#I knew they’d snub her

[notearsnora]

Ariana Grande recieved 3 nominations at the Grammy Awards:

Best Pop Vocal Album: eternal sunshine. (she’s the first artist in history to have 6 consecutive albums nominated in this category, every single album of hers since my everything was nominated for best pop vocal album and she won it previously for sweetener)

Best pop duo/group performance: the boy is mine (remix)

Best Dance Pop Recording: yes, and?

She’s notably absent from the major categories, (AOTY, ROTY, SOTY, BEST MUSIC VIDEO), especially for we can’t be friends which is one of the biggest and most acclaimed songs of 2024 and one of the biggest music videos of the year as well.

[sp0o0kylights]

"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch. 

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into  his annual “anti-valentines day” rant. 

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school. 

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his. 

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as  if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.” 

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted. 

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list. 

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out. 

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder. 

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

 Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it. 

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once." 

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans. 

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day. 

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"  

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts. 

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first. 

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned. 

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit. 

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute. 

Not in the way he used to. 

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer." 

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy. 

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry. 

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental. 

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well. 

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful. 

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.” 

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.  

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information. 

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )  

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present.  “I bet none of you even enjoy it!” 

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.  

Except his team had already proven they didn’t. 

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was. 

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted. 

Emphasis on ‘if.’ 

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much. 

So said Carol, anyway. 

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!" 

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved. 

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore. 

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction. 

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself. 

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!” 

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice. 

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it. 

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit? 

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue. 

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy. 

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to. 

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.” 

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.) 

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!” 

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards. 

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!” 

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control. 

All he wanted to do was go home. 

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else. 

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve. 

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul. 

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.” 

The world stopped. 

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off. 

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.) 

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him. 

Just as the entire cafeteria was. 

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson. 

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done. 

With his so called friends, with  the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything. 

He was over it. 

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it. 

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.) 

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it. 

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down. 

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped. 

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.  

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up. 

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”  

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him. 

 “For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to. 

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball. 

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”  

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it  landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet. 

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time. 

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently? 

He just felt tired. 

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.  

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just  shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them. 

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway. 

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks. 

They were ignored. 

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up. 

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm.  “You’re not fucking better than any of us!” 

Steve didn’t even look back. 

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.” 

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight. 

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.  

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang. 

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year. 

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new. 

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday. 

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech. 

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered. 

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson. 

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned. 

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.” 

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.” 

Or any day, for the foreseeable future. 

“Yeah no--I, I got that.  I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.” 

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time. 

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say. 

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track. 

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.” 

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately. 

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what. 

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into. 

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both. 

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed. 

 “I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere. 

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!” 

Then immediately; 

“Actually yes, but--”  

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough. 

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right." 

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either. 

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station. 

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions. 

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!” 

“Tommy did what?” 

Steve was promptly ignored. 

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.) 

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.) 

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.” 

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself. 

“So here I am. Apologizing.” 

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.” 

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.”  Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock. 

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down. 

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.” 

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least. 

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.  

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh. 

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.” 

“Yeah?” 

Eddie grinned. 

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.” 

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face. 

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”  

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.” 

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!” 

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening. 

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!” 

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face. 

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen. 

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.” 

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required. 

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?” 

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous. 

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.” 

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?” 

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response. 

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things. 

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg. 

 Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor. 

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out. 

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.”  Steve told him absently. 

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing. 

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him. 

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up. 

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted. 

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.” 

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise. 

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his. 

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk. 

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that. 

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze. 

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat. 

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back. 

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…” 

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley. 

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing. 

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?” 

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly. 

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. ) 

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Nami vs Whitebeard for the child. That’s all I can think of now after reading the new Little Lucky Au upload 👀😭

This was supposed to be cute/funny, but then I got carried away and made it crucial to the plot of the Little Lucky AU. Oops. This takes place sometime after Marineford but before the timeskip.

Also Thatch is alive and well here because I said so and as a fanfic writer it is my right to engage in a little bit of friendly necromancy when I see fit.

Decisions Made

4.1k words

Nami didn’t like this one bit. She hated it, really, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. She was on a ship sitting across the strongest man in the world and had to play nice lest she makes you upset.

As much as she was glad that Luffy had been able to successfully save his brother, she was not happy about Ace using this as an opportunity to finally succeed in bringing you over to his family. It had been a couple of days since the Marineford incident, and as soon as both crews had the chance to recover from the brutal battle, Ace had apparently set out to track them down.

Luffy was quick to agree to Ace’s proposal to pay Whitebeard’s crew a visit, promising that there would be a party to celebrate the successful rescue mission. Nami knew better though, she knew that this was much more about getting you on board the Moby Dick than the celebration. There was nothing she could do about it, though. Luffy had already decided on it, and you were so excited to meet Ace’s brothers that there was no stopping it.

The party itself was about as lively as one would expect it to be with a crew so large, it had been a struggle to keep track of where you were at any given moment. It felt like you were being swept away by a different crew member every other second, and Luffy telling her not to worry about it was not helping.

The feast they’d hosted wasn’t too bad. Well, the food was spectacular, but the relieving part was that you were easy to keep track of during it. You’d made yourself comfortable on Ace’s lap the second he sat down, and he did not give any of his brother’s a chance to “get a turn”. Nami would have preferred you to be seated with them, but she could at least settle for this since you were only a few meters away at best.

Currently, she was seated across the deck from where Whitebeard’s massive throne was. While the others were at least trying to make small talk with the emperor, she was quietly watching you to make sure nothing funny happened.

Humorously, the “person” you’d been most excited to meet was Kotatsu, some large wild cat that was a part of Ace’s crew before it disbanded. The second Ace realized that your love for cats extended beyond your pet Magnolia, he was quick to tell you all about Kotatsu to try and entice you to come with him for a visit. His plan worked on you flawlessly, but fortunately her and Sanji were able to stop him before he snuck off with you. 

While she had been a little concerned about Kotatsu lashing out at you after seeing how scary he looked, your seemingly endless cat charm worked on him just as well as it did on every other feline you’d come across. The overgrown lynx was happily purring up a storm on your lap while you lavished him with attention. 

Magnolia has not been taking her loss of attention very well and was sat at Nami’s feet glaring at Kotatsu like she was planning to eat him. Her tail was whipping back and forth in irritation, and her claws were digging into the floorboards. 

She was grateful that the cat was keeping you in place at least, every single one of Ace’s brothers have been trying to entice you away from him, but the efforts were all in vain. You were in kitty heaven and you weren’t about to move from it. If nothing else, it was funny to see these people getting snubbed by you in favor of a cat.

A door opened, and Nami recognized the ship’s head chef making a beeline for you. Thatch had been trying his hardest to bond with you, and both of his hands were full with his latest effort.

Thatch dropped a food bowl on the ground, piled with whole fish for Kotatsu. He immediately perked up and sniffed the air. There was a brief pause before he got up to go dig in to the food he was offered. You pouted at being abandoned by your newest cat friend, but Thatch was quick to take the opportunity presented to him.

“Hey there, Lucky!” He ruffled your hair with his free hand, “I thought you might want some dessert.” The chef lowered his other hand, revealing a small plate with cookies stacked onto it.

Your eyes lit up and you smiled widely, eagerly taking the plate from him, “These look yummy! Thank you, Uncle Thatch!” 

The second this crew heard you refer to Ace as “Uncle Ace”, everyone else had insisted that they were now also your uncles. Ace agreed, and since you hung onto every word out of his mouth, that meant you agreed too. This fact made Nami huff. These people were weird.

Thatch grinned triumphantly and smartly scooped you up into his arms before Kotatsu could come back and curl up on you again. There wasn’t a single protest out of you, seeing as that you were happily munching on cookies. 

Nami could hear Sanji grumbling next to her, followed by the sound of his lighter flicking on. Again. He’s been chain smoking like mad since they got on board.

The door he had come out of before opened again, this time with Ace and Marco exiting. So that’s where Ace had gone. Nami was suspicious when he abruptly vanished a while ago, and that feeling only doubled when she saw how serious their faces were. Just what were they talking about?

They diverged paths, with Marco leisurely making his way to Whitebeard, while Ace bounded over to you and Thatch. A smile had been plastered over his face now, showing no hint of whatever conversation he’d had with Marco mere minutes ago. He tried to take you from Thatch’s arms, but the chef used his height to his advantage and kept you out of reach.

“Come on, I haven’t seen my niece in forever!” Ace pleaded.

“It hasn’t even been an hour, quit whining. We all want a chance to see our niece,” Thatch replied smugly. His cockiness was only aided by the fact that you were giggling at the game of keep away that you were being used in.

Nami glanced back at Whitebeard and saw him and Marco having a hushed conversation. Both of their expressions were unreadable, and whatever Marco was saying was so quiet that Nami couldn’t make it out. She felt uneasy. Something about their exchange felt off, even if she couldn’t pinpoint it. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to leave right now, but Luffy wouldn’t allow it.

She hadn’t missed the disapproving look Marco had the first time he’d seen Lucky. While your injuries had healed since their horrible run-in with Enel, you were severely scarred from it. Mentally and physically. Sanji had been trying out every scar removing ointment that he could find on you, but the scars were still extremely visible. 

Everyone was prone to getting defensive over people judging them for your previous injuries. They felt awful enough without having other people rubbing it in their face.

It was inevitable that Ace was going to question what happened, she knew that the second she spotted his boat speeding towards theirs. The literal second he’d made eye contact, his smile fell and he was looking at the rest of them and asking what happened to his niece while scooping you into his arms protectively. Luffy, being the honest loud mouth that he is, told him everything. Ace didn’t take it well, but he tried to keep it together for your sake.

Marco finished whatever it was that he had to say and hopped down, strolling over to where you were being held in the air. Ace was still trying to get you back, becoming increasingly offended by your lack of cooperation. 

Since Thatch was entirely focused on Ace, he didn’t even notice Marco approaching until he’d managed to snatch you out of his hands.

Before either of them could protest this, Marco cut in, “Are you planning on hogging her all day? Pops hasn’t even been able to properly meet the kid yet.” This was true, you’d barely been able to say ‘hi’ to the giant man before being whisked away by Ace for introductions to his brothers.

Thatch protested, complaining that he finally got to hold you, but Marco just rolled his eyes, “She isn’t going anywhere, you can spend more time with her later.” Marco readjusted his hold on you, and flashed a warm smile, “You want to go meet pops? He’s been waiting to talk to you.”

You bit your lip and mindlessly tugged on his open shirt, “Um… I guess?” 

Whitebeard was an extremely intimidating man, Nami wasn’t surprised that you were nervous about him. You’ve been around giants before, but none of them sported that stern expression that Whitebeard had 95% of the time. That, and she thinks that all of the tubes and medical equipment coming out of him was making you unsure. You’d never seen someone in such a state, so you didn’t seem to know what to make of it.

With every step towards the captain, you stared at him while he stared back. Finally, it dawned on Whitebeard that he may have been intimidating you, and his face softened into a small smile, “It’s nice to finally get a good look at you, my child! I was starting to think I wasn’t going to.”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly and you offered a smile back in exchange. You broke eye contact, tiny hands clinging onto Marco’s shirt as you shyly spoke, “It’s nice to meet you too, mister.”

The other crew members chuckled at your shyness, making you hold onto Marco tighter. This action made him smile and pat your back reassuringly. Once he’d made it to where Whitebeard was seated, the towering captain held out one of his hands. Marco deposited you into it, and despite it only being his hand, you were completely dwarfed by the size. 

You looked up at him warily, but still clung onto his thumb to keep from tumbling off his hand. Nami felt anxious at seeing you held so high off the ground, but knew that voicing this concern would do nothing. She would get laughed at and told to stop worrying so much by the crew. And also Luffy.

“So you’re the niece I’ve heard so much about?” Whitebeard had brought you up to chest height, trying to get a good look at you. All he got in response was you shifting back and forth on his hand before letting out a little ‘mmhm’. Whitebeard laughed loudly, the sound was booming, much like his devil fruit ability, “Ace hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got on board, but he never said anything about you being this shy!”

“I’m not that shy, mister” you huffed.

He chuckled, “Quit being so formal, kid. You can call me pops, too.”

Your head cocked to the side and your nose scrunched up. “Pops? But you’re way too old to be my dad,” you deadpanned. 

A hush fell over the crowd on deck, but only briefly. Then there was an uproar of laughter, including from Whitebeard himself. 

You immediately got defensive, “What? You are!” This didn’t help at all, people were only laughing harder. Even some of the Straw Hats were cracking up. Seeing you go from being all shy to straight up calling him super old was pretty funny.

Visibly flustered, you tried to make a compromise in hopes of getting everyone to stop laughing at you, “H-How about I call you grandpa?”

Whitebeard froze at your proposal, it was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting to hear that. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. A small, soft smile graced his features, “Sure. You can call me that if you want.” His attempt to put on a sterner voice wasn’t fooling anybody, everyone knew that just melted his heart. 

“Okay, grandpa!” You smiled triumphantly.

“Can’t say I’ve been called that before. I guess even an old man like me can still have some firsts,” he mused.

“How have you never been called ‘grandpa’ before? You’re super old,” Luffy just had to interrupt the moment.

“Watch it, you brat.”

“Watch what?” 

Whitebeard’s eye twitched and he exhaled sharply. He likely would have continued a back and forth with Luffy if you hadn’t started giggling about it. That ever so slight softening around his eyes showed again. For someone who was supposed to be the strongest man in the world, he sure was a softy.

You leaned back in his hand to look up at him, “Hey, grandpas are supposed to have lots of stories, right? Can you tell me some, please?” Your eyes were sparkling with hope at the prospect of hearing some fun tales of adventure.

He hummed in thought, “I suppose I’ve got a few, if you really want to hear stories from an old man like me.”

“Yes, I do!” You nodded enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear. 

Usopp was muttering next to Nami, offended that you were asking for stories from someone other than him. Nami slumped back in her seat as Whitebeard started one of his tales, looks like she was going to be there for a while yet. There was no telling how long this was going to go on for.

—

Nami jolted awake abruptly. Shit, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that! Sitting up right, she massaged her stiff neck and noted how the sky had gone from a pale blue to a warm orange. How long was she out for?!

Looking over to where she last saw you, she felt momentary relief at seeing you still there. You were curled up in Whitebeard’s hand, sound asleep. Whatever relief she had was quickly replaced with annoyance as she witnessed him lowering his hand and allowing Ace to pick you up.

Launching herself forward, she strode towards him, “Oh, look at that! She’s asleep, so that’s our cue to leave. Give her to me so I can tuck her into her bed.” She looked over her shoulder to the other Straw Hats, who were also taking an impromptu nap, “Everyone up! We’re leaving.”

Ace didn’t respond to her demand to hand you over. He just held you to his chest tighter and shot her a downright guilty look before speedwalking to where the personal cabins were. Magnolia sped after you two, meowing loudly at Ace.

Nami’s brow furrowed in agitation. What the hell did he think he was doing? “Hey! Get back here!”

“Sit down, Nami,” Whitebeard’s voice cut through the air. His tone was so strict that it actually made her pause. 

She shook her head, “Don’t tell me what to do! It’s late, we need to get Lucky to bed.” A door opened and closed, and just like that, Ace and you were out of sight. It seems even Magnolia had gone inside. She cursed under her breath and stomped to the door, bound and determined to get you back.

“I said to sit down!” Whitebeard boomed. “We need to talk.”

There was an overwhelming weight on what felt like her very being that knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled, and as much as she wanted to curse at him, she couldn’t find the will to do so. Despite not at all wanting to, she retreated back to where her chair was. Nami’s willpower was no match for haki, much to her chagrin. 

Now everyone was awake and very on edge from whatever it was that Whitebeard was about to say. It was only now that she noticed Marco perched on top of the throne. His face was perfectly neutral, not aiding at all in revealing what this talk was going to be about.

Sanji was visibly seething. He hated being away from his little princess, so Ace up and running away with you was not going over well with him, “What? What do you want to talk about so damn bad?”

“Lucky is going to be staying with us from now on.”

The deck was dead silent, it was as if even the waves had stopped.

“Who do you think you are?! You can’t decide that!” Sanji was out of his seat and stormed right at the captain.��

Whitebeard didn’t even flinch, looking annoyed more than anything, “I can and I have. This is for her own good. If you all genuinely care about her well being then you will accept this.”

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” Nami hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! This doesn’t make any sense, let me go get Ace!” Luffy, ever the optimist, assumed this must be a misunderstanding. He got up to go fetch his brother, but stopped dead in his tracks by what was said next.

“What are you hoping to accomplish with that? This was his idea,” Marco drawled. 

“I knew it! I knew he was up to something!” Nami had never been more upset to be right about something. 

When they were still making their way to the Moby Dick, Ace had abruptly hopped off their ship and onto his own boat. His reason for doing so was to let the crew know that they were coming, which Nami thought was bullshit. The Thousand Sunny was a massive ship, they could absolutely see them well before they got there. There was no need for Ace to go out ahead of them unless he wanted to speak with his crewmates privately. Which apparently, he did.

Luffy snapped out of his frozen state and made a run for the door, “No, he wouldn’t do that!”

Whitebeard grabbed his naginata and flung it outward, blocking Luffy’s path, “We’re not done talking yet, stay here.”

Luffy held his gaze for a solid minute, the tension in the air had everyone on edge. Begrudgingly, Luffy made his way back to where the rest of his crew was and stood with them, arms crossed. He spoke through gritted teeth, “Why?”

“I didn’t make this decision to be cruel. I decided on this because I want that kid to live a long life, and she won’t get to have one in your care,” Whitebeard stated coldly.

“You don’t know that! We’ve taken care of her for this long and we will keep doing so!” Robin protested. Her voice was wavering, choked in emotion.

“Have you? Were you really taking care of her when she was kidnapped and almost killed in Skypeia?” The words were harsh and painful to hear. Everyone was stammering for a response to that.

“That… That was a horrible mistake that will never happen again,” Robin’s voice was meek, guilt heavy in each word.

“Oh? So she wasn’t kidnapped again not long after that?”

Robin flinched at the accusing tone and curled in on herself. Franky reached over to place a supportive hand on her back and glared at Whitebeard, “That’s low.”

Nami’s face felt hot with shame. It was true that they had utterly failed you when Enel took you away. The awful state you were in when Luffy had finally gotten there and saved you would be burned into her memory for the rest of her life.

It was also true that you had been kidnapped again in Water 7, but how was she supposed to know that the shipwright that had gone to perform an assessment of their ship was going to make off like a bandit with you. Or that Zoro would fucking sleep through it. Sanji still hasn’t forgiven him for that. 

At least you hadn’t been harmed that time around. A shock in hindsight considering what kind of a person that Kaku turned out to be.

If Whitebeard had any sympathy for them, he wasn’t showing it in the slightest. He openly sneered at them, “I don’t care if it’s “low”, you need to hear it. If you couldn’t keep her safe in the Grand Line, do you really think you’re going to be able to do so in the New World? You won’t. You’re all too young, too inexperienced. Just keeping your crew alive in the New World is a feat, keeping a small child alive is a completely different story. If I leave her with you lot, she will die.”

“You can’t just take her away like this! That’s our kid dammit!” Sanji looked like he was ready to go on a rampage, even if it killed him.

“You’re welcome to try and get her back. Though I wouldn’t recommend it,” Marco said coolly. His posture was relaxed, but the look in his eyes was anything but. His head gestured to the side, calling attention to several of Whitebeard’s commanders lurking around on the deck.

Jozu was as hard to miss as he was intimidating, Izou was cleaning one of his guns while fixing them with an unimpressed look, and Thatch was the only one that appeared to feel at least a little bad for them. Several others were milling about too, not directly interacting, but the threat was clear.

Don’t even try it.

“What if we became stronger?”

“What?” Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed at Luffy’s question.

“What if we became strong enough to protect her from anything?!” Luffy’s voice rose in volume.

“You can’t be serious, Luffy! Are you actually going to entertain this idea?!” Sanji turned on him in an instant, appalled that his captain seems to be considering it.

Luffy’s knuckles were white, his fists were clenched so tight that his fingernails were cutting into his palms and starting to drip blood onto the floorboards. He didn’t bother responding to Sanji, instead choosing to press Whitebeard for an answer to his question, “Well?!”

Whitebeard grinned, then chuckled, then started full on laughing. Luffy only continued to scowl at him, wanting to hear an answer already.

“You really think that you can accomplish that? You’re a cocky little brat, aren’t you?” Whitebeard chuckled again and rested his chin on his fist. He thought for a moment, then finally gave a proper answer, “Sure. If you can become so strong that you can actually protect the kid from anything then we’ll give her back.”

“Fine.” Luffy pulled his hat down over his eyes and turned away from the emperor. Without even looking at his crew, he spoke again, “Let’s go. We have a lot of work to do.”

“What are you saying?! We can’t just leave her here!” Sanji was borderline hysteric now.

“Will Lucky be safe in your care?” Luffy asked.

“She’ll be the safest kid in the world. Promise,” Marco assured him.

Luffy nodded, “Okay. We’ll be back for her. We’re leaving now, captain’s orders.”

Sanji tried to protest again, but Zoro clamped a hand onto his shoulder, “Stop. If Luffy says we need to leave, then we have to whether you like it or not.” Zoro’s other hand was closed around the hilt of one of his swords. His hand was shaking and his face was pinched, his eyes were strictly fixed onto the ground. 

The cook slapped his hand away, chest heaving in fury. There was a pause, but he ultimately went towards the Thousand Sunny, not saying a word to anyone else while digging out a cigarette.

Everyone else was still in disbelief over what happened, but slowly began to make their way to their ship. The Whitebeard Pirates didn’t say anything else, letting them leave in silence. They all felt numb.

As soon as they were on the ship, Chopper ran to Robin for comfort with tears pouring down his face. She knelt down to comfort him, but it was evident from the vacant look in her eyes that she wasn’t fairing much better than he was.

Nami cornered Luffy, “What was that all about?! How could you just up and agree with him?!”

“He was right. We need to get stronger,” Luffy stated.

How could he be so calm about this?! Nami shoved his shoulder, screaming at him, “How do you even know that he’s going to keep his word about giving her back?!”

“I don’t. But we’re going to become so strong that it won’t matter if he does.” With that, Luffy left to go sit on the figurehead of the ship, needing time to think. To plot. Their going to need a damn good course of action to accomplish what they need to.

[oops-it-happened-again]

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 1

From the start, I want to specify that I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Ellyn Baratheon lives a life in the shadows in her father's keeping. Until the day she and her sisters are told that they might soon be married to the King's brother. Dreading an uncertain future where all their secrets may come to light, she takes a reckless decision.

Words: 3k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy

Aemond kept as still as he could while the Lord of Storm’s End went through the usual motions of displaying his power and influence with despicable self-importance.

He’d expected as much, but it made him slightly uneasy, nevertheless, to feel the eyes of so many courtiers and counsellors following his every minute movement.

What were they thinking? Were they in awe or wickedly amused by his presumption?

His mother had been very clear in her instructions—he was to cement his brother’s claim to the throne by offering his hand in marriage to bind Borros Baratheon to their cause.

“At least there are two of them,” Alicent had sighed when she’d looked at her unfortunate son with quiet discouragement. “It’s your name—our name—you’ll be selling. Let’s hope that is convincing enough.”

As he now weathered the insidious tempest of disobliging whispering, Aemond sank deeper into his immobility for fear that even the minutest flinch would give away his thoughts.

Neither his mother nor his grandsire or brother had considered, even for a minute, that a maiden might want to wed him.

He was the king’s son, the king’s brother, and those fraying links of blood and loyalty were all he had to show in his favour.

As he stood, tall and cold as a statue, in the draughty hall, Aemond couldn’t shake the memory of the subdued despair painting his relatives’ faces a ghostly white—things were dire, he’d been told, and they had to make bold strokes.

Daeron, of course, was too young and outside the reach of their mother’s grasp, so she’d seen herself compelled to offer what she clearly thought of as “damaged goods” in hopes that the wave of good fortune and pure luck that had carried their House thus far would overwhelm others into complying.

Once upon a time, Aemond knew, a young Alicent had herself made her fortune by being sweet and comely, thus catching the eye and affection of a widowed king, but he could boast neither one of these favours.

Lord Borros grunted loudly, and Aemond had to suppress a shiver of apprehension. What if this formidable ally would deny his brother’s request for fealty on account of the prospective groom’s shortcomings?

He couldn’t bear imagining the look of utter revulsion on his mother’s face if he came back without having secured an advantageous match—thus, he clenched his jaw and waited.

All the knowledge and skill he’d acquired over the years meant nothing in this arena, and Aemond dreaded the arrival of the daughters of the house.

He knew for a fact that they’d been summoned, but the hall remained eerily empty. Their potentially wilful tardiness annoyed him because his stomach was churning with tension as he was reminded of the countless times he’d been deliberately snubbed and excluded before.

“I don’t have all day,” he hissed, earning but a tired look from the resident Lord.

“They’ll be here soon enough, and then you can have your pick,” Baratheon drawled, leaning back in his chair in an explicit show of disinterested superiority.

Aemond found that he was relieved to see that his negotiation partner seemed disinclined to maudlin preoccupation—this would be vital if the girls outright refused to do as they were told.

The scene taking shape in his head—a sweet-looking, dark-haired girl clutching at her father’s legs while begging him not to condemn her to such a terrible fate—made his mouth curl into a sour sneer.

“Ah, here they come now. My Prince—meet my daughters.”

“Come on, Ellyn,” Cassandra hissed as she burst into her sister’s room like an autumn storm unleashed. “The King’s brother is here—he’s agreed to wed one of us.”

Laying her book aside with a guilty flinch, Ellyn stood and patted her hair nervously.

“Remember!” Cassandra said urgently to which the other merely nodded. “Leave it to me!”

