#before i move out in the summer and doing things like that becomes harder to afford

[infernalfae]

got a new lamp today and check out my new charm that came in the other day ^ ^

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[kayakiki]

HOW DO THEY KISS YOU | Red dead redemption x reader

Characters included: Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, John Marston, Hosea Matthews, Javier Escuella, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith (In this order)

Warning(s): none

Genre: fluff

Arthur Morgan

For a guy so intimidating and confident most of the times, he has troubles speaking to women (Honestly, he is better with horses)

Its not his first kiss, but he’ll stare at your lips like it’s a complicated math equation

He's a lil stupid once it comes to women, he's goofy like that sometimes

I feel like he would ask for permission from you first

“So, um… can I…?”

Yes, babe. You can.

When you kiss him (you lost patience) he is so stiff you might think he had forgotten how to move

But after a few moments, he kisses you back

His kisses are soft, slow, and surprisingly sweet

When he kisses, it’s an interesting mix of contrasts. His large hands—often rough from a lifetime of work and wielding weapons—become surprisingly gentle as he cups your face or pulls you closer

Despite his towering figure, he’s careful not to make you feel overwhelmed. His kiss is slow and deliberate, as though he’s savoring the moment, giving you all the time to melt into him.

He might even blush afterward and nervously mumble something like

"Was that okay?"

(Spoiler: It was amazing)

This man loves you with his whole heart, and he treats you with respect

Dutch Van Der Linde

This cocky, dramatic bastard

He treats every kiss like a grand event. There is no such thing as a casual peck with him—no, every kiss must have intensity, flair, and possibly background music playing somewhere.

His ass really is that dramatic

He announces his intentions very dramaticaly

"Come here love, I have been deprived of your lips for too long"

(Like an hour)

When he kisses you, it's with the same confidence that defines him as a leader

He’s not shy about making the first move, and it’s clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing

His lips are bold against yours, demanding your attention, but it’s never forceful—it’s the kind of kiss that makes you feel wanted, adored, and completely swept up in the moment

He might even dip you slightly, fully expecting you to just go with it

He definitely use his hands (This man can't keep his hands of you)

One on your waist, pulling you closer.

The other gently cupping your face like you’re the protagonist of his favorite romance novel

And afterward? He’ll smirk, brush a thumb over your lips, and say something like

"Ah… exquisite, as always."

Or worse—

"Did that leave you breathless, my love? Or shall I try again?"

(It did leave you breathless)

He sometimes throws his coat over your shoulders and say “You mustn’t catch a cold, my darling” right before kissing you?

You’re dating a historical drama character

John Marston

His kisses often start off rough and impulsive

He'll grab your face with a bit too much force, but it’s always followed by a softer touch once you pull away and glare at him

He realizes he’s being a little too aggressive (never to the point to actually hurt you though, he is just little careless)

It’s a little chaotic at first, but it smooths out into something tender once he settles into the moment

Despite his sarcastic, rough exterior, there’s a surprising sweetness to his kisses

Sometimes they’re slow and deep, as if he’s letting his guard down and showing you the side of him he doesn’t often show

In those moments, the sarcasm and playfulness fades away

Between slow, lingering moments, he'll pull back just enough to flash you a smirk or crack a playful comment, making you laugh before diving right back in, kissing you harder this time, as if he’s trying to win you over all over again

He might be a little reckless, but when he kisses you, there’s a kind of control in the way he pulls you close

He might whisper something sarcastic or teasing into your ear right before a kiss, making you roll your eyes at him

He’s not the type to plan out a romantic moment, but he’ll surprise you with a kiss at random times

Like when you're both laughing at something dumb or when he’s just looking at you for a second too long, his smile softening into something genuine as he leans in and kisses you

He is a little bit of an idiot, but in a good way

Hosea Matthews

He’s a patient man, and his kisses reflect that

When he kisses you, it’s never rushed

He takes his time, savoring every moment, as though he knows good things are worth the wait

His lips are soft and deliberate, moving in slow, sensual rhythms that make you feel cherished with every gentle press

As someone who respects women deeply, he treats you with a kindness and reverence that shows in every kiss.

He might cup your face with his hands, brushing his thumb against your cheek before he leans in.

His kiss is tender, respectful, and never forceful, making you feel safe and cared for in his embrace

Sometimes when he kisses you, there’s a subtle sense of humor, a lightheartedness in the way he pulls away with a smile, teasing you about how he “might” kiss you again, but you’ll have to earn it.

It’s not cocky, just a little playful teasing to keep things fun (in his opinion)

He’s the type to kiss you on the forehead in moments of quiet reflection, a soft gesture that speaks volumes about how much he values your presence

It’s never about passion first

it’s always about the emotion behind the kiss

Javier Escuella

Now let's be honest, Javier is a very romantic and passionate man

His kisses are intense—there’s no beating around the bush with him

When he kisses you, it’s like he’s pouring all his emotions into it, full of fire and passion

His hands will pull you close, his lips eager but still careful, as though every kiss is an opportunity to express just how deeply he feels for you

It's like a blazing flame that never burns out

He’s a man who’s incredibly loyal and protective of you

But even in his possessiveness, there's a tenderness beneath

He often calls you pet names in Spanish— "mi amor,” “mi corazón,” “cariña” before he kisses you, each word wrapped in affection and pride

When he kisses you, it’s not just the kiss that’s passionate; it’s the playful teasing that comes with it

He might pull you in for a kiss, only to stop just before your lips meet, giving you a smirk before finally sealing it with a passionate kiss

If someone dares to flirt with you, you’ll see a whole new side of him in his kisses. He’ll kiss you fiercely, almost as if to mark his claim

While kissing, his hands are placed on your waist, holding you in place, as if he’s making sure you know how much he values you.

He’s proud to have you as his, and it shows in the way he kisses you

Beneath his fiery exterior, there’s a side of him that’s surprisingly tender.

After a heated kiss, he might rest his forehead against yours, just taking a moment to breathe together.

His hands will caress your face gently, almost as if he’s trying to hold onto that moment of peace

When he kisses you, it’s not just to show affection, it’s because he’s fighting for your heart.

He wants you to know that he’s loyal and steadfast in his love for you, and his kisses are always filled with that promise

You might get a kiss full of passion after a difficult moment or a kiss that’s a little extra when he’s feeling especially proud of you

Either way, he’ll make sure to show you that you mean the world to him

Lenny Summers

At first, his kisses are a bit shy and uncertain

He’s incredibly intelligent and quick-witted, but when it comes to showing his feelings, he gets a little nervous

His hands might tremble slightly as he cups your face, but the warmth in his kiss makes up for the hesitation

His kisses are soft and gentle at first, almost as if he’s testing the waters, unsure of whether he’s doing it right but fully invested in the moment

Despite his shy side, he has a playful nature, and that’s reflected in his kisses

If you laugh or smile at him, he’ll get all flustered, but he’ll still find a way to make it lighthearted

Maybe he’ll steal a kiss quickly, then tease you about how your reaction made him nervous

His kisses are full of energy, but they always carry a humorous edge to keep things fun

When he’s in a more serious mood, his kisses reflect his calm and introspective nature

He won’t rush things or make them too intense; instead, his kisses are slow, deliberate, and filled with thoughtfulness

You can feel how much he’s thinking about you, and how much he wants to express his feelings, even if he can’t always say the right words

It’s the kind of kiss that makes you feel deeply cared for and appreciated

Charles Smith

His kisses are always gentle and sincere, as he takes great care to never rush or force anything

He is the kind of person who is patient, so when he kisses you, it feels like a carefully thought-out moment of affection

It’s a soft, lingering kiss, full of warmth and tenderness, as if he’s savoring the connection

He’s a man of honor, and that extends into how he treats you. His kisses are never about trying to impress or overwhelm you

Instead, he ensures that every kiss feels like an act of respect

He might gently hold your face in his hands, guiding you to him with a soft touch, letting you know how much he cherishes you without saying a word

In his kisses, you can feel the depth of his protective nature

He never wants you to feel alone, and when he kisses you, it’s almost as if he’s silently reassuring you that he’s there for you, always

His kisses have a way of calming your heart and giving you the courage to face anything, because you know he has your back

Despite his quiet nature, when he kisses you, there’s a sense of quiet confidence that emanates from him

He doesn’t need grand gestures to show his feelings; his kisses are enough

Even in the most intimate moments, he remains respectful and considerate of your boundaries

He takes the time to understand what you like, what makes you feel safe and loved, and adjusts his approach accordingly

His kisses are always in tune with your comfort level, making you feel treasured in every way

[nylqnder]

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 | 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

summary: you finally get to watch will live out his childhood dream, but become a source of comfort when the game doesn't end the way he'd hoped.

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, use of flashback scenes (which are italicized), appearances from wills family + macklin (very briefly), sad will after the sharks lose

word count: 2.20k

notes: i had so much fun writing this oh my gosh. sucks that the sharks lost but will had a good game (and so did macklin but this isn't about him right now)

The roar of the crowd felt deafening in your ears as you watched Will and Macklin skate out onto the ice, the bright lights of the SAP Center shining down on them like a spotlight. You clutched the teal jersey tighter around you, the number 2 stitched onto the back. Your heart swelled with pride as you watched Will glide effortlessly across the rink, his movements a graceful blend of power and precision.

“I can’t believe it’s really happening.” his mom said, voice trembling with emotion. You glanced over at Colleen who was clutching her chest with a smile that looked like it could light up the entire arena.

Next to her, Grace, Will’s sister, wiped a tear from her cheek as she reached for the both of you, pulling you into a hug as you shared this moment together. Even Will’s dad Bill, who was always so composed, had a telltale glimmer in his eyes, his lips twitching into a smile of unmistakable pride. You’d watched him grow from a gangly kid into a young man now living his dream. And now here he was, skating in his first NHL game.

It was a warm summer afternoon nearly a decade earlier when you first met Will …

You sat in a heap on the grass, chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. A fresh scrape ran across your knee, a testament to your failed attempt at learning to rollerblade. The purple and green skates on your feet had been a birthday gift, and in your stubborn independence, you were determined to teach yourself how to skate. But the balancing part was proving much harder than you’d imagined, leaving you bruised and scraped after several falls.

As you sat there, huffing and pulling out tufts of grass in frustration, you heard a voice. “You okay?”

You turned to find a boy standing there, about your age, with shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. He held an oversized hockey stick in one hand, donning black, sleek rollerblades on his feet. Will, as you'd soon learn, had just moved into the house next door. He smiled with a confidence that seemed far too big for his small frame.

“Yeah,” you muttered, wiping at your tear-streaked face, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I just…fell.”

Will nodded, studying your skates before dropping his hockey stick on the ground. “Want me to show you how to stop falling?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “You could do that?”

“Yeah! I’m a pretty good skater,” he said with a proud grin.

Will helped you to your feet, keeping your hand in his as he eased you back onto the pavement. You spent the rest of the afternoon with Will teaching you how to find your balance. He patiently caught you every time you wobbled, never laughing when you stumbled. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you could glide down the sidewalk without feeling like you’d crash into the pavement.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, tugging your skates off for the day.

“You’re not bad," he grinned, leaning against his hockey stick like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You just need a little practice."

“Will! Dinner’s ready!” a voice called from the nearby driveway. His mom, Colleen, waved him over. He glanced back at you, still seated on the sidewalk, and smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Definitely.”

From that day forward, it was always “you and Will”. He became your constant companion. Through scraped knees, missed goals, and late-night talks, you grew together.

It was during your sophomore year of high school when things began to change. You noticed the way Will would look at you a little longer when you were talking, his eyes lingering on your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. You’d find yourself holding your breath when he’d sling an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into one of his endless jokes, but the warmth of his touch would linger long after he let go.

One late night after a particularly tough game, Will dropped by your house, his hair still damp. You were sprawled out on your bed, textbooks and homework scattered around you when he knocked on your bedroom window. He always did that, never bothering with the front door.

“Need a break?” he asked, pushing up the window and climbing in like he'd done a thousand times before.

“Definitely,” you laughed, shoving your books aside, letting him sit on the bed beside you. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but there was a nervous energy about him you hadn’t seen before. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitating. “I was just thinking about something.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Thinking about you,” he said plainly, your heart stuttering. “And about how I always feel better when I’m around you.”

You felt your stomach twisting into knots. “What are you trying to say, Will?”

His eyes searched yours for any clue that he should either stop or keep going with his confession. “I guess… I’m trying to say that I like you. A lot.” he laughed, shaking his head as if trying to brush away his own nervousness. “Like, more than a friend.”

Your breath caught, the world narrowing down to just you and him at that moment. You’d thought about this, dreamed about it even, but hearing him say it made it feel more real than you ever imagined. “I…I like you too, Will,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

The smile that spread across his face was the most genuine, heart-stopping thing you’d ever seen. “Really?” he asked, disbelief colouring his tone.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing softly. “Really.”

Without thinking, he leaned closer to you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel his breath against your skin, his eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice trembling.

You nodded, and the next moment, his lips were on yours, soft and hesitant at first but quickly growing more confident as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. It was everything you’d imagined – and more.

When he pulled back, his face remained close, breath mingling with yours in the quiet space of your room. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.

“Me too,” you whispered, your heart still racing.

After that, you were no longer just best friends. You were something more, something that had been quietly building for years, just waiting for the right moment to finally come to life. Now as you stood in the packed arena years later, watching him take to the ice, you felt the past and present intertwine.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, a few slipping down your cheeks despite yourself. Will stopped along the glass in the corner, looking up into the section where you sat. For a split second, your eyes met, and even from a distance, you could see the brightness and unmistakable joy in his gaze. He gave you guys a small wave before looking back to the ice, taking a playful hit from his teammate.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered, squeezing Grace’s hand.

The game itself was a blur of excitement and nerves. Every time Will touched the puck, your breath caught. You watched him fight for possession, skate with the kind of speed and agility that only came from years of practice.

The first two periods were played well by the Sharks, with them taking a 4-1 lead, but the game soon slipped closer together towards the end of the third. When the Blues tied it with 45 seconds remaining, your heart tensed, the end of regulation buzzer echoing in a silent arena. Will didn’t see the ice in overtime when the Blues ended the game within the first 40 seconds of extra time. A collective groan sounded through out the arena, fans quickly clearing out.

Your heart sank, knowing how much this moment meant to Will. You watched as the team walked down the hall to the locker room, heads hung in disappointment. You spotted Will, Macklin patting him on the back, a small gesture of solidarity, but you could see how much it stung for both of them. They had given their all, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Fans continued to flow out of the stands, the usual post-game chatter was quieter, a stark contrast to the earlier excitement. A staff member instructed you to stay in the stands while Will changed and did media. You stood with his family, exchanging hugs, and offering words of comfort, but your eyes kept flicking back to the tunnel, waiting for him. 

Minutes felt like hours, until finally you spotted Will climbing the steps into the stands, changed back into his game-day suit, his damp hair falling in curls over his forehead. His face was a mixture of exhaustion and frustration, but the moment he spotted his family, a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Will made his way toward you all, the arena now almost empty except for a few lingering staff members. Colleen was the first to meet him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, and he buried his face into her shoulder for a moment, letting out a deep breath. Bill clapped him on the back, offering a few quiet words of encouragement. Grace was next, standing on her tiptoes to hug her brother, whispering something in his ear that made him smile faintly despite everything.

And then, his eyes found yours.

For a second, you weren’t sure if you should say anything, if you should be the one to comfort him after a loss like this. But when he stepped closer, his body radiating exhaustion and vulnerability, you knew he needed you. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head as you hugged him back, tighter than you ever had before.

“You played amazing,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held you closer, as if drawing strength from your presence. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, but you could feel the tension in his muscles, the disappointment lingering in the air.

“That fucking sucked,” he finally muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I wanted to win so badly.”

“I know,” you replied softly, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles. “But you’ll get another chance. Tonight wasn’t the end.”

You felt Will shake his head. “I could’ve done more, I should’ve gotten on the sheet.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your hand resting gently on his chest. His eyes were a mix of frustration and exhaustion, still tinged with the adrenaline from the game. “Will, it’s not all on you. It’s a team game — you know that. You can’t carry it all on your shoulders.”

He exhaled sharply, his hands still holding you close as if he was afraid to let go. “Yeah, but… I wanted to, you know? I wanted to prove something.” His voice faltered, and the vulnerability in his expression tugged at your heart. You could see how much this moment meant to him—not just the game, but his debut, this night he'd dreamed of since he was a kid. And even though the team had lost, all you could see was how proud you were of him.

