#besides all of that i don’t think this even falls on tee’s shoulders at this point

[chrisnoelie]

can i throw rocks at the people that keep trying to insist that all tee cares about is money so when the season is over he’ll choose another team over cincy as if nothing else matters to him. can i please.

[poguehearted77]

Stormbound

Summary: There's a tropical storm headed straight for the OBX but Rafe won't leave you alone.

smut: dom! rafe, pogue! reader, mentions the pogues, fingering, secret alliances, rafe is a good bad guy, making out, unprotected sex, big dick rafe, choking, teasing, floor sex, missionary, protective rafe, mutual pining but both are too stubborn to admit it.

The rain is just a steady drizzle when you start the long walk back from Figure Eight, cool and misty, soaking through your baby tee and denim shorts, but not quite cold enough to make you turn back.

Not that you would even if it were—the map you’d stuffed in your back pocket was too valuable to leave behind, and JJ had been so insistent that you’d be the one to get it.

It was a worn-out paper, a little frayed around the edges from too many hands clutching it too tight, and tonight, it held the Pogue’s best lead. JJ had been so confident about this—said it’d help them find the next clue, but you were the only one available to get it.

Just in and out, he’d said, sure as always, but of course, that had been before the storm started closing in. Even though you should've been back in the Cut by now, having ridden on the back of JJ's bike as he promised you he would, but of course, he forgot. You cross your arms and mutter to yourself, “Damn it, JJ. This better be worth it.”

The streets around you are silent, eerie even, with all the houses in Figure Eight shuttered up tight in preparation for the coming storm. It’s desolate and unsettling, making you all the more eager to get back to the Cut. But you’re barely halfway there when you hear the low rumble of an engine behind you.

Of course, you think. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

Rafe’s truck slows to a crawl, matching your pace, his headlights cutting through the rain. You feel his eyes on you as he leans out the window, looking you up and down with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Y/n? What are you doin' out here?” he calls, loud enough to be heard over the rain.

You ignore him, quickening your steps, but he’s persistent. The truck keeps rolling alongside you, just close enough that his voice still carries over the sound of the rain.

“You know there’s a storm coming, right?” he asks, his tone somehow both mocking and concerned. “You’re not gonna make it back before it hits.” A crack of thunder roars through the sky.

“Really? I didn't know that,” you mutter, not bothering to look his way. “Just go away, Rafe.”

He lets out a sigh, exaggerated, and you can practically see him rolling his eyes. “Jesus, can you stop being so damn stubborn? Just get in the car. I'll give you a ride back to the Cut.”

“No thanks.” You keep walking, setting your jaw as you ignore the urge to shiver, the rain starting to pick up, chilling you through your soaked clothes. With another quick glance at the darkened sky, you're now considering taking the shortcut along the beach to shave off some time.

But still, Rafe doesn’t drive off. He just keeps creeping along beside you, the engine of his truck a low, constant hum as he matches your pace. “Stop fucking around, Y/n. If you get caught out here you'll never make it back.” He warns but your shoulders shrug.

“I like those odds a hell of a lot better than risking a ride with you.” you snap, the suppressed shiver prevails as the rain intensifies, falling harder, faster, in cold, fat drops that slap against the pavement and blur the world around you.

Thunder rolls in the distance, low and ominous, and Rafe’s truck finally comes to a full stop as he pulls over. A second later, you hear his door slam shut, and when you glance back, he’s striding through the rain toward you, his face set in an exasperated glare.

“Are you done being difficult yet?” His voice cuts through the rain, his eyes locked on you, unyielding and determined. You hasten your pace, heading down the unpaved path towards the beach with Rafe trailing behind you with calls of your name.

This goes on for too long. The rain is relentless now, pouring down in thick sheets that chill you to the bone. Your vision was so distorted you could hardly see where you were going. You feel yourself starting to shiver, but you lift your chin, refusing to back down even as the storm rages around you.

A heavy hand holds you by the shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Y/n. You're gonna get yourself killed! The storm's just getting started-” he says, his exclamations punctuated with a bright bolt of lightning striking down not too far in the distance followed by a boisterous rumble of thunder.

"Shit!" You both curse before Rafe motions to the storage house up ahead, "We've gotta take shelter before shit goes south."

Even in life and death, your naturally skeptical nature overcomes you as you genuinely take the moment to consider the proposition. The rain was pummelling over the both of you, dripping down your faces, causing you both to squint, “Fine.”

For once there's no smugness in Rafe's expression. It's shielded by a look of relief, initially anticipating more resistance but he doesn’t say another word as you rush towards the shed and lock the doors shut.

The shed was spacious but dark. You took a step forward, or maybe a step back, but you weren't sure, almost instantly tripping over what you can only assume was a pale of some sort. You complain, "I can't see shit in here."

"Hang on," Rafe mumbles, followed by the indistinct sound of ruffled pockets and keys clinking together. The familiar spark of a lighter flicks a flame to life and gives you the light you've needed.

For a moment your eyes meet over the lighter. You clear your throat, looking around for something useful to keep the place lit, a gasp of relief falls from your lips as you locate a dusty lantern on the top shelf.

Raising yourself to the tip of your toes, your fingers are just barely grazing over the glass body of the object before a large hard, adorned with a few rings is already reaching over your head and bringing it down.

"I don't need your help." You snatch the lantern out of his grasp and it causes him to lose balance on the lighter in his left hand, the light goes out for a moment before he relights it.

"Can you ever be fucking grateful for once in your life? Would it kill you to say thank you?" He takes the lantern back and lights it, setting it down on the lower shelf.

"Why should I thank you? You're egotistical, narcissistic, selfish-" Your unfiltered rant is cut short by the pressure of his hand wrapped around your throat. You immediately try to move from him but the weight of his grip holds you in place.

"Selfish? Who's the one that made bail for you when you were caught trespassing in Tanny Hill?" Your brows furrow, "What? Shoupe said it was a wrongful arrest." He shakes his head, his hold around your neck loosens but you don't move it. "That was me. Who's the one that made sure you and those pogues made it off Dead Man's Island untouched when you'd stolen from them? Me."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, "That doesn't change the fact you're still an asshole. I saw you tampering with my drink at the bar and I got upset then you threw it at my feet-- "That drink was roofied. I saw the bartender spike it," His hold tightened a little more, "Don't worry, I made sure he couldn't use his hands for a long time."

Your stomach was in knots, for once not in a way that made you seasick anytime you were with Rafe. This time was different, there was slight adoration building within you. His eyes were cold, hard, and protective. Without thinking you slinked your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for the first kiss of many.

The cold shed quickly filled with warmth as you familiarized yourselves with each other's bodies. Your clothes were now in the pale that tripped you earlier and Rafe's shirt was nowhere to be found, possibly hung up on the wall with the life jackets.

Rain lashes against the walls of the shed, a fierce, steady drumming that drowns out every other sound. The wind howls through the cracks, sharp and wild, whistling as it sweeps across the beach, sending gusts of sand and spray pelting against the flimsy structure.

The ruckus was the least of Rafe's concerns as he had you on your back on a pile of beach towels, moaning his name as he fingered you incessantly with his right hand, his left pinning your leg down to stop moving.

"R-Rafe!" Your vision begins to darken, and your heart rate picks up as you quickly stumble toward your high. The lewd sounds of your slick humiliated you, not because of what it was but because Rafe made you like this. You had Rafe Fucking Cameron between your legs and you loved it.

"Yeah? You got somethin' you wanna say?" He teases, his pace relentless and unforgiving as your body spasmed, your wetness covering his fingers as they stretched you open. The coolness of the metal rings adds a cold surprise with every glide.

"I'm-- fuck! Gonna-" You're interrupted by your own orgasm once Rafe accelerates to a pace that you couldn't handle without being blinded by the heavens. "You look so fucking pretty when you come" Rafe remarks, voice deep but a little unstable. Unsure how long he could maintain his composure.

Not long at all it seems.

The moment the bulbous head of his cock had caught in the ring of your wet heat, he sank himself into the hilt. "Shit-Shit- Shit!" A pained his scratches up the walls of his throat, not giving you a second to adjust. Your back arches off the towels, eyes glossy as they stare up at Rafe whose eyes are screwed shut, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as soft grunts fall from his lips.

His eyes open to look down at you, entranced with every movement on your face, looking for any signs to slow down, but your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He groans at the extra depth he reaches within your velvet walls. He lowers himself down, dropping teasing kisses on your lips, the some behind your ear, down the side of your neck and you were sick of his antics.

Looping your fingers under his chain you pull him close to you once again, locking your lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained and dangerously intimate for a pogue and a kook to share. "Can't get enough of you," He whispers against your lips, his thrusts slowing down and dragging slower making everything feel deeper.

"Why'd you have to be such a douchebag." You pout between kisses and he chuckles, "Maybe I wouldn't have to be if you weren't such an ungrateful brat." He snaps his hips on impulse causing you to gasp.

"I'm n-not-" You were losing your train of thought and Rafe couldn't concentrate on anything more than the immense wave of pleasure that was breaking down over him.

"Not what? Huh?" You were unable to speak, the coil in your core rapidly igniting, about to snap. Rafe didn't need to hear you say it to know you were close. "Come on, baby. Give it to me. Give me all you got." His gruff tone combined with the pet name had you unravelling beneath him and he came moments later, pulling out and pumping his cum on your stomach.

He kept you warm on the towels, his larger frame wrapped up with yours. You both refused to acknowledge what had just happened when-- "Oh Shit!" You jolt up, rushing to the pale where your clothes had been displaced and you rummage through the pockets of your shorts to find the map that caused all this.

"What's wrong?" You ignore his question once you have the map in your hands, It's still folded, but soaked. You carefully opened it and the ink was partially illegible, but you could still make out some of the words.

"Is that what I think it is?" Rafe asks and you nod slowly, "The map to Kraken's Rest? It was. The rain washed it out." Rafe takes a closer look at the map, asking where you'd gotten this from.

"I.. borrowed it from the museum." You lie. "You don't have to lie to me, I know you stole this-- Did you get it off the display?" You nod, and he tosses the map carelessly into the pale.

Suddenly you remembered why you didn't get along. "What are you doing I need that." You're about to retrieve it when he speaks up. "Museums rarely put the real shit out for the public. All the authentic artifacts are kept in the Kildare vaults."

The good news puts a smile on your face before reality wipes it off, "How am I supposed to get in there unnoticed? They'll catch me before I even make it to the door."

Rafe grins as if the sequence of events has worked itself out too perfectly. "I'm on the guest list for their upcoming exhibit charity gala. The vaults are fingerprint-protected, and I know a guy who's got access. The event is pretty high-profile so I know he'll be there. I can lift his prints and pass them to you during the night so you can get to the vault..."

It sounded like a good plan but how would Rafe get prints to you-- He continues, "But if the plan is gonna work, you'll have to come with me. As my plus one." He's unable to mask the small tug on his lips at the offer and you smile.

[bblairxe]

content warnings : fingering ( r receiving ) , praise , nsfw , porn w/ plot , a lot of tension , a lot of eye contact , idk man it’s just freaky

wc : 2k

note : bro it wasn’t even supposed to be this damn long i’m just a freaking sucker for pwp 😓. but yeah this was supposed to come out a couple days ago but i kept losing motivation, so i just wanted to finish this up today. sorry if it’s booty dookie cheeks ! this is a part two of this , but it can be read by itself ! minors / men do not interact or i will find you ( that’s a promise not a threat )

    a soft knock echoes through abby’s apartment, followed by the sound of unlocking. the door opens, your body filling the frame. a mix of hesitation and anticipation swirl in your eyes. 

    “you’ve made it i see.” abby says, a soft smile playing on her face. 

    “yeah, it was a bit of traffic, but you know i managed.” you replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

    the two of you lock eyes, the moment stretching longer than it should, until abby snaps out of it and clears her throat. “sorry, come inside.” 

    your steps are soft as you look around the high rise apartment. it feels like you’re finally being let in her world, taking occasional glances at small paintings hung on the wall. 

    a certain portrait catches your eye, it’s one of abby and her mother. she has her arms wrapped tightly around a golden trophy, the biggest smile stretched across her face. she’s wearing her signature dutch braid, dirt and grime smeared all over her cheeks. her mother’s arm rested on her shoulder, holding abby close to her. it’s such a beautiful sight it almost makes you tear up, but the sound of abby’s footsteps startles you, quickly setting the frame down. 

    “i was so proud of myself that day,” she chuckles, her voice calm as she reminisces about the memory. “won first place in a soccer tournament.” 

    you look up and smile at abby, “who’s the lady?” 

    she’s silent for a moment, and for a second, you’re sure you’ve overstepped her boundaries. the thought sits heavy in your chest, but her face doesn’t change—her soft smile stays in place, and her eyes still hold that same nostalgic warmth.

    “my mother,” she pauses, thinking back to that day. “she was my biggest supporter along with my father.” 

    “she’s a beautiful woman, ms. anderson.” your tone is genuine and light, moving your hand to place over hers.

    the gesture is small, and abby should brush it off, but she doesn’t. her body turns to face yours, and something about the way she looks at you ignites a feeling within. maybe it’s the way her compressed tee shows off her muscles perfectly, or how her face framing strands bring out her facial structure, or maybe it’s her hunger - filled eyes scanning your body up and down. 

    she adjusts your hand, her fingers now interlocked with yours. her body turns to guide the two of you to the couch, the vanilla scented candle fills your nostrils. its a beautiful sight, a fire place just beneath a flat screen tv. ceiling to floor windows right behind the two accessories, projecting the city life to you, and your mouth falls open in awe.

   she chuckles at your expression before asking, “can i get you anything?” you just melt at her words. her soft eyes and caring eyes traps you further into her spell. 

    “just you,” your words are slightly above a whisper, patting to the empty spot next to you. 

    her cheeks redden at that, the feeling of someone actually wanting her presence is so foreign it’s painful. a small, hesitant nod is all she gives before settling into the spot beside you. you don’t mean to, but you do, your gaze focuses down to her lap. her legs are spread, wide enough to be considered manspreading and enough to fit you in between them.   

    “you with me, princess?” her voice is so low and smooth you almost don’t catch it, but there’s no missing the way her look lingers on you.

    “yea, yeah, i’m here — sorry just uh, sorry, yeah, hi.” your words come out stumbled and mixed, and you’ve neverbeen more embarrassed in your life.

    another soft laugh leaves her lips, an ‘it’s okay’ following right after. she places a hand on your thigh, running it up and down. “you know,” she starts, her eyes meeting yours, “your grades have improved a lot since that lesson. i think you deserve to be shown how proud you make me.” 

    your breathing starts to come out in small hitches, your thoughts going a thousand miles per minute. that familiar trance like state comes again, her words turn into background noise and all you can think about is her hand on your body. 

    she notices the way your pupils dilate, that dazed expression on your face appearing once again. “love, you’ve gotta pay attention when i’m speaking.” she muttered, inching her hand from your thigh to your hip. 

    “yeah, sorry, i’m listening,” you stammer, shaking your head to rid the lewd thoughts from infiltrating once again. 

    “it’s alright, here,” both of her hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you to straddle her lap. 

    the sudden movement was shocking. sure, you and abby have been close before, but never full body contact kind of close. you’re practically inhaling her exhales, hell you could count each freckle on her face if you wanted. her hands remain steady on you, tracing slow, deliberate circles against your sides. she’s wearing that same mixture of cologne and perfume again, and it takes everything in you to keep yourself from losing it completely.

    “you okay?” abby asks softly, her voice is barely above a whisper. her eyes search yours, warm but heavy with something unspoken.

    “yeah, i’m good” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky, and each breath comes out faster than the last.

    “you sure?” her lips quirk up slightly, teasing but tender, “you look a little . . . overwhelmed.”

    “i’m fine,” you insist, a small giggle breaking in between your words, “just wasn’t expecting this” 

    “oh really? thought you liked surprises,” she tilts her head slightly, her braid shifting over her shoulder. 

    her words have a playful undertone, but the way she’s looking at you tells a much different story.

