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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 2 years ago

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Hi. Could you do Sirius Black x reader where his family hurts ger? Angst with some fluff if possible ☺️

thank you for requesting!! i hope you like it 💜 i decided to make it new year's themed given the day

A Black New Year's Eve

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

summary: Sirius invites you, his best friend and a muggle-born, to his family’s New Year’s Eve party. Their reaction is worse than he’d imagined.

tags / warnings: friends to lovers, some mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, fluff, mentions of pain, she/her reader, muggle born reader, bitchy Bellatrix

word count: 3.6k

“Come to our New Year’s party with me,” Sirius asked you as you walked along the Black Lake together the night before you’d all be leaving for the Christmas holiday.

“Has the cold made you go mad, Siri? Your family would tear me apart.” “I’ll protect you,” he winked and nudged your shoulder with his.

“Don’t you complain about that party every year anyway? It sounds like a miserable time.” “It is!” You looked at him incredulously. “Then why would I want to go?” “Because even though it’s miserable, I’ll be there.” His tone still had hints of his typically playful one, but he sounded more sincere when he continued, “And if you’re there with me, it’ll go from miserable to pretty great probably. I hate being there, y/n. In that house, with those people. I can’t stand it. But if I did anything about it, my family might actually tear me apart.”

Your heart ached for him. You knew how terrible his home life was, and you knew how special it was that he would open up to you about it. Sirius had mastered acting like everything was alright, like he didn’t have a care in the world when other people were around, but with you, he could be both that silly, nonchalant Sirius as well as the boy who was hurt and broken in ways many people wouldn’t understand.

And you loved every side of him, strong and vulnerable. He was your best friend in the world, but you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you didn’t wish he was more than that.

“Who knows; we might even make a fun time of it,” he chuckled.

You stayed serious because even though you were partly joking before, his family did terrify you. You wanted to be there for him (and to spend as much time with him as possible), but the annual Black New Year’s Eve party was a who’s who of elitist pure-bloods. And you, they would never fail to remind you, were muggle-born.

“You really think they’d be okay with my showing up to their lovely, pure-blood soirée?” you asked sarcastically.

“No. Definitely not. But fuck them. If they’re going to make me be there, then I can invite whoever I want. Besides it’s my house, too, no matter how much they — and I — wish it wasn’t. And I want you to come, so sod what they have to say about it.”

You chewed your lip in worried thought, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Look, if you don’t want to, I understand. No pressure, love. I mean, for Godric’s sake, I definitely wouldn’t be going if I could get out of it, so I understand the aversion,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but you could hear the desperation underneath his lighter tone. “No, Siri, of course I want to go with you. I want to make celebrating the new year fun for you for once,” you smiled, “I’m just worried about the drama my crashing the party would cause.” “People might look at us funny, might say nasty things even, but you know they’re wrong. Assholes. Idiots. The lot of them. And you get those comments here too, as much as I wish you wouldn’t, and I’ve always admired how strong you are, how you don’t care what people like that think of you.”

“Yeah?” “Of course, love.” His smile, his arm around you, his softer side, it was all enough to warm you up even out in the freezing cold.

“Alright, Black, I’ll be there, but you’ll owe me one. Or one hundred.” “Thank you! thank you! thank you!” he hopped up and down then made his half-hug a full one and kissed your cheek as his he continued energetically, “You’re the best, y/n, really. You’re brilliant. Thank you.” “Alright, alright, you sap,” you giggled, but your beaming smile made it evident you loved his affections.

Time passed, students going home, Christmas coming and going in what felt like a flash to you. New year’s was coming up, with it the party, and as the big day approached, your anxiety grew. Part of you was nervous about attending such a formal event in the first place. These parties might be commonplace for Sirius, growing up like he did, but you were worried about everything from whether your dress would be appropriate to if there would be dancing and, if so, if there’d be fancy steps you didn’t know. Add the whole muggle-born thing on top of that, and you were a ball of nerves by December 31st as you stood in front of your mirror, attempting to straighten your dress and your posture. Sirius had done his best to assuage your worries, answering all your questions in owls you’d been sending back and forth, but you couldn’t help the nerves anyway. You took one last deep breath, one last glance at your reflection, then made your way out to the waiting cab, trying to focus on your excitement at seeing Sirius rather than your nerves at seeing, well, everyone else.

As you pulled up to Number 11, Grimmauld Place, Sirius having informed you not to give the driver his actual address given the confusion its invisibility to him would cause, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself at the slight absurdity of it all. You were about to attend a party so out of your normal life; you were probably the only person showing up by non-magical means; all of it was just so odd.

You waited for the cab to drive away before making your way to the Blacks’ door. You knocked, your hand shaking a bit as you brought it back down to your side, and waited.

A minute later, you were greeted by the most miserable looking house elf.

“Welcome to the home of the noble and most ancient house of Black,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” you responded, doing a bit of an awkward curtsy as you made your way into the massive foyer.

“Who are you?” A cold, sharp voice snapped at you, jolting your back straight in your already anxious state. You turned and were met with a beautiful but grim looking woman with the most elegant dress, giant jewels, and perfect hair.

You stared blankly at her, shocked speechless for a moment. “Well?” she asked again, not a hint of kindness in her bold voice.

“I’m here for Sirius. He invited me.” “Sirius invited you? and what is your name?” “y/n.” “No, you silly girl. Your last name. Who is your family?” “Oh. y/l/n. y/n y/l/n. You wouldn’t have heard of us, I’m sure.” She frightened you, but you responded honestly without hesitation, having no shame in your background or family.

“My parents are muggles,” you continued, to fill the stifling silence. “You’re a mudblood?” The disdain and disgust were immediate on her expression, turning beautiful features monstrous in an instant. “This must be Sirius’s idea of a joke. He’s getting brasher and brasher, forgetting his place. Inviting a mudblood into our home? completely unacceptable,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Kreacher,” she snapped. “Fetch Sirius.” “Yes, madam.” He bowed low and adoringly, all the while letting out loud phrases toward you, “Disgusting. Disgraceful. A mudblood in my mistress’s house. Filthy mudblood.”

You didn’t know what to do, were desperate for Sirius to appear. A man turned a corner into the entry hall, but your heart sank as you saw it wasn’t him.

“Orion,” Walburga said. “Our son has decided it funny to invite a mudblood to our party. She showed up in one of those barbaric muggle contraptions, no regard for who saw her walking into our house, like she was welcome here, for Salazar’s sake. She’ll be on her way shortly, but I don’t want Sirius to think he’s getting away with this.” The derision rolled off her tongue, clearly very at home there.

Just then, Sirius finally came into sight. Even in the extremely stressful circumstances, you couldn’t help but be struck at how handsome he looked. Regal and beautiful like his parents, but lacking the coldness and contempt that made their beauty off-putting.

“y/n!” He smiled, like his mother was not staring daggers into him, and quickly made his way to you. He hugged you, and it was the most welcome sensation, his familiar intoxicating smell, the warmth that only his contact gave you.

“Excuse me.” Walburga hissed, anger mixing into the now characteristic disdain.

Sirius broke your hug, but kept his arm around you. It felt different than it usually did, and it took you the smallest fraction of a second to identify the difference: it was protective. It was still affectionate, in a Sirius kind of way, but it was firmer, angled a bit strange so that he could maintain, whether consciously or not you didn’t know, his body between yours and his mother’s. “Mother. This is my friend, y/n, and she’s my guest tonight,” he said, as if informing her of an uninteresting fact, in a formal, distant tone you’d never heard from him.

“You think this is funny? Sirius Orion Black, you have no idea what’s coming to you if you keep up this little charade.” A cold washed over your body at her words, the threatening tone not a typical parental one in which the threat was never as bad as it sounded when made in anger. Her threat was real, her anger measured. “No, I don’t think it’s funny. She’s my friend, and I want her here. I won’t bother trying to change any of your appalling views, but I hope you’ll be human enough to let us have a fine time tonight. Now, excuse us.” His bravery astounded you. He brought his arm down around your waist and pulled you with him past his parents further into the house.

It was enormous and elegant in a way that a museum might be. Not only because so many of the items looked like they ought to be on display in one, but also because of the accompanying unwelcoming sense you get in a museum that you should not touch anything. This house was no home, and you held Sirius more tightly at the mere thought of having to grow up here.

Impeccably dressed people were milling about, champagne in their hands, their chins raised in a look you’d come to expect from pure-bloods. You saw a couple of familiar faces — Regulus, Bellatrix and her sisters, a few other fellow students — but mostly, these people were strangers. A few shot strange looks your way, clearly confused at not recognizing you. They all knew each other, of course, and expected a host of the party to have an impressive or at least appropriate date.

“Ignore them,” Sirius whispered into your ear, and a chill shot down your spine, but this one was much more pleasant than the cold his relatives had elicited.

You gave him your best attempt at a smile, and his smile in return only enhanced his handsome features. You walked around a little, not breaking apart, and when you finally stopped in an emptier corner of the room, Sirius turned to look at you and said, “You look so beautiful, y/n. I’m not surprised; you always do, but still, it’s stunning every time.” He paused, scanning your face, admiring you but clearly also curious — nervous even? — to see how you’d react to his compliments. Sure, he was often flirtatious, but this was something else, something further, more intimate.

You didn’t know what to say, so instead you grabbed his hand, entwined your fingers and squeezed. He smiled and you could see some tension leaving his shoulders as he exhaled.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Sorry about my mother. She’s always like that. That was her being nice even.”

“It’s alright. I mean, she was terrifying, but I’m really glad to see you.” “I missed your voice, love.” His thumb caressed the back of your hand still in his.

The tender moment was interrupted by a terrible laugh you’d recognize anywhere. Bellatrix.

“Oh, how sweet! Our little red-and-gold sheep of the family invited his mudblood girlfriend to the party! I’m not interrupting am I? I’d say I’d hate to, but actually, I hope I am,” she smirked. “Save all of our guests the sight of you laying hands on a filthy mudblood, cousin,” she continued, the aggression making its way through the fake amusement. “Honestly. I don’t know how you could have possibly turned out so rotten. I pity your parents; they must be so ashamed of you.”

Sirius’s jaw was clenched, his stormy grey eyes piercing Bellatrix.

“Sod off, Bella. I think I saw Rodolphus somewhere over there. I’m sure he’s missing you. Though, honestly, he’s probably grateful for the break. Enjoying the peace of you not snapping at him and bossing him around like you’re already the bitter married couple you’ll be in a few years.”

“Of course you can’t recognize a good match when you see one. Bringing this to your own party.”

You felt Sirius tense next to you, clearly much more angered at her insulting you than him.

“I mean it, Bella. Sod. Off.”

“Or what? Is little Sirius going to make a scene?” she laughed. “How can you defend her honour if she obviously doesn’t have any,” she scoffed.

“She,” you cut in, “isn’t above making a scene, Bellatrix. It’s not like anyone here would like me even if I didn’t.”

Bellatrix turned from Sirius to you, eyeing you up and down like a predator sizing up its prey, completely unfazed by your confrontation.

“You’re lucky I have sense of decorum, y/l/n. Or I’d show you how magic is used by those of us to whom it rightly belongs.” Her voice was level, somehow more venomous in its indifference.

Sirius’s hand went to his pocket, grabbing his wand, but before anything could escalate, Walburga approached. A part of you expected her to defuse the situation, the parental figure telling the children to simmer down. Instead, Walburga laid a hand on Bellatrix’s should and said, “Bellatrix, darling, would you do us the favor of escorting Sirius’s little friend out?”

Bellatrix’s lips curled into a devious smile. “Certainly.”

Sirius’s grip tightened around you, and though he was usually not one to avoid a fight — sometimes to a fault — he knew virtually everyone in the room would have no qualms about hurting a muggle-born, and one of the few things more important to him than standing up to his family was protecting you.

You, similarly, knew his family would not hesitate to hurt him for protecting you, and you were eager to get yourself and especially him out of danger. “Siri, let’s go. Let’s just go.”

He looked over at you, and for the brief moment your eyes met, a glimpse of warmth softened the stern look on his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come as he looked back toward his mother and cousin.

Without a word to them, he started making his way toward the door, you beside him. You hoped they would just let you go, but Walburga and Bellatrix followed. You weren’t sure why given they could be sure you left without literally walking you to the door, but as soon as the four of you were in the empty foyer, out of sight of her beloved guests, Walburga spoke again. She clearly had not wanted to draw any more attention to you, but now, out of the others’ earshot, she said, “You will stay here, young man, where you will show me you know how to behave unless you wish to worsen the consequences of your little stunt.”

Sirius looked her dead in the eyes and, not showing the fear you knew he must be feeling, he grabbed your hand and walked toward the door.

“Don’t you dare,” came from behind you.

As he reached for the door, a strange light disoriented you, and it wasn’t until Sirius groaned in pain and doubled over that you realized it was a spell that had been cast at him from behind. You spun around and tried to shield him with one arm as the other was already making its way to grab your wand. “You will learn respect,” Walburga uttered, and she raised her wand again. “Protego!” you cast.

“Step aside, stupid girl!”

She cast a spell at your shield charm, eliminating it. You were so focused on her that you didn’t see Bellatrix raising her wand at you until it was too late to protect yourself.

“Crucio!” she cast, and everything went blurry except one thing: pain. You fell to the floor, each second feeling like years as you felt pain you would never have been able to imagine. You could hear Bellatrix laughing, but when her laughter suddenly stopped, so did the excruciating pain.

You looked up to see Sirius, wand pointing toward Bellatrix, having stopped her. There was a look of terror in his eyes as he leaned down to wrap his arms around you, pulling you up with him and half-carrying you out the door in a rush.

Your whole body ached like you’d just been trampled by a stampede, and your legs felt like they would give under your weight any moment. You leaned desperately into Sirius but made it only a few steps before having to lean onto the wall next you.

