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fayes-fics · 6 months ago

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Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?”

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together.

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later,

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin.

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high.

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit.

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular.

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls.

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being.

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

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austinbutlerslovers · 27 days ago

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The Chase

Label Mature 18+

🎃 Kinktober One Shot

Summary Benny Cross chases you through the streets on his motorcycle but once he catches you the fun really begins.

🧡Depraved Smut🧡 Dubcon• fingering •P in V• orgasm 🔗 Master List

🎂 Happy Birthday @austinbutlerfly 🎂 (have a fun day ☺️) 📖 Proof reader @purejasmine

@megangovier Thank you so much it’s perfect for October 🧡

The Chase

The autumn night air is filled with excitement, the streets of Chicago alive for a parade. People are cheering and laughing, their voices rising in excitement as the floats glide by.

But you have no interest in the light festivities, you are looking for a different kind of thrill.

You move swiftly through the crowded sidewalks, dodging groups of people, the cool breeze biting at your skin.

The music fills the air loudly as people clap along, but you keep your head down, weaving through the chaos.

You walk into a crowded diner, the smell of fries and coffee filling the air as the usual crowd bustles in and out.

You go straight to the jukebox, flipping through the vinyls trying to make a selection—and that’s when you see him the moment he walks in.

—Benny Cross

He was impossible to miss, all swagger and confidence, his leather jacket on his broad shoulders like a second skin.

The jean vest he wore over his jacket wasn’t just for show either—it bore the unmistakable insignia of his biker crew, the Vandals.

They were infamous in Chicago, the name carrying weight in each corner of the city, and everyone knew to keep their head down as he walked past.

But Benny was the kind of trouble you couldn’t ignore—handsome in a way that made you look twice, and tonight, that trouble set his eyes directly on you.

He scanned the diner as he came in, looking at you for just a moment, a slow, knowing smile on his lips.

And that was all it took.

Maybe it was the challenge, or maybe it was just the way his eyes lingered on you for that one moment, but you were mesmerized.

You should’ve left well enough alone, you should’ve looked away, but something in you couldn’t help it—the thrill, the danger, the way Benny Cross made your heart race.

So as you walk past him, you make sure to bump into him, casual enough not to raise suspicion but just enough to get close.

Your hand slips into his back pocket with a practiced ease, your fingers curling around the leather of his wallet. He doesn’t notice, not immediately anyway—because who would ever steal from Benny Cross?

By the time you walk was past him, its already in your jacket, your heart pounding.

You dont look back. You couldn’t.

You know you shouldn’t have done it, but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is you got away with getting your quick thrill… or so you thought.

The parade has just ended, and the streets are littered with streamers and confetti, the crowd slowly dispersing as people head home in small groups, their laughter and voices carrying into the night.

-That’s when you hear it.

The echo of Benny’s motorcycle roaring through the streets behind you, the engine a low, menacing growl that cuts right through the cool October air.

Your heartbeat quickens—because you know he’s figured it out and you know exactly what he wants now.

-He’s after you!

Without warning, you break into a sprint, quickly weaving through clusters of people, your breaths coming in fast, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You can hear Benny’s bike as he tracks you and he’s getting close—too close.

And that’s when you realize you’ve run too far ahead of the crowd, singling yourself out.

—Bad luck.

Benny spots you right away, the sound of his bike engine revving kicks your adrenaline into overdrive.

Gasping for breath you see an alley ahead and push your self faster, your heart pounding against your ribs as you dash in.

You’re trying to put as much distance between you and Benny as possible, but his engine only grows louder and you throw a glance over your shoulder to be sure.

—Bad idea.

Benny is right there, his eyes locked on you as he leans in on his bike turning into the alley, his headlight illuminating your every move.

He isn’t just catching up—he’s on you!

Every time the bike revs, it sends a jolt of panic through you the sound echoing loudly off the alley walls pushing you forward, making your heart hammer even harder in your chest.

You exhale, glancing around desperately for some escape route.

Ahead, the alley narrows, the walls closing in, dumpsters and crates forming an obstacle in your path and you know he won’t be able to follow you through on that bike.

You easily weave through the clutter, your breaths coming in quick as you do.

But just as you clear the blockage, the sound of his engine cuts abruptly, and you hear the heavy thud of his boots hitting the pavement.

—He’s coming after you on foot!

Benny Cross is running full-speed at you, his footsteps pounding against the pavement, and he’s much faster than you, he’s right behind you!

“Hey fucking stop!” he shouts, his voice dark with malice, the sound cutting through the alley.

Your chest is heaving, your veins going cold with dread seeing the alley closing to a dead end.

Your hand goes into your pocket, feeling the wallet you’d taken, wondering if it was all worth it now.

Before you can make another move, Bennys hand grips the collar of your jacket, yanking you back. You stumble forward gasping for breath, as his other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him.

“I said stop!” Benny yells, turning and pushing you against the cold brick wall of the alley.

His body cages you in, his grip firm and unrelenting as his steely blue eyes burn with a fierce anger, making it clear he isn’t letting you get away.

“What do you think you’re doing, hm?” he asks, his eyes searching your face in the dim lighting.

Your chest is heaving, still trying to catch your breath, and you don’t even answer, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through you, your pulse thundering in your ears.

There’s a shift in his expression as he looks at you, his intrigue growing as his gaze lingers on your features and then his eyes slowly trail down your body.

His hand reaches into your jacket pocket, fingers brushing against yours as he pulls his stolen wallet from your grasp, his gaze lingering intensely as he holds it up between you.

“You thought you could get away with this?” he asks, his voice laced with intrigue as he returns it securely to his back pocket.

You shoot him a defiant look, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Maybe …I wasn’t trying to get away,” you retort, your breath catching feeling a wave of heat flood through you having him so close.

He’s pressed against you, the scent of leather and a faint trace of smoke clinging to him, making him even more intoxicating.

“What were you trying to do then?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, his gaze deepening as it sweeps over you, taking in every small reaction.

You look up at him, your face flushed as your lips part, because in the midst of everything, the truth is undeniable—you are drawn to him—irresistibly attracted to his danger in every way, and now you have him.

He catches it, that spark of attraction, his eyes shifting with a subtle recognition as the tension between you changes into a different kind of charge.

His gaze lingers on your parted lips as you hesitate to answer and a slow knowing grin spreads across his face.

He leans in close, so close that his lips brush the shell of your ear. “The next time you want my attention,” he whispers, the words slow, savoring the moment as his grip on your jacket loosens “…just ask for it.”

His words hit you like a spark to kindling, igniting a rush of heat that spreads through your entire body. His attention is exactly what you want.

His eyes lock with yours now fully aware of the effect he has on you and his fingers lightly begin to trail down your body with an agonizing slowness.

His touch is soft, almost intimate, as his hand glides down to your waist but it carries the weight of his dominance—an unspoken reminder that he’s caught you and isn’t about to let you forget it.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, your heart racing in your chest as his hand lingers, just barely grazing your side, the contact sending sparks of heat through you.

“I should be mad,” he muses, sliding his thumb along your waist, testing the limits of how far he can push.

“But I think I like the way you play,” he reveals, his fingertips slipping into the waist band of your skirt.

His touch is confident and knowing, making it impossible to ignore his intentions, and the way he looks at you makes it clear—he’s in control, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

You bite your lip, the urge to lean into his touch becoming overwhelming as a surge of adrenaline rushes through you reminding you of the chase that led you here.

“You like playing with danger?” he asks, his voice low, his gaze flicking down to your lips and back to your eyes, and the way he looks at you tells you everything you need to know.

—He’s going to take what he wants.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your lips as he says, “Well, now you’ve got it,” his voice rough and heavy with need and you don’t even try to stop him as he leans in, his lips claiming yours in a hard, possessive kiss.

His other hand dips to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him and you gasp against his mouth as his hand slips lower, his fingers grazing your panties as if daring you to deny him.

“You should’ve known better,” he whispers against your lips, his voice dark and intense. “Taking what’s mine… this is what happens.” He confirms his hand gliding lower.

You barely have time to react before his fingers push their way into your panties. The alley beyond you becoming nothing but a blur as his fingers thrust into you rough and urgent, like he can’t get enough.

His mouth moves to your neck, trailing hot kisses along your skin as he thrusts them even harder inside you, the slick wetness coating his fingers.

You let out a low moan, feeling how soaked you are as the pressure builds between your thighs, his touch igniting something deep and uncontrollable within you.

“You like getting caught?” he rasps, his voice low and taunting, his breath hot and heavy against your ear and his fingers thrust faster, relentless now, his control slipping as his own need takes over.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp, the word barely a whisper, almost lost in the rush of sensation overwhelming you.

“I thought so,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, his fingers thrusting faster bringing you close to the edge.

“Gonna teach you a lesson about me” he says with a rough grip pulling your thigh up and pressing you harder against the brick wall, his body closing the space between you.

“You’re gonna take this lesson well,” he rasps as his other hand moves quickly, yanking down his zipper.

In one swift motion, he pulls your panties aside, his fingers slipping away, only to be replaced by the hard urgent tip of his cock.

You cry out as he pushes into you with one powerful thrust. He’s raw and unyielding—his pace rushed as his body claims yours without hesitation.

A moan rises in your throat, your breath quickening as your muscles tighten around him. Each thrust igniting a fire in you as he takes control.

“You wanna take something from me?... I’ll give you something to take,” he whispers against your ear, his voice dark and teasing.

With a sudden forceful thrust, he drives into you harder, pressing you firmly against the rough brick wall and a loud moan escapes your lips, as the pleasure floods through you.

The heat of him, the roughness of him, the way his lips claim yours again—it all blurs together until you can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the way he makes you feel.

The tension coils tighter and tighter within you until his intensity is consuming every thought, every breath.

Before you know it, you begin to orgasm, your face pressing to his shoulder as desperate cries escape your lips feeling the waves of pleasure over take you.

Your inner walls tighten on his cock pulsing with each thrust, and you begin to loudly moan against him drawing him in deeper as you ride out the high.

Benny groans from his chest as he pulls out, his grip tightening on your hip.

His other hand wraps around his cock, roughly stroking it as he comes hard, his release spilling in thick streams along the alley way floor.

For a long moment, neither of you move, breaths still heavy and uneven as you come down from the intensity of the moment.

Benny leans back slightly, as he catches his breath. A smug grin on his lips as if he’s just won some kind of prize.

His fingers linger on your waist for just a second longer, as if to remind you he could take more if he wanted.

Then with a satisfied smile, he leans close, his lips grazing your ear.

“Next time you think of taking something from me you better ask first.” He whispers as he tucks his cock away in his jeans. “Or you better be ready to handle the consequences.” He adds with a wicked grin.

His words are a challenge, laced with danger and excitement, making your pulse race as you feel the weight of his promise linger in the air between you.

As you begin to straighten your skirt he steps back, that same easy confidence in his stride as he heads back toward his motorcycle.

He gives you one last look as he kick starts the engine, his grin still firmly in place, the silent promise in his eyes.

The intensity of his gaze makes it clear—he’s daring you to push him, and you know he’s more than ready to make you pay for it.

The roar of his engine echoes down the alley as he rides off, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding in your chest, and you bite your lip as you watch him go, knowing full well this isn’t the last time you’ll make Benny Cross chase after you.

🎃 End 🎃

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️Always Tag Me List @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @lindszeppelin @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @magicovento @umika @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @psycheetamore @aust-een @faegoddessog @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @feralgodmothers @finley-08 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @ifuckindontknow @kaelatargaryen @darknightmareobject

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List @ashelybutler @landlockedmermaid77 @jvanilly @oceanablue @12joeywheelerfangirl @presley1992 @rose-deathman @sillylittlethrowaway @lillypink @faephoria @fallout-girl219

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ghcstao3 · 13 days ago

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(cw mcd but not in like? a sad way? bittersweet/ambiguous ending at worst but it’s overall hopeful and happy i swear)

(also cw for descriptions of death/dying. not very graphic)

Simon Riley dies alone, buried six feet deep in a Mexican desert. He had scrabbled at his coffin lid until his fingers were raw and bloody and stuck with splinters, then there had been a growing tightness in his chest, and then there had been nothing.

A month ago, Manuel Roba had made the mistake of leaving another soldier buried with the rotted corpse of their former CO, and they had escaped, just barely, with the help of a broken jawbone—until, of course, they were shot point blank once the soil loosened, because Manuel Roba would never be far.

So Simon does not get the same opportunity. Simon does not get to succeed in getting out.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Wanders until he comes upon a town whose name he can’t quite discern in the strange, phantasmal distortion that clouds his senses. But he can hear the buzz of chatter and music, feel the emotion of bodies alive, and so he decides to stay in this unnamed town, wandering, at least until his undetermined eternity runs out.

John MacTavish dies alone, in a Mexican town by the name of Las Almas. He had fought tooth and nail to survive, until blood loss had made him too sluggish, then there had been a second bullet, and then there had been nothing.

No one had predicted Graves and Shepherd’s betrayal, and it had stung. Then with Rodolfo nowhere to be found, Alejandro captured, and no one to help with his escape, John had been left on his own, with nothing. He had nothing to staunch the bleeding of the bullet wound in his bicep, had no weapons to protect himself from the droves of Shadows roaming Alejandro and Rodolfo’s home town, had no way of knowing the church would not serve as sufficient refuge.

He killed the Shadow sitting in wait, but not before they managed to lodge a bullet in his abdomen, and he had realized, then, that it was hopeless to think he could still get out. So, with what little was left of his strength and adrenaline, John deposited the Shadow outside, barricaded himself in, and slumped into a rickety pew until the world faded from around him.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Las Almas becomes John’s home, though it always remains unfamiliar through the otherworldly haze that dilutes his senses. They’re a strong people here, and they rebuild after the Shadows’ brief but cruel rampage, and it’s enough for John, feeling infected by their resilience, to be satisfied with spending the rest of his unknown eternity floating through the town.

At first, neither Simon nor John understand how or why they meet.

It isn't as if they are the only two spirits roaming Las Almas—really, the town is chock full of ghosts, as are most towns and cities and even individual buildings, but paths seldom cross. The afterlife is lonesome, and though it really isn't so terrible, that isolation is only inherent to the nature of death, and so it truly shouldn't be possible that they should ever encounter one another.

And yet, one night—a date they are both unsure of, as time becomes mostly indecipherable once departed from the land of the living—it’s like that fog disappears, that veil lifts, and suddenly the world has become clear once more, clear like both John and Simon had forgotten.

Las Almas seems to be brimming with more life than usual, music and dancing, food and gatherings. John is in awe—despite the festivities, however, he’s also filled with a profound sense of melancholy, mourning everything he’s missed since his passing; since his perception had been reduced to something murky, like he was underwater, looking up and hearing sounds but never quite able to make any of it out. He doesn’t know how long this might last, so he takes advantage of every second—that’s how he eventually stumbles upon Simon Riley.

Simon—he’s heard of Día de los Muertos before, but never quite understood the tradition. His experiences in Mexico were limited, culturally and otherwise, and so it comes as a surprise when he finally feels like he’s living again—but walking through Las Almas, as he finally learns its name, it only takes seeing some ofrendas and listening into conversations to understand what this is, and that it’s only temporary. He is not really a physical being anymore, but he can at least pretend like he is, and that’s how he eventually comes across John MacTavish.

John feels lost, though he’s been haunting these streets for some time now. He spots Simon hanging back in the shadows, notices for the first time that’s it’s someone actually looking at him, not through or past him, and he all but runs up to the man, afraid that if he were to take too long, John might lose his only chance at company.

“You can see me,” John says, breathless.

“I can see you,” the man agrees, the weight of his gaze solid and unwavering.

John wishes to melt alongside the honey-gold flecks in the man’s warm, brown irises, and endeavours to memorize their colour in case he should never get this opportunity again.

“Are you also…?”

A curt nod. “I am.”

John shifts awkwardly. “Do you know what—“

“Day of the Dead,” says the man, not unkindly, though he isn’t necessarily being friendly, either. Obviously, he’s not one for talking—that, or he’s gotten too used to being alone. John doesn’t really care either way. “That’s why there’s so many… people.”

Spirits, the man means, just like the two of them. John feels stupid for not having noticed sooner, and feels his face tingle with a blush. It’s odd, realizing that that’s something he missed about being alive.

“So…” John drums his fingers on either of his thighs, the only thing he’s been able to touch all evening. “You come here often?”

When the man barks out a laugh, John thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, dead and alive. He hopes, somehow, some way, to carry it with him throughout the remainder of his non-existence, however long that may be.