    “depends on the surprise.” 

    “this one a good surprise?” 

    “very. too good maybe,” it feels as if your cheeks are hotter than earth’s core. you bring your fingers up to play with her face framing pieces, swirling them around your finger. 

    “too good?” abby echoes, her smile present through her words. “don’t tell me you’re scared of me now.” 

    “never.” 

    her breath hitches, her hands trailing up to your waist and back down to your hips. the air between you feels tense, heavy with the kind of tension that makes your heart flutter.

    you lean in closer, your fingers sliding up her shoulder and brushing against the loose strands of her braid. a sudden urge to wrap your hand around the base of her braid and tug hits you. you give in, slipping your hand up and giving the slightest pull, just to see how she reacts.

    but oh, she liked that, more than she needed to. an exasperated gasp leaves her lips, her eyes softening. her fingers tightened around your waist, using it as a way to stabilize herself. you felt her hips buck up ever so slightly and her body slowly sink further into the couch. 

    your faces draw closer and her breath mixes with yours. she brings her hand up to rest on your cheek, nervousness setting in as she pulls you closer, until your lips meet. the kiss is cautious at first, waiting to see if either of you would pull away, but she notices the way you respond, your fingers pulling harder, your body pressing into her, how your hips begin to grind against her lap. 

    “you’re so damn beautiful,” she mutters before slamming her lips back into yours. 

    the kiss becomes hungry and filled with lust. her tongue brushing against your bottom lip, begging to be let in. your lips trail from her lips to her jaw, sucking and licking every part of her. 

    “so eager, hm?” she teases, her fingers toying with your waistband. 

    she pulls her head away from your needy kisses to look back at you, searching for any sign that you want to stop. but, you might as well have read her mind saying, “i want this, i want you.”

    she grins at your words, leaning in to press a quick peck to your lips before tugging your bottoms off. one hand dips under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers brushing against your waist. the other guiding your hips into a slow rhythm against her lap. 

    “can we get this off too, angel?” her breath tickling your neck but she plants a swift kiss as forgiveness. her hand just at the base of your bra, not going any higher. 

    you give a hesitant nod, too focused on the way the material of her sweatpants feel against your damp cunt. the fabric of shirt flies over your head, leaving you in nothing but a bra and panties.

    you’ve never felt so bare, but so comfortable in front of someone before. sure, you’ve been intimate with people before but it’s never felt this way, never felt so cared for. 

    her finger traces along the slit of your cotton underwear, feeling the texture of your swollen clit on her finger tips. a soft, satisfied hum escapes her lips as she feels how soaked you are. “you’re already this wet f’ me?” her words are teasing but filled with warmth. 

    your breath hitches at both her words and the sensation, slowly rocking your hips to gain more friction. “you make it impossible to resist,” you whisper, your voice trembling with each movement of her hands. 

    she plants a long kiss on your neck, her fingers slowly inching towards your core. “that’s what i like to hear.” 

    her words send a shiver down your spine. before you can respond, your panties are pulled aside. a hiss leaves your lips, the sudden temperature change is uncomfortable at first, but it’s soon replaced with something better: pleasure.

    before you can think, you’re being filled with abby’s thick calloused fingers. plunging in and out of you at a slow, steady pace. your mouth falls agape and your head lolls forward, resting on her shoulder. 

    it’s slow for a while, her eyes watching how your body reacts to just one of her fingers, making sure to maintain a calm pace. but she wants more than that, she needs to see you fall apart on top of her. “gonna give you 2 angel, ‘kay?” she waits for a response, but all you can manage is a shaky, whined-out “okay.”

    she begins to plant more kisses along the side of your neck, while she fills you with her fingers. of course, she curls her fingers just to hit that spot inside of you, making your eyes roll and her name starts to leave your throat like a chanted mantra. 

    “look at you,” she murmurs, her tone is laced with admiration and awe. her gaze flickers from your eyes and where her fingers disappear inside of you. “you take me so well, baby. so perfect.”

    a wave of heat courses through your body, her words having a very clear effect on you. your hips start moving on their own, meeting each thrust of her fingers with desperation. the scene is downright pornographic, the sound of your arousal filling the room, mixing with the whimpers and moans you can’t hold back. 

“abby,” your hands are clutching at her shoulders, nails leaving little half moons on her skin. “please — don’t stop.”

    “i wont, i’ve got you sweetheart.” 

    her thumb brushes over your clit, and the added sensation has your back arching. her lips find yours again, capturing your noises. it’s absolutely messy, desperate, and consuming — like she wants to devour every sound you make. 

    your legs start to shake around her, the pressure building inside of you about to snap. “abby, i’m —“ you try to warn her but the words are cut off with a guttural moan. 

    your orgasm crashes over you and you’ve never felt so euphoric. it feels as if the entire world has stopped spinning and it’s only the two of you. her fingers still work inside of you, but it’s much more gentle and slower, similar to her pace before. 

    “thaaat’s it, angel. just ride it out,” she whispers, rubbing your back soothingly in attempt to help you come down. “so, so beautiful.” 

     your forehead rests against hers as your breath comes back to normal rate. abby gently withdraws her fingers, her touch careful and reverent, watching your body language. 

    “you okay?” she asks, analyzing your face for any unspoken words. 

    you nod, giggling as you slump down further into her embrace, “more than okay.” 

    a wave of relief washes over her, planting another kiss on your shoulder. “i’m glad, let’s get you cleaned up, love.”

🏷️ : @ellieslosttwofingers , @sapphichounded , @macabremilieu , @polarhues , @iris0-0 , @velvetinkbym , @jinxedbambi , @hyazinthx , @plum-coke , @dyk3miffy , @pornoangelz , @while-my-angel-weeps

[luveline]

Can I request a fic involving a reader with a skin picking disorder, please? I have one that started up around the same time as my anxiety disorder started ramping up, and now my arms are riddled with scars. I've been trying to break the habit for years now, sometimes I do good but sometimes I don't and I'm so self-conscious about it all.

thank you for requesting sweetheart!! fem, 1k

Eddie thinks there may be no better feeling than your hand in his as Eddie lays on your shoulder. You have this thing about your arms where they can get a little sore from picking, so you can’t always let him lean on them. Good thing he takes his super hot babe angel any way you’ll have him. 

“Super what?” you ask. 

“My super hot babe angel,” he says into the top of your shoulder, slouched in the dark, TV burning his eyes. 

“I missed everything you just said,” you murmur apologetically. 

Eddie forces himself to stop laying so heavily against your side and gives you some space. He’s worried he’ll elbow you as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I asked if you wanted to go to bed, super babe.” 

“Is that what the rock stars are calling their girlfriends?” you ask. 

“Just me.” He clambers off of the couch with a groan. His hair falls in his eyes and he’s too hot for the weather tonight. “I’m gonna brush my teeth.” 

You’d already done yours. You usually get ready for bed in one process where Eddie drags it out all night; you’re in your pyjamas with spearmint on your tongue already, while Eddie’s groggy and overdressed two hours later. 

You go separate ways for a few minutes, the bed squeaking as you drop yourself in it, while Eddie puts his hair up to wash his face and brush his teeth. He takes his shirt off when he’s done, his jeans next, kicked into a pile by the hamper and ready for tomorrow’s laundry. 

“That’s forward,” you mumble, having made yourself comfortable with his worst pillow, the blanket pulled back on his side of the bed in wait for him. 

He rushes into new pyjama pants, eager to slide into bed beside you, though the sheets are a bit much. You’re still in your long sleeve tee. 

Eddie knows what you’re doing. Most summer nights you wait for him to fall asleep before you take off your shirt, too hot to suffer it but too afraid he’ll see your arms. He has, of course, seen them before. He loves them just as much as any part of you, even if you hate them. 

And he wants to see them to know you aren’t going too far. 

“Shirt off,” he says, fingers on your hip. “Come on, super babe. Too hot for that.” 

“Eddie…”

“Take it off, sweetheart.” 

He wouldn’t talk to you like that if he didn’t know you’d say no if you really couldn’t handle it; he’d never force you to show your insecurities, even if he’s seen them and loved on them before. 

You don’t bother sitting up any more than you need to, peeling off your shirt and shucking it onto the floor, leaving you in your tank top. Lengths of your arms exposed. 

He can see the worst of it quickly. You’ve picked yourself bloody at the crook of your elbow and the scar at your wrist is irritated. Your non-dominant arm takes the brunt of it every time, but besides those two cruel places, the rest of your skin is unharmed. Scarred in places, but healed. 

“Look at that one,” he mumbles, taking your arm, his thumb close but not touching the wound. “Does that hurt?” 

“Not really.” 

“Let me get something. You need a dressing–”

“Eddie, please don’t.” 

Eddie likes smiling. He can be pretty moody, but you bring out the best in him. Even when you’re hurting, he has a smile waiting for you, locked and loaded. He shifts in bed so he can lean over you, weight braces on his elbow, his face in his hand. “What’s worrying you so much?” he asks. 

“Everything.” 

“It’s tough.” He blows a breath at your eyelashes. Your eyes shutter closed. “Babe, it’s really tough, but you don’t have to hide it from me.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“It’s not weird, it’s sad. It’s not nice that you feel so worried you start hurting yourself, but it’s not weird.” He leans down to kiss your furrowed brow, but he doesn’t quite get there, nose smushed to your hairline. “You’re perfect.” 

“M’not perfect.” 

“Yes you are,” he says, cupping your face. His hand is gentle, his kiss less so. He hopes it emphasises his point. 

“Your hair is really tickling me.” 

“I can’t go anywhere, I’m sorry. I have to stay right here,” he says, hand trailing down your chest to weave between your arm and side, and then soundly under your back. He doesn’t want a ring or bracelet to snag on your sore arm. “Give me a hug, super babe. Please.” 

You bring your arms up tentatively behind him. 

“I just wanna know when you’re upset,” he says. 

“Sorry. I don’t really think about it, I just do it.” 

“I know, but… this stuff doesn’t bother me. You don’t have to wait for me to be sleeping before you take your shirt off, you have nothing to hide from me.” 

“It’s so stupid.” 

He hates the shame in your tone. “It’s not stupid. We need to find better ways for you to feel better, that’s all.” His cheek rubs against yours. 

He can rebuke your worries all night, but he doesn’t need to. He shifts onto his side to let you hug his chest with more force, your face in his neck, the cold tip of your nose and your warm lips. “I wanna be pretty like you.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks. 

You hum a yes. 

“Even though I always have at least one zit, and all those weird stretch marks on my shoulders, and my hair’s frizzy every day?” 

“None of that stuff matters,” you say, startled. 

“Exactly. None of this stuff matters.” He finds your arm to feel down to the sore scab on your wrist. “I just need you to tell me about it more often. Okay? Deal?” 

You breathe in the side of his neck. “Okay, handsome. Deal.” 

[daycourtofficial]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 13

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 1.8k | Warnings: none | Masterlist

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author's note: everyone say thank you to @sarawritestories for bullying me to get me to write and to @milswrites for the NEW HEADER LOOK IT'S SO PRETTY

Ten minutes to the dot from getting to your door Azriel was walking into your apartment with a bowl of popcorn and several bags of candy. He brought chocolates, gummy worms, cookies, and several other sweets in the crook of his elbow, several being held by random fingers. You really weren’t sure how he was carrying it all. 

In your absence he also changed into some black sweatpants and a black tee, his arms flexed with all the snacks in his hold. He looked great at mini golf, but now he looked attractive in such a different way. 

“What are you doing?” He looked a bit ridiculous, as if he just raided a candy store. He looked even more ridiculous trying to toe his shoes off before making his way over to you.

“I know you don’t have food here.”

“Yes we do - Cassian was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday!” You whip your head to the kitchen, as if you could see the inside of your pantry from where you sat. “Besides I ordered a pizza.”

He gives you a look, “Cassian’s version of grocery shopping is stopping at our apartment and taking what he wants.”

Your eyes widen, “no he does not! He said he goes to the store for food.”

He scoffs, setting down the candy and snacks on the table in front of you, lining them all up so you could see the label on each bag, “the store of Rhys and Az, maybe. A 24 hour convenience store Cassian has a lifetime membership to.”

You think back to all the times Cassian told you he was going grocery shopping, but you’re not sure if you ever did see him come back with bags of groceries. All the food and supplies just showed up. “Well, I’m sorry he does that. It does explain his luxurious tastes though…”

“It’s fine,” he says sitting next to you, your legs touching. “Rhys’s dad pays for the groceries, so..” 

His sentence lingers as he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s what’s worked for us for a long time. Rhys couldn't care less. Actually I think he prefers getting to spend money on us.”

“So things with Rhys’s dad are weird?”

“Uh, yeah, I suppose. His dad sucks. Gives Rhys a- basically an unlimited credit card. Rhys has played with the limits on it before. We all know he’s rich, we just don’t know how rich. He’s spent a ridiculous amount of money on that card with no response. Once he bought all of ours and Cassian’s furniture in one trip - bought ridiculously priced shit too. Didn’t even blink over it.”

He scoops up a handful of popcorn, popping some into his mouth. “Well, all the furniture except their ridiculously sized tvs.”

You giggle, grabbing the bag of sour candies he brought and opening them, popping some in your mouth. “Mm, you’re too good to fall victim to their childish antics?”

“I’m more evolved than them.”

“So it was a different Azriel that Cassian was talking about going racing with him on some backroads a few weeks ago?”

A beat passes and he refuses to look at you, his eyes straight forward. “I think Cassian has face blindness.”

“Oh yeah, mhm.” You pick up the remote, scrolling to look through potential movies to watch. “Maybe we should get a decal for your bike so he won’t get confused again. I’m thinking of something that makes you seem distinguished.”

“Oh?”

“Something that makes you seem intimidating.”

“something scary?” His eyes dance with amusement, crinkling in contained joy.

“Something terrifying. So they know you’re a menace.”

You scroll through the movie options, Azriel’s arm making its way across the back of the couch behind you. He spreads his legs a bit, and you nestle into his shoulder as you put on Jurassic Park, picking a movie you’d be okay with missing some parts to it.

The two of you had watched at least three quarters of Jurassic Park, several parts of the movie missed because the two of you couldn’t keep from making out on your couch. 

You watched the entire trilogy, staying up late with him. By the time the second movie came on, the two of you talked through most of it, until you’d reach the scenes with the pterodactyls in the third movie. Then you had forced your hands over his mouth, not letting him talk over your favorite scenes. Once you had pulled them away, he immediately dove on top of you, pushing you into the couch and nuzzling his face into your neck.

The two of you stayed up until somewhere around 3 AM, the third movie long forgotten as you asked him to stay the night. Nothing happened, except you did wake up the next morning with his arm slung around your waist, making it very tempting to completely ignore your alarm clock.

Unfortunately, Azriel had work to do, kissing your temple before he snuck back into his apartment to get dressed.

He had been gone for all of twenty seconds when your phone buzzed and he asked if you’d like to get coffee the next day before class. Your classes lined up at the same time each day, so you two would meet up at a local coffee shop in the morning. You’d park your car in the grocery store lot afterwards, Azriel holding out his spare helmet for you before helping put it on your head before he’d zip you two through campus, one of his hands always on your thigh. 

The two of you would separate once he’d walk you to your classes, and then you’d meet back up at the library. It was a bit concerning to you how quickly the two of you fell into a routine, most of your free time of the week either spent with him or texting him.

“I got you something.”

You rummage through your bag when Azriel walks up to the table, his jacket being thrown onto one of the extra chairs. He sets down his helmet as you continue your search. You slide the envelope across the table, his scarred fingers touching yours as he grabs it from you. He opens the envelope, pulling out the note.

‘To be more menacing’ is written on pink stationary, a sticker falling from the paper. He picks it up, a smile on his face as he turns the sticker in his fingers, the cartoon goose with a knife in his mouth looking back at you.

His smile is captivating in the harsh lighting of the library, the LEDs making his skin several shades too light.

But it made his smile all the more blinding. 