He helped you and kept you in his arms as he frantically said, “y/n? y/n? Are you alright? Fuck. Darling, are you alright? Talk to me, love. Fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.” “I’m okay,” you tried to say, your voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m okay, Siri,” you tried again, desperate to comfort his panic despite your pain.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I can’t believe I brought you there. I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve known. I should’ve kept you as far from that hell as possible, kept you safe. I’m supposed to protect you, and I’m so selfish, I put you in danger instead. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” He was frantic.

You lifted your arms, which felt like they were being weighed down with lead, and held his face in your hands, looking straight into his eyes.

“It’s not your fault, Sirius; it’s not. I’m okay. I’m alright.” He leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes as he held you tight. You put your face in the crook of his neck, embracing him. You lingered like this for a long moment, holding each other, both of your breathing finally calming down.

He pulled back only far enough to see your face as he asked, “Can you walk, love?” His expression and voice were all concern, all care and adoration. You nodded weakly and pushed yourself off the wall, needing to lean into him. He held you close as he helped you walk away from Grimmauld Place.

You walked a short distance in the cold night, the streets deserted as everyone was at a New Year’s Eve party this late. Stopping in a small park, grateful for the relief, you sat on a bench.

“Here,” Sirius whispered as he removed his warm formal robes and wrapped them around you. He stroked your back with one hand, held yours with the other. “How are you? I don’t know how to help. Do you need to go to a healer?” You shook your head then leaned it on him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “No, I’m okay. It hurts, but I think I just need to rest.” “I’m so sorry, y/n.” “It wasn’t your fault,” you repeated, and would keep repeating until he believed you. You looked up into his eyes, trying to tell him without words, hoping he would see all the love you had for him there. His hand came up to stroke your cheek. “You can’t go back there,” you told him. He nodded, his face serious but his eyes gentle. “I wish I could protect you,” you added.

“I should’ve protected you. I’ll do a better job of it from now on.” A beat. “I love you,” you whispered.

His thumb stopped on your cheek mid-caress; his eyebrows went up as if he was surprised, his mouth opening but no words coming out. It took him a moment but his lips finally formed a smile, and he said, “I love you too.” You smiled too, forgetting the pain for the first time even if just for a moment at hearing those words from him.

You leaned into each other, and his lips on yours was the greatest remedy to your aching body you could’ve possibly wanted. The kiss was firm but soft, Sirius clearly being gentle with you. He pulled back the smallest bit and looked into your eyes. Sirius was usually smiling, your brightest star, but the smile on his face now was one you’d never seen before, complete joy. He leaned back in and kissed you again, a bit stronger this time, and your hand came up to cup his face as you returned the passion.

Just then, you started hearing voices yelling something — an open window in a nearby flat.

“10! 9! 8!” they started.

“We kissed a bit early, I think,” Sirius chuckled.

“We’d waited long enough,” you replied. You and Sirius laughed through the rest of the countdown, and at “Happy New Year!” he kissed you again ardently.

#marauders #marauders fanfic #sirius black #sirius black fanfic #sirius black one shot #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader #sirius x y/n #angst #fluff #friends to lovers #new year's #reader insert #x reader #x y/n #x you #bellatrix lestrange

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sserpente · 3 years ago

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A/N: I told you you’d be getting another one tonight! Requests by four anons! 🎃👻

Words: 984 Warnings: smut, period sex (somewhat)

It was perfect timing, really. First, your local grocery store had run out of apples and pumpkins and you had to change your entire schedule to still get everything done on time, then, on your way there, you had gotten your period—a day early, mind you and you had hence decided not to bring your large with emergency tampons in it with you.

Adam was usually polite enough not to mention it. It was as clear as day that he could smell the blood on you—and not just once had that ended in surprisingly sexy period sex. Still, it was the overall circumstances and the discomfort that bothered you this shortly before your Halloween festivities could begin.

By the time Adam woke up and the sun began to disappear behind the horizon, you were already melting the caramel and the toffee for the apples, filling his house with an irresistibly sweet scent while decorating.

“Goode evening!” ignoring your cramps—which, for once, were bearable this month—you glanced behind you when you heard Adam’s footsteps approaching.

“What are you doing?” Amusement swung in his smooth voice as he leaned against the wall and watched you balance on his sofa trying to hang a couple of plastic bats from the old-fashioned chandelier.

“I’m decorating, what does it look like I’m doing?” You grinned. Adam only made a face.

“Your excitement is adorable but I’m just gonna have a bunch of zombie kids knock on my door again and beg for candy. You know last time they threw eggs at my house because I didn’t answer the door? It took me four nights to clean it all up again.” You shrugged.

“Well, you should have just given them candy then.” Adam raised his eyebrows.

“Well, someone’s in a bitchy mood, hmm?”

“Adam… I’m not being bitchy, it’s Halloween and you know how much I love it and literally the first thing you do after waking up is complain about it. You haven’t even kissed me yet.” You snapped, arms akimbo. Adam took a deep breath, then another one—and you knew then that you had made a mistake. Not only was he your loving and caring boyfriend whom you loved and whom you wanted to treat kindly… but he was also your dom.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m just…”

“On your period,” he finished the sentence for you. You nodded.

“What’s the other thing I’m smelling?”

“Toffee and caramel?” You offered innocently.

“You’re not burning my kitchen down, are you, kitten?” Your lower regions clenched.

“No. Now don’t tell me you’ve never heard of candy apples before.”

“Of course I’ve heard of them, I’ve just never eaten them. Come here.” You obliged almost instantly, climbing down the sofa and tiptoeing towards him on bare feet so he could embrace you. Hmmm… you loved how he always slept topless.

“You’re gonna like these then. I spied up the toffee with some of your… special juice.” Adam’s eyes widened.

“You did what now?”

“Well… maybe it’ll taste good! We’ll never know if you don’t try it!”

“How much longer will that stuff take to melt?”

“I’m not sure. The packaging says around twenty minutes. Why?”

Instead of responding, Adam threw you over his shoulder, carrying you into his bedroom. You squealed when he threw you on the unmade bed and made himself comfortable between your legs before you even had a chance to close them.

He growled, inhaling your scent as he tore your shorts off of you, revealing your sex to him—it would have been sexy if it wasn’t for the string of the tampon peeking out of your slit. Adam simply ignored it though. He was much more interested in your clit anyway, so it seemed.

You threw your head back when he wrapped his mouth around the sensitive bundle of nerves without any preparation whatsoever. Desire rippled through you, your fingers digging into his black bed sheets. This was no reward then… this was a punishment. It was too intense, too much… and yet, your body gave in to the pleasure that Adam forced on you almost immediately, demanding even more. Your first orgasm came too fast as he ate you out like you were his last meal, sucking each and every single wave of pleasure coursing through your body between his lips. You were pulsing against his mouth, and yet once the lust subsided, Adam did not stop, turning the relaxing orgasm into sweet pain.

The overstimulation had you jerk on the mattress, your wincing pitiful.

You screamed when Adam flicked his tongue over your clit—again and again until he could force another orgasm from you.

Time became meaningless. Halloween became meaningless. Your whole body was on fire, each and every one of your cells ignited as Adam made you cum for him over and over again. By the time he finally stopped, you were a sweating mess, the bed soaked and every single one of your limbs tingling with pleasure. You were numb, apathetic almost, and whimpering when he pulled you into his arms and against his chest.

“You did so well, kitten. Are you with me?”

You nodded faintly, unable to form any functioning sentences just yet.

“Next time you’ll think twice before you snap at me, hmm?”

“I’m sorry…”

“No, don’t be… I know you enjoyed this, kitten. Didn’t you?” You buried your face in his sneck, still somewhat dazed.

“Yes…”

“Of course you did. Now, how about we get some rest and then clean you up and then we can go to that Halloween festival you have kept nagging me about for the past week.” Your face lit up.

“Really?”

“Really. And then we stay the rest of the night in and watch some bad horror movies together.”

“That’s just gonna lead to more sex.” You stated matter-of-factly. Adam chuckled.

“Exactly.”

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente Big hug!

#adam olla #adam olla imagine #adam olla x you #adam olla x reader #adam olla x female reader #adam olla smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive imagine #olla #olla imagine #tom hiddleston

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ceilingfan5 · 3 years ago

Text

[id: taako, an elf with dyed pink hair that is growing out, in a bathtub filled with dyed blue water and bubbles. The bubbles cover most of him. His expression is sour.]

Read on ao3 if you prefer!

Why don’t you take a bath and maybe you’ll feel better, Lup had texted him, and Taako knew, logically, that she meant it with all the goodness and care for him in her big dumb heart, but Taako was in a nightmare mood, so he read it dripping, just oozing with bitchiness, and maybe he was going to take a bath, but he wasn’t about to enjoy it.

Spite bath. For mean stupid assholes who can’t have what they want because they don’t deserve it and throw big idiot baby tantrums because their feelings got hurt that somebody posted date pics online with his hot new perfect dentist boyfriend who makes lots of money and can regulate his own fucking emotions and maybe even can keep a cactus alive for more than a month. Allegedly.

Taako sinks deeper into the water. It’s a pretty shade of blue, but other than that, his bath bomb was a total waste of money, and he’s mad about it, and doesn’t smell like anything, and the bubble bath he had left wasn’t enough to foam up the whole bath, and he needs to redye his hair, and he forgot to bring a snack, because he plans to fully dissolve until he’s Taako soup, and he’s mad about it. He’s lonely and snackless and broke and his cactus is dead and his sister is miles and miles away and his heart hurts. But now he’s also soaking wet. So, thanks for that, Lup.

He swipes the plastic bag he put his phone in off of the toilet lid and unlocks it, you know, after 4 failed tries, and, fuck him mighty, the picture is still there. They’re smiling and holding hands at an early dinner, and the post mentions in that elegant way he talks for an audience that they’re going to a show, a concerto in the butterfly gardens, and Taako nearly throws his phone. He’s not that fancy. He doesn’t even know how much a concerto in the butterfly gardens would cost. Maybe he could afford a commercial jingle in a compost pile. Worms can probably jam.

He tips his head back and groans. Don’t wait up for me, Kravitz had said. I don’t know how late I’ll be back, and you don’t have to worry about me. You know, casual things roommates say to each other? It’s getting on…late, or something, and yeah, maybe Taako was hoping to hear from him, you know, make sure David wasn’t like, a vampire and sucked his soul out or something (fuck, he really can’t compete with a vampire). Maybe hear about how great it was, because at this point, Taako almost wants to feel worse. Bring on the self-sabotage. He’s gonna make all sorts of choices.

He opens a new text and starts typing the truth, but it’s so embarrassing he has to delete it. He tries again, a little more casually, hey, so, Krav, I’m kinda maybe a little bit– deleted. Super sorry to bother you on your perfect date with perfect David but I wanna be yours so bad I can taste–deleted. Do you want to dump your boyfriend and get with me instead? No worries if not! Fucking hell. He trails his hand in the water, scooping up fast-dissolving bubbles. He shakes them off, and some of them fly all the way to the bathroom counter. Oops.

I like you, he types, and that feels a little less horribly pathetic, but the whole thing was an exercise in misery anyway, and he goes to delete that, too, but his hand is slippery, and he drops the bag his phone is in, and fumbles for it, and it goes right into the water.

“Fuck, fuck!” He scoops it out and shakes it off, but the screen is nearly impossible to read through the waterlogged bag. He dries a hand on the fluffy bath mat and fishes the stupid thing out.

Delivered.

Read.

Taako does throw his phone, hot potato, and it goes all the way across the bathroom. He covers his face. He yells into his hands. He hears his phone vibrate from the floor, once, twice, a third time. Kravitz almost never multi-texts, that’s more Taako’s bag, and he’s trying not to hyperventilate all naked and wet and stupid.

What can he do?? What is there to do??? He doesn’t want to say it was a joke. That would be cruel, a step too far. He might have been feeling self destructive, but he doesn’t need to make Kravitz miserable.

He pushes himself up, and the phone vibrates again, and he pulls the plug in the bathtub and wraps himself in a towel, relieved he showered first, for once. Blue water slogs out of the tub, gurgling in a way that almost sounds like he’s being chastised, and Taako dries himself off, rubbing at his face like maybe it’ll come off if he tries hard enough. This is, unfortunately, unsuccessful.

He takes a deep breath, and he picks up the phone.

Taako, what?

How do you mean that? Taako? Where did this come from?

Do you really? I’d like to talk to you, if you have a chance, I know it’s late, things went long, there was a problem…I mean, I don’t need to exhaust you with the details but, I guess I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Things didn’t turn out the way I planned.

Taako, are you there? Can you call me?

Oh, um, actually, you see, the problem is that Taako would rather succumb to a poison lava death than do that, sorry. His pruney fingers itch with anxiety. The phone starts vibrating with a call, and Taako nearly chucks the phone away again, and this time, he might not get it back.

Something automatic, something unreal, something new, swipes to answer the call, and shakily puts the phone to his ear. Normally he would run, he would ruin things, he would fuck everything up. But he doesn’t want to make Kravitz sad.

He doesn’t say anything, though. His tongue is in knots, and he’s about to swallow it.

“Taako, are you there?” He sounds a little choked up for some reason. “I- Can- can you tell me what you meant? It’s- it’s kind of important…Do you…do you really like me? Like, that, I mean, do you- I mean, you probably wouldn’t have said, I mean, I know you think I’m an okay roommate, and, and all that, but–surely you meant–what did you mean??”

“Um,” Taako says, voice cracking. He’s still holding the towel, hair still dripping down his back. “Uh, hey, Krav.”

“Taako,” Kravitz says, strained. “I- I just got in a fight with David about this, and- and I can’t-”

“Fuck,” there’s something hard in his throat that won’t go away. “I didn’t mean to- It was an accident, I- I don’t wanna ruin-”

“It was an accident?” The disappointment is palpable through the phone. He could palp it right there, physics be damned.