“You did,” you said, your voice steady and sure. You brushed back a lock of blonde hair that fell over his eyes. “You proved that you belong here. And not just to everyone else, but to yourself. This is just the beginning, Will.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling in. You could see the way his tense shoulders started to relax, his grip on you loosening ever so slightly as if he was finally allowing himself to believe it too. A small smile, soft and tired, tugged at his lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

You smiled back, leaning into his touch. “Good thing you don’t have to find out.”

Will let out a small chuckle, the sound lightening the weight between you. “I can’t believe you came all the way from Boston for this.”

“Of course I did, Will. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” you smiled. 

“I love you,” he breathed out, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you. It was warm and soft and tasted faintly of the Gatorade he’d probably chugged all game, and it was everything you needed to feel how much this moment meant to him.

When you finally pulled away, Will kept you close to him, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words barely a whisper. “For always believing in me.”

“Always,” you promised.

[sfehvn]

new religion

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Description: AU- Astarion is enamored by you, and while he fights it at first, he may have just found his new religion. A/N: Just a tad bit of sweet smut to be honest. This was my listen while I wrote if you were curious. Enjoy! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,069 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

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  From the moment Astarion had seen you, he knew he had to have you. Walking through the animated city of Baldur’s Gate, your radiant smile was the first thing that had caught his eye. Flowing hair kissed your shoulders adorned with freshly plucked daisies. Your aroma was the most intoxicating scent that had graced his nose in all of his years. Your rose-tinted cheeks teased with the blood flowing beneath your flawless skin. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, reflecting the rays of the sun above. He had never been a believer in the love at first sight nonsense, yet there you were. If his undead heart could beat, he was sure it would be skipping against his ribcage. It was the only time the vampire had found himself utterly speechless. 

  For months, he watched from afar, finding excuses to go into town. Not that he had to excuse anything to anyone, but the newfound feelings were frightening, to say the least. Alas, day after day Astarion went out, whether for a drink or an unnecessary shop trip, and he would wait to get even the slightest glimpse at you. He was aware that this obsession was snowballing out of his hands as he fell harder and deeper. Hells, he had never even spoken to you. Yet he knew nearly everything there was to know. 

  He knew every other day you made your way to the apothecary to pick up medicines for your sick father, whom you cared for. He knew once every fifth day, you picnicked in the graveyard next to your mother’s grave. He knew your favorite color was yellow because it reminded you of the summers you spent with your mother before her untimely passing. You had six siblings: an older brother and five young sisters. 

  Astarion had also realized that you had a death wish, apparently. You were constantly staying out past sundown, running errands or helping neighbors. Did you even comprehend the dangers? He would often think to himself. Of course he had to follow you home to ensure you made it inside safely. You were becoming a liability to him, and quite frankly, he was terrified of how you made him feel. Just when he had decided to end this one-sided arrangement, there you were. Sat on the side of the road with tears pooling rivers down your cheeks, his body felt out of his control as he approached you.

  He stood in front of you, his words caught in his throat. You stared at him with those big doe-eyes, and his knees felt like jelly. “Are you alright?” He finally managed out. Gods, what am I doing? I should just sink my fangs into her and be done with it. It’s just bloodlust. This was something he had tried to convince himself of many times already- a lie.

  “Oh, yes.” Voice sweet and smooth, like the finest honey gold could buy. “Just this silly book.” You giggled, holding up the novel you had previously been engrossed in before Astarion had found you.

  “Right. Good.” He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure and still his spinning mind. “I’ll just be on my way then.” You nod, gifting that sweet smile to him. Astarion felt his legs would give out beneath him if he stayed longer, but he didn’t move an inch.

  The man intrigued you, ruby red eyes and skin pale as the snow that fell during winter. He was gorgeous. An aura of mystery surrounded him, and you were keen to discover those mysteries. “Say, you live in that big fancy manor?” You question, breaking the awkward silence that had befallen you two.

  “I do. Why?” Skepticism was palpable in his tone. 

  You disregarded his tone, and he believed it to be your naive nature. “You have the most exquisite daffodils blooming alongside your walls. I didn’t want to pick them without asking.” Your smile is sheepish, innocent. Astarion doesn’t speak, his face unreadable. “I-I enjoy putting bouquets together. I don’t mean to-” He already knew this, obviously.

  “They are yours.” Astarion can’t contain the smile that tugs the sides of his lips.

  As you two stroll to the location of said flowers, Astarion finds himself loosening up in your presence. He watches you intently, the way you move your hair from your face as you carefully pluck a few from the group. He urges you to take more.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother. These are plenty.” You assure. In response, he crouches down next to you to help pluck the remaining flowers.

   After walking you home, Astarion ordered flowers to be planted around the grounds. With the help of just a little magic, within weeks, roses, peonies, sunflowers, and carnations bloomed healthily. You would come with a fresh serving of food, a bouquet as thanks, and collect the flowers. As naive as you were, you could recognize what Astarion was doing. The daffodils were a one-off in that area, but now flowers surrounded the entirety of his property. The rate at which they grew, too; you were aware some effort went into getting them to blossom so hastily. At every mention of a new flower, the next time you came, they were miraculously in bloom.

  This compromise had been in full swing for months when you finally questioned him about it. Astarion was on his knees as he snipped red roses from the bush, insistent on doing it himself so you didn’t prick yourself on a thorn. “Why are you doing this?” You question, a wicker basket that was already overflowing held firmly in your hands. 

  “I told you, you’ve nabbed yourself on these blasted thorns one too many times.” His reply came without a look in your direction as he continued to snip the stems.

  “That’s not what I meant.” A soft chuckle emanates from behind closed lips. He looks up at you in realization, his hands coming to a halt. Your breath catches in your throat as he stares at you wordlessly, longingly. Standing slowly, he takes a step closer to you. He drops the roses into your basket before cupping your cheeks, closing the distance between your faces. The kiss is electric. You drop the basket to your feet, arms snaking around his neck while he presses your body tightly to his, clinging to you like a prayer. His lips were a colder temperature than you expected, but they were soft and hungry. 

  That’s how Astarion ended up with you in his bed. As he eagerly ripped the pale blue dress from your body, you took note of the bouquets around his bed chamber. Every single one you had gifted to him was on display and in perfect condition. Your heart flits in your chest, eyes closing in ecstasy as wet kisses trail up the inside of your thighs. A soft moan is elicited from you as his mouth reaches your warmth, his tongue flicking teasingly along your slit. Your fingers thread into his stark white hair, instinctually tugging with every contact against your clit. Colors explode behind your eyelids from the euphoric excitement.

  He pulled away briefly, with his starving mouth against your thigh, he spoke muffled words, “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve been waiting to hear that, darling.” Your breathing quickens as you look down at him between your thighs with hooded, lustful eyes. His mouth returns to your clit and he suckles lightly, two fingers dipping into your dripping center. The sensation brings your back into an arch, aching to feel him deeper inside of you.

  The swirling motion of his tongue brings you close to the edge, your legs shaking mercilessly. Astarion’s free hand moves between his torso and your legs, holding them steady as he continues his work on your body. Just as you are about to cum, he places a final kiss on your mound before his eyes meet yours. “You’re much naughtier than I thought.” He tsked, crooning his neck at you before moving up your body.

  Your lips meet passionately, his tongue slipping effortlessly into your mouth to meet your own. He creates a gap between you as one hand holds him up, quickly removing his trousers and undergarments with his other hand. He pressed his bulge down onto your warmth, hitting your sweet spot as he grinds against you. “Do you taste how lovely you are?” He murmurs, plunging his tongue further into your mouth. You can only let out a delighted moan in response.

  Once he breaks the kiss, you press your slippery core harder against his erection. “Please fuck me.” You whimper lustfully, “Please-” Your words are cut short by the sensation of him rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, causing a delicate moan to leave your throat.

  “Fuck. You’re soaked, my darling.” He coos. As much as Astarion wanted to continue to play with your body, he needed to be buried in you as quickly as he possibly could. He slides the head of his member from your clit, pushing slowly into your welcoming embrace. He savors every sensation as he enters you. There is a momentary flicker of pain on your face as you adjust to his size, and he falters for a moment.

  “Have you done this before?” He asks quietly, pressing his forehead to yours, avoiding your throat to save himself from temptation. He cursed himself inwardly for even asking; he shouldn’t care. This woman brought a side out of him he had never met before- a softer side. The scariest part is he actually, well, liked it.

  You wavered for a second before shaking your head, confirming that he was indeed the first man to have ever been in such a position with you. The thought makes him feel feral. Such a sweet flower trusting someone like him to take your virtue; he would never admit it to anyone, but honor and pride swelled in his chest. He nodded in acknowledgment, “We’ll go slow, pet.” He reassures, hips rocking delicately into yours as he fills you with as much of him as he can manage without causing you discomfort. He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead as your pain turns into pleasure, still-shaking legs wrapping to engulf his hips.

  “A-Astarion.” His name sounded like a hymn gracing his ears from your mouth, and he wanted to devour you right there and then. It took everything in him not to plow you into the bed. His hand rests on the bedframe as he finds a comfortable rhythm, eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to soak up every reaction to his touch.

  “You drive me crazy, pet.” He grunts as his pace quickens, gripping the mahogany wood tighter at the magnetic pleasure buzzing through his body. He uses his free hand to effortlessly move you further up into a slightly seated position as his thumb once again finds your clit to draw purposeful eights over it. 

  “I-I’m- Oh my gods-” The moan is loud, music to his ears as your walls tighten around his cock.

  “That’s right. Be a good girl and cum for me.” It’s a stern demand, all to mask just how close Astarion was himself. His words push you over the edge, your body clinging to his for support as the euphoria rushes over you. Every hair on your body standing on end, you throw your head back and scream Astarion’s name thrillfully. 

  With you coming undone, he allows himself to reach fruition, his seed filling you to the brim. His hand on the frame loosens, and his head hangs, face full of gratification. He looks down at you, pulling his now-soft member from you, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you stretch contently, much like a cat. Your eyes were droopy, a giddy smirk on your face as you fought to keep them open. Astarion chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You can sleep, my darling. I’ll wake you in a little.”

  Astarion swore he felt the tiniest tinge of warmth in his heart at the sight of you so comfortable cuddled into his side as you dozed off. This could be a welcome change. Maybe his undead life just needed his very own light, his own sun. All he knew was that he was done fighting it. One weakness couldn’t hurt.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Ice cream for two

Jason x fem!reader

warning : fluff, kinda flirting, mutual feelings, Jaoson is just a sweet shy horny guy, ice cream as an allusion to many things ;)

Summary : What could be better and more delicious than ice cream on a hot summer's day? They wanted to make ice cream for the participants themselves, but with a broken old ice cream maker, nagging teenagers and two leaders who paid more attention to each other than to their tasks, it seemed that a number of things could go wrong.

info : So I'm slowly coming back after my exams, I'm trying to resume my regular upload schedule, request and I hope you continue to enjoy Jason. Thank you for all teh support and have fune readin ;)

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In the summer, there was nothing better than having a cool drink, whether it was a glass of fresh water, a sweet, delicious lemonade or, in any case, a tasty ice cream.

From vanilla to strawberry to chocolate and raspberry, every flavor could be transformed into ice cream and enjoyed in the cool.... this was true for almost everyone in the small town, except for the summer camp, which, under the heat, was just like everyone else.

Because even if the forest and the trees surrounding them provided shade, it was not as cool as a delicious ice cream.

The teenagers and group leaders had sought refuge in the dining hut, where there was the only working fan and at least something like a breeze.

,,Can we get an ice cream here too?” Jason heard the younger boy's whining voice in the main area at the table, and they were trying hard not to move unnecessarily.

One thing the bearded man could understand was that since waking up, they seemed to have been fried under the sun.

Swimming in the lake was cool, but sooner or later they would become fish before they could even do anything.

Turning away from the door, he gave the younger ones an apologetic glance and turned back to his colleague, who had been trying to get the ice machine to work for an hour. ,,No luck?” he asked cautiously, looking at the machine lying on the floor.

Her head had disappeared under the machine with a torch and wrench, and the rest of her body moved from time to time to get at parts of the machine.

,,No, Jason, that thing is at least twenty years old... don't want to destroy your dreams, but if that thing starts up, the ice cream will be radioactive,” she said, coming back out from under the machine.

He helped her up with his hand and resisted the urge to wipe a bit of dust off her body or to touch her again, they were here for ice cream, not for overflowing hormones.

The radioactive ice cream maker in question was from the early days of the fight, back then, it was probably the most modern and newest device, but now, despite being cleaned and tried to be improved, it was more of a scrap heap than anything else.

But they had the ingredients here and the fridge didn't have enough capacity to hold everything. ,,It'll be fine, just give it a try, and if not, well, there's fruit puree and milk” he tried with a smile and went to the bags of fruit and cans of milk, which were tipped into the cool metal tub.

Unable to stop herself from smiling, she watched the blond man as he went about his work like a busy little bee.

No matter how nervous he was, the harder he tried, the less he seemed to see her, her feelings and the love she felt for him. It was almost as if he was blind to her advances...but that could always be changed.

After the machine had started and the ingredients had been cooled and processed into ice cream, it was time to wait a little.

She sent Jason to the storeroom to get the ice cream cones so that they could serve the ice cream better.

He hadn't thought about anything, of course he would get everything for her, would do anything for her, not only because he liked her, they were watchmen for the kids.

How she says my name so sweetly, he thought to himself as he carried the box of waffles into the kitchen and was puzzled to see that the kitchen had become more of an ice bath.

The old ice cream maker seemed to have done its best to form a uniform mass from the ingredients.

This also seemed to have worked for the first minute he was gone, but now the relatively solid mass had turned into a liquid avalanche of sweetness.

A bright, sticky, sweet liquid that should have been vanilla had just spilled all over his crush.

,,Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Did the machine attack you?” he asked in panic and put the box down to rush to her, almost slipping on the mass that had spread everywhere and she had to support him slightly so that they both didn't go down.

But his panic met her amusement; she seemed to find all of this extremely funny, unlike him, whose mind seemed to be thinking other things again.

When he saw the individual drops running down her, she began to remind him of something else as she licked her lips and sighed.

With her fingers she wiped away the substance and licked it off to roughly get rid of some of the sticky ice.

Such an innocuous situation, his mind kept thinking further, in a direction that made him look away...he had helplessly fallen for her. But was it the same for her? Was she just playing with him? Or was she honest?

,,Attack is a good word for it. As soon as you left, the thing went berserk,” she explained, pointing to the on and off button, which was visibly fused and thus caused the machine to also run out of control.

At least they now knew that they had to get a new machine for next year, because what was left of the kitchen was a pile of scrap metal.

,,Well, we-we could serve smoothies,” he stammered, slowly detaching himself from her as he looked into the tub and saw that it was not quite solid but also not completely liquid.

Her smirk was music to his ears as she walked past him to the sink, where she turned on the tap and splashed cool water onto her face to get rid of the attempted ice.

His bright eyes lay on her, saw exactly how the whitish substance was washed away, how the 'erotic disappeared from the whole at first and then came back when her top was wetter than before.

The outline of her bra, the ice cream, her eyes and the smile on her lips seemed to come from his own dreams, which were often rather suggestive.

Maybe he was dreaming? He was ashamed, ashamed that he felt like a teenager, he was 24 and a grown man... but she was just so beautiful.

The way she treated him, full of kindness and cheerfulness, never nagging him and joining him in his 'group activities' or helping him with repairs, she was just perfect.

Their eyes met, a wink and giggle as she pointed to his hand, wonderingly following her gaze, he saw that he had leaned his hand directly into a sticky puddle.

,,I think after feeding the kids, we both need a shower,” she said invitingly, giving him that sweet look once more before disappearing from the kitchen to tell the teenagers that it smoothies instead of ice cream.

That didn't matter to them, the main thing was to cool down a bit, and the two team leaders also allowed themselves a cooling down as they both disappeared in the direction of the showers...separately, of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@starry-night-life1 , @yearsbecomingcool , @bruhlpng , @wolverrrain , @myromanempire81 , @simonsrealwife , @marsinthespace

[leah-lover]

Arrogance. Alexia putellas x reader.

Let me know if you want a part 2.

You loved winning more than anything or anyone in the entire world and that was your biggest flaw. Brought up in the US soccer system, you were taught that winning is everything. You had set the precedent of joining the US women's national team as early as 17 years old which had never been done before. You were smart both academically and tactically. You graduated high school early, went to college early and proceeded to win the national championship all 4 years.

Your life always took the back seat to winning. You didn't have many friends. You didn't go out or party. You trained hard, you took care of your body, and followed a strict fitness routine. You were overall the best in your generation.

Being labeled as the best of your generation got into your head early in your life. Your strict regime made it hard for you to make friends and your cockiness and pride didn't help either. You were friendly but nobody ever dared to become your friend.