“Thank you,” he slips the sticker into his jacket pocket, sliding into the seat across from you.

He pulled out his laptop, his bag neat and tidy, a far cry from Cassian’s paper cluttered bag. You go back to reviewing your notes, as Azriel begins typing on his computer. The silence is comfortable between you two, and as you feel it start to settle, Azriel’s foot grazes your own, sticking itself between your crossed ankles. 

You peer at him across the table, but his tortoiseshell glasses don’t move towards you, his computer screen reflecting through them to show he was working on some form of coding you had no desire to understand. You smile back down to your books, trying to get all your work finished before Friday, the six of you spending the weekend at Rhys’s dad’s lake house. 

Cassian had been moaning and groaning for several weeks about wanting to go to the lake, but Rhys’s dad was having renovations done on the house and on the private dock until roughly two weeks ago. Since its completion, Cassian has been relentless, worming the word ‘lake’ into every conversation he’s had, not being very subtle about what he wanted.

Every morning he texted your group chat about his ‘cornfLAKEs’ or about how he just loves ‘snowfLAKEs’. He had just run out of words two days ago and now resorted to making up words that had ‘lake’ in them. Rhys immediately texted everyone to ‘please for the love of my sanity, be available this weekend or else I’m petitioning we murder Cassian’. 

None of you wanted to be stuck doing any kind of work this weekend - Cassian and Azriel already had the weekend off, Mor and Feyre were free, and your plans revolved around the work and the man in front of you. All of you were desperate to finish any work that was due on Monday before the six of you left.

“So this weekend.”

He holds up a finger, typing furiously before he stops, looking up at you. He closes his laptop slightly, pushing it away from himself. 

“This weekend.”

You put your chin in your hands, looking at his tan face. You loved seeing him wear his glasses - they made him look so endearing and soft. “Are we um going to tell anyone before we go? Besides Mor, obviously.”

You had texted Mor at some point during the second or third movie, asking her if she had mentioned your date to anyone. She had said no and that she’d be willing to keep it that way if you remembered to thank her profusely for ‘setting you up on the best date of your life’. 

You had agreed, but now this left you with a bit of a dilemma - when do you tell everyone? Does he want to tell everyone?

“You don’t understand how annoying they can get when it comes to my love life.”

You giggled, certain you could figure it out based on how nosey and meddling Cassian was. 

He clears his throat, “besides I’d like to figure things out with you before they know. I don’t want them to scare you off.”

You laughed, “I walked in on Cassian trimming his toenails the other night. I think anything worse than that violates the Geneva convention.”

His smile is bright as he watches you giggle at your own joke. “How about this,” his hands move across the table, laying them palm up so you can sit yours into them. Your fingers lightly trace the lines on his palms as his voice picks up again. “I’ll take you out for lunch tomorrow, and it will be the official end of things… until we get back.”

You raise your brows, but he’s not finished. “Obviously, not really the end of things. But just.. We’ll come back from lunch as the people we were last week. Before mini golf.”

Your voice is a bit unsteady as you ask, “do you want to stay those people? The before mini golf versions of ourselves?”

“No.” His reply is fast, voice full of conviction.

“You’re not just saying this because Rhys’s lake house has a hot housekeeper, are you?”

He blows out his lips, laughing at your waggling eyebrows, “Sonya’s been about eighty years old for the past fifteen years.” His fingers quickly snatch yours, holding them tightly. “So she’s perfect for me.”

You throw your head back, about to laugh, but he pulls your fingers forward, bringing you in for a soft kiss you can’t help but giggle through.

Series taglist: @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @impossibelle @hayrunnwr @just-a-social-casualty-1 @thisisew @brieflyclassymortal @glitterypirateduck @marshmummy @bookishbroadwaybish @azsteris @doriansgf @footyandformula @mybestfriendmademe @od-anon @judig92 @luvmoo @marina468 @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @acotarobsessed @maryssong23 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading <3

[uses-for-fics]

I’m Yours | Manny Rivera

ft Jack Griffin

YN had been heading to the art room to grab some supplies for a class project. Her students are working on creating a skeletal system out of construction paper, combining biology with hands-on creativity.

As YN rummaged through the art room shelves, she heard a voice behind her. “Need any help?”

Startled, she spined around to see Manny, a warm smile on his face. Without missing a beat, she blurts, “If I’d known the school board was visiting today, I wouldn’t have left the kids in charge of the classroom!”

Manny raised an eyebrow, chuckling nervously. "Wait… they’re not actually alone, are they?"

She grinned and shook her head. "Relax, they’re at recess. Mr. Gregory offered to watch my class while I grabbed the supplies."

Manny lets out a relieved laugh and glances at the stack of construction paper and glue sticks in her arms. "Need some help with that?"

"Sure," YN replies with a smile, and Manny grabs a few supplies to lighten her load. As they walk back to her classroom, they fall into easy conversation. Manny teases her about her creative lesson plans, and the topic shifts to their dinner plans for that evening.

“I’m excited for tonight,” Manny says, his tone warm. “You’ve been opening up more, and I’m really glad you’re letting me into your space.”

YN smiles softly. “Thanks for being patient with me. It means a lot. You don’t mind taking it slow?”

“Not at all,” he replies sincerely. As they approached her classroom door, YN hesitated, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Would it be wildly inappropriate if I kissed you at school?”

Manny grins, then gently lifts her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on it. “How about this for now?” he says, his voice low and affectionate.

YN blushes, their connection palpable even in the brief moment. She opens the door, and they part ways as she prepares to dive back into teaching, already looking forward to the evening ahead.

Later that evening, YN and Manny are enjoying a cozy dinner at her house. The conversation flows easily, with YN recounting her day at school while Manny listens attentively. She giggles as she tells him about a student who glued the construction paper bones to his face instead of the paper skeleton. "But," she laughs, "he got all the bones in the right place, so I gave him a B+ for effort."

Manny chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s one creative way to learn anatomy." As he reaches across the table to hold her hand, YN moves to take his hand in hers but accidentally knocks over his glass of water, spilling it all over his shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she says, jumping up.

“It’s fine,” Manny reassures her, laughing.

“I think I have an oversized tee somewhere,” she says, heading toward her bedroom. "You can change into that." Manny follows her, amused by her flustered energy. While YN rummages through her dresser, she waves toward the closet. “Feel free to look in there if you want to see if anything works for you.”

As she’s searching, Manny calls out, “Hey, I didn’t know you were a cardigan person! This one’s really comfy!” She turns to see him standing shirtless, wearing an old burgundy cardigan that’s clearly a size too big for her. Manny’s grinning, doing a little spin. “Wow, it even fits me!”

YN stares for a moment before rushing over. “Oh no, Manny, not that one. You shouldn’t wear that.”

Feigning offense, he asks, “What, does it look bad on me?”

She sighs, sitting on the edge of her bed. “It’s not that… It was my ex-boyfriend’s. I forgot I even had it.” Manny immediately softens, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, then begins to open up. “His name was Jack Griffin. We worked at the same school in Toledo. I taught biology, and he taught AP Bio. He was brash, cynical… and, well, magnetic. It was one of those fiery, all-consuming relationships, but it just wasn’t healthy. He was too controlling, too cynical about everything, and he wanted to move faster than I was ready for. I had to end it. He tried to play it off like it was mutual so he could save face, but…” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m saying way too much.”

Manny rubs her shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to tell me. That stuff’s important.” He stands up and removes the cardigan, setting it aside. Spotting an oversized tee with a Paddy’s Pub logo, he grins. “This will do nicely.” He pulls it on and stretches his hand out to her. “How about we go finish dinner and watch a movie? Your choice.”

She takes his hand and kisses it softly. “Thank you for being so perfect.” The night ends with the two of them cuddled on her couch, accidentally falling asleep while watching Wallace and Gromit. Plates of half-eaten dessert and a shared blanket are the only witnesses to their growing bond.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl on fire 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, neglect, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: neglected, you find comfort in another home.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Loki

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself

Another lonely morning greets you. The chirping of birds and the yellow haze of sunlight does little to warm your bed. You stretch your arm out, feeling the empty space beside you. You lift your hand and stare at the ring you forgot to take off, as you often do. Sometimes, you just don’t want to. Sometimes you think if you do, he’ll truly be gone. 

Your husband isn’t gone though. Just absent. Just away on business. What's the difference?

You sit up and that knot under your shoulder pangs. You don’t sleep well without Loki near. Even after all this time, you’re not used to it. You wonder if he lays awake in his hotel beds. 

You go to the bathroom and wake yourself up with a splash of cold water. The day unfolds slowly around you as the dregs of sleep recede to painful reality. Alone. Again. Just like every day. When you said til death do you part, you didn’t think it would be a walking death. 

You wash and dress, for no reason in particular. You suppose because you should look human if you go outside. You sit and drink your tea in the kitchen as you watch the news on your phone. Current events only make you feel worse about the world. Even in your suburban paradise, there is no joy. 

You close out the player and tap on your messages. The last text you got from your errant husband was two nights ago. He landed safely. He doesn’t respond unless you message first. You’re starting to forget the days when he would rush in the door and sweep you off your feet. There is only numbness left where once you tingled. 

You’ll talk. Yeah, you’ll sit down and communicate and make it all better. Sure, that’ll happen. You laugh at yourself as you rinse the mug and leave it in the sink. You say that to yourself every time and then he comes home and it’s just silence. 

This isn’t a home, it’s a prison. At least you get outdoors time here. 

You step into your slippers and go outside, grabbing your gardening gloves as you tie on the tool belt with trowel, rake, and spade tucked in the pockets. You roll your shoulders and stretch, groaning as the dull jab remains under your shoulder blade. You need to stop reading in bed. 

As you near the soil along the walk, you stop short. Dirt litters the pavement and petals scatter all around. You near fall to your knees, staggering instead as you grasp at your stomach. No, no, no. 

You stare down at the ruin of your tulips. Not just any tulips but the pink and white ones you’d been nursing for weeks. The ones you bought yourself to mark your tenth year of marriage. The gift you never got from your husband because he couldn’t fit you into his calendar. 

“Ugh!” You exclaim and stomp the broken stems. “I hate you!” 

You stamp your feet in the dirt, spreading the mess, jumping up and down as your anger swells and your hurt flows over. That damn squirrel! That pest! That horrid creature! 

You kick through the other flowers, crushing peonies and pansies and violets. You don’t care about any of it. It doesn’t matter. It all just wilts and dies. It’s all just a bunch of bullshit. 

You clutch your head and collapse on your heels, sitting on your knees as you hang your head forward. It’s not the flowers. You know it’s not. The one thing you don’t want to think about is the only thing you can think about. 

You stay like that, sobbing into the ruin of your front garden. How pathetic you must look in your old Gap tee shirt and oversized sweatpants. If any of those HOA cyborgs walked by, they’d surely give you a citation. 

“Pardon,” a voice breaks through your tragedy and you close your eyes.  

You’re delusional. You have to be imagining things. It sounds just like him. Like your Loki. You turn your head and open your eyes, lashes webbed with tears. You sniff and quickly mop them away. Of course it wouldn’t be your husband. 

“Are you alright? I saw you fall from across the street,” the slim tall man stands on the other side of your iron gate. “Oh my, well, what a mess that chap made of your garden. I’m afraid he had a go at mine as well.” 

You squint and shake your head, “who?” 

“That squirrel fellow. He broke one of my planters as well,” he points with his long index finger. How peculiar. He reminds you of him. Tall, slim, and his nose... 

“That’s... yeah,” you sniffle and look down, using your shirt, to wipe away what’s left of your grief. 

“They must’ve meant very much. Even if they are just flowers, I can empathise,” he says. 

You shrug, “I’m being dramatic.” 

You stand and sweep off your pants. He lingers and you avoid looking at him. You’ve humiliated yourself enough. 

“Tulips,” he remarks. “I’ve some lovely blue ones from Holland if you’d like some bulbs. Can never have too many.” 

“That’s nice of you,” you keep your head down, turning your back to him, “who are you exactly?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose I’ve not made the rounds yet. I... do you perhaps know a Hattie?” 

“Yeah, across the street,” you mutter. 

“That would be her. My aunt,” he explains, “she’s in need of some assistance, she’s due for surgery, so I’ve volunteered myself as her minder. She always did make the nicest biscuits, I only think it fair.” 

“That’s... nice,” you nearly choke on emotion. It is very sweet and selfishly, you feel worse for hearing it. 

“Needless to say, I’m a bit of a stranger around here,” he continues, “I’m Jonathan, though, if you... care.” 

You take a breath and lower your head, trying to get yourself together. You face him and try to force a smile but only feel like you might start crying again. You enunciate your name through the tension in your lips.  

He repeats it and it nearly takes your breath away, “do I have that right?” 

You have to hold back a gasp as you nod.  

“Beautiful,” he remarks, “happy to have a name to the face. I hate to be trouble but you might see me around.” 

“That's… That's okay. I'm sorry. I'm just… having a day,” you try to laugh out your distress but it only sounds fractured. 

“We all do,” he says, “I might be so lucky you never catch me in one.” 

“Sure, uh, I'll… I gotta go inside.” 

“Of course,” he purrs, “I shall let you know if I do catch the menace.” 

You put on a perplexed face. 

“The squirrel,” he says, “I am merciful, never worry. I'll only give him a good fright.” 

“Mm, thanks, er, I'll keep an eye out too.” 

“I do hope your day turns for the better,” he dips his head slightly, “can't complain for the sun, can we?” 

He turns and struts to the curb. You watch as he looks both ways then strolls on, hands in his pockets, a man without a care. You envy him that, but you can't quite place that other thorn in your chest. 

[motions1ckness]

“Fall in Nashville”

Summary: Julien invites you to a cabin for a second date with Phoebe and Lucy

Content: f!reader, fluff, forced proximity

(for the julien girlies/me)

pt 2 “Now I’m Covered in You” is out!!

Julien invited you to this cabin with her friends Lucy and Pheobe. You met her earlier that month and never thought you’d be spending weekends with her.

You arrived close to four, your stomach in knots the whole drive. In all honestly, you two hadn’t even kissed. This would be your second date, and you hoped the three of them didn’t plan on sacrificing you in the forest.

Earlier that week, you asked Julien about the dress code for the weekend. She laughed as she thought you were joking. You laughed along with her as you didn’t get your question answered. Guess go for a fall in Nashville.

Pulling into the driveway, you saw two other cars there as well. Julien came out waving at you as you parked, waving back as you hopped out.

“Hey,” she said with a smile forming on her face. She looks gorgeous. Her hair recently cut to shoulder length, her face dotted with pale freckles, and she wore black jeans, a white cuffed tee, and an amber-colored flannel, with a hair tie on her wrist. This woman. “I’m glad you made it.”

You felt your heart skip as she hugged you. You couldn’t believe how good it felt in her arms.

“Thanks for inviting me up here,” you replied, feeling a bit nervous, you broke the hug as she got your stuff from the back.

As you walked up to the house, you were completely mesmerized by her, glancing over more than you should. Fantasizing this becoming your future.

“So what do you think of the place so far? Pretty nice right?” She asked as she approached the door, stopping to keep the conversation for a moment.

“It’s really special Jay, I see the appeal,” you say, and it’s true. It all screamed Julien to you.

“I’m happy you’re here,” she said, putting her empty hand on your arm. A jolt of electricity ran through you as it only lasted a few moments before she opened the door.

Stepping inside, you were greeted by Lucy and Pheobe, who were laughing about something as you came in. Their welcoming nature made you feel like you had known them forever.

As the night went on, the four of you laughed and felt the hours slip away like minutes. It was nearly seven, and Lucy and Pheobe insisted on getting wine and snacks. They groaned realizing they’d have to go out to get some.

You were lying on the floor, legs relaxing against the couch and arms sitting on your stomach. Julien sat upright beside you, messing with your hair periodically.

Lucy stood at the door waiting as Pheobe grabbed her keys from the kitchen, “We’ll only be out for 7 minutes tops.” She tells us.

