everyone here for the occasion. You feel embarrassed, your partner let you down, and you have nothing to say to everyone else who is expecting answers.

"Alright, Y/n. We've waited long enough. Where's your guy?" Tony stands, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Isn't he leading the case?" Barnes takes a step forward, stepping between you and Tony. "Are you stepping up?"

You swallow, nervous, on the spot, you don't know what to do.

Natasha grabs your arm, her cell phone pressed to her ear, and she pulls you away from the small group, heading towards the door.

Once you're outside, you take a deep breath, the fresh air helping to clear your mind, your panic subsiding.

"He's going to show." Is the first thing she says, digging into her bag on her shoulder. 'You're sweating off your makeup, you need to relax." She blots your forehead and nose, powders your face with a layer of translucent powder, and retouches your lipstick. "No more coffee for you, you're on an adrenaline high."

Her ability to stay calm is admirable. "Thank you," You sigh, deflating a little. "I didn't mean to freak, it's just-"

"Your career and reputation are both resting on the shoulders of a guy who can't set an alarm for his big day in court?" She smiles, sarcastically. "Yeah, been there, done that."

She sighs, handing you a plastic bottle. It's not until you open the top that you realize that the clear liquid isn't water. "Vodka? Really?"

"Take a sip." She balances her phone between her ear and shoulder. "You need it." Her attention is off of you, turning to look off into the horizon, the city is alive with people rushing to work, cars, busses, the sound of traffic muting her voice to your ears. "And you, Steve Rogers need to step on it. Poor Y/n is stressed to all hell."

Knowing that she at least got him on the phone is good enough for you. You didn't plan for him not showing up. Maybe you should have, just in case.

"He's dead to me." You say, handing her the bottle. "If he can't hear me, tell him. He's dead."

He promised to take care of everything, promised everything will be fine, then he didn't show up on time, leaving you to look like an idiot.

"Unbelievable."

The caffeine in your system only seems to work up your nervousness even further, but the sip of vodka helps. It gives you a bit of clarity, courage to face the group of men demanding answers from you.

"The asshole is just running late, forgot to set an alarm." You call over to them, heels echoing through the empty lobby. "He's coming."

Tony's eyebrows shoot up, "Oh, he's in the dog house tonight for sure."

You can bet your ass on that one, Stark.

When he does show, he looks a mess, hair ruffled, eyes cracked red with lack of sleep, and it pisses you off even more. He slept in and still didn't get any sleep.

Tony offers to take him into the restroom, so does Natasha, but this is one you want to handle yourself. You tell them to go out there, "We'll be out in five."

Steve trails after you like a lost puppy, he knows he fucked up, and you double check twice to make sure no one is around, pulling him into the men's bathroom.

You wet your hands, running them through his hair, flattening the fluffy tufts that stick out. All the while his eyes are on you, trying to read your expression, silent as you fix him up. You straighten his tie, tuck in his shirt, fasten his belt one hole tighter.

There's nothing else you can do about his face, red eyes, scruff lining his jaw.

"Don't be mad."

He has the nerve to try to talk you down, as if he isn't in the wrong, as if it's perfectly okay for you to finish dressing him in the bathroom five minutes before you're scheduled to appear in court.

"What were you doing last night?" You ask, leaning over the sink, staring at him through his reflection in the mirror.

"Prep." He shrugs, lips quirking up into half a smirk, "A little stress relief."

You snort, resolve breaking as your mind runs wild. "You're late to court because you touched yourself last night?"

He laughs, inching forward, his hands on your waist. "No, I'm late because I passed out after beating my dick to the thought of you."

You're shocked at his words, speechless, and you're putty in his hands when he starts to pull you back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder, his lips against your ear.

"Me?"

He hums, kissing your ear, snagging your earing between his teeth. "Yes, you. And everything I'm going to do to you as soon as we leave this place."

He presses you flat against him, the outline of his cock pressing against your ass, and it takes everything within you not to moan, not to bend over the sink and let him fuck you right now.

Anyone could walk in, anyone could hear you, and that dangerous thrill makes it all the more exciting. So you turn, finding your confidence, feeding into the warmth and temptation of vodka, and you kiss him.

You ruin the work you just did to fix his hair, fingers threading through the strands at his neck and tugging, his lips crashing to yours with a desperation you equally share. You've been edging each other for weeks, teasing each other every day to prepare you for this. For today.

"I'm going to tear your pussy apart." He whispers against your lips, backing you up against the sink. "I'm going to fuck you until you pass out, I'm going to make you forget why you're so mad at me." He licks into your mouth, tongue brushing yours. "I'm going to fuck you until you pass out and make you late for work tomorrow."

Before you can say anything else, before you can sit back on the edge of the sink and wrap your legs around his waist, before you can pull him closer and tell him how badly you want it, the door flies open.

Rather than push apart, Steve pulls you closer, as if shielding you from whoever decided to walk in.

"I fucking knew it." Tony glares at the both of you, arms crossed over his chest. "You can't wait just one more hour? Literally you can fuck until the sun goes down. But here? Now? It's like you want to throw all of this away."

This is strike two. First Steve was late showing up, now you're both risking getting caught, and already things are starting off terribly.

You rush to fix his hair, then rush after Tony, leaving Steve to gather his nerve to follow you.

"Tony, wait."

He sighs, stopping, turning to you with a look on his face that you can't quite place. "I get it, okay? I do. You're hot, and young, and this is exciting for you. I would take you in the bathroom and fuck you myself if I were in Steve's shoes." He says, "But I'm not. I have a family, a business, a very delicate career and reputation, and it's all resting on your shoulders. And you're in there literally fucking around!"

He stops paces, turns back to you, "And it's not just me! It's Barnes and Rumlow, even Natasha is involved now."

"Okay, I get it!" You cut him off before he can say anything else. "Don't yell at me like I'm a child, don't act like I haven't been sticking my neck out there for all of you this entire time! Fine, you caught us kissing in the bathroom, is that really the problem?"

He looks, stressed. Like he could also use a good swig of Natasha's water bottle.

"Sorry." He holds his hands up in surrender. "I lost my cool, not cool. Just seeing that asshole sitting in there looking so smug, I really hope we win this."

"We will." Steve joins you, dress shoes clicking against the polished floors of the lobby. "But everyone in there probably thinks we're no shows at this rate." Steve sighs, nodding to you, then to Stark. "Shall we?"

Things are about to change. Drastically.

The moment you step into that room, it's game on. The Steve you're standing with right now will be replaced by a completely different person. No more shared glances, no more secret kisses or unseen touches.

So you grab his hand one last time, giving it a good squeeze before he opens the door. His hand slips from yours, and you turn off your racing mind.

You scan the stands for familiar faces, Natasha, Rumlow and Barnes are seated and waiting for you. On the other side, Zeke Stane looks much different in person than in his photos. So does Pietro Maximoff. And...

Wanda, her eyes are angry as she looks at you. You feel betrayed, but you force the emotion down, stone faced as you walk down the aisle and take your seat. You will not let her see the effect it has on you, you will not give them a single thing to use against you.

Attachments are a weakness. Steve taught you that, and if there's any time to do him proud, it would be now.

"Just brush it off." He leans down to whisper in your ear. "We'll talk about it later."

You nod, hands folded and resting in your lap.

Steve doesn't speak to you again.

He speaks to the court room in a manner of professionalism you didn't think he could pull off based on how he showed up. He didn't acknowledge you once, didn't spare you a single glance. You became part of the wall, unnoticed by everyone in the room, which was the plan. You were Steve's weakest link, allowing you to do anything now would cost you everything, you understand why Steve thought it was so important to be the face of the case.

Wanda knew about your relationship, if the attention is brought on you for even a moment, you have no doubt in your mind that Pietro Maximoff would exploit it.

When Natasha is called to the stand, she kisses your cheek before getting up, and for a moment, just a split second you see Steve's gaze linger on your face, a longing that you're afraid someone will pick up on.

No one does.

As usual, she charms her way into the favor of those around her. She's friendly, funny, open. You've never seen her act so hard before, you knew it would be a good idea to use her.

Tony however doesn't change a thing about himself, which makes his statements authentic. He doesn't have to act like a people pleaser, he is a people pleaser. He has the jury eating out of the palm of his hand, and you can tell Steve is satisfied in the way he smirks during his closing statement.

You'll give it to Pietro, he did try. He's a good lawyer, he nearly had the case in his favor, up until you called your witnesses to the stand. All four of them.

When both judge and jury vote in favor of team Barnes, you instantly feel a sense of relief wash over you. All your hard work had paid off. You did it. Steve did it, the smile on his face brings one to your own.

You feel proud of him, proud of yourself.

Until you look across the room.

It's like you're stuck in time, Wanda is staring right at you, walking in your direction. The celebration is short lived, she stands in front of you with a hatred you hoped to never see in her. You had hoped she wouldn't turn out like you, yet here she is, a determination in her eyes that scares you.

"Don't think you've won." She says, voice low. "I told Steve that I had to do this, he didn't listen."

You turn to look at Steve, he's already watching.

"We won, let it go." You try to reason with her. "We can put this behind us, we can work on a different case together, something less risky and less personal."

She turns to look at her brother, and you understand that it's no use. She's devoted to him, a loyalty binding them that you can relate to. You feel the same for Steve, you would do the same for Steve if he asked. You don't blame her. But you can't let her get away with it either.

"I'm warning you, because you never did wrong by me. This isn't personal." For a moment she looks sad. "By noon your secret will be out. They'll call for a retrial."

She leaves you with that information, you feel the presence of Steve behind you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to get your attention.

But you feel numb.

It hurts that she ended up on the wrong side of things, it hurts that she failed to learn the lesson you tried to teach her.

Steve knew he shouldn't have let Wanda leave. He knew that the situation would blow up in his face, he knew that she was up to no good and that she should have been investigated rather than let go.

But in his mind, the few moments of peace it gave you was worth it. You not knowing was better.

But now it's beyond his control.

Everything was about to blow up in your face, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Y/n, get it together." His grip tightens on your shoulder, bringing you back. "We need to return to the office, calculate our next move."

Noon will be in a couple of hours, you don't have much time.

"Steve, it won't matter." You shake your head. "She's going to out us, everything you did today will-"

"Shh." He shushes you, tugging you a little closer. "I knew this would happen. The day she stormed out, I caught her trying to steal case evidence. I planned for this."

The fact that he knew this would happen only adds to your anger. No matter which way you turn, no matter how close you are to having things go your way, Steve finds some way to mess it up. There's always some plot you don't know about, some surprise information to slap you in the face and make you feel stupid for believing that you're actually partners.

Steve Rogers still doesn't trust you.

But you don't have time to dwell on it now.

"What do you suggest we do then, since you have it all planned out?" You don't even bother to hide the attitude, you realize you don't care anymore.

Everything is on the line, it's all about to come crashing down around you. So who cares?

"We put out a statement about our relationship before she does." He seems so sure of himself, so confident that this will be the answer that it makes you laugh.

"What relationship?" This isn't the place to talk about it, this isn't the time to have a lovers feud. But this is the last straw for you. "I've been kept in the dark about everything from the very beginning, and now you want to act like we're a team? A couple?"

There's a hard set in his jaw that tells you he won't let you carry on like this much longer. He's losing his patience with you, but you press on.

"You make me look like a piece of arm candy, undermine my abilities as a lawyer ad if you aren't the person who taught me everything I know, you plot against me to have things go in your favor, and then when things blow up you expect me to just sit back and trust you to handle it?"

You can feel eyes on you, Natasha, Tony, even James is invested in the argument.

"I trust you, but you don't trust me." You shove him, as childish as it is, you need to express how upset you really are. "You trained me, but you don't believe in me. You use me as a lap dog to run your errands, fetch your research and build your case for you so that you can present it and get all the credit. And now, I have to deal with this? My assistant turned on me, and you knew about it?"

"Y/n, hun, this isn't the best place to do this." Natasha grabs your arms, pulls you a few steps back away from Steve. "We have a lot to discuss, we need to get a story out before Wanda does, I can help. But we need to leave."

You want to pry away from her, slap Steve across his righteous looking face, knock his ego down a few pegs and prove that he can't control everything.

He can't control you.

But what would that prove? How young you are, how childish you are, how in need of his guidance you are? The point you made would be lost if you acted out irrationally.

"Yeah, okay." You take a deep breath, eyes shifting from Steve to Tony. "I could use your help, you know about damage control better than anyone."

"My office or yours?" Natasha asks.

"Yours. It's bigger." And as if nothing happened, you turn to Steve and smile, watching as he raises and eyebrow in question. "Are you coming with? Are you going to reveal your glorious plan to me now?"

All he can do is nod, shocked into a lack of words, and Tony snickers beside him.

You smooth out your suit jacket, push your hair back off of your face and put on your best award winning smile. "James, Brock, we'll have to have dinner to celebrate. Congratulations on your victory, I'll ensure that Stark Industries is in contact with you both about your settlements soon."

"Hopefully the next dinner goes better than the last one." Bucky Barnes smiles back, shaking your hand. "You're one hell of a lawyer, Y/n. I wish I could have seen you in action."

"Yeah, me too."

The next time you see them, you hope it's because you have good news.

Natasha holds you hand as you leave the court house, fingers entwined and walking a few paces behind everyone else. She slips you a tiny bit more vodka, taking a sip of her own, and together you giggle about how stupid and dramatic the entire situation had been.

Since the very beginning, things had been unusual. You only hope that you can recover from it, that everyone can walk away with a happy ending. You and Steve included.

Natasha tugs you to a stop before you get to your car, nodding over towards Steve, who stands watching you. "Ride with him." She whispers in your ear. "Either he's going to fuck you in his car or apologize to you."

His eyes are set on your face, cold, unrecognizable, a chill snaking up your spine at the thought of what he's going to do to you.

She giggles in your ear, giving your arm a light squeeze before leaving you to your fate.

Steve looks, indifferent. Not upset like you thought he would be, more like he expected it, and accepted it. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against his mustang, and for a moment he isn't a lawyer. He's a dangerous boy you might have met while you were in college, with a loud car, lose mouth, and no morals. He's someone you would get so caught up that you just might lose yourself, and perhaps that's what happened.

He taught you things, showed you things, had you wrapped around his finger, and now you're not so sure where you stand anymore.

"Did you enjoy getting that out of your system?" He asks, reaching out for you when you get close enough.

"A little." You shrug. "I'm not sure it's out of my system just yet."

He smirks, tugging you hand. "That's alright, you can take it out on me later." His voice is a tone that you can't mistake, low, sultry, and you know exactly what he means. "But for now, I need to ask you something."

You tilt your head, curious, almost shy as the air grows thick between you.

"Do you want to make this official between us?" He asks. "No more hiding, no more sneaking around. Just me and you, for real."

For real, as if everything between you was pretend. And maybe it was, because you wanted so much more from him that you forced yourself to be okay with living in secret.

"Steve, that's all I ever wanted."

He takes your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss so soft you aren't sure who he is anymore. This is a side of Steve you've never seen before.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry I couldn't give it to your sooner." He says. "I'm sorry that I had to put you through so much."

His apology sounds sincere, and that's a first for you. You've never seen him so vulnerable, it means so much more to you than he'll ever know.

"I love you." You say it with all the confidence you can muster, watching as a smile works its way across his lips.

"I love you more."

------------------------------------------------

I’m not sure when the next update will be up, but it will be STEAMY. 

Guilty Masterlist

#steve rogers au #lawyer steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers series #slow burn #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Steve Rogers

[pepperdee]

Word Find + Heads Up

Tagged by @zmlorenz! A lot! And I’m putting them all in one post because :}

My words are: clock, draw, leg, air, sun, settle, name, smile, space, flex, late, gentle, eye, sharp, tie, and two. Honestly at this point I think this also counts as a Heads Up 7 Up

Clock

However, Momma then glanced at the clock. Dinner would be starting in only a few minutes. “I can only imagine you picked that up in one of the tourist traps in town. Why didn’t you pack any of the dresses I bought you? Are they not up to your…standards?”

Terror seized Rosie’s throat. “I-I did pack one of them. It’s just…Bea got this for me…”

“Well, she misled you,” said Momma, popping her shoulder.

Draw

There was barely enough space to walk around. Metal cabinets stretched from floor to ceiling, lights blinking in little windows. Little pieces of tape had dates written on them. Rose reached for the light switch, but he stopped her. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” he said. The door whooshed shut, plunging them into darkness. Dedrick could feel Rose’s glare on him. “Use your phone flashlight,” he said, shoulders slumping.

The spotlight shone on the first cabinet. Rose began walking, turning to look at all the cabinets. “Where do we even start?”

Leg

Dedrick jumped back, the spot where he was standing becoming quicksand. Jester stomped his foot, and Dedrick jumped away again. His right ankle didn’t quite make it onto solid land. The ground swallowed Dedrick’s leg. Earth-type.

Suddenly, Dedrick was sideways, scrabbling at the dust desperately. Dedrick’s certain future flashed before him: falling victim to the quicksand, dying. “HELP!” Dedrick shouted futilely. He fought to keep his head above ground, going so far as to letting his other leg fall in. The ground pressed his body, making movements nearly impossible.

Air

Footsteps appeared in the dirt. They pointed at Dedrick. Reaper’s hand pet the air blindly until it came to rest on something solid. Reaper motioned Dedrick over. “C’mon, Sparks,” he encouraged. “Just a little fight.”

Dedrick’s shaky hand raised in the air. He felt Ghost’s hand take his. Cadote, this is weird. “Three steps back,” Reaper ordered. The opponents obeyed. Dedrick tried to form a plan. How could he beat an opponent he couldn’t see?

Reaper climbed out of the pool. “Fight!”

Sun

Sun filtered through the cloudy window, dancing on the dust. Dedrick shook uncontrollably as he pushed himself to his feet. His mind swam. Squinting, he noticed a dark spot on the carpet. Red. Dark red.

Nose red and cold, he got to his feet, crashing into the walls as he barged into the empty bathroom. Ladine wasn’t in her cot, either. The screen door was cracked, just barely. He shivered, hugging his arms, kicking the door open. He took one step and slipped down immediately. His head cracked against the ground.

The sun was in a different position when he finally willed himself to move. Ladine. Have to find Ladine.

Settle

“I hope I get to see you again, Rose.”

Rose’s heart leaped. She smiled at him. “My grandma owns a bakery not far from here. If I’m not on the train, I’m there.”

Henry nodded. “I’ll come looking for you.” With that, he walked off toward the man.

Watching them go, the butterflies in her stomach didn’t settle. Henry. What are the odds he’s going to end up at Taeleon High? Pretty high, if he’s getting picked up from here, she thought, assuming his uncle lived nearby. Maybe they’d be seeing each other sooner than she’d thought.

Name (there were 47 instances of this)

Dedrick took a broad path so he came up behind her, her friends too involved in the conversation to see the world around them. “—mean, who has the nerve to mess with me?” Red Leather questioned to her friends, holding up the card. “Dedrick Warflash. What kind of a name is that?”

Dedrick snatched the card from over her head. “Derivative of Dedrick Warjack, the guy that let you have an Empire in the first place, bitch,” he snapped, securing the card in his back pocket.

Smile

Dedrick folded his arms. He smiled a bittersweet smile. “The last thing she told me is that I have your spirit,” Dedrick said.