After college you moved on to the NWSL in which you won MVP , rookie of the year, and the championship in your first and second year. You had also won the world but at the same time. However, winning didn't fill the gap in your life that it once did. You didn't have to prove yourself anymore, you were renowned in the whole world as the best, everybody wanted to be you but no one wanted to be with you not long term at least. You were notorious for hooking up with people but you didn't want them to stay over for breakfast

As the years went on the international competition got harder. You were still the best but an upcoming Spaniard was raining on your parade. You were both head to head in matchies, a few tackles landing you warnings and yellow cards, and in awards. Both having very good stats you are head to head for the ballon d'or which she won that year.

You didn't talk to each other much. You can recall talking one or twice to each other . but you talked about one another a lot. The media seemed to spit you both against one another. You started hating each other in real life.

This summer your contract with Seattle fc came to its end and you chose not to renew. Offers were flying by but the one that caught your attention was Barcelona's offer.

They were willing to spend 1 million dollars on you. It was a precedent. No club had ever paid this much for a transfer. Thrie offer sticked your ego so much you accepted.

You have been playing at Barcelona for almost a season, scoring a hatrick at every game. Your relationship with your teammates didn't change. You were still space out.

The most important relationship was with your captain. Your rivalry with her was the second headline out of the b transfer. But you didn't pay her or the rivalry any attention.

Tonight you have achieved something you wanted to do for a long time. You have won the champion’s league. The locker room was celebrating the win and chanting your name. While everybody was dancing Alexia came to approached you and said “ congrats and thank u american”

“ no need capi.” you responded.

The flight back was fun, people were singing and dancing but the only thing you thought about was alexia. Her smell, her hand on your shoulder, her being thankful for you. You found yourself looking over to her from time to time. You weren't like this, you didn't day dream about people especially not the captain.

The celebration party took place in a bar. You were a few dink in when you looked over to you right yo find Alexia nursing a flute filled with champagne.

“Why aren't you dancing?” She asked.

“ I am not the type plus i am pretty sure y'all hate me.”

“And why is that “

“Don't know just a feeling.”

After that I went outside. I didn't smoke much but the nerves Alexia was giving me deserved some nicotine. As soon as I lit the cigarette I felt her hazel eyes glaring at me.

“ These things are gonna kill you, you know.”

“ I want to die young plus nobody would give a shit.”

“ I would give a shit if the most important person in my club was killing herself because she can't man up enough to talk to people. You hide behind your accomplishments. But you are just a normal girl just like any of us. You need people beside you.”

“ You are wrong about me. I am not scared of talking to people; they just would never understand me. I am a control freak. I don't like to give it up. People tend to hate that about me ” I say as I take the last puff of my cigarette. My eyes don't leave hers and the tension is through the roof.

“ I like to lose control from time to time.”

“ Capitana please don't play with me”

“ Currently I am not playing with you. Let me make you a deal. You go inside, have some fun and I will let you do what you want with the information you just heard.”

“ Why are you doing this?”

“ I don't know, I just care, I guess.

[chukys-mouthguard]

hey! would you mind writing a mix of smut, angst & fluff for vince dunn please 😇

never not

4.5k words

genre: angst, fluff, suggested smut

featuring: vince dunn x female reader

summary: vince is traded and you try to navigate life without him, realizing it isn’t easy, especially when he comes back around

You still remember the day that Vince had been traded like it was yesterday. The two of you had been back in Mississauga for the offseason, enjoying the summer weather out on the boat when he got the call. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

Vince pulled his arm from round your shoulders as his phone rang from across the boat. Seeing his agent's name displayed on the screen making his heart sink as he quickly answered.

He’d walked to the further point on the boat to ensure you didn’t hear the conversation, knowing in his heart the likely reasoning for it.

“Yup, sounds good. Okay, talk to you later. Bye.”

His expression, though he tried to brave a smile, told you that the call wasn’t some crazy contract extension keeping him in St. Louis, but rather your worst fear.

Vince had been traded.

He sat back down next to you, kissing your head as he pulled you into his side once more. His fingers entangled with yours as he sighed, keeping his eyes locked on the water as he knew the second he’d meet your gaze he’d fall apart.

The conversation didn’t happen right away, which almost made the situation worse in your eyes. But Vince knew that the moment he admitted it, it would only be a matter of time for the two of you.

The idea of a professional athlete was inevitable, hard to avoid if you aren’t a superstar on your team. And even then, those guys sometimes pack up and leave themselves. But this was something you’d always feared, telling Vince you didn’t know how you’d handle the news. Packing up to move across the country was not an easy option for you with work and renting an apartment in downtown St. Louis.

So when Vince had finally told you the news, you knew you couldn’t follow him, long distance not being something you felt prepared for. Nor was it something you wanted. What you wanted was Vince, and for him not to leave. But that wasn’t in the cards.

“So that’s it? You’re just done?”

Vince’s voice echoed throughout the apartment as you sat on your bed, having just told him that you weren’t going to be able to keep things going long distance.

“Vince, what do you want me to say? You want me to lie and stick it out even though I don’t want this? I told you I can’t go with you, and if I can’t go with you then I don’t want to hold you back.”

He rolled his eyes as he continued packing his clothes. With each shirt he folded and placed in his suitcase another piece of your heart was breaking.

“I want you to say you love me! And that you’d do anything to be with me! You don’t think we can make it work? I’ll fly you out on weekends, I’ll be back to play the Blue at some point. You want to throw all of this away over distance?”

“I’m sorry…”

Your voice trailed off as you weren’t sure what else you could say. Nothing was changing your mind. The last thing you needed was a long distance relationship to distract you from work. Constantly wondering how he was doing, going longer periods of time not talking because of the time change, so many minuscule things that you didn’t need weighing on you.

“I wish you’d at least try before you just throw us away.”

And you did try, for Vince. But you both quickly realized that long distance when he played for a different team, wasn’t the same as him traveling with the Blues. Your schedules never aligned, and it was becoming harder and harder to make things work.

Vince finally understood your fears and realized that you were right. Despite how badly he wanted to make this work he knew that neither of you were happy being apart.

The two of you calling it quits before the start of the season. Figuring it was best to let Vince focus on a strong start with his new team. Though you couldn’t lie that you missed him. Missed the excitement of a new season, going to all his home games, getting to wear his number loud and proud. Always being Vince’s biggest support system, and likewise he was yours.

It wasn’t the same not having him around to practice your work presentations with. Bless his heart, he never understood anything you talked about, but he’d always watch you with a smile. In awe of how good you were at your job, the knowledge you had of the systems and data. He’d let you run through things as many times as you needed, never once complaining.

But as you sat at the island in your apartment, typing away at your newest presentation, you missed having Vince look over your shoulder. Constantly asking questions, trying to read through your notes and relate to the topics.

Having him there to remind you to stop and take breaks. To drink water, eat food, and most importantly to sleep. Little things of course, but ones you often would overlook when cramming for a deadline.

You missed him, you needed him.

The sound of your alarm jolted you awake, realizing you’d fallen asleep at your computer. Your notes scattered on the counter as you checked the time. You must have silenced your first few alarms, as it was already 7:30am.

“Shit!”

Sprinting to the bathroom your turned on the shower, then hurried to pull an outfit from your closet and have it ready to step into.

Tossing your hair into a bun, no time to bother with wet hair, you jumped in the shower. The fastest one of your life as you couldn’t afford to be late for your presentation.

Light makeup would have to do as you scrambled to cover your dark circles, just hoping to look presentable at this point. Your hair was the next obstacle to tackle, quickly brushing it and opting to pin some of it back and out of your face.

Throwing on the outfit you laid out and looking yourself over in the mirror you told yourself it’ll have to do as you threw on your slides, which you would swap for heels once at the office. Rushing to pack your bag with the scattered paperwork from your island as you made sure to save your presentation before tossing your laptop in your bag.

Cursing yourself on the drive to the office you tried to remember the last time you’d run late for work, especially on the day of a presentation. It not being something you did often, let alone ever did at all really. Always waking up with plenty of time to run through your notes, double check your slides, and of course make sure your makeup and outfit were perfect.

-

Rushing into the office you made it to your office, slipping on your heels as you planned to use every minute of the available hour before your presentation to prepare. Scanning your notes and slides over and over until you know the entire thing forward and back.

“Just breathe, it’s gonna go great.”

Taking a deep breath you calmed your nerves, feeling confident that things would go fine. You knew your material, you sure as hell knew how to give a presentation, and your boss had full confidence in you. She’d told you plenty of times you could sell ice to an Eskimo. That was why she gave you these difficult sales presentations, because you always got the job done, no matter the client.

“Knock knock, you ready to crush another presentation?”

Checking the time, your prep hour had gone much faster than you had hoped. Your boss patiently waiting in the doorway of your office, a smile on her face as she watched you gather your things.

“Absolutely, let’s do it!”

-

“Y/n, that was amazing! I mean, they loved it. I knew you would pull another top notch presentation out once again!”

A slight blush coming over you at the compliments, just shrugging them off as you simply viewed it as another aspect to your job.

“I'm just glad it went well, I’ve been preparing for weeks. So, I’m happy if you’re happy and the client is happy.”

“You know, I’ve been holding off on saying anything. Partly because I wanted to see how this presentation went. But, we are looking to expand our offices, and I’m thinking you’re at the top of my life to get one of the promotion spots.”

Your eyes went wide as you were sure you heard your boss wrong, never expecting to have performed well enough for a promotion on the level of office expansion.

“Promotion? Expansion? As in, relocating?”

She nodded her head as she sipped her coffee, “Precisely, not entirely sure on where that location would be yet, but there’s a couple options. Though I’m gonna need you in the best location where I know you will succeed. Can I send you an email with the details once I’ve finalized things a bit?”

Nodding your head was all you could think to do, speechless at the idea of relocating. Your boss smiling as she mentioned a few more details, your ears not fully catching her words as your mind was already racing.

“But I will send that email sometime this weekend. And, you know what, how about you take the rest of the day? My treat!”

“Wow, thank you so much! I’ll definitely keep an eye out for that email as well! Have a great weekend!”

-

“I can’t believe she gave you the rest of the day off, that’s so unlike her.”

You laughed at your friend's reaction to the kind gesture of your boss as you took a seat across from her. The two of you meeting for lunch as you opted take advantage of the free time your boss had awarded you.

“The presentation went really well, so she was feeling generous I guess. But, please tell me, when was the last time you knew of me being late for work, especially on the day of a big presentation.”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at you from behind her glass of water, “y/n stop it! How late were you?”

“Not actually late, but running behind for sure.” Your voice trailing off as you scanned the menu, your friend thinking over the last time she’d known you to do such a thing.

“I mean, being honest. I don’t think you’ve done that since before you and Vince called it quits.”

Flashing a glare at her you sighed, the topic of you and Vince being one she occasionally brought up. Saying that she wished you two could’ve made things work, that you were meant for each other. To which you always disagreed, mostly because you were trying to convince yourself she wasn’t right. That you and Vince weren’t meant to be, that the distance would’ve proven to be too big of a challenge.

“Have you talked to him lately?”

Your eyes scanned the menu as you tried to ignore the question, immediately piquing her interest.

“Shut up! You have!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

You playfully laughed as you hoped she couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks as you attempted to hide the fact that you had indeed talked to Vince.

“Fine, he texted me about the presentation. It’s been on my calendar since before we broke up, and you know Vince. He was always putting reminders in his phone to send me a text the morning of to calm my nerves or boost my confidence a bit.”

“You texted back right?”

“I’m not that heartless. I just said thank you, I appreciated him reaching out, and that was it. No fairy tail ending of us getting back together. Sorry to break your heart.”

She playfully frowned as you two ordered your lunch, then circled back to the conversation about your job.

“So you’re gonna be relocating? That’s a nice promotion! But do you know where?”

“No clue.”

Shaking your head as you traced a finger around the rim of your water glass, your mind began racing at the possibilities.

“I honestly just wish she’d tell me now. It’s all I’m gonna think about all weekend.”

Your friend noticing how much the news was already weighing on you, never having been someone that could simply not let things bother them or occupy space in their mind.

“You know what you need?”

A nervous glance came from you as you were unsure what crazy suggestion would come from her. Already thinking of a few ideas you’d turn down in a heartbeat.

“You need to spend your Friday at a Blues game, like good old times! I got 2 tickets for tonight, what do you say?”

You rolled your eyes at the suggestion, not prepared for her to have suggested that of all things she could’ve said.

“Are you kidding? A Blues game?”

“Oh come on don’t tell me you don’t have at least one of Vince’s jersey’s still hiding in your apartment somewhere.”

You tried your best to hide the embarrassed smile that was creeping upon your lips, but she’d noticed almost instantly.

“I knew it! So I’ll pick you up, 6 o’clock. We’ll have drinks, some good food, it’ll be fun!”

-

Making your way down towards your seats by the glass, the atmosphere couldn’t help but feel familiar. This arena having held such a special place in your heart for the few years Vince called St. Louis home.

You’d dug out an old jean jacket one of the WAGS had made for you a few seasons ago, it was mostly decorated in St. Louis Blues colors and logos, which you preferred. Not wanting to stand out for sporting your ex's name and number.

As you relaxed in your seat, noticing you were on the opposing teams end for warmups, you realized you didn’t even pay attention to who the Blues were playing. But as you watched the white and turquoise blue jerseys hitting the ice, your heart sank.

“You’re kidding right? Is this a joke?”

Your friend tried to laugh it off, but she could tell you weren’t joking. What she failed to tell you was that the Blue were playing the Seattle Kraken, Vince’s new team.

It felt like a set up for some crazy movielike scenario where the guy and girl are reunited after breaking up, only to realize they were meant to be together after all. Except, you weren’t ready for that, you weren’t sure you even wanted to see Vince. The breakup hadn’t been too long ago, but you were still trying your best at life without Vince. Clearly not doing so great with almost being late for your presentation, but you were navigating those things. On your own.

Vince had seen you from the moment he stepped on the ice, taking note of the jean jacket you had on. Bringing a smile to his face knowing that you’d kept it even after the breakup. But as he saw you get up from your seat and head for the stairs, he knew you weren’t thrilled to see him.

“Y/n I get it, I should’ve told you but, I knew you wouldn’t come. I promise this isn’t part of some elaborate plan to get you two back together. It just so happened to pan out this way.”

Your friend ran after you to stop you from leaving, grabbing your arm as she pulled you away from the crowd on the concourse.

“Bullshit it’s not. You didn’t buy these tickets, did you?”

Her eyes fell to the ground, not able to hide the fact that you’d read her like a book.

“Vince bought the tickets, didn’t he? That’s why they are on the Seattle end for warmups.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to see him y/n! You said it yourself, this morning you overslept and were late to work. When is the last time you’ve done that? Things have changed since you and Vince broke up, you can’t deny it. What’s wrong with seeing him play tonight? There’s no reason we can’t watch the game. No one is saying you have to see afterwards, unless you choose to. But, he wants to see you. He misses you.”

You tried not being angry with your friend that she’d been keeping this from you, that she’d been talking to Vince behind your back. But this wasn’t how you ever wanted to see him again, being misled to come to the arena with tickets he bought for you. No matter how hard you tried to not be upset by it, you were.

“Things have changed since we broke up, but that’s for me to deal with and get used to! It doesn’t mean that I have to take him back. Maybe I don’t want to see him. Maybe I don’t miss him. Did you ever consider that?”

She could see how upset you were, your voice shaky as you tried to pretend that the words you spoke were true.

“Is that how you really feel?”

Her tone was a bit sarcastic, though she didn’t mean to be. Tears threatening to fall from your eyes at any second as you tried your best to be strong, this not the place to break down over your ex and the feelings you still had for him. The pain of knowing he felt the same, that he’d orchestrated this night in an attempt to simply see you again. No guarantee that you’d even want to see him.

But you couldn’t convince yourself it was that simple. That he just wanted to see you from behind the glass, occasionally stealing glances when he was sitting on the bench. And you weren’t willing to stick around to find out what other surprises or ideas he’d had planned.

“I’m sorry, I can’t be here.”

Without giving your friend the opportunity to stop you, you turned on your heels as you hurried through the crowd. Calling yourself an Uber while you tried to hold it together. Figuring it was better to allow yourself the freedom to cry as much as you needed from the comfort of your apartment versus the busy St. Louis streets.

-

Once inside you didn’t make it past your living room before you finally had let yourself break down. It was truly the first time you’d let yourself feel the emotions and heartache of losing him. You’d forced yourself into your work, prepping for presentations, distracting yourself from the idea of life without him. That you never really allowed yourself to feel what that was like. And the idea that he was feeling the same, it all hit you like a freight train.