Right as Lucy was about to shut the door, “No fucking before that!” Pheobe calls out, followed by her and Lucy laughing.

And just like that, it was only you and Julien.

Your excitement peaked as Julien looked down at you with soft eyes. “I’m really glad I invited you,” she said, still messing with your hair.

You felt your face heat up from the feeling, “I’m really glad I came. They seem great by the way,” you beam up at her.

You start to hold her wrist, she flinches slightly as you rub your thumb against her skin. Julien's eyes dart to your hand and back to you. Her face matched the same red tint as yours.

The silence became palpable. A moment passed before she started to move down to you, which was poorly timed as you attempted to pull yourself up and accidentally bumped heads. “Fuck!” you wince, letting her go and holding your head.

Julien threw her head back, groaning from the pain.

You sat up and flung your hands onto Julien. “Shit Julien, are you okay?” You asked her. She kept her eyes shut, furrowing her brows. Did you fucking concuss Julien Baker?

Your hands found their way to the sides of her face, reiterating the same question, concern rushing through you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” Julien answered breathlessly, laughing it off, a small smile appearing as she moved her hands over yours. Her eyes opened, noticing your concerned expression.

For a moment, you two just looked at each other. The tension grew as she ran her thumb over your hand. She glanced down at your lips and then met your gaze again. Julien leaned forward and kissed you, tangling her hands through your hair.

After a while, you pulled away to look at her. It was like seeing her for the first time again. The knotting in your stomach faded and was replaced with contentment.

“I really like you, Jay,” you confess.

Julien beamed, “I really like you too,” she replied and kissed you again.

Julien eventually pulled away, smiling as she got up to put a record on. She returned and sat behind you, wrapping her arms around you. The two of you filled the silence with conversations about music and stories from adolescence.

Pheobe and Lucy came back with snacks in hand, seeing you two cuddling and talking. They didn’t seem surprised, exchanging a look as Pheobe set her keys on the counter.

“Did we walk in on something?” Lucy asked, giggling at the circumstance.

You laughed at her comment, sinking deeper into Julien's arms, feeling shy about the situation. Julien, on the other hand, seemed unfazed and laughed along.

Phoebe walked over to you tarot deck in hand, ‘Y/n do you want a reading?”

You nodded as you were curious. Julien stayed behind you as Pheobe and Lucy sat across from you two.

Phoebe was telling you about your future and what to expect, with cards like the Two of Cups and Ace of Wands laid out, Lucy egging on the reading as she went.

Lucy chimes in, “I knew it! You and JB!”

You felt your face heat up, Julien looks down at you, a comforting smile on her face.

“It’s not for sure, but there is a possible relationship, possible,” Phoebe added.

As Pheobe continued, you became more aware of Julien's presence, her breath against your neck, her arms tightening around you, the feeling dominating you as you attempted to listen to Pheobe.

You grin, but the excitement mixes with anxiety as you only recently met Julien. But the possibility of a relationship made your heart race.

Lucy left to bring the snacks and wine, and Phoebe started the put her cards away, “So how are you feeling about it? Helpful at all?” Phoebe asked, wanting to know if she had crossed any lines.

“No no, I liked it. Thanks,” you smiled, zoning out focusing on what the reading said.

Phoebe got up, Julien could hear them talking in the kitchen. She looked down at you and noticed you spacing out.

Julien left a kiss on your cheek, “It doesn’t mean anything. I still mean what I said,” she whispered to you, leaving another kiss, “Do you?”

You turn to face her, feeling the warmth from her breath on your skin, “Yeah, of course I do.” You respond, kissing Julien and moving your hand to her face. “Who else would bring me to this cabin?”

[water-loos]

All American Bitch !

“I’ve got sun in my motherfucking pocket, best believe”

player!steve harrington x fem!reader

series masterlist ; next chapter

cw: college au, alcohol consumption, tipsy sexual acts, smut implied (fade to black), angst, swearing, steve’s a dick

wc: 3.5k

a/n: this is a very shitty first installment but i promise it’ll make sense eventually

You didn’t plan on going to any Halloween parties. You never did. You thought the holiday was stupid, and just an excuse to drop way too much money on multiple costumes that only covered about a third of your body.

But that little lacy white slip dress that you found in the racks of a thrift store last weekend fit you too perfectly.

And the angel wings that you used for a photo shoot in May had been sitting lonely in your closet for far too long.

And you did consider Romeo + Juliet to be your favorite movie of all time.

That’s how you found yourself climbing the steps of a brownstone just north of Chicago, your hair tied back into a pretty half-up-half-down hairdo. Your makeup was flawless, even with your pink cheeks due to the biting wind and the plethora of shots that your friends had fed you before the train ride up from the city. The party itself was pretty packed just inside the door, with a box TV playing Scream as people mingled right in front of the screen. You pushed your way through the mass of people into the dining room, where a pair of plastic tables with holes sawed in them for cups were manned by tens of people in various costumes.

You craned your neck to look for a way to the kitchen, which was down a long hallway that was probably the only open portion of the house. Your friend Alexandra trailed behind you, eyeing the pong table as you attempted to drag her with you.

“Do you just want me to get you a drink?” You sighed as she nearly got caught in the crowd once more. “You don’t have to come with if you don’t want to.”

“Can I stay? That guy in the Risky Business costume seems a little lonely at the table if you know what I mean,” She winked, squeezing your hand. You rolled your eyes and squeezed back, letting her go. She kissed your cheek joyfully before bouncing over to him, her fairy wings sparkling almost as much as the tinsel in her hair.

As soon as she bounded away, you turned on your heel to the hallway, pushing past a few couples that were making out against the wall to get into the tiny kitchen. The keg took up a decent amount of space in the corner, a stack of red solo cups perched on the windowsill next to it. The thought of putting beer anywhere near your body was enough to make you gag, so you pivoted to the corner, where a punch bowl, a bottle of Captain Morgan, and some more solo cups lay, glittery green liquid splashed everywhere.

Beer, or mystery punch.

Great.

You opted for a heavy pour of the white rum and two ladles of the green punch before you pushed your way back into the hallway, but took a sharp right toward the staircase and the basement, where the dance floor must have been.

That’s where you saw him.

Steve Harrington, hair perfectly coiffed and cheetah print vest hanging open over his too-tight white tee. You knew who he was— he was notorious across most of the Chicago colleges and universities, known for his looks and his kilowatt smile. You shared a few classes and tended to think he was an egotistical douchebag who didn’t know what he was talking about half the time.

But god did his arms look good enough to bite in that shirt.

One big gulp of the drink in your hand was enough to push you toward him, chin held high in the air as you sauntered in his direction, catching him just as the girl he was talking to walked off in search of another drink.

“Ferris Bueller,” You said, voice dipped in faux sugar. “How fitting, Harrington.”

“Juliet,” He immediately smiled down at you, his shoulder falling to rest on the wall beside the two of you. “To what do I owe the absolute pleasure of seeing you? I thought you weren’t really into Halloween.”

“I’m not normally,” You nodded, maintaining eye contact over your cup as you turned to let your back rest on the wall. “But this costume was just too cute to leave hanging in my closet, don’t you think?”

You watched with a smug smile as his eyes raked down your body, slowly taking you in. You could see his gaze catch on the body glitter you had applied along your chest and shoulders, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as he hummed his approval. “Definitely. It’s a shame, though.”

You watched as he flicked your left wing, caging you against the wall. Unfazed, you looked up at him with doe eyes, lashes fluttering. “What’s a shame, Stevie?”

You watched his front crumble, a rosy blush spreading over his freckled cheeks. He was put under your spell way too easily, and you could almost feel his ego bruising as he gathered himself from the momentary pause. “It’s a shame that it’d look about ten times better on my bedroom floor.”

You were moving a little fast, but your impulse control was left back in your apartment, miles away. It’s almost like your body was moving quicker than your brain was. Your hand smoothed up the front of his vest, adjusting it against his tee. “D’you think about my clothes on your floor often, Stevie? I’m flattered.”

“More than you know, sweetheart,” He huffed, standing up straight and taking your free hand in his. “Let’s find somewhere more private, yeah?”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager,” You pouted, pounding back the rest of your drink, gracefully putting the cup down on the ground beside you. “You’ve gotta dance with me first, Harrington.”

You kept your fingers intertwined as you pulled him down the stairs and toward the dance floor, which was packed wall to wall with dancing people, with colorful strobe lights flashing across the room. You watched the boy chug the last of his beer and toss the crushed cup behind him, his body not far behind yours as you made your way to the center of the floor. The electric beat of a techno song that you couldn’t name bleated around you as you began to sway back and forth, eyes on the boy who had followed you. He looked downright delectable in this lighting— his skin almost glistened under the lights, his hair slightly tousled, and his chest heaving as he watched you.

You two didn’t last long on the dance floor.

Only two or three songs passed before you were tugged down the back hallway of the basement and pressed against the door of the hidden bathroom in the corner. Steve wasted almost no time in connecting your lips, the lingering taste of beer bitter on his tongue as it danced with your own. Your hands wandered across his shoulders and up to the curled ends at the back of his hair, tugging gently as he moaned softly into this kiss. His hands held one of your legs up around his hip while the other pushed at your lower back, leaving very little space between the two of you. Your head lolled against the wood behind you as his kisses trailed down your exposed neck, nipping soon-to-be lavender bruises down across the glittery skin.

“You know,” He huffed into your neck, gripping the soft skin of your hip. “Been waiting for you since you destroyed me in our debate project.”

“Oh I know, baby,” You breathed out a laugh as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot behind your ear. “D’you get off to that? Being shown up in front of everyone?”

He bit down harder then, enticing a squeal out of you. “Only when it’s you.”

You try not to scoff as he pulls back, watching your face. It’s evident that you don’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

You hum, tilting your head back up for another kiss as your hand trailed across the sliver of skin that peeked out between his white tee and his dark blue jeans. “You promise?”

His throat bobbed and his cheeks grew pink as he watched your hand dip lower and lower, fingertips ghosting over the obvious bulge in his pants. “Promise. On my life, sweetheart.”

You’d never seen Steve Harrington a nervous mess before, but you decided right then and there that it was your favorite version of him. It was easy to nudge him a little further into the room so his hips hit the counter of the vanity, and even easier to drop to your knees in front of him. He sighed at the sight of you, with big doe eyes and angel wings, staring up at him with your best innocent look.

“This okay?” You whispered, hands placed on the front of his thighs, waiting for his verbal confirmation. You watched as his chest heaved, and he nodded, but you shook your head. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” A hand, big against your face, came to cradle your cheek, his eyes dilated as he stared down at you. “Are you sure? You don’t have to…”

“I wouldn’t be on my knees if I didn’t want to, Stevie,” You snorted, one hand reaching up to pop the button of his jeans and slowly pull down the zipper. “Pinky swear.”

———————

You started seeing Steve around a lot more after that weekend. By mid-January, he suddenly had more friends in your apartment complex, he sat right beside you in all three of the classes you shared this semester, and he had taken it upon himself to walk you back to your apartment or the student center after every single one. Alexandra started to call him your shadow, and she had even started keeping a six-pack of Miller High Life’s in the fridge for him, just so he’d have something to drink and every pregame party your friends threw.

He spent most nights in your bedroom, actually.

He snuck in as soon as you heard Alex close her bedroom door and put on her LED lights, and he knew the code to get into your building by heart. He knew that your door squeaked, and he mastered exactly how to open it to make the least amount of noise. Most of the time he found you in bed, glasses and an oversized hoodie on, scrolling on your phone as you waited for him. Some nights, he’d crawl in beside you and ask you about your day, maybe he’d joke with you about how stupid your teacher was, or how he thought you did great on a presentation, and others he’d waste almost no time in pulling your phone from your hand and pinning you to your mattress.

Tonight had been the latter.

Most of the time it made you feel like shit when there was barely any greeting, even if he tried to make it up to you by taking you for a drive in his car. “Taking you for a drive” consisted of buying you a milkshake, asking you all of your deepest secrets, and then eating you out in the backseat of that goddamn maroon BMW. But, after months of the same thing, you felt like a milkshake was better than nothing.

You laid across the backseat, warm and almost cuddling into the hoodie you had stolen from him last week, and nothing covering your legs besides the panties he had so gently put back on your body. God forbid you made a mess of his leather seats. He was sitting on the end, hands tracing your face as you tried to steady your breathing and recover.

“Y’know, we should go to the library to study for that quiz this week,” He said, voice gravelly. “I’m a little worried with how little she’s preparing us.”

“Ooh, a location change,” You hummed, sarcasm whispering in your tone. “I‘ll go. When do you want to?”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

Your chest tightened. “It’s a joke, Stevie. We just haven’t been to the library together before.”

He let his head lean back on his headrest, his face stilling. “You know that I don’t mean anything bad by that, right?”

“What, that we don’t really go anywhere together?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” You shrugged, lying through your teeth. “I like what we do together now. It’s like a nightly routine. Helps me sleep better.”

He chuckled and started to trace around your hairline again. “Really?”

“Yeah. Having my own personal radiator in my freezing apartment is heaven.”

He snorted, softly whacking your shoulder. “I’m not that hot.”

“Half of the student body would disagree with you.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not true.”

“Steve. Lying is not going to get you anywhere,” You sat up, scooting closer to face him. “I think you might want to look in a mirror. Besides, everyone knowing you’re hot doesn’t really bother me.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would it?”

You stop, taken aback. “I mean, I’m the one whose bed you’re in almost every night. Everyone else who drools over you doesn’t get that honor.”

Steve goes rigid, and you can tell something’s bothering him. You can tell by the way he refuses to make eye contact with you that whatever he’s thinking is not going to be very nice to you.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Just say it.”

“What?”

You reach onto the floor in front of you and slide on the sweatpants you had been wearing. You set your jaw and dare to look in his direction. “Say the thing you’re thinking about. Even if it’s going to make me upset. I’d rather you be upfront than sit here in silence, Steve.”

“We’re not together.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t talk about us like we are.”

Your chest squeezes.

“I don’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Saying you’re in my bed every night doesn’t mean shit, Steve,” You scoff, grabbing the Converse you had haphazardly shoved on your feet on the way out and pulling them on. “I was just stating the truth. You’re the one who texts me for our nightly booty call, remember?”

“And you always answer. C’mon, sweetheart,” He almost whines, reaching over to turn you back toward him. “You’re not a booty call. You never have been.”

“Then what am I, Steve? Your friend?” You bite back, pulling your arm from his gentle grasp.

“No. You’re not just a friend, you know that,” He says, watching mournfully as you open the back door and step out of the car. Your cheeks are still warm from the orgasm he’d pulled from you almost twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah, I’m your fuck buddy who’s at your every beck and call. I know what I am, Steve,” You scoff and close the door behind you as he quickly pops out of the opposite side. Your hand pulls on the passenger side, opening it, but still addressing him over the car. “I’m not fucking stupid, in case you’ve already forgotten.”

“When you say it like that it sounds bad.”

“Steve, you literally have done nothing tonight but walk into my room, fuck me, buy me a consolation milkshake, and then fuck me again in your car. You don’t even know anything about me,” You snap, hand white-knuckle gripping the door. “What’s my favorite color? What’s my favorite food? The cat that curls at your feet every night, what’s her name?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at his feet.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” You say lowly and duck into the car, almost slamming the door behind you. He follows after a few moments, getting into the car slowly and quietly. “Take me home. Please.”

“Babe—“

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t argue as he starts the car and pulls out of the heavily wooded parking lot that you always went to. The drive was only fifteen minutes, but it was spent in excruciating silence as you quietly picked at the clear compartment of your wallet, attempting to remove your ID in order to get the Polaroid that lived behind it out. It was a sweet picture of you and Steve at your birthday party back in November, where you had been wearing matching sunglasses and had been looking at each other and laughing. It was your favorite picture ever taken, and he had said it was his too.

Once you pulled up to your apartment, you were quick to open the door and stand outside of the doorway. You dropped the Polaroid onto the seat and reached to grab the edge of his hoodie.