Ellyn Baratheon was almost two and twenty years of age, but her father—guided by his meddling council—had long since decided that he would pass her off as his third-born daughter instead, which was easily done as she was small of stature and soft-featured.

Cassandra, of course, was so much like him that she was the perfect choice for a provisional heir while he prayed for a son nightly.

Tall and stern, Maris was by far the smartest of the gaggle of daughters, and Ellyn had readily agreed not to stand in the way of her bright sister’s promising future.

Thus, she’d taken her place on the third rung—a future consolation prize for a minor lord or ally at best, and a contented spinster at worst.

She was not overly worried about Floris, their youngest, either for she was already beautiful and would most probably catch the eye and heart of any Lord she fancied without too much trouble.

“I thought the King’s brother was presently betrothed?” Ellyn whispered urgently as she was ushered into the tenebrous throne room.

“The new King,” Maris, who kept herself informed about the events and developments of the realm, replied haughtily. “Now be quiet and look pretty.”

Ellyn only managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes because her father’s imperious gaze settled on her at that very moment.

“My daughters,” he thundered and waved towards the row of young, nubile ladies expressively.

“Go then,” Maris said without moving her lips all too much and gave Cassandra a little nudge. “You wanted to be the oldest and the heir—go entertain our esteemed guest.”

“Oh, he’s disfigured,” Cassandra mumbled as she pretended to fuss with Maris’s collar. “Do I really have to?”

Ellyn meanwhile was spellbound by the apparition in black leather, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he waited for either one of them to go talk to him.

He was prodigiously tall and stood very upright as if aggressively demanding to be acknowledged by the milling courtiers and her wilfully dispassionate father.

From this distance, Ellyn couldn’t make out every subtlety of his features, but his overall demeanour was self-possessed and dignified enough to make her spine tingle.

“You can be your nasty self and make sure he won’t choose you,” Maris grinned and slouched. She’d been told many a time that she was the least comely of the bunch, and she evidently planned on taking advantage of that unfortunate shortcoming to avoid a less-than-alluring fate.

“He looks funny,” Floris whispered, tugging at Ellyn’s sleeve. Being barely more than a child, she couldn’t yet fully understand the intricacies of court life and its intrigues—to her, Ellyn was her oldest, most reliable sister, and she turned to her in her confusion.

“Hush, little one,” Ellyn cautioned. “He might well become a very important man soon. Just hold on to your doll and think of pleasant things.”

Not her, Ellyn prayed, not the baby. Floris was too young to be carried away to King’s Landing where she would be without her friends and family.

Let it be one of us, one who can defend herself and cry noiselessly. Please, Gods, spare the child—she wouldn’t know how to be a bride.

Despite her glacial pace, Cassandra had now reached their guest and was making conversation when, suddenly, the door opened anew, and the Queen’s young son was announced.

Aemond fought the instinctive impulse to avert his face from the cool gaze of the tall, self-possessed maiden walking towards him with grim determination.

“My Prince,” she greeted without an ounce of virginal shyness or understandable fear. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant trip.”

Oh, he thought, she’d been taught how to behave in such a situation and taught well at that. From her calm demeanour and steady gaze, he could deduce that she’d entertained and humoured more than one unwelcome guest of her father’s in her short life.

Despite his better knowledge, he wished that she’d show any kind of candid emotion other than steadfast dutifulness. Even horror would have been better than cold indifference.

Along the back wall stood three other girls, trying hard to dissimulate their hushed conversation by hiding their mouths behind slender hands.

“Your sisters won’t join us?” he asked, aghast at how tense and breathless his voice sounded.

Cassandra Baratheon—oldest daughter and heir apparent—cocked one eyebrow impatiently as she took a nimble step to bar his view on her siblings.

“You shall have the opportunity to meet each of them in turn if that is your desire,” she replied in the bored tone of a tired shopkeeper.

Different answers, unduly angry and even bordering on despicably petulant, rose to Aemond’s pinched lips and died unspoken in the damp air between them.

The girl lifted her head defiantly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him as one gazed into an abyss just before taking a leap of faith.

“I take it you’d join your wife in Storm’s End?” she then said as he merely returned her icy look unflinchingly.

That reflection surprised and startled Aemond. “No,” he answered slowly.

“Well, as long as my father has no son, I’m bound to this place,” she shrugged.

For the first time since stepping out of the shadow of the hallway leading to their private rooms, Aemond saw her eyes light up with what he now recognised as insultingly earnest relief.

"What about your sisters?” he inquired, holding back his temper. The agony of being unwanted and unwelcome yet again thrashed like a wild beast within his chest, but he couldn’t let his undeniable faults ruin this tremendous chance for his House.

“Floris is too young to be taken away,” Cassandra replied sharply. “And Maris would probably nag you into taking her to Old Town to your mother’s kin.”

Mentally, Aemond weighed every piece of information carefully. There was a fourth daughter, he knew, but the young lady seemed unwilling to bring her up.

From where he stood, he could see her, bent over the youngest of the brood admonishingly. He couldn’t see her face very well, but she seemed comely enough, and the little girl’s expression was full of trust and love as she looked up at her older sister.

Cassandra followed his gaze and stiffened. “Ellyn,” she said in an unfathomably vague tone. “Who knows what she’d want—she’s a dreamer.”

Pulling himself back to the conversation at hand, Aemond snuffed out the spark of torturous envy that had been ignited in his heart at the sight of Ellyn’s small, pale hand smoothing down the youngest daughter’s braids soothingly.

Even after all these years, he still wished that things had been different between him and Aegon at times.

“I’d speak—”

He never got to finish his sentence as Lucerys was announced at that very moment.

An eternity of hurt and compounded slights came tumbling down to bury Aemond under his own folly.

In the end, he had to return to King’s Landing not only without the bride he’d sworn to secure but also with the terrible news that the first fell stroke of the looming war had been dealt by his very hand.

His mother only looked at him, eyes empty and lips pinched, before sweeping out of the room in disgust.

Later, Ellyn would hardly remember all the minute shifts in tone and demeanour that had led to the monumental tragedy of Prince Lucerys’s death, but the voice—raw, angry, and shockingly pained—of that looming, white-haired intruder stayed with her through many a night.

“Father will let him have one of us, nevertheless,” Cassandra prophesied as they sat around a blazing fire, Floris asleep on a nest of pillows at their feet. “He found Maris unprepossessing, and I must admit that he’s not what I’d hoped for either.”

When both her sisters turned to her, Ellyn drew her shoulders up as if to protect that spark of undue curiosity she’d buried deep within herself.

“He sounds…wounded,” she said cautiously.

“You don’t say? Were you so distracted by your romantic novels that you failed to notice the glaring lack of an eye?” Maris mocked. “What kind of man plans to present his mother with such a gruesome offering? He was outright frightening, no?”

Her tone was hard and unforgiving, and Ellyn frowned at the sight of the bitterness overtaking her plain features.

“One who wants to impress her?” she offered. “He’s well-grown and looks healthy. And he’s well-spoken.”

“If you disregard the unequivocal blemish and the fact that he’s a murderer,” Maris interjected coolly.

“Of course,” Ellyn sighed, feeling chastised once again. Her heart was too soft, and her mind too inclined to lose itself in fantastic stories to be relied upon to say the right thing at the right time.

“He has a face like a crescent moon,” Floris, who’d of course woken up at the worst possible moment mumbled.

“He looks dull,” Maris added pitilessly.

“He kind of is,” Cassandra agreed. “He’s just not…impressive enough. All those black clothes and the petulant expression—I’d rather hoped to marry someone more grandiose if you know what I mean?”

“You’re being ungenerous,” Ellyn interrupted their flood of mean words. “I thought him a fine-looking young man.”

“Well, then you can marry him for all I care,” Cassandra scoffed and breezed out of the room in a fit of unjust vexation.

As she lifted Floris into her arms to carry her to bed, Maris gave her sister a hard but not unkind stare. “Be happy that father demoted you—you clearly have much to learn still about the ways of the world and…men,” she said and left Ellyn alone, staring at the flames wistfully.

Even after she’d gone to bed, her sisters’ words haunted her. Displaced as she was, she loved them and wished to spare them any harm or pain.

In the eyes of the world, she might have been a lesser, younger daughter, but—in her heart of hearts—she knew what was expected of her.

Thus, she made a hare-brained, daring plan. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d grown almost invisible to those around her as war loomed on the horizon, she prepared for days before slipping out of her father’s castle under the cover of night.

To ensure that her disappearance would stay undiscovered for as long as possible, she didn’t take any of the guards or soldiers but fled with only her personal maid towards King’s Landing.

As soon as she’d made landfall, she hurried up a busy street and stopped at a vendor’s stall.

“I’m looking for the prince,” she whispered, jingling a few coins in her palm to signify that any information would be rewarded well.

“Which one?” the crone asked in a bored tone as she kept chewing on something soft and wet.

“The pretty one?” Ellyn said, afraid to speak his name where so many could overhear.

“He’s the King now,” the other laughed.

“No…the other one,” Ellyn sighed. “I mean him no harm—I—” She stopped herself before she could give away her identity inadvertently.

“Listen, lass, a pretty young thing like you should not go looking for Aemond One-Eye—he’s dangerous.” The woman spat into a street corner with admirable precision and then turned back to Ellyn. “Take it from me, dearie, you don’t want anything to do with him.”

I might not have a choice, Ellyn thought as her heart sank.

“I thank you, good woman,” she replied politely. “Where can I find out more? I’d like to know what kind of man he is.”

“Why?” The beady eyes of the old vendor now inspected her shrewdly, drinking in her dark, curly hair and her gentle, black eyes. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Knowing that she couldn’t very well tell this stranger that she wanted to protect her family and, if necessary, warn her sisters, Ellyn nodded wordlessly.

“I’ve seen him when he flew around the kingdom in the name of his brother…and I found him very intriguing,” she then breathed cautiously, hoping that her tone and wavering smile would give the impression of a puerile infatuation rather than of a deadly serious scouting mission.

“You’re as mad as he is,” the crone cackled. “Either way, ask around in the pillow houses and taverns—not that you’d find him there, but there might be people who know him better than I do, Gods be thanked.”

Bowing low, Ellyn dropped the coins into the gnarled hand that was extended towards her demandingly.

“Not promising,” Hala, her faithful maid and friend, who’d been standing just behind her throughout that whole conversation, whispered as they made their way into the bowels of the bright, sunny city. “What’s your plan?”

Just ahead, Ellyn saw the oddly familiar silhouette of a tall man walking stiff-backed towards an establishment of ill-repute, so she quickened her pace.

“Milady?” Hala called with mounting alarm.

Ideas and thoughts were considered and discarded at a pace that would have rivalled even Maris’s quick wit as they pushed their way through the throng of unwashed paupers and ruthless thieves.

Her father’s hall had been gloomy and ill-lit, and the Prince had certainly had other considerations on his mind than the seemingly innumerable daughters of a sour-tempered Lord—consequently, it was highly unlikely that His Highness would recognise her if he were to meet her again, stripped of all the trappings of her station and her house.

It was worth a try—instead of buying potentially false information from every low-born crook in the city, she might as well try to get to the man himself and make up her own mind about him.

Ellyn wasn’t naïve enough not to be fiercely aware of the moral peril she’d be, in for her father would certainly shun her if he ever learned of this, but she’d come too far to give up now.

“Why, my dear friend,” Ellyn grinned mischievously, feeling more like her brave, ferocious father’s daughter than ever before. “I’m going to pretend to be a whore.”

So, this was the first chapter. -> Chapter 2

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know!

[karskilledme]

NSFW Late Night Visits Kars x Fem!Reader

Kars and (y/n) have a weekly ritual of him coming over to absolutely pound her down. :) 

Warnings: Vaginal sex, Blowjob, sex without love(Kinda), talk of power play(again kinda barely), smoking ciggys.

Words: 1619

Minors DNI! 18+ only or you’ll be cursed for life. NSFW under the cut!

Warm full-bodied smoke filled my lungs, its warmth comforting me as I stared longingly into the night. Friday nights were our nights. It felt like it had been this way forever but in reality it had only been a handful of months. One night, not unsimilar to this one, he had appeared out of thin air and into my life. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he was dangerous, otherworldly. Something about that excited me. A mix up from my usual conservative, safe, and boring life. That man did something to me. Maybe it was his intoxicating aura that drew me in so easily, though his looks certainly didn’t hurt either. His skin was a warm brown, sculpted like fine marble statues, the kind they’d display in some fancy gallery, his eyes were piercing like they could see through you at a cellular level and his turban gave him a mysterious charm.

I shivered at the thought of that body and the way it touched me. Taking one last drag of my cigarette before snubbing it out with a sigh. With a last glance to the stars I turned to retreat to my room before being met with that daydream of a man. He stood leaned against the door frame of my quaint balcony. Arms crossed with his signature shit eating grin. I loved that look, especially when it was peeking up at me from between my thighs.

Returning his grin I spoke, “So you decided to spare me a visit after all?” I moved in closer, trailing my nails along the expanse of his crossed forearms. Despite the nights chill he was warm with life. He uncrossed his arms, straightening up, and cupped my cheek. His hand was almost terrifyingly large as it cradled me. It was no exaggeration that he could crush me in an instant. “I almost didn’t. You should feel lucky little deer.” He cooed, a sickly sweet tone of teasing in his voice. I scoffed and pushed past him, grabbing his hand from my face to pull him behind me.

It wasn’t ever a secret nor was it ever outright stated what he was here for. It was purely primal he had said on his second visit, no feelings attached, and I was fine with that or so I told myself. His body and the way he made me feel was more than enough, if he wasn’t looking for a relationship and I wasn’t either why force it?

Tonight wasn’t unlike any other, that much was quickly made apparent. Now sitting on my bed, his plush lips latched onto my neck, marking me with deep purple hickies I’d have to hide come morning. My hands made themselves busy, undoing his scarf as he worked. I didn’t get to see his hair until perhaps the fourth time he came and boy was I delighted. Hair wasn’t even the right word for his godly mane. It was so soft as my hand raked through it, applying soft pressure to his scalp as he worked little moans and mewls out of me. Kars never kissed me on the lips during our sessions. I wished for his kiss so badly, his lips were so warm and skilled just working on my body, it was hard not to imagine them against my own.

My hands feverishly traveled the expanse of Kars chest, finding their way to the band of his loincloth before quickly discarding of it. I peppered hot kisses down the expanse of his chest as teasingly slow as I could manage, my eyes never leaving his. My lips stopped short just inches from his throbbing member. His eyes spelled out his hunger plain as day while he bit his lip and stared at me. Tantalizingly slow I licked a long stripe up the underside of his dick, stopping to pay special attention to his head when I arrived. My tongue swirled around the blushed red tip, tasting the salt of his already beading precum. Satisfied that it was now sufficiently lubed up I bobbed down, taking as much of it in my mouth as I could. Kars tilted his head back with a groan and a mutter of something in another language. I gripped into his thigh with one hand and moved to jerk off the lower portion of his dick with the other. My head bobbed with determination, knowing that if I didn’t do good to help sate him now I wouldn’t be walking in the morning after he was through with me.

Kars was never vulnerable or emotional in the slightest when he came but when his dick was in my mouth and he was completely in my control there was a different side to him. He panted like a needy whore, gripping the bed sheets beside him, or my hair if he was wanting more. It was unlike any other side of him and I loved it. Seeing him unraveled under my touch, knowing that his pleasure was because of my hard work. It was enough to get me sopping by the time it came to sex.

Kars hips thrust up slightly, his tip twitching with the tell tale sign he was close. I let go of his shaft and gripped his balls before fully plunging on his dick. My throat and mouth going into overdrive as I worked to milk him dry of every last drop. Kars moaned out and gripped my hair before holding me down on his dick. His release filled my mouth as I slowed to a stop. Swallowing every last drop, I pulled off with a pop under his grip.

Kars was always quick on the rebound, ready in moments. His strong hands practically flung me up to the top of the bed. Despite not wanting any feelings involved he usually opted for breeding position or some variant of missionary unless he arrived pissed off or especially stressed. His head ran up the slick of my folds, drenching himself in my wetness. It was always daunting to start, being some sort of superhuman led to him having a superhuman sized dick.

Kars began pushing in, “So tight, will you be able to handle me tonight?” He teased. A gasp was all I could muster in response, the feeling of being stretched and filled making it impossible to think. He bottomed out and brought my legs up to his shoulders before perching over me. With barely any time to adjust he began drilling into me. It was impossible for him not to hit my gspot with every thrust since he hit every square inch of me, kissing my cervix with every bottom out. In no time I was a babbling mess. His hair was cloaked around me, his face twisted up ever so slightly while his mouth hung slightly parted. My eyes studied every beautiful inch of the sight above me before it all became too much. It was all I could manage to hold on as my eyes spun with stars and I struggled to catch my breath. Pure pleasure.

The sound of vulgar squelching and soft pants were all that was grounding me. Tingles began in my toes as he rammed in and out of me in a rhythmic bliss. “K-kaaarssss~!” I moaned out, digging my nails into his biceps. He grunted before moving in to grab one of my nipples in his mouth, picking up his pace. “Gonna c-cummm!” I screamed. Warmth flooded me, every point of contact going fuzzy like static on a broken tv, euphoria. Kars remained at his unrelenting pace, quickly bringing me to overstimulation. My body cried out for a break but my needy cunt began its ascent to a second orgasm. My body was lifted slightly as Kars moved his hand to angle my bottom towards him. It was direct strikes now. The new and overwhelming stimulation pushed me to my peak for the second time. Stifled moans spilled out of me as I bit into my own bicep. Kars removed himself from his place on my nipple to watch the sight, his eyes drinking up every inch of my blissed out expression. His pace faltered slightly before he dipped his forehead between my breasts. His panting quickened as I felt his dick begin to throb and pulse inside me. The sudden loss of sensation hollowed me before he spilled out his hot release on my stomach.

Our chests heaved in unison as he stared at the ceiling and I stared at him. No words were exchanged. He was, of course, much quicker to recover and moved off to get a rag for the two of us. Though I had thought I was fine with having no feelings attached I always found myself a little sad as his visits came to an end.

Kars wiped the cum from my tummy before crumpling it into the laundry hamper.

“I can sense that this arrangement won’t be able to continue on. Your pheromones reek of love.” Kars said, sitting back next to me as he fiddled with his loincloth. I shot up from my place in bed, my brain suddenly much clearer.

“W-what? No way Kars! You said no feelings so no feelings, I’m not that dumb.” I protested. Kars turned to meet my eyes with a seriously indiscernible face and narrowed his eyes at me ever so slightly. He turned away and looked at his nails before standing. “I don’t mean I won’t visit anymore. These times together have been very pleasant and have aided greatly in relieving my stress.” He paused and cast me another look “I just think we’ll need to renegotiate our agreement.”.

[freakshowtwopointoh]

Anything You Can Do - Cross The Line Part 4

Anything you can be, I can be greater

Sooner or later I'm greater than you

< prev | next >

“Do it again, freshie. This time, at least try to keep your legs straight.” It’s hard to complain about free tutoring from one of the best dancers in the company, but it becomes much easier when your teacher is Jordan Li. Nothing was ever good enough, and every correction was peppered with insults. But she could never bring herself to refuse their help. Not when the results of the auditions were about to come out. She performed the dance again, refraining from rolling her eyes. “And try to keep the frustration off of your face. You look constipated.” 

“It’d be easier if you didn’t insist on being an ass at every opportunity.”

“Again, freshie.”

And so she does it again. And again. And again. Until every muscle aches and it feels like the steps are blurring together into a blob of french nonsense. She stops, breathing heavily. She takes a swig from her water bottle. 

“Jesus, this is harder than when I was actually working with a coach.”

“You must’ve had a really shitty coach.” Jordan says simply, watching her as she pants. “Had enough?”

“For now, unless you want me fainting in the studio.” She says, chuckling as she unties her pointe shoes. “God, you’re lucky, you don’t have to deal with these bitches. If you could dance pointe, you might actually be the best dancer in this whole school.” She says absently. But she hears Jordan suck a breath through their teeth, and it's clear she’s hit some kind of nerve. 

“I don’t need cups on my feet to be the best dancer in this fucking school.” They snap, and leave faster than she even thought possible. Whoops. She finishes gathering her things, trying to figure out when the banter became... not banter. 

Ella shakes her head, and makes her way home. Jordan Li is an enigma in a leather jacket, and a distraction from her goals.

The next morning, the callback list was emailed to everyone who auditioned. There were two pairings competing for Romeo and Juliet: Luke and Cate, and Jordan and ... her?

Oh shit. 

Going into rehearsal, she kept her head down. She knew that everyone would be looking at her, talking about her. Not that she isn’t used to that, but now, its because the freshman got called back for the lead. And she was dancing with Jordan Li, the junior who kept getting snubbed for the lead. She begins stretching, feeling her thighs complain from the practice last night. Today is going to be a long day.

Jordan’s POV

Jordan knew that they needed to change partners if they wanted this part. First, because she’s the freshman. The freshman who is constantly on their mind, and constantly fucking shit up. Second, because she’s naive. Talking back to them, taunting them with her pointe shoes like she’s never thought about another person’s feelings before in her life. She’s just like every other snobby girl here - convinced that they are God’s gift to dance and that everyone else exists only to lift them up on stage. At least they’d danced with some of the other girls before. But Ella was just so green, so ... raw. And not to mention, every time they saw her dance, especially alone in the rehearsal room, they couldn’t help but stare. Each movement born from the music and her body working with the music to create new art. 

And yes, they were jealous. Jealous because she was right - she was the first dancer at this godforsaken company that was actually on their level. That actually lived and breathed dance. She was a dancer that .... 

No. Jordan shakes their head violently, expelling the thought from their head. They need to focus on themself, and getting that role. And they could not do that with a distraction like Ella Jackson. 

After class, when Ella did her usual duck-and-run routine (probably to go waste Daddy’s money at some stupid boutique or whatever), they went up to Lynne to try to convince her to change partners.

“Look, I know you know what you’re doing, but you have to understand, I need a more experienced dancer to shine. I’m not here to babysit, I’m here to excel.” They said hurriedly. 

“I paired you with Miss Jackson for a reason. And it was not, as you put it, to babysit. Don’t doubt my judgment, Li. I’ve told you this many times.”

They sighed, and went to say something else, but she cut them off with a wave of her hand. 

“I have other things to do than explain myself to you. Now shoo, you have practicing to do. This is not an easy Pas De Deux, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, madame. Good night.” She nods at them, and walks off to her office. They run their hands through their hair, frustrated. Then, begrudgingly, they head to the rehearsal room. 

When Ella arrives, they’re already snapping their third piece of cinnamon gum. The music queued on the stereo, and they’re focused on the script. Of course they hear her come in, but they don’t acknowledge her.

She clears her throat. “Hello? Earth to Li.”

“Yes, I see you. Why aren’t you warming up?” They say coldly. She rolls her eyes, and they bite back their irritation. Couldn’t she see that they were doing her a favor? They could always be meaner. She begins to warm up, and Jordan keeps reading through the choreo, trying to locate parts of the dance that would allow them to keep their distance. There were none. This dance is pure romance, and a few of the lifts require very precise positioning of their hands.

This is going to be interesting.

Ella’s POV

She doesn’t know if it was her comments last time, the fact that they were paired together, or just a general dislike, but Jordan was especially irritable during their first callback rehearsal. They spent the whole time watching her like a hawk, not dancing at all, as if nothing had changed. Snapping that fucking gum, having her repeat the routine over and over and over again with very little information on how she should be dancing. By the end of the night, she was ready to strangle them. 

“Again, freshie.” She clenched her jaw so tight it hurt her teeth. “And get that look off of your face.” She narrowed her eyes, and considered storming out. But she took a deep breath, and settled into position. Jordan chuckled, and started the music. She did the routine one more time, keeping her mind focused on the music alone, and when she was done, she was actually almost proud. She sat down to take her shoes off, and Jordan cleared their throat. “You’re not done here.”

“Yes, actually, I am.” Ella says simply, massaging her feet. “There’s only so much verbal abuse I can take at a time.” Jordan laughed once, humorlessly. 

“Whatever you say, freshie. I’m not complaining.” She finished packing up her stuff.

“Oh, Jordan? Um, I’m sorry. For yesterday. That was a low blow.” She says it quickly, and leaves the room before they can give her a clever retort, or ask her to explain further.

< prev | next >

au by @poppy-metal

edits by @barbieprincesshilton

[mrspasser]

Two's company, three's a crowd

Sterek fanfic

I'm having writer's block, I'm feeling blue and my period seems to be neverending, so I sat myself down and wrote porn. Not that I really set out to write smut, but I wanted to write something without plot and too much complications. And then this came out: over 7K of smut, lightly sprinkled with possible complications and even the plotbunny decided to hop by. Whatever. Don't judge me.

Read it on A03.

Two's company, three's a crowd

He’s drunk. Not the everything-is-spinning-and-I’m-gonna-throw-up kind, the nice, buzzing kind. However, he’s never hallucinated when drunk before, so that’s new. Luckily it’s a very nice hallucination. Stiles isn’t gonna complain, not when there are red nails tracing teasing patterns on his thigh and equally red lips close to his ear. “What do you think, stud?” the girl asks. It would probably have been a sultry whisper if the music in the frat house wasn’t so loud. Nevertheless, even at normal volume the question sounds plenty suggestive.

Stiles giggles a little at being called ‘stud’. His geeky hipster vibe does relatively well with the college girls, it serves him infinitely better than it did in highschool anyway. The girls at his old school snubbed their pretty little noses at his plaids and Converses. Here, there are girls who dress the same as him to such a degree that Stiles once grabbed the wrong flannel shirt the morning after. When he returned to switch out the shirt, only her roommate was home. Stiles isn’t one to kiss and tell, yet he stayed for two hours instead of the necessary five minutes to make the shirt exchange, if you get what he means. Oh. And he totally told Scott. But Scott doesn’t count. He tells his brother-from-another-mother everything.