The soft knock at your door jolted you awake, scanning the apartment as you were unaware you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Checking the time you wondered how long you’d been asleep for, 11:45pm.

Slowly making your way to the door you assumed it was your friend, having seen a few missed texts and calls from her. But as you opened the door, you revealed the last person you’d thought to see.

“Vince? What, why are you here?”

Your tone came off a bit cold, though not intentional, as you were still waking up and now this. He took a deep breath as a soft smile crept across his lips.

“I, I needed to see you. You didn’t stay for the game, so I knew this was my only chance.”

He didn’t bother letting you invite him in, in fact it had been your shared apartment at one point in time. His eyes scanning the kitchen, then the living room. Noticing you’d not taken the opportunity to redecorate. Especially paying attention to the pile of picture frames that sat on your dining table, still holding the memories of you and him.

“Why’d you do that?”

Vince looked to you confused, holding tight to a framed photo of the two of you the night he’d won the Stanley Cup.

One of the best nights of both of your lives.

As the clock ticked down to zero, you jumped up and down with the other WAGS. Tears running down your face as you screamed at the top of your lungs. Vince had done it, the Blues had done it. They won the Stanley Cup.

All the times he’d gotten to be proud of you for crushing a presentation at work, for getting a raise, or a promotion. Now it was your turn to be so incredibly proud of him.

The moment you found him on the ice you couldn’t let him go, his arms wrapped around you as the two of you cried. Knowing how hard he’d worked to even get an opportunity on NHL ice, it had all paid off.

“I fucking love you so much.”

You pulled him in for a kiss as he spun you around, careful not to trip over his own skates.

“I’m so proud of you baby!” The compliment spilling from your lips as your hands held his face, never wanting to forget this moment. The pure joy on his face, the look in his eyes knowing he’d done what only a select group of players will ever do in their careers. Wishing you could live in that moment forever.

“Why’d I do what?”

“The tickets, why did you come up with this elaborate plan to get me there?”

Vince set the frame down, walking further into the apartment as he took a seat in the living room.

“Because, I had to see you y/n. From the moment I left, I knew, it’s always been you. And, I couldn’t come back here and just ignore the fact that you exist.”

“Did you consider the idea that maybe I didn’t want to see you?”

Vince laughed at your comment, knowing it was a lie no matter how hard you tried to sound convincing. He could see that you wanted to just hold him, feel close to him again after everything. He could see that you wanted so badly to admit to him that you were glad he’d attempted to see you, because life without him sucked. To put it plainly.

You wanted so badly to tell him that things weren’t the same without him. That you couldn’t sleep, you were running late to work, that you missed him like crazy. But you knew nothing would change. You’d tell him how you felt, and by the morning he’d be off to the next stop on the team’s road-trip. And soon enough, you would be heading off to somewhere new yourself with the promotion coming for your job.

It seemed pointless to even bother him with your emotions and your feelings, despite how much you could see he wanted you to be honest with him.

He stood up from the couch as he closed the distance between the two of you. Noticing the scattered notes on the counter, assuming they were from a late night cram session for today’s presentation.

“How did it go today?”

You noticed him tilt his head in the direction of the kitchen island, letting out a sigh as you tried to look anywhere but his eyes.

“Um, great, actually. Didn’t start out that way. But, I crushed it. And, I’m getting promoted because of how well I did.”

A smile grew on his face at the news, loving to hear that you were still killing it at your job.

“That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you, seriously. But, why did it not start out great?”

Shaking your head you knew you couldn’t lie, Vince knew you too well and would see right through you. Watching as you nervously picked at your nails, searching for the words to say.

“I overslept, and was running late.”

“You overslept? Since when do you oversleep? And run late for a presentation, you’ve never done that.”

“Because I don’t have you Vince!”

You didn’t mean for your words to come out so harsh, your voice a bit louder but not really yelling as you retreated to your bedroom. Not knowing where to go but not wanting to face Vince, not wanting him to see you finally break down and let him know that you did in fact miss him.

“Y/n, talk to me, what do you mean you overslept because you don’t have me?”

Trying to distract yourself by aimlessly folding laundry, you shrugged.

“I don’t know Vince, it’s just, things are not the same without you. I never overslept when you were here. You helped me prepare for all my presentations, made sure I got enough rest. Made sure I was eating, drinking, everything. You were everything. And without you everything is different. But, it doesn’t matter how I feel. Any minute now I’m getting an email from my boss that is going to tell me what new city I’m getting relocated to, and none of this will matter because you’re going back to Seattle. And nothing is going to change. So just forget it, please. It doesn’t matter.”

Not wanting to cry in front of him, you attempted to retreat to the bathroom. Vince immediately grabbing your hand to stop you. Seeing that these weren’t emotions or thoughts that didn’t matter, and it was clear that you were feeling the same as him.

“It does matter. All of that matters y/n.”

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his hand resting against your cheek as his eyes scanned your face. Stopping to meet yours as he saw how much you were hurting.

“It matters because I love you, I miss you. So fucking much. And you’re right, things are different. Everyday I wake up and wish I could do anything to go back to the day I got traded and convince you right there to move with me. I would do anything I could to have you with me again.”

His forehead rested on yours as his hands now traveled to your sides, a grip on your hips as your hands played with the hem of his shirt.

“And I know you feel the same way, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself you didn’t want to see me, I can see it on your face you’re fighting with yourself to be strong. But, if this is the only chance I have. If you’re off to somewhere new yourself, and if you truly don’t want to see me after this,”

He closed the distance between you, crashing his lips to yours as your hands instinctively pulling him closer. Missing the feeling of him so close, the feeling of his lips on yours. Not caring that in the morning he’d be gone, and you’d go back to trying to navigate life without him. But for now, it felt right, and you couldn’t let him go.

“Please, just give me one last night to remind you how much I still love you.”

[behoright]

console me l m. barzal

how it feels to rest / on your patient lips

summary: as angry as mat is after the season loss, he cannot hide it from you. mostly plotless smut

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: minors DNI! 18+ only. smut, sexual situations that include rough sex, degrading language and behaviors, pain/pleasure dynamics, pet names, consent break/check, bodily fluids. mentions of size difference and love lol.

a/n: for all my sad, islanders girlies. masterlist is fixed! muah.

read me please:  i cannot say this any more clearly: this is not for everyone. read at your discretion. the warnings are stated as clearly as i can my loves. my inbox is always open to have any discussion about writing, relationships, sex, bdsm and kink. if this makes you uncomfortable or simply is not your cup of tea, move on my dear. love u guys always.

⊹　 　　🎧　 　　 ⁾⁾　

It really took only a day to figure out.

As much as he tried to hide it, leave it at the rink.

Anger. 

Mat had never been so pissed before. 

For once, he knew that he had given it his all. 

He had sacrificed, time and time again. 

Played through sickness, injuries, birthdays, and special events. 

Harder than ever before.

Despite knowing that everything passes, he couldn’t shake the thought, or perhaps the fact, that there had been other factors that cost the team the cup. 

Things out of his control. 

And it drove him to the edge every night.

Having to see his teammates get more disappointed with every passing second on the ice. 

Knowing that their dream was slipping away from them, no matter how much he had clawed and fought to hold on. 

He spent extra time at the gym, on the ice, hours after the last painful loss, just to attempt to get rid of the anger. 

But it wasn’t working. 

Instead, it just fueled the apparent neverending and burning cycle.

The last thing he wanted to do was bring his negativity home. 

Back to you. 

To the safe haven you had both built so meticulously. 

The only person that stood by his side, in every sense of the word, didn’t deserve to take the brunt. 

However, you could see the cracks. 

He was very good at veiling it, but not good enough for you. 

The past couple days had brought you a huge sense of gratitude, knowing you were in a relationship that stripped your souls and bodies. 

Fully being yourselves at all times. 

So, as you packed to begin your various summer travels, you knew you had no other choice.

Something was pounding, deep from inside you, to open this door for you two. 

You stood in your shared room, watching Mat’s muscular back crouched down in the walk in closet as he messily threw his shirts in his luggage.

“Mat?” you called him, voice shaky.

“Hmm, babe?” he asked, still packing. 

“How are you feeling?”

The question wasn’t anything new, a domestic ritual you two had to keep your connection based in truth wholly. 

Since you had both promised to listen without any stories or distractions in exchange for the complete truth, every single time, it had become easier to share.

“Well, love…” he sighed, not daring to face you as his face stiffened, your question bringing up his most repressed feelings. “I’m angry. I’m fucking frustrated at how it all ended, you know?”

“You are?” you said, walking towards him, picking at the skin on your hands nervously.

“Yeah, baby. It’s okay, I mean, it’ll pass. But I’m angry.”

“Take it out on me.” you blurted out, strong in your stance and words, now only a couple of feet behind him. “Fuck me as hard as you can.”

Mat stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as his mind emptied, only being able to stare at the half empty suitcase in front of him. 

Whether he liked to admit it or not, he knew that you could see right through him. 

There was no hiding from the woman he loved. 

“I know that we’ve talked about this before but… are you sure you can handle it?” he questioned, turning around to look at you. 

“I know I can, Mat.”

“Baby…”

The overhead warm light surrounded your head like a halo as he looked up at you. 

He wondered, during a poetic moment, how his angel could be giving herself over to him like this. 

“I’m asking for it.” you said, taking a step closer to him. “Can you handle it?”

For a moment he forgot that his sweet angel was no such thing behind closed doors. Ever since the first night, he saw that dark fire inside you, and it hadn’t gone out in years. 

Mat was the perfect fan to your flames.

“Oh, so it’s like that huh?” Mat answered, his lips curling up into a smirk as he stood up to tower over you. “Will you tell me if you need me to stop?”

“Yes.” you gulped as you two stood just inches apart. “I remember my word.”

“You do, huh?” he asked as you saw his feet take one last step towards you, the fabric of his shirt ghosting over yours.

“I can take it.” you repeated, getting lost in his eyes as you looked up into his dark eyes.

“Yeah, we can take it, right, baby?” he uttered, his fingers wrapping around the sides of your neck as his eyes looked down upon you. “We fucking can.”

His lips finally met yours, Mat’s tongue swiping feverishly on your bottom lip before invading your mouth, drippingly meeting yours in a heated makeout session.

The belligerence of his kiss sent a moan reberverating inside his open mouth. 

Mat loved to make out. He could do it for hours, until his cock began to twitch restlessly in his denim. 

He opened his mouth fully, letting you invade each other messily. 

Lately, he had taken it as far as to spit in your mouth. Not forcefully, but just letting a trail of spit drip from the tip of his tongue into your throat, the height difference coming to his advantage.

It felt so fucking primal to him that it always sent you flying against a wall everytime he’d see the look of passion and satisfaction in your eyes after you swallowed his saliva.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about? All those times I was heated, venting at you?”

he asked, forcing you to take steps back into the bedroom, still holding you tightly, the tips of his fingers pushing against the ridges of your scalp. 

“Yes.” you whispered into a kiss. The sensual murmur drove him to bite your bottom lip, pull it towards him as he stopped your motions.

“Oh, what is wrong with you, baby? That’s so fucking bad.” he said, watching the bite swell up exquisitely as you smiled, enticing him into more kisses. 

More spit, boiling into each other and pushing each other unconsciously as you two ondulated in your heat. He began to shove himself intensely against you, getting more of those moans he loved so much. 

“You can’t even be quiet when I kiss you.” he said, shaking his head slowly as his hand came to rest on the front of your neck. He flinched backwards when you attempted to kiss him again. 

It was his bedroom now.

“Come here.” he barked, sitting down on the bed. “This will shut you up.”

He didn’t have to repeat himself before you kneeled in front of him, not even giving him a chance to undo his pants before your mouth salivated over him. He rested his long fingers on your shoulder, almost keeping you tamed as he pulled out his erection.

“Eager, eager girl.” he chuckled, watching you leap onto him.

You wished you could take him entirely the second your tongue met the salty precum that had dribbled down his shaft, but that had never been a possibility. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mat fucking loved it. 

He adored that you struggled to take him, that you wanted so hard to swallow him whole at a first try. 

His head fell back, exposing his thick adam’s apple as it thumped in his throat, Mat trying to hide his gulps every time your lips wrapped around him lower and lower. 

You knew just how to please him, swirling your tongue and hollowing your cheeks just at the right minute spots that still took his by surprise every single time.

Mat felt your desperation as you kept taking him down, so eager to please him. For a second, it enchanted him, filling him with gratitude that he had a partner that so badly wanted to destress him. 

However, it was short-lived.

It was not what you wanted, or what he needed.

“Fuck.”

It felt good, his toes slowly beginning to curl as he felt strings of precum coat the back of your throat, but the more he channeled the feeling that he had pushed away for so long, the more restless he became.

Every time you gagged, your muscles would clench around him, shocking him with exhilarating stimulation.

“Sit up. Now.” he said, strictly, jumping out of his experience. You tentatively moved away from him, the only thing connecting you two now being a sloppy trail of saliva.

“Baby, I-, I-...” you said, uncertainly.

“You what? Hmm?” he asked, undressing as you stared at him dumbfounded. 

Throughout the years, Mat had never sounded so stern in the bedroom as he did now. 

“You asked for angry Mat, didn’t you?” he continued, tapping your head demeaningly in an effort to sit you up. “Beggars can’t be choosers, doll.”

The register in his voice was forceful and humiliating enough to send your desire running down the inside of your thighs, his muscular hands working on practically ripping your clothes off so harshly that he had thrown you off balance a couple of times.

Your heart began to race in anticipation as he silently threw the half-trashed garments through the room. 

He was decisive, precise in his actions, and it made you slightly trepid.

Prolepsis and nerves mixing acidly in your stomach; you knew you had the choice to revoke consent anytime, but you were grounded enough to know that Mat was the safest man to do this with.

Apart from working up to it for months now, and seeing him slowly come out of his shell and let go further every time he got you to himself behind closed doors, you knew how much you wanted this. 

Your body knew as well, your blood rushing rapidly to your cunt as he kept grazing against your skin, snapping the back of your bra before discarding it mindlessly. You could feel the flames of his subjugated feelings simmering again, coming to the surface the more he got out of his head and into his body, his breath becoming deeper and hotter against your skin, breathing out frustration with low, vibrational groans.

“Get on the bed.” he yapped as soon as you were fully naked, his hand pushing you a tad bit too potently onto your bed; so much so that you naturally rested your sweaty limbs on the blankets on all fours.

“Look how wet you are. You’re not embarrassed?” he spit out, running his finger up your slit sloppily as he set himself behind you. “I haven’t even touched you, Y/N.”

He was just a hair over the line, authoritative in his colloquy and pinpointing his acts precisely to get you where he wanted. 

He didn’t care to run himself on your slit, not tonight, his cock still dripping with your thick spit. He thrusted entirely into you, his pounding head coming in contact with your cervix instantly, making your body barely jolt forward. 

“You should be fucking ashamed, Y/N, not moaning.” he barked, as he began to move painfully slow. His thick length, running in and out of your tight walls at a lethargic pace. 

Still, feeling every inch so powerfully split you apart with no preparation, the ridges of his member and his veins skimming your engorged insides ripped moans out of you like never before. 

“You just love being a fuck toy for me, don’t you.” he said, roughly intensifying the grip on your hips as he gradually sped up his movements. He sounded just as rough, doing his best to hold back any signs of satisfaction, but it wasn’t easy. He had made you into a mess so quickly and it mostly came down to his demeanor. 

Ever since he met you, he knew he’d treat you right and respectfully, only you.

He never cared to seem friendly to other girls, truthfully; because he had you. 

The only girl that had naturally commanded such a soft love and tenderness out of him. It was almost ironic to him how the tougher he was with you in between the sheets, the more you melted. 

And god, did he love to see you like this.

Spread vulnerably and already on the brink after a handful of thrusts. 

It drove him mad, struggling to keep any self-control just to have you on a tittering edge. 

But feeling you drip around him, your yearning for him ebbing and flowing out of your pussy as it mixed with the spit that you’d left on his cock, now all of it mixing and coating both of you. 

“Yeah, my little doll.” he said, masking his exasperation as he found a steady rhythm that made your ass recoil delightfully against his pelvis, the chiseled V that framed his cock pounding hard into your flesh as you began to see stars.

Your mouth was stuck open, wanting his call out his name miserably but finding it impossible as the tension kept building within you, tightening your pussy all around and sending shivers down his back as his legs began to tense, inch by inch.

He groaned deeply, squeezing his eyes shut and striving to pivot on that feeling he adored so much, all the sensations that came with being buried deep inside you. 

But all he found was that anger.

The emotion he had tried to leave at work, to get past.

The one that you had noticed.

For good reason, because it was unignorable.

