#I thought I couldn’t live long enough to see this
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queenk00k · 2 days ago
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cupid's lead arrows // rafe cameron
Requested by anon
Request: Hi girl I love your writing 🫶🏻 Can you write about Rafe, who has been Reader’s best friend forever, but secretly has a crush on her? One day, Reader confesses that she’s dating someone, and Rafe does everything he can to break them up.
Summary: You finally get a boyfriend but something, or someone, seems intent on keeping you apart.
Word count: 1.8k
Includes: This is literally all angst sorry
Note: My first Outer Banks fic in over 4 years lol please be kind! I got a little carried away...this lends itself to a part 2, if anyone likes it.
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It’s not always a walk in the park when you’re Rafe Cameron’s best friend.
You’ve been inseparable since the first day of high school when you got paired together for a semester long project. Study sessions in the library (well, you would study, and Rafe would flirt with the cute library monitor) turned into after school hangouts at Tannyhill, which turned into hosting parties and heading to college together.
Did you ever have a crush on your best friend? Well fuck, have you seen him?
Not only is he gorgeous but you got to experience a whole different side of Rafe that not everyone got to see, the sweet side – loyal, caring, and pretty soft behind the scenes.
You spent years pining after Rafe, silently and stoically of course, never wanting to ruin your friendship by letting him know how you felt. You figured it was for the best and besides, you had lived through enough of Rafe’s girlfriends to know you weren’t ever going to be his type.
You’ve seen each other’s highest highs and lowest lows which, unfortunately for you both, Rafe seemed to have more than his fair share of. Much to the disappointment of your parents and the shock of your friends, you stuck by Rafe’s side through his drug addiction and his drinking problems and were there to pick up the pieces after his father died. Rafe, in turn, had your back when you had blow up fights with your mother and comforted you when you had problems with your friends.
Now, two years out of college and with Rafe mostly sober, you didn’t think there was anything you two couldn’t handle, nothing you couldn’t face together, nothing that could ever come between you.
Until you started dating Parker.
Rafe seemed happy for you when you first told him, hugging you and telling you he was proud of you for “finally getting some.” He was nice to Parker (by Rafe’s standards, which really meant not going out of his way to intimidate the guy) when you brought him to the beach and introduced them.
But as the weeks went by, you noticed a subtle shift in Rafe’s behaviour. You kept telling yourself you were being paranoid, that there’s no way Rafe could have an issue with Parker. He told you he was happy for you, right? And unlike the last potential boyfriends, Rafe didn’t try to scare him off.
But something was off.
You noticed Rafe was falling back into old habits that scared you. He was drinking more, often double parked at parties, and either loud and belligerent or sulking on his own in a corner.
And then then the incidents began. At first you just thought it was shit luck, but then it just started to feel like the universe was conspiring against you and Parker.
Turns out Rafe was conspiring against you and Parker.
It started when Parker seemingly ghosted you on one of your Friday night dates, leaving you alone and upset at the wharf before Rafe picked you up. Parker swore he had car issues, both his front tires punctured, and you figured that was a reasonable excuse.
Then the night of the annual bonfire, a harmless game of ‘never have I ever’ turned sour when Rafe and Topper kept coming up with the most oddly specific scenarios. Each of them left Parker putting down his fingers, looking sheepishly over at you as your cheeks turned red from embarrassment before you got up and left the circle, Rafe raising a beer bottle to his lips as he watched you intently. He followed after you that night and you melted into his arms, naïvely assuming your best friend was comforting you without an ulterior motive.
And now the worst of all – Topper had cornered you as you were leaving the driving range to ask if you knew Parker was spending time with his ex, and you finally snapped.
“Where did you hear this, Topper? Who told you?”
And because Topper was, above all, really just spineless, you got the answer out of him straight away.
Rafe. At the scene of the crime, three times in a row. What a fucking coincidence.
So, you decided you’d had enough of this bullshit, of Rafe playing games with your relationship, and you drove over to his house, marched up to his front door and banged on it with your fist until he finally opened up.
“Y/N!” he said, looking genuinely excited to see you. “What are you doing here?”
You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to lose your shit just yet, not to get angry until you actually knew the truth.
“Do you like Parker? Do you want me to be with him?”
Rafe blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion.
“What? I don’t-”
“Tell me the truth,” you cut in. “I want to hear you say it.”
Rafe stepped over the threshold and gently closed the door behind him, clearing his throat before he answered.
“No. I don’t, and I want you to break up with him,” he said, folding his arms.
You huffed out a humourless laugh.
“Right, well, that’s not going to happen. Thanks a lot,” you say, willing yourself not to cry as you turn around and walk away from your best friend.
“Y/N, please come back. I have my reasons!” Rafe raises his voice as he calls out to you.
“Why do you care so much? Is this some fake chivalrous ‘if I can’t have you, no one can’ bullshit? Just leave me alone, Rafe.” You say as you clamber down the front steps and start walking to your car.
“Because I love you, alright?!” Rafe shouts after you.
You stop, the righteous anger you were feeling only moments before threatening to dissipate into the humid night air. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply before turning around to face your best friend.
Rafe’s breathing heavily, running his hand over his head as if to erase what he just said.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his ring glinting in the moonlight as he chews on his thumb, looking pleadingly at you, willing you to say something, anything. The silence between you feels heavy as your mind races. He’s said it before of course, but it’s usually in jest, or after you help him with something. This feels different, and you know better than to assume it’s not.
“Rafe,” you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. “What are you doing?” You watch him warily as he takes a hesitant step towards you.
“I love you. I’m serious. More than best friends, more than anything we’ve been in the past. I love you and I…I can’t stand to see you with someone else. I can’t let it happen.”
“You have no right-”
“He’s not a good guy, y/n!” Rafe raises his voice again, making you flinch slightly. You scoff at his words, throwing him an incredulous glare.
“Like you can talk, Rafe. I know you – more than anyone else. You’re not exactly in a position to be telling me who’s good for me or not,” you snap.
Rafe huffs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Yeah, you got me. I’m not perfect, fine, but I know you and I know you shouldn’t be with Parker. That’s why I-” Rafe stops abruptly, his mouth twisting.
You step closer to him, closing the gap between you. “That’s why you what, Rafe?” Your heart pounds and you’re sure you’re about to have your suspicions confirmed. When Rafe stands there, dumbstruck and silent, you answer for him.
“You’re the one who started that rumour about Parker and his ex, aren’t you?”
Rafe’s silence tells you everything you need to know. You shake your head, not quite believing that your best friend would try and sabotage your relationship like this.
“And the bonfire? That was on purpose, wasn’t it? You got some dirt on Parker and wanted me to know about it.”
Rafe winced. “Well, Topper helped with that one. But seriously, this is all for your own good. I’m trying to protect you!”
You hold your hand up. “Stop. Just stop. How could you do this? Why would you try and break us up like this, just because you’re jealous? Why can’t you just let me be happy? Not to mention, you’ve been hurting me, Rafe! You’re not just hurting Parker; you’re destroying me in the process.”
You’re crying now, feeling betrayed. You had barely noticed but it had started to rain, the droplets mixing with your tears to run mascara down your cheeks. Rafe has the audacity to look concerned and regretful, to move as if to hug you and you shake his arm off before jabbing your index finger into his chest.
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Rafe. You had your chance! For years! Just because you’ve finally fucking woken up doesn’t mean you get to ruin my happiness. And now this bullshit about Parker’s family? That’s low, even for you,” you spit, the brief warmth you felt when Rafe told you he loved you now completely cold.
Rafe shook his head. “No, no, you don’t get it! That’s all true! They’re shady fucking people and God, that’s coming from a Cameron. You can’t get caught up in their mess,” he pleads.
“You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to believe you now! Why should I?” you yell before spinning on your heel and stalking down the driveway to your car, being careful to not slip on the pavement.
“Y/N, wait!” Rafe calls and he catches up to you in two long strides, grabbing your wrist with his large hand. His white button-down shirt was almost transparent now and the rain was running in rivers off his nose as he looked down at you.
“Please,” he begs. “Come inside. Let me explain. I love you, y/n, please,” Rafe looks desperate, and you almost pity him before you snap back to reality and remember why you’re so angry.
“I’m going to my boyfriend’s house,” you snarl, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “And if you follow me Rafe, I swear to God, I will never speak to you again.”
With that, you yank open your car door and put the keys in the ignition with shaking hands.
“FUCK!”
As you pull away, you can hear Rafe yelling your name.
You don’t even look in the rearview mirror as you turn out of his street, tires squealing.
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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 1 day ago
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hii love! i just read your clingy so u distance yourself fic for the bazillion time and i cried again no surprise🥹 I just wanted to say i love your works so much and would live to request for an angst oneshot with brother bsf chan? basically reader has been pining for chan for a few years but she never got the courage to tell chan cause she thinks she isn’t good enough for chan. Then afterwards basically chan got a girlfriend who hated her and basically influenced chan to stop hanging out with her which he listened to and told the reader which the reader told him that his girlfriend wasn’t loyal but he thought she was sabotaging his relationship and so they ended off on bad terms but turns out a few weeks later he caught his girlfriend cheating and went back to the reader? sorry if it is kinda long but i rlly need a oneshot like this to read when i just need some angst i really live and admire your works so id be elated if you did my request. thank you and lots of love❤️
my first piece since I went on a mini little baby hiatus. and i had a lot of joy writing this. so i hope you enjoy <3!!!
Brothers Bsf Chan x Fem!Reader (angst/fluff)
6.8k words
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You didn’t know when it started. Was it a simple touch? A brush of a hand or an accidental graze of fingers? Or was it one of those lazy Friday nights where Chan would crack jokes to you and his best friend- your older brother Jisung- while you three were watching movies in the house you grew up in. Or did it stem back all the way to those days where you would chase after Chan and Jisung on the playground, down your neighborhood streets- crying out for them to wait for you. Those cries stopped when Chan would reach his hand out to bring you along.
Maybe it was a combination of all of those things, those things you had tried so hard to forget because it could only lead to heartbreak. Falling in love with your brother’s best friend was no easy feat for anyone. Let alone when you were falling for someone like Chan, who was so hard to fall out of love with. Maybe even more so for you since he would always be in your life. Him and Jisung were nearly joined at the hip, which made it even harder to hide your pining for him. You wouldn’t dare love out loud, but it was starting to whisper through the cracks of your resolve.
You were unconditionally in love with everything about Chan. 
That's how it was for years, and how you intended it to be for as long as allowed. You spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, wondering if he could ever see you the way that you saw him. You were sure things were only platonic between the two of you, but you couldn’t help but linger on the memories of certain looks, certain gestures that you couldn’t delude yourself into believing happened between friends. 
Things started to change when Chan began dating someone new. 
Duri. Her name was Duri, and the first time you met her, you knew she was the type to turn heads. She had a smile that could light up a room and a confidence you could only dream of. Standing next to her, you felt small, like a background character in Chan’s life story. A girl who captured Chan’s attention so easily. A girl who wrapped him up in her life so easily that you knew you were to be forgotten. He was smitten and her words flowed like the river of the smoothest molasses. She could easily convince Chan, he didn’t need you. Because she didn’t like you.
You weren’t sure why, but it was obvious. And because she didn’t like you, her feelings towards Jisung weren’t all that different, it seemed. And slowly you felt like Chan was making his way out of your life.
“Ji, why isn’t Chris here?” You loved the way his name sounded when you said it. Not many people around you called him Chris, so it felt special to call him that. He seemed to enjoy it as well, not ever asking you to conform to societal norms.
“He’s probably just busy, Y/N-ie…I’m sure he’ll come back around.” Jisung said one day as you guys sat on the couch, scrolling through movies. It was the first Friday movie Chan had missed. And even if it was the first time he had missed it, you knew it would be a regular occurrence.
In all honesty, at first, you tried to like Duri. She was with Chan, after all, and you thought that maybe you could be friends. That maybe if you could convince yourself to like her then the pain of not being the one that Chan loved would ease.. But the more you saw her, the more you felt her sharp, indirect glances, the way she dismissed you with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She made you feel invisible, as if you were only tolerated because you were Jisung’s sister. Even if she just barely tolerated the latter.
Over time, you saw the changes in Chan too. He became distant, no longer the easygoing guy who’d spend hours with you and your brother. He was still polite, still kind, but he was pulling away, bit by bit. You told yourself it was just a phase, that he’d come around once things settled down with Duri.
But then, one night, things came to a head.
You, Jisung, and Chan had made plans to meet at your favorite café—just a casual hangout, like old times. But when Chan showed up with his girlfriend by his side, something was off. His smile was forced, his laughs hollow. He barely met your eyes, and when you spoke, and even then  it was like he wasn’t really listening. To the point that Jisung even pointed it out. Every time you spoke, Duri happened to speak at the same time. Every time a question was directed at you, Duri somehow changed the conversation. You felt small and insignificant and made your way home early. You couldn’t stand to sit there and see the man you were so down bad for with his significant other. Duri had sat close to him, her hand always somewhere on his arm or shoulder, marking her territory in the subtlest way, in a way that caused an anger that wasn’t so subtle. 
But even then after leaving you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest. You sat down on a bench outside of a convenience store by your home, trying to sort out your feelings. 
You okay? I’ll be heading home soon. We went out to drink. 
You quickly type out a reply to Jisung, your fingers shaking as you realized just how cold it was. Just as you were about to get up to leave a pale hand reached out to you with a warm drink. 
You looked up to see a guy with dark and prominent eyebrows, and a little birthmark on his nose. 
“You seemed cold. Its…” He looked at the can. “Mocha flavored.” He handed it back out to you and smiled softly. 
“Thank you.” You said with a small bow of your head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtful gesture. 
“You live in the neighborhood right? Your brother…looks like a squirrel?” The man’s voice was soft and shy, like he thought he was talking too much.
“Oh! You’re our new neighbor? I’m Han Y/N.” You said with a flourished bow.
“Park Sunghoon. Nice to meet you…” He shuffled awkwardly. “Would you like me to wait before I walk home…I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“No! No! It’s fine, I'm not uncomfortable. You can walk home with me.” You say quietly. “Maybe it’ll be nice to not feel lonely.”
As you made your way back home with Sunghoon you had a weird feeling in your chest. You thought maybe you were just trying to sort your feelings, but it was more of an intuitive sense. 
Then you got a text from your brother.
I’m coming home. Duri tried to make a move on me and I’m not trying to get into it with Chan while she is here.
You blinked at the text, nodding when your voice registered Sunghoon asking if you were okay.
That was that odd feeling…
You didn’t know if it was selfish to feel happy that Duri was a tool, but you did. You didn’t want Chan to get hurt so you decided to go talk to him. Giving a message on behalf of Jisung, who thought maybe Chan would listen better if it was coming from a girl
“Hey, can I talk to you?” you asked, your voice soft but determined, as you walked up to him outside of his job a few days later.
“Yeah, of course,” he replied, looking a bit surprised. He followed you to a quieter part of the park, away from prying eyes. “Is everything okay? Jisung hasn’t texted me in a couple of days…"
You took a breath, feeling the words tangle on the tip of your tongue. “Chris…I just…I feel like you’re not around as much anymore. I get that you’re with Duri, but…it’s like you’re pulling away from me and Jisung. My brother is too scared to say anything, but he feels just as bad, if not worse than I do.”
He frowned, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry if it feels that way,” he said finally, but not much emotion in his voice. “But…I need to be there for Duri. She’s… she doesn’t feel comfortable with me hanging out so much with, you know…” He trailed off, not meeting your eyes.
Your heart sank, a cold dread washing over you. “With me, you mean?”
He hesitated, but the silence was all the confirmation you needed. “She…doesn’t get why I’m so close with you. And I don’t want her to feel insecure, so I…I think it’s best if we… keep some distance. Just for now.”
You stared at him, feeling a surge of hurt and anger. “Chris, she’s manipulating you!” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “She’s making you feel guilty for caring about people who were here long before she was. Because she knows those people will pinpoint, that she’s a manipulative cheater!”
He looked at you, a flash of anger in his eyes at the words. “You don’t know her like I do,” he snapped.
You flinched at the venom in his voice. He had never snapped at you and you could feel tears spring to your eyes.
“She tried to make a move on Ji…” You said quietly. “And don’t try and say my brother is a liar, Chris,  because you know he’s not.”
Chan gave a sarcastic chuckle. “She already told me that Y/N. She was drunk. It was nothing more than that.”
“Drunk actions are sober thought Chris!” You shot back.
“Oh, so the first time you ever got drunk and confessed your feelings for me was a sober thought?”
You felt your body freeze and you blinked at Chan with wide eyes. You blacked out the first time you had ever drank and didn’t touch anything since. You never knew you had admitted to liking Chan.
“So it’s true then? You actually love me?” Chan let out a large sigh. “Frankly, it’s not fair for you to accuse her of things that aren’t true just because you put me on a pedestal. Your feelings for me aren’t my responsibility Y/N. This…this just feels like you’re trying to come between us because of some childish jealousy. She’s my girlfriend, and I trust her more than I trust someone who hasn’t been honest to me for years.”
You felt like you’d been slapped. The words cut deeper than anything you’d expected, leaving you struggling for air. “That’s not…that’s not what I’m doing, Chan. I just…I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You tried to say back. “My feelings have nothing to do with this I’m coming to you as a friend-”
“Friends don’t feel that way about each other Y/N! Once you cross that line friendship can’t be used as a label. Do you ever think that Duri might be acting this way because you absolutely suck at hiding your feelings?!” His voice was sharper than ever and you could feel a sad squeeze in your heart. “So deal with the fact that I’m going to put my girlfriend first- regardless of what I feel for you.” There was the slightest hesitation and falter in his face at his last words, but you were too upset to decipher what exactly that meant. “ I’m done with this conversation. I’ll see you later, Y/N.” He said in a soft yet defeated voice, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and speechless.
The next few weeks were met with silence.  Jisung asked what had happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. You kept your pain buried, letting it fester in the corners of your mind. Chan had felt terrible for yelling at you, and had come over to apologize with extra snacks for your guys Friday night movie, but to his surprise, it was only Jisung who was there. 
“Where is Y/N?” Chan asked, setting down your favorite candy and chips on the reclining chair you always claimed. He looked around the corner to see if you were in your room. Your door was open and he walked in, looking at the little polaroids littered across your room on various walls and flat surfaces. He looked at your books and plushies with a soft smile. 
“She’s working overtime tonight. Do you want to watch a Marvel or DC movie?” Jisung called from the living room. Chan’s brow furrowed. He knew the company you worked for closed early on Fridays, all employees getting off early. Something he had realized after observing you for so long. 
“Marvel…” Chan called out, closing the door behind himself.
As suspected you weren’t working overtime. 
Rather as time passed, you found comfort in unexpected places. One of those places was the attractive man that one night, your neighbor Sunghoon. Who, much to your surprise, shared your interests and understood your silence without question. He became your confidant, your quiet escape from the heartache Chan had left behind.
“He’s probably over at my house right now with Jisung.” You had mumbled as you cuddled up on his side. Also, much to your surprise, Sunghoon was a great cuddle buddy. What was even better is that he wanted nothing in return, nor were there any ill intentions letting you grow close to him in an emotional and physical way. He had confided in you that a deeper intimacy was something he couldn’t ever see himself liking, which was why he was set on settling down alone, and that he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with, but with you he found himself not minding the soft physicality much at all. 