“Are you really hitting on me?” The man asks with incredulity, smiling, and John feels a grin growing on his own face, involuntary and so very welcome.

John shrugs. “Why not?” He surely looks like an idiot right now. He honestly thought he’d forgotten how to smile. “Didn’t think I had any loved ones here, but guess I was wrong.”

It’s dumb and cheesy but John guesses that it works, because suddenly he’s learning the other spirit’s name is Simon, and suddenly Simon is asking if Johnny would like to take a walk with him, and suddenly John finds himself saying yes.

So they wander aimlessly, chat about everything and nothing, and it’s nice, so nice, to get to feel like they’re real again. Even bittersweet as it is, once the sun starts to rise and crowds seem to thin, and John realizes he can’t quite recall the colour of Simon’s eyes anymore.

It’s in a church, the church, where they finally decide to settle and accept the inevitable. Simon still doesn’t understand why they also got to reunite with the living while being strangers to Las Almas, but he doesn’t voice this concern, instead choosing to focus on imagining the warmth of John’s presence beside him as the world starts to fade again, piece by piece.

“I think I’ve been ready for a while now. To move on,” Simon murmurs, staring ahead at the altar, the swathes of glowing candles. “If that’s even how this works. I think I’m just… afraid of what else there might be.”

“I’m not sure,” John admits. He wishes he were able to lean his head on Simon’s shoulder, or intertwine their fingers. “I’ve never thought about it. Don’t think it’d be so bad.”

They’ve only known one another for a few hours, certainly, but John can still sense Simon’s inner turmoil as he nods and hums and stares off into the distance. John wonders if, maybe in another life, they might’ve had a proper chance to have a thousand more conversations before this one. A proper chance to actually build something between them before they find themselves clinging to the dregs of almost-corporeality, just wishing for more time, or maybe something better entirely.

“I’ll go with you,” John adds unthinkingly, feeling his phantom heartbeat jumping in pace. “I don’t really have anything to stay for. That way we’d at least have something familiar.”

“I don’t know if I’d call you familiar,” Simon teases, a faint smile on his lips. “But I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” John says. “Because I wasn’t really giving you a choice.”

Simon laughs quietly, and John grasps desperately onto the sound as he closes his eyes and allows himself to be submerged again. When he opens his eyes, as he expected, the world is as it was before, blurry and distant and incomprehensible.

But this time, it isn’t nearly as lonely.

#since i had no halloween post this year #slightly early little bit of día de los muertos :)#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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sodapopwrites · 1 month ago

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a ballad of flame and shadow part one

images are not mine! all artwork credits go to termesart for their beautiful drawings!

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

series summary - what's easier to love? a crackling flame or a spiraling shadow? rhysand's sister, emissary of the night court, finds herself delving into her feelings for the seventh son of the high lord of the autumn court while pushing aside something possibly deeper she feels for the night courts infamous spymaster.

chapter summary - before amarantha's party, the emissary of the night court, rhysand's sister, seeks out her lover in the spring court in an attempt to issue a warning of what's to come. she finds a small comfort in his warmth much to the disapproval of her family back home, especially a certain shadowsinger.

word count - 1.6k

read the rest of the series here!

Music floated through the air around her. Fae danced around her in whooshes of color and laughter. She observed the festivities raging around her with a cool separation.

Her black dress a sharp contrast to the bursts of color covering every person and every inch of her surroundings. The bottom of her dress swished around her ankles with every warm spring breeze. The glittering blue embroidery is a sharp contrast to the sweet pastels adoring the clothes of the revelers.

Every inch of her out of place.

She heard her name wrapped in an all too familiar voice.

Cinnamon and crackling flames. The smell wafted towards her like ember red leaves falling to the ground. She straightened her spine, a small show of composure. She felt him before she saw him. At her back, his breath fanning across the side of her neck as he leant down to whisper in her ear.

“I never knew shadows celebrated the summer solstice.”

She turned slowly, facing him at last.

Lucien Vanserra.

Small braids weaved their way through the fiery river of hair flowing over his shoulders. His eyes glitter with something roguish as he watches her eyes flit from his hair, across the planes of his chest, and down the tall expanse of him, before coming back up to meet his gaze.

“I’m here on business.”

“So you came to spoil the fun.”

She let her eyes roll before her hand came up to pull on one of his carefully woven braids. She twirled it between her fingers.

“Who said emissary business can’t be fun?”

He leaned down, closer to her now than he should be. The tip of his nose just brushed hers. His lips mere millimeters away from her own. It was like they shared one breath.

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

The music of the celebrations outside were muted against the windows. An easy quiet flowed through the room as he watched her dress. Slowly pulling the straps of her dress back over her shoulders. She flipped her hair away from her face and he let himself be mesmerized by the way the curls, black like shadow, tumbled down her back. He stretched his arms over his head and let them settle there. Content to watch her flit around his room trying to find her shoes. A small smile snaked its way across his face as he watched her grow more frustrated in her search.

He leaned down and picked a silver slipper from the ground next to his bed. He let it dangle from one finger.

“Looking for this?”

She turned to him and let out a huff of irritation. She grabbed for her lost shoe but missed as he moved his hand a little further. Losing her balance she fell across his chest and he used his free arm to pin her.

“So what was the business you came to discuss with me?”

She glared at him, still reaching for her shoe. Realizing it was a losing battle she gave up and slumped against him, maybe even letting herself savor the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth of it.

“My brother wishes to meet with Tamlin”

Lie.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for explanation.

“Is he going to try to kill him again?”

She scoffed and pushed away from him, “You really do know nothing Lucien Vanserra”

He winced at the name, the harshness with which she said it.

“Don’t”

A small warning. Don’t inflict his family name on him. The reminder of it a petty way to rip him from the sanctuary of the moment. A flicker of guilt lit behind her rib cage and she let the haughty draw of her shoulders fall.

“Rhysand just wishes to issue a…warning.”

Lie. She had come of her own volition. Wanting to warn Lucien and only Lucien about what her brother thought was to come.

“A warning?”

She looked at him. Tight lipped. A small crease in her brow. And he just couldn’t help himself. He reached up and smoothed that crease with his thumb. A feather light touch that seared its way into her skin.

“The war may be over, but there are still enemies to be dealt with. People who we shouldn’t be so willing to put our trust in.”

“You sound just like him,” Lucien sighed, “Always telling me not to put trust in anyone.”

The crease returned. The comparison to Tamlin sending a spark of rage down her spine. The knowledge that Tamlin knew exactly what Lucien got up to every time she visited sent a churning to her gut that she couldn’t bring herself to calm.

“So why trust me?”

Her words came out softer than she’d intended. Like she was asking some unspoken question. He smiled, brushing an inky strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ve always had a bad habit of letting myself get distracted by beautiful things.”

The playful glimmer in his eye contrasted sharply with her serious expression. He sighed and handed her the shoe still dangling between his finger tips.

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

Her family was scattered around the lower level of Rhysand’s townhouse. Mor and Amren sitting in the dining room pouring over some books and whispering to each other. Cassian, Azriel, and the high lord himself lounging in the living room.

She tried her best to slide into the room unnoticed.

Late.

She had missed dinner and she had no good alibi.

She prayed no questions would be flung her way as she slid onto the couch, tucking herself under Cassian’s arm. The shadowsinger found her eyes first. They flitted over her form, studying it for anything even slightly out of place. His eyes narrowed as he took her in and his shadows curled tighter around his forearms.

Rhysand didn’t bother to look up from his stack of papers and sent a bored question her way,

“Where have you been?”

She shrugged and watched Azriel shift in his seat in what could have been discomfort. Cassian saw it too, the way his friend tried to hide his annoyance at her absence. He wore a wicked grin as he turned towards her, leaning into her, and mumbling,

“New perfume?”

She looked up at him confused for a second, “Excuse me?”

“You smell faintly of…” Cassian rolled the word around on his tongue, “autumn”.

Rhys looked up at this and studied his sister. Cassian’s insinuation rippled through the room.

“Again?” Rhys kept that bored tone, something else behind it now though.

“I was working,” She said, clipped and stern. Not wanting the conversation to continue. But Rhysand pushed forward,

“I didn’t send you anywhere.”

“And since when am I not allowed to do things of my own volition?”

Azriel let out what could only be described as a snort. When she whipped her head towards him there was no humor in his eyes. The small laugh disapproving more than anything else.

“What?”

She was getting defensive now that the shadowsinger deigned to be involved in this discussion. He shook his head at her,

“What exactly were you working on?” His question came out cold and quiet. His shadows creeped towards her as if they could pry the information from her. Cassian laughed. A real laugh.

“She was working Lucien Vanserra.”

She cast an annoyed glare at his crude statement.

“I’m sorry when did my personal affairs become the business of this court?”

Amren’s voice floated from the dining room now, “More like the entertainment of this family.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at the males in front of her. Challenging.

“It’s unprofessional is it not?” Azriel pointed the question more towards Rhysand than to her. “Emotional entanglements.”

“And who are you to say it’s an emotional entanglement? Maybe it’s just someone to get tangled in.”

He winced at the sharpness of her words. The innuendo behind them. She tried not to note how it bothered him, how deeply it seemed to bother him. He shook it off fast though.

“Because I know you.”

Rhysand strained his neck, trying to make eye contact with Mor, trying to get her to come interrupt this conversation. She would not look at him, choosing this time to not get involved.

His friend and his sister glared at each other still. Azriel using his face of stone cold disinterest as a weapon against her. Waiting for her to push at some unspoken boundary. She broke the silence first. Her tone withering.

“Since when do you care who I fuck?”

Rhysand grimaced. Not particularly caring to hear about this aspect of his sisters life. Not particularly happy with whom she chose to share this aspect of her life with. His disdain for Lucien was made evident to her since this whole affair started many years ago. As unsavory as this conversation was he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Azriel, waiting for his friend’s response, waiting to see how far the spymaster was willing to push his sister.

“I don’t”

Azriel’s answer was quiet and laced with some sort of simmering contempt. He leaned back in his chair, signalling and end to his involvement in this semi pointless discussion. His response washed over her exactly the way he had intended. A wave of cold. Triggering a pounding dissapointment in her. She hadn’t really realized how she had leaned closer to him while they sparred. The embarrassment of it hit her as she let herself fall back into Cassian, let his arm snake its way around her shoulders again. She didn’t look back at Azriel as she said,

“Good. Cassian is next.”

The warrior beside her pumped his fist in mock victory and exclaimed with teasing tone, “FINALLY”

Before putting his fist down at the first glower from his shadowy brother. Cass shot him a smirk before leaning down to her to very audibly whisper,

“I’m free anytime little star. Just give me a shout.”

She pushed her elbow into his ribcage and Cassian laughed through the cough the blow sent through him. Rhys studied Azriel’s features. Noting the jealousy etched across them.

“Enough.”

The one word from Rhysand was enough to quiet his friends.

#azriel x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #lucien vanserra #acotar #rhysand #morrigan acotar #amren acotar #shadowsinger x reader #night court #bat boys #cassian acotar

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thewritetofreespeech · 16 days ago

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Night 221: Liar’s Night

words: 1.7K rating: E pairing: Gale x Tav summary: A night for tricks & treats at the annual Blackstaff Academy Masquerade Ball. An certainly more treats than tricks that Gale had hoped for. tags: kinktober - masquerade, f!oral, public sex, fluffy smut

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

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Gale huffed as he adjusted his mask, trying to straighten it. It was rather itchy too. He wished he could have just used a glamour like some many of his colleagues tonight.

Liar’s Night. A festival in honor of Leira & Mask, gods of trickery, deception, and illusion.

It was often celebrated with people dressing up in costume to ‘trick’ the gods into thinking they were someone else. Though celebrated up & down the Sword Coast, in Waterdeep, the celebration was very elaborate. As home to one of the greatest magical academies, people took their effort in the illusions very serious.

None more so than the academy itself.

As a student, Gale often wondered what the professor’s masquerade ball was like. The smaller celebration for students was often quite involved, so he had to assume that the professor’s was over the top. It did not disappoint. The main ballroom had been decorated with beautiful crystals straight from the Underdark and beyond. Intricate weavings of pumpkin vines from some of the best herbologist magicians this side of the druids. Candles floated in mid-air, a common trick, but would change on their own with the tempo of the music played by an invisible orchestra. Seeing his colleagues unbutton their collars for a bit, dressed so unique & silly, was also quite impressive.

“Gale my boy, where is that enchanting wife of yours?”

“Hard to say, Elminster.” Though not on staff at the academy, a wizard of Elminster’s acclaim was welcome at any magical gathering. And Elminster would go just about anywhere with free cheese. “It’s a little hard to see with this mask.”

“Hmmm…her suggestion, I take it?” The older wizard asked. Though not really asked, as he seemed to already have his answer before Gale nodded. “I thought as much. Do not take this the wrong way, my boy, but I would not have thought a proud peacock like you would cover put his visage so willingly.”

“Did you just call me vain Elminster?”

“Not so much ‘vain’ as more….proud of your appearance. And which you should be, my boy. Enjoy your looks and your youth while you can. They will be gone from you sooner than you know.” The older man huffed a little, seeming defeated by the weight of his own years a bit, before he sipped his wine. “I will leave you to search for your mate then. Do say goodbye before you leave though.”

“We’ll find you by the buffet I take it?” Gale quipped as his old mentor departed.

Alone in the crowd for a moment, Gale continued to try and scan the room for his wife. She had said that she would met him at the party, saying it was silly for him to come all the way back from classes just to return a few hours later. Gale said he didn’t mind what man would, arriving at a party with a beautiful woman on his arm but she insisted.

“Excuse me kind sir,” he turned around at the gentle tap on his shoulder, thinking it was someone looking for the loo again, and felt all the air rush out of his lungs, “could you direct me to the nearest stream?” There before him was Tav. His beautiful Tav. Dressed in what he could only assume was a water nymphs costume.

The intricate, flimsy material moving around her body like waves on the sea. The flecks of sparkle like moonlight blinking in the sea. Her mask, not nearly as cumbersome as his, just some delicate pieces of white coral by her temple with makeup over her eyes. Clearly her inspiration that of the Umberlee charges they helped while in the Gate. But where they looked ready to slay a man in divine vengeance for their Bitch Queen, Tav looked as if she would lure a man to the sea, who would willingly follow as a sacrifice to the Mother of Oceans for just one more glance at her.

“There…there are no streams here.” Gale replied. Collecting himself and turning fully towards her. “But there’s a pretty large fountain in the south corridor I could interest you in.”

Tav giggled. The sound like sea breeze through a chime. “I suppose I will have to make do. What’s a handsome man like you washing up on these shores?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Gale told her. “A missing love.”

“Missing? Oh, how horrible.” She stepped closer and placed her hand at his chest. Even with the thick cut of his jacket he could feel her pulse there. Although maybe that was his own heart. “Anything I can do, to help a poor lost sailor?”

Gale clasped her hand and, without a word, cast Dimensional Door. Suddenly, they were no longer in the thick of the party but in a secluded, unused portion of the ballroom. Gale torn off his mask and threw it to the ground somewhere in the dark before he kissed Tav feverously.

“Where did you get this dress?” He asked when he finally let her go.

“I made it.” She told him; would her wonders never cease. “I thought it would be a cute couples costume. Nymph and pirate.”

Suddenly his outfit made sense. Gale hadn’t questioned it. Interested in the party but less on what he was wearing, and trusted her judgement. “Well then, it seems I have caught myself a nymph in my net.” Gale replied. Falling back into ‘character’. “According to legend, that entitles me to three wishes for your freedom.”

Tav giggled again. “Alright. What are your wishes, handsome sailor?”

“I want to taste you.”

Gale kissed Tav again, deeper this time, before he moved down to her neck. Her skin tasted like salt. Gale wondered if she had added it to make her costume that much more authentic, or if it was just his imagination. He moved further down. Kissing the patches of skin her costume left dangerously bare as he moved the kneel in front of her. “Gale,” Tav hissed quietly, “we’re at a party!”

“You said you would grant me any three wishes.” He reminded her. Her blush an intoxicating contrast with all the blue. “This is my wish.”

With no further complaints from Tav, Gale moved the ruffles of her skirt aside. Letting them fall over him like a curtain as he reached up to spread her legs and lapped at her center. His wife moaned. Fingers gripping into his shoulders at the hem of her skirts to keep quiet. Gale used his practiced tongue to work her open. Moving one leg carefully onto his shoulder by her hand to give him more room. Taste her deeper. He was pleased to feel Tav buck her hips against him in a soft cadence. Using his mouth to gain her pleasure. His cock straining in his pants in reply.

