#I had to break out the jameson for this one

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[hollyoongs]

THANK YOU, JAKE ✦ S.JY

pairing tasp!jake x news intern!fem reader

summary when you told your friend about the challenge that your boss put you on in order to work on the company, which was taking a picture of the amazing Spider Man, Jake makes it come true.

genre fluff

warnings both of them like each other, cameo of Jay and Ri-Ki, everything is NYC and I tried to make it short for the other one that I'm planning to make it in the future <3

a/n I can finally get this one up here, I'll do the second part with smut, but Jake's fluff is already needed in this profile. Shout out to the editor of THIS Jake Spider-Man, my jupi @glitterjay and also to my lovely moot @ja3yun, this is the spidey!jake I was preparing ;) [PART TWO: 🕸]

wc +3.0k

It was one of those days where everything seemed to conspire against you. As you trudged through the bustling streets of New York City, your camera bag heavy on your shoulder, you couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that clung to you like a stubborn shadow. The sweltering heat of the summer sun only added to your irritation as you made your way to the Daily Bugle, where you were interning as a photographer.

Your future boss, Mr. Jameson, was notorious for his gruff demeanor and demanding nature. Today seemed to be no exception, as he barked orders at the staff, his voice reverberating through the newsroom like thunder. Your friend, Jay, was massaging his forehead, and you couldn't help but go there first. He looked up to see you and gave you a tired smile.

"Rough already?"

"And it's not even 9 a.m." Jay spat in anger, and you opened your bag to give him some of the jelly you always carry around. He took them slightly happier, opening as he started talking again. "He's putting stupid challenges on everyone here. Rumor has it that he's getting jealous of the other newspaper company since they took the #1 place from us."

"Well, wish me luck." You braced yourself for another onslaught of criticism as you approached his desk, hoping to avoid his wrath.

"Ah, there you are," Mr. Jameson said, his tone dripping with impatience. "I've got a special assignment for you."

You felt your heart sink at his words, knowing that whatever task he had in store would likely be arduous and thankless, just like Jay said. But you nodded, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

"I want you to get me a picture of Spider-Man," he said bluntly, his eyes narrowing in a challenging glare.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his request. Spider-Man? The elusive vigilante who swung through the city was a hero to some and a menace to others. Getting a photo of him in action was no small feat, and you knew it.

"But how am I supposed to…" you began, but Mr. Jameson cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I don't care how you do it; just get it done," he said firmly. "And make it front-page material, or you'll be out of your ear."

With that ominous warning hanging in the air, you felt a wave of panic wash over you. How were you supposed to capture a photo of Spider-Man when you could barely catch a break in your own life? Desperation clawed at your chest as you racked your brain for a solution. He looked at Jay, and he was with his mouth open. She was simply screwed.

The hours passed slowly, and 7 o'clock of the night finally reached, which made you fly to the only place you find comfort at the moment. Shim Jake's place. Feeling all the weight on your shoulders, you sigh as you knock on the door. His aunt opens before your knuckles can touch the door.

"Hey darling… Oh no, bad day?" like a button, your eyes got watery, and she hugged you. You hold your tears as she loses you in the warm hug. "I'm going to buy food. Jake and Ni-Ki are in the room. I know what you like."

"You are truly the best, May."

"I know, darling. Go." She left you, and you entered the house, going directly to the Australian boy's room. You knocked, and you heard things falling.

"Who's it?"

"Who else, Ni-Ki? Come on, I had a bad day, and I need you guys."

"Hold on a second!" A few seconds passed, and Jake was the one who opened the door, his messy hair, sweat pant and big white shirt and hsi big glasses that made him look more handsome than usual in front of you. "Hey lensgirl, what's wrong?"

You went for a hug, this time with tears going down and your crying getting noticeable.

Jake was taken aback by your sudden display of emotion, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you pulled away slightly. "It's just… work," you managed to choke out between sobs. "Mr. Jameson… He wants me to get a photo of Spider-Man for the front page, and I- I don't know how to do it. I'm so screwed, Jake."

Jake's expression softened with understanding, though you had no idea just how much he truly understood. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, guiding you to sit on his bed. "We'll figure it out, okay? You're not alone in this."

Ni-Ki, hearing the commotion, poked his head out from behind the doorframe. "Jake can help," he said, and you could feel Jake getting tense. You looked up to Ni-Ki.

"What?"

"Jake knows Spider-Man. You could get the picture." You open your eyes as your eyes travel again to Jake's.

"Since when?!" You practically shouted at him, and he gave a shy smile, which you loved, but the thought of him being friends with the hero and not telling you was in your mind.

"I'll tell you right after you clean and calm yourself. You know what? Go to the bathroom." As you were protesting, Jake obligated you to go inside. The boys went straight to the room and locked it, Jake basically punching Ni-Ki for opening his mouth.

"Are you being serious?! Why did you say that?"

"You know I'm fond of her, and I can't stand her crying. And also, I'm doing you a favor; you've liked her since forever, and with this, you can make a move. And you know that she loves Spider-Man. I consider this a win."

Jake's heart raced as he processed Ni-Ki's words. He couldn't deny the truth about them. He had harbored feelings for you for what felt like forever, but he never found the courage to act on them, and because of the sudden powers he got after being bite by a spider, the dangers were too much to the point he would rather die with the secret in order to keep you save. That's how much he loved you.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. Keeping his identity as Spider-Man a secret was crucial, and now, with you unknowingly on the brink of discovering the truth, he felt the pressure mounting.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Jake turned to Ni-Ki. "Okay, okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "But we have to be careful. She can't know about this, Ni-Ki. It's too risky."

Ni-Ki nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't say anything else, I promise. Only you have to stay cool, you get to nervous around her. I'm surprise you're not right now" he assured Jake.

"Because someone open his mouth"

"Stop crying and be grateful. I pulled a move that you couldn't make for the past 4 years."

It has already been two days since that weird conversation and the explanation of Jake being friends with Spider-Man. It was so odd to you, but the most odd thing was when he told you by text, "I will send you the address where he's going to be."

And here you were, going into the alley for him to arrive. It was getting late, and you could feel your heart beating fast when you saw a few guys in there, cigars in their hands, their auras as bad as how they looked.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them said, which you ignored completely.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you ignored the leering comments from the men in the alley. You clutched your camera bag tightly, feeling a surge of unease as you realized just how vulnerable you were in this dimly lit space.

Just as panic threatened to overtake you, a familiar sound cut through the tension—a whoosh of air followed by the distinct thud of impact. Before you could even process what was happening, Spider-Man descended from the shadows, landing gracefully in front of you with his trademark agility.

"Hey there, fellas," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I don't think the lady appreciates your company."

The men scoffed, eyeing Spider-Man with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. "And who are you supposed to be, huh?" One of them sneered, taking a step forward. You started taking your camera out of your bag, setting it up for a good shot, and to make it take as many photos as you could as both men focused on the hero.

Spider-Man's demeanor shifted subtly, his stance becoming more assertive as he addressed the group. "Let's just say I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and I'm not too keen on seeing people hassle innocent bystanders, especially this pretty girl," he replied, his tone firm.

The men hesitated, sizing up the masked vigilante before them. But before they could make another move, Spider-Man sprang into action, his movements a blur of speed and precision. With calculated strikes and well-timed dodges, he swiftly incapacitated the would-be troublemakers, leaving them groaning on the ground in defeat.

You watched in awe as Spider-Man effortlessly dispatched the thugs, a surge of gratitude welling up inside you. Once the immediate threat had been neutralized, Spider-Man turned to you, his masked eyes meeting yours with a sense of warmth and reassurance. You took your camera and looked at the pictures, so many good enough to be front page material.

"Are you okay there?" he asked, his concern evident even behind the mask.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you in his presence. "Yeah, I'm okay," you stammered, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded before you. You felt some drops of water falling on your face, looking up at the sky and wondering if more drops were falling. "Damn it, it's raining."

"Then let me take you out of here." without a warning, his hand wrapped around your waist, both of your bodies covering the camera. "Hold on tight lensgirl," you frown at the nicknmae. There's only one person that could call you like that, but you couldn't think much of it as you held dear life to him as he swang you around places.

You ended up on your apartment building—in your balcony, to be more exact—and the roof kept both of you off the water, you went inside for a moment to leave the camera in your bed and return. He was hanging from the ceiling as you watched him, forcing you to believe that everything that happened in the past ten minutes was not a dream.

"Don't you want to stand up? So you don't get dizzy."

"I like it this way. Don't worry. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"No problem, that's my job."

"Because you're a hero," the masked guy sighs in front of you. making you feel slighty sad for it.

"Some people don't think so." and it was true, all the fake rumors to paint him as a bad guy made you think about how much free time all this people have to just tear the life of someone who really wants to help.

"But you are, at least I think that."

"It's nice to have a fan as pretty as you."

"Let me say thank you."

"But you already did."

"I meant the trip, not you saving me." You approached him more, and the sound of the rain at the back made the scene more lovely. Then slowly took the mask, only showing his lips. You were surprised by the familiar shape, making your mind go wild. No wonder Ni-Ki and Jake got nervous; no wonder Jake was the only one that could help you with the hero; and there's no wonder why he called you "Lensgirl."

Jake was Spider-Man.

Leaving your thoughts behind, you place your lips on his. The kiss was electrifying, a rush of emotions coursing through both of you as your lips met in a tender embrace. Raindrops fell softly around you, adding to the surreal moment as you shared this intimate connection with the masked hero who had just swept you off your feet—literally.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. Everything suddenly made sense—the mysterious conversations, the unspoken tension between you and Jake, even the strange nickname he had given you. It was all because he was Spider-Man, the hero you had admired from afar, and now he was the man whose lips were pressed against yours.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of you tangled together on that rooftop balcony.

"Thank you, Jake," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

"Wait… how?"

"You let out "Lensgirl," and I've stared at your lips too much to actually know the shape," he finally dropped himself, taking off his mask completely, revealing his red cheeks and normal shy demeanor.

He actually searched your face for any sign of rejection. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "But I wanted to tell you, not in this way; I've got to learn to also shut my mouth up. I… I care about you more than you'll ever know."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up to cup his face in your hands, the weight of everything finally sinking in. "I care about you too, Jake," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I never imagined…"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss, sealing the unspoken words between you with a promise of something more. 

With a smile on your lips and love in your heart, you leaned into Jake's embrace, letting the warmth of his touch chase away the chill of the night as you watched the city skyline glitter in the rain.

"Please write a good news about me."

"Trust me, you'll sure have it, Spidey."

"I just realized that I've to thank Ri-Ki, damn it."

[alchemistc]

how the turntables

an: my drunky bf got home from the bar last night, played me seven songs that reminded him of me, and then demanded i tuck him into bed, spoon him, and give him back scratchies until he fell asleep. this was supposed to be about that, but it got away from me, a bit this could technically be buddietommy, if you squint, even if that wasn't necessarily my intention.

Buck has had his fair share of drunken revelry. He has done his time in the trenches, and puked in Hen's bathroom trashcan once or twice to pay for it. He knows how quickly things can go from "just a few drinks" to crying on a park bench with a potential hookup turned babysitter.

The sight that greets him when he pushes open his apartment door is unexpected. Not because he hadn't known that Eddie and Tommy would be hanging out while he babysat Jee for the evening, but because he is almost positive they'd said they were going to be at Tommy's place, and if they'd gotten waylaid somewhere along the way, Eddie's place is still closer.

He's also pretty positive they'd said they were just gonna spar and then catch the Kings game, maybe.

"Baby," says Tommy, eyes going wide, cheeks rippling like tide-pool waves, ears scrunching up in their wake, and from his spot parked on top of the island counter top Eddie grins too.

"Buck!" he says, more excitable than Buck has seen him in a while. They're both hammered. Buck has a sneaking suspicion that if he were to get within five feet of them he'd be able to smell the Jameson wafting off of them.

Eddie throws an elbow up on Tommy's shoulder, ruffles his hair, and gets a large palm with fingers outstretched planted in the meat of his face for his trouble.

Tommy and Eddie are both tactile, when they're drunk. Buck will be the first to admit, if only to himself, that he has definitely taken advantage of this on more than one occasion. From his spot across the room, as they get into a squabble that has Buck immediately cataloging how many different injuries Eddie could sustain falling off the counter, he has to firmly remind himself that he and Tommy have had this conversation, and that the touches Eddie and Tommy share are not the same as the ones he shares with Buck. Still, though.

"Is that my secret stash of pizza rolls?" Buck asks, loudly, while Eddie tries to get Tommy in a headlock and Tommy fully lifts Eddie off the countertop like he's five seconds away from executing a firemans carry across the loft.

(Which he absolutely could, Buck has intimate knowledge of how easily he could do that.)

Tommy is the first to yield, setting Eddie back down and staring back up at Buck while he does some practiced, if a little sloppy, move with his arm to break the hold Eddie has around his neck.

"We ordered Eber-üt's." His face scrunches. "Eber-üts."

Oh, Buck is absolutely going to tease the shit out of him tomorrow. Once he's nursed the hangover off of him.

"Eber-üt's," Eddie echoes confidently, before his own expression morphs into confusion. Buck stares back at them, biting his lip - he's never been sober enough to really experience the majesty of either one of them three sheets to the wind.

"Okay. How about you both let me handle the hot oven and the lava filled snacks."

Eddie pouts. "We were gonna use the air fryer."

Which Buck doesn't have. He has three ovens, he doesn't need an air fryer.

Buck hangs his keys up. Rolls up his sleeves, and ignores the way Tommy's eyes go a little dark at the sight. When he rounds the kitchen island, he is fully intent on breezing past them both for the cabinet full of plastic toss-away cups he's been collecting for when Jee gets the hang of cup-drinking, but Tommy waylays him with an arm snugged around his waist and a nose pressed to his neck.

Yeah.

He's gonna be sweating out Jameson for the next ten hours.

But Buck can also smell a hint of his aftershave, woodsy and warm, and Tommy at least has the decency to keep his hands mostly in Eddie-approved areas. (Eddie has threatened to give his spare back multiple times, at this point, despite reminders from both of them that a courtesy call wouldn't hurt, once in a while.) "Hi," Tommy murmurs into Buck's neck, lips ghosting along his pulse point, and Buck ignores the hand drifting daringly close to the band of his jeans, reaching a hand of his own to grip Tommy's chin, thumb in his cleft as he angles his head.

The look in Tommy's eye does the opposite of cooling, which is Buck's mistake, absolutely, but he presses a quick peck to Tommy's lips before he dances away, back on mission to get these two idiots some water.

Eddie blows a raspberry at Buck's retreating back. "Is that the quivering loins inducing kiss you were talking about?" Eddie asks, clearly not talking to Buck, and when Tommy doesn't answer right away Buck dares a glimpse over his shoulder. Mistake. Tommy's eyes are firmly on his ass, and rather than being faux-disgusted by their honeymoonish antics, Eddie is biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too wide.

"Quivering loins?" Buck asks, while he fills two cups of water and grabs for the pain killers he keeps in his spice cabinet.

Tommy looks anything but embarrassed as he shrugs his shoulders, but Eddie is still following that thread. "Some guy was aggressively hitting on your boyfriend tonight, Buck." The thrill of that word hasn't quite died down, yet, but he's pretty sure he hides it okay as he passes off the cups to his two unexpected guests. "But he handled it like a pro. The phrase was used."

"The...phrase," Buck repeats, while Tommy tips his head back and takes obscene gulps of the water. "The phrase...quivering loins?"

Eddie nods, and takes the daintiest sip of his own water that Buck's ever seen.

"So maybe kiss him better than that. The guy was like, a solid LA nine."

Eddie is way too drunk for them to get into the question of why he's suddenly comfortable openly ranking the attractiveness of men now that he's got two queer male friends. Buck tables it.

"Do you want your pizza rolls, or do you wanna see me and Tommy make out?"

Eddie's gaze gets a little distant. Buck continues to table it.

"You told an LA nine that I quiver your loins?" Buck asks instead, and Tommy's grin goes a little dopey. It's not exactly the worst feeling in the world, seeing the irrefutable proof of how much Tommy likes him splashed plain as day across his face, and Buck gives, a little, swaying into Tommy once he's checked that the oven is preheated and tucked the tray of pizza rolls in there. This kiss lingers, just a bit, though Buck keeps his tongue firmly in his own mouth, even though drunk Eddie apparently doesn't have the same qualms as sober Eddie does.

"He was a seven, at most."

"He was a dick," Eddie concludes, now staring at his still full cup of water. "He thought I was your date, and he still went for it."

"How'd you guys go from a quiet night in to... sloppy drunk in my apartment at eleven-thirty at night?"

Tommy's hands are warm against his waist as he shoots Buck a careful glance. There's a weight of significance in the look, and Buck wonders at it for all of a moment before Tommy raises a brow. "Eddie wanted to go to Micky's."

Eddie doesn't seem remotely concerned by that reveal, even though the only reason he knows about Micky's is because he'd listened to Buck wax poetical about Tommy taking him to his first gay bar, months ago now. So. Maybe he shouldn't table that conversation for too long, actually.

Buck only has to smack their hands away from the pizza rolls about three times while he lets them cool, and in the ten minutes it takes for them to eat the whole bag of them, plus the three bags of corn nuts each, he's set up the couch for Eddie, laid out bottles of Gatorade in the living room and the bedside table on Tommy's side of the bed, and found a pair of sweats for Eddie to sleep in. The food is doing the hard work of reminding them they're not in their twenties anymore, and it only takes some gentle coaxing to usher Eddie to the bathroom downstairs, and Tommy upstairs.

It isn't until Buck is crawling under the covers, teeth freshly brushed and in far more clothes than he's used to wearing with Tommy in the bed next to him, listening to the gentle snores drifting up to the loft from the couch, that he tugs Tommy in for a proper kiss.

Tommy melts into it, which isn't exactly abnormal, but there seems to be some extra tension that gets released this time, as he presses his nose into Buck's cheek and curls his tongue over Buck's teeth, torso rolling forward to meet Buck's, palms skating over Buck's hips, fingers digging and pressing into the grooves of Buck's waist.

This isn't remotely the first time Tommy's had to question what exactly there is, between Buck and Eddie, and he's good at keeping a level head about it, at not making assumptions, at talking about his own insecurities without blaming Buck for them. This isn't the first time Buck has made it a point to reassure him, with touches and gestures and words, when they're needed, that he's in this with Tommy.

"Hi," Buck says, when they finally come up for air. The snores are still steady, below, and Buck knows from experience that it'd take a klaxon to wake Eddie, at the moment, but he keeps his voice low as he cups Tommy's jaw. Tommy nips when he thumbs at his bottom lip. "Micky's?"

Tommy's pursed lips dance, as he works through what he wants to say. "We -- I've got pretty blanket permission to talk to you about it, but -- in the morning?"

Buck tips his head, pressing their foreheads together, and Tommy's eyes get a little crinkly around the corners, like they always do when Buck does something intimate that's not a lead up to sex. "Turn over," Buck tells him, and Tommy's eyes sparkle at the words, because as often as they end up curled around and over each other in sleep, he can never seem to get enough of being the little spoon.

Tommy isn't shy about getting himself situated exactly the way he wants, hitching his ass back into the cradle of Buck's groin, pressing the backs of his knees firmly into the bend of Buck's legs, back to chest and tugging at the arm under their now shared pillow until they're both comfortable. Drunk Tommy's a bit of a brat, honestly, now that Buck's the sober one, and he is absolutely going to remind him of this at some point, but for now, he skates his fingers up Tommy's arm, angles his palm in so that he can trace the pattern of moles across his shoulder blade and up his spine.

Tommy sighs, and tilts just enough to give Buck room to continue the aimless journey of his fingers across the breadth of Tommy's back.

For as much as Tommy loves this, in the quiet moments when they get silly and argue about who gets the back scratchies for the night, Buck will never admit it, but he almost prefers it this way, being able to give this, being the person Tommy will accept this from. He's desperately enamored with the idea that they get to be this, for each other, for as long as they both still want it. Forever feels like a long ways off, and neither one of them has said it, in as many words, but it's there, in the way Tommy laughs at his dumb jokes; in the way Buck tucks his hand into Tommy's, fingers interlaced; in the way they fit together in heated gasps and soft groans, in quiet sighs and soft murmurs.

"In the morning," Buck says, while Tommy's breaths start to slow, "after you beg me to crack open the Pedialyte and try to kill Eddie with your hangover glare," Tommy grunts, shoulder knocking back in consternation, "I'm gonna make you tell me exactly what you said to the LA seven about your quivering loins."

Tommy huffs a soft laugh. "Scratch my back until I fall asleep, Evan, and maybe I will."

[erodasfishtacos]

Picked The Right One

prompt: ceorry first vs most recent time

word count: 8.5k+

warnings: teeth rotting fluff, smut

AN: hiiii. Long time! I’m not posting on here anymore really but I wanted to post a one shot to show my appreciation for my fans who can’t subscribe to my patreon.

I post 4-5 8k+ fics a month for $3USD

Love youuuuu isla x

-

YN had never ever pictured herself where she is currently at right now.

Because currently, she was trying to pick between two different dresses as she went on her fifth date with a billionaire.

It sounded comical even in her head.

YN never really imagined who she would end up with but she had been through a handful of duds and thought that might set the precedent for the rest of her life.

Up until Harry, she barely even made it past a date with someone before she’s calling it off because she can’t see herself with the person.

The last time YN went out on a date, the man ‘forgot’ his wallet after ordering three imported beers that cost YN nearly half of a paycheck.

Their dates had been going well, YN felt less and less nervous every time that she saw Harry but she still felt the need to impress him.

She shouldn’t have googled his dating history even though it doesn’t confirm anything from his past - he has always been secretive and private about his personal life.

However, there are some paparazzi shots of him leaving exclusive night clubs with pretty, modelesque girls in the background behind him.

And thousands of gossip blogs who loved to predict who he was sleeping with and who he was in a relationship with.

He had disclosed to YN that he has only had one serious relationship that ended horribly when he was just beginning his career which would have been years ago.