“Like we’re twin flames right.” You had joked, that day, holding out your pinky. He had nodded, locking pinkies with yours. 
“You’re right, but I am more than sure he won’t think to come over her-”
The doorbell rang and you sprung up from your position on the couch as Sunghoon made his way to the door. 
“Well speak of the devil…” He mumbled. 
Chan stood at the doorway of Jisung’s new neighbor, delivery food in his hand. He looked at the bag and considered the weight of the bag.
Maybe a couple having date night?
“Hello?” A tall and undeniably attractive man stood at the door. 
Damn…wow uh-
“Oh, hey! I think your delivery was sent to my friend’s house. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was here...” The man looked at Chan with a blank look. 
Are kids these days given supplements or something…why is he so majestic looking…
“Oh, thank you.” He said , bowing and grabbing the food.
Before the door was shut, Chan could’ve sworn he noticed a pair of familiar shoes, but disregarded it, making his way back to Jisung’s.
As more time passed, you found yourself missing Chan rather than getting over him. 
“Is it strange, Sungie?” you asked while you were building a puzzle with him one evening- another Friday. “That I’m absolutely pissed, and heartbroken, but I want nothing more than to see him? And I can’t think of anything other than I miss him?”
Sunghoon thought for a moment and then spoke softly. “No, it’s not strange at all. Rather, it’d be strange if you didn’t. Sometimes, love clings to us hardest when we’re hurting the most. It's like every part of you is aching for the one person who can make it better—even if they’re the one who hurt you. Missing him doesn’t make you weak; it just means he’s still a part of your heart. Sometimes, loving someone means feeling everything all at once—the anger, the heartbreak, and that unstoppable longing. It’s okay to feel it all."
You were at your house, and Sunghoon was over since he had become a regular visitor, after Jisung befriended him and then finally pieced together where you were going every Friday and other odd days of the week when you first heard the news. At first he had assumed you and Sunghoon were a thing until you both quickly shot down that notion by informing Jisung that relationships and love were not Sunghoon’s cup of tea.
But since he now knew that wasn’t the case, and had long since known the truth since your first and last drunk outing he thought you might want to know.
“They broke up. Strange enough, Chan didn’t seem all that upset—I mean, he did seem upset, but you think you’d be more upset when you break up, you know?” Jisung rambled, barely pausing for breath. “Instead, he was, like, really calm, which made no sense to me. I feel like I’d be freaking out, or, like, super sad, or anxious, or angry. How can you just be indifferent to a breakup with someone you thought was going to be the love of your life? It’s like those characters in anime—”
You tuned out Jisung’s voice, the news sinking in like stones in your stomach as you laid your head against Sunghoon’s side as he read the ingredients on an air freshener bottle while he waited for Jisung to finish warming up food. 
Chan and Duri had broken up. Your heart was a tangled mess of relief and pain, of memories you hadn’t let yourself fully process. After all those months, he was free—but what did it mean now? What did any of it mean when he’d already chosen her once?
As Jisung continued his rapid-fire monologue, you watched to the two people who had been a distraction these past few weeks: him and Sunghoon. Sunghoon, in a more practical way since he knew the depths of your doubts and worries, and easily fit into the spot of your platonic soulmate and best friend. It seemed he was more versed on the Chan-sized hole in your heart than even you were, and you were glad you now had him to walk these roads with you.
Eventually Jisung came back to the living room with dinner, and you were soon enough immersed into the activities of the evening. 
You were unaware what was about to go down when the knock at the door came, Jisung springing up to answer it, his laughter echoing down the hall as he let someone in. The air around you shifted, growing thicker, familiar, and before you even turned around, you knew who was standing there. 
You had known him long enough to sense when the man you loved was in the room. His presence filled it quickly enough, his gaze sweeping over the space, lingering a little too long on you and Sunghoon, who seemed to be molded together perfectly, Sunghoon’s arm lazily resting on your leg.
Jisung shot you an awkward glance before mumbling something about getting snacks from the store. He and Sunghoon exchanged a glance, and, with a silent nod Sunghoon got up, and they left, closing the door behind them. You were left alone with Chan in the thick silence that followed, the quiet pressing down around you.
Chan’s expression was tense, guarded, and yet, behind his eyes, you saw a trace of vulnerability. He took a hesitant step toward you, his voice soft. “Y/N…”
You met his gaze, pain simmering just beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”
He took a deep breath, guilt etched into the lines of his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I should have listened to you. I didn’t… I couldn’t see it. I was so focused on Duri that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. She wasn’t loyal. I caught her cheating, and I realized just how wrong I was and how right you and Jisung were.”
His words landed between you, each one a mix of relief and ache that clawed at your heart. But you couldn’t ignore the questions tumbling through your mind—the doubts that held you back from even entertaining the hope you’d once felt. You folded your arms, steadying yourself as you looked away.
“Chan, I don’t even know what to say to you. It’s not just about her or your breakup,” you said, voice low.
The older boy flinched at your words. 
“Chan…” He mumbled. You had rarely ever spoken his name aloud like that before. So rarely he couldn’t even remember the last time you did, and he didn’t even recognize your voice when you said it. “I messed up horribly…didn’t I?”
 “You didn’t just choose her.” You started. “You looked me in the eyes and didn’t believe me. You accused me of saying things because of personal feelings. Then went on to accuse me of lying to you because I never confessed my feelings- even though apparently I did and you just omitted the truth of what I said when I blacked out as if that's not also a form of dishonesty. You thought I was trying to ruin your happiness, like I’d sabotage your relationship out of jealousy. Are you serious, Chan?”
He winced again, his hand reaching toward you as if he wanted to touch you but was too afraid. “I know, Y/N, and I hate that I did that to you. I was wrong. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I just… I needed you to know that I truly am am sorry. I didn’t think I had hurt you that badly and it was foolish.”
The hurt that had sat quietly in your heart surged to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you murmured, “So what? You’re here now because you need a rebound? You want someone to feel close to because she’s gone?”
Chan’s face fell, confusion and hurt flickering across his features. “What? No, Y/N, it’s not like that at all. You’re not some replacement or… or backup. You’ve never been that to me, ever.”
“Then what am I, Chan?” You shook your head, frustration and sorrow mingling together. “Because if I was the first one you come to- not even your best friend-” You said referring to your brother. “Than there has to be reason behind that. Let me guess, you feel something for me?” 
Chan swallowed and you knew his answer when you saw the look in his brown eyes. You let out and exasperated sigh and tried to hold back your tears, but couldn’t so you looked at the ground instead.
“If you really felt this way—if you really cared about me or dare I even say loved me…then why did you pick her? Why now, after you’ve been with her all this time? Am I supposed to believe that just because she’s out of the picture, you’ve suddenly realized what you want?” Your voice was sad and defeated and you let your tears fall. “If so that's really really mean.” You whined sadly.
His eyes widened, and he shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s not because of that. Y/N, I was so stupid. I’ve spent these past few weeks… I didn’t even realize how much I missed you until I lost you. I can’t just go back to how things were, but I know I want you in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”
He paused until you looked up at him, his heart shattering even more at the glossiness behind your sad eyes. “It’s not that Y/N-ie not at all. Sometimes you really just don’t know what you’ve had until you lost it.
But something about his gaze shifted as he glanced back toward the door where Jisung and Sunghoon had left. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together in a dark, unreadable expression. “Guess I’ve already been replaced though, huh?” He said quietly.
You felt your stomach twist at his words, your tears drying almost immediately with the thought of where this was heading. “Replaced? What are you even talking about?”
“Your neighbor,” he said bitterly, albeit soft; the label sharp on his tongue. “You and him. I came here to tell you how much I’ve messed things up, only to see you with him. I guess it didn’t take long for you to move on.”
The accusation in his voice stung, leaving you feeling exposed. You bit back the urge to yell, to let out the anger that had simmered for so long. You knew it brought some validity to his earlier statement, him being jealous of Sunghoon, but God did you sometimes want to smack sense into him.
 “You don’t get to come in here and make assumptions about me, Chan. Sunghoon is my friend. He’s been here because you weren’t. Because you pushed me away. I didn’t have a choice.”
“But you looked happy cuddled with him,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “It didn’t seem like you missed me at all.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in your chest intensify. “Of course, I missed you. But you don’t get to accuse me of moving on. I waited. I wanted… I thought maybe one day you’d see me. But you chose her. You chose someone who didn’t even care about you, and I was the one left behind. So of course I needed comfort.”
He took a shaky breath, eyes softening as he stepped closer. “I chose wrong. I see that now, Y/N. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to just forget that. But I can’t pretend now that I don’t feel something for you.”
You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of sincerity, but doubt gnawed at you. “We just went over this. How am I supposed to know it’s real? How am I supposed to believe that you actually want me, and not just because it’s convenient? If you loved me before than why not say something.”
“Why didn’t you say something!”
“Because unlike you I don’t go around dating people while I have a crush on someone Chan! If it was ‘oh so obvious’ than you should have said something. Or I don’t know, maybe when I blacked out and confessed you could have done something then-”
“I was petrified!” Chan shouted, causing you to take a step back. “How…how am I supposed to respond when my best friend’s little sister tells me she’s been in love with me since we were kids. And that’s its only growing?” He swallowed. “Am I supposed to take that risk and tell her its mutual, but that I don’t want to do anything in case things get messy? Because I don’t want to ruin things? Relationships are complicated Y/N! People fight and argue but romantic ones are so much heartier. Those arguments and fights hold more weight than friendships. I wasn’t…happy…only being your friend but I was content. Even if it meant I wouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you, or see your face in my children’s faces I was okay with that as long as it meant there was no risk in ruining things between us. And that saved me from the risk of getting on uneasy territory with Jisung. So I left it alone. I didn’t tell you. I asked Jisung to forget about it even if that meant he was upset at me for quote ‘rejecting my wonderful and perfect  little sister’ unquote.”
You stood there, lips trembling, not knowing what to say as he lay his heart in front of you.
He reached out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a tender, hesitant motion. “But now that I know what it’s like to live without you, Y/N,  I can’t go back to that. I can’t. I don’t want anyone else. I just want a chance to make this right.”
The vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much, the raw honesty in his touch searing against your skin. But your heart still trembled with uncertainty, with a fear that ran deep.
“I’m petrified now.”
A tear slipped down his cheek as he nodded, a small chuckle leaving his lips, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had fallen from your own eyes. “I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I love you, Y/N, so you won’t have a reason to be scared. I don’t want to lose you, not again. I was blind, but I see it now. And if you’ll let me, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. To get you to a point where you won’t be able to deny the fact I only want you.”
You held his gaze, your heart wavering between the hope you’d never fully let go of and the fear that he’d break it all over again. And in that quiet moment, with the ache of the past between you, a fragile, cautious feeling began to bloom once more.
You took a steadying breath, bracing yourself as you met Chan’s eyes. “Chan, I don’t know what assumptions you’ve made about Sunghoon, but he’s just my friend. He’s been there because…” You hesitated, the words delicate on your tongue. “Because I needed someone. Not someone to date, or to replace you, but just…someone who understands. He’s helped me pick up the pieces after everything fell apart. And he’s not even interested in relationships like that. We’re just close in a different way.”
Chan blinked, his gaze softening as he listened, brows knitting in a mixture of relief and confusion. “So… you and Sunghoon… you’re really just friends?”
“Yes,” you replied, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your voice. “And he’s not going to change his mind about that. He doesn’t want anything more with anyone. It’s not in him. But he’s been a good friend—my best friend…my soulmate really.” Your voice trailed off quietly. “He’s someone I could talk to when I felt like I’d lost you.”
Chan let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he looked away, processing. “I…I feel so stupid. I was so ready to believe you’d moved on, that you’d replaced me. It was like this nightmare I’d imagined every night, that you’d found someone else who actually deserved you. And when I walked in and saw you both…”
His words faltered, and he rubbed a hand over his face, frustration and regret etched deep. “But I know I can’t blame you for being close to him. You had every right to find support after what I put you through. I just…”
“You just didn’t believe me,” you finished for him, the words raw but necessary. “And then you left, and I didn’t know how to fill that space you’d left behind but Sunghoon found a way. But that doesn’t mean he warrants any jealousy from you, Chris. I’m hoping you can learn to love him like you love Jisung. For me?”
He nodded, his eyes filled with regret.A part of you softened at the earnestness in his expression, the vulnerability that showed he understood, at least on some level, of what all of this meant. You sighed, feeling the weight of everything settling over you, but also immensely light.
But Chan seemed like he was struggling for a moment.
“Whats wrong?”
He bit his lip, his gaze darting away for a second before he finally asked, “Was there ever a point when…when you thought you could move on? That maybe you’d fall for someone else?”
The question struck deeper than you’d expected, and for a moment, you just looked at him, letting yourself process the vulnerability etched into his features. Did he truly think he could simply be replaced? That you’d spent years loving him, only to let him go?
“I thought about it,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady. “I thought maybe it would be easier if I could just let go. Even before all of this I thought about it. But no matter how much I tried, it was always you. It’s always been you.”
You felt the familiar sting of tears, and you blinked them away, not wanting him to see just how deeply his words affected you. “For the record, I don’t want to lose you either. But if we’re going to do this, we have to be honest. No more letting other people’s opinions get in the way. No more letting doubts fester between us.”
He nodded, a fierce determination filling his gaze. “No more doubts. I want us to be real, Y/N. Nothing standing in the way, just you and me.”
The weight of his words, the sincerity in his gaze, was almost overwhelming. You felt the warmth of his hand as he reached for yours, his fingers tentative, as if he wasn’t sure you’d accept him.
You took his hand, squeezing it gently, grounding yourself in the quiet assurance of his touch. It wasn’t the grand gesture you’d once dreamed of, but it was real. And somehow, that made it mean even more.
He looked down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Y/N. I’ll spend every day showing you that I mean it.”
You offered him a small, tentative smile, one that held a flicker of hope. “And I’ll do my best to believe it. But you have to understand—this is going to take time.”
He nodded, his own smile softening his face. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
For a moment, you both stood there, hands entwined, caught in the delicate balance between past hurt and the fragile possibility of something new. The wounds might still be raw, but you could feel them beginning to heal, slowly, with each beat of your hearts in sync.
As you looked into his eyes, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—a cautious, budding belief that maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.
A few weeks later, things had settled into a comfortable, tentative new rhythm. The past wasn’t forgotten, but it had softened around the edges, allowing something new to bloom between you and Chan—no, Chris. You’d started calling him that again recently, just between the two of you, and every time he heard it, his eyes lit up, as though it was his own quiet assurance that he had your forgiveness, that he wasn’t just “Chan,” your brother’s best friend, but Chris, the man you were falling for all over again.
You weren’t rushing anything, taking each moment as it came. There were stolen glances, shared laughter, and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, weaving a new kind of trust between you. He was patient and gentle, letting you set the pace, and every step you took forward felt right. It was healing, a slow rekindling that felt like rediscovering a part of yourself that had been missing.
One Saturday afternoon, you and Chris were sitting on the couch, a movie playing in the background as he leaned closer, his arm resting around your shoulders. Sunghoon and Jisung had left to get snacks- Chris listening to your request and giving Sunghoon a chance, finding out that he genuinely enjoyed the company of your best friend. 
“Its like eternal best friend double dates.” Jisung had joked.
But since your brother and best friend had left, Chan had been looking at you with that soft, adoring expression you’d only dreamed of before, and it made you feel like you were the only person in his world.
“You’re staring,” you whispered, smiling as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks.
“Can you blame me?” he murmured back, his voice warm and low. “I’ve missed so much time, I don’t want to miss a single moment now.”
You felt your heart stutter, a nervous excitement bubbling up as you glanced down at his hand, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of it. The space between you felt electric, and when he gently cupped your face, tilting it towards him, your breath caught. Slowly, as if asking permission, he leaned in.
Your eyes fluttered shut, and then his lips brushed softly against yours, a delicate kiss that felt like everything you’d waited for. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing gently as if he were afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back, your hand moving to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, strong and steady.
“Chris,” you whispered softly as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his name slipping out naturally, comfortably. The warmth in his eyes told you he’d heard everything you couldn’t put into words—how he was forgiven, how he was here, truly here, and that was all you’d ever wanted.
The tender moment, though, was cut short by a loud gasp and a stumbling sound near the doorway. You whipped around to see Jisung and Sunghoon standing there, both looking wide-eyed and more than a little surprised.
“Oh… I did not mean to see that,” Jisung said, covering his eyes dramatically, though you could see the smirk threatening to break through. “My best friend and my little sister? Wow, I was not prepared!”
Sunghoon, by contrast, grinned openly, the kind of grin that said he’d known this would happen all along. “Took you both long enough,” he teased, making his way over towards you to whack your head affectionately. “I was starting to think I’d have to do something drastic to get you two together.”
You laughed, face warm with embarrassment, but Chris only chuckled, unfazed even by Sunghoon’s physical touch with you, as he slid his arm around your shoulders again. “You two need to learn how to knock,” he said lightly, squeezing you a little closer.
Sunghoon just shrugged, shooting you a mischievous look. “I’m sure Jisung didn’t feel a need to consider having to knock on the door of his own home.”
Jisung laughed, giving Sunghoon a playful nudge. But then turning to Chan with a serious look. “I might still need to have ‘the talk’ with you, Hyung. I know we’ve known each other forever, but this is new territory.”
You rolled your eyes, pretending to scowl at your brother. “Oh, please, Ji. You never said anything before.”
“It’s because you weren’t actually together at the time! But now you are.”
Chris leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, a look of peace and contentment in his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, looking up at Jisung and Sunghoon, his tone serious yet gentle. “Not ever.”
Jisung nodded, his expression softening as he took in the scene. “Good. Just make sure you’re good to her, alright? Or else I’ll have to do the brotherly duty of fighting you or whatever older brothers are supposed to do…” He mumbled, turning towards Sunghoon for backup.
“Yeah…and I’ll do whatever a best friend does…” He said confused, shrugging as you laughed.
Chris’s grip tightened just slightly around your shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, his voice low and steady. “She’s the most important person in my life.”
Jisung scrunched up his nose, pretending to gag. “Ugh, okay, I was prepared for the brother talk, but I did not sign up for the mushy romance stuff. Can you two not be gross for five seconds?”
Chris laughed, glancing down at you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Fine, I’ll spare you… for now,” he said, giving you a playful nudge and a kiss to your nose
Sunghoon, ever the instigator, leaned back with a grin. “Hey, give them a break, Jisung. They’ve got years of this to catch up on. And honestly, I’m enjoying the show.”
Jisung threw a pillow in Sunghoon’s direction. “Well then maybe you should go find yourself someone if you think it’s cute seeing how my best friend and sister act.” He teased, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe they’ll have a sister and then you can join our family.”
Sunghoon shuddered and shook his head. “No thank you. But Y/N’s kids will have an Uncle who spoils them.” He said, grabbing the bottle of Soju from the coffee table.
“Hey! I get the title of favorite Uncle automatically.” Jisung whined. “No fair.”
Sunghoon shrugged. “The favorite Uncle has to be from the maternal side.”
“The hypothetical-” He shot a look at you. “Mom in question is my sister!”
“Logic, doesn’t always logic my dear friend.”
