#i do already have an idea of which one i want to do next... but i'm curious 🤔

[beingatoaster]

Re: how you skip a section and keep on writing: you determine enough about the skipped section's progression to know what the next point will be, and then start at that next point, without sorting out the exact details of that progression. E.g., for the aforementioned WIP, I have a written section where two characters wrap up a date they went on together and agree on the date for the next one, a scene break, a couple notes in the style of the OP about what scenes I want in the week in between, another scene break, and then I start back to writing in full narrative form about the second date.

...I was starting to describe it vaguely but hey, you will recognize the fandom, so:

As if setting that plan was a cue, Diluc starts to clean up the remains of the picnic, and Jean leans in to help him. He takes the two boxes the skewers had come in and carefully divides all the food out between them, handing one to Jean before tucking the other into his basket, and rises to offer Jean his hand. She lets him help her up. Together, comfortably discussing their tortoises, they head back to Mondstadt. *** [her evening with Barbara! maybe could lead to the 'keep Barbara from coming along' later on] [Kaeya is doing things to try and make the situation up to her, which Jean can tell he's doing and wants him to stop -- second Kaeya scene, with him taking work, moves here] *** On her next day off, Jean rises with a refreshing sense of anticipation. She picks through her civilian wardrobe for something practical for the trek down Drunkard's Gorge and wrangling tortoises. Even if it has to be practical clothing, though, it's nice to plan for this trip without automatically donning her uniform.

Now, those notes in the middle aren't clear here because I already know what tensions I'm pushing with these scenes (the main plot is Jean dating Diluc out of hanahaki-based obligation; Barbara is oblivious and happy for her, while Kaeya talked Jean into doing this but is now very guilty about it) and thus I don't need to describe them in more detail to myself. But I know what they are, I know what they're doing, and I don't need to know the exact wording of the dialogue or the exact actions taken in them right now to move on with the main-focus relationship, which is Jean and Diluc and the slow-motion train crash that is occurring between them.

And because said slow-motion train crash is the main driver of the plot, I can skip the side-character scenes for now because as long as I know what they're doing in the larger scheme of things (adding friction to the wheels such that individual cars on this train are beginning to tilt under the pressure), I can go back and fill in the exact details later. The Barbara scene needs to have her induce guilt in Jean about the lie. The Kaeya scene needs to emphasize that their relationship is under strain, leading later to Jean not being willing to trust him with a future plot development. I can write the guilt and the reluctance into later scenes knowing that in the second draft, they'll have a basis.

(I would bet every single example in OP's work is not a "I have no idea what goes here," it's a "I know that X needs to be here for Y reasons," but the note, like my notes, is just a placeholder in the text for that line/scene's actual story-function as they have it in their head.)

Also, a smaller within-scene example that works the same way:

"Thank you," Jean says again, less formally, a tightness in her throat. She hesitates there, not sure what else to say, what else she *can* say without further thinning the line she has to walk. Diluc solves the problem for her. "You'll have to handle the clean-up personally to be sure it's done right," he says, and that sounds irritable, this time, but at least his irritation isn't at her. "I'll do a final sweep for any stragglers. I expect managing other Knights' incompetence will take you the rest of the night." [some transition that DOESN'T include negging the Knights, that makes her think of the flower and/or how they're focused on the same goals] "Wait," Jean says, as he turns away.

I can figure out the exact dialogue I want to put there later--what matters is knowing what it does to move the story forward. Since I know what effect it will have, I was able to carry on with that scene and into the next one it effects without getting bogged down in the exact verbiage, which wasn't coming to mind at the moment.

So I guess the point is, you can leave blanks to fill in later as long as you know what those blanks do. Scenes/moments in a story are links in a chain, and you can always temporarily loop some baling twine in to connect lengths of a chain together until you have time to go to the store and buy a replacement, but that doesn't mean you aren't continuing the chain. I still think of myself as writing this story in order! It's just got a lot of baling twine in it right now because if I stop to go to the store while counting links, I will lose all forward momentum and won't continue on down the chain.