In the quiet dark of their little corner, Tav moaned between the bite of her bottom lip as she came for him. Her sweet ocean coating his tongue before he pulled out from under her skirts. “Everything you wished for?”

“And then some.” Gale replied. Looking up at her with reverence before he stood to his feet. “For my next wish, I wish to be inside you.”

“Yes please.”

Tav wasted little time helping him unlace his pants and hike up her skirts again. Gale was pleased with her eagerness. Maybe it was the moment, or the fact that they were still at his work party, but she seemed quick to join with him; compared to their usual slow & passionate love making.

Gale held on to Tav’s legs when she wrapped them around his waist. Using the wall to brace them before he slid his cock inside. His little nymph moaned. Clinging to him as he fucked her. Thrusting in & out with ease from the wetness of her orgasm and tongue just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” She begged him. “Feels so good. Don’t ever stop Gale.”

How Gale wished that could be true. To be joined with her always. To be one forever and feel her around his cock for eternity. Sadly though, all good things must come to an end, and the wizard grunted as his hips stopped. Coming deep inside her.

Gently, he let Tav down and allowed them to adjust themselves. Gale groaned as he straightened his back. The lower part tense from the strain and his impulse decision to lift his wife. Well worth it, but he was paying the price now.

“Shall we go back to the party for a bit, my love?”

“Yes we…Oh…Oh dear…” Tav giggled as she looked at Gale. Covering her mouth as she snickered. “Your face is covered in blue.”

Gale was surprised, although he really shouldn’t be, and touched his cheek to find blue paint at his fingertips. “Nine hells…” It was probably in his beard too. It would not do to go out looking like this; their disheveled appearance already a dead give away that they had not been taking in the pumpkin displays nor the night air.

“Think we can sneak out the back?” Tav asked.

“Now that you mention it, I just so happens I know a way to sneak out through this back hall.” A memory for his school days that was proving quite useful.

The couple snuck out through Gale’s hidden escape route and out off the campus to head back home. Once there, he took Tav in his arms again. “Sorry my impulsiveness ruined your costume. And the chance to show it off.” He apologized. “You just looked so lovely. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tav chuckled at his apology and offered him a kiss. “No need to be sorry. We’ll be better prepared for next year I suppose.” Gale smiled. Delighted at the thought of next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

His wife wrapped his arms around his neck to stare lovingly at him. “You never told me your third wish, sailor.”

Gale grinned. He tilted her chin up, holding just before their lips touch to whisper, “Forever.” His one wish. His only wish for a very long time.

Tav leaned up to seal their lips together. Like the stamp on a contract. “Done.” She told him. “Now, handsome sailor,” Gale grunted as Tav hopped up into his arms. His lower back whining again as he held her up. “You’ve caught yourself and sullied a fine nymph this day. You’ll have to clean her up.”

“Oh yes, woe be unto he who interrupts a nymph’s bathing rituals.” He teased back. His cock already getting excited again as he carried her to their bathing suite. Eager to show his water nymph how long he could hold his breath for.

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yoonguurt · 11 months ago

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Summary: Christmas this, Christmas that. The “Most wonderful time of the year” is not how Y/N would describe it. Sure, it used to be a magical time full of happiness and love, but she let that belief go years ago. Christmas is all about how much money you spend on someone and making yourself look good to outsiders. Snow is wet and everything is cold during this time of year, makes everything gross. Her best friend is tired of having The Grinch as a roommate, especially when he remembers what it was like when she loved Christmas. This year, he finally decides that it’s time to bring the magic back into her life. Maybe that magic will bring a little love with it.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Word Count:9,603

Genre/themes/au: fluff, smut, a tiny bit of angst; friends to lovers, roommates to lovers; it's a Christmas fic, yall.

Warnings: parental abandonment, masturbation(f), unprotected sex(NO! BAD!), fingering, oral (f rec), daddy kink (it just kind of happened ok), allusion to a hand kink but I didn't really act on it. I think that's it, but let me know if i missed something. My work is 18+ minors are not tolerated here. Be gone, child.

Walking through the front door, the sound of Christmas music and the blinking of festive lights hits your senses immediately. ‘God dammit, Chris. It's literally the 1st.’ You love having your best friend as a roommate, you really do, but his holiday spirit is not something you enjoy at this moment.

When he goes all out for New Year's? All good. Valentine's Day? Fuck yeah, let's it chocolate. Halloween? Yes bitch, let's get spooky. But Christmas? It's a no from you. That's where you draw the line.

His voice floats through your ears as he sings along to whatever annoying song is on. ‘At least it's not All I Want For Christmas is You.’ The beautiful tone of his soft singing almost brings you out of your grumpy mood. Almost. You love his voice, it does things to you. It makes you happy and relaxed. It also turns you on, but he doesn't need to know that. If it weren't for the fact that he's so into this damn holiday, everything would be perfect.

“You're letting the heat out. And stop looking so mad, you knew this was coming.” His words draw you from your thoughts and you squint your eyes at him in a glare. By the bright smile on his face, he obviously doesn't care about your death stare. You toss your backpack aside, kicking your shoes off with a sigh. It’s been a long day of classes and assignments and you really just want to sit on the couch and watch true crime.

Chris has a pep in his step as he walks to the couch, throwing himself down on the cushions and opening his arms wide. He knows what you want, of course he knows. He tilts his head toward the spot beside him, a soft smile replacing the beaming one he had when you walked in. Your feet shuffle across the carpet as you make your way to him, promptly plopping down next to him and letting him wrap his arms around you.

Chris is your person. He may not have been in your life from the start, but the 2 years he has been has solidified his place for years to come. He's your best friend, sometimes you think he may even be your soulmate, but you don't have the courage to tell him just how deep in you are for him.

You met Chris in freshman year of college, having shared the first class of the semester together. You had taken the seat next to you, immediately giving you the beautiful smile he seems to almost always have. Now, you are in no way a shy person, not even close, but being the focus of his wide smile never fails to bring a blush to your cheeks. It's been like that since day one, you're just better at hiding it now.

One class turned into three that semester and the two of you clicked immediately. He's a bit more outgoing than you are, but not by a whole lot. He just has an aura of comfort and it reeled you in and you haven't been able to get rid of him sense, not that you want to, anyway. You're down bad.

At the beginning of sophomore year, the two of you opted for getting an apartment together rather than staying in the dorms. It just made more sense that way. You got to live off campus with your best friend, and you had someone to split the rent with.

The sound of a movie beginning to play on the tv jolted you from your thoughts. Eyes flicking up to the screen, a groan immediately left your throat without much thought. A hand rubbing up and down your back reminded you of the comforting presence beside you. “A Christmas movie? Really, Chris?” You can feel his mood shift and you’re filled with a small amount of guilt. You know he loves Christmas, he loves holidays in general, but Christmas always puts him in a particular cheery mood. But he also knows how much you detest the holiday. But then again, he has always been willing to do things he hates just because it’s something you want to do.

The weight of his arm disappears from your body and your head snaps up to face him. ‘Great. I’ve finally pushed him into anger.’ You know that he isn’t angry with you, but the little voice in your head can’t help but override your rationality. The two of you sit in silence for a while, both of you focusing on the images flickering across the tv screen. You’re not as much focusing on the movie as just having a place for your eyes to land. You can tell that Chris is in thought, he’s unusually quiet. There is a tension in the air, thick with guilt and worry.

By the time the movie is, what you assume, half way through, Chris reaches forward to press the pause button on the remote. The scene stops in the middle of a conversation and the looks on the characters’ faces brings a small snort from your nose. It’s always been a game between the two of you. Someone pauses a movie or show randomly, trying to find the best funny face someone on screen is making. You turn to the man beside you, ready to talk about the game, only to see how serious his face is.

“I’m not going to ask why you hate Christmas so much, I already know that.” The mention of the reason for your Grinch-like attitude makes you wince, though you try to hide it. That obviously doesn’t work because a warm hand finds its way back around your shoulders, giving a squeeze of reassurance. “But I am going to ask that you do me a favor.” Your heart races at his words. You give him a nod, letting him know that you’re listening. “Give me until Christmas Eve to change your opinion.”

That is not what you were expecting. You thought he’d ask you to keep your holly jolly hating thoughts to yourself. You had no idea how he even thought he could change your mind. Hating Christmas had been a part of you since before you met Chris. It wasn’t your whole personality, that would be awful, but it was well known amongst your friends that you and Christmas didn’t get along. Chris was one of the only people in your friend group that knew the exact reason. You love your friends and as much as you trust them, you don’t want to deal with the looks. You had worried about that when you told Chris, but he hadn’t looked at you like other people would have. Of course he hadn’t. He was Chris. He was perfect.

“What do you mean?” You mentally rolled your eyes at yourself, it felt like a dumb question. Your best friend’s gaze held no anger, and didn't make you feel stupid for asking. He just gave you a soft smile, his hand coming to push your hair behind your ear. “Give me 23 days to make Christmas a happy time for you again. Three weeks. We’ll do two small things a week, and one big thing on the weekend. Today is Friday, so the first big activity can be tomorrow. There are two more weekends between now and Christmas Eve. The last big thing will be on Christmas Eve. If your thoughts on the holiday aren’t changed by midnight on Christmas Day, I’ll tone down the holiday cheer next year. Deal?”

“Alright.” You can see that he senses the hesitancy in your voice, but he doesn't say anything. Just reaches his hand out towards you, waiting for you to take it in a handshake. ‘This is certainly going to be interesting.’ You have no idea what he could possibly have planned, but you're curious.

You slept in the next morning, which felt amazing. You honestly expected Chris to wake you up early for his big adventure, but you were damn glad he didn't. Taking your time in getting up, you finally crawl out of bed to brush your teeth before emerging from your room. Your first stop would be the kitchen, you need coffee. As soon as you hit the end of the hallway, a mug sat on the counter, still steaming. You couldn't help the smile that graced your lips at the sight.

Chris had made a habit of setting your coffee out for you before he went to the gym. It was a small thing, but it always made your heart skip. Now that he wasn't home, you could let yourself stew in your feelings. You aren't sure when your feelings for him had changed, you just knew that they had.

Maybe it was last month when he had stayed up all night taking care of you when you had the flu. Maybe it was last year when your boyfriend had broken up with you and he had made a blanket fort in the living room and watched Disney movies with you. Perhaps it was a month after starting school and you had to miss a week of class, only to come back to a set of notes he had taken for you. You couldn't be certain.

You bumble around the apartment, looking for things to do. You had to admit, even though you hate Christmas and anything to do with it, you were excited to see what Chris had planned. You doubted he could actually change your mind, but it was better to not tell him that.

Thinking back to your life before Chris, your thoughts landed on the reason you hate this goddamn holiday. Your father. Waking up on Christmas morning only to find him nowhere in sight and your mother in shambles. You were sixteen. He had left a note explaining that he had found a new life, one that didn't include you or your mother. Prick. That had solidified your hatred. You struggled to pick up the pieces of your mother’s broken heart, and after a while you had succeeded, but there was still a void.

She had eventually remarried once you had gone off to school, and while she was happy with the way her life turned out, you were still angry. Still hurt. Still hated Christmas. You love your stepfather dearly, but the memory of that shitty Christmas morning still reigns supreme.

The jingling of keys brought you out of your angry thoughts. The door opened and there was your best friend, the object of your unknown affections. He was still sweaty from his intense workout. ‘Fuck. He really is going to give me a heart attack one of these days.’ Your stomach was doing flips. He looked so good. Biting your lip, you admire him for a moment longer before calling out to him.

“Thanks for the coffee.” He turns to you, eyes wide, obviously startled. You suppress a giggle, knowing it would only make him pout at your amusement. “No need for thanks, pretty girl.” There goes your stomach again, your heart joining its waltz of emotion. Pet names aren't a new thing for him, it's something he's done for months now, but it still affects like it had the very first time.

“So, what's the big activity you have planned?” You watch as he kicks off his shoes, making sure to place them neatly on the shoe rack you keep next to the door. He tsks at you as he makes his way to stand in front of you. “Nope. Not a chance. It's a surprise.” An immediate pout comes across your face, causing a loud laugh from the man in front of you. Your pout only deepens. Before you realize what is happening, Chris reaches forward, squishing your cheeks in his hand and leaning closer. “No pouting. I'm gonna shower and we can go.” He lets go of your face and leans back, smirking a bit as he turns and walks down the hall. “Make sure to wear something warm!” His loud voice rings out through the apartment, and you sigh, getting up to go get dressed.

This is not what you expected. To be fair, you don't really know what you expected, but an ice skating rink wasn't it. Chris must be able to see the confusion on your face, because he laughs and reaches for your hand. “Ice skating is an important part of the holiday season.” This is news to you.

His hand doesn't leave yours as he pulls you towards the small building that houses the skate rentals. After a moment of waiting in line, you step up to the counter, pulling your wallet out to pay. “The hell do you think you're doing?” Chris has a serious face as he looks at you with furrowed brows. “Paying?” You didn't mean for your words to come out as a question. He shakes his head adamantly, gently pushing your arm back. ‘Should have known. Always has to pay.’ Every time he does this, your mind briefly wonders if you're on a date, but you always shake that thought away.

Stepping onto the ice is always a little scary. It's not like you've never gone ice skating, but you always feel a bit rusty after not going for a while. You watch as Chris glides around the rink once before making his way back to you. He's so graceful as he skates. It's like there's nothing he can't do. His arms reach out towards you as he comes closer, beckoning you to start moving in his direction.

Both of his hands clasp yours, pulling you into his chest. Despite the temperature, he's warm. He's always so damn warm. You pull your head back to look up at him, his eyes already focused on you. Getting lost in his eyes is so easy. It's like second nature. Your gazes stay locked for what feels like forever before you break the contact first, both visually and physically.

As you shuffle backwards on your skates, you notice Chris drop his arms to his side. You're looking at your feet so you don't notice the disappointment that crosses his face. You turn, slowly skating off, trying to get the hang of it again.

Chris joins you only a second later, giving you a slight nudge. “Wanna race?” He's wearing his signature smile, an eyebrow cocked. This is a bad idea. You know this is a bad idea. That doesn't stop you at all. “You're on!” You're moving forward before you finish the sentence.

“Are you ok?” Uninjured, yes. Mortified, also yes. Chris helps you off of the ice as you nod. You got too confident. He had been closing in on you almost immediately. Then, a child moved into your path. Down on your ass you went. “Need to step off the ice for a minute?” You give him an affirmative, you just need a little bit of a breather.

The two of you step off the ice, not even bothering to take your skates off, you don't plan to be off the ice long. Chris walks you to a bench, making sure you're sat and comfortable before he walks away. He doesn't speak before he leaves, leaving you confused. You watch his back as the distance between you greatens, watching him stop and a tiny stand at the edge of the area.

He comes back with two cups in his hands, handing one to you. “Hot chocolate?” He nods, giving you a big smile, and the butterflies fly away again. “Figured it'd help warm you up, since, y’know, you ate shit and now your ass is cold.” His tone is teasing and a smirk plays on his lips. You give him a playful shove, telling him to shut up and his laughter fills the air. “Gonna need a massage?” His eyebrows wiggle and you almost spit the drink out. Once you finish your drink, he grabs your hand again, leading you back to the ice. The next two hours are filled with laughter and teasing as you skate hand in hand.

You dream of ice skating with Chris. The holiday spirit creeps at the edge of your soul.

It's four days later that you come home to notice things are different. The tree is gone. You have a brief moment of giddiness, immediately feeling bad. You told yourself that you're going to try. It isn't fair to Chris if he goes through all of this trouble for you to refuse to try.

“Chris? Are you home?” You hear shuffling coming from the back half of the apartment. The Adonis of a man comes from his room, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, pulling a black muscle shirt over his head. You can see the ridges that adore his chest and stomach. It makes your mouth dry and your panties wet.

“Great, you're home. It's time for the first small activity.” You look around, trying to figure out what he has planned. It takes a bit, but you finally notice the Christmas tree messing put on top, not in, it's box. Your eyes flicking to your best friend, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Yepp. First up, we put the tree up and decorate it together.” You suppress a sigh. This used to be one of your favorite things to do for Christmas, second only to baking cookies. You give him a small smile and a nod and the way his face lights up makes every grievance you have about doing this fly out of the window.