As Sunghoon and Jisung went back and forth you laughed, settling into Chris’s embrace, feeling the warmth of home around you. You felt his smile without even looking and it made your heart leap. This, right here, was everything you’d hoped for and more. And as the teasing and laughter filled the room, you knew that no matter what, you were exactly where you were meant to be. With who you were meant to be with.
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hhughes · 8 hours ago
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៹࣪ ៸៸ HOME TO YOU . . . ꒱꒱
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𐙚 fic ; in which quinn comes home to you after a long road trip
𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. quinn hughes x gf!reader 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff and domesticity. smut. mdni. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3
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Quinn steps through the door of your shared apartment, dropping his bags at the door with a thud and removing his shoes. He knows you’re going to scold him for leaving his stuff there but right now he can’t find it in himself to care if it means he gets to see you a little sooner. He lets out a big sigh as exhaustion settles into his bones. It’s the type of exhaustion that no matter the amount of sleep he got on the plane, won’t be sated until he gets into his own bed, with you.
He makes his way into the living room, where he finds you curled up on the couch with some movie softly playing in the background. His lips curl up when he hears soft snores from you, indicating you were asleep. He always tells you to go to bed but you never listen, always opting to wait up for him instead and he couldn’t be happier that you did because although he has to wake you up, it means he doesn’t have to wait a minute longer to see you.
“sweetheart,” he whispers softly, gently brushing some hair away from your face as your eyes flutter open.
“quinn…You’re home?” you ask groggily, a little disoriented and he takes a seat next to you as you sit up, pulling you into his side.
“I’m home baby,” he confirms, kissing your temple.
Both of you sit there for a few minutes, not saying anything, simply enjoying being in one another’s company for the first time in a few days.
“I put your towel in the drier, so it’s warm when you get out of the shower. I washed the sheets so the bed needs to be made, so I’m gonna do that while you take a shower and I’ll meet you in bed?” you ask and quinn’s heart grows twice the size with pure love for you.
You put his towel in the drier so it would be extra warm. You washed the sheets because you know he likes the feeling of clean sheets after a long road trip. He knows by the faint smell of ginger in the air, there’s a container of freshly baked cookies waiting for him on the kitchen counter, just like there is every time he comes home. Just like he knows you’ll be up before him tomorrow, while he sleeps in. Making him breakfast, and throwing his laundry in the wash so that he doesn’t have to worry about it.
“I’ll be quick,” he assures you, his voice a bit thick by his sudden overwhelming thoughts of love for you.
-
After his shower quinn joins you in bed, pulling you close. You turn around to look up at him, running your hands over his cheek and pulling him closer to attach your lips. A few kisses later, quinn is sitting up against the headboard, your legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him.
“I missed you,” quinn groans, head falling back as his hands squeezing your ass, pressing your clothed cores together.
“I missed you more,” you mumble against his neck, where your kisses had already begun leaving marks on his pale skin.
quinn puts both hands on your waist, lifting you up to stand on your knees as he pulls down your shorts. You help him by removing your shirt, kicking your pants off the bed and his eyes naturally fall to your breasts, buds hardening in the cold. He wraps both arms around you and pulls you closer, his face level with your chest, pressing kisses there.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs
“quinn, please. I’ve already waited long enough, please don’t make me wait any longer,” you whine and he grins up at you. Both of you aware who’s really controlling the situation despite you hovering above him.
“You’re always so desperate baby, huh? Is that what being away from me does to you? Turns you into a needy little slut?” he asks, tongue circling your nipple, his hand playing with the other one.
“Please” is your only response and quinn gives in, pushing you back a bit to remove his boxers, his only article of clothing and pulling you closer again, his hand wrapped around his dick, lining it up with your entrance.
“Only cause you asked so nicely,” he says, gripping your hips tightly as you sink down onto him. There was nothing like those first few seconds of being inside you. quinn was convinced nothing would ever compare. He wondered if lifting the Stanley Cup would bring him as much euphoria as you.
Your hands grip the headboard behind his head, causing you to bend forward, practically shoving your breasts in his face, not that he was complaining. The change in angle causing both of you to moan when he enters you again.
“Fuck baby, you always feel so good,” he groans against your skin, his hand trailing between your legs and thumb lazily rubbing circles across your clit.
“quinn,” you moan, your hands moving from the headboard to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, leaving marks behind, just how he likes it. Your hips still, legs getting tired and unable to do much else but feel pleasure as quinn continues to rub your clit.
“That’s not nice baby, I just got home from a four game road trip and you’re making me do all the work,” he says, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling it, causing you to arch your back. His other hand lands on your ass with an audible smack when you don’t answer.
“Can’t even be bothered to answer? Too cockdrunk to even think aren’t you sweetheart?” he asks, not giving you time to try and formulate a response before both his hands slide to your hips, lifting you up and down in time with his thrusts. You can’t do anything but take it, like a little toy for him to use. The thought sends you over the edge, causing you to clench around him and he finishes inside you.
You both sit there for a few minutes, quinn still inside you. Just being close and savoring the moment waiting for your heart rates to go down.
“I love you,” he says softly, kissing you gently.
“I love you too. Welcome home.” you whisper, kissing his chest and tucking your face in his neck while his hands rub up and down your back.
He hates going on long roadies, but he loves coming home. Warm towels. Cookies. Fresh sheets. And you.
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rindreamery · 2 days ago
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in another life, i would be yours.
types of tragic love tropes with blue lock men.
itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku
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itoshi rin as your unrequited love.
who could never find the right time. rin was always one missed call away, one minute too late, and always one step behind his brother. too many bouquets would lay discarded in the trash, and too many times the phrase, “i love you,” would lay at the tip of his tongue— words he would never dare to say to you. and he wonders, during his sleepless nights, if he’d be the one to hold your heart if he had acted quicker.
but it’s an awfully selfish thought, and the guilt that eats at him feels worse than the love he feels for you. he feels filthy for wanting someone who could never be his. so he forfeits for the first time in his life. he doesn’t mind hurting if it means that his brother is happy.
itoshi sae as your first love.
who was good to you, but nothing more. sae was a classic and naive, first love of yours; the type of love that you kept coming back to because you couldn’t let go, because you didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like. your perception was an idealized and skewed version of him, one that didn’t actually exist. he was sweeter in your mind— remembered your favorite things, carried your bags, and walked you home— but he could never find the balance between soccer and you. though he wasn’t perfect, you loved him and that was all that mattered to you.
so you foolishly gave your heart to him, only to receive it back in pieces. it’s been years, but there are times when you still think of him. a part of you believes that he never truly gave all of your heart back to you— a part of you will always be with him, and that’s a pain you’ll live with for the rest of your life.
isagi yoichi as your forbidden love.
who could never be yours. yoichi’s presence was one you long grew to be familiar with, and one you often found comfort in. he understood you, in a way that you felt that no one else truly could, and he saw you for who you were. not a model, not just a pretty face— but you, in your entirety. your love was limited to longing and lingering gazes shared across the room, tender touches that would ghost over your hands as you pass by one another, and warm embraces shared behind closed doors. he was that someone you wanted to call, “home.”
but the reality is, “home” would never be that warm for you. the fantasy you had built in your mind, where only you and him exists, is shattered by the glimmering ring that reminds you of its presence. a reminder of the love that would never exist between you two.
nagi seishiro as your "what-if" love.
who will always remain as a, “what if?” nagi is someone who plagues your thoughts, more than he should. you think of him when you go out on dates, you think of him when you watch rom coms, you think of him when you see other couples on the street. you fantasize about him in every romantic aspect of your life, almost as if to compensate for the fact that he isn’t yours. and you’ve come to terms that he never will be.
so you’re left with questions of what could've been. what if you gave him your confession, what if you hadn’t set him up with your friend, what if he could love you the way you want to be loved? — questions that will remain unanswered.
mikage reo as your compelled love.
who you know is good for you. reo is as good as it gets, he’s the ideal man; he takes you out on romantic dates, dedicates himself wholeheartedly to you, and never fails to remind you just how much you mean to him. he’s constant in his love for you— what more could you ask for? but your heart is selfish, and it seems that even perfect isn’t enough for you. your love for him is filled with forced smiles and a reminder that you could never find someone like him. so you stay.
you do think you loved him at one point. but it’s hard to ignore your want for a love that would spark a burning want in you. his love is as good as it can get, and yet you rarely find yourself yearning for it. your heart has faltered, unlike his.
oliver aiku as your ludic love.
who thrives from the push-and-pull. oliver was someone that you knew you were supposed to stay away from; he was the type of person who was just out of reach, never meant to be had, and the type of person who always pulls away whenever something starts to feel too serious. but he gets away with it because he’s frustratingly charming. and you’re frustratingly stubborn, never wanting to fully give in to his advances. in his eyes, your love is a challenge he has yet to conquer. for some reason, that’s exactly what makes your heart race.
as long as his game continues, you’re in it. you know you should crave for something steady, a love that doesn’t keep you on your toes. but you don’t want it— not when this kind of love keeps pulling you deeper, even when you know it’s more fleeting than it is real.
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note. i could write a happier version... i could also just keep it at this 🤭
© rindreamery, 2024
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mochie85 · 1 day ago
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Have Mercy
One Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist
Summary: You're a powered being with healing abilities and you try to bring Loki back from the brink of death. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 1832 Warnings: Fluff, heavy kissing, slapping, mentions of death (close call), injury, a very flirty Loki,
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You didn’t know how much time had passed since you all started the ambush. Tall sequoias canopied above blocking the setting sun. The air was thick with smoke and heavy from the fighting. You heard multiple teammates calling for healing, but none was louder than Thor. His troubled voice blasted through the comms, “Medic! We need a healer quickly!” His deep command tore you away from the battle you were in and you fought your way over to him. “Priestess, please! Come quick!”
Through fire and volley, you found Thor kneeling on the ground with Loki in his arms. Lifeless. Steve was circling them, trying to shield the brothers from a barrage of attacks.
You knelt on the ground. Your knees hit soft mud as your eyes scanned Loki’s body. His sharp face was paler than usual. Blue-ish tint had started to stain his lips. And your naïve-self hoped it was just because of the cold seeping from the wet ground. “Thor, I’ll take it from here. Go help Steve. I can’t worry about my life when I have to worry about his!”
Thor nodded to you. But before he laid Loki down, he whispered in his ear, “I know you are stronger than this, brother. But I swear on Yggdrasil if you are pretending, I will not hesitate to cleave Stormbreaker into you.” Thor sniffed and placed him down to the ground.
You nodded your head and patted Thor’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” you feigned, as you tried to get a better look at what had happened. You didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that you could feel how thin and fragile Loki’s life string was. A hair, compared to the cord that we all have. Worse, the thick rope that the Asgardian’s life used to be. You didn’t even know if you were skilled enough to weave it stronger.
There was a large gaping hole that tore Loki’s chest plate. His skin had burned and was raw from the impact. You couldn’t see any entry wounds. Nor blood. But the bruising and dent on his chest was not a good sign. A stray missile, perhaps? Maybe jumping in the way to save his brother. They vex each other constantly. But deep down they care for each other like most siblings do.
You straddled his body, holding your two hands out, placing them over his wound. A soft resonance emitted from your palm down to his skin. You kept your hands on him as the pulse of your powers worked their way through his body. You can see tiny mends of his scrapes and scratches. The raw skin around the wound had returned to their usual pallor.  He’s reacting at least. There’s still some life in him- whatever little is left.
You persisted. With every pulse, you can see his wounds healing. Ribs cracking back into place. The blue on his lips retreated ever so slowly. But his lifeline was stubborn. If you could hold out just long enough, his own regenerative powers might kick in.
Grasping at straws, your mind quickly raced with ideas to help speed the process along. You remembered that sometimes, shock was a good way of knocking someone back into the land of the living. “Ugh, don’t get mad at me, okay? I’m only trying to save your life,” you vowed out loud in case he was able to hear you. You quickly pulled your palm back and slapped Loki hard across his cheek.
Small capillaries burst where your hand met his face. Aside from the new hue, Loki had remained the same. Still and quiet. His line fading from your grasp. You panicked at your failed attempt.
You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how to tell Thor that you couldn’t save his only brother. Ideas and thoughts ran past your mind all muddled and incoherent. Ways and spells. Teachings and theories you’ve learned on healing and regeneration.
You cupped Loki’s cheek, healing the bruise you had left. Your brows knit together, puzzled as to what to do next. Hopeless in feeling and thought. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see Thor’s face and have to tell him an awful truth. They had just reunited this past year. It wasn’t fair. And it would be all your fault because you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Loki. Your heart turned solemn as angry tears threatened to drop from your eyes.
By now the fighting had stopped. You didn’t realize how quiet the world had gotten around you. How still the air was from flying projectiles or weapons. The team gathered loosely. Giving you space to try and save Loki’s life, but the look on their faces betrayed the faith they were trying to offer you.
Your thumb brushed Loki’s cheek, wiping away the mud that speckled his face. He would’ve been appalled if he knew where Thor had left him on the ground. You smirked at the thought as your thumb rested on his chin and traced his lips.
His cold lips opened slightly at your touch, and you were struck with an idea.  You grabbed both sides of his leather collars and brought him to sit up towards you. His slack weight was heavier than you anticipated, and it took your remaining strength to sit him upright. You closed your eyes as your lips crashed into his, honing your powers into that desperate kiss.
You had never done this before. You had never needed to do this before. But you were hoping that your breath of life could pass onto him and carry him through till his own powers could take over. You sucked hard on his upper lip, not wanting to break any contact. Your fingers entwined themselves in his hair, desperate to keep him close to you. “Please. Please. Please,” you whispered into his mouth. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on his cheek. Your arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to accept the truth.
Still, you continued.
You felt a low rumble from his chest. A hopeful sign that it’s working. You just needed to hold on a little bit longer! You opened your lips for a breath of your own. And when you closed your mouth around his, your power pulsated in between you.
You felt his temperature return first. The warmth in his lips, the heat in his breath. You could feel his lifeline winding itself tighter and stronger.
His mouth returned your kiss. Sluggish and tentative. But they held on to your lips, tightly. His hands embraced your hips so delicately you didn’t even know they were there. You naturally leaned into the kiss more. Your power still pulsing through you. One last intake of breath and you passed it along towards Loki.
His grip tightened around you and he pulled you closer onto his lap. His arms snaked around you, holding your head close to his, unwilling to let you go.  You could hear small groans and heavy panting. But you honestly didn’t know whether it came from you or from Loki.
His tongue touched your lips, asking for entry. Catching your breath you opened your mouth once again and Loki gainfully ran his tongue inside against the roof of your mouth.
You didn’t realize that your powers had finished. With nothing left to heal, your powers subsided. But you were so lost in the kiss that you had forgotten where you were and what you were doing. Slowly, you pulled away. But Loki’s kiss followed you unwilling to release you. You bit his bottom lip as a warning, holding his face in between your hands.
“Darling, what an indecent way to ask me out,” Loki grinned from ear to ear. His voice was rough and garbled. He kept his face close to yours, running his nose against your cheek. “I accept!”
The world came crashing back around you. The time. The place. The situation. The shock froze you in place just staring into Loki’s blue-green eyes. “I always thought you harbored affections for me. But now I am certain,” he taunted.
You slapped him.
You couldn’t think of anything else to do. You felt betrayed somehow. Tricked. Even though you knew that he was genuinely in peril. The fact that he was joking about it even now, irked you.
Loki’s eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed as he slowly turned his head to face you again. His chin jutted out, trying to contain the smirk that was coming forth. “Is that how you like it?”
You tried to push yourself off of him. You’ve had enough of his antics. You were utterly embarrassed at being caught in this situation. Especially with the team around, surely watching.
He caught your wrists as you pushed on his chest, stopping you. “Do it again,” he commanded. His grin was out in full force now. Dazzling you to the last inch of your nerve.
“Ugh, the thanks I get for saving your life!” pushing him down as you stood yourself up. “Next time I’ll just leave you limp in the mud.” You sneered, walking away with your head held high and your face heated and red. From humiliation or from desire, you didn’t know.
“Well, that’s very hard to do when you’re kissing me like that, my angel,” Loki yelled after you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you angry and flustered. All because of him. Oh, I’m in trouble.
“What do I gotta do to get a kiss like that?” Bucky asked teasingly as you stomped passed him.
“Die!” you growled back at him. The words felt mean as they left your mouth. And you regretted saying them instantly. He was only trying to lighten the situation. But you couldn’t help the shame you had inside you.
“Oh, c’mon doll. I was only teasing.” Bucky raised his arms in defeat and followed you back to the quinjet, laughing.
“Loki!” Thor scolded as he held his hand to his brother, helping him up. “I hope that you were not deceiving us just to try and gain favor with the priestess. I know you’ve been seeking her affections.”
“Brother! I am genuinely hurt! Did you not see me lying there at the last inch of my life?” Loki contended, pointing to the ground where he once laid.
Thor rolled his eyes but smirked, clapping Loki on the shoulder. He was glad to have his brother back once again. “She’s very talented that one. And I do not want to see her get hurt, Lo-. Loki are you listening to me.”
Loki was at a loss for words, watching you. “She gave me my life back, brother. I have felt her lips against mine and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel them again soon.” Loki smiled as he swatted away Thor’s hand on him. His eyes solely on you, plotting how to get you to kiss him again.
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A/N: I know it's been awhile. I do plan on finishing my series' soon. Thanks for staying with me. Life has been hard and you guys get me through it.
🏷️ @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101 @shadycloudcollection @annoyingsweetsstranger @alyeskathewave @xxjust-a-kidxx @tallseaweed @liliacdreamer @stevihj +more in the comments
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puck-luck · 12 hours ago
Note
luke x older reader anon again! congrats on 1k! submitting the same request, with hearts and prompt 25 🫶🏻
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warnings: unprotected p in v, age gap (not major.), religious themes & motifs, pining, childhood friends to lovers vibes, best friend's brother ofc, jealousy, occasionally insecure statements from luke, really just the sweetest sex you can imagine. i LOVED writing this. hence... the length.
WC: 4,351
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You’ve been friends with the Hughes boys as long as you can remember. The first time you met Quinn, it was during your first pee-wee skate. 
Your dad was a big hockey fan, so he wanted to teach you how to skate. The debate had been between figure skating and hockey– your mom loved gymnastics, dance, and figure skating, having been an artistic athlete herself. Your dad wanted you to skate regardless, but hockey felt more suited for your talents. You were a competitive child– and territorial over your toys– so your dad thought it would translate well into a hockey environment. 
He took you to the Olympics in Salt Lake when you were three years old. You went to see figure skating and two of the United States hockey games– one for the men and one for the women. To your dad, it wasn’t a surprise how your eyes grew into saucers when you watched your first live hockey game.
He’d enrolled you in peewee skate the following week. There were no girls-only leagues, so you were put into a coed league. Quinn was in the same league. You became very fast friends– you liked to talk, your new little buddy liked to listen, and then you finally got him out of his shell midway through the season and your friendship was fully cemented. Actually, the second you learned his last name was Hughes– like Sarah Hughes, who won the Olympic Gold in single’s figure skating when you were in Utah– he was stuck with you. Just because you’d preferred hockey didn’t mean you didn’t love ice skating, too. It just wasn’t your passion.