And so he focused on it, the frustration that he had accumulated for months beginning to expand and find its way insidiously through every vessel, every corner of his being. His jaw clenched, the more he let it take over him, the more pleasure would grow, passing from you to him and burning brightly in his belly.

The hinges of the bed creaked and slammed against the wall, his bedframe scratching against his beloved wooden floor as his ears were blessed with your saccharine moans, leaving you unexpectedly and unplanned. 

Your body knew how to take him precisely as his thrusts moved you forward, encouraging all the natural sounds to come out of you instinctively. 

He was afraid that if he let go of your hips that he would lose it. 

He was afraid that he’d pound you right into the mattress; instead, he had a set intention to make this last, to see how far he could take you.

Mat had never heard you sound so beautiful, he thought, just as his rage came to a peak; he could feel his joints begin to sore as he gave it his all, unwilling to stop and let go, fully zoned into unloading his stress. 

He never knew it would bring you so much bliss as he looked down and saw the consequences, heavenly squelching echoing against his growls. He knew you were losing it, micro mannerisms in your body letting him see that you were reaching your orgasm hastily. 

He didn’t need to see your face.

He knew that that familiar blush had knocked at your door, covering your cheeks expansively as your moaning got more high-pitched and frenetic, your pussy twitching around his moving cock. 

“Slow down, you’re making a fucking mess.” he commanded, smugly knowing it would allow it to rip through you, just as it did. 

His knuckles turned white just as yours did, the grip on your sheets fatally unyielding as you let go, coming over Mat. 

The pleasure sparking every synapse in your brain, the cozy feeling flashing through you over and over again as he kept fucking, still roughly and aggressively. 

“You’re fucking gushing.” he said, brave enough to let a hand come down, hard on your ass. The nonchalant tone of disgust in his voice made your whole body light up, tiny bumps forming on your skin at his words as you began to come down from your orgasm.

Mat kept relentlessly, only speeding up, just edging at the border of being too much. As he hit the same spot over and over again, forcefully, your limbs became weak, succumbing to the tremoring that Mat was sending through your system. 

The more you came on him, the more degrading he’d become, periodically spitting onto your core. You knew it wasn’t for any functional purpose more than for humiliating pleasure, giving you everything you craved and more. You couldn’t ask for more, his groans and insults filling up the room; however, the needier you acted, the more Mat would crack under you. 

And the more you pretended you didn’t notice it, the harder your eyes would roll back. 

“You’re so fucking loud, god damn. I’d tell you to shut up, but I know you can’t do it, you’re so heated up.”

Your muscles started to twitch faintly as he snuck his hand around you to rub your clit vigorously, pushing against your skin with sadistic pressure. As much as you tried to get any words of warning out, your body betrayed you, falling pathetically flush against the mattress, the only thing leaving you a whimper. 

The movement wasn’t surprising to you; you had noticed the build-up and distress signals a while ago but had stupidly given in to the thrill instead. 

For Mat, however, it was a different story.

Seeing you tremble against his milky sheets, writhing around slowly and whimpering had him worried immediately. He pulled out swiftly before turning you around.

Thankfully, your eyes found each other, giving him an encouraging sign of lucidity from you.

“Look into my eyes. Are you okay?” he said, clenching his fingers underneath your chin. 

“M’kay.” 

Through blurry vision, you were able to find his dark gaze, regardless of how he was touching your face. The grip on your cheek was so protective and yet you couldn’t ignore the hedonism in his touch.

“What is it? I’m not going to keep fucking you if you’re lying to me.” he said, harshly.

Your brain had melted, completely caved into him, his energy and touch that had brought you to this place so quickly. The unfamiliar floaty feeling neighbored you as you began to tranquilize your boyfriend.

“I’m not lying.” you muttered lazily, gaining enough strength to prop yourself up on your elbows, your nose now touching his. “It just feels so good, Mat.”

Your confession took Mat by surprise. 

His worst fear was taking it all too far, unwillingly hurting you in any way, whether that be physically or otherwise. 

All the same, here you were, in all of your splendor under him, shaking from pleasure. 

It didn’t take long to realize that perhaps he had induced some sort of high, if that was possible.

“You need a kiss?” he asked, his eyes still diligently studying your face. “You need a kiss, don’t you, yeah, come here.”

It wasn’t frenzied or fiery, and still, it told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s all? Better?” he looked at you once more, running his mental checklist.

Eyes were good, skin not too flushed, she can kiss normally, and speak. Not dehydrated or pale.

“Much better.”

The transparency in your speech set in stone what he had thought of.

The words that so easily came out of him, his mannerisms and gestures had sent you haywire, quivering with vibrant intensity, the bliss forcing its way out of your pores, steaming from your skin.

“Good job.” he coaxed, mentally patting himself on the back with a smirk as you fell back down onto the cloudy mattress with a dreamy sigh, a hazy look fixated on him.

Drunk on pleasure, he thought, snickering.

“I bet you feel so dirty, don’t you?” Mat said, his chest heaving with warm sweat dripping from his stubble down onto his pecs. Vulnerability surrounded you both, your eyes running upon each other’s bodies. Taking this moment to pause made sure you were attending to each other fully and completely, the desire still consuming you thoroughly. In the quietness, Mat took his fingers and began running them down your abdomen, barely grazing your clammy skin. 

“I asked you a question, doll.” he said, moving his touch again up your centerline. You could only nod, his fingertips electrifying you with eternal bliss as they found their resting place on your plump lips. 

“Are you having trouble with your words?” he said, breathlessly mocking you before you stuck your tongue out, soaking his digits by letting them sit on you. 

After all, Mat didn’t think he could break any further. 

Until then. 

Seeing you embrace the feeling gave him the reassurance that he was subconsciously looking for.

He was incredulous at your actions, sticking your tongue out fully, with no shame or guilt, and only for him. 

Letting your spit absorb into his calloused skin, while more saliva pooled visibly at the back of your throat. 

Disgustingly.

And it made his throbbing cock twitch, heedlessly slapping against your cunt in a wet motion. 

“Fuck, angel.”

He pushed it further by entering your mouth and your pussy simultaneously, a choked moan surrounding his hand as your eyes flew back.

“That’s my fucking girl.” he said, his eyebrows furrowed as he wasted no time in his fucking, militantly filling you fully again. “Doesn’t it make you feel so good, baby?”

“It does.” you moaned, obediently answering his every question and request.

“Doesn’t it feel so fucking good to be so dirty for me?” he asked, flush taking over him again. 

It was so delightful to see him let go, fully, just as he thought the same about you. 

“So nasty, such a sick little girl.” he continued. “Turn around, come here.” 

Mat sat back on his heels, guiding you to sit on his cock. 

The will was stronger than logic, your thighs quivering as you sunk down on him. 

Mat always hit deeper at this angle, his cock bulging out on your lower tummy as your ass came flush with him.

“You’re so bad, so fucking bad. And look at you, you don’t even care.” he said, moving your hair to the side as his lips grazed against the shell of your ear.

“What would everyone say if they saw you acting like this, huh? Begging to take me after I’m so mean to you. After I slap you, choke you, and spit on you. After I say the most degrading fucking shit to you, you don’t care. It makes your panties drenched, doesn’t it?”

Mat’s hands ran up past your tummy and found a tight hold on your tits, variating between letting them bounce in his palm and gripping them so desperately that it left marks on you. Your chests moved in synch, up and down with your motions; you let your head fall back on his shoulder as you unavailingly rebounded briskly, tightening just at the perfect moment, when your opening came in touch with the delicious curve between his pelvis and the base of his cock. 

“Just as I fucking thought, you can’t even hold back.” he said, grinding ever so slightly against you. The recognizable feeling started to take over you for the millionth time, candied moans causing Mat to jolt against you unexpectedly and thrust deeper.

“You’re going to cum again, aren’t you?” he asked, slapping one of your breasts. “Your body gives you away so easily, angel face.”

He was solid under you, your loving foundation as more juices ran out of you, covering his thighs in sticky squirt, your whole being quivering in delight with his arms instinctively holding you through it. 

“That’s because you’re mine, yeah?” 

Your eyes, stuck on the ceiling, recognized just how close his face was to yours, gaze fixated on your expression as it furrowed and sweated the incessant orgasm. 

“Yeah, I don’t even have to fucking ask.” 

Mat kept talking, kept grinding, as his hands got more desperate, undecided between all the layers of skin and flesh. The more he focused on you, the more he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer, and as much as he felt that most of the night, he knew that the simple intemperance that had built inside him was about to burst. 

“Look at you. You need more? You always fucking do.” he coaxed, settling his left hand on your throat as your whole body kept aching, spasming sweetly on top of him. 

Totally uncontrolled. 

Unaware of what liquids were leaving you and what noises you were making. 

Your brain only handling and pining for pleasure. 

More and more. 

“It’s never fucking enough for you, is it? You love it when I cross the line with you, you needy, needy girl.” he said, his grip on your throat tightening slightly enough to make your dotted vision fill with sparkles. 

Your head snapped up as your abdomen contracted, almost painfully sore, finally letting you breathe deeply as your body gave you a second to recuperate. 

Tears involuntarily left the corners of your eyes, perhaps from the delectation of it all, the intensity, the overwhelm, or the tiredness. 

“It feels so, so good. You make me feel so good.” you managed to find the strength to whisper against Mat’s lips before letting yours fall on top of his in a loving kiss. 

“Oh, god, you’re going to make me cum, baby.” 

Mat’s voice quivered, as he stared into you; he had never breathed deeper and yet hyperventilated at the same time, just as he'd never felt so much rage and frustration mixed with pleasure all at once. 

“Like that, like that, like that.” he said, through gritted teeth. “Fucking look at me.” 

He grabbed your chin roughly, your face pouting under his touch in the cutest way, he thought. “Like that, baby, fuck.”

Mat exclaimed loudly as he colvulsed forward, his cum filling your tight hole with a growl so deep that you felt yourself vibrate at the power in his voice. You sloppily kept jumping on his dick, every single muscle of his being flexing in concentration and gratification as his warm seed seeped inside you and overflowed, running down his hips before he had the chance to pull out. 

“Oh, fuck, baby.” he moaned, breathlessly. You finally fell, completely limp, into the puddle that he made you in since the beginning. 

“That’s okay, that’s okay, fall into my arms.” Mat reassured, still firing under you. “You did so good. You were so, so good, angel.”

Mat had enough of a size advantage on you to manhandle you, this time turning you both onto your sides after a couple of quiet moments, keeping his cock warm still inside your folds. 

“I love you, I love you, baby. So much. Thank you, thank you. Come here.” he whispered against you, running his hand through your locks as he pulled you closer to him by your waist. 

“Are you good, baby?” he said, watching you nod with a sweet smile on your face. “Why are you crying?”

“It just felt so good, babe.” you reassured him, turning slightly to play with his shining chain that sat damply on his collarbones. 

“I would never hurt you, yeah? You’re safe with me.” he whispered into your cheek in between kisses. “I got you always, babe. Nothing’s going to hurt you while I’m here.”

“I know, baby, I love you.” you said, your eyes into his. “Are you okay, Mat?”

“Oh, baby, yes, yes I’m okay don’t worry. Was I too rough? Too mean? You can tell me, love.”

“No, no, it was perfect.” you repeated. You’d say it as many times as it was needed. 

“Good. You were perfect.” he said. 

You didn’t know, but he thought the same. Reassurance had no limit for him.  

“I see you, I see you fully and I love you, I love everything about you.”

“I love you more, Mat.” you said in between kisses. “Do you feel better now?”

“Oh, baby. So much fucking better.”

[l0ve-dov3]

where the sun shines.

percy jackson x demeter! reader

summary: in which you take percy strawberry picking for the first time!

warnings: none!

word count: 606

authors note: hey hey hey! this is really short (the following parts should be longer) but i felt like i wasn’t seeing much of percy, so i wanted to fix that and write a little something for my percy girls out there. this series is betrayal free, so no need to worry about castellan. anyways, that’s all, enjoy the fic!!!!

“Why do we even have a strawberry field?”

“Because…Demeter, I guess?”

It was mid summer, and you’d forced Percy to join you in picking strawberries. It was his first summer staying at camp, and since you were his closest friend, you showed him all the things you loved about this time of year. Today, that thing was strawberry picking.

“I mean, camp has some of the best strawberries I’ve ever tasted.” You started calmly, imagining the flavor of your favorite fruit, “You’re gonna love ‘em, I promise.”

Percy nodded, half believing you as he reached down for another strawberry. He didn’t care so much about picking berries, finding it a rather simple activity at a camp for demigods, but he listened to each word you spoke as if it would be your last. “I’m trusting you on this one, pollen-head.”

In the time Percy had been at camp, you had become one of his closer friends, outside of Annabeth and Grover. You’d met in his first few days when he wandered off during the bonfire, which you often did to get some alone time, leading him to find you just by the edge of the forest.

“Hello?” Percy called, clutching Riptide as he approached a moving figure. He had thought that, in his wandering, he wouldn’t find anyone by the forest; but apparently he was wrong. When you turned to him, his fist unclenched, releasing Riptide back into his pocket when he met your tearful gaze.

“Sorry for scaring you.” You chuckled, wiping your tears as you returned your eyes to the dark, unmoving forest. “I’m not really used to people finding me here.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.” The boy returned awkwardly, sitting next to you in an uncertain manner.

Usually, if Percy ran into someone crying, he would have pretended not to notice and walked away. But for whatever reason, and he couldn’t tell you why, he sat next to you that night; thus beginning a year-long friendship.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, fish face?” Your voice resonated in his head, pulling him away from the wistful memory.

“The day we met, when I should’ve been at my first bonfire.” He chuckled, looking at you with that cheeky grin, “I actually think about it a lot.”

“Woah there partner, you may start thinking we’re really friends.” You teased, giving him a light push as you gathered your last berries. The boy chuckled half-heartedly, not knowing why the words made him feel so off. Somewhat confused, he followed behind you with his own basket, coming to a stop as you sat under a great oak tree. “But…I guess I think about it too.”

He journeyed toward you, carefully putting his basket next to yours before settling at your side. “Oh? And here I thought we were pretending to be friends.” Percy tried to joke, nudging you gently.

“Yeah,” You sighed, “But you know, you really are a good friend Percy. I’m glad you found me in the forest that day.”

Percy’s heart pounded harder in his chest, stunning him with a sense of alarm. You looked at him with that gentle smile, and he felt light as air, staring back at you like the world was anew. A new feeling, unfamiliar and odd, wracked his body like a thousand waves. “Yeah…Yeah, I’m glad too.” He breathed, just above a whisper.

You raised a brow at his change in nature, shaking your head with a light chuckle.

Percy Jackson, you thought.

What a weird kid.

[ride-thedragon]

Before I start this, I don't want any hate towards this person, I won't include their user name, or the platform I got it from and if you do know leave it be but I want to talk about my issues with what they said. I don't know them.

This is really weird and reductive. I'm not saying you can't be a fan of Rhaena potentially getting Nettles' storyline even if I'm not, but the way this is framed is horrible.

Nettles specifically is George using stereotypes of black girls and women and subverting them.

Nettles is 'dark' and 'ugly' because it's a Valyrian beauty standard that is being upheld. It could very well simply be her black features that are being called ugly. Look at who says it in the books and look and who maintains it. They are all white.

Now I'm not one to say we can't have ugly characters, but I am one to impose something in the written narrative, and in this case, that plays out into George subverting racial stereotypes with Nettles. So, while she could be ugly, I also think there is a large possibility that she isn't. She could just look unambiguously black.

I'm not one to defend a white man against racism allegations, but not all the black and brown women are sexually promiscuous. George does have an orientalism issue, but let's not deny that there are characters like Missandei, Sarella, and Nymeria in the narrative. Summer Islander characters are a bit harder, but there is a real-world reason for them to be sexual, its not just George on his snow bunny arc. Their culture views it as a type of worship.

There are 3 fics under the Nettles / Addam Velayron tag, and I've read one that isn't like that. I'm not saying it's not plausible, I'm just saying out of three fics it's not that big of a deal. As for bigger Nettles fics and ships. it's a stretch to say that half are written in her own pov, but typically, her stories have a romantic arc because that's what most fanfics do. Create romantic arcs. And as someone who's read the majority of her fics (I'm being dead ass), it's not mindless sex. It's a conclusion to her romantic narrative arc about 75% of the time. Call it bias but I can't remember the last time I read a Nettles fic where the writers let her be a whore. We've failed on that mark. We have a snow bunny issue, but outside of that, it's not that serious (free my girls from the shackles of white men)

Moving on to the weird respectability politics. "Smart, tough, elegant, and not becoming the street urchin /ghetto stereotype like Nettles."