“Nah, you’re a stubborn sonofabitch,” said Alav. Dedrick sat down on the other couch, watching the fire. Smelling his burning flesh. “You need a haircut.”

“You need to get off your ass,” Dedrick snarked.

Alav’s gray eyes flickered. He downed half the bottle of vodka, seething at the taste.

Space

Maybe Ashor is getting angry.

She carried that comforting thought straight to an empty booth in the bakery. Ms. Little’s Little Bakery was her original safe space: its pastel pink walls and pictures of flowers somehow had a calming effect. That and the fact that the one thing keeping her away from home, her mother, was banned from the premises.

Flex

Flexing his bleeding fingers, Dedrick shook his head. “My hands are fine.”

Late

Dedrick scoffed and read the schedule. He’d also began adjusting to a schedule, in that he now had to focus on hours and days instead of where the sun is in the sky. Luckily, a cheap digital watch is part of the bakery’s uniform, so he shouldn’t be late to any classes in this hellhole.

Gentle

“What’s gotten into you?” Alav interrogated. His tone wasn’t angry, but gentle and concerned.

Eye oh lord 337 mentions with eye LITERALLY IN EVERY CHAPTER EXCEPT 1

He only had one eye.

Not in a cyclops way, thank Cadote, but he wore an eyepatch. A long scar trailed through his left eye. His face was a bit scruffy, even though he couldn’t be older than Rose—sixteen. He wore a mean looking scowl. No, not mean—tired. Maybe that was because of the pinker skin under his other eye.

Sharp

Another idea popped into his head. He glanced over his shoulder. Hearing nothing except distant traffic, Dedrick placed his fingers on two of the nails, shutting his eyes. Hopefully nobody hears this. He sent lightning through his fingers with a sharp zzzap! The nails rattled. Vision spotty, he pulled on the plank once again this time managing to wrench the other nails out of the wall.

Tie

A shadow fell over her. Surprisingly, Dedrick stood over her. He wore a mildly oversized blue shirt, khaki pants, and a black tie. Basically, he was a bigger mess than Rose. He crouched at the corner of the wall. “S’you okay?” he asked softly.

“F-fine,” she stuttered. A few tears dribbled off her cheek as she finished her text.

Two

One vick, however, stopped outside the bakery. Two shapes stepped out and jogged to the bakery. Rose kept her head down, pulling out her tablet and turning it on, though she didn’t read anything on the screen. Covertly, she watched the two mildly soaked people stumble into the bakery.

I tag @zmlorenz, @absolute-nonsense-scribblings, @henrike-does-writing-sometimes and @seven-days-was-all-she-wrote! Your words are: cat, bag, mug, sky, and flower. No pressure my dudes!

#tag game #tag game: word find #word find #tcoh #tcoh excerpts #tag game: heads up 7 up

[slashingdisneypasta]

Could you do some cute baking shenanigans for Laughing Jack?

Sure thing! 