Chris sets the tree up while you sort the decorations and untangle the lights. He had tangled them back up so you could get the “full experience.” Admittedly, that made you the tiniest bit happy. Just that he had thought of everything, even something as small as untangling lights. After he has the tree in its place, he steps away and grabs his phone, turning it to the radio station for the college. You give him a side eye and he laughs. “I may be off today, but I still support my team.” The radio station is Chris’ baby. He’s always loved music, he says it has helped him through his darkest times.

Of course Jisung is playing Christmas music right now, you suspect Chris had something to do with that since it isn’t a normal occurrence this early in the month. Footsteps coming your way clue you in that he has decided to make his way over to where you are. His arms come around you from behind, giving you a soft squeeze. He breathes a soft laugh into your ear as he watches you fight the strand of lights. “Here, let me help.” He rests his chin on your shoulder, his nimble fingers making quick work of the knots. You can’t help but focus on the way his hands move, god you want them inside of you.

The next hour or so is spent making sure every ornament is in the perfect place, not too close together, but not too far apart. The music, which has since switched from Christmas tunes, plays softly in the background. Every now and then, Jisung’s voice cuts through the speaker, usually to make some sort of joke or answer a question that was sent in. You’re distracted with making sure the tree is perfect that you don’t notice the way your roommate stands off to the side, watching you intently, a smile on his face and his eyes twinkling.

The rest of your week drags on. Your thoughts are muddled and all over the place. You’ve been happier than you normally are this time of year, and you know Chris’ plan is working. You can’t tell if it’s because of doing the activities you haven’t done in years, or if it’s because you're doing them with him. You think it may be the latter, though. Friday finally rolls around and after classes and your shift at the campus bookstore, you’re absolutely beat. You trudge through your front door, set on getting a shower and going to bed.

Chris should still be at the radio station, he tends to work later on Fridays. It occurs to you that some self care may be in order, you could definitely use a good orgasm to make you feel better. With your mind made up, you grab your pajamas and your waterproof vibrator, quickly making your way to the bathroom.

The steam from the hot water fills the room and it instantly makes you relax just a little. Your shoulders are loosening up more every second you spend undressing. The stream of water hits your skin and an involuntary sigh escapes your lips. You stand under the falling water for a few moments, letting the warmth seep into your skin. Almost absent mindedly, you reach for your vibrator, clicking it to the lowest setting.You run your free hand down your body, stopping at your breast to fondle and pinch your nipple. You let a soft gasp and you bring the toy to your clit, just barely grazing it, teasing yourself.

The more tension that escapes you, the more you indulge yourself. You replace your vibrator with the shower head, the pressure hitting just the right spot. You slide the toy through your folds, down to your entrance, sliding it into your pussy slowly. The sound you make is louder this time, and you aren’t worried about the noise. It’s just you in the apartment and you need this. You fuck yourself faster, making sure to keep the pressure on your clit as you change the angle of your hand so the tip of the vibrator hits your sweet spot.

Your orgasm is approaching faster than you thought it would, but you’re absolutely fine with it. Clicking the vibration setting up one notch, you throw your head back against the tile of the shower wall. You release a drawn out moan, your hips bucking slightly into the toy, chasing your high. Right as the dam is about to break, you click the setting button to the highest setting. You crash head first into your orgasm. Whimpers and whines fall from your mouth as you ride out your high, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning out your best friend’s name.

The next day comes earlier than you thought it would, mostly because you’re woken up to a loud voice. “Good morning, pretty girl! Rise and shine.” ‘Choke, you happy bastard.’ You feel bad for your immediate thought, but as you roll over and take a look at your clock, you feel slightly less bad. “Christopher. It is 8am. What the actual fuck?” The only response you get is a smile and the feeling of blankets being ripped off of you. You fix your gaze on him, giving him the harshest death glare you can manage at this time of day, which doesn’t appear to bother him a bit. “Up, woman. We have things to do. If I don’t hear the sink running in 5 minutes, I’m dragging you out of bed myself.” ‘This is going to be a long fucking day.’

Your hands are on the handle of the shopping cart while Chris holds on to the basket. He directs the cart himself, you’re essentially just there for appearances, you guess. He stopped to get you a coffee, a peace offering, which you had accepted. But that doesn’t mean your mood has drastically improved. He looks great, he always does, but today he’s glowing more than usual. ‘Stupid, beautiful, perfect man. How are you this chipper this early? You barely sleep.’

You watch as he grabs drinks and snacks, still having no idea what is going on. He had refused to tell you anything on the drive to the supermarket, didn’t want to”ruin the holiday spirit surprise”, whatever that means. Once he deems there are enough items in the cart, he directs the two of you to the checkout counter. You don’t even bother pulling out your wallet, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Chris pays, oblivious to the way the cashier is making googly eyes at him.

After loading everything into the car, he opens the door for you, giving you a peck on the forehead. That causes you to duck your head to hide the blush that forms across your cheeks. You watch as he jogs around to the trunk, opening it and digging around for a second before he closes it and makes his way to the driver’s door. He turns to you as he’s buckling his belt, his voice soft. “Take yourself a nap, pretty. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.” You give him a look, one which he ignores. ‘Where the hell is this crazy man taking me?’ You doze off before you can even think of a possible answer.

“Y/n. Wake up. We’re here.” The gentle swaying of your body coaxes you awake, your eyes automatically squinting to avoid the sun. Chris is already out of the car, already holding your door open. He takes your hand and helps you out of the car, pausing to let you stretch. He silently takes your hand, tugging gently, urging you to follow him. Your nose meets his back as he stops suddenly. You let out a tiny huff, rubbing your nose while he apologizes. “I’m sorry! I just forgot something!” He takes your hands away from your face to inspect you, making sure your nose isn’t bleeding, and presses a soft kiss to the tip. “Can you close your eyes for me? Please?” You do as he says without hesitation. “Good girl.” You shiver.

When you finally come to a stop, you guess that you must be inside somewhere. You can’t feel the sun on your skin, and the temperature has dropped slightly. You hear him shuffling around and as much as you want to see what’s going on, you keep your eyes closed. When he finally comes back to you, he grabs both of your hands and pulls you a little further forward. He drops your hands, and you feel him behind you, wrapping you up in his warmth. “Open.” You slowly lift your eyelids, both confused and in awe by what you see.

You’re in a barn, a blanket thrown across the ground. Pillows lay on the blanket, surrounded by the snacks and drinks you had gotten at the store. Everything is facing a wall, where a large projector screen hangs, the title screen for A Christmas Story paused on the screen. You hate cheesy Christmas movies, even when you liked Christmas. A Christmas Story is different, you could watch it all year round. Tears prick the corner of your eyes. No one has ever gone through such great lengths for you. “Chris…” Your voice breaks off and your best friend pulls you back into his chest and sets his chin on your shoulder. “Come on, let’s lay down. I brought an extra blanket to cover up with. I know how easily you get cold. There’s also more pillows in case the ground gets too hard.” You quickly spin around in his arms, latching your hands around his shoulders in a tight hug. “Thank you.” You feel him place a soft kiss on your hair.

Feeling happy and content, you press play.

“What has you in such a good mood?” You direct your attention to Hyunjin. He’s looking at you like you’re some sort of impostor. “What do you mean? I’m just in a good mood.” He scrunches his face like he’s just smelled something awful. “Y/n, it’s December. Today marks exactly two weeks until Christmas. In the two years I have known you, you have never just been in a good mood for no reason this close to Christmas.”

He’s right. You know that he’s right. You aren’t usually in an outright bad mood, but you certainly aren’t in a good mood for no reason. “Maybe I’m just having a good day.’ Your words come out in a mumble, you know they don’t sound convincing. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Aussie, would it?” You knew you shouldn’t have told Hyunjin about your feelings for Chris. In your defense, you didn’t tell him. He just seemed to read your mind and then you couldn’t deny it.

“Shut up.” You’re grumbling now, not liking that you’ve been so easily read. You can see the smug grin on Hyunjin’s face. He knows he’s hit the nail on the head and you just want to smack him. “We made a deal. He’s trying to get me over the Christmas hate. I’m not saying it’s working,” It is. “I’ve just been having alot of fun. You watch your friend’s eyes widen before the cocky smile is back on his face. “You guys are so gonna fuck.” That one finally earns him the smack.

It’s Thursday by the time you realize you haven’t had your small adventure this week, and you're surprised how sad you are about it. You’ve been pouting for two days because there has been no holiday fun. That thought alone makes you want to vomit. You definitely did not expect this. You? Wanting to do Christmasy stuff? Yuck.

The bookstore is quiet, which isn’t unusual, but it gives your thoughts too much power. Is it time to let go? You assume it is, but you aren’t sure if you’re fully ready. It sounds dumb, but if you stay angry, you focus on that instead of the hurt. It’s starting to fade, though. Finally. You’ve thought for years that if you just pretended that Christmas didn’t exist, you’d move on. But, you guess you were going about it the wrong way. Maybe you do need to embrace the season.

The bell above the door rings, signaling that someone has entered the store. You face the door, seeing your best friend walking in, stomping the snow off of his shoes. You give him a wave, a bright smile on your face, getting larger the closer he gets to you. “You don’t have much longer, right?” You shake your head, tilting it slightly to the side. He reads you like a book. “It’s time for our second mini adventure.” Your heart feels lighter.

There’s flour everywhere. It’s in your hair, it’s in his hair, it’s on the ceiling. The kitchen is a mess.

As soon as you had gotten home, Chris led you to the kitchen, where an array of cookie cutters were laid out on the counter. You didn’t even try to hide your smile. “Welcome to Bang’s Bakery.” You let out a snort at his customer service voice, his giggle filling the air around you. “We got snowmen, gingerbread men, Santa. You name it, we got it.” You immediately drift toward the metal shaped like a snowman, while Chris grabs the Santa cutter.

The first batch of cookies turned out…not the greatest. You had gotten lost in a dance party, letting them stay in the oven for too long. The second batch was better, but had almost zero flavor. The third batch is where things took a turn.

You had spilled the flour while trying to pour it into a measuring cup, a cloud coming from the plop it made on the counter. Chris let out a howl of laughter as he noticed your face covered in the remnants of the cloud. This just wouldn’t stand. No way. You hadn’t even taken a millisecond to think before reaching into the bag. A puff of flour hit Chris directly in the face. That shut him up. Briefly. He recovered quickly, a sly smile coming to his face. ‘Oh god, what have I done?’

He was on you before you knew it, fighting you for the bag of flour. There was no way you were going down without a full fight. You had snatched your arms back, turning to make a run for it. The flour stuck again. There was a white patch on the floor, which had somehow gotten mixed with some form of liquid. Your feet slid out from under you, causing you to hit the floor. The bag flew into the air, turned upside down and covered both you and Chris.

He slid to the floor beside you, both of you in hysterics. Your sides were hurting from laughing so hard. “Y’ok?” His question came out in between him trying to catch his breath. You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the joy you’re feeling. He goes silent all of a sudden, his hands coming to cup your face to get your attention. You stare at each other, neither of you speaking. His eyes dart between yours and your lips. Just as you both lean in, his phone rings, You jump apart as he gets up to answer. “Bin needs me at the station. I’m gonna shower and head out.” You give him a stiff nod and he turns to walk down the hallway.

The weekend brings rain. Rain brings this weekend’s activity inside. Chris won’t tell you what he had originally planned, all he told you was that he had to make due with what he had. That explained absolutely nothing.

A Christmas movie marathon. That was the backup plan. There was a slight disagreement on whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie, ‘it is’, but Chris disagrees. ‘He’s wrong.’ After that minor setback, the marathon is in full swing. The two of you are cuddled up under a blanket and you each have a mug of hot chocolate while Home Alone plays on the screen. Neither of you have brought up what happened after the flour fight, you aren’t even sure how you approach the subject.

You somehow move from cuddling side by side to you laying on his chest. You aren’t complaining, it feels right. It feels like this is where you are supposed to be. Your eyes start to get heavy when Chris starts to play with your hair. Your nose is filled with his cologne and your heart is full of love.

Time seems to both speed up and slow down the closer you get to Christmas. Four days. That’s all you have left. It feels good to not be dreading the day. You feel more light and carefree than you have in years. Chris had texted you earlier today, giving you strict instructions.

Cutie with a booty: lay a sheet down on the living room floor and make sure to wear comfy clothes that aren’t super important to you. No, I won’t tell you what we’re doing. Don't even ask.

So here you were, sitting on the floor in an old shirt from highschool and some ripped sweats you’ve been meaning to throw away, waiting for Chris to get home. Just as you’re about to call and ask where he is, you hear a key enter the lock. Chris comes in with shopping bags full of stuff, though you can’t tell what it is. “I hope you have your crafty cap on!” You look at him like he just spoke gibberish.”My fucking what?” The man snorts so hard that he almost drops the bags.

He sets all of the bags down on the sheet, plopping himself down afterwards. He reaches over, grabbing the bags and dumping the contents onto the sheet. Glue stick, cotton balls, glitter. All kinds of arts and crafts supplies, along with two plain red stockings. “We’re decorating stockings for each other. And no, you can not draw a penis on my stocking.” ‘Damn, He got me.’ You’re immediately hit with what you want to put on his stocking, confident that he’ll love it.

The two of you work in silence, both concentrated on your art. Chris is using a lot of glitter and a lot of black marker and you honestly have no idea what he could be doing. Looking down at your creation, you cringe slightly. You are in no way an artist, but you’re hoping he’ll at least be able to tell what your vision is. You grab your phone, needing a reference picture. Chris looks at you briefly, a disapproving look on his face. “Calm down, I just need a reference picture.” His look changes to confused, but you just wave him off.

An hour later, both stockings are ready and hiding behind your backs. “I'll go first. This is about you enjoying Christmas, after all.” He reaches behind him, the stocking in his hands when they come back to the front of his body. He hands you the fabric and you observe it. Your name is written across the top in purple glitter, a heart on each side. In the center sits two penguins. They're facing each other, holding each other’s flippers. In between them is a pebble. You want to cry. You do cry.

“Chris. It's perfect.” He scoots toward you, his thumb coming to wipe away your tears. “Aww don't cry.” You let him know that it's a cry of happiness as you pull yourself together. It's your turn now and you turn slightly grabbing your gift. You extend your arms, watching him take in what you've made.

LIke him, you’ve written something across the top, but it isn’t his name. ‘RooBoo’ is written in blue glitter, with pink layering over the top. You’ve used the gold glitter to attempt to draw a kangaroo, though it doesn’t really look like one. Same goes for the koala. In between the two animals, the shape of Australia is drawn and shimmering in green and gold. You bite your lip anxiously, waiting for his reaction. Nothing happens. He just stares. You start to worry that he doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to be, or worse, doesn’t like it.

All at once, he surges forward. He buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around your waist. He just stays like that, not moving, not saying anything. You bring your arms around him, rubbing his back. You can feel moisture on your neck and it’s only then that you notice his soft shudders. “Chris?” You try to pull back to get a look at him, but he tightens his grip so you can’t go anywhere. “You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you so fucking much.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him anyway. You place a kiss on his forehead and you two stay that way for a while longer.

Christmas Eve. The last day of your little deal, you’re beyond ready to admit to Chris that he had won during week two, but you want to see what his final surprise is. Knowing him, he’s going all out for this one. He’s out all day, and you’re pacing around waiting for his return. Around 6:30pm, you get a call. It’s short and to the point. “Be ready in an hour, dress cute but warm. I won’t be home until it’s time to pick you up. See you then, pretty girl.” He doesn’t even give you a chance to answer, he just hangs up. How dare he only give you an hour, you have to shower, do your hair, pick an outfit, there’s no way you can do all of that in an hour.

You manage to do it in 50 minutes, which you are very proud of by the way. Your hair is down, nothing fancy, but you know that Chris likes it like this. Your outfit is simple, a red and striped sweater, jeans and a coat. It may not look like the warmest choice, but you know you’ll be warm enough. There’s a knock on the door, which you find odd. Opening the door slowly, a mess of brown curly hair comes into view. Chris stands at your shared door, a bouquet in his hand. His hair is in its natural state, your absolute favorite look on him. He’s absolutely breathtaking. All you can do is stare. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?” ‘Oh. Oh, that’s a new one.” Your heart beats in triple time, your stomach is a roller coaster. A nod is literally all you can manage. Your brain is telling your feet to move, your feet are not listening.