...Which is, to be clearer, why I'm suggesting trying this for motivation problems. The moment I hit friction when I'm writing a first draft, my motivation starts to die. On the other hand, once I have a finished first draft (by which I mean, still with these notes and unwritten bits scattered through, but with all the main scenes written and a solid ending), going back and writing those bits is not "friction" but "enrichment." Which may also prove true for you.

Or it may not! Your approach to writing is fine if it's working for you! Or if the reason it's not working for you is because something completely different is tripping you up and you need to troubleshoot from that direction. I'm just talking on and on about my approach because it's the only thing I know that works for me, and also I love navel-gazing. XD;; Hopefully you can find something that works for you!

me: yeah I'm pretty close to finishing this fic

the fic:

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Cooking with Yuutsum

SUMMARY: Your tsum wants to go find some of the other tsums, but you end up finding Kalim’s and Azul's tsums together in the cafeteria kitchen. What's the problem? They both really like your tsum, and while Kalim-tsum can be quite affectionate, Azul-tsum can be a little... jealous.

CHARACTERS: Azul Ashengrotto, Azul’s tsum; Kalim Al-Asim, Kalim’s tsum (+Floyd Leech, Jamil Viper)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.040 words

COMMENTS: I got this idea while playing Twisted Tsumderland 3, more specifically the twistune with Idia’s, Vil’s and Malleus’s tsums. So yeah, maybe I'll do something like this with those three too.

(If I do I will update this post with the link.)

I hope you enjoy 😉

Your tsum was restless in Ramshackle Dorm and seemed to want to wander around the campus. Maybe it wanted to take a walk?

You take it in your arms and leave your dorm. You let it guide you and it ends up taking you to the cafeteria kitchen. But how did it know you would find other tsums there?

In the kitchen were Kalim, Jamil, Azul and Floyd, and with them Kalim’s and Azul's tsums.

The moment you walk in and see those two tsums, your tsum jumps from your arms to the floor making that happy tsum sound. Kalim-tsum does the same thing but instead of jumping to the floor it takes a big leap to land next to your tsum, but ends up throwing itself against it and the two roll together for a second. They get dizzy but quickly recover and Kalim-tsum starts to rub its cheek with your tsum's.

“Aww, how cute, they are such good friends already!” Kalim says with a big smile.

“Hm? What's up with this tsum?” Floyd asks about Azul's tsum. “It looks like it's shaking.”

And suddenly Azul-tsum throws itself at Kalim-tsum like a bullet, sending it flying across the kitchen into a pile of pots and pans, which causes a loud bang.

Everyone is startled! Kalim is worried about his tsum, Jamil goes into his usual panic mode, Azul himself is confused without knowing why his tsum did that and Floyd is laughing in amusement.

Meanwhile, Azul-tsum smiles with its eyes at your tsum, but your tsum gets angry and seems to start giving it a scolding. Which makes it shrink a little and become very sad.

You immediately went to Kalim-tsum and picked it up to see if it was okay. It looks at you and its eyes widen and shine. He snuggles up to you and tries to get close to your face to caress you as if nothing had happened before you picked it up.

“Oh, ha ha, it really likes you too. I'm glad.” Kalim says blushing a little.

After giving Azul-tsum a scolding, your tsum came to you to see if Kalim-tsum was okay too. But then you hear a strange, although cute, sound. You realize that the source of the sound is Azul-tsum and it seems to be... crying? Or throwing a little tantrum?

“HAHAHAHA It really is like Azul. HAHAHA”

“SHUT UP FLOYD!” Azul is blushing with embarrassment.

“Really?” Jamil whispers to himself with a mocking smile. “I wonder if it's because of the crying or the tantrum. Maybe both?”

Your tsum approaches Azul-tsum again, sighs and seems to give it a kiss on the cheek, or at least the equivalent of one since they don't have lips or a mouth. Azul-tsum stops squirming and your tsum rubs its cheek against Azul-tsum's. And suddenly Azul-tsum seems to become very needy towards your tsum, and practically sticks to it.

This makes Azul's blush even more intense.

Kalim-tsum jumps out of your arms and approaches your and Azul's tsums to press itself against Azul-tsum as if hugging it. Azul-tsum's expression looks sullen.

“I think it's saying it forgives Azul’s tsum.” Kalim says.