YN’s still in her bathrobe, Harry’s coming to pick her up any moment, and she’s wondering how nice the bra and underwear set she picked out needs to be.

Tonight was the first time Harry was taking her to his house or from what she saw on google - his 23.3 million pound estate.

YN had been surprised that he hadn’t been pushy like other dates who tried to get in her pants.

The sexual tension has definitely been building but Harry hadn’t made any move to do anything about it.

He hadn’t asked her back to his house after any of the five dates but their kisses had been getting longer and steamier.

Particularly after the last one.

-

Harry always parked his car and walked her up to her apartment door, she appreciated that he tried to not crinkle his nose at that mildew odor or how run down the interior of the building is.

When they get to her burnt orange door, YN unlocks it and turns back around to him as he watches her with a small smile.

“Do you want to come in?” YN offers even though she knows that he’ll decline, she’s always hopeful.

“I want to but I shouldn’t. Let me be a gentleman,” Harry simpers softly, his voice deep and accent thick, his hands come up to cup her jaw, “But I am going to steal a kiss.”

“Please,” YN agrees with excitement pumping through her veins, he leans down to connect their lips and he’s such a good kisser.

As soon as their lips connect, YN has to swallow down a moan because even though it’s just a kiss - she’s never been more turned on in her life.

She parts her lips when he swipes his tongue across them, pushing inside once she opens up, and stroking her tongue with his.

His body is pressed up into hers, cornering her more against the door and YN’s lets the smallest whimper slip.

She’s about to be embarrassed but Harry growls at the noise and breaks a part for the moment, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

YN can’t even blink before his mouth is back on hers, holding her jaw a bit firmer, and biting at her bottom lip.

She had never physically felt herself getting wet until right now when she actually cold feel it start to coat her folds.

“Shame on you,” A scratchy voice hisses from behind them, making them split apart quickly, and they look back to see YN’s neighbor.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jameson,” YN waves her hand as the woman glares at her, shaking her head before disappearing into the apartment across from them.

Harry’s thumb comes up to pull at her swollen bottom lip, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

YN’s never been so bold as now when she leans back up to kiss him again, “Please, come in?”

Harry entertains one more long kiss before he’s breaking them apart and taking a step back, “Let me do this right, pet. I’m going to make it special.”

“You do this with all your dates?” YN jokes lamely because she just can‘t imagine that she’s the first girl he’s done this with.

Harry’s smile falters a bit but he recovers quickly, his thumb now brushing over her cheekbone.

“I’m a bit embarrassed to say,” He chuckles as his eyes dart to the side in nervousness, “I haven’t been this much of a gentleman in the past is all I will say.”

“Why is it different for me? I’m not anything special,” She replies because she doesn’t think she’s nearly anything compared to the other beautiful women he’s had on his life.

“Hey,” His voice is firmer and offended by her comments, his green eyes serious and honeyed when he looks at her, “You’re the most special person I’ve ever met.”

-

YN startles when she hears a knock at her front door, glancing over to the clock, and Harry is exactly on time for their date.

She’s still staring at her lingerie sets when the noise echos through her apartment, her hair and makeup was at least done but she was still only in a towel.

After the second knock comes, YN’s cursing as she rushes to the door, swinging it open, and Harry’s in the hallways looking like he just walked off the set of a photoshoot in a perfect fitting suit and styled hair.

He raises an eyebrow as he looks her up and down, “I’m not going to complain if this is all you want to wear tonight. Much easier to take it off of you.”

Oh, they were definitely fucking.

YN moves aside to let him in, he ducks down to kiss her cheek before sitting on the edge of her sofa.

“I just need like two more minutes,” She tells quickly, why was her heart rate spiking anytime he was around?

“I’ll be here,” Harry replies as his eyes trace around her apartment, picking up a book on her coffee table.

YN takes a deep breath when she’s back in her room, snatching the sexier set off the bed before shimmying a recently purchased black dress overtop.

Harry stands up and straightens his broad shoulders when she comes back into the living room, “Bloody hell. You look like a dream.”

YN’s stomach flips at his seemingly sincere compliment but she can’t control the intrusive comments that follow in her own mind.

You’re not as pretty as that one model he was seen with

You’re not a model

He’s just being nice

“Thank you. You look handsome,” She replies nervously, she hadn’t been this nervous on their last two or three dates but it felt like the first time all over again.

Harry isn’t dumb, he can sense it but he’s kind enough not to call her out on it as they quietly walk to his car.

After slipping in the passenger seat of the exotic car, a new one for every date, and Harry begins to drive off - it almost feels tense for a moment.

Harry’s hand twitches on the wheel, hesitating before asking, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

It makes YN feels guilty that now she’s made Harry nervous enough that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to reach over.

“You don’t have to ask,” YN assures him with more confidence in her voice as his one hand moves from the well to her thigh, his hand was big, making her thick thigh look nearly encompassed, the metal of his rings was cold against her skin.

She wanted to smack herself when she felt the arousal starting to creep in, clenching her thighs together a bit too obviously because Harry smirks to himself but doesn’t make a remark.

-

“Thi-this is your house?” YN’s eyes widen when they pull through the gates, men dressed in black waving them through before the gate closes quickly behind them.

The pictures on google didn’t do the beauty of the sprawling estate justice.

It was so massive that YN couldn’t imagine just one person living alone in there and it made her a little sad to think about Harry in this near castle all by himself.

Harry gives her a tour of some of the rooms where all YN can do is nod along to what he’s saying, compliment the astounding beauty, and not have any doubt why his house has been mentioned in Architectural Digest so much.

Then he’s leading her to the kitchen where YN takes a seat on a stool while Harry begins pulling out the ingredients to make dinner.

YN cannot stop staring at everything around her - she’s never seen anything close to this and to think that she’s going on date with someone who lives this extravagantly.

The conversation flows easily while Harry moves around the kitchen to prepare the chicken Alfredo, there’s plenty of laughter and quite a few stolen kisses before they sit down for dinner.

-

Towards the end of the meal, the conversation becomes more serious, and Harry takes a sip of his wine before stating, “None of this impresses you, does it?”

YN’s taken aback by the question, he doesn’t seem angry but he just seems confused as he puts down his fork and knife, “What do you mean?”

Harry shakes his head like he doesn’t know how to get out the words he wants to, “It’s just…the cars, my house, it doesn’t seem like you care. I don’t mean that in a bad way, it just doesn’t seem to be impressing you and I…I don’t really know how to take that.”

“I’ve never brought a date to my home before but still, usually most of the conversation on previous dates has been about my business or my cars or my estates. You haven’t bought any of that up once or made a big deal about it.”

YN can’t read Harry very in this moment, she doesn’t know him well enough, and his face is smooth, calm but just the tiniest furrow in his brow gives away emotion.

“It’s very impressive, the life you’ve built,” YN chooses her words carefully, putting down her glass of wine, “It’s something you should be proud of. I haven’t brought any of those things up because those things aren’t who you are. I’ve been asking you about family, hobbies, likes, dislikes because I care about you as a person, not as a ‘billionaire’ or a ‘public figure.”

Harry’s face distorts a little bit, he almost looks a bit devastated as he looks down at his plate, and he doesn’t say anything which makes YN think she said something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I just…” YN trails off with a sigh.

“Don’t apologize, please. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Harry glances back up with widen eyes, he reaches across the table to put his hand over her, “I’ve just never had someone care about me, I don’t think. At least not for a very long time.”

YN moves her hand away, only to move it atop his and squeezes, “I think it’s lovely that you’ve created a very comfortable and successful life for yourself but I’m falling for you as a person, not the cars or the house.”

And a blinding crooked smile breaks out on Harry’s face, YN loved when his dimples popped out and carved into his cheeks, “Falling for me? Are you falling for me, darling?”

YN’s feel the heat rises up into her cheeks, looking down at the table for a moment but then Harry’s pushing his chair back and standing up - he’s strides over to YN’s chair and helps her out of it, pulling her up and into his chest.

“No need to be embarassed, S’just me,” Harry rumbles as he tucks his finger up her chin and lifts her head so that he can connect their lips softly, YN’s hands coming to rest on his chest.

She giggles though, shaking her head at his words - it makes him pull back and ask, “What’s funny, hm?”

“You say it’s just you,” YN murmurs, their lips are stil brushing against one another’s as they talk, “But that’s the issue, you have me on my toes. I want to impress you, not embarrass myself.”

“M’already impressed,” Harry tells her between little pecks, “Impressed how smart you are, how independent and free-thinking you, by how fuckin’ gorgeous you are. You don’t need to be embarassed if you’re falling f’me because sweetheart, m’pretty much already gone for you. You’re everything that I want.”

“Please,” YN says softly because they basically just confessed their fondness for each other and the dark sweet smell of his cologne was making her dizzy.

She would never consider herself sex hungry until this point, she had always been more than okay waiting a few dates to get intimate but YN had never craved someone else’s body like this.

“Please what, sweet girl,” Harry replies against her lips, he had her pressed up against an oak cabinet that looked to be displaying expensive, hand-painted plates and vases - the pieces shook a bit when her back hit the glass.

A single glass ends up falling off one of the higher shelf’s, shattering behind them, and YN begins to profusely apologizing, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

And Harry’s unconcerned that a five thousand dollar wine glass just shattered as he shushes her quiet, “S’fine. Just want to kiss you,” He mumbles against her lips.

YN presses further into the kiss, her hands moving from his chest up and around his neck as she parts her lips, allowing their tongues to brush as his hands move to her hips - massaging at the plush as his leg sneaks in between hers, making it so she couldn’t clench her thighs together.

“Want to-“ YN gets distracted halfway through her sentence when his hands begin to trail up her sides, up towards her chest but he instead teases his fingers along her rib cage.

“Want to…..?” Harry copies her, he even tastes good like his rich, dry red wine that they had been drinking at dinner.

“Harry,” YN huffs out when he pulls back just an inch, “You know what I mean.”

Harry kisses once more before responding, “Tell me. Do you want me to touch you?”

YN nods eagerly, she wanted so bad to press their hips together to see if he was just as needy as she was but he was purposely not doing that, “Yes.”

“Where do you want my hands or maybe even my mouth?” His voice was unfairly raspy as he teases her with his words, his hands dancing upwards until he finally cups her breasts, “Here? I think you probably have the prettiest nipples I’ve ever seen? You want me to pinch them or suck at them until their puffy and hard?”

Fuck, YN’s never been so turned on in her life.

“I want that,” YN responds tightly as he kneads at her breasts for only a moment before his hands are trailing back down the length of her dress, “Please take me upstairs, Harry.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you beg, haven’t even told you what I’m going to do to your cunt,” He chuckles as his lips wander from hers to the hinge of her jaw where he drags his teeth across the thin skin, “I’m going to take such good care of you. Get you so ready for me that you’ll be crying on my fingers.”

“You’re all talk at this point,” YN points out but it doesn’t come off as bratty as she’d hope because of how breathless she is by now.

That’s all it takes to have Harry taking YN’s hand and leading her up the winding grand staircase to his bedroom - his room wasn’t overly decorated and was pretty simple with high ceilings and a bed that could easily fit five people.

Harry steps away from YN for a moment, going around the room and turning on the lights which illuminated the room in more of a romantic glow.

As he did, YN’s brain became a bit less hazy and the reality of what was about to happen sunk in, especially when Harry came over and murmurs, “Can I take this off of you?” As his fingers curled into the hem of her dress near her thighs.

And for some reason, all the insecurities and anxiety that she felt earlier about not being able to compare to the other women comes flashing into her mind but she finds herself nodding and saying, “Yes.”

Harry’s pulls the hem off the dress up slowly and in between kisses until YN is raising her arms up so that he can fully take it off of her, just leaving her in her lingerie that she bought off a cheap boutique online - nothing like what those models wore.

“Fuckin’ hell, are you trying to kill me?” Harry groans when he takes in her in just her bra and underwear, his eyes looking all over like they couldn’t decide one place to stay put but he is kissing her shoulder before he’s kneeling down in front of her.

That was sight that YN never wanted to forget, Harry down on his knees in front of her, his lips right at her belly and his strong hands moving behind her to knead at her backside.

She didn’t realize she was trembling until Harry pulls back with a frown.

YN wants to shout at him to come back when he stands back up and puts a foot of distance between them, “Are you sure you want to, pet? Your legs are shaking. I hope I haven’t made you feel pressured in anyway. I apol-“

And she wants to cry because that’s not it at all.

She instantly starts shaking her head in disagreement, interrupting him by putting her hand up, “No…I want to. I really want to and you haven’t pressured me one bit. I’m just…being stupid.”

Harry’s shoulders slump a bit in relief and he steps back over to her, his hands caressing over the caps of her shoulder blades, “If it’s not that than why are you shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart?”

YN squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep inhale, deciding honesty is probably the best route in this situation, “I know I shouldn’t have but I googled you. And I just saw all these pictures of you leaving clubs and events with these models and…I know I don’t look anything like them and I’m not as sexy as them. I’m scared you’ll be disappointed with the experience.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment as he cradles her head in between his hands, his face is sincere and a bit sad when he tells her, “I’ve never liked someone like I like you. And this may sound crude or forward but I’ve never wanted to lay someone out and make them come as many times as they can like I want to do with you. I’ve never been more attracted to someone in my life.”

“Any person in the past five years that I’ve hooked up with have been nothing more than that. And in the past two years or so, I can't even remember the last time I’ve done that. I know you might not believe me but I haven’t been with anyone in quite some time. It stopped being fun when every single person I got with just wanted to use me for clout, popularity, bragging rights.”

“I believe you,” YN tells him, relief starting flooding into her body because he was so sincere and even though she was surprised that he was that he was so attracted to her, she believed him full heartedly.

“You act like you’re not drop dead gorgeous,”Harry frowns as he brushes a stray hair off of her forehead, “The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Never been able to look away from you since the first time you bumped into me.”

“I want you to do what you just said you wanted to do,” YN smiles with a shyness that is unusual for her, pressing herself up against him while he was still in his suit and now she was almost bare.

The delighted, hungry expression returns to Harry’s face when he hears that, taunting her as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, “Oh, remind me. What did I say, pet?”

But his lips were running down the column of her neck, his hands brushing the bra straps off her shoulders until they fell, and his lips taking their place.

“You’re such a tease,” YN accuses as she curls her fingers into his hair.

And YN’s never been teased like this, never had such buildup that wasn’t even foreplay yet, every other guy she’s been with - it had all been perfunctory and boring, predictable.

“S’not time to lay you out on m’bed yet,” Harry titters as his fingers come to her back, running along the band of her bra, and ghosting over the clasp, “Have to get to know your body first. Play with every single part of it and make sure you’ll never forget how good I’m going to make you feel.”

YN’s nearly sighs in relief when he finally slips the bra off, moving back to look at her, and she doesn’t even have a moment to feel self-conscious before he’s letting out an obscene moan at the sight, cupping them before moving down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth.

It was like he was starved for touch as he pulled at the nub between his teeth before lapping at it as his hand massaging at the neglected one, his fingers moving up to rub and pinch.

“Oh…fuck,” YN whines as she lets her head fall back, hair cascading down past her shoulders as she holds his head as close as possible to her and it’s never felt this good before when someone touched her chest.

Harry switches between the two, taking his time to languidly run his tongue over both of them after he pushes them together, and sucks at them with tight pressure.

YN’s never known that just her nipples being played with could make her aroused but she knew there had to be a damp spot on the front of her panties as Harry started walking them back towards the bed.

“That feels so good,” YN breathes at when he begins to nip at her buds, causing just the dullest pain pain that quickly melted into more pleasant sensation.

“Sweetheart, this is just the beginning. M’going have you crying with pleasure by the time I’m done with you,” Harry growls as YN’s knees hit the bed and she falls back, letting herself hit the fluffy comforter, “Do you like overstimulation?”

YN’s wriggles further onto the bed, bringing Harry with her by the hand wrapped around the nape of Harry’s neck, and tells him, “I don’t know.”

Harry pulls back from her tits, looking at her with a confused expression, “What do you mean? Do you like when someone makes you come more than once? Like when it almost feels too much.”

Oh god, she didn’t want to admit this.

“I…The guys I’ve been with have never made me come,” YN mumbles as she adverts her gaze up to the ceiling in humiliation for a moment before looking back down at Harry who’s resting his chin on her belly.

Harry’s face goes blank, a bit dumbfounded as he asks, “Are you fucking with me?”

“Stop,” YN giggles as she playfully kicks at him, “It’s embarrassing I know. I just haven’t been with anyone who’s been talented in that department, okay?”

Harry’s hand wraps around her ankle, a cocky smile coating his face, “Oh darlin’, m’going to show you my worth tonight. Now bend your knees for me.”

YN obliges, bending her knee, and watches as Harry kneels at the end of the bed - his button-up shirt was open for the most part, showing off his defined pectoral muscles and the butterfly that was inked below.

He moves his arms underneath her thighs which made it easier to pull her bum to the edge of the bed and he drapes her legs in the crooks of his elbows and her clothed core is right in front of him.

YN lays back and closes her eyes, just allowing herself to feel as she feels her stomach moves up and down quickly as she sucks in air, and she’s shaking now but it’s in pure anticipation for what’s to come.

She’s waiting for Harry to shimmy off her underwear but instead, Harry ducks forward and begins to kiss at her puffy mound and folds over the thin fabric.

YN tries to move her hips to get more but Harry keeps her in place, he moves down in the slightest and pushes in between her folds until he pushes the fabric is against her clit with his tongue.

“H, there,” YN murmurs softly as he begins to stroke at her with his tongue while his hands grip her bum and pull her further into his mouth as he makes the underwear sodden with her slick and his mouth.

It was overwhelmingly good to have the pressure on her bud like she’d never had before, her hands gripping the comforter that she was laying on.

YN lets out the most spoiled whine when Harry pulls his head back and he raises his eyebrow at her, he moves his one arm so that he can reach between them and put his thumb right on her clit where he gives her the most torturous, slow rubs he could.

“You’re a greedy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Harry hums as his free hand moves up to thumb at her pebbled nipples, “Already getting obsessed with my touch. Just like it should be, never let you leave my bed. You’re a fuckin’ slice of heaven.”

“I’m not greedy,” YN denies weakly as her hips push up to get more friction applied from his thumb to where she’s throbbing for him.

“You’re riding my thumb right now,” Harry chuckles meanly, biting at the skin of her belly hard enough to make her squeak, “Most greedy lil’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry keeps YN in this purgatory of pleasure and pure frustration for a good thirty minutes of switching between his mouth and thumb on her clit through her underwear.

She could feel hot tears prickling at the corner of her eyes because she wanted to come, she wanted him.

YN needed Harry and it seemed like she might die if she doesn’t in this moment even if it’s dramatic - she’s never craved anything like she’s craving his touch.

Harry catches it as soon as the first tear dribbles down her cheek, “Am I making you desperate, baby? M’not trying to be cruel. I’m just trying to prove to you that you should keep me around, y’know?”

What is he even talking about?

She’s definitely keeping him.

And she tells him so.

“Wh-why do you have to prove it? I’m keeping you, you’re mine,” YN gasps as he presses on her button just a little bit harder than before.

Harry preens at her words, “Say it again and I’ll make you come. Say it loud for me, pet.”

“You’re mine, Harry,” YN tells him again, voice louder and more confident, “You’re mine, please. Please need it.”

“Give you anything,” He murmurs, pleased as can be as he moves to the band of her panties and pulls them down her thighs until she’s bare.

He’s then helping her move up and to the center of the bed, splayed out with love bites all over her chest and belly, the sheen of his spit-slick kisses reflecting in the dim light.

Harry fucking finally relents when he burrows down between her thighs after shucking off his dress shirt and he uses two fingers to split her open to reveal what her puffy folds had been hiding.

“You’re going to make me come without even touching me,” Harry abdomishes as he stares at her, “How do you have the prettiest face, nipples, and cunt? It doesn’t make any sense, darling.”

YN felt like she was a rubber band about to snap, she couldn’t take anymore and she just needed him to do something because her orgasm has been building for the last half-hour.

“Please,” YN whispers quietly, it was pathetic and desperate but she let out a shutter from her sniffles - she’s never felt this good.

Harry pushes himself up to kiss her lips once before settling back down where he splits her folds open and gives her a firm, harsh lick from her core to clit.

His mouth stays there, pulling her clit between his lips and massaging it with his tongue while two of his thick fingers danced around her entrance before slowly tucking them up inside and curling forward.

YN came instantly, she swore she blacked out for a moment and saw stars but also felt a rush of fluid that she couldn’t figure out what is was until she finally comes back down to earth.

When YN sits up, she notices a small dark part of the comforter that was wet along with Harry’s face shining with slick.

“Oh my god,” YN gasps in horror as she realizes she not only just had her first orgasm from someone else but squirted on top of that.

Harry blinks up at her, he was just as surprised as he brought his hand back up where it was wet with her, “I’m not joking when I say that’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

And just like that, the humiliation is gone from her body and she’s giggling because he just looks so thrilled with himself.

She squeals excitedly when he pushes her back down and continues on, burying his face back between her legs.

When he licks at her sensitive, throbbing clit again - her legs kick out in reaction as pinpricks of overstimulation try to push Harry off.

But YN’s hand is wrapping up in his hair and keeping him down there.

She never had more than one orgasm at time, didn’t really know that she could, and she was shocked when she felt her next one building within a minute or two.

“Harry, I’m close again,” YN warns as her thighs begin to shake, she so badly wanted to close them around Harry’s head but his broad shoulders are prohibiting her from doing that.

“Come on, sweet girl,” Harry encourages in between suckles and laps, moving up to nip at the hood of clit to give her a spike of dull pain before soothing it with his tongue, “Show me how good you can be.”

Oh, she does.

YN’s back arches and she doesn’t care about being embarrassed anymore when she lets out a long, high-pitched whine, a sound she’s never made before as her chest heaves when her second orgasm comes barreling over her.

“Baby, s’good,” YN mewls, uncaring when the pet name slips even though Harry’s been using them constantly, and when she’s starting to come down from the second one, she gently leads Harry by the hair until he’s crawling up over her and their lips are meeting again.

