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mimizepp · 3 years

Note

may i request poly bruabba relationship hcs if you’re okay writing that ? 😛

i can never get enough bruabba goddamn i love them so much.. fluff + nsfw hcs and i added some scenarios for how the relationship came to be just for some fic practice i guess? enjoy !!! (also sorry my nsfw headcanons are never great but i tried)

poly bruabba relationship hcs

- bruno and abbacchio always saw their soon to be s/o in libeccio, alone most days but sometimes joined by a friend or two. they sat at a table relatively close to + facing the entrance, visible to anybody walking in

- half due to suspicion, abbacchio always made unbreaking eye contact with s/o. it wasn’t anything threatening but he surely didn’t make himself appear too friendly. the way s/o never failed maintain this mutual gaze intrigued abbacchio, enough to tell bruno about this strangely sexy person of interest

- bruno was equally compelled to s/o, and even started to subtly express his interest once he and abba discussed the possibility of a polyamorous relationship

- bruno would slow down as he passed by s/o, just barely dragging a long finger along the table as he gave a soft, bidding smile. abba would follow behind, a mellower expression than usual, which s/o returned

- little bouts of small talk sprouted from this, s/o charming the hell out of bruno and abbacchio. s/o would occasionally join abbacchio outside for a quiet smoke, which he thought to be quite endearing

- for a while s/o never joined bruno nor abbacchio for a proper meal, as they were always with their associates or whatnot. it was a tad disappointing and s/o almost felt as if this friendliness between the three would never become anything more, but one morning bruno and abbacchio walked in libeccio, abba going the usual way and bruno approaching s/o

- ‘cara/caro, would you care to join us somewhere more private?’

- after melting under that sweet, familiar voice of reason, s/o gladly followed. in the private area sat abbacchio at a table in the corner, bruno escorting s/o to a seat beside him. abbacchio smirked and poured s/o a cup of (NON PISS) tea before questioning them about loads of things

- before s/o knew it, they were in a poly relationship with two of the sexiest gang members in italy

fluff

- abbacchio softens up a bunch and always has this understated, loving expression when with bruno and s/o

- bruno becomes even more of a mommy and loooves babying s/o and abba on their days off

- YES THIS MEANS HE LETS THEM SIT AROUND AS HE DOES EVERYTHING FOR THEM IT’S HIS PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE AND ITS SO SWEET

- if he’s been overworked due to passione business, s/o and abba like to take care of him for the day so he can unwind

- bruno and abba feel really bad that they have to leave s/o for work so often so they’re always calling to check in + love bringing little gifts home for their s/o

- if bruno and abba come home exhausted / beat from work they’ll cuddle up with s/o and form a little bruabba nap sandwich for a little while

- if s/o’s back is ever turned, either bruno or abba will be going in for a soft little embrace just for a few moments (or longer if they feel like chatting and swaying for a bit)

- bruno and abba love bringing s/o to libeccio, whether it’s to accompany them in meetings with the bucci boys or just for a comfortable meal together (it also just reminds them of how this beautiful little relationship came to be)

- btw the bucci boys really like s/o + love how abbacchio softens up when s/o is present (saves giorno from constant berating and glares)

- little comforting things with hands are all the pda abba is able to tolerate (there will be arms wrapped around waists, hands resting on lower backs, and hands held AT ALL TIMES)

- s/o and bruno love teasing abba and like to kiss one another in public, just to see if he will want to get a peck of his own (leone usually doesn’t induldge himself when they’re out but will defo be glaring with an eyebrow raised until s/o and bruno stop)

- one time s/o just went for it and placed a little kiss on abbacchio’s cheek + bruno took a photo just as abba’s face was its deepest shade of red

- if any single one of the lot is sleepy, all three are required to cuddle up and get cozy (it’s an unspoken poly bruabba rule)

- the same goes for little kisses at home. if abba gets three, then bruno gets three... etc.

- s/o and bruno often wake before abba and love surprising him with breakfast in bed :,)

- just once did abba wake up super early and try to surprise his babies with a meal... he burnt everything and was later found on the kitchen floor sipping a glass of wine and eating a blackened piece of toast

- abbacchio likes doing his hair and makeup in the quiet company of s/o + bruno (who will be doing whatever necessary to make sure his braid + bob are up to par)

- abbacchio sometimes gets really indecisive and asks s/o and bruno if he should try out his black or green lipstick, but he always ends up going with his safe choice despite anything said (light purple)

- on lazy days at home abba ties his hair back loosely and wears a large tshirt with boxer briefs and some comfy ass slippers + bruno has his hair styled very slightly and wears a cute little sweater with comfy pj pants. s/o wears one of abba’s large tshirts with just undies underneath as well as some fuzzy socks

- bruno is often dreaming of having children with s/o and abba + really wants to have a nice little house to raise them in the countryside someday

- dates are usually planned by bruno, who loves having s/o and abba in cute family-owned restaurants or niche little locations that he knows his babies would adore

- abbacchio has planned several wine tasting dates along with a few afternoon picnics. he always takes s/o and bruno to this quiet, secluded park that has the loveliest view

- sometimes abba and s/o tirelessly try to come up with ways to surprise bruno + thank him for all his hard work as a milf, and they normally end up trying to cook his favorite meal (bruno is so grateful for this even if it doesn’t taste the nicest.. he loves the sentiment though and his heart feels so FULL)

- bruno says ‘i love you’ not only through his words, but also with his touch. s/o can always tell when bruno is embracing them in a way that communicates such a feeling, whether it be a kiss on the forehead or the squeeze of a hand. he most often likes to stand behind s/o with his hands on their hips, so he can lean in to kiss their cheek and bring his arms around their waist and hug them as tight as possible

- abba says ‘i love you’ with his eyes and facial expressions. whenever doing daily / domestic tasks with s/o, abba holds the warmest, most adoring look on his face as he looks at his dearest. s/o always meets his eyes and blushes before reminding abba how much they love him, to which abba responds with a light ‘mm’ full of intimacy

nsfw

- as much as s/o abba and bruno hate to admit it... jealousy and lust are MAJOR players in the bedroom

- bruno gave s/o more attention than he gave abbacchio? abba’s making sure he gets his share of it and has the two follow his every demand + won’t let them finish until they’re begging for it with tears in their eyes

- so many hickies / love bites EVERYWHERE

- also loads of purple kisses will be all over s/o and bruno’s chests

- abbacchio loooves having s/o take him from behind as bruno plays with himself (and vice-versa)

- ‘bruno can’t wait for his turn to get inside you... i know you’d love that, you fucking whore.’

- abbacchio likes being pegged by bruno while giving s/o oral more than he’d like to admit + still won’t let s/o or bruno finish until he wants them to

- whenever pegged by bruno or s/o he usually gets super bratty and loves being punished with many slaps on the ass / accross his face

- shibari.

- abba will intricately tie s/o with their hands bound behind their back. he and bruno will have a liiittle too much fun teasing s/o until they’re nearly crying + begging one of the two to fuck them senseless

- if bruno ever gets to take the lead he makes it much slower and intimate most times, focusing loads on foreplay

- he likes having s/o and abba wear blindfolds so they never know where his next touch will come from + is always down to tease with some nipple play

- looooves lightly tracing his fingers down s/o and abba’s torsos until he reaches their inner thighs and watching his babies shudder beneath him

- if s/o or abba ever whine during foreplay or lean into his touch, bruno will punish them by making the other cum first and then edging the impatient party until he’s satisfied

- ‘hm, it seems you’re coming close, amore mio.’ he will cease movement completely and smirk, ‘i’ll let you finish soon enough.’