Azul’s and Kalim's Tsums were so close together that when your tsum jumped it was able to easily land on top of both of them, forming a pyramid of tsums.

“Ha ha ha! They’re doing the thing!” Floyd says.

And it seems that the two base tsums are more satisfied now. Both Kalim’s and Azul's tsum are smiling with their little eyes.

“I'm glad you seem to have sorted things out.” Jamil says to the tsums. “But you should still clean up the mess you made.” And points to the pots and pans scattered across the floor.

Azul ended up helping Jamil to get things back in order, after all, the main responsible for that was his tsum.

Your tsum wanted to help them cook. During the cooking, your and Kalim's tsums seemed to just want to have fun, while Azul's tsum, from time to time, seemed to want to impress your tsum.

And one of those times when it seemed a little too cocky, it ended up slipping off the table, but you managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. Azul-tsum looked at you and when you smiled at it its eyes lit up, but then it looked embarrassed and seemed to be trying to hide in your arms.

You put it down on the table again and your tsum approaches Azul-tsum to give it what looks like a kiss on the cheek. It smiles with his eyes while blushing a little. Azul himself is also blushing slightly in embarrassment.

While Azul's tsum seems to want to impress your tsum, Kalim's tsum seems to want to do anything and everything with your tsum. Basically the thing: the work is not for two, but it makes it for two. Or three because it also doesn't want Azul-tsum to feel left out.

When the time comes for them to part and go their separate ways, Azul’s Tsum struggles in Azul's arms at first, but soon calms down and just looks sad. While Kalim's Tsum appears to give your Tsum a kiss on the cheek and jump onto Kalim's shoulder while waving goodbye with its little arm.

“You'll have plenty of time to be with (Y/N)'s Tsum when you return to your world or dimension or wherever you come from.” Azul confides with his tsum. “In the meantime, we have work to do. And please don't embarrass me even more. What is going on with you?”

“Hey, I have an idea~” Floyd says with an amused smile. “Hey, Koebi-chan, why don't you and your tsum go to the Mostro Lounge later?”

Both Azul and his tsum knew what Floyd was doing, but neither was against the idea.

“You can also go to Scarabia in the meantime if you want.” Kalim invites you. “I want to take one last carpet ride with my tsum. I bet you and your tsum would enjoy it too.”

Jamil was worried for a moment, but then he remembered that it was you and your tsum they were talking about, so maybe he didn't need to worry that much.

More Twisted Tsumderland content:

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 2 (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

Yuutsum 3 (coming soon)

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[witchywithwhiskey]

first christmas with trucker ari levinson

pairing: dark trucker!ari levinson x female reader

summary: you ask ari if you can hang up some christmas decorations in his truck cab, and after his initial refusal, he starts to come around to the idea—and has some fun making you beg for it.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, slightly dry/painful sex, creampie, cock warming, bondage, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, degradation, some praise, daddy/dad kink, begging, pet names (sweetheart, baby, kiddo), some aftercare, a mean hot man

word count: 2.0k

a/n: based on this ask from @veltana: Are trucker Ari's and trucker Jake's readers gonna decorate the rigs for the holidays? since Ari's canonically jewish, i wanted to work that in while still showing what he's willing to do for his girl. (also apologies if there's any tense switching in this one, i'm not used to writing in present tense 😬)

trucker king masterlist & dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

Trucker Ari Levinson isn’t the type of man to decorate for the holidays. By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, you’re well aware of this fact about your trucker, but you think it would be nice to put up some decorations in the rig, just to make it feel a little bit festive.

When you broach the subject, the two of you have just set off on a six-week stint of driving, which means you’ll be on the road through the new year. Already, the vast, snow-covered plains of the midwest have you feeling melancholy, so you’re really hoping Ari says yes to some Christmas cheer.

However, your trucker shuts you down with a curt, grunted, “I’m Jewish.”

You try not to show your disappointment, but you haven’t quite gotten used to the way you can never hide anything from your deceptively observant trucker. So while you think you do a good job of playing it off like you don’t care that Ari doesn’t seem willing to let you decorate, he knows he’s struck a chord—and it doesn’t sit well with him.