You finally will yourself to move, with much help from Chris since he took you by your hand after putting the flowers in a vase with water. The elevator ride is tense, but not in a bad way. You want to latch yourself to his side and never leave. And like he tends to do, he somehow reads your mind, pulling you into him and placing a kiss on your forehead, this one lingering a little longer than usual. When the doors open, he doesn’t remove his arm from your shoulder as he takes a step. Through the glass door of the lobby, you can see snow lightly falling. It’s beautiful.

A slight breeze hits your face as you step outside. You swivel your head, looking for Chris’ car. “We’re not driving anywhere, pretty.” You look at him, confusion written on your face, causing him to giggle and tip his head toward the park not far from your apartment building. ‘Oh! A walk in the park!’ You smile at the thought of just walking hand in hand around the park in the snow. Though, you’re just happy to spend Christmas Eve with your best friend. A small pang of hurt rushes through you at the thought that he is still only your best friend. Maybe you’ll finally confess at midnight.

Just outside the entrance to the park, there is a horse drawn sleigh. There are people circling around it, and as much as you want to pet the horse, you don’t want to fight your way through a crowd. Chris seems to have a different idea, though. He pulls you directly to the sleigh, letting go of your hand long enough to tell the driver his name and show the man his ID. He takes your hand again, leading you to the side of the sleigh. “After you.” You stand there gawking at him for a moment, his smile never faltering. He helps you into the sleigh, lifting the blanket that’s placed on the seat so the two of you can slide under it.

The view of the park tonight is unlike anything you have ever seen. There are Christmas lights strung up through the trees. Soft instrumental versions of Christmas songs play through the speakers placed around. There are families playing in the snow, lovers dancing around the lake. The whole park is a magical place. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” His voice draws your attention to him, making eye contact. “Chris, this is amazing. Everything is so beautiful. How did you do this?” His smile widens at your words. “I cheated a little. There was an ad at the radio station. We were supposed to be the first to announce it. I called and booked the first ride before I read the ad.” Your laughter is the loudest sound in the park, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Of course he used the station.

He slings his arm around you when your head lands on his shoulder and brings you closer to him. You’re close to sitting in his lap at this point. “Chris.” “Y/n.” You speak at the same time and you both giggle. You playfully argue over who should go first, and Chris finally takes the spotlight.

“I said that I was spending this month trying to get you to like Christmas again, and I meant that. But that was a minor part of everything I’ve done. I wanted you to know what it’s like to be loved, genuinely loved, on Christmas. I know this time of year is hard for you, and understandably so, but I want you to know that you have someone who is here for you. You have someone who will never leave. You have someone that loves you more than words could ever explain. I love you, Y/n. I just wanted you to feel that love.”

You have no words. You have tears, but no words. You have tears, no words, and your lips on his.

You feel like you're floating. Are your feet on the ground? You don’t know. You can feel your hand in his, but you can’t feel your feet. And you aren’t bothered by it. Because you can feel his lips on yours. You walk through the doorway of your shared apartment, giving each other sweet kisses. It’s only when you’re fully inside with the door closed that the kisses deepen. Chris cups your face with both of his hands, one sliding up to run through your hair. You’re already in bliss. He pulls back slightly, his breath fanning across your lips. “Tell me how you want this to go, baby. We can stop here and have dinner, or we can go to my room.” You have never uttered a sentence out faster. “Your room, please. I think we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

Before you realize what’s happening, he swoops you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style to his room, pressing his lips to yours the entire way. He doesn’t even bother closing the bedroom door behind himself, immediately moving to place you gently on his bed. You scoot yourself further up, beckoning him closer. He slowly crawls onto the bed to hover over you, his right handing coming back to your face as he leans down to kiss you again. His left hand makes a home on your hip, rubbing slow, soft circles with his thumb. There is no urgency in your shared kisses, only the need to be close and show each other the love that you feel.

You kiss until both of your lips are swollen and red and Chris finally pulls back, just to admire you. “You are beyond beautiful. I love you so much.” His words are quiet, like he’ll break the magic moment if he speaks any louder.

“I realize I haven’t told you how I feel yet.” You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to spill your feelings. “You are the kindest, most genuine person I have ever met. You go out of your way to make sure that everyone you care about is taken care of, even if that means not taking care of yourself.” You pause briefly, giving him a look. “We’ll talk about taking better care of you later.” He giggles as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “When we met, I had no idea how important you would become to me, and now that I know, I never want to not have you here. And I’m not worried that I’ll have to deal with that. You have given me more hope and love than I ever thought possible and I am so fucking in love with you.”

The kiss you receive in response is softer than the others and you aren’t sure how that is possible. You can feel every ounce of care this man holds for you in the barely there kiss. It makes your head spin. Slowly, his lips travel from yours down to your neck, sucking softly at the skin. You arch into him, gasping at how good it feels just to have his lips on you. His kisses travel lower, stopping at the edge of your sweater. “Can I take this off of you, babygirl?” You clench around nothing at the pet name, and of course Chris notices. He notices everything about you.

You give him a nod and his hands slowly pull the sweater over your head, his eyes locked on yours as he removes it completely. Out of instinct, your hands move to cover yourself, but he grabs them before they make contact with your breasts. “Please don’t hide from me, my love. I want to see all of you. You’re so pretty.” Something churns inside of you at his compliments and you will yourself to keep your arms down. He trails his eyes down your chest, zeroing in on the fabric of your bra. He lifts his eyes back to yours, a silent question swirling in his brown irises. You give him a firm nod, not wanting him to sense any hesitation. You have no hesitation.

You reach around and unclasp your bra, bringing the straps down your shoulder until the garment falls onto your lap. “Fuck.” His voice is strained and you can hear the lust in his tone. But you can also hear the love. His hands rise to your chest, thumbs flicking over your nipples slowly. You let out a soft moan, biting your lip. His touch doesn’t linger for long, moving down to the top of your jeans. “Do you still want to keep going, baby? We don’t have to.” You love how he checks in with you before doing anything, it makes you feel so comfortable, like your comfort is more important than his desire. And you know that that is exactly how he feels.

“Chris, please.” The whine in your voice seems to do something to him because he groans as he begins to unbutton your jeans. While his hands are occupied removing you from the confines of your clothes, his lips press against your stomach. He takes his time with you and even though you’re soaked at this point, you don’t dare try to rush him. You can tell that he wants to worship you, and you intend to let him. His lips touch every new piece of skin that is revealed, not wanting to leave any part of you untouched. He leans back to take in the view of you. Your hair is slightly messy from his hands running through it. Your cheeks are flushed as you lay there in only your panties. You buck your hips up at him once and his hands immediately move to take the ruined fabric off.

Once you’re bare beneath him, you gain a little confidence, spreading your legs so he can see your core. He outright moans at the sight. You can see his cock straining against his jeans, it’s big, that much you can tell. Your hole clenches at the thought of taking him, and again he takes notice. “What dirty thoughts are you thinking to have you clenching like that, babygirl?” The name makes you clench again and he smirks. “Oh? Y’like that do you? Like when I call you babygirl?” You spread your legs further apart as give him a nod, another groan coming from the gorgeous man in front of you.

“Yes, Daddy.” You stiffen. You have no idea where that came from. Never have you called a man daddy in bed, but for some reason, it felt so right that it just slipped out. Chris growls at that and you know you’ve found a weak spot for him. “Look at my pretty baby, all wet for me. Daddy’s gonna take good care of you, babygirl.” He lowers himself to the floor, grabbing at your ankles and slowly pulling your core toward his face. “Still good, baby?” Another nod from you and he presses a kiss to your clit. The contact has you arching into him, your obvious pleasure making his tongue dart out of his mouth to taste you.

You try to keep your moans down as he devours you. You have a hand in his hair, not pulling, simply running your fingers through it. He alternates between circling your clit with his tongue and slipping the muscle inside of you, ending the pattern with a suck to your clit. The pleasure is overwhelming. It’s too much and it’s not enough. Your moans increase slightly in volume, until Chris stops his lovely attack on your pussy.

“Let me hear you, baby. I know you can do better than that. I heard you in the shower, you sounded so fucking beautiful. The best song I’ve ever heard.” You know you should be embarrassed, but you aren’t. His words only cause a new wave of arousal and a loud moan to escape you. “That’s it. There’s my good girl.” Another clench. Chris chooses this moment to slide a finger into you, curving it instantly, looking for the soft spot inside of you. He knows he’s found it when you buck your hips up and groan and he moves his face back down to lick at you more.

The combination of his tongue and fingers turn out to be deadly. You’re rapidly approaching your high. “Chris, please. I’m so close.” He picks up the pace of his fingers, pressing into your sweet spot on every thrust. Your moans flow out of you now, even if you wanted to stop them, you wouldn’t be able to. “There we go. Come on, babygirl. You can do it. Cum for me, cum for Daddy.” Your vision blurs, stars explode from your peripherals. Chris helps you ride out your orgasm before slowly pulling his fingers from you. “Can you open up for me, sweetheart?” Your mouth opens without you having to tell it to, and his fingers find their way onto your tongue. “Suck. See how good you taste.” You obey him without pause, moaning at the taste of yourself on his fingers.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, moving them down to the button of his jeans, while the other hand reaches towards the nightstand for a condom. You reach out and grab his wrist, shaking your head. “Wanna feel you. All of you.” You can see his eyes glaze over with lust, but he still asks if you’re sure. You nod, you don’t think you’ve ever been so sure of something in your life. He moves with a little more haste as he kicks his pants off. “Holy shit.” You didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but one look at his cock has your mouth watering, but it also has you wondering if it’s going to fit. He has one hand slowly stroking himself, moving closer to your cunt, sliding himself through your folds. “Relax for me, love. All you have to do is relax and let me in.”

He pushes into you slowly, a deep, drawn out groan coming from his throat. A high pitched whine leaves you at the same time, a harmony of pleasure. Once he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he pauses, not moving. “Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. Fit me perfectly. Cunt was made for daddy’s cock, huh?” All you can do is nod and whine, and bring your legs to wrap around his waist. You manage to buck your hips slightly, trying to get him to move. He pulls his hips back slowly, pulling out until only the tip of his cock is resting inside of you. He shoves his cock back into you all at once, not too roughly, but making sure to hit deep.

Your body moves into a deep arch at his thrusts, all hitting the spongy part inside of you perfectly. You’re already working your way to another orgasm. “Feel so good, baby. So glad I get to have you like this. Love you so much.” His thrusts start to speed up and you can tell that he’s holding himself back, wanting you to finish one more time before he lets himself go. “I’m close, sweet girl. Think you can come for me one more time? Come with me this time?” Tears are pricking the edges of your eyes and you quickly nod. “So close. So close, Love you. So close.” Your words come out jumbled, but you think Chris understands. He speeds up a little more, the both of you moaning in time with each other. Chris leans down so his mouth is right next to your ear. “Now, baby. Come now. I love you. You can do it.” You cum with a cry of his name, your pussy clamping down on his cock sends him into his own orgasm, groaning as he fills you.

You’re both panting by the time you come down. Chris slowly pulls out slowly, watching his seed dribble out of your spent hole. His hand twitches like he wants to push it back inside of you, but he doesn’t. He turns and leaves, you can hear the faucet running in the bathroom. He comes back with a warm cloth, carefully cleaning you up and adding a kiss to your forehead. He helps you up, walking with you to the bathroom so you can pee. When you emerge from the bathroom, he’s standing by the door with a bottle of water. He really is perfect.

Once you get back to his room, he gives you a shirt of his to wear to bed. “Need me to go get underwear from your room?” His thoughtfulness makes you smile. “Nah. Don’t need ‘em.” He smirks at that, knowing that you mean that this will lead to morning sex and he’s all for it. He joins you on his bed again, pulling you into his arms. “So, it’s midnight. How are you feeling about Christmas?” You’re silent for a moment, thinking of what you want to say. Pulling back to look at him, you smile.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

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annwrites · 3 months ago

Text

⸻ no sound but the wind. part one.

· pairing: adar x fem!reader · type: part of mini-series · summary: adar finds personal use for you as a slave of a different kind. · tw: non-con · word count: 3,212

“And do you swear allegiance to Adar, father of the Uruks?”

You stare ahead at the man he speaks of—if he is even truly a man at all—observing his long, black, silken hair, his gray, sallow skin, the ruined sides of his face where the skin is pulled taught from scarring due to, you presume, fire—his thin lips tightly pursed while he awaits your answer. And it’s then that you notice his pointed ears.

His is an elf. How—how could he let this happen? How can he partake in it? He is meant to be wise and strong, yet gentle and fair. Not…whatever he has instead become.

It does not much matter how he has come upon the path which he now follows. What’s done is done.

All is now lost that once was to you because of it. That you’d most loved. That which had brought you joy and much more.

Like your village, where trees had flowered and bloomed year-round. Those of almond and chestnut, apple and peaches, sour lemons and limes. Some, which ivy grew upon the trunks of, while blossoms were peppered throughout green leaves that dappled the ground below in sunlight, which rays shone through from a clear blue sky above—white, fluffy clouds slowly floating past.

Or lush, soft, green grass which you would lie upon and nap. Clear, cool running water in streams that were always warm in the summer, and crisp in the autumn when those same sticky apples fell into the soil, feeding it until the year next when farmers would tend their fields of potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, lettuce, and strawberries—the various types of crops nearly endless. Mayhaps a few bushes of berries were to be had, as well.

Animals grazed the fields: cows and sheep and goats alike, and chickens would peck about around the settlement while pigs oinked in their pens, lazy cats slept upon windowsills, and pups ran along after smiling, playful children—their adoring parents watching along after them as young couples in love strolled into the small market in the middle of town to purchase goods.

Like spices and cured meats, colorful fabrics and dresses, woven baskets and pillar candles, pots and pans, and shimmering, beautiful glassware, among so much more.

And there would be gatherings in the square quite regularly: dances and festivals, competitions in archery or axe throwing, or quilt-making and pie baking. Woodworkers and blacksmiths would presents their creations to all for purchase, for the cost of a pretty, shining coin—celebrations abound. Music and delicious foods were to be had, young maidens with flowers in their hair waiting for a kiss as their dresses of chiffon and tulle swayed round their slippered feet.

In the evenings, fireflies would flit through the air like tiny sparks of light while you and your mother would prepare dinner, your father always tending to something. Whether it was in your household’s small stables outside—where horses would quietly whinny as he fed them or brushed them down—or inside, fixing something in the cottage where the three of you lived contentedly.

And you would listen through open windows to crickets and cicadas while you quietly read your parents a story or two from a novel you’d retrieved from upon the mantle your grandfather had designed when the home had been his and your grandmother’s—the books hers—the three of you sitting before a small fire in the main room’s hearth.

And now… Now the once-fertile and emerald hills are unrecognizable. They have been, instead, replaced by black sludge and darkened, smoking ash—the skies overcast and always looking to be on the verge of an ugly storm as these hideous beasts rape the land for all it is worth.

They take and they take, and for what? Perhaps merely just to destroy for the sake of the act.

You will not willingly partake in ruining your beloved homeland. You would rather die and be with them: your family, your friends—forever to live upon those rolling hills once you shut your eyes for the last time.

You raise your chin, ignoring how it trembles when you meet his black, empty eyes.

He does not react. Does not so much as raise a brow in interest as he gazes back at you.

Something shifts behind you, and you steel yourself—refusing to look. You will not tremble in the face of death which calls you home.

And then he raises a hand from where it rests beside him, upon the arm of his make-shift throne—but barely, at that.

“Wait,” he calls quietly.

You hear something settle into the dirt and gravel behind you once more.

He rises slowly, descending step after step in measured moves, until he’s standing before you.

He places an index finger beneath your chin, tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his eyes.

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Comely little thing, aren’t you?” He says softly, his voice monotone.

You keep your mouth shut.

He nods infinitesimally. “Take her to my tent. Ensure she’s watched carefully. I’ve use for this one.”

One of the monsters he commands takes hold of your upper-arm, his other hand coming to tug at the shackles which bind you, pulling you away.

“Kill me!” You finally shout, tears brimming in your eyes.

He turns slightly from where he’s begun ascending his throne once again, looking at you from over his shoulder.

You tug against your restraints, pulling free of the revolting thing that touches you.

“I want to die, so kill me. I’m of no use you to here. I do not know how to…”

You shake your head, grasping for words in your panic. “How to carve wood, or assemble structures, or break apart stone—”

He chuckles lowly, turning round fully, coming back to you.

He slides his rough hand along your soft cheek before cupping the back of your head. He tangles his strong fingers in your hair, yanking your head back by those same strands, causing you to whimper in pain.

“You think I desire you for hard labor?”