“No!! No- I- It’s true, I just- I didn’t mean to send it, I-”

“It’s true? You like me?” It’s way too eager to mean nothing. Now Taako’s heart is palping. It’s palping hard.

“I- Fucking of course I like you!” The dam breaks. Taako’s glad he doesn’t have to look Kravitz in the eyes. “I’ve liked you for months, okay? I just don’t want to fuck things up wi-”

“Fuck David,” Kravitz says, desperately fast. “He got nasty about the way I picked up the phone when I saw you text. He- he accused me of being in love with you.”

“Yeah? Have, um, have those allegations been proven?”

“The evidence is piling up,” Kravitz admits, and then he laughs, and that breaks the spell, and Taako has to laugh too, even though he may or may not be a little teary-eyed. “I think I just broke up with my boyfriend, Taako,” he whispers.

“What if I told you I know where you can get a new one?”

“I think I’d really like that. It’s been on my mind for a long time.”

Huh, Taako thinks. Maybe I do feel better.

#i have done...an experiment!!!!#taz #taz b #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone balance #the adventure zone #taakitz #fan5fics #taakitz fic #taz art #tazb art #my art #ceilingfanart #lmk if you are interested in more fic/art combos like this #it's kind of a dream come true like. points. this is what i was working towards #very cool to have grown so much!!

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goldenissues · 3 years ago

Text

bad girl-georgenotfound x reader

summary- you’re a role model student, but recently, you’ve been misbehaving. teacher! george takes things into his own hands and puts you in his place

warnings/notes- smut, swearing, violence?, female receiving, insults

high achiever. that’s what you were. with your kind smiles as you pass by, your top grades, and anything anyone could wish for. you were pretty much always presentable, pretty much always on time, pretty much organised and pretty much pretty. and on the rare days when you were late or forgot a piece of homework, nobody would batt an eye, you were too reliable to worry.

however, it might’ve been this week when people found a notable change in your behaviour. perhaps it was the scowl plastered on your face, the bumping into people- which was very much on purpose- or the changes in things that came out of your mouth.

though, you still did what you did before, it felt threatening to people. you still gave your smiles (even though they made people uneasy when you did now), and you looked presentable, that hasn’t changed.

“y/n, you’re late,” you heard a stern voice behind you as you crept into class. rolling your eyes, you turned to face the taller male-mr.notfound. “good morning sir, how are you? great! right now i’ve got to-“ a smile laid on your face as you sarcastically greeted the older.

“y/n” he sighed, running a veiny hand through his fluffy hair, making the not already perfect strands of hair even messier, “you were a perfect student before; high grades, modal behaviour, neat organisation. what happened?”

you fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead giving him a bigger smile. you hated hearing those words, it’s always ‘what happened?’, “nothings happened, sir. i’m not sure what you’re taking about,”

his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, hesitant to speak for a minute or two before replying with a simple, “whatever y/n, get to your seat, copy what’s in the board,”

you strutted out of class, on your way to the lunch queue when you got called midway from a familiar voice. “y/n,” you stopped in your tracks and huffed as you looked to the direction of the voice- mr. notfound. looking up with innocent eyes, “yes sir? is there something bothering you?” he gave a disappointed sigh, punching the bridge of his nose, “you know what’s wrong. it’s a shame, you’re well behaved in everything, yet you can’t make sure your skirt isn’t so high,”

you crossed your arms, leaning all your weight onto one hip as you gave him the most annoyed look you could muster, “i don’t see why it bothers you so much, sir,” he raised a brow. you’ve never had a good view of mr. not found, especially because of the communication between you and him.

“unroll your skirt,” you glared at him, clearly annoyed at the interaction. still glaring at him, you rolled it up once higher. watching as his breath slightly hitched in his throat, he made eye contact with you again, his eyes holding an emotions you couldn’t quite uncover. “i’ve told you once and i’ll tell you again, unroll your skirt,” you brought a finger to your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “hm.. no”

“you’re such a bad girl..” mr. notfound muttered, continuing to look you up and down, it sent butterflies to your stomach. however you quickly got back into the right mind, ‘he’s your teacher y/n’, you thought.

“if i see you later with your skirt still so high, it’s going to be a punishment,” you huffed and carried on walking down the corridor, giving him no response.

perhaps you had simply forgot what he said. oh honestly, did it really matter that much? it was only a skirt length, it wasn’t your fault if people found it distracting, i mean it’s not your fault your so attractive. hah.

gliding your finger along the lockers as you headed to the changing rooms. bag trailing across the floor by the way you lazily wrapped your fingers around the strap. you were late to cheerleading again. wow, well done y/n, gold star! eh, you couldn’t care less. as you carelessly strutted down the corridor you unknowingly muttered about how senseless mr. notfound was, “i mean it’s not my fault i’m so hot-“

“tsk tsk, y/n l/n, what a bad little girl,” you stopped in your tracks from pure startles, shooting your head up to the voice, mr. notfound. no matter the effort you made to cover it, mr. notfound truly did frighten you, and the same could go for mr. wastaken. perhaps it was that they made you feel so small and intimidated that you tried to switch it, protesting to their orders.

“what are you doing here so late,” he asked, leaning against the wall with the poster that read “believe in yourself’. you swallowed your nerves in your throat you didn’t even know were there, “i was heading to cheer sir,”

the brunette looked you up and down, staring at your skirt and legs, before looking up to you with a disappointed sigh, “i see you haven’t fixed your skirt, what do you think mr. wastaken will think about this,”

you gulped, internally panicking and unsure of how to reply, “i’m not sure what you’re taking about sir,” you batted innocent eyes, smiling politely up at him. tutting, he leant back of the wall, rubbing his temple in irritation, “you’re so disobedient. i’m afraid you won’t be attending cheer today,”

suddenly, you furrowed your brows, “what? huh?” he grinned and walked closer towards you, close enough to hear his breathing, “you’ve got a detention,” his husky voice spoke into your ear. god his voice made your face as red as a cherry.

“why?” there wasn’t really a point in asking why, you had been gone downhill for the last few weeks: not following orders, turning up late to lessons, being rude and sarcastic. “come on,” mr. not found started walking down the hall, you following close behind.

you were angry, you didn’t like school, but the only things keeping you going was cheerleading, no matter the times that you pretend to hate it. school is shit, you hate it and everything about it: the rules, the students, the lessons, the food, the teachers -well, mr. notfound and mr.wastaken certainly didn’t bat your eye.

yeah you hated them, how they were constantly telling you off, but god they were hot. sometimes you so desperately want them to bend you over their desks and fuck you till you can’t remember your own name.

anyways, you were in a bad mood, you had been looking forward to cheer (even though you were running late) and mr. notfound had to ruin it. huffing and puffing, you glared at any walking students. one girl walked past, looking so fucking happy, and you decided this was the right time to ruin her mood just like yours has been ruined. stopping in your tracks as she stopped at her locker, you yelled at her, “that skirt is so fucking ugly makes me want to puke, are you thick in the head or what?”

“y/n.” the man called sternly, giving you a look to stop. well, that look turned to annoyance once you flipped him off. taking a step closer to the girl who already looked upset, “aw, you gonna cry?” you sarcastically asked, giving a fake look of aw, “pathetic little bitch,”

“y/n, stop it. come over-“ “shut the fuck up sir, i’m not going to your stupid little detention,” turning to glare at him, gritting your teeth, only to earn a look of amusement. “oh so you find this funny? bitch,”

mr.notfound gave you a long, hard stare -intimidatingly long, before striding beside the girl and bending down slightly to her eye level. you watched with a weird feeling coursing through you as him and the girl talked about something, the girls face turning red as a tomato. it wasn’t a surprise really- almost every girl in this school had a crush on him, and well, you couldn’t say anything bad as you were one of those girls.

it wasn’t your fault when you swung at her after she gave you a cocky smirk. she grabbed her cheek, gasping dramatically, before forcing tears out of her eyes. “you little bitch!” you screamed, hitting her again. you didn’t stop trying after sir picked you up with force and pulled you away further down the corridors.

as he frustratedly headed to his office, you couldn’t help but think about how it felt being carried by him. yeah you had done something bad, but god this felt good.

“why can’t you just behave?” he muttered through gritted teeth. you didn’t answer, didn’t think it was your time to talk, didn’t think it was the right moment to give him a bitchy answer. “you were such a good girl before, now you’re punching people as they walk by,”

“i’m sorry sir,” you replied as he sat you down on his desk, walking over to his cupboard. you really were sorry, you didn’t know what had gotten into you recently. though you were sorry, you didn’t regret anything.

as you watched sir rummage through his cupboard, eyebrows furrowed, a trickling down your lower face had become incredibly noticeable. brushing your hand over your nose, you were met with blood -fuck, a nose bleed. it was probably when the girl swung back, but you didn’t notice it. mr. notfound walked over to you with a box of tissues in his hand. leaning in, he grabbed your chin and held tightly as he brushed the soft tissues over the blood. something about this sent a flutter between your legs; perhaps it was his concentrated face mixed with anger, or maybe it was the way he handled you, the way he touched you.

“you’ve been naughty,” he breathed out. breath so close to my neck that it sent butterflies to my stomach, “gonna have to punish you,” the look on his face told you he wasn’t kidding, and the way he didn’t move away from you to put the tissues in the bin, just throwing them into it from where he was.

silence is what surrounded the room, your faces inches away from each other, hungry looks on both. the only thing that broke the silence through time was the breathing that became heavier. and as he smashed his lips onto yours, you kissed back. it was hot, needy, it felt perfect. the messy movement of his lips on yours left you whining in his mouth.

“fuck, you don’t realise what you do to me,” he pulled away slightly, still practically sharing breath. you felt his hand land on your thigh, before feeling him rub it in a circular motion with his thumb. he kissed you again, open mouth, if it was anyone but him you would’ve been grossed out, but god he made this so hot.

you couldn’t imagine what someone would think if they walked in whilst you were messily making out, his hand on your chin grasping tightly with the other massaging the skin on your thigh. he pulled away again, kissing at your face, “the way you prance around in this tiny skirt, you make me so horny, i bet you make everyone else feel like this as well,”

you shook your head, “no sir, only for you, all for you,” as he kissed and sucked at your neck, you felt his smirk plastered on his face against your skin.

you moaned as he sucked at a certain piece of skin, “can’t keep quiet, want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are?” you wasn’t sure how to respond, if you were to say no you would be lying. you wanted people to hear how you were making out with your teacher, you wanted to make the girls jealous. so, all you could do was timidly look away from his gaze.

you gasped as you felt a strong hand grab your black tie and yank it towards him, snapping you to look in his eyes, “look at me when i’m talking to you,” george gravely quipped, glaring at you.

out of nowhere, you felt the sudden urge to be a brat again, not the smartest idea but it would be interesting, “i don’t want to look at you,” you snarked back, watching as his eye brows furrowed and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. hand still tight on your tie, forcing you to painfully look up from the height and the difference of you sitting and him standing over you. “stand up.” he demanded

“no.” suddenly, you felt a harsh slap to your cheek, before your face was pulled up to be inches away from his,

“fucking stand up brat,” his tone was deep and husky, it awoken something inside you. but, being the stubborn person you are, you shook your head. he yanked you up by your waist, then slammed you against the nearest wall.

his warmth engulfed you as he so quickly slammed his lips back onto yours, spreading through you like an infectious disease, however, this disease would be one you want to never leave. he pulled you closer to him from your waist, leaning burning fingerprints every inch his hands touched.

this kiss was not much different from the ones just before, but for some strange reason, this one felt more forceful, daring, one that got you more worked up. as he attached his lips to your neck, quickly exploring more and more of your body, you were well aware you were not leaving that room without bruises. despite being as aware of it as can be, you couldn’t help but want to carry on being bratty.

and as the buttons to your shirt came undone annoyingly slow, you became more and more impatient. “hurry up, if you can’t teach well atleast be able to make me feel good,”

he pulled away, still close enough you could feel every exhale, so close you watched his jaw clench and face so desperately trying not to show just how angry he was right now. it was peculiar that you still persisted to stay bitchy, there really was no need for you to act like this, and you both were fully aware, but you wanted to rile him up, wanted him to know you don’t give up easily, wanted him to earn this from you. in hindsight, that was probably it the brightest idea and you you became aware of that the longer he started into your eyes.

“oh i’ll make you feel good,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “and you’ll fucking like it, so don’t tell me to hurry up,”

with that, he pulled your shirt off, hands immediately going to your back, desperately fiddling with the clasp off your bra as you innocently looked up at him, acting like you weren’t just pissing him off, “your so fucking annoying,” he murmured, the clasp loosening as he pulled the fabric down your arms, leaning you bare chested.

“your acting like i don’t turn you on just by walking around school sir,” you retorted, as he rolled one of your nipples through his long fingers, smiling sweetly whilst he scoffed, however mesmerised by how beautiful you looked.

“remember what you’re saying whilst you’re begging to cum and i say no,” he whispered into your ear, before moving his mouth to circle his tongue around your other nipple, and both of you noticed the goosebumps that covered your skin in that few seconds.

right as you were about spit another retort, syllables falling down your throat and being replaced with a choked moan as you felt his hands sneak their way under your short skirt that pretty much started this whole thing.

gripping your thighs, taking in exactly how the skin felt with his hands over them. you felt your heart almost beat out of your stomach as you felt a hand get closer to your leaking heat, barely covered by your damp panties. “and with how your acting your probably not wet right now. isnt that right?”

and you couldn’t mange to say a word as you felt his middle finger run over your panties, barely ghosting your clit, leaving you wanting more contact. his pointer finger caught onto the side of the fabric, pushing it aside, leaving just enough space for his middle finger to feel the juices that so guilty poured out of you. his touch felt so cold compared to your heat, leaving you so embarrassed as he coats his finger in you before slowly pulling away, catching your eyes with a smug smirk whilst doing so.