You were done.

You pulled off the yellow hoodie, his cologne dripping from the threads as you dropped it on the seat. You were freezing in the flimsy tank you had been wearing underneath, but you tried not to let it bother you as you slammed the door and finally walked away.

You didn’t hear him call after you, even as you slowly punched in the code. He had driven off before you stepped through the threshold.

You were crying by the time you made it into your actual apartment, the door still unlocked from earlier. You locked the door for the first time in months and practically stomped into your room, the door squeaking loudly behind you as you shut it. It was easy to flop into bed, and even easier to sob harder when you smelled him all over your comforter.

You wallowed for all of five minutes before Alex came in, teary-eyed from sleep, but with a knowing look on her face.

“Did you finally end it?”

You sniffled.

“Aw, babe,” She tutted and laid beside you in bed, reaching over to rub your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. He’s just a man.”

“I just don’t get how all of this time means nothing to him. Nothing! He’s here almost every night and he can’t even tell me what I am to him.”

“It’s just what he does. He’s known for being a whore, and that’s exactly what he is— a whore.”

“A whore who’s been leading me on for almost three months,” You replied pathetically, putting your hands over your face as you cried harder. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re literally the smartest, kindest, and most fun person I know. The fact that he can’t see that has nothing to do with you— it has to do with the fact that he’s just not a good person,” Alex defended, climbing off the bed to pull you to your feet. “You’re a great person, and everyone you’ve ever met loves you. You’re gorgeous, fun, and hilarious. He’s going to come crawling back on his hands and fucking knees, babe.”

You sadly smile at her, and wipe the tears from your face. “Thank you, Alex. I don’t think you’re right about the last part, but I’ll try to believe you about the rest.”

“We’ll make him regret he ever treated you like this. I promise.”

You and she linked pinkies, kissing the other end of your hands as you did so.

“I’ll make sure he regrets it. He deserves to feel just as shitty as I do right now.”

“Damn straight!”

[seuonji]

night shift ★彡 xu minghao

xu minghao x yn ln

彡when yn’s juniors finds trouble with some fellow college mates, yn goes through mountains just to get them justice, even if it means needing to infiltrate and make friends with the most intimidating clique on campus.

masterlist

#12 an easy man! | #13 kuromi pic! | #14 white tee!

notes: there’s a writing part under the cut! (0.5k words)

minghao walked into the back. taking off his apron, he smiled at you. you had already gotten up and folded the blanket to which he stuffed into the bag he carried.

“ready to go?” he asked as he looked up to you. you stiffly stood by him, hands holding the strap of your bag awkwardly and you just nodded.

you closed up the store and went your way out.

you lead the way to the bus stop you usually go to as minghao treaded right beside you.

“crazy i didn’t see you yesterday,” you randomly brought up.

minghao slowly turned to you and squinted his eyes, “we did but like just for a few seconds.”

you immediately made an ‘o’ with your mouth as you recalled.

the bus arrived and you two got on, sitting by each other, your shoulders touched but non of you moved. perhaps you were too tired to?

“you were gonna go out with mingyu today?” he tilted his head. “ah well it wasn’t a set in stone plan, i didn’t even know if i’d wake up the next day,” you laughed. “and you didn’t,” he giggled and sighed. it’s true, you slept for most of the day.

“but that was the first time you hung out with mingyu right? you two seem so close.”

“i think i just adapt well,” you reasoned. notably, you had to adapt well because of how good it would’ve been for the mission.

“understandable. if i didn’t know how friendly you were i would’ve just guessed that you fell for mingyu and that’s what brought you to say yes to going out with him.”

“well isn’t mingyu that guy all of the people in school fall for?” you turned your body to face minghao, showing interest in the conversation.

“oh, are you one of those people yn?” minghao tapped on his chin to provoke you.

your eyes locked into minghao’s out of shock. you coughed out a chuckle and retracted your eyes to the floor. “no,” you sighed out and grinned. “not at all. my heart belongs to someone else,” you softly let out.

as minghao got silent, you swiftly turned your eyes to him but all you saw was a warm smile on his face.

“am i going to unlock the yn secret and find out who it is today?” he poked in more fun.

you sneered and rested your head on your hand, “don’t need to unlock it today when you’ve already guessed it before.”

shit, why are you the one revealing secrets to him? shouldn’t it be the other way around? that’s what you thought as you kept speaking. but minghao’s response cleared your cloudy head.

“well i hope that goes well for you. i’m sure it will.”

there it was again. the tinge of sweetness from minghao that somehow made your heart melt.

it was nice to have someone like this around but also, it wasn’t. he was gravely making you forget why you’re here in the first place.

and the lingering texture of he blanket on your skin made it all the more forgettable.

funfact: the manager wasn’t at work today which is why yn decided to nap straight away. yn thought falling asleep during work was going to be the end of their career however waking up to having a blanket over their shoulders made them realise, they’re glad to have met minghao and have him as a coworker.

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send an ask to be added to taglist! (replies are fine but i may not see them!!) — tags in bold means i couldn’t tag you — please check your visibility before asking to be added to taglist! if your account is hidden it won’t allow you to be tagged on posts!🤍

[mcondance]

fem!reader, encouraged (not inspired) by distant lover by marvin gaye. do not listen as you read, as the lyrics are not about love. i just liked the smooth 70s slow jam feel. fluff but still 18+ MDNI

thinking about days around the house with luke.

thinking about him in a dark blue tee and black sweats, relaxed and happy. thinking about being dressed lightly in a little cami with red hearts decorating the white fabric, in little shorts that barely cover your thighs.

it’s cozy. not slow, and definitely not quiet, what with luke’s loud, brash mouth and yours to match. but it’s cozy.

you cook breakfast with his arms wrapped around you and his lips press pretty kisses to the side of your neck, your eyes still a little blurry with sleep. dancing around each other as you focus on your regular dishes; luke’s like, a god at making pancakes, and you can make the fluffiest eggs in the world.

you’re basically attached at the hip, so you sit beside each other rather than across from one another as you eat. you lean your head on his shoulder at times. one of those times, you tilt your head head up for a kiss, and he obliges. the most cliche thought pops into your head: you get sparks. kissing luke, even after all these years, gives you sparks like that first time.

there’s a movie you watch curled into his side on the couch, taking breaks to pause and talk and get snacks and get out of your seats because you both truly met your match in each other. neither of you can make it through a movie in one-sitting except on special occasions after which you’re surprised at what just occurred.

luke makes the most mundane of tasks fun. folding clothes is over and done with because he talks to you the whole time, because he sings to the music you have playing and hypes you up as you croon to him.

lunch and dinner move the same as breakfast, cooking intertwined with hugs and kisses. with the spaghetti cooking on the stove for dinner, you take a second to embrace in the silence of the kitchen. he’s warm and solid against you. you could never fall with him. it brings a peace inside you that you don’t get very easily. it’s a special place accessed only by the softest and kindest of experiences.

over dinner, you laugh and joke and screech. his rolling laughter fills the house.

luke’s your best friend as you tuck in for the night, like two teenagers at a sleepover trying not to be too loud. in the warm, low light, you tell quiet jokes and laugh quiet laughs as sleep starts to take you.

[heyidkyay]

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Five

A/n: Two updates in a day?? I honestly couldn't help myself, this series is practically writing itself at this point.. Going to start on the next part soon x

Thank you to everyone who msged and enjoying this btw, it means a whole lot!!:)

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

--

Matty was waiting outside the bathroom for me once I’d finally managed to pull myself together. 

I probably looked a right state, having had to wash off the majority of my makeup in the sink, eyes still puffy and red from crying. He still smiled though when he saw me, kicking off the wall to pad on over.

“You alright?”

I shot him a sarky sort of look that likely said a thousand words.

“Yeah okay, stupid of me to ask.” He backtracked with a breathy chuckle. “You need anything else then? Just started lashing it down, so I don’t think that cab of yours will be coming anytime soon.”

With a glance over my shoulder at one of the hallway’s large arched windows I saw that he was right. Perfect way to end my birthday I supposed. 

“A change of clothes?” I answered him with a wry smile, suddenly feeling far too overdressed. He dropped his chin at me.

“'Course. Hoodie and joggers do you fine?”

I was quick to nod at him and was gifted a bright grin in turn before Matty started to lead me towards his bedroom.

“So, how much did you hear?” I found myself asking him as we wandered inside, him heading straight towards the dresser whilst I took a seat on his bed, glancing about.

“Not much, mostly just the end.” He told me honestly, riffling through a drawer.

Matty’s room wasn’t what you’d first expect upon meeting him. He had this sort of chaotic messy kind of vibe you either loved or hated, but his bedroom was a total contrast to that. He was a total contrast to that, really.

It had light colour-washed walls with pretty sconces that warmed the room’s entirety, even with the rain pouring it down outside. His bed was neatly made, lined with light soft linens and a plethora of heavy blankets. 

His chest of drawers was the only place of clutter, it was where his songbook resided alongside a bitten down pencil and pen. He kept a stash box up there too, beside the tv for nights when he couldn’t sleep, as well as a couple of other miscellaneous items. I smiled at the photo he had framed of us all. 

“Here.” Matty said as he tossed me a bundle of clothes. I peered down at them and grinned at the large tour hoodie he’d found for me, alongside a soft long-sleeved tee and a pair of trackies.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes at my manners, “Just get changed then come find us, yeah? Reckon Carls might be passed out by the time you get there though, so don’t hold out any hope for her singing you a happy birthday.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Matty’s amused laugh merely carried him out of the room though and he shut the door behind him. 

I released a loud sigh as the quiet engulfed me once more and contemplated just following Carly’s supposed lead, falling back into the comforting cocoon that was Matty’s sheets. 

It truly was a hard task getting myself to move again.

—

“Now, I know you said you didn’t want any fuss-”

“What she actually said was, that if we sung her a happy birthday she’d string us up by our balls and leave us to the pigeons.”

“Yes, thank you, Ross.” Matty quipped with a hefty huff, swatting Ross’ big head away from the cake he was currently holding. Five lit candles taking up the middle. “Anyway, happy birthday, love. Hope you get everything you wish for.” He added as he held it out towards me, prompting me to blow out the rapidly dwindling wicks.

I swallowed and tried for a smile, one that I found I could actually muster surrounded by all of my closest mates. I took a second to look around at them. At Adam and Carly who were smiling happily, the latter tucked up under the arm of her husband, eyes bleary with sleep. Then towards a grinning Ross, who seemed overly eager to tuck into the iced dessert. I reckoned we were both hoping for a gooey chocolatey centre. And back to where Matty, my current favourite of the lot, was beaming, face lit up by the flickering flames.

I chuckled quietly to myself.

Then finally there was George, who was slumped slightly in his seat, elbows sat on his knees, wearing a tiny smile whilst he watched the rest of us almost from the outskirts.

Even with everything that had happened between the pair of us earlier, I couldn’t find it in me to not want him there. It had always been the five of us, six now with Carly. And I really didn’t want to look back on this moment, my first proper birthday celebration in years, and not have him there.

He glanced towards me then too, as though he'd felt my stare, his eyes full of an odd mixture of emotions. I offered him a hesitant smile and tried not to pay attention to the way my stomach whirled at the sight of the one I received in return.

I closed my eyes as I leant in. Taking a deep breath before making my birthday wish.

Laughing lightly, I reopened them, listening and watching on as they all whopped loudly around me, clapping heartily in cheer. I snorted when Matty almost dropped the cake on its top, him scowling at Ross who had bounded a little too close, and in that moment I’d never felt so incredibly wanted.

—

I stood by the front door now, saying my final goodbyes to the last remaining two. Adam and Carly had left a little while earlier, once the rain had died down somewhat, wanting to get back home before Carly conked out on the settee. We’d all shared a few hugs and kisses then, making promises to get together again as soon as possible before they’d jumped in the awaiting cab.

Ross and George had stuck around for a while longer, sharing a joint between us and finishing off the round of beers that had just been brought in. We spent that time reminiscing, reliving the old days. Which had been a little tough at first but also wonderful at the same time. During it, George and I had shared more than a few too many fond looks for my heart to handle.

I blinked now that it was just him and I stood in the entryway. Ross out in the driveway, trying to spot their Uber in the dark. I peered up at George, but he was already looking back. Something that hadn’t seemed to have changed in the time we’d been apart. His eyes darted between mine in the dim light.

“You'll be alright?” He questioned and immediately I knew what he was referring to. We knew each other best after all. 

I nodded, toeing the door's sill plate. “I’ll be okay. I’m that tired, I don’t think I’ll have much time to think about it, about her.”

He gave a faint hum in return. “She said anything then?”

My gaze was stuck on the floor tiles I was mapping out with my foot. I shrugged a shoulder, “Not that I know of. Sent a card in the post earlier this week, haven’t opened it.”

It surprised me when his hand found mine then, it slipped right into place as though it had never even left. I inhaled sharply and looked up. He gave a hesitant smile, eyebrows knitted.

“She never deserved you.”

It’s what he'd always told me, whenever the past played on my mind. Whenever something got dredged up or another holiday passed us by.

“Still hurts though.”

He drew me in for another hug, this one more natural than the last we'd shared. Under no scrutiny from the others.

I let him hide me from the world for a long moment.

He still smelt the same. I'd noticed it earlier, so I knew that he was still using the same aftershave I’d always bought him. It made me wonder if it was the same bottle I’d gotten him, or if he’d had to go out and buy a new one himself. If he’d thought of me whilst doing it.

Ross called out for him then, the car was here, and I had to advert my eyes away as we pulled apart. 

George threw a reply over his shoulder, whilst his hand took mine once more before he finally had to go.

“Happy birthday, Birdie.” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek and squeezing my hand. Then he was gone. Disappearing down the gravelled driveway and into the dark.

The wind rippled around me then, forcing me to step back inside and shut the door, but still I couldn’t quite seem to catch my breath. 

—

Matty was attempting to tidy the bombsite we’d made of his house when I found him. I paused in the doorway to simply watch him for a minute and grinned lazily when he glanced up, catching me. 

“Heading off to bed, need any help in here?”

Matty looked around at the room only to then shake his head, waving me off. “Nah, you’re all good. Might need a hand or two in the morning though.”

“Don’t even have to ask.” I assured him, my smile tired as I propped my body up against the doorframe. “Fry up too?”

He hummed happily at the sound of our post-hangover ritual. “First one up has to order." He grinned, then jerked his head over at me, "Go on, head up.”

“Alright, night, and thank you for today, Matty.”

“Don’t mention it, darling. Glad you had a good time.” 

“Love you.” I murmured still. 

He spared me a warm smile. “Love you too, birthday girl.”

I had to chuckle.

“Not my birthday anymore!” I called out to him as I started my retreat, smiling softly at the faint laugh I heard echo behind me.

And as I wandered through the rest of the quiet house and up into the guest bedroom I’d since claimed as my own, I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of the hoodie I wore. It was early morning now, so I guessed that the timer I’d set on all my notifications must’ve have ended hours ago.

I tugged it free before crawling under the sheets, too tired and still a little too drunk to bother with the faff of getting myself ready for bed. With the table lamp dimmed, I settled, tugging the duvet up under my chin. 

It was then that my breath got caught in my throat. Taken aback, I peered down at my phone screen, seeing the most recent message I’d received.

G💋: 

Hope you had a good day, Birdie  You looked so happy

I sat up slightly, staring blankly at the message that had just come through whilst I toyed with my bottom lip. 

The last text he’d sent me was over six months ago now, one I hadn’t even bothered replying to. A simple 'sorry'. 

I could only swallow down the sudden anxiety I felt when those forsaken bubbles popped up at the bottom of the screen, a couple more messages shortly followed. 

Was wondering if we could meet, tmw maybe? Want to talk again, explain it all properly Tonight made me realise so much

Fuck. I squeezed my eyes closed. All the tiredness I’d just been feeling eradicated by the mere thought of seeing him again, so soon.

Another buzz.

The screen had since dimmed but I could still make out the last text that had come through. My eyes welled. 