- abbacchio likes cumming inside s/o or bruno, but doesn’t mind having to pull out and finish in their mouth or on their chest

- bruno loooves finishing all over s/o and abbacchio while they have their mouths wide open and waiting for him

- as for what happens after sexytime, abba is the first to get sleepy and ask s/o to cuddle + bruno goes and gets towels and some glasses of water for his two favorite people

- s/o bruno and abba will cuddle for a little while and make sure each of the three is satisfied and soothed + then they’ll all lovingly drift off to sleep at some point during the night

- they will all be showering together quite sensually in the morning with plenty of sudsy groping

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juliandev0rak · 3 years

Text

Cadmus Durand ⚔️

the charming assassin on the run

Introducing...

Full name: Comte Cadmus Orion François Durand

Meaning: the title Comte is the same as a count or an earl (Cadmus is specifically an earl) his first name comes from Greek mythology:

In Greek mythology Cadmus was the son of the Phoenician king Agenor. He was sent by his father to rescue his sister Europa, who had been abducted by Zeus, although he did not succeed in retrieving her. According to legend, Cadmus founded the city of Thebes and introduced the alphabet to Greece. He also famously slayed a dragon.

source 1 source 2

Cadmus also translates to “one who excels”

Gender: male, he/ him

Birthday: April 10th

Age (start of story): 29

Orientation: bisexual

Magic: illusions, light

Occupation: assassin

Familiar: Agatha the black mamba snake, named after Agathodaemon, a mythological personal companion spirit often pictured as a snake

Love interest: Julian Devorak, no canon route

Shippable?: very!

Theme song: Take Me Out- Franz Ferdinand

(the perfect song for him, lyrically and because the band is named after the famously assassinated Archduke)

full playlist

— ALIGNMENTS —

Zodiac signs:

Sun: aries

Moon: aquarius

Rising: capricorn

MBTI: entj

Element: fire

Major Arcana: The Chariot

UPRIGHT: Control, willpower, success, action, determination

REVERSED: Self-discipline, opposition, lack of direction

Minor Arcana: 9 of Wands

UPRIGHT: Resilience, courage, persistence, test of faith, boundaries

REVERSED: Inner resources, struggle, overwhelm, defensive, paranoia

Magic:

— Illusions: Can create minor illusions such as fake walls to hide behind or temporarily changing his appearance (hair color, facial features etc)

— Light: Can create a ball of golden light, for flashlight or distraction purposes usually

Other abilities: espionage, speaks multiple languages, skilled in various types of weapons including swords of all kinds and archery, skilled dancer

— PERSONALITY & PREFERENCES —

Personality: Cadmus is direct, confident, and decisive. He’s quick thinking and resourceful and always has a plan. He’s outwardly very charming, though he uses the information he learns from others to figure out the best way to take them down. Always vigilant and observant, Cadmus tends to see people in terms of how they can be of use to him.

He’s got a talent for making people feel like they know him, even though they don’t. He makes friends easily, though whether he would consider them friends is another matter. He also makes enemies easily, both through his job and family affiliation and through his boastful attitude. He has a bad temper and his pride is easily hurt. He likes to be the best at everything he does, and he usually is. Cadmus will rise to any challenge and has to hold himself back from fighting every battle.

When he does genuinely care for someone he is loyal, protective, and can be kind. The only people to earn this treatment so far are his younger sister Daphne, and occasionally his best friend and Captain of the Guard, Alexander Garreau.

Mental health: Cadmus is very emotionally closed off, he deals with PTSD from his childhood and vocation but generally does a great job of never letting anyone know he’s upset. His attention ranges from hyperfocus to being completely unfocused with little in between. He also has very bad coping mechanisms and tends to be self destructive in his relationships

Likes: dancing, sunny days, playing games (of any kind), sleeping in

Dislikes: indecision, lack of control, travelling by boat

Fears: small spaces (he’s claustrophobic), losing his sister

Quirks: walks with a bit of a limp from previous injuries

Favorite food: crème brûlée

Favorite drink: gin

Favorite flower: larkspur

Favorite color: black and gold

Most likely to: consider sword fighting first base

— APPEARANCE —

Height: 6’, 183 cm

Eyes: blue grey

Hair: honey blonde, curly, he often lets it grow to his shoulders

Other: has freckles everywhere, and a multitude of battle scars ranging from tiny ones on his arms to a large one on his torso, his left shoulder has a tattoo of a dragon that stretches onto his arm, he also has pierced ears

Color theme: black, gold, silver, royal blue

Fashion sense: described as “fancy goth prince / part time pirate”, his clothing is expensive, detailed, and always impeccably tailored, he comes from money and his wardrobe shows it. Cadmus wears mostly black, especially on missions, but at special events will branch into colors, usually blue or gold. He’s a fan of a classic puffy sleeve and tight pants combo.

— FAMILY & BACKGROUND —

Family:

The Durand Family Motto is “ex gladio vita” from the sword, life

Augustin Durand - father- alive | relationship: bad

Helene Durand - mother - alive | relationship: nearly nonexistent

Alastor Durand - younger brother - alive | relationship: bad, pretty much mortal enemies

Daphne Durand - younger sister - alive | relationship: best friends, slightly paternal

History:

Born and raised in the city of Avronne, Cadmus was trained as an assassin from a young age to protect his family’s political and business ventures. He’s used as a weapon, a pawn to his father the Comte d'Avronne, and sent across the world on missions to take out anyone who could threaten the family. Cadmus never questioned the things he was asked to do, simply doing as he was told to protect his life and out of a sense of duty and loyalty to his family and city.

He grew up in the luxury of the castle, going on missions as commanded until he was forced to reconsider his morals and family loyalty. He’s sent to assassinate the princess of a neighboring city to allow his family to control the line of succession in their favor. When he arrives, he finds that the princess is only 16 years old and reminds him too much of his own younger sister Daphne. When the time comes to kill, he chooses to spare her instead and faces his family’s wrath.

On the run from his family and their army of trained assassins (some of them Cadmus’ own friends and relatives) he flees to Vesuvia, a city big enough to hide in. He plans to stay for a few weeks at most, but plans change when he meets an old friend (or enemy depending on who you ask) His stay in Vesuvia is cut short when he receives word that his sister is in terrible danger.

Now Cadmus must choose whether to walk into his father’s trap to save his sister, perhaps at the cost of his own life. With the help of a certain red haired doctor he might just be able to pull it off- but sacrifices must be made.

Five facts:

he’s allergic to nuts which has nearly killed him on at least 2 occasions

he loves his horse, he’s the male equivalent of a horse girl but he’d never admit to it

he has a chipped front tooth and it gives him a slightly crooked looking smile

his familiar Agatha has deadly venom and has assisted him with taking down targets before

he fights with a sword left handed for the tactical advantage, even though he’s right handed

note: Hi hello here is my newest child, I’m very excited to share him! Special thanks to @leila-of-ravens because I stole her oc bio template lol, and thank you to all of my lovely mutuals who have listened to me gush about him 💗

#he’s here!!#cadmus durand #beas ocs #ok so maybe he’s originally inspired by westley from the princess bride #decided to do a more involved bio for him than i have for my others #he has a lot of backstory to share #this info is all subject to change but For Now!#also his original quote was 'try me bitch' but i gave him something more serious dfsjfj #his story has no ending yet but i’m hoping to write a fic series for him eventually to tell it all!

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wanderlust-in-my-soul · 5 years

Text

Festival of Love AU Part 6

Chapter 6 - friday afternoon

Eliott had already returned to the campsite. The attempt to get closer to Lucas in the lake had failed and the interruption by one of Lucas friends had been frustrating, but at least he now knew that the interest was not only one-sided, and Lucas was not averse to his approach.