At the next rest stop, Ari’s grabbing snacks while you’re in the bathroom and he catches sight of a small display of Christmas decorations. They’re all cheap and plastic and poor quality, but before he can stop himself, he’s swiping one of the bright red Santa hats and adding it to his haul.

Ari shakes his head to himself, wondering what his mother would think of him if she could see him buying a Santa hat when he hasn’t worn a yarmulke or stepped foot in a synagogue in over a decade. But then he pushes the thoughts aside, reminding himself that his mother was gone, she’d left him, and she had no fucking right to judge what he was doing.

You’re settled in the rig by the time he gets back, an e-reader in your lap, and already engrossed in some smutty Christmas romance when Ari hauls himself into the driver’s seat. You don’t look up until a bag of Christmas candy lands in your lap, and you’re so taken aback, you glance at your trucker in surprise.

It’s then that you see the Santa hat pulled down over Ari’s slightly greasy brown hair. In his dirty red flannel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Ari looked like the hottest, filthiest Santa you’ve ever seen, and your core quivers with eagerness as you suck in an excited breath.

Ari’s staring at your mouth, his eyes dipping lower to the way your tits are trembling as your breathing speeds up. You’re wearing nothing but one of his flannel shirts, the buttons undone an almost indecent amount, and nothing underneath. (You’d worn leggings into the rest stop bathroom, but taken them off as soon as you got back in the truck—Ari doesn’t like you wearing too many clothes and, truthfully, you don’t either.)

“Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap, kiddo,” Ari rumbles, his voice low and smooth—the charming tone of the man who’d coaxed you into his truck that first day. His hand pats his thigh enticingly as he spreads his legs, the fingers of his other hand deftly undoing the button and fly of his jeans. “Tell daddy what you want for Christmas this year.”

Your pussy is already wet with desire, so you toss your e-reader onto the bunk in the back and quickly navigate the space between your seats so you can throw a leg over Ari’s thighs and slide into his lap. Your ass lands on his legs, your pussy already slick enough that you whimper with the need to be filled.

“Beg for this cock, sweetheart,” Ari rumbles, stroking his thick length, his knuckles brushing against your damp slit and making your hips buck forward, seeking more friction. “Beg me to use your cunny like my own personal cock sleeve.”

“Please, use my pussy, daddy,” you beg breathlessly, fingers twining around the hair at the nape of Ari’s neck, careful not to knock the Santa hat off his head. “Use me to keep your cock warm, please—I want nothing more than to be your perfect little cock slave.”

“Good cock whore,” Ari purrs, one of his big hands grabbing your ass and urging you to lift up. Then he was notching the head of his dick at your tight little hole and helping you sink down on him.

A lewd moan slips from your lips as you take Ari’s cock. Your pussy isn’t quite wet enough to take his thick girth, but you don’t care. You’d take Ari dry if that’s what he wanted, and you both know it. 

There’s a delicious sting as your pussy protests the thick intrusion but you push past it, forcing your hips down until your ass meets Ari’s strong thighs. You sigh with contentment, swaying a little in Ari’s lap, your eyes half-lidded as you stare into your trucker’s ungodly handsome face. 

For some reason, the Santa hat is really doing it for you, making Ari even hotter than normal and you think, dazedly, you might have a Santa kink��so long as Santa is your dirty, filthy trucker.

“Feels s’good, daddy,” you slur, pleasure making your tongue feel thick and clumsy in your mouth. 

Ari chuckles and gives your hip an affectionate pat before he removes his hands from your body and starts up the truck, the engine growling to life. 

He’s pulled his rig back onto the snowy midwestern roads before he reminds you about why you’re on his lap in the first place.

“I wanna decorate the cab for Christmas,” you murmur, laying your head against Ari’s shoulder and enjoying the feeling of the truck rumbling beneath you, the warmth of the rig surrounding you.

Your eyes slide closed and you relax against Ari’s chest, letting the soothing vibrations and the perfect feeling of being filled by his cock lull you. Your whispered plea is spoken into the hollow of Ari’s throat, right above where the star of David he always wears is nestled beneath his t-shirt. 

“Please, dad.”