Sleep tight, Birdie x

I threw my phone down by the foot of the bed and groaned into my pillow, not even giving myself the chance to reply.

Still, I tossed and I turned all night.

—

“Wow, dead sexy.” Matty welcomed sarcastically, smirking at me from behind his coffee mug as I trodded into the kitchen the next morning. “Tell me, this look you’re going for, is it avant-garde or a grunge kind of chic?”

I gave him a tightlipped smile, rubbing at my bleary eyes before scowling.

“Ha ha. Hilarious. But this is actually what running on zero sleep looks like.” I retorted as I sunk into the bar stool opposite him. “Fucking hanging too.”

He snorted and so I glared up at him.

“How’re you so chipper anyway? You drank more than me.”

Matty shrugged at me with a smug smile, “Yeah but I wasn’t the one throwing back vodka shots with Ross at two am.”

I winced, I’d sort of forgotten about that. I currently had much more pressing things on my mind.

I slumped across the island and let out an annoying groan. Matty combed the hair that had fallen from out of my face as he proceeded to chuckle.

“Breakfast’s on its way.” He reassured me, then pushed a tall glass of water as well as two paracetamol across the counter.

Thank the world for small mercies.

“Want a brew?”

I raised my head at Matty's question and smiled up at him when he stood, “You’re the best.”

“It's what they all say.”

I rolled my eyes in retort, fingers finding my phone again, just as they had been doing ever since it had woken me up with its constant ringing this morning.

When Matty puttered back over, he raised a brow at me in question and pushed a warm mug in my direction. 

With a sigh, I put the phone down and cupped it in my hands. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. So you gonna tell me what’s got you all wound up now? Feels like I might have to talk you off a ledge here.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nah not just yet, but hold out hope- my hero. Today feels like it’ll be a tough one.”

“Why, what’s happening today?”

I toyed with the rim of the mug, watching as the steam danced up and over its edge. “Just, George messaged me after he left last night.”

“Right…” Matty drawled out, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” I shook my head, then shrugged again. “I don’t know. He just said he wants to talk, properly.”

“And you don’t?” He asked me, watching or waiting for my reaction.

I inhaled slowly, pulling away from the cup to rub at my face. “I’m just so confused. I don’t want to fight with him. But I don’t want to lose him all over again.”

Matty’s expression was understanding but I was relieved when he walked around to give me a much needed hug. He rocked us slightly, left and right, my face buried in his shoulder.

“I think you should meet him.” He murmured above my head, “It’ll do you both some good. Might even be able to sort shit out.”

We parted and I looked back at him from under a furrowed brow. “And if we don’t, then what?”

Matty sighed, “Then we cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Part six>

[casuallyimagining]

When September Ends // part seven.

Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Six years after leaving your home planet, you’re forced to confront your past… and the one you left behind.  Word Count: 5,483 Genre: Star Wars au, friends to enemies to lovers, angst Warnings: minor character death, survivor's guilt, yoongi has anger issues, mentions of the death of an entire planet, anxiety, alcohol, reader character suffers from the burden of high expectations, mentions of torture (nothing  explicit), mentions of needles, hospitalization, brief descriptions of scarring, brief descriptions of panic, hospitalization, an assassination attempt, a gun fight, murder

Notes: Thanks to @daechwitatamic and @the-boy-meets-evil for listening to me complain about this fic, helping me plan, and beta-ing for me; to @oddinary4btsfor the late-game encouragement and edits.

Playlist: All of the poetry in this fic has been pulled from various songs and poems. You can find all the songs (and some others) in the playlist that I made for this fic on Spotify.

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“What do you mean, ‘not fully’?”

Yoongi’s standing beside you outside of Jungkook’s quarters. The younger man is taller, even when he’s leaning against the wall. Yoongi’s voice is a little gruff, but not really biting. It’s interesting to see the change in him, even in just a few short weeks since you got out of the medbay. You’d reflect on it more, but currently, your mind is racing.

“They just don’t make those memory banks anymore,” Jungkook says, pushing himself off the wall. He adjusts the long sleeves of his tunic to cover what you know are scars around his wrists. “I rebuilt what I could, but her personality and memories are all tied into that bank. You can see for yourself, but…” He trails off, sliding his hand over the console in the wall.

The door to his quarters slides open with a mechanical hiss. You and Yoongi follow the kid inside.

You freeze in the doorway. You weren’t expecting Tee to be here and alive and folding Jungkook’s laundry. But there she is. Holding one of Jungkook’s shirts. You can tell he’s had her fixed for a while, too, because the whole room is spotless. It’s still cluttered, but there’s a definite organization to it. Which makes sense. It’s in Tee’s programming to assist with tasks that her charge can’t perform on their own. It’s just… it’s weird to see her caring for someone else, to see her look up when Jungkook enters the room, to see what you know are sensors light up as she silently checks his vitals. 

“Hello!” she greets, pushing the shirt into a drawer. “I am TK-53.”

It’s too much. Your brain short-circuits and you can’t. You just can’t. The door hasn’t closed yet, and you take the opportunity to about-face and retreat back into the hallway. The mechanical hiss behind you muffles whatever is said next, but you think you can hear Yoongi say something just as the door is closing.

It’s the same kind of heartbreak you’d had when you’d realized that Yoongi hated you all those weeks ago. The same but different. Tee had been the closest thing you had to a best friend for six years. She was your best friend. Of course, you were friendly with Namjoon, and you were close acquaintances with some of the other rebels. But Tee had been there for you like almost no one else had. She took care of you. Granted, it was her programming, but after so long, you’d managed to convince yourself that somewhere in her circuits, she actually cared for you.

You can tell that your thoughts are on the verge of spiraling, but you’re powerless to stop it. It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, your balance off-kilter–one small breeze could send you hurtling over the edge. You tense in anticipation of the fall, but it never comes. Gently, ever so gently, you’re pulled back from the edge first by a touch on your elbow, then by a pair of arms enveloping you.

His warmth surrounds you, and you tuck your chin over his shoulder, allowing yourself to relax. Your thoughts don’t really stop, but they’re less frantic, less rushed. It gives you time to actually think and not just be battered by it all. For a while, you’re quiet. You focus on the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours, of the gentle puffs of air that tickle your neck when he exhales. 

This feeling sucks. And really, there’s nothing you can do about it. Sure, you have your droid back, but you’ll be starting all over. And honestly? Tee in the beginning had been annoying. Threats to leave her on some far-flung star system were not uncommon, and there had been more than one occasion where you’d locked her out of wherever you were sleeping because she’d wake you up to check on you. But then you’d gotten into a routine. She’d learned what could set you off–better than you half the time–and you’d both adapted.

You weren’t sure you wanted to do it all again. Of course, you still needed Tee–or, at least, you still needed something–to help ground you when things got to be too much. But if you’re honest with yourself, it was kind of nice to be without her on Denebia. It’s weird. With Tee around, you were always a little aware of your anxiety. Not that you were always affected by it, but you were always acutely aware of it. Without her, you hadn’t thought about it once before you’d seen the repurposed interrogation droid. 

And yet…

“What if it’s not the same?” you whisper.

Yoongi pulls away, and immediately, you miss the contact. But he keeps his hands on your arms as his eyes search your face. What he’s looking for, you aren’t sure, but he frowns.

“It’s not going to be,” he says plainly. “But it can still be good. You can find a new normal.”

You shrug half-heartedly. Maybe he’s right. He’s probably right. 

“I don’t think I can be alone again.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a hum and a grunt. His tone is firm when he speaks. “You won’t be.”

“Excuse me,” a mechanical voice draws you out of your mind. You hadn’t heard Jungkook’s door open. “I am TK-53. Your heart rate appears to be slightly elevated and your breathing is becoming abnormal. Would you care to sit down?” Tee gestures back to the door, the gears in her arms whirring with the movement.

For a moment, you’re quiet. And then you laugh just a little. Yoongi smiles, too, and squeezes your elbow. Tee doesn’t say anything, but her head swivels back and forth to look at both of you. 

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“No,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. It’s the third time he’s repeated it. “There’s no way. Not that I can figure, anyway.”

You nod. “Yoongi and I looked at their records. There’s no way they’re Imperial, unless they’re going to massive–improbable–lengths to hide it. And honestly I just can’t see the Empire putting up that much effort.”

“Unless they’re being purposefully disingenuous.” Commander Vela leans back in his seat, thick eyebrows pulled into a scowl. He twirls his mustache in thought. “I don’t think I need to remind you that we cannot afford to be wrong about this.”

Yoongi leans forward beside you, rests his elbows against the table in the war room. It’s empty, except for your little group and Vela. He steeples his fingers in front of his face, and you can tell he’s getting agitated from the hardness in his jaw. Part of you wants to let him speak. It might be fun to see him call Vela an idiot. But for decorum’s sake, you let him continue to stew.

“There’s zero evidence of that,” you say. “I can respect wanting to be safe, but I don’t want the rebellion to miss out on an opportunity for supplies–that we desperately need–because we were too cautious.”

Namjoon makes a noise of agreement. “By all accounts, Denebia is clean. And they just want to help.”

Vela stares, his eyes shifting from Seokjin in the corner, to Namjoon, to you, and to Yoongi. He rubs his chin, thinking, before finally he nods. “I’ll pass this information on to the General.” He clears his throat. “If there’s nothing else, you two are dismissed.” He nods at Seokjin and Namjoon.

For a brief moment, Namjoon pauses. You can sense that he’s unsure of what to do next. He makes eye contact with you, and after a second, he nods. They leave quietly.

Vela watches them go, waits until the door slides shut behind them before he says anything further. But then he leans forward again, hands clasped, forearms resting against the table, and he levels his gaze at you.

“I have a new assignment for the two of you.” He presses something on his data pad and the screen lights up. Two more taps, and both your and Yoongi’s pads beep. He’s sent you something. “Highly classified,” he continues. “It is of utmost importance that this information does not go beyond the two of you for now. I will fold the others in as necessary.”

You hum as you scan the information he’s sent you. It’s a travel ticket for a starliner. Apparently, you and Yoongi are going to a planet called Spira. You don’t know much about it other than that it’s a core world, but according to your datapad, it’s a vacation destination.

“We need you to go undercover,” Vela says, his voice low, as if he’s trying not to be overheard. “I’ll let you read the finer details, but there’s an Imperial captain vacationing with his wife. He has information that it is imperative that we know.”

“Such as?” Yoongi looks up from his own datapad, his gaze shifting from Commander Vela to you.

“We have gotten word that Commodore Radil Grafner is planning to assassinate Mon Mothma.” Vela says it like he’s telling you they’re serving bantha steak in the galley tonight.

You hum. Mon Mothma is, more than almost anyone else you can think of, the leader of the rebellion. It’s supposed to be led by council, a vestige of the fallen Republic that the Empire’s sham senate is supposed to emulate. Without Mon at the helm, there’s a good chance that the rebellion loses steam. There are others that would step up, you’re sure, but there’s something about Mon’s charisma, something about her leadership style that you know really bolsters people.

Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and something unspoken passes between you.

“What do you need us to do?”

Your first step onto the sands of Spira, it’s clear that this planet is different. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s something about the atmosphere that doesn’t match anywhere else you’ve been. Stepping off the transport, it’s almost like the very air is primed to make you relax. There’s a slight breeze, the fronds of the palm trees above creating a gentle, tranquil almost music. It’s loud–there’s clearly a lot of people on this island of the planet–but it’s not uncomfortable. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the roar of the sea rushing against the sand.

Yoongi steps up beside you, setting down your bags and stretching his arms above his head. He groans a little–the trip on the starliner was long, and it was shockingly cramped, despite the fact that there weren’t too many people on the ship–and when his arms come back down, one of them falls around your shoulders. You jump a little, shocked, and you have to remind yourself to calm down.

You’re supposed to be married, you scold yourself. Act like it.

So you do. You lean a little into him as you inspect the island as it stretches out from the transport hub. It’s Yoongi’s turn to jump, but he relaxes almost immediately into it. You stand there for a moment, taking it all in. Above you, a sea bird squawks and dives down to scrounge at something on the ground.

Yoongi sighs. “Shall we?” He nods toward the main building further down the path. 

This is insanity, your brain screams at you as you walk hand-in-hand with Yoongi. You watch everyone you pass, check for any sign that your cover is blown, that they don’t believe that you’re a happy couple on vacation from their totally normal lives. This is fucking insanity. There’s no way-

“Hi there!” The Twi’lek behind the check-in counter is cheerful. Her azure skin practically sparkles in the tropical air, and she has flowers and fronds braided around the lekku on her head. She looks at home here–when she smiles, it’s brilliant and genuine. You suppose it probably wouldn’t be too terrible to work in an endless paradise. 

You transfer her your information from your datapad–a brand new one that doesn’t have rebellion information on it. And as she’s preparing your room information, you take a second to look around. The resort lobby is open-air. Off to your left is a path that leads down to the beach. There’s a bar and restaurant that look fancier than anywhere you’d been in your life. Beyond the bar, the path curves toward the bungalows and guest rooms. To your right, it’s just sand and ocean for as far as you can see. Under the canopy of the lobby, there’s a desk where, presumably, you could rent watercraft. 

Your datapad dings and draws your attention back to the Twi’lek checking you in. Yoongi presses closer, chest against your back, to see what you’re being handed. She drops two plastic discs into your hand.

“These will let you into your room,” she says. “They’re proximity, so just keep them on you–in a pocket or wherever’s fine. Your datapad should have a map of the property on it, but there are also plenty of helper droids around that you can ask if you’re unsure of how to get somewhere.” She offers you a warm, toothy smile. “Shall I summon a droid to help you to your room, or would you like to explore?”

You glance to your left and make eye contact with Yoongi. The ends of his hair are starting to curl in the salty humidity. His eyes are bright. Paradise looks good on him. 

“We’ll explore a little,” he says, his hand enveloping the one you’re holding the proximity keys with.

It’s a lie. You don’t really explore so much as you just look around on your way to your bungalow. You follow the path along the beach as it curves around and out of sight from the lobby. It’s hot, and the sun is blinding, but there’s a nice breeze, and there’s plenty of shade from the tall palms that line the path. The sand and water are busy but not packed, and the further you get from the main building, the less people you see. There are families playing games–throwing discs or hitting a ball back and forth over a net–and splashing each other in the water. A young couple chases each other through the water, laughing and yelling in delight. 

And when you finally get to your bungalow, you’re shocked by how big it is. Yoongi sucks in an audible breath, and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing you are. How in the world did the rebellion pull this off? There’s a soft click as you cross the little wooden footbridge that connects the path and the bungalow. As promised, the door is unlocked when you reach it.

The bungalow is immaculate on the inside. You step first into the common room with its projection screen and large, plush sofa. The kitchen is attached, though with the restaurant and bar in the resort, and the others you know are on the property, you’re fairly certain it’s never been used except to store drinks. Floor to ceiling windows at the back of the main room look out over the water–no beach on this side, only endless sea–and the attached deck with its built-in jacuzzi. It’s all beautiful. Shocking. Extravagant. But beautiful. There’s only one issue.

There’s only one bed.

You’re not sure why it’s weird. Just that it is. You’ve definitely fallen asleep beside Yoongi before. Definitely when you were children, and less often but still several times during your teenage and young adult years. So it’s not like it’s new territory. But somehow, it is. 

That, however, is a problem for future you. Current you is on a time crunch. Current you needs to figure out how to stop an assassination. So you plop yourself down on the oversized sofa and turn on your datapad–your actual datapad, the one with all of your information. Yoongi sits beside you, pressing close so he can read over your shoulder.

The man you’re looking for–Captain Alain Connoi–is around your age, with high cheekbones and intense eyes. His light hair is combed perfectly under his regulation Imperial hat. His uniform is crisp, his badges and awards polished and shiny.

There’s no chance he looks like this here. Everyone you’d seen since you’d landed on Spira was in casual clothes. Your notes say that Connoi is here on vacation with his wife. Which means he, too, will be dressed to relax.