Eliott had already been in love. He knew the infamous butterflies in his stomach. He didn't care who he fell in love with. He had noticed early on that he didn't attach much importance to sex and gender. For him, those were only something through which society wanted to bring a kind of order into the huddle. But it was never so easy to always see everything in black or white. For Eliott, the human being itself was important.

And he had already had his experiences. He had been unhappily in love, he had been happily in love, he was in a relationship without feeling anything like love in the end, he had had his experiences with women as well as with men.

And yet Lucas was new. It had hit Eliott like a punch. He didn't really experience it that way before. Ever since he opened his eyes in the car and saw Lucas, he couldn't take his eyes off him. And every time Lucas caught him staring, his whole body twitched.

After his last breakup he wanted nothing more to do with love and relationships. The relationship with Lucille had finished him. The breakup had been a long process and, in the end, Eliott had felt so liberated as he hadn't felt in a long time and he had told himself he wouldn't return to the cage of a relationship so quickly.

He had withdrawn from the world, only his closest friends could reach him. It had been a fucking hard time and he was so afraid of being hurt again that he wouldn't allow any feelings for anyone else.

And then this boy with his blue eyes appeared out of nowhere and destroyed his whole plan. Eliott would have absolutely nothing against Lucas locking him up and throwing away the key. If he only had the chance to look into those deep blue eyes, hear that hearty laughter and be close to Lucas.

It had absolutely hit him. And now, when he was alone and had time to realize how much, fear caught him.

Fearing that the others would soon come back from the lake, he set out to explore the area and perhaps find a quiet place to think in peace. The others would just be too much for him.

He briefly informed Idriss, who looked after him questioningly, but knew better than his best friend, who was silently lost in thoughts the whole time he was back at the campsite, to ask where he wanted to go or what was going on. The last few months had been exhausting and Idriss was glad today that Eliott said goodbye and let him know if he wanted to be alone. That was not always the case and there will be times when Eliott disappear without saying a word and Idriss will go through his own little hell not knowing how his best friend is doing. But today he leaned back into his chair, reassured, after Eliott had disappeared from his field of vision.

And so Eliott wandered without a destination along the tents and people and wished for shade and peace.

-----------

Lucas returned to the campsite with the others. He was not surprised that Eliott was nowhere to be found. He had almost expected it. And yet he waited for him. After all, they wanted to go to the festival area together to see Alice Merton. She would play in half an hour and there was no trace of Eliott.

Time passed like chewing gum and when it was only ten minutes left, Lucas got annoyed and set off on his own. He felt stupid that he had assumed Eliott would actually show up.

In front of him he could see Chloé and her girlfriend, who also went to the concert. However, this was a company he could gladly do without and so he tried to keep the distance between them. He wasn't sure if they would have asked him if they didn't want to watch the show together, but he didn't want to challenge it either.

There wasn't much going on at the festival area yet. On the first stage there was some ska band playing and just the rhythm made Lucas dizzy. Before he went to the second stage, he made a stop at the next beer wagon. He had already thrown his good resolutions overboard at the lake and didn't care anymore that it was too early for alcohol.

Armed with a beer in his hand, he joined the not too big group in front of the stage, where everything was already set up.

The performance was great. At some point Lucas had lost all shyness and jumped together with the others to the beat of the music, sang along and slowly got in a good mood again. It was just music to get in a good mood and forget the worries for the moment. And so, he danced the memories of the morning from his soul, even though he knew that they would soon join him again.

----------

Eliott stood apart from the dancers and watched a certain dancer in the crowd. With one hand stretched out into the sky and on one leg turning around, Lucas danced for himself with closed eyes. A light smile lay on his lips. Eliott could not avert his gaze. The urge to simply go to him, to hold him in his arms and swing with him to the beat of the music was so incredibly strong and yet there was something in him that held him back.

What if Lucas was just looking for a quick fuck, if he would tear Eliott's heart apart into little pieces after this weekend? Eliott didn't know if he was willing to take that risk. That's why he had pulled back. He knew Lucas had to be mad at him. They had had an appointment; it had also been his own idea. And now he didn't have the strength to go to him and apologize. There weren't many steps to make, but getting his feet moving was an overcoming for which he just didn't feel the strength.

He felt his chest shrink. Torn back and forth, he stood there. His thoughts began to turn. He hated his head for its indecision and ability to see things negative. He closed his eyes. In front of his inner eye Lucas' hair danced up and down in the wind and Eliott had to smile.

But the picture was soon suppressed, and his mother came to his mind. She was a cordial woman and had always supported Eliott in his decisions and always tried to be a role model and a guide in difficult hours. She would certainly shake her head with a smile.

Eliott always had the habit of doubting whether his decision was the right one. In the end he found himself worrying about what chance he had missed because he had chosen the other path. It could make him lose his mind. His mother had a talent for sensitizing him to what he really wanted, so he ended up thinking less about what he didn't have and enjoying what he had in front of him.

She had also helped him at the end of the relationship with Lucille. It had been a toxic relationship. Both had been involved in the breakup and Eliott knew this hadn't been his prime, but it was the past. He opened his eyes again and looked into the crowd. Could the future lie there before him?

His mother would now take him in her arms and ask him what objections his head had that Eliott should not listen to his heart. If Eliott could name the reasons and if they made sense, she agreed that he should think again. But if it was a flimsy excuse to conceal his fear and insecurity, there was a slap on the back of the head and a kiss on the cheek and both had to laugh.

It wasn't that it was always so easy or that he always kept to what came out in the end, but he knew that there were currently no reasons why he shouldn't give Lucas a chance. And thus, also to give himself a chance. So, he tried to name the reasons why he didn't want to slip into the crowd and show up next to the craziest dancing guy, apologize and live his life.

While he went through the reasons, which in the end was just the one big, overshadowing reason of fear, the next song was tuned in the background. Eliott listened to the music.

Together with Alice Merton the audience sang in a weird choir

"I'm scared, yeah, scared as shit

But I wanna let go of it now."

Eliott had to smile. How fittingly the universe could sometimes play with humans. He looked down at his feet and back to Lucas. Fear couldn't be the reason to stop him from getting to know this vivacious boy with the incredibly blue eyes and in the end it was perhaps the very decision that made him forget all the other missed opportunities and he could only focus on the present without thinking about what-if. And his heart simply told him that Lucas was worth overcoming his fear and his head.

And so, with two beers in his hands, he set off to apologize to the boy with the flying hair.

----------

Lucas was completely lost in the music. Fast tones alternated with calm ones, giving him the chance to catch his breath and drink a sip from his cup.

He let his gaze glide through the crowd and almost swallowed his drink as he saw a familiar figure approach.

Eliott didn't have a grin on his lips like usual. He looked a bit contrite and Lucas turned to him. However, he made no effort to approach him. After Eliott had just left him sitting like that, he would now do a devil and come Eliott’s way, who was bearing down now with his hopefully following apology.

Lucas crossed his arms in front of his chest and put on the coolest and most unapproachable facial expression he had in petto. Eliott stopped in front of him and looked indecisively first at Lucas, then at the crowd and the stage.

"There's not so much going on yet," he mumbled half screaming against the volume of the music, driving himself to the back of the neck with one hand. A gesture that was often used when someone was indecisive and uncertain what to do or say.

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "Is that all you have to say? I waited a long time for you. You just stood me up. Not a word from you where you are. Do you know how stupid I felt?" And still feel like, but Lucas didn't want to say that out loud.