The only thing that stereotype doesn't have in common with that phrase is elegant. That's literally the only difference. I'm not American, so I'm not going to impose myself on that view, but I will speak to holding anyone to respectability politics. Black girls especially don't have to act one way to be better than others. There isn't one way to be black. That goes hand in hand with being both respectable and assimilating and 'ghetto'. It's reductive to say that anyone should be and applying the 'better' one to Rhaena and baela and the 'worse' one to Nettles is foolish and ignorant. I will have a bigger post on this soon.

As I've said countless times before, Rhaena taking Nettles' story is racist because they aren't interchangeable. Rhaena isn't black, nor is she poor or disposable within the narrative. Daemon isn't going to be miraculously proud of her. Nettles deserves her narrative. No one can cry the way Nettles does after the Battle of the Gullet. Not even Baela and Addam or Alyn. No one can have their life seen as disposable by Rhaenyra like Nettles can and no one can start the burned men but Nettles.

For the show, it doesn't make sense to take Nettles out entirely. There are way too many gaps to full when you can just add her character.

Lastly and all of this to say, you don't have to defend liking something, making stuff up is weird and acting as though it's a better choice to combine a black character and a non black character is crazy. It can just be a choice you like.

On the other hand, I want all three final girls because I can have them, and there is no reason not to.

[delicateflowerss]

Don't Worry, Darling: Nine

After marrying the love of your life, Rafe Cameron, you thought you couldn't be happier. But when a murder shakes the island, you learn you don't know your husband as well as you thought. When does Paradise become Hell?

Warnings: 18+, mentions of past NON-CON, forced pregnancy, mentions of murder, mentions of drugging, violence, blood, dark!Rafe, kook!reader, non-canon ages

we are finally at the end, i can't believe it! thank you for reading and sticking with this series. please enjoy the final chapter <3

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4k

The sound of your daughter’s cries barely registers with you.  It’s more so the tugging of your dress to get your attention. You would think it’s something a child would do, but it’s only your husband.

“I think she wants you,” is all he says as he hands her to you.

You’re surprised Rafe wanted to hold her at all, especially at an event like this. But you realize it’s his way of showing how good of a father he is.

At least, that’s how he wants to present to the world.

You try to soothe her cries but when nothing works, you end up apologizing to your friends and finding a quieter place inside.

Your daughter is only a few months old, but Rafe really wanted to go to Topper and Audrey’s end of summer barbeque.

You tried to think like him, that your daughter could handle it. That you could handle it.

But as you stare at her wailing face, the only thing that comes to mind is how you wish you could cry like that.

It’s all over the news. You can’t even look at your phone without seeing a text from someone, shocked that Rafe has been arrested, that he’s been accused of murder.

So you stopped looking at your phone.

You barely got a wink of sleep last night and you’ve been cleaning since you gave up on getting any more rest.

But even when you think you’re occupying your mind, it’s busying itself elsewhere. You can’t get rid of this sinking feeling you have in your chest, like it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

At this point, you’re not even sure where it comes from.

You haven’t wanted to think about any of it, Rafe being locked away or the pills you found.

Anytime you start to think about that pill bottle, your mind goes to a horrible place. So, you stop, your mind deciding that you’d rather not think at all.

But you ‘ve only done so much mindless cleaning before that familiar sound of a pickup truck in your driveway stops you in your tracks.

It’s a smaller truck than your husband’s, older too. A company logo adorns the side of it.

You expect him to go to the backyard, maintaining the pool like he usually does. But instead, he walks up to your front door, forcing you to move away from the window you’re spying from, hoping he didn’t see you.

The doorbell rings and you consider not answering it.

But it’s like your body screams at you to open the door for him.

He doesn’t look any different when you finally face him, the same worn-out work clothes, and messy blond locks.

He looks almost surprised you even answered the door.

He says your name like it’s unfamiliar to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, desperately needing to know.

“I just…I heard about…I heard about Rafe,” he finally spits out.

When he doesn’t get a word or a twitch of a muscle in your face from you, he sighs.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. But I won’t bother you-.”

You can tell by the way he moves his feet that he’s going to leave, so you stop him.

“No. You’re not bothering me,” you explain, opening the door wider. “You want to come in?”

He hesitates only slightly, and a relief floods his eyes as he accepts.

“Can I get you anything? Water, lemonade, I just made some iced tea-.”

You open the fridge, ready to grab whatever he wants.

He stops you merely by saying your name.

“You don’t need to do any of that for me. I want to know how you’re doing.”

You let the fridge door close. You can feel that heaviness that occupies your chest starting to come back.

“I’m sure it was a shock,” he continues. “When he was arrested.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, gaze finding the floor beneath you.

You don’t even realize that your fingers play with a loose thread coming from your dress.

“I can’t believe he was able to get away with it for so long. Even had his own wife fooled.”

“You’re acting like I’m an idiot or something, JJ.”

You see his eyes widen.

“No. Not at all,” he quickly says. “It’s Rafe. He’s a fucking psycho.”

That doesn’t exactly make you feel better.

Your hands unconsciously move to your stomach.

“Sometimes I think I’m just as awful as he is,” you say like you’re thinking aloud.

You look at JJ but it’s almost like you’re looking past him.

He shakes his head and scoffs as if you’ve said something stupid.

“I just feel like if I’m awful too, then what chance do they have?”

JJ freezes then, his eyes finding your tearful ones. A question lingers on his face as he drags his eyes to where your hands are – on your stomach.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re pregnant?”

All you can do is nod.

“Shit,” he sighs out, running his hand through his hair.

He takes a moment to think, eyes anywhere but you. But they finally find you again.

He gives you an almost pained look before stepping closer to you.

He lets out a ragged breath before saying, “that baby is very lucky to have you as a mom. And I’m sorry if Rafe ever made you feel differently.”

You try to blink away the tears, but instead they fall down your cheeks.

“I just don’t know how everything could go so wrong. And all at once,” you add.

“Just know that you’re not alone. I’ll do anything I can. Also, I’m sure Sarah-.”

“Thanks, JJ,” you interrupt by hugging him.

For a moment, all the noise in your head is gone. There is no sinking feeling in your chest anymore. You can feel his arms wrap around you.

But the serene silence is replaced with an even worse feeling than the one before as you hear the front door being opened.

Fear.

You step back from JJ quickly as if you were burned by being too close to him.

Neither of you are fast enough to get out before he finds you.

“What the hell is this?”

Pure poison drips from his words as he looks between you and JJ.

You’re surprised to find JJ not even a bit scared to see Rafe, now a known murderer. Instead, he looks like he’s gearing up for a fight.

That doesn’t exactly help the mix of fear and worry that paints your face.

“They let you out of jail already?” JJ asks. “Surprising considering you killed two people. But that’s what enough money gets you, huh?”

Rafe seethes from JJ’s taunts, jaw ticking and brow furrowing. He’s spent one night in jail, and he already looks just a little rougher. His hair is messy, and his shirt is wrinkled.

“What the fuck are you doin’ in my house?” Rafe yells, practically lunging toward JJ.

JJ steps out of his way, trying to get closer to the front door.

“Rafe, stop! I invited him,” you try to explain.

“And why the hell would you do that?”

“Because!” You pause for a moment. “Because he’s been cleaning our pool for months.”

“What?” Rafe squints at you, anger pointed toward you now. “So, you’ve been lying to me?”

“I wasn’t lying. You never asked.”

“Have you been cheating on me too?” an accusatory tone in his voice.

“No,” you quickly reply.

“Like I would believe a word you say now.” He turns to JJ again, who has been torn between bolting and trying to help you.

“Have you really been cleaning our pool, or have you just been fucking my wife?” he asks him.

“Rafe,” you yell, disgusted by his words.

He inches closer to JJ, a hard glare set on a face that matches his own expression.

You see how Rafe’s fingers flex, forming into a fist every now and then.

You walk up to them, saying your husband’s name again. You’ve been able to get through to him before, but you don’t think you’ve seen him this furious, ever.

Of course, he ignores you.

“Is this you getting back at me, JJ? For all those times I beat the shit out of you. Cause I can do it again.”

“Rafe, stop it,” you try again.

You grab his arm, hoping it would stop him from punching JJ.

JJ just laughs.

“Wow, man. And Y/N really thought you changed.”

Now you feel like you’ve been the one punched in the gut.

“Just leave, JJ,” you tell him, knowing it’s the only way to keep a fight from happening.

He looks at you, a mix of worry and hurt in his eyes. You think he might argue with you but after a moment, he turns to Rafe.

“I don’t know why, but she really loves you,” he says, giving one last glare to Rafe before slipping through the front door.

“Get the hell outta here, JJ,” Rafe yells at the back of JJ’s head as he walks to his parked truck.

You wish you could feel more relief now that a fight has been averted, but that was just one fight. You know there’s another on the horizon.

“You know,” he starts. “I was really hoping to be coming home to some peace and quiet. Especially, after the night I had.”

His voice getting louder with each word, an anger passing through every syllable.

You can barely look at him, so you don’t.

“Do you know the filth I had to sleep in last night? Actually, I shouldn’t say that. I barely slept at all. And the whole time, you’re here, letting another man in my house.” He jabs his finger into his chest. “No, not a man,” he corrects himself. “A Pogue.”

You can feel your bottom lip trembling.

He digs his nails into the palm of his hand as he brings it to his face. It almost looks like he’s fighting off a migraine, and if he is, you know you’re the cause of it.

“I mean, is the baby even mine?”

“Of course, it’s yours. Why would you even say that?”

He throws his arms in the air, like the answer is obvious.

“I didn’t sleep with him, Rafe! I’ve never cheated on you. JJ is just a friend,” you try to convince him.

But it’s hard to convince someone you’re not lying, even when you’re telling the truth.

“A friend? The pool boy is a friend?” he asks, appalled you would say something like that.

“He’s friends with your sister. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Doesn’t mean anything good,” he simply says before walking upstairs.

You follow him, still upset that he thinks you’re lying.

“I need to take a shower,” he tells you, throwing his stuff down on the dresser in your bedroom.

“You don’t get to be mad at me, Rafe. I should be the one who’s mad.”

“And why is that?”

“Look around!” You wave your hands around wildly. “Our house, our life, our marriage, it’s a mess, Rafe. And it’s all your fault.”

“My fault. My fault?” He moves away from the bathroom, getting closer to you. “I was helping us, Y/N. The promotion was to give us more money, and everything else I did was to protect you. To protect our family.”

“Whatever,” you scoff. “You didn’t know I was pregnant when you were protecting your family.

Rafe casts his eyes downward, finding a spot on the floor to be more interesting.

“Right? You didn’t know I was pregnant,” you repeat. “Cause there really wouldn’t be a way for you to know before I did,” you say, knowing you’re actually asking a question.

Finally, he nods. “Yeah, I didn’t know.”

He still doesn’t look at you.

And for some reason, it shatters you. You feel like a million pieces on the floor, needing to be swept up and thrown away.

“What did you do, Rafe?”

You can hear yourself breaking, losing any grip you had on your sanity, dignity, and your hopeful delusion.

You don’t exactly know how, but you know he’s lying to you, and you know it has something to do with the night of Midsummers. The night you can’t remember putting yourself to bed. It has to do with the dream you had and the pills you found. It’s just taken this long to admit it to yourself.

“Please tell me you didn’t do something,” you plead.

The silence is suffocating.

He’s killed two people. Why is it hard for you to realize that he could do something just as evil, if not more?

“Rafe!”

“What?” He finally meets your gaze. “What do you want me to say? I’ve told you that everything I did, I did it for us. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

You don’t think you can look at him for another second without being violently ill.

Once you storm downstairs, he’s right on your heels, not letting you leave his sight.

You can hear him trying to justify his actions, explaining, but it just sounds like noise to you.

You’re not exactly thinking, more so acting on impulse, on the emotions clouding your mind.

On the kitchen counter, sits the knife block. You barely think about it as you grab the sharpest knife out of the bunch.

He has to step away from you to avoid the knife grazing him. You wave it at him, pointing the shiny steel directly at him – his chest, his neck, somewhere he really wouldn’t want to get stabbed.

“You raped me!” The words erupt out of you. “You drugged me, and you raped me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His blue eyes widen with shock and traces of fear. He keeps his hands up. His palms open to show that he’s defenseless.

A sick part of you feels satisfied to see him be the one who’s scared and weak.

“Calm down, okay?”

“No! Answer me,” you yell, voice coarse.

“Not until you put the knife down.”

His unusually level tone chips away at your anger and your stubbornness. You readjust your grip on the knife as you glance away from him for a second.

That’s all he needs in order to roughly grab your wrist and to push you into the kitchen counter behind you.

You groan out in pain as your back hits the edge of the marble. Rafe is able to pry the knife out of your hand, also painfully.

You hear the knife clatter to the ground as you realize you might need to admit defeat.

He keeps your body pinned with his, his grasp still on your wrist, meaning you can’t move away from him.

“I can’t rape my own wife.” His tone is cold, and it almost sounds like it comes from a man who only looks like your husband but isn’t actually him. “When I put that ring on your finger, it meant I could crawl on top of you and do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”

Your tears don’t stop him.

“What is in between your legs is mine. So that means if I want to get you pregnant, it is my right to do that.”

He pauses, the only sound are the sobs you try to stop from coming out.

“All of this went on for way too long,” he continues. “I didn’t mind you having a job at first, it made you happy, it gave you some semblance of control.”

You wince as his grip on your wrist gets tighter.

“But I didn’t think it would get in the way of us having a family,” he continues. “I didn’t think you would choose it over me.”

You shake your head, wanting to say something, but nothing cohesive can be formed in your head right now.

He lets go of your wrist, taking your hand in his instead.

“All I did…” he pauses, kissing the back of your hand while still holding it. “…was show you what you really wanted.”

“Get off me, Rafe,” you say quietly. But when he doesn’t move, you push him with all your strength and yell, “get off me!”

He looks at you like a wounded puppy, like he feels rejected by you, like he doesn’t know how fucked up what he just said was.

You move back, trying to put enough space between the two of you. You’re still crying, tears streaming down your face as your chest heaves.

You try to speak through ragged breaths.

“I really thought you could have become a good person, Rafe. I really thought all that violence, all that bullying, was just you being young and stupid. But it’s who you are, and you can’t change it.”

You notice his eyes filling with tears before he sniffles, glaring at you to try and prevent any crying.

You continue, “I should have known that you can’t change someone who has a soul so dark, that they suck all the light out of anyone they’re close to. And that’s what you did to me. And that’s what you’ll do to this baby.”

The sobs have stopped, rage replacing the heaving.

“So, you might have been bailed out by your father. But there’s no way you’re not going to prison. Or worse,” you add. “I’ll tell them everything. I’ll make sure that they find you guilty. And I’ll be glad. I’ll be glad that you’ll be far away from me.”

You stare at him, a scowl written on his face until it morphs into laughter.

“And how is that going to work out for you? I’ll tell them everything also.”

He steps closer to you, and you can feel that suffocation again.

“I’ll tell them how you helped me hide the body. How you’ve known for weeks, how you’ve lied to the police and lied to everyone you know. You think they’re not going to send your ass to prison too?” He flashes his teeth at you. “And believe me, you wouldn’t last a day.”

He walks around you, like a predator circling its prey.

“But if you do manage to last,” he continues. “They’ll let you give birth in prison. Then, it’s bye-bye baby. My parents will probably adopt, but even when you get out, doesn’t mean they’ll let you see the kid.”

He stops in front of you, darkness filling his eyes as he sees fear fill yours.

“You’ll never have custody. Your child probably won’t even call you mom.”

“Stop, Rafe.”

“So, if you do what you say you’re going to do, that baby isn’t going to have any parents.”

You can feel your stomach twisting and your chest getting tighter. You don’t want to go to prison, you don’t want to lose your baby, and you absolutely don’t want your in-laws raising your child to be just like Rafe.

You finally look at him, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t want that to happen.”

Your voice barely sounds like your own, it sounds tired and worn-out.

“And I’m not going to let that happen,” he says, a concern in his voice that wasn’t there before, so you wonder if he feigns it. “But you need to be on my side, alright?”

You would rather gouge your eyes out than be on his side, but what other choice do you have?

“Neither of us are going to prison,” he explains. “But that means, someone else killed those guys.”

You furrow your brow, not understanding what he means.

“JJ killed those guys.”

“What?”

“He’s had this revenge plot against me,” he says it like he’s telling the truth. “For all those stupid fights, he decided he wanted to get back at me. So, he became our pool boy, got access inside our house, and framed me. Used my gun, left evidence, just so the police would come after me.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, in denial, that this is actually Rafe’s plan.

“It’s the perfect story, Y/N. Come on.”

“Rafe, I know you think something happened between-.”