YN’s not worried about being shy anymore, not after Harry just made her come like that, and so when she’s running her hand down his chest, tracing over the muscles of his stomach, she doesn’t stop until she’s palming him in his dress pants.

“Shit,” He gruffs in surprise, breaking their kiss for a moment, and moaning when she traces the outline of his cock where it’s ready to be freed from his confines.

YN manages to wriggle until Harry gets the picture and rolls off of her, onto his back where now he’s splayed out with his stomach sucking in, his ribs dancing against his skin on every breath in.

He’s body was incredible, the definition of his muscles from his pecs to his abdominals, all the way down to where there’s a sharp cut leading into the dress pants.

She had to get her mouth on him and had to give him a bit of the same treatment he gave her, she figured out quickly that he loved being bit and given lovebites.

YN works her way from his neck down his chest, stopping to give attention to his nipples which he was surprisingly reactive to - bucking his hips up when she dragged her teeth along them.

When she finally gets to the fine dusting of hair leading into his pants, YN unbuttons and zips them before beginning to tug them down his narrow hip.

At first, she was going to tease him but her eagerness to see him and so she’s peeling down his briefs too until he’s bare to her too - god, he was just as perfect here as well which shouldn’t be a surprise.

His cock was far bigger than anyone man she had even been with, by far, but it wasn’t initimating to her because she so desperately wanted it inside her.

It was thick and she never thought she’d describe a dick as pretty but it was, the pink tip was wet and his skins was smooth velvet as she ran her hand down the length of it.

There was a reason he had big dick energy.

And YN puffs out a breath of frustration when Harry pulls her back up right before she puts her mouth on him, he chuckles at her furrowed brow like a disgruntled puppy.

“Stop pouting,” Harry smooths out the wrinkle between her eyebrows, “I’m so hard for you, pet. I’ll come if you tease me and I want to get in you. I want to show you how good I can be for you.”

YN doesn’t regret it when she leans down and bits his shoulder, making him hiss before she’s grumps, “You teased me for nearly an hour and I can’t even touch you. S’not fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Harry pouts out his bottom lip condescendingly, “I promise there will be many more times to come where I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

“You better keep that promise,” YN warns but she’s about as intimidating as a baby deer.

Harry lets out a throaty laugh as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “It’s not a hardship for me to promise you that you can have my cock whenever you want.”

He was filthy and YN was obsessed with it.

“Now need you to shush up,” Harry rumbles as he steadies YN where she’s sat across his thighs and sits up, scooting backwards until his back is against the headboard, “Gonna have you sit that pretty pussy on me. Gonna let you go as slow or fast as you want. Okay, baby?”

YN nods with a bit of nerves back in her as she straightens up and kneels further up until he’s bumping against her folds, she goes to reach to position him but Harry knocks her hand out of the way.

Harry presses forward until the plum tip of him parts her lips, finding her swollen clit and tapping himself against her which sends voltage shocks through her spine.

He paints himself down to her core, where he barely pushes in, YN’s stomach tense in anticipation before he’s moving back up to rub himself against her nerves.

She was so wet that there was soft noise as he teased, “Baby, do you hear how wet you are for me? Can’t believe how good you feel. Do you always get like this?”

YN shakes her head, swallowing dryly before telling him, “Never really got wet like this before. I, er, usually wasn’t enough other times and so they had to use lube.”

Harry’s expression is downright offended, “Nobody ever warmed you up, huh? Sounds like you’ve been with a bunch of chauvinistic pigs. I’ll always have you dripping down your thighs, pet.”

And she believes him.

YN’s still in a dazed state of his teasing when he doesn’t just push in a little but starts helping her sit down on him to finally get inside of her and god, she feels so full.

There’s no pain or stretch like she’s felt before with guys who were less endowed then him but he had gotten her so turned on and ready that there wasn’t anything but pure pleasure as he bottomed out .

He’s already nudging against an a livewired spot inside of her that she never felt before but knew was her g-spot, and his was just pressing on it by just being inside her.

“O-oh,” YN lets out a wanton moan as she begins grinding her hips, on every swivel her clit was bumping against the neatly trimmed hair on his pubic bone and the spot inside her being triggered by how thick and hard he was.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry sighs happily and he’s looking up at her with such awe before he’s pushing at the small of her back to get her upper body closer to his.

As she chases her own release, he’s kissing all over her, and it intimate as she’s ever been with someone as Harry just encourages her to make herself feel good with his body.

His lips are on her sternum, her belly, her shoulder, her face.

There was something about the way he kissed over her cheeks and jaw as she moans in pure ecstasy that made it romantic and made her feel closeness to her partner that she’d never felt before.

The soft whispers of encouragement against her temple as she got closer and closer to the edge, her thigh muscles were tired, “Please, H. Need you to make me feel good, please.”

And like that, Harry’s flipping them until YN’s splayed on her back once again, and he’s over top of her, his cross necklace tickling at her chest when props himself up on his elbows, either side of her head, and grinds his hips back into her.

YN can’t help but wrap her legs around Harry’s waist as he begins a steady rhythm of thrusts, leaning down to connect their lips together but YN can’t focus on it as she moans into his mouth.

“I need you to come f’me,” Harry pants lightly between pecks, his thrusts were becoming harder and he wasn’t pulling back as fast, “You’ve got me close, darling. Never had anyone feel so good on my cock.”

Harry doesn’t wait though, he’s going down on one arm to use his other to snake between their bodies to rub tight, purposeful circles on her bud until YN feels the band of tension snap and she’s digging her nails into his back as she comes for the third time.

And as soon as she does, Harry’s thrusting in twice more before stilling and letting out the sexiest, most filthy moan as he drops his head and let’s go, his moans were so low that YN didn’t even think his voice could get that deep and gravely like he’d been smoking.

YN’s become boneless, melting into the comfortable mattress, as she keeps her eyes shut - peaceful to feel the pinpricks of pain from overstimulation and how achey her thighs were from not usually using those muscles as much as she did tonight.

“Open your eyes f’me,” Harry murmurs softly after a moment, his thumb coming to sweep the drying tears off her cheeks and when YN whines in protest, he coos, “Just for a tick, darling. Look at me.”

YN blinks her eyes open, she’s exhausted and spent, and doesn’t feel like she could move if someone offered her a million dollars to do so as she meets Harry’s warm green eyes.

“I need to get you showered. M’not going to let you fall asleep all sticky and sweaty,” Harry titters as he begins to get off the bed, taking YN with him despite her weak whines of protest.

He coerces into his shower and YN was so tired that she couldn’t even appreciate that the shower head was on the ceiling and the water fell down like a rainforest storm.

YN stays leaned up against Harry, her head resting on his chest as he goes about lathering and massaging the shampoo into her hair with strong, magic fingers.

“Thank you,” YN mumbles after he washes out all the suds and moves onto scrubbing down her body, “I can clean myself.”

Harry stops where the washcloth is on her shoulder, “Do you not want me to do it?”

YN blinks rapidly again, coming back into focus, she dind’t want to offend him and she did want him too, “I do, it’s nice. I love it actually, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do all of this because we had sex.”

Harry frowns at her, “Have you never heard of aftercare?”

“I have I just thought that was for like crazy bondage or something.”

He chuckles with a shake of his head, “It is definitely important for people to do that but it’s also important anytime there’s intense sex. I’m not doing this because I feel obligated before we just slept together. I want to continue to take care of you, not just in the way of sex but because you’re important to me.”

“Do you do this with every girl?” YN asks out loud and maybe it wasn’t an appropriate question but she wasn’t going to judge if he said ‘yes’, it was pure curiosity.

Harry eyes dart to the side, his expression turning into a bit of guilt like he’s remembering other times, “No. I’ve never been great about it and some of the times I probably should have but just left. I…I can’t tell you enough how different you are than the rest.”

YN’s giggles when Harry’s resumes washing down her body, making her stomach as he wipes her underarms, “It was the best sex I’ve ever had. I look forward to having a lot more of it with you.”

He perks up with a cute hopeful expression, “Yeah? I…Do you think you would want to be exclusive with me?”

“As in we just date each other?” YN has to tease him a bit because of how he did the same to her earlier in the night.

Harry looks embarassed, “I wasn’t trying to -. If you don’t wan-“

“I’m just fucking with you. A little payback for earlier,” YN chuckles but Harry nips at her jaw meanly which makes her squeak, “Of course, I want that with you.”

“I promise I’ll be so good to you in every way,” Harry tells her sincerely as he washes the soapy residue from her body, “All make sure you’re taken care of. You can look forward much more sex in the future.”

❤️nine years later ❤️

“M’heart, what are you doin-“ Harry tries to question but he’s cut off by a harsh kiss as he’s being pushed backwards into a empty bathroom of a fancy museum where an event was being held in his honor.

YN’s breaks the kiss for only a moment to lock the door before her hands are going to his belt to start quickly undoing it as her lips nip and sucks at his jaw, leaving lipstick prints in their wake.

“What’s gotten into you?” Harry hums as he helps her unbutton his trousers, he was hard from the moment he realized he was being dragged into the loo for a quickie and so when she untucks his dress shirt his pants, he‘s plump and ready for her.

“The speech,” Is all YN utters before she has his briefs down to mid-thigh and she’s kneeling down in front of him, carefully in her designer dress to grip him firmly at the base and not hesitate to take him all the way down which she’s adores the surprised moan that comes from his chest without his permission.

The speech.

Harry had just been honored for the fifth year in the row with The United Kingdom’s Humanitarian of the Year Award because he had donated upwards a billion dollars to different charities and organizations, as well as having three successful charities of his own - one being in honor of Willow and her adoption.

He had gotten up on stage and began with the basic speech of what it means to donate and support causes all over the world, how the success of his business had led him to be this charitable, and how he encourages other billionaires to follow in his footsteps.

Then Harry went on to get a bit emotional when he thanks his wife and all three of his babies for making him a more charitable person, how he wouldn’t be anywhere without the love and support of YN, what a wonderful wife and mother she is, and how much he loves his three daughters.

Seeing Harry be such an amazing husband and father never failed to get YN wet for him.

It never went away after the first time that they shared a bed, that craving for Harry that made her stomach begin to churn with fiery arousal and lust for him.

She never failed to have her clenching her thighs together when Harry teased her, even just the little bit, and yes, it’s because they’re still wildly attracted to each other.

But she also thinks that it’s because they are so fucking in love with each other and she swears her undying love for him grows more everyday even if she thought that she couldn’t love him more.

And she knows Harry feels the same way.

From their first time, Harry’s promise had always stood, he never ever faltered to take care of her ever - he was always by her side during the good and bad times, he loved her so deeply that it couldn’t be put in to words.

Harry always made her feel like enough, she never worried about leggy models or not fitting the image that most expected because Harry never gave her a moment to doubt it.

After nine years, he was still trying to get in her pants anytime she would let him - he could be dominant and assertive which turned her on to no end but she also fucking loved it when he was pliant and let her boss him around.

“The speech, huh?” Harry repeats but he nearly chokes on the last syllable when her nose brushes into the hair of his pubic bone before she’s pulling back to take a deep breath, “Darling, your mouth is so pretty around my cock.”

YN is truly Harry’s match. Harry loves to tease. It never stopped after the first date, he loved to build anticipation by edging, and YN realized it was just as much fun to return the favor.

They really don’t have time for it right now because Harry’s the man of the night and all eyes are on him but right now, he’s nowhere to be found after his thank you speech.

She’s has a firm grip on his base as she suckles at tip, doe eyes blinking up at him as she seems in no rush to move things along, pulling back to run her tongue on the underside of him.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time for this,” Harry warns but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open because even just the small kitten licks feel like heaven and just to keep him on his toes, she’s occasionally taking him all the way down, “Can drool over my cock when we get home. We have the house to ourselves tonight.”

And when YN ignores him, Harry knows what she wants, and it makes a sharp thrill pump through his veins, he reaches down and knots his hand in her hair and tugs, “I said enough. Are you that cock hungry?”

YN begins to pick up her pace which is a telltale sign that the dirty talk is working, and that she doesn’t want him to stop, so he doesn’t, adding in that same raspy tone, “You are so fuckin’ spoiled. Can’t stand anyone else given me attention, got to pull me into a bathroom and get me to fuck you.”

“I didn’t say anything about you fucking me,” YN bites back because now she’s in full brat mode but she’s still standing back up when Harry gives her hair another tug.

“No? So if I put my hand under your dress you won’t be dripping down your thighs?” Harry coos but his hand is already hiking up the skirt of her dress and the moment his fingers brush over the front of her mound, he can feel how damp she is, “S’cute that after all this time you get soaked for me like the first time I fucked you.”

YN mewls when he tugs her panties to the side to tuck two fingers up, Harry’s trying to get her to beg, he loved turning the tables when she came in bossy but left a crybaby.

He pets right at her spot and he can feel her tense, a telltale sign that she was going to come soon, and so he pulls out his fingers to suck them in between his own lips, “I wish I had enough time to lick in to you. I guess you’ll just have to make do with my cock.”

“Come on, now please, baby,” YN grumbles as he lifts her up to put her bum on the sink counter, pushing the dress up around her hips, and pinning the underwear to the side.

“Tell me you love me and I’ll fuck you, m’heart,” Harry hums as he pumps himself, he was so ready for her, and he rests the tip right at where she’s hot for him - his hips twitched in anticipation.

“I love you so much,” YN whines but it’s sincere, leaning up to kiss him before adding, “The best husband and father of my babies I could ask for. I just want you, H. Want you all the time.”

Harry melts a little at her sweet words, the dominance in his voice fading as he pushes in, moving to cup her jaw, and he brushes his nose against hers - far too intimate for this setting.

“I couldn’t love anymore than I love you,” He whispers against her lips, “I fuckin’ live for you. Everyday I wake up and wonder what the fuck I did to deserve you. I want you now and for forever, you’re mine, the love of my life.”

And YN thinks back to when she was nervous, shaking like a leaf in front of the same man because she was so intimidated by him - she’s now married to him and has three children with, how she didn’t think she was worthy.

To know having that same man smattering kisses over her cheeks and nose to make her giggle while he cleans her up in a tiny bathroom after having a quickie that they really shouldn’t have because he’s the man of the night.

She knew she picked right.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel part 2

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: lyra kane is closer to your boyfriend than ever seen as grayson has just been put of her team in the grandest game and it’s making you a little nervous, you don’t trust her and you don’t want her too close to him

parts: part 1 part 3 part 4

warnings: mild swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: I had quite a few requests for a part 2, so here she is… trying to get into my productive era right now (fake it till you make it right??)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234

RECAP

“Whose team is he on?” I say quickly.

“Odette Morales and Lyra Kane.”

***

Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. The name rattles around my brain, echoing off of my skull, only to replay in my mind again. Of course it just has to be Lyra Kane that he’s on a team with. That breathtaking woman with beauty that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Yeah, that Lyra Kane. I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, so I express nothing instead. Why did it have to be her? Out of all of the players.

I’m not jealous, I try to convince myself, I’m just concerned. Yes, that’s it. Except it isn’t and the only person I’m lying to is pathetic little old me. I am ferociously jealous. It scolds me torturously, raging from the pit of my stomach, crawling under my skin to settle comfortably.

Grayson loves me, I know this. I felt the kisses we’d shared on the beach moments before he’d gone into the stupid house. They still linger on my lips now, I could taste him slightly, I’d heard him say he loved me, only me and yet I can’t get the feeling out of my system. The jealousy always manages to seep its way back in. I’m sick with a disease called envy.

I don’t want to be the jealous girl, the possessive one that people roll their eyes at or avoid. That’s not me. I didn’t want it to be me. But deep down I’m petrified that that’s who I’m becoming. I sigh, realising I was just going to have to swallow it. What could I do about it now? Besides I know Grayson, I trust Grayson. He wouldn’t let her try anything on, would he?

***

Hours of waiting and not watching. We couldn’t see the players at all. Or hear them. Anxiety is killing me slowly from the inside out, gnawing happily at my organs. I spin the ring on my middle finger as my leg jigs up and down, counting down the seconds until sunrise, four-thousand one-hundred and eight-two to go.

“You know you don’t have to look so panicked all the time,” Nash sighs, slumping down beside me.

“I’m not panicked,” I say, forcing a laugh.

“Sure darlin’,” he says, “my name’s Roger and I have a pet turtle.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to smile, “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“It’s completely safe in there, we designed it that way,” he explains slowly, soothingly, “no one’s going to get hurt and there’s an emergency button just in case.”

“Okay,” I nod, exhaling.

I don’t believe him and his words don’t offer me much comfort. My overthinking brain is currently listing all of the ways Grayson could possibly die in the next ten minutes. But Nash is trying and I’m thankful to have him.

“At least pretend you’re convinced,” he drawls, a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I’m not convinced that everything’s going to be fine but I am convinced Nash has a sixth sense called ‘big brother knows all’ because for some reason he always knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings, even when they were trying to hide it. Either that or he’s a mind reader.

“I am,” I tell him, as convincingly as I could muster, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Shit!” Jameson yells from across the room, perfect timing as per usual.

“What?” I hear Avery ask quickly.

“The powers gone out,” he says, smacking the table so hard I didn’t know how he didn’t break a bone.

“What do you mean the powers gone out?” I say, standing up and walking over.

“I mean they have no light, no heaters and they ate completely locked in by the mechanisms,” he explains, gesturing to the blank screens.

“We’ve lost all connection to them as well,” Xander murmurs, eyes darting from left to right at each and every screen.

“Everything?” I exclaim, trying not to get over-anxious and failing miserably.

“Yes,” Jameson confirms.

“You’re panicking her,” Nash scolds him.

“Well she asked I’m not going to lie,” he defends.

“Not the time to argue guys,” Avery rolls her eyes, getting back to the computer. Jameson follows her lead, trying to reconnect the lost signals.

“Shit shit shit,” he groans as more things shut off. He slams his hands down on the keyboard and starts guessing random buttons, “Xand help me out here,”

“Don’t you worry, dearest brother,” Xander replies calmly, “I’m working on it.”

Silence hits us like the dead. We’re all intently staring up the layers and layers of code coming up on the several screens. I can’t understand any of it.

“This is Python,” Jameson points at one of the scenes.

“Yeah and this is Java,” Xander nods, “but I have no clue what this is.”

“Shit,” Jameson curses, running a hand through his hair, reminding me of Grayson when he was overstimulated.

“Not yet,” he replies, turning to the other Hawthorne brother present, “Nash do you remember when I was in fifth grade-“

“The de-coder book?” he says before Xander even finishes.

“Please,” he nods sharply.

“Got it,” he replies, rushing out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I whisper to Avery

“Absolutely none,” she shrugs, looking as clueless as me offering me some comfort.

“Who would even cut the power?” Jameson asks to nobody in particular.

Avery and I share a look. I already know we’re thinking the same thing.

“Grayson is in there, does she know that?” I ask quickly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek

“She?” Jameson interrupts. We both ignore him.

“Don’t you think he’ll be her prime target,” I say, the worry warping my tone a little in a way that made me sound a little too vulnerable for my liking.

“Target?” Jameson says. We ignore him, again.

“Most likely, if it is her,” Avery sighs, tapping her bottom lip melodically.

Jameson looks at Xander, baffled, “are they speaking in code?”

“I’m kind of concentrating right now Jamie, please don’t talk to me,” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the computer screens as he attempts to decode.

“Who are you talking about?” Jameson raises his voice a little, forcing me and Avery to address his question.

“This could be Eve,” Avery says softly.

“Eve?” Xander says, freezing mid-type and actually lifting his head up.

“No surely not,” Jameson shakes his head in denial.

“Think about it,” I say, “who else can you think that would want go sabotage this game?”

“Anyone who fancies a good bit of money,” he states, “and it could be nothing at all.”

“A power cut isn’t nothing,” I argue.

“I hate to agree the circumstance,” Avery exhales, “but it’s true, this feels like a threat of sorts.”

“And we can’t contact the players meaning anything could happen right now,” I say, worry bleeding into my voice.

Jameson’s face softens.

“But they’re locked in,” Nash points out, sauntering back in, “no one is getting in or out, that means they can’t be hurt.”

He hands the decoding book to Xander who frantically flips through the pages to find something in particular.

“Windows can be smashed,” I point out.

“You think whoever this is would risk smashing a window,” Nash asks, with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know how these people work,” I snap, throwing my hands up in the arm.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I look up to see my shaking limbs. Immediately they drop to my sides and I desperately try to still them, “no I’m not-“

“Breathe a little okay, Gray will be fine,” he reassures me, his tone placid, as he delicately takes my shaking hands between his.

“Look as long as they all stay put no one should get hurt,” Avery says calmly, “the glass on the windows are double glazed and harder to smash than the average window, that is if they’re going to risk that.”

“Besides Xander’s on it,” Jameson adds.

Xander sticks a thumb into the air, still audibly tapping the keyboard with the other, “whoever did this is incredibly skilled at hacking and annoyingly so,” he mutters in reply.

No one talks. We are all just stood in silence, barely daring to breathe not wanting to break Xander’s concentration. Mine and Avery’s hands are intertwined, gripping the others so tightly that our fingers are white. Xander is frantic. He’s practically sweating as he types quickly and clicks buttons I didn’t even know existed. And just when it seemed like he might be getting somewhere more and more boxes of undeciphered code popped up. I’m close to being hopeless when Xander leans back in his seat.

“We’re back up and running,” Xander announces, “lights, buttons, connections, locks, everything.”

Avery and I squeal, hugging each other tightly. Relief floods through my body and I’m giddy with it. Xander stands up and breathes out slowly.

I kiss his cheek in affection and gratitude, platonically, “thank you Xander.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I owe you a scone,” Jameson tells with a slap on the back.

“That, you do,” he nods with a wide grin.

“What do we tell the players?” Nash asks, reminding us that the game is still going and the players will be wondering what the hell just went on.

“Do we tell them the truth?” Xander asks.

“We don’t even know the truth,” Jameson tells him.

“Then we tell them what we know,” Avery says, “Nash?”

“You got it kid,” he nods.