“oh? oops,” he chuckled, “looks like i was wrong,”

without a second to respond, his fingers shoved themselves inside you, leaving you whimpering from sudden pleasure. you almost collapsed if it wasn’t for him holding your waist with one hand as he roughly pumped them in and out of you, leaving lewd noises to spill out of your lips. drops of wetness spill down your thighs, he still persistently works his magic through your wet underwear, thumb sneaking to rub tight circles on your clit. and you couldn’t stop yourself as a moan left your red lips, music to his ears, and his smug smile grew bigger. you can’t help letting out noises when he made you feel this good, but of course, you couldn’t let him know that, couldn’t let him know that he made you feel heavenly. everytime he pumped his fingers, everytime they subtly brushed over your clit, it left you twitching.

s-sir, sir fuck! please i’m-!” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before his fingers ripped out of you, the pleasure disappearing into thin air, taken from you. as you stare at him, your hands having a mind of their own, moving down to your heat out of instinct, but being grabbed and pinned above your head before you could reward yourself with pleasure.

“don’t you fucking dare. what happened to the brattiness? you come when i give you permission,” both of you are well aware that you’re brattiness has been taken away from you when you don’t reply, just look into his eyes and nod, swallowing your nerves. and that’s when his smirk grew bigger, he loves this.

you watch as he unbuttons his dress shirt, throwing it pulls and he pulls his trousers and boxers down, exposing his throbbing, sizeable cock that sent a pit to your stomach. his eyes catch sight of you as your practically drooling over him, and he does nothing but smirk as your eyes meet.

“get on a desk, all fours, unless you don’t want to be pleasured,” and you comply, pulling your panties and skirt down leaving you in nothing but a tie and thigh highs, climbing onto a desk, legs trembling. you watch as he unbuttons his dress shirt, throwing it off and he pulls his trousers and boxers down, exposing his throbbing, sizeable cock that sent a pit to your stomach. his eyes catch sight of you as your practically drooling over him, and he does nothing but smirk as your eyes meet.

he moved behind you, “i won’t be gentle,”

SORRY I DIDNT FINISH IT. i started writing this months ago but now i’ve kinda left the fandom and i’m never gonna finish this so here it is. you can imagine the rest.

new obsession: it (novel and book) ✅

new person to obsess over: jaeden martell 😍😍

i’m probably gonna post it oneshots and maybe stranger things fluff.

#georgenotfound smut #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #dream smut #sapnap #minecraft #streaming #youtube #smut #mcyters #mcyt smut

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arrowflier · 3 years ago

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Prompt: Mickey apologizes to one of their neighbours for something that clearly wasn't his fault just to make Ian(who's in his people pleaser mode) happy. Later, Ian realises how Mickey was right all along and feels bad about the whole thing and they talk. Basically them having a mature convo at the end

Ian heard the shouting as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. Mickey had come down earlier to take a quick dip, and Ian was hoping to join him and relax together for a while.

But based on the way his husband and one of their neighbors were yelling right then, that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Ian sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. Was it really too much to ask that Mickey get along with the people in their building? He didn't even have to make friends, he just had to not be an asshole to everyone he met.

A particularly loud shout--something about children, and language, and have some common decency--forced Ian out of his reflections and toward the apparent catastrophe that was Mickey in public.

“Dammit, Mickey,” he muttered under his breath as he rounded the last corner and brought the pool into view.

Sure enough, Mickey was there. He stood at the edge of the shallow end of the pool, like he had just hoisted himself out, water droplets still lingering on his sculpted arms and chest. His arms were raised and held out to the side in challenge as he blustered on about public space, and freedom of speech, and I’ll do you one worse lady, just you watch just inches away from a middle-aged woman that looked like she had stepped out of a lululemon ad.

Ian was pretty sure it was the same woman who had stopped him at the elevators last week to ask him to “keep it down up there”. They really didn’t need to cause more trouble with her; Mickey had them on thin ice already when his response to Ian relaying that request was to play loud, bass-thumping music while riding Ian into the floor for effect.

She hadn't met his eyes since.

"What's going on here?" Ian interrupted, coming up behind Mickey and settling a hand on the back of his husband's neck.

"This lady was tryin to--" Mickey cut off when Ian squeezed and released that hand in warning. Mickey glowered at him, but shut his mouth.

"Your husband," the woman said with a glare at Mickey, "was setting a bad example for my nephew."

Looking around for the aforementioned child, Ian sighed when he saw a little boy staring at them all from a pool lounger with wide eyes.

"We're sorry, Mrs...," he trailed off, but she didn't bother to fill in the blank for him, instead just raising her eyebrows and tapping her sandaled foot expectantly.

"Uh, anyway, it won't happen again," Ian finished awkwardly. "Right, Mick?"

"Are you kidding me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, incredulous.

"I expect a direct apology from your husband," the woman demanded at the same time.

Ian raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gave Mickey a little shake when the other man didn't speak up.

"Come on, Mick, just do it," Ian muttered.

After a tense moment, Mickey did.

"Fucking fine," he hissed at Ian, ignoring their neighbor's sharp intake of breath at the curse. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?," he directed at her, before pulling out of Ian's hold to face him.

"You happy now?" he asked, before turning and stomping off to go inside.

The effect was dampened by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, leaving behind wet marks on the concrete. Ian and the woman watched him go with drastically different expressions: one with disgust, and one with concern.

"I do hope you'll keep your man in line better in the future," the woman groused at Ian, but he wasn't really listening.

"Yeah, sure," he answered absently. "Excuse me, I just gotta..."

And then he was scooping up the towel and shoes Mickey had left behind, and hurrying after his husband.

---

"Mickey?" Ian called out hesitantly as he entered their apartment. Other than a couple of damp patches on the floor, there was no sign of Mickey anywhere.

Then Ian heard the shower start, and set Mickey's things down next the door to follow the sound.

Mickey's wet trunks were pooled on the cold tile floor, the shower curtain pulled tight from wall to wall. The splash of water bouncing from flesh to the acrylic tub echoed through the room.

"Mickey?" Ian asked softly, taking a step past the open door. "Mick, you in here?"

He heard a snort over the sound of the water, the curtain moving as Mickey's arm jostled it from inside.

"No, it's your other husband, Sherlock," Mickey answered, an odd tone in his voice. "You know, the one you listen to before you take some random bitch's side."

Ian winced. Okay, Mickey was mad, then.

Moving further into the room, Ian closed the lid of the toilet and turned to sit on it, elbows on knees.

"Sorry," he offered briefly. "But she had a point Mick, there are kids here--"

The water stopped abruptly, and the curtain pulled back to reveal Mickey’s face. His hair flopped wetly over his forehead, water still sluicing down the middle of his face, and he scowled as he brushed it away with the back of a dripping hand.

“Kid, huh?” he questioned “So I need to go get my fucking tattoos removed because some random kid might see ‘em?”

Ian blinked.

“Wait,” he said slowly, mind trying to figure out what he was missing. “What?” then scoffed when Ian just watched him.

Mickey just scoffed.

“You don’t even know what she was yellin’ about, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I didn’t say a damn word to her or that sniveling brat she brought with her,” he revealed. “They took one fucking look at me, saw the words on my knuckles, and off she went on her little fucking tirade.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started, but Mickey wasn’t done.

“Don’t you act like it matters,” he growled. “You care more about playing nice than payin’ attention, and don’t pretend that after all these years you don’t still assume I’m always the fuckin’ problem.”

Fuck. Ian had really screwed this one up.

“Mickey,” he repeated, more firmly, standing and stepping closer to the shower. Ian took the shower curtain in one hand and tugged it further to the side. Mickey shivered in the influx of cool air, looking more like a disgruntled cat mid-bath than an angry man.

“Mickey,” Ian said again, softer, and stepped over the lip of the tub so that nothing was between them. He took Mickey into his arms, his husband putting up a token resistance before settling against him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered into his wet hair, ignoring the patches of water soaking through his clothes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mickey hummed into his chest, not looking up. “You kind of did, though,” he mutters. “Every time somebody’s got a problem with me, you act like it’s my fault.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Yeah,” Ian finally agreed, stroking a hand down Mickey’s bare back. “Yeah, I need to work on that.”

He pulled back, made Mickey meet his eyes. Mickey was no longer glaring, and his eyes were dry, but there was still something off about the way he met Ian’s gaze.

“You know I don’t really think that, though, right?” Ian asked, disheartened when Mickey didn’t offer a response.

“I don’t, Mickey,” he said earnestly. “I love you, and you’ve been trying so hard--”

“Shouldn’t fuckin’ have to try,” Mickey murmured, and oh.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Ian rephrased. “And I’m sorry I’m always making you feel like you do, too.”

Mickey moved back farther, and Ian’s arms dropped loosely back to his sides. His fingers itched to reach out again, but he got the feeling Mickey needed some space.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Get outa here so I can finish.”

Ina obeyed, stepping out of the tub and moving toward the door, but he turned back before he left the room.

“When you’re done, come into the bedroom, alright?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got an idea to get back at that asshole woman.”

“Apology or not,” Mickey said wryly, “I don’t think I’m on the mood to fuck you right now, Ian.”

Ian just smirked.

“Not what I had in mind,” he said. “Now hurry it up, I think you’re gonna like my plan.”

---

About twenty minutes later, after the shower had started and stopped again and Mickey had had a moment to gather himself and get dressed, Mickey walked into the bedroom and stopped still.

Ian was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, but that wasn’t what had Mickey startled. No, it was the fact that right in front of him was a huge stereo with old school speakers, the ones that used to be downstairs in the communal lounge area, with Ian’s phone sitting right on top.

“What’s all this?” Mickey asked, and Ian grinned.

“So she doesn’t like profanity, huh?” he said. “Well I found a favorite new song.”

Mickey started to grin himself as he caught on to the plan. Ian stood and pushed one of the speakers a little closer to the vents in their floor, angling it so the sound would bounce right down into the apartment below. Then he tapped a few things on his phone, cranked the volume, and let harsh base and more expletives than Mickey had ever heard in a piece of music fill the room.

Mickey laughed. Ian held out a hand, like he was asking for a dance, and turned the music up even louder.

Shaking his head at his husband’s antics, Mickey took the proffered hand, and let Ian spin him to the sound of their bitchy neighbor losing her mind below them.

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #misunderstandings #fight and make up

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realcube · 4 years ago

Text

haikyuu!! boys when you come out to them as bisexual 🏳️‍🌈

characters: yamaguchi, tsukishima & kenma

part two!!

tw// fem!reader, fluff, coming out,

Tadashi Yamaguchi

ok so hot-take but i think yamaguchi is straight

(or maybe bi but with a heavy preference for females)

but rn he identifies as straight

but like..he’s so supportive of the lgbtq+ community

like tsukishima gives off ‘gay but homophobic’ energy

but yamaguchi has ‘straight but a strong ally’ energy

and this is hugely bc while tsukishima fell down the alt-right pipeline, yamaguchi was going through that ‘women 😍🤩💕’ phase which i think every WLW has went through at one point

like while tsukishima was watching ‘sjw get rekt compliation #125′ , yamaguchi was watching those heart-wrenching lgbtq+ short films on youtube

and on tiktok his fyp was probably originally cottagecore (bc it’s his ideal lifestyle ofc) and somehow he is now kinda on sapphic cottagecore tiktok

like not to fetishize them or anything, just bc he’s awed by how in love they are and that’s kinda what he wants for himself

(also he uses them as date inspo for you and him DFBZVAYUL)

anyway this was just my lengthened explanation as to why - unbeknownst to you or anyone - he was an ally to the lgbtq+ community (if not apart of it)

you didn’t really expect him to be disgusted or unsupportive of it tbh - i mean, it’s tadashi ffs! 💞 you know he’d never break up with you or judge you for something like that, but that didn’t stop you from being slightly nervous

but he was ten times more nervous when you texted him, asking for him to meet you by the local park’s fountain bc you had something important to tell him

mans thought you were dying ngl

he almost burst out crying on the walk to the park bc he imagined a whole scenario where he was sitting next to your fkn death-bed

but you seemed healthy enough so his next assumption was that you were going to break-up with him

so when he approached you by the water fountain and you noticed that his eyes were glossy and his hair was damp with sweat, you were quite worried for him now

‘tadashi! are you okay?! your eyes are all puffy and red! do you have hay fever?’

yamaguchi rapidly shook his head, hastily escorting you to a nearby park bench so you could sit down beside him, ‘it’s nothing; what is it that you want to tell me?’

‘oh’ you choked, quickly averting your gaze from his kind, damp eyes. ‘it’s- um, i don’t-’ you cut yourself off, mentally cursing at yourself as you had practised what you were going to say to him hundreds of times before he arrived yet you still couldn’t stammer it out

yamaguchi was hanging on each word you uttered, but once he noticed that you were struggling, he placed his hands upon yours and shot you a reassuring smile

you let out a sigh in hopes to relieve your nerves while rehearsing what you were gonna say one more time in your head before blurting it out,

‘babe, erm, i’ve been questioning for a while and i’ve concluded that i’m bi - as in bisexual; and i just thought i’d tell you bec--’

you genuinely thought that you might have to explain to yamaguchi what bisexual means so IMAGINE your surprise when he simply replies, ‘you’re bisexual? is that all you wanted to tell me?’ and once you hum in agreement, he lets out a heave of euphoric relief

‘(y/n), please don’t make fun of me but on the way here, i was almost gonna cry because i thought you were going to tell me something horrible.’ he clutched his chest, breathing heavily - usually he’d never admit to something like that but right now, he felt that it was appropriate

you snickered at his rather exaggerated actions, ‘awh, baby. i’m sorry.’ a pout formed on your lips as you soothingly rubbed his back.

yamaguchi rapidly shook his head before turning the tables and rubbing your back instead, ‘nonono, it’s fine! i’m fine!- and i’m glad you’re fine too.’ he stumbled, hastily placing a kiss on your cheek before whispering in your ear, ‘i’m so proud of you. congratulations!’

although you couldn’t see his face, you could tell from his light voice that he was beaming

after that, he buried his nose into the crook of you neck and snaked his arms around your waist to pull you into a hug, which you both stayed in for a good 5 minutes

Kei Tsukishima

let’s be honest, tsukki’s definitely part of the lgbtq+ community but in deep denial

like if you ask him, he’s not even questioning his gender or sexuality, he’s just ✨straight ✨

so when you just randomly joked one day ‘oi, four-eyes, turn this shit off. she’s too much for my lil’ bi heart to handle.’ while y’all were watching a movie and you instinctively made an off-hand comment about how gorgeous the female lead was

upon realising what you just said, you turned to him with the most awkward grin plastered on your face, ‘tsukki, i’m bisexual, by the way.’