He stops you by softly putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I know nothing happened between you and JJ,” he says calmly. “But he’s the only person that has been to our house. Every week, right? And right around when the first murder happened.”

“Rafe. I’m not putting an innocent man in jail. He’s a good person.”

He just shakes his head.

“It’s either him or us. We have a life, Y/N. A baby on the way.” Rafe’s voice rises with a familiar anger. “What does JJ have? He’s never going to be anything. We’re doing him a favor.”

You close your eyes momentarily, and when you open them, your vision of Rafe is blurry.

“I don’t love you anymore. And if you do this, I know I’ll never love you again,” you tell him as a tear falls onto your lips.

He thinks for a moment before bending down and placing a kiss on your stomach.

He stands to his full height, looking down at you.

“At least, I won’t be in prison.”

You thought you would never be able to do this. To be able to go back to the way things used to be.

Except, things will never be the way they used to be.

Now all you do is pretend. And it makes you wonder if that is what you were doing all along.

Your wrist grows tired from stirring the mashed potatoes. You think you may have been stirring for too long. Your mind and your arm aren’t connected.

It’s almost like you’re a machine, programmed to do the same things every day.

You lock eyes with your daughter who sits in her highchair.

You feel a spark of joy somewhere deep inside.

The fact is you were never the same after that day.

But you did what you were taught, to push down any emotions, to pretend that everything is okay.

Your testimony helped an innocent man be sent to prison for the rest of his life. You watched Rafe lie through his teeth so JJ would be the one taking his spot.

Normally, something like that would make you sick, make you so angry you couldn’t think straight.

But not now.

You thought it would be hard to let Rafe touch you again. You thought you would be reminded of the night you barely remember anytime you could feel his skin on yours. But you just taught yourself to think about it differently, or not at all.

If he hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have your daughter. You know he loves you. He loves you so much it makes him crazy. That’s what you think about when he’s on top of you at night, thrusting into you so hard it almost hurts.

But that’s what love is, it hurts.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’ll snap one day. Maybe five years from now, it will be Rafe’s murder that everyone will see on the news.

You might not even care when they take you away, handcuffed. You might even feel happy.

But those thoughts are fleeting.

You know Rafe is home because your daughter’s attention is finally taken from you.

She smiles when he steps into the kitchen.

And it almost makes you smile.

“It smells good in here,” he comments.

“It’s almost done.”

“Good. I’m starving. I had such a busy day at work,” he sighs, setting his things down.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

The oven beeps, and before you can open it, Rafe stops you with a hand on your waist.

“Is that a pot roast in there? How did I get so lucky?” he asks against your lips before kissing them with brutal affection.

You meet his roughness, nicking his lip with your teeth in the process.

He pulls back, a bead of crimson pours from his lip.

If there is love between you and Rafe, this is what it is – dark, bloody, and violent for everyone around.

Tags:

@fangirlwithlou @thebuttofcaptainamerica @lovedetlost @kkmstblog @whorefordrew @gillybear17 @alinaharlow @nichmeddar @coriellesmarya @rafeslovergirl @hysteriahall @loves0phelia @igotmessymind @djconde58 @imsorare @bbqsauceonmyt1tties @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @malfoytargaryen @craftyalmondghostflap @maggiec @fulla02 @starkeylover @brunetteonearth @lovurry @ohemgeewhat @babyspice6 @lmg-stilinski24 @f4ll-for-you @deems-16 @rgeraldg @ellabellabus07 @mryneedend @gills-lounge @klips118 @runningfrom2am @ilovesteveharrngton @obaex @spear-bearing-bi-witch @bellstwd @hehehehesthings

[writing-whump]

Can't stop throwing up

Sick feverish Isaiah with Arnie during a sleepover. Warning for emeto.

Arnie was so excited about tonight.

Could you celebrate the third week in a row that your oldest brother stayed over from Friday to Saturday for a sleepover?

Yeah, he should be getting a social life. But this was Isaiah they were talking about. Every new tradition, habit or event with him was a success in Arnie's book.

Things were going great. Hector and Isaiah weren't fighting, Isaiah was making new memories with all of them, they were getting along great.

Okay, so maybe Isaiah and Hector were both a bit overcareful, trying not to fight so much their conversations were rather shallow...and Isaiah wasn't exactly sharing much about his pack or life or studies or work...and they haven't exactly talked about anything that mattered for the last two times- but hey, they could use a breather, right?

There was the stuff with the reveal, the car accident, Hector's injuries, so basically Isaiah always came through for them in a crisis. They didn't need to create more tension by talking about heavy things when they could relax and discuss movies, right?

Arnie definitely didn't want to kill the mood. And any time they spend together they got to know each other better, right?

Right?

Arnie ordered takeout so they wouldn't have to worry about food. Isaiah loved cooking, but boy did it take time. Everything had to be perfect and cut to tiniest pieces and patiently waited for.

Arnie and Hector cooked 20 minutes long recipes tops. Throw it into the pan, add whatever is currently in the fridge and tada.

So Arnie figured out the shortcut, let the robot vacuum cleaner run the place clean and waited entirely patiently and without looking at the clock for 6 pm to come.

Isaiah came exactly on time, as usual. "Hey, kid."

Arnie didn't run to the door like a kid, mind you. He came slowly and with dignity, like an adult. "Isaiah!" He tried not to shout or smile too loud. His enthusiasm might become overwhelming at this pace.

The wolf hang his coat, trying to act more at home each time he came.

Arnie sneaked in a quick hug before revealing the dinner he prepared.

Isaiah looked...relieved at the sight. It made Arnie to take a second look, noticing how pale his oldest brother was.

"Hector has a pack meeting. He will be joining later," Arnie said, moving to get a plate for Isaiah for the Italian food and salad he ordered before the older could. He must have been tired to not manage to do it first.

"Right. Guess, it's you and me for tonight's movies, then."

"Go sit in the living room. I'll get it," Arnie said. "Hector might show up around 10 or something. He doesn't like taking calls during the meet. A definition of unavailable."

Another weird thing. Isaiah went to sit down as asked, not insisting to help.

Arnie brought both their plates, spaghetti and salad and meat, joining Isaiah on the couch. "Long week?"

Isaiah blinked in confusion. "Hmm? No. Not really. Maybe." He took a hesitant bite from the food as if to stop himself from other noninformative answers.

"Exams all finished?"

"Yeah, it was okay."

"Planning something for the summer?"

"Oh, just some work maybe. I got this practicum about urban structures creating cohesion in cities. Some wolf meets. We will probably go to a sea somewhere, don't know how Seline's family schedules look yet."

So leaving his week free for meddling and potential conflicts between packs, the weekly meets and something for school.

It was also hard to wrap his head around Seline's family schedules. Someone with parents to consider that they liked and that Isaiah wanted to get along with as well.

Made harder by the fact Arnie yet had to meet the girl and assess how truly fitting or even good she was for his brother.

Girls always separate brothers, don't they? They were separated for too long to girls doing the demages now.

Isaiah quietly ate his food, not asking back. Eyes towards the bowl like it was interesting. Or like he was tired.

Arnie tried to wiggle the conversation towards what happened last two weeks. No results. Isaiah was still as dodgy as always, tired or not.

They finished their food, sun slowly setting behind the windows.

Arnie had three movies prepared and was ready for a discussion, since the two of team knew most famous movies or classics and rewatched them just for the commentary. But Isaiah was happy to settle on the first option of the cult movie Fatal Attraction.

Arnie got lost in the plot and the atmosphere, curious what the more horrific parts of the movie would be like with Isaiah there...

Isaiah wasn't following much. His eyes were glassy and drooping. He leaned his head back and to the side, which was a change from his usual uptight and upright sitting.

Arnie wasn't sure what to make of it, when Isaiah's eyes fell shut, head lolling to the side.

Ah. So that's what it meant. He carefully saved that information up for later in his mental file.

Isaiah was breathing slow and loud against thr backdrop of the movie, the lights making his skin look even paler.

Arnie lowered the volume and snuggled closer to lean his head against Isaiah's shoulder. Still wasn't such a bad night. He could count it as a win that Isaiah relaxed enough to fall asleep.

***

The more scream-intense parts towards the end of the movie turned out to be a challange. It started to rain and Arnie couldn't hear anything with how quiet it was.

Each louder sound made Isaiah wince in his sleep and grumble something. Arnie soon gave up, shutting the TV off.

He went to fetch himself some tea with milk, feeling cozy listening to the rain. Isaiah was soundly alseep, breathing a bit erratically under the blanket Arnie threw over his curled up form.

It was almost 10 pm and no traces of Hector. Delaney, Hector's second was the one to text Arnie the meet was probably going to drag tonight.

Ah well.

A few muffled coughs interrupted his thoughts. Arnie poured the boiling water over the tea, leaving it to brew to go peek into the living room.

"Hey, you waking up, sleepyhead- holy shit!"

The coughs weren't just coughs. Isaiah was propped up on his elbow, coughing up pale brown pieces of their dinner over the sofa and the floor.

Arnie exclaimed, running to his side. He had to sidestep the puddle forming under Isaiah's head.

Isaiah moaned. Like actually, pitifully moaned, back arching as more vomit came up. His eyes were barely open, like he was still half asleep.

"Jesus, man. Hey, Isaiah? You with me?" Arnie nervously put a hand on his arm, a little out of his depth in face of such sickness from his neat, controlled and never to be seen sick brother.

Isaiah spit at the ground, before slowly sitting up, rubbing at his face. "Arnie? What...what happened?"

"Do you still feel sick?"

"Sick- what-?" Isaiah frowned, letting go of his face to look around and gasped in horror. "Christ, did I just- I'm so sorry, Arnie, I didn't-" he cut himself off with a burp at the sight of the mess.

He pressed a hand against his mouth but Arnie could hear the liquid rushing up his throat and splatter through his fingers with a force. A gush of vomit dripped down his chin on his white bottom up.

"Okay, man, think we should get you into the bathroom," Arnie said, surprised he managed something coherent with how shocked he was. It happened so fast, his mind was still catching up.

Arnie took Isaiah under the elbow, helping him manevour around the puke covering where he was lying on the sofa.

Isaiah wobbled on the way, stopping for a second to catch his breath. "God, aww." He pressed a hand to his stomach from the clean side. Another burp made him speed up though.

The sick wolf fell to his knees in front of the toilet and immediately heaved, whole body shaking with the wave of vomit that rushed out.

Arnie winced, kneeling down next to him to put a hand on his back. What the hell just happened? Did Isaiah not notice?

Isaiah folded over with the next retch, a guttural horrible sound that echoed through the whole bathroom. A far cry from the earlier inconspicuous coughs.

"Did it just hit you out of nowhere? Was it the food?" Arnie asked in his daze. "We had the same thing and I feel fine..."

"Urgh," Isaiah belched, face almost completely inside the toilet. The distinct sound of liquid hitting water followed right after.

Arnie rubbed his upper back, horrified how much it moved under his fingers as Isaiah's stomach contracted, back heaving and moving in waves with the sickness pouring out of him.

Isaiah's dirty shirt was complete transparent with the sweat. Arnie cupped his neck, hissing at the searing heat coming off him. "Shit, you are burning up."

Isaiah gasped for breath, finally lifting his head and pushing the flush bottom. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was sick, I wouldn't have come." There was saliva and puke all over his chin.

Arnie grabbed the roll of toilet paper and handed it to him. "You didn't realise you were feeling off?"

"I was- thanks-" Isaiah cleaned himself up with shaky fingers. His complexion wasn't just pale but sickly green at this point. Arnie could count all the veins in his cheeks and around his eyes.

"I felt a bit off, but thought it was just stress." He slumped against the wall, taking quick sharp breaths.

"Was your week so bad?" Arnie took the crumbled paper from Isaiah's hands that went limp by his sides, throwing them out into the toilet. He was getting fed up by this mysterious work problem.

"No, not that..." Isaiah closed his eyes, a red flush forming over the top of his visible cheek. "'s usually when I come here, that my stomach hurts, that's normal," he mumbled.

Arnie gasped, looking away. His chest hitched painfully at the words, like someone poked him under the ribs enough to leave a bruise.

He didn't have time to work over the new fever confessed secret. Isaiah's throat bobbed dangerously, a low gurgling sound coming from his stomach. He wrapped his hand around the organ, groaning quietly. "I should go home. I don't feel so good."

Isaiah tried to stand. Arnie quickly grabbed his hand. "Where do you want to go in your state? You are delirious with fever and about to throw up again. You can't drive."

Isaiah swayed, the yank of Arnie's grip bringing him down to the floor again. He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing forward. "I shouldn't be here when I'm sick-"

"It's okay. I don't care about that. You can totally stay here, come on."

Isaiah opened his mouth to answer and a sick burp came up, ending with a gag.

Arnie took him by the arm with both hands to steer him over the toilet just in time for Isaiah to heave up a mouthful of puke.

His back jolted with a hiccup and he moaned. Arnie could see his stomach muscles falling inside as he heaved, a much thicker and stronger wave sputtering out.

"God," Isaiah groaned, another surge of vomit coming up. He barely had time to breathe.

"Okay, okay. Just breathe and let it out. It will over soon." Would it? He had never seen anyone throwing up so much.

Isaiah's head started to sink towards the rim so Arnie quickly put his palm in the way, helping him to lean back as he flushed the toilet, reminded of the terrible heat by the touch.

"We need to cool you down, your fever is too high." He got up to put one of the big towels into the sink and wet it with cold water.

He offered it to Isaiah who buried his face in the towel, while Arnie worked on the bottoms of his soiled shirt, finally wiggling Isaiah out of it. "There we go."

Isaiah let out a quite whine as Arnie pulled the shirt from one arm and then the other. He was swaying even sitting and propped up against the wall like that, panting for breath. "I'm so sorry." His eyes were glittering and the fever flush stood out against his skin like a sunburn.

"You don't need to apologize. You are sick, it's not your fault." Arnie balled the shirt up and threw it on the floor before taking the towel for himself. Isaiah couldn't even hold it to his face, hands limp and useless.

Arnie tapped the wet towel against his cheeks and chin, then forehead, before draping it around his back and neck. Let the cold seep through a little.

Isaiah shivered, hugging his arms around himself before suddenly pitching forward with a heave.

Barely making it over the toilet, he projectile vomited another thick wave. It came in quick violent bursts that jolted his whole frame.

"You are okay. You are going to be alright, just get it up," Arnie repeated, a ting of panic creeping into his voice. He bit down at his fingernails on his left forefinger, trying to shake the claustrophobic pressure on his chest away. There was also some at the back of his head, the kind of stressful strain that came before migraines.

"H-hey," Isaiah sput into the water, folding his arms over the rim to hold himself up. "You doing okay?" He sounded so tired, voice all scratchy from the bouts of puking.

"I'm fine," Arnie protested, shifitng closer so he could hide his face against Isaiah's sweaty back without any weight. "You are j-just so sick- I-I-" He cut himself off, corners of his mouth pushing downwards without his permission.

"It's going to be okay," Isaiah mumbled. He lied his head on his hands over the toilet, looking at Arnie from the side. "Gonna pass in- buuurp - a bit. Don't worry."

Arnie bit his lip, guilty that Isaiah was the one comforting him.

Isaiah gave him a weak smile, before wincing as another gag had him turning his head between his hands to vomit yet another gush of puke into the toilet. Like a source of endless liquid.

Arnie hated his eyes were burning and that Hector wasn't here and that he didn't notice sooner and that Isaiah didn't notice cause he always felt sick when coming to visit them- he bit back a sob forming in his throat.

"I'm gonna be right back," he promised, bolting out of the bathroom.

Some of the hot tears escaped down his cheeks, but he didn't pay them any mind. He grabbed his phone, dialing up Hector's number.

His second brother took it on the third ring. "Arnie, this better be an emergency or I swear-"

"Isaiah is sick," Arnie interjected in a tiny voice. "Like can't stop vomiting kind of sick. Please, come home?"

There was a stunned silence.

"I'm on my way."

[noideasforausername]

two flowers.

description: the Evans' sisters relationship viewed through Petunia's lens. canon compliant for the most part.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, angst and more angst. also not super proofread, I wrote this spontaneously on a random afternoon.

───────────

When Petunia was born, her mother pointed out her pink cheeks, deciding to name her after the pretty petunia bush that had been growing in their back garden. She was showered with love and adoration by her parents, both completely enamored by her every move.  

Just before her second birthday, her mother’s attention seemed to shift towards her belly. Petunia started noticing the small but substantial lack of displays of affection she would normally receive; so, she cried a bit harder and yelled a bit louder.  