It was actually kind of a coincidence that Stiles ended up at this party tonight. He didn’t plan on it, was kind of trying to be a good person and go to bed early, so he wouldn’t be totally knackered for his five hour drive back to Beacon Hills tomorrow for Christmas Break. He just happened to walk across campus when he bumped into one of his project partners and before he knew it, he had a red solo cup in his hand and was chatting up two girls who he thinks he saw in one of his morning classes once. He got to kiss one of them too, the one with the long blond hair and the fancy red nails across from him. She’s not really his type, he’d actually been after her dark haired friend. But her friend already had a boyfriend and this girl, “Lindsay with an a”, proved to be more fun than he initially thought. She kissed like she meant business, that was one thing. And when Stiles found her in another man’s lap after he returned from the bathroom, she surprised him by calling him over. “Stiles, you never told me you had such a hot roommate!” she tittered, wrapping a hand around his wrist to pull him down on the armrest of the slightly ratty loveseat. The leather - or more likely pleather - was sticky with unnamed liquids, not that Stiles really cared. He wasn’t gonna judge someone’s housekeeping skills at a party, or ever, really.

They’d been talking for about an hour before she kindly suggested a game of tonsil hockey, so the topic of Stiles ‘hot roommate’ hadn’t come up yet. Not that he was in the habit of telling girls about Derek first hand; there was only so much competition that a guy like him could put up with. Because Derek was hot. Hot like burning. Supernaturally hot. Those Greek statues in the museum had nothing on him: Derek’s rugged abs put their puny marble abs to shame.  Stiles took stock of the situation in front of him through his slightly alcohol addled mind. Lindsay was sitting comfortably in Derek’s lap, one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders, while he had an arm around her waist. “You guys know each other?” he asked, adding the ‘intimately’ in his head when he saw the way Derek’s hand disappeared beneath the hem of her top. 

“We do,” Lindsay admitted with a smile. Derek just arched one cocky eyebrow, yet after almost four months of sharing a room with him, Stiles was close to fluent in eyebrow speak. He had to, because some days it was the only way his roommate communicated. At first, Stiles thought he’d gotten the short end of the stick when he was assigned Derek as his roommate. The guy may look hot, but he came across as a grumpy asshole, especially those first few weeks. Eventually, Stiles liked to say, he got Derek to cave to the Stilinski charm and they actually became quite good friends. Derek could be a cocky bastard, but he was also lowkey funny and a lot smarter than his jock looks suggested. The guy actually read Homer for fun, Stiles even checked if he wasn’t reading it for class. To top it off, his snark game was on par with Stiles’, which was something he didn’t often encounter. In short, Derek was a great guy and there were a lot of girls at their campus who agreed with Stiles. Lindsay confirmed his suspicions of them when she told him: “Our Derek here was looking for a repeat of our first meeting, but I said I already had plans with you.” She playfully tapped him on the nose with a finger. “Isn’t that right, Stiles?” Their make out session had been getting a little steamy, until Stiles unfortunately had to take a little break to empty his bladder. Beer always ran right through him. He’d been ready to cut his losses when he saw Lindsay sitting with Derek, but the girl had other plans. “However, I thought that maybe you boys could share.”

Plans that make Stiles’ jaw drop, especially when she whispers in his ear and calls him stud.

“Aww, I made him blush!” Lindsay leans over in Derek’s lap and puts her hands on the sides of Stiles’ face. His cheeks are indeed burning. She pulls him closer until she can drop a kiss on his nose. “You’re so cute! Isn’t he cute, Derek?” Derek is definitely feeling up the underside of her breasts, so that might be why he agrees so easily. Or he might be a bit high; Stiles thinks his roommate’s eyes are a little red, though it’s kinda hard to tell with the blinking Christmas lights all over the room. He’s feeling a little out of it himself, if he’s honest. He can’t believe what’s happening, that is, if what he thinks is happening, is really happening.  Lindsay catches his lower lip between her teeth, almost making Stiles topple over. He has to catch himself by putting his hands out, one ends up high on Derek’s leg, the other on Lindsay’s hip. The next thing he knows, Lindsay is licking into his mouth and he’s making out with the girl while she’s sitting in Derek’s lap. “I think we can have a lot of fun, the three of us. What do you think, cutie?” she asks, punctuating her question with little nips on his lower lip.

“Oh my god, you’re serious?” Stiles can’t help but blurt out, which only makes her laugh more. He moves his hand on her waist and bumps into Derek’s hand, which is still underneath her shirt. His eyes go wide when all the implications hit him. “Oh. Wow .” 

Lindsay kisses him again and then she turns to Derek, who easily returns her kiss. “Alright boys, here’s how it’s gonna go.” She gets up from Derek’s lap, trailing her fingers down both their jaws. “I’m gonna go tell my friend where I’m going and then we are going back to your room to have a good time, the three of us.”

Stiles stares after her swaying hips in a daze as she makes her way towards the kitchen, where her friend supposedly is. He snaps out of it when Derek suddenly says: “I had sex with her a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles mumbles, looking back at his roommate and noticing he’s now almost sitting in Derek’s lap himself. “Uh…” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Is this… Are we…?” Are we really doing this, he wants to ask. Because it’s one thing to sometimes fantasize about your incredibly hot roommate, but actually having a threesome with said roommate is a whole other ball game. Heh. Balls . Oh, and now he’s staring at his roommate. Who’s sitting way too close. Or, perhaps Stiles is the one doing that, sliding half of the armrest and almost landing in Derek’s lap.

“I’m bi,” Derek suddenly blurts out and his ears turn pink in the most adorable way. It’s the first sign he shows that he’s not all that suave about this; it’s comforting.

“Oh, thank god, me too,” Stiles rushes out to say, even though he’s pretty sure Derek knows that. “And you’ve already seen my dick, so…”  It's simultaneously the hottest and most embarrassing memory he has of this school year. Or his life, even. Lydia changing her clothes right in front of him in junior year can’t hold a candle to getting caught jerking off by his extremely gorgeous roommate. Derek had stopped dead just inside the door, staring at him with this unreadable look in his eyes. Stiles froze, one hand on his dick and his other hand gripping his balls, his shirt rucked up on his chest. "I'm going to take a piss," Derek had said after a few tremendously awkward seconds, the words clipped. "You better be done before I get back." He turned around and yanked the door back open. "And put a sock on the door the next time, Jesus." Stiles came like a freight train not two minutes later.

And now his hot roommate is telling him he's not just into girls but into guys too?!

The girl is back before Stiles can process this. If she has second thoughts about their plans, they're unnoticeable. "My friend knows I’ll be hanging out with you guys, let’s go." She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she turns, showing them her frankly magnificent ass.

Derek grins at him dopily. He’s definitely not completely sober. “She’s bossy.”

Stiles grins back. “I know, right? She reminds me of my friend Lydia, in highschool. I had a major crush on her for years.” They both get up and follow Lindsay out the door. “Man, I fucking love college!”

Their dorm isn’t too far from the frat house, but it’s far enough for Stiles to properly freak out. He’s never had a threesome, how is this supposed to go? The only threesomes he watched on the internet were with two girls and one guy. Now there’s two guys and one girl. Are they supposed to direct all their attention to her, or will there also be some boy-on-boy action? Oh my god , he’s gonna see Derek’s dick. Well, he’s seen Derek’s dick before, they practically live on top of each other most of the time. But he hasn’t seen Derek’s dick when it is standing to attention, not full on, at least. Stiles has always politely ignored any signs of morning wood in his roommate’s boxers. And now he’s gonna touch Derek’s dick. Possibly. Probably. “I really have to stop saying ‘Derek’s dick’,” he mutters. Even if it’s just inside his own head.

“What?” Derek looks at him quizzically as he holds the door open for Lindsay and for Stiles to follow.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles rushes to say, relieved to take the hand Lindsay is holding out for him. She molds herself against his side, giving him something else to focus on. Like the way she sucks a kiss into his throat. “Third floor,” he gasps, gesturing towards the stairwell.

“I remember,” she answers, with a flirty wink for Derek.  Stiles tries to think of where he was while those two were getting it on, but it’s futile. He’s been sexiled by Derek a number of times; he assumes the sock on the door doesn’t mean his roommate was having some quality time with his right hand, not when Derek looks the way he does. By which Stiles means hot. If Stiles can score in college, Derek definitely can. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because in a few moments he will be getting it on, with two people at the same time. Oh my god . The girl excuses herself to the bathroom when they pass it in the hallway. “I’ll be right with you,” she suggests with a flirty smile, before disappearing behind the door of the communal toilets.

Stiles is opening their door with his key when Derek rounds on him. “Quit freaking out!”

“Wha-? Excuse me!”

“You’re freaking out. You’ll scare her off or something.”

Stiles actually laughs at that. “Dude. She’s been running the show all night. I think she’s confident enough for both of us. Or, the three of us.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek follows him inside their room. “So, you’re scared of her? Is that it? Does she intimidate you?”

“Hah. If anything, that’s a plus.” Stiles thinks of Lydia, who was the hottest and smartest person in his school. She was, like, the perfect girl. At least in his head. Being intimidated by someone didn’t exactly put Stiles off. If anything, fear boners were a thing.

Derek leans up against his desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He shakes his head and Stiles thinks he can detect a slightly fond smile. He has a strong hunch that Derek is checking up on him, in his own rude way. “You can be such a weirdo, Stilinski.”

“Sure,” Stiles admits freely, with an amical shrug. “But it has a certain charm, doesn’t it?” Derek doesn’t answer, not verbally at least. His eyebrows give off a message that Stiles likes to interpret as ‘you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it out loud’. He’s seen it before, for instance when they’re discussing the merits of different Doritos flavors. Or when Stiles argues that socks are the first thing you put on when dressing, not last. He gets cold feet easily, that doesn’t mean he’s not right. “So…” Stiles wants to ask Derek for tips, or directions, or anything that gives him any idea on what to do and how to act when Lindsay enters the room in a minute. He has no idea how to ask that without sounding stupid. From out in the hall he hears the distinctive squeak that signals the closing of the bathroom door. There’s no time for questions now, it’s time to jump into action. Stiles swallows audibly. He watches Derek rifle through the bottom drawer of his nightstand, where he takes out a familiar tin. “Oh, that’ll help,” Stiles sighs in relief.

“Oh, good idea!” Lindsay proclaims as she walks into the room and spots the joint Derek now holds up between his fingers.

Derek offers her the joint and lights it for her, while Stiles quickly locks the door. Their RA will probably see having a girl over through his fingers, but Stiles is not looking to get busted for smoking pot. Not tonight.

When he turns back, Derek has his arms around Lindsay and she’s blowing smoke in his mouth. They kiss, smoke escaping around their faces. Before Stiles can feel left out, Lindsay turns and beckons him over to give him the same treatment.  Okay, this, Stiles can do. He slots into place, with Lindsay snaking one arm behind his shoulders, her fingers coming up in his hair. He meets her lips and breathes the smoke in, making sure to blow it out slowly through his nose. He places his hands on her curvy waist, feeling the fabric of Derek’s henley against her back. Derek has his hands on her hips, so Stiles lets his fingers wander upwards, rucking up her top a bit and moving his hands towards her breasts. Lindsay arches her back approvingly and Stiles takes the opportunity to quickly move his hands beneath her top, pushing it up until it exposes her bra. She’s wearing a lacy lilac number and Stiles hopes she has the panties to match. “Pretty,” he breathes in between kisses, gently massaging the globe of her breasts.

“Yeah?” Lindsay smiles. “You like what you see?”

“Very much,” Stiles admits, because now Derek is sucking her neck from behind and it hits him that he has two very pretty people within hands’ reach. His dick twitches in his jeans, eager to continue. He pulls a little at her top, now bunched up high on her chest. “Can we take this off?” She nods and lifts her arms obligingly. Stiles eases her top over her head and arms, taking the joint from her before it sets fire to her clothes or something. Derek has taken advantage of the situation and has one hand fitted between her skin and her bra, cupping her breast. His other hand is splayed low on her stomach, his pinky finger already disappearing behind her waistband. 

“You too,” Lindsay says, her voice breathy from Derek’s ministrations. Stiles takes a deep hit of the joint and offers it back to her, proceeding to get rid of his flannel and T-shirt. He’d feel self conscious about getting naked, knowing he’s plenty fit, but can’t hold a candle to Derek’s superior physique, yet Lindsay is humming appreciatively and running a hand across his chest, down to his stomach.

Stiles ducks back in for a kiss, putting his hand on the breast Derek isn’t holding. Her skin is warm and soft and Stiles follows the impulse to drop kisses on the swell of her breasts. Derek’s hand disappears and a moment later there’s no more lilac lace separating her skin from the air and Stiles’ lips. She gasps when he closes his lips around her nipple and her breathy “yes” is all the incentive he needs.

He’s vaguely aware of Derek and Lindsay kissing above his head, but he’s more than happy to give his attention to the soft flesh before him. She’s wonderfully sensitive and it’s not long before she writhes and squirms between them. A sharp gasp makes him look up and then down, to see Lindsay has dropped her head back against Derek’s shoulder and his hand has now completely disappeared inside her pants. Stiles decides to help out and quickly pops the button of her jeans, working her zipper down to give Derek more space. Her panties are made of the same lilac lace as her bra and he moves his hands around her full hips to ease her jeans down. They’re tight, but he pushes them down bit by bit, kissing the creamy skin he reveals. His lips also brush Derek’s wrist, which is partially covered by lilac lace. “This is so hot,” he groans softly, raptured by the sight of Derek’s hand moving against her pussy. 

Lindsay’s wearing black ankle boots with a zipper on the side, which are easy enough to remove. Stiles makes quick work of her socks and pants and then the girl is completely naked between them, save for her pretty panties. He stays for a moment on his knees in front of her, running his hands up and down her legs gently while he enjoys the view of two of Derek’s fingers pushing in behind the lace. The fabric is stained dark between her legs and the soft sopping sound makes his dick throb in his jeans. 

He surges upwards, his hands moving up along her body until he reaches her face and can tilt it towards him in a deep kiss. From the corner of his eyes he can see Derek, watching them through hooded eyes. The joint is hanging limply from between his lips, the tip no longer glowing red. He breaks the kiss with Lindsay, panting a little. “Let me get that, big guy,” he mumbles, carefully taking the joint from Derek’s lips. He has to move away a little to deposit the thing on one of the desks, but it gives Lindsay the space to turn around and start undressing Derek. He cooperates easily, quickly shrugging out of his henley. Lindsay moves her hands over his chest, raking her red nails through the short hairs. She kisses Derek, pressing her breasts against his chest. Stiles moves in behind them, grabbing her hips and pressing his still clothed dick up against her ass. He should perhaps do something about that, he thinks vaguely, and starts undoing his belt. His pants follow suit and a moment later he steps out of the puddle of his jeans. 

“Let’s take this to the bed,” Derek suggests quietly and nods towards his bed behind them. It’s the most logical choice, because he is the one who actually made his bed that morning. Stiles’ bed is still a mess of blankets and pillows. He can’t really be bothered by it, because Lindsay pulls him with her and they both drop down onto the mattress to watch Derek get rid of the last of his clothes. Stiles can’t help but bite his lip at the sight of Derek dressed in nothing but tight black boxers in front of him. For a moment, they make eye contact and it’s not awkward like Stiles feared, but heady and promising. He isn’t sure what the promise is, but he’s sure he’ll find out. 

Lindsay takes control again, pushing him on his back and slipping her fingers behind the elastic of his boxer shorts. She doesn’t ask him if it’s okay, probably trusting him to speak up if she does something he doesn’t like or want. Stiles isn’t going to protest, not when she wraps a hand around his hard dick under the watchful eye of Derek, who still stands by the side of the bed. He doesn’t know what he finds hotter: the way Lindsay licks her hand to slick up his dick or the way Derek’s eyes follow the proceedings with obvious interest. When Derek palms himself through his boxers and groans softly, Stiles knows which way the scale tips.

When Derek drops to his knees by the bed, Stiles thinks for a second that he’s gonna get a blowjob from his roommate, but it’s Lindsay who circles her tongue around the head of his dick, while Derek swiftly pulls her underwear off and ducks his head between her legs. It takes a bit of maneuvering from the three of them, but they manage to find a position in which everyone can be fairly comfortable. 

The blowjob is sloppy and more than a little uncoordinated, yet Stiles thinks Lindsay can be excused by account of the effort Derek is clearly putting in. The girl is moaning up a storm, evidently loving it. She gives up on his dick and he moves around to suck her nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one gently between his fingers. It’s not long before she convulses underneath him, giving voice to her orgasm with a drawn out groan. 

“God, that was good,” she pants, dropping her head back against the duvet. Derek emerges from between her legs with a self-satisfied smirk that Stiles can’t really fault him for. His roommate wipes his mouth with his hand, reaching up Lindsay’s prone form until he can drop a kiss between her breasts. She lazily drops her hand on his head, ruffling his hair.  When she looks up at Stiles, it’s easy to shuffle down and catch her lips in a kiss. She cups his cheek to hold him in place. “Sorry about that, stud, I was a little distracted.”

He chuckles, momentarily forgetting that his dick is still hard and wanting. “That’s okay. I think I’d react the same in your place.”

She smiles knowingly and moves her hand to pat his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit back a little and I’ll make it up to you.”

He scoots back obligingly and so does Derek, giving Lindsay the room to get on her knees between Stiles’ legs when he sits with his back to the headboard. She hardly wastes any time to sink her lips around his dick, making Stiles buck his hips. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his hands petting her head and shoulders in apology. In response, she presses down with her hand on his hip to tell him to not do it again. She’s not moving off his dick, so he guesses he’s forgiven.

Now that Derek isn’t eating her out, her blowjob skills are remarkably better. She can’t take him all the way in, but she makes clever use of her hands and she has a wicked tongue. When Stiles feels his orgasm coming on too quickly, he signals her to take it down a notch and she obliges without question. Lindsay looks back over her shoulder to where Derek is running his hands over her back, legs and ass. “Why don’t you join in from your end?” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Derek drawls and leans over to open the top drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out some condoms and lube, making quick work of getting himself ready. Stiles watches him get on his knees behind Lindsay, gently moving her in the right position and then lining himself up. She moans around Stiles’ dick when Derek enters her and Stiles moans too, wondering what he did to be rewarded with such a view. Derek holds her firmly by her hips, his abs contracting beautifully as he undulates his hips.

Stiles closes his eyes to the ministrations of Lindsay’s hands, lips and tongue and the feel of the girl’s body rocking back and forth on Derek’s slow thrusts. He doesn’t think it can get any better than this, until he opens his eyes and Derek’s hooded gaze locks in on his. Stiles comes almost without warning; he manages to push Lindsay’s head up at the last second, warm ropes of cum shooting up his stomach. Some of it hits her cheek and he quickly wipes it off with his thumb. “Sorry,” he offers, feeling sheepish.

Lindsay crawls forward, giving him a kiss. “How are you going to make up for it?” she asks with a sly grin. Stiles looks between her and Derek, who is now sitting back on his feet, no longer fucking Lindsay because she moved away from him. Shit. He didn’t ruin everything, did he? Derek doesn’t look all that bothered, though, more expectant, like he wants to see what they’ll do next. What can they do next? Maybe switch positions? Stiles will need about twenty minutes before he’s ready to go again, but he could eat her out while she gives Derek a blowjob? Would that be okay? Before he can make the suggestion, Lindsay speaks up. “You’re gonna eat me out until I come again.”

Stiles gapes at her. “Okay?” He catches sight of Derek behind her, his head cocked in question. Checking in on him, again. Stiles rallies. “Yeah, okay! Sounds good.” And he means it, he’s certainly willing to do it. He’s just not used to the way this girl takes matters into her own hands. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely towards the entirety of the bed, which is very crowded with the three of them. 

Lindsay takes the lead, again. She kisses him and simultaneously makes him move out of the way, so she can take his place. She nestles herself against the pillows and spreads her legs for Stiles to take his place between them. It’s only then that he’s aware of Derek behind him, who’s sitting at the foot of the bed. His roommate is following the proceedings with interest, one hand moving slowly up and down his cock. The condom is discarded next to him. Stiles swallows, wanting to touch but not knowing if he’s allowed. So far he’s only touched Derek in a practical way, nothing deliberate.

“Kiss him.” Stiles whips his head back towards the head of the bed. Lindsay grins at him playfully, reclined against the pillows. She lifts her leg and puts the ball of her foot against his chest. “Go on, kiss him. I want to see you guys kiss.” She pushes lightly and Derek is already close, Stiles can feel the heat of his body against his skin. 

Derek lifts his hand to cup Stiles' cheek, bringing him closer still. “This okay?” he whispers, waiting for his nod to press their lips together. 

Stiles has known he was bi since he was 14. His first sexual encounter was a year later, with a boy: kissing for a drunk dare at a house party led to shared handjobs behind the shed in the backyard. There were more girls than boys after that, the lion share of the notches on his bedpost not acquired until after he enrolled in college. And now he’s kissing Derek, who kisses a lot gentler than Stiles was expecting. His lips are soft, a stark contrast to the ever present stubble. There’s a hint of tongue, just barely touching his lips. Stiles loves it, finds himself sinking into the kiss, into Derek’s touch. He shuffles closer for a better angle, slots their knees together so they’ll fit. When their tongues finally slide together, Stiles almost whimpers. Derek reacts by holding him firmer, the hand on his waist flexing. 

When he feels another set of hands on him, ones with pointy red nails that trail teasingly down his chest, he almost startles. He'd completely forgotten about Lindsay, as lost as he was in Derek’s touch. “So hot,” she whispers in his ear. “You boys are getting me so hot.” Stiles lets her break their kiss, claiming Derek’s lips for herself. Derek doesn’t stop touching him, the hand on his side sliding down to palm his ass. Stiles shifts a little into the touch, so Derek’s fingers slip into his cleft, close to where he suddenly knows he wants him. He slides his own hand down the inside of Derek’s thigh, tracing the warm, softly textured skin of his balls with the pads of his fingers.

However, there’s a lady present and she deftly reminds him of his duty to make it up to her by guiding his free hand towards her pussy. The wet slide of his fingers between her folds piques his interest and he easily lets her guide his head between her legs when she lies back again. He puts her legs over his shoulders and starts by kissing the insides of her thighs, mixed with small kitten licks over her clit. He plays with her like that until she starts squirming. “Getting impatient, huh?” he teases, resting his weight on one elbow so he can rub his fingers along her folds, catching her clit between his knuckles with each move up and down.

“She’s not the only one,” Derek remarks from behind Stiles, where he’s sitting astride one of Stiles’ legs. He’s been running his hands up and down Stiles’ legs, occasionally giving his ass a firm squeeze, but that’s about it.

“Oh, shit.” Stiles realizes suddenly that Derek must be feeling left out. “Uhm…” He wriggles in place, pulling one knee up underneath him and meaning to get up, but Lindsay holds him in place with her hand in his hair. And Derek…

“Can I…?” Derek asks, his thumb skirting softly along Stiles’ now exposed rim. “I won’t… I mean, just my fingers,” he adds, sounding hesitant but eager. 

“Yes,” Stiles immediately answers, arching his back in anticipation. He’s rewarded by the press of the flat of Derek’s thumb against his hole. It's very hard to concentrate on the job he's doing when Derek is massaging his rim and slowly adding lube until his finger slides inside without resistance. His other hand is massaging Stiles’ ass, a firm kneading that somehow compliments the slow slide of Derek’s finger inside him. Unconsciously Stiles times his licking with Derek’s movements, adding his own finger to Lindsay's wet velvet heat. He adds another finger when Derek does, groaning against the girl’s pussy, his own enjoyment copied in her moans. Derek picks up the pace, curling his fingers inside Stiles and starts fingerfucking him in earnest. Stiles cups his hand, his ring finger and middle finger pressing up inside her, and sucks on her clit. He pushes back against Derek’s hand, wanting more but also trying not to get jostled too much so he can concentrate on the girl in front of him.

Lindsay moans louder, pulling his hair. “Don't stop, don’t stop,” she urges and Stiles doubles his efforts. Mercifully, Derek slows down a little, settling on slow, deep drags of his fingers that make Stiles' toes tingle. He doesn’t know if it’s been twenty minutes yet, but his dick is almost fully hard again and the friction he finds against the bedding starts to lack severely. He wants, no, he needs more. But first… Stiles rubs his fingers in a tiny circular motion, pressing up and licking broad, quick strokes over her clit until Lindsay clenches his head between her thighs and comes with a guttural groan. He laps up the excess moist until she gets too sensitive and kisses her folds one last time before crawling up a little and settling down with his head on her soft stomach. She scratches the hair behind his ear, mumbling some unintelligible praise or even thanks. He would laugh, but is distracted by Derek, who gently guides his knees under him so his ass sticks up in the air. When Derek sidles up behind him, his legs pressing against the back of Stiles’ thighs, he thinks for a second his roommate is gonna fuck him. But Derek said he wouldn’t and Stiles trusts him to check in with him if he wanted to get back on that. There’s the click of lube, a slicking motion and then Derek’s large hands settle on the sides of his ass and Stiles feels the hard, wet heat of his dick slide along his cleft. The head catches a little on his rim, but Derek doesn’t push in and continues to slide his dick between Stiles’ ass cheeks. Derek is searching for his own pleasure, angling his cock down to rub against the back of Stiles’ balls. Stiles tries to press his thighs together as best as he can, wanting to provide Derek with the friction he’s looking for. It works, if the quiet moans he hears from Derek are any indication. Stiles mouths idly at Lindsay’s skin, panting with the effort of keeping his legs firm but the rest of his body pliant underneath Derek’s thrusts. The feeling of Derek’s cock sliding between his legs, hitting his balls with every movement, makes Stiles wish he could put a hand on his own dick, but he’s sort of pinned against Lindsay right now and has no other choice than to just take it. 