You feel your trucker’s cock twitch inside you, and a second later he lets out a tortured groan. It joins the soft moan you bury in the shoulder of his flannel shirt, your hips rocking lazily on Ari’s lap. Your juices are soaking his cock already, dripping down to his balls, and his cock is throbbing inside you, both of you equally turned on by what you’d called him. 

“Fine,” he grits out through clenched teeth, though you know he’s not angry, just trying to hold back from coming inside you so soon. He always reacts that way when you call him ‘dad’ instead of ‘daddy’. “You can have one string of lights, baby, but I’m going to test ‘em out before we hang ‘em up.”

Sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, you lean back and look up at Ari to make sure he’s serious. You find his jaw clenched tight and ticking, but when his eyes meet yours, there’s a sparkle of something like affection in them. Before you can be sure, though, he looks back to the dark road. 

“Thank you, Ari, thank you,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing kisses to his scruffy cheeks and burying your face in his thick beard to nuzzle his jaw. Happily, you lick and kiss down his neck, sucking on the spot at the base of his throat that makes his cock throb inside you. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he grumbles, one of his hands falling to the small of your back and urging you to settle. “Now be a good cock whore and sit still while you keep me warm, we’ve got another couple hours of driving before you can properly thank me.” 

“Yes, sir, daddy,” you purr sweetly in Ari’s ear as you settle down on his lap. You lay your head on his shoulder and press your mouth to his neck, licking and sucking on his skin idly while you do your best to stay still and let him drive in peace. 

When Ari finally pulls off for the night, you’re practically vibrating with a need to show him how happy he’s made you and as soon as he puts the rig in park, you’re riding his cock hard and fast. 

Your hands are planted on his bare chest—since you made him strip out of his flannel shirt and t-shirt—and you lift your ass up before slamming it down hard, the tip of his cock pushing against your cervix with every thrust and making your cunt squeeze the life from his hard length.

Once he’s let you take control for long enough, Ari’s hand wraps around the front of your throat and he pins you back against the steering wheel, not caring that the horn blares while he fucks up into you ruthlessly. 

All you can do is watch your trucker king, wearing a cheap rest stop Santa hat, fuck the hell out of you while your tits bounce and your mouth falls open in a moan.

Ari comes with a rough shout, yanking you down hard on his cock and making you grind your pussy on him, rubbing your clit against the coarse hair at the base. His hand squeezes your throat, choking you just hard enough to make your pussy spasm, and then you’re coming too, your scream of pleasure stifled by his grip on your neck.

After, Ari helps you into the bunk and tucks you into his big body beneath the blanket. He falls asleep wearing that Santa hat and some boxer briefs, while you’re naked in his arms. With your back to his chest, you can’t see the faint smile that curves his mouth as he drifts off.

When Ari finally buys you that string of lights he promised, you learn that the ‘test’ he wanted to do before you strung them up was to tie you up in them. He winds the cord around your calves, then your thighs, binding your legs together before he plugs them in to make sure they’re all working. 

Ari takes a long moment to look at you like that, naked on the bunk in the back of his rig, save for the thick socks keeping your feet toasty, and the warm, golden lights of the Christmas decoration he bought for you. 

It makes him want to buy you more, to see how you’d look laid out beneath a fully decked out Christmas tree while he fucked your pussy, or how you’d feel curled up in a blanket covered in reindeer while he held you on his lap, his cock buried in your ass. He wants to see you wearing a Santa hat that matched his own, sucking his cock on Christmas morning while he made you coffee.

Ari reminds himself that the two of you are spending Christmas in his rig that year, driving around the country until well into January. But he saves those ideas for another time, tucking them into a box in a corner deep in his mind reserved for all the softer, more domestic plans he has for you—the ones you’ve started to inspire in him despite the fact that he’s never thought of himself as a man with soft or domestic side. 

To distract himself, Ari digs out the Santa hat he bought at that rest stop and puts it on your head, pulling it down over your ears and giving you a satisfied little grin. Then he folds your body in half, pushing your bound legs up to your chest and off to the side so he can watch your face contort in pleasure while he sinks his cock into you.