Xander slides an arms around me.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks,” Nash drawls through the microphone, “brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules still stand.”

It’s fine, everything will be fine. Three thousand seven hundred and eighty seconds left. I rest my head on Xander’s shoulder and he puts his head on mine. I think he’s the only thing that’s holding me up at the moment. If he weren’t I’m pretty sure my body would be some sort of odd shaped puddle of consumed thoughts on the carpet. Only one sentence goes through my head, over and over and over. I can’t wait to have my arms around Grayson again.

***

It’s almost sunrise when we make our way to the dock so we’ll be there for when the players make it out. If they make it out. I walk in between Xander and Nash, trying to keep up with their obscenely large leg strides. Avery and Jameson lead the way holding hands. My heart squeezes, it won’t be too long before I see Grayson again. I know it seemed stupid, we had only been apart for a few hours, but those hours had felt like weeks given all of the events that had taken place. Not to mentioned the long prolonging wait of which I couldn’t see or hear him.

And there was still something going around in my head. Something about him being with Lyra Kane for this long in such close proximity. It was grating at me, but I push the feelings down and bury them under a mound that I’m trying to ignore.

“Want to have a bet?” Xander ruffles my hair, stealing me from being consumed by my own thoughts.

I slap him away, “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wager with a Hawthorne.”

“What’s my brother been telling you?” he asks.

“Mum’s the word,” I wink back, tapping my nose.

“What’s your bet on little brother?” Nash asks.

“What team will make it first,” Xander grins, mischievous glint in his eye.

His brotehr grins towards the sky, “had a feeling it might be.”

“I’m bias then,” I scoff.

“Okay so your Hearts,” Xander says.

“Hang on I never agreed to this bet,” I exclaim, holding my hands up to surrender.

“Whoever wins gets a scone,” he bribes me.

“That only benefits you,” Nash points out.

“Actually I would also benefit, I like scones,” I smile sheepishly,

“See? Who are you voting Nash?” Xander asks.

“I’ll go with Clubs, I’m rooting for Gigi,” Nash shrugs.

Xander nods, “that means I’m going with Diamonds.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“Yes I do, otherwise it’s uneven,” he says. I wasn’t going to argue.

“Who would your original vote gone to?” I ask.

He smiles at me, a cheeky glint in his eyes, “no one shall ever know.”

“What are you three wittering about,” Jameson says, interrupting the train of conversation as he turns around.

“Probably something better than the lovesick whispers you two are sharing,” Xander teases.

“Xand-“

The thumping of footsteps cut him off. It’s a race. Hearts and Diamonds are out. Savannah is the fastest, Rohan hot on her heels. Though Lyra takes them both over in a matter of seconds. She must be a runner. Would explain the to-die-for figure. Grayson is close behind her thought Odette trailed behind slightly, but for a woman of her age she’s doing remarkably well. They all arrive within milliseconds of each other, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Congratulations Diamonds and Hearts, you’ve made it,” Avery smiles.

“Where’s Clubs?” Savannah asks, its only then I notice how her longs blonde hair has been chopped off unevenly. It makes her look even colder than before, sending a chill down my spine

“Still playing,” Jameson says.

“Gray,” I breathe in relief, as he takes me into his arms.

Something about the hug feels unnatural maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. We’d both been awake for far too long. I couldn’t trust my judgement on this little sleep.

“You okay?” I murmur into his shoulder.

“Fine,” he replies, so only I can hear him.

“Good.”

It hit sunrise and something sinks in my stomach. Clubs haven’t made it. Gigi is out of the game. This is going to destroy her. We all wait in silence. All knowing Clubs have failed, all knowing the disappointment we’d have to see on their faces. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I grip onto Grayson’s hand tightly. I catch Lyra’s honey golden eyes. She looks me up and down as I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t read her body language towards me, it was difficult to make out what she was thinking or feelings. I turn away and try not to think too much of it.

There’s sound coming from the left of us and in the distance there are three figures. Everyone’s eyes snap to the three remaining players who’s hearts are probably all sinking in realisation that they were nit longer players in this game. Then I notice what’s in Knox’s arms or rather who… Knox is carrying a bleeding Gigi. My stomach twists. Grayson freezes beside me.

“Put her down,” Grayson says sternly, his voice commanding authority.

Immediately Knox gently places Gigi down, making sure she was stable before he completely let go. We rush to her side immediately. Grayson putting a protective arm around her shoulder, his eyes flitting between the gash on her head and her face.

“Oh god Gigi,” I murmur tentatively touching her bloodied head to assess how severe it is.

“I’m fine,” she winces, blinking back tears.

“You are not,” Grayson says, his voice hard almost empty, “you’re injured Gigi.”

“Who among us is not occasionally concussed?” she says happily.

“Our team is out of the game, go ahead say it we’be been eliminated,” Knox says turning to Avery.

She ignores him and approaches Gigi, “are you okay?”

She nodded with a smile laced with the pain he thought she could hide. Maybe it was invisible to the others, but not to me. I’ve been under the same mask she’s trying to hide behind now. I understand. Grayson keeps his arm around her and I keep my hand in hers. She squeezes my palm and I squeeze hers back. I’m here, I wanted to scream, I’m here for you.

“Diamonds and Hearts, you’re onto the next phase of the game. Clubs… there’s always next year,” Avery finally brings herself to say.

“Once a player, always a player,” Jameson adds.

***

I don’t leave Gigi’s side until Nash has patched her up properly. ‘Stay with her, please,’ Grayson had murmured after we’d shared a quick kiss. He’d had something to discuss back at the dock with Odette. And Lyra. So I did, I stayed by Gigi’s side through every wince, every hand squeeze, every stitch.

“All patch up darlin’,” Nash nods, tipping his cowboy hat towards her slightly.

“Thanks,” she smiles brightly, it’s an unnatural fluorescent brightness that she radiated. Too bright, too artificial.

“You feeling okay?” I make sure, looking at her head.

“Fine,” she replied, gently feeling over her stitches.

Before anyone can say anything else there is a sharp knock at the door interrupting the thread of conversation. Nash answers. Brady walks in. Something was off about that guy. I got a bad feeling when I was around that guy. Nash gets up to leave and as much as I want to stay, it’s not my place to and I know that.

“Holler if you need anything,” Nash tells Gigi.

“We’re not going far,” I reassure her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she beams up at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “really I’m fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” I say, my voice so low I’m not sure if she can hear me.

The way her eyes soften, revealing an ounce of vulnerability, indicates she has, “can we talk later? Maybe on the boat back?”

“Of course we can,” I say, squeezing her hand in mine one last time, before standing up to leave her to talk to Brady.

She nods with a small smile which I return, then turn to follow Nash who’s holding eye contact with Brady intensely. As soon as we’re out of the room and a few paces down the corridor Nash blurts out, “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I grimace, at least someone else had picked up on Brady’s sketchy vibes, “he gives me a weird feeling.”

“Same here kid,” he nods in reply, then pauses slightly before saying, “you go and find Gray, I’ll be close by if she needs me.”

I fumble over my words. How did he know again? He has to be some sort of mind reader. I make a mental note to discuss it with Xander.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sure,” he says, placing a brotherly hand in my shoulder, “I know you’re still worried, you’re horrible at hiding it.”

“Thanks Nash,” I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face,

“No worries kid,” he says, shooting me a lopsided grin as I rush off to reunite with Grayson.

***

The boat left for the mainland at noon, that was when Gigi, Knox and now Odette were leaving, as she traded her place for Brady’s. But the players had been told to try and get some rest before the next phase. I’d also been up all night and could feel myself growing tired, so Grayson and I were currently laying on our bed in each other’s arms. It feels nice to finally breathe a little. I don’t feel the weight of stress from my jealousy or guilt or worry, I just feel normal.

“Do you think Gigi will be okay,” I murmur into Grayson.

“Nash is used to patching up our ailments,” he responds, his tone a little distant. It made me iffy.

“Yeah but I mean after being cast out of the game,” I reply, “I know I wouldn’t feel great if I were in her position.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, blowing out a short breath.

“I’m worried about her,” I say quietly.

“Me too,” he whispers, “I’m really worried about her.”

“I think we’re going to talk later,” I tell him, hoping it might provide himnwith some sort of solace.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, “I hope she might get whatever it is that’s hurting her off of her chest.”

“Make sure she’s okay for me, okay?” he makes sure, “no matter what.”

“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Why had he said it like that? Like something bad might happen? Like I might lose him? I brush off the feeling. I put it down to overreacting, as usual.

We fall into a long silence as I trace different shapes on chest with my finger tip. I slowly drag it along, with no specific shape in mind. A blank expression is present on his face and I can see he’s deep in thought. There’s something on his mind and I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with the unseen, unheard happenings of the grandest game.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, doe-eyed.

“Hmmm nothing,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” I press on.

“I’m sure,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

The kiss was off and I could see something was bothering him but he didn’t want to tell me, I’d wait until he was ready. Even if it were forever.

“What was it like in there?” I ask, attempting to change the subject, “the game.”

“It really was the grandest game,” he whispers, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Really?”

“They outdid themselves thoroughly,” he says.

“I bet,” I nod, nuzzling further into him affectionately.

“You really couldn’t hear or see anything the whole time?” he asks, a hint of worry delicately woven into his tone. It was so brief you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But I know Gray.

“Nothing, it was like hell,” I say with a small tired laugh, “it was killing me that I had no clue if you were okay.”

“I was fine,” he replied quickly, almost curtly.

“Well I know that now,” I yawn and feel my eyes begin to close slowly but I fight to keep them open.

“You’re tired,” Grayson says, the ghost of a smile faintly touching his lips.

I shake my head in denial, “no I’m not,” I protest, “not even a little bit.”

“Go the sleep love,” he whispers.

“I want to talk to you though,” I pout, rubbing my eyes.

“We‘ll have plenty of time tomorrow,” he says, playing with my hair.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting myself fall into a dimension of much needed sleep, finally with my love back in my arms.

***

I wake up in the middle of darkness, though there is light desperately trying to make it through the black out blinds. I wonder how long I’d been asleep for, it couldn’t be past noon though. I’m aware of the coldness on the other side of the bed. Grayson wasn’t there. It wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually when we were home, if it were the early hours he would either be swimming or having a wander and a read to make himself tired again.

I hear the door handle turn slowly and the sound of his all too familiar footsteps hitting the floor. I crawl out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I make my way toward him. Though as I do he stands still, frozen, like he can’t move. Concern latches onto my throat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, tentatively touching his arm.

He recoils away quickly, like I’ve hit a tender nerve or a bruise of sorts.

“Are you hurt?” I ask worriedly

“No,” he murmurs, his voice stone cold.

It hurts a little more than it should, he’s never usually so blunt, so cutthroat. Not with me anyway.

“Where have you been?” I say, fishing for an honest reply.

He meets my eyes for the first time. Swimming in endless pools of grey is a mournful sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks. Grayson’s voice never cracks.

“Gray?” I say in a ghost of the whisper, the word not even feeling real once it is said. My pulse quickens suddenly and a large lump that I cannot swallow forms in my throat.

He’s pale, his face is regretful. Hollow. Lifeless. My heart sinks. I already know.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice shaking nearly breaking like weak houses in an earthquake.

He shakes his head glossy eyed, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” I grit through my teeth trying to prevent the thick emotion building up in my chest from overflowing.

There is a long pause. A deadly silence that seemed to last for days.

He parts his lips and utters the words, “I kissed her.”

It’s like a masked killer has dragged me from the comfort and safety of my own bed in the middle of the night, taken me into the thick of the wood where the vegetation is overgrown and no one will ever hear you scream. The part where it’s hard to see the sky or tell day from night and where no birds sing. And once we’re there, he takes a sharpened knife, laced with the most excruciating poison and slowly opens the left side of my chest, carefully ripping out my beating heart full of blood to destroy in his hands at his leisure. Grinning as her leaves my broken body to bleed out, dying heartless and lifeless. It’s like the person under that mask is Grayson. The one person I put all of my love and trust into. The one person who I thought would saved me from the masked killer is the masked killer. What a fucking joke.

“Who?” I ask, my tone low, dangerous, angry, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

“I kissed Lyra,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, a state I’d never witnessed him in before. But right now I’m too broken to care.

My heart shatters into a million pieces on the spot. And then I am numb with agony.

a/n: so that was a fun ending :) hope you enjoyed part 2 my loves <33 and thanks to everyone who requested it, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it

NOTE I DONT THINK GRAYSON IS A CHEATER!! LIKE AT ALL. MY BABY WOULD NEVER!! but I thought I’d spice things up a bit yk, for the ✨drama✨

ALSO the de-coding thingy when the power went out if probs completely wrong on my part but I was allowed to drop computer science last year and I did ;) so I was just waffling, I know nothing about computers other than they can type, play music and they provide me with google and amazon

TIG masterlist

[artificial-transmutations]

Idea: My fantasy is to be forcibly transformed from a young, affluent, VERY clean, well-educated, well groomed, well dressed white corporate executive into a VERY dirty uneducated garbageman. I must be forced to surrender my corporate career, my car, my office, my name, my money, my expensive formal business suit and tie, my wristwatch and polished black dress shoes and even my dress socks, along the way to my new real life.

Boardroom to trash bins

You glance at the golden watch on your left wrist and decide to walk a little faster.

You are not late - yet - but the board meeting is too important to be late to. Of course, on the other hand, you can't walk so fast that you would break a sweat. The thought alone of arriving at meeting room with beads of sweat on your forehead or, God forbid, a damp spot on your dress shirt is even worse than coming a minute or two late. That, at least, you can blame on the traffic, which is not even wrong. Your expensive German car has been stuck behind a garbage truck for a good ten minutes. Inacceptable, of course. You would expect the city to schedule such annoying but probably necessary services at night, when there is no traffic that could be slowed down by it.

After all, you have a reputation to uphold! You are Jameson Pierce, son of the millionaire and successful investor James Pierce. You are also the owner and CEO of one of the most prominent investment companies, Pierce&Co.

You have the best business education money can buy and your decisions influence the fate of thousands of employees of yours. You don't arrive late to board meetings like that!

Still, there is no reason to get agitated yet. If the lift is free, you will arrive perfectly on time.

As you quickly make your way over the office parking lot that is being overshadowed by the 50 story skyscraper you own, you almost collide with an old man in a blue uniform, who is blocking the way into the building by picking up refuse from the ground. Apparently, the wind has knocked over the garbage can next to the entrance, and all the contents have scattered on the pavement. The old man is just bending down to pick up the cans and garbage bags and put them back in the bin.

"Out of the way!" you blurt. Usually, you are nicer to your employees by just curtly ignoring them, but this old man is blocking your way and moves slow as a snail.

"Of course, sir, right away!" he says with a toothless smile, and you almost gag. The old man is disgusting! He looks as if he has been sleeping on the street, and the smell of booze emanating from him makes that assumption very likely. You briefly wonder if he even works for you and decide that if so, he needs to be disciplined for his appearance.

However, you are interrupted by his next sentence.

"I just need to pick up all that garbage here. You could help, sir, that would make it quicker."

What? This filthy old drunkard dares to ask you for help? The audacity!

"Out of my way!" you repeat and push the old man aside. You are now standing directly in front of the revolving door, ready to enter your company's building. Behind you, you can hear the old man mumbling something and then start cackling, like a maniac.

You shrug it off. The man is lucky you don't have time for that right now, as you carefully navigate through the scattered items on the ground. You need to be extra careful not to ruin your thousand dollar shoes or dress pants by stepping into something sticky and foul-smelling.

Even if you weren't in a hurry, there's no way Jameson Pierce would bend down to pick up garbage. You are reasonably proud to have never touched anything that has been in a bin - that's what employees are for, not managers like you.

The board meeting continues as bad as the day had started. It is way too warm in the meeting room and you can't prevent a single drop of sweat forming on your forehead. Of course, you wipe it away with your silk handkerchief and hope nobody has noticed, but that's not the only thing going wrong. Twice in your report, you find yourself at a loss of words. Instead of using the correct technical term, you have to verbally set back half a sentence and explain what you mean in simpler words. How very, very embarrassing.

It comes as no surprise that, when the meeting is finally over, you are in a particularly bad mood. Sadly, the old man from before has left, otherwise you would have fired him on the spot as a therapeutic action.

On the way to your car, you call your secretary to cancel all further appointments today, but as you try to ring the number, you just get the message that no connection could be made.

Just great. So, your office phone system has broken down as well. Angrily, you get in your car to drive over to your office yourself.

You don't get very far. Halfway on the way to your office, there is a grinding noise from the engine and then, your car just stops. Right in the middle of the street. You almost can't believe your bad luck. Angrily, you hit the steering wheel, sounding the horn in the process, but it's no use. Trying to ignore the honking from outside and the rude gestures of drivers finding their way around you, you reach into your pocket to call the car dealership. Luckily, you're well covered for such situations.

You stare blankly at the device in your hand. This isn't your cell phone. Instead of the brand new current flagship model with the big Pineapple on the back, you are looking at the cheap plastic of a no-name device with a cracked screen that is probably ten years old.

"What the...?"

You frantically search all of your pockets, but they are all empty.

You can't help but feel as if you have gone insane. No, there has to be a rational explanation. You have probably just pocketed the wrong phone when you were at the board meeting. Of course, there are immediately nagging voices in your mind that remind you that you had tried to call your office just before getting in the car, or that surely nobody at the board meeting would have such a phone, but you decide to tune them out.

Your office is now only two blocks away. There, you have your tablet with all of your contacts. You can call the car dealership to care for the car and then just end this horrible day.

You get out of the car and ignore the shouting from the other drivers. A line of cars has formed behind your expensive Mercedes, but you ignore that as well and begin to walk. Two blocks don’t sound too bad, but it is a hot day, and you feel uncomfortable quickly. You have to loosen your tie because it feels constricting around your neck. That's not the only piece of clothing feeling wrong. Your step feels heavier, and you have to scratch yourself multiple times, trying to readjust the expensive Italian dress shirt, which is suddenly not sitting right.

Finally, you arrive at your office building. You don't even want to look down on yourself. You can feel your shirt clinging to your body and you feel disgusted by your appearance. Good thing this will all be over soon.

As you approach the elevator, you notice that you don't have your wallet at the ready - you must have forgotten it at the car. Ignoring the fact that you just now have realized the lack of its weight and the fact that you never leave your wallet in your car, you go to the reception for an elevator.

The receptionist, a perfectly styled young woman, watches as you approach and smiles.

"Hello Sir, what can I do for you today?"

"An elevator to my office." you say, adding a "Please." although you don't really feel like it.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but what exactly is your office?"

You look at the receptionist dumbfounded.

"My office." You repeat slower now.

"I don't know you sir, you need to be more specific." The young woman smiles.

That's it.

"What do you mean you don't know me?!" You shout. "I own this fucking place. It is me, Jameson Pierce! Now call me an elevator and then pack your things, you are fired!"

The receptionist looks at you as if she was dealing with a madman.

"Sir, you are not in the company register and I'm sorry, but if you don't leave the premises immediately, I'll call security."

"What are you talking about? I have an office on the 50th floor, which is where I need to go!"

"You can't have an office there, sir, that is the executive offices. Now, please leave."

"Listen, girl." you lean closer, invading her space. "Call. Me. An. Elevator. Or else."

The young woman doesn't even flinch. She presses the intercom and speaks with a steady voice: "Security, there is a madman in the lobby. Please come and remove him."

"You little...", you start, but the young woman is done talking to you. Instead, she turns away and starts to file her nails, waiting for security, which arrives some seconds later.

"Good!" You address the bulky Black man in the dark security uniform. "Could you please tell the girl that I have an office on the top floor."

"I don't think so." the man replies, "But I can show you the exit. Follow me, Sir."

"No. I am the CEO. I own the company! My father James Pierce gave it to me!"

The security guard shrugs his shoulders and takes hold of your arm.

"As far as I know, Mr. Pierce has no children. Leave the premises, Sir."

"But... you can't treat me like that! Do you know who I am?"

The Black man doesn't reply, instead, he begins dragging you towards the door. Unsurprisingly, he is much stronger than you, and your expensive shoes drag over the marble tiles.

"You can't do this!" You yell. "I will sue the company! You will all lose your jobs, just watch!"

"Whatever you say, Sir." The man pushes you outside the building. You stumble a little and then turn around, but the door is already closing.

"Fuck you!" You shout after the guard.

You take a deep breath. Whatever is going on here, it's not good. What to do.

After some consideration, you decide to grab your wallet from your car and take a cab home. There, you will deal with all of this.

As you arrive at your car again, you come just in time to see it being towed away. All running behind it and shouting does not help. You almost cry as you see the towing truck disappear around a corner, along with your car, your wallet and everything else you left in there. As you turn around to leave the scene and walk home, the next disaster is already waiting for you. There is a muddy sinkhole in the sidewalk, left over from some construction work and you don't notice it until it's too late. The next moment, you find your right leg standing in stinking mud all up to your knee. You try to free your leg, of course, and it works, sort of. With a smacking noise, the mud swallows your right shoe whole and leaves you with one dirty sock.

This day can't possibly get any worse, you think, but you are wrong.

Half an hour later, you have to admit that you got lost entirely. You are in a part of the city you have not been in before. Usually, you navigate the city with your cars GPS, but that is not available. You try to use the cheap phone to find out where you are (stoically ignoring the fact that it unlocks just fine with your fingerprint) but the only thing you find is that whoever owns the device has not paid for mobile data. You are offline. You could, of course, ask someone, but it takes some courage to ask a stranger where you are, especially in your current state.

Finally, you realize that you have to ask someone if you want to get home anytime soon. Right now, you find yourself in front of a landfill, which is both a blessing and a curse. It smells absolutely disgusting, but at least the people working here should have a good idea on how you can get home.

You enter the building with the grimy walls and look around.

"Hello?", you ask into the empty room. You are just about to leave again, when a burly man comes from the back. He is at least a head taller than you and twice as broad. His clothing is dirty, and you can see tufts of body hair coming out the top of his shirt and his armpits. Absolutely revolting.

The man looks at you for a second before shrugging his shoulder.