‘no shit, sherlock.’ he hissed at your use of that little nickname

you turned your head to look at him as you blinked rapidly, finally mentally processing his response

while he did the exact same thing simultaneously, dramatically turning his head to meet your gaze before muttering, ‘was that you coming out?’

your eyes widened as you realised, then nodded slowly

tsukishima smirked, shifting his attention back onto the movie, ‘congrats.’ he spoke in a mellow voice, a slight sense of amiability laced into his tone

‘thanks-’

‘have you told your parents yet?’ he quirked a brow, his eyes remaining glued to the screen

you hesitated before shaking your head, ‘no.’

‘what about your friends?’

‘yeah, i came out to my friend group a few months ago - along with yamaguchi.’

tsukishima couldn’t help but frown at the fact you came out to yamaguchi before him but honestly, he couldn’t blame you - he was aware that his bitchy exterior probably discouraged you from telling him sooner, so he was just glad that you had the confidence to tell him eventually

‘so how long have you known that you’re, like, y’know, bi?’ he inquired further

‘a while.’ you hummed, biting your bottom lip, internally so relieved that he wasn’t being too awkward or weird about it

‘good for you.’ he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, not a hint of sarcasm or irony detected in his voice for a change, ‘oh, and good luck with coming out to your parents’

‘thank you.’ you murmur, happily shifting your attention back onto the movie

tsukishima honestly doesn’t mind/care tbh

like he’s supportive and will beat a bitch up if they don’t accept you - but in general, he thinks that it’s none of his business who you love

as long as it is him (ಥ _ ಥ)

Kenma Kuzome

ok so fun story

you were both chilling in his room on a saturday, he was playing on his nintendo switch as always and you were on your phone

you had been meaning to come out to him for a while now but every time you tried, it seemed as though something happened to prevent you from doing so

for example, you tried to come out to him while y’all were chilling at the park but then a bunch of geese started terrorizing y’all and it completely ruined the mood

so you thought that now you were in his room - where there was less of an abundance of geese - it’d be a better time than any to just lift the burden that had been weighing on your chest

you were as nervous as any one would be but you kept on trying to reassure yourself that kenma would be supportive

however, he had never discussed any lgbtq+ related issues with you so you had no idea where he stood with that sort of stuff but tbh, he doesn’t give off homophobic vibes

after a while of staring at the wall and working up the courage, you finally spoke up, ‘hey, kenma. i think i might be bi.’

you mentally cursed at yourself as you didn’t ‘think’ that you are bi but rather you knew that you are bi, yet you felt the need to add that filler just in case things went sour

he perked up upon hearing this and turned to look at you, a small smile gracing his lips, ‘okay, that’s cool. congratulations.’

you couldn’t help but beam back at him, ‘thanks, babe.’ you almost whispered, gladly going back to whatever you were doing on your phone

honestly, you were happy to leave the interaction at that - i mean, his brief and calm response was satisfying beyond expected, as it was probably the least awkward way that could’ve possibly gone down

however, what happened next filled you with endless amounts of euphoria

‘oh, and (y/n).’ kenma said to grab your attention, ‘i’m bisexual.’

you did a double-take

your instincts told you to throw yourself into his arms and rave on about how proud you are that he had the courage to come out but after a moment of reflection, you had a better idea

‘okay, that’s cool. congratulations.’

kenma automatically pouted at how you used his own words against him when he was clearly expecting a hug, ‘(y/n)..’ he whined lowly, shifting his gaze back onto his game

but you were weak so ofc you pulled him into a hug as you both muttered sweet, reassuring things into each other’s ears

‘i love you so much, (y/n) no matter what.’

‘i know.’ you snickered.

‘bitch-’

‘i love you too. and i’m so proud of you for coming out - you’re so brave.’

‘aw, thanks. so are you, babe.’

‘i know’

kenma playfully nibbled at your neck for being such a clown during a sentimental moment

but anyway, you helped kenma come out so- yeah :))

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anothers-trash-my-treasure · 4 years ago

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Take It Out On Me

Happy Smutty Saturday! I seem to like writing things revolving around the pandemic lmaoo I'm sorry, I don't want to make that a habit. This is escapism, after all. Anyways, request from god knows how long ago about angry fucking with our fav gremlin boi

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (Female)

Warnings: 18+. There's some angst, some words exchanged in anger but nothing too crazy. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls don't be dumb) Rough sex, dirty talking, hints of BDSM if you squint, praise kink if you squint.

Word Count: 3K

Tag List: @edteche2 @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar @txmel @gloriousdarkangelsworld @paradoxicaltornado @404-not-found-xix

Enjoy!

When the pandemic started, things weren’t so bad. Your job allowed you to simply work from your laptop, you had turned the second bedroom/storage room into a makeshift office and it worked just fine. Merriell, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He had been laid off, and, at first, was incredibly stressed about it. Thankfully though, you made enough money to cover the rent and the government came through with some financial aid that helped Mer pay for the bills. You’d be okay.

In fact, once the financial stresses were taken care of, it was actually kind of nice. You two hadn’t lived together long, but long enough that you had noticed your schedule differences and long enough to know you had missed each other. Gone were the late nights at the shop that left you lonely and missing his touch. Quite the contrary, during the first few months, you had fucked like rabbits. He had taken you in every room of the house like you were christening the damn thing all over again. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, hell, he even had you in your ‘office’ at one point. It was fun, being together all the time.

Until it wasn’t.

Eventually, being cooped up in the same goddamn space all the damn time got to both of you. And you loved him dearly but god he was so fucking annoying sometimes. Usually, you could avoid creating tension either by slinking away to your office for a bit or politely asking him to take a walk. But the office door had been a lost cause ever since he fucked you up against it so hard it came right off its hinges and it was raining outside, so he couldn’t leave. You were stuck.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the little things that usually didn’t matter had gone unchecked and undiscussed and were beginning to bite at your skin in a way you couldn’t ignore. For you, it had started when you went to the bathroom in the morning, only to discover he had left the toilet seat up and you fell right through. For him it had started when you unconsciously kicked him awake at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. And from there it spiraled. By the time you were ready for coffee, he had drunk the whole pot.

“Thanks for leaving me some.” you had grumbled, and maybe you meant it in good fun, but your sleepy attitude struck a chord, and you knew that because it was met with silence.

So maybe that’s why you didn’t ask him if he wanted some of the eggs you were making for breakfast. And maybe that’s why he decided the be extra loud when he finally made his own breakfast. Pots and pans clanging as he threw them in the sinks, cupboard doors slamming shut and using his fork just a little too violently in a way that set your whole being on edge.

By the end of the day, you had snapped at each other a few times and the tension was so thick that you could barely stand just being next to him. You hated that you were feeling this way, that these stupid lockdowns were driving you away from each other when all you wanted was the opposite. But you couldn’t let go of your anger and annoyance, and it bled through your veins, poisoning any conflict resolution that threatened to act as an antidote to your frustrations.

The last straw came at dinner. He had asked you what you wanted to eat and just the question had you gritting your teeth. So you had replied, telling him that he could make whatever he wanted. That, apparently, was the wrong answer.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he snarled, slamming his hand down onto the kitchen island, “Can you please jus' tell me what the fuck you want?!”

You had done nothing more than glance his way and roll your eyes, not getting a chance to respond before he was launching into a tangent.

“Seriously, what the fuck do ya think I am? Some kinda mind reader?” He asks, one hand gesturing wildly while the other keeps the counter in a white-knuckled grip, “Ya been in this fuckin’ mood all goddamn day and Darlin, I gotta say, ‘m fuckin’ sick of it.”

You bark out a sharp, bitter laugh, “Oh, you’re sick of it?” You stand up from the couch, walking behind it so you can get closer to him, “Like you haven’t been intentionally pissing me off all fucking day.”

His jaw pushes out in annoyance, both hands now gripping the countertop, “I promise you,” and you gotta give the guy credit for trying to regain some composure, “whateva’ I did to make you this goddamn bitchy was not intentional.”

“Oh, so I’m a bitch now?” You counter, folding your arms over your chest.

His eyes close and his chin tucks into his chest, recognizing his mistake but unwilling to apologize for it, “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Tell me.” you insist, stepping closer to him, “Tell me what a bitch I’ve been. Blame all your problems on me. Because that’s just easier, isn’t it?”

It’s not true. You know. He knows it. But right now, all you can focus on is the anger that’s been boiling in the pit of your stomach.

“Y’know what? Maybe this-” he cuts himself off, but his quick gesture between the two of you finishes the rest of his sentence for him. Silence fills the kitchen and now there’s salt added to the wound. Hurt swirls with your anger and you can’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried.

“No, say it.” you encourage bitterly, crossing the line into the kitchen, “Tell me how moving in together was a mistake. Tell me how you can’t fucking stand living with me. Tell me how I’m so bitchy and how sick you are of my shit. Tell me-”

Before you can finish antagonizing him, he’s got you pushed up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of your head. He’s so close to you, you can feel his breath, angry and panting on your skin. You look into his eyes, seeing them hard and cold with his anger but something else lying behind them.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and before you can even begin to be angry about it his lips are on yours and you can’t breathe.

His anger is very apparent, even as he kisses you. It’s rough, bruising, but it’s an outlet for all the negative feelings you’ve been experiencing so you kiss him back just as hard. You reach for him, unsure if you’re working to pull him closer and push him away. It doesn’t really matter though because he doesn’t let you touch him for long. Within seconds both your wrists are taken in one hand and pinned above your head. You fight against his hold, despite knowing it’s futile. In retaliation you bite down hard on his lip, feeling only a little satisfied when he pulls away in shock, his free hand coming up to check for blood. There's not.

You meet his eyes with a defiant smirk. He wants to play dirty? Fine. You can play that way too.

He steps away and for a second you think he’s actually going to walk away. But then-

“Get your ass to the bedroom.”

You almost laugh. If he thinks you’re, in any way, going to be compliant tonight, he’s sadly mistaken. Instead, you cross your arms, falling back to lean against the wall, your eyes never leaving his. He chuckles, an angry smirk crossing his features. He looks away, shaking his head, tongue poking against the side of his cheek in complete disbelief. Before you can think of your next move he’s got you thrown over his shoulder, marching the both of you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. You squirm, trying to push yourself to an angle that would let you fight his grip but it’s no use. By the time you work his hold free, he’s already dropping you on the bed. Although dropping may not be the right word, he all but slams you down, leaving you momentarily breathless.

Even then, he moves quickly. His hands move to his belt, quickly working the clasp back and off so he can slide his jeans off. Despite your anger, you feel heat pool between your legs when the fabric drops to reveal bare skin. It’s nothing new for Merriell, but it never fails to do something to you. He knows it too, a cocky smile gracing his face as he sheds his shirt too. He only lets you look for a second before he’s quickly flipping you onto your stomach. He forces you up onto your knees, hand finding the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you as he climbs onto the mattress behind you.

You put up a bit of a fight, although you’re becoming less and less focused on your anger and frustration and more focused on the feeling on his cock pressing against the back of your jean-clad thigh.

“Always seem to forget how fucking stubborn you are.” He growls into your ear, pressing himself against the line of you body while his free hand starts to unbutton and work off your pants, “Hard headed and difficult.” he continues, biting roughly on your earlobe just to here your intake of breathe and to feel you struggle against his hold, “A fucking brat.” He punctuates the last words by tugging both your jeans and panties down around your thighs roughly. You hiss at the forcefulness of the action, feeling the burn of the fabric against your skin contrasting with cool air against your bare pussy.

You’re completely at his mercy.

His presence is dominating, even though you can’t see him, his hands, one pressing on your neck to keep you still and the other caressing the swell of your ass, let you know exactly who's in charge. You don’t struggle, both of you knowing how much you want him, but you still hold an air of defiance. Your face is turned so you can breathe, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He tries to draw you out, teasing you by dragging his cock against your wetness. He alternates between taking the tip and rubbing it between your folds and fucking the space between your thighs. He knows what it does to you, can see the way you fight the urge to beg by pressing your lips together.

But you don’t fold.

“C’mon baby,” he taunts, venom laced in his words, “I know you want it.” As he talks the hand on your neck slides up into your hair, “Know you want that attitude fucked outta ya,” He tugs your hair roughly, pulling a gasp from your lips and forcing you to look back at him, “All ya gotta do is ask.”

You breathe heavily for a second, eyes locked with his, “Go fuck yourself.”

He growls, shoving your head back down into the mattress and thrusting into you roughly. Your back arches, eyes rolling back in your head as he begins to fuck you, not allowing you even a second to catch your breath. The second he sees bliss cross your features, he’s insufferable.

He laughs against a moan, “Feisty,” he comments, “but the second my dick’s in ya, you’re putty in my hands.”

You’re desperate to prove him wrong. You force your eyes open, locking them with his and pushing back against his thrusts, the headboard already banging against the wall with the force of both your movements.

“Feel’s good doesn’t it?” He asks, free hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack.

“I’ve had better.” Your voice bounces with each thrust, but you’re determined to keep your composure, despite the pleasure that makes your toes curl.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and he lays another harsh smack to your rear, just to see your body react, “Liar,” he hisses, fingers digging into your skin.