Derek reaches his climax a few thrusts later, spilling his seed between Stiles’ legs and nearly collapsing on top of him. He presses a kiss against Stiles’ back and then, as if he can read his mind, reaches around to wrap his hand around Stiles’ dick. “Oh, fuck yes,” he groans appreciatively, bucking into the tight clench of Derek’s hand. Derek sets a punishing rhythm from the start and it doesn’t take long before Stiles comes for the second time that evening.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs, Stiles and Derek each on a side of Lindsay so they don’t crush her. Stiles wouldn’t have minded to lie beneath Derek’s weight a little longer, but the hand his roommate still has curled around the back of his leg, just beneath the curve of his ass, makes up for it a little.

“This was fun,” he sighs contentedly, blowing out a breath against the side of Lindsay’s boob. He pretends to gnaw at the squishy flesh, making her yelp in mock horror. The girl giggles and Derek flexes his hand on his leg, making Stiles realize it's a mess of lube and sperm down there. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

“And I need clean sheets,” Derek adds, sounding a little put out about it.

Somewhere in the room a poppy song starts playing. “Oh, that’s my phone,” Lindsay says, pushing herself up. Derek and Stiles roll away from her, trying not to fall out of bed (Derek) or flinch because his back comes into contact with the cold wall (Stiles). Lindsay unearths her phone from her jeans pocket and answers with a cheerful “Hi!”. She bends over to grab her lilac panties from the floor. “I'm totally fine. It was fun.”

“That’s an understatement,” Stiles stage whispers to Derek, even though he said the same thing only minutes ago. Derek merely raises an eyebrow in response, not bothering to hide his content smirk.

They idly watch how Lindsay dresses herself, talking on the phone to her friend. It’s kind of mesmerizing to see how she manages to put her bra on while clutching the phone between her chin and shoulder. “I’ll be right there, see you soon,” Lindsay says and ends the call. Stiles pushes himself up when she puts the phone in her back pocket. 

He grimaces when he feels the cold wet spot against his butt, but ignores it otherwise. “Can I walk you home? Call you an Uber?” Maybe he should’ve gotten his ass out of bed sooner, but he was kinda comfy and it only just now occurred to him that of the three of them, Lindsay is the only one who needs to get home. 

“No need, cutie,” Lindsay says, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to his lips. “My friend lives on the floor above you guys, I’m gonna crash with her.” She turns to kiss Derek. “This was fun, we should do it again.”

Derek smirks and lets his hand trail meaningfully down her chest, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles returns the kiss she blows him with a smile. He leans back on his arms to watch her unlock the door and disappear out into the hallway. 

Derek makes use of the freed up space to move more fully onto his back, intending to get comfortable. He regrets it immediately and makes a face. “Gross. The sheets are all wet.”

Stiles chuckles lightly, feeling more than a little self-conscious. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah.” Derek waves a dismissive hand. “At least some of it is mine.”

“Doubt it,” Stiles admits with a grimace. “Most of that is sticking down the back of my legs.”

There’s a moment of total silence in which their eyes lock and then they both burst out laughing. Derek swings his legs off the bed and lets the momentum get him up, offering Stiles a hand with a grin. “Shower?” 

“Shower,” Stiles agrees. They slip into some clothes and make their way to the communal showers on their floor in companionable silence. It’s almost like every other night when they end up going to bed at the same time, if Stiles ignores the fact that he’s scrubbing Derek’s spunk out of his leg hair. It’s not something he really thought about earlier this night, but things could’ve turned sour with Derek real easily if it all hadn’t worked out the way it did. Stiles never would’ve dreamed he would ever end up in bed with Derek, thinking Derek was way out of his league, if not straight. He certainly learned something new about his roommate in this respect. He’s really glad things are still okay between them, he would’ve hated to lose Derek as a friend.

Back in their room Stiles lets himself fall face first on his bed and wriggles himself underneath his blanket. If there’s a reason why he hardly ever makes his bed, this is it: he can just dive right in.

“Scoot over.” Derek pushes at his shoulder.

“Huh?” Stiles lifts his head from his pillow just enough to look at his roommate. Derek is standing next to his bed dressed in his sleeping pants, chest bare. Just like he always sleeps. In his own bed, across the room.

Derek pulls the comforter up, gesturing for Stiles to move over. He has his pillow underneath his arm. “I’m not gonna change my sheets in the middle of the night. I wanna sleep, so your bed it is.”

“You want to share?” Stiles stares wide eyed at his roommate, who gives him a deadpan look. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Duh,” he stammers. Then he rolls towards the wall, making room for Derek who slides between the sheets like it’s something he does all the time. He settles on his back, with Stiles on his side next to him. Derek lifts his hand to the light switch above Stiles’ bed and the room turns dark. It’s a bit odd to feel nervous about sharing a bed with your attractive roommate, when the guy rubbed himself off between your thighs only an hour before. Yet Stiles can’t help it. They crossed a line tonight and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Derek sighs and probably rolls his eyes too, it’s just that Stiles can’t see it in the dark, but he knows he did. “Will you just go to sleep? You're overthinking shit and it's loud.”

“I’m not,” Stiles sputters, feeling called out.

“You are,” Derek sighs. “Just quit it. I thought you always said I was the one who thinks too much, or something.”

Stiles shakes his head against the pillow. “No, you’re brooding. That’s different. And how come you’re not overthinking anything right now?”

“I just had some really good sex. It helps.” There has to be an obnoxious grin that accompanies that answer, hidden by the dark.

Stiles hits Derek’s shoulder with his flat hand. “I was there, you ass.”

“No, I distinctly remember it being your ass.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles can’t help it, he snorts in a definitely not sexy way and then he dissolves into laughter, pressing his forehead against the meat of Derek’s shoulder. He can feel the tiny shocks of movement that mean Derek’s laughing with him. Or at him. Both’s okay, really, because it helps to take Stiles’ nerves down. When their laughter dies down, Stiles stays pressed up against the side of Derek’s arm. Derek is nice and warm, it’s a good place to be.

“So, that was your first threesome, right?” his roommate asks casually. Stiles thinks he turns his head to look down at Stiles, but he isn’t gonna look up to check.

He nods against Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah. For you?”

“Nah.” Well, that’s not surprising. “First time with a man and a woman, though.”

Stiles smiles. “That’s actually kinda nice to hear. Makes me feel like all my newbie fumblings were maybe less obvious.”

Derek jostles him a little with his shoulder. “Shut up. You did fine.”

“I did make her come,” Stiles hums. 

“And me,” Derek agrees easily. Stiles blushes so hard that he’s glad that the lights are off. Though perhaps Derek can feel the sudden burn of his cheeks against his arm.

“Yeah, well, right back at ya,” Stiles answers with a slightly nervous stammer. 

Derek rolls to his side, facing Stiles. The change of position has Stiles facing Derek’s pecs, he can feel the chest hair slightly tickling his nose. He can’t make himself move away, arguing inside his head that he’s comfortable beneath the comforter and doesn’t want to move for that reason alone.

“What was your favorite part?” 

It’s a question that Stiles should probably answer in a more ‘bro’ fashion, say something like ‘when we filled her from both ends’, but what actually comes out is: “Kissing you.” He huffs a shy laugh. “I mean, the orgasms were nice too, don’t get me wrong, but… I really liked kissing you. You’re a great kisser.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s first response sounds a bit smug, but then he rubs a warm hand up Stiles’ arm and his next words are a lot more subdued. “I liked that too.”

He forgets he’s practically hiding in Derek’s chest hair and looks up. “You did?”

Derek continues rubbing his arm and shrugs slightly. “Well, yeah. Of course I did.”

Stiles would’ve never guessed - or dared to hope - that kissing his roommate was something Derek enjoyed. But now that that’s out there… “Wanna do it again?”

Derek hums quietly, his hand moving up over Stiles’ shoulder, across his collarbone and then gently cupping his cheek. “Sure.” Warm lips press against his. There’s that stubble again, the gentle exploration of his mouth, the ease with which Stiles loses himself to it. 

They kiss until Stiles has to yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbles, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. 

There’s a peck on his forehead and then he gets tucked into Derek’s side. “Good night, Stiles.”

Stiles drives back the next day to Beacon Hills on about four hours of sleep, three large coffees, the music turned up all the way to ten and the windows rolled down. He smiles the whole way home. He has a new story for Scott and what a story it is!

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Blast from the Past: The Demystification of the Delivery with Meghan Markle - Part 3 by u/Mickleborough

Blast from the Past: The Demystification of the Delivery, with Meghan Markle - Part 3 Wrapping up the (known) weirdness surrounding the birth of the Sussex firstborn.On 17 May 2019, the birth certificate was released.Note that it was only then - 11 days after the delivery - that the world learnt that Meghan had given birth at the Portland Hospital. Previously it had been all home births, not hospitals; midwives, not gynaecological consultants; alternative therapies; Doria studying to be a doula etc etc etc.Apparently Meghan was rushed to the Portland Hospital on the night of 5 May, where the child was born at 5:26 AM the next day. Note that the Portland Hospital’s a private hospital, which suggests advance bookings required - their website today refers to an agreed birthing plan.The Sussexes may have booked because the child was overdue. But maybe, due her desperate quest for privacy, Meghan let all believe that she still was going the home birth route. (So why give out misleading birth times, as per my previous post, in order to protect the privacy of the child when no one knew where it was?)Now read on…A Roach by any other nameOn the birth certificate, the mother was named as ‘Rachel Meghan’.What happened next is succinctly illustrated by these photographs and captions from the Daily Mail:But why? I hear you ask.From a royal perspective, changes to a royal birth certificate were unprecedented; the removal of the mother’s name even more so. There’s absolutely no need to do this. An insider said mysteriously: ‘It was changed to ensure consistency of the name and title of the Duchess with other private documents.’ What does this even mean?But why, I hear you ask again. Well, that depends very much to whom you put the question:- If you asked the Sussexes, they’d have told you that they were acting under Palace orders:A statement from the Sussexes. Interesting choice of words.- If you asked the Palace, they’d have said: We have no idea to what you refer.In response to the above statement, the Palace officially stayed silent - but useful ‘sources’ swiftly rebutted it. They stated that the changes were initiated by the Sussexes‘ Kensington Palace aides and had nothing to do with the late Queen nor the Palace. They diplomatically put the statement down to some erroneous communication by the Sussexes’ US PR team.A couple of unofficial theories were put forward:- This was a ‘snub’ to the then Duchess of Cambridge, whose first names were listed, as per the original birth certificate. I’d see this more as trying to distinguish herself from the DoC than a ‘snub’ - or maybe it’s a snub to be different.- Meghan was imitating Diana - on her sons’ birth certificates, her first names are not set out: she’s recorded merely as ‘Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales’, cf Meghan’s ‘Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Sussex’. Cosplay much, Meghan?The brain reels at the smallness of Meghan’s mind.Article on the birth certificate change: Daily Mail archived / unarchived post link: https://ift.tt/trIqGif author: Mickleborough submitted: October 04, 2023 at 09:53PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[legaciestold]

@everythingheard (stefan)

i’ll have him. even if it kills us both. i’ll have him.

words echo within her mind, throbbing, aching. blinding. she had been such a different person then. MANIC. lost in an ocean within the small corner of the world that had been her home for her entire life. as if something had been MISSING yet she couldn’t place what. she should have been happy, returning from france to a royal greeting of which even caroline couldn’t overshadow. NOT THAT THE GIRL HAD EVER BEEN ABLE TO OVERSHADOW ELENA GILBERT. not really. but elena had been so jaded by the death of her parents so long ago then. and anything to do with BOYS. sure she’d had matt, SWEET MATT who she’d known would have done anything for her. who helped her with stefan even when she’d broken his heart. she couldn’t know, not when she’d made the VOW how much stefan would mean to her. how strong the pull of the silver cord of fate would intertwine through their souls.

MAYBE SHE SHOULD HAVE. MAYBE A PART OF HER DID.

why else would she have made such a vow about a transfer student who had SNUBBED her every time she’d offered him the kind welcome of the head of the senior committee? she’d asked him once, that dark night in the boarding house IF THAT WAS HOW A GENTLEMAN ACTED. and all her anger had shattered the moment she’d known the truth. she had him. and he had her. from the moment he’d tried to push her away only to find himself grasping her as if their LIVES DEPENDED on it.

SHE’D HAVE HIM EVEN IF IT KILLED THEM BOTH.

they couldn’t know how true the words would become. they couldn’t know how the water would rush over her and TAKE HER with it just as it had her parents. they couldn’t know she’d DIE IN THAT TOMB after katherine. they couldn’t even when she’d led the ghost soldiers across the battlefield that they’d get each other back moments later. SIX MONTHS APART FOR HIM, AN ETERNITY FOR HER. they couldn’t know that all they’d have was ten years of ups and downs and DEVOTION. of fighting old ones and dreaming of what their future would bring. they couldn’t know how henrik would betray them or how TERROR would engulf her when stefan staggered back onto the floor. they couldn’t know that not even their love could be enough to heal him or how rage and VENGEANCE would overtake her though perhaps, on that front, they could have.

IN WHAT WORLD WOULD THEY NOT AVENGE EACH OTHER?

oh, MAYBE THEY DID KNOW. maybe some part of their souls knew that they would burn the world to get each other back. SHE’D GET HIM EVEN IF IT KILLED THEM BOTH. it hadn’t killed her though she’s not entirely certain a worse fate will not befall her for such DEFIANCE in the face of the angelic court. to threaten humanity for ONE PERSON. to be willing to let the man who had killed so many, who would kill her if given the chance walk the earth for a VAMPIRE. there had been no hesitation when the opportunity presented. when she held the LEVERAGE to get him back.

THE PRICE DOESN’T MATTER.

not when he’s there before her now. not when she stumbles forward until she’s SINKING DOWN to the floor at his side as if they were back in that cemetery all those years before when she’d been a girl anew, shaking in rain and mud and awed by RESTORED LIFE. by solidness, by the feel of his arms holding her. “i told you, we’re in this together stefan.” hands come up and embrace his face, shaking. “did you think i’d ever let them keep my husband from me?”

[popoaniani]

I found my old journal from 2016

I was working on a book that I completely forgot about and never finished. It surprised me and also made me laugh so I had to share it (I don't really write like this anymore lol). Here's an excerpt:

“HARD CORE PORN!!!” Mike bellowed at some unfortunate tourists, imitating the street vendors peddling their wares. Hot Dogs! Genuine Cajun Cooking! Ghetto Burgers only three fitty! then Mike: “HARD CORE PORN!!” Nobody indicated interest in making a purchase.

I decided to join in supportingly. “Soft core porn?” I suggested in a low, sultry tone to passing tourists who had snubbed Mike’s loud offer.

“HARD CORE PORN!!!” Mike hollered. 

“soft core porn” I cooed.

I am uncertain how long we kept this up, as my perception of time came and went in gross, unwelcome waves. We received surprisingly few acknowledgements; our seedy offer folding in seamlessly with the debauched hustle and drug addled bustle. A permanent, Charlie-Sheen’s-forever-bachelor-party vibe in the New Orleans French Quarter.

Earlier in the evening, we had purchased two hits of acid from a teenage girl sitting on the step outside Checkpoints. After about a half hour of no visuals, we cursed her for burning us and turned to a new connect. Aha hooked us up with some green jelly tabs that did the trick. The rest of the night is a demented blur. Mike had gifted me a small baggie of cocaine that was in his possession. He told me blow makes him throw up. Why he had it in the first place was unclear, but I sat down on a tree stump next to the fire station to do a few bumps. The chaos of the tourist jammed streets was all the cover I needed. With all the real crimes being committed in the Big Easy, one grows acclimated to a certain false secure feeling while engaging in recreational drug use.

In a city where sex tourism and alcohol abuse make up the best part of the economy, it’s easy to believe that in fact most of the people around you are tripping balls, and those who aren’t really have no business being here at all. 

“BUTT PLUGS!! HARD CORE PORN!!” Mike publicized his latest offer.

I have a vague memory of someone with a bong stopping us for a smoke break on his front step. New Orleans was that kind of a city. A well meaning observer sees two belligerent nut jobs running down the sidewalk, hooting and hollering in the queasy depths of an acid binge, pupils dilated, sweat pouring from foreheads with pulsing blue veins and crazed grinding smiles cracked across their sticky, pale faces. He thinks to himself, those guys could use some mellowing out, packs a bong and invites them over. There is no other city in America that even comes close to the ill-advised hospitality, the genuine New Orleansness, of New Orleans.

It was a comfortably warm October night and Mike and I had made the lack of arrangements that goes well with staying out all night long. My Chrysler was safely parked in a neighborhood with no meters where I was unlikely to find it until I sobered up the next morning. We had no plans and nobody knew or cared where we were. Or so we thought. 

We finished the bowl, thanked our new found friend whose face we would never remember, for his hospitality, then resumed our walk around the neighborhood. 

I don’t remember the chronology of events that night, so I’m taking some liberty in the order in which I tell the story. At some point we had some weed and some candy. We sat on the front steps to some house in the Quarter and asked passersby if they’d like some M&Ms. If they said ‘yes’, we shared our candy with them, then invited them to smoke a blunt with us. If they said no to the M&Ms, we inquired if they’d like to smoke a blunt with us. We even made the acquaintance of an older gentleman who gifted us a handful of magic mushrooms in exchange for walking directions to a good burger place.

“Do you know how to blow smoke rings?”

“No”

“Do you want to learn how?”

“No”

“Ugh, look it’s easy. Just make an O face.”

I laughed

“Just make an O face! An O face, like this.”

Mike shaped his mouth into an O and made little puffing sounds, demonstrating how to blow the smoke. I laughed hysterically.

“What’s so funny? Stop laughing and let me see your O face.”

Mike and I were finally getting a chance to get to know each other better and ask all the questions we’d had on our minds. “Have you ever played happy wheels?,” he asked me.

Just then, (or maybe significantly later) Mike’s phone buzzed: an incoming call.  

“Just let it go to voicemail” I advised.

“No, I have to take this.” Mike replied.

“Why?” I was confused. You don’t have to do anything, I thought to myself. And whoever is on the other end of that call probably wants nothing to do with your fuck up, acid brain conversation right now. What time is it anyway? It’s got to be late.

The volume on the phone was high enough for me to clearly hear the menacing, low male voice on the other end. 

“Come home Mike.”

“I can’t come home right now. Jazmine and I are staying out all night. We’re tripping balls.”

“But you HAVE to come home.” Holy creeping christ. The voice was that of a cartoon super villain. Somehow I knew that wasn’t the drugs talking either. Whoever it was, they were creepy as fuck. Tonight, tomorrow, fucked up or sober, that voice belonged to a mad man.

“We can’t drive right now. We’re still coming up I think.”

“It doesn’t matter how you get home. This is your home. You need to come home at night. Every night. You will come home now.” The call ended.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK.” I gave Mike a look to emphasize my bewilderment.

“That was Rooster. Can you drive?” He asked.

“You’re not seriously going home are you? Why would you listen to that psychopath? He’s obviously nuts and creepy as fuck! Why does he want you to come home so bad? Why does he treat you like he’s your pimp? What the hell is going on anyway? Is he your pimp? Has he ever touched you inappropriately? I must be missing something.”

“Look, we just have to go.” He wasn’t kidding. I told him there was no way in hell I’d get behind the wheel of my car.

“You don’t have to. I’ll drive. I’m not even tripping that hard anymore.” He offered.

I got behind the wheel of my car. There was some comfort in knowing we were at least sober enough to find the car in the first place.

Mike pointed out turns and warned me of upcoming stop signs as we sped back to Rooster’s apartment.

If this god forsaken roadway would stop expanding and contracting, this drive would be a hell of a lot easier, I thought to myself. Or maybe out loud. Either way, Mike responded. The possibility of him having mind reading abilities was not out of the question. I eyed him suspiciously. 

“You’re doing fine, babe. Only three more blocks straight ahead. There’s a stop sign at this next intersection.”

I was going too fast to stop. We’d have to cross our fingers, hope for the best, and gun it.

Again, Mike interjected, “You know, you can go a little faster.”

I peeked at the speedometer, the numbers dissolving away as I tried to focus on them. I deduced we were in fact idling down the road so I pumped the gas. Dear god, it’s a miracle there are no pedestrians gawking at us or other motorists flipping me off. The neighborhood had an abandoned, 4 am kind of feel. It must have been some ungodly hour of the morning when even New Orleans sex tourists take a breather and weathered French Quarter hookers get a drink and rest their bones at the Spotted Cat before calling it a night.

We pulled up and parallel parked smoothly on the grass in front of Rooster’s apartment. He must have been watching from a window because he opened the door to the main building entrance as we approached.

“Well, well, well. Welcome home Mike… and… Mike’s friend.”

Evil villain voice. I shuddered. Then I smiled. I tried not to but I couldn’t help it. My acid brain was pulling hard on my cheek muscles.  An uncontrolled grin twisted across my face. I couldn’t look directly at Rooster. I knew the moment I did, he would twist into something blotchy and demonic. And I would laugh. Which I couldn’t imagine would help things.

I followed Mike up the stairs to the apartment. Rooster asked us to sit down in the room where another couple was sitting on the floor, playing with scattered tarot cards.

“Do you know why I needed you to come back tonight?”

“No.” Mike replied. I decided to let him handle the situation, since I had only recently arrived and had little background information on his and Rooster’s working relationship. 

Rooster sighed. “I didn’t expect better. Drugs…. and sex…. they corrupt a person. All this coming and going. And your friend… Jazmine, is it? I’ve hardly gotten to know her. Why is that?”

Now the attention was on me. There was uncomfortable silence. Was it the acid blocking some receptor in my cerebral cortex that was stopping me from understanding? What did he want from me? I was starting to get a rapey vibe. Was he trying to ask why Mike wasn’t sharing me with him? I knew he and his girlfriend were swingers. He would bring women over and his girlfriend would watch them through a mirror in the bedroom, unbeknownst to his female guests. Mike confided in me the first day I came over that Rooster had begged Mike’s permission to sleep with either me or one of my friends as some sort of perverted birthday present. 

And if that isn’t what he was asking, why should I have gotten to know him? I’ve only been here two days. Or was it longer than that? Suddenly I couldn’t recall. It couldn’t have been a week already?

“What exactly do you want?” I asked. Maybe a straightforward question would elicit a straightforward response from this mad man.

“If you are learned in philosophy, as I am, you will understand. One can only do so much, to make themselves clear. I have thought it over for some time and have been as polite as I can be. I cannot go on however, in this way. There are others to consider. My girlfriend, for one. I want to be sure, first and foremost, that she is comfortable. Do you follow? Why are you smiling at each other? Do you think this is funny?”

I had been putting all my strength and effort into not laughing. But I couldn’t hold it in. The acid was too good and Rooster was too strange. I was also terrified and laughing was all I could do. I looked at Mike and felt I could read that he was thinking the same thing. That Rooster had lost his mind. I snorted loudly, trying to suppress a laugh. Overcompensating, I considered my words carefully, then spoke.

“I’m sorry, Rooster. I’m just too high for this. Maybe if we had this conversation when I wasn’t tripping balls it would be more productive. I am having trouble understanding what exactly you want from us. Do you want money? How much money do you want to end this conversation right now? I have $300 cash. That covers half your rent for the month.  Let me know if that works for you.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

**Cultivating Love**59**

**The problem with divine peaches after having your divine peach plundered and now your fiancé wants to go on a trip to his home clan** prt 4**

Separated from Keith, again, Lance sit in the village square. Little Shiro in his lap, bundled up warmly, as they sat watching the small spattering of snow, from the night before, melt away. The village children all seemed curious over the strange new arrival, and as much as Lance wanted to speak with them, he worried he’d be doing something wrong if he did. Keith was stressed enough as it was, Kang calling for him that morning, meaning Lance was left to entertain himself on the back of being ill again. He’d tried helping the family hosting them for their visit much more covertly then accidentally overhearing the woman complaining that he’d packed up the bed that he shared with his mate instead of leaving the work to her. He’d never understand what constituted and insult and what did not. He’d much rather be sitting in the valley of herbs eating the peaches he craved so much, then accidentally hurting Keith’s clansmen. Feelings were just so complicated. Especially when they were probably not acting their best with how much physical intimacy Keith showered him in.

Still, people watching wasn’t so bad. It hadn’t seemed acceptable for him to allow himself access to the clan library, so people watching it was. It was teaching him a lot of about how Keith must have spent his childhood. And it was interesting to see the looks he received without his fiancé by his side.

Shifting little Shiro, Lance was feeling ill again. His son starting to cry in protest of being put up on Lance’s shoulder where he couldn’t see the world around them. Patting little Shiro’s back, Lance went to get to his feet, lightheadedness kicking in as he stood, causing him to land painfully on his knees. He’d feared making a fool of himself during his visit and now he had. Everyone in the space stopping to stare as Lance got back to sitting on the same bench, resting, then attempting to stand again, only to fail again. He knew his illness didn’t come from his soul. His soul was stable. As was his mind and body. None of his chi paths were blocked, and his energy was pure.

Lance’s ears flicked as he heard the villagers gossiping. Not only had Keith come back, he was touting a small child and a sickly mate that wasn’t even a wolf. And about their frequent mating… It wasn’t Lance’s fault he felt much better at night and Keith liked to be attentive. There was Gossip. Gossip. More gossip. And gossip. He’d hoped to show he was worthy of being Keith’s mate… and that though they’d lost their precious mate, they’d gained him again under the form of a son. Their family might not be what was viewed as typical, yet it worked for them. There’d always be someone to complain about it. His own clan hadn’t been keen on him taking a wolf for a partner, let alone two, but respected that was his choice and his life. Giving up on standing, Lance tried to cover his movements by adjusting his robes as if he’d been standing to untangle them and not some sickly peasant to be gossiped over.