To be honest, I have no idea what this mess is but its quite interesting? Haha

~~~

After a day of sitting in my new bedroom, in my new house, ignoring the world and generally having a wonderful time, I decide to finally emerge from my cave of comfort and happiness at nearly 6 in the afternoon to re-greet L.J, who’s been watching TV in the living room all day. Creeping up on him, I giggle when the palms of my hands land on his feathered shoulders -so soft! - and he jumps under my touch from surprise.

“L.Jayyyyyy,”

“So, the monster surfaces.” He whispers, then turns his head, fluffy hair brushing across my cheek as he does, and plants a kiss to my cheek. When he pulls back, he halts short, and quickly asks- “Ah, Y/N, do we live in a school district now?”

“What is this ‘we’? You paid for nothing in this house?”

“Yeah, but I eat all your food and watch all your TV; Therefore, I live here.”

I’m not entirely sure that does, in fact, eat all my food. Sure, I see him eat all the sweet things but I have never seen his lips touch any of the veggies or meats that periodically go missing. I have a theory that he’s keeping Offender fed, wherever he’s hiding out this time- the man hasn’t been seen since he showed up at the mansion 2 months ago in a drug fuelled haze, but L.J always has an update on him.

Besides, I can’t cook anyway and tend to end up ordering takeout, so its probably better this way. It would all go to waste. “Mm.” I tilt my head earnestly, letting go of him and instead resting my forearms on the back of the couch by him. “So, you’re a freeloader.”

He just bares his teeth in mirthless smile. “So, school district?” I sigh, deflating.

“No, course not.” I take his chin between my fingers and jostle his head sternly from one side to the other. “I wouldn’t stick you right in the middle of kiddy-town. Ever.”

“Damn it. Well, what do you wanna do for the rest of your day?” L.J deflates as well, slouching in his seat and looking forward again with a slight pout at not having been served victims on a silver platter with apples in their mouths. The corner of my mouth twitches up a few times, awkwardly, before I get off the back of the couch and head for the kitchen.

“I have an idea!”

He meets me in the kitchen, long stripy arms held tightly behind his bony back in curiosity. “Ooh, what is it?”

“Baking!” I rummage through the pantry for a moment, before coming out with my arms full of baking things - baking powder, flour, b-carb soda, food colouring, vanilla essence, and various cake mixes, -  struggling to get them to the bench before anything fell and made a huge, flowery mess as L.J just watches, not even thing about lift a claw in assistance as his eyes follow me. When I finally drop everything down onto the counter, a little pack of jelly crystals flops to the floor and I pop down to my knees to pick it up. When I get back on my feet, I’m surprised to see L.J excitedly sifting through all the things.

Smirking at a couple different bottles in between his claws, L.J asks. “Say, don’t you need milk and butter and stuff to bake?”

“I’m getting to that, you exasperation!”

He just laughs.

___TIME SKIP: Minutes Later___

“Okay, so, the recipe says- ah!” A gasp rips from my throat when suddenly the Betty Crocker’s box mix is slapped up towards the ceiling and firmly out my hands without so much as a warning. “What??”

“No recipes!” L.J, not wearing an apron or a hat or having even so much as put his hair up, but has rolled up his sleeves to reveal -old,- bandaged arms, rests his fists on his hips and looks at the ingredients he set up all in a row from biggest to smallest like he’s Columbus and they are the America’s he just pulled his ship up by.

“No recipes?!”

He turns on me. “Do you wanna hear it in Spanish??”

Sighing, I look back at the now daunting task. “No… “

“Good.” Connecting his claws so they’re spread over his knuckles, twisting his wrists so his knuckles face him, L.J pushes them forward to stretch out his arms. “Lets go!”

As he starts picking ingredients out at random like Drop Dead Fred making a Vodka and Pants Pie, I pout to my fallen compatriot- the box mix packet which has fallen on the floor in a corner.

“Recipe… “

“What was that?!”

“Nothing!”

I may have made a huge mistake asking L.J to bake with me.

___TIME SKIP: “  “ ___

Oh merciful God, I know we’ve had a tremulous relationship as of late, with me being with L.J and everything, out of wedlock to boot, but please, oh God, do not let him destroy my new home!! I’m still paying off debts!!

Biting my thumb nail and hugging my stomach, I nervously watch L.J sift in what I know in my heart to be too much self-raising flower but am telling myself could be just the right amount, flashing him a smile around my nail when he glances excitedly at me for encouragement.

“There! Bee-you-tee-full! Now, the flavour. Hm.” Fists on hips and chest puffed out, he looks thoughtful; Truly, a child at heart. And… at… claw point- every Tuesday. “Flavour, flavour, flavour, flaaaa-vore. Hm. Flavour, flaver- Flavour! Ah!” In a flash of black and white, as while L.J was sifting random white powers into the big mixing bowl his sleeves had slipped back down, he grabs some random jars from a random shelf and starts shaking random… orange… dusts into the mixture.

“Uh, L.J, what’re those?”

“Flavour! Something to spice it up!”

“Yeah, I got that, but what kinda flav-“ I pick up a jar once he’s done with it, and see that he’s literally pulled from the spice shelf and sigh. Why am I not surprised? “Cayenne Pepper.”

L.J winks, leaning to the side to bump his elbow into my shoulder. “Secret ingredient.”

Ah… obviously.

Despite my nerves, which I’ve learnt to just go with in L.J’s presence, I flash him a toothless smile back.

___TIME SKIP: “  “ ___

After he shoo’s me towards the bowl so I can crack the eggs and pour in the milk, -‘adult jobs’, he says as he goes and opens a bottle of vodka, sniffing it and taking too-large mouthfuls, - I blow a raspberry at him.

And after I’m finished with that, we get the electric mixer going and each take turns serenely letting drops of randomly coloured food die into the bowl, leaning on the bench together and leaning over the thing like it’s a damn pot vaporiser.

Drop.

“L.J, are you happy? You know, killing children and all that.”

Drop.  

“Yeah, I think so. Are you happy in your lawyering job?”

Drop.

“Law Practise, L.J. And yes.”

Drop.

“Ah, okay then.”

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

“… L.J, are you harbouring Offender in the basement?”

“… L.J?”

He turns around abruptly, and cups my face; Claws resting along my cheeks and rubbing - or scraping gently in his case, - across, leaving wet blue food die on my skin. He tilts his head and smiles softly. “I love you.”

“… Okay so I’ll take that as a yes.”

Drop.

The mixture turns into a yucky brown mess, because it was whipped for too long, but feel like we aired out a lot of mess between so- Worth it.

Then we pop it in the oven and go back to watch more TV.

Rango is on.

___TIME SKIP: The Cake… or whatever… is now baked___

One Rango is over, and L.J and I have counted every background character for no reason, I finally smell the smoke through my sniffles -from standing over the spicey cake mix,- and remember the cake.

Gasping, I turn to L.J with wide eyes. A millisecond later, I kick off the couch and rush to the kitchen yelling to L.J about the cake.

“The wot?” Has he honestly become that invested in Rango to forget about his masterpiece??

Panicking, I rush to put on an oven mitt and make sure to open the oven door with my uncovered hand before waiving the grey smoke out of my face and standing up straight again to get away from the asthma inducing mess after I do so. I cough. “Oh jesus.”

“Oh! The CAKE!” L.J yells from the livingroom and pops up beside me, his teleportation only adding purple smoke and yellow sparks to the nasty grey smoke cloud wafting from the oven. He promptly takes a step back and waives his own hand- but doesn’t cough. Does he have lungs? “Oh, baby girl, what have you done?”

“I hope you were referring to the cake, there, L.J.” He is not blaming me for this mess-

“Oh- I was!”

“Right.” After setting him with a threatening squinty look, looking back only for a second because I don’t think my stare was quite withering enough, I look back to the oven and turn all the knobs down. Then I step back, open the fridge and retrieve the orange juice, and then finally go out to the backyard- something we probably should have done at five today instead of this baking disaster.

I open windows as I go.

“Well, come on L.J! It’ll take a while for that to cool down, we’re outside till then.”

“Ooooh, outside!”  

[artificialqueens]

Not Nineteen Forever (17) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: hey angels! thank u for ur patience, here is yet another chapter of the hellscape that is n19f. as i said on my blog, u will either love this chapter or hate it. either way let me know what u think!! this is a big chunky one at 13k (ik i’m treating u during this quarantine) so grab ur snacks and settle in. lots of love, byeee!

trigger warning: a little light drinking xo

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Scarlet celebrated her birthday by helping Nina win back Monet, a surprise party organised by her girlfriend, and a suspiciously civil Brooke and Vanjie.

this chapter: from one birthday to another, the gang heads out to the country to celebrate Brooke and Akeria’s 22nd. everyone seems back on good terms, but will the combination of hide and seek, truth or dare, a hot tub and of course a lil bit of alcohol change anything?

***

“Holiday!...da-da-da-dum-dum-daaa, Celebrate!”

Brooke rolled her eyes, unable to help herself laughing as Nina rolled her suitcase towards Monet’s car. “It’s hardly a holiday, is it, girl? Overnighter in an airbnb in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?”

“Listen, I’ll take what I can get, thank you very much,” Nina raised her eyebrows, as Monet lifted the door of the boot up and Nina heaved her case inside.

“Oh, what a compliment,” Monet quipped from beside her, Brooke making a sick noise as Nina slid her arms around her girlfriend’s waist and gave her a squeeze.

“Not with girlfriends, obviously. You’re a Tesco Finest girlfriend. Not a smartprice girlfriend,” Nina explained, Monet smiling proudly and nuzzling their noses together. Brooke already wanted to vomit and she wasn’t even car sick yet.

“Pack it in, bitches, or Monet’s uninvited,” she deadpanned, pushing herself off the wall she was currently leaning against and looking up at her bedroom window, ignoring the girls’ shouts of indignation. “Right, have you got everything, yeah?”

“Have you seen the size of this bitch’s suitcase? I think she has literally managed to pack your kitchen sink,” Monet cocked an eyebrow at Nina, who elbowed her in the ribs. Nina produced her phone from the pocket of her dungaree dress.

“Hey Google, can you divorce your girlfriend?” she asked into the speaker, Monet howling a laugh and shoving her.

“Seriously, guys, I haven’t packed enough anti-sickness tablets for this,” Brooke said dryly, making her way to the passenger door.

“Oh, are you planning on recreating the great rail replacement bus fiasco of ‘18?” came a voice, Brooke turning round and narrowing her eyes at her smug flatmate, emerging through the door with her girlfriend and a small holdall bag.

“I was sat hungover opposite the toilet on a three hour coach journey, what the hell else was I expected to do?” Brooke defended herself. Yvie sat down on the wall outside their building, Scarlet joining her.

“Hmm, all I’ll say, Monet, is that I hope you have at least three empty plastic bags in the back seat with her,” she advised smugly, Brooke wishing she was still leaning against the wall so she could shove her off it.

“When is Plastique coming for you guys? Can I arrange for you to be sitting in the middle of the road when she drives up it?”

“Hey, what the fuck did I say?!” Scarlet yelped, outraged.

“You’re a bystander, Scarlet, and a bystander is worse than a bully,” Nina remarked sagely, Monet nodding along in support.

“Besides, I’m allowed to bully Brooke. It’s part of the lease,” Yvie shrugged, fixing the huge round sunglasses that had been on the top of her head and positioning them so they were right at the bridge of her nose. The March sunshine was welcome; it made Brooke feel happy, optimistic of things to come. Even the small scrub of grass out the front of their stairwell had bright purple, yellow and white bulbs poking through it, bringing a defiant sense of beauty to their surroundings. Brooke had been so pleased with the weather when she’d opened her curtains that morning that she’d packed a bunch of clothes she usually reserved for the summer. It felt odd wearing her denim skirt without the black tights she’d clad herself in for the past three months, but it was a welcome feeling. Yvie hadn’t really seemed to get the Summery memo other than her sunglasses- a huge knitted jumper covered in holes hung off her skinny frame and a pair of thick exercise leggings kept her legs warm.

“You couldn’t spruce yourself up a bit for my birthday, bitch? I feel like any minute now you’re going to start dancing around the street moulting straw singing about how you desperately want a brain,” Brooke smirked, Yvie simpering a fake smile and giving her the finger in response.

“It’s only fifteen degrees, Brooke, it’s hardly time to crack out the Kopparberg and blast T Shirt Weather yet,” Scarlet laughed. It was a bit hypocritical, Brooke thought as she looked Scarlet’s outfit up and down- a floaty, lacey dress and a pair of white Adidas- but of course she would defend her girlfriend. It wasn’t actually fair, contemplated Brooke. Scarlet and Yvie would always team up, so would Monet and Nina. Brooke had to fight all her battles herself.

“Besides, your birthday is over! Move on, hoe,” Yvie smiled, running forward and shaking Brooke’s shoulders relentlessly as the other girls laughed uproariously in the background.  Brooke laughed and batted her away, knowing she was just joking. As she shoved her friend off of her, a familiar grey Audi drove up their street and pulled in behind Monet’s car. Plastique gave her horn a little beep, waving and rolling down her window.

“Let’s ride, bitches! I’m so ready for this weekend,” she squealed, as Yvie and Scarlet rushed to shove their bags in the boot of her car.

“I think I’ve been ready since we booked it,” Nina sighed, stretching. “Right, let’s go, girls! Dun-duun-da-na-na-dun dun.”

As Nina continued singing Shania Twain and hopped in the passenger seat of Monet’s car, Brooke passed by Plastique’s window and gave her hand a squeeze. “You know how to get there, yeah?”

“Up the motorway then off at junction 4 and then just follow all the signs for the B road. We good,” she nodded, then gave a laugh. “Kiki’ll probably end up in France somehow, you know what her sense of direction is like.”

“Yeah, but she’s got Silky and Vanj to direct her. She’ll be fine,” Brooke shrugged, thumping on Plastique’s door and making for the other car. “Right, see you ladies at the airbnb!”

Monet blasted her horn once, twice, three times as Brooke dashed into the back seat and buckled up. As Nina connected her phone to the aux cord and started blasting typically Nina-ish cheesy music, Brooke felt an excited little smile creep up on her face, slapping her hands against her thighs to the beat. The past almost-a-month had gone by quickly, and Brooke and Akeria’s shared birthday trip away had arrived before Brooke had known it. It had been booked on a whim, an excited message from Akeria on the group chat about a potential birthday night out had grown arms and legs until suddenly the girls were all transferring her money for a night in the country to jointly celebrate her and Brooke’s birthdays. They had turned 22 within ten days of each other, and the girls had all decided that the amount of money they would have spent on two big nights out- Ubers, big bottles of vodka for pres, club entry, club drinks and cheesy chips at the end of the night- probably equated to the same, if not more, than the amount they would drop on a boujie house in the country. The house they had booked was huge- five big bedrooms with floor to ceiling windows, a lounge straight out of a murder mystery drama with plush sofas, towering bookshelves and a massive roaring fire, a kitchen with a table big enough to fit them all round and an aga with what seemed to be a thousand burners- though whether anyone would know how to work the damn thing was anyone’s guess, Brooke thought with a snort. The icing on the cake of the whole place, though, was a huge section of outdoor decking with a hot tub set in the middle of it. To most of the girls it would be like living somebody else’s life for the weekend, but, Brooke thought mischievously, to Plastique it would probably seem the same as a weekend at home.

Brooke was glad they could all do something like this, go away together after what had happened. She didn’t really know what had happened to Vanessa to make her warm up to her so unexpectedly. It had all started when they were preparing for Scarlet’s birthday surprise; Brooke remembered how hard her heart had been beating that morning as she’d known it was the first time she’d be properly seeing Vanessa since they broke up, having to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans as the door to the kitchen had opened and Vanessa, Akeria and Silky had walked in. Akeria and Silky, to their credit, had been fine and normal with Brooke, despite the amount of dragging through the mud they had probably done to her name when they’d heard the news of her and Vanessa’s breakup. Vanessa, (understandably, thought Brooke) had hugged Yvie, Plastique and Nina, but not Brooke, the obviousness of the action lost in the frenetic melee of the girls seeing each other all at once. Brooke had preferred that, though. She wouldn’t have wanted the awkwardness of reminding herself how perfectly her arms seemed to fit around Vanessa, the brief scent of the Aussie shampoo she used in her hair, her head against her chest even for just the tiniest second.

After that, Vanessa had started with the digs. Brooke had thought she’d had malicious intent at first, until she got bored and decided to fire back.

(Yvie’s voice had yelled from the hallway. “Who’s made the cupcakes yet? Anyone?”

“Well if it’s Brooke, we all dyin’ tonight.”

“At least I can make something! How much do you drop on Deliveroo in a month, like, half your student loan?”)

With each verbal sparring match, Brooke had watched as the small, sardonic snorts Vanessa had given evolved into a full-blown beaming smile, the kind she always used to shoot Brooke’s way with the perfect white teeth and the tiny dimple and the little blush that hit her cheeks. It was almost painful knowing that Brooke had given up that smile. And that had been the moment. The moment that Brooke had finally admitted to herself what she’d been wanting to deny all this time- she deeply wished she hadn’t ended things with Vanessa, that she’d fought through the ick and given it at least more of a shot than she had. Now Vanessa had moved on and she was seeing someone else and she was happy. Happy without Brooke. Why had Brooke broken up with her so quickly?

She was an idiot.

“She was an idiot.”

Brooke snapped out of her trance, blinking and trying to figure out how Monet had managed to get inside her head. “What?”

“That woman. Blue car. Completely cut me off,” Monet rolled her eyes, frowning as she inched forward in the traffic until she was almost bumper to bumper with the car in question.

“Oh M'net, don’t start a fight,” Nina sighed, resting her knees against the glovebox.

“I’m not! I’m just letting a bitch know that her misconduct was noted,” Monet growled.

“Her misconduct was noted? God, you’re such a teacher,” Nina laughed, a big chuckle with loads of heart that made Brooke smile.

“Hey, so are you!”

“Stop fucking bickering or I will take your vocal cords and strangle you with them!” Brooke cried, tiring quickly. She watched Monet smirk in the rear view mirror.

“It’s alright, Neens. Just because Brooke’s jealous of happy couples and regrets breaking it off with Vanjie-”

“Wait what? I don’t…oh, Nina, for fuck’s sake! I told you not to tell anyone!” Brooke snapped, training accusatory eyes on her friend. After Scarlet’s birthday, she’d told Nina what she’d told Yvie, just in a little more detail, and she’d been more sympathetic than her other flatmate, making her tea and nodding understandingly as Brooke vented at her. Nina was usually good with secrets, a reliable and trustworthy friend. Brooke couldn’t understand why she would-

“Ahahaha!!! BITCH! You just totally exposed yourself! Oh my God!!” Monet screeched in time with her tyres, thumping her hand against the steering wheel. Brooke was confused, her heart still thudding. “Nina ain’t told me shit but I got eyes and ears, an’ I saw you two flirting at Scarlet’s. All damn day and night. You don’t act like that with someone you just broke up with.”  

“Yeah I’m afraid you just spilled your own secret, Brooke,” Nina deadpanned from the passenger seat, giving a little laugh.

“Shit,” Brooke sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Great. Well, you probably think I’m a total asshole, Monet.”

“Hey, I’m a very chill person! You do you, girl. You wanna get with Vanessa for 3 months, break up with her for one and then get back with her again, that’s no business of mine,” Monet shrugged, a twinkle in her eye.

“Yeah, I know I made a mistake, thanks,” Brooke sighed, biting her lip as she let her thoughts wash over her. Monet had a unique angle on the whole situation. She lived with Monique, of course, and that whole thing was still going on between her and Vanessa, if a message Vanessa had accidentally sent to the group chat last week was anything to go by. Brooke had wondered for days on end whether it had actually been an accident or not, the content of the message sending her crazy with jealousy as it was essentially just Vanessa begging Monique to come round and fuck her into the mattress. She’d considered whether or not it could have been deliberate, but the absolute roasting Vanessa had received afterwards from the other girls couldn’t have been worth it if it had. Brooke considered asking Monet for some inside knowledge, decided against it, and then did a U-turn as she concluded that her pride and dignity were already bruised so she might as well go the whole hog and shatter them.

“So, uh…Vanessa’s still seeing Monique.”

Monet ran her tongue over her teeth. “She’s certainly round at the flat a lot.”

“So is that, uh…I mean, do you think that’s going to turn into anything more, or…?”

“I don’t know, girl, I don’t know if it’s my place to say.”

This is like pulling teeth. “Do you think they-”

“They’re having a lot of sex.”

“Monet!” Nina burst out in a shocked laugh.

“What?! They are!”

“Excellent!” Brooke exclaimed sarcastically, staring out the window as the city around them turned into fields and the houses turned into service stations.

“C’mon, Brooke, you have to admit you do kinda deserve this a lil’ bit,” Monet laughed, Brooke rolling her eyes from the back seat.

“Right, both of you shut up. I’m officially banning any conversations about pining or relationships until we get to the house. We sing, we eat snacks, occasionally we play I Spy. That’s it,” Nina scolded them, turning around in her seat and staring Brooke down. Brooke had never felt more like a disgraced teenager in her life.

“Ughhhh, fine, Mom,” Monet groaned, changing up into fifth as they hit the motorway, the weekend becoming more real and making Brooke tingle with excitement despite the news she hadn’t wanted to hear.

Just as Nina had ordered them, the three girls spent the rest of the journey singing at the top of their lungs to Vengaboys, B*Witched and Cascada, Brooke on crisp duty as she passed the cavernous bag of barbecue rib McCoys forward every five minutes or so, Monet making hurried grabs at crinkle cut crisps in between changing gears. Brooke managed to avoid the dreaded travel-sickness that had plagued her since she was about six years old, much to Monet and Nina’s delight. The sun didn’t let up, and it still hung proudly in the sky as the girls pulled up the leafy, tree-lined driveway to the house they’d booked, the branches hanging low and curling around each other signalling they hadn’t been cut in a while. Spying Akeria’s Corsa and Plastique’s Audi already parked, Monet pulled up alongside the huge white house, the little set of three stone chimneys on the roof puffing out smoke and letting the girls know that at least one room wouldn’t be too cold inside. As Monet neatened up her parking, the sound of Silky’s screeching cut through the crunching of wheels against gravel, and the rest of the girls spilled out of the front door shortly afterwards. As soon as the car had stopped, Brooke excitedly hopped out of the passenger seat, hugging any girl she could reach. Before she knew it, she’d found herself pulling out of a quick hug with Vanessa, and the two were in front of each other.