His angle changes ever so slightly so that his cock now drags against your sweet spot with every movement and you can’t force your moan back. His eyes light up, laughing delightedly at the sound, “Had betta’ my ass.” he comments, leaning down to bite roughly on your shoulder, effectively leaving marks all across them, “Ya jus’ can’t help ya’self. You love it. Love the feeling of my cock in you.”

“Who says I’m thinking of you?” You shoot back.

You know it’s not true. Merriell was unlike any lover you had before, you were hopelessly and utterly ruined for anyone else. But that didn’t matter. The comment, however untruthful, hits his possessive streak just like you knew it would. He pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back and nearly ripping the remaining fabric off your body before resuming his brutal pace, this time using your wrists on either side of your head to hold you down. In this position he can ensure that you’re looking at him, leaving no doubt in either of your minds that it’s him that makes you feel like this. Only him.

“Such a fucking brat,” he growls, leaving bite marks all along your skin. By the time you’re done, there won’t be a part of your body that’s not marked by him.

He stops talking for a second, focusing instead on giving you the fucking of your life. He’d never fucked you like this. He’d been possessive, sweet, caring, loving, jealous. But never angry. Not like this. Every ounce of frustration and anger he’d felt was redirected to his hips, the air tense with the hurtful words you’d both said earlier.

“C’mon,” you taunt when he slows for a second, lips turned up in a sneer even as you pant, breathless, “That all you got?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, hoisting your legs up onto his shoulders, releasing your hands so he can move one to your throat, pressing you into the bed that way instead. It’s hard for you to breathe that way, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. And if you thought he was fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s fucking you now.

The new angle allows him to trust deeper into you and your stubborn resolve begins to fade a little. Your hands scramble to latch onto his forearm that holds you down, not trying to push him away but just searching for purchase, for support somewhere you’ve always found it. He’s not faring much better, head rolling back onto his shoulders with a groan as he fucks you. You’re both quickly abandoning your anger in favor of the pleasure that you provide each other.

“Merriell,” you mewl, a peace offering without even realizing it.

His head snaps back to look down at you, eyes sparkling at the sound of your name on his lips for the first time tonight, “There she is,” he pants, leaning down to kiss you, open-mouthed and filthy. It’s still harsh, but the anger behind his motions is nearly gone, “My good girl, huh?”

You don’t even need to nod, to voice your confirmation. It’s not even really a question. You both know you’d come to an unspoken agreement.

“Fuck, baby girl.” he moans against your mouth, slowing his trusts just enough so he can really make you feel the drag of his cock inside you, “Oh, you feel so good.”

You love it when he gets like this. When all he can do is fuck into you and voice his pleasure. It’s a sure sign of surrender.

“Yes,” you gasp, back arching up against his as you feel your pleasure begin to reach its peak, “Merriell, I’m close.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding in agreement, “C’mon, baby I gotcha. Let go for me.”

Your eyes lock with his the second you feel yourself slip over the edge. You see the way his eyes watch you, full of love that he had hidden behind his anger earlier. Your nails dig into his arm and your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself as pleasure courses through your whole body. You think that maybe you're shaking, but you’re completely detached from your conscious, knowing only the bliss he’s brought you.

Your senses come back to you just in time to feel him finish inside of you. His head buries into your neck, muffling his moans against your skin. The hand that had previously held you down now cups the back of your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh with a grip so tight, you’re sure you’ll wear his fingerprints for a week.

He collapses against you, staying buried in your heat but pulling back enough so he can kiss you passionately. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his hair as your emotions begin to rise. When he pulls back your eyes are wet with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing your noses together.

He nods, rubbing your noses together affectionately, “Me too,” he says, just as quiet, “Don’t leave.”

It’s a rare moment of sheer vulnerability, much needed after the heightened tensions throughout the past few days. You both knew, on some levels that the words shared earlier were spoken only out of frustration. But there was always that glimmer of doubt that you both felt. For him, it was always that you could find someone better. And for you, it was always the possibility of him growing sick of you.

You shake your head, kissing his softly, lovingly, “Never.”

After a few more moments of holding each other, he pulls out of you but doesn't move much further. He pulls you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your forehead. You bask in the silence for a handful of moments, just listening to each other breathe, finally feeling the tension between the two of you dissipate.

“Next time, can you just please put the seat down?” You murmur against his chest, a teasing tone to your voice.

He barks out a laugh and you grin against his skin at the sound.

Everything was going to be okay.

#merriell shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton / reader #snafu #snafu shelton #snafu x reader #rami malek #rami malek smut #rami malek x reader #smut #angst

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razrbladekiss · 3 years ago

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TYRANTS | Chapter Thirteen - 13 Beaches

WORD COUNT: too much 7.3k

WARNINGS: Jax ‘n Isla angst, general angsty shit, low-key trauma dumping but not really, some nasty smut (one lucky guy gets his dick sucked, won’t say who tho), usual SOA shit.

A/N: Sorry for falling off for a literal fucking month?? Don’t know what happened there. Anyway! To the handful of you that read and enjoy Tyrants, I hope this chapter makes up for my random absence. Xx

MASTERLIST

The hook of dusk had failed to tempt Isla, now. She had no desire to immerse herself into the blackness, nor did she wish to bask in the vibrancy of nighttime that she usually adored.

She was too cold to admire the beauty, too wound-up to focus on the stars and stratus clouds dusting across the sky above Charming as the town settled down for the evening.

Too agitated to think straight.

She had been left alone, today.

Isla had been abandoned in a heartbeat, stranded at the very epicenter of her least favorite place in town before the day had really begun. And she was pissed.

It was an irritation that could have countered rage, actually. Nothing short of pure anger because she was perpetually riding that bitter, bitter high after chastising Clay and challenging Tig because she just wanted answers.

And attaining answers—using her spellbinding charm and cogency that she had inherited from both Chibs and Diane—was what she was good at, usually.

Isla could wrap just about anybody around her little finger, scrutinize them in the kindest, most wholesome way possible, and then gut them—so very sweetly—for the information in which she had sought to collect from the very start.

Gemma had always admired the way that she had the ability to remain so poised whilst, essentially, manipulating those around her, and Jax was just glad that Isla wasn’t stupid enough to get too smug.

Because there was always that worry. With such information—power—came an almost overriding air of complacency that many often felt themselves wilt beneath. Fall victim to, perhaps.

She was not one of the few. Isla was wise enough to take notice, but even wiser not to recite whatever she had learned.

Though, with this issue, she was completely out of the loop.

Left deserted in the dark, just wondering why everybody seemed to rally around—with hidden agendas—while simultaneously declaring that they had no idea about the intricacies of the incident.

She trusted that she would become somewhat privy soon, however.

“Can I sit?” Jax asked, pointing to the empty space on the bench before her. He lifted a brow, pacing over. “Or are ‘ya gonna spend the next ten minutes chewin’ me out ‘cus you’re in a bitchy mood?”

She shrugged, mindlessly tapping ash into a beer bottle that had been left atop one of the picnic tables.

“Where’d you get to, today?”

“I took a walk.” Isla mumbled, watching embers and flecks of black fall from her cigarette. “After Unser came in and Clay sent you all on your way, I took a walk and went—“

“To get some coffee.” He finished her sentence, taking a seat opposite her. “Y’know, you’re gonna turn into a latte if you keep drinking ‘em?”

“Would you rather me drink four mugs of coffee every single day, or shoot heroin?”

His glare was piercing. Cold.

That wasn’t a flying comment that she should’ve made, and Isla recognized it the second she received yet another piqued scowl.

But she wasn’t bothered by how she was being received today. And so she strived to appear as level as possible.

“What’s your fucking problem, Isla?”

“I don’t have a fucking problem.” She upheld, stuffing the butt of her cigarette into the glass. “What makes you say that?”

He scoffed a laugh, watching her eyebrows scrunch into each other as she folded over her arms. “You’re being a bitch.”

“I’m being brushed aside.” Isla corrected. “I care about Gemma, Luann, and this club just as much as what any of you do, and I don’t know shit—“

“You know just as much as us!”

“Oh, the hell I do!” Her palms smacked against the hardwood as she stood.

Isla’s elbows shook, going almost completely limp trying to hold her weight so suddenly.

“Unser strolled in and Clay kicked me out! You all left the hospital and nobody told me what was going on! I was stranded—“

“You were not stranded.” Jax remained calm, also getting to his feet. Hoping to pace over and soothe her, perhaps.

But she was boiling over. Dripping molten lava. And Jackson Teller would’ve been a fucking idiot to even try to get a hold of her.

She was just like Gemma in that respect. Fiery.

“I was on my own.” She defended. “Tig left with Ope—Tig was my fucking ride, Jax. And then dad went with Bobby, Juice, and Sack as soon as you left. Which meant that I was stranded—“

“Tara was there.”

Isla sneered. “Tara was with your mother.”

“She could’ve taken you back when they were finished—“

“Jax, this isn’t just about me not getting a ride home from the hospital.” More subdued, she let out. “This is about me being left in the dark whenever something happens to this club.”

“But you’re not a member.”

His riposte came too hastily, for her liking. It seemed as though it’d been perpetually dancing along the tip of his tongue, desperate to leap off and hit her square in the face at any given moment.

And it did. It stung a little bit, too.

“I know that I’m not a member, and I don’t care about that. It’s just…” Isla sighed, winding her arms around her torso.

Jax’s features stiffened, somehow recognizing what she was about to proclaim. “It’s just what?”

“Difficult.”

“How?”

“Y’know. Everyone ‘round here—whether it be crows or old ladies—has somebody that tells them about the club ‘n what goes on when something like this happens.”

Opening up to her best friend had never felt this arduous before. Isla was always able to speak freely and happily with Jax about anything.

But they seldom discussed the issues that mattered, now.

“Gemma has Clay, she has you. You both tell her everything. Same with Tara. Hell, even the same with Unser most times.”

Jax scoffed, pulling a carton of reds from the pocket of his kutte.

“I’m family too, Jackson. I’ve known you since I was six years old, and I feel like the older I’m getting the more I’m becoming ostracized from everyone around me.”

“You’re not being ostracized.”

“I’m not being included in anything, that’s for sure. You, Juice, and my old man always used to tell me what went on but it’s like I don’t matter anymore—“

“Bullshit!” He spat, feeling an overriding rage rise from the fissures of his chest. “You matter more than most people around here, and you know that. You know that if it came down to it, nobody would hesitate with taking a fucking bullet for you, Isla.”

That much was true, but it certainly didn’t feel that way anymore.

“And I’m sure that it feels shitty sometimes not being told every last damn detail. And I can empathize with that. But, trust me when I say, we do this to protect you—“

“But you tell Tara everything!” Isla squeaked, heeding just how jealous she appeared to be.

Envy wasn’t an emotion that she felt all too often. It wasn’t fervid enough to dominate her thoughts, nor was it really able to even prickle atop the surface.

But, with this, she was unable to deny the covetousness in which she had started to possess.

She didn’t like this side of herself.

“We don’t talk anymore, Jax. Not since Tara came back—“

“And you’re blaming her for being left out?” Agitated, he asked.

Partially, she decided that his qualm held an uncomfortable throb of truth. The tiniest morsel of tangibility because she was, essentially, blaming Tara Knowles for getting hurled aside.

But it wasn’t wholly what she had tried to elucidate. And, really, that was what had hurt her so badly.

Jax had assumed that Isla was gradually morphing into his mother—looking for another party to blame for her unbending misery, her anger and compunction, when she was partly at fault for her own feelings.

“What is it with you men and putting fucking words in my mouth?! You and Tig are the same—“

“We are not the fucking same!” Jax barked. Defensive.

She snarled.

“I’m serious, Isla. Don’t fuckin’ say that to me again.”

“What’s so bad about him?”

“Isla.” He warned, clenching his jaw. “Don’t.”

“Jesus, Jax. What the hell is wrong with what I just said—“

“Leave it!”

At the look of sheer malice plastered on his face, Isla took a step back as he teetered toward a miniature outburst, pointing viciously in her face. She swallowed thickly, fighting back the urge to cry.

Seeing Jax that way—because of her—was bone-chilling, almost. He had the propensity to be terrifying when he set his mind to it.

“I’m not blaming Tara.” She conceded, hoping to flip the topic of conversation from Tig.

Because she had obviously struck several nerves, hadn’t she?

“I’m not blaming anybody, Jax. I’m just saying that we haven’t really talked, and I don’t know what’s going on with you—with the club—anymore. That’s all.”

Still riding the crashing wave—still seething—Jax’s chest simply heaved as Isla had managed to cool herself off. Somehow.

She didn’t know how carefully she should have tread around him, after that. Whether addressing the elephant in the room was the most appropriate conversation starter, or letting his rage dwindle before broaching the topic.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, either.” He added, plummeting down from that improbable high. “Tig said that you’ve been highly-strung all day. Exploded on him and Chibs.”

Isla’s breathing steadied, now. Once he had mentioned the sergeant at arms without a visible flicker of revulsion, she was put at ease.

And, then, she felt awful. Knowing that Tig cared enough—felt enough—about the way she had spoken to him, to even think about uttering his thoughts to Jax, made her feel shitty.

“Nothing’s going on with me, not really.” Isla lied, turning her head when the clubhouse door creaked open and Sack strolled out. “It’s just been a shitty day, and tensions were high at the hospital. That’s all.”

Unconvinced, Jax hummed.

“What happened earlier?”

“Mayans.” He told her, sighing out. “They hijacked the meet with the Niners, started shooting at us, and Bobby got hit in the shoulder.”

Isla cringed, gritting her teeth as she hissed.

“The bullet went straight through, though. He’s lucky.”

“Jesus Christ.” She muttered underneath her breath, glad that she hadn’t been inside of the clubhouse when Tara had been tasked with patching him up.

And though the doctor being back on the scene meant that she didn’t really have much of a purpose around the club, she was remarkably thankful that she was no longer lumbered with such taxing tasks.