"I'm sorry, Lucas. I had to get away from all the noise, the people and I forgot the time. But now I'm here," a shy smile should make Lucas feel peaceful. But the apology sounded sincere, the eyes also said that Eliott was serious and at least he was still there now. And shit, Lucas could even understand him. Sometimes the people around him became too much for him. Too many impressions, too many questions and too many trivial conversations, which he sometimes just couldn't bear.

Eliott stretched out a beer to him, "An offer of reconciliation. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any more in a hurry." Lucas took the cup, poured the two drinks together and put the cups into each other. He looked at Eliott again and as he looked into his eyes the anger was wiped away and a light smile lay on his face. In the end, Eliott was there to watch the concert with him, even though it was almost over. And that was what ultimately counted for Lucas. Eliott was there.

----------

As soon as Lucas smiled at him, Eliott began to shine and it seemed as if an infinite load had fallen from his shoulders. He straightened up a little more and stood next to Lucas.

Concentrating on the music was almost an impossibility. Again and again he had to look next to himself to make sure that Lucas was still standing there. He wasn't dancing as wildly as before, which was a pity for Eliott. He liked how Lucas seemed to forget everything around him when he moved to the music. But he also liked that he noticed Lucas throwing stealthy looks at him again and again, which inevitably made Eliott grin even wider.

At some point, however, he couldn't take it anymore. "Why don't you dance like you did before? It was a real pleasure to watch you do it," he had leaned close to Lucas, so he didn't have to scream too much. "You saw that?" Lucas had leaned his head back and looked at him mustering, "Have you been watching me?" Eliott could see Lucas' face blushing and nodded encouragingly. "Shit," Lucas cursed barely audible and Eliott had to laugh. "I stood at the back of the beer stand and you just looked wonderful, dancing on one leg as you swirled around." He just had to do it. The desire to touch him was just too big and so he stretched out his hand and tried to put Lucas wild hair strand back into order. While driving through Lucas' hair with a light touch, he could see the other one staring at him with big eyes. "I was serious. You really looked beautiful. As if you had forgotten everything around you. It was delightful to watch you," he would have preferred to whisper those words, but no one would have understood that in the end. If it was possible at all, Lucas blushed even more and didn't say a word for the moment. He just looked at him and Eliott knew at that moment that it had been the absolutely right decision to go to him and listen to his heart. He could have sunk into those eyes and he wouldn't have cared.

He took Lucas by the hand and turned him once around himself, wanted to show him that he had meant his words seriously, that there was nothing more beautiful than seeing Lucas dance so freely. During the pirouette Lucas had to start laughing and despite all the sounds around him, Eliott could only hear that laughter and it was the best thing he had heard in his life so far.

Eliott now began to spin and dance crazy as well and so a little later they stood in front of the stage and moved to their own beat to the music and it didn't matter to Eliott what the others were thinking or whether they looked silly. The laughter didn't leave Lucas' lips all the time and that was all that mattered to Eliott at that moment.

----------

When the concert was over, Lucas was out of breath. He hadn't danced so much and had fun at the same time for a long time. And the fact that their hands had always found each other to turn the other, or just because Lucas couldn't help but touch Eliott, gave him a very special kick.

They also stayed with the next band, even if neither of them knew the musicians or liked it, but Lucas didn't want to go back to reality. He could have danced all day with Eliott. Unfortunately, at some point the beer made itself felt and they had to make their way to the toilets and leave their little bubble.

"I'm pretty hungry by now," Lucas said as they walked aimlessly across the festival grounds, "and I think the others have probably already started barbecuing. Soon the main acts would be performing and nobody wanted to miss them. How about we go back to the campsite, have a bite to eat, freshen up and later go back to the festival area with the others?" He had stopped in the meantime and looked at Eliott questioningly. He didn't even know what answer he was hoping for. On the one hand he wanted to stay alone with Eliott, to have him all to himself, on the other hand he wanted to show himself to his friends and show them that he was doing well. He had felt Yann's gaze after coming back from the lake. Even though his best friend hadn't said anything, his looks spoke volumes and he wanted to reassure him a little. Because he was feeling good, as good as he had been for a long time.

Eliott agreed to the suggestion and so they made their way back to the campsite. There was barely an inch of space between them and again and again their arms and hands touched each other and each time a warm tingling sensation went through Luca's body.

They passed by different groups of people, almost all clichés were fulfilled. Now and then Eliott stopped and pointed in one direction so that Lucas could see what he saw. There was the rocker fraction, long-haired men with beer cans in their hands, groups of girls dressed far too much in make-up and just inappropriate for a weekend in a tent, and all day on a dusty field. There were the groups who were already totally drunk in the early afternoon, the alternatives who sat on the floor and gave a joint around the group. They were especially taken with all the costumes. Whole body suits made of neoprene, in which one had to sweat very much, interesting to disturbing face paintings, at the sight of which Lucas's laughter got stuck in his throat.

As they walked through the rows of tents, they stopped at one place. Someone had set up a four-poster bed there. Lucas wondered how on earth they had transported this bed and, most of all, why they had done such a thing. And yet, between all the tents and on the dusty floor, it looked like it came from another world.

Eliott put an arm around Lucas' shoulder and his voice was quiet next to his ear, the warm breath caused goose bumps on Lucas' body, "This looks like a fairy tale, doesn't it? Somehow unreal, how it stands out between all the "normal" things. It has something artistic, don't you think so?" Eliott's face was so close. So damn close and Lucas had to swallow. He just nodded and looked back at the white bed with its canopy.

Eliott led them back on their path, leaving his arm over Lucas' shoulder and that was something Lucas could get used to. Just before they reached their camp, Eliott's arm slipped from Lucas' shoulder, not without slightly touching his back with his hand, as Lucas noticed. As soon as Eliott's arm was no longer near him, Lucas missed the warmth and security it gave him, and a cool shiver followed the tingling sensation that had just been there.

#skam france #skam france fic #elu fic #elu #skamfr #skamfr fic #festival of love #au #myfic

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naireides · 7 years

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who’s scruffy looking?

in which clarke has ~a thing~ for bellamy’s beard

happy late birthday to @prosciuttoe; sorry this isn’t furry enough for you 🌚

wc: 4 951 rated m | read on ao3

As with most things, Raven is partially to blame.

(“I don’t understand why you’re also blaming me ,” mutters Miller mulishly, “ She’s the one who made the bet with him. I had nothing to do with their bullshit ideas.”

“You spurred them on,” says Clarke, and he rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.)

It starts when Miller returns from vacationing with his dad up in the mountains sporting a full beard.

His beard isn’t really anything new to them- normally he just errs on the side of scruffy, but has been known to grow it out once in a while, especially back when they were in college- so there’s just the general ribbing and maybe one or two pointed comments dropped by Monty before they ignore it.

And then Bellamy gets drunk.

Bellamy doesn’t usually get drunk when they go out; in fact he’s usually the one still annoyingly sober while they do stupid shit like climbing up on the tables or trying to rewire the jukebox. But it is the start of summer break and all his AP students passed their exams so if there was an occasion for overdoing the celebratory drinking, this would be it.

Drunken Bellamy is even sort of cute, far more tactile and vocal about his affection. Which is why it’s no surprise that as the night wears on, they find him gently stroking Miller’s cheek murmuring all sorts of nonsense while Miller looks three seconds away from throttling him. Clarke sneaks a picture. She’s totally going to use this in a mood board when his birthday comes around.

“I’m so jealous of your beard,” he slurs, just a little, and Miller slaps his fingers away. “I’ve always wanted a beard.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised this,” says Raven, dropping in from seemingly out of nowhere, “But you’ve got all the components you need to grow a beard, Blake.”