“Hey,” Brooke decided quickly to speak first, setting the tone so there wouldn’t be any awkward pauses.

“Hey! How was your ride? Get here okay?” Vanessa asked politely, tucking a strand of her caramel hair behind one ear. She was dressed in a tiny little cropped black jumper and some faded grey jeans, Brooke trying to ignore her mind reminding her of how right it felt to wrap her arms around Vanessa again, how tiny her waist was and how much she wished she could go back for another hug- for fuck’s sake, cut that shit out.

“Uh, yeah! It was fine. Traffic wasn’t too bad. How about you?”

Vanessa let out a laugh. “Shit was like Wacky Races. Akeria nearly rammed some old cunt off the road. I’ve never seen road rage like it, we genuinely feared for our lives. Or her license. Oh my God, this house is insane. C’mon, you need to see it!”

There was a split-second where Brooke felt Vanessa tug at her hand, which was quickly dropped as if the action had never happened. It was almost as if Vanessa had been on automatic pilot; the ease with which she used to slip her hand into Brooke’s hadn’t been forgotten by either of them. And then Brooke felt Plastique leap onto her back like a monkey, and the girl was excitedly chattering away to her, and the moment had passed.

Brooke barely had time to take in the huge cream-painted hall with the varnished cream stairs stretching practically up to the ceiling when Plastique steered her down two steps and into the kitchen, grey stone tiles making Brooke’s feet feel cold even through her trainers and the huge wooden table overflowing with assorted snacks. Akeria and Scarlet clung to the rail of the AGA, the two girls clearly feeling the cold in the chilly kitchen.

“Did any of us actually bring a meal between us or are we just going to live off of Twirl Bites and Classic Dip Selections?” Yvie wondered, picking up a four-pack of various dips. Brooke laughed.

“Hey, there’s pizzas in the fridge! Do y’all really think I would let you starve?” Silky piped up, opening the huge fridge to reveal at least ten pizzas, more than they would eat in one night.

“Nobody goes hungry in the presence of Silky Nutmeg Ganache,” Plastique smiled proudly, holding her fist out for Silky to punch. As the girls’ fists connected, Brooke watched as Vanessa scraped a wooden chair out against the stone floor.

“You girls wanna have a munch and then get wrecked?”

“Hmm, if we get drunk too early then there’s no way we’ll be able to work this oven,” Scarlet shrugged, biting her lip and frowning.

“Yeah, we’re gonna struggle to operate this sober,” Monet considered, opening up one of the oven doors and investigating.

“Well how about we snack and then play a game? I wanna play hide and seek in here,” Nina bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly. Akeria snorted.

“Hide and seek, you’re such a child. But to be fair, that could be fun. Or sardines.”

“What’s that?” asked Brooke. “I don’t know if we had that but called it something else.”

“That one where one person hides and everyone else seeks,” Yvie explained. “It’s way better. Way more chaotic.”

“Sweet. I’m down,” Brooke shrugged. She was glad that all of the girls she was friends with were happy to dick about and play kids’ games for an afternoon, and it was the kind of thing she’d miss when she graduated and would have to find a job.

The girls were all feeling peckish after their long drive, though, so they all grabbed the nearest snacks they could and headed upstairs to the living room, where Akeria had managed to start the fire which was crackling warmly in the huge marble fireplace. They all dumped their food on the huge glass-topped coffee table and had a little explore around the house before they relaxed. There was a surplus of bedrooms, and it had been agreed that since they were celebrating Brooke and Akeria’s birthdays, the two girls should have a bedroom to themselves each. Brooke’s bedroom had a huge bay window out to the rear of the house where the fields stretched for miles, and an actual four-poster bed.

“I can’t help but feel like you guys should take this room and I should take yours,” Brooke said with a pang of guilt for Yvie and Scarlet, who had dumped their things in the room they were sharing and had come to investigate Brooke’s.

Scarlet made a noise of discouragement. “No, it’s fine! This’ll get cold anyway, it’s so big. Our room’s cosier.”

Brooke watched Scarlet share a smile with her girlfriend and wrap both of her arms around Yvie’s. “Yeah, honestly, Brooke, it’s fine. Scarlet would manage to bump her head and toe and Christ knows what else on all four of the posts anyway.”

Scarlet burst out into offended laughter, letting the girls know that she secretly agreed a little bit.

“How’re the others?” Brooke asked, peering down the little corridor with the exposed wooden beams and hearing chatter and Monet’s deep laughter coming from the other rooms.

“Plastique, Silk and Vanj are all in together. I think V drew the short straw so she’s on the sofa bed,” Scarlet gave a shrug.

“That’s unfortunate,” Yvie commented, raising her eyebrows at Brooke slightly.

“Behave,” Brooke smacked her, not appreciating the implication. Vanessa had only just become friends with her again. They were hardly going to spend the entire night going at it like rabbits just because Vanessa wasn’t looking at her like she wanted to kill her anymore. “Come on, lovebirds. I feel like I haven’t shovelled enough crisps down my throat today.”

The three girls made their way to the living room again, where Nina and Monet were draped over the sofa and snacking on some sort of jelly sweets. Gradually the other girls joined them in drips and drabs and they spent the time chatting and gossiping in their usual way- about anything and everything under the sun. Brooke kept finding her eyes being drawn to Vanessa. It wasn’t entirely her fault- she was sitting opposite her, and often Brooke would find her already looking her way. Although that could have just been Brooke’s imagination. God, she didn’t even know anymore.  

“Right!” Nina cried, as everyone looked dangerously close to slipping into a snack-induced coma. “Sardines time!”

“Kiki should hide first, it’s her birthday!” Silky argued immediately, Brooke only the tiniest bit affronted.

“Hey, hey, it’s Brooke’s birthday too. Also, I feel like y’all are way more enthusiastic than me about this, so I really don’t mind.”

“Brooke hides first!” Nina shouted unnecessarily. Brooke stood up from the sofa and rolled her eyes.

“Wait, so everyone is after me? Christ. This is like that nightmare I had about being on Hunted.”

“Good luck tryna squeeze that Jolly Green Giant-ass body into any of these cupboards, bitch!” Vanessa yelled across the room to uproarious laughter, Brooke turning round in time to see Vanessa stick her tongue out at her.

“Oh, like you can talk! Are you not the same size as an actual Subway sandwich?” Brooke bit back, sticking her tongue out right back and feeling an excited fizz in her stomach as she caught Vanessa blushing slightly as she laughed. As the other girls joined in with the mocking and all piled on each other, Brooke spotted two girls who weren’t laughing- Akeria and Silky were looking at each other knowingly, a look that seemed to convey disapproval. What the hell was their problem? If Vanessa was fine with her, then that meant there was no reason for the two of them to hold a grudge either, right?

Brooke frowned, trying not to read too much into it. She turned around and headed out the door. “Okay, count to 100 then, bitches!”

As she heard the others all start chanting descending numbers like a terrifying cult of mathematicians, Brooke began dashing around the house for a place to hide. She ran past the bedrooms, assuming that the others would check there straight away. Brooke considered going behind the porch door, but then thought that might end up being too obvious. She found herself in the kitchen, and to her delight she noticed a huge wooden door set into the wall that had to be a cupboard. Opening it, she saw what looked to be a pantry- shelves and shelves with only a couple of tins left by other guests at the house. It was good, but Brooke didn’t think it was a particularly great place to hide until she spotted another door at the very end of the pantry- slightly smaller with a little circular handle. As Brooke turned it, she was confronted with a tiny dark room, with only the blinking lights of the boiler that sat inside to illuminate it.

Perfect.

As Brooke hopped in, she could hear the blood roaring in her ears and her heart thumping. She wanted to giggle. This was exactly how it had felt to play hide and seek when she was little, and she couldn’t believe she was a grown-ass twenty-two year old still feeling the same way. Hell, she couldn’t believe she was a grown-ass twenty-two year old playing hide and seek. Gradually, she began to hear the sound of footsteps thundering above her, the old ceiling creaking and letting Brooke know the girls were on their way. Then, it all went silent for a while. Brooke breathed out heavily. Just then, she heard the door to the pantry open and one set of footsteps shuffle through it. They dashed to the end of the room and then seemed to be satisfied that there was nothing more to investigate- until Brooke heard them do what seemed to be a double-take. Keeping her breathing silent, Brooke stood frozen to the spot as she saw the door gradually open with a long, murder-mystery style creaaak…

Shit.

Vanessa stood at the doorframe to the cupboard, a shit-eating grin on her face. “I’ve been tellin’ Yvie I’m the best at hide and seek, but she ain’t believe me. What’d that take me, two minutes?”

“Yeah, good job, Poirot,” Brooke smirked, although it was hiding a multitude of nerves. Her and Vanessa, stuck in a tight, dark space together until the other girls found them. This was fine. This would be fine. “Right come on then, girl, you need to get in.”

“Fuck no, I ain’t goin’ in there! That’s a straight-up spiders’ nest, fuck that.”

“Just get in!” Brooke grabbed her gently but firmly by the wrist and dragged her inside, closing the door behind them. It was entirely dark except for the small strip of light where the door met the doorframe, which illuminated Vanessa’s hair and collarbones. There was a small beat of silence in which Brooke’s eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and when her vision had settled she could see Vanessa smiling at her cheekily. “What?”

“There’s a spider in your hair.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “No there’s not.”

“There is! A big one. It’s some Harry Potter type shit, I swear.”

“Shut up, Vanessa, I’m not falling for that shit,” Brooke snorted a laugh, squashing the unease that began to creep up on her.

“It’s got, like, a billion eyes.”

“Has it.”

“An’ forty legs,” Vanessa bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“What the fuck kind of biology classes did you go to? A spider with forty leg- JESUS!” Brooke all at once cut herself off, feeling a movement at her shoulder, her hair flicking against her neck slightly. She gave herself such a jolt that it felt like whiplash, and she watched as Vanessa laughed at her brushing wildly against her shoulder. Brooke was confused when her hand connected with another hand. Vanessa’s hand. How the hell she’d managed to reach up there without Brooke’s notice was anyone’s guess, but she’d certainly done what she’d set out to do. Brooke launched herself forward and squeezed a hand at Vanessa’s waist, laughing as the other girl screeched in response. The two girls descended into giggles, Brooke having to fend off Vanessa’s playful swipes as she berated her.

“Shut up, bitch! You’re going to get us caught!” Brooke laughed, grabbing one of Vanessa’s wrists in each hand. Suddenly, both girls paused, the compromising position they were in dawning on both of them. The memory of when she used to pin Vanessa to the bed with both her wrists and kiss her neck shot through Brooke’s mind like a hot iron, unwanted and welcome all at once. In the darkness, she could see Vanessa’s single raised eyebrow.

“You telling me you don’t wanna get caught?” she murmured, her voice low and making the atmosphere charged and thick with something that hadn’t been there before. Brooke squeezed her thighs together. This couldn’t turn into something else. She couldn’t let it.

“Well, that is the whole point of the game,” Brooke said, trying to inject as much level-headedness into her tone as she was able. To her dismay she watched as Vanessa’s eyes took on a dark twinkle.

“Oh, right, uh-huh. The game. Sure,” she smirked, Brooke only able to laugh in response because that way she wasn’t saying anything. This situation was fucked. It was so weird. Vanessa was flirting with her, unprompted. So what did this mean? That she still liked Brooke? That she wanted to be friends and was just playing? What did this mean for her and Monique? They couldn’t be that serious, then, if Vanessa was doing all this? Or maybe they’d fallen out and Vanessa wanted her to be jealous? But what was the point of making somebody jealous who wasn’t here? What if her and Monique were together and Vanessa was cheating? What if-

“AYYYYYY FUCKIN’ HOES! Yes! I’m shit-hot at this game, Jesus!” Silky threw the door open, screeching her head off and sending every thought that Brooke was overthinking into the stratosphere.

“Stop yellin’ bitch, and get in!” Vanessa laughed. As Silky squeezed into the ever-decreasing-in-space cupboard, Brooke felt her throat almost close up as Vanessa shuffled up against her to make more room, tilting her head up, locking eyes with Brooke and sending her a look that she couldn’t decipher before looking away and whispering to Silky.

They were eventually found by the other girls- namely because there was no space at all once Scarlet arrived so Plastique found half of the girls with one toe in the cupboard and the rest of their bodies outside of it. The game carried on, but Brooke’s head wasn’t properly in it. She would deliberately put in the bare minimum effort when she was looking for the girls because, really, she wouldn’t know what to do if she was stuck in another confined space with Vanessa. Why had it turned so weird before? All flirty and edged with something she couldn’t work out. It wasn’t right- Vanessa was meant to be mad at her, meant to hate her and never want to speak to her again and somehow they’d gone from civil, to nearly-friends, to eye-fucking each other in a boiler cupboard in the space of a month?

The encounter was still playing on Brooke’s mind as she got ready for dinner. The girls had all decided that they would “do a Love Island” (in the words of Akeria) and all get glammed up to sit in the living room and play games after they’d eaten. It felt funny to be putting on a dress, heels and fake lashes without the possibility of going out anywhere, but the methodical process of putting on her makeup was a welcome distraction from the swirling thoughts in Brooke’s head.

“Ayo,” came an unexpected voice, causing Brooke to flinch a little and drop the lipgloss she’d been applying moments before. Looking behind her in the mirror she saw it was just Yvie and Nina. Usually she’d have been happy to see them, but right now she was doing too much overthinking and couldn’t let on what had happened earlier between her and Vanessa. So Brooke just stuck on her best fake smile as she turned around to face them.

“Hey! You guys look so good,” she complimented them, Nina smiling and Yvie giving a little snort.

“Well I didn’t want to be accused of not making an effort for your birthday again,” she poked her tongue out at Brooke and tugged a little at the beads on the hem of her short gold dress.

“If you trip in those heels I hope you know that’s, like, instant paralysis,” Brooke commented, looking at the spikes of Yvie’s six inch stilettos. When the girl did glam, she did glam, Brooke had to give it to her.

“As if Yvie needs to be any taller than she already is,” Nina laughed playfully.

“Awh, she needs to be tall so she can look down on her smol bean uwu girlfriend,” Brooke teased, Nina continuing to giggle and Yvie giving an amused roll of her eyes.

“What’s up with you anyway, bitch? You’ve been, like, extra bitter around all the couples today. It’s supposed to be your birthday, cheer the fuck up,” Yvie gave her a little nudge with her foot. Brooke frowned. She didn’t think she had been being bitter, but maybe Yvie was right. Fuck, what had she even said today? Brooke hoped that Vanessa hadn’t noticed anything.

“No, that’s not true. I’m fine! Just…” Brooke sighed, the bingo-hall-style tombola spinning rapidly in her head to generate an excuse. “…exams are soon, you know, and I’ve not started revising yet-”

“Oh my God, bitch, they’re in May! This is March! Chill the hell out,” Yvie laughed, pulling Brooke up from her position on the floor by the long mirror in the corner of her room. “Let’s go eat pizza. If Monet and Plastique have worked out how to cook them in that 1920s horror oven.”

As Yvie excitedly strutted out of the room and Brooke made to join her, Nina reached out to squeeze her hand.

“You’re a crap liar, Brooke Lynn Hytes,” she hissed quietly, Brooke rolling her eyes and making to protest when Nina spoke again. “But I won’t push it. I just wish you’d open the fuck up more.”

Brooke felt guilty. “I just don’t…it’s something I don’t want to overthink, Nina. So the best way you can help is helping me stuff myself full of carbs then pouring a 24 pack of San Miguel down my throat.”

Nina nodded understandingly as they reached the top of the stairs, Brooke holding back a snort as she watched Yvie cling to the bannister for dear life as she descended. Nina gave her hand another squeeze, then dropped it. “I can do that. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Brooke shyly looked down at her short, black one-shoulder dress and smoothed it down. “Thanks, babe.”

Nina’s smile suddenly turned scheming. “And so does Vanessa.”

Before Brooke could protest, Nina was bounding down the stairs in her bright white Filas that she’d paired with her blue and white checked dress. It wasn’t as formal as Brooke’s or Yvie’s, but that was the beauty of having a glam night in a big house where it was just them- nobody could judge you for being over or underdressed.

As Brooke followed her flatmates into the kitchen, she was met with the sight of her friends all happy, chatting, and in their best outfits. Annoyed at herself, she found her eyes darting around to find Vanessa. She wanted to know why Nina had said what she’d said, wanted to know if she was just winding her up.

And then her eyes came to rest on the most gorgeous version of Vanessa she’d ever seen, and her anxiety dipped, did a loop, then spiked. They were both in black- some dumb coincidence that the earth had sent her way, no doubt- but Vanessa’s was shiny, a vinyl dress that clung to her as if it was made of latex and painfully highlighted every curve of her body. She’d paired it with red heels, which had straps that snaked their way up her calves and showcased her perfect skin. Her dark hair had been blow-dried out (probably by Akeria, Brooke guessed) and fell in perfect waves down her back and over her shoulders (had she fucking highlighted her collarbones?). Her makeup was, as usual, perfect, a dark shock of eyeshadow and an indecent red on her lips causing Brooke’s heart to race. The worst part, though, about the whole outfit, was the silver zip that ran from the top of the dress to the bottom, right in the middle at the front, and either Vanessa (or someone mucking about with her…probably Silky) had unzipped it just the tiniest amount. For about the hundredth time that month, Brooke cursed herself for breaking things off with Vanessa. It wasn’t just about her looks though, or her body, or how much she missed the sex. Their interaction in the cupboard made Brooke remember how funny Vanessa was, how much of an endearing goofball, how she was just a cheerful person whose only real wish in life was to be properly happy. And Brooke had hurt her, made her the exact opposite of that. Vanessa loved everything and everyone so deeply, was the most open of books, and was so unafraid of feeling. Meanwhile there was Brooke not even able to tell her own flatmates, the two girls that knew her best in the world, about her own feelings.

As she watched Vanessa’s eyes drift from Scarlet and Monet, who she’d been talking to, across the room to rest on her, Brooke felt her heart stop. Not giving a single thing away, Vanessa smiled, gave a little wave, and crossed the room to where Brooke stood.

“Hey!” she began, so confident and self-assured and making Brooke feel more like a trashbag than she already did. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks!” Brooke smiled, uncharacteristically flustered at the tiny compliment. “You look so beaud!”

Fuck. Brooke kicked herself for getting tongue tied, badly hoping Vanessa wouldn’t have noticed. As she watched a confused smile appear on her face, Brooke realised she’d have to explain herself. “I was going to say beautiful, then I changed it to good and they just sort of…mushed together.”

Brooke felt her face grow hot as Vanessa simply raised an eyebrow in a smirk. “I’ll take both. Beautiful and good.”

Just as Brooke was about to defend herself, Silky announced to the girls in her own Silky-esque way that the pizzas were ready, and, giving a cry of delight, Vanessa had dashed across the room and left Brooke forgotten about.

As they all ate, Brooke fought an internal battle. She had absolutely no right to feel sorry for herself, this mess was entirely of her own making. Besides, she had to put everything out of her head now; she had made her decision, Vanessa had moved on, and she had to let the whole thing drop. But despite all this, it didn’t stop her brain constantly pestering her with what-ifs.

It was still pestering her once they’d all finished their dinner and moved upstairs into the huge living room for drinks and games, so she was glad when Nina popped herself down beside her with two ice cold bottles of beer from the fridge.

“One for each hand,” she explained. Brooke burst out laughing. She fucking loved Nina so much.

“Where’s yours?”

“Monet’s making mojitos for me and her. I love having a girlfriend, it’s like a sexy butler that you get to have sex with and cuddle any time you want,” Nina mused wistfully, giving Brooke her second belly-laugh in the space of two minutes. As she composed herself, Monet came into the room with two huge tall glasses overflowing with crushed ice and garnished with lime and mint.

“Where the fuck did you get mint and limes?” Brooke asked, screwing her face up in confusion then scrambling to pull a slightly more attractive one as Vanessa came in flanked by Silky and Akeria.

“I brought them, bitch! Anyway what did I miss?”

“Nina called you a sexy butler,” Brooke said casually, sipping one of her two beers and smiling as she watched Nina grow flustered.

“Jesus Christ, I’m getting all the compliments today! First I was a Tesco Finest girlfriend, now I’m a sexy butler. You know how to treat a lady, Neens,” Monet teased, pulling her girlfriend in and smothering her with kisses on the cheek.

“Ugh, get that couple shit outta here,” Vanessa yelled from the other sofa, throwing a leftover crisp at them. Monet instantly snapped back.

“Uh, like you can talk, Vanj.”

“What the shit hell is that meant to mean?” Vanessa laughed, amused.

Akeria grew outraged as she turned around to face Vanessa, her long, straight hair swinging wildly as she flipped it over her shoulder. “NEED we remind you what you sent to the group chat last week?!”

Silky began yelling, mirroring the cries of woe and dismay that were circling through Brooke’s brain at being reminded that Monique was still very much in the picture. “NO we do NOT need reminded! I can’t go through that again, dear Jesus God…”

“Fuck babygirl, I need that mouth on me-” Akeria began reading dramatically from her screen, the girls cringing and laughing and every word feeling like a kick to Brooke’s gut as Vanessa, face bright red, wrestled with Akeria to get the phone out of her hands. “-I’m touching myself but you know it’s not the same- aw, V! Give it back!”

“I’m gonna eat this fuckin’ phone, Akeria Chanel Davenport, I swear,” Vanessa chided her furiously, holding the phone out of her reach then relenting, giving it back to her. Silky fanned herself dramatically, making the others laugh. As Brooke did her best fake laugh and joined in, she tried not to make eye contact with Vanessa’s embarrassed face.

“Aw, are we talking about the unfortunate dirty text incident?” Plastique’s voice came from the hall, everyone laughing again as she sat down in the armchair beside the fire. “Seriously, V, you should be a songwriter. I swear that whole thing could’ve been from a Kamille song or some shit-”

“Well, all sexts are a little bit cringey, aren’t they?” Nina offered kindly, attempting to cheer Vanjie up. In doing this, she only succeeded in earning herself an exasperated cry from Monet.

“V, do you wanna go out? I can’t stand this bitch any more, she just keeps insulting me.”