Which means that you and Yoongi need to be dressed to relax. 

It’s not that you necessarily aren’t. But you’re both from a cold planet–Fest had seasons but certainly no one would say that it was a warm place to live–and you’ve spent more time than you’d like to admit recently on icy planets and on cold ships in the vast nothingness of space. After a while, you just got used to dressing in layers. This place, though… this is not a ‘layers’ place.

Hours later, you’re hungry. And your eyes hurt a little bit from reading and re-reading your datapad. Yoongi apparently got bored a while ago, because he’s now sitting with his legs tucked up under himself, scrolling through his own datapad. He’s changed into something more appropriate for the warmer weather, and despite the fact that you’re inside and the aircon is humming in the corner, his hair has continued to curl in the salty air and the humidity. It looks nice, softens the scowl that he’s currently wearing as he stares down at the screen.

You watch him quietly as he frowns, his brows pressing even further together for the briefest of moments. He types something into his datapad and leans back slightly, presumably to read whatever he just wrote. A poem, your brain helpfully assumes. He sighs and leans back fully, running his hand through his hair. Finally, he notices that you’re watching. His face scrunches quickly, and he shoots you a confused look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” He laughs a little.

“Nothing!” You shake your head. “You want to get dinner together tonight and then poke around on our own tomorrow?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Eventually, though, he shakes his head. “It’ll be weird if we split up.”

“We can make up some excuse.”

“People will get suspicious. We should stick together most of the time.”

“But we cover more ground separately.”

“We’ll find him eventually,” Yoongi says sagely, stretching out and throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea.”

You hum. It doesn’t actually matter, you suppose, and it might be more fun to explore with Yoongi. Certainly it would be easier to look around with two people–you’ll probably see more. So you concede with a shrug before reaching out your hand. “Hungry?”

The cantina–if you can even call it that–is really nice. Like, really nice. It’s huge, larger than almost any building you’ve ever seen. The academy back on Fest doesn’t hold a candle to it, and the garrisons and bases you’ve been on since you’ve been with the rebellion are garden sheds in comparison. The only thing that maybe–maybe–could stand up to it in sheer size is the Imperial outpost on Fest, which really was more of a complex than a single building. But even that doesn’t compare to just how beautiful the cantina is. It’s all natural woods and stone, as opposed to the harsh, brutalistic concrete and steel of your homeworld. It’s more purposeful and permanent than the rebellion bases you’ve been on. 

You have to restrain yourself from stopping to marvel at it when you walk in.

It’s open-air, so not only is there a gentle sea breeze blowing, but they’ve got large, palm-shaped fans circulating the air at the top of the enclosure. It’s cool under the roof. There are tables everywhere, and each one has a beautiful view of the water that surrounds the peninsula the resort sits on.

You stand beside Yoongi waiting to be seated. Your hand is in his and you’re huddled close. There are a few other couples and families milling around waiting for tables, so you don’t stand out, but you’re still terrified that, somehow, they know that you’re faking it. You’ve never been this un-confident in your abilities before. But there’s something different about this mission. You can’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it’s that the stakes have never been higher–an attempt on Mon Mothma’s life is something that normally, the rebellion would be sending out their best for–but you aren’t quite sure that’s fully it.

Yoongi shifts, leaning over a bit to whisper in your ear. “What do you think of those two?” His words are a warm puff of air against your skin, and when he nods in the direction of a table near the bar, you can feel his hair brushing against your own.

The people he’s referring to are sitting practically side-by-side at the table, a platter of some sort of roasted meat between them. The woman is holding a half-full wine glass, but she’s more interested in the man beside her than she is the food or drink. And, to be fair, he’s fairly handsome. Blond hair falling in light waves to his temple, a muscular but slight build, high cheekbones. He’s in a beachy shirt, unbuttoned at the front and revealing a matching sleeveless shirt underneath. 

You squint, shift a little to lean into Yoongi so it’s less obvious that you’re staring. There’s no way it’s this easy. And yet, when the man laughs at something the woman says, you’re sure. 

That’s Alain Connoi.

You must make a face, because Yoongi laughs, his forehead bumping into your temple briefly. When you turn to look at him, your face is centimeters from his own.

“Change of plans?” he suggests, an eyebrow quirking in question.

“We can’t just let it go.” You turn together, and Yoongi makes a show of leaning in close as you exit the cantina. You’ll find somewhere to wait and follow Connoi and his wife. But god, part of you is disappointed. 

The food looked really good.

There’s a bench outside by the water that you can see both of the entrances to the cantina from, so you sit down, prepared to wait. You scoot close to Yoongi, and almost instinctively, his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders. For a while, you sit in silence, the only sounds coming from the cantina or the crashing of the waves. It’s nice, strange though it is, to get a break like this. 

It doesn’t take long for Connoi and his wife to come out of the cantina. They’re happy, and clearly by the way they look at each other, they’re madly in love. It would be sweet, except for the fact that they are, at the very least, turning a blind eye to the suffering the Empire is causing across the galaxy, and at the most, complicit in it. The two laugh together as they walk down the path away from you, towards the lobby.

You follow. Close enough that you can see precisely where they’re going, but not so close that they’d mark you as following them. You walk casually, Yoongi’s arm slung over your shoulder. Quietly, he interprets what they’re saying.

“Numbers are up in the Imperial academy,” he whispers, voice forced deeper than what it is naturally. “We’ve run out of volunteers, so we’ve resorted to drafting the Gungans.” You snort out a laugh, and he continues. “The Emperor has decided that regular poverty is too rich for the planets in the outer rim, so we’re enacting a policy called advanced poverty.”

You can’t help it. “What’s the difference? A lifetime subscription?”

He hums in agreement. “And an iron-on patch. Looks great on canvas jackets.”

“Oh, how absolutely wonderful.” You pitch your voice higher and pat Yoongi’s chest. It takes a second, but you melt into a fit of giggles, leaning into each to keep yourselves upright.

Ahead, the Connois turn down a path that cuts down the beach, around the main structure of the lobby. You can hear music further down, and sure enough, when you get close enough, there’s a bar here with a few tall tables scattered around and a large, open dance floor. At the other end, there’s a stage–it’s not very large, maybe a foot or two off the ground and wide enough to hold the musicians and not much else. A dark-skinned woman stands at the front of the stage in front of a microphone, crooning some up-beat jazzy song that you can’t understand. The band behind her are playing instruments you’ve never seen before.

Connoi and his wife pick a table off to the side, so that’s where you go, too. You and Yoongi sidle up to the table directly beside them. They’re huddled together and don’t notice you, but you stick close to each other anyway. After a moment, Connoi hops off his chair, kisses his wife’s hair, and walks over to the bar. Yoongi gives it a second before squeezing your waist and following. You watch him go, watch as he approaches the bar just to the left of Connoi, watch as he leans against the bar with a practiced casualness. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The voice from your right startles you. When you look, Connoi’s wife is looking at you expectantly.

“Even more than I was expecting,” you answer truthfully. The holophotos Vela had sent you didn’t do the resort justice.

She stands and scoots her tall chair a little closer to you. The music is loud. She probably wants to hear you better. But a little part of you gets nervous anyway. “My husband and I come here every few years. It’s just so relaxing to get away.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been on vacation, let alone one like this,” you admit with a laugh. “I’m not really sure what to do with myself.”

“Oh, I remember our first time here. It was our honeymoon.” She smiles gently. “You two seem to be having fun, though.”

“He makes it easy.” You say it before even thinking about it. “He’s much more easy-going than I am.”

She laughs. “I totally get that. We’re the same way, I think. I’ve always got to have a schedule.”

The conversation lulls just as the band’s song ends. An enthusiastic round of applause erupts from the crowd on the dance floor. You clap politely, though if you’re honest, you couldn’t even say what the song sounded like.

“Where are you staying?” she asks when the next song starts up.

“Oh the bungalows.” You gesture in their general direction.

“Us too!” She offers you her hand. “I’m Lylla, by the way.”

“Allyxi.” Her grasp is firm as she shakes your hand.

Yoongi returns then, two identical drinks in hand. They’re certainly nothing you’ve ever tried before–a bubbling blue-green concoction in a tall, ribbed glass with a skewer of fruit stuck down in. Connoi sits, then, handing his wife a glass of what looks to be red wine.

“These came highly recommended,” Yoongi says, gesturing to the drinks and nodding toward Connoi.

You shoot him what you hope is a subtle look that says ‘what the fuck?’. Thankfully, Lylla starts talking.

“It’s their first time here,” she says, patting Connoi’s–Alain’s, you mentally correct yourself–arm.

“So I’ve heard.” His voice is deep, and you’re reminded of the voice Yoongi had put on to imitate him. You have to stop yourself from laughing.

Lylla gasps. “I have the best idea. Why don’t we all get breakfast tomorrow, and then Alain and I can show you around the resort a little bit? We’ve been here so many times, I’m sure there are some hidden gems we could introduce you to.”

You look to Yoongi and widen your eyes. There’s no way this is happening. There’s no way it’s this easy. There’s no way you can back out at this point, but every bone in your body is screaming that you’ve been made. You can see it in his eyes that he’s thinking the same thing. But despite everything, you plaster on a smile and turn back to Lylla. “Sounds fun!”

The Connois smile widely, and Alain opens his mouth to say something. But the song changes just then, and whatever he’s about to say is gone as he turns to his wife. 

“I think this is our song,” he says lowly, leaning into her.

In a moment, they’re gone, swallowed by the crowd.

You sigh and lean back heavily into your chair. “We’re so dead.”

“So dead,” Yoongi agrees, taking a sip of his drink.

For a while, you don’t say anything. You just sit there at the table, sipping your drinks and watching the dance floor. The day here is much longer than you’re used to–the sun is low in the sky, and everything’s slowly turning orange, but it hasn’t yet set. At some point, you see the Connois leave the dance floor. They wave as they leave, presumably to return to their room. You don’t follow. There’s no point. You’re hanging out with them tomorrow. Willingly.

A couple more songs pass. You listen passively. Honestly, the singer isn’t half-bad. Her voice is raspy, but her range is phenomenal, and she’s got this sultry kind of stage presence that makes it hard to look away from her once you’ve started.

But then the music slows. And you’re sick of sitting there, thinking about your inevitable destruction at the hands of Alain Connoi. So without thinking, you take Yoongi’s hand.

“Dance with me?” As soon as it’s out of your mouth, you’re nervous. Something in you knows that if he were to say no, you’d be crushed. 

He blinks slowly. “What?”

“Dance,” you repeat. “With me?”

“Oh, uh…” He downs the rest of his drink, and for the briefest of moments, something in you is hurt. But then he squeezes your hand. “Sure.”

You don’t stray too far onto the dance floor. Even though the song is slower and the dancers are much closer to their partners, it’s still a mass of bodies, and quite frankly, you don’t want to be in the middle of it.

Yoongi’s arm wraps around you, holding you close. His hand rests on your lower back, his other hand clasping yours close to his chest. Slowly, you sway to the beat of the song. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this one before, in some cantina on some far-off planet. And for the first time possibly ever, you let yourself get lost in the moment.

You play with the wavy strands of hair at the base of his neck and he hums, head tilting so that his head is almost resting against yours. He’s warm, and there’s a slowly-growing tingly sensation spreading across your back from where his hand rests. 

“Yoongi?” He hums, turning ever so slightly so that he can look at you, dark eyes sparkling in the slowly dying sunlight. 

You never get to finish your thought. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning in. When his lips connect with yours, there’s no mistaking it for an accident. It’s purposeful, direct. You can taste the Corellian rum of his drink.

It’s over far too quickly. You’ve never tried spice, but if it’s anything like how you’re feeling now, you understand why people get addicted. It’s like lightning in your veins. His hand grips yours tightly, the other moving from your back to rest feather-light on your hip, your noses brush gently. Your arm is slung casually across his shoulders, keeping him close. Everywhere he touches, your skin is hot and tingly. The air around you is thicker, the salty-sweet of the oceans and the flowers dialed up to 11. Colors are brighter, more vibrant—have his eyes always been such a beautiful shade of honeyed oak, deep and dark and warm? 

The shock has already worn off, but the electricity remains. And  when you lean in again, ever so slightly, he meets you halfway, the barest hint of a smile on his chapped lips. 

The band changes songs—an up-beat sort of jazz standard you’ve never heard—and the cerulean-skinned singer croons into the microphone, her voice sultry as she sings, language unknown. Someone close to the stage laughs a little too loudly. And just like that, the magic comes crashing down around you. 

What have I done?

You can feel the blood rush to your face, can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You’re too warm, standing so close to him like this, and you take a step back. For a moment, Yoongi looks confused, but you don’t give yourself time to think about it. You turn and flee, leaving him there on the dance floor.

You don’t miss the hurt that crosses his face. 

previous | masterlist | next

aaaahhhh! aaaahhhh? aaaahhhh!

so but like.... how we feeling? I'm so curious!!!

[omgiamwish]

Goodbye

They knew this mission was going to be important and/or dangerous one way or another. So they were careful. They made a plan.

It only takes seconds for everything to go horribly wrong.

Warnings: death, grief/mourning, art with graphic injuries

word count: ~1900

read below or on ao3

“Sooooo,” Leo draws out the word obnoxiously. “How much you wanna bet that this is a trap?”

“Scoff! You heard Raph. Those guys didn’t even know he was there. Twenty bucks.”

“Well maybe they did notice Raph, and he just didn’t realize. Not everyone’s as bad at lying as you, y’know.”

Donnie turns to glare at his brother without faltering in his step.

To the casual observer, it should appear that they are merely taking a late night stroll. In reality, he and Leo are using their ninja training to scope out the rather large house (mansion?) just outside Witch Town, looking for entrances, security, defenses… Raph and Mikey are doing the same on the other side.

“Excuse me, I am excellent at lying. Anyway, if you’re so worried about it, why did you okay the mission?”

Leo rolls his eyes. “I’m not worried. And I okay’d it because Raph is right; we can’t take the chance that this guy isn’t making a doomsday weapon.”

Donnie hums and flips down his goggles, Leo falling back and lifting his arms into a stretch, shielding Donnie from the main road. He does his best to make sense of the data in a few quick seconds before returning his goggles to the top of his head. Leo falls back in step with him and Donnie activates his comm before resting his forearm on his brother’s shoulder, leaning in and pretending to point at something in the mushroom forest with his other hand.

“I still don’t think it’s a trap, but unless this guy’s got really good mystic shielding- and I don’t even know if that’s a thing that exists bee-tee-dubs- there’s nothing mystic in the house besides a bit of security on the outside. Looks like locks and a really old forcefield. Strongest on the ground floor, patchy higher up.”

“Copy,” Raph replies. Leo says nothing, so Donnie lowers his arm.

“Y’know,” Leo starts after a moment of silence, “I can admit that I may be a bit of a sore loser-”

“And a sore winner.”

“-but just this once, I don’t think I’d mind ending the night twenty dollars poorer.”

“Yeah, you kinda shot yourself in the foot with that one,” Donnie drawls, though he also hopes that this mission leans more towards ‘wild-goose chase’ than ‘trap’ or ‘world-ending threat’. Not just because those things would be a pain to deal with, but because they’re all still kind of healing from the last world-ending threat; Leo’s shell bridges aren’t due to come off for at least another four months.

Leo smacks his shoulder, Donnie smacks back, and they continue walking and noting possible entrance points (a window here, a balcony there) until Raph’s voice comes back over the comms.

“We’re going in.”

“Copy,” Leo answers.

Donnie pulls up his barebones map of the area and has just enough time to note Raph and Mikey’s location before they disappear off of it.

“Wait, what?!” Leo grabs his arm. “Where’d they go?! Did they get portaled somewhere else?”

“No, their trackers went offline.” Donnie tries not to panic as he dismisses the map and activates the comm again. “Raph, come in. Mikey? If you can hear me, get out of there!”

They stare at their comms for an agonizing long second, waiting for a reply, any reply, before Leo swears and draws his swords.