You gulp in fear.

“I have far different plans in-mind for you. You will serve me well in other ways. Ones more…”

His eyes trail slowly along your body, before meeting your own once again. “Suited to your feminine form.”

You choke back a sob, realization filling you, along with an unbridled sense of terror.

He releases you again, nodding toward his crony.

You’re taken in-hand once again, and led away—your pleading cries falling upon deaf ears.

Adar’s tent is nothing exceptional—somewhat opposite of what you’ve expected it to be.

His bed is not a cot, surprisingly—certainly large enough to fit two, if not two-and-a-half—and he has a rather cluttered war table, which you’ve been informed, quite firmly, that you are not to touch. So you look at it, instead, from a distance from the wooden chair you’ve been provided.

You see small metal and wooden figurines placed about—construction plans, you assume.

You fail to understand what he could possibly want with the now-destroyed land, but decide you ultimately don’t want to know. You’d rather remember it as it’d once been instead.

You glance to the entrance of his tent, where an Uruk stands guard—the flap pulled back, allowing you a peak outside as the others like him mill about, coming and going and working.

Bile rises in your throat at the sight of them. They’re wretched. Cursed. Vile.

You won’t let him touch you.

You’ll do whatever you must to instead give him cause to drive a blade through your beating heart instead. You will not dishonor yourself—not even for the sake of survival.

You will die as you had lived: as yourself.

You’d waited so long for him to come—rehearsing in your head all the ways you might achieve that which you most desire at his hand; but nevertheless of your own causing—you’d fallen asleep.

You jolt awake when heavy footsteps enter the tent, staring in fear as bastardized elves carry inside a large, wooden tub full of steaming water.

They settle it into the middle of the space, retreating just as promptly as they’d come.

And then he steps inside, the once-open curtain flapping closed behind him.

He settles his arms behind his back as he gazes down at you.

He glances to the tub, then back to you. “Bathe. Once you are finished, I shall next.”

He goes to his war table, seating himself heavily, opening a scroll which lies atop it, and he begins reading over the item in his large hand.

You remain seated, too terrified to move.

“I need…privacy,” you say—your voice breaking, tears filling your eyes.

He keeps his back turned to you. “And you have it. Now, do as I bid you.”

You slowly stand, feeling unsure on your feet—your movements hesitant and wavering—as you come closer.

You study the back of his head, nervously flitting your eyes about the table before him, searching desperately for a weapon.

“I would not attempt it.”

You jerk in surprise.

He sets the parchment aside, retrieving a small, sharply pointed figure in the shape of a diamond. “You’d do well to make things easier for yourself. Obey me, and your days will be easy. Don’t—”

You interrupt. “I’ll never give m-myself to you willingly. I’ll—I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat sounding far more like a question than anything else.

You do not see how his lip twitches in mild amusement.

Finally, he sighs, pushing out his chair, standing.

You shuffle backwards, desperate to get away from him—from this place as a whole—from all of the rot and disease that has now claimed this land you’d once called home. Once you’ve backed yourself into a solid pole, which upholds the side of the tent, you stare up at him.

“So you should instead kill me,” you finish.

He softly shakes his head, cupping your cheek gently, brushing his thumb along the apple of it.

“You merely think that you wish for death. I have quite…creative ways to make you obey, until death is so far from your grasp that all you can see ahead of you is more of whatever I’ve been forcing you to endure. Until you break. Until you are ready and willing to do as I please just to make the pain stop.”

He cups your other cheek, holding you firmly in-place.

“I have been here for a very, very long time. Longer than your young mind may ever comprehend. I am not a man who is easily swayed. Nor am I merciful to any others than my children. It is not in my nature. But, for your sake, if you do as I command, I may consider a more gentle touch.”

He releases you. “Time shall tell.”

Your face crumples and you begin to cry, all hope fleeing you of obtaining a different fate than whatever he has in-store for you.

He seats himself once more.

“Now, do as I’ve told you. I will not ask again.”

You tremble violently and feel distant from your body, but you still manage to strip yourself of your soiled, stained gown, letting the heavy material pool at your feet, before ridding yourself of your smallclothes next.

You keep your eyes on him—never removing them—as you step closer to the tub, and then ease yourself into the hot water, sucking in a sharp breath as you seat yourself.

You grab the small bar of soap you’ve been provided, lathering yourself.

You wish to be finished sooner than late, but also want to take your time—to savor this final moment of something…nice. Because you will do it: find a way tonight to make him take your life.

You’ll not stop until he does.

The two of you remain silent as you cleanse yourself—desperate to get the stench of this new environment from your skin. It is no longer that of fresh air and flowers. It is now that of something pungent and oily.

Death.

That is what it is.

Eventually, you rise, drying yourself with a small towel, and then you glance around in a panic for clean clothes.

Just as you think to dress once again in your previous garments, he gestures toward the small wooden dresser beside the table where he sits.

“You’ll find clean tunics in the second drawer.”

Once you’ve put one on, you take a step back. “What of…trousers, or smallclot—”

“You won’t be needing them any longer,” he replies, rising, the two of you staring at one another as he unbuckles the belt from his waist which holds his sword, setting it atop the previously-occupied table.

You promptly look away, your nose growing warm and eyes stinging as you seat yourself at the foot of the bed, watching as shadows pass by the curtain at the front of the tent.

You tightly grip the blankets beneath you, considering, watching intently.

You hear water lapping, and then a quiet groan as he leans back, enjoying what heat still remains in the water that fills the tub.

“I wouldn’t,” he states in that rasping voice which barely reaches above a whisper.

You bristle.

“You’ll not make it more than a handful of steps before my Uruks return you to this tent. To me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you next.”

He sighs. “Save yourself some pain.”

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask tearfully.

He begins to wash himself, keeping his eyes trained on you. “What is it which you refer to?”

“You’re an elf. You’re supposed to… Meant to be kind. Wise and—”

“You think I value that which I come from? You think the high elves of this land care any more for your life than they do my Uruks? Pride is their virtue. They see themselves above all else, including men. Because they’ve made it so. They would see us all sequestered away to darkened corners of Middle-Earth if it meant all could be theirs once again.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “You destroyed my home. Took everything from me. And you think I mean to give myself to you? Willingly? To play at being your—your—”

“You will be my concubine. And nothing else. That is your role now. In time…you may come to see matters differently. Come to see me differently.”

“That will never happen,” you whisper.

He rises from the tub—his damp strands dripping at the ends as he shrugs on a clean tunic, padding toward you.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up as he towers over you. “In time, I believe it will. For your survival, if naught else. Even if you find such a prospect to be of little value to you now.”

He grabs you roughly by the arm then, forcing you to your feet.

Your chest presses against his own as tears slip from your exhausted eyes—your heart pounding like a hammer against cloth at him being so close.

“I’ll give you one final chance, child. Give your body to me willingly, and be given mercy, or don’t, and I will unleash upon you pain unlike any you’ve ever known.”

You make a split-second decision, praying it be your last.

You swing your free arm upwards, swiftly, and slap him as hard as you possibly can.

He barely reacts as he turns his head back in your direction, shaking it lightly.

“Pain it is, then.”

He throws you back onto the bed, swiftly removing his tunic, settling all his muscled weight atop you, weighing you down—forcing you into place as he forces your own garment up and over your head, ignoring your screaming, pleading, panicked protests as you battle against him.

You squirm and pound your fists against his chest, and kick your legs and wail in terror, but he acts as if he does not even notice.

He grips each of your wrists tightly in his hands, holding them above your head while he knocks your legs apart with his knee.

You suddenly still, fervently shaking your head, choking on your own tears as you struggle to draw in even one steady breath.

“Please—Please don’t. I beg of you! Please, not this! Please, please!” You scream shrilly.

“I gave you another way and you refused it. Now, you will learn.”

He plunges inside of you with one forceful buck of his hips and you choke on your own saliva at the excruciating pain which manifests between your thighs. Burning. You feel as if you are on fire where his body now connects with your own.

And he is anything but gentle, just as he had promised you he would be.

He ruts away inside of you, grunting quietly, his skin slapping against yours as his long, throbbing member plunges in and out of you while he searches for his peak against your will.

You stare upwards, at the billowing canopy, desperate for it to end. Desperate to die. To disappear.

This is nightmare from which you will never wake, and you have naught to comfort you from it.

No home.

No family.

No friends.

No warm bed of your very own where you may rest.

No village which is full of joy and safety.

No nothing.

Nothing is left.

Not even that which you’d hoped to one day give to your husband.

He has taken every single thing, and intends to take even more yet still.

You break then—far sooner than expected, than you'd hoped—resigning yourself to letting him have it.

You will instead go away inside yourself, back to the place you most wish to return to.

And you find peace there. In a quiet field where vibrant butterflies flit about, and chimes which hang upon tree branches tinkle gently in the wind.

You close your eyes, humming in contentment as the sun warms your skin, listening as sheep baa at one another close by.

And then you are ripped from the fantasy and forced back inside that claustrophobic tent as he pours himself deeply inside of you, moaning as he takes his final thrusts—pushing his rotten seed further into your core.

Finally, he collapses beside you, heaving for breath.

You do not move. Not an inch.

Hot tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes while he runs out of you elsewhere. Your body begins to gently jerk against your will in shock, and you sniffle and whimper in pain and fear.

After a moment, he rises, washes himself off, then pours for himself a mug of water, downing it quickly.

He pours himself another, leaning back against the dresser across from where you lie.

“It will get easier when you let it,” he states.

He takes another long drink. “It’s been…many years since I’ve had a woman—a maiden, even more-so.”

You refuse to look at his blood-stained member.

He returns to you, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, his leg bent at the knee as he gently grasps your chin, his fingers ghosting along your hot skin.

“As such, I don’t intend to let you go. So, do what you must.”

He sets his mug atop the bedside table, climbing atop you once more.

“I shall do the same,” he states, sheathing himself inside your slick core once again.

#fic: trop (adar x reader)#adar x reader #adar x you #adar x y/n #trop x you #trop x reader #trop x y/n #adar trop x reader #adar trop x you #adar fanfic #adar trop fanfiction

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89pedri · 3 months ago

Text

Leaves in the River | Mason Mount

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: Mason meets a girl on Halloween. She was drunk and he was lost.

Warnings: None? Alcohol?

Word count: 4.7k+

Note: Hi everyone, it's been over a year, I think, since I last posted something here. I'm still out here reading and liking fics, so I thought I'd post this!

Hope you like it!!!

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‧₊ *:･ﾟ彡 ◌ ☽︎ ◌

◌ ✩彡･ﾟ *:

◌ ◌

It was a chilly Halloween night, with the wind whistling through the streets and carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves. Inside an old mansion on the outskirts of Manchester, dim candle light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The grand, creaky rooms were filled with the chatter of unfamiliar faces, their costumes ranging from the elaborate to the absurd. Music thumped through the wooden floors, and costumed revelers were lost in a sea of laughter and dancing.

But Mason, still recovering from a series of injuries, felt strangely detached from it all. At a party he didn’t really want to attend, his teammates had insisted he come along, hoping to lift his spirits. They had been buoyant and energetic at first, eager to immerse themselves in the festivities, but as the night wore on, Mason found himself drifting away from them. Despite their good intentions, he felt more isolated than ever.

While everyone mingled and danced, their laughter and easy conversations seemed to belong to a world that was just out of his reach. Mason had retreated to a quiet corner of the room, nursing a drink as he watched the scene unfold around him. The contrast between their vibrant enjoyment and his own muted existence was jarring. He felt like an outsider, a ghost drifting among the living, disconnected from the energy and warmth that surrounded him.

In all honesty, he was profoundly sad, unable to escape the weight of his unfulfilled potential. Despite his high-profile transfer, his injuries had kept him from truly proving his worth on the field. Each missed match and postponed comeback only deepened his frustration. What he had envisioned as a triumphant return to the top seemed increasingly out of reach. Instead, he found himself sidelined, grappling with feelings of inadequacy and the fear that his time to shine might slip away.

In the midst of his spiraling thoughts, his gaze inadvertently fell upon her.

She stood near the back door, her angel costume strikingly detailed. Her white wings, delicate and meticulously crafted with sparkles, seemed to catch every glimmer of the low light, casting a soft glow. Her flowing dress, made of gauzy fabric, draped around her, creating a shimmering effect as she swayed to the music. Her dark hair fell in loose, damp waves around her shoulders.

Mason had noticed her from the corner of his eye earlier in the evening. At first, she had been a quiet, almost unnoticed presence among the more boisterous guests. As the night wore on, though, she had gradually come into focus. He saw her exchanging friendly nods and small, genuine smiles with those around her, her interactions marked by a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy of the party.

Her demeanor was calm and poised, as if she was naturally attuned to the subtle rhythms of social grace. Despite the lively crowd, she seemed to float through the room with an effortless ease. Her presence an oasis of serenity that Mason envied.

In stark contrast, he felt like a mere caricature in his hastily assembled devil costume. The red horns were crooked, and the tail hung limply, clearly a last-minute addition rather than a deliberate choice.

He wanted to break free from the shadows and join her in the light. Mason's longing to connect with her was intertwined with his deeper yearning for escape from the burdens that plagued him. He wanted to share in the grace she embodied, but he was caught in his own tumultuous reality, unable to bridge the chasm that separated their worlds.

He took a deep swig of his drink, the warmth of the alcohol offering a fleeting sense of courage. Gathering his resolve, he pushed through the sea of revelers and approached her cautiously, each step heavy with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. When he was close enough, he cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” he said, aiming for a nonchalant tone. “You okay?”

She looked up, momentarily surprised to see him. Her deep, soulful brown eyes revealed a trace of sadness he hadn’t noticed before, but she greeted him with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah,” she replied softly, her voice laced with playful mischief. “I’m just not really feeling the vibe tonight. It’s funny, though—feels like a devil’s been watching me all night. I guess I’m just not in the mood for the attention.” Her gaze lingered on him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Mason couldn’t help but smile at her playful comment. “Well, I promise not to be too devilish. How about I get you another drink first? Maybe something strong enough to fend off any lingering devils.” He gestured towards the drinks table, his tone light and inviting. “Then, if you’re up for it, we can get out of here for a bit. A walk might be just what we both need.”

Her eyes brightened at the offer, and she gave him a warm, grateful smile. “That sounds perfect. I’d love a drink. Thanks.” She glanced towards the drinks table, then back at him, curiosity evident as she awaited his return.

Mason nodded and headed to the drinks table, grabbing two shot glasses filled with vodka. He returned to her, offering one of the shots with a smile. “Here you go,” he said. “A little liquid courage before we head out.”

She accepted the glass and, with a playful glint in her eye, raised it in a toast. “To escaping the chaos,” she said, her voice light but sincere.

Mason clinked his glass against hers. “To a change of scenery,” he replied, and they both took their shots simultaneously.

Without missing a beat, she tilted the glass to her lips and downed the liquor in one swift motion. The strong, burning sensation seemed to clear her head, and she let out a small, satisfied breath as she set the empty glass down.

“Much better,” she said with a hint of relief in her voice.

Mason followed suit, feeling the warmth of the vodka spread through him. “Glad you think so. Ready for that walk?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

As they stepped out of the mansion into the cool night air, Mason noticed her shivering slightly, her costume offering little protection against the chill. Without hesitation, he removed his jacket and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said, his voice warm against the night. “You look like you could use this.”

She looked at the jacket, then up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, accepting the garment. She slipped it around her shoulders with a sigh of relief. The jacket, slightly too big for her, enveloped her in its warmth, the fabric soft and comforting against the evening’s cold.

With the jacket now draped over her, they began to walk down the empty streets. The dim street lights cast long, eerie shadows on the wet pavement, and the quiet was a stark contrast to the noisy party they had left behind. The crisp night air felt refreshing, and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot added a gentle rhythm to their steps. The transition from the raucous indoor atmosphere to the serene garden path was a welcome change, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation as they walked side by side.

The rain began almost immediately, starting as a gentle drizzle that caressed their skin and soon growing into a steady shower. Mason glanced over at her, intrigued by how she seemed to blend effortlessly with the night, moving with a fluid grace as if the rain and deserted streets were part of her natural element. Her presence felt both refreshing and enigmatic. The steady shower created a quiet cocoon around them, offering a brief respite from his struggles.

Mason looked at her with a playful smile. “As much as I'd love to call you my angel,” he said with a chuckle, “I’d really like to know your real name.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and she offered a warm, inviting smile. “It’s Y/N,” she replied.