Oblivious to the world behind him, the fox jumped as a familiar voice came from behind. Lance grateful not to have to his use brain too much as Ryan walked around to stand in front of him and little Shiro. His brain felt foggy enough for him to be embarrassed over not instantly recognising Ryan’s voice

“Lance? I thought that was you. James has been carrying on for days over how you and Keith snubbed him. What are you doing here? Are you feeling unwell?”

Unlike James, Ryan was an alright man. He too had been a student at the Shifting Space palace, taking his lineage from the Mountain Dog Clan. Ryan had always been a people person, a total gossiper, but never about the bad things. Lance had had limited interactions with him, given he didn’t get up in people’s faces like James. Having a friendly face right there made it a little easier to breathe

“Ryan. It’s nice to see you again. I did think we’d run into you sooner, yet the masters gave us so much work that we haven’t really had time to catch up outside a few words. How are you?”

Crossing his arm, Ryan reminded Lance strongly of Hunk. He’d been caught and they both knew it

“I’m doing well, thank you. You on the other hand are awfully pale. What are you doing out here? If you aren’t well, you should be resting”

“I was quite alright until I wasn’t. I’m a little faint, yet it’s not worthy of concern”

“Don’t give me that. I’m not James. Let’s get you and this little one back to your room. He doesn’t bite yet, does he?”

When Ryan held his hands out, Lance let him take little Shiro. How Ryan and James had ever remained friends was beyond Lance. The key difference between them was when Ryan asked in regards to a persons well-being he truly cared

“Little Shiro loves putting things in his mouth, and his tiny teeth are sharp, but you usually get some warning before you wound up bit”

Ryan’s face softened

“That’s right. I’m sorry to hear about Shiro. I did pay my respects at the festival, yet I hadn’t a chance to tell you and Keith. I did try to find you, but we left early the following day”

Ryan wouldn’t have found them anyway. Once little Shiro was back with Shay, he and Keith had made up repeatedly…

“Thank you. It’s been an adjustment, and this little one is keeping my hands full. I do miss him quite a lot, and had hoped to understand Keith better on this trip, but he’s been called away”

Settling little Shiro on his shoulder, Ryan held his hand out to Lance as the little boy grabbed hold of one of Ryan’s hair beads, promptly trying to put it in his mouth. Being a divine spirit beast did mean maturing physically a little faster than a normal child, yet Lance was sure little Shiro was a prodigy. Taking Ryan’s hand, Ryan caught him as he stumbled, whispering when Lance was close enough that they wouldn’t be overheard

“I’ve been here for a year and I still can’t get used to the gossip. Don’t let them get to you. They’re all mad that Keith’s off the market practically permanently. Here, stick close”

Supported back to his lodgings, Ryan helped Lance right up the bed, Lance reaching for the bucket brought to him earlier by the homeowner, ashamed to be vomiting in front of his estranged friend. They’d barely been able to talk on the walk back, Lance’s nose assaulted by dozens of scents and none of them made him feel any better. Ryan calling out to the homeowner, knowing their wolf hearing would hear him, or wise to the fact they’d probably been followed after they passed through the gate

“Can you please call for Keith, and for the village healer? Lance is a little ill”

“I’m fine, thank you, and I’m sorry about the inconvenience I’ve caused. I picked up a bug last week and haven’t been able to shake it. If I’d known I would still be ill, I would have packed some ginger for my stomach. I feel horrible that I couldn’t keep that down. The village physician has already seen to me and made a wrong diagnosis. It will pass”

Ryan laughed, sitting himself on the floor with his legs crossed and little Shiro sitting on his feet

“Trust me, it’s an even bigger deal if you don’t let the healer come, so I’m glad he has. It’s shown as being a bad host, even when the house is as detached as this one. I thought wolves and dogs would have been closer together but they’re so uptight. Besides, you smacked James pride so much that he got throughly drunk and threw up the other night. I’ll never understand why he can’t get along with Keith”

Lance understood why. Keith denied it, yet he’d seen it. James having feelings for Keith wasn’t nearly as half as shocking as hearing mothers wanted to line up weddings between Keith and their children

“I would say it’s because James has had that crush on Keith so long he’s never grown out of teasing him for his attentions. They say it’s better to be hated from the depths of one heart than to be brushed aside. To be hated means you cause those feelings to be revived each time it is mentioned. I’m not exactly sure that made sense”

“No, no. I understand the point you tried to make. You would think my mate would learn”

Lance blinked, then blinked again, then felt utterly mortified

“You… him… I am so sorry. Not that way. I mean I am so sorry I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have…”

Ryan chuckled at Lance’s panic

“You’ve been busy at the palace… and elsewhere. Honestly, James was more upset about not being selected to head to the demon realm with the others that he’s been a tad more bitter than before. I wasn’t at the battle but news did reach us. I’m glad to see you seem to be doing mostly alright”

Reminded of the paperwork that was still ignored, Lance pushed away his discomfort as he realised he may just be able to push the work onto James and Ryan, then they’d able to leave without it weighing on him

“I mostly am. I know I’ve thrown up, but do you have some time? I have a couple of things I wish to discuss with you that James didn’t give me an opening to broach with him. I would also like to hear how you have been doing? And how Ina and Nadia are. You four have always been together as long as I can remember”

“Nadia wanted to come see you when we first got word of your visit. She and Ina left the clan and won’t be back for a few more weeks. They joined the main seasonal hunt caravan. Ina thinks she may have found proof of a lost race of divine spirit beasts”

Lance was instantly envious. Not so much about the hunting part, no, more about the freedom part. Keith would have loved to go hunting. He would have loved to have spent more time in the demon realm too. Lance didn’t want to admit out loud that although incredibly sweet that his mate came back, he did wish he was there to keep them updated. Pidge’s updates had become rarer and rarer. Almost as if she’d forgotten she had a worried fox to think of. Yet with their duties, they’d be solidly booked for the rest of their lives at this rate. He had already decided he’d wanted to travel more before being sent to the demon realm… then he’d been happy to home… and now he didn’t want to go back to the nagging masters.

“Lance?”

Smiling at Ryan, Lance gathered his thoughts back up and pushed them down

“Sorry. I was thinking how amazing that would be”

“I know you wish to talk, yet if you’re not feeling up to it, I won’t be offended”

“No, no. Seriously, I’m in dire need of news from around here. Especially when it comes to orphans. I have permission to bring back any child who wishes to study at the palace”

“You might have a hard time there. They’re very protective of the children here. And no offence, but you are a fox”

Lance had seen it coming when Ryan had said “no offence”. He didn’t take offence at Ryan personally, only taking offence when he thought of how little Keith would have been treated

“I understand. You did catch me by surprise you know… Keith never would have thought there’d be mothers lining up marriages”

“Maybe not before, yet he did help save the realm from Zarkon, and rumours of his mother’s return and her long term mission have come out now. He’s become quite the talking point. They’re also saying that anyone who marries him will become the parent to little Shiro too and earn the favour of the heavens seeing Shiro has reincarnated again. It’s all gossip. I wouldn’t be worried. Everyone knows he’s only ever had eyes for you and for Shiro”

Despite the good mood and more than too frequent love making, Ryan sent his head back to all the useless thoughts he’d had. Making them as fresh as they’d been before he and Keith started picking them apart. His mind was being so stupid. It mocked him. Keith had no real choice. Lance knew in his heart that Keith had wanted to choose both of them, and he himself had been feeling inclined to perhaps maybe reconcile things with Shiro in same way to ensure Keith was happy. The night they’d had sex he was sure Shiro had apologised for all the times he did not hold him when he’d wanted to and for all the times he’d pushed him away in fear. Still, Keith was the kindness idiot he knew. He’d lost so much, hurt so much, and still loved him so much. Despite Lance still quietly trying to come to terms with much of it being his fault. Keith was still struggling, so bringing him home to show him off was something Lance worried over excessively. Keith’s abandonment issues started with Krolia then he’d found Shiro and a loving home with their mate… only for Shiro to consider abandoning them again. Deep down it tore at Lance to be in the rooms he’d shared with Shiro, utterly oblivious to all of Shiro’s wavering. So why was it that he also found immense comfort there too? Why was it when he came out of his heat that all he wanted was Keith and Shiro to smother him in their safe scents? Being in the space he’d shared with Shiro and remembering their time together more fondly than he’d felt when he experiencing it the first time around. All of those thought so pointless to have. Lance resisting the urge to wave his hands and physically shoo them off.

Instead the divine spirit fox picked his words carefully as he scratched at his cheek with his pointer finger

“He did. And he still does. We both did. I did something a little stupid and then our hands were forced. I’m sorry for anyone thinking to adopt little Shiro, Shiro himself specifically stated his raising would be left to Keith and myself”

“I’m not sure I would be able to do that. James is bad enough as it is”

“Yet you call him your mate. Sometimes I do quietly think it might have been much easier if this hadn’t happened, but I’m happy to have him. He’s mostly a good baby, and Keith’s been very good with him”

“As I said, he’s only had eyes for you and Shiro”

Not liking the implication, Lance raised his voice. Hoping the lady of the house would hear him and spread his words

“We’re not raising Shiro to retake his place as our mate. Whether by cosmic design or coincidence his first mate was reborn too. I hope to reunite them when Shiro comes of age again”

“Alright, alright. I understand. That’s not what I was saying”

“I’m making it clear to all that Shiro is my son and I am not raising him for that sort of thing”

Ryan sighed softly

“I wouldn’t have told you about Keith if I’d know you’d be jealous”

Lance tapped his ear then pointed to the door, Ryan then realising the comment wasn’t entirely directed his way

“Ah, right. Shall we talk about the demon realm now?”

Lance nodded, wishing he hadn’t as he threw up in his mouth. He’d limit his diet to rice pudding and hope the reset would help him finally kick the bug that plagued him, and realising he’d let himself be distracted again from the paperwork

“I think that would be suitable. It’s a wonderful place, not as in that meaning, but the oddity of it… A world filled with technological wonders. I foresee the opening of a permanent portal to the realm leading to great advancements in our realm…”

Whether Ryan liked it or not, once Lance got started talking about the demon realm, the time between them seemed to fly… until Lance grew ill just before Keith came back for the afternoon, Ryan left with a promise to invite him to dinner the following night, where Lance hoped to push some of the unsolved matters off onto him and James as he’d forgotten the paperwork all over again.

*

Somehow the week passed without Keith burning anything down. He sorely considered it. Kang had been irritated by him taking Lance to see his family home, splitting the pair of them so “the men might speak”. Since Lance had taken ill, Kang had ceased paying him proper respect. In return, Lance had dressed in Keith’s clothes, Keith annoyed that his beautiful mate no longer dressed far above the people of his clan.

Plagued with nightmare the last two nights, Keith had woken in a mood. Or rather, Lance had woken him due to Keith crying for Shiro in his sleep. The dream so vivid as his love left with a small brown pup beside him, causing him to miss both his exmate and his precious demon pup. With Shiro so firmly at the front of his mind, he found it hard to sit through negotiations, and harder to socialise with anyone other than Lance. The previous night James had come to see them, bring his friend from the Mountain Dog Clan land, someone whom Lance seemed very friendly and familiar with, but Keith could not place his face at all. Lance had been asked to join them for dinner, seeing they would be leaving, Keith not wanting him to go, yet Lance wanted to and he trusted him. And given his mate had told him that he had seen Ryan the other day and he’d gone and forgotten, Keith also felt he owed it to Lance to agree given his memory lapses.

Shuffling slowly around him, Keith may have been moody, yet he hadn’t not noticed Lance’s slowed pace. His mate seemed in pain and a little feverish, for Keith he had the horrible suspicion he may have hurt his precious fiancé during his nightmare, yet Lance denied it. If Lance were injured he would have healed himself, and Keith liked to believe his love would tell the truth of his pain other than simply calling it stomach cramps. If he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave his home clan, he’d have made Lance spend the day resting, especially with the ride from his clan home to the Emperor’s Palace. He hadn’t forgotten for a moment that Lance promised him a wish for good behaviour.

“Lance, have you seen the papers sent with us?”

Kang was so adamant about reliving the past glory days of the clan that he’d brushed Lance aside repeatedly. Keith equally relieved and angry that things really had seemed to change within the clan. No children would be leaving with them. They were treated better than he had been. Though this could have been an act, put on to impress two masters who held sway.

“I’ve passed them onto Ryan and James. And I spoke to them last night of the clan, so they know what is expected and the outcomes desired from taking these steps towards joining the changes in the realm. Especially the stuff about the chance of any divine wolves returning. They will have to deal with Kang now”

They’d both aligned themselves with the clan anyway, for some reason unknown to Keith. Even the cursed mermaid clan would have been a better choice. Good riddance as far as Keith was concerned. Lance had come back late, sliding in behind him to freeze him with a cold hand to the stomach, then fallen asleep before discussing what was discussed. Keith had been suspicious that Lance would willingly leave to spend time with James, yet once his mate had had a good reason to leave him alone now he knew the paperwork had been successfully passed on.

As Keith zipped his backpack closed, he marvelled over it all over again. A small spell and the space was infinitely roomier. He could have stolen almost everything within the sad house that they’d been using and still have space to spare

“Alright. I have packed for three of us, is there anything I have forgotten? Little Shiro is changed too”

Shuffling over to him, Lance threw one of Keith’s robes at Keith’s face

“You forgot your own clothes. Other than that, you’ve already picked everything else up”

“That’s because someone decided to be ill again today. Did you really not drink with Ryan and James?”

“No. It’s my stomach, a few cramps, probably from how nauseous I have been. Also, it might cheer you up to know Ryan and James are dating. Which I told you. I very carefully gave you the full debriefing after Ryan walked me home to prevent misunderstanding”

Keith pulled a face as he pulled the robe from his face. Ryan and James? He couldn’t picture James like that and he did not wish to

“They are?”

“Yes. I wish we’d come sooner. Nadia and Ina have gone on the seasonal hunt, they’ve made new discoveries according to Ryan. Possibly the remains of a demon worshipping cult and a race of unknown origins”

If Keith had a glass bead for every time he’d heard that then Pidge would be indebted to him for life

“They all say that”

“This one is quite old. I’m not sure that I’m not completely jealous”

“Excuse you, you’ll be demon king soon enough”

Lance chuckled lightly at him

“No, but I do miss the realm. Now, are you sure you packed everything of little Shiro’s, you know how many changes he needs a day”

“It’s all here. Red, Black, White, my stone, the few trinkets from home. I’ve packed”

Without Shiro’s barrier, his home had been invaded by sand. Little Shiro complaining about the dust that got up his nose and fussing over the things he wasn’t allowed to put in his mouth. The sun had been rising by the time they’d finished cleaning, then Lance had shown him how to configure his own barrier to protect what remained of his childhood home. He’d nearly escaped, only Lance had brought a comb within his robe and Keith was forcibly groomed due to all the sand in his hair and tail. He feared the grooming comb, yet Lance knew he wouldn’t say no to him. His lover sighed softly

“Alright, it’s not as if we cannot return again if you did forget something. Make sure those books you packed are in the very bottom. I don’t want them finding them”

“I have your books. I don’t see why you didn’t liberate a few while we were here. They’re only going to waste”

“Because I’m not that bad. You acted all yesterday as if you didn’t remember Ryan, even after I told you he took me to the clan library and vouched for me there. Then I got too embarrassed to go back alone”

Keith liked to think himself a simple wolf. He didn’t need to remember Ryan, so he didn’t. Plus Kang had only been trying to torture him by insisting on practicing his sword skills against him. The fact that many eligible people of marrying age were there did not escape Keith and he did not appreciate the clear snub at Lance.

Returning Lance’s sigh with an exaggerated one of his own, Keith pushed down the contents of his backpack

“If he was annoying as James I may have remembered him”

“He wasn’t harbouring feelings for you, so did not constantly seek out fights for your attention. No, no. Hunk is very much like Ryan, and Ryan used to know all the palace gossip. He never ever spread it and never was malicious with it, he was simply very curious. He is a good man. James left for night patrol so I spent quite a pleasant time talking with Ryan. He was very sympathetic over Shiro and repeated asked after you”

Keith wished he could remember Ryan’s face. Lance was entirely too friendly with him and he now wished he’d gone with Lance instead of trusting his mate who’d wanted to go out when he hadn’t. Wincing, Lance bent down to pick up little Shiro, Keith cowardly had half been avoiding the boy due to his dreams of Shiro and the anger all over again that Shiro had left them

“And I’m telling you that you are completely wrong about James. He’s a lunatic. Utterly unhinged. He and Kang should be wed and the pair can spend their lives complaining about me”

“Mhmm. You keep telling yourself that and perhaps one day it will be true. Now, can we leave? I would like to leave before I manage to insult someone else by offering to help”

“It’s their loss. I’m ready when you are. The horses will be fed and watered, waiting near the front gates for us. I’ll not be surprised if no one comes to see us off”

“I think you’re in for a surprise if you think no one will be there to see you off”

Keith felt a shiver run up his spine at Lance’s teasing, he didn’t want a crowd. He didn’t need a crowd. He was not going to be happy if there was a crowd.

*

There was a crowd. At lest there were extremely few random strangers trying to hand him flowers, and no more than one woman had shoved her child his way. While he was suffering Lance had abandoned him to it. By the time he caught up with his lover and son, Keith was done with the clan entirely, picking flowers off his robes and in one case a lump of hair that was definitely not alright to gift someone leaving.

Laughing at him, Keith shot Lance a withering glare

“It’s not funny. What was that?”

“You. You see, you were so busy being mad that you didn’t hear the rumours. Ryan clarified them for me the other day. Almost every eligible person was put forth to attempt to capture your heart from that over dressed fox who lords himself around despite sickly. My health is in rapid decline and I am not likely to see through the next winter, so what would happen to the child if I should pass? Should he not be brought up by wolves as nature intended? I thought you were popular for being a realm hero, yet little Shiro was their target all along. It was all about who would be the step parent to the babe three times reborn and gifted life again by a god”

Keith’s glare only deepened. Lance was over exaggerating things to tease him

“You could have warned me! How are you not jealous?”

Lance laughed at him

“I was. Very much so. Yet you’ve been terribly cute with how you’ve tended to me that despite my jealousy I told myself you would still choose me. That wasn’t to say I didn’t worry secretly that a more appropriate mate may come along, especially seeing I cannot give you an heir, oh great realm defender”

“I hope you fall off your horse and return as tofu”

“I’m sorry that I am not sorry. But it was nice to see you fawned over, by your hundreds of well wishers”

“By people planning on killing you off and marrying me off. No. This isn’t okay. What a load of shit. They treated us both awfully and then pull this. Besides, you’re the cute one. If I’m so popular then why aren’t you?”

Keith started strong before running out of huff. Now he suspected that his nightmares may not have come from his own mind, but that of a meddling mother trying to somehow worm their way into his subconscious

“Because I’m a fox, my love. I would have liked to have smacked Kang at least once, but we’re not going back now”

“I would have paid to have seen you do that”

“Don’t act like that. You know weapon prowess is big in your clan and it was he who invited you”

“Well he should have invited you too. He loved you to start with”

“Until I fell from grace and lost my breakfast. I’m really very sorry we could not come to some sort of agreement”

“You tried. It’s not on you. I know you hoped for good memories, but you’re forgetting outside of you being ill and that obnoxious place, I had you and little Shiro. I might not like the place, but it’s not quite so bad now in my head”

Lance rewarded him with a huge smile

“If it wasn’t for Kang and the gossip, your village is really pretty. Wait until you finally come home to my clan. You’re going to be so loved you’ll not know what to do with yourself”

“That sounds utterly terrifying”

“A little. I’ve been writing to my mother a bit more of late, she’s quite mad about everything. So first there’ll be an hour long scolding, and after that a party. Winter is the nicest time there. I mean all the seasons are nice, but there’s just something about the snow on the trees that makes me nostalgic. Don’t worry, I know you don’t love winter”

Lance was one to speak. He’d bury himself in everything he could if he could get away with it. Still, Lance had come to his clan, it was only fairly he went to the clan of his future husband… though he hadn’t exactly asked for Lance’s hand in marriage… They’d have to visit before the wedding or he’d never be able to show his face before Lance’s family

“Neither do you. Once everything else is settled and you’re well enough, we’ll go to your clan. They’re all not like your sister, right?”

“No. Veronica likes to show her love with her bossy ways. You’ve met her, and my mother. That leaves my brother Luis, my brother Marco, and my sister Rachel. Our clan has basically none of the rules your clan does so I hope you’ll be able to relax”

“I will if my gorgeous fiancé is with me”

Lance groaned at him, flicking his reins to spur his horse ahead of Keith’s

“We’re not having no where near as much sex at my clan, thank you very much. You made it very very clear that you were spending all your time out of eye mating me. My poor hips wouldn’t have stood a chance had I not been able to heal myself”

“I thought you enjoyed it”

“I did, yet even the sweetest things can turn to poison if indulged too much. I kept my end of things and paraded around as your fiancé, and I’ve promised to uphold your wish. But for the foreseeable future of our travels, no sex from you. If I’m to be saddle sore, I’d rather it from a saddled and not straddling you”

“I… I’ll behave”

Lance glanced back over his shoulder

“I didn’t expect you to concede so quickly”

“For you, I will. Not a person in my clan doesn’t know you are mine to cherish and mine alone”

“Yes, yes. If you’re good I’ll change my mind”

“But what if I am good at being bad?”

“Then me and my arse will have to rethink about making this a more permanent abstinence”

Keith gaped. He’d die without the touch of his fiancé. How was he to live without Lance’s warm arms and long legs holding him close. What would they do during their ruts? Who would take care of Lance? He’d rather die then drive Lance into another situation where he was forced to lie with another

“You’re joking, right?”

“Perhaps? Perhaps not? We’ll wait and see”

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

The Road Less Traveled (Fellowship x Pregnant!Reader)

Synopsis: Left by a man who took you out of wedlock, you discover halfway through the Fellowship’s journey that you are, indeed, pregnant. Not wishing for you to face motherhood alone, the Fellowship conspires, regarding whom gets to marry you and help raise your child, leaving you with a tough choice.

This was not at all how you saw your life going—both the man leaving you for another woman, and finding out you were pregnant with his baby on a perilous quest, miles upon miles away from the nearest dwelling.

You had been madly in love with this man, unaware he had eyes for another. Your copulating love was taken out of wedlock, a choice you knew had its risks, but Brander had a charming way about him.

You never would have thought he’d leave you. However, one morning, Brander announced the conclusion of your relationship with another woman on his arm.

Heartbroken and enraged, you threw all his clothes from your shack, and took to a horse. Riding swiftly, you headed to the one place you knew hearts were healed; Rivendell.

Upon your arrival, a council of sorts was taking place. One thing led to another, as per usual in your life, and you found yourself on another journey—this time with a higher purpose, and nine other guys.

Things were difficult, but honestly relieving. The fresh air cleansed your soul, as did the healthy relationships you built up with the nine males—proving to you that they weren’t all bad, right on time before you could curse the entire species of XY chromosomes out forever.

However, this was as far as the fun went.

It started with a tiredness the Fellowship brushed off due to your inexperience, and then the lateness of your period. Next, early dawns were spent throwing up in the woods, with whomever was on night-watch holding your hair back, usually Aragorn, Legolas or Boromir.  

You wept slightly when a sparring match with Boromir resulted in a shield hitting your breasts, for they were very tender as of late. The final nail in the coffin was the snubbing of Sam’s usually delicious bacon making you hurl.

Gandalf had taken to speaking with you privately, and asked, in the politest manner possible, if he could assess your womb to find confirmation of another soul.

Legolas approached slowly, crouched down by your side, and spoke responsively in the most apologetic of voices.

“There is no need—I can hear their heartbeat…I am so sorry, Y/n.”

You broke down into tears quickly, and everyone soon knew your predicament that evening. You apologized over and over, and felt utterly mortified. How embarrassing.

They now knew the choice you had made out of wedlock, and were pregnant as a result—something highly frowned upon in human society, and many others in Middle-earth, for that matter. You would no doubt be branded as a “whore” upon your return to society.

You told them all about Brander that night, and opened up to them fully. Jaws were clenched, nervous glances were flashed, and brows were furrowed.

They now had an expectant, first-time mother in their midst, on their way to quite possibly the worst place in the world to take a pregnant woman. Adding onto this, their poor friend, whom they had grown quite close with, was in a horrible situation.

But perhaps it was one they could help with?

Driven by noble blood and true chivalry, the Fellowship started to discuss their options.  

“It’s just awful, what that ‘Brander’ fellow has done to her,” said Boromir, discreetly nodding over in your direction.

You were sat with your head in one hand on a log by the fire, face contorted in misery. Your cheeks and eyes, as well as your nose, were all pink, due to a long while of crying.

Sam sat on one side of you, and held your hand. He reassured you with bright words of soothing promises.

“Don’t worry, Miss Y/n! All will work out! You’ll see! You’re bringing a new soul into this world! That’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Sam would say.

Merry, Frodo and Pippin were on your other side, rubbing your back and holding your shoulder.

“He’s right!” they’d agree, nodding profusely. “You’ll see! This is a wonderful thing. You just can’t quite picture it yet, but you will!”

Gimli, Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas were all huddled in close, standing in a circle. They stood a little further off from the fire, but still caught its glow.

Gandalf was sat on a log himself, puffing away on a pipe. The affairs of human society were not his responsibility, but he offered guidance from a distance nonetheless. He already knew all would work out, but was the only one there oldest and wisest enough to realize so.

Legolas’ arms were folded over his chest, as were the three others’ he stood with. “She’ll be shamed wherever she goes, and her child will be considered a bastard. Truly awful…I feel compelled to help. What can we do?”

“Well, to avoid public slander,” Aragorn spoke up knowingly, “she’d have to be married.”

“Very well and all,” Gimli whispered back, “but were you perhaps not present when she said the scoundrel ran off with another filly?”

“He was not whom I was referencing,” Aragorn mentioned. He threw a studious glance in your direction, and spoke again. “She is a fine young lady, with a strong heart and homely nature. She would make a wonderful wife, and I feel it our duty as her friends to make sure she becomes so.”