You and Quinn stayed in touch after that peewee hockey season, enrolling in the same league and requesting to be on the same team until you both graduated into the boys- and girls-only leagues. You still remained friends, staying in contact as best you could when he moved to Toronto. You’d send letters back and forth and you became a pro at interpreting Quinn’s boyishly terrible handwriting. He’d tell you about his brothers, his parents, his school, and his hockey teams. You’d keep him updated on home, but then it stopped being home to Quinn. Soon enough, you were only talking about hockey and family. ‘Did you see that Crosby won the Hart Trophy?’ ‘Yeah! Ovi got the Calder though, so we’re still on even playing field. Canadian boy.’ ‘Hey, Ovi is Russian. Choose a real American and get back to me.’
It wasn’t long until you secured an invitation to visit the Hughes during the summer. You and your family went up to Toronto to visit them and you got to play with the Hughes boys for a whole week. It was so much fun, so the next summer, you begged to invite them to your place for a week.
The tradition continued for years, alternating houses and hometowns. You and Quinn both applied to Michigan– he played hockey, you did not. You were a good player, but you’re more of a beer league girl. You weren’t recruited to play college hockey– which, for a while, you thought was weird, because there are so few female hockey players in America. You’re hoping that your lack of recruitment means that there are hundreds of amazing women who are better than you at the sport, and that helped you accept your fate. After all, Quinn would sometimes bring you to the rink when it was empty. You’d get to play for a little while– and it was nice, in college, to have someone who knew you so well.
A lot of people assumed that you and Quinn were together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Quinn was like your brother. There was that weird month when you were thirteen and you’d gone to visit him over the summer and you’d thought, maybe… but it turned out that you were just thirteen and confused because of your rampant hormones and puberty. Quinn is just your friend, your best friend. 
All of the brothers were pretty off-limits. You’d seen the way girls had started flirting with Jack as he’d entered his teens. You’re able to admit that he’s a cute boy. Luke was an absolute sweetheart, always trying to play with Quinn (and, by extension, you) as you’d grown up. You felt so fond of Luke in a ‘look at how precious he is, I need to protect him’ sort of way.
And then, last night at the lake house, he’d helped you line up a shot in pool and kept his hand on the small of your back when you bent over the table, and your mind had been spinning ever since. 
You can’t tell Quinn, obviously. That’s his baby brother. You’re not even sure how you feel about it– Luke’s always been your little buddy. Now, he’s over half a foot taller than you, so he’s not so little anymore. Still– he’s four years younger than you and Quinn. It’s the equivalent of a freshman hooking up with a senior and you feel icky. 
Regardless, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. He likes to twirl his fork between his fingers when he’s done eating dinner. He’ll spread his legs and sit forward when he’s playing video games with his brothers. An absent-minded, crooked smile falls on his mouth every time he’s only half-listening to you or the other boys. It’s paired with a look in his eyes that you can only describe as warm and content. In twenty-four hours, you’ve noticed more things about Luke than you’ve ever seen before. 
He’s grown up. It’s still a little weird to you, but he’s 21. You’re still 24, even though your 25th birthday is slowly creeping forward. You find yourself justifying the three year age gap, persuading yourself that it’s fine to look at Luke like that, but then you catch yourself and look away. You’re pushing the idea out of your brain.
But he’s goofy, and cute, and so sweet. He’s the same Luke as always, but you’re seeing him in a brand new way.
You’re able to keep yourself at bay for over a week. The boys throw a party and invite some girls over. Normally, you’re not jealous. You’re calm. You don’t care. 
Across the room, there’s a girl flirting with Luke. She’s got a hand on his arm and you’re nursing a drink, seeing red. You’re using Jack as a shield, but you’re still able to look over his shoulder. You think you’re being slick, but it turns out… you’re not.
“What are you looking at?” Jack laughs, tilting his head at you exaggeratedly before turning.
Unfortunately, you know you’ve been found out. There’s only one thing that would have you glowering in such a way. Nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting as Luke and the girl beside him. Jack clocks it right away.
He turns back to you with a tight, knowing smile, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. He pushes his tongue into his cheek and quirks his eyebrows at you. 
“Interesting,” Jack says, swirling his drink in his solo cup and then bringing the rim to his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he sips. 
You pop the bottom of the cup, making the drink splash into Jack’s face. “Fuck off.”
He wipes his mouth and crosses his arms, cradling the drink in the pocket of his elbow. “You and little Lukey?”
You grind your teeth and glare at him in the most menacing way you can. Jack has known you for too long to be intimidated by your glares. He also never really cared that much in the first place– he’s too shit-eating to be concerned about the repercussions of his words.
Jack smirks some more. “Don’t worry,” he says, popping his jaw like he’s turning a piece of gum over in his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”
You clench your teeth and continue glaring. You suck your cheeks in and bite down on the inside of your mouth, lips curling with annoyance. 
“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you went over there and staked your claim,” Jack says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he’d be upset at all.”
“Fuck off,” you repeat again. 
“C’mon, Y/N.” Jack pushes your shoulder lightly, jokingly. “You’re being obvious.”
“Quinn’ll kill me. And– it’s Luke, Jack.”
“So what? It’s not weird. We all grew up together. We’re all around the same age. It’s not a big deal. He’s had a crush on you forever.”
“It’s different,” you sing-song. “He’s younger than me.”
“Let’s go, Cougar,” Jack teases, reaching up to high-five you. 
You don’t take it, instead deciding to punch his stomach. 
Jack doubles over like you actually wounded him, but straightens up smiling. “You oughta go make him jealous.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“Dude, I’m serious. Let’s go flirt with Trevor or something. Someone who Luke thinks you’re better than– I guarantee he’ll be over here in a second.”
Jack actually tugs you toward Trevor and explains the plan before you can even get a word in. So much for keeping your secret. Trevor, to his credit, is a very willing subject. He keeps a hand on your waist during the whole conversation and you do your best to ignore the niggling desire to look over your shoulder at Luke. 
Turns out, you should’ve been worried about Quinn.
“Get your hands off her, Zegras,” Quinn snaps, pushing Trevor’s hand off of your waist and stepping between you. “You’re not allowed to fuck my friend.”
If that’s how he feels about one of his friends touching you, then you feel a bit faint at the idea of Quinn’s reaction to Luke getting together with you. That might seal the deal– you really can’t fuck Luke.
“I’m not fucking her,” Trevor says. “We’re working an angle here, Quinn.”
Quinn scoffs. “Yeah? What angle is that, Trevor?”
“We’re trying to make Luke jealous, hello?” Trevor says like it’s obvious. 
“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face in your hands. “Trevor, you fucking moron.”
“What?” Quinn demands, but his look turns into sheer bewilderment. “You’re doing this for Luke?”
“I’m going to bed,” you announce, stomping away. 
Trevor, somehow, is free to follow after you. Quinn hasn’t stepped in to stop him. You wish he would. He’s probably too confused. “This is good,” he says. “He’s definitely going to see us going upstairs together. Hold my hand.”
“No.”
“Dude, it was working. Luke was looking over at us the whole time.”
“I don’t care, Trevor.”
“Don’t you want him?”
“Not like that,” you hiss between your teeth. “I don’t want to make Luke jealous. I want him to come to me because he wants to, okay? Go downstairs. I don’t want to be with you right now.”
Trevor holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’ll go. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
You disappear into your bedroom, changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. It’s nice to have your own bedroom in the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought with their NHL salaries, but tonight it’s bittersweet to be able to hear the party going on as you lay in bed. It’s not at all like when you fall asleep during a holiday party and your parents put you to bed, and you can still hear the laughter of the guests in your dreams. Now each bout of laughter reminds you of her, the girl whose hand was on Luke like she already owned him, and you wonder if he’s making her giggle with his stupid corny jokes.
God, last week you didn’t even like Luke. Now you’re burning with jealousy– or maybe it’s the fires from Hell, because you’ve got a completely inappropriate crush on your best friend’s little brother. You can never come back to the lake house like this, at least not until you’ve gotten over this shit. Why are you so affected? It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake.
It’s Luke again when someone comes knocking at your door. You thought it would be Quinn, ready to chew you out or question you extensively about this crush. To your surprise, the problem himself appears. 
“You okay?” Luke asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His silhouette is burly and big and you have to close your eyes to shake the pang of emotion that penetrates your chest.
“Just tired,” you reply quietly. “Couldn’t stomach the party anymore.”
“Did Trevor say something to upset you?”
Quieter: “No, Luke.”
He hovers silently. You can hear the cogs in his brain turning. His pitch matches yours when he speaks next, although his tone is much more melancholic than despondent. “Are you mad at me?”
You hesitate for a second too long. You’re not mad, but you’re certainly taken aback by the uncertainty in his words. “No, Luke,” you say again, but this time the pang that goes through your chest is more familiar. You don’t want to upset him. You’ve always wanted to protect Luke from the world, but now you’ve made him unsure and insecure. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Luke asks, and you have to take a shaky breath. He sounds so small. It’s like the time that you didn’t let him ride bikes with you and Quinn to the store, even though he begged, and then he cried and ran to his mom. After seeing Luke’s puffy red eyes and resolute determination to ignore you for the rest of the night, your soda and candy bar didn’t taste as good. In fact, they tasted a bit like cardboard. You ended up throwing half of the bar away and going home early. You swore you’d never make sweet little Luke feel that way again.
“You wouldn’t get it, I don’t think,” you tell him quietly, pushing yourself up in bed and resting on your elbows. You take a deep breath and look at him, sure that he can see the way your chest rises and falls. 
Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see the way Luke’s mouth opens, as if to say something, then closes with a shake of his head. You notice his eyes fluttering towards the corner of your room, removing you from his line of vision. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Luke says, biting his lower lip in a dejected and heartbreaking way. “I get it. I’ll go.”
“Luke,” you sigh. “Don’t be like that.”
“No, it’s fine. You don’t wanna talk to me,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not friends like that. I’m not Quinn.”
“Luke.” You push yourself up further, pushing the covers down and criss-crossing your legs. “It’s not that.”
“It’s always that. And if it’s not that, then it’s that I’m not Jack. I just– I don’t want to hear that from you.” Luke shrugs again, always defaulting to that motion when he’s deflecting because he’s big and awkward and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. As if he’s thinking the same thing, you watch him shove his fists in his pockets and keep his shoulders tense.
“Come here,” you request, head tilted and mouth turned down with sadness. You shift your position so that both of your knees are under you and you’re sitting back on your heels. “Luke, please.”
You hold your arms out for a hug, not for the first time in your life, and Luke shuffles over. He takes his time and he refuses to meet your eyes, just stooping down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. It’s a weird position, given that you’re kneeling on the bed and he’s half-bent over. You can feel the pout and doubt all over Luke’s face, so you reach a hand up to his curls and run your thumb over one of his more perfect spirals. He’s letting it grow out a bit and you like how messy it looks.
“Jack told me something,” you reveal softly, still petting through his hair. Luke stiffens in your arms, but doesn’t pull away. “He said you like me.”
Luke groans and struggles in your grip, even sinking to his knees to try and get out of your grasp. He’s kneeling beside the bed, and you bring your legs around so that he’s situated between them. You keep a hand on his shoulder, the other still playing with his hair. He’s evading your eyes again, looking stoutly at the floor.
“I have feelings for you, too,” you whisper, the admission feeling heavy and wrong and like a knife to the gut. Admittance is the first step, but you just feel silly. “And I don’t really know how to deal with those. You’re– I’ve known you since we were so little, Luke.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Luke says bluntly, a hint of a complaint in his sentence. “You’ve been acting weird because you like me, too?”
“I was upset that there was a pretty girl talking to you,” you say sheepishly. “And I just didn’t want to go along with Jack’s plan. He wanted to make you jealous. Thought that would work.”
“I’m always jealous when you talk to another guy,” Luke tells you like it’s obvious. “I just, kind of, gave up. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. I thought I’d get over it. Stupid childhood crush, you know.”
“Yeah,” you agree, understanding that you yourself just experienced a similar line of thinking. You said you’d get over it, but you don’t really want to. Not right now, at least, when Luke’s sitting in front of you and he’s got a tentative hand on your calf, rubbing his thumb over the muscle and staring up at you with big eyes. You bite your lip, trying to think logically about this, but all you can do is examine Luke’s features like you’ll never get to see them again. Maybe you won’t– not like this. Not in this liminal space between something and nothing. This is one of those moments that you know won’t last– because the next one will change everything. So, for a moment longer, you just reach out and run your thumb along Luke’s cheekbone, eyes flickering between his cheek, his lips, and his eyes. 
“What do we–” Luke loses his words and presses his lips together, looking up at you, expression completely tortured. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, which makes your heart split a bit more.
“I don’t know,” you admit. You wish you had a better answer for him. You truly aren’t sure what you can do from here. There are too many things to consider– so you won’t consider them at all.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Luke asks. 
A fond burst of laughter escapes from your chest. “Lukey, this is a twin bed. We can’t both fit.”
A pout comes over Luke’s face again. “We can too,” he insists, furrowing his brow a bit. “I’ll prove it. Move over.”
He’s climbing into your bed before you can tell him no. His long and spindly limbs are coaxing you to lay back, then warming you as he holds you tight. It’s a tight squeeze, but that just means that you’re touching him everywhere. It’s nice and you suddenly wish you were facing him, so you roll awkwardly in his arms until you’re face to face. Your noses are nearly touching and Luke is staring at you, really taking you in. 
Your eyes find his lips… and then he’s leaning in.
It’s charged with tension and electricity, but it’s soft and hesitant. Neither of you want to test the boundaries and you don’t think this feels quite real. Your stomach is swooping with bats, not butterflies, and it’s exactly what you wanted. This is what you expected when you found yourself imagining kissing Luke this past week, even if you shook yourself out of it because it felt inappropriate. Here, it feels so right that you swear you could start crying from relief. You’ve never felt that way before from just a kiss. Your chest could burst.
When he pulls away, you feel frozen in time. Your eyes are closed and his lips are right there, a hair’s breadth away. You swallow, touching his chest, palm flat. 
“Was that okay?” Luke asks.
You nod, then slide your lips over his again. 
You come together in a way that can’t be described as anything other than desperate. Your hands touch him in any way they can and Luke’s do the same. You move in tandem like you’ve got a language of your own– an indignant hum from you followed by a sweet “I know” from Luke before he touches you exactly the way you want.
Kissing the whole time, Luke gets you on your back. Your lips only part to remove your shirt, then his. Luke’s big hand cradles your jaw and neck, keeping your head and mouth exactly where he wants them. He guides you with a surprising amount of experience and sureness, although maybe he’s fueled by the same feeling of rightness as you are.
He opens you on his other hand, snaking his hand into your pajamas shorts because he can’t be bothered to remove them. His hips roll against your thigh, his long torso displacing your pelvis from his as he kisses you. He’s big– you knew it height-wise, but now you can feel him against your leg, and you want him to fill you. You want him to claim you, to take you– you want to give all of yourself to Luke. It’s madness and though you’re sure you’ve lost your mind, the crack in your chest that pours out love for Luke has taken control of your body.
After three fingers and a lot of whimpering from you, clutches at Luke’s hair and bruising kisses working in tandem with your noises, Luke works your shorts down. He breaks from your lips so that he can take you in beneath him. He touches your waist and the curve of your stomach, the one that you cringed at for so many years as a teen but finally accepted in your grown age. 
“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, eyes portraying nothing but sincerity.
You can’t say anything to that, nothing that can match his utterly genuine sentiment or portray how grateful you are that he took the time to say those words, so you kiss him again. You muster up an embarrassingly wanton ‘please,’ which you draw across his lips like a paintbrush. 
You can’t get enough of saying his name as he presses into you, his heavy body blanketing yours. You can feel his every muscle move as he works into you and you’ve never felt more like a masterpiece. There were times when you made fun of the phrase ‘making love,’ but sex with Luke feels intensely like you’re creating something tangible by coming together in this way. 
The moans and cries that you’re trying to stifle so that no one comes barging in should be enough to convince Luke that this is everything to you. Sweet, sweet Luke– he seems choked up when he says, “They can’t fuck you like I can.” He says the sentence like he has to prove it to you, like you’re not falling apart under his touch. He pleads with you between the words, in the spaces where you can see his breath hitch in his throat.
You’re still not sure where this night will leave you tomorrow morning. Everything, everything has turned on its head. Somehow, you feel a bit like you’ve been leading up to this for a while, not just in the past week. Luke knew it before you did.
“No,” you agree, touching his cheeks and keeping his eyes on yours. “They can’t.” You kiss him briefly, feeling his tongue swipe into your mouth before you pull away. “I’m yours.”
Luke actually keens at that, his arms straining as he shifts his weight to fuck into you harder. Because you’re so close, the bed isn’t moving enough to bang against the walls or creak on its boxsprings, and you’re glad. This is a moment for just you and Luke– you don’t want anyone hearing. You don’t want anyone to be around. You hope that they’ve all miraculously disappeared and you and Luke are the last people in the house, maybe even on Earth.
“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Luke repeats, his forehead meeting yours. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale, his breath automatically syncing with yours. You’re overwhelmed, but deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice reminding you about an ancient tradition in Polynesian culture where forehead-to-forehead contact and breathing together is sacred, like you’re sharing the breath of life– like there’s some power in the universe, a god or many, clicking things into place.
He unravels first, fucking you through his release with urgence akin to the sentence he said before. Always trying to prove himself– but Luke has always been enough for you. Maybe not always in this way, but now, there’s nothing he can do to shake your favor. All of the feelings in your heart have been poured out, shared and mixed with his own, and it’s created a puddle– or a bubble– around the pair of you. 
It’s been written that sex is when two people come together as one. You finally understand what they mean, joining Luke in the seas of ecstasy.
Sweet nothings and touches like worship follow. Your hands can’t get enough of Luke’s strong figure. He runs his fingertips along your body like he’s in awe of your figure, like he gets to touch a statue so lifelike and beautiful that he can’t believe it was ever a block of marble at all. 
The concerns about what will happen tomorrow don’t exist here, in your dark bedroom with Luke stuck to you like glue. For now, it’s just you. Together, breathing, touching, loving– there’s nothing else that could matter. This is it.
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note: i have to work on my grad school app in the coming days, so this will probably be the last blurb/oneshot until i finish the application. but, i might get bored of writing that and could pop in to do another smut piece here and there ;) hopefully i'll chat with y'all soon! but i don't want to rush this grad school app LOL
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novvabee · 2 days ago
Text
The Boys in the Band
AN: I got carried away with this one, but here is the second part to the band au
word count: 2.8k
cw: language? there is nothing really bad about this one.
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Since your first show, you had been quite busy. You had opened for a couple bands at The Common Room, you booked a few nights at the popular club, The Hog’s Head, and managed to snag a spot in another festival. You had become popular very quickly amongst the girls, gays, theys, and young people in the city. Each gig you noted more and more fans, crowds growing, singing so loud and dancing so hard. 
This is what you always dreamed of, performing and making people happy. You lived for the drama and theatrics of it all, dressing up on stage and singing your heart out. The girls felt the same electricity, the same passion as you. That made your bond as a group that much stronger.
Not to mention, you were all good friends. Lily had mentioned to you that she and Mary had been messing around and found out they actually sounded really good together. Then they asked Marlene if she would play drums, which she said yes to in a heartbeat. And then Lily realized they needed a front woman, someone who could sing and bring the most energy. She thought of you, your bold and fierce attitude, your flirty and fun personality. And that is how you started.