“Well, Y/N,” Mason continued, trying to keep the conversation light, “what brings you to this part of town on Halloween?”

She paused, her gaze momentarily flicking to him before drifting away, as if searching for the right words. “My friend works for Man U,” she began, her voice soft and thoughtful. “She’s a PR assistant and dragged me along tonight because she thought it would be fun. I didn’t really want to come, but she insisted. Said it would be good for me to get out. Plus,” she added with a grin, gesturing to her costume, “it gave me an excuse to finally wear this. It’s been collecting dust in my closet for a while, waiting for the right occasion.”

Mason felt a flush of warmth mixed with a tinge of embarrassment at the mention of his new team, unsure if she had recognized him. “So,” he began, striving for a casual tone, “do you follow football at all, are you familiar with the team?” His curiosity got the better of him.

Her eyes sparkled as she met his gaze. “Oh, I definitely know who you are, Mason, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied with a warm, teasing tone. “I recognized you and your friends the moment you walked in. My old friend was a huge fan of Chelsea—we used to watch your matches together all the time. I figured it was better to keep it cool around you, though.”

Mason chuckled, finding her candor refreshing. “And how’s that ‘cool’ act working out for you?” he asked with a teasing grin, feeling a rare sense of ease as their conversation flowed.

Y/N laughed, her laughter mingling with the rhythmic patter of the rain. “Not too badly, I’d say. Although,” she added with a playful smirk, “I must say it’s quite hard to stay cool when the devil is walking beside me.”

Mason smiled. “Well, I’d hate to think I’m ruining your ‘cool’ vibe,” he said, his tone playful. “But if it helps, I promise I’m actually pretty cool and down-to-earth once you get to know me.”

He glanced sideways at her, his expression softening. “Besides,” he added with a hint of sincerity, “it’s nice to have a break from the usual football talk. It’s refreshing to just be… well, me, for a change.”

They continued walking, the rain soaking through their clothes, but neither seemed to mind. The slick, soft leaves beneath their feet created a gentle, almost soothing sound as they moved. Aside from the steady rhythm of the rain, the only other sound was the rustling of foliage, adding to the serene atmosphere. Mason felt an unusual sense of tranquility, as if the weight of his worries had momentarily lifted. He glanced at Y/N, growing more intrigued by her presence by the minute.

“Well, since you know what I do,” Mason said with a grin, “it’s only fair you share what you’re up to.”

Y/N continued with a hint of excitement. “I’ve been freelancing in PR, primarily for healthcare and sports clinics lately. I’m also currently studying for my Master’s in Marketing, focusing on how to build and enhance brand identities. This visit to Manchester is, well, a chance to rediscover the city and see if it could be the right place for me. I’m hoping to find a role where I can blend my PR skills with marketing work.”

Mason’s gaze lingered on her, clearly impressed. “So, pretty and smart.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on her lips. “How often do you use that line?”

“Only when I’m talking to pretty and smart girls,” Mason replied with a playful grin.

Mason’s curiosity about Y/N’s ambitions grew. “Do you think you’d want to work in football, like your friend, eventually?” he asked, genuinely interested.

Y/N considered the question for a moment, her eyes catching the soft glow of the streetlights. “I hadn’t really thought about it seriously,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a passion for sports, and working in sports PR does sound intriguing. However, I’m more focused on helping organizations craft their public image in impactful ways. Still, if a compelling opportunity in sports came along, I wouldn’t completely rule it out.”

Mason nodded thoughtfully, taking in her words. “It sounds like you’re open to possibilities, which is a great mindset to have. Sometimes, the best opportunities come from unexpected places. Plus, having a passion for what you do makes all the difference.”

Y/N smiled, her expression thoughtful and appreciative. “Thanks, Mason. I guess we’ll see where my journey takes me. For now, I’m enjoying the chance to explore Manchester and see what the future holds. And, who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll find myself working on campaigns for someone like you.”

Mason threw his head back in laughter, the sound genuine and warm. “I’d be lucky to have someone as talented as you working on my brand,” he said with a grin.

He paused, his expression turning serious but sincere. “You know, if you’re really considering a move up North, I could put in a good word for you. I know people in Manchester, a little nudge from someone in the industry might be just what you need.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, touched by the offer. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Mason. I really appreciate it.”

Mason gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course. Sometimes, a bit of support can make all the difference.”

They walked in companionable silence, the steady rhythm of the rain creating a soothing backdrop. Y/N eventually slowed her pace, her gaze shifting as she took in her surroundings, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she pointed to a small, unassuming brick house a little further down the street. “I grew up there,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “I haven’t been back in years.”

Mason glanced at the house. It stood quietly, the darkness of the night making its features almost indistinguishable. The windows were dark and empty, and the front yard, strewn with fallen leaves. Despite its wear, there was a subtle warmth to it, a sense of memories lingering in the chilly night air.

Mason noticed the wistful look on Y/N’s face and felt a surge of empathy. “Do you want to stop for a bit? Maybe stand by the porch before the new owners notice?” he asked gently, his tone reflecting his understanding of the significance of the moment.

She nodded, her eyes lingering on the house as if trying to piece together fragments of her past. They paused on the sidewalk, the rain continuing to fall softly around them. Mason stood beside her, offering her the space to take in the familiar yet distant sight, allowing the moment to be hers.

Y/N led him to the front steps, then took a seat on the pavement, patting the space beside her in a silent invitation. Mason, understanding her unspoken offer, settled down next to her. They sat together in the rain, the steady downpour creating a private, intimate cocoon around them. The coolness of the night contrasted with the warmth of their shared presence, as they both took solace in the quiet moment.

Mason noticed a handprint in the cement of the stairs leading to the door beside where he was sitting, weathered and faded with time. Y/N spotted it at the same moment and leaned forward to trace it with her fingers, her touch light and contemplative. As she moved closer, their proximity became more apparent, and she suddenly seemed aware of the compromising position they were in. With a soft, almost shy smile, she pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushing from both the rain and the closeness they had unexpectedly shared.

“This is where I used to live until I went off to university,” she said quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “My parents moved back to their home country a few years ago and sold the house. I haven’t been back since. This place holds so many memories.”

She hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of their newfound closeness. “Remember the old friend I mentioned, the one who used to watch your games with me?” Mason nodded. “He was my ex,” she continued, her voice wavering. “He was—still is—a huge Chelsea fan. We spent so much time here during high school. We were young, I thought we’d be together forever but at a certain point it became obvious it wouldn’t work out between us. We stayed in that relationship far too long, but It’s strange, really. I’m over him but being here, I guess it brings back all these memories. It’s odd to see how much has changed.”

Y/N looked down, her expression clouded with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “Coming back here makes me realize how much has shifted in my life. It’s like I’m caught between who I thought I’d become and where I actually am. I was so full of dreams back then, but now it feels like things are less figured out than I’d hoped. It’s a reminder of how much can change, and how you can end up somewhere you never expected, I guess.”

Mason listened intently, his own sense of vulnerability rising to the surface. The rain mingled with his thoughts as he took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. “I get that,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “I’ve been dealing with similar feelings, sort of. My injuries and missed games have left me feeling adrift, as if my dreams and reality are worlds apart. I envisioned this triumphant return, a chance to prove myself and silence the critics. But with every setback, that vision seems to slip further away. It’s like I’m stuck between who I was and who I want to become, and finding that balance has been incredibly challenging.”

He paused, searching for the right words. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get back to where I was or if I need to chart a new path altogether. It’s hard to come to terms with feeling disconnected from what once defined you.”

Y/N looked at him with a warm, encouraging smile. “You know,” she said softly, before settling her hand on his knee, “it’s really admirable how you’re facing all of this. I believe in you and I’m confident that your comeback will be amazing. I suppose that sometimes, we have to go through these tough times before we can truly appreciate the good times.”

Mason’s lips curled into a half-smile, comforted by her words. Her eyes were filled with genuine sincerity as she continued, “Even if things seem out of reach right now, remember there are people who believe in you and are rooting for your success.”

He paused, letting her words settle in. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said sincerely. “Hearing that means more than I can say, especially right now. It’s so easy to get lost in setbacks and forget why I’m here.”

He glanced around at the rain-soaked streets, then turned his gaze back to her. “Coming back to familiar places can bring up old memories, but it also offers a chance to see how far we’ve come. It’s like reconnecting with the past while looking forward to the future.”

Y/N chuckled, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Quite the philosopher are you?” she teased, letting his words resonate.

Mason gave her a playful smirk. “And quite the conversationalist yourself. Do you normally open up so much to someone you’ve just met, or is it the rain that’s making us more candid than usual?”

Y/N glanced up, a gentle blush rising to her cheeks as she looked away, nervously adjusting the hem of his damp jacket. “I don’t usually open up like this, especially to someone I’ve just met,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I suppose the drinks have loosened my tongue quite a bit more than I intended.”

Mason’s gaze softened, and he smiled warmly. “Don’t be shy. I find it quite endearing,” he said gently.

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of apology and vulnerability. “I guess tonight’s been a bit more revealing than I planned,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you.”

Mason’s smile was warm and understanding as he responded with a gentle chuckle. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “Sometimes, talking to someone you don’t know well— yet,” he added carefully— “can make it easier to share. And as much as I’ve enjoyed hearing about your past… if you end up spending more time here and need someone to help you make new memories in Manchester—or just to distract you from the old ones—I’m around.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, her blush deepening but her demeanor relaxing as she looked at him with newfound ease. Her hand slipped into Mason’s, her fingers cold against his skin, but the touch was reassuring, grounding them both.

“Come on,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s getting late. Would you walk me back to my friend’s flat?”

Mason smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely.”

Before they stood up, Y/N leaned in close, her breath warm against Mason’s ear. “And hey,” she whispered with a playful tone, “I promise you a kiss as soon as we get there.”

Mason’s heart skipped a beat at her words, and he chuckled softly. “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, squeezing her hand gently as they rose to their feet.

As they wandered through the quiet, rain-soaked streets, Mason found himself increasingly captivated by Y/N. Her lightheartedness and playful energy were a welcome change from the weight of his recent struggles. Despite her costume clinging damply to her frame, she seemed utterly carefree, her spirit untainted by the rain. Mason laughed more freely than he had in weeks, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Suddenly, Y/N let go of his hand and darted ahead, twirling around with a joyous grin. Her laughter echoed through the empty streets, and Mason felt a warmth spread through him. Her exuberance was contagious, lifting him out of his own concerns.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” she called over her shoulder, her voice vibrant with challenge.

Mason quickened his pace, his grin widening. “Why should I hurry?” he teased.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Because if you don’t, I might just have to reconsider that kiss I promised.”

Determined not to miss out, Mason quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. As he reached Y/N, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting lightly against the small of her back and pulling her close. He buried his face in her damp hair for a moment, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her body even through the soaked fabric.

As they stood there, Mason looked down at Y/N with a contented smile. His arms still encircled her waist, holding her close despite the chill of the rain. He took a deep breath, savoring the closeness and the warmth she radiated. “You know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a blend of amusement and affection, “I know you promised me a kiss when we got there, but this moment feels pretty perfect too.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight. “Oh, really?” she teased, her lips curling into a playful smile.

Mason nodded, his gaze steady and earnest. “Yeah, I think this moment is as good as any other.”

Before she could reply, Mason gently tilted her chin up with a tender touch. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against her skin with warmth and reverence. Their eyes locked, and for a suspended instant, the world seemed to pause. The steady rain created a soft, rhythmic backdrop that blurred their surroundings, making their shared space feel intimate and isolated.

Mason leaned in slowly, his breath mingling with hers as the distance between them closed. The cool droplets of rain kissed their faces, but it was the warmth of their connection that captured their full attention. When their lips finally met, the kiss was tender and deliberate, a gentle exploration that deepened as they became more attuned to each other. It was both soothing and electrifying, a beautiful contrast to the chill of the rain that clung to their clothes.

Y/N looked up at Mason, her smile still glowing from their shared kiss. “Let’s keep walking,” she said softly, slipping her hand back into his.

Mason nodded with a warm smile. “Okay,” he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

As they continued their stroll toward the flat, Y/N glanced over at Mason, a playful smile on her lips. “Tonight’s been quite the adventure,” she said, her tone light and cheerful.

Mason chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. “I know what you mean.”

As they arrive to the flat, their eyes exchanged more than words ever could, conveying a silent understanding and connection that spoke volumes.

“Before we part ways,” Mason said with a playful glint in his eye, pulling out his phone and opening the contacts app, “I’d like to make sure I can stay in touch with my favourite angel.”

He typed “Angel I Met on Halloween” into the contact name field with a coy smile and handed the phone to Y/N. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she took it from him, her smile widening.

“Alright,” she replied, her tone warm as she began typing her number into the phone. Her fingers moved gracefully across the screen, and she glanced up at him with a mix of curiosity and enjoyment.

Once she finished, she handed the phone back to Mason, who gave her a satisfied nod. “Perfect,” he said, saving the contact. “I wanted to make sure I could keep you updated on how my injury recovery is going,” he added with a hint of playfulness.

Y/N smiled softly. “Sounds good to me.”

“And if you’re up for it,” Mason continued with a shy smile, “maybe I could even arrange a spot for you in a box when I’m back on the pitch.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “That sounds like a plan.”

Mason nodded, his smile broadening. “Great. I’ll be sure to reach out.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As Y/N turned toward the flat, Mason gently touched her arm, his expression a mix of anticipation and coyness.

“You know,” he said, his voice light and teasing, “you did promise me a kiss as soon as we got here, remember?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Well, aren’t you the greedy one?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mason’s grin widened, his gaze sincere. “I think it’s only fair,” he replied, his tone warm.

With a soft laugh, Y/N leaned in, her eyes meeting his with a playful glint. Their lips brushed in a brief but sweet kiss, leaving a lingering warmth. She pulled back, her smile soft and genuine.

“There you go,” she said, her voice filled with affectionate playfulness. “Until next time, Devil.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Mason called softly as she turned to head inside.

“Goodnight, Mason,” she replied over her shoulder, her voice carrying a hint of warmth.

Mason watched her enter the flat, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

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‧₊ *:･ﾟ彡 ◌ ☽︎ ◌

◌ ✩彡･ﾟ *:

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Please give me your thoughts and request any ideas you have because I loveeee to write based on a concept!!!! :")

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fawnnpaws · 3 months ago

Note

art and patrick taking you to your first rave, handing u a little bright pink pill that you take unquestionably because you trust them blindly. getting lost in the music with them and suddenly their hands are on you, all over while you’re feeling euphoric omgggg i need to stop

no no no keep going 🗣️🗣️🗣️

you don’t question the pill even though you know you probably should, but art and patrick wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. they just want you to have a good time! and ooohhh the body high you start to get is definitely making that happen. it feels like all of your senses are dialed up to 11, the music is rushing through you in a way that makes you feel like you can see the sound waves. the colors of the festival are brighter, so vibrant you can almost taste them. and art and patrick are the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. they’re smiling at you, like they know a secret you don’t, but you don’t even feel the need to ask. your pupils are blown out wide as you look up at the two of them, haloed by the lights around the festival like two angels. then their hands are on you and it’s like your body physically melts into the touch.

patrick is behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and his hands are roaming everywhere. it’s like he has a million of them. you feel him all over somehow, especially when he starts to grind his hips slowly against yours. art is in front of you, facing you, with your hips practically pressed together. his hands roam just like patrick’s. maybe that’s why it feels like there are so many hands on you. you’re not sure where his hands are compared to patrick’s, all you know is that they feel so good. you’re dancing between the two of them, swaying and rolling your hips to the rhythm of the music surrounding you. every touch from the two of them sends shock waves through your body, little parks that feed into the ache you’re starting to feel between your legs. your head falls back on patrick’s shoulder and it’s like they can sense what you’re feeling without you saying anything. maybe you did say something - you’re honestly not sure what your mouth is doing, but it feels like you need to chew on something.

they take you back to your tent - adorably decorated by you earlier in the day because you insisted on making sure it looked nice. you go easily as they lay you down on the plush blankets laid over the air mattress art had the foresight to bring… almost like they’d planned this, what a coincidence. you’re starting to peak now, your body floating in space and so so sensitive. your mouth feels weird and you tell them so. art mentions casually that that’s normal, you just need to suck on something. it’s not entirely his fault that he’s standing right above you when he says it and it’s definitely not his fault that your first reaction is to flick your eyes down to the noticeable bulge in his pants before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes. what was he supposed to do?

as it turns out, art was right. sucking on something does help. the weight of his dick in your mouth, the salty taste of his skin, the delicious smell of him - they all make your head fuzzy and soft. you’re on your tummy between art’s legs and the ache between your own legs is still there, but again, it’s like they know what you need before you even ask. patrick slides up behind you and gently pulls your tiny little rave shorts down, delighted to find nothing under them. “she’s such a cute little slut,” he mutters softly to art.

it’s not long before patrick is sliding his dick inside you. you’re dripping around him and drooling around art, so leaky and wet for your two boys. never in your life did you think two people could make you feel this good, but it’s bliss. your bodies move and melt together, they anticipate your every need. the only thoughts occupying your mind are art, patrick, art, patrick, art, patrick. they adore you like this, so pliant and responsive. it takes every ounce of their willpower not to completely demolish you like they want to - a thought for next time, because the second they saw that dazed, doe-eyed look in you they decided there would be a next time. especially when they realize how easy it is to make you cum like this, how they barely have to move before you’re spasming and tightening your perfect little holes around them. they push and pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, only stopping when they can’t take it anymore and have to cum inside your thrumming body. even then, just the feeling of being filled with their hot sticky cum sends you over the edge one more time.

they hold you after, cooing at you and telling you how well you did for your first time. “our good girl, so fuckin proud of you. took it like a champ. so so good for us.” everything fades into white noise as you nuzzle between the two of them, getting as close as possible. you’re just barely starting to come down. they know you’ll be achy and sore tomorrow, but that won’t stop them from slipping you another pink little pill the next night.