Miller snorts at the exact same moment Bellamy’s face falls. “Yeah, no. Theoretically he might have them but trust me on this. Blake is as bare faced as they come.”

Raven’s eyes practically light up at that and her head snaps back to look at him. “You can’t grow a beard?” she asks delightedly.

“Of course I can grow a beard,” he grumbles.

“Then how come we’ve never seen you with one?”

“Because it’s uncomfortable .”

“Uh huh, sure. That’s why.” She lifts an eyebrow. “I bet you can’t grow a full beard like Miller’s before the month’s up.”

“Easiest fucking bet you’ve ever made, Reyes,” says Miller, and Bellamy elbows him in the ribs.

“I can totally grow a beard in the next three weeks,” he protests. “I don’t need to prove that to you.”

“Methinks the man doth protests too much,” she says in a sing-song voice, and his scowl deepens.

“I’m not protesting. And that’s not the quote.”

“Come on,” she wheedles, “Fifty bucks says you can’t.”

He glowers at her for one last moment before finally caving. “Fine,” he sighs, sticking his hand out for her to shake. She does so rather enthusiastically and Clarke already knows that this is going to be a disaster. “I’ll take your stupid bet.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she says the next morning, after Bellamy manages to pry himself off the bed. She slides him a plate of pancakes and greasy bacon and he grunts his thanks. Honestly, he looks positively atrocious what with his hair sticking up every which way, the purple bruises behind his clunky glasses, and the barest bit of stubble across his cheeks.

This shouldn’t make her want to crawl in his lap and kiss him senseless, but, alas, it does. It’s becoming a bit of a problem if she’s being honest, this whole attraction thing.

“I can’t believe you actually made me breakfast,” he says after scarfing down his half his plate. “This is a new level of bribery. How many eggshells did you get in the pancake batter? Be honest.”

She jabs him in the thigh with her sock clad toes. “None I’ll have you know,” she sniffs. There’s a brief pause before she adds, “I used the pack mix.”

He barks out a laugh and she kicks him again.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you made a bet with Raven about facial hair,” she says a bit later, when they’re cleaning up.

Bellamy pouts. “I can’t believe my own best friend doesn’t have faith in me.”

She hitches an eyebrow, side eyeing him. “Look I’m not doubting your ability to grow a beard,” she rolls her eyes, “As far as masculinity contests go, this is pretty tame by Raven’s standards.”

“It’s because she’s seen my dick already,” he says mildly, taking the dishcloth from her and drying out the remaining pieces of cutlery. He flashes her an impish smirk. “She knows just how… masculine I am.”

It’s far too early for him to be saying things like that and making her think about the size of his dick. It’s not fair at all . She kinda wants to punch him and make out with him at the same time.

“That’s gross and I don’t want to know things like that,” she lies, and blows a handful of soapsuds directly at his face.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he grumbles, wiping his cheek on the dish towel before swatting her with it.

“I brought up the beard thing,” she corrects, “You’re the one who brought your dick into it.”

“Oh, so many innuendos.”

“Bellamy,” she huffs, even as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He flashes her a lopsided grin in return and she can’t help but mimic it. “Really, how do you plan on winning this? You get antsy at the feel of stubble.”

“I can grow a beard,” he says firmly. “And when I win, you and I are gonna use that fifty bucks to go to that sushi place you like downtown.”

“Or, plot twist, you forfeit the bet, give Raven the fifty, and shave. We can order a pizza and I’ll let you choose the documentary of your choice.”

“We can do that the day after I win,” he promises, and Clarke groans.

“You’re a stubborn jackass, you know that?”

He drops a quick, casual kiss to the top of her head, so easy that it makes her heart squeeze. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Her smile is softer this time, warmth blooming in the centre of her chest, and she ducks her head. “Yeah, unfortunately I do.”

A week passes and Bellamy still doesn’t shave.

It still looks like stubble, just a bit longer and scruffier and it’s definitely patchier than she thought it would be, but she doesn’t have any time to really think about that, not when her brain is too busy being horrified in a ‘oh no he’s really doing this’ sort of way.

And also maybe in a ‘oh no he’s hot’ kind of way too, but frankly, she’s not even ready to touch that as yet.

He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it- at least, not when Clarke is around. Since school is out he’s usually left up to his own devices in their apartment most days, and she knows for a fact that he spends them playing video games and trying to binge watch various Netflix series.

“This is terrible,” she tells him, gaping when he actually strokes it like some sort of supervillain while filling out a crossword. “You can’t possibly like this, can you?”

He looks up at her, eyes glinting while a smirk slowly unfurls across his lips. “I dunno. I think it’s growing on me.”

She groans at lame pun and stomps out of the apartment, his laughter trailing behind her. “I’m going to shave you in your sleep!” she shouts at him as she slams the door shut.

Raven is already there at the agreed upon restaurant for lunch, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, and Clarke throws herself into the vacant chair with a huff.

“This is all your fault,” she snaps, shrugging off her coat, foregoing greeting.

“What is my fault?” she asks, barely looking up from her phone.

“Bellamy .”

“Oh please,” scoffs Raven, still scrolling, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s,” she splutters for a second, searching for the right word. Finally after a moment of indecision she settles on, “He’s furry .”

She looks up, face thoroughly unimpressed. “And? You like furry.”

“I do not.”

“Fine then. You like Bellamy.”

“I-” There really is no way to deny it, so Clarke just settles on glaring at her. “I hate you.”

“That’s not a no,” she singsongs, putting away her phone as their waiter brings out their drinks. “Actually, you know what? I’m glad it’s not a no. It means you’re growing as a person and embracing the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him,” she rolls her eyes, cheeks warming. “I just have a tiny crush on him. A small, inconsequential crush.”

One that makes her chest hurt every time he smiles at her or casually puts his arm around her shoulders when they go out. One that cause her heart to stutter every time he shows the barest bit of affection towards her, whether it be the easy cheek kisses or sending her stupid baby animal videos because he knows how much she loves them.

Of course, she’s not going to tell Raven that.

Instead she she just takes a healthy sip of her mimosa and pretends to skim through the menu, saying, “You should forfeit the bet though.”

“Right, and let Bellamy win?” she scoffs. “Not a chance in hell.”

“I can get him to forfeit too,” she shoots back, “Just… just end things and let him shave. Most days when I come home I have to make sure it’s him and not some weird homeless person who snuck on to our couch.”

“What, the beard isn’t doing it for you?” she snickers at her own joke and then her jaw drops when Clarke averts her gaze, blushing. “Oh my god! You’re totally into his shitty beard!”

“Keep your voice down!” she hisses at her, glancing at the other patrons dining alongside them. No one has seemed to notice Raven’s odd outburst, but she’s started laughing again, this time harder than before and it’s only a matter of time before they start getting weird looks in their direction. Clarke wonders if it would be possible to choke her with a soup spoon.

“I can’t believe you’re into his terrible attempts at facial hair,” she snorts. “Now I really know you’re in love with him.”

“Raven.”

“What? It’s true. I’ll admit that Blake is definitely a pretty boy on his good days, but that thing sends his good looks down a few points. You must really be head over ass for him to still be swooning.”

“You are a terrible, terrible person,” she tells her, right as their appetizers come.

She just leans over and steals a cherry tomato from her plate, flashing her a shark like grin. “Whatever. At least I’m not the one with a beard kink.”

Another week passes and Bellamy still doesn’t shave his beard.

It’s still patchy and objectively terrible, and it reminds her of those douchey frat boys from college who never used to wear anything but muscle tanks and shorts, but Clarke can’t decide if she’s happy they’re into the final week of the world’s most stupid bet, or upset that it’s ending soon.