The four of you wrote all the music you performed; the fun and girly songs by Mary, the campy over-the-top songs about women by Marlene, the sad and slow ballads by yourself, and the thought provoking and experimental ones by Lily.
Mary had the upbeat, girly, pop songs down. Her personality just flowed with inspiration for them, so those were the types of songs that you mostly sang and performed. You weren’t complaining, her songs were half the fun.
Marlene was full of something you all liked to tease her about; lesbian angst. But all that angst made for great songs to perform and were usually the crowd favorites.
Lily was slightly different, she was full of thoughts and ideas about the world, and her medium to get them out of her brain and into the world, was through music and lyrics. She wrote a lot of songs for women, for rights for all and for political change. If you had to pick, you would say hers were by far your favorites. She didn’t write often, but when she did, she had a message, something to say. You loved that about her.
Your songs were all ballads and sad. The girls teased you about that too, saying you shouldn’t let a man make you cry. It wasn’t exactly your fault, you had just gotten out of a long term relationship, and were drawing inspiration from all the confusing, mixed feelings that came with that. 
You had been dating this boy, Matthew, for about a year and a half, but everything seemed to take a turn for the worse a couple months ago. Your once sweet and charming boyfriend had turned into this cold, vacant man right in front of you. You two argued all the time, about small things as well as very important, serious things. He started accusing you of sneaking around, hiding things from him, cheating on him. None of it was true, and you tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.
So you had enough. You told him that if you two couldn’t work things out, you didn’t know if you could continue on. He said nothing, just agreed with you. He didn’t try to mend the broken relationship, didn't try to fight either for you or with you. You would’ve taken either, but he just walked away.
As much as you tell yourself you’re doing so much better, that you have moved on and don’t care about him anymore, that isn’t exactly true.
You leaned into the band to distract yourself, putting everything you had in it so that you wouldn’t be left with those feelings. You’re just glad you had your friends, your girls who not only could help you through it, but also help you see this band through. They ignited you.
You felt that way even just sitting on the floor of Mary’s apartment. The space was cute and cozy. You girls were sprawled out over fluffy rugs, a plush couch, and two oversized bean bags. 
Mary was nodding her head along to a beat that only she could hear, writing down what you could only guess were new lyrics. Lily was strumming a tune she had been working on for over a week. You and Marlene were talking about what to wear for your upcoming show. 
“I think you'd look good in that pink leotard with the matching cowgirl boots.” Marlene recommended.
“The pink tassels or the pink heart?” you asked.
She thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “The tassels, that way you can wear the boots and maybe a cowboy hat,” she paused looking at the other two, “maybe we can try out Pink Pony?”
Excited, you clapped your hands together. You had been dying to perform this new song in front of a crowd and this was the perfect opportunity. You were playing at The Common Room again, but this time it was only you. Unlike every other performance you had, this time there were no openers, and no one else after you. You got a whole set for yourselves and the whole night to perform and party with fans.
The night was going to be nothing short of magical.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
James followed Remus and Sirius into the stage door of The Common Room.
All three boys wanted to come and see the performance that The Pixies were giving tonight. They had gained a lot of traction recently, seemingly overnight.
James didn’t feel at all jealous or threatened, they were doing just as well themselves, and they made entirely different music. He was more curious as to the fact that this band came out of nowhere.
The Marauders were used to competition revolving around the music world. They had been doing this for a while now, they understood the fight to fill spots and book sets. This band was just another contender now.
James was more frequently used to The Snakes stealing their gigs or spots in festivals, but now even they were pushed aside for this new band. The Snakes was led by Sirius’s little brother Regulus, another person on the list James hadn’t spoken to in a while. James knew that Regulus was a grudge holder, hell, he was related to Sirius, so he shouldn’t be surprised that Regulus cut all contact.
He fucked up, he knew he did. But he still wasn’t ready to think about it.
Slipping through the crowd and continuing to follow as best he could, all three boys ended up in the back of the already packed room. 
“Holy shit,” Sirius began, “there are so many people. How much were tickets?” He asked Remus.
Remus answered with a head shake. “Don’t know, Lily told me to come in through the back door so we wouldn’t have to pay.”
James’s stomach sunk, maybe he shouldn’t have come. Lily didn’t even invite him, he just tagged along with Remus. But, she had to have known that would happen, right? The boys didn’t do anything or go anywhere without each other.
“Oh my god! Hi,” came a voice from a girl to his right. “You’re The Marauders right? I love you guys. I’ve been to, like, a bunch of shows.” James recognized this girl. She was always front row or close enough, always giving Sirius a look that showed she wanted to fuck him, or at least become a groupie. “Could I get a pic?” she asked.
Sirius smirked. “Course you can sweetheart.” he said while she handed her phone to someone she was with. She stood between Remus and Sirius for the photo, then thanked the boys, obviously wanting the interaction to continue. 
James did not. He would look like such an asshole taking pictures with fans at Lily’s show.
The thought was cut short when the house lights dimmed and the stage turned a hazy pink color. James lost every thought in his head when you came out on stage.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
Walking out onto the stage, you were met by a wall of sound, cheers and screams. Your nerves and butterflies instantly fluttered away. This is where you were meant to be, up here on this stage, in front of a crowd, making music. You had dreamed of this since you were a little girl.
You pranced yourself out in a cowboy hat and high heel boots, a matching sparkly and intricately tasseled leotard to top it all off. Your ass may be out, but that was the fun of it, the aesthetic. Especially for the new song you had prepared for the night. 
“Hello my friends.” you said, the cheers and screams somehow getting even louder. “We are The Pixies,” you introduced, “and we are here to give you the night of your life.”
You looked around the crowd to see so many faces enhanced with intricate and beautiful makeup looks, so many fans copying looks from your previous performances, so many bodies in bright colors. So many people who felt confident in what they were wearing and how they looked. 
“We’re gonna start off with a new one if that’s ok with you.” You announced you got an astounding amount of cheers, noting many phones launch into the air to record this new one. “This song is a fun one but more importantly,” you paused, the whole crowd hanging on your breath, “it is about what my mother thinks I am doing with my life. Here is Pink Pony Club!”
The girls started playing the intro and you walked to the front of the stage, sitting down, legs dangling off.
I know you wanted me to stay
But I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA
And I heard that there's a special place
Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day
You stood, walking back to center stage.
I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee
Hear Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me
Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene
She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream
You whipped around to the audience
God, what have you done?
You're a pink pony girl
And you dance at the club
Oh mama, I'm just having fun
On the stage in my heels
It's where I belong down at the
You started dancing and jumping around stage, Lily and Mary joining you, smiles plastered on their faces
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing down in
West Hollywood
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club
The audience had settled into the performance, had gotten into the groove of the song, and joined in the dancing and the fun.
I'm up and jaws are on the floor
Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door
Blacklights and a mirrored disco ball
Every night's another reason why I left it all
I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee
Oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me
Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene
She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream
God, what have you done?
You're a pink pony girl
And you dance at the club
Oh mama, I'm just having fun
On the stage in my heels
It's where I belong down at the
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing down in
West Hollywood
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club
The crowd was going crazy, right along with you, until you slowed down and the girls played quieter for the bridge.
Don't think I've left you all behind
Still love you and Tennessee
You're always on my mind
And mama, every Saturday
I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying
God, what have you done?
You're a pink pony girl
And you dance at the club
Oh mama, I'm just having fun
On the stage in my heels
It's where I belong down at the
You jumped up and danced like crazy, the crowd joining in, loving this new song. Some picked up on the lyrics and were singing them back to you, the feeling indescribable.
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing down in
West Hollywood
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing
I'm gonna keep on dancing
You kept dancing as Lily and Mary played the outro, out of breath and so happy. Once the song was finished, the whole building was filled with cheering. You looked to Mary, then over to Lily, they looked just as ecstatic, you could imagine Marlene felt the same. 
“Thank you, thank you!” you said into the mic. “Well, if you like that Common Room, we’re just getting started.”
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
James had never seen a concert, a band like yours. There was no way to describe it, you were just, stars already. 
The rest of the concert was filled with just as much fun, joy as the first song. The dancing and singing and laughing was indescribable. 
The boys waited after the concert, waited until the last of the fans trickled out, then they made their way backstage. Walking down the halls and to the dressing room that had a piece of paper with the word “Pixies” in bold letters, Remus knocked on the door. 
The giggling and sounds of excitement were radiating from the room, loudly even with the door shut.
They waited for a moment before the door pulled open, revealing Mary. The smile dropped from her face for a moment before she put another one in its place, this one though, was more of an uncomfortable grimace more than anything. “Hey! I didn’t know you guys were here.” Mary said, opening the door to let the boys slide through. She hugged each of them on their way in.
James made eye contact with Lily who was on the couch with Marlene. She didn’t break away. He quickly looked over to Marlene and smiled. “We wanted to come and say great show!” he said, directed at them all, but not being able to look away from Marlene, who just smirked, knowing the situation and that James was incredibly uncomfortable right now.
“Thanks.” Marlene replied smoothly. 
Sirius noted the tension and decided to break it. “Where is she?” he asked.
All eyes went to him as Mary asked “Y/N?”
He looked at her and rolled his eyes, “No, the queen.” he said sarcastically.
“Are you going to try to sleep with her?” Mary asked, not holding back.
“What, no!” Sirius denied as if it wasn’t exactly something Sirius would do. “I just want to meet her. ‘Know thy enemy’ and all that.”
Lily scoffed. “She’ll be out in a minute, I think she's taking off her makeup.”
And as if right on que, you waltzed right out of the connected bathroom and into the dressing room. Smiling, you looked at the boys standing across from the couch. 
“Here she is!” Mary ushered you over, chipper and still energized from the performance. “This is Y/N, Y/N these are the boys in The Marauders.”
Your smile grew. “The Marauders? You guys were amazing at the festival.”
Sirius smiled back at you, charming as ever. “‘I'm Sirius.” you looked to the next boy, who was glancing at a fuming Lily.
“Uh, I’m James.” He smiled, seeming to come back to reality and out of whatever thought he was lost in. 
You looked at the final boy, tall and leaning against the wall. “And you’re Remus, right?” you asked.
He nodded. “Yeah we met a while back, lovely to see you again.”
“Lovely to see you! And it is lovely to finally meet you two.” you said to the newly acquainted Sirius and James, they nodded and smiled politely. There was a noticeable tension between everyone in the room, was there really that much of a rivalry?
“I think the boys were just heading out,” Mary said to the three boys standing in front of her. “Isn't that right?”
Sirius huffed and led the other two out throwing a “See you all soon.” over his shoulder as Mary escorted and followed them out into the hallway, shutting the door beyond her.
“That was… strange.” you said to Lily and Marlene. They just looked at each other and laughed, rolling their eyes. You didn’t understand.
“They're idiots.” Marlene supplied.
“They're boys.” Lily corrected.
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Taglist 💌:  @adharalikethestar @mayuwolfstar @ieatboysalive @maraudereestauderelb @bugg06 @slytherinambitious (yell at me if I forgot anyone)
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silaslich · 12 hours ago
Note
May I make a request for a sequel to "In A Grave so we feel safe"? Something about it scratches an itch in my brain just right. Idk why, I think I just like it when you make 'im mean. 🫣🫣
Our skin starts to rot
Simon “Ghost” Riley x afab!reader
Summary - following from this. Simon hangs around despite the way he treats you like he can’t stand you. The feeling is mutual- to a point.
Wc - 3.8k
Cw - 18+, MDNI, GHOST IS NOT NICE, reader also is not nice, vomiting/purging, referenced/implied drug+alcohol abuse, coercive behaviour, mention of past trauma, smut, fingering, oral (r!receiving), kinda better dynamic toward the end but not really
Your fingernails scrape harshly over the roof of your mouth, and when you look into the bowl of the toilet- you see red.
You gather what’s left of the bile and blood in your mouth with your tongue and spit. Wanting rid of it. Needing to be rid of every last bit of it. All the shame and the guilt and the anxiety, it’s all churned up in your stomach, bought back up with whatever you’d managed to eat last night. Tears sting your eyes from the force and effort of purging, your spine bowed as you grip the white porcelain. Everything hurts. Your body aches. There’s a headache that is pounding like a drum behind your eyes.
The weight of his stare falls over you and so does the shame. You hear him sneer.
“You’re not pregnant are you?” He doesn’t sound as concerned as he should be considering the subject of his question.
There’s a broken laugh that’s hiccuped from your lungs as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand.
“Would it matter to you if I was?” There isn’t anything he can say to make this okay, you’d be happier if he didn’t answer at all. It doesn’t even take him a second to think.
“No” it’s clipped. There’s no emotion there.
You nod to yourself but you don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. There never is. Holding a conversation with him is futile. It’s a waste of fucking breath.
He moves away, you can tell by the sound of his feet scuffing across the floor. Finally- you’re left alone. Allowed out of his sight. Not because he’s concerned, or because he cares. It’s because he wants the control. He knows that you like your own space. He knows that you don’t appreciate it when he lurks over you like a shadow. That’s exactly why he does it. It’s a tactic, like everything else he does, it’s calculated. He smarter than he looks- you’ll give him that.
He’s smart enough to know that, no, you aren’t pregnant. And there’s a very low chance of you being able to fall pregnant. You’ve had an IUD placed for as long as you’ve known him. He’s questioned you enough times about it before. Pinching the device under your skin, smirking when you wince at the pain. He’s asking to embarrass you, begging you to ask the question of what would happen between the two of you if you were in-fact pregnant with his child. He wants you to know that he wouldn’t change. That it wouldn’t make him step up or start to think about his actions.
He’s exhausting to be around, frankly, it’s a living nightmare. You thought you’d miss him. After Price had sent you packing there was a tiny part of you that really thought that you’d miss having Simon near. He’s different here than he used to be back on base or out of country. Maybe that’s because he had the others there, perhaps he didn’t want to let his true colours show for all to see. He clearly thinks very little of you, that and your opinion of him. He couldn’t care less about how you see him, how you perceive him. That does sting, just a little bit.
The water cools your skin as you wash your face, scrubbing the sleep from your eyes and brushing your teeth until your gums feel sore. This is the routine now. When he’s here at least, walking on eggshells in your own home, pretending that he doesn’t bother you as much as he does. You’re lying to yourself, and doesn’t he know it.
You emerge from your bathroom and tread back to your room to get ready for work. In the few months since he’d come crashing back into your life you’d managed to get somewhat of a hold on it again. It’s rubbish money and the hours are even worse but it helps in its own ways. You’re back to some sort of normalcy, outside of Simon and his whole existence within your life. It’s good, you hate to admit, your colleagues are nice enough and the job itself isn’t hard at all. It’s stable. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Stacking tins and organising pasta on shelves hadn’t been a career aspiration of yours- but you’re alive.
The need for relief is better managed, if you can say that. It’s not always pretty. Some nights are better than others. Your drinking is controllable and the painkillers no longer have a death-like grip on your mind and needs. Sometimes it’s hard to stay afloat, to resist the urge to drink yourself to the point you can’t stand upright or crush tablets between your teeth and rub them into your gums with your tongue. It’s a slippery slope. You can only climb so high before a strong enough wind blows you back down, but growth is growth in your eyes. There’s a noticeable pattern too, it’s always worse when he’s around. He hardly helps the issue. He raids your cupboards and empties your work bag onto the floor every night to make sure you don’t have anything he deems as contraband. As if you’re a child.
The ironic thing is, that he wouldn’t care if it killed you, not really. Not deep down. It might inconvenience him, sure, but it wouldn’t affect him in his daily life. He’d move on to the next unfortunate soul. Hell, you’re probably not the only one he’s seeing, he’s probably already got someone else on the back burner for when you do eventually fuck your liver to the point of no return. It wouldn’t surprise you at all. Not from him.
You get ready and dress for work and head to the hallway that leads to the front door to grab your bag, you’ll sort lunch out at work, because you can hear him in the kitchen. It’s as your key slides into the lock that you hear him still in whatever he’s doing, you bite your tongue.
“I’m off to work” your voice sounds so foreign in your own ears.
There’s a few seconds of drawn out silence and you take that as your cue to leave. Then his voice cuts in again-
“Come ‘ere” it’s rough from his throat. Not yet warmed up since he’d awoken.
You grip the door handle, you could walk out so easily, pretend you haven’t heard him, but it’s hardly worth the aggravation. You leave your key abandoned in the lock and turn to make your way through the living room and toward the kitchen. It’s there that you find him leaning his hip against the counter, a mug of coffee steaming away in his hand, he’s looking right at you as you enter the space.
“Everything okay?” You ask, a brow raised. You’ll be late if he isn’t quick with whatever he wants. He raises a brow back at you.
“I said come ‘ere” he tilts his chin, eyeing up the space directly in front of him.
You blink long and hard to hide the way your eyes want to roll in your skull. You’ll definitely be late at this rate. You do as he wants, nevertheless, stepping right up to him and stopping when you feel the steam from his coffee under your nose. Practically black, as he always has it, barely a drop of milk and no sugar. He’s looking at you in that way that always manages to make you feel so small. Not physically, because that’s already a given. But small in the way that he sees you as inferior to him in every single way. You likely are, but he doesn’t have to make it so obvious to you.
“What is it?” Your temper shortens, just slightly.
His eyes narrow, he notices the shift. His free hand lifts to the side of your face, running a rough thumb over the apple of your cheek, it’s a tender gesture. On the surface level.
“Come and see Price” his voice has softened, just that little bit, the way it does when he wants you to do something he knows you won’t want to.
He wants you to believe he’s on your side. It’s immediate the way you shake your head, he hadn’t even finished speaking.
“Simon- we’ve already talked about this” your patience is thinned to almost nothing. He could have said something earlier, long before you’re walking out the door to catch the next bus.
“Yeah, and you’re not seeing it from my perspective” he eyes you from over his nose, again, making you feel small. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.
“When do you ever try to see things from my perspective?” You raise your chin, if he wants an argument over this, you worry he’ll get what he’s after.
He brings his mug to his lips, staring at you from over the lip of it.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever stooped low enough to see things from your point of view, sweetheart” you can’t see his lips but you’re convinced you’d see a smirk there if you could. Your fists clench at your sides.
“I find that very hard to believe” you know little of Simon’s past, but you know enough to know that he is indeed lying. It’s another tactic, another way to get under your skin and piss you off. For his own pure enjoyment.
“Yeah? Try me” he lowers his mug and places it on the counter. His full attention on you. He folds his arms over his bare chest, his tattoos right in your line of sight.
There’s only so low that you’re willing to go, but whatever you say- you know that Simon will have something worse to say about you. That’s just a given with him.
“No no you’re right” you wave him off, stepping out of his space and turning to face the windows across the living room.
A beat of silence.
“Tommy was the druggie, right? Not you”
It’s audible, the way his jaw clicks. You don’t move.
“That’s right” his voice is flat, but you know him well enough to know that he’s annoyed, pissed beyond belief. Maybe not at what you’ve said, but that you’ve dared to say anything at all.
“Means I know a lost cause when I see one” you hear his body shift, the way his right shoulder clicks. Adjusting his stance.