#aaauurrrr love this concept #need to party with them #ask #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tw drugging #consensual but maybe not?#tw dubcon #just in case

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bloodreinasbathwater · 6 months ago

Text

Jacked Up Love

Jack Hughes X Best Friend! Reader

(Brothers Best Friend AU)

a.n: I have been bouncing around my living room as I typed this up. I have so many ideas for this fic since I want it to be on the longer side. I hope you guys enjoy and please message me if you have any questions or want to be added to the tag list. <3

warnings: flirting, not proofread, fuckboy jack, alcohol usage, allusion to cheating.

masterlist link

Summary: Caught between a secret crush and family loyalty, she shares an undeniable, electric connection with his best friend, Jack Hughes. Haunted by her feelings and the fear of Lee's reaction, Y/N finds solace in a cozy girls' night where her friends encourage her to take a chance on love.

word count - 3184

...

The music thumped through the crowded living room, the bass reverberating off the walls and shaking the floor beneath your feet. Partygoers spilled out into every available space, red solo cups clutched in their hands as they swayed to the rhythm of the beat.

It was your twin brother Lee's birthday bash, a wild celebration that would seamlessly transition into yours once the clock struck midnight.

Red and purple lights flashed in sync with the music, casting colorful shadows over the throng of people. The air was thick with the scent of beer and sweat, slowly beginning to choke you.

The living room was a chaotic blend of laughter, shouted conversations, and the clinking of cups, with decorations hastily thrown together to give the place a festive feel.

As much as you wanted to enjoy this moment for your brother, you couldn't. The music, the cake your friends had painstakingly made, the thoughtful gifts scattered across a table – none of it could lift the heavy weight in your heart. You were drowning in the secret you'd been carrying for months, maybe even years.

Through the haze of bodies and strobe lights, your gaze locked with a pair of striking blue eyes. Jack Hughes, Lee's best friend and the object of your forbidden affection, stared back at you intensely from across the room.

The connection between you two was electric, undeniable, a connection girls would kill for – but also utterly wrong. You knew his fan girls would kill for that look, that moment alone with him.

You quickly averted your eyes, guilt twisting in your gut.

The pulsating energy of the party seemed to mock your inner turmoil, each beat of the music hammering home the impossibility of your feelings. You took a sip from your cup, hoping the alcohol might dull the ache, but it only served to remind you of the secret you could never share.

As the minutes ticked down to midnight, the anticipation in the room grew. People began to chant Lee's name, the excitement palpable. But all you could think about was the man standing just a few feet away, and the forbidden connection that both thrilled and tormented you.

Instead of suffering in the heat of his presence, you made your way to the kitchen for a refill, snippets of conversation floated past you. But one hushed whisper from Lee's girlfriend made you freeze in your tracks.

"Mhmm yeah I know right!!” she whisper-shouted. “But did you hear? Jack's seeing someone on the side that no one knows about," she murmured conspiratorially to her wide-eyed friend. "But she came and told me. She’s my friend’s cousin. Apparently, he's been sneaking around with her for weeks now."

Your blood ran cold as the words sank in and your breath hitched as you tried to gasp for air but it ceased to work. The room seemed to tilt around you. Jack was cheating?

But how could that be, when just last night he'd held you in his arms and promised that you two would find a way to tell your brother about your secret relationship?

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Jack standing there, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said quietly, urgently. "Meet me upstairs in five minutes."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you reeling. Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it all. What the fuck was going on?

Trembling slightly, you ascended the stairs, navigating each step slowly on your wobbly legs. You had a sinking feeling that whatever awaited you in the room above would change everything - for better or for worse. The only question was, were you ready to face the truth?

…

5 months prior…

You'd known Jack since childhood, as he and your brother Lee had been inseparable since kindergarten. He was the epitome of popularity in high school.

His easygoing charm and infectious laugh made him a magnet for attention, and he reveled in teasing you relentlessly about the most trivial matters. You had always brushed off his playful flirting, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered, but it wasn't until sophomore year that you started seeing him differently.

It happened gradually at first - lingering glances across the cafeteria, a flutter in your stomach whenever he flashed that crooked grin. But by junior prom, you were head over heels.

You could still remember that night vividly. Jack had shown up at your door looking unfairly gorgeous in his tailored suit, ready to pick up Lee for their double date.

When his eyes met yours, time seemed to slow. "Wow, Y/N," he'd said softly, his gaze raking over your dress appreciatively. "You look beautiful."

Your cheeks had flushed scarlet at the compliment, and in that moment, you knew you were a goner. As Jack and Lee posed for photos, laughing and joking around, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the tall, athletic figure of your brother's best friend.

You loved the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead boyishly, the way his blue eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence. He was charming and quick-witted, always ready with a joke or a sarcastic quip. But beneath that cocky exterior, you sensed a deep loyalty, a steadfast devotion to those he cared about.

That summer, you found yourself spending more and more time with Jack and Lee, the three of you lounging by the pool or goofing off playing video games.

Every accidental brush of Jack's hand against yours set your skin on fire. You lived for those little moments - a shared inside joke, a knowing glance when Lee said something ridiculous.

Now you found yourself engrossed in videos on your phone as you lay on your side in your bedroom. You felt the weight of the bed shift as it dipped on the other side and a pair of strong arms snaked around your waist, a low, husky voice whispered in your ear, “Miss me?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the familiar timbre. “Definitely not,” you scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. “Did you need something, or are you just here to bother me with your existence?”

Jack chuckled softly, his breath warm on your neck. “You're way too serious,” he whispered, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and pulling you closer. “You need to relax once in a while, you know...”

“God Jack, you're such a fuckboy,” you muttered, voice strained as you weakly fought against his hold, worming your way off your side.

He laughed softly, tightening his grip on your waist. “Aww, don't say that like it's a bad thing,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead. Over the years you had grown used to Jacks subtle affection, but that didn’t help the skip of your heart anytime he came with an inch of you.

“Is it *bad* for me to want to hold my best friend's sister?” His words were laced with a playful, almost teasing tone, but his touch was anything but playful.

It was possessive, almost desperate, and it sent shivers down your spine. “Depends on what your intentions are,” you replied curtly, trying to maintain what composure you had left. “You know we're never gonna happen, right? Can't ever and won't ever.”

You knew you were pushing him away but couldn't help it; the thought of anything more than friendship with him felt wrong, forbidden.

Jack shrugged, “you never know,” he whispered, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. “There could always be a chance...”

His words were a dangerous siren song, tempting with a future you knew you couldn't have. “Trust me, I know Jack.” You whispered back, heart thrumming against its cage like a frantic drum. The sound of your racing heartbeat was a betrayal, a secret you feared Jack would overhear.

“You're nervous,” he whispered against your cheek. “I can hear and feel your heart, it’s so loud y/n… am I making you nervous?”

Panic surged through you at his words and suddenly you felt the need to get away. “oh my god, do you hear that? I think my brother's calling me,” you said placing your hand against your ear, dramatically looking towards the door as if searching for his voice. You finally broke free from his hold.

You readjusted your clothes, trying to regain your composure and walked towards the door, turning back to look at Jack with a forced smile. “Come on!”

“But we were just getting to the exciting part,” he whines, adjusting himself into a seated position. An idea sparks into his mind, and he proposed, “Why don't you go check on your brother while I stay in your room? When you're ready, come fetch me.”

He gave you a sly grin, raising his eyebrows suggestively while he relaxed himself against the headboard.

“No way,” you protest, marching towards jack and firmly grasping his strong, muscular arm. “Let's go.” Undeterred, he readily follows your lead, allowing you to pull Jack to his feet.

“Alright then, I suppose you're just not in the mood for some playful banter,” He say with a shrug, trailing behind you as you exit your room.

…

As you both made your way down the stairs, you can't help but be drawn to the pictures of Lee and you that adorn the walls. Each one brings back a flood of memories, creating a timeline of your life, that is both heartwarming and bittersweet.

Your eyes come to a stop on a black and white photo of Jack and yourself from three years ago, taken in the very room upstairs on senior prom night.

Jack takes note of you pausing beside him, his eyes following yours to the photo. A small smile tugs at the corners of jack’s mouth as he take in the sight of you both looking so young and carefree. “Ah, I remember that night...” jack says softly, laughing softly. “God, you were a pain in the ass...' he teased, his voice full of affection.

“Like you were any better,” you shoot back, nudging your arm playfully.

Jack laughed, unable to deny the truth in your words. “Hey, at least I didn't whine and complain the whole time. You promised me that if I went to this party with you that you wouldn't complain, but of course you did...” he trailed off, recalling the events of that night.

You pause, mock-offended at his accusation. "Me? Complain? Never! I was just expressing my opinions on the music selection. There's a difference, you know," you say, pretending to be scandalized.

"And it's not my fault your fan girls kept stepping on my feet,” you say with a mock glare. “What even happened to that one girl? Weren't you supposed to go to prom with her that night?”

“You mean Jennifer? It seems like a lifetime ago now.” Jack raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Yeah, I was supposed to go to prom with her, but she was a bore. I didn’t plan on going to prom with her to begin with.” He admits.

“Being with her felt... forced. It didn't feel right. She found herself a different guy to go with anyway." He shrugs again, not bothered in the least. “But what about you? Who were you going to go with, huh?”

You look away sheepishly. “You’re the only person I asked.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, a flicker of surprise in those azure eyes. But then he smiled softly, feeling a warmth in his heart at your words. "Did you secretly have a crush on me back then or something?" he teases, with a hearty laugh.

“In your dreams.” You scoff, pushing his shoulder before continuing down the stairs.

He catches you off guard by wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close, smiling brightly at you. “Maybe dreams do come true, you know?” he whispers, "Don't worry, it's okay to admit it. You can't resist this face," jack jested, striking a ridiculously cheesy model pose.

“We could never do that, Jack.” You sigh.

“Yeah yeah... but…” he trails off as you lean your head onto his shoulder, his arms tightening their grip around you. He was silent for a moment before he started again. “You feel that?” he whispers, referring to how perfectly your bodies fit together. “It feels like we’re made for each other.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” You turn in his arms, now facing him.

Jack tilts his head slightly, looking at you. “And why can’t I?” he asks, a sly smile on his face. “You don’t feel it too? That there’s definitely some sparks between us?”

He reaches up, gently cupping your face while he presses his forehead to yours, your lips just barely touching. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his cologne envelop you, creating a bubble of intimacy.

You say nothing, just continue staring into his eyes, your thoughts a whirlpool of confusion and desire. “We were supposed to be down there 10 minutes ago, Jack. Let’s go.”

Jack rolls his eyes slightly, looking back at the photograph before sighing in defeat. “Fine, let’s go then.” the creak of the wooden steps underfoot and the distant hum of conversation from the living room growing louder. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the tang of lemon cleaning solution.

…

You glance around the living room, searching for your brother's watchful eyes before allowing Jack to veer into the living room. The room is a burst of activity: Lee's friends scream in triumph as they win another round of NHL, their cheers filling the space with infectious energy.

The flicker of the TV screen casts a blueish glow across their faces. Lee huffs deeply, turning his disappointed gaze to Jack as he plops onto the couch, the leather squeaking beneath him.

Jack laughs softly, joining his friend on the couch. “You’re just making it easy at this point,” he chuckles, shaking his head mockingly. The warmth of the room, filled with the scent of popcorn and the underlying hint of teenage sweat, contrasts sharply with the cool leather of the couch.

“I get why you’re losing though; you have other things on your mind…” Jack tilts his head slightly as he speaks, shooting a glance in your direction unbeknownst to you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of teasing and unspoken affection.

…

The following weekend, snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, covering the world in a pristine white blanket. Inside, the warmth from the fireplace filled the room, the crackling flames casting a cozy glow that softened the edges of your living room.

Your three closest friends trickled in, each carrying trays of colorful cocktails, the drinks decorated with festive garnishes. Laughter and chatter filled the air as they set the trays on the coffee table, their cheeks rosy from the cold.

"Y/N, this place looks amazing," Sophie exclaimed, shrugging off her coat and hanging it by the door. "And I needed this so much. Work has been a nightmare."

"Tell me about it," Ava chimed in, plopping down on the couch and grabbing a cocktail. "I feel like I haven't slept in days. But tonight, it's all about us."

Mia, the last to arrive, brought a tray of her famous spiked hot chocolate. "Who needs a beach vacation when you have a fireplace and booze?" she joked, handing you a steaming mug.

Jersey Shore played in the background, a comforting, familiar noise that accompanied your weekly girls' night ritual. The girls settled in, curling up on the couch and floor, the room filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon from the candles you had lit.

"So, what’s the latest?" Sophie asked, taking a sip of her cocktail and looking around expectantly. "I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever."

Ava leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Okay, you guys are not going to believe what happened at work this week. So, you know that cute new guy in accounting? Well, apparently he's been asking about me!"

Sophie gasped, clasping her hands together. "No way! Tell us everything!"

As Ava launched into a detailed account of her office flirtation, complete with dramatic reenactments, you found yourself relaxing, the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of your friends soothing the turmoil inside you. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, sipping your wine and laughing along with the girls.

But just as Ava was getting to the juicy part, Mia turned to you with a mischievous grin. "Okay, enough about Ava's love life. Y/N, we need to talk about you and Jack!"

You nearly choked on your drink, feeling your cheeks heat up. "What? There's nothing to talk about," you protested weakly. Sophie rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, you've been crushing on him since high school. It's so obvious. Why haven’t you made a move?”

"Yeah, remember junior prom?" Ava chimed in. "You couldn't take your eyes off him all night. I thought you were going to combust when he told you that you looked beautiful!"

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "Ugh, don't remind me. I was so awkward back then."

Mia reached over and squeezed your shoulder. "Hey, we've all been there. But seriously, what's stopping you from going for it now? You're both single, you have history... it could be epic!"

You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass. "It’s not that simple. Lee would be so angry if he found out. Jack is his best friend. I don’t want Jack to have to deal with that kind of fallout. And besides, I don’t even know if he likes me the way I like him."

Sophie leaned forward, her expression softening. "But what if things went right? You can't let fear hold you back forever, Y/N. Sometimes you just have to take a chance on love."

The girls exchanged looks before she started again. "Y/N, come on," Sophie said, rolling her eyes. "Any guy would be falling at your feet if you wanted them to. Jack is no exception."

"Yeah," Ava agreed, "and from the way Jack looks at you when he thinks no one's watching? I'd say there's definitely some unfinished business there."

Your heart fluttered at the thought. Could they be right? Was it possible that Jack felt the same way after all these years?

As if reading your mind, Mia grinned. "I think it's time for Operation Seduce Jack Hughes. Who's with me?"

The girls cheered, clinking their glasses together. You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of affection for your ridiculous, wonderful friends. "Alright, alright," you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. "I’ll think about it, okay?"

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the giddy thrill of possibility, but in that moment, anything seemed possible. Even a happily ever after with the boy you'd loved for as long as you could remember.

…

Tag List <3

@ru-kru, @rebelatbay

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