“You mean for us to marry her?” Legolas asked, incredulously. His head lowered in shock as he spoke, and a brow arched.

The guys, save for Aragorn, who overlooked it all, glanced between each other tensely, unsure if the alarmed glint in their eyes was competition or fear.

Boromir was the first to speak up.

“I will do it, in a heartbeat!” he said. “You are right, Aragorn—she is a wonderful young lady, and deserves to be wed in time for her child. I will care for them both.”

“Well, now hold on a moment,” Legolas snapped, glaring across at Boromir. “Why do you get to marry her? I am much closer in age to her than you are…figuratively speaking, at least. I should be the one to marry her—we get along best.”

“You?” Gimli snorted. “You will outlive her in the blink of an eye.”

“Oh, and you won’t?” Legolas said back. “None of us implied romance anyways, Gimli. I’d merely be a lifelong friend and guardian for her and her child. I’m the most suited out of everyone here to provide for her—”

“Because you’re a prince?” Boromir interjected, narrowing his eyes.

“Not just because of that,” Legolas bit back, squaring up with Boromir slightly. “But what of it regardless? What does it matter how I provide for her? I plan on renouncing my title and making a life of my own anyways. I might not get the chance for a child of my own, and I can help Y/n raise hers.”

“She’s not some puppy, laddie,” Gimli snorted back. “You both want to store her away in a little cottage or unit somewhere drab. I can provide her with culture! Dwarven culture! Her little one deserves to grow up in grand halls and eat ripened meat!”

Aragorn looked between the unfolding drama, and soon raised a hand before you could become even more distressed. Fortunately, you hadn’t heard a thing of their hushed conversation.

“That is enough,” Aragorn said. “I’d offer to marry her myself, but…well, I do believe you three are better suited than me to provide a stable life for her. It is ultimately up to Y/n. All either three of you can do is offer your hand in marriage to her, and see what she says.”

Glares were thrown between the three potential suitors, as each wondered who’d be the first to turn around and run towards you.

As it turns out, all three turned on their heels at the same. They nearly tripped over one another. However, they stopped almost immediately, for someone on the other side already had the same idea.

“It is quite all right, Y/n,” Frodo said, down on one knee before you, and holding your hand. “The Shire will accept you, and I can just say I fell in love on the road and married you immediately. I have a big house now left all to myself, with many rooms. You can have one to yourself, as can your child. Bilbo did the same for me when I was young.”

You were crying again, but this time out of happiness. Your other hand was placed over your chest, as you smiled down at the kind hobbit with a wavering lower lip.

“Oh, Frodo, that is so incredibly kind, I can only say—”

“DON’T SAY ANYTHING!” Legolas shouted, rushing forwards. He nearly shoved Frodo out of the way, and took his place holding your hand swiftly.

“Y/n,” he began, sincerely, “I’ve always felt that you and I have had a…special bond since beginning this journey together. I can provide you with a cottage in the forest, and true protection. I’m an archer and an elf—your child will learn many life skills with me as their parental guardian. And, furthering this, after you’ve moved on from our world, your child will surely be left behind. I can ensure they are well-cared for up until their own departure!”

“Oh, Legolas, I don’t know what to...” you went to say, holding his hand with both of yours. You were truly starting to get overwhelmed with happiness and relief.

“Oh, shove it, pixie!” Gimli shouted from behind Legolas. He, too, stole the snarling elf’s place, chivalrously removing his helmet as he did so. “Lass, I know I may not be your usual type, or blonde, but I am asking for your hand as well. I can offer you so much in Dwarven society. The women are strong, and you will find ranks in them! Your child will be given an equal chance, no matter the gender, to be themselves! Life in the halls is a true marvel—”

“Enough, the both of you!” Boromir shouted next. He tugged Gimli by the beard and threw him away. “Y/n, you and I are both humans. I understand you and our shared culture better than anyone else here! Please, nothing would make me happier than to provide for you as my wife. Not to mention, the child will look most like me, racially-wise.”

The hobbits all looked between each other with shocked smiles, intrigued by the situation, and Gandalf and Aragon merely shook their heads.

Legolas grabbed hold of Boromir’s shoulder and stood him up. “Race has nothing to do with it! If we’re really going to narrow this down to looks, I am the tallest! That is highly desirable in a husband! Y/n and her child will live a wonderfully secure and safe life with me. You need to back off.”

“Why don’t you make me?” Boromir bit back.

Before a fight could break out between the two of them, Gimli hopped into the middle and added his own string of harsh words.

The three suitors of differing races soon began to bicker between themselves, leaving you sat on the log very stunned indeed.

However, after a long while of listening to them argue over who gets to marry you, you put up your hand and silenced them. Although, it took a good few shouts until they shut up completely and curiously blinked down at you.

“Boys. Boys! BOYS!” Once the attention was on you, you spoke again. “I am so incredibly flattered by your equal devotion, it has truly made me feel better about everything, but...do I not get a say in whom I marry out of everyone here?”

Legolas moved his body slightly, so he stood facing you straight. “Well, whom do you choose, my lady?”

Frodo had backed off entirely, but shared a lipped smile with you, ultimately letting you know the offer was still on the table regardless. Boromir, Gimli and Legolas all stared at you optimistically, leaning forwards as they waited for your reply.

Stumped by so many choices, and considering you didn’t even know this would be a part of your life plan up until five hours ago, you went with the smartest choice; waiting.

“These are all very early days…” you began. “I’m very overwhelmed by all the offers, and still getting used to the idea of motherhood, and now marriage—”

You took a calming breath.

“You’re all so sweet, and I truly appreciate your support, but…could I perhaps sit on it for a while, and return with an answer at a later time? This is a very big decision, as you can all imagine.”

They quickly agreed, and nodded their heads vehemently.

“Take all the time you need!” they said reassuringly, in one form or another.

That night, they all waved sweet “goodnights” over their shoulders to you, and even gave up their cloaks and packs to create what they deemed the perfect “mother’s nest” for you to sleep on.

It was all very sweet, and warmed your heart. However, although half the problem was solved, you were presented with another; who on earth were you going to choose to marry and raise your unborn child with?

Actually, the more you thought about it that night, as you fell asleep with nine friends protecting you as you slept in the middle, like a herd of animals keeping their mother-to-be safe, the more you realized you already knew exactly whom you wanted to live with.

[rebrandedbard]

could I get 49 for the prompts pleaseeee? (:

*weeping* Em, I love you, defending my honour, giving me a way out. You’ve spared me my dignity.

49. “Well this is awkward ...”

WC:  2106

Tidings and Tarradiddles

Jaskier returns to Posada and his path crosses with Geralt’s once more after the unfortunate affair on The Mountain™

-

How was it? Truly, how was it that of all places on the great, wide Continent, Geralt should come to take a contract in Posada, at the farthest of reaches, after months and months of separation, on the one day Jaskier should be in town? And how was it that he’d come the only hour Jaskier had lingered for a drink? It was too great a coincidence, and Jaskier would not give Destiny the credit. She’d not earned the right to claim it. Jaskier scorned her and had stripped her of the right to interfere in any of his further adventures. After all, Geralt had blamed him for her follies—follies which, by rights, Geralt had brought upon himself in the first place.

Even so, he could feel Destiny’s audaciously long and twitchy nose poking about his business the moment Geralt walked through the tavern door. Jaskier huddled in his corner, hoping the shadows were darker than they had been the day he’d found Geralt hunched beneath them. He ought to have known better than to come in the first place. There had been a whole flock of magpies in the middle of the bridge leading into town—a tiding of magpies. Detestable harbinger of tidings, foul and fair. They’d startled at the sight of him and alighted once more on the tavern roof. But he’d ignored their superstitious warning.

Of course the shadows were of no use to him. The moment Geralt stepped inside, Jaskier saw him twitch, cocking an ear his direction. Probably heard the familiar grinding of his teeth: an annoying habit he so often complained of. Jaskier curled up against the wall, trying to make himself smaller to blend in with his surroundings.

For once, it was not so difficult. He’d grown out his hair, had even maintained a healthy bit of scruff on his face in keeping with the stylings of his fellow tavern-goers. He was tired and worn, but above all, he was plain. He no longer wore bright colors, standing out like a beacon in the dark of night. He wore his linen dyed a plain, sensible, muted green. The jerkin on his back was brown and of a practical fit. Altogether, it did not so much scream of sensibility as it mumbled. If he kept his head low enough, he might pass as just another local come in for a pint.

But he was not just another local.

Geralt stopped before his table, standing at Jaskier’s elbow. The click of metal upon the table made Jaskier look up from his drink. It was a coin, spinning round and round. It wobbled and fell on its face, the etching of a worn coat of arms before him.

“Will … will you sing for us, bard?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at the coin. His ears began to fill with cotton, a faint ringing in them. A flash of hot blood coursed through him and he ground his teeth to a halt. He knew this was Geralt’s way of easing into things, working towards something, whether or not an apology was waiting at the end. He knew this was Geralt offering him an out. It was distant. Impersonal. But even in the depths of his rage, Geralt had called him by name. To call him bard and toss a coin to him like some stranger now … it flamed something red and barbaric to life under his skin. He was so deafened by the blood in his ears, he did not hear the approach of the figure standing at Geralt’s side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jaskier sneered. He picked up the coin, twiddling it between his fingers. Putting up an impassive mask, he juggled the coin over his knuckles in his best impressive manner, as if it were nothing but a worthless toy. “You see,” he said, “I’m not a bard.”

Geralt was quiet a moment. Jaskier could feel his eyes roaming over him. It raised his hackles to know what Geralt must see: the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of age now more pronounced with exhaustion, crow’s feet so defined they might as well have been dug by the claws of vultures. And then, Geralt must have taken notice at last. Gone were the bold silhouettes and blinding colors, gone were the perfumes and oils—but there was one thing more important than all the rest that was missing.

“Your lute,” Geralt said.

There it was. “Gave it up this very afternoon,” Jaskier replied. He slapped the coin down on the table and leaned back, snatching up his half-empty mug. “I travelled a long way to return it home; Filavandrel has it now.”

He took a drink, still avoiding eyes contact. He continued, mumbling over the rim of his mug. “Had a visit. They’re doing better than they were when last we met. I helped them dig rocks from their crop fields for an hour or two. Figured as long as I was shovelling things, I might as well master the art. Use it productively.”

He was being petty. He knew he was, but by the gods, he’d earned it.

When at last he looked up, he did so because he saw a hint of blue beside the table. The potmaid had been wearing a blue dress, and he thought he now saw his escape. He slid his mug to the edge of the table and lifted his head to ask for it to be taken away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Cirilla?” he asked, surprised. He blinked at the princess, who looked down at the table as his eyes fell upon her. He remembered her as someone taller, regal head held high, smiling, her hair half up in decorative braids and twists. This was not a princess before him, but a girl: her hood casting shadows upon her hollow face. It seemed wrong. She had always been a girl, but a girl with a name. This creature before him stood as a reflection of himself, a thing wishing to hide away, nothing more than a shell.

She glanced up at him, then down once more. Slowly she raised her hand to the table and placed it over the coin. She pushed it towards him with a quiet slide, then dropped her hand once more. “He said you sing wonderful,” she muttered, as if she had not heard him singing in Cintra’s court nearly every midsummer since birth.

Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The memory of a song sat heavy on his tongue. “I … I don’t sing anymore,” he grit out. He turned to look away again, staring at the crack between his bench and the wall. “Can’t sing without music anyway. Might as well be poetry.”

Having no music left him exposed. There was nothing to lift him up, nor anything to hide behind. He could sing among the crowd and raise his voice to join a drinking song, but there was something vulnerable about singing alone. Who sang among bar patrons without some barrier? Even the drunks had their drink to shield them.

He saw Geralt shift out of the corner of his eye. Something new slid across the table, stopping just short of his hand. He looked and saw one of his old notebooks.

“You write good poetry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed and picked up the notebook. “If there were anything in this worth keeping, I would have remembered to bring it with me when I went down the mountain.” He flipped through the pages, then let the notebook flop back on the table. “You obviously have poor taste,” he huffed.

Without warning, Geralt picked up the notebook and thwacked him on top of his head with the cover.

“Gah! Hey!” Jaskier shouted. He stood up and snatched the book back, smacking Geralt’s arm with it. “What in fuck’s name did you do that for, you brute!”

But he’d looked at Geralt, forgetting to snub him if only a moment. And Geralt plucked the book from his hand with an upward quirk of the lips. “It’s worth keeping,” he said. He handed the book to Ciri, who clutched it tight to her chest in agreement, but still, she looked at Geralt with a stern expression.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” she scolded.

Geralt’s eyes rolled back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

Geralt opened his eyes. He looked at Jaskier, opening his mouth to speak once more. But the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him. Instead, he turned to the door, stalking quickly across the room, words aborted on his tongue.

Jaskier gaped.

“Geralt!” Ciri called. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait here.”

“Geralt!”

“Dinner. I’ll be back in the hour.”

Ciri threw up her hands and dropped onto the opposite bench. She slammed Jaskier’s notebook down on the table and crossed her arms over it. She groaned in frustration, then turned her head to look out at the tavern floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she grumbled.

Jaskier looked between her and the door, feeling quite at a loss. “No,” he replied.

“Then you can eat Geralt’s share.” She rummaged in her cloak and pushed a little drawstring bag into his hands. “Here, he left me his purse.”

“And left you from the look of things. Shall I charge him for babysitting?”

“Do. And order another drink.”

Jaskier snorted. “Trying to get me to stay?” He wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave a child alone, even with the threat of Geralt’s return. He didn’t need to be persuaded.

“No. Punishing him for running out; you get his drink into the bargain. Think of it as sending him to bed without supper.”

“I’ll drink to that. It’s the least of the punishments I could inflict.”

They both chuckled mildly at that. A bit of the dense atmosphere lifted and they shared a look. Jaskier cleared his throat and waved for the potmaid. He ordered fare for the two of them, a mug of ale for himself, and a cup of small beer for Ciri. Once they’d both had a bite, they began talking. They traded stories: how Ciri came to Geralt’s care, and what Jaskier had been doing since the separation. Though the conversation was tense, it felt … good … to have a bit of company. He’d been worried since word of the fall of Cintra had reached him. At least Destiny had brought Ciri to Geralt safely. He hoped Destiny would be kind to her where it had failed him.

Jaskier startled when Geralt returned. He’d crept up so silently. Jaskier had been listening to Ciri describe her most recent success in outdoor cooking and hadn’t noticed the movement beside him. Geralt set the lute on the table in front of Jaskier’s empty plate with a sudden thunk, not a word of explanation. He stood there silently, holding the lute upright by its neck.

No one spoke.

Jaskier simply stared at it, felt Geralt stare at him. But this time, he refused to look up. Slowly, Geralt lay the lute down on the table, then slipped away. A minute passed, everything still and quiet. Then, Jaskier peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Geralt nudge Ciri, nodding his head toward the door.

Ciri looked at Jaskier, her brow anxious and furrowed. She clutched her cup, nearly finished, her plate barren. He could see her mind at work, trying to find an excuse to stay. But she set her cup down obediently. As she turned to stand, she left the notebook behind. Eyes downcast, she slumped to her feet. Geralt held out his hand for her, no longer looking at Jaskier. The moment Geralt’s back was turned, Jaskier felt a cold panic run through him.

“Wait!” he said, fumbling to his feet.

Geralt froze, turning his head back slightly to listen.

But for what? Jaskier reached out, hesitating. He picked up his lute, finding the coin beneath it. The noise made Geralt turn back and Jaskier met his eye. He’d never seen Geralt look so blank, completely unreadable.

Jaskier slung the strap of the lute over his head. He pushed the coin deliberately into his pocket and braced his hands on the strings. When he looked at Geralt again, there was the barest crack in his armour, and hope shined dimly through. Jaskier smiled. It was a timid thing, but he still remembered how it was done.

“You asked for a song,” he said.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 28 - ao3 -

The answer, it turned out, was paint.

It wasn’t an answer that Lan Qiren would have anticipated in any way, shape, or form. He had been under the impression, as had Lao Nie, that Wen Ruohan had stopped painting long ago. After some teasing by Lao Nie, the man had even off-handedly confirmed it at a private dinner they’d shared at a discussion conference – there had been more than usual planned in this past year, accounting for the fact that all of the Great Sect sect leaders (except Wen Ruohan) were unusually young, and therefore active. And although no one acknowledged it as a reason, everyone knew that it was also meant to help calm the concerns of the smaller sects regarding the chaos in their Great Sect leaders’ personal lives, between Jiang Fengmian losing his servant to his beloved or possibly the other way around, Lao Nie’s extremely bizarre marriage situation, and Lan Qiren stepping up unexpectedly to the position of sect leader on account of his brother’s retreat from the world.

According to Wen Ruohan, it hadn’t been anything in particular that had made him stop painting, only a lack of time and then of interest; there had been a severe crisis some time ago, long before either of them were born, and he had been obligated to devote himself exclusively to those affairs for an extended period of time. When he had finally resurfaced, years later, he had returned and found an old painting sitting there half-finished, and staring at it, realized that he was no longer the same man who had begun it.

He had never painted again.

Lan Qiren was unsure if this was a real story or not – Wen Ruohan, he had learned, seemed to consider the truth about his past to be little more than a gentleman’s agreement between friends – as it seemed to be an especially pointed reminder aimed at Lan Qiren’s situation in particular. 

Lao Nie had certainly taken it as such, throwing in his own concerns about Lan Qiren’s work schedule, and when even Cangse Sanren had joined the growing mob of all the rest of his friends, Lan Qiren had finally, if reluctantly, agreed to defer to their concern. He’d finally taken a step back and reorganized his duties as sect leader, standing his ground against the elders and insisting on having more time to devote to his own interests, including those outside of his work as a teacher – music, study, quiet contemplation, even maintaining his training with the sword, despite the fact that he would never match his brother as a sword cultivator.

It had, in fact, made him a better sect leader, less prone to working until he burned out, and he was grateful to his friends for their wisdom and steadfastness in the face of his stubborn grief.

At any rate, though, Wen Ruohan was no longer the painter he had been in his youth, and the hints of burning that marked all such paintings that Lan Qiren had seen suggested that the transition had been an unpleasant one for him. It was a surprise, therefore, to receive, as a gift from the Nightless City, a painting in that immediately recognizable hand which was so freshly made that Lan Qiren imagined he could still smell the grinding ink.

The painting depicted a dragon amidst a misty bamboo forest, its massive coils interwoven throughout the bamboo until it appeared almost part of the earth from which they sprung, or alternatively that speared through from above by a rain of spears; in its claw it held a beauteous dragon pearl, shining bright against the dark haze that surrounded the rest of the painting, and its eyes were fixed upon it as if it had forgotten all else.

The pearl, Lan Qiren presumed, was himself, given Wen Ruohan’s fondness for comparing him to one, which Lan Qiren still did not entirely understand – while he knew it was a sign of Wen Ruohan’s appreciation for him, and an indication that he treasured him, he thought that the particular choice in the type of precious stone was likely to be due to the fact Lan Qiren largely preferred white and grey and silver for his clothing. 

(Privately, he had determined that one day, out of sheer spite, he would wear an outfit primarily composed of blue for no other reason than to give the other man a shock; he just hadn’t found a reason yet to justify the expense of having such clothing made when he would only use it the once.)

Similarly, the dragon was the symbol of imperial might, of overweening power and influence and even arrogance; naturally that would be Wen Ruohan himself. But as for the rest of it – the lonely but beautiful bamboo forest, often associated with moral integrity and loyalty, yet juxtaposed in this painting as piercing spears, penetrating the dragon’s hide as if attacking him – the dark mist that seemed to envelop the dragon, held at abeyance only through the light of its pearl –

Lan Qiren did not understand.

There were too many meanings possible, and he did not know how to differentiate between those that were there and those he only wanted to read into it. There was nothing for it, but that he would need to ask the artist himself what was meant.

When, as expected, an invitation came a few days later, requesting that Lan Qiren visit the Nightless City in his capacity as Wen Ruohan’s sworn brother, Lan Qiren accepted.

There were all the necessary pleasantries when he arrived, of course. No longer could he just slip in through the back door, a younger brother come to leech off some resources from an elder; he was the Lan sect leader, and that came with certain obligations even on a casual visit. There were a few formal procedures, and then dinner with Wen Ruohan and his wives, with whom his dynamics had completely reversed – Madame Wen had thawed towards Lan Qiren on account of his new position as sect leader, which guaranteed that he would never be able to move to the Nightless City and thereby obstruct her personal power, while the new concubine, former maid, seemed to think that his involvement in her ascension to the position she now held was a matter of embarrassment, resulting in her wanting to snub him whenever possible.

Wen Ruohan largely ignored their antics, his eyes fixed on Lan Qiren throughout their meal, and afterwards, he had finally dismissed them all and taken Lan Qiren back to the small study he preferred to use for their time together.

“The painting you sent was lovely,” Lan Qiren said, playing a little with the cup of tea that was warm and aromatic in his hands. “You have lost none of your skill.”

“I rebuilt it,” Wen Ruohan corrected, looking amused. “You ought to have seen the first few efforts; I think I wasted enough paper to feed a small family for a year.”

Lan Qiren smiled at the thought. He could scarcely imagine Wen Ruohan struggling the way he described, making an effort and finding his ability wanting; still less could he have once imagined Wen Ruohan having admitted to that fact in front of another.

It was a little like what Lao Nie had said, that between the two of them they were excavating the residual humanity left in Wen Ruohan, slowly and methodically moving aside stone and dirt in order to find the treasures lurking beneath.

“I like it even more, then,” he said, and decided to be a little bit bold. “I like knowing that you thought of me for as long as it took you to make it.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes curved in delight. “You need not be concerned on that score,” he said, his voice still calm and unhurried as always. “You are not so easily expelled from my thoughts, now that you have entered them…ah, little Lan, little Lan, you make me impatient! I had made plans on how to broach the subject with you, and yet now that you are here, I find myself rushing forward, intent to get to the point like some savage Nie.”

A savage Nie of whom he was exceedingly fond, he did not say, and Lan Qiren managed not to roll his eyes at him.

Instead, Lan Qiren put down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t hesitate on my behalf,” he said, then added, a little dryly, “I’ve had enough indirect statements to last a lifetime.”

“Welcome to politics,” Wen Ruohan responded, just as dry, but his smile faded and his expression grew more intense; he stood and came closer to Lan Qiren, looking down at him for a long moment before taking a seat beside him. “Qiren, why are you here?”

Lan Qiren blinked, a little confused by the question, but before he could put together an answer, Wen Ruohan continued. “You are sincere and true to yourself; you follow your sect’s rules because you believe in them whole-heartedly and wish to live up to their strictures. Yet do they not say Do not associate with evil?”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Lan Qiren said. “I think we disagree on what actions constitute evil, on what divides good from evil, and that you are more comfortable walking closely along that line than I. I think that there will be many times in the future where we disagree once again on what is or is not the straight path, and what is the crooked, but – fundamentally, I don’t think you’re evil.”

He considered the question for another moment longer, then added: “And if you were, what is there to do about it? You’re still my sworn brother, bound by oath and blood, and that makes you my responsibility whether I like it or not. Even if you were evil, the only thing that would be left for me to do would be to try my best to lead you out of the dark and back to the light.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him again. His red eyes were narrowed a little, his gaze as intense as it had been when Lan Qiren had been little more than a child, although experience had made it a little less overwhelming.

“You know that I see you as a pearl in the palm of my hand,” Wen Ruohan finally said. His voice was low and intimate, and Lan Qiren shivered to hear it. “A treasure I never expected to find, a gem of such surpassing purity that I fear it will burn me to dare profane it with my touch. Time is eternal; the pearl flows, the jade turns, and yet I remain, walking my crooked path and you your straight broad bridge, shining with righteousness. I see you and yearn for you both day and night, and even in my dreams…”

He reached out and put his hand on Lan Qiren’s. “I would have you be mine, if you would have the same.”

No hollowed-out puppets soon to be discarded here, Lan Qiren thought nonsensically, and swallowed.

“I am yours,” he said carefully, pronouncing each syllable at a time. He had to get this right, he thought, and he would only ever have this one singular chance to do so, or else he’d lose something as bright and shining as the pearl Wen Ruohan was always comparing him to. “I am your sworn brother, as you are mine; I will always be yours.”

“I know,” Wen Ruohan said, and it seemed for once that Lan Qiren had expressed himself clearly rather than muddling it up: he hadn’t misunderstood him into thinking that what Lan Qiren had said was a rejection. “If I were not one of those evil men that your rules warn you against, I would find it in myself to be content with that. But I am, and I am not.”

Lan Qiren wet his lips with his tongue. “You know what I told you,” he reminded him. “About how I – I could compromise myself if I had to, if it made you happy, but I don’t want to have to. That is not who I am, what I am. I don’t want to have to bend and yield. I don’t want to break under the weight of love the way my brother did.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him, patient and waiting.

“I’m not comfortable with that type of intimacy, the type shared between lovers since the start of time,” Lan Qiren finally said. “I don’t want it intrinsically, and I don’t think I want it logically, either. More than that, I don’t think, having never wanted it before and not wanting it now, that I will ever want it. My brother once compared me to a block of ice or a mountain lake frozen over in winter, frigid, and there was something true to what he said. There is no heat that will make me melt as others do…and yet.”

“And yet?”

“And yet you are not the only one who wishes to possess.” He met Wen Ruohan’s eyes. “I, too, would have you be mine.” 

His stupid Lan sect heart, burning a hole in his chest; it should have been enough to make him forget his own wishes and be willing to give in, to want to give everything to his beloved no matter the cost to himself, but it wasn’t – he wasn’t. And yet, at the same time, he judged his own affections to be no less than his brother’s for all that they were quieter and less flamboyant, understated rather than loudly proclaimed

Wen Ruohan leaned forward, bringing their faces closer together. “Then why don’t you claim me?”