(There might have been some truth behind Raven’s statement.)

In her defence, it’s not like she knew. She’s still not sure if this qualifies as a general thing or a ‘stupid on everyone but Bellamy’ thing.

She’s always been conscious of her reactions towards him, trying not to show too much of a reaction whenever he touches her, but now she can’t help the small shiver that runs down her spine at the rasp of stubble against her skin when he presses a kiss to her cheek or forehead. She also can’t help but imagine what that would feel like rubbing elsewhere on her body.

It doesn’t help that the beard thing acts in tandem with the whole ‘Bellamy on break’ vibe that also really does it for her. During the school term he’s all cool professionalism, dress shirts and ties and semi neat hair which, yeah, that’s nice because she thinks about ways she can get him to break that composure, but when he’s on break, it’s another story entirely.

This Bellamy wears his glasses instead of contacts, and seems to throw away all his combs as soon as the final bell rings. He grows out his hair until it’s shaggy and covers his ears while wearing sweats and too tight, too thin t shirts that remind her just how stupidly ripped her best friend is.

(It’s also a bad thing that he’s home so often now, because that means she can’t ah… do anything about it without the fear of getting caught.)

If it was possible to die from sexual frustration, Clarke would have been six feet under by now.

“This is all your fault,” she tells Raven on the phone one night.

He’s not home for once, instead at the store since they ran out of milk and neither of them remembered to pick it up last time they bought groceries.

“I could have just lived blissfully unaware with only a mild amount of frustration, but no,” she groans, “You just had to make that bet with Bellamy.”

“Honestly, if this bet manages to get you two to pull your heads out of your asses and jump each other, then it would have been worth it,” she replies, and then hangs up while Clarke is still spluttering on the other end, because all her friends are assholes .

In the end, she decides that the best thing for her to do is to try her best to avoid Bellamy until the bet is over. It’s only six more days; she’s pretty sure she can do that without raising too much suspicion.

And it works…

… until the fourth day when she has the day off.

She planned it out last night; she’ll get up right as he leaves for his morning run and then by the time he comes back she should be ready to go. Clarke has managed to convince herself that since it’s the start of summer she’s due for a wardrobe overhaul. She’ll be spending the day at the mall away from Bellamy and his stupid beard and stupid muscles and stupid smirk.

At least, that was the initial plan.

Instead, she wakes up late and burns her finger on the coffee machine while trying to brew a fresh pot, and Bellamy walks in, all sweaty and gorgeous, while she keeps up a steady stream of swears as she runs cold water over it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, frowning.

“Just fucking peachy,” she snaps and shuts off the water, slipping her finger in her mouth to suck on.

He continues to stare at her, eyes clouded in confusion, and she sighs. “I just burnt my finger. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“There’s burn cream in the first aid kit,” he says before grabbing the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. It gives her a good look at his abs and she has to bite back a groan because of course. The universe just loves to taunt her.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she waves him off, turning away so she wouldn’t have to look at him much longer. “It’s minor.”

“Okay.” He still sounds unsure, and when she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he’s frowning at her the same way he does when he comes across a particularly hard crossword puzzle.

“What?”

He jerks slightly, dropping his eyes. “Nothing,” he says, reaching into the fridge and grabbing his nalgene. She always tells him to take it with him when he runs lest he gets dehydrated and he always forgets it in the fridge. “It’s just- is everything okay?”

She frowns at him, stirring sugar into her coffee. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been kind of distant lately.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise,” she says lightly, not meeting his eyes.

Bellamy sidles up next to her and bumps his hip into hers. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s the beard isn’t it?” he continues, and she almost chokes on her coffee. “It’s made me so unattractive that you can’t bear to be in the same room with me anymore, huh?”

It’s definitely the opposite but she’s not about to tell him that. Instead she pats his shoulder and says, “You can rest assured that the beard didn’t do too much damage to your pretty boy rep.”

“Well so long as it’s not too much,” he teases, and she shoves him away.

He refills the nalgene and slips it back on the fridge door before taking out a crate of eggs for breakfast. Clarke sighs internally and grabs another mug, pouring a cup for him too. There’s no way that she could escape to her room now, not when he’s already cracking eggs and whisking them up for two.

When she’s digging around the fridge for the half of avocado she could have sworn she put back in here last night, he asks, “So do you like the beard?”

She almost drops the stick of butter she’s holding in her hands.

“Um,” she says, “It’s nice I guess.”

He hums in response and sprinkles a bit of cheese on the eggs he has sizzling in the pan. “Do you think I should continue to let it grow after I win this thing with Raven on Saturday?”

“No,” she answers before he’s even finished speaking.

Bellamy glances at her, a faint pout on his lips. “So you don’t like the beard.”

She takes a deep breath. “I like it, I just think it should be a, you know, one time thing.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Trust me,” she mutters under her breath, passing him the plates, “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Right.”

“Shut up and give me my eggs.”

They eat breakfast with no further mention of his beard and Clarke’s feelings towards it, and after he helps her clear up, he disappears, presumably to take a shower while Clarke does the dishes.

Saturday can’t come fast enough, she thinks as she lets the sink fill up with warm soapy water. Once this whole bet thing is over things can go back to normal where she’s just pining for him and not wondering how his head would feel between her thighs like this. She quickly pushes that thought out of her mind and focuses on the task at her hand. She’s so busy furiously scrubbing a stain on the plate that she doesn’t notice Bellamy walk back in until he’s right behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“You know,” he says, ignoring her squeak and the water that sloshes out onto the floor, “I thought you were ignoring me because you really hated the beard.”

“I just told you that that’s not true,” she says, her voice wavering only just a bit.

“I know,” he nods, and his beard drags against her skin, making her bite her lip to stop from whimpering. “I think you like it.”

“Again, I just told you that,” she says, feeling her heartbeat pick up.

“No Clarke,” he says, and deliberately rubs against the sensitive skin behind her ear. This time she can’t hold back the shiver that makes its way down her spine and there’s no doubt in her mind that he notices, pressed up against her like that. “I think you really, really like it.”

He presses a featherlight kiss- a question more than anything else- to the junction of her neck and shoulder. When she doesn’t stop him, he continues, pressing small kisses up the side of her neck as her breath comes in rapid pants, coarse hair dragging along her skin. The tiny pricks of pain fan an entirely new kind of heat within her, and she finds herself grasping the edge of the counter, knuckles bone white.

The last of her resolve crumbles away when he latches onto her pulse point and sucks lightly, and Clarke purrs, turning around to kiss him proper.

He’s smirking when she pulls his head down, lips sliding over each other, but it doesn’t last long, not when she holds his face between her still wet palms and nibbles gently on his bottom lip. The kiss is hot and slow and deep, surprisingly gentle in a way she doesn’t expect, and she can feel his beard abrading her skin, but she doesn’t find herself caring. Instead, she lets one hand creep up the back of his head and twines her fingers in his hair, anchoring him to her.

“You’re such a dick,” she breathes when they finally part, and he laughs, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

“I don’t think that’s how dirty talk works,” he murmurs, hands flexing against her hips. “Try using some other words before ‘dick’ and you might get it right.”

She cuffs his shoulder lightly, even though her smile is absolutely ridiculous. “You’re a huge dick.”

“Still not the right words,” he hums, one hand disappearing up her shirt to press into the small of her back. “Maybe I should show you how it’s done.”

He pulls back to look at her, eyes dark, and another shiver rolls through her. “I’m not protesting,” she says, voice pitched low, and his responding grin is wicked in a way that makes her tummy twist.

“Good,” he says before leaning back in and kissing her, hot and dirty.