"Whatever." he says. "What's your name, kid?"

Needless to say, you are confused. "I am Jameson Pierce. Could you please..."

However, the big man interrupts you again. "Fancy name. I'll call you Jerry, okay? Come with me, I'll show you around."

"Wh-what do you mean?", you stutter but follow the man automatically.

"You're the new hire, aren't you? Gotta say, you're pretty scrawny, Jerry. But the job has no requirements, so if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you're gonna fit in fine. Here are the lockers. The name's Hank, by the way."

You look around. You are in a room with a dozen dirty lockers. There is a foul stench everywhere and you have to suppress the urge to gag.

"No, I'm not new here. And I don't want to work here, or get my hands dirty!" you protest, but Hank ignores your lamenting.

"It's not gonna be easy finding an overall in your size, but we have a few small ones here as well. By the way, the overalls are shared with the other boys, hope you don't mind. Ah here. Try this one."

Hank throws you an overall. It is, in theory, blue, but both your nose as well as your eyes tell you one thing: It is entirely unwashed. For days, possibly for weeks. The clothing reeks of sweat, dirt, piss and probably even more things that you don't even want to know about.

"What's wrong with you? I am not gonna wear that."

"Well, what did you think when you came here?" Hank is clearly amused. "You can't work in these clothes of yours, even if they are dirty enough. Come on, strip, while I look for boots."

"I won't do that." you say. However, Hank is already gone. You don't think about it too much and begin to take off your expensive clothes. It is almost painful, but for some reason you... have to? It's a difficult to describe feeling. The dirty blue overall is sitting next to you on the locker room bench and is almost inviting you. You can't help it. You just have to strip. Soon, you stand in the dirty locker room clad in only your silk boxer shorts. You didn't notice that every piece of clothing you have taken off somehow changed. Your expensive dress shirt became a cheap t-shirt with stains on it. Your pants turned into a pair of ripped jeans and your golden wrist watch just... vanished.

"If I were you, I would be going commando." Hank, who had returned with a pair of work boots you can smell from over there, comments. "You're going to move around a lot. Besides, all the boys are doing it.

You look at the overall again, almost gagging now. Some other guys have worn it, rubbing their bare asses and dicks into the fabric. And Hank expects you to do the same. Suddenly, you remember the smell. Sweat, piss and other smells. You shudder. You shudder in... anticipation? As you automatically lower your boxer shorts (who turn into plain cotton briefs as you do), you can feel yourself growing hard at the thought of stepping into this dirty overall. At the same time, you are disgusted beyond measure.

Still, it's almost like your arms are on auto-pilot as you step into the overall and pull it up around your naked body, until the disgusting smell envelops you.

"Glad you like it." Hank grins and playfully grabs your very obvious erection through the dirty fabric. "You might want to meet up with some of the boys here in the locker room after shift, I hear some of them need to release some steam after a good shift. Now, come on. Pull the boots and get moving, we don't have time to waste."

You stare blankly at the big man as you realize what he just said.

"Wait." you stutter. "You think... You think I'm..."

"You're gay." Hank interrupts. "No worries. A lot of the boys are."

You can't believe what he's saying. Gay? You?

"But I am not!"

Hank doesn't even seem surprised.

"You might want to tell that to your hard cock. Anyway. Boots."

He tosses the dirty boots in front of you, and you find yourself bending down to pull them up. They are a little bit too large and feel like they are made of rubber, not leather. As soon as you have both of them on, Hank nods approvingly and then grabs you by the arm, pulling you out of the locker room and towards the garbage truck.

The next few hours pass quickly. The other men (it seems the job has exclusively male company) are friendly but don't go easy on the "newcomer". Everybody calls you Jerry and you have to do the most disgusting work you have ever done: Hauling full bins to the truck, sorting through garbage, cleaning up spilled garbage from the streets. Still, nobody is complaining and so you don't, either. After all, there are more pressing concerns: You feel dirty, your whole body is covered in a thick layer of sweat and dust. Your hands are filthy, and so is your face. And the worst part of it all is: A part of you is enjoying it, a lot. At first, the part is strictly physical. You have a boner pretty much the whole time, and whenever you need to do something especially disgusting, it visibly and violently throbs against your work pants - a fact that doesn't escape the rest of the boys.

After a while, though, more changes set in. The full bins appear to become lighter and easier to move. Of course, that isn't the case: Your muscles grow in front of your eyes, and the overall, that was a bit too big, fits better and better. Hair starts to grow on your chest, your legs and arms, and stubble forms in your face. Your carefully maintained hairstyle dissolves into an unkempt mess on your head.

But the changes don't stop there. Overall, you feel like you are getting more and more youthful. You weren't terribly old to begin with, in your mid-thirties, but a strange energy makes you feel more like end-twenties, mid-twenties and finally, like a man who just turned 21.

At the same time, however, your personality changes as well. You start to talk less and less, and when you do, the words aren't quite as sharp as before. Your education slips away with every word you say, and your vocabulary is replaced by slang, often with a bit of swearing. It becomes more and more difficult to think, too. The boys quickly pick up on this and joke around you not being the sharpest. It's not that they're wrong. You're dumb, if you're being honest. School wasn't for you, so you dropped out at some point. Bit by bit, you really become Jerry, the dumb, sweaty, smelly garbageman. And Jerry, unlike Jameson, enjoys the dirt around him. You can hardly remember being a clean and smart businessman, and that's alright with you. Even though your thoughts are slower, however, the memories of your former self are not gone entirely. Every once in a while, you remember who you used to be. But at the latest when the shift ends and you and the rest of the horny boys are going to the locker room, you decide that this is, indeed, a simpler and a better life.

There is literally a metric ton of more pictures here, in my tip jar - variations of Jerry at the end. If you like my writing, consider joining the riot page for a tip (and ocassional additional pictures)

[inmyheaddd]

late to the party - jameson hawthorne x reader

a/n: little jameson blurb while i work on requests 🤭 i hope u enjoy!! summary: jameson very inconsiderately interrupts your ootd, coming up from behind you and kissing you all over wc: 624 masterlist

after 2 long hours, you had finally finished getting ready for an event you were going to. today, you truly did feel beautiful. 

you set up your phone to film a little “outfit of the day” video, pressing the record button and taking a few steps back from the camera. 

through the small phone screen, you saw your boyfriend jameson open the door and enter your room, causing you to turn around briefly, smiling at him. you felt your heart flutter as you took in his appearance — his suit tailored to perfection, tie matching your dress, and his fingers adorned with a ring or two. 

“anyway,” you addressed the camera with a flustered chuckle, “these are my heels today, and my…”

you continued your outfit check, of course, with jameson simply standing next to you now with the most lovesick gaze. it made you feel all fluttery and you stumbled on a word or two — and if that wasn’t enough, he very rudely interrupted you. 

he didn’t exactly say anything to cut you off, but with moving to stand behind you, and wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you from behind, what did he expect?

a laugh fell past your lips as you turned your head to look at him, “what are you doing?”

he hummed lowly in response, muttering compliments into your ears. he swayed you gently side to side before he started peppering your neck with kisses. they were so featherlight, they felt like tickles. 

giggling and not breaking away from jameson, you blindly reached for your phone and pushed it face down. you turned to face him now, wrapping both arms around his neck as his hands found your lower back.

“jameson,” you managed to get out between breathless laughs as he continued to attack your neck, walking the both of you backwards until your back hit the mattress. 

you kicked off your heels and he crawled ontop of you, a mischievous grin of his own on his face, before finally pressing a kiss to your lips.

yes, he smudged a lot of your lipstick off, yes, you’d have to reapply later, and yes, you were probably going to be late to the event. but it was definitely worth it. 

you cradled his face with your hands as you pressed short kisses to his lips, and there were endless small, breathless, laughs coming from the both of you time whole time. 

much to the both of your dismay’s, breathing was not an optional choice, so jameson pulled back, laying flat on his back and catching his breath as you did the same.

you turned your head to look at him, a faux pout on your lips as you looked at him.

“i can’t post that video now.” you mumbled.

he chuckled breathlessly and turned his head to look at you, another one of those grins on his face from earlier, one you’d never get tired of. “why not?” he quipped back, “i don’t see a problem with it.” 

his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, laughing as he saw you roll your eyes jokingly. “right, because everyone would just love to see me get ambushed by my obsessed boyfriend.”

he laughed once again, “… i mean,” he trailed off “i would.” he said, pursing his lips and shrugging, not denying the ‘obsessed’ title you jokingly gave him.

this time you couldn’t hold back the giggle that threatened to escape, “shut up,” you said, attempting to hide your flushed state. you sat up and put your heels back on, and jameson stood up, smoothing a hand over his suit jacket. “we’re going to be so late.” you continued.

“fashionably late,” he offered, as you fixed your lipstick in the mirror. he just leaned back against the wall, watching you with that same lovesick grin.

he would be late to every event, if it meant having you like this. and even with all your sarcastic remarks and eye rolls, you’d let him mess up your makeup any day.

and that grin of his just told you he knew that fact all too well.

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @sweetlikeanangel @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee

[crystlizabeth]

Can you write something with Simon Riley x curvy African American new recruit ?? These writers do not write for the black girlies. Flirting, nsfw, anything

Little taste of color

Simon Riley x BlackFem!reader

Summary: Hard week of training he found himself out for a drink little did Simon know he would find himself accompanied by the new recruit. Inviting herself next to him.

Warnings: cursing, suggestive, smut, use of alcohol (I hope this is to your liking for I saw you other and one I couldn’t really think of anything in the field work and I accidentally deleted it- sorry babes!) Readers code name is Fox!, public sex, the reader is a tease, man handling, degrading, praising, hair pullin, choking. Not properly proofread 🤗

A drink was what he needed a long fucking week with the new recruits coming in having to deal with them like the were children. A particularly recruit stood out, she was a transfer from America Lanswell saying she would be a good fit for the team as to give her a chance. But she irritated Ghost, giving him attitude though he was her superior, and Simon would punish her and she take it with a smile. A grin plastered on her face as she ran laps for hours on end, god that pissed him off.

And to think he would get a break from that hell there she sat at the bar talking to the bartender. Simon stood in the doorway for a moment taking a look at her, his eyes trailing her just as he made it to her just to find her looking right back at him. Her face being held by her hand a sly grin spread across her lips. He watched closely as her tongue traced the bottom of her top teeth.

Simon felt as if he was being hunted he felt— intimidate and god he hated it. He would be lying if he didn’t admit she was gorgeous but oddly enough scary, in the way she was incredibly skilled. He turned his head avoiding her eyes going to sit at the bar multiple seats away from her.

He took a moment to breath his hands running down his masked face. This was the last thing he wanted, he just wanted to be alone but she had other ideas. He could feel her presence, yet decided to ignore it.

“It’s rude to ignore people Ghost.” She hummed her fingers running around the rim of her glass.

“Didn’t come to socialize Fox..” he took a swig of his drink.

She laughed lightly that caused Simon to glance at her, to his surprise he got an eye full of the top of her boobs. The top she wore very low cut her tattoos that laid on her chest of full display. “Whatcha lookin at LT..” she smiled Simons eyes quickly meeting hers. Looking away causing her to let out a pleased sigh, he felt hot in a bad way a way he shouldn’t feel towards one of his recruits.

But he’s a man.

And she is a sly fucking Fox.

“Soo, Lieutenant what do you drink? Whisky I take it, Hmm Jameson?” She said finishing of her drink, wiping the little bit of the side of her mouth.

His eyes watching but still answering her “Mmhm Jack Daniels here and there, I take it your a vodka type of girl..” he muttered.

Her head tilted to the side a little bit her sly smile lingered on her lined glossed lips, he wouldn’t mind seeing the dark gloss on his skin. As his mind ran wild her voice broke him out of his thoughts “More of a Tequila girl, Casamigos or— patron..” she hummed.

Interesting he thought, watching her order herself another drink he noticed a silver ball on her tongue. No fucking way, he thought watching her lick a bit of salt off of her new drink sipping on the clear liquid.

Simon could feel his pants tightening, cursing lowly to himself he picked up his glasses swallowing the dark alcohol. “Not taking it slow huh?” She asked.

His dark eyes met hers, “Pardon?”

“You just swallowed the whole glass pretty much..” she cackled,  why did he feel so defensive he felt as if she was mocking him for fuck sake.

She leaned in closer her right arm leaning on the bar as she faced him, her dark curls falling in to her face as she looked as him her eyes practically looking straight through him. Maybe the Alcohol was finally getting to him because he wouldn’t mind wiping the sly grin of her face pushing it into the wall as he took her as he pleased.

She let her hand touch his forearm leaning up twords Simons ear, “What got you all hot as bothered LT?” She whispered her hot breath touching his ear. He closed his eyes holding his breath feeling her sit back down.

“What do you want Newbie.” He spoke his voice low, she smiled biting her lip he hands falling between her thighs squeezing her hands.

“We’re both adults Lieutenant, and I believe that you need a taste of color huh?” Her grin becoming wider,

“White boy wasted on brown liquor..” her seductive tone dripping of her wet tongue. He felt her foot run up his clothed leg slowly getting higher, Simons large hand wrapping around her ankle squeezing it as a warning.

“Do you know what your doing.” He said.

“Yeah, I do..”

She had been railing him up for the past twenty minutes, just to see if maybe he was actually going to give her a second glance. Her superior had actually been checking her out, to him she was nothing but a giant tease. He let go of her ankle, watching as She got up her ass bouncing with every step she took waking towards the bathroom turning the corner with a wink. Was he gonna follow her— yeah, he was.

Opening the door he saw her leaning against the sink, her body on display. “Take ‘em off.” He said pointing at her jeans.

“Make me.”

So he did walking over to her he grabbed her pants unbuttoning them starting to pulling them down, her hands gripped on to his biceps looking up at him through her lashes. One of her hands trailing up to his mask her fingers going under them, his hand quickly grabbed her wrist stoping her.

“It stays on.”

“I just want your lips lieutenant..” she whimpered..

Groaning he let himself pull the mask up over his lips, her eyes fell hungry admiring his scared lip. She pulled him down her lips pressing against his hungry, he picked her up placing her on the countered sink pulling her jeans the rest of the way down to her ankles. He leaned into the kiss he could feel her gloss lingering on his lips, pulling away he glued in the mirror seeing the dark kiss marks on his lips around his mouth a lazy smirk fell his face as he looked back down at the darker woman.

“What just gonna look at yo’self.” She sassed.

He let his fingers hook around her panties only to stop, instead letting his thumb find her clit rubbing gentle circles around it. He watched as she sat up a bit more her eyes squeezing shit, her mouth falling agape.

“Hmm that feel good sweetheart..” he teased, leaning down kissing the side of her face down to her neck his thumb still going in circles. His lips trailed down her neck soon kissing the top of her breast soon his face fell between her legs. Pressing kisses on the wet spot that was displayed on her panties, he felt her thighs squeeze his face slightly Simon could hear her muffled moans her fingers griping the top of his mask. Pushing her leg out he pushed the black underwear his tongue laid flat licking up against her folds, that made her break the throaty moan escaping her lips.

He let his knees touch the floor his arm wrapping underneath her thighs pulling her to his face letting himself eat her whole, her moans getting louder casing him to reach up two of his fingers entering her mouth pressing on her tongue causing her to close her mouth. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, her hips falling into his face as he ate her out.

“Fuck— Ghost..” she choked, his fingers falling out her mouth his hand wrapping around her pretty little neck.

That made her arch god she wanted to come right then and there, his grip tightened around her neck as her thighs tightened around his face.

“Atta girl common cum for me.” He spoke muffled by her thighs.

A breath moan came from her mouth as she came. He came up catching her lips, “yeah pretty girl— was that good?” He said slapping her pussy softly a cheeky laugh coming from him hearing her yelp.

“Fuck you—” she whined.

“Yeah was planning on it.” He said pulling her off the counter turning her towards the mirror. 

Pushing on here back here chest pressed against the counter Simon letting his hands pull here up by her hips slightly her as on display for him. Fuck it looked even better out of her combat pants, “Ya ready for me?” He asked watching the woman in front of him nod.

“Speak when spoken to Sargent.” His hands griping her hips harshly.

“Ah— yes, I’m ready—I’m ready for you..” she hissed.

A small smirk falling across his lips as he gave himself a few pumps before rubbing in between her dripping folds. Simon took into consideration entering her slowly watching her mouth fall open a quiet moan falling from her lips. “Atta girl… adjust f’ me..” he said pulling her up making her back touch his chest.

Simons arm snuck around to the front of her his forearm resting on her Brest his hand holding around her neck but not applying pressure. He soon let his hips move their skin slapping against one another mixed with the sounds of their arousal, he watched her as he fucked him self into her. Simon could feel her fuck her self back onto him, Simons right arm wrapped itself around her waist for more support. Her hand holding herself up on his forearm that was wrapped around her waist.

She looked so pretty like this, watching her keep quiet made him curious on just how loud she could be. “Fuck.. Lieutenant..” she moaned, her head falling down.

He let his hand squeeze her throat “Look up I want you to watch me ruin ya..” he spoke his mouth next to her ear.

A small whine came from her Simons hips still thrusting into her. Her head looking up into the mirror her eyes meeting his, “yeah—atta girl” he said.

He quickly repositioned putting her leg onto the counter his hand grabbing a fist full of her hair keeping her eyes on herself in the mirror, his other hand resting on her hip continuously fucking into her.

“Common slut take it like a good girl.” He said gripping the fat on her hip harder.

“Imma cum— oh fuck..” she cried out.

Simon could feel her legs start shaking, disregarding what she said he continued fucking into her harshly watching her mouth fall open and her walls tighten around him he knew she was about to cum. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. Wait till I say you can cum.” He growled leaning down close to her as he continued to fuck her.

“Please—-please.. i can’t hold it..” she pleaded. He only chuckled lightly watching her fall apart with every thrust.

He made her hold it, as he fucked her like a toy. But it was soon to come to an end feeling his own orgasm reach him. Her whiny pleads only making it come faster hearing her beg from him she was almost in tears. “Where would you like me to come..” he asked softly.

She wanted to say I’m me but he wouldn’t allow it, “in my mouth..” she spoke in a broken tone.

“Cum for me Fox, common sweetheart come for me..” he said leaning back up harshly thrusting into her.

Her walls tightened around him her orgasm finally hitting her as she shuttered a broken moan coming from her mouth.

“Good fucking girl..” he praised, he could feel her cum sticking to him creating a white ring around his cock.

“On your knees sweetheart.” He spoke.

She did as she was told her taking him in her mouth, it only took a few thrust before for his load filled her mouth the hot liquid hitting the back of her throat. “Yeah take it all slut.” He degraded holding the side of her face her nose almost touching his pelvis her eyes looking up at him with teary eyes. He could feel her swallowing making him hiss at the sensation.

They quickly cleaned up themselves finally remembering they were in a public bathroom. Fixing herself up in the mirror she noticed Simon looking at her.

“What?” She asked smiling as she wiped the mascara off from her under eye.

“This stays between up understood.”

She turned her body around facing him leaning her back against the counter looking up at him. Simon letting his hand fall on the sides of her.

“Your secret is safe with me.” She whispered kissing his mask.

Moving around him with a small giggle, “I’ll see you at training tomorrow LT.” She spoke giving him a sweet smile.

With thats he opens the door and left.

It was gonna be different now, really fucking different.

[serenescureforboredom]

Inheritance games characters on vacation headcannons 

Jameson and Xander were secretly planning the whole thing for weeks.

When they tell everyone they call Grayson to tell him but he’s all “I don’t need a vacation jasbsbjshwjssih” so obviously they bring in Lyra to convince him (HeHeHe)

Alisa was 🤏 close to having a heart attack because the week the boys planned it is the same week Avery has 3 galas.

The boys purposely planned it then so Avery could have a break.

The vacation spot is revealed to be Greece 

The twins come along but they’re adorable so no one’s bothered

While they’re all there they each pick out days so that each couple can have their own private day for them ex. Sunday for lyrason Monday for javery and so on

When it’s Avery and Jamesons day an old woman comes up to Avery and starts gushing about how beautiful she is and Avery almost cries 🤭

In Greece not a lot of people knew the Hawthorne heiress so Avery was so happy and was relaxed

On Libby and Nash’s day everyone else took care of the twins and for 2 hours gray, Jamie and xan took them out and came back with 172778272822872728 bags for the twins.

Libby and Nash came back with a kitty that had a broken leg

All the girls went out together and it was found that Lyra nearly ran over 18282 people because of her amazing driving skills 😌

They all went to the beach and Grayson, Nash and Libby went to get water and they came back to a majestic looking sand mermaid Xander

Grayson and Lyra kissed on the beach while Nash took a secret photo of them, after the trip he sent it to gray and it’s hanged in gray’s room

Jameson teased him for months on it

The twins made a sand castle and it was amazing and any time someone walked by Jamie would flex the fact the his 3 year old nieces/nephews made it and would proudly announce it

The boys all went out for brotherly bonding 

Grayson came back with green hair and leather pants on, Nash had a cowboy hat saying ‘look at my dad bod’, Jameson had green paint everywhere including places green paint shouldn’t be (Avery was shocked) 

Meanwhile Xander looked beautiful with his speedo paired with clown pants

Lyra loved the green hair and teased him mercilessly about it but the next day she came back to the vacation house with green tips in her hair to match Graysons

The twins traveled home early while Zara took care of them

They all went out to dinner and the conversations were WILD 

Thankfully Avery booked out the whole restaurant because she knew her family was 😏

When they arrived home they all agreed to have one vacation every 6 months where they all go and it’s a tradition where you have no choice 🔪

[s-rosie]

HEART BREAKING JAMESON HC

this is a hc i thought of about jameson and it’s really sad and deep so please read at your own risk

so we never see jameson swim and he is always just standing by the water and i think it has to deal with his biggest insecurity

(read at your own discretion this is really sad)

he is secretly a h2o mermaid and can’t get wet bc the water will make him turn into a mermaid and no one can find out (and in the hot tub he had a magic necklace that kept him from changing)

(credits to whoever made this photo it’s gorgeous)

[holdupjack]

Hello Spider

—————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Spider-Man Earth-1048

Warning: None

—————

Third Person P.O.V:

August

Hermione Granger sighed softly as she typed away on her laptop on the seventh floor of The Daily Bugle. She could hear Jameson screaming at one of his interns about how much property damage Spider-Woman caused in her fight with Vulture a few months ago. His podcast seemed to always be one somewhere in the building...