As everyone howled with laughter and Nina frantically smothered her girlfriend in kisses trying to get her back onside, Brooke sneaked a look at Vanessa. She was laughing, but her face was still a little red. Christ, she looked so cute. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

“Speaking of sex, I’m assuming Yvie and Scarlet went off to bang?” Plastique shrugged, everyone finally realising who was missing.

“Oh, fuck this! Save that shit for later!” Silky protested, Akeria laughing and whacking her.

“Hey, let them be happy! It’s my birthday so I’m sayin’ if they want to fuck, let ‘em. In the meantime I have an empty wine bottle and a room full of girls with secrets that need spilled,” Akeria announced. Plastique clapped excitedly, Silky cheered and Vanessa rolled her eyes.

“For Christ’s sake, Kiki, do we not already know all there is to know about each other?” she complained. Interesting. So Vanessa didn’t want to play truth or dare, a game she was usually always down for.

“Excuse the fuck outta me, we played that stupid tuna game earlier!”

“Sardines,” Brooke deadpanned, earning herself a laugh from the room.

“It was some type of fish, I got that much right.”

“How are you through a whole bottle of wine already?” Silky asked, impressed.

“Can I live? It’s my birthday! Now will you hoes stop pissing in my cereal and let’s play!” Akeria implored, setting the wine bottle down against the red carpet and spinning it so violently Brooke worried that it would smash on the marble grate. It slowed, turning round and round and finally resting right back at where Akeria leant down from the sofa. She let out a giggle. “Oops. Guess it’s me.”

“Keeks, truth or dare!” Plastique asked excitedly. Akeria tilted her head, deep in thought.

“Hmm. I ain’t drunk enough for dares yet, so let’s go truth.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone racked their brains to think of something. Monet was first with an idea.

“Fuck, marry, kill: Silk, Vanj or…uh…”

“Asia,” Vanessa said simply, sipping some coke and spirit concoction through a straw as Silky let out a screech. Brooke was confused. She met her eyes with Nina’s, who looked equally baffled.

“Wait, who’s Asia?” Nina asked. Akeria, to her credit, looked composed. To be fair, Brooke had hardly ever seen her look anything but.

“She’s a friend from my course. We did a paired project together an’ she came over to the flat to work on it the other week,” Vanessa shrugged. “Her an’ Kiki seemed to hit it off.”

“I don’t have a fuckin’ crush on the girl, Jesus. Don’t make it weird,” Akeria rolled her eyes, blinking slowly. If Brooke squinted she might’ve spotted a flush to Akeria’s face, but perhaps that came from the glow of the fire.

Monet muttered under her breath to Brooke and Nina as the three flatmates bickered away. “Is Akeria gay?”

Brooke blew out a bunch of air. “Fuck, I don’t even know who’s what anymore.”

“She’s never classed herself as straight,” Nina elaborated cautiously. “She talks about getting dicked down by guys a lot. Then again, it’s really only Silky that does that and Keeks just joins in.”

“Silk and Vanj know something we don’t,” Brooke reasoned, watching as the two girls laughed and Akeria sat, poised and smirking at them indulgently as if they were kids.

“Right, enough! ‘Keria, fuck marry kill: Vanjie, Silk or Asia, then,” Monet shrugged, sipping her mojito.

Akeria flipped some hair over her shoulder and tilted her head to the sky thoughtfully. “I honestly can’t decide who I’d rather kill, Silk or Vanj.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna fuck or marry Asia, correct?” Vanessa quipped, a little fire igniting in Brooke’s heart as she watched a wicked smile spread across her scheming face.

“No, I don’t know her well enough to have any strong feelings towards her either way. You and Silk, however…” Akeria raised her eyebrows long-sufferingly, coaxing a laugh out of the other girls. “Uhh, right, marry Asia, or whatever. Kill Silky.”

“Bitch! I’ll kill you for real,” Silky objected, pummeling Akeria’s arm with a cushion.

“Fuck Vanj because she likes girls anyway and if she’s going down on me it means she’s not talking with that fuckin’ gritter-truck voice of hers,” Akeria shrugged as she concluded, the room cheering and Vanessa doing a little celebratory bow. As she flipped her head up she caught Brooke’s eye, giving her a little wink. Brooke crossed her legs and tried not to think about Vanessa going down on anyone. Least of all her.

“Aight!” Akeria said, indicating to everyone that her turn was well and truly over. “We move.”

The bottle was spun once more, Brooke taking a long drink out of her bottle and draining it. She needed to be tipsier than this. Everyone else seemed a little more drunk than she was, apart from Vanessa who she noted was sipping her drink sparingly. Brooke shook her head a little, trying to stop bringing her focus to Vanessa every five minutes. She’d taken her heels off and tucked her legs up underneath her on the sofa, and her thighs looked good for it.

“Plastique, truth or dare!”

Plastique tucked her hair behind her ears. “Uhh, dare.”

Brooke knew what to do for this one. Plastique had taken Ariel on a couple of dates, but the girls were emotionally stunted and neither of them had properly articulated their feelings to the other yet. “Call Ariel and tell her how you feel about her. Properly.”

As the other girls “oooh"ed in appreciation, Plastique fixed Brooke with an unimpressed glare. "I’m not doing that.”

“Pussy,” Brooke shrugged, sipping her other beer. Vanessa let out a laugh from the other side of the room.

“Brooke Lynn’s telling someone else they’re a pussy for not being open about their feelings? Are we in the correct universe?"

As the other girls gave a laugh that was only the slightest bit uncomfortable, Brooke rolled her eyes. "Okay, well at the very least send her a heartfelt text.”

“Why are you pushing this so much, ma?” Plastique pouted as she relented and reached for her phone.

“Because I’m bored of sitting in lectures hearing you moan about how you can’t tell her how you feel because it would make it weird or how you don’t want to come across too intense!"

"We all had to listen to you pine after Vanjie for two and a half years but we never forced you into admitting anything,” Plastique shrugged, the room erupting into shrieks. Brooke gave a choke of a laugh, wanting the ground to open up and swallow her. She knew her face was bright red without having to look in a mirror and, as much as her brain was imploring her not to, she found her eyes darting quickly to Vanessa to catch a glimpse of her face.

Calm, smiling tight-lipped and smug. As if she’d won something.

“No, but you did start a sweepstake about us so get off the high horse, thanks!” Brooke sing-songed back, the slight hint of irritation to her voice letting Plastique know she was to drop it. Us. The word felt weird in Brooke’s mouth, it hadn’t been used in so long. Two and a half years. Had she really liked Vanessa for that long before everything had happened between them? Brooke had actually thrown away two and a half years of feelings for the sake of one feeling of indecision, a feeling that maybe they shouldn’t have been a they any more?

For Christ’s sake don’t look at Vanessa.

“Fine. I’ve put tonight’s really fun but I miss you, I always miss you when you’re not with me, hope you know how much I care about you. That heartfelt enough for you bitches?” Plastique muttered, embarrassed. Nina let out an “aaw”, Akeria made a sick noise.

“Acceptable,” Brooke shrugged, sipping on her beer again. Suddenly, a cheer went up from Akeria, Vanessa and Silky who could see who was coming through the living room door first. Yvie and Scarlet were walking close, holding a glass of red wine each and wearing matching poker faces.

“Oh, here they are! Nice of you to finally join us!” Nina cheered, Scarlet giving a small smile and smoothing her dress down, sitting beside Yvie on the last remaining couch.

“All the best people are fashionably late!” she shrugged. Yvie gave a snort and swept some hair over her shoulder to cover her neck. Brooke saw the action and jumped on it.

“Nice neckwear.”

Yvie turned only slightly red. “Thanks. Gucci.”

“Hear that? Yvie’s girlfriend is Gucci. Not Tesco Finest. Gucci,” Monet nudged Nina, setting another laugh off amongst the girls.

“We’re playing truth or dare,” Brooke explained to the two girls, as Plastique gave the glass bottle a bit of a pathetic spin.

“Vanjie!”

Vanessa shook her head. “Nah that spin was shit, it don’t count.”

“Like hell it don’t! Truth or dare, bitch?” Silky all but interrogated her. Vanessa thought about it for a moment, then decided.

“Truth.”

Brooke’ heart hammered in her chest. She hoped to God they wouldn’t ask Vanessa anything about her, anything about them.

“What’s going on with you and Monique, Vanjie?” Monet asked dramatically, Akeria giving a cry of delight and thumping her hands against her thighs.

Great.

As the room broke out into eager laughter, Vanessa just smiled.

“Well, Monique and I are good friends, and…we get on well. We both been, y'know, unlucky in love a lil’, so…” Vanessa trailed off, the room giving little chokes of anticipation and Brooke’s stomach twisting. “…if it’s one in the morning and one of us is maybe still up…y'know…”

Monet gave a tiny squeal through her teeth. Brooke wanted to wedge herself in between the sofa cushions and not emerge again til May of next year.

“Y'know, Monique’s very confident, very sure of herself, an’ that's…y'know, it’s attractive…” Vanessa trailed off, running her tongue over her teeth. Brooke knew that face, remembered the time when that face used to get directed at her before they’d fall into bed together, frantic kisses planted along collarbones and clothes discarded over the uneven floorboards of Vanessa’s room.

“But what’s actually going on? You’ve said so much but not actually said anything,” Yvie let out an unimpressed laugh. Vanessa composed herself and sat up straight, taking a rare sip of her drink.

“Well, we get on well. She’s a good person. And we’re friends,” Vanessa smiled coyly, causing the girls to laugh uproariously.

“Okay, okay, we all see it! We all get it!” Monet laughed, the knife twisting in Brooke’s stomach. Could it have been more obvious that they were obviously having each other in every type of position imaginable with any chance they got, or was it just Brooke being paranoid? She thought back to what Monet had said in the car earlier and concluded that, occasional hits of the bong aside, she was not being paranoid by any stretch of the imagination.

The game rolled along. Nina was made to do something vague and embarrassing with Monet that Brooke forgot quickly (or perhaps blocked out), Scarlet was forced to admit (rather proudly, Brooke thought) that her and Yvie had quickly fucked upstairs in the time they’d been away, and a few other of the girls did a couple of bland truths. As much as the bottle spun and spun, it never seemed to point Brooke’s way. Brooke was glad. She didn’t want to admit or say anything, and she also didn’t want to do anything remotely risky. However, when the bottle landed on Vanessa a second time, Brooke began to reconsider her thought process.

“Dare,” Vanessa smiled, a glint of danger in her eye flashing quickly as she darted her eyes quickly to Brooke.

Brooke tried not to look at Nina as she spoke. “Vanjie. Kiss the hottest girl in the room.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Plastique whispered quietly. It seemed as if the whole room held its breath. Brooke didn’t know if she was grateful to Nina for the setup or whether she wanted to descend into the earth’s core. She knew Vanessa had answered this question before with this group of girls, she knew that Vanessa thought the answer was her. But that was before everything had changed. Brooke felt her pulse race as Vanessa looked to the ceiling, deep in thought.

Slowly, she turned her gaze to Yvie and Scarlet.

“Yvie,” she began, a small sinking feeling lodging itself in Brooke’s chest. “Can I kiss your girlfriend?”

Yvie smiled at Scarlet proudly, happy for the compliment. “Dare’s a dare. Bring her back.”

“Scarlet, can I get a lil’ smooch?” Vanessa laughed, Scarlet laughing back and motioning for her to sit beside them on the sofa.

“C'mere, friend,” she laughed easily, Vanessa crossing the room and joining them. Brooke remembered when Vanessa had kissed Scarlet before- in the nightclub, before they were together and before Yvie and Scarlet were together. She remembered how it made her feel- a little irritated and sad all in one. Looking back, she realised it was plain and simple jealousy, and she knew her feelings weren’t going to change this time.

Quickly, Vanessa leaned in and met Scarlet’s lips, kissing her gently but slowly, her hand resting on Scarlet’s hip easily. It could only have been about three seconds long, but each one seemed to tick by agonisingly slowly, and Brooke hoped she wasn’t showing any of her fucked-up emotions on her face. As the two girls pulled away and the others whooped and whistled, Scarlet made a face.

“Bitch, all I tasted there was pepperoni. That was the least sexy kiss I’ve ever had.”

“You loved it, hoe!” Vanessa laughed, retreating back to her seat. Desperate to look at anything but Vanessa’s face, Brooke watched Yvie and Scarlet. Yvie had the satisfied grin of a mafia mob boss as Scarlet whispered something in her ear, then smiled seductively, kissing her once, twice, three times, red lipstick meeting purple.

“Well if I wasn’t bi before, I sure as hell am now,” Plastique fanned herself.

“We are the cornerstone of Plastique’s sexual identity. That’s a fucking compliment!” Scarlet cheered, Yvie laughing and wrapping her arms around her.

“Nah, you and Yvie are my parents. The Mums of the group,” Plastique explained.

“Fuck off, we’re not the Mums!” Yvie laughed, outraged. “Nina and Monet are literally right there!”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Nina cried, outraged at the perceived injustice.

“Yeah, don’t lump me in with this dork!” Monet yelled, laughing with the other girls as Nina swatted her on the arm.

“Right! Spin, Vanj,” Yvie ordered, the girl spinning the bottle round obediently. Brooke watched as the top of the bottle whizzed by her once, twice, three times, past Yvie, Scarlet, the Antigua Road girls, slowed down as it reached Plastique, edged past Monet and Nina and then came to rest on Brooke.

“All RIGHT! About time this bitch spilt some tea,” Silky clapped in delight.

“Brooke,” Akeria said with the threat level of an MI5 employee. “Truth or dare?”

Brooke paused. Her go-to was usually a truth, however there was no way she was going for that this time, not while she was still a concrete mixer of feelings for Vanessa and not while there was a room full of people wanting to know exactly what was going on with them. She shrugged. “Dare.”

“Okay-” Akeria tailed off, making to stop and think. A practically evil smile spread across her face as realisation dawned on her. “Same dare. Kiss the hottest person in the room. Ten seconds.”

Silky let out a scream, growing so excitable on the sofa that Vanessa was almost sent through the ceiling. Scarlet whispered something to Yvie on the sofa, both of the girls looking at Brooke intently. Plastique shouted over something to Akeria that Brooke couldn’t hear. All she could focus on was how Vanessa had grabbed Silky and was laughing, but somewhat nervously. Her face had gone bright red. Brooke bit her lip. She thought back to their flirting in the cupboard earlier, how they were almost back to square one again, the weird bid Vanessa had made to make Brooke jealous. She could always kiss Yvie or Nina, take the easy way out. But the more she looked at Vanessa, the more drawn she became to her until before she knew what she was doing, Brooke had stood up from her place on the carpet and taken one, two, three steps to sit on the couch and look Vanessa in the eyes.

Brooke could hear everyone in the room screaming, and she knew Silky had run out of the room shouting incoherently, but all she seemed to hear was her blood roaring in her ears as Vanessa leaned in. Before she knew it, Brooke’s hand was resting on Vanessa’s bare thigh and they were kissing each other, slow and deep and lazy and in a way that Brooke never wanted to end. She felt Vanessa’s tongue licking at hers gently and immediately felt a throb of heat between her legs as she remembered 3ams spent between her sheets and Vanessa’s head buried between her thighs.

Christ, this was a bad idea, this was a bad idea-

“ZERO! And y’all can officially cut that shit out,” Brooke suddenly felt herself being wrenched away from Vanessa, Akeria’s voice cutting through her hazy thoughts and bringing her back down to earth with a bump.  

“Well, I feel like on that note,” Monet clapped her hands together decisively. “I’m away out to drink in the hot tub. Anyone else?”

One by one the girls agreed, dashing out of the room excitedly, and it was obvious to Brooke that everyone would be talking about what had just happened. Vanessa had run off quickly, her hand in Silky’s as the two dashed upstairs to get their swimwear on. The only girl that was left in the room as Brooke made to do the same was Akeria. She frowned at Brooke as they both left the room, a warning in her eyes which sent a chill down Brooke’s spine. Trying to ignore it, Brooke dashed upstairs, changed into her pink bikini and then ran outside to join the others. They wouldn’t talk about her and Vanessa’s kiss if she was there, so the less time she was away the better. Brooke grabbed a third beer from the fridge on her way out to the garden, and as she stepped outside she noticed how the moon already hung huge and bright in the sky, how the grass already had a shine of cold wet on it, and how everything looked almost a little bit magic. Joining the others and sitting between Yvie and Plastique, she tried to ignore Vanessa sitting opposite her in a black bikini that looked equally sinful as the outfit she’d been wearing before. Luckily the rest of the girls had no further desire to play drinking games, and talk instead turned to movies. Brooke didn’t join in. She couldn’t- too much was swirling around her mind, namely how good the kiss had felt. Scarlet had probably lied to make Yvie laugh- Vanessa had tasted like sugary coke, and the all too familiar scent of her perfume was still inexplicably clinging to Brooke. It had been weird to kiss after months of no contact at all. It had been a bad decision. Brooke had done yet another wrong thing.

So why did it feel somehow correct?

“Right!” Akeria said after a while, almost toppling over as she stood up. “I think I’m gettin’ a touch of the hypothermias. Who’s comin’ inside to watch Sister Act?”

“Bitch! That’s like, my favourite movie. Hell yes,” Monet sprang up, knocking Nina off her lap and into the middle of the hot tub. The girls erupted in a laugh, Brooke almost dropping her beer into the water. One by one, they all filed out of the water. Brooke was the last one left. Admittedly she didn’t want to leave- she was now tipsy enough to not feel the cold, and she could have lain back and stared at the white light of the full moon in the inky sky forever. Just as she was about to follow the others, she noticed that the second-to-last girl out of the hot tub was Vanessa. Brooke swallowed thickly, trying her best not to stare at how the small droplets of water clung to her thick thighs or how her tiny bikini barely covered her firm ass, or how her slick, wet hair cascaded down her back. Almost as if she could read Brooke’s mind, Vanessa slowly, tortuously turned around. She had a little wicked smile on her face, the kind she always used to wear when she flirted with Brooke. It made Brooke cross her legs and squeeze her thighs together.

“You got a good enough view from there?” she asked, playfulness coating her words as she spread both her arms out to lean against the back of the hot tub.

This was bad. This was not good. Brooke couldn’t flirt back. It would only lead to another really horrendous, catastrophic decision. Her mind was hot-wiring, and to her dismay she couldn’t come up with any form of quick-witted comeback. Noticing how long it was taking her to reply, Vanessa gave a throaty laugh.

“Hmm. I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she purred, crossing the water and sitting down close next to Brooke. Brooke tried her best not to choke as she took a sip from the bottle in her hand.

“Thought you were going to watch Sister Act?” she asked, trying to sound casual but cringing at how nervous she sounded as the words left her mouth. Her blood pressure dialled up a notch as Vanessa laced her fingers together, placed her hands on Brooke’s bare shoulder, then rested her head against her fingers.  

“I don’t know. Think I’d rather see what’s so special about this view you love so much,” Vanessa murmured softly, Brooke not missing the way she rushed out the word ‘love’ as if to distil any awkwardness. She didn’t need to worry, though, because right now all Brooke could focus on was how good Vanessa looked in that black bikini, and how her red lipstick still clung to her plump lips as if it had just been applied, and her beautiful dark gaze from under her fake lashes.

“Hmm. It’s a pretty good view. Pretty beautiful,” Brooke found herself whispering, eliciting a sparkle from Vanessa’s eyes. Fuck. Shit. She shouldn’t have said that, it just seemed to have happened, but with Vanessa sitting pressed up so close to her how else could she have possibly reacted? There was a small silence in which Vanessa gave a small giggle, looking down at the constantly popping bubbles. The jet stream pummeled Brooke’s back to bits.

“What’s funny?” she smiled cautiously. Vanessa looked at her, something nostalgic on her face.

“Your pickup lines are still cringey as fuck,” she smirked, Brooke rolling her eyes a little. She had to steer this conversation back to normality. Whatever the fuck normality was as far as her and Vanessa were concerned.

“That wasn’t a pickup line. If I was trying to pick you up, you’d know about it.”

“Oh, I know about it, baby. Don’ worry,” Vanessa hit back instantly, Brooke taking the pet name like a fatal shot. Brooke knew that Vanessa knew what that word did to her in the right context with the right tone. Fuck. Bad idea, bad idea. She was determined not to lose whatever game this was. She would not do anything stupid. She would not ruin the tiny, small beginnings of this foundation of their friendship that they were gradually re-building. She would stand up and go inside and watch Whoopi fucking Goldberg dance about in a fucking habit and all would be right with the world again.

“Two and a half years, huh? You had it bad, bitch, I never knew I had that kind of effect on you,” Vanessa laughed suddenly, Brooke trying not to blush as she remembered Plastique’s words from earlier.

“Not that you’re letting it go to your head,” Brooke shrugged, taking a sip.

Vanessa giggled again. Brooke wished she wouldn’t. “Never.”

“Good compliment for you, I guess.”

“Better than beaud,” Vanessa smirked, snorting a laugh as Brooke tipped her head back and cringed. As she quietly stopped laughing, Vanessa shrugged lightly. “An’ I mean, nice to know I’m the hottest girl in the room too.”

Brooke let out a small sigh at having to confront her decision. “I mean just because we’re not dating any more doesn’t mean it’s not objectively true. By Western beauty standards you probably are the hottest girl in the room.”

Vanessa laughed again. “Western beauty standards, my God. I’m not even white, you dumb bitch.”

“Yeah, but…you’ve got this gorgeous skin, and all your shiny hair. And your eyes that go all twinkly when you’re happy,” Brooke explained. Where was all this coming from? “And you have perfect white teeth, and the best smile. I feel like you light up the whole room when you laugh.”

Brooke’s heart gave a twinge as Vanessa’s face broke out into a smile, tilting her face to the side a little inquisitively. Brooke gave a little cough, aware of all the compliments she’d given her. “And you have a really good figure as well, so, yeah.”

“Oh, obviously. Well, we all know how much you like that,” Vanessa smirked cheekily, Brooke suddenly snapping her neck round to face her properly.

“What?”

“Liked that. Like, liked. Whatever. We’re friends now, we can laugh about it,” Vanessa shrugged, the words coming out of her mouth confirming their status at once relieving Brooke and putting her on edge. They were back to being friends. This was what Brooke wanted, right? Vanessa still had the little cheeky grin on her face as she spoke again. “Friends who still kiss each other, apparently.”

“Well, you kissed Scarlet,” Brooke said, trying to make it as nonchalant as possible. Judging by Vanessa’s smug reaction, she hadn’t succeeded.

“You seem pressed.”

“Not pressed! Just saying,” Brooke tried to protest gently but felt she came on way too heavy.

“Mhm. There’s just one problem about all this, though…” Vanessa murmured, her tone charged with something that immediately made the hairs on Brooke’s arm stand on end, giving her goosebumps.

And then, with one fluid movement, Vanessa moved to straddle her.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