“Shit. Shit!” he yells, cutting open a portal and leaping through, Donnie on his heels. They land at their brothers’ last known coordinates. “There!” Leo points and Donnie sees the open third floor window a moment later.

Leo’s already running.

Donnie sprints after him.

The world explodes.

.

.

.

.

.

Donnie lies stunned, panting heavily. Smoke rolls across his vision and flames lick the peripherals. He can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

Bomb, he thinks numbly, recalling the concussive force that swept him off his feet and slammed him into the ground so hard that he bounced.

He chokes on his next inhale.

Donnie jerks, trying to roll over. Agony stops him and he flops back down, screaming. He thinks he’s screaming- he still can’t hear.

The choking is scarier than the pain, though, so he flails himself into sitting upright instead. He leans over, coughing and huffing until his airway clears.

Donnie stares at his blood-splattered plastron. Watches blood continue to drip drip drip from his beak. Bloody nose. He shifts his gaze a little and realizes there’s a hunk of stone crushing his legs.

“Raph,” he calls weakly, wanting his big brother to come and fix it.

Raph…

He remembers.

Donnie drags his gaze up and stares at the giant fiery hole in the mansion.

“Raph!” he screams, and now- now he can finally hear his own voice, wretched and broken and faint, drowned out by the crackle of flames rather than the ringing of his own ears. “Raph!”

He shoves at the stone trapping his legs. It takes a few pushes before it slides off.

“M-Mikey!”

Donnie tries to stand and immediately falls with a cry. He curls up and screams his agony and frustration and fear into his knees.

He swipes at his forearm to activate the escape pods, but all that gets him is an error message. He tries to slap the release of his battleshell, thinking he’ll just get the pods manually, but his hand goes right through where the strap should be and hits his neck instead.

Donnie gasps, a fresh burst of anxiety jolting through him. Frantic patting at his shell only reveals that his protection is gone, just the opposite strap left hanging loosely off his shoulder. Frustrated and overwhelmed, he tears it off and throws the stupid useless scrap away from him.

He tries the tracker data next and sobs in relief to see that Mikey and Raph have come back online. Leo’s there too, just a short distance from Donnie. He can crawl there, he thinks.

Donnie pushes himself onto his hands and knees and starts to drag himself forward over the rubble-strewn lawn. It’s difficult- he’s crawling over stone and brick, metal and plaster, splintered wood and shattered glass. He tries to avoid what he can, but he’s bleeding all over his wrappings by the time he spots a familiar green foot.

“Leo!” he sobs in relief, crawling the last few feet a little faster. He drinks in the sight of his brother and-

“Leo?” Donnie whispers, horrified, disbelieving. No. Nope, nuh-uh, no. This is- Leo’s- no, it’s wrong! Wrong wrong wrongwrongwrong-!

Donnie reaches a shaking hand out, terrified and half-convinced despite his denial that he won’t find a pulse.

His fingers jerk and brush Leo’s jaw, and Leo’s eyes crack open.

“Dee?”

Donnie gasps and presses the back of his wrist against his mouth.

“D-donnie?”

“You- you’re-” Donnie chokes. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he whimpers, pleads, lies as he reaches over his brother’s shoulder to grab a katana hilt. He tugs the blade free from beneath Leo’s body and presses the grip into Leo’s limp hand. “You need to make a portal. Home. Now.”

Leo stares blankly for a moment before his eyes cut to the flaming, bombed-out mansion. “Whu’bout… Raph? Mikey?”

“I’ll stay here and help them, but you need to go home to Dad, Leo. Please.”

Leo focuses back on him and Donnie wishes he could read the emotions that pass over his face, but all he can label is a furrowed brow.

“Please,” Donnie begs again, but Leo is already tightening his grip on his sword, raising it an inch. His markings light up beneath the blood and grime, blue light crackles off his sword, and for a moment, Donnie has hope.

Leo coughs and drops his sword with a cry, hands clutching at his plastron as his glow fades out. Donnie wrestles his brother’s hands away from jagged, bleeding edges and holds them to his own chest.

“S-sorry,” Leo gasps. “Sorry. ‘M sorry.”

Donnie shakes his head, unable to say anything.

“I th-think one of my bridges broke,” Leo whispers as his eyes slide shut, a tear escaping to dampen his mask.

There’s nothing Donnie can do. His tech and his body are broken and useless. He can’t carry Leo to help like Raph, or make a portal like Mikey maybe could. He can’t even- he feels like there’s something he should be doing to comfort Leo- anything!- but he doesn’t know what it is! He doesn’t know!

Donnie lies down next to his brother, clutching his arm and pressing their heads together. He’s shaking from how much his chest hurts, but Leo lies horribly still. Not even breathing anymore, he observes numbly, and then squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t observed anything at all.

The mansion is entirely ablaze now, with patches of flame on the lawn and mushroom trees growing bigger. Is Donnie the last of his brothers alive? Will he die too if he doesn’t move? He can hear approaching sirens; maybe the Hidden City Fire Department will rescue him.

He can’t bring himself to care. Donnie can barely move himself, let alone carry Leo, and he’s not leaving his brother.

.

.

.

A crackle over the comms. “Leo, Donnie, where are you?”

Raph. Donnie mouths his older brother’s name, but he can’t give voice to it. The relief that Raph at least is still alive isn’t enough to drown out the- the- this is grief, isn’t it? The feeling that’s far more agonizing than his crushed and bleeding legs? He felt it before, most horribly and recently in those few minutes when he thought Leo was dead or soon to be, but now Leo really is-

“No. No no no, no please.”

It takes a moment for Donnie to realize that he’s not hearing Raph’s voice through the comms. And another moment before he can hear his brother’s approaching, limping steps over the sirens and flames.

He hears a thud on the other side of Leo. A pause in breathing. Then renewed, choked back sobs that make Donnie cry even harder.

It’s kinda funny (not haha funny) that when Donnie cries for himself, he wails and screams and lets everyone know exactly what his problem is, but he can’t even make a sound now. Not a voiced one anyway, though he chokes and gasps.

“Hey, buddy.” Raph’s voice breaks and he sniffles. “Are your legs hurting ya?”

Donnie cracks open an eye to look at Raph, but he sees Mikey limply cradled in Raph’s arm and slams it shut again. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“I’m- I’m not gonna hurt ya if I pick ya up, am I?”

Donnie shrugs, then shakes his head. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

“Okay then. Okay. Here we go.”

Raph is gentle in maneuvering Donnie and Leo into his arms, though there’s apparently no avoiding the fresh waves of pain jolting through Donnie’s legs.

“Sorry, Raph’s sorry. Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon. We’ll get ya fixed up. You’re gonna be okay.”

Unlikely, Donnie thinks. He doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be okay again.

[renee-writer]

The Irish Lass and the Scottish Lad Chapter 37

AO3

Their wedding night will be spent in a croft house a few kilometers away from the big house at Lallybroch. The next day they will leave for London.

 

He carries her over the threshold. He locks the door after sitting her down.

 

She changed out of her wedding dress into jeans and a tee shirt. He is dressed similar.  They stand looking at each other, smiling, neither quite sure where to go next.

 

“Maybe we could change into comfortable clothes, or more. I mean, I have a gown for tonight.” She breaks the silence.

 

He nods. “That sounds good. I can get more comfortable myself. We don’t  have to rush this.” said even as his cock starts to harden in anticipation.

 

“I know but we have waited long enough.”  She picks up the small bag she has for the night and slips into the loo. He, heart pounding, starts to strip.

 

Shoes, socks, jeans. His boxer briefs are the only thing he leaves on. He pulls his shirt off and lays the folded clothes on the chair.

 

She stands, debating with herself. Does she leave in her bra and knickers? Any other situation, it wouldn’t be any question. She doesn’t sleep with them on, after all. But she isn’t to be sleeping, not yet.

 

“It will slow him down. Besides, shouldn’t  he have the experience of revealing me?” She thinks. A nod as she decides and pulls the gown over them. Her hair is let down. She then walks out.

 

He swallows at seeing her. She does the same. With his chest, exposed, she can see every muscle. His abdominals lead down to…his underwear can’t  hide him. A tent there shows how ready he is.

 

“Claire, you are the most beautiful woman, I have ever seen.” He breaths as he approaches her.  Her heart gallops as he reaches out and runs his hand over her arm and down and across, just feathering the curve of her breast.

 

“Oh my!” It is all he can stand. He moves her flush against him and takes her lips.  The kiss is like no other. No worries about getting to worked up freed them to really kiss. His tongue sweeps across hers before moving deeper in.

 

Her breasts and sex tingle. His hands mold her bum, pressing and kneading as his cock strains against the fabric and rubs against her. The sensations are delicious.

 

He works the gown up until he reached her knickers. A groan echoes in her mouth at the silkiness.

 

“My bra matches.” She moans when he comes up for air.

 

He lifts the gown up and off.   Turning her around until her back is against his front, he is free to rub his aching cock and balls against her bum while his hands explore the softness of her breasts. His lips are busy too, kissing across her neck.

 

Her eyes roll back at the pleasurable feelings . His hands mold her breasts, bringing her nipples to life before  moving under her bra and feeling her bare skin. Thumbs run over erect and needy nipples, his hips buck against her bum, so close to her dripping core. She keens and moans. Her head rolling against his shoulder.

 

He slips one hand down and under her knickers into her heat.  “You are as wet as a water lily.” He groans, his fingers searching and finding her clitoris, “Lets make you wetter,“  The hand working her breasts, slips her cups down so he can really touch her. His down town hand starts strumming her pleasure button.

 

One hand wraps up and around his neck to hold herself up as he works her into her first assisted orgasm.  It is massive, causing her legs to buckle. His hands keep her from falling. She cries out his name as the pleasure floods her body.

 

When her shaking stops, he spins her around so he can love on her breasts with his mouth. Her nipples are sweet under his lips. He suckles them one at a time as his wife makes the most amazing sounds. Her hand holds fast to his shoulder as his sucking mouth and licking tongue bring shots of additional pleasure to her.

 

“Please, I am ready!”

 

He slips her knickers off, takes the bra the rest of the way off, and then slips his own underwear off.

 

Her eyes get big at seeing him. She knew from their make out sessions that he was big. But seeing him, nude and erect, is a revelation.

 

“I will be gentle.” He vows.

 

“I know. Come here my husband,” she lays back on the bed and spreads her legs out, “I want you, now!”

 

He needs no farther invitation. Taken himself in hand, he lines himself up and slowly enters her. She feels amazing, both loosened by the orgasmic foreplay and tight in her virginity. He keeps her eyes as he reached her barrier.

 

“Do it. Don’t try to be gentle.” She knew from talking with her mum and Geillis that any easing of this first time, will only prolong the discomfort. Fast and hard is the way to go.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I am.” He centers his hands on either side of her and then just thrust. The giving away and suddenly being deep inside her, has his eager member very happy. “Not bad.”

 

“No.” the effort to hold himself back is causing him to shake.

 

“Don’t  stop now. I want to feel you fill me.” She whispers in his ear. His anxious body takes over, in and almost out, over and over. Then, a tingle at his spine grows until he is jerking as his testes let lose. He groans her name as he cums, deep inside her.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

16 Days Chapter 3

next chapter of my Armand/Daniel fic 16 Days. read it here on ao3 or below

Predictably, Daniel struggles to fall asleep.

He sticks to his side of the bed, as near the edge as he can get. There's a wide expanse of space between them. But he knows that Armand is naked under the blankets, knows that there's nothing blocking his hands from touching the soft, cool skin.

Daniel can't stop imagining what he'd do if Armand wasn't mad. He could glide across the space between them and slide a hand under Armand's thigh and wrap it around him. They could grind their groins together, slow and lazy. He could spoon Armand from behind and slip inside him. He could crawl on top of him and sink onto his cock.

It's torture.

Usually, when he comes back from being gone there’s a lot of fucking.  There’s something about make-up sex.  Or angry sex, if Armand is still pissed at him.  It’s the only time Armand lets loose enough to frighten him a little.  He can see more of the monster behind the angelic mask, and it turns him on like crazy.

Daniel wants to touch Armand so badly.  It’s so much easier to open up to him when they're intimate, either through sex or through Armand biting him.  He can just let his mind open and all his misery, his guilt, his regret, for having hurt Armand can pour out.  Armand can understand him without him having to say a word.  

He can’t stop thinking of Armand.  Armand and his smooth skin and fiery eyes and sharp tongue.  How he wishes Armand would touch him!  Anywhere, anywhere at all.   His hands on him, in him.  His mouth.  He wants him so badly his body aches with it.

Armand rolls over and slides closer to Daniel.  They’re so close, only scant inches between.  Almost, so close to touching, but not quite there.  It’s maddening.  

“Daniel, darling?”

“Yeah, boss?”

Armand’s breath is hot near his ear, his mouth so close to Daniel’s skin.  “Go take a shower; cool off.  You’re thinking so loudly I can’t sleep.”

Daniel turns red with embarrassment.  He wordlessly retreats to the bathroom, where he runs a shower.  He takes himself in hand and pretends it’s Armand, that Armand is pressed up behind him, arm wrapped around him and pumping him.  He bites his lip to keep quiet as he comes.

Armand is already asleep when Daniel comes out.  Daniel doesn’t fall asleep for another few hours, but when he does, he sleeps deeply.  

He wakes in the morning with Armand sprawled on top of him.  His head is on Daniel’s chest and one leg is tossed up over his hip.  One of his hands is clutching to Daniel’s tee shirt, nestled right beside his head.  He looks like a vision.  

Daniel loves him more than he’s ever loved anything in his life.

He runs a hand through Armand’s curls and whispers softly “You awake, baby?”

Armand blinks open his eyes.  Daniel expects him to immediately move off him; instead Armand moves to sit on his thighs.  He stretches his arms above his head without looking at Daniel.  Daniel’s mouth goes dry.  There’s Armand’s waist, and his chest, his pretty brown nipples, his damnable collar bones, his shoulders, his neck.  Everything looks beautiful and Daniel wants to touch him.  Surely that’s alright now?  Armand is in his lap, for Christ’s sake.

Daniel brings up his hands to Armand’s sides and Armand catches his wrists and pins them on the bed by the pillow.  “No touching, remember?”

Daniel groans.  “Boss, you’re sitting on me.”

Armand tilts his head and looks down at Daniel.  “Would you like me to move?”

“...No.”

Armand shifts and his bottom is pressed against Daniel’s groin.  He makes a show of stretching his arms and neck.  As if vampires could even wake up stiff like humans did.  Daniel was already half hard, just from being next to a naked Armand all night.  It was easy enough to ignore before.  Now Armand is literally sitting on his dick.  He can’t help but react to that; he’s only human.

A long minute later, Armand yawns and climbs off Daniel.  “Well, I’m going out tonight, Daniel.  Don’t bother waiting up.”

As soon as he steps off the bed, Daniel reaches out and catches his wrist.  He drops it at the cross look Armand gives him.  “Wait.”

Daniel sits up and tries to focus.  It’s hard when Armand is still naked.  “I can-I can go with you.  If you want.  Wherever and whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Armand says, then takes a step closer to Daniel.  He grips Daniel’s chin and tips his face up, moves in close enough to nearly kiss.  “And what do you want?”

He’s so close Daniel can smell his expensive shampoo, he can see the different shades of red in his eyes, he can feel the coolness of his skin.  He wants to kiss him, to pull him down to the bed and put his mouth on every part of him.  He wants to hold him and have him, to show him all the devotion and love he feels without speaking.  

“To worship you,” Daniel says breathlessly.  Unthinkingly, he leans to close the distance between their mouths.  

“Worship?”  Armand laughs and pulls back just before Daniel can kiss him.  He steps away and moves to the closet, looking through Daniel’s clothes.  “I suppose you can come along tonight.”

Armand pulls out a blue sports coat, white shirt and jeans that cost more than most people’s rent.  He lays these out for Daniel on the bed.  “This will do for tonight.  Hurry up and get ready, the show starts at nine.”