She’s breathless by the time he pulls away, but he doesn’t go far, instead pressing sucking kisses down the column of her neck. He doesn’t stop so he can strip her of her tanktop, instead he sucks on one breast through the thin material while he palms the other before switching to repeat the motion on it’s twin, and she moans with it, loud and unashamed.

He continues his path down her sternum, leaving the material damp and sticking against her skin, and when it gets too uncomfortable for him to hunch over, he grabs her hips, lifting her onto the counter.

She squeaks at the sudden movement, and he kisses her again to make up for it.

“A little warning might be nice next time,” she grouses, tapping his jaw.

He grabs her hand before she can pull it away and presses a kiss to the tips of her fingers, surprisingly sweet. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he says, and then drops to his knees and making her breath catch.

Her fingers tangle in his hair on their own accord, and Bellamy kisses her kneecap before skimming up her body. This time he tugs up her shirt up a little bit so that he could press little open mouthed kisses to her belly while he rubs his fingers in the crease where her hip meets her thigh. It’s not exactly where she wants him, and she keeps on trying to tilt her hips to get him there, but his grip remains steady, edging her anticipation higher and higher. Clarke’s muscles quiver when he presses a kiss to her core, and his name might have slipped past her lips in some variant of plea.

Bellamy pulls back and looks up at her, eyes dark and wanting, and skin flushed a nice rose colour. She can’t help but think that he makes for a pretty picture like this; on his knees before her, staring at her as though she’s the only thing he can see at the moment.

“Warning, I am about to go down on you,” he snarks, and she swats his shoulder.

“Ass.”

“You asked for a warning!” He rubs his cheek against her thigh, hands curling into the waistband of her sleep shorts. “Besides, you like me,” he says, and then tugs both her shorts and panties off in one fluid movement, leaving her bare for him. He rubs his thumb gently along her slit, spreading the moisture around and looks up at her, smirking. “You really like me.”

She thinks about kicking him but then he finally puts his mouth on her and all coherent thought flies out of her head.

Clarke has thought about this for an embarrassingly long time, conjuring up every scenario. If he would be fast and unrelentless, getting her off so many times she can’t see straight, or if he would take his time, gentle touches that build it up until she’s shaking. She always used to assume that Bellamy would be good at head, and it’s nice to have that validated.

“Fuck,” she breathes as his tongue drags determinedly against her. He hitched her legs over his shoulders and now every time he moves she can feel the biting rasp of facial hair against her over sensitive skin, making her gasp.

It hurts a little, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The kind that comes with fingertip shaped bruises against someone’s hips, or scratches down a back.

“Good?” he asks, sounding far too smug, and she presses her heel into his back.

“Better if you would shut up,” she says, voice hitching when he lets his teeth graze over her clit.

He rubs his chin against her inner thigh again, deliberate. “Bossy,” he says, but he must listen to her as he doesn’t say anything else, just continues licking and sucking and rubbing and smirking while she babbles incoherently above him.

He’s such a fucking smug asshole, but he’s a fucking smug asshole who knows what he’s doing because soon enough she’s writhing with the need to come, just a chant of Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy, falling from her lips until he takes her clit into his mouth and sucks, sending the world around her shattering as she rides it out, his tongue slowly bringing her back down with little kitten licks, rubbing a soothing palm over her hip.

“Good?” he asks again, and she rolls her eyes, even as she remains half slumped on the counter and panting. She can practically see his ego inflating in size.

“You know what you’re doing I guess,” she says grudgingly, as though he didn’t just make her scream out in their kitchen.

“I’ll take it,” he snorts, wiping his face on the back of his hand as he stands up.

Her legs lock around his waist before he can get too far, and pulls him towards her. He comes willingly, still smirking, and she kisses him, sloppy and little a messy, but he seems to get the gist of it.

“Your beard is still really dumb,” she whispers, taking his earlobe between her teeth and tugging.

“Funny, you weren’t complaining about it just now,” he says, his hand trailing down her buddy to tweak her clit. It causes her to twitch and she sinks blunt teeth into into his neck.

“No I wasn’t,” she allows, before cupping him in her hand, hard and warm through the fabric of his running pants. “Now why don’t we take this somewhere else?” she says, voice husky, and she punctuates her sentence with a roll of her hips that leaves him groaning.

She does it again when he lifts her, delighting in the way he groans and how his hands spasms against her, and he almost walks them into a wall.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he tell her, panting harshly when she pushes him down on the bed and straddles his hips.

Clarke kisses him again, soft and sweet, completely at odds in the way she was just manhandling him. “Hopefully not too soon though,” she grins, shoving his shirt up. “There are things I wanna do with you first.”

This time when he groans she’s right there to lick the taste of it out of his mouth.

They meet up with Raven and they on Saturday, just as planned, and she cackles when she spots their linked hands.

“I knew this had to be why you stopped texting me how much you wanted die because of his beard,” she says, poking Clarke’s shoulder.

The other girl just sniffs, lifting her chin. “I could have just been busy doing other things, you know. Not everything has to do with Bellamy.”

He manages to smother a laugh next to her. “So my name is ‘other things’ now?” he murmurs, just low enough for her alone to hear, and she kicks him for good measure.

Okay, so maybe Raven was right. They were just taking advantage of the time before he had to shave it off. She has beard burn across her chest and stomach and thighs to prove it. Hell, she was a wearing a sundress tonight because her skin still felt way too tender to squeeze into jeans. No one is going to believe her.

In an uncharacteristic show of good faith, Raven lets it go, instead pulling a crisp fifty dollar bill from her wallet and handing it over to Bellamy.

“I guess technically you win with that sad excuse of a beard,” she sighs. “Use it to take your girlfriend somewhere nice.”

He pockets it and slings his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “Will do,” he says.

“As long as you shave first,” she pipes up, and Bellamy snorts, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Whatever you want,” he promises, and she links their hands together beneath the table.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #my writing #nai did a thing #prosciuttoe #*jazz hands*

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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The Worst Men’s Fashion Trends Of All Time

http://fashion-trendin.com/the-worst-mens-fashion-trends-of-all-time/

The Worst Men’s Fashion Trends Of All Time

Fashion can be a fickle mistress. She can also be straight-up sadistic. Three-quarter-length trousers, straw hats, Uggs for men, what was she thinking? And what were we thinking for listening to her?

To make matters worse, designers like nothing more than performing Lazarus-like feats, giving a second shot to styles we thought were banished to menswear purgatory until the end of time. But while last summer’s bum bag renaissance (or was it the corduroy comeback?) may have made you regret binning such items in horror all those years ago, there are certain pieces you can dispose of safe in the knowledge they’ll never stand a chance of coming back into fashion.

Cheesy Slogan T-Shirts

Whether or not you’re with stupid, the only thing your T-shirt should tell people is that you’ve got the building blocks of a good wardrobe down to a fine art. While tees with political messages or bold streetwear branding have been trending recently, they shouldn’t open the door for older styles that are supposed to show the world that you’ve got a sense of humour – but actually just advertise the fact you’re a douchebag.

Your rotation of basics doesn’t have to be plain, mind (although it’s never a bad move). Just remember, puns or sexual invites are as inappropriate on your clothing as they would be yelled at strangers in the street. Plus, there’s no such thing as a female body inspector. We checked.

The Fix: Plain Or Printed T-Shirts

Deep V-Neck T-Shirts

If you’re not a washed-up porn star, former Jersey Shore cast member or Cristiano Ronaldo circa 2007, then you’d better have the self-respect to stop short of trussing yourself up in breast-baring slithers of cotton. Deep V-neck T-shirts don’t so much flaunt your gains as bizarrely feminise them – no matter how much of a Lothario you think they make you look.