At least he wasn't spiraling about the new Spider-Man that she has been seen swinging with around the city. Hermione thought Jameson was going to send himself into the ER when it was announced that she had a protégé.

Hermione slowly stood up and collected her wallet, eagerly ready to go on her lunch break to Joe's Pizza Cellar across the street. She only took one step when a muffled explosion came from somewhere within the city.

Everyone around her seemed to look up and turn their heads towards the windows, when her eyes flickered towards them as well, a loud yell rang outa car suddenly flew past the windows.

"I HATE CHASE OF GOOSE"

Hermione threw down her wallet and grabbed her notepad, running up to the window as a familiar set of feet ran across the building.

"Aw come on Aleksei! At least look both ways before crossing the street!"

She soon sprang off the wall, while Spider-Man swung behind her. Hermione watched in awe as they chased after Rhino, writing down her quip before tuning towards the elevators.

Her coworkers began to crowd around the windows as they watched the carnage that was being left behind by the Villains run through New York.

Hermione soon found herself outside, running down the street to where a full-blown fight was taking place. Spider-Woman dodged the bigger man's punches as Spider-Man kept any civilians out of harm's way.

"Really Aleksei, I don't know why you try to punch me anymore. You know I can just-"

Spider-Woman was cut off when Rhino grabbed a light pole that had been ripped from the ground previously and whacked her with it.

She went flying through a department store window, to which Spider-Man immediately kept the villain distracted while the other got her bearings.

Hermione quickly slipped into the store, bumping into scared customers and staff as they ran out of the building. Her eyes land on the iconic red, black, and blue costume. A soft groan escaped the superhero as she pulled herself back onto her feet, shaking her head slightly as a way to get rid of the dizziness.

"I really need to quit jinxing myself" she coughed out.

"Spider-Woman?" Hermione calls out as loud yells and quips from the two outside continue. The hero quickly looked up and the eyes on her mask widened, seeming surprised to see her.

"WHERE IS FEMALE SPIDER" Rinho's voice boomed as Spider-Man flew past the shattered window, the loud crunch of metal and a car alarm blaring made it obvious what he had landed against.

"Stay here," Spider-Woman says as she jumps out of the store through the broken window and runs toward the belligerent man.

Hermione couldn't help but stare in awe, even amid everything going on. So, once again, she followed out onto the street.

Spider-Woman jumped and swung around the barbarian like it was nothing. Spider-Man zipped back into the fight and ducked between Rhino's legs as the other hero punched him in the jaw.

The young journalist knew this was idiotic to do, basically sitting on the sidelines as full-blown armageddon was in front of her.

Rhino swatted Spider-Man away, sending him halfway down the street as Spider-Woman jumped into the air and webbed a manhole in between her and Aleksei.

Yanking it up into the air, she soon slammed it against his head, causing the giant to stumble backward.

Right towards Hermione.

Her eyes widened as she tried to move out of the way, but the guy was falling too quickly. Spider-Woman webbed the arm of Hermione and yanked her up towards her.

The journalist yelled out in surprise as she was pulled into the hero's arms and taken to safety on top of the building behind them.

When Hermione's feet touched a solid surface, she instantly looked up to find the mask of the hero every kid loves.

"You were a troublemaker in school, weren't you?" Spider-Women chuckles in a fake voice as she removes her arm from around the journalist's waist and steps back toward the edge, watching Spider-Man web down Rhino. The bigger man's suit was sparking and in obvious need of repairs, while the two heroes only needed new stitches in their suits.

"Spider-Man, are you good?" she yells down, and he gives two thumbs up in return, before jumping slightly as Rhino yells angrily at them.

Hermione watched in awe as Spider-Woman turned back to her and cocked her head slightly to the side. A gesture that finally made the Brit find her voice.

"Can I...Can I have an interview?" Hermione asks and the hero chuckles softly, sitting down on the edge of the rooftop.

"Alright, you have a minute before the police get here" she responds, causing Hermione to widen her eyes and quickly pull out her pen and notepad.

This was a chance of a lifetime, and she damn sure wasn't going to waste it.

"Uh, why did you decide to do this? More specifically, why did you become a hero?" she asks as she eagerly hovers her pen over the empty page of her notepad.

"Well, the world could always use more heroes" Spider-Women replies as she picks up a small crushed can from the roof, and looks back over the edge, throwing it easily into the trashcan down below.

"That's it? Not the fame, money, or adoring fans?" Hermione asked as she scribbled down the responses and questions. Spider-Woman chuckled and shrugs.

"I think IronMan makes enough money for all of us heroes, and fame or fans? You've seen how the news changes their opinion on me, as do the people of New York" she says simply as she hears the sirens starting to get closer. Hermione looks to her right, seeing a part of the street a bit farther away.

"Don't get me wrong, I love all the citizens, but sometimes it does feel like a punch to the arm" Spider-Woman chuckles softly as she stands up from the edge of the roof and stands in front of the journalist. Hermione stops writing and looks at the hero with a shy smile.

"Well, if it's worth anything, I'm one of your biggest fans," she says, making the woman chuckle again and probably smile underneath that mask. Hermione couldn't really tell.

"Time to go!" Spider-Man calls out as he swings past the building just as the boys in blue turn down the street. Spider-Woman took a step back onto the ledge and looked back at Hermione.

"It's an honor to have you as a fan, Ms.Granger," she says as they stare at one another for a moment. Then Hermione realized something.

"Hey, wait-" she starts, but Spider-Woman quickly jumps off and begins to swing away. Hermione ran up to the edge and watched as she followed after her protégé.

"I never told you my name!" Hermione yells out, but it is no use, she is already too far to hear her. The journalist huffed out a soft laugh as she stepped back from the edge and looked down at her notes.

Now she needed to get down from atop this building.

——————

When Hermione stepped back onto the seventh floor of The Daily Bugle, everyone still didn't pay her any mind as she made her way back to her desk. As soon as she sat down, someone leaned against it.

"Where have you been?"

Hermione looks up to find Y/n Y/l/n,  the only photographer who has been able to get clear photos of Spider-Woman & Man. She was also a very good friend.

"You won't believe who I got an exclusive interview with!" Hermione says excitedly as Y/n rolls over an office chair and sits on it backward. Her arms lay on top of the backrest, her chin resting on her forearms.

"Who?" She asks with a smile as Hermione hands her the notepad, watching as the photographer reads the questions and answers.

Y/n couldn't help but let out a chuckle as she handed back the notepad to Hermione. The two girls had been talking for a while about a front-page story she had been told would be hers if she got an interview with the superhuman. Y/n couldn't resist teasing her about the joy on her face.

"Finally got attention from your favorite hero?" Y/n asked playfully, referring to the piece that Hermione had been working on for the past few weeks about Spider-Women.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. She turned on her desktop, and with practiced ease, logged in to her account. Y/n watched as Hermione's fingers danced across the keyboard, her eyes focused on the screen, completely immersed in her work.

"She is one of the reasons I moved here! I want to be the only journalist on the amazing Spider-Woman" Hermione admits, even having a small flush on her face. It obviously wasn't one of the main reasons, but it was a very good perk.

"You know...I do have connections to her. Maybe I could-" Y/n was cut off when Hermione grabbed the office chair and pulled her closer. Their faces were inches away.

"Can you get me another interview?" She asks quietly as they stare deeply into each other's eyes, Y/n's face growing hot at the proximity.

"I...well...yes!" She stumbles over her words as the smile on Hermione's face grows. She suddenly pulled away and opened her document application on her desktop.

Y/n watched as the woman's face lit up with childlike excitement, her eyes widening and a smile spreading across her lips.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

"Oh, this will be remarkable," she added, her tone laced with anticipation. Y/n sat up straight, feeling a sense of responsibility to carefully choose her next words.

"I'll see what I can do, but honestly, she might seek you out first," she says with a small smirk as their eyes meet again, a glint was in Hermione's eyes, something Y/n couldn't place.

"Seek me out? What do you mean?" Hermione asks as her eyes follow Y/n, who slowly stands up from the chair and pushes it back to where she got it.

Y/n gave a small smile in response and turned around to walk back to her desk, leaving Hermione to watch her go. As she walked, a glint of mischief shone in her eye, hinting at a playful side to her personality.

Hermione had seen this look before, though, and knew that Y/n had a way of doing things that was uniquely her own. It was just one of the many things that made her such an intriguing person to be around.

She began to smile as well.

——————

Later That Night

Hermione dragged her feet wearily up the narrow staircase, her arms laden with a heavy bag of fragrant Chinese food takeout. The pungent aroma of soy sauce, ginger, and garlic wafted up to her nose, making her mouth water in anticipation.

As she climbed higher and higher, each step felt like a Herculean effort, and she had to pause several times to catch her breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached the fifth-floor landing and emerged from the dimly lit stairwell, squinting in the bright light of the hallway. The door to her apartment was only a few steps away, but it felt like a mile.

As she reached the front door of her apartment, she let out a gentle sigh and rummaged through her bag to find the keys. Once she found them, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it, hearing the familiar click.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, feeling the cool air conditioning hit her face. Something about the atmosphere felt different than usual. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but an inexplicable unease crept up on her. Despite this, she took off her shoes and walked further into the house, trying to shake off the feeling.

As she walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, she felt a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. That's when she finally noticed her living room light was on, casting a warm glow on the walls.

But as she peered into the room, her heart stopped. Someone was sitting on her couch, their figure illuminated by the light. Panic set in as she tried to make out the person's identity, but then she recognized the mask immediately. Relief washed over her as she realized that there was nothing to fear.

"So, you break into homes? That doesn't seem very friendly" Hermione says with a smirk, causing Spider-Woman to jump up to her feet and turn towards her. Apparently, she had snuck up on the hero.

As Hermione approached her, she could sense a slight hesitation in Spider-Woman's demeanor. However, she quickly composed herself and greeted her.

"Oh, hi!" she said, her fake voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Uh, I don't usually do this...well, yes, I do. But for good reason!" She paused for a moment, placing her hands on her hips as if to steady herself. Her head darted around nervously before settling back on Hermione.

"You know, you should really be locking your windows, just in case wall-climbing...robbers become a prevalent issue," Spider-Woman suggests, her tone faltering slightly as she realizes the irony in her statement.

Hermione chuckled softly and placed her food on the small table behind the couch, watching as the hero seemed tense. This must have been a spontaneous decision.

"Anyways, I wanted to give you a better interview, since you had been willing to risk being crushed by a two-ton man to just speak with me" she continues with an awkward chuckle as she put her hands behind her back and laced her fingers together.

Hermione, with a gentle smile on her face, slowly walks around the couch with her fingers trailing along the armrest. As she makes her way towards the masked superhero, she speaks up.

"You must be feeling quite important. After all, you are the one who essentially controls the content of the front page of The Daily Bugle," she says as her eyes meet the mask, and she stands before her, waiting for her response.

"Owner? That's a little...overstated" Spider-Women replies as she steps back slightly as Hermione gets closer.

"Exaggerated? I don't think so, you have been on the front page more than Mayor Osborn" Hermione hums, her eyelids were low as she held a soft gaze with the eyes of the mask. Spider-Woman felt her fake voice starting to falter again, so she cleared her throat in hopes of keeping it up.

"Well, I'll make sure to send him a fruit basket as an apology," she says as Hermione chuckled and sat on her couch, legs crossed over the other as her eyes slowly trailed up the hero's body.

This wasn't the same woman she had saved earlier in the day, there was thick obvious tension between them now, but Spider-Woman had no idea why.

Well...she had a slight idea.

Spider-Woman, her red and blue costume tightly hugging her form, rested her hands back on her hips and looked down at Hermione. The young woman's face was flushed and her hands were balled into the couch cushion.

Spider-Woman's sharp eyes scanned Hermione's face before she slowly sat down on the coffee table across from her. The vigilante's movements were graceful and calculated as if she was always in control of the situation.

Then suddenly, Hermione sat up straight and seemed to calm in an instant, her arms crossing over her chest as she appeared to return back to normal. This girl was hot & cold.

"Would you mind giving me a longer interview?" Hermione asked innocently. Spider-Woman nodded slowly and rested her elbows on her thighs.

"Of course, uh, whenever you're ready" she replies as Hermione pulls out her phone and begins to record with the voice memos.

"My first question is, is it true that you have been taking the time to clean up the shores?" Hermione asks, but it is obvious that she isn't all that interested in Spider-Woman's environmental protection ideals.

"I try my best since fish is one of our main food groups in New York. We don't need people to get sick from any of them" Spider-Woman replied as she rubbed her hands together. A nervous tick perhaps?

"Alright..." Hermione hums as she shut off the recording, which piqued the hero's interest immediately.

Hermione reached behind her and grabbed the plate of food from the small table that was pressed up against the back of the couch.

"Well, that was quick," Spider-Woman chuckled, referring to the speed at which the interview had ended. The aroma of the freshly cooked food still lingered in the air, making both of their stomachs growl.

"I have a few...off-the-record questions for myself than the paper" Hermione explained as she opened the bag and handed her one of the spring rolls she had ordered.

Spider-Woman gave a soft 'thank you' as she hesitated to lift her mask up to her nose. Hermione didn't even look up as she grabbed the two forks from the bottom of the bag and handed her one as well.

The hero then slowly rolled up her mask until her nose and chin were the only things visible. That's when Hermione finally looked up.

Her pupils dilated like wide saucers, but she didn't express anything outwardly that would suggest something was off. So, when she held the tin container full of orange chicken and lo mein between them, the crusader thought nothing of it.

(A/N: ngl, I'm running out of ways to say 'hero')

Spider-Woman sat at the table, her eyes fixed on the steaming plate of Lo Mein in front of her. She couldn't resist the temptation any longer and picked up her fork, twirling it around in the tangle of noodles until she had a perfect bite.

"I love Lo Mein," she confessed. Across from her, Hermione watched with amusement, a soft smile playing on her lips. She picked up a piece of orange chicken and popped it into her mouth, relishing the burst of flavor.

"I know you do, you get it every Friday after work," she says simply, which causes the hero to freeze, the spring roll almost falling out of her mouth.

Hermione continued nonchalantly as she ate, while Spider-Woman stared at her. Oh how much she wished Vulture or Mr.Negative would burst in here, just so she could get out of this conversation,

"H-How did you...I don't know what..." she trailed off in her real voice as Hermione looked back up with a sly smile, almost teasing in a way.

"At first I thought it was just a coincidence that you were the only person who got special treatment with the Spider Duo because I knew that a few people in the Bugle have been able to get connections with other Heroes and Villains alike" Hermione starts as she ate another piece of chicken, chewing it for a few moments before speaking again.

"But then I noticed your tardiness, your ability to basically disappear and reappear at incredible speed, the random bruises, but again, I just thought it was a coincidence" she continues as Spider-Woman just stared dumbfounded. Hermione put the tin container down beside her and gave her full attention to the woman across from her.

"Then today-"

"I have to go," Spider-Woman says abruptly getting up from her seat, her words echo in the room. With the spring roll still dangling from her teeth, she strides swiftly towards the open window, her hair fluttering in the wind.

Her agile movements and aura of determination suggest that she's on a mission, and nothing can stop her. The bright city lights outside seem to beckon to her.

"Y/n."

Y/n froze in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the window. As Hermione stood up and walked towards her, Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, and her palms became sweaty.

She tried to move, but her legs felt like they were made of lead. Finally, when Hermione was close enough, she placed her hand on Y/n's shoulder and gently turned her around to face her. Y/n's eyes met Hermione's intense gaze, and she couldn't help but feel vulnerable under her gaze.

Without another word, Hermione reached up and pulled off the rest of the mask, and smiled like a little schoolgirl.

"There's my favorite photographer" she whispers as she holds the mask in one hand and takes hold of the spring roll as well.

Y/n and Hermione are standing face to face, gazing into each other's eyes. The moon is shining bright, casting a warm glow on Hermione's face.

"How did you know?" Y/n whispers softly, her eyes are filled with wonder and curiosity as they exchange glances. The night is quiet and peaceful, and the only sound is the soft honking of the hussle of the city.

"It's silly really, but that fake voice you were using, is the same one you use to mock Jameson's podcast" Hermione chuckles as Y/n couldn't help but flush at her own stupidity.

"Oh...oh that makes sense," she says as she clears her throat and looks down at their feet for a moment. Hermione just smiled as she placed the spring roll back in her mouth and gently pushed her toward the window, both of them hearing the roaring of sirens nearby.

"You're secrets safe with me, now go kick some ass" Hermione continues as she placed the mask back around her eyes and above her nose. Y/n grinned and slowly stepped backward toward the window.

"It's really nice to have another ally," Y/n says as she takes a final bite of the roll and speaks with her mouth full. She then pulls down her mask all the way, hiding a relieved smile on her face. The weight of the world seems to have been lifted off her shoulders as she welcomes the newfound support.

"I still expect a full interview tomorrow," Hermione says with a smile as she leans against the wall and watches Y/n back up slightly.

"It's a date" Y/n replied as she took a running start and jumped out the window. Hermione walked over to the windowsill, leaning down, and resting her forearms on it. Her chin found itself atop them as well, watching as Y/n swung away toward the boys in blue.

She smiled softly.

"It's a date"

[peterparkouryo]

no way remedy | ꕥ

breaking news! | ꕥ

warnings: angst

word count: 4.3k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

"WHAT THE FU-" You hear Peter's voice exclaim a car horn blocking out his profanity, from above you after the very shocking detail you already knew, but it being revealed to the entire Times Square, and most likely the entire world was nerve racking, your heart seeping below your chest at that mere thought.

"That's right folks, Peter Parker." Jameson says as it cuts back to him, saying your boyfriends name as if the picture wasn't already clear enough.

You ignore the murmurs of the people by you, your eyes looking up toward Peter, the back of his masked face meeting your gaze.

"A seventeen year old high school delinquent." He adds to the public. You had tried to listen to a few more of his words, but the citizens that were surrounding you started dragging their attention toward you. 

You weren't much of a people person to begin with, which is why it was always hard for you to make friends. Your socially awkward personality only showing once more as the people around you started to pester you with questions related to the spider boy.

"She knows him."

"Are you Spider-Man's girlfriend?"

Questions and statements being thrown into your ear as people tried to gain your attention, tapping on your shoulder, your anxiety rising at the contact and the lack of air you were feeling from being too claustrophobic with how many people were practically suffocating you.

The man who asked if you were Spider-Man's significant other asked you once again, turning you around to face him and some more people who were just as curious.

"I-" You started, helplessly looking around, trying to get the people off of you in fear of the worst. You didn't want you knowing Spider-Man to harm you physically, so you tried your best to push them away without doing much effort.

Thankfully Peter caught onto your silent cry for help, jumping from the lamp post to come in-between you and the big crowd, your anxiety slowly going down now that he was near.

"Yo, it's him!"

"Spider-Man?!"

"Uh, whoa, whoa, whoa. Please don't touch her, sir." Peter warned the people who were jabbing at you, gently squeezing in-between you and the mob of people.

"You're just a kid?"

You give Peter a look, his hand on your shoulder, trying to guide you away from the people as they dazed at the two of you, most throwing insults and what not at your poor boyfriend in disbelief.

"You murdered Mysterio?"

"Um.." Peter trails off, hugging you closer to him.

"Peter..." You start, watching him quickly look at you as the once small crowd turns into a herd of people, swarming you and the boy like you were pieces of meat.

"We should get out of here." You suggested and he quickly nods.

"Come on kid, let me see the face!" A lady says before you two could go anywhere, lunging at him.

Your instinctive protectiveness comes in, you now hugging Peter closer to you away from the lady. Some citizens having a sense of morality, dragging the woman away from the two of you.

You swing a arm around his neck, his going to your waist as you two sprint through the crowd of people that seemed more like a mob waiting outside of a Taylor Swift concert.

"He hit me. Spider-Man hit me!" The same lady exclaims in a bare obvious lie, but you decide to ignore it.

You two swiftly get away from the people, who got crazier by the second, one boy even trying to jump onto the two of you as you now were swinging across the city.

You had momentarily forgotten just how scared of heights you were due to everything that happened in the pass thirty minutes.

"Oh god!" You scream, squeezing your eyes shut as your body was now tightly and hopefully securely wrapped around Peter's as he swung through the city away from the scene that unfolded in Times Square.

You had no idea where you two were going, but you supposed anywhere away from there was good enough, somewhere possibly more quiet where you two could collect your thoughts.

"Peter, where are we going?!" You managed to ask as your heart tightened in your chest with each swing the boy took.

"I don't know, your house?" Peter answered unsurely, he at this point was just aimlessly swinging around.

"No! Definitely not my house, my dad will kill you!" You tell him loudly, your eyes still closed at every word you said, you weren't going to risk letting your fear be just as worst if they were opened.

"What? I thought he was just starting to like me..." Peter replies in defeat.

"Well, not anymore." You scream.

Thankful to all the gods above, you and Peter land at the stable trusses of a bridge. The boy drops you down way too quickly for your liking and you have to fight your balance as to not fall, your boyfriend pulling out his phone to answer it.

"Dude!" You hear Ned yell as soon as Peter answers it.

"Dude!" Peter replies back in the same tone.

"Dude!"

"Dude!"

"Dude!" You say, miserably failing to keep your balance, Peter's attention shooting toward you in a heartbeat.

"Oh, right, sorry!" He sheepishly apologized, running over toward you to help you keep your feet stable.

"Are you okay?" Peter wavers, his question lingering in the air.

"Not at all." You admit for him and yourself.

One being, you were on top of a bridge, failing to keep your balance, your heart probably out of your chest out of fear, and two being because so much has happened in such a short amount of time. You don't think you can handle anything else any longer.

"I'm gonna get us out of here, okay?" He reassures and you nod.