You nod, silently. That’s his perception of you. It hardly rings true, a few months ago? Maybe. Now? You give yourself enough credit to know that you’re doing the right thing. Keeping this job. Not crawling back to Price. It settles the nagging feeling in your chest. You’re trying, at least. Making an effort.
“Why are you still here?” Still- you don’t turn to face him.
You keep your eyes glued to the way the world ticks by outside the window, there’s satisfaction in knowing he can’t see just how unbothered you are at his words. Before, you would have given him what he wanted and cried. Would have screamed and shouted in his face. An accusing finger pressed into his chest. You’d spat at him, once. Then he’d grab you and pull you close, pressing your snotty tear-stained face into the flesh of his chest and make a spectacle of soothing you. Telling you how he forgives you, how he knows it’s the booze and drugs talking- not you. He’d say that you’ll feel better in the morning and tug you into bed or towards the nearest waist-level surface and fuck you raw and slow and everlasting until you’re a puddle of nothing. Dumb and boneless- everything he already believes you to be.
He makes a noise. One that if it were translated into English, it would sound like ‘what the fuck are you on about?’
“I asked you why you’re here”
“Yeah, I heard you” his tone stiffens, it’s clear he doesn’t have an answer for you, therefore- he won’t answer.
There’s a few moments where the silence tells. There’s the sound of a car horn blaring outside and the birds that live in the gutter above your window chirp and sing, it’s the way life just keeps humming away- despite everything. Despite it all.
Simon moves and you stay stood still. You turn your head, watching out the corner of your eye as he walks toward you, he doesn’t look you in the eye. Instead looking out of the window as you had been. You follow his line of sight, watching the same cyclist ride past as he does.
“You treat me like shit y’know” you don’t know why you’ve said it. The thought had just been there, at the front of your mind and the tip of your tongue.
He turns his head, just slightly, to look at you. You feel his eyes- they burn.
“I treat everyone like shit” he returns his gaze to the glass, hands slid into the pockets of his trackie bottoms.
You laugh. It breezes past your lips so easily, so freely. You turn your gaze to him, noticing the way his jaw hardens when you do.
“No you don’t” you don’t take your eyes away from his face. You can’t.
For a moment you remember who he is- what he is. And in that moment you find yourself feeling sorry for him. Maybe he deserves more credit, because he could treat you a lot worse, realistically. It’s the one thing you tell yourself when he’s around, that he could be so much worse. It’s not a defence, no, it’s a lifeline. He’s suffered as you have and maybe that’s why you let him treat you the way he does, because that’s what you think you’re worth. Rough hands and sharp words and glaring eyes. It rolls off your back better these days, it’s easier to shrug off.
Simon hums, he’s caught out and he knows it.
“No- no I don’t” he rolls his shoulders until the right one cracks- again.
You bite the tip of your tongue. There’s so much you need to say to him and it’s never the right time or circumstance. You walk on eggshells around him because you can’t deal with the consequences of his temper and his irrationality. For someone who commands a platoon and leads so naturally, he’s the most pig-headed man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t want to hear your opinion or listen to you explain your point, even if he knows you’re right and he’s wrong.
“Why are you really here?” You’re still looking at him and your chest squeezes when he casts his eyes to the side, barely eyeing you. You’ve always loved his eyes.
They soften, if only slightly, it shows he’s considering the question. That he might not shrug it off like he does everything else.
“I don’t know” Simon’s voice carries that lilt to it, the one that reminds you of the man you’d first welcomed into your home- into your bed. Soft voice and attentive hands. Like he could actually stand being near you.
For a few seconds, it’s as if the world outside stops. The birds aren’t chirping and the traffic has cleared. Even the breeze stills, there’s nothing but the sounds of the both of you breathing. Out of sync. Always.
There’s a weight that dislodges from your chest. You didn’t realise you’d been carrying it for so long. Ultimately burdened by it. You haven’t got any answers, none that would clear away the ache in your heart when he looks at you in that knowing way. But somehow, there’s a satisfaction to knowing that he’s as lost as you are, the same way that you don’t understand why you let him stay- he doesn’t know why he stays either.
He stiffens slightly when he feels you at his side. Head and left shoulder pressed into his ribs and arm respectively. He quickly slackens his muscles, leaning into you slightly.
“We’re as bad as each other” the words are a little incoherent, your cheek smushed against his arm.
You’re not bothered if he hears it or not at this point. It wouldn’t matter. You only know he’s heard you by the way he sighs, craning his neck to lean the side of his head against the top of yours.
“I’m afraid I’m worse” he says it matter-of-factly. It’s the truth, to him.
“Much worse” his voice dies away, slightly. Not as though he’s embarrassed by the words, but perhaps because he knows you’re acutely aware.
You’re fully aware that he’s worse than you, in every sense of the fucking word. You’ve been sugar coating things, telling him what he wants to hear instead of what he needs to hear. He can appreciate that to a point. But he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need the softness. That sentiment had been beaten out of him long ago, long before the Army sank its claws into him too. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong, it’s as if he doesn’t have the ability to physically stop himself from doing and saying things he doesn’t mean. In a military setting he can be loud and brash and rude; it’s his job. He spends his days as someone else’s superior, telling them when they can and can’t piss, telling them where and when they will die- essentially.
It’s hard for him to kick that habit when he’s out of that setting. When lives aren’t on the line. Yet, you’re right; he doesn’t treat Price or Gaz or Johnny that way. He can’t explain why, and that’s worse than if he could. He’s just a bad person, that’s what it ultimately boils down to at the end of the day.
It’s all he can think of as he takes you by the hand, watching your wide eyes watch him; pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the sofa. Somehow, it’s different, for reasons he can’t think of. Simon Riley has never been a religious man-
Is this what repenting feels like?
He handles you differently, in his own way. The way he thinks he knows how. When he removes your clothes he’s no longer chasing something, that deep-dark spot in his vision that blurs his rationality is gone.
It’s too late for redemption- to prove that he can be something he’s not; because he can’t. He’d be lying and you know that, so you won’t ask that of him, you wouldn’t expect it either.
He holds your gaze as he presses his lips to the mound of your pussy. He watches how your chest heaves, sucking in air through your mouth, like a deer in headlights. This is so foreign from him, the tenderness, the gentleness of his hands and his mouth. No gnashing teeth or bruising fingers. There’s only featherlight touches- to begin with.
Simon warms you up the way he should. Sliding his tongue through the lips of your pussy, gathering the wetness he finds already there- he hasn’t even started with you yet, not really. There’s a slight smile that creeps up the side of his mouth at that. You tell him how much you hate him, but he has this effect on you; that in itself calls your bluff.
He listens to the way your breath stutters, feeling the way your hips cant into the wait of his mouth when he slows down or stops completely. Your juices are smeared across his lips and down his chin, he rubs his face into your pussy, slathering himself in your wetness. He wants to smell you on his skin tomorrow when he leaves, because he will leave, if you really want him to.
“Oh- oh fuck” he plucks these sounds out of you so easily.
He curls two thick fingers into the tightness of your cunt, reeling at how easy your pussy sucks him in. So needy. So eager for anything he’ll give. He watches his digits disappear, barely wanting to take his eyes off of yours but needing to visualise the feeling of your tight hole sucking him in, clamping like a vice around his fingers as he fucks them deeper inside of you.
“There?” He asks, curling his fingers, watching you nod your head wildly.
“So wet f’me” his voice drags, drunk on your pussy.
It’s like electricity hits his bones when he presses his mouth to you again, lapping at your clit while he continues to pump his fingers into you. Matching rhythm. Swirling his tongue, beckoning you with the wet muscle in his mouth, luring you to the edge. When you curl your fingers into the length of hair at the top of his head, that’s when he’s really spurred on. Letting you rub your pussy all over his face, burying his nose in the mound of flesh there, nipping teeth when you get too bold for his liking- because he’s still in charge here.
“Soo desperate” he tries to be cruel with his tone but it goes right over your head.
He feels the way your walls clamp around his fingers. The way your breathing grows ragged, sloppy thrusts of your hips against his mouth and tongue, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge as Simon fights to pull you there.
“Oh- a-a fuck Si” you’re a stuttering mess. “M’close-”
You’re practically gushing when you cum. He laps at you like he hasn’t before, listening to cries of his own name that bounce off the walls. The sounds of your pussy oozing against his mouth make his cock leak in his boxers. Hard and untouched. He stutters his hips, seeking any kind of friction.
There isn’t any; but watching and feeling you squirm under him like this is a new found thing. He’s had you on your back more times than he can think to count. Yet, none have felt like this- not even in the early days when things were right between the two of you.
Maybe it’s because things have indeed shifted, that maybe you’ve solidified your belief that you deserve better - that this might be it for him.
Even when you almost pull his hair from the roots, riding his nose as he rides you through your orgasm. Your spine arching off the sofa cushion, needing more despite the fact that he’s given you everything.
“Oh -Simon” it’s hissed through your teeth. He’s doing too much now, clamping his fingers into your thighs, not wanting to let go.
It’s the greediness in him. He wants too much of everything, he has no control. There isn’t that little voice in his head that tells him he’s had enough, that he’s done enough. Not that he would listen to it.
He finally lets up, leaning back on his heels, still knelt between your thighs. Eyes watching yours, you’re staring up at the ceiling. Eyes hooded, lips agape, breath ragged- he can’t help but think you look beautiful.
So why has he never said it before?
He leans his cheek against your thigh, eyes still watching your face, then you feel them- feel his gaze. Your eyes snap to his and for a moment, you look remorseful. Then you open your mouth to speak-
“We’re still not friends”
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noxiwrites · 2 days ago
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Answer me
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Summary: it’s late, Rafe is bored and you’re not answering your phone- so he turns up at your house.
Warnings; cocky bsf!Rafe, masturbation, pervy Rafe, cum eating, fem oral, multiple orgasms, soft Rafe, mutual masturbation, reader had nip piercings.
Rafey doll you awake? 12.41am
Rafey doll cmon 12.43am
Rafey I’m coming over 12.56am
You don’t hear your phone pinging somewhere on your bed, and if you do, you choose to ignore it. You’re busy, busy with yourself, you think, as you push the dildo back into your hole.
The stretch burns but you gasp, allowing the feeling for what felt like the tenth time tonight. After spending the entire day with Rafe, you’d had enough of his smirks and touches to bring you here: wound up, full of sexual frustration.
Despite being your best friend, Rafe loved to wind you up an unbelievable amount. Places where nobody else would see, hands lingering a little to long as he helped you out of his truck, or fingers dancing along your thighs whenever he drove you anywhere.
His words got to you too- most of the time, like he knew exactly what to say to wind you up and have you squeezing your thighs a little more than usual.
But he was just that, just your best friend. Yes, you had the biggest crush on him forever and you wish he’d act on the things he did to you- but you knew that he wouldn’t, because every time he did those things to you, your reaction played into the fact that you didn’t want it.
“Fuck off rafe” or “behave Rafe” or even “in your dreams”. Because you’d been friends with him for so long, you were scared that if you ever admitted your feelings to him, he wouldn’t feel the same. You knew he wouldn’t.
So, you opted for this, using your toys as an outlet for what you couldn’t ever admit. It worked. Sort of. Not really. You’d wish upon every star in the sky that Rafe was here doing this to you instead.
You’re so deep in your thoughts that you don’t hear your door creaking open, Rafe stood in the doorway. At first, he’s shocked, not expecting this from the woman he’s known so long- the one who blushes scarlet red when he touches her waist, or thighs- but then he smirks.
You’ll never live this down, and when you eventually notice him stood in your doorway you’ll blush that scarlet colour that looks so pretty on your cheeks, that he loves. And he’ll tease you forever.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you fuck yourself with a plastic cock, hips pushing up to meet your pace. A thought crosses his mind, that he wishes it were him, and his own cock stirs in his pants.
“Rafe,” you whimper, speeding up your ministrations on yourself. His smirk is gone. He’s immediately second guessing himself as to whether he heard what he just heard. His hand comes up to wipe his face, shaking away the thoughts.
Until he hears it again. “Rafe,”
The smirk is back, as he finally clears his throat, alerting you of his presence. Your head snaps to your bedroom doorway, entire face bright red as you see Rafe stood there, shit eating grin on his face.
You scramble, chucking the dildo somewhere on your bed and pushing your sleep shorts back over your now soaked cunt. You’re up on your knees on the bed, searching around for your phone and doing anything but looking at Rafe.
“whatcha doing?” Rafe asks, the grin seeping into his words. You check your phone, inwardly cursing at not checking for his messages.
“I uh, nothing,” you respond back, shutting off your phone and finally looking up at Rafe. There’s a glint in his eyes and you know it’s over. You don’t know how long he’s been stood there, but you know he’s seen enough.
He’ll tease you for the rest of your life. Rafe smirks again, it never seeming to leave his face as he makes his way over to your bed and takes a seat next to you. You look down again and see his hands reaching around for something.
“Really?” He asks, and you meekly nod.
He finally finds what he’s looking for, grabbing the plastic that’s covered in your slick still, almost making his dick fully hard.
“So you weren’t just fucking yourself with this pretending it was me?” He asks again, free hand gripping your chin to force you to look at your dildo. You whimper, shaking your head and closing your eyes.
It’s so over. Rafe chuckles, thumb toying at your lips before pushing past and laying heavy on your tongue. He makes a tsk noise, eyes all over you.
“If you wanted me to fuck you, you could’ve just asked doll,” he grins, thumb pushing further. You swirl your tongue around the digit, sucking lightly as you open your eyes and look up at Rafe. His lips are slightly parted, watching as you suck on his thumb.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as he pulls his thumb out, faltering. There’s a second of silence between the two of you before Rafe’s all over you, pushing you back into the bed as his lips crash against yours. He slots between your legs and you feel his cock push against your cunt, slowly grinding there.
His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring everywhere as you’re gasping, fingers gripping his biceps. Rafe doesn’t stay for long, lips attaching to your neck as he yanks your tank top up, hands finding your breasts and groping.
“You know how hard it is to look at these and not be able to touch them? And your fucking nipple piercings, driving me insane when you’ve got no bra on. Must do it on purpose,” he rambles, flicking your nipples. You hiss, being extra sensitive there because of the aforementioned piercings.
His mouth makes its way down to your nipples, attaching to the left while his hand still fumbles with the right.
Your hands find his hair, grasping at the locks as you struggle to find any words. This was heaven. You couldn’t actually believe this was happening right now.
You can feel the bundle of an orgasm from him touching your nipples alone, and you gasp, pulling his hair especially tight when he bites down.
“Oh fuck Rafe, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” You moan, and Rafe pops back up with a shit eating grin.
“Just from that? Are they that sensitive?” He smirks, swapping his mouth over to the other nipple. You’re loud, scratching his head with your nails as he continues, grinding his dick down on your clit at just the right pace.
“Rafe, fuck, please, please-” he completely removes himself from you, pulling all the way back to sit in the edge of the bed.
It takes you a second, before you’re lifting yourself up, confused. Rafe smirks down at you, chucking something your way before taking a seat in the chair across from your bed.
You realise, once you’ve gotten over the haze, that he chucked your dildo at you. He frees himself from his pants, giving his cock a few strokes, head thrown back. Your mouth waters, seeing how thick and long he is, but it doesn’t last long before you realise he’s not moving to touch you.
“I don’t- I don’t understand what’s happening here,” you begin, and Rafe smirks at you.
“Cmon doll, I know you’re not that stupid. I wanna see what you’d do if I weren’t here.”
You blush brighter than before if possible but find yourself pulling your shorts off, kneeling on the bed with the cock in your hands.
“Spread those legs for me, show me how you’d fuck yourself,” you scramble back down, legs open in front of Rafe as he curses at your weeping cunt. You figure all or nothing- if you didn’t get over the embarrassment now, when would you?
You take the dildo into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip of the dildo before pushing as much in your mouth as possible. Rafe groans, matching you with his hand as his thumb spreads precum over his cock.
Once you’re sure it’s wet enough you pop the cock out of your mouth and bring it down to your cunt, hissing as it makes contact with your clit. You swipe it through your folds for a few seconds before lining up with your hole, pushing in.
“That’s it doll, fucking hell. You take it so well,” Rafe tells you, encouraging you to continue. You begin your regular pace, grasping the base of the dildo so hard you’re sure your knuckles are white.
You don’t hold back, letting Rafe hear your moans as your hips begin to reach up to meet the end of the dildo. When you can, you flutter your eyes over to Rafe to see him fucking his hand, matching your pushes.
It’s so fucking hot. It doesn’t take you long to get close to the edge, pace quickening as your free hand reaches down to circle your clit.
“I’m so close Rafey,” you whine and Rafe groans, more so at the pet name.
“Cmon pretty girl, show me how you come,” he demands and that’s all it takes for you to reach your peak, hips stuttering and hands faltering as you cry out in pleasure. The dildo is pulled from you and replaced with Rafe’s tongue, his lapping being so overwhelming that you try to pull away.
He doesn’t let you, hands wrapping around your thighs as he smothers himself in your cum.
“So fucking pretty, creaming all over some plastic. Can’t wait to have you on my cock,” he grumbles into you, latching onto your clit and sucking.
You’re gasping, seeing stars as he slips a finger in and continues his relentless pursuit on pulling another orgasm out of you.
“Rafe, Rafe, please, too much,” you cry, pushing at his head. You can feel him smile against you.
“Can’t get enough, stay still pretty,” he demands and you find yourself relaxing, still overstimulated but wanting to be good.
It doesn’t take long, as Rafe adds another finger and does not let his tongue leave your clit and you’re crying out again, getting louder, suddenly thankful you live alone. You soon come, feeling a heavy pressure flood out from your cunt.
“Oh fuck, you fucking creamed all over my face,” Rafe says, coming up from your cunt. He’s right, his face is covered in your slick and you can’t help but think how hot he looks.
You’re dazed, smiling lazily up at him as he kicks off his pants and climbs ontop of you. He gives you a gentle kiss, sweet in comparison to what is happening.
“Can you give me one more?” Rafe asks, eyes meeting yours as his hand grips the base of his cock, pushing the tip against the opening of your hole.
“Please Rafey, fuck me,” you whimper and that’s all it takes for him to push all the way in, groaning and giving you both a second before he brings a rushed pace.
“Feels so much better than my dildo,” you moan, head thrown back into the pillows. Rafe grunts, hand reaching between the two of you to circle your clit.
“Yeah? This pussy is heaven doll. Can’t believe you kept it from me for so long,” you know you’re not going to last long, feeling the cook in your lower belly more than ever and Rafe’s words help you get there.
Rafe brings his head down to yours, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as he encourages you to come, and you do, pussy clenching him so hard he swears he’s seeing stars.
It doesn’t take Rafe long to follow behind you, hips stuttering as he shoots his cum into you, collapsing down next to you in a heavy breath.
There’s silence, then you’re giggling, slapping Rafe’s chest. He side eyes you, still trying to catch his breath.
“What’s so funny?” He asks, grasping your hand and holding it to his chest.
“We just had sex,” you giggle.
“We did,” rafe responds, furrowing his eyebrows.
“I can’t believe I waited so long to do that,” he murmurs and you nod your head in agreement, staring up at the ceiling. You’re not sure what this means for the both of you now, because there’s no way you can go back to being his friend.
Rafe finally leans over on his side, grasping your chin and guiding you to look at him.