Instead, stick to classic crew necks and put the Vs (of a less naval-plunging proportion) to work on premium knitwear, whether worn under a suit or solo for a Riviera chic look.

The Fix: V-Neck Knitwear

Square-Toed Shoes

Like Halloween’s Michael Myers, these boxy, clunky, ugly – yes, ugly – excuses for footwear simply refuse to die. We’re not sure (and frankly, don’t care) why they were invented exactly, but despite how ‘smart-casual’ you think they might look, or how comfortable they might be, we appeal to your humanity to chuck yours and save your fellow commuter’s eyes.

Even Gucci tried to make them happen and failed. If a brand that has made billions off something a horse sticks in its mouth can’t make them work, no one can. So, scrap them, and stick to time-honoured footwear styles like classic round-toed Oxfords and Derbies. Your feet will thank you, and so will we.

The Fix: Round-Toed Shoes

The Chin Strap

Shaved most my beard off on Monday, got bullied for it at work on Tuesday, regretted my decision by Wednesday and on Thursday and Friday and Saturday… you get the idea. Granted, Craig David was responsible for some of the biggest tunes of the early 2000s, but ‘7 Days’ and ‘Fill Me In’ will forever be overshadowed by one of the worst facial hair styles in history.

The main issue with David’s pencil-thin chin strap is that a beard should never be shaved along the jawline. You could have a bone structure to cut cheddar on and you’d still end up with a double chin every time you peer down at your phone. Instead, always look to taper under the neck and simply tidy up top rather than create overly harsh lines.

The Fix: A Well-Groomed Beard

Uggs For Men

Forget ‘winners don’t do drugs’. ‘Winners don’t wear Uggs’. Much better rule to live by. Don’t get us wrong, in recent years the Californian brand has produced some rather stylish hiking boots and even a sneaker or two. But these were an out and out abomination.

Ben Affleck, guilty. Ronnie Wood, guilty. Even the usually unlambastable Pharrell Williams, Justin Timberlake and Jaden Smith – guilty, guilty, guilty. You burn the boots, we’ll burn the evidence, and we can all move on with our lives in proper footwear.

The Fix: Hiking Boots

Sagging Jeans

Regardless of how much you can squat, no one wants to see the results bursting out of your denim. Supposedly inspired by the ban on belts in the US prison system, sagging jeans were adopted as an anti-authoritarian statement by LA gangs and hip-hop stars during the 1990s. Unless you’re either, letting your jeans drop below your buttocks is sartorially short-sighted at best, cultural appropriation at worst.

Jeans should sit on your hips to let the legs hang properly against yours, while tailoring should sit nearer your waist to prevent an acre of shirt appearing between your jacket closure and trousers. If your legwear falls down by itself, congratulate yourself on sticking to that cardio regime and promptly reward yourself with some that actually fit.

The Fix: Well-Fitting Jeans

Gap Year Jewellery

Unless you’re Mãori or in a nineties boyband, there’s no excuse for jewellery made from puka shells, beads, pebbles of dubious heritage or fraying strands of rope woven by this amazing Indian spirit healer, who really showed you how to discover yourself. You have a job now. It’s time to let those pre-university days go.

That’s not to say men’s jewellery can’t be stylish. Bracelets, cuffs, necklaces and rings are all fair game. Just choose simple styles that are minimal, lightweight, and act as an extension of your outfit rather than upstage it.

The Fix: Grown-Up Jewellery

Drop-Crotch Trousers

Do you have friends? Do you wish you didn’t? Then why not wear a pair of drop-crotch trousers? The instant illusion of wearing a big, sagging adult-sized nappy on your lower half will ensure you’re never invited to another social gathering ever again. Win.

Of course, we’re not against drapey, easygoing styles altogether (unless they reach flare proportions – more on that later). But the comfort you gain from these wardrobe horrors is nothing that you can’t get from a pair of relaxed-leg trousers. Plus, Bieber likes drop-crotch. Nuff said.

The Fix: Premium Joggers

Oversized Belt Buckles

Freud would probably have had something to say about this. Much like a tank-sized SUV or an extensive air rifle collection, the idea behind a brash and brassy oversized belt buckle is to let everyone know you’re packing. But in reality, it does exactly the opposite – not only exposing your deepest insecurities, but also your godawful sense of style.

Leave the giant eagles, bullhorns and anything equipped with a bottle opener to the wrestling world and downsize your XXL belt buckle to something more run of the mill (solid leather for smart, woven for casual). Not only will your trousers look better, but people will also stop mistaking you for a line dancing instructor. Win-win, really.

The Fix: Understated Belts

Crocs

Crocs are possibly the biggest example of false advertising in the 21st-century. With a name like that, you’d expect something pretty bad-ass, but what you get is foam clogs. Foam. Clogs. No part of this sounds like it’s going to look good, does it?

Frankly, no one cares how good your feet feel in them – unlike the once-maligned Birkenstock sandal, these will never regain their stylish status. Mostly because they never had it in the first place. For something equally lightweight, comfortable and summer-appropriate, try a pair of espadrilles or driving shoes instead.

The Fix: Espadrilles & Drivers

The ‘Going Out’ Shirt

Two common misconceptions are responsible for spawning this fashion monstrosity. The first is that you’re never dressed up without a ‘proper’ collar – for that, we have hoity-toity golf clubs to blame. The second is that you’ll stand a greater chance of pulling if you’re wearing something that stands out – a trick no doubt thought up by some misogynistic pick-up artist. Hence the going out shirt: oversized, obnoxiously printed and unfailingly worn untucked and unbuttoned to the lowest possible chest hair. It’s less a wingman, more sartorial wing-clipping.

Ugliness aside, the main issue is that you don’t need a wardrobe dedicated to ‘going out’. Dress for where you’re heading, not the fact that you’re heading there. We’re already drowning in dress codes. Don’t invent another one for the pub.

The Fix: Pared-Back Smart-Casual

Straw Hats

We’re going to put it out there and say there isn’t a haircut bad enough to warrant wearing a straw fedora on top of your head. Not now. Not ever. Even if your barber was out until 4am and showed up to chop your mop still blind drunk with nothing more than the plastic knife and fork he ate his kebab with. Still no.

You’re not Bruno Mars on the beach. And if you are, get a better hat. Like a baseball cap. Or a bin bag.

The Fix: Baseball Caps

Flares

There will be very few readers of FashionBeans who remember these from the first time round in the 1970s, and (hopefully) only a few misguided enough to try them in bootcut form in the 1990s. But don’t be swayed by the fact that Gucci, Valentino and Raf Simons have all tried to revive the flare in recent years, for they are every bit as terrible today.

Reason #439 why we hope these never come back: the fact that the only way to wear them was with frayed hems dragging on the floor, soaking up rainwater and sweeping up every cigarette butt on the street as you walked. Gross.

The Fix: Straight-Leg Cuts

Three-Quarter Length Trousers

You might think that with the quite literal rise of the mankle, trousers deliberately cut off mid-calf would save you precious minutes cuffing your denim. But rather than hinting that you’re a man so busy he can’t find time for a pinroll, they actually paint you as one wracked by indecision, whose inability to choose between trousers and shorts left him with their bastard child. You’re only one step away from cargo pants with legs that zip off.

There is, of course, a right way to wear cropped trousers. The key is that no one should mistake them for long shorts. A slightly relaxed, rather than calf-hugging cut, which ends just above the ankle, lets you flash your trainers without looking like you’ve been bathing in Miracle Grow.

The Fix: Cropped Trousers

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