The string of lights are digging into your skin a little painfully and you’re bent in an almost uncomfortable position, but you can’t help but enjoy it when Ari plunges into your cunt and sets a fast, merciless pace. 

You’d never expected a conversation about Christmas decorations to end up with you tied up in a string of lights, but then, nothing about your trucker was ever what you expected—and that was part of why you loved him so much. You couldn’t wait to spend that Christmas and many more with your trucker king, Ari Levinson.

trucker king masterlist & dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 17

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

A/N: oh boy.....

“Baby, can I ask you something?”

Isla tears her gaze away from the window as she watches the town go by, turning to face her mom in the driver’s seat. “What’s up?” she asks, fixing the skirt of her summer dress.

Anne blows out a breath, left elbow resting on the sill of the car door. “I know this relationship of yours with Rafe, you’re keeping it a secret from your sister and friends.” Isla bites the inside of her cheek, already feeling the anxiety brew in the pit of her stomach over the subject of this conversation. “How much longer do you think you can keep this up?”

Isla sighs, head falling back against the seat in defeat. “Mom—”

“I don’t mind keeping it quiet from your sister,” Anne cuts in with a hint of a smile, glancing at Isla briefly before her gaze returns out onto the road. “But seriously, honey—”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Isla says, lips twisting to the side as she looks down at her dress. Spaghetti straps with a flowing skirt that stops a few inches above her knees, a pretty yellow color with tiny white daisies patterned all over it. “But I know no matter when or how I tell them, they’re not gonna be happy. They’ll for sure think I’m insane or something.”

She sees her mom’s eyebrows furrow, forehead crease. “It can’t be that bad. They’re your friends, your sister. Give them a little more credit.”

Isla scoffs, her smile sardonic as her eyebrows raise. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many fights the guys have gotten into with Rafe and his friends? There’s a lot of history between them all, and none of it is good. So I just—I don’t know how I’m supposed to look them all in the eye and tell them I’m dating Rafe. The only person who wouldn’t be totally pissed is Sarah. But the others? Especially Kie and JJ? They’ll think I’ve, like, betrayed them,” she mumbles, gaze dropping to watch herself anxiously play with one of the rings she wears.

It’ll hurt, when they find out. It will hurt them and it will hurt Isla, and her anxiety is preventing her from seeing the slight possibility that the reaction won’t be as big as she’s fearing, or that they might get over it quickly. It all just seems too explosive to go in any other way than badly.

“They love you,” Anna says firmly. “So they’ll get over it. It might take them some time to accept your relationship, but I know they will. Especially when they see that you’re happy with Rafe.” The idea of it makes Isla smile slightly, though she doesn’t let that seed of hope in. But Anna sits confidently next to her, which is a little reassuring for Isla, even if her stomach is still in knots. “And when your relationship isn’t a secret anymore, I’d love for Rafe to come over for dinner.”

That makes Isla’s smile widen slightly, shy yet excited at the notion as she nods, her earrings tinkling as she does. “Yeah, me too.” Then she scoffs, adding, “Just make sure Kie doesn’t poison his food.”

Anna lets out a laugh at that, shaking her head in amusement. As the car rolls to a stop at a red light, she turns to meet Isla’s gaze, her eyes soft and warm. “Look, I know you want to make sure the time is right to tell them, but don’t wait too long that you end up psyching yourself out of it, okay? It’d be better for them to hear it from you than somehow finding out some other way.”

Isla nods, chewing on the inside of her cheek, because her mom hasn’t said anything Isla doesn’t already know. Telling her friends herself is exactly what Isla wants. She knows the longer she waits, the more opportunity she is giving for the universe to play a card against her and have her friends find out about her and Rafe through another way. It would make the situation even worse if they didn’t hear it from her, even if the idea of telling them still makes her beyond anxious. She loves her friends so much. She can’t imagine her life without them.

Even so, their reactions aren’t something Isla is looking forward to. Avoiding the problem, for now, just seems easier.

Isla is still thinking about it after her mom drops her off at the dock, her mind still running on the ferry over to the mainland where she’s meeting Rafe. He already had to be at Chapel Hill for work on behalf of his dad, so he and Isla had made a plan to meet at Sutton’s for their date. Kie was working at the restaurant today, her friends occupied with something or another, so it was the perfect time for Isla to meet up with Rafe.