“You’re mine now, sweetheart. Not letting you go.” Your heart swells, brain foggy and unsure of the meaning- until Rafe leans over, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.
“Mine. I mean it.”
-
Trying to be more active 🍒
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sur-i-ki · 2 days ago
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10/20
At the end of the day
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it's fluff. Tooth-rotting, sweet, domestic fluff. Redemption arc core before going back to the villain arc
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The house felt quiet when he finally pulled into the driveway, exhaustion settling into his bones with every step. His feet ached, his mind ached. It had been another long week, and he was drained. The weight of work had been pressing on him so heavily that even the thought of his family had begun to feel distant. There was no holiday for him this year—no time away to unwind in the mountains as he’d hoped. Deadlines, meetings, emergencies had all piled up one after the other, each time a reason to stay just a little longer, to push off the time he so desperately needed to be with them.
But as he stepped inside the house, that overwhelming sense of exhaustion began to fade.
Laughter. A soft, familiar sound—his child’s giggles. His heart did a little skip at the sound, and curiosity tugged at him. Something was different.
He set his bag down by the door, and his eyes scanned the room, immediately drawn to the living room. It was transformed. The floor was covered in blankets—thick, colorful sheets draped over the furniture. Pillows were scattered everywhere, and a lopsided blanket fort stood in the middle of the room, held up by every chair, every couch cushion, and even a few kitchen chairs hastily shoved together.
And in the center of it all, there they were.
You, sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinning up at him, your face lit by the soft glow of a lantern inside the fort. His child, barely able to contain his excitement, jumped up from the fort’s entrance, his little eyes wide with glee.
“Daddy, look!” he shouted, waving their hands. “We made a fort!”
His chest tightened at the sight. A lump formed in his throat as he stood frozen for a moment, taking in the beautiful chaos before him.
You stood, walking toward him with a smile that said everything. “Welcome home,” you said softly, the tenderness in your voice wrapping around him like a warm embrace. The exhaustion in his body melted a little more at the sight of you.
He couldn’t find the words at first. His eyes flicked between you, the fort, and his little one who was now eagerly tugging at his hand, pulling him toward their creation. There was so much love, so much effort poured into this little thing, and his heart ached with it.
“You guys… did all of this?” he asked, his voice soft with awe. “Just for me?”
You nodded, that same smile never leaving your face. “You’ve been working so hard. We knew you didn’t get your holiday, so we decided to bring the camping experience to you.” Your voice was playful, but there was something deeper behind it. Something warm and knowing. “We thought this would be a fun way to spend the evening.”
His heart swelled, emotions bubbling up. He had been so caught up in work that he hadn't even realized how much he needed this—how much he needed them. They had taken the time to bring a piece of joy into his life, something he thought he had lost. He had missed seeing his family like this—happy, carefree, together.
His child tugged harder on his hand, pulling him toward the fort, his tiny face glowing with excitement. “Come on, Daddy! Come inside!”
With a soft laugh, he followed them, crawling through the opening of the blanket fort. The inside was warm and cozy, scented with the familiar smell of lavender and vanilla. The soft glow of the lantern flickered in the corner, casting gentle light on the mismatched blankets and pillows.
His kiddo had drawn mountains on paper with crayons, had hung them up on the "walls".
“This is amazing,” he murmured, his eyes flicking over the little space they had made. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
His child scrambled onto his lap once everyone was settled, curling up against him, his small body pressing into him like he couldn’t get close enough. He wrapped an arm around his child, his heart, instinctively, pulling him closer. He glanced up at you, who had settled next to them, and he meets your eyes.
“We wanted to make sure you knew that even though you didn’t get your break,” You said softly, “we’re still here. Together. It’s not the mountains, but… it’s something. And it’s ours.”
His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The overwhelming weight of your words hit him hard. His family had thought about him, had made something to give him comfort, even when he hadn’t realized how badly he needed it. The quiet, tender love in their eyes made his chest ache, and he pulled them both closer without a second thought.
“This…” He swallowed hard, his voice rough. “This is exactly what I needed.”
You smiled gently, your hand resting on his, fingers intertwined with his in a simple, comforting gesture. “You’re more than enough. You do so much for us. We just wanted you to have something special.”
He pulled them all into a hug, holding them close. The small space of the fort was tight, but it didn’t matter. It felt right. It felt home. He didn’t care about the unfinished projects at work or the endless emails that waited for him the moment he stepped back out of the house. In this moment, with them—his heart full, his family by his side—nothing else mattered.
His little one was looking up at him with bright eyes. “Daddy, can we sleep in here tonight?” he asked, excitement still bubbling in their voice. “We can make s’mores!”
He chuckled, the sound light and free. “We can definitely make s’mores.”
You gave him a knowing look, eyes shining with love and a little mischief. “You know,” You said, voice teasing but soft, “we could even do the whole camping experience. Blankets for sleeping bags. Flashlight stories. Maybe we’ll even have some real camping in the future.”
His heart did a little flip at the thought. “That sounds perfect,” he whispered, squeezing both of them tighter. “We’ll make that happen. Together.”
For the rest of the evening, his family stayed in the fort, the three of them bundled in blankets, sharing stories, laughing, and simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s company. The world outside, with its demands and stresses, felt like it didn’t exist anymore.
In the dim light of the fort, surrounded by the people he loved most, he realized something he hadn’t fully understood before. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how many holidays he missed, it was moments like these that would stay with him. They were the moments that mattered most.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he could finally relax, finally feel like he was home.
It's all he needed.
And he wouldn't trade it for the world.
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⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯
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gumnut-logic · 1 day ago
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Lego Volcano (Part 6)
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Alexander Sweetapple series | Lego Volcano - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
I wrote more :D And this was fun :D
Still @idontknowreallywhy, @sofasurf @womble1 and @sailing-on-a-puddle and other wonderful Thunderfam peeps’ fault :D
Extra special thanks to @onereyofstarlight for actually writing a few small bits of this as I fell out of my knowledge zone and needed serious help, and also for Kiwi advice regarding Alex - gotta help an Aussie speak Kiwi because I miss lots of things. We all speak English, but differently :D Couldn't do this without you.
All the hugs to those who commented and reblogged yesterday's chapter. You guys keep Alex alive :D
This little fic is now nearly 10,000 words long, like 9,950+
M/M and full of fluff still.
I hope you enjoy this bit :D
-o-o-o-
o-o-o-
Scott woke groggy and hot.
It was to be expected. Apparently he was sick. Damnit. Anger and frustration flared in his belly and most of the groggy part of waking up was washed away.
A tickle in his aching throat had him swallowing hard.
He opened his eyes to the infirmary. He sighed. Grandma and Virgil were going to be intolerable.
His throat tickled again and he shifted on the bed, looking for the expected cup of water. Sure enough, there it was on his bedside table. Virgil was wonderfully predictable at times.
He reached out and his body creaked as he sat up, but the cool water was a balm on his throat and worth every movement.
His tablet was sitting beside the water and he grabbed at it eagerly. He needed to reply to Jack, their lawyer, regarding the latest suit from Fischler. Jack quite enjoyed tossing Fischler’s lawyers around the courtroom, but Scott would prefer a quick end to the latest shenanigans, both he and Jack had better things to do.
His tablet lit up…in green. Oh, damn.
John has restricted your access. Play a computer game, read a book, or watch a movie. International Rescue and Tracy Industries are all being expertly handled. Carly has her instructions. John and I have your back. Relax, Scooter.
Scott let air out between his teeth.
PS: Please look after Alex for me.
Huh? Scott frowned. But as if to answer his unspoken question, a snuffle alerted him to the fact there was someone else in the room.
The tablet landed on the sheets as he realised Alex Sweetapple was sleeping in the chair beside his bed. The lanky engineer was sprawled haphazardly across the furniture, blond hair sticking out in all directions.
Virgil had obviously snuck in at some point as there was a pillow in the man’s lap.
The thought of Virgil sobered him. His brother had been so sick, and now Scott was off rota…damn. He shifted on the bed, frustrated.
Alex muttered something, curled around the pillow and onto his side, now looking even more uncomfortable than before.
He snorted in his sleep.
Scott eyed the man. He couldn’t ask for a better employee, but he was a walking hazard, mostly to himself and apparently he was hazardous in his sleep as well.
And Virgil loved him.
The thought brought a small smile to Scott’s face. It was so good to see Virgil so happy. Alex was smart, goofball or no, and seemed to be able to match his brother on engineer topics - the two of them could babble excitedly for hours.
He was also very loyal. Tia’s reports were shining, Alex was definitely an asset, he worked hard.
The worship in his eyes was occasionally hard to handle. ‘Mr Tracy’ wasn’t sure he could live up to the reverence accorded him.
But Virgil loved Alex.
And that was enough.
He sighed again and let his gaze rest on the ceiling. The very worst part of being sick was the boredom.
His tablet bleeped.
He grabbed it.
A system of equations filled over half the screen.
Oh, so that is how it is, John? Going to distract me with math, are you?
But even as he thought it, the numbers started taking shape. He'd need a Jacobian matrix to approximate the first part of the solution, unless he applied an RK4 numerical method... knowing John, he'd need a justification showing the minimisation of error.
His lips curled up to one side. Okay, let’s do this.
-o-o-o-
Alex woke to humming.
He cracked open an eyelid to find he had shoved his face into a pillow at some point - explained the struggle to breathe.
His neck creaked as he moved and as his body came online, he realised he had fallen asleep on the wrong furniture again. Erica probably had photos.
Again.
The humming was interrupted by a dry cough, but after a moment started up again.
It sounded happy.
Alex unfolded and found himself in a hospital room? Wha-? But then his brain booted fully, supplying him with details of last night and Mr Tracy-
Mr Tracy!
Alex sat up straight and the chair teetered. A wobble, two feet on the ground and he managed to prevent himself from falling on his head, but it did all get the blood pumping and consciousness clear and functioning.
Mr Tracy was sitting up in bed and…writing on the bed sheets.
Wha-?
His boss had a black marker in his hand, had spread out the sheets on the bed and was methodically making notations.
While humming some triumphant overture, his voice cracking here and there, proving he was still the sick man Alex had caught early this morning.
What was he writing?
With yet another creak, Alex quietly pushed himself to his feet and every muscle complained. Wasn’t the first time he had slept awkwardly, wouldn’t be the last, but he was more concerned with the numbers Virgil’s brother was writing down…was that a Jacobian matrix?
His eyes danced over the somewhat smudged digits on the bed. Numbers and letters lined up in chains, reading them…omigod…
“That’s beautiful!”
The humming ended in a squawk. “Alex!” The ‘A’ in his name cracked and Mr Tracy sounded more like his youngest brother than himself as his voice skipped up an octave.
But Alex only had eyes for the work on the sheets. “How did you get such a perfect solution?”
“Wha-? Oh,” he cleared his throat again, “John likes to distract me with math.”
“I’d say he succeeded.”
Mr Tracy grunted and coughed again.
There was a smudge of black ink on his cheek.
The numbers were just amazing. “How did you get that solution?”
Mr Tracy’s eyes darted between Alex and the numbers on the sheets “You can read that?”
“God, yeah.”
He stared at Alex a moment longer before pointing out a particular section. “John thought he could catch me here. The variable could easily be switched out and replaced with a static whole number - it would solve it perfectly, but a bit on the boring side. If you input an exponential function here, however, it creates a whole array of possibilities.”
Alex focussed on the equations. Whole number, yes, he could see that, the answer was clear. But if he threw in the function…the numbers just danced. “That’s so elegant. The pattern is perfect.”
“Yeah.” Scott was grinning.
Alex looked up to see those tired bruised eyes lighting up.
John was apparently right.
Scott liked maths.
Now this was a language Alex could speak.
“What happens if you put in a polynomial?”
-o-o-o-
Virgil yawned. He really wasn’t up to it, but he had to do it. Much better than Scott killing himself.
Two would be landing momentarily, with a furious Gordon aboard, and he needed to help his brothers with post-situation protocol…and possibly talk Gordon down from something vicious…that John had probably already enacted…yeah, his brothers were chaos itself.
But their hearts were in the right place.
Earlier he had checked on his biggest brother and found both him and Alex asleep in the infirmary. Grandma had left firm instructions with John adding his own version of early morning events.
Fortunately, while Scott was still very warm, he was finally getting some rest. The bed readings provided some reassurance.
Alex was a gymnast in sleep as usual. The man could sleep anywhere in some of the most outlandish positions. It certainly wasn’t the first time Virgil had needed to dig up a pillow or picked up his boyfriend and haul him off to bed.
He was adorable when he was asleep.
Of course, mentioning this when Alex was awake brought on all the flushed embarrassment which had its own adorableness that always needed to be kissed away - any excuse, really.
So Virgil was smiling when he gently tucked the pillow under Alex’s head.
And the thought had him smiling right now.
But before Two landed and almost inevitably disturbed Scott, Virgil wanted to check on him.
To his surprise, as he approached the infirmary, laughter was echoing down the hall.
“He really thought that?”
“Yeah, to infinite decimals and beyond.”
That prompted more laughter which suddenly dissolved into coughing and had Virgil hurrying into the room.
Which was not the room he had left earlier.
The infirmary was draped in bedsheets, a cupboard left askew where they had originally been folded neatly. Now they were stuck up on the walls with surgical tape and draped over the curtain rails.
And covered in mathematical notation.
At the centre of the room sat Scott in bed scribbling with the black markers Virgil had left behind earlier in the hope that John would be able to trigger a math distraction.
Apparently, he had.
But he hadn’t thought his boyfriend would end up with black smudges all over his face and hands.
Because Alex was beside his brother, holding the bed sheet so Scott could write on it.
“I think we should cube this.” Alex pointed at a spot on the sheet. “It will look good.”
“Hmm, I think a factor of…seven will be prettier.”
Prettier?
“You could be right. It definitely needs to be an odd number. Even would be too regular.”
“Yeah.” Scott scribbled something. “What if we cube this and seven that. They’ll work nicely together.”
“Oh, I like that. Follow that one through.”
As Virgil watched, Scott jotted down several lines in his smooth precise hand. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as his eyes darted back and forth, calculations bouncing in the blue.
Alex’s eyes were following the numbers and every now and again, he would make a suggestion or ask a short question…
“Oh, I see what you mean. The seventh iteration is just perfect.”
“The third isn’t that bad either. That’s why they work so well together.”
Virgil found himself grinning like a loon. He knew Alex could speak math. You didn’t get to do any engineering without math. But he had no idea he could speak at Scott level math. Hell, even John got lost sometimes at Scott level.
And to see the two of them so relaxed in each other’s presence…
“Virgil?” Scott was suddenly frowning at him. “You okay?”
“Virgil!” Alex dropped the sheet and hurried over. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I was helping Scott and then fell asleep and then…did you know Scott likes maths? Not just maths, but real maths? The fun stuff?” His boyfriend was positively vibrating.
Virgil couldn’t help but grin. He placed his hands on Alex’s arms. Seriously, the man was bouncing. “I’m fine. And yes, Scott likes math. I didn’t know you liked to play, though.”
“Oh, um, sometimes.” His eyes darted back to Scott for a moment. “Usually I stick to applied math, and I’m certainly not at Tracy level.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He leant up, kissed Alex gently on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “If you can keep up with Scooter here, you’re definitely up there.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Alex brushed his fingers across Virgil’s left temple.
He let his head drop against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m tired, but I’m fine.” He looked over at his brother. “I’m more concerned about Scott.”
But his big brother was peering at the sheets again, eyes wide. It was obvious he had thought of something.
The marker came down and scribbled another line.
“But then again, he’s resting and amused.” Virgil’s ears picked up the approach of Thunderbird Two. He looked up at Alex. “Keep him distracted a little longer?” Alex really did have dark eyes, Virgil could stare into them all day.
“Sure.”
Scott was muttering something about a polynomial.
“Thank you.” Thunderbird Two roared into land as Virgil leant up and kissed Alex, clinging just that moment longer before letting him go.
“Hey, Scooter, zero point nine to infinity still doesn’t equal one.”
“Virgil!” His brother’s outrage was echoed by Alex’s sudden ‘What?!”
Virgil just laughed as he left them to it.
Their discussion of his lunacy followed him down the hall.
-o-o-o-
TBC
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maccreadysbaby · 3 days ago
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Project: Killcode
batfamily + oc insert
tw: none
wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!
want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!
I am in pain writing my boys like this
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part thirty-two
❝ EFFORT ❞
MONDAY — JULY 30 — 5:02AM
AFTER AN EVENTFUL DAY OF NEVER COMING OUT OF BELLAMY’S ROOM, BENTLEY WOKE UP ON MONDAY MORNING LAYING BACK TO BACK WITH HIM. 
And the first thing he thought about was Bruce.
He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him everything so bad — about the parties and the nightmares and the teachers and Tyler and Chloe and the (maybe?) Secret Keeper and his father. He wanted to just lay it all out at his feet so he didn’t have to deal with it alone anymore… but he couldn’t.
Because if he did, Bruce would come get them and take them home, and someone else would move into the dorm. He’d never see any of them again.
He had to show Bruce that he could do this no matter what kind of problems he had — he was thirteen, and he could deal with his issues by himself. He didn’t always need his dad or his brothers to swoop in and do it for him; he was capable. More than capable.
So for now, he decided, not a Wayne in the world would know a thing. Would it be easier on him if they did? Sure. But getting whisked home to live a life of solitude while every other teenager in the world did whatever they wanted didn’t sound like an ideal situation. Plus, he was pretty sure he’d have lost his mind if he didn’t stop homeschooling when he did.
It was okay. He was okay. Everyone was okay. Everything was okay.
He’d just focus on school — it was a good enough distraction. He did have seven classes to survive, and nine friendships to maintain.
(Or eight, if… Asten didn’t want to talk to him.)
So he decided that’s what he was gonna do. Just be a teenager, and try his best to forget about all the existential dread stuff.
He woke up, blocked the number his father had called him from, and left Bellamy’s room to go get ready. 
It was only a little after five, so he was able to get into his room and do everything he needed without waking Asten up, which was nice — because he wasn’t sure where they stood. They hadn't talked at all since the fight, but Bentley did end up in bed arrest in Bellamy's room, so he guessed it wasn't really either of their faults.
He grabbed his bag and all of his things out of his room and left, shutting the door softly behind him. Should he go back in Bellamy's room? Or just sit and the dining table and do something silent?
That moment was about when his phone vibrated in his hand.
The name on the text message was Chloe Singh. (He'd changed it almost immediately after she gave it to him.) It said: Hey, meet me at the fountain at 530?
He didn't even have time to think about replying before a second one came: Or at breakfast, if you're not a psycho that wakes up at 430 for school like me.
Bentley hummed to himself, typing a quick response.
Just text me when you're ready. I'm already dressed and all.
He hardly had time to look away before another message blipped onto the screen. Oh, okay! I'm ready then, haha.
With a faint little smile and a shrug, Bentley made sure he slid his keycard into his phone case and made for the door, leaving the dorm with his schoolbag in the dark.
When he made it down the stairs and the several sidewalks it took to get to the fountain with the willows, Chloe was already there in her uniform with her bag. Her blonde hair was tied up halfway with a black ribbon, and pin-straight so it looked extra long. She glanced back at him when she heard him approach and sent him a friendly wave, which he returned.