Brooke’s heart almost flatlined as Vanessa spoke, her face still wearing the tiniest cocky smile that Brooke so badly wanted to kiss off of her. “It’s kinda hard to try an’ be friends with you when I know what you look like with no clothes on.”

Brooke tried her best to keep her voice level. “Well, it’s also kind of hard to try and be friends with you when you’re flirting with me.”

“It’s also hard to be friends with you when I know what your kinks are…” Vanessa brought her arms around Brooke’s neck and barely concealed a smile as she bucked her hips ever so slightly. “…Mami.”

Brooke felt the tiniest hiss escape her lips, glad it wasn’t the fuck that had immediately popped into her head.

“It’s kind of hard to be friends with you when you’re riding my thigh…or when you’re coming on to me like this,” Brooke replied, keeping one hand firmly on the side of the hot tub and the other wrapped around the glass bottle in her hand so tight she thought it would smash.

“Coming on to you?” Vanessa suddenly tipped her head back and laughed, Brooke immediately realising what she’d said. “That can be arranged, you want face, tongue or fingers?”

“Fuck’s sake, Vanessa,” Brooke laughed softly, letting one of her hands drop down under the water and rest against Vanessa’s thigh. As Brooke’s thumb rubbed at her skin softly, she tried to reason with herself. Just because she was stroking Vanessa’s skin, and had her on top of her, and was basically talking dirty to her, didn’t mean that anything was actually going to happen.

“I know you miss me, Brooke,” Vanessa said, her tone matter-of-fact as she straightened up a little in Brooke’s lap, Brooke eyeing the way her breasts were pushed up.

Brooke had to think carefully about her response. She knew she’d hurt Vanessa, so she had to keep things light. “I mean, it kind of looks like you miss me, baby.”

Oh fuck, that pet name was a mistake. Vanessa’s smile was sultry as she pushed one of her hands into Brooke’s hair. “Me? Nah, I’m just doin’ this because it’s fun. Monique’s treatin’ me very well.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Vanessa knew how to hit Brooke where it hurt. Brooke pursed her lips. She wanted to fight dirty, she would give as good as she got. “And that’s why you’re cheating on her?”

Vanessa burst out laughing. “Oh, bitch, please! Me and her aren’t exclusive! We ain’t even a thing! She vents to me about her ex, I vent to her about you, and then we fuck away our frustrations!”

A part of Brooke’s heart soared up into the black sky like a helium balloon. She didn’t think she’d shown her relief on her face until Vanessa gave a laugh. “So. You ain’t denied it.”

“Denied what?”

“That you miss me,” she shrugged, giving a little look down at Brooke’s hands on her thighs. Brooke couldn’t pinpoint when she’d brought the other one down under the water but apparently she had done. Her throat was dry as she considered her response. Before she could get there, Vanessa threw her mind into chaos as she brought her hands back behind her head, fidgeted for a moment, then suddenly threw her bikini top across the decking. As Brooke’s gaze flicked down to Vanessa’s full breasts, the other girl brought one finger up and tilted her chin up to face her. The heat between Brooke’s legs was unbearable, and she felt her paper-thin resolve rapidly melting away. Vanessa smirked. “You wanna kiss me so bad right now, don’t you? Like you kissed me earlier. You can’t even stay away.“

Vanessa seemed to edge closer to Brooke, although they were already so close that seemed an impossible feat. Brooke raised an eyebrow. “See, I feel like if Monique fucked you as good as you say she does, you wouldn’t be in my lap right now.”

Vanessa blinked slowly, mockingly. “Oh, baby. You don’t want to know the things I let her do to me.”

Brooke bristled. The tension between them and Vanessa’s teasing was getting her riled. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Aww. You jealous, baby?” Vanessa pouted. This was going to drive Brooke insane. Her mind constantly swung between this being a bad idea and a good idea, and she had no idea which it would settle on.

Brooke locked eyes with Vanessa, the other girl’s gaze a challenge. “No.”

“You sure? You seemed jealous when I kissed Scarlet earlier, I saw your face.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Brooke repeated, holding her gaze with Vanessa. Their faces weren’t too close but their bodies were, and Brooke felt as if she was a ticking time bomb.

“So you ain’t jealous of Monique?” Vanessa murmured inquisitively. Brooke shook her head, now unable to tear her gaze away from her lips which had felt so perfect against her own earlier. “You ain’t jealous of the fact she gets to ride my face and get my pretty lil’ tongue working her clit? You ain’t jealous of the fact that it’s her name I’m crying out when I cum on her fingers? You ain’t-”

Frustrated, tense, and out of willpower, Brooke let out a low growl as she finally brought her hands up to Vanessa’s jaw and crashed their lips together, kissing her wildly and deeply and running her hands over every inch of Vanessa’s skin she was able to touch. She didn’t even care that she’d proven Vanessa right, because she had missed this, missed her, missed the way they just seemed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle and dear sweet fucking Jesus she’d been an idiot to give up this sex. Brooke whined needily as she felt Vanessa pull away, the other girl laughing against her lips.

“You don’t kiss like a girl who ain’t jealous,” Vanessa tutted, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Or one that don’t miss me.”

Brooke ran her hands up and down her back and pouted. “Shut up.”

“Hmm. That ain’t no way to talk to me if you’re planning on getting what you want, lil’ brat,” Vanessa raised her eyebrows, bringing one of her hands down to rub at Brooke’s hipbone. Brooke let out a whimper and bucked her hips. She needed Vanessa so badly, and her words were only making things worse. Or better.

“Fuck, please, Vanessa, shit,” Brooke hissed, not caring about how pathetic and needy she looked now as she brought one of her hands up and rubbed a thumb over one of Vanessa’s nipples. Brooke felt her clit throb as Vanessa gave a little hum of delight at the contact. Her fingers had only been there for a second before Vanessa grabbed her wrist and held it down under the water, the sudden force causing Brooke’s eyes to grow wide.

“You broke my fuckin’ heart an’ now you really think I’m gonna make it that easy for you?” she barked a laugh, a guilty twinge tugging at Brooke’s rapid heart. “Fuck that. I want to hear you beg me to fuck you. You’re gonna have to work for me, baby. Shit’s on my terms.”

“Fuck, Vanessa, I really don’t give a shit how desperate I sound,” Brooke sighed, the shock of the prospect of Vanessa changing her mind about all this lighting a fire in Brooke. “Please, please, please, please, baby, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything you want, just fucking touch me, please-”

Brooke cut herself off with her own moan as Vanessa ran a hand down her body and lightly pressed two fingers against her, rubbing gently and making Brooke want to sob.

“Good girl,” Vanessa purred, Brooke writhing underneath her and completely past the point of thinking about any of the consequences of any of this. “You miss me, don’t you?”

“Fuck, so much.”

“You been missin’ this?”

“Shit yes, so much.”

Vanessa’s eyes were dark as Brooke looked up at her. “Nobody’s gonna fuck you like me, are they?”

Brooke’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, thinking that at this point if Vanessa asked her to get married she probably would’ve booked the damn venue. “No, only you, baby, fuck.”

“Mm, such a good girl,” Vanessa smirked, Brooke’s clit giving a spasm as she thought now was really not the time to realise she had a praise kink. “I don’t know, though. You seemed pretty sure you wouldn’t miss me when you ended things.”

“I do miss you, 'Ness, I promise, I’m sorry, I’ll beg on my knees if you want me to, I don’t give a fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy all night…so fucking perfect, shit…"

"Mm…you would look so pretty on your knees,” Vanessa leaned in and murmured into Brooke’s ear, pressing the lightest little kiss to her neck and almost sending Brooke over the edge before anything had even happened yet.

“I’ll do whatever you want, baby, fuck, I want you to feel like you’re the most gorgeous fucking goddess in the world,” Brooke gasped as Vanessa brought her other hand down to touch herself, the sight of her working Brooke and herself into a frenzy the hottest thing she’d seen in months. Her mind short-circuited, and she struggled to know if anything she said made any sense. “Jesus Christ, Vanessa, please fuck me, I can’t take much more-"

Pride glinted in Vanessa’s eyes before she leaned in and kissed Brooke, hot and wet with her fingers still rubbing and teasing her through the material. Pulling away, she motioned to the decking around the hot tub. “Lie back then, baby.”

As Brooke almost drove her face into the decking in her haste to scramble out of the hot tub she ignored the little voice in the back of her head that told her everything about this was a bad idea, and instead focused on the one that screamed it was the best decision she’d made in months.s

#rpdr fanfiction #not nineteen forever #n19f #ortega #branjie #scyvie #ninex #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #lesbian au #college au #s11 #university au #nina west #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #plastique tiara #monet x change

[angrylizardjacket]

the deadliest game // charlotte&lola

Summary: Motley Crue, Lola, Charlotte, Peach, and Eileen play Knife Monopoly. It goes about as well as you could expect.

A/N: BIG WARNING THERE’S SO MANY KNIVES. KNIVES, INJURY, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, CUTTING AND STABBING BUT NOT IN A SERIOUS WAY, JUST LIKE A FUN LITTLE STAB, BUT STILL THERE’S SERIOUS KNIFE PLAY. it’s not sexual but i still don’t think its sfw. @lemonadexmouth and @misscharlottelee i hope i did your girls at least a little bit proud haha. MC might be a bit oc, sorry!

----

When Charlotte hears the words Knife Monopoly leave Tommy’s mouth one unassuming Friday afternoon in the Motley House, she’s instantly sent back a whole five years, to the Bass family garage, and Athena, all of thirteen years old, screeching in triumph while Tommy, barely fifteen, swore a blue streak, amid begging Charlotte not to tell his dad. They’d ignored her warnings, her jousting with steak knives is not a better alternative to regular auctions, and as such, Tommy had underestimated his vicious and competitive little sister, and ended up with a knife half an inch deep in the heel of his palm. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Charlotte, sixteen, tells him.

“Get fucked!” Athena had crowed, knife still a little bloody as she raised it in triumph. 

“Language, ‘Thena,” Charlotte reminded her, searching amid Tommy’s various musical supplies for any sort of cloth to stem the bleeding.

“I just won Knife Monopoly I can do whatever I want!” Athena responded, looking a little bit crazy, brandishing her knife at Charlotte, who just regarded her with flat unamusement. 

“Go get me bandages,” she instructed the younger girl, cutting her off before she can even begin to protest, “or I’ll tell your mom it was your idea.”

“She won’t -”

“You stabbed Tommy!”

“It was his suggestion! It’s his fault he got stabbed!” But she complies anyways, and sulks the whole time. Tommy doesn’t play Knife Monopoly with his little sister after that, or around Charlotte either, though according to some of his friends at school, he hasn’t exactly quit the game cold turkey.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Charlotte calls from the bathroom where she’s helping dye the ends of Lola’s hair bright red, the moment the memory passes. It’s all over her hands, it already looks like blood; this all feels too familiar.

“Char-lee,” Tommy practically whines, and Charlotte steps out of the bathroom to scowl at him, even as Lola protests. 

“Okay but what is Knife Monopoly?” Nikki is far too intrigued for his own good -

“No.” Charlotte says, firmer this time, “it’s dumb as hell. And it always ends with Tommy getting stabbed.”

“Not always!” Tommy protests, “I’ve stabbed Vince a few times,” like that makes it any better.

“Sign me up!” Nikki’s eyes are always alight with some terrible and dangerous enthusiasm, and Charlotte regrets ever meeting him, and proceeds to, in great and embarrassing detail, retell the story of the first ever game of Knife Monopoly. Tommy looks like he’s bitten a lemon by the time she’s finished. Nikki is clearly not swayed.

“I got better at it,” Tommy actually pouts.

“I’d hope so; your sister was thirteen,” Nikki points out. Tommy’s expression, defying all expectations, gets even more bitter.

“She’s vicious,” he says in his own defense, “go get Vince, he’ll tell you I’m good at it.”

“What does being good at Knife Monopoly mean?” Lola finally steps into the conversation, hands also dyed a bright, eye-catching red to match the ends of her hair currently in a messy bun atop her head. Unfortunately, she seems onboard with the whole idea.

“It means Vince got stabbed a lot,” Charlotte fills in, and Tommy’s back to grinning and nodding.

“How about it, Lo?” He’s all enthusiasm, and Lola shrugs, which he takes as a yes. He then proceeds to ask each of them if they’re in, without waiting for an answer, and practically bolts into the spare room where Vince was desperately trying to sleep off a hangover. 

“Knife Monopoly!” He announces at the top of his lungs, hanging off the doorframe. It’s like he’s fifteen again. Charlotte, whole body heavy with resignation, makes her way to the phone to call up Peach and Eileen. From the other room, the other three all hear Vince groan loudly.

“No rib stabbing,” is his only groggy stipulation, and Tommy literally cheers. 

Peach and Eileen show up within the hour, with a bemused Mick in tow, both women wearing near-identical disapproving scowls.

“We don’t have enough knives,” Nikki muses, looking at them, but Tommy’s acting as if their arrival means the end of the world.

“Charlie -” he tries again.

“Moral support, Thomas.” She doesn’t leave any room for argument, and then apologizes to both redheads. After a beat, the anger cracks away to resignation from Eileen, who Eileen opens her bag to reveal a swathe of gauze tape and a bottle of vodka, “just be glad I didn’t call your sister.” Charlotte adds for good measure, but Tommy just flips her off. 

Peach, on the other hand, realizing that the game hadn’t even started, turns from disapproving to excited.

“Wait, so I get to actually play this time?”

“Peach!” Eileen groans, but Tommy’s offering her a place in the game. She’d always had to help clean up the aftermath; it’s easy to be disapproving when bandaging your not-boyfriend’s sliced up bicep, it’s another to be able to get drunk and play for yourself.

Lola gets out of the shower drying her freshly dyed hair, only for the body count in the apartment to have almost doubled; she takes it in stride, and actually parrots Nikki’s concern about a lack of knives almost word for word. 

“If someone can drive me to my motel I can borrow some steak knives from the kitchen,” she offers, much to Charlotte and Eileen’s growing horror. Someone suggests making a night of it, of ordering pizza, getting booze, and collecting more knives before they start, and it seems almost everyone else is in agreement, even Mick, who, as Lola points out, would take any opportunity to stab the rest of the band, even a little bit.

“I hate them,” Eileen mutters to Charlotte, the two of them sharing vodka with Mick in the kitchen. Charlotte hums in agreement, watching as Nikki and Lola went to collect knives, while Vince and Peach went to pick up pizza and booze, which left Tommy to find the Monopoly board. 

“Fuckin’ teenagers, the lot of them,” Mick chimes in, but there’s something amused in his gaze, and Charlotte sighs deeply and tells him not to indulge them. He shrugs, as if he can’t help himself, as if the damage is already done, and it is.

There’s actual knife wounds in the board, holes of considerable size.

Charlotte doesn’t know why now, of all the time she’s known them, that she’s finally hit with the realization that her closest friends might be the absolute dumbest people she knows.

The premise of Knife Monopoly is simple; any and all disagreements are settled with a knife fight. Disagreements can range from establishing rules - yes, that early on; there’s been several times where he’s never even made a roll and the game is over - to disputes about rent, about whose turn it is, and most famously, substituting auctions for knife fights. Usually Tommy’s only played it with one opponent, so it’s elated to maybe not get stabbed for a few rounds. The knife fights aren’t serious, no-one’s allowed to go in for the kill or anything dramatic, and if someone quits, you have to respect that and stop going after them, but once they’re out, they’re not allowed to rejoin.

Peach and Vince get back first, loaded up with food for the whole pack, and Charlotte watches through narrowed eyes as Tommy pulls Vince to the side after he’s set down all the pizzas. They’re plotting something, judging by the conspiratorial whispering, and their suddenly shifty gazes.

“Charlie,” this time her name is a question when Tommy asks it, and Charlotte turns her full attention to him and the blonde crowded together in the corner of the room, “do you think Nikki and Lola...” he hesitated, “what do you think their pain tolerance is?” He decides on, none too subtly. Charlotte, when she considers his question, can’t help the way her lips twitch in amusement, understanding exactly what was happening.

“You’re both going to lose.”

“Ye of little faith,” Vince clicks his tongue, nose in the air, and Charlotte suppresses the sudden murderous intent that surges forth in her. Probably not the best situation to be feeling murderous in.

“You’re knife fighting Nikki and Lola,” Charlotte smirks instead, “you’re going to lose.”

Neither of them like that she kind of has a point.

The two in question finally get back, a canvas bag full of steak knives in tow, which are quickly passed out, and dinner and drinks are distributed and eaten as the rules are explain. Mick’s balancing the tip of his knife against his knee where he’s sitting in the armchair, a single finger keeping the utensil aloft, regarding them all like he’s wondering who he should go for first. In contrast, Tommy and Lola are already being absolute idiots, and trying to balance their knives on their noses, thankfully handle first.

Charlotte picks up her knife.

“I want it noted that this is a absolutely terrible idea,” she’s points the knife at Tommy, and he cheerily tells her ‘then quit’. She stays in the game to prove a point to him, and takes another shot.

They roll the little plastic dice to see who goes first, and when Nikki and Vince both roll a ten, instead of rolling again, they’re both already down to fight. Except that Nikki’s got this gleam in his eyes that can mean nothing good, and is holding his knife like he knows exactly what to do with it.

There’s a moment of jousting, of metal against metal, then plastic, then Nikki’s blade slips past too quick for Vince to catch, and there’s a cut on his bicep. Tommy calls out that the fight is over, and Nikki boos him, but Lola pulls him back.

“Calm down, Jason Voorhees,” she rolled her eyes, and pokes him with her own knife. Nikki, obligingly sat back, and devoured another slice of pizza as he rolled his first turn.

The first turn goes smoothly, probably too smoothly, though Charlotte wouldn’t lie that her heart was in her throat the whole time she was moving her piece. Any objection would be met with someone’s injury, as says the rules.

When Lola takes her second roll, these rules are exploited.

“No.” Nikki tells her as soon as she totals the numbers on the dice. Lola checks her math. Eight. Two fours.

“Yes? Eight.” She answers slowly, with a frown. Tommy can already see where this is leading, and watches with wide eyes and baited breath. Nikki flips his knife, and points it at Lola.

“No.”

“How high are you?” Lola does not yet realise, it seems, and Nikki raises his eyebrows, claiming that that’s not the issue, “are you starting a fight because you’re bored?” Lola snickers, finally, and the way Nikki’s lips twitch at the corners betrays his intentions. There’s no way he would have started this over something so ridiculous with anyone else.

“I like this game,” Nikki turns to Tommy, and the moment his attention is pulled away, Lola lashes out with her knife, tearing his pants and leaving a thankfully shallow wound against his thigh. Nikki, surprised by the altercation, goes wide-eyed with shock, clutching his leg, mouth agape as he watches Lola smugly move her piece eight places forward.

“Yes, eight,” she says simply.

It was a dirty move, but Nikki’s expression turns to a disbelieving grin. Eileen hands over a roll of tissue paper. Everyone else is quiet, can’t quite believe what they’d just witnessed.

“Fucking knew you guys would be killer at this,” Tommy exclaims with a breathless grin, picking up the dice. Lola leans over and presses a sweet kiss to Nikki’s shoulder, and he, in turn, pets her head with the hand that’s not holding tissues to his fresh wound. 

Alcohol goes a long way to dulling the pain, but everyone now seems to be playing strategically; Eileen’s not playing, just watching with amusement, while her little sister uses Vince’s fondness against him. Peach gives him a doe-eyed pleading look, and when he starts to lower his weapon, she gives him a considerable cut by his collar. It’s not his first of the night, and after both the cut, and her underhanded tactics, he’s the first to bail out. Eileen takes him to the bathroom to be properly cleaned and bandaged, while Peach wears a smile so oddly reminiscent of thirteen-year-old Athena, triumphant. 

Mick appears to be biding his time, not challenging anyone, and no-one appears to want to challenge him, considering how unnerving he’s been acting for most of the game. Tommy and Charlotte end up challenging each other surprisingly often, and though he goes easy on her when he gets the upper hand, Charlotte still ends up with a collection of little wounds littering her skin; she can’t deny the adrenaline rush the arsenene game grants it’s players, maybe it’s why she hasn’t quit yet. 

Tommy’s holding his own against Lola and Nikki surprisingly well, and there’s no denying that the three of them are the worst off of the lot; Nikki and Lola challenge each other like it’s not a game involving knives, like it’s just a normal Friday, and Charlotte quietly thinks that there’s something deeply wrong with both of them. At least they go much easier on everyone else. 

“Alright, pay up, geezer, that’s four hundred you owe me,” Lola’s grin is all teeth when she turns to Mick, marking up the price for rent on her hotels, expecting him not to fight back. She’s been extorting him all game, and somehow he’s still playing. 

“I think you owe me four hundred,” Mick answers with a sharp little smile, sitting forward in the chair, finally holding his knife like a weapon. 

“Is that a challenge?” Lola should not be this excited at the prospect. Mick raises his eyebrows at her, holding out his hand.

“Unless you’re willing to just hand over that four hundred without a fight.” 

Lola’s on her feet in a flash, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready and waiting for Mick to stand and face her. She’s passing her knife from hand to hand, far too eager, but Mick simply takes in her stance, and throws his knife at her, aiming for her arm, as to not hit anything too vital. There’s not enough force behind the throw to leave the knife actually in her, but it leaves a considerable gash in her shoulder.

“I quit,” Mick announces, while Lola marvels at the wound with what seems to border on excitement, “I already know I can’t win,” he shrugged easily. Lola and Tommy both boo at him.

“Drummer, you’re not gonna win when two of the five remaining players get off on shit like this,” Mick says bluntly, “and it’s not you or your cousin.” Vince crows with laughter, but doesn’t disagree. 

When Tommy looks to Lola, she’s glaring at Mick while Nikki dresses her wound. 

“I can try,” Tommy musters all his strength, only for Charlotte to cut him down.

“No you can’t,” she practically orders, “yes that’s a challenge,” and she reaches over and cuts his palm before he can even react. It’s a dirty, underhanded move, but technically it’s not against the rules. “This game is stupid and dangerous.”

“No fair!” Tommy frowns, plucking tissues out of the quickly depleting box.

“Is that a challenge?” Charlotte raises her eyebrows at him, and Tommy sulks, but finally quits, cradling his hand to his chest, and concedes defeat.

It’s a stalemate; Peach is relatively unscathed, Charlotte has collected a handful of scrapes, while Nikki and Lola look like they’ve rolled through broken glass and loved it. 