“Because I cannot offer you what I should,” Lan Qiren said truthfully. “What you would expect –”

“And when,” Wen Ruohan cut him off, “have I ever cared for the expectations set out by the rest of the world? Would I have done half the things I did if I cared for the world’s conventions and determined my aims through their lens?”

Lan Qiren had to admit that he had a point.

“I know what you are,” Wen Ruohan said. “To taint you would be to ruin my own pleasure, to force you would be to deny myself – and I never deny myself. I am greedy, little Lan; I am not content with what the world would have me want, not when I can have what I really want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“Lao Nie told me that he told you about his wife,” Wen Ruohan said. “How he stayed and she went, and they were still happy…I want that, with you.”

Lan Qiren frowned, not understanding.

“I want you,” Wen Ruohan told him, and his long-fingered hand traced over Lan Qiren’s cheekbone. “I want to have you, to own you, to keep you. I want to possess you down to the marrow of your bones; I want every inch of you in every way that I can have you. I want you to be mine – and I don’t need to fuck you to have it.”

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Wen Ruohan smile was like his smirk, triumphant and arrogant, certain of his impending victory. “If I want sex, I have my wives or Lao Nie for that, don’t I? To my wives I have only promised power, which I have given them. As for Lao Nie, I know now that he cannot promise me his heart: he is too facile, too free, too easy with others – he is compelled to share not only his body, which I wouldn’t mind, but also his heart, and I find that I am as unwilling to share in matters of the heart as you are to share your body.”

He shifted closer yet again, until their eyes were level with each other and their breath intermingled in the air between them.

“You will not be like him,” he said, voice dark and certain. “You’re barely willing to divide your attention to things you consider less important than your particular interests. Your heart is your clan’s curse and its treasure, taking you to the heavens and casting you down to the hells – if you give me your heart, full and entire, it will be as if you have removed it from your chest and put it in my hand. No one else will have any part of it, not like this, not in this way. It will only be me.”

“That is true,” Lan Qiren said. “I love no less deeply than my brother. My heart is a placid lake with a surface as clear as glass – you can see everything therein. Within it, there are only my interests, my nephew, my few friends, and you.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile widened.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Lan Qiren asked. His heart was beating in his chest so fast that it hurt. “If you want the assurance, you have it already: I am yours, and you are mine, and it would shatter me to let you go now. Is that what you want?”

“It is.” Wen Ruohan laughed, and it was full of pleasure. “Ah, little Lan! It is, it is.”

“What does it change?” Lan Qiren asked. “How is it different from what we have already?”

“It changes everything,” Wen Ruohan said simply, and Lan Qiren thought about and felt that he was right. “Knowing that you are mine makes it easier to release you into the world, to watch you shine and others see it; let them all look and know that it will never be theirs. All good things in the world are mine, and you are the best among them.”

“Pretty words,” Lan Qiren said, aiming for dry but probably just coming off as short of breath. “I’m a little more interested in the practical.”

“I would have you share my pillow while you are here,” Wen Ruohan said. “I do not need you to share your body with me, but I would have your company as a husband has his wife’s…and there are things that can be done without involving your body, depending on your tolerance.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Wen Ruohan grinned. “As it happens, that’s a matter I’ve given some considerable thought to…”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes, and felt the heat in his ears fade a little; he appreciated the small reprieve from the emotional intensity, the humor breaking the tenseness of the moment.

“You know I find you beautiful,” Wen Ruohan said, and this time his hand came to rest on Lan Qiren’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips, and as quickly as that the reprieve was gone. “Perhaps you would permit me to find my own pleasure beside you, gazing upon you, or even invite another to share the bed while you busy yourself with your work – you are never as beautiful as when you are focused, your soul and mind wholly absorbed in your passion for the subject. Perhaps I would invite you to read a spring book for me, spilling out dirty words in that cool tone of yours that you use regardless of the circumstance, so that I might torment myself with hearing you at any time and think of that…I have a thousand and one ideas, little Lan, and I would try them all to see which ones you like and which ones you don’t, to yield to your preference and glory in so yielding.”

None of that sounded like something Lan Qiren would dislike, he thought to himself; it really was only his own personal involvement in the act that he truly objected to. And if Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren’s heart and Lao Nie’s body, and both their friendship besides, perhaps even he in his ceaseless ambition could find a way to be satisfied with what he had for a time.

“I would like that,” he said honestly.

“Then having gained a cun, I will take a chi,” Wen Ruohan said. “I would like to kiss you.”

Lan Qiren swallowed.

“…all right,” he said. “You may.”

And he did.

[cobaincreates]

eyes on fire

warnings: angst, smut, 18+

count: 9k+

i went ham on this because i personally needed it & yeah. wow look i actually posted something!!! love that for me & you if you enjoy this. feedback wouldn’t hurt love ya :)

listen to this

not my pic— but like imagine him with tHAT hair & fake blood on his face???? cya!

— — —

“woah, woah, wait…you’re telling me you didn’t cry at the thirteenth year?” you asked incredulously, trying not to run the car off the road. you saw the quick shake of the head of the person sitting beside you and tried not to gape. “ryan, we were together for a year and you’re just now telling me that you, not only lied to me, but that you did not cry at the thirteenth year?”

“why is that so shocking? it’s a cheesy movie.” ryan shrugged, lifting his hips in his seat to put his phone back in his pocket.

you rubbed your eyebrow exasperatedly. of course one of the single times you had recommended a movie to him— and he didn’t cry. you couldn’t believe it. “he gets to go back to his mother! how can you not shed a few tears?”

“i don’t know what you want me to say.” he laughed, annoyed.

“you have no heart.” you shook your head and turned your blinker on.

“you already knew that from dating me.” ryan poked you in the side, making your body jerk as you took the turn. “otherwise, you’d still be up my ass.”

“i think you’re mistaken. it was you who was up my ass.” you pointed between the two of you, keeping your eyes on the road.

ryan scrunched his face up and you caught a glance at it, giggling to yourself. it was so easy to mess with each other, even after breaking up. you were glad of that though since ryan was one of your best friends.

college was weird for anybody, especially someone like you who moved all the way across the country to go. california was like a fever dream now that you were back home, on an island. it was only for the weekend since that was about all you could take. it was halloween, although you hadn’t realized until ryan reminded you while on the plane.

now here you were, heading to a halloween party with ryan where he would inevitably meet your friends and people you went to high school with. it wasn’t that you were dreading it, you just had the idea of staying in for the night. especially a night like halloween when you could’ve handed out candy. as if ryan would want to do that in a new place.

“i swear if you throw up on my shoes this year, i’m removing you from my life.” ryan said as he shifted in his seat.

you flashed at another car to go before pressing down on the pedal. “i don’t think i’ll be drinking and driving this time. just don’t puke on my shoes otherwise you’ll be stranded.”

“i knew i shouldn’t have come with you, knowing that you would willingly leave me stranded on a fuckin’ island.”

“don’t test me, ry.” you sang just as you slowed the car along the crowded street. a couple of people dressed up walked in between the car in front of you and yours, heading toward the lively house.

multicolored lights lit up the windows and the outside of the house, the front room bathed in a deep red. you started to feel excitement bubble up in your stomach as you and ryan unfastened your seatbelts. a handful of trick or treaters passed on the walkway, some running around to scare others. you smiled to yourself as you put your car key in your pocket.

ryan’s arm settled around your shoulders as you walked up the driveway, a cool ocean breeze brushing over your face. this was something ryan still continued to do even though you had been broken up for months. it comforted you to know he was still just as protective of you as you were of him. it sort of became an unspoken pact of yours to just keep each other safe at parties or whenever you went out with friends back at school.

“i think we’re a bit underdressed.” ryan’s arm tightened around your neck, pulling you close so he could talk into your ear.

“only a little.” you hummed as you passed multiple people outside who all wore costumes. some zombies, some witches, a clown, even a whoopie cushion. at least you hadn’t come as that.

once inside, ryan’s arm slipped away from you as you both scanned the area. ryan was just curious while you were looking for your friends. the house was big so they’d be anywhere. the voices were much louder than the music, but you could still hear the halloween playlist playing. you stepped out of the way a couple times in the crowded entryway and eventually took ryan’s hand to bring him into the kitchen.

“y/n!” you heard and turned around to find ally, dressed as the infamous annie.

“you look ridiculous,” you laughed, ruffling her red wig and pulling her in for a hug.

“i always commit, don’t i?” she grinned before looking beside you at ryan. “hey! it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

they exchanged a quick hug, ally having seen ryan plenty of times through a phone screen. it was odd seeing them in the same room, right in front of you, but you smiled nonetheless.

“come with me! everyone else is in the front room.” she grabbed ahold of your hand quickly and started to pull you out of the room.

ryan touched your shoulder, making you and ally stop. “i have to pee.” he said, looking from you to ally in question.

“right over there.” ally said, pointing to your left. you could see down the hall that a few people were waiting, leaning against the wall.

moments later you were in your small alcove of friends, checking up on small talk and whatnot. ally was talking in your ear about some gossip in town and you really were listening, but also wondering if ryan would find his way to you or vice versa. your eyes scanned the room curiously, deciphering everyone’s outfits and costumes. you sort of loved halloween for that prospect, getting to be someone else. or something else— you supposed some people just really wanted to be a shark at times.

“she totally snubbed her!” ally said.

“are they talking anymore?” you asked, trying your best to continue the conversation.

“i haven’t heard anything, but the last time i saw them they were totally going at it!” her excitement grew drastically. her hand came down over your wrist. “i think she was saying...”

you were nodding along to ally’s reenactment, her words coming a thousand miles a minute. you completely lost track of what she was saying as you looked across the room at rafe cameron. without even thinking about it, your stomach twisted up and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. maybe there was too many people in the house.

rafe was tilting a bottle against his lips, head leaned back on the wall. he seemed to fit into the empty space beside a large entertainment area, but looked like he didn’t belong at the same time. he was staring right back at you, which in return only made your pulse quicken and your blood run hotter. from what you could tell from his costume, he had fake blood around his mouth that dripped onto a fine pressed white t-shirt. the fabric molded to his chest nicely and you swore you blacked out because the next moment, you saw ally peering at you.

“what?”

a shit-eating grin spread across her face. “you weren’t even listening, were you?”

“i was,” you said abruptly. you were glad of the red lighting as you felt the tips of your ears warm up. “the beginning anyways.”

ally laughed and nudged your side. “i get it, rafe cameron is much more interesting to pay attention to.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

ally gave you a knowing smile, peering past your shoulder. “come on, let’s go find ryan. you know how these people can easily swallow him up.” her hand grabbed yours again, pulling you directly through the crowd and in the same direction of where rafe was.

you kept your head down as you pushed through the mass of bodies, willing yourself not to make eye contact with him. it was a little difficult given that you had to pass right by him in order to get into the next room. topper, his best friend, had joined him now and he seemed to be talking into rafe’s ear about something. rafe was looking at you instead as you went by and you let out a big breath once you were by him.

there was no history between you and rafe cameron. absolutely nothing. maybe you had passed a paper to him in high school or were put into a group project with him, but that was it. you had never spoken to the infamous boy one-on-one. in high school, rafe was untouchable and you knew you weren’t even in range of his inner circle, or outer for that matter. frankly, you hadn’t even thought about him until now, seeing him again. growing up around someone like him and his family, you knew all of the stories. rafe was a complete and total heartbreaker.

ryan had managed to make some friends while only being at the party for a total of 20 minutes. really, you weren’t all that surprised seeing as that ryan could make friends with a horse. it was just in his nature to connect with people.

you found him in the entryway, sporting a drink in his hand and talking to a girl you recognized from gym class senior year. you couldn’t put a name to her face, but you gave a subtle wave and found a place on the other side of ryan. without looking at you, he put his drink out and you took a few sips before giving it back to him. ally had gone on her own path once you found him, saying she needed to find someone.

leaning against the wall, you pressed your hands against the cool surface. you didn’t bother listening in on ryan’s conversation, not wanting to intrude just in case he was trying to do more than talk. instead, you people watched, your eyes flitting across the party and the red room. the entryway was a deep blue, coating everything completely. you almost felt like you were in a movie of some sort.

you landed on rafe again, this time he was engaging in conversation with topper. he was off the wall, his finger against topper’s chest as he spoke. you swallowed and looked away just as he started to turn his head. part of you hoped he hadn’t caught you.

without thought, you pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen to finally get a drink. your mind felt like it was going 90 miles an hour and you needed to do something to busy yourself. you couldn’t just be a wallflower and people watch all night.

stirring up some concoction in the kitchen, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out who stepped into the room and came over to you. your stomach twisted up, which was a prime indicator. you kept your eyes on your cup and continued making your drink. it wasn’t like you to ignore someone’s presence, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

“y/n y/l/n.” a wave of shivers went up your shine. you had never heard him say your name before.

“rafe cameron.” you said in return and picked up your cup, taking a sip and turning to look up at him over the rim.

he gave you a smile. “long time, no see. you look good.”

your drink went down the wrong pipe, causing you to cough. rafe only smiled more. you cleared your throat and lowered your drink to your side.

“you look...messy.” you noticed the fake puncture marks on his neck, just under them was a lipstick print. you then looked at his mouth, red as red could be, and your ears warmed.

“what are you supposed to be?” you didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled up and down your body and you could’ve sworn they darkened. the kitchen had the normal yellow lights on, so there was no way any lighting altered his irises.

“didn’t have time to dress up.” you shrugged a shoulder. taking another sip, you kept eye contact with him.

“not even for halloween?” he teased and reached over you for another beer. you didn’t even flinch, watching his face move closer to yours. you stared right up into his eyes and help a gasp in. why was he getting you so flustered?

“i got in later than i thought.” you said simply, now breathing easier as he moved away and opened the beer.

rafe nodded, never once looking away from you. now you knew why some people saw him as intimidating. he looked like he would pounce on you at any second.

the next moment as people chatted and moved around the kitchen, rafe was gesturing with his head toward the entryway. “who’s the guy?”

you looked in the direction he meant and found ryan, smiling big while talking to the girl in front of him. he was leaned over her now and you knew that as a good sign. “ryan,” you told rafe.

“boyfriend?” he asked, and you held back the smile, wondering just why he wanted to know that.

“ex.” you didn’t miss the way he seemed satisfied with that answer, the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“interesting.” he said and took another sip. he glanced at ryan while you continued looking at him. his hair was disheveled from its usual slicked back look and you kind of liked it better this way. to put it simply, he looked sexy.

“rafe!” you both looked over at topper who was making his way into the room. he pointed over his shoulder, cup in his other hand. “we’re going down to the beach, come on.”

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” he said and turned back to you, smiling again. topper met your eyes once until you looked up at rafe. “come with me?”

you thought about it, nearly saying yes until you remembered ryan. you didn’t want to leave without telling him, but you did want to see what they were doing on the beach.

“you go,” you nodded toward topper. “i’ll see you around.” with that, you turned and secretly hoped that rafe watched you go.

—

a game of flip cup never hurt anybody. you were well under way in your second round, on the opposite team of ryan and totally kicking ass. ally was beside you, currently downing her drink and proceeding to flip the cup perfectly. it was an innocent game that you had practiced back at school and ryan knew it all too well.

“see you on the floor,” you joked with him and held your cup out to him in cheers. his team was slacking, a current senior at your old high school having trouble flipping the cup.

ryan rolled his eyes, impatience seeping into his features. “i’ll be the one picking you up from the floor, y/l/n.”

you laughed while trying to keep all of the liquid in your mouth. you pushed it down swiftly, setting the plastic cup on the edge of the table and pushing up the bottom with one finger. it landed perfectly.

“fuck yes!” you threw your arms up in victory, high-fiving ally next to you. the game had gathered a group of on-lookers and they cheered for your team. ryan sulked.

a breeze blew over your shoulders, the salty smell filling your senses, as you stood outside. the night went on in full swing, the moon high up and the trick-or-treaters still out, wreaking havoc on the town. a fire in the small metal pit burned steadily, but you weren’t too far away to feel the pulsing heat. after this game, you planned on taking a break.

you had acquired a buzz so far, taking it slow so you could enjoy the party. for the most part you were and honestly, the little glances you caught from rafe were adding to it. he wasn’t trying to be sneaky about it at all and you liked that. it didn’t feel like he was following you around the party, but you did see him wherever you went. you supposed that small conversation in the kitchen had stuck with him, oddly.

standing at the table, you didn’t have to look to know where he was. maybe he thought he was being stealthy, standing near the back door, relaxed, hand in his pocket. all it would take was for you to look slightly to the right, but you held back for the sake of your own sanity. his stares had been driving you crazy. all you wanted to know was what the hell he was thinking. you could guess a couple things with the way he smirked or the way his eyes traveled over you, but you pushed those thoughts deep down. this was rafe cameron.

“my god, ryan you suck!” ally teased beside you now. you looked across the table at ryan who was struggling to flip the cup. ally laughed, holding her gut.

“since when can you not flip a cup?” you asked.

“shut the fuck up!” ryan said, trying to focus. you shook your head at him, grinning stupidly. it took him a couple tries before he finally got it and the turn went to someone else. he looked at you, huffing out a big breath.

“that was sad.” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“that was hilarious!” ally said.

“i need a fuckin’ drink.” he sighed.

“don’t quit now! we have to see you lose first.” ally brushed her hair out of her eyes, her annie wig now off and sitting somewhere in the house. just then you caught a glimpse of it through the window, someone trying it on for size. your eyes quickly swept over rafe, still in the same spot.

“i'm not playing anymore games after this.” ryan stated.

“no, come on! you said you’d be on my team for cornhole.” ally whined, the alcohol surely overtaking her senses. she wasn’t usually whiny.

“fuck cornhole.” ryan said just as your team cheered, having won the game. ryan gave you a nod and walked away, heading inside past rafe.

ally caught your attention before rafe could. “i'm freezing. let’s go sit by the fire for a little.”

you happily followed her, licking your lips and still tasting the beer. you both sat down on the cushioned loveseat, ally quickly throwing her legs over your lap. you took them in, setting your hands atop them. the heat was quick to run up your own legs and warmed you up instantly. burrowing yourself further into your sweatshirt, you let your muscles relax.

“i'm not a lightweight, am i?” ally asked.

you looked over at her from the sky, admiring how the fire illumiated the trees. you laughed lightly, patting her shins. “of course not.”

“you fucking liar.” she grinned and kicked your thigh. “i totally am. it’s fine, at least i always have a good time, right?”

“right.” you agreed. “you don’t make a fool of yourself, not at all.”

“shut up.” she laughed. “oh my god, you weren’t there!” she suddenly remembered. “topper had a party at his place a couple months ago and of course, knowing me i willingly went, not having anything else to do nor was my best friend here to entertain me or look out for me…” she eyed you teasingly.

“get on with it.” you rolled your eyes. deep down, you knew ally wasn’t that upset about you being so far away. sure, you had hoped to go to the same school, but she was the only person here who was pushing you to go further away.

“i think i had, maybe, two white claws—”

“oh god.”

ally laughed loudly, her back arching off the couch. “they’re so good! anyways, two in and i start crying about brie larson.”

“what about her?” your body started to shake with laughter even though you had no idea where this was going.

“have you seen her? have you seen that woman? she’s so goddamn beautiful, i can’t cope.” ally said exasperatedly. “it’s not fair that she doesn’t know who i am.”

“maybe someday.” you patted her knee. she started to roll her eyes, but you were quick to stop her. “you never know! crazy shit happens these days.”

ally didn’t say anything, reaching for an itch on her thigh. you looked back up at the sky above and relished in the warmth. suddenly, you felt ally tense up. you lifted your head and looked at her worriedly. she was looking past you and she lifted her legs to sit up.

“crazy shit, indeed. rafe is coming over here. act normal.”

you opened your mouth, no words coming out. she sat up quickly and tidied herself as rafe stopped beside you. you looked up at him, finding that same dumb smile. his fake blood hadn’t even come off yet— what the hell was it?

“hey, rafe.” ally said, way too high pitched.

“hey. mind if i steal y/n for a little?” he brushed his hair back and pointed at you.

“not at all.” ally said too quickly and stood up. “i was just going to get another drink.”

rafe nodded and let her pass. he moved to take her seat beside you as you looked after her, bulging your eyes. she opened her mouth in a fake excited scream, no sound coming out. you swallowed thickly and looked over at rafe. his elbows were perched on his knees, giving you a nice view of his back, muscles tight under his shirt.

“what’s up?” you half-whispered, getting your voice back.

he smiled at you, slightly turning into a smirk. “i was just wondering if you wanted to play a game of beer pong with me. top’s almost finished with his game.” he gestured to the kitchen inside where you could see the boy in question’s arms shoot up as he cheered.

“what’s the catch?” you asked, looking back over at him. why would rafe cameron ask you, specifically, to play a game of beer pong with him if there wasn’t a catch?

“does there have to be one?” he inquired, lifting a brow.

“with you, yes.” you said confidently, not having a clue where it came from. you had never talked to him this way— or ever, you reminded yourself.

rafe stared at you incredulously then let out a small laugh. he breathed in, glancing at the fire. you watched the side of his face, seeing how the fire flickered over his features and showed off how smooth his clean-shaven cheek looked. you wondered what it felt like.

before you could wonder anything else, he looked back over at you. the smile was partially gone, all teasing now. “if i win…you come down to the beach with me.”

you searched his face, a heavy feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach. you shivered slightly and sat up to be a bit closer to him. his eyes followed you carefully. “and if i win?” the confidence came easier now.

you didn’t miss the slight lean he made toward you, the fire catching in his eye. “name your terms.”

you didn’t once look away as you thought about something you could get, had you won the little game. it took a lot in you not to let your eyes stray further down his face, no matter how distracting the fake blood was. you had never had such intense eye contact with anyone and if you had been thinking about it, you knew you would surely look away. now, experiencing it, you didn’t feel the nervousness or desire to look away.

“hm,” you hummed, willing yourself not to press your lips together once he let his eyes flicker down to them. “if i win you give me a piggyback ride to the beach.”

it struck you then just how beautiful his smile really was. the way his eyes lit up, crinkled a little. he laughed and nodded. “deal.”

—

“i know i won, very fairly might i add, but i am sorry for completely wrecking you in that game.” rafe said.

“god, it’s like your ego grew ten times bigger.” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest to warm up from the breeze. it picked up much more as you grew closer to the beach. the waves were loud as you anticipated feeling the sand on your now bare feet, your shoes left on the back patio. it was cold once you reached it.

you stopped a ways away from the water, closing your eyes for a moment. you missed this, you missed the wind, the smell, the sand. you could see a flash of memories across your eyelids, days spent at this very beach, sand getting in places it shouldn’t, and building monster sandcastles with your family. sure, california had beaches too, but nothing like the ones at home.

when you opened your eyes, you couldn’t see rafe in your peripheral view. you turned, finding him standing a few feet from you, his hands in his pockets. he smiled softly and gestured with his head. “you want to walk?”

“is that what you brought me down here for? a walk?” you said, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

“well, it’s much too cold to swim, unless you like getting hypothermia.”

“shared body heat prevents that, you know.” you turned back around, watching the water reach the sand and smiling to yourself at your remark. you hugged yourself tighter against the wind and took a seat on the sand, pulling your legs to your chest.

rafe appeared next to you a moment later as he sat. you didn’t look over at him or say anything, not knowing what exactly to say. you had a faint idea of why he wanted to be alone here, it was partially secluded, and dark enough to see the person in front of you. you wondered what he was thinking.

“back in high school i used to think i'd never get off this island. but being back now, i don’t want to leave.” you said, unsure of what it was that made you do so.

“i still haven’t left.” rafe said, laughing to himself. “at this point, it seems like i never will.”

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked over at him. “what do you want to do? with your life?”

he met your eyes, then looked back at the water and shrugged. letting out a breath, he threw a bit of sand in front of him. “no clue. i think i just need to get out and go somewhere for a little while. maybe that will help me figure it out.”

“i'm sure you will.” you said. “sometimes, that’s all it takes, is leaving. hell, if i didn’t leave and go to california, i wouldn’t have realized how much this place is in me. like, i'm meant to be here, you know?”

rafe fumbled with the sand in front of his crossed legs, then brushed it off on his pants. you watched him for a moment then looked the opposite way, biting your lip. your stomach was twisting again.

“how come we didn’t talk in high school?”

you forced yourself to blink a few times, questioning reality and if he actually asked that. you looked at him, confused and accusatory. “you never gave me the time of day.”

“so it’s all on me?” he laughed, giving you an odd look now.

“well, no. actually yes!” you said rather harshly. “you were the king, rafe cameron. i mean, not much has probably changed since i've been gone so you probably still are.”

“what does that mean?” he questioned.

“it means,” you sighed, becoming frustrated. “that everyone flocks to your beck and call. i certainly had no desire to do so back then, no matter how popular you were.”

“popularity doesn’t mean anything.”

“well, it certainly did to you, otherwise maybe we would’ve been friends.” you chided. he looked away from you, quite shocked at your words. you wanted to roll your eyes, of course he hadn’t changed since high school. he still expected everyone to fall on their knees for him.

you both sat in silence for a few minutes. the energy had changed and you wondered if you ruined the night. then again, why would it matter if you did? you were going back to california in a couple days anyways and you probably would forget all about this. but it still bugged you.

“what’s so different now?” you asked, the wind howling.

“what do you mean?” he asked, less annoyed. his features were smoother, now genuine curiosity in his eyes as you looked at him.

you gave him a look, one to say that he should know better. “sure seems like you’re interested.”

“what makes you think that?” he squinted, teasing. you were glad of this change.

“oh, i don’t know…you did a lot of staring.”

“so did you.”

you bit the inside of your lip, trying not to smirk. “why, i have no idea.” you said quietly to yourself, but rafe had heard you loud and clear over the wind.

you sighed to yourself and stood up, brushing the sand from your bottom. rafe looked up at you curiously and almost sadly. you looked back at the house, very much alive.