On the 30th of January 1960, Petunia woke up in an unknown bed. She shivered, gripped the covers tighter and brought them up to her face - just like the princesses in her fairytale books would do. Her parents had left her with their next-door neighbour: Miss Gertrude. Miss Gertrude smelled like an old lady and kept an absurd number of cat pictures on display in every room. Miss Gertrude did not pay attention to her at all. Nor did she take notice of how hard she cried, or how loud she yelled. 

They nicknamed her Lilybud, because she was as innocent and pure as the flower her mother had planted right next to the petunia bush in their garden. Lily was born with bright green eyes and a fiery tuft of red hair – their mother’s hair. Lily did not need to cry or yell, because anyone who met her would become instantly enraptured by her striking features: her round, angelic face, adorned with carefully placed freckles. Where Lily was soft, Petunia was sharp.

Their mother would insist she didn’t have a favorite. Petunia couldn’t help but notice how during family dinners, everyone’s eyes seemed glued to Lily, how hard they’d laugh at Lily’s jokes, or how their eyes glossed over when they looked at her – like she was occupying the time they could’ve spent looking at Lily. 

When she was nine, Petunia stole her mother’s eyeliner and climbed into the sink to better look in the mirror. She tried to draw freckles on her face. Her father caught her and laughed. The freckles morphed into black tearstains on her small face. 

On her thirteenth birthday, Petunia had been called plain. She entered her school’s building with a smile on her face, wearing her best dress; she exited in tears, with Lily close behind her. That night she cried in Lily’s lap.  

On Lily’s following birthday – her eleventh birthday – their mother had insisted that her daughter stay home from school, because she deserved it. Petunia sat in her favorite armchair, the one in the corner of the living room, with a crooked party hat on her head. She was eating a ridiculously large slice of cake in silence when an unexpected knock sounded on the door. By the end of the night, miss Gertrude had called the police to complain about the noise coming from the Evans’ household.  

On the 1st of September 1971, Petunia watched her parents cry harder than ever before as her sister boarded the Hogwarts Express. 

Every summer since that day everybody witnessed Lilybud grow into a perfectly delicate Lily flower – similar to the one that had started overshadowing the withering petunia bush in the Evans’ garden. 

Lily was magical. Lily was special. Petunia was not. 

During her final year of high school, Petunia’s parents asked her to pick Lily up from the train station. Petunia arrived half an hour earlier. She spotted the familiar platform and stopped in her tracks. She flung herself into the nearest bathroom and cried for twenty-five minutes, before finally drying her eyes and stepping through the invisible platform to welcome her sister. 

“Pet!” Lily would yell when she saw her. Petunia wondered whether her sweet tone of voice was the only thing counteracting the venom of the word. 

Later that year, she met Vernon.  

Vernon who made her feel special from their very first meeting. Not because he’d done anything particularly extraordinary, but because he looked her way... and saw her - not Lily’s sister, just her. 

Vernon was a simple man. He was direct, and wanted a typical, ordinary life.  

Petunia was standing in their shared apartment when an owl flew through the open window and landed next to her. Reluctantly opening Lily’s letter, she was met by a moving picture of her and her friends - a ‘missing you’ sloppily written on the back. When Vernon glanced at the picture, he’d disdainfully rolled his eyes. Petunia knew he was the one then. 

When Petunia told her parents she was pregnant, they’d toasted the occasion, and she basked in their proud glares. That lasted about a month, until Lily sent word of her own pregnancy – for which their parents threw a big neighborhood party.  

When Dudley was born, Petunia gained a new purpose. She’d allowed Vernon to name him after his own grandfather, overlooking something so insignificant as the name of her child. Because he was her child. And she’d make sure he felt as special as he deserved to. Despite not being extraordinary. 

When Vernon had broached the subject of having another child, Petunia stopped talking to him for a week. She’d told him she’d rather have her tubes tied than risk the possibility of Dudley getting a sibling, and the subject was dropped. 

On Halloween Eve 1981, Petunia almost stepped on a child. She read the letter in its grip and leaned against the doorframe, not trusting her feet for support.  

Minutes later, after briefly informing a red-faced Vernon of this new household addition, she locked herself in her room, desperately digging through her closet. 

When the hard oak of the box grazed her fingertips, she pulled it out and struggled with the rusty lock. She crumbled to the ground and lay there silently sobbing, surrounded by the few objects Lily had magicked for her over the years – most of them lying there, now unmoving. 

After Lily’s funeral, Petunia went into the backyard of her childhood home, and kneeled next to the petunia bush that had withered due to a lack of sun and water. She unearthed the still-intact lily flower and travelled with it in her hands through the long bus commute. It was the first time she hadn’t minded people’s stares.

The flower still grows, to this day, at the base of Lily’s grave.  

Harry Potter grew up wondering why Petunia rarely looked him in the eye. Her eyes always seemed to fixate on his admittedly messy hair, just above his brows, often followed by a comment on how he ought to cut it. 

He’d once asked her why she kept looking over the fence at the neighboring houses and was met with a stern scoff. Harry had gone on to assume she was on the hunt for gossip. The truth was, she wanted to make sure the neighbors were keeping things orderly, or else she’d be ready to call the cops and complain of the excessive noise. 

When she last saw Harry, Petunia was standing in her empty living room. His footsteps echoed down the bare hallway and stopped right in front of her.  

Petunia finally looked at him. 

And after almost twenty years, she locked eyes with Lily.   

At long last, instead of the usual wave of envy, she felt a surge of pride overwhelm her.  

Harry had done what she couldn’t - he’d become extraordinary, despite being constantly outshined in their household. 

[regretsofaghost]

Day 30- My love for you is true, I swear it is, it just will kill you in the end

AO3 link to chapter 30- here Tumblr link to chapter 29- here Tumblr link to chapter 31- here

Word Count- 1000 words

Edwin did not burst into tears, did not scrunch his face in a show of beautiful sorrow, nor did he have tears fall silently down his cheeks like summer rain.

There was no beauty in watching his best friend fall apart.

Edwin, as he tended to, was silent. He buried his face in Charles’ chest, and Charles felt the wetness of tears begin to soak into his polo, with hardly a shudder going through Edwin’s body as he cried.

Hell had taught its lessons well, after all, and the most important one was silence. No one cared to hear the tears of a boy who did not belong there.

Leading Edwin was possibility the hardest thing Charles had ever done.

Edwin was covered in blood, eyes wavering and misty, lost, as Charles tried to keep up his commentary, tried to get the other to focus on him, to not think about the creature or all the memories the thing was trying to make him think of with every change.

Charles did not recognize them all, but he recognized Niko, saw her with the blood spilling out of her chest from where Esther had impaled her with magic, the paleness of her face as blood soaked her white outfit.

Charles could not let Edwin see that.

Charles could not focus on that.

So he kept asking if Edwin trusted him, as that seemed to make Edwin focus if only slightly more, a furrow in his thick eyebrows as if wondering why Charles would ever think otherwise.

“Always.”

“Of course.”

“I always do.”

It hurt, to hear. It felt like trickery, to have Edwin wax his praises after Charles had kissed him multiple times, all while Edwin was clearly still under the effects of that awful potion. All after Edwin had looked so lost, so resigned, as if the kisses meant nothing.

They mattered, so much, but Charles had to take care of Edwin first, and that meant getting them away from the wraith that had become fixated on Edwin.

“I’ve got you.” Charles murmured into Edwin’s hair, holding him closer, burying his face in the other’s messy hair. “It’ll be okay.”

“I-don’t know why I’m crying,” Edwin’s voice was wrecked, soft, little more than vibrations against Charles’ chest.

“Doesn’t need to be a reason, does there?” Charles pressed a kiss against the crown of Edwin’s head. “Just the two of us here.”

There were little hitches of breath, as Edwin pressed his nose against Charles’ chest, uncomfortable for both no doubt, but Charles wouldn’t ask Edwin to move.

It was a relief, when Charles led Edwin through the mirror back to their office, away from the wraith, Crystal safely on her way home with Charlie’s help.

It wasn’t a lie, when he told her that it would be best to allow him to help Edwin alone.

Charles was just, pretty sure Edwin didn’t want anyone seeing him in this state.

Hands holding hands, Charles led Edwin to the couch, guiding him to sit before reaching for his backpack, intent on finding flannels. Edwin’s hand tightened in his for a second, as if needing Charles’ contact, and well, Charles would not fail Edwin again.

It was a bit harder, to find what he needed with one hand clenching Edwin’s, but Charles would always make due for his friend.

Sure, the blood would eventually disappear, but-

It was an awful sight, blood covering Edwin’s chin and front, splattered and smudged on his dress shirt and sweater vest, hand completely covered in it as well.

There was little Charles could hope to do about the clothes without Edwin’s help, but their medical supplies always worked.

“I miss her, so much.”

“I miss her, too.”

Charles watched the way Edwin’s eyes grew heavy, gaze following his movements as he wiped away the blood from his chin and neck, making sure to be gentle.

“I-I worry, she died for me-“

“She- she died for us mate. Both of us were in there, trapped.”

“She- shouldn’t have had to be brave for us.”

Edwin’s lips were swollen from their kiss, his teeth now worrying the tender flesh as Charles got closer to his mouth with the flannel.

Edwin tasted like gin, the vague memories of pine needles and fresh flowers.

“Niko shouldn’t’ve.”

“I, I am also angry, at her.”

“…”

“She, she didn’t even say goodbye.”

Charles wondered what Edwin would taste like underneath the gin.

“She didn’t. Proper rude, innit?”

“…quite.”

The hand was next, and it was so much worse now. Charles couldn’t ask, couldn’t interrogate the other, not without that awful monster of anger lashing out.

There were two deep bite marks, a new one on his thumb, the old one just below it worsened.

Charles was gentle with Edwin’s hand, careful, as he wiped up the blood, revealing brilliant purple bruises that covered a good portion of his hand now.

It wasn’t the time for questions, it wasn’t the time to ask.

Not with Edwin’s sad, lost eyes.

“Did, you visit her?”

“…no.”

“Would you want to?”

“… I would not want to impose.”

“Can’t impose, grave’s for the living, innit?”

“We are not living Charles.”

“Then, grave’s for those left behind, innit?”

Edwin’s eyes followed Charles as he stood up, getting Edwin to his feet as well before laying on the couch, pulling Edwin on top of him.

Edwin made a noise of protest, but Charles wrapped his arms around him anyway.

“Please mate, just, let me help you.”

Charles laid there for a second, then another, then another. Right when he believed he overstepped, that they did not do this any more, did Edwin’s arms slowly start to wrap around Charles’ middle.

“I missed this.” Edwin’s voice was soft, sleepy, sounding as young as his sixteen years of life, rather than the hundred years of death and torture.

“I missed this too,” Charles replied, holding Edwin tightly, rubbing his nose in the other’s hair.

Edwin’s hair smelt like vanilla ice cream and old-fashioned pomade.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I don't want to contribute to paying for furniture for the house?

1/3/2024, Names changed. Sorry, this is a little long.

I (26) live with three roommates: Kay (22) who is my sister, Sam (22) who is Kay's high school sweetheart and fiancé, and Andy (25) who is Kay and Sam's best friend. All of us are autistic, queer, and neurodivergent in some way or another.

Background info; Kay, Sam, and Andy had had plans to move in together for several years with Andy moving cross country to do so. Kay and I both moved out of our parents house within a month of each other in Summer 2022, with Kay and Sam moving in together, and me moving into an apartment by myself. Early 2023 due to issues with my apartment and landlord and being unable/unwilling to stay there past my lease when it was up in six months, with some encouragement from our mother Kay asked if I wanted to move in with the three of them because Kay and Sam's lease was up around the same time mine was and they were already planning on getting a bigger place to live with Andy when he got here. Due to the aforementioned apartment troubles and having a hard time mentally living alone for the first time, I accepted. We found a small house and the four of us moved in Summer 2023.

Now we've butted heads a good bit the last couple months (especially me and Andy because we had barely known each other before moving in together and we have very different personalities), including a few very loud fights, but we have thus far managed to eventually talk it out and work it out and kept things mostly under control. I admit, there have been times where I was definitely the asshole in situations, but I've acknowledged that, apologized, and tried to improve my behavior since then. Anyway, this ask isn't about all those times.

A lot of my issues in the household stem from my depression and lack of motivation to get things done. A big contributing factor to that is that I am painfully aware I wasn't part of their original plan, and that leads to me not feeling wanted as part of this house. The three of them often do things without me like playing D&D, and hanging out/going fun places without me, while things I want to do with all of them just kinda never happens, like playing a video game or board game with one of them, or going out somewhere fun I want to go. Some of me not being included is completely justified like Kay and Sam's date nights, and some things while they do still sting a bit to be excluded from make sense why (like their D&D games that can get very NSFW, and I'm a sex-repulsed asexual. also being Kay's sister would make it extremely awkward regardless of my sexuality. I only found out about the NSFW nature of their games two weeks ago though), but certain things it doesn't feel like as good a reason for me to not be included or it's not actually communicated to me why I'm not invited to be part of something.

A REALLY big thing that contributed to these feelings I have was the day we got the keys to our house, as Kay and Andy were showing it to me, Kay told me "Just so you know, this isn't permanent. You're going to get your own place again eventually" with a soft deadline of two years because that's when another of their friends graduates college and might need a place to stay after. Over the last few months we have had several conversations about my feelings of being unwanted and Kay has apologized saying that what she meant that day came out wrong. What she meant by that statement was they all want to help me become more independent so that I will be able to move out and live on my own again one day when I'm ready since the first time didn't go so well. They were not/are not planning to kick me out, and the other friend moving in is just an idea that may not even come to fruition anyway. Even if it was partially a misunderstanding and there is no set time I need to be out of the house by, knowing that there is an end in sight has made it much harder for me to settle in because I don't feel like I can get settled since I'll just have to leave again at some point anyway even if that time is literal years away. Sorry if that doesn't make sense but that's the best way I can phrase it.

With all that background out of the way, I'll get back on track now. Kay and Andy have spent months planning on how to decorate the house and want to make the whole first floor (kitchen, living room, and shared craft space in the front room) themed like a medieval tavern. I haven't been able to give much input on how the house gets decorated outside of my own room. I've been trying to at least make my bedroom feel more homey since it's where I spend a lot of my time, but the common areas are much harder for me to feel comfortable and like I belong in because I don't have much control/input in how they will look. Which again, I know I'm not going to be here super long term, so it makes sense but it still sucks.

Now onto the actual situation here. There is a dining table set that Kay and Andy picked out that costs over $400 that Kay said on 12/25 she wants us all four to pitch in to get for the household for her birthday in a couple months. I am hesitant to contribute to this set, because I am not going to live with them forever. Obviously I pay my part to the household. I pay my fair share of rent, utilities, and food (though I will often make mini grocery runs throughout the week and I rarely if ever ask for money I spent back because I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them). I have already contributed towards furniture for the house but that is either things that are explicitly and exclusively mine despite household use (a tv stand I already had, a bookshelf I bought to display my things) and will come with me when I move out, or something that was a gift for someone else but still not ridiculously expensive (a $40 secondhand curio cabinet the rest of us got for Kay as an early Christmas present and various other small decorations for around the house).

There was another interaction today that has me a little upset. We've been thinking of getting a second TV for the living room so we can play online co-op games together. Who pays for the TV, determines who gets to keep the new one and who takes the old one when I leave. If the three of them want to keep the new TV, they're going to split the cost and I get the old one, however if I want the new TV I will have to pay for the whole thing myself. 1 person vs 3 people paying for something just feels unfair to me.

But the dining set feels different because it's a lot of money and I won't get to take any part of it with me when I eventually leave. With the TV I'd at least get to keep it. I feel guilty about not wanting to help pay for it, especially because Kay has said she wants it as a birthday gift, but if it almost feels like I'm just buying furniture for someone else's house. Honestly, I'll probably end up sucking it up and contributing anyway because I really don't like confrontation and tend to keep my feelings to myself anyway, but I just want to know other people's opinion on the situation.

Money has been a growing issue for me lately. I'm the only one with a stable, salaried job (barely pays above minimum wage though so it's not like I'm rolling funds), while Kay and Sam are hourly and Andy is between jobs right now. Like I said, I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them. Honestly I don't mind paying a little extra here and there to help out since I'm not much help with the cooking and cleaning, but the amount I have been contributing with no compensation has been eating away at my savings the last few months and I've been keeping silent about it because I don't want to make them feel guilty about it and make it awkward.

TLDR; I'm insecure and have trouble feeling wanted around by my roommates, and am expected to eventually move out. WIBTA if I don't want to help buy a dining set for the household because I won't get to take any part of it with me when I move out?

PS- If it's not too much trouble, could you please tag @aita-roommates-furniture so I am notified when this gets posted? Tumblr won't let me submit asks from a sideblog. If not, no worries! I'll just keep an eye out for it

What are these acronyms?