“You know what?” Peach announces, looking between Nikki and Lola, and Charlotte, like she’s interrupted a standoff, before anyone else rolls, “I don’t need to be stabbed anymore today, ‘specially not by you guys.” And she puts her knife down, raising her hands in surrender. 

And then there was three. 

Charlotte looks to the other two, leaning into each other and smiling in a way that was more than a little sinister, looking a little like a pair of serial killers sizing up their next victim. If it were anyone else looking at her like that, she’s pretty sure she’d be overwhelmingly intimidated, but the only thing Nikki and Lola do better than give off a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe to everyone else, is self destruct together. Which Charlotte is far too aware of to let it go unmentioned. 

“If I quit, will you two promise not to kill each other, and to never play this game again?” Charlotte asks, leveling her knife at the two of them. They share a look; Nikki shrugs.

“We do this shit for fun anyways,” Lola admitted, finally looking back at Charlotte, conceding, “we don’t need a game.” Vince groans like he’s just now realising the game was rigged from the start. Charlotte doesn’t really want to think about that too hard, instead focusing on the first half of her initial question.

“But if I quit -”

“We both win, we’re a team,” Lola snorted.

“You stabbed each other more than anyone else!” Eileen looks like she wants to hurl them both through the window, but is kind of afraid they’d enjoy it.

“I hate you both so much,” Charlotte sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. She deliberately sets down her knife, “I quit. Knife Monopoly is officially banned.”

#nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #motley crue #Lola&Charlotte #charlotte & lola #the dirt #knives tw #knifeplay tw #knife play tw #blood tw #injury tw #wound tw #the angry lizard writes

[hazzasgayvodka]

like a virgin

in which Harry is dressed like Freddie Mercury, you’re dressed like Madonna, and by the end of the night you have quite the front page scandal unfolding in some frat boy’s bedroom

(the entire idea for Harry dressing like Freddie came from this fucking white tank top thanks enjoy everyone)

You fluff your hair in the mirror once again, adjusting the tulle skirt on your hips and trying to bide your time before someone comes knocking needing to use the bathroom. You can hear the familiar melody line of Hungry Like The Wolf blasting in the living room of the house, Louis Tomlinson’s annual 80s themed Halloween party clearly in full swing. Just as you take out your tube of red lipstick to touch up your lips there’s a knock on the door and you’re rolling your eyes as you unlock it and pull it open.

“Y/n? What are you doing in here?” Your roommate whines, “We’re supposed to be having fun! I’ve been looking for you all night!”

“We’ve only been here an hour.” You shrug, but before you can complain further, she’s grabbing your hand and tugging you to the kitchen.

Suddenly, you’re right in the middle of the party atmosphere, getting jostled and tripped by drunken idiots all dancing to 80s hits they can’t even sing along to. It’s a sea of frat boys dressed like Danny Zuko and you couldn’t be happier when you finally make it to the kitchen and pour yourself another drink.

“The hell is that supposed to be?” Your roommate asks, eyeing your cup of orange Fanta and peach vodka with a rather disgusted face.

“Not sure,” You wince, taking a rather large gulp, “But it’s getting me through this party.”

“Oh, come on Y/n, if you would just let yourself have fun-“

“Wow, wish I could, but sadly the fact that not one person out there dancing to Tainted Love could tell me it’s Soft Cell singing it is kind of ruining the fun aspect for me.” You sigh, leaning against the counter behind you.

“Can you just try not being a music snob for like one night of your life?” She asks, pouring herself a cup of the Halloween punch, “Now hike up your little skirt and pull that shirt down a bit and let’s go play some beer pong.”

You roll your eyes as she quite literally drags you outside to the pool deck where none other than Louis Tomlinson himself is setting up the table for beer pong. Your roommate is nearly drooling just watching him as he laughs along with a group of guys and starts filling up the cups lined up on the table.

“Hey ladies,” He grins, “You wanna play?”

Your roommate eagerly says yes at the same moment that you say no not really and Louis’ attention is suddenly switched to you.

“Awe, what’s up with…Blondie?” He says, clearly unsure of what your costume is.

“Madonna,” You huff, rolling your eyes, “God, it’s not that hard.”

You turn away from the table and walk back across the pool deck to the house without another word to either of them. Maybe you can just find a different bathroom upstairs and wait it out. The night’s still young but your phone is fully charged, and you have a newly downloaded eBook just waiting to be read while you’re laying on some stranger’s bathroom floor.

You trudge up the steps and slip into the first bathroom you come across, closing the door behind you and leaning against the counter. This ought to be alright for a couple hours. You’ve got a full cup of booze and a relatively clean bathroom for a frat house, so you sink down to the ground and lean your back against the porcelain bathtub.

You’re barely four chapters into your eBook when the door is suddenly thrown open and none other than Freddie Mercury bursts through it, looking rather shocked when he comes stumbling in to see you.

“Knock much?” You groan, pulling yourself to your feet and reluctantly shoving your phone back into your clutch.

“Sorry, didn’t think anyone knew about this bathroom,” He shrugs, “Nice Madonna costume by the way, princess.”

You stop dead in your tracks as soon as the words come out of his mouth. You can’t tell if you like him because he’s the only person to know who you’re dressed up as all night or want to smack him for calling you princess.

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” You smirk, “Although, I do believe you’re missing something, usually sits right above your top lip…”

“Yeah, yeah,” He laughs, running a hand through his tousled hair, “Didn’t think the mustache would go over too well with the ladies.”

“Awe, that’s too bad,” You shrug, “It’s kind of a deal breaker for me.”

You watch his face unravel as his suave façade cracks and his mouth drops open. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself as you continue on your way out of the bathroom and close the door behind you, not daring to turn around again and snag a quick glance at him one last time. He’s still in your head as you descend the stairs, his extremely tight white jeans and matching tank top with that signature yellow Freddie Mercury jacket over his broad shoulders. His hair is far too long to suit his costume, but you can’t say much yourself with your overly teased excuse for Madonna’s signature messy look.

Almost right on cue, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun starts up as you come to stand in the living room once again before pushing your way to the kitchen to refill your cup. It’s when you’re picking up the now nearly empty bottle of peach vodka that your roommate reappears, her arm now hooked around Louis’ waist.

“Y/n! There you are! You literally disappeared, I thought you went home!” She shouts over the music, grabbing a hard soda out of the cooler at your feet.

“Nope, just been hanging around here.” You lie, shrugging your shoulders.

“Wicked costume!” One of Louis’ friends shout, joining you in the kitchen, “Marilyn Monroe, right?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, it’s nearly a reflex. Marilyn Monroe? This is an eighties party and you’re dressed in black, nearly head to toe.

“No way Niall, Marilyn Monroe is the one flashing in the white dress,” Another girl speaks up, “She’s obviously Cher.”

“Oh, piss off Addison.”

You’re just about to fill up your drink and get the hell out of here when yet another voice speaks up from behind you, a voice that happens to belong to quite the pair of bright white skinny jeans.

“Guys, she’s Madonna.” He laughs, settling the debate.

“Oh, that’s cute, Madonna and Mick Jagger.” Addison grins, gesturing to the two of you stood side by side.

You turn to look at him at the same time that he looks at you, both of you chuckling. God his eyes are green, can eyes even be that green? Are those contacts? Did Freddie have green eyes?

“I’m actually Freddie Mercury,” He nods, spinning on his heel to show off his insanely tight pants, “But it is cute, isn’t it?” He smirks, throwing his arm around you.

You grab his hand and start to remove it from your shoulders, sending him a glare, “Not really, we didn’t come together or anything-“

“It’s adorable, you guys look so good together.” Addison drawls on, cutting you off and clearly not listening to a word you said.

“Don’t we? It was my idea for the costumes,” Freddie laughs, squeezing your shoulder, “Wasn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You hum, rolling your eyes and detaching him from you.

He reaches for you again as you exit the kitchen, deciding that a drink isn’t as important as getting as far away from mister Freddie Mercury as you can. You can’t decide what it is about him that rubs you the wrong way, or maybe precisely the right way. You can’t quite think straight with the butterflies in your stomach and the peach vodka in your system.

You decide to head outside to escape the pumping 80s music in the living room and end up sat on the steps leading right up to the door. It’s chilly outside, nearly perfect fall weather where it’s just cold enough to need a jacket. Just as soon as you’ve made yourself comfortable and taken out your phone to continue your reading, the front door swings open and Freddie is joining you on the steps with a cup in each hand.

“Thought you’d be out here,” He smiles, passing you a drink and then shrugging off his jacket, “Here, it’s cold.”

You want to drag his jacket off your shoulders and throw it right back in his lap but suddenly his biceps are on display along with quite the assortment of tattoos across his chest and down his left arm. God, you hope he never puts the damn yellow thing back on.

“Are you reading? At a party?” He asks, suddenly snapping you back to reality.

“That I am,” You nod, glancing at the drink in your hand, “Are you trying to roofie me?”

“More like get you to loosen up a bit, princess,” He chuckles, taking the cup out of your hand and replacing it with his, “There, have mine.”

“What is it?” You ask, swirling the red liquid.

“Hawaiian Punch, vodka, and orange juice,” He says, taking a sip himself, “Also known as a poor man’s hurricane.”

You nod your head, gingerly taking a sip while he digs in his pants pocket and produces a lighter. He grabs the joint from behind his ear that you didn’t notice before and places it between his teeth. He tries to light the end of it three times, but the wind is relentless.

“Bloody jesus,” He huffs, stuffing his lighter under his shirt and leaning his head down to light the end of it, fully concealed beneath his tanktop, “There we go.”

He takes in a long drag and shoves his lighter back in his pocket, breathing the smoke away from you but the wind whips it right back in your direction.

“Fuck, sorry,” He laughs, holding the joint out to you, “You smoke?”

You don’t answer, taking the joint from his hand in silence and perching it between your lips. You can feel his eyes on you as you take in a drag and try your hardest not to cough and give him a reason to make fun.

“So, Madonna,” He smirks, stealing the joint back from you, “Why come to a party if you’re just gonna read in the bathroom?”

“Roommate dragged me,” You sigh, opting for another drink of his concoction instead, “She’s got the hots for Louis Tomlinson.”

“And you’ve got the hots for…” He pauses, grabbing your phone to look at the title of the book you’re reading, “Ooh, Logan Mountstuart.” He teases.

You snatch your phone back from him and stuff it in your clutch, snapping it closed, “I do not have the hots for Logan Mountstuart, but I can promise you he’s more interesting than everyone at this party combined.”

“Is that so?” He smirks, balancing the joint between his teeth and leaning in closer to you, “You don’t find me interesting, sweetheart?”

“I believe annoying is more the word,” You sigh, pulling yourself back to your feet, “And with the lack of mustache, might as well thrown in underwhelming while you’re at it.”

“Where are you-“

“This has been fun, really, but I should go find my roommate,” You say quickly, cutting him off and tossing his jacket back to him, “Thanks for the drink.”

You jog back up the steps and slip inside, trying to clear your head. You don’t do this, get all hot and bothered and flustered by terrible flirty excuses for men. He brought you a drink, threw his jacket on your shoulders and called you sweetheart, get it together. No matter how hard you try, the image of his biceps in that sinful white tank top is all you can picture. Goddammit, Freddie. God, you don’t even know his name.

“Are you coming to join us?” Your roommate grins excitedly as you enter the makeshift dancefloor of the living room.

“Something like that,” You chuckle, shaking your head to try and rid your thoughts of him, “What are you-“

You’re cut off as the music switches abruptly and everyone in the living room stops for a split second. Suddenly, someone’s grabbing your hand and spinning you towards them, landing you right against their chest.

“Are you gonna take me home tonight?” He sings along to the track, meeting your eyes, “Ah down beside your red firelight-“

“Freddie.” You warn, pushing away from him.

“Harry,” He grins, shaking his head, “My name’s Harry.”

“Well Harry,” You smirk, detaching yourself from him, “I thought I was pretty clear that the mustache was a deal breaker.”

“Babe, if I may,” He challenges, grabbing your hand to stop you, “Last time I checked, Madonna was a blonde.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as he grins obnoxiously, the dimples popping in his cheeks as he wraps his arms around your lower back and holds you to him.

“So, what do you say sweetheart?” He laughs, “You gonna take me home tonight?”

“I don’t know, princess,” You mock, “You gonna make me feel like a virgin?”

“God, I hope so.” He breathes, finally cupping your face and smashing his lips onto yours.

You’re suddenly a stumbling mess of grabby hands and feverish lips as he grabs your hips and walks the both of you to the stairs. He’s following you up them with increasing desperation, his lips still working against yours until you reach the top and he pulls away for a split second.

“You know that song by Van Halen?” He grins, his hands suddenly moving south and grabbing your ass, “Jump, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you jump into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist. His hands are firmly planted on your ass, holding you up as you get to work on sponging your lips down the side of his neck. He sucks in a breath as he kicks open the first door you come to, closing it behind you and finally meeting your lips again.

“You are driving me insane, woman.” He growls, capturing your lips with his as he lays your back against the bed and climbs on top of you.

You can’t even be bothered with focusing on kissing him right now when the hem of his distractingly tight tank top is right there in front of you. Suddenly your fingers are grabbing it and dragging his shirt off of him before tossing it to the floor.

Giggling at this point, you draw in a breath when his large hands cover your tits, still trapped in your bra and thin excuse for a shirt. He drags your sheer blouse off of you in one swift movement, quickly followed by your bra that he unhooks with a practiced flick of his fingers, leaving all of your stacked necklaces sitting around your neck and resting between your breasts.

“Fast or slow?” He pants, throwing your bra over his shoulder, “How do you like it, darling?”

“Is that really a question?” You ask, brushing your hair out of your face while Harry’s eyes settle on your now bare chest, marveling in the sight of your tits, your nipples already hard and ready for his tongue.

“Yeah,” He sighs thoughtfully, “Not going to be able to do this slowly.”

Without warning, he picks you up and flips you over, your cheek now pressed against the mattress as he grabs you by your thighs and yanks your ass into the air. You gasp in surprise as his hands reach around to your front, manipulating your nipples as his teeth graze over your ear.

“Are you good sweetheart?” He asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his fingers delve under your tulle skirt and run up the center of your stocking-clad, now soaking heat, “Christ, yeah, you’re good.” He hisses, his voice cracking and you smile broadly knowing that he’s just as good as you are now.

He nudges your ankles apart with his knee, flipping your skirt over your ass and exposing your panties as he yanks your stockings down your legs. He returns his left hand to your tits, his right hand tracing your clit from behind, sending you squirming and arching your back even further. Looking at his left hand, you’re even more aroused when your eyes land on the cross tattooed just under his thumb.

He slides one finger under the end of your panties, easing the cloth out of your slit and replacing it with his thumb. You nearly jump out of your skin when his cold fingers press against you and you hear him laughing as he sticks his thumb in his mouth to warm it up first before putting it right back where it was.

“Better?” He asks, groaning as his thumb slips into you, “God, you’re soaking darling.”

“Mhm.” You murmur, moving your hips slowly to slide yourself up and down his thumb until he removes it.

“Want something a little better than my thumb, love?” He asks, leaning over your back and biting the back of your shoulder.

You suck in a breath as you hear his ungodly white pants being unzipped and you start to turn around, but he quickly puts his hand on your ass to hold you still, “Oh, don’t move sweetheart, I’m really enjoying this view.” He smirks, playfully smacking your ass and making you whimper.

“This view?” You ask innocently, biting your lip and swiveling your hips.

“Yes darling, that would be the one.”

You hear the crinkle of the metallic packet being ripped open and you know he’s already rolling on the condom. Suddenly, disappointment is bubbling up in you.

“Damn,” You smirk, looking at him over your shoulder, “I thought you’d want a taste.”

“Don’t say things like that,” He groans, “I’m so close to exploding already.”

“Well come on then Freddie,” You tease, flipping yourself over, “Don’t stop me now.”

“Oh, fuck me.” He breathes, yanking your skirt and your underwear down in one swift movement.

You don’t expect the sudden abrasiveness and if you were good before you don’t know what you are now as he grabs your calves and pulls you down to him, bending your legs at the knee and throwing them over his shoulders.

Suddenly his lips are exactly where you need them, lapping up your arousal and the sound of it alone would be enough to get you off. Your hands reach out to grab his hair as you bury your face into your shoulder, biting your lip to stifle your moans.

“There you go darling, get a good fistful.” He laughs, looking up to see you already writhing.

“Oh, fuck off.” You groan, wrapping your legs around his neck playfully.

“Careful there,” He smirks, “I’m not at all opposed to asphyxiation sweetheart.”

“Would you please stop talking and put your mouth to better use?” You chuckle, grabbing him by his hair once again and leading his mouth to where you need him.

“Fine,” He sighs, “But if I blow my whole load in my pants it is entirely your fault.”

He laughs against you, the reverberation making you squirm and the coil in your stomach tighten. You gasp, pulling his hair roughly and he moans, grunting against you as he sucks on your clit. You’re wound so tight, any minute now you’re going to reach your limit and bust, but before you can he’s pulling away from you with a slick mouth and darkened eyes.

“Alright, enough of that,” He says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I want to be inside you, like now.”

Before you can hardly comprehend his words, he’s flipping you back onto your stomach and yanking your ass back into the air. With one hand, he guides himself into you while the other one rests on your hip and you can’t believe how big he is. Every time he feels like too much, you grip the hand on your hip, and he pauses until the pressure ceases, allowing him to glide further into you.

“God, you feel so good,” You sigh, arching your back, “Now stay still.”

As soon as the words come out of your mouth you can tell Harry is confused. Stay still? Usually this is about the time that he starts really moving. You slide yourself off of his cock, swiveling your hips before pushing back onto him and filling yourself as deep as you can. Quickly, you’re on the same page again.

He places both hands on your hips, not to guide you but rather to steady himself because you’re moving at a rather tortuous pace and goddammit if you’re not the warmest, tightest cunt he’s ever been in. You continue your hip swaying movements, quickening the pace as you start to bounce back and forth on him.

“Bleeding hell,” He sputters, his fingers suddenly digging into your hips, “Just like that babygirl, god, just like that.”

The pace isn’t quite touching what you want though, so you slow back down, dragging yourself almost fully off him before sinking back down all in one fluid movement. He’s almost shaking, gritting his teeth in defiance of letting go this early as you continue your twisting pace of sliding his cock along your walls nice and slow before slamming back onto him.

“Fucking hell,” He swears under his breath, grabbing your hips and holding them in place, “Alright, it’s my turn.”

Suddenly he’s pumping in and out of you as quickly as he can. He wraps your messy teased hair around his fist and yanks your head back, arching your back even more than it already was. Your throat is nearly constricted as he holds you like that, his free hand rolling your nipple between his fingers and making you gasp for air. He’s hitting that perfect spot and hissing out swear words and you can feel yourself starting to tip over the edge, your walls convulsing around him. You reach down to massage your clit, but he swats your hand away, doing it himself.

“I got you sweetheart.” He breathes, wrapping your hair even tighter around his fist.

You let out a whimper as you feel the coil inside your stomach burst and suddenly your vision is white and speckled with stars. The stars are shattering as he continues, his pace becoming more frantic and less measured. His name is pouring from your mouth in shrill cries and suddenly the hand that was massaging your clit is cupped around your lips, muffling your moans as you ride out your orgasm. He’s almost there, you can tell, his breath puffing out in ragged heaves as he continues to slam into you. You grab his hand and take it away from your mouth, instead taking his fingers past your lips and swirling your tongue around them, one at a time, tasting yourself on them. It’s all he needs to come undone, letting out a long string of swears as he collapses over your back, allowing his weight to rest on you for a few minutes while he’s still deeply embedded inside you.

As he withdraws and disposes of the condom, you slide your bra back on followed by your tulle skirt. He’s smirking at you as you slide your shirt back on, untucking all of your necklaces from underneath.

“What?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

“Nothing,” He shrugs, pulling back on his boxers, “It’s just kind of funny.”

“What’s kind of funny?” You huff, walking over to stand in front of him with your hands on your hips.

“Well,” He laughs, “We’ve got quite the front-page scandal on our hands here, don’t we? I mean Madonna and Freddie Mercury, in bed together?”

“How do you feel about Madonna and Freddie leaving a party together?” You smirk, hoping he catches your drift.

You quirk your eyebrow up at him as he throws his tank top over his head and as he’s stretching his arms back through it, his eyes light up and you know that he’s caught on.

“Oh, why I think it’s a lovely idea as long as Madonna is paying the cab fare,” He smirks, tossing you his yellow jacket once again as he reaches for the door.

“Woah, woah, woah-“

“I’m joking, miss material girl,” He teases, throwing his arm over your shoulders, “Now let’s get out of here before we accidentally win best couple’s costume.”

#im so sorry #I got way too carried away with this one #yikes this is what Monday night is all about #harry #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles preference

[or-ng-c-ss-dy]

unbecoming

wrote another fic. have some heel gentleman’s club, doing gentleman’s club things. like making out and being drunk. 

it’s got some angst because the best friends break up. 

rated m/nsfw.

it’s on ao3 too, if you have an account, you can read it there

-----