“i should go check up on ryan.”

—

ryan’s arm hung loosely over your shoulders, your body shaking with his as he laughed. he seemed to be getting on really well with complete strangers. you were happy for him.

if a stranger walked in right now, saw you sitting on the couch, surrounded by laughing friends and people you knew of, they would probably wonder why you looked like you didn’t want to be there. to be frank, you looked completely miserable. you were completely detached from reality, going over and over in your head the conversation you had with rafe on the beach. it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, and you were now begging the question, when are we leaving?

“did you want to leave soon?” you asked ryan when he looked over at you, smiling happily. you bit the inside of your lip, scolding yourself for even asking the question when he looked so elated.

“i'm alright.” he shrugged. “are you not having fun?”

the conversation still went on without him, it now feeling as if it was just the two of you. you shook your head quickly and put on a subtle smile. “no, no, i'm okay. just checking with you.”

“okay,” he nodded and squeezed you against him.

you let the smile slowly disappear once he engaged back with everyone else. you looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers. maybe you should find ally, you were sure she was doing something fun and time-consuming. that’s what you needed, was something to do to pass the time until ryan wanted to leave.

placing a hand on his knee to push you up, you told him you were going to find ally. he gave you a nod, taking a sip from his cup. you excused yourself past some people and started to look around for ally in each room. you didn’t spot her inside after a few minutes of looking so you wandered outside, maybe she had fallen asleep near the firepit. when you didn’t see her, you figured she was down at the beach. you could hear some distance screams of joy and laughter from that direction and could immediately imagine ally running around crazily.

giving up on your search for now, you took a seat at the fire again. you leaned close to it, watching the flames move. picking up the poker beside the sofa, you poked and prodded at the charring wood, sending little embers floating up. you watched as they disappeared, looking as if they would join the stars in the sky.

you weren’t sure how much time passed as you lost yourself in staring into the fire and feeling its radiating warmth on your cheeks. before you knew it, rafe sat down next to you.

you snorted. “you again? it’s like you’re obsessed with me now.”

“i came to get warm, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” rafe said, holding his palms out to soak it in.

“sure,” you hummed with a nod.

“you have a nice smile.”

you stared back at rafe, the smile in question dropping. speculation brewed in your mind.

“you’re staring again.” he said, the corner of his lips curving upward.

“what do you want from me, rafe?” you asked.

his smile dissipated as well before reappearing, trying to lessen the tension growing. “do i have—?”

“just be honest with me.” you interrupted. you were growing impatient and you could feel yourself starting to close up. no matter how much you enjoyed that lustful feeling for him all night, you wanted answers. “tell me what you want.”

never had you seen rafe cameron at a loss for words. it only boosted your confidence and you held the teasing giggle down. you never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth, searching for words. you raised your eyebrows at him, waiting.

“do you want to fuck me? is that it?” you prompted.

rafe swallowed very noticeably, the fire catching on his adam’s apple. “you don’t seem the type to be so straight forward.” he said as you put the fire poker down and turned to him, leaning over on your arm.

“you barely know me, remember?” your confidence was coming back as you placed your hand on rafe’s mid-thigh. he looked down at it then back up at you in surprise, his mouth ajar. you didn’t try to hide looking at it now as your heart raced.

“i've been wanting your mouth all night, rafe cameron.” you licked your own lips hungrily, your pulse picking up. you moved your hand to his face, feeling the smoothness you so craved to feel earlier in the same spot. you ran your thumb over his lips, gauging his reaction.

“fuck.” as if he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger before, he certainly was now. his hand appeared on your thigh, moving up to your waist to pull you closer.

your lips met suddenly, catching rafe off guard as his hand went to your face, holding it steady against his own. you instantly tasted the corn syrup of the fake blood coating his lips. you didn’t particularly enjoy the taste, but you liked the taste of him. he groaned at the contact of your tongue, opening his mouth for you to tangle with his. his jaw was strong in your hand, his skin soft. his thumb brushed your cheek roughly, trying to pull you closer. you smiled against him and pulled back in competition.

“y/n?” you pulled away abruptly from rafe, looking over your shoulder at ryan. you tried to steady your breathing as he awkwardly looked from you to rafe. “uh, ally is inside and she kinda hurt herself.”

of course, you thought. you licked your lips, your heartbeat pulsing under the surface of the sensitive skin. you felt rafe’s hands slip away as you stood up and started to follow ryan inside. you didn’t look back in fear of running back to jump his bones.

“who was that?” ryan whispered to you, not yet through the back door. “sorry i interrupted such a good moment.” he laughed.

“shut up,” you elbowed him and walked inside.

ally was sat in the kitchen, bleeding from her leg. you quickly aided her, inquiring what happened and what she did to be such a klutz. apparently, she thought it would be a good idea to live up to her dancer dreams and get up on the counter. obviously, it didn’t end well.

“totally worth it.” she slurred. you shook your head with a smile as you cleaned her up on the bathroom floor.

you wiped the blood off her skin, throwing the toilet paper in the waste bin next to you. rummaging for band aids as she drunkenly yapped on about her endeavor, you pulled the plastic wrappers off one by one and applied them to the long cut on her leg.

“i think you’re down for the count tonight,” you told her, smoothing the band aid down.

“okay, mom.” she dramatized, making a snide face at you with her eyelids closed.

“you can’t even keep your eyes open, dude. you’re done.” you laughed and helped her up. “good thing you live here.”

pulling her arm around your shoulders, you left the bathroom and brought her upstairs. her bedroom door was closed, along with all of the rooms, and thankfully no one was inside. you pulled her shoes off and didn’t bother with her dress.

“i want to go back downstairs.” she whined.

you rolled your eyes and pulled the covers over her. “the sun will come out tomorrow, annie. sweet dreams.” you kissed her forehead, noticing already how she started to drift off.

making your way downstairs, you watched as a group was heading out for the night. they closed the door behind them, the people in the entryway saying goodbye like a chorus. turning off the last step, you ran right into a very solid body. hands grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you and you looked up, seeing ryan.

“hey,” he said. “is she okay?”

“yeah. i put her to bed.” you nodded up the stairs and took a step back from him.

“i'm ready to go whenever you are.” he said.

your stomach dropped. you instantly thought about rafe, wanting nothing more than to find him and kiss him again. just as you thought this, he appeared in the entryway behind ryan. you glanced at him then back at ryan. “i'll meet you at the car?” you said and pulled out the key to give him. he nodded without a word and walked around you to the door.

“hey—” you started to say, meeting rafe halfway until he maneuvered you up against the wall, his lips quick to get to yours. you moaned softly into his mouth, reaching around him to pull him against you. he reciprocated this action, pushing his hips flush against yours. you broke away from him, breathing harshly.

“i have to go,” you said quietly, looking directly at rafe’s lips, feeling your eyelids weighted with lust.

rafe didn’t look pleased about that, rather annoyed really. his hand rested just at the side of your neck, his other under your top to grip your waist. “can’t you stay for a little while longer?”

you shook your head, smiling softly. “guess you should’ve made your move sooner.”

rafe grunted and pulled you back to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth. you welcomed it, running your hand over his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating too. that alone was nearly enough to pull you in and make ryan wait, but you pushed on the firm chest, breaking apart from him once more.

“i really do have to go, rafe.”

—

picking up the jar, you read over the label. organic honey. now that you thought about it, you didn’t have any back at school. one jar wouldn’t hurt.

“i’ll take this please.” you said, setting it down on the table. the man on the other side nodded and took the few bills you held out to him. you thanked him for it, picking up the jar and your change and moving to the next stand.

ever since you could remember, you had gone to the farmer’s market every year. it was something you liked to do, something that involved the community you grew up in. there were so many selections and stands and things for you to look at that you could spend hours there. if you weren’t with ryan, you just might have been there until closing time.

ryan was across the way, checking out some older books that the library was giving away. you stopped beside him, peering into the crate he was looking in. eventually you moved on to the next stand, neither of you finding anything worth picking.

“so, what are we up to tonight?” ryan asked on the way back to the house, your jar of honey in his lap.

you felt your ears grow warmer, opening your mouth. “i was thinking of going over to a friend’s house.”

“ally’s? that’ll be fun.” he looked over at you, smiling slightly.

you glanced at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times. “no. uh, rafe’s. just me.”

“oh,” ryan drawled out, nodding slowly.

“i'm sorry. if you really don’t want me to go since you’ll be alone and have nothing to do, i can stay in and we can figure something out. you know what, let’s just do that?” you decided, waving it off.

“y/n, breathe.” ryan laughed. “i'm fine staying alone. you go to rafe’s.”

“are you sure? i can stay in, we can go eat at the wreck. you haven’t tried it yet!”

“we’re not leaving until tomorrow night. we can just get food then. it’s not a big deal. don’t stay in on my account, please. go to rafe’s.” he encouraged.

you couldn’t tell if he was really okay with it or if he felt differently. you had been thinking about it all day, replaying the kisses from last night and the way it felt to have rafe’s hands on you. your heart beat in other places now as you thought about it again. you shifted in your seat as you pulled onto your road. you thanked ryan as you got out of the car and went into the house.

—

dinner passed quickly. you pushed yourself to eat slowly, to actually spend time with your family and have them get to know ryan. a part of you still felt bad about leaving him alone there, no matter how many times he kicked your foot under the table.

now you were staring at yourself in the mirror, killing time doing nothing. you hadn’t done anything different about your appearance, you just showered and sprayed a bit of perfume. and you brushed your teeth. god, what was wrong with you? where was the confidence from last night? maybe it went out the window at the very prospect of driving to rafe’s house and going to see him. you had never done that before, you’d never been there, you’d never seen what it was like. plus, what if he wasn’t home? what were you going to do then? you didn’t have his number, although ally could easily get it for you.

no. no. you needed to stop. you had to do this before you left for california and regretted not going to rafe’s house. taking in a deep breath, you straightened yourself up and huffed. you said goodbye to ryan in the spare bedroom across the hall and he gave you a thumbs up, resulting in you rolling your eyes.

it didn’t take that long of a drive to pull up to the cameron’s estate. it was huge, you thought. you stared at the white exterior and felt not at all intimidated. turning off the car and willing yourself to get out, you walked up to the front door in determination and knocked. you practiced breathing to calm your nerves as you waited. it took a few minutes until the door opened and you breathed in sharply.

expecting someone completely different, you were met with a small girl no more than 14. you couldn’t recall if rafe had two sisters, you just knew of the one.

“can i help you?” she raised her eyebrows under the black rimmed glasses.

“hi.” you paused for too long and breathed. “uh, is rafe here?”

“he’s out. and you are?”

you lifted your own brows at her territorial posture, arms crossed. “i'm y/n. a friend of rafe’s. um, do you know when he’ll be back by any chance?”

her shoulders loosened as she grabbed onto the door handle. “sometime soon, i think. you’re welcome to wait.” she stepped aside, letting you in. you gave her a thankful smile, wanting to tell her that she was calming your nerves considerably.

“thank you. what’s your name?”

“wheezie. i'm rafe’s younger sister.” she closed the door solidly, pulling a phone out of her back pocket.

“it’s nice to meet you. i appreciate you letting me wait for him.” you rubbed your hands on your thighs, trying to get rid of the sweat.

she nodded with her eyes locked on the screen. “yeah, no problem. i actually have to leave, so…” she said and grabbed a coat from the chair behind the door. she opened it again and went to leave, but poked her head back in. “don’t steal anything.”

opening your mouth to protest, the door closed with a satisfied thud, echoing through the empty house. you glanced around, not knowing where to put yourself. you took a few steps and poked your head around the doorway, finding a huge kitchen with a few lights left on. you turned back around and looked up the stairs, figuring that was your best bet. just before you stepped onto them, you took your shoes off.

rafe’s room was pretty obvious what with the posters of random semi-naked women. you rolled your eyes at the typical male and wandered further in. his walls were a dark blue, black bedding messy on the mattress. some clothes were thrown on the floor, a desk with a monitor set up on it and some old dishes. you itched to clean it, but that would’ve been weird.

just as you were looking at the little knick-knacks on his dresser, you heard a door shut. you placed one of his rings down and waited expectantly in the center of his room, still not knowing where to put yourself. his footsteps were fast on the stairs, almost as if he were skipping two at a time. your stomach twisted when he appeared in his doorway.

“how’d you get in here?” he asked first, closing the door slowly behind him and switching on the overhead light. you took in his appearance, enjoying the backwards hat paired with a sweatshirt and sweatpants. you snapped out of it, realizing he was still waiting for an answer.

“uh, wheezie, was it? she let me in. and then she left.” you stated, twiddling your fingers against your thighs.

rafe nodded and moved away from the door, taking his hat and sweatshirt off. turning back to you, he brushed a hand through his hair then set them on his hips. “what are you doing here?”

“i think you know.” you refrained from rolling your eyes, letting out a laugh to lessen your nerves and to mask how much you were hoping not to be turned down.

rafe pressed his lips together, looking behind you for a second and taking a couple steps forward. you looked up at him, feeling the soft puffs of his breath on your face. “tell me what you want. be honest with me.”

you laughed at your own words from last night and looked at him under your lashes. you took a brave step forward, feeling his body heat. “i want you to kiss me like last night.”

rafe looked down at your lips, moving his face closer. you watched him, anticipating it and closing your eyes. you didn’t feel anything other than his hands lightly touching your waist. you opened your eyes to look up at him, to see what he was doing and why he was making you wait when you just told him what you wanted. he smiled lightly and looked over your face.

“and then what?”

you moaned and pulled him forward by his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it in satisfaction. his mouth was warm and inviting against yours and you tried to think of what he smelled like, like salt and clean laundry. he tasted much better now that you could only taste him and not that god awful corn syrup.

you pulled away for a moment, sticking your tongue out to lick at his lips teasingly. his fingertips poked into your sides, pulling you closer and back against his mouth. you smiled against him and let go of his shirt to pull it off. instead of returning to your lips, rafe put his against the side of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin. you pulled your jacket and shirt off, rafe helping you swiftly. he continued his ministrations on your neck, holding you upright while you let your head fall back.

a gasp escaped your lips as rafe grabbed your hand from his stomach and placed it over his bulge. you hadn’t realized how prominent he was in the past few moments. you looked over his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, guiding your hand over him.

“do you feel that?” he huffed.

your legs practically turned to mush as you felt him, growing stiff in his sweats. you hummed, nodding against his head. without asking you or prompting you, you slid your hand from under his into his pants. the warmth radiated like the fire from last night, your own pooling between your legs. rafe let out another breath as you wrapped your hand around him, exploring.

“that feels good.” he whispered and tugged your body closer, a hand cupping your backside. you reached to press a kiss against his jaw, his head moving to give you more access. you made a quick trail and pressed a final kiss to the base of his neck, right over his clavicle.

as much as you didn’t want to, you pulled away, your own need growing by the second. you pushed his pants down with his boxers, trying to hold yourself together from not jumping on him then and there. he watched your face closely as he stepped out of his pants. swallowing, you pushed your own bottoms down and just as you were reaching for your underwear, rafe pushed you onto his unmade bed.

starting at your mouth, rafe kissed you fully and hungrily, sparing nothing. you wanted to hold him there, especially when he rutted his hips against yours, eliciting a high moan. you quivered at the feeling of him so close and you would’ve reached for your underwear then if he hadn’t left your lips and slowly started to make his way down.

“keep making those noises, y/n.” his breath blew over your chest and you obliged as his lips pressed against one of your breasts.

“rafe, please.” you touched his head and lifted your legs around him.

he lifted from your stomach with a smile. “what?”

“hurry up.” you begged, out of breath. he chuckled, kissing you lightly on the lips and moving back to what he was doing. you groaned but lifted onto our elbows to watch. he pressed a few more kisses to your stomach and just as he was going to the next spot, you raised your hips, teasing him. he laughed, his breathing tickling your sensitive skin.

his hands took ahold of your hips and held them down on the bed, his fingers warm and strong. you swallowed thickly, your eyelids nearly closing as a kiss was pressed directly over where your excitement had pooled. you let out a whine, low from your throat, and met rafe’s dark eyes.

“you’re so wet.” he said, letting go of one hip to replace where his mouth just was. you lifted your hips again, letting your head fall back at the pleasure that shot through you. rafe pressed his fingers firmly, moving slowly in circles. “is this how you were last night?”

“yes, yes.” you sighed, dropping onto your back. “fuck, rafe, please just take them off. please.”

he pushed against your clit abruptly, practically pushing the breath out of your chest. he obliged though, you felt his fingers slip between the material and your hips before he tugged them down. you opened your eyes as the bed shifted. rafe held himself over you, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you leaned up to pull your bra off as he opened the small package and put it on.

“how do you want me?” you asked, still out of breath, reaching for him.

rafe smiled, his hands coming down on either side of your head to hold himself up. “just like this.”

his hair tickled your forehead as he lined himself up and took your mouth against him. you broke the kiss, moaning as he pushed in slowly.

“fuck.” you gasped, holding onto his hip.

“are you okay?” he asked after letting out a low grunt.

“yes,” you nodded, reaching up to kiss him. “i need you to move.”

rafe did as requested and moved slowly, starting a rhythm. his hand closed around a breast, your legs opening wider for him as his hips met yours continuously. you tried your best to keep your lips against his, reveling in the warmth and taste, but you found yourself pulling away and getting lost in what he was doing to you. you started to focus on his breathing, his low grunts, his moans that sent shivers up the back of your thighs. you relished in it.

“i'm glad we didn’t do this last night.” you laughed to yourself, out of breath.

“fuck,” he said. “i was pissed when you left, i ended up coming here just to jack off.”

you laughed again, reaching a hand up to his hair to tug at. you pulled his mouth to yours momentarily until he broke away and moved to your chest. “rafe, harder.” you pleaded, tugging on his hip.

he moaned against your chest, the vibrations going all the way to where he was pushing into you. you let out your own noise, louder than any before, as he picked up the pace and tried to hit you deeper. it wasn’t quite working so you lifted your knee up higher, digging your heel into his backside.

rafe softly bit down on your nipple, massaging the other one. it lost the warmth a second later as rafe let go and grabbed ahold of your leg, the smacking of your skin becoming louder. letting go of his hair, you held his other hip, digging your fingernails in.

“rafe,” you panted. rafe’s hips were going at an alarming rate, but you had never felt so good. he knew exactly what he was doing. “rafe, i'm close.”

rafe let go of your leg and moved his hand down your stomach to find your clit. his thumb brushed it, causing you to cry out. his breath was coming out in pants now too, with each stroke. he looked down at you, your expression of pure bliss as your eyes screwed shut and contorted. you bit your lip, something you didn’t realize drove him crazy. he moved his thumb in fast circles with the pace of his hips and soon enough, you were squeezing  his hips and crying out in high pitched tones. the sound alone brought rafe closer.

“fuck, fuck.” you felt him twitch as he grabbed onto your hip, his steady thrusts now stuttering.

you were still riding out your own high, but you reached up with a shaky hand and touched his cheek. he opened his eyes then at the new contact, his mouth ajar, lips swollen.

“rafe, cum. i need you to cum.” you pleaded, licking into his lips with a kiss. he groaned, hips stuttering again then stilling completely as he emptied into the condom. you moaned at the sound, wishing that he was emptying into you. you wished you could feel how warm he was when he coated your walls. god, just the thought had you ready to go again.

rafe moaned as he slid out of you and flipped over onto his back. you licked your lips, still tasting him as you caught your own breath. your skin was sticky and sweaty, but you liked it knowing who it was from. looking over at him now, he was spent and tired, his chest moving with gulps of breath.

“well, i know you better now.” he said, making you laugh.

“right back at ya, rafe cameron.”

[utterlyinevitable]

Hey!!! I just saw ur post and well, i have a request😊 how bout a fic where MC is enjoying hrslf with music fully turned on and Ethan walks in and he's like WHIPPED. if its shitty or u have made a fic similar to it, then completely ignore this. LOTS OF LOVE❤❤

Singin’ In The Bar

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Becca Lao) Rating: Teen+ Summary: She’s having a grand ol’ time singing and dancing at Donahue’s with her friends, from his same ol’ stool Ethan watches desperately from the sidelines. Sometime in book 2.  Trope: Drunk; Pining; Musical; Ethan’s POV 

A/N: thank you for requesting this ♥ i’ve had it in my wips for months, soo sorry about that

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Ethan was sitting at his normal spot at the bar of Donahue’s. Something he’s done nearly every night since he became an attending at Edenbrook Hospital. The evening was less than his preferred quiet, white-noise of the bar. There were residents being rowdy by the darts board and dancing around the old jukebox. 

He knew most of the faces and others he didn’t care enough to get to know. The ones he did know were a side effect of knowing Her. He smiled to himself, how could one woman stumble into his life and change almost every one of his ideals? Ethan had always made it a point to not form any sort of workplace acquaintanceship with any resident unless they did something notable, and even then they’d have to be at least a third-year. Or so that concrete rule was put into place right after she bought him a scotch that first day of intern year. 

Sometime during his reverie her group of friends decided to turn the jukebox into makeshift karaoke. Ethan’s nose scrunched up in a disdainful grimace as some utter garbage with strong bass and high syncopation began blaring from the old speaker system. 

He took a long swig of scotch. 

In the distance he could hear the residents were not so subtly rapping to Anaconda. Ethan thought about how none of them probably realized the refrain’s from Sir Mix A Lot. He promptly rolled his eyes, the age gap apparent more than ever. That was certainly evident - especially with the unabashed way Lahela was pointing and coaxing everyone to “look at her butt”. 

And Ethan did. Very briefly he looked over to see who exactly Lahela was referring to. Telling himself he wanted to see the ruckus and not the bright and weakening smile of his resident. 

His. 

Ethan finished his drink in one gulp.  

In the short time it took, the girls began to girl-group to Bang Bang; another song Ethan didn’t care to know. 

He stole a glance again, and their eyes met. Becca’s glowing features perked into a small genuine smile just for him. 

Ethan couldn’t look away - she was the depths of a sea and he wanted to continue falling deeper and deeper. His full body shifted towards her, a sailor being beckoned by a siren. The rational Dr. Ramsey did a 180 and turned towards Reggie for another drink. Ethan needed to put as much distance as possible between him and Dr. Lao. 

Even with his gaze trained on the bar top, hands wrapped around a double scotch and shooting her an indifferent shoulder, Ethan could feel her eyes on him. Could sense the flicker of pain he inflicted by snubbing her. 

A slower song came on that pulled Ethan out of his stupor. But it wasn’t the song. It was the voice singing along to Mario’s Let Me Love You. 

Ethan knew this song. He knew it rather well, actually. 

He let the old R&B bassline circle around him and take him back to before he was the Great Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Back to a time when he was just Ethan, studying alone in his room and planning out the rest of his life meticulously. And how he’s come to learn these last two years - no matter how hard you try - it’s impossible to keep to plan. Everything is subjective. And maybe, just maybe, everything he’s told himself was leading up to this moment. 

This moment when he finally needed to abandon them. 

Ethan’s strict code was a coping mechanism all his life. Something to govern his habits to lead him to his greatest desires. Never could Ethan Ramsey ever have imagined what was actually waiting for him at the end of the fantasy. He always thought it was medical greatness but maybe it was… something else. 

He glanced over his shoulder. 

And there she was making an absolute fool of herself trying to do the old choreography. It had his heartbeat quickening and his grip on the glass tightening. 

When she sang the chorus for the first time her amber eyes locked with Ethan’s. The intensity had him sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. He tried to look away - oh did he try - but couldn’t. She was captivating. She had a hold on him he couldn’t explain in any scientific words. 

Ethan sat stone still, his deep gaze stuck on her movements for the next two minutes. His breath came and went with the sway of her hips.  

“Someone turn this garbage off!” a bargoer shouted as the song closed and another Ariana Grande song came on. 

Whatever spell Becca had him under was broken when the rest of her group shouted back “no” as they danced side to side. 

His eyes flitted back to his drink. A burning sensation at the base of his neck had him swearing she kept looking at him. That she was telling him something through the unfamiliar and muffled lyrics. The way her hips talked were certainly saying something else. 

Before this new song finished, after their eyes held one for seconds too long once more, Ethan abandoned his half full glass and exited the bar in a quick fury. 

And Becca’s heart fell..

Before she knew it she was moving.  

“Becks, where you going?” Bryce called after her. 

“Really need to pee. Be right back!”  

She made her escape through the side door out to the beer garden. He wasn’t there. Her head whipping back and forth trying to find his tall frame. Her feet moving to the darkest of corners he could be hiding in. 

Out of the corner of her eye a figure paced in circles in the parking lot, the desolate lot in the distance for the beauty parlor storefront next door. His hands tangling in his hair, pulling at the strands. Carefully, cautiously, she moved towards him. The clacking of her heels on asphalt the only sign Ethan wasn’t alone anymore.

Closer and closer she moved, and he still moved back and forth. 

As soon as she was within hearing range, ever so softly she spoke; “Hey...” 

He stopped. 

His head whipped towards hers. She was standing there looking like the heroine of every damned dream he’s ever had all his life. The streetlamp casting down on her like a godforsaken halo. 

Ethan closed the distance in three long strides. 

His hands met her first - cupping her cheeks seconds before their lips meet. They’ve done this a handful of times before and still it was as intoxicating - maybe more so - than the first time. Her hands trailed up his arms, clinging to the fabric at his bicep. The kiss was bruising, deep and stealing any rational breath they ever emitted in the past. Their liquor-lacked tongues tangled and glided in ways that sent sparks flying and their knees wobbling. In the dim streetlighting on this seemingly random weeknight the two figures melded into one. 

Minutes that felt like seconds had their lungs clawing for oxygen. Both gasping, Ethan pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. His thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks, as he searched her for any sensible reasoning. 

“What are you doing to me?” 

The whispered words brushed over her just before Ethan pulled her back in. 

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