"Yo, Peter!" Someone yells, your heads snapping to a few people in a gondola near the bridge.

A helicopter was soon to be seen, people from apartment buildings that sat outside their balconies watching as well. You wanted nothing more than to get out of here. The attention that you were receiving being too much for your liking.

"We should go." You tell him, already clinging to the boy and bracing yourself for the impact of his swinging.

"Right, yeah we should." Peter agreed, jumping from the trusses and swinging away from the attention, your screams weren't as loud as they were before, you kind of were getting used to it, but your heart dropped to its stomach every time no matter what.

"We're going to take the subway!" Peter yells at you throughout your screaming.

You don't answer as Peter free falls you two into a nearby sewer, his webbing opening it up as you two entered through it.

You could've sworn you saw Flash Thompson for a quick second, but you weren't all too sure.

Once you two entered the subway underneath the city, you opted on piggyback riding your boyfriend, feeling it'd be much more easier for the boy to navigate through the tight space.

"Peter!" You scream at him as a oncoming train approached you both, the spider boy dodging it a mere second later.

It felt like it had been forever when you two finally arrive at the ladder of a sewer exit, watching Peter climb it first before opening the round thing separating you two from New York, and you follow behind him. When you were close enough, Peter reaches out his hand to help you up.

"Thank you." You breathed out, giving your surroundings a quick look over, citizens who were walking the cemented sidewalk glancing at you, and you found it a little ironic how you two were in-front of Delmar's.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem. Are you okay?" Peter asked you as he placed the round covering of the sewer back into place.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You reassure him, once again wrapping your body around his before he swung off, his webbing attaching to a lamp post.

"We're going to go to my place." Peter tells you through the wind.

"Okay!" You yell at him, closing your eyes as you embraced his hold.

Four or five minutes go by as you two swung through the city to Peter's apartment, your eyes remained closed as you felt Peter's breathing at rapid speed, which was understandable given the circumstances of the current situation.

After the five minutes or less of you two swinging, you finally arrive at his bedroom window, the boy sticking to the brick wall next to it as you climb off to open his window.

He helps you inside, and you practically fall in relief onto his bed.

"Oh my god." Peter finally breaks after rushing inside, closing his window.

"Y/N-" Peter starts, your head snapping up to look at him as his hands were on his head, walking back and fourth between his room.

"Peter, it's okay." You try to reassure, but to no avail.

You knew it wasn't going to be okay, but you had no other choice but to say the words both you knew weren't true.

You quickly sit up from his bed, going over toward him, watching the boy press the spider on his suit in defeat, catching half of it before it can fall to the ground.

"It's not okay!" He argued back, snatching his mask off his head and throwing it elsewhere in his room and you place your hands on both sides of his face, trying to calm him down.

"Oh no." He groaned, shaking his head as he leaned into your touch.

"Peter." You say sternly.

"I don't know what to do!" Peter tells you as his hands wavered at your waist, his hands tightly gripping his suit.

"Peter, it's okay, everything going to be okay." You say with a nod just as the door opens, revealing Happy.

You and Peter quickly look over at the man whose face turns pale at the sight of you two. 

"Oh, um.." You swallow, cringing at what it seemed like the two of you were doing given the face that Peter was half naked in-front of you, his suit falling from his hands watching Happy try to shut the door.

"I didn't see anything." Happy says, covering his face with his hand.

"Happy, it's not what it looks like!" Peter tries to reassure, your hands swiftly moving from Peter's face to your sides.

Peter's Aunt, who you had heard about comes into the room to see what was going on, her eyes quickly widening in disbelief.

"Oh!" She says, only seeing Peter's half naked body before going to shut the door once again.

"No, May, this is not what it looks like." Peter countered, and you nod in agreement at the inconvenient timing.

"Practice safe se-" May starts and your eyes widen as you furrow your eyebrows at what almost came out her mouth as she stops herself mid sentence.

"Oh, wait. Hi, you must be Y/N!" She says, coming back into the room where you awkwardly stood.

You quickly fix your (MJ's) cardigan, showing the lady, who was effortlessly gorgeous a forced smile as Peter nods before looking at his door.

"It's so nice to meet you, heard a lot about you." May tells you, giving you a friendly hug which you mirrored.

"'S nice to meet you too." You tell her quickly with a tight lipped smile as you two pull away.

You wished you had met the woman on better circumstances. The awkward tension only getting thicker by the second.

"Wait, have you been crying?" Peter asked Happy, who stood at the doorway with dried tears and a puffy face.

You tilt your head curiously, but quickly dismiss them looking over your boyfriend's room, having not been in here before.

He was a nerd for sure, a lot of dorky things decorated his room, things MJ would probably had made fun of him for.

"We broke up." The older man says shyly, peaking through the doorway.

"Oh." Peter says bewilderedly, you give his Aunt a look as she cringed sheepishly at his words.

"Hey, Spider-Man!" A man exclaimed through the window, and your mind trails back to why you really were here in the first place.

"Oh, uh.." The boy says in surprise, using his web shooters to close the blind of his window.

You notice a shirt laying on his bed, grabbing it quickly just as the light outside dims now that the blinds blocks the glaring sun from peaking in, as well as the people who for sure seen you two enter his apartment window.

You give a lazy smile to Happy, holding out the white T-shirt in-front of Peter, helping the boy into it quickly, hearing him mutter a 'Thank you'.

You catch glimpse at the "I survived my trip to New-York" graphic as Peter rushes May further into his apartment and away from his bedroom.

"I didn't know you guys broke up." He says as you trail behind the two of them, shutting his bedroom door.

"I thought you were in love, May." Peter quizzed bewilderedly. 

"We can talk about this in the kitchen." He says, putting a reassuring arm over her shoulder as he walked her to their kitchen space.

Your phone buzzed in your skirt pocket, as you and Happy linger behind Peter and May as the boy confronted his aunt about her relationship issues.

You were just about to pull out the device, but a different kind of buzzing grabs your attention.

"Is that the door?" The man next to you asked, his gaze wandering over to the front door that was left open.

You quickly go to shut it as a neighbour stood in-front of it, asking all sorts of questions he most likely wasn't getting his answers to anytime soon.

"Nope!" You say, shutting the door into his face, before pulling out your phone.

There was six missed calls from your dad and a text message from your sister, telling you to call her with a few emojis that you deciphered to be related to what was currently going on.

You unlock your phone going to your contacts to call MJ.

After a few rings, you hear her pick up.

"Oh my god, Y/N are you okay? Have you seen the news?" MJ practically exclaims from the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm at Peter's right now, it's really crazy." You tell her, keeping your voice down as you absentmindly wandered to the kitchen.

There was so much to be said, but you figured you'd wait till you got home to tell your sister exactly what happened, but you had a feeling you didn't need to given that she was there with you every step of the way and most likely seen the news or she wouldn't had been calling to ask.

"Is Peter okay?" She questioned.

You had no idea if you should answer that truthfully, with a half truth, or just lie instead. No one but Peter knows if he's actually okay, but you knew he wasn't okay with anything that was going on. To be fair, there were more ways she could be indicating the question, but you were lost at this point.

"I don't know, I-" You start, watching your boyfriend helplessly close the blinds in the living room as May and Happy now sat down in-front of the TV from the couch.

"Can you please get off your phones for five minutes. I just wanna talk to you about your relationship, okay?" Peter countered to the two adults as the background of the news channel played behind him, and your eyes widen as you adjust your gaze to recognize the building.

"MJ, let me call you back." You, hanging up the phone before she could say anything.

"Peter."Your voice says before your mind can register, pointing behind him after gaining his attention.

He turns around to look at the source of his TV, a few helicopters swarming around his apartment building, making their way over to one of the living room windows.

"Is that here?" Happy asked, his voice laced with a skeptic tone.

Peter seemed to be at a lost for his words, not knowing what to say as he stutters out a proper response, tilting his head down in defeat before shamelessly walking toward the window he had closed with his web shooters, opening it up to reveal the outside world he tried to shield them from.

May, Happy, and yourself walk over to the small window, curious to see just how bad the damage really was.

You stand next to your boyfriend, sharing a look with him as Happy and May look outside of the apartment place in utter disbelief.

"Wha-" May starts, but cuts herself off as a few pedestrians below yell out Peter's name, looking up to the window where the helicopters were aimed at.

"I mean, maybe it's not so bad?" Peter shrugged hopefully, his Aunt shooting him a worried look.

You were glad she was less mad and more worried.

You on the other hand, a shaking anxious mess, still recovering from the many people that lingered around you, and the amount of swinging you swore you'd never do again still crawling over your body. You had no idea how bad things would get from here on out.

"Spider-Menace!" Jameson exclaims from the TV in your living room. You could almost roll your eyes at his dramatics.

After the fiasco that took place at Peter's house, he and his Aunt figured it be best to take you home, as they tried to figure out what to do with the boy's identity being revealed to the whole wide world.

As soon as you get home you were bombarded with questions from your dad, who was more worried than mad at you for being with Peter. He was surprisingly understanding with the situation, but he never liked Spider-Man to begin with so you knew that after the situation died down, he'd dislike Peter more than he did before after finding out about his second identity.

MJ on the other hand already knew exactly how you were feeling. Her mind was racing with thoughts, thoughts only she knew you'd understand. There was nothing the two of you could do but hope for the best out of this situation.

"Governments around the world launch investigations into the murderer known as Spider-Man, aka Peter Parker, aka the web headed war criminal, who for years, has been terrorizing  the decent citizens of New York." The bias anchor exaggerates, and you let out a scoff from where you sat next to MJ, both you now cladding your pyjamas after a long day, well, long day for you at least.

Your heart only drops at the digital news paper that had, you, Peter, MJ, and Ned's face plastered on the front cover, the title saying "Peter's cronies revealed", before cutting to different digital magazines, and a brief footage of some jerk throwing slime onto Peter's suit.

"Well, now this city and the world see him for what he truly is."

You tune out the TV, sharing a look with MJ as your dad divides nothing but his full attention toward the TV. You feared he'd force you to break up with Peter, and you didn't want that one bit.

All three of your gazes break from the TV as a loud and obnoxious knock goes at your door.

Your dad quickly stands up from his spot from the couch, going over to the door, opening it to reveal a few agents, and a another one, holding a badge out.

You and MJ go to the door, lingering behind your father.

"Mr. Jones?" The guy asked, his voice stern.

"Yeah?" Your dad confirms with slow nod.

"We're the Department of Damage Control." The agent says, and MJ shoots you a look, and you shake your head quickly.

"Dad-" You start, but the agent cuts you off.

"We have a warrant for the arrest of your two daughters, Michelle Jones-Watson, and Y/N Jones-Watson." The man tells him, closing his badge before shoving it into his pocket.

"Arrest?" You father's eyes widen in disbelief, looking behind him at the two of you as your face falls in fear, MJ taking ahold of your hand.

"We just want to ask them a few questions, we promise to bring them back as soon as we're done." The Agent reassures, not sounding convincing at all.

Your father ponders, also not trusting the agent, but what was he to do? He couldn't refuse, but he also didn't want the two of you to face any charges or dangerous consequences.

"If you refuse, we will arrest you as well." He adds nonchalantly.

Your dad lets out a defeated sigh, giving you two an apologetic look, and you shrug sadly, your dad moving to the side to hesitantly let the agents inside.

You and MJ had arrived at the Damage Control's building after arguing with the agents to at least let you two change out of your pyjamas, wanting to look decent if you were about to get interrogated for no absolute reason.

Once you enter the building, a few of the agents lead you two to a investigation room you presumed, and at some point before you entered the building, May and Ned had joined you two as they guided you inside.

Your eyes quickly widen, seeing a familiar head set of brown curls inside an interrogation room, his face filled with worry.

"Peter!" You exclaim, the agents now quickening their pace behind you, slightly pushing you, your sister, Ned and Peter's Aunt away from him.

"Y/N!" Peter's muffled voice responds back from behind the glass.

He points to the four of you, saying something you couldn't quite catch, his gaze now on the agent standing above him.

You didn't want Peter to say anything he shouldn't say, hoping his smart personality had a chance to play through as he was interrogated by the man above him. You only hoped he didn't say anything he wasn't supposed to say already.

"Don't say anything without a lawyer!" You shout at him, May and MJ mirroring your words at the same time. You weren't expecting it, but happy they both had the right mindset you had as well.

When you four had made it into the further part of the building into more interrogation rooms, Ned and May were separated into two rooms by themselves, and you and your sister (mainly just her) told the agents you weren't going to say or admit anything to the them if you weren't by each-other's side.

They were reluctant at first, but when you two put your foot down once more, they gave in and put the two of you in the same room.

A few minutes had went by before the agent, whose name was Clearly, comes inside the room, you two expectingly waiting in boredom.

The agent sits down without saying a word, opening up one of the two files that sat in his hand, you glance at it, realizing it was your file, and you cringe subconsciously.

"We want a lawyer." MJ tells Agent Clearly, as he settles down, you break your gaze away from the file and up at the man.

"Mses. Jones-Watson-" The agent starts, but you cut him, shaking your head in disapproval at this address in-correction.

"Jones, we don't go by Watson." You quickly say, your sister giving you a nod from your peripheral vision.

He nods in understanding before clearing his throat.

"Mses, Jones, why do you want a lawyer if-" The agent starts.

"If we have nothing to hide?" You cut him off with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly, Unless-" Agent Clearly starts as he raises both his eyebrows expectingly looking in-between the both of you.

"We're actually guilty of something?" MJ adds, cutting him off as well, the agent letting out a low impressed hum.

"We are very aware of your tactics and our rights." Your sister informs, she nudges your shoulder, gesturing her head at the false mirror next to you.

There was most likely someone on the other side who could see you through the window that's behind the so called mirror. You watched enough true crimes to know all that you needed already.

You and MJ wave at the person who was listening behind the 'mirror'.

"Just answer my questions." The agent sighed, you could feel his annoyed energy radiating off him.

"I've seen your files. You both are smart, young women with bright futures ahead of you." He informed the two of you, and your gaze slowly turned back to the man in question.

MJ poked her tongue against the inside of her cheek, also glaring at the man who really tried to break through the two of you, but to no avail. 

"Why would you risk it all by getting involved with a vigilante like Peter Parker?" Agent Clearly asked the two of you, but he shifts his gaze to you after he finished.

You wouldn't give him the satisfactory of an answer, sharing a look with MJ, who shrugs, and you look back at the agent who was probably awaiting for your answer(s). 

After a few heartbeats of silence, the man sighs in defeat, shaking his head before looking over at the false mirror, gesturing for the person behind it to dismiss the interrogation. He slowly gets up from his seat, collecting the files as you and your sister remain silent.

"Let me know when you're ready to answer my questions." The agent says, leaving the room hesitantly.

You were already facing trouble, no sense in causing more.

As promised, later that night you and MJ arrive back at your apartment. Your dad was sound asleep in the living room and you didn't want to wake him, the TV being the comfort background noise for his sleeping figure.

"Hey..." MJ says, breaking your gaze from your sleeping dad, and you turn to face her with raised eyebrows.

"We'll get through this." She says after you meet her brown eyed stare.

You nod, swallowing the lump you fought so hard against throughout the day down your throat.

"I know." You tell her, going in for a hug, which she reciprocates.

You two pull away after a minute of just embracing each-other. You were glad you had someone to go through this with, and you were also glad Peter had you as well. You knew this was the toughest on him and you would do anything to be with him right now, hoping you could make him feel better, feel safer, but you knew your dad would probably limit your hang out time with the boy.

Peter needed you just as much as you needed him. You knew he would get through this, he was the strongest person you knew.

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Two [And Realising That Grayson Hawthorne Has A Slutty Waist] 

note: i actually didn't expect people to like this and actually read it ajhhagfrkyuesyrk thanks for all your nice comments <33

Sunday– Simply put, I’m fucked. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xander’s amazing plan began by throwing a party in Hawthorne House, and honestly, after drinking a bit too much last night, you didn’t find enough courage in yourself to drink more.

Because Xander’s parties always, always had a game of Whiskey Woes, and whiskey made your head spin.

Xander: Honestly, you should be glad I’m not locking you two in a room together 😏

You read and re-read that message countless times, not believing that Xander was actually trying to set you up with Grayson.

Like seriously?

You, someone who has life, and him, who’s a living statue? Even a random person on the street would say that the two of you didn’t belong together, no etceteras at all.

You: I don’t think whatever you’re planning is any better

Xander: Trust in me

Trusting a Hawthorne is the biggest mistake one can make. It’s a bad idea.

Unfortunately, you’re filled to the brim with bad ideas.

That’s how you found yourself in the sunroom of Hawthorne House at eight p.m., unopened whiskey bottles on the floor and papers with pens. Every single Hawthorne was there, except for Nash.

Bartending, apparently.

Avery was there too, sitting on the sofa with Jameson at her feet. And then there was Maxine Liu, who you knew to be Avery’s best friend.

Grayson was on an armchair, his legs stretched out and his body leaning to the side, his index finger on his temple and his elbow settled on the armrest.

Xander cleared his throat, and you began to dread what he was planning.

“As everyone here knows, no party is complete–or begins–without Whiskey Woes. Usually, we write a secret on a piece of paper, a secret that completely breaks you, and throw it in the Bowl of Woe.” He points towards a flowery plastic bowl in the middle of the room, decorated with chipped paint which illustrated roses and lilies.

“And then, we sit in a circle and ask questions. Each of you get one bottle of whiskey, and each time you pass a question, you drink a whole glass. When your bottle is over, you read out your woe. But this time, we’re doing things differently.”

Oh, no.

Xander smirked, and Jameson’s back straightened. Grayson’s eyebrow raising was the only sign of interest he showed.

“This time, we’re doing this in pairs. Choose your partners wisely.”

And then Xander extended his hand to Maxine, and Maxine took it.

They settled on the floor together, pulling one bottle of whiskey each and two slips of paper and pens.

“Well then, Heiress?” 

“As if I’m choosing someone else.”

Jameson took his place on the sofa, bringing with him the supplies to play the game.

That left you, and a certain Grayson Hawthorne.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Whiskey Woes in a group is pain, but in pairs? With Grayson Hawthorne? No. Just no. Someday, I’m going to kill Xander for this, because it’s not like Grayson had any other choice other than teaming up with me. Whiskey, a game, and Grayson Hawthorne? Recipe for disaster. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Do I have a choice on not playing?” Grayson asked, and honestly, points to him. You don’t want to play a game with whiskey involved with him.

Xander smirked again. “Do you want to quit, Gray?”

Grayson stiffened.

“Oh, and another rule. If you don’t want to drink the whiskey and not answer a question, you remove an article of clothing from your body.” Xander continues.

Now, you glared at him.

“Sounds like you’re trying to mix in Strip Bowling.” Jameson said.

Xander shrugged. “I made the game, I make the rules.” Then he says your name. “Planning on playing? Gray’s the only one left, by the way.”

“Can’t I just drink without playing?”

“No.”

You sigh, getting up from your seat on the floor and moving towards the armchair Grayson sits on. 

He looks at you walk towards him, and you want to combust.

You extend a hand. “Partners?”

He sighs, sitting up straight in his chair before lifting one hand and clasping yours in a stiff shake. “Partners.”

“Great.” You sit on the floor again. “Now sit down.”

He looks at the floor distastefully. “Must I?”

“It’s either you sitting on the floor or me sitting in your lap. Take your pick.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── And you know what’s worse? I told him to either sit on the floor, or let me sit on his lap. I DIDN’T MEAN FOR IT TO COME OUT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR. IT SOUNDED LIKE I WAS GOING TO DO THAT SEXUALLY OR WHATEVER BUT SERIOUSLY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?” He doesn’t let you repeat what you said, though, sliding down from the chair and loosening his tie, sitting on the floor as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

He removes his jacket, throwing it on the armchair and rolling up his sleeves till the elbows.

You can’t stop looking.

“Done staring?” He asks, dryly.

You ignore him, writing your woe on the slip of paper instead.

I find Grayson Hawthorne hot. Yes. That’s it.

There. Something not too bad, but still suitable for Whiskey Woes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Trust me. I’m not going for sexual. It just happens. And no, I’m not writing down what I wrote. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson tries to get comfortable when he writes, one long leg bent with the knee upwards, and near his head. His hair falls over his face as he writes, the paper on the floor.

He looks devastatingly handsome.

He takes your folded slip of paper and walks towards the Bowl of Woe, depositing the slips in the bowl and bringing back two bottles of whiskey.

He pours his whiskey into a glass, to the brim, and uncaps your bottle to pour in your glass too. And then:

“You start.”

You scramble for a question, before you settle on one.

“Do you actually tango?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I am embarrassment in a body ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?”

You blink once, twice, thrice before you look away, “Forget it.”

“Pfffft.”

His lips are in a small smile, which he tries to cover with his fingers. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But tell me, Why. Is. His. Laugh. So. Hot. It wasn’t even a real laugh. Just a small pfffft and it was both cute and hot?? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Yes.” Grayson says, answering your question. “I’m assuming you get into tough situations a lot?”

You nod. “Now ask your question.”

His look is almost smug. “That was my question.”

“Did you know you’re almost cute when you don’t act like an entitled asshole?”

He drinks the whole glass of whiskey.

You blink. “That wasn’t a question but I’ll accept it.”

Grayson shrugs. “Everything’s a question.”

You don’t know how you ended up in your position around five minutes later. Around half of your bottle is empty, and his is almost over.

“Do you really have to ask such prying questions?” He asks, his eyes almost tired.

“Yes. My turn. Who’s the girl you kissed in Harvard?”

He frowns, taking a look at the bottle of whiskey.

Then he sighs.

You expect him to answer, but he doesn’t.

Instead, his long fingers move to his tie and removes it completely. He tosses it to the side. “One article of clothing.”

You hear Xander tut. “A tie doesn’t count, Gray.” And then the youngest Hawthorne downs a whole glass of whiskey.

Grayson’s fingers begin to undo the top button of his shirt, and he sighs again. “I absolutely loathe this game.”