Orange was drunk, that much was obvious. Swaying back and forth, leaning heavily against Chuck as they sat together in the locker room. He passed the half-empty bottle of Kentucky Gentleman back to Chuck, managing to slosh the cheap whiskey over both of their fingers.

“You know that we still have a match tonight, right?” Chuck asked after taking a deep drink from the mouth of the bottle.

Orange shrugged and a part of Chuck registered that their lips were touching the same place on the bottle, a sloppy indirect kiss in some ways. He had tracked the way Orange’s tongue ran over the rim, pink enough in his swimming eyes that he couldn’t help but stare.

“Fuck it.” Orange slurred out, far too late to be a response to Chuck’s question.

He could only laugh, putting the bottle up to Orange’s mouth in a silent question. Orange leaned back in response, head tipping back into Chuck’s lap as his feet came up to rest on the bench. Chuck’s knuckles were white as he fed Kentucky Gentleman to Orange, watching the way his throat bobbed as he drank, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of shitty whiskey.

“You were always drunk during our matches back in the day,” Chuck said, and it sounded fond as he sunk fingers into blond hair, short fingernails rubbing over his scalp in a way that had Orange shivering in his lap,”we were unstoppable.”

They definitely weren’t, but he certainly felt unstoppable with Orange at his side. After what Trent did to them, it was easy to sink back into their old ways. The deal was sweetened with a pliant Orange Cassidy practically purring in his lap.

Trent had gotten a taste for those singles matches, leaving him and Orange behind as he decided to go on his own. It pissed him off and it pissed Orange off, who knew him less than Chuck did, but knew that their friendship meant a hell of a lot to Chuck.

Trent made him want to be good. And, now that he was climbing the singles ranks by himself, Chuck couldn’t find it in himself to be good anymore.

It was easy to bring Orange over to his side, there was no doubt in his mind that Orange would follow without even needing to be coaxed. No matter how hard they tried to be good, they weren’t good people. It had been simmering, beneath the hugs and the ringside antics, the cracks had started to show.

They weren’t the Best Friends, not anymore. Hell, maybe they never were, no matter how Trent still looked at him like they were still fine or some bullshit like that. Or like what they used to have mattered after the dust settled, like he needed Trent or some bullshit like that.

He had the heavy, warm weight of a drunk Orange in his lap, nuzzling up to his crotch, he didn’t need Trent. They were the Gentleman’s Club now, had a new song and everything, pyro and shit. It was badass too, made them look like they were a threat.

And they were a threat. Who knew that plying Orange with alcohol like he used to back in the day would make him as lethal as it used to be, keeping him at a healthy buzz was enough to wake him up.

His fingers skated up Orange’s shirt as he planned his revenge against Trent, sliding over his toned stomach almost absentmindedly. He figured that he couldn’t commit literal, actual murder, but he was planning on hurting him regardless. Trent still hadn’t accepted his challenge though, no matter how many times he offered it.

PAC once hurt someone that Kenny Omega cared about to get him into a fight but...well...Trent really had no one those days. He used to have Orange, he used to have him, but now Chuck and Orange only had each other while Trent was all alone.

A part of him wondered if he would even come if he hurt Orange. If he broke that pretty face, made him bleed. Chuck carded his fingers through Orange’s hair, returning the bottle to his lips yet again. His eyes fluttered behind shut eyelids, lashes quivering. He was flushed and shaking in Chuck’s lap, one eyelid cracking open to look at him with an unfocused blue eye.

“Chuck…” He mumbled when Chuck finally pulled the bottle away from his lips.

Chuck’s eyes tracked a stray droplet, setting the bottle aside to drag his thumb over it. He pressed it against Orange’s lips until he parted them, letting Chuck push it into his mouth. The tongue that ran over his thumb was hot and wet, making him shiver and groan softly.

“Good,” he said, voice soft and breathy, “what’s up, babe?”

A part of him thought that he might tug Orange over, fuck up into that hot little mouth right there in the locker room. He was half-hard from watching him tongue fuck the end of the bottle, and he wasn’t too drunk to get it up like Orange probably was. Probably wouldn’t have been the first time that the AEW locker rooms had seen that sort of action, and Orange was certainly drunk enough to go along with it.

“Y’think Trent misses us?” Orange asked, slurring his words and effectively killing the mood.

Chuck scowled, finger tightening in his hair hard enough to make Orange hiss softly.

“Who cares?” He said, snatching the bottle up again.

He pressed it against Orange’s lips, forcing him to drink more despite the green-ish tinge to his skin. Anything to shut the asshole up, even if it was going to make him sick before their match. They could use it to their advantage if he puked all over the canvas anyway, it would be a hell of a surprise. A gross one, but it could work. Kind of like how Orange used to spit orange juice at people back in the day.

Nah, that’d be a little too gross. His nose wrinkled at the thought of it and he pulled the bottle away from Orange to take a swig of it himself.

The idea of the orange juice, though, that had some merit.

“You ever think about bringing back the juice?” Chuck asked after a few moments, hand moving from Orange’s hair to curl his fingers lightly around his throat. “Nah. It’s a DQ.”

Chuck laughed at that, grinning broadly down at Orange. His thumb stroked over a bruise on the column of his neck, one that he had left a few nights back. Neither of them bothered to hide the marks they left on each other’s skin, they didn’t care enough to be shy about the new angle of their relationship.

“You think I’d let them DQ us? I’d take care of the ref while you do your thing, don’t worry about that.”

Orange seemed to consider it. Either that, or it took a little too long to process from how wasted he was.

“Can I put some vodka in it?” He said and Chuck laughed, squeezing slightly around his throat. “Of course. Just remember to spit it, don’t just suck it all down in the middle of the match.”

They were better off without Trent, he just...got in the way. So it was better, a haze of alcohol and yellow overhead lighting blurring his vision of Orange’s handsome face in his lap. A fuzz of a halo around him, but neither of them were anything close to angels.

Still, he looked like he could’ve been one at some point. But they were never good, and that was the problem with trying to play as anything close to morally upstanding.

Chuck leaned down at the same time Orange moved up, licking the taste of cheap whiskey and cheaper orange juice out of his mouth. It was a filthy kiss, his hand still on Orange’s neck and the sound of people clearing their throats around them. Like their opinions mattered or something, he slipped Orange some extra tongue because of it, pulling him up by the throat to straddle his lap.

He let himself get lost in the kiss and the way Orange’s body felt against his, cupping his hip with the hand that wasn’t still resting on his neck. Orange’s own hands moved over his body, one sliding into his hair, the other on his shoulder.

A startled, familiar gasp cut through the silence of the locker room. Chuck cracked an eye open to look in the flushed face of Trent. He moved his hand down and cupped Orange’s ass, letting a smirk spread across his lips. Orange moaned into his mouth, oblivious to the new person watching them. He coaxed Orange into grinding against him, feeling the beginnings of a very hard-fought erection stirring in Orange’s jeans.

Trent looked like he was at a loss for words, face flushed as he tried to look at anything but the show they were putting on. Chuck tucked his hand in Orange’s back pocket, sliding him down to sit on the bulge at the front of his trousers, grinding up against his ass.

“What do you want?” He said, breaking the kiss.

Orange let out a soft whine, like he was going to tell Chuck exactly what he wanted him to do, until he noticed that Chuck was looking over his shoulder. Instead, he tucked his face into Chuck’s shoulder and began to mouth at his neck, looking to leave some matching bruises. Trent looked more than a little lost, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, like he had forgotten why he had come to see them.

“You’re...uh. You’re on next, you need to go.” He said, not meeting his eyes. “Guess we’ll have to pick this up later then,” Chuck said in response, drawing his hand back and letting it crack against Orange’s ass, “c’mon, babe, let’s go kick some ass.”

Orange slid out of his lap, tucking himself under Chuck’s arm as he stood. It was mostly to hold himself up, partially for the closeness as he eyed Trent over his shades with a slight sneer on his face.

Standing across from Trent, he could remember what had happened as clear as day. When Trent decided that he had taken things too far, when the match ended and Chuck just kept going.

It hadn’t been his fault. They had gone after Orange, had put him out, made him bleed. It was just retribution, especially when they went after Trent next. Proud and Powerful were ruthless, they couldn’t stand up against them if they just sat to the side and let them do whatever the hell they wanted.

Chuck ended up with the pin, but it didn’t matter. Not when he had caught the sight of Orange’s battered little face, bleeding all over his shirt and jacket. The hours he’d spend trying to get the blood out, they wouldn’t be worth it if Chuck just stood aside and did nothing.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? What kind of best friend would he be if he just let them beat the shit out of Trent and Orange without stopping them?

And, if the only way they were going to respond was through violence? So be it.

He still remembered the way it felt to have Trent pull him off of Ortiz right before his boot made contact with his nose, robbed of the chance to see that violent red splatter everywhere. Robbed of his chance for revenge for Orange, he turned and pushed Trent back.

Chuck knew that he wasn’t fine, but...but seeing Trent across the room? It brought it all back, and he reached for the bottle that they left on the bench to take a deep swig of it, throwing his free arm over Orange’s shoulder and dragging him in even closer.

Orange hung off of him, seemingly uncaring as he lazily reached for the bottle. Chuck let him take it, eyes still on Trent because he really was at a loss for words. A small part of him wanted to forgive Trent, a larger part knew that Trent didn’t think he needed to be forgiven. That Chuck had been the one to fuck up, and that was why they couldn’t say anything.

They could say what the other wanted to hear. Or they could just move on without each other, a part of each other’s lives that were in the past. But Chuck still wanted his revenge, and he frowned, pushing past Trent.

“Chuck, I-” Trent started, cutting himself off when Orange pushed the bottle into his hands. “Save it for when I kick your ass in the ring.” Chuck sneered, shouldering past him.

They left him in the locker room, cradling the now-fully-empty bottle of Kentucky Gentleman. He couldn’t stop to think about consequences or closure or even revenge, although that was always on his mind.

He’d get his revenge. But, first, they had a match to win.

#my writing #otp: gentleman's club

[capsgrl]

When I Was Your Man

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: inspired by the Bruno Mars song “When I Was Your Man”, mostly written in Steve’s POV, it probably sucks because I don’t usually write but couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, Thor x Reader (platonic)

Steve sat on the edge of the bed tying his dress shoes and couldn’t help but think how big it had felt since you’d left. Sure, in those first few weeks he’d almost enjoyed being able to spread out in sleep, just as he did when you were on longer missions. But you’d never been gone this long, two whole months, and now it just felt cold and bare. With a sigh, he stood up and made his way out of his little room in the compound, and towards the elevator that would lead him to the latest of Stark’s extravagant parties. It was absolutely the last thing he felt like doing tonight, but he’d already managed to avoid the last few and Tony would not get off his back until he had agreed to come. As the elevator dinged and slid open he took a deep breath to steel himself, plastered on the most convincing smile he could, hoping he could conceal how miserable he felt.

He stepped onto the floor into the midst of the party and scanned the crowd looking for his friends, the rest of the Avengers. He spotted them in the corner, Bucky and Sam bickering as usual; Bruce, Nat, and Clint laughing and drinking; and Wanda and Vision snuggled up close. He made his way over to the table, but faltered when he heard Clint say your name. It felt like his heart had dropped to his feet. He moved closer hearing the rest of the conversation.

“You should have seen it Bruce, Y/N absolutely kicked ass today, her training with Nat is really paying off”. Clint boasted.

“I am the best” Nat grinned “but seriously, she’s wasted over there with shield, I’m going to talk with Hill. We could really use her on the team”.

“I don’t know guys, is that really a good idea” Bruce added, not seeing Steve approach. Bucky and Sam started coughing trying to warn him but he carried on. “I mean it’s awkward enough when they bump into each other in the hall, I don’t think Steve.....” Bruce was cut off by the sound of Steve pulling an empty chair back. He looked up and blushed “oh hey man, I was just uh, can I get you a beer?” He stood up awkwardly and exited towards the bar.

The conversation moved on, and Steve nodded, smiled and laughed in all the right places, but he wasn’t really listening, his mind drifting off to the night you left him. It was a night rather like this one, one of Tony’s legendary celebrations, but he’d not attended.

“Please come to the party Steve, you’ve been working so hard lately I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.” You plead with him as you follow him down the hall. He’s just finished the debrief after a gruelling mission, and while he can hear the rest of his team excitedly chattering about letting loose and celebrating the win, he can’t stop his mind replaying the day.

“Let’s go have some fun” you continue, “You deserve a night off. The whole teams going to be there, even Bucky!”

“I don’t know” Steve sighs, “I need to go and talk to Fury about a few things. The mission might have been successful, but a lot of things went wrong, I’ve got some suggestions I wanna run past him”.

You grabbed his hand causing him to stop and turn to face you. You tug him towards you slightly and as he steps closer you rest your hands on his chest, smiling up at him. “I might have a few suggestions I wanted to run past you tonight” you say wiggling your eyebrows. Steve couldn’t help but smile and kiss you gently on the lips. “OK you win” he says. “I promise I’ll be quick with Fury”. You roll your eyes at him as he starts to walk backwards down the hall “You owe me a dance then Captain” you shout after him as he turns and jogs towards Fury’s office.

Steve headed to Fury’s office and discussed tactical improvements with him. He was making his way back his room to changes when he passes the Boardroom. He decided to quickly dick in, he just wanted to go over the debrief one more time, make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He was pouring over reports, pictures and video clips from the mission, when he heard the elevator ding and his team mates pour out across the floor heading back to their rooms. Was the party over already? He looked at his watch, suddenly realising it was 3am. He hadn’t realised he’d been working that long. He ran out into the hall cursing at himself.

“Language Cap” Sam laughed as he walked past.

“Where’s Y/N?” Steve demanded, ignoring the running joke.

“I don’t know” Sam raised his hands in defence, shaking his head “but she’s pretty pissed at you”.

Steve barged his way through the crowds of shield agents and avengers towards the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor. He knew you’d be mad. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood you up because he’d got distracted by work. He didn’t mean to take you for granted, he just felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Captain America, The First Avenger. Everyone expected him to lead the charge. If the team lost someone it was on him. He wanted to make sure he was doing the right thing for the world, but he’d forgotten he needed to do the right thing by you. The elevator opened and he stepped out onto the now empty floor, just a few of Starks bots hovering around collecting empty beer bottles and sweeping up glitter. Must have been some party. He saw you sat at the bar, your back to him, nursing a vodka. You’d kicked your black heels off and they were on the floor by your feet. He approached you tentatively, and tried to lift the mood with a bit of humour.

“Whats a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this.” He expected you to sass him back but you remained silent and he knew right then that he had some real grovelling to to do. “I’m so sorry I’m late again doll, but how about that dance now?”

You spun your stool around to face him, and if looks could kill your glare would have burned him to the ground. “Party’s over Steve.” You practically spat out. “I’m sorry Y/N, I was working” he tried to explain. “I needed to make sure a few changes were made to kit and equipment before the next mission.”

“And that couldn’t wait until morning?!” You shouted incredulously “I was understanding the first time, but this is the fifth time you’ve stood me up because of work and I’m getting sick of it.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we’re doing everything right, that we’ve got everything in place so we don’t lose anyone again.” Steve argued back.

“I know Steve and I understand, I heard the stories about Pietro and Sokovia and I am so so sorry, but this is beyond a joke. You are so fixated on your work it’s all you do now, you work or you train and that’s it, that’s our life.” You shout jumping off your stool.

Steve steps towards you; anger radiating off of him. “I am the Captain of this team, they are my responsibility. I am trying to keep them and a whole nation safe, i think that’s a little more important than date night don’t you?!” He’d raised his voice now but not quite shouting.

You scoff as you bend down to pick up your shoes “oh sorry I forgot you’re the all important Captain of America!! This isn’t about me missing out on date nights, I’m not the girl that needs all of your attention, and I hate that I feel like that girl right now, but I literally never see you. Our relationship has been reduced to passing each other in the hall or gym, or the rare missions we are on together.” You push past him and start walking towards the elevator.

“That’s not the only time you see me” he calls after you. He can feel himself getting more angry now. He feels that don’t understand what it’s like for him and the fact you’re bailing on this fight angers him even more.

“Oh right I forgot” you stop by the elevator door and laugh and he hates the sound of that laugh, forced and fake and bitter, “I also see you when you crawl in my bed in the middle of the night to fuck me. That all I’m good for Rogers?” You taunt.

He’s so angry now he clenches his fists, knuckles turning white and bites his tongue, but you goad him with “got nothing to say for yourself Steven” and the use of your full first name sets him on edge. Without thinking he bites back, quietly, calmly and with venom “Maybe it is”. You throw your shoes at him, missing his head by mere inches, jump in the elevator and disappear.

Steve takes a big gulp from his beer and is snapped out if his memories by the sound of Tony’s voice.

“Hey earth to Cap, are you there?” he says waving his hands in front of him.

“Sorry Tony, say again?” Steve blinks up at him. Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously before repeating himself.

“I said, I can’t believe you actually came! This is definitely a night for celebration, I’m cracking open my finest bottle of scotch, who’s in?” He asks and rubs his hands together while the rest of the team nods in approval. As he turns to the bar he leans down to whisper “she’s on the dance floor with Hill” and carries on before he can respond.

The team continues chatting excitedly about Tony’s scotch while Steve scans the dance floor, until his eyes fix on you. You’re wearing a little black dress with your hair curled around your shoulders, dancing and laughing with Hill and some of the other shield agents. He can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face when he looks at you. You’ve got your back mostly to him but he knows you look beautiful tonight, you always do. He regrets his last words to you every day. He didn’t even mean them, not really, he was just frustrated that you couldn’t understand the pressure he was under. The pressure that he puts on himself to be right and strong and lead. He knows this is his fault. If he had just gone after you, or called you, or answered your texts you could have patched things up and be going home in his arms tonight. But instead he was stubborn and proud and refused to apologise for “being the Captain” and eventually the texts stopped coming.

The party is coming to an end, Steve can tell because the music is starting to slow down now, couples start swaying on the floor, their bodies close. The conversation between his team mates had died down, Wanda and Vision swaying together on the dance floor, Clint had gone home to his family and Sam was no doubt putting the moves on the woman behind the bar judging by the way she was giggling and blushing.

Steve’s attention was drawn to Nat and Bruce who were nudging each other whispering and pointing at Thor. He was on the dance floor cuddled up close to a woman, small arms wrapped around his muscular shoulders. Nothing new there, all the women at the compound wanted to dance with Thor! But as the God slowly swayed, Steve caught sight of the face that belonged to those delicate arms and his eyes nearly popped right out of his head! It was Y/N, and you looked almost content, leaning into him and smiling, talking in hushed tones like you were sharing a secret. Steve could feel the jealousy rise up his like bile and burn his chest. He felt like Thor had ripped his heart clean out of his chest and smashed it with that stupid hammer. He took a long drink from his beer, wishing he could get drunk, and went to slam the bottle down on the table when a metal arm shot out grabbing the bottle. “You’ll break the bottle and the table, don’t make a scene” Bucky joked. Steve gave a half smile.

Bucky had moved to sit next to him putting his hand in his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “They’re just dancing man.” Bucky tried to soothe “Thor wouldn’t do that to a friend”. Steve nodded and took his beer back from his best friend making a show of putting it down gently this time. Bucky chuckled.

Steve continued to watch you dance with Thor. He had not gotten the chance to tell you before you broke up but he was in love with you, and now he’d screwed it up and it was too late. He just hoped that Thor would treat you the way that he should have done. You deserved it.

But then you looked over at him, looked him straight in the eye and a smiled, that same beautiful smile you’d given him before it had all gone wrong, and he almost thought he saw you blush. He couldn’t help then but wonder if it was too late after all.......

——————————————-

As the upbeat party music started morphing into the slower, more romantic songs that signalled the end of the party, your friends had started pairing off with partners or heading home and you decided you should head out too. You were just about to go and say your goodbyes to Hill when you ran into a solid wall of muscle. You looked up to see Thor smiling down at you.

“Would you do me the honour of giving me this dance Y/N?” He asked politely smiling at you.

You decided that one last dance wouldn’t hurt, and took his hand letting him lead you around the dance floor. As the song drew to a close, he leant down and whispered into your ear “The Captain will come to his senses eventually”. You raised your eyebrow and tilted your head in silent question. “He’s been watching you all night, and I dare say seeing you dancing with a God as handsome and powerful as me will give him the kick he needs”. He grins cheekily.

Your mouth drops open in surprise and amusement and you turn your head towards the avengers table. Sure enough Steve is watching you and when you lock eyes with him all you can do is smile. Maybe all hope is not lost after all....

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