It felt nice to take a backseat, but she worried that her family would refrain from enlisting her, from now on.

As they had already started to do, actually.

“I’m gonna head in.” She cleared her throat, stepping away from the table. “See Gemma ‘n apologize to, like, three of the guys for being an asshole today.”

Jax nodded with a small, sly smirk. “You might wanna start with Tig.”

Isla quirked a brow.

“Y’know, considering he’s your ride.” He stated nonchalantly. Her cheeks flushed crimson.

His words held more truth than he would ever know.

“And he’s miserable as fuck in there.”

“He is?”

“He is.” Jax gestured to the door with one hand as it was pulled open again. A crow stepped out, aiming to rid the picnic tables of bottles and bowls. “So is Chibs. So is Clay.”

“So, like, everyone I’ve been with today?”

She snorted a laugh when he nodded and urged her to head inside.

Mainly to save himself the stress of another turbulent conversation with her, but he couldn’t bear to watch the sadness sail over her face any longer.

She was too vibrant, too beautiful and buoyant to be so perennially miserable around the people that she adored the most.

Though, with the scene that she would be greeted with after strolling into the bar, her inner affliction would hardly cease to be.

“Fucking hell.” Isla whispered to herself, loathing the uncharacteristic melancholy that had seemingly absorbed the space tonight.

It was uncomfortable. It was dark and dreary, and she wanted nothing more than to turn around and start her walk home.

But Tig had seized her wrist as she stood completely still a few paces from the doorway, unable to move for fear of disturbing whatever silence had enveloped the Clubhouse.

“Where’ve you been?” Almost concerned, he asked.

“Outside.” Isla mumbled, feeling her eyes well up the longer he held onto her. “I was, uh, outside with Jax. But before that I took a walk.”

He didn’t say anything, then. Tig didn’t know what to say—much like this morning—and so he simply wound an arm around her, and set a sweet kiss against the soft skin of her temple.

Tremulous and emotional, Isla nestled into his hold as he shifted to accommodate the position that she wished to take up.

Both arms snaked around his midsection, her cheek fell flush to his sternum—almost forgetting where she was.

“I’m so sorry for today.”

“Don’t be, it’s fine.” He crooned, tracing his fingers over the pink cotton of her cardigan. He smiled a little bit, taking extra care so that his rings didn’t get caught in the fine knit.

Isla held tightly onto him, taking in both his warmth and licentious scent—that was merely some cheap cologne.

But it was his. And it made her heart race.

“Just glad you’re alright.”

“I’m alright.” Her promise was dulcet, subdued as she looked up at him with a faded blush still stippling over the apples of her cheeks. “Are you?”

He nodded, taking a few more moments to visually validate his retort. Isla wilted beneath his gaze, slowly pulling herself away but allowing him to scrutinize her sun-kissed features.

And she did the same, then.

She watched his beautifully weathered complexion gently contort as he focused on a different point of her face, basking in the thrill of being appreciated by another person.

Admiration—from a man that wasn’t her father or Jax—had been a thing of the past for her. A foreign concept that she hadn’t been bestowed with for many a year, but something she most certainly lauded.

She was relishing in it, actually. Completely shamelessly reveling in the attention that she had amassed because Isla couldn’t remember the last time she had been looked at in such a way.

Of course, she had been lusted over. She had received more lecherous glances and comments than what she’d care to acknowledge, but genuine attention was hard to come by.

But now—with Tig—Isla felt different.

The boundless void had been filled. It had been packed tightly with the purest, most thrilling of thoughts and feelings, and she was delighted.

It might’ve been a casual fling—a risky rendezvous between Chibs’s daughter and a man who could never be tamed—but it was fun.

It was new, it was exciting, and Isla didn’t see the harm in enjoying herself with Tig.

But it felt wrong to say that she had been on top of the world over the last couple of weeks. Especially when so much misery, so much heartache and misfortune had ensued for those around her.

Isla wished that she could’ve inflicted her family’s suffering onto those that deserved to hurt—to be punished—in such a way.

Starting with Gemma and her visible, tangible agony.

The agony that was certainly depleting her from inside out, breaking through muscle and bone until the hurt was evident, strewn over her painfully pensive features.

To see the matriarchal figure—a woman whose reputation laid within the realms of incessant resilience—be so downtrodden, so very broken, was heart-rendering to say the very least.

Isla struggled to steal a glance.

It was gut-wrenching enough to so much as look in her fucking direction, now. As Isla and Tig carefully made their way from the front door, passing Tara applying the finishing touches to Bobby’s bandaged shoulder, she didn’t know where to focus her attention.

Because Gemma’s face—beaten and bruised—had already been etched into her memory and her heart ached at the sight.

And it wasn’t even her own pain. It wasn’t her own issue—she wasn’t privy to what had happened, nor did she particularly have the right to be torn-up over it—and that was possibly what maimed Isla the most.

Knowing that she wasn’t able to do anything to heal the ache. Because she didn’t know how to, really.

“You still need a ride home tonight?” Tig’s qualm hardly raised above a whisper, striving to be more of a soothing aid as opposed to a licentious assertion.

“Please.” She confirmed, watching Gemma duck out from the bar.

Isla knew exactly where it was that she was headed.

The place that granted a sense of solitude to whoever sought it out. The spot—above the clubhouse, above their beautifully wistful town—that both Isla and Jax had lauded for the longest time.

And she knew, she understood, just why Gemma had decided to retreat to the roof during a time of such bitter uncertainty.

She needed the peace. She craved the calm and moment of tranquility before Clay and Jax went into this—whatever it might’ve actually been—all guns blazing.

Isla’s heart thumped within the fissures of her chest, beating caustically against the polished metal of her favorite crucifix as she raised her head and looked to Tig.

“Can we leave?” She asked, not wanting to get entangled with any more trouble tonight. “You don’t have to yet, but…”

And she didn’t have to elucidate her thoughts, her very valid reasoning for wishing to flee the most miserable bar on earth, for him to understand that this was no place for her today.

“Even if we don’t head back to my place straight away.” Isla added, second-guessing her proposal with every passing second of silence.

But he quirked a brow, then. Tig produced a small smile too.

“What are you saying?”

Isla shrugged. “It’s a nice night. It’d be a shame to waste it, is what I mean.”

“So, what?” Tig asked, winding an arm around her. “You wanna go for a ride?”

She blushed when his tone turned more sultry, than anything. Probably unintentionally, with every syllable Tig spoke, an almost wicked rhythm bled through his words and right into Isla’s fucking veins. Killing off any ounce of composure she might’ve been clinging to.

“Something like that, yeah.” She added, watching Chibs and Juice take their respective seats on one of the couches from her peripheral vision.

As bad as she felt for snapping, she was somewhat glad that nobody had jumped down her throat and coerced her into a half-assed apology that, really, she wasn’t sure she’d ever mean.

Well, aside from Jax. Who had, now, vanished.

Isla simply assumed that he’d followed his mother out. She smiled at the thought. It was sweet.

“Where d’ya wanna go?” Tig asked, grounding her immediately. “To get a coffee, or something?”

A kind gesture, she thought. But it was almost ten, now. She wanted to unwind, to release some pent-up tension, not ricochet off of the fucking walls of her bedroom.

“I was thinking about something a little cooler.” Cryptically, she retorted.

Tig’s eyebrows knitted together, though he had already pointed toward the passage back to the lot. Hoping to give instruction without being heard, or even seen, by anyone around them.

“Ice cream?” Confused, he asked as he padded alongside her. He grabbed the door before she had the chance to seize the handle and pull it too viciously, too fast, and hit herself with it.

She mumbled her gratitude, striving to stifle the blush that’d started to blister over her cheeks at his mindless act of chivalry.

“You want ice cream, is that what you’re hinting at?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to ice cream. But I meant, like, maybe we should go to the beach—“

“You wanna take a walk along the beach?” It was teasing now, as opposed to seductive. More deriding than anything.

Isla’s lips contorted into a frown when he fished around his kutte pocket for his bike keys, and started to walk ahead a little bit.

“What’s wrong with that?” Defensively, she asked. “I haven’t been to the beach in so long, and I think we both need to get some fresh air. Sea breeze, whatever.”

She had the propensity to get twitchy. To display that flicker of fierceness that Gemma had trained her to host. And Tig was obsessed with it. Obsessed with the way that she was so easily able to flip that internal switch and thrust herself into another demeanour entirely.

He produced a jeering smirk, letting her know that he didn’t have an issue.

“You’re an asshole.” Isla laughed softly, shoving at his shoulder. “I really thought that you were gonna tell me that the beach was a shitty idea.”

“Never a shitty idea.” He promised, rounding his bike and grabbing a helmet for her. “Beach sex is never a shitty idea.”

She snorted, taking it from him. “I don’t remember saying that you were gonna get laid tonight.”

“I think you did last night.”

“And that was almost twenty-four hours ago.” Smartly, she stated. Isla fastened the strap beneath her chin and smiled. “I might’ve changed my mind, now—“

“No way.” Tig’s face fell. “You can’t do that.”

“I could.” She added, waiting for him to take his position on the bike. “I won’t, but I absolutely could.”

“And I could leave your ass here.”

“But you won’t.” Isla affixed both hands to the peaks of his shoulders when he straddled his bike, and she did the same.

“No, I won’t.” Tig growled, revving the engine of his Harley a couple of times.

The rumble, the eroitic, completely harmonious din of that damn engine sent an almost stifling heat straight to her core. She sighed, longing to feel his touch, longing to feel his deft fingertips glide over the supple skin of her thighs and straight into her warmth.

Being fastened to the back of his bike—legs spread over the taught leather—was just as orgasmic, she thought. An oddly satisfying, oddly lewd zeal ripped through her like wildfire as the wind had started to whip through her hair.

She would’ve said that the breeze taking to those long, loose curls was almost able to contest the sheer rush of Tig’s ringed fingers winding around each strand as he pulled from the root and pounded into her.

Isla swallowed dryly, being too entangled with her prurient daydream—or just dream, now—to realize that her mouth had been tilted open the entire time.

She smacked her lips together a few times consecutively, hoping to restore some morsel of moisture before they dismounted the motorcycle and Tig dove straight in for a kiss. Like he always did.

Despite residing in California—a state with which beaches came by the dozen—neither ever seemed to go out of their way to take a trip, a short stroll, toward the ocean. Not even the boardwalks that spanned, what seemed to be, miles.

Isla adored the breeze, the shells and plethora of aesthetically appeasing rocks that lined the golden sands, and the sheer smell of the salty air. She had always been the same, always had a certain affinity to the waves and sea life, but she feared that this might’ve been a bad idea.

Because beaches—walks along the beach—had traditionally morphed into a place in which romance blossomed, a route that lovers took to hand-in-hand for some alone time.

And, really, she wasn’t opposed to the idea of walking alongside Tig Trager while he held onto her, making the most of the luminous evening. But she didn’t know if he was particularly into it.

The romance thing, specifically.

Though, he was a soft-touch beneath the harsh exterior and Sergeant at Arms patch.

“You gonna be warm enough with just that cardigan out here?” He asked over his shoulder, letting the engine die out completely before urging her to dismount. “You don’t wanna go back ‘n get a jacket?”

“I’m fine.” Isla promised with a smile, pulling her left leg over to hop off onto the right side of the gravel. “Wish I went to get my bathing suit, though. Tonight is perfect for a swim, I think.”

Tig hummed indifferently, not understanding why she would want to take a dip in such cold fucking conditions. Not even he was that insane.

“Could always go skinny dipping.” He mused, reaching for the tiny loops on the back of her jeans as she tried to wander away. Tig pulled her backward until her ass collided with his belt buckle, feeling the metal press its way into his stomach.

“And come away with a public indecency charge?” Isla asked, unimpressed. “That might be your thing, Tiggy, but it sure as shit ain’t mine.”

“Nah.” He snaked his arm around her waist, wordlessly encouraging her to rest her head against the brawny muscle of his left bicep. “You just haven’t been with the right person. Stripping down to your bare bones is a damn hoot.”

“A hoot?” She chuckled. “You sound like—“

“Don’t say Gemma.”

“I was gonna say an old man.” He cringed when she said that, silently wishing that Isla had mentioned Clay’s old lady instead.

“Gee, thanks babe.”

“You’re welcome.” She stated through a soft laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re a hot old guy, though. Like, you fuck like you’re thirty—“

“You’re just diggin’ your own grave, Isla.”

The pair laughed, then. She realized that Tig was simply pulling her leg.

Truthfully, he didn’t really care. Not when he learned pretty early on that Isla meant absolutely no harm by anything that she might’ve said to somebody. And, when she did have intent to hurt some feelings, she expressed her resentment in different ways.

“Speaking of digging graves, I talked to Clay.”

She grimaced, waiting for the verbal beat-down. She knew that this evening was too good to be true.

“What’d he say?” Isla asked, watching her feet as they made their way across the boardwalk instead of making any form of eye-contact. “That he’s mad at me? That I need to keep my nose outta club business ‘cus I’m not even a member?”

Tig blinked at her. Despite refusing to look upward, she could practically sense the confusion painting his face.

“Sorry, I just assumed that he would’ve felt that way because Jax certainly fuckin’ did.”

“Jax said that?” Galled that the Vice President would even entertain saying such a thing to a woman like Isla—somebody that simply wanted the best for those around her—he asked.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter ‘cus we talked it out. He’s just in a shitty mood today. Understandably.”

He grunted.

“Enough about him.” Finally, she raised her gaze. She satisfied his line of sight, glowing crimson when she realized that he had been watching her this entire time. “What’d Clay have to say?”

Tig rubbed his lips together.

“Was it bad?” Isla quizzed, diverting her focus back to the ground as they stepped off the wooden slats and onto the sand.

“Oh, no. It wasn’t bad. It was just about you. Y’know, your job and whatnot—“

“My job?” Morbidly alarmed, she raised. “You told him that I quit my job?”