It’s like watching a show. His long fingers unbutton each and every button before he removes his shirt and tosses it to the side.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But then, guess what happened. He fucking removed his shirt. I will not tell him this, EVER. But Grayson Hawthorne has a slutty waist. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry One ☆ Journal Entry Three

[sophiesonlinediary]

LYRA KANE X GRAYSON HAWTHORNE HC

(these are all from how i think she’ll be and just from my ideas in general)

★ grayson matches his tie to her outfits everyday

★ she owns a motorcycle and teaches him how to drive it

★ she messes up his hair at the end of the day to tease him

★ he'll go out to swim and she'll eventually join him and sit in a pool chair waiting for him to get out. sometimes even falling asleep, but grayson always carries her upstairs when that happens

★ they can talk to each other about ANYTHING

★ lyra doesn't like to admit it but she was super nervous when she met his brothers

★ and on that note grayson wrote a whole paper on conversation starters before meeting her mom and step dad

★ when graysons working too much lyra walks in and steals his papers or shuts his laptop and says he can get back to work after he takes a break

★ they travel everywhere together

★ lyra runs her fingers through his hair when he's falling asleep

★ grayson runs a finger from her waist to her hip when they're in an event just for her to know that he's their with her at all times

★ they have each other as their wallpapers

★ lyra had to take grayson shopping for an entire weekend to give his wardrobe a 'makeover'

★ neck kisses and back hugs when the other is stressed <3

★ grayson runs with lyra in the morning and they talk about what they have planned for the day

★ lyra gets really close to the brothers but especially nash since he's the one with all the embarrassing baby grayson stories

★ jameson will say something embarrassing about gray but lyra tries her hardest not to laugh but gets really red and eventually gives in

★ little stolen glances from across the room any chance they get

★ they immediately know when the others mood has changed

★ lyra does not know how to swim and grayson teaches her

★ grayson picks up her hair in a ponytail when it gets in her face

★ lyra absolutely bashes on emily the first time that she finds out about the double kiss plus dating thing

that felt like a good note to end on i wasn't gonna make this so long but ideas really came to me hope y'all enjoy 😻

[writtenbeneaththestars]

Stood on the cliffside screaming

Summary: Jameson and Grayson deal with the anniversary of Emily's death Warnings: thoughts of suicide, angst, past character death (please tell me if I missed any!!) A/N: I'm really bad at writing romance so uh I'm sorry in advance for the kinda small averyjameson scene at the beginning.... *please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*

Tags: @catapparently, @urbanflorals, @nqds, @reminiscentreader, @never-enough-novels

“Jamie,” Avery said as she laid a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder. He turned to give her a soft smile.

“Heiress.” She could tell he was holding something back. And she had a few suspicions about what that something was.

“I know what the date is, Jameson Hawthorne.” He tensed for the briefest moment under her hand before relaxing again.

“Happy birthday, heiress.”

“You know that wasn’t the day I was talking about,” Avery said softly. They both knew exactly what she was talking about. They both knew exactly why today was what it was.

October eighteenth. The happiest and worst day of Jameson’s life. The day Avery was born and the day Emily died.

“I know,” Jameson muttered softly, leaning down to kiss his girlfriend. It was soft. He was letting her decide what to do with it. But really, what choice was there but to kiss him back? Deep and yearning. It was a feeling she wanted to go on for forever. But it couldn’t and they both knew that.

“You’re going to have to talk about it at some point you know,” Avery said, pulling away. She was close enough to feel his breath tickle her skin. Close enough to just lean in and let the world melt away yet again. To just let everything go and fall into his arms. But she couldn’t when he was hurting. They both knew that.

“Can’t we just celebrate the good thing?” His breath whispered across her face. She wanted nothing more than to celebrate today, but she wanted to do it when one of her favorite people in the world wasn't in pain.

“You’re hurting, Jamie.” He let out a soft sigh but didn’t back away.

“Today will never be easy. I think you know that. But it’s easier when I’m with you. When I think about the good things and not the bad.” He lifted his hand and rested it on her face. “Like the fact that today was the day you were born into this world. The day that meant that sometime in the future, we would meet each other. The day that led to this.”

“Jamie.” Her voice was barely audible. She was scared that any volume louder than that would break the delicate calm in the storm they had created.

“Heiress.” He returned with the same gentleness.

“I love you.” And they descended into a kiss yet again. Just when their lips touched, she heard someone clearing their throat. Avery whipped her head around, and saw Nash standing in the doorway with a smug grin. Crap.

“You know,” the eldest Hawthorne brother said, walking in. “You really ought to close the door when you’re making out.” He looked over at Avery. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh, um, th– thank you,” Avery managed to stutter out. She was sure her face was red at this point. What was more embarrassing than having your boyfriend’s older brother slash older sister’s fiancé walking in on you kissing? Jamie sighed, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

“Why are you here, Nash.”

“I was bored,” he said, shrugging. Then he paused for a moment before turning to Jamie with concern in his eyes. “How are you doing?” Jameson rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“I’m fine, Nash.” Nash looked at Avery, raising his eyebrows.

‘Better,’ Avery mouthed, taking her boyfriend’s hand. Nash nodded. That was good. As the oldest brother, he was always worried about them. But today especially. Emily’s death day was never good for Jamie and Gray. But Jamie has Avery to keep him from doing anything too reckless now, and he was grateful for that.

“Has anyone seen Gray today?” He asked. Avery felt Jameson’s hand tense in her own.

“You haven’t?” To anyone else, his voice would have sounded carefree and light. But Avery knew what he was really feeling. Despite how he wanted everyone to think, Jameson cared about his brothers a lot. He was worried. And the more worried he got, the more he tended to pretend that he wasn’t.

“I was going to check the pool next,” Nash said with a shrug.

“No,” Jameson said, a strange expression on his face. “His two AM swim should be over by now.” His tone was mocking, but Avery knew better. A look of realization dawned on his face as he let out a curse.

“You know where he is, don’t you,” Nash said, watching as his brother put on a thin jacket, no doubt getting ready to leave the house. Jamie paused, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, ‘tis so woeful being the only genius in this house.” He left the room, but not before giving one more smirk back at Avery and Nash. She started to follow him out, but Nash put a hand on her shoulder.

“Something about this tells me that they need to do this alone,” he muttered. He shot her a grin. “And if they end up not killing each other in the next ten minutes, we can go get them then.” Avery nodded, before turning to Nash with a puzzled expression.

“How will we know where to go?” Nash shot her another grin, and then it clicked. “You already know where he is, don’t you.” Nash shrugged.

“I figured this was something they should do themselves first.” Of course he already knew. “Although,” he added. “I don’t particularly like the spot Gray chose.” He shrugged, but Avery could tell he was worried too. The brothers cared about each other. And Nash being the oldest one, well, he’s had more experience than all of them in dealing with and taking care of the Hawthorne brothers. “I’ll text you in five,” he called out behind him as he left her room.

****

The wind was cold, but Grayson couldn’t feel it. It was unusually cold for an October day, but he supposed it fit. It was funny, in a twisted sort of way how much he wanted to just– no. He wasn’t allowed to show that. He wasn’t allowed to say that. He could only think that because he needed to be perfect. And perfect people don’t think about jumping off to see if they would fly, knowing damn well they can’t.

Perfect people wouldn’t be like Grayson Hawthorne.

He would just swim. Just swim until he physically couldn’t anymore, then he’d swim one more lap after that. To get rid of the noise. To get rid of the hurt. To get rid of the numb. But it always returned with a vengeance the moment he stopped. But this cliff? This cliff was fine. Yeah, it was fine. He could just– he could just stay here a little longer, right?

He had lost track of time at this point. How long had he been up here, looking over the edge? How long had he been shut off and numb to the world around him? Well, he knew the answer to that. Since practically forever. He couldn’t remember a single day when nothing hurt. When nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter.

Sometime, somewhere in the fog that had taken over his brain, he heard footsteps from behind him. It was funny how he could be so lost yet so aware at the same time. He picked on the littlest things these days, yet he was still never fully present for any of it.

At first he thought he was making it all up. He’s made up entire people before, so what's stopping him from making up this sound? Still he whipped his head around, and was filled with the slightest of shock and relief that he wasn’t making it up.

“So I was right,” he heard his brother say when he turned his head back around. Jameson sounded smug, but Grayson had long gained the ability to see – and hear – through his facade. He was worried. Grayson wanted to scoff and shake some sense into him because Grayson Hawthorn did not need any worry. He didn’t deserve it.

“How are you today, Jameson?” He asked, because asking Jameson and making sure he was ok was easier than telling him that Grayson wasn’t. He wouldn't admit it was because he cared about his brother. He just wouldn’t. He was met with a scoff coming from his right as Jameson sat down next to him.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure.” Grayson said. His brother could deflect as much as he wanted, but Grayson could do it better.

“Well that’s rich coming from the person who’s sitting on the edge of the cliff where they watched someone die.” Grayson could do nothing but shrug. There was a pause before Jameson spoke again. “It’s hard, but I’m getting through it. Avery’s helping.” Grayson nodded. That was good. As much as he hated to show it, he hated the idea of any of his brothers being hurt. “How are you?” So he really did ask it, huh.

“I’m fine.” He was aware that he was echoing Jameson, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“Yeah, because sitting on the edge of the cliff where Emily died for who knows how long at this point is certainly the definition of fine.” He flinched when her name was mentioned and he knew Jameson noticed. He was relieved when it wasn’t brought up. “Talk to me, Gray.” But he couldn’t. Didn’t he understand? He couldn’t. He let out a quiet sigh.

“Life is funny, isn’t it?” Grayson turned to his brother for the first time since he arrived, laughing darkly. He turned back to the direction of the edge. “It just has to make them both land on the same date, doesn’t it.” He turned his head up to look at the sky. Jameson didn’t talk. “I’m just– I’m so sick of it.” He couldn’t bring himself to care that he was revealing what he had kept buried for his entire life, and to his brother no less.

“Of the dates?” Jameson sounded light, like he didn’t have a care in the world, but Grayson heard the heaviness in his voice nonetheless.

“Of life.” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, unearthing feelings he had taught himself to suppress for as long as he could remember. But it felt like nothing. Like he was just empty.

“You were going to jump off that cliff.” Jameson said, his voice a mix of emotions that Grayson didn’t have the energy or motivation to pick apart. The part he did catch though, was that it wasn’t a question.

“No.” On some level, he was aware that he was talking. But it felt like he was underwater. Which was funny, because he realized that he sort of wanted to be. Underwater. And to never come back up. “I was going to step off.” He realized on some level that his voice sounded hollow. Like it had died a long time ago, and was decaying. It was funny because that was how he felt. Turned out his voice reflected it too. He realized he had a strange sense of humor.

“How long?” And Grayson knew exactly what he was asking. How long had he been this way? How long had he wanted to simply die and not be revived?

“The question you ought to ask isn’t how long,” he said, “rather when am I not.” He heard footsteps coming from behind them. Ah, so their ten minutes alone were up according to Nash.

“Have you guys gotten all your angst out yet?” He heard his youngest brother say. Leave it to Xander to lighten the mood.

“Meh,” Jameson said, and Grayson could hear him smirking. He knew without looking that Avery sat down next to his brother, and Nash was in the process of sitting down next to him. And Libby sat next to Nash, Max sat next to Avery, and Xander sat next to Max.

“So,” Avery said after a moment of silence. “The cliff?” Grayson shrugged.

“Personally,” Nash started saying, placing a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. He found that he strangely didn’t mind. “I think it’s a bit cold, but oh well.”

“Ok, now that everyone is here,” Jameson said after another moment of silence. “You can’t lie anymore. How are you really, Gray?” He was aware his heart was pounding, but he was too busy making sure he didn’t cry. Because Grayson Hawthorn could not cry. How long had he spent his childhood wishing, pleading that someone would ask him that? But now– now he didn’t know what to say.

“I have no idea.” His voice was monotone and conveyed no emotion at all. Just the way he liked it. Just the way Tobias liked it.

“That’s ok,” Nash said, and something in him broke. He felt a tear silently fall from his eyes. That was another thing. Crying silently. He had taught himself how to do that when he used to cry in the middle of the night before he had mastered the art of blocking everything out. And they just kept coming.

And then Jameson hugged him and they fell faster. They never hugged. Jameson pulled back and looked into his eyes.

'I know,' they were saying. 'I’ve got you. You’re safe. I know.'

The date would always be hard. But they had each other. And that made it that much more tolerable. And it would be ok.

It would be ok.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title : four bottles and a maybe kiss

pairing: Jameson Hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis : you are at a bar with the Hawthorne brothers who you’ve grown up friends with. But being with Jameson Hawthorne has always been a little different than the others, it’s always felt like there is something more…

warnings : drinking and alcohol

a/n : this is my first ever time writing in this platform so idk if this is too long or really rubbish, I just hope you enjoy and I’m always open to feedback

tag list : there is no tag list but let me know if you want to be on it :)

The music was so loud I could feel each beat in my chest. The pounding of the song was beginning to match the pounding in my head. I could feel my limbs beginning to ache. I needed to get out of hot, sticky, sweatiness of this place. I knew I wasn’t even the slightest bit tipsy, I’d only had one drink and I’m glad, it was easy to get lost in this place. Eventually I find the door to exit. The cold air laps my exposed skin, drinking up the humidity greedily and I’ve never been more grateful. I tip my head back, shutting my eyes and take a deep breath in. I allow the oxygen to fill my lungs and feel a little calmer, a little less achy. I exhale, thankful for the cool breeze of the night. But it’s not longer before my kind begins to wander as it often does when the rest of the world is silent and it always directs me back to the same train of thought. Jameson Hawthorne.

I’d grown up by his side and him by mine. We had always gotten on, always been like minded people with a high aptitude for various subjects. Tobias had always had a liking for me, approving of one of the family’s few outside connections. I’d always been close to all the Hawthorne brothers but Jameson… Jameson was so different. It never felt like just a friendship, the bond was too strong, too emotional for just that. His familiar smirk often laced my dreams and his bright eyes constantly plagued my imagination. Things like that don’t just happen. From the day we met and every day after, there has been a spark. I can feel the electricity pulsing through my veins when I’m around him and I don’t know if he can feel it too. So I say nothing and of course he says nothing and so we live on. Me, imagining the impossible and Jameson… being Jameson.

Suddenly, reeling me out of my thoughts quite literally, my body jerks forward as I feel something hit my back with force. I slam into the pavement, the impact hard, but break my fall with my hands.

“Oh shit shit shit, I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says.

My head whips around and my eyes widen, “Jameson?”

‘Huh just the person I was thinking about…’ I think, ‘Fate? Nah.’

I look up. There he is, standing there. He’s just fallen out of the door of a bar but somehow still looks like some sort of Greek god. His face so perfect it’s unfair, eyes so bright it gives the sun a run for her money, a smile so alluring that I’d sell both my kidneys just to see it once.

“Oh hey there Y/N!” he grins as I stand up wiping my hands on the bottom of my dress, “didn’t see you there.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, analysing him. His face was red and rosy, his eyelids drooping slightly and I could see the sweat dripping off of his forehead.

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to one side

“You’re drunk,” I state.

“Nooooo,” he slurs, grinning as he stumbles towards me. He’s about to fall over before I act fast and catch him. I underestimated his weight and falter slightly but managed to pull him back as he’s wheezing with laughter.

“What’s so funny Jamie?” I ask, not bothering to suppress my smile.

“I fell over,” he laughs, “and this is the second time now!”

I sigh, “How many drinks have you had?”

“Four…” he says, hesitating a little while, “…bottles.”

“Jameson!” I exclaim.

“Y/n!” he yells, mocking my shocked tone.

“Four whole bottles!”

“Nash had double,” he defends, putting his hands up. His hair, as unruly as ever, look particularly good tonight. I don’t know what he’s done with it but it made him look so beautiful.

“Is that why he’s cowboy dancing?” I ask, recalling the routine if previously witnessed, that will be engraved into my brain for the rest of my life.

“And screaming Taylor Swift,” Jameson tells me, “I believe when I left it was ‘picture to burn’ but by now it could be anything.”

“Damn I missed that,” I say.

“Gray probably got it on video,” he shrugs, tapping one hand on his leg in a rhythm, like he often does when he’s nervous or distracted or just needs to burn some energy.

“Where’s Xander?” I ask him.

“I don’t knowww,” Jameson slurs, his eyes darting from my eyes to my lips and back again, “but I know where you are!”

I smile softly, folding my arms and leaning on the wall behind me, “and where am I?”

His eyelids fall down and then pry open slowly before he slumps down against the wall, hitting the concrete with a thump. That’s going to be a painful bruise tomorrow.

“You are here, with me,” he laughs, “and I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

“You are?” I ask, my eyebrows flying up, caught off guard at the comment

“Yep, can I tell you a secret?” he asks me, his green eyes sparkling as my stares up at me, clinging to my forearm.

“What’s your secret?” I whisper.

“You have to come down here to hear it,” Jameson giggles, tugging twice on my arm. I oblige and sit down next to him, my back against the wall. He takes my face between his hands and I’m taken by surprise. He’s so gentle and soft. My brain is telling me to pull away but our eyes connect and my brain doesn’t seem to work much after that. I’m staring into pools of lush green emeralds, hypnotising me from any logic I may have had. All I can hear is my heart is thumping loudly in my ears.

“What’s your secret?” I whisper, our faces inches apart, almost touching but not quite there.

“You are my favourite person,” he murmurs, “ever!”

His hands no longer cup my face and instead the tip of his finger is booping my nose. I scrunch up my face and try not to laughs. This was probably the most drunk if ever seen Jameson.

“Really?” I ask him.

“Yep,” he nods.

I can’t believe what he’s saying. I can’t let myself, it would be too cruel. He’s drunk. So very drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He won’t remember a word of it and he probably doesn’t mean it. But he possibly does. Hope blossoms in my chest and it feels so much better than the doubt. My heart is still racing, my cheeks from heating up. Thank god he won’t remember.

“Well that’s nice to know,” I say, “you want to know my secret?”

“Yeah!” he says, like an excitable puppy, practically jumping up and down in anticipation. It’s adorable. But I can’t afford to think that.

“You’re my favourite person as well,” I tell him quietly.

“Really?” he makes her, tipping his head to the side.

“Yuh-huh,” I say.

“That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” he muses, “like a kitten.”

I can’t help myself as I let out a giggle. Drunk Jameson is completely random, spouting absolute nonsense but I love it. I love him. But I can’t love him because he’s just a friend. My smile fades slowly and I sigh silently staring up at the stars in the night sky. Maybe in another life, some other universe we’re written in the stars but in this one… no.

“Don’t stop,” Jameson says suddenly.

I stare at him, confusion painted across my features, “Don’t stop what?”

“Smiling,” he replies, “you’re so pretty when you smile…I mean you’re pretty anyway,” he rambled on, “but that smile…” he sighs as he trails off.

“You’re definitely drunk,” I scoff, getting to my feet.

He quickly scrambles up after me, grabbing my arms so I’m staring right at him, “this is the most sober I’ve felt all night.”

“After four bottles?” I chuckle, “yeah right.”

“Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are,” he asks suddenly.

“What?” I ask, getting whiplash from the turn of conversation.

“Your eyes…” he murmurs, his finger grazing my jawline.

“Jameson stop this,” I say, pushing him away despite wanting nothing more than his fingers on my skin, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

I can’t afford to have my heart broken again. I can’t take it. I won’t let myself fall. I replay those sentences in my head over and over, sounding like a mad woman but not caring for a second because I’m too stubborn to let myself go through the pain again.

“I think I do,” he replies, “I could talk about you for hours.”

I have to keep reminding myself he’s drunk. No matter how hard I want to believe that this is real, I know better than to be fooled. Things like this only happen in fiction, not in the real world. Never lose your heart to a Hawthorne, the words are etched into my brain and yet somehow I’m managing to ignore their overbearing call.

“That’s very sweet but you should probably go home and get some rest,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to take responsibility, wishing I was more reckless and selfish so that I’d just take this as my opportunity. But I’m not like that.

“Come with me,” Jameson shouts, a clear desperation in his voice, despite the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere and didn’t plan to. He grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him.

I shake my head, “no Jamie, not today.”

“But I’ll miss you,” he pouts, his hands travelling down my body and stopping at my waist, “and then I’ll get sad.”

I bite back the shiver that is begging to run through me. We’re so close. Butterflies dance around in my stomach, almost as chaotically as Nash when he does his cowboy routine to Taylor Swift. My rational mind is telling me to break free from his grasp but I feel so nice, it feels too natural that I stay.

“You’ll manage,” I tell him quietly.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. I can feel his thumb rubbing circles on the small of my back, “when I’m without you I’m so…” he struggling to find the right word, “down. Nash keeps telling me I should just tell you how I feel but what does he want me to do? Tell you that when you’re not around everything that’s meant to be colourful looks grey or that I spend most of my time thinking about the way your hair curls in the rain or the way I’ve noticed that you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous. Or the dreams I’ve had about you dancing in my arms, your voice calling me yours and the sunset beaches we lay on whole we talk about everything.”

“Jameson…” I whisper, reaching out and touching his cheek tentatively.

“I love you Y/N L/N,” Jameson tells me, looking me dead in the eyes.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” I reply sharply, shaking myself from his gasp. I’m suddenly cold without his warm hands situated on my waist, but I refuse to shiver.

“No! Listen to me! It’s always been you, I truly think it has been,” he says, so convincingly I almost believe him, “from the day we first met there’s always been something there. I felt it and I know you did too,” his voice, so determined, so passionate, “there was no way you couldn’t have. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you all of this but it’s only taken me this long to express it because I’m too much of a coward to try when I’m sober,” he admits, honesty in his shining green eyes, “but I know what I’m saying, I know what I’m doing and I’m so crazy on this high of love that I don’t think the alcohol is even working anymore.”

“I want to believe you, really Jamie, I do,” I murmur, “you don’t know how badly I want this but…” I trail off, unable to finish what my brain wants me to say, getting distracted by the way he’s looking at me.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks me softly, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips.

“Jameson-“

“Your lips look so beautiful,” he says, “Can I kiss you?”

a/n: find more like this on my TIG Masterlist