Were they technically friends now? How many times did you have to cry in front of someone before you became friends?
With that on his mind, Bentley made for the bench she was on, dropping his bag near his feet and taking a seat next to her.
"Good morning," She said quietly, eyes focused on campus staff that seemed to be moving something into the art building across the way, past the willow trees.
"Good morning," He replied.
"Listen, I just... wanted to apologize for Saturday night," She sighed, looking down at her lap and deflating slightly, a stark comparison to how confident she looked in class or the halls. "I had a massive breakdown and it was really weird. I word vomited so many unnecessary details."
Bentley shook his head, glancing over at her. "Don't apologize. We all have our moments. I, in particular, have had at least thirty since I moved into Redwood."
Chloe glanced at him, furrowing her brow. "I never imagined Bruce Wayne's heir would have moments."
"I wasn't always his," Bentley shrugged, forcing his father's voice out of his mind, focusing on Chloe's brown eyes that were watching him. "Anyways, it's no problem. Breakdowns suck, but they suck even worse if you're alone."
She blinked and looked away, then back. "That's why I wanted to say thank you," She continued, glancing down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers. "For being there for me. I... can honestly say I don't have anyone else, as pitiful and attention seeking as that sounds. Living a double life is really hard when everyone only knows the fake part."
Bentley watched her breathe in deep, then blow it out. "Anyways, not to get all pitiful. I think I have the rumors handled on my end... my roommates were the only ones who knew I was going to meet you, and they swore they wouldn't say anything. What about yours?"
"Only two know I was gone, and they won't say anything," Bentley shrugged. "I think we're safe."
A beat passed.
"Thank God," Chloe exhaled, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "I'd never forgive myself if a chimp like Tyler Abbott got ahold of information like that. He'd have the entire campus believing whatever he wanted about us in, like, ten seconds."
Bentley didn't reply.
"Hey, you okay?" She continued, lowering her volume just a little. "You seem preoccupied."
Bentley shook his head in an attempt to shake himself back into the present and out of whatever routine of self loathing his mind was trying to put him in. "Yeah, just pretty drained. I've been really stressed lately."
"I'm sorry..." Chloe mumbled, and Bentley shrugged.
"It's not your fault," He continued, waving her off. "What about you? Were you okay after the other night?"
Chloe shrugged. "Same... just kinda drained. Emotions and their stupid, stupid existence have a way of doing that. But I'm feeling okay now. Practice for cheer tryouts starts after school today, so I pretty much am required to be okay."
A beat passed.
"So... did you and Layla end up having fun at the dance?" She questioned, looking across the way at the willows, a little hint of something he couldn't quite place filtering through into her words.
Bentley shrugged. "It was okay, but I... didn't go with her. I went with my roommates. To see the band that was playing."
"Oh," Chloe nodded to herself.
Another few moments of quiet passed.
"I... wanted to ask you something," Chloe started, turning to face him slightly on the bench, getting this... he wasn't sure. Embarrassed sort of look on her face. "You can totally say no if you want to; I know I'm not the easiest person to stomach."
"What is it?" Bentley questioned, turning toward her a little, too.
Chloe breathed in and out. "I know I was really mean and weird and stuff when we met, and I don't have any clever excuses to talk myself out of that. But I still... wanna be friends with you, if you want."
Bentley watched her nervously tuck a piece of hair behind her left her, her brown eyes straying down to the bench they were on.
"Yeah... I'd like that," Bentley replied, watching her anxiously pick at her nails. "But you... I don't want it to be some kind of ploy for your mom. If we're gonna be friends, I just... want to be friends. Not for anybody else."
"A hundred percent," Chloe nodded. "She won't have a clue I'm even talking to you anymore. She seems to have moved on in her searching for my perfect future divorce since I blew it with you already. Which means we're in the clear."
Bentley hummed in acknowledgment, glancing at her for a moment more before looking out at the trees again. "Can I ask an awkward question?"
"Sure," Chloe shrugged. "Can't be more awkward than me word vomiting my entire life's story, and my mothers."
Bentley found it in himself to chuckle at that. "I was just... wondering. Since you were only kinda acting, did you... mean what you told me? In class?"
Chloe glanced over at him quickly, her brow furrowed, before she seemed to realize what he meant. Her face flushed pink and she looked the other way. "That you're hot? I-I mean, yeah, I guess..."
Bentley didn't say anything.
"God, why can't I talk to you?" She mumbled, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her hands with a nervous little laugh. "It's so weird. Being, like, real. I always know what to say when I'm pretending."
Bentley shrugged. "Maybe you should... not pretend."
"I can't do that!" She said suddenly, sitting up. "My mother would disown me if I even thought about acting contrary to how she wants."
Bentley hummed. "How does she know what you act like here at school?"
Chloe looked up at him, a cringe spreading across her face. "She's the assistant Dean. She lives on campus."
Bentley blinked. "Oh..."
"Yeah..." Chloe shook her head. "I literally can't get away from her and her prying eyes through the school-day. That's why I wanted to talk to you now, before the day starts."
Bentley couldn't even imagine his father watching him like a hawk like that. When he first went to the Wayne's to, quote-on-quote, destroy them, he could hardly fathom the anxiety caused by the fact that his father may have possibly been watching. But Chloe's mom, putting her up to something out of greed, punishing her when she failed, watching her to make sure she was perfect... maybe they weren't so different after all.
Bentley didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
“So, are you liking it so far, here? I’ve heard Gotham is way different from New York,” She questioned. (How many times was he going to be asked that question?)
He shrugged. “New York is really cool. I like it here. It feels more… alive.”
Chloe nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “There’s so much that goes on, it's hard to get away from it all. That's why I like it so much here.”
Another beat passed.
“So, if it's not off limits, what are your powers?” Bentley questioned, glancing over at her. “I haven’t seen or heard anything about them.”
“Oh, I…” Chloe started, looking off at the trees ahead of them. “I… uh…”
Bentley could recognize discomfort when he saw it. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I just…” She trailed off, breathing deep and holding it for a second, then exhaling. “I don’t have any.”
Bentley furrowed his brow. Wasn’t Redwood only for metahumans?
“My sisters do, and I have the genes for it, I just… they… haven’t appeared yet. My mom says that sometimes it takes a lot to make them show up,” Chloe shrugged. 
Bentley vaguely remembered hearing something about that when he was dealing with the whole Dr. Keene disaster -- it was like how Nico’s super speed only started to show up after he learned he was adopted, and only really showed up after he got kidnapped and put in a big machine that messed with his DNA. He remembered that metahumans finding their powers was… usually due to trauma.
He wasn’t quite sure what that said about the rest of the Redwood students. But maybe it was a good thing that Chloe didn’t have hers.
“I guess we’ll just have to see, then,” Bentley shrugged.
“I guess so…”
They fell into a comfortable silence, looking out at the willow trees in front of them.
Okay.. maybe Bentley had ten friendships to maintain.
--
When breakfast came around, Bentley sat across the table from Asten.
They didn’t say anything to each other. Bentley looked over at him a few times, but he was always talking to Rockie, or looking down at the table, or across the room. Valor was watching the both of them -- Bentley noticed his gaze a few times, calculating, contemplating -- but when Bentley’s eyes met his, it always switched to a supportive smile, faint enough to go missed by everyone else but present enough to be a little comforting.
Bentley and Asten didn’t talk at lunch, either.
And when music theory came around, Asten only spoke to Rockie, and Bentley only spoke to Vera, and in free period, Asten sat with Rockie, and Bellamy and Valor sat with Bentley. It was…
Weird.
He went to practice soccer with Varian and Koa, and they talked about nothing and everything. He went to dinner, where Asten deliberately ignored him even though they were within whispering distance from one another. And then he did his homework at the dining table, and listened to his roommates talk, and hung out, and texted Chloe, and went to bed without saying anything to his best friend who was sleeping one bunk away.
As wrong as it felt, Bentley was the one who’d been right. Asten was a hypocrite and all the lovely things Bentley had said in his anger fueled haze. So, for this one time, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t going to allow himself to apologize.
If Asten wanted to talk to him, Asten was going to have to put in the effort.
And as far as Bentley could tell, right now, he didn’t care very much.
--
tag list that never works lmao
@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun
@xiaonothere
@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy
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isles-of-man · 16 hours ago
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Jorah smirked, his gaze lingering on Daenerys with a fondness that was unmistakable. The playful teasing in her voice had always made his heart beat a little faster, even after all this time. But as she moved toward him, her lips inches from his, he could barely hold back a chuckle. The familiar tension between them was still there, though it had evolved into something deeper, more intimate.“I suppose I’ve already lost any semblance of dignity around you, my queen,” he said with a smirk, his voice warm and laced with that irrepressible fondness he had for her, even in the moments that bordered on irreverence. "You’ve made sure of that. I regret nothing and speak honestly to my queen"
Her teasing tone only made him smile more, though he dutifully composed himself when Missandei’s soft footsteps faded from the room. He didn’t want to cause any more unnecessary embarrassment, even though the thought of it brought a lightness to his heart he hadn’t felt in years. Jorah watched her as she moved about the room, gathering herself, her hair still hanging loose down her shoulders, the softness of her furs contrasting with the strength in her bearing. She was a queen, yes, but she was also his queen, and in moments like this, when the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of it all felt a little lighter.
“I’ll take the bath, of course,” he replied, his voice a little more tender than before. "But I’m not sure that Jon’s timing is the most considerate.His smile faltered slightly at the mention of Jon Snow. Even after all the battles, all the bloodshed, Jorah couldn’t quite shake the knot of unease in his chest every time Jon's name came up.Of what had happened between them and witnessed. There was no secret. And he had a sense that the brooding Northern lord might not be as indifferent as he appeared.
Daenerys was different. Her heart was always open to those she trusted, even when her trust was betrayed. But Jon was... well, Jon was not easily read. Jorah had barely known the man but known well enough the trust that his father had given the younger man. He had welded his former sword. Of course, it was no longer his and perhaps that may be his use - he could keep the sword as long as he could have Daenarys his wife as he intended. When he returned; if the gods willed it than he would have her wed to him.
Jorah let out a small sigh, the thought of it already gnawing at him. He had sworn an oath to her long before Jon had appeared, but something about the young lord’s presence unsettled him. For a time he had held her attention but that was no longer the case. How he would deal with the matter alone with him was going to be curious but he hoped the younger man knew when to lose an argument if he had any.
Still, Jorah wasn’t one to allow his personal worries to take root in times like these. There were more important things to focus on."I suppose we’ll see what he wants,” Jorah continued, stepping closer to Daenerys, his hand brushing against the curve of her waist as he leaned in to kiss her once more, softer this time, as if drawing strength from the connection. "all will be well"
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His eyes glinted, a mischievous spark there that had become more frequent since they’d begun this—this new phase of their lives. A queen with all the weight of the world on her shoulders. But in moments like this, she was still his Dany, and Jorah would not let anything, or anyone, interfere with that.
Later as he met her once again he stood by her, her hands in his own as he held them and walked towards the boats. Jorah's eyes widened slightly at her words, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He glanced around quickly, but no one seemed to have overheard. His voice was low and husky when he replied, "I promise, Khaleesi. I will return to you." He closed his fingers around the ring, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I will guard this with my life, and bring it back to you."
A loud cough broke through their reverie. Jorah turned to see Tyrion watching them and he looked at her once more. His voice lowered, his lips lingering by her ear. “I will think of nothing else but our reuinion. There will be many more night for us, wife” he kissed her cheek. “I promise. I have beaten the odds many a time - with less luck on my side. I have more than that. I have something to live for. Goodbye, Dany”
This was a more shameless side of Jorah than she was used to, and certainly not Missandei. His nonchalant comments on how intensely and frequently he’d fucked Daenerys last night and in the early morning made the woman blush. Dany, on the other hand, simply smiled and wandered over to him, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. “If you refuse to have mercy on me, Ser, at least compose yourself until Missandei has left,” she teased, already half-dressed. Deep down, however, she had a feeling that her lady-in-waiting had seen and endured much worse before they had met.
“I’ll have a warm bath drawn for you,” she told him as Missandei left, her hair still unbraided and left to hang past her shoulders. But she was already wrapped in her warm furs, the white highlighted by the black fur beneath, the hairs resembling that of a bear’s. “And I hear that the rest of your company is gathering in the main hall. Last minute preparations. Jon requested your presence, apparently.” It must have been while they were both still asleep because he hadn’t visited her while she was bathing. It was likely that everyone else knew of her and Jorah spending the entire night together by now, but she wasn’t bothered by that. There were more important things to focus on now, and it was what she told herself when her personal worries for Jorah started to resurface.
Rather than go out ahead of him, she waited for him to get ready and even offered to help put his armor on before they went out. Daenerys did glance back, the faint scent of sex still clinging to the sheets and the air inside the room, and then the door was closed. She let out a breath she had been holding before meeting his gaze and nodding firmly. It was time. Regardless of what happened next, they both had that night to remember, something that no one could take away from either of them. Of course, in an ideal world, they would both survive, but with an uncertain future, she was determined to cling onto that time together.
Daenerys ended up reaching for Jorah’s hand as they walked, and it seemed to be the first thing that everyone in the hall saw the moment they arrived. Gazes dropped as one to his and her intertwined hands, but she held on, meeting their looks steadily. The Starks looked like they were trying not to glare – especially Jon’s red-haired sister – but it was obvious that whatever resentment they held towards her had grown a bit more. Considering that this assembly was not for her, she sat down and remained silent while the final plans were drawn.
Jon was the only one apart from the wildlings who’d seen the wights, so he was the de facto leader of the group, but it was to Jorah that she approached at that dreaded moment. “You remember your promise to me?” she whispered as she looked down at their hands. His bigger and more calloused than hers, but gentler than a feather skimming over her skin. Daenerys lifted her head to look him in the eyes, refusing to look away even as she felt tears brimming to the surface. “I need to hear it from you again.”
While she waited, she slipped a ring from her pocket and placed it on his palm. It was one of her rings, the silver shaped like a dragon, the head meeting the tail with pearls fitted on either end, the size adjusted so that it could easily fit his finger. “Return this to me when you do.” It might be asking too much of him since he was a man and not a god, but she still thought to make it. A sudden pulse shot up her body from between her legs, and she ended up leaning against him, laughing softly. “Mmm. Can feel you inside me…”
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bloobydabloob · 4 months ago
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Holy shit I love your Dirk interpretations, it's so true and I could talk about this shit forever. I feel like another part of his character that people seem to forget (along with Roxy for some reason) is that he's from the future in solitude in an apocalyptic wasteland. I just see that part of his character always removed which is disappointing because I feel like that's a pretty big part, especially regarding his themes around technology, his brother's theme of Time, his own isolation, and how he plays in the vastness of the universe and spacetime.
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Art I drew related to the subject because I like to respond to asks with art.
But absolutely. I certainly understand where the lack of discussion over his isolation + upbringing comes from, considering a majority of the fanbase that I have seen builds their ideas based on their own version of postcanon. I’m not entirely sure how that would be fixed, but certainly even in the somewhat recent past I would see a lot more content regarding his upbringing both literally and symbolically. I don’t have much to add regarding the things you’ve mentioned, because they just are what they are. Dirk being confined to a singular room left to him by a father figure he never met, in a future where the only other person left on the planet is someone he cannot pursue a relationship of because of himself, with purely 3 robots to keep him companion, one being an exact replica of his own brain who is *also* trapped inside a pair of glasses, is about as literal as it gets to me.
The contrast to me involving the flooded, organic world in comparison to the little speckle of Dirk’s apartment packed with the dude and his technics is not only a representation of his isolation and entrapment within himself, but also of his lack of control. I think his obsession with & themes of control are a direct product in the case of Dirk specifically *of* this kind of upbringing. His themes of technology are also related to his themes around control. So much of his character is actually revolved around this to me like so much. Dirk is so deeply disconnected from humanity in every way and so much of his character + symbolism is based around that.
It doesn’t even have to be about the symbolism or anything though. It’s just pretty *interesting* in the literal sense that he lives in the middle of the ocean in the future. There’s not only a lot to theorise on to do with his young life there, but on how it might affect him in the way he acts for the rest of his life. The latter part is probably what I see mentioned the most by people talking about Dirk regarding this, I’m surprised I don’t see more discussion on the former too though. I really ought to actually talk more about Homestuck stuff on here. I will do it myself.
Roxy & Dirk’s relationship is largely ignored though because there is a narrative a certain demographic spreads that Dirk resented and blamed Roxy for her interest in him, and thus too many people believe that their relationship was or would continue to be an abusive one. Realistically, I believe it’s important to acknowledge that the way Roxy treated Dirk regarding his homosexuality wasn’t right while still acknowledging the obvious amount of respect and admiration Dirk had for Roxy. I mean we have a huge piece of dialogue from their post trickster mode conversations on the quest beds from Dirk purely stating how he feels about Roxy that people completely ignore somehow. I think this usually happens to characters that are women though. I know everyone says it, but it is true. Jane gets the exact same treatment of boiling her down to solely her negative aspects. The things I see completely mischaracterising both of them are horrific.
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I mean how much more explicit can it get that their relationship is obviously very important to Dirk? But I digress. I think the best or I should say “most interesting” interpretations of their relationship usually come from DirkRoxy shippers actually.
I would be interested to hear about Dirk’s relation to his brother’s theme of time though. I don’t have any thoughts on this and I don’t recall ever hearing anyone talk about it before. If you or anyone else would be willing to enlighten me I’d be thrilled.
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sidras-tak · 6 months ago
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Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.
My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.
We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.
We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.
He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.
We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.
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screampied · 2 months ago
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#OOHMAMI! g. suguru
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☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.
wc. 5.7k
warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe.
an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯
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“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”
stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—
you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.
“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.
“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”
no, no you weren’t.
you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.
but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.
without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.
it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.
“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.
indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.
geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”
“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.
“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.
sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”
shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.
drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.
one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.
geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.
“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.
geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.
it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.
the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”
and he wasn’t kidding.
the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.
his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.
vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.
the thrill . .
you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.
over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.
geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.
it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.
fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—
“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.
oh he’s cocky.
with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”
“i—”
it’s like his cologne got louder.
you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?
and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.
not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.
and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .
but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.
not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.
geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.
instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.
too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.
he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.
geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.
you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.
belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.
“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.
a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.
you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.
both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.
they didn’t have a chance,
they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.
typical.
“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.
yet.
“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.
“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.
your hips were killer.
unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”
your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.
“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.
maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.
“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.
“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.
the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.
geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”
you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.
he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”
your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.
your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.
“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.
you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.
erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”
whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.
it’s hot, literally.
with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.
you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.
he was close.
the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.
once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.
you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.
you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.
so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”
“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.
as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.
you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”
geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.
“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.
it spurts out slowly but surely.
globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.
geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.
he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.
oh, he’s obsessed—
screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.
geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.
with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”
“out the wind—”
and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.
your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.
“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.
geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.
at all.
he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.
“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.
growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.
if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.
geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.
geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.
his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”
you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.
it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.
“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”
with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”
geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.
he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.
you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.
“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.
he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.
needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.
geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.
he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.
maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.
he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.
“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”
your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”
“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.
geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”
he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.
the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.
but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.
with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.
hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,
his real prize.
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