“Well, I didn’t tell him.”

Isla stilled in the sand, feeling her heart sink.

“Chibs said—“

“Fuck what my father has to say.” She blurted. “Does Gem know?”

Tig’s head shook. “Only Clay. And maybe Jax.”

She wasn’t able to pinpoint just why her family finding out about her most recent endeavor was so humiliating. Maybe it was the thought of them thinking less of her for what she did, or maybe she feared that she would suddenly become weak in their eyes.

Feeble, perhaps.

“Look, Isla. This ain’t a big deal.” He promised softly, hoping to release all tension from her svelte frame. “Clay just said that if you need it, there’s a place for you at TM.”

“I know. Gem always said that. But…”

“But you don’t wanna answer to her more than what you already do. I know. But it’s a job, baby. It's a job at a place that you know like the back of your damn hand, you know everyone so you don’t gotta learn nothin’, and you’ll be closer to your dad, to Jax—“

“To you.” She finished his list the same way that he had planned to, earning a shit-eating grin. “We’d probably have more time together.”

He hummed, resting his head atop hers as they walked toward a cluster of stones and rock pools.

“And, like I said, you don’t need to figure anything out ‘cus you’ve been hanging ‘round the place for, like, twenty years.”

“And I’m just really smart and intuitive anyway.”

Tig snorted a laugh.

“It’s true.” Isla upheld, pulling away so that she could take a seat on one of the rocks.

She fastened her palms to the flat-top stone, and used every ounce of upper body strength that she could muster to hoist herself upwards.

“I’m a nice person, I’m pretty strong, and I could give you guys haircuts ‘n shit whenever you need them.”

“This is true.” Tig agreed with a small nod, joining her. “But if you think for a second that I’m gonna sit back and watch you put your hands in some other guy’s hair, then you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous of a completely hypothetical situation.” She taunted, swinging her legs off the side of the rock.

They weren’t high up at all. Tig’s feet touched the ground, but she was shorter than him. He didn’t realise just how much shorter she was, until that point.

“Not jealous. Just wary.”

“Of me shaving Juice’s head every once in a while?”

At that, he started to chuckle. Heartily.

“It’s what I’m good at, honey. I like cutting hair and trimming old men’s beards.” Isla ran her thumb along his chin, ghosting underneath his bottom lip.

“Are you saying you want the facial hair gone?”

“Absolutely not.” Offended, she put down. “I would never say such a thing. I love it.”

Tig curled a hand around her wrist—still perpetually hovering over his face—and smiled. She withered against him, lauding that he was so gentle, so tender and soft when he put his skin close to hers.

Even if it was just their hands.

“I think you’re the only girl that has ever said that to me.”

“Girl?”

“Woman.” He corrected himself, pulling her closer. She draped her legs over his, then. “You’re the only woman that has ever told me she loves the facial hair.”

“I find that ridiculously hard to believe. It’s so sexy.”

His shoulders shrugged as he just smiled.

Isla’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Which bitch said that she didn’t like it? D’ya think I could take her?”

“Jesus, babe.” Tig snorted a laugh, unable to control himself.

The mere thought of Isla fighting another woman was insane to him. She wasn’t a fighter, by any means. He wasn’t even sure that she’d ever hit somebody, before.

“It was, uh, an ex.”

She sensed by his tone of voice that it might’ve been a touchy subject, then. Something she shouldn’t have roused, but she was interested in whatever he was willing to say.

“Colleen?”

“Nah. Fiona.” He sounded completely defeated. Forlorn.

But the name made Isla recoil. It made her feel uncomfortable. Like the sheer memory of that woman—despite being a completely different being to who Tig was referring to—had managed to churn her fucking insides.

“It was before I got patched. She was my old lady, y’know? So I cared about what she had to say.” He chuckled, holding onto her that bit firmer, now. “She hated the hair, so I shaved it.”

“Why’d she hate it?”

“Didn’t like the way it felt, or something. But I loved her, so I listened.”

“But if she loved you, then she’d have let you keep it.” Isla mused sadly.

“Yeah, well.” Mindlessly he muttered. “Didn’t have to worry ‘bout her for long, anyway.”

He started to stiffen. Went completely rigid beneath the denim legs draped over his thighs, and Isla’s heart had started to pulsate wildly.

Tig was an open book, for the most part. But there were pages and excerpts of his past that he was reluctant to share. Reluctant to even ponder about, sometimes.

But, with Isla, this—like everything—just felt different.

“She died.”

“Tig…”

“It was my fault.” He continued, disregarding the way that Isla wanted to soothe him.

The way that she needed to soothe him. To tell him that he didn’t have to continue, to tell her anything that he didn’t feel comfortable with.

“We were ridin’ along the I-5 one night. Goin’ too fast—what’s new?” He chuckled humorlessly, tracing circles over her spine. “But, uh, but then I lost control of that damn FXR and crashed it. Next thing I knew, Fiona was laying on the other side of the road. Blood everywhere.”

“Jesus Christ, Tig. I’m so sorry.” She brushed her fingers over the back of his neck when he turned his head to look at her, noticing the sadness filter through his traditionally unbothered expression.

“It’s alright. This shit happens.”

“But that’s so…That’s traumatic.” Isla reasoned with him. “Nobody should have to see that.”

“You’re right, but I was askin’ for it. Getting on that bike after a couple beers, jaded, going 95 in a 70. That was on me.”

She stayed silent. Because he was right, it was on him.

It was just hard to digest.

“Fi was pregnant, too.”

Her heart sank.

“Oh my God.” Isla gasped. She felt tears brewing almost instantly. “Did you know before she died?”

“God, no. If I knew that, I’d never have let her get on the damn thing.” He reassured, hating how he had the propensity to ruin every moment.

But he didn’t. Isla didn’t think that he ruined anything.

“It was just bittersweet. ‘Cus pretty soon after, I was patched in. ‘N she would’ve been so happy to see that.”

With saturated hues, she blinked at him. Forcing a smile when he didn’t seem to host any morsel of sadness.

“But this was some thirty years ago, Isla. This was before you were even a fuckin’ thought.”

“Gee, thanks babe.” She repeated his earlier retort with a chuckle, letting him run his thumb beneath her eyes. “Sometimes I forget that you had a whole other life before I knew you.”

“Wife, kids, dogs. All that shit.”

“And look at you now. Screwin’ your buddy’s daughter.”

If her laugh hadn’t been so infectious—so beautifully fucking infectious—Tig might’ve taken offense to what she had said.

“I’m not actually screwin’ her, ‘cus she’s refusing to put out for me. So…”

“I am doing so such fucking thing!” Isla squeaked. “I just don’t wanna have sex on this beach. What if someone sees us?”

Tig shrugged. But, he gestured to the borderline morbidly sparse coastline. Not a single soul littered the sand, nor did animals. And the only sounds that echoed through the caverns, just so happened to be the crashing of waves against the shore.

It was quite peaceful, actually.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispered, kissing licentiously across her neck. “Nobody’ll see us, doll.”

She moaned.

She moaned and wriggled beneath his grip, before she had the most hypersexual idea that she might’ve conjured up.

Ever.

“Get off.” Isla pushed at his chest, pulling her legs from his lap.

“What? Why?” He complied, suddenly feeling cold without her blanketing his frame. “Did I do something wrong?”

Her head shook as she slid off the rock and let her feet hit the sand with a soft thud.

“Unbuckle your belt.” She commanded, shrugging her cardigan off to reveal two freckled shoulders. “Please—“

“Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice.”

Isla giggled to herself as she heard the metal snap against the rock, inciting a swarm of butterflies to attack her insides.

She put the cardigan on the ground, kneeling atop the pink cotton. She hummed, watching him—through long, thick lashes—fumble with the zip of his jeans.

“And here’s me thinking that you had self respect.”

“Not a single shred.” Seductively, she retorted.

Tig leaned over to seize the back of her neck, planting a kiss against Isla’s forehead as her hands dove straight into his pants.

“Christ.” He grunted, taking her hair into his fist while she started to curl her dainty fingers around his cock. “This your plan all along?”

“Yup.”

He snickered. “Sneaky little gash, ain’t ‘ya?”

Isla blushed, though she refused to let his comment throw her off. She was determined to make Tig fall apart that same way he had her. Time after fucking time.

“Not sneaky. Just smart.”

“And sexy.”

“Oh, yeah. Very sexy.” She agreed, leaning over—eyes still locked on his��to press a kiss against his happy trail.

He almost came then and there, at her demure touch.

“And good with my mouth.” Isla added just to see him squirm. “Actually, I’ve been told that I’m really good with my mouth. Like, I’m amazing at giving head.”

“Yeah?” Her tongue ran over her lips, a hazy smile tugging at the corners. “You gonna prove that one?”

“Maybe.” She pushed her thumb over his slit, slowly pulling his prick away from the confines of his underwear.

Her eyes lit up.

“You Catholic girls are dirty as fuck.”

“Remember what I told you. Gotta give the big man a worthwhile show.”

Tig groaned, feeling his pulse quicken the closer that her lips got to his cock.

And, before he was able to form another somewhat coherent thought, Isla was pumping her hand along his shaft with wide, lustful eyes.

“The more I think about it, the more I don’t hate the idea of someone seeing this.” She mentioned casually, spitting on the head. “It’s pretty hot, seeing a guy get his soul sucked right out of his cock.”

He couldn’t believe how fucking vulgar she was. She was so sweet, so honorable by nature. But equally as ravenous. Her desire for debauchery, for sex was blinding.

Tig was addicted to it.

“It’s so big. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take the whole thing without gagging.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.” He kneaded his fingers into the crown of her head, sucking in a deep breath.

Because Isla had started to swirl her tongue around him, now. She was taking her time with licking away the droplets of precum, working him between her fingers with her eyes screwed shut and ass almost completely in the air.

His breathing was labored, stuttering the more she rolled her tongue or flicked her eyes upward to see if he was enjoying himself.

And he was. A lot.

“Fuck, Isla.” He dragged his curse out, tugging at her hair the further her lips traveled toward the base of his cock.

She moaned.

The harder he tugged, pulled, yanked, the more she felt herself whimper. And he felt it, too. It reverberated through his entire fucking body and it urged him to raise his hips.

Isla gagged, she choked around him and Tig couldn’t help the guttural moan that had slipped into the cool air.

“You’re gonna make me cum fast if you keep making those pretty little noises.”

She made another choking sound, feeling his cock twitch inside of her mouth. Isla smiled, too, lauding the thrill of watching him try to hold himself together.

He had an almost shocking lack of self-discipline, self-restraint, for a man whose position in his club saw him standing beside the president.

But, in this instance, Isla didn’t seem to mind that. She liked it, actually.

Seeing him throw his head backward—a hand twined into her curls while he mindlessly bucked his hips upward a few times—was a sight so insanely erotic, Isla, herself, struggled to refrain from orgasming.

But then, she decided that pleasuring herself wasn’t too bad an idea, actually.

“Babe—fuck—I don’t know if I’m gonna last long if you start feelin’ yourself up.”

With her lips wrapped around his cock, cheeks hollowed out, Isla looked upward to discern the sheer worry sailing over his face.

But she took immense pleasure in that, immediately taking her left hand and dipping it into her jeans. Pushing her panties aside, Isla began to paw at her clit at the same pace that she was sucking him.

“This is the hottest thing I have ever fucking seen.”

She had a mixture of spit and cum trailing from her lips, down her chin, onto her chest, and she just smiled at him.

It was hazy, completely spent, but it was so fucking divine.

And the scene around her, too, was just as incredible. Tig didn’t think that he’d be getting blown on the beach, tonight. Though, he wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

“I’m real close, are you?”

Her head dove down, eyes screwed shut, and he, completely selfishly, started to thrust his hips upward. Hard.

She gagged when the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat, two watery hues instantly exposed to him as she gasped and fucking choked.

Her breathing was strangled, though she didn’t care to quit what she was doing. It was pleasing her, afterall.

But she took her hand from her stifling heat, and let it resume its position around the base of his cock.

Because seeing him fall apart—feeling his release hit like a ton of bricks—was enough. And she didn’t need that helping hand to finish, now.

With mascara streaming from her waterline, right the way down her cheeks, Isla’s head bobbed viciously in order to get Tig to reach the end.

But she feared that she would’ve fucking died if she didn’t take a breath soon, and so she released him from her mouth with a pop.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was gonna pass out.” She chuckled, though her hand was still fastened to him, stroking his cock. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing.” Tig murmured, feeling himself twitch beneath her skin. “So fuckin’ good—you were right. You’re amazing at giving head.”

With a sense of pride, she beamed. Though, with Tig’s cum hot and wet against her chin, she wasn’t sure that she looked as great as she felt.

“You play your cards right, and I’ll do this more often.” Isla told him, waiting for him to soften in her palm. “I’ll get on my hands and knees in front of you, completely naked, and I’ll give you a blowjob whenever you want me to, babe.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Each syllable was punctuated with an almost brutal pump of her hand, urging him to just say fuck it and let himself go.

And it wasn’t long before he did just that, actually.

“I’m gonna—“

Isla silenced him, letting her lips take the place of her hand once more. Just so she could catch every last fucking drop of his seed as it spilled out of him, and onto her tongue.

“Holy shit.” He held onto the back of her head, watching her swallow each ounce without reluctance or hesitation.

“How was it?” She asked, pulling herself up. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, using her other to pull the cardigan from the sand.

Tig was simply awestruck, fixing himself up.

“I’ve never been blown like that before.” He confirmed, once again pulling her closer by the loops attached to her jeans. “And I don’t think anyone will ever be able to blow me like that again.”

“Good.” Isla put her hands on his shoulders. “‘Cus I’m not willing to let you go ‘n find out if another bitch can take you that well.”

“Possessive much?”

“Absolutely.” She grabbed the front placket of his shirt with one hand, the other still attached to the leather. “You’re mine, Trager.”

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