If anyone asked, she was meeting up with some friends she had made when she toured the university’s campus a few months ago, so no one would be the wiser.

When Isla turns the corner to get to Sutton’s, she smiles when, in the distance, she easily spots Rafe standing outside. His back is to her, but she recognizes him easily, her smile widening as she approaches him, artfully dodging any other pedestrian in the way. Rafe, though, stands in the shade of the mid-size tree along the sidewalk, seemingly busy on his phone, until Isla skips the last few steps until she’s sliding up right next to him, left arm winding around his waist.

“Excuse me, but could you by chance be waiting for someone?” she grins, giggling when he tenses up the second her arm is around him, but relaxing a split second later when he looks down at her grinning face.

Rafe’s own smile lights up his face, dancing in those blue eyes as he settles his arm around her shoulders. “Sure am,” he says, fingers brushing up and down the bare skin of her arm. It’s the middle of summer, and he’s going to make goosebumps break across her skin as his eyes drink in every inch of her. From the yellow dress against her brown skin to her wavy hair falling down her back to the gold of her jewelry; from her necklaces and rings to nose ring and several earrings. “Waiting for the prettiest girl around,” he finishes, dipping his head to press a sweet kiss to her lips.

Isla smiles, kissing him back and welcoming the fluttering in her chest. “Such a charmer,” she teases as they pull back, her right hand on his chest. “But it’s time for you to feed me.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, and Isla can never get tired of the sound. So light, making a hint of crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, showing off perfect white teeth and a smile that could heal anyone’s heart. No wonder he takes care of a lot of Ward’s business when it comes to face-to-face time with clients; Rafe is undeniably charming, his smile disarming and effortlessly making a person forget about anything else. Isla doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Yes, ma’am. Let’s go,” he says, walking them to the front doors of Sutton’s, opening one of the doors and gently nudging her forward to walk in first, following close behind her as they enter.

Isla smiles when she’s instantly hit with the scent of burgers being cooked and the salty tinge of French fries. There’s an Icee machine towards the back on the left, and while there are tables to sit at the front, towards the back are aisles and fridges loaded with snacks and drinks. The walls are white and red tiled, a menu board along the wall behind the ordering counter, right above the window looking into the kitchen where Isla sees people bustling around. 

Rafe had said this place wasn’t extraordinary, just a burger joint mixed with a store, but it’s the food that makes this place popular. It already smells amazing as they step up to the counter to order.

The man standing on the other side, an older guy with graying hair and a goatee, instantly grins when they step up. “Rafe Cameron, my man,” the man laughs, hand reaching over and Isla smiles as Rafe’s hand clasps his. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.” His gaze shifts over to Isla, his smile widening. “And who’s this lovely lady you’ve got with you?”

Isla sees Rafe grin as his arm rests on her shoulders again. “This is my girl, Isla.” Her heart skips happily at his words as he says to her, “This is Morgan. The genius behind the food you’re gonna eat today.”

Isla laughs. “I can’t wait.”

“Music to my ears,” Morgan says, waving his fingers in a come on motion. “What’ll you have?”

While Isla gets a cheeseburger deluxe, Rafe gets a steak burger, fries for both, and once he pays for their food and drinks, they claim a small round table against the wall while their food is being made. “Oh, hey,” Rafe says, shifting forward in his chair as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants. “Wheezie asked me to give this to you.”

He holds out a tiny brown cloth bag and recognition lights up Isla’s face as she reaches for it. “What is it?” Rafe asks with a chuckle, watching curiously. 

Isla grins as she undoes the strings that shut the bag. “You didn’t open it and look?” she asks teasingly.

Rafe settles back in his chair. “Wouldn’t invade your privacy if it was something you wanted to keep to yourself or something.”

Her smile softens as she reaches into the bag. “You’re adorable,” she says with a gentle laugh, pulling out the beaded bracelet Wheezie made. “See?” Isla shows him, holding the bracelet up.

A smile touches Rafe’s lips, his fingers twisting his own bracelet once. “You asked her to make you one?” When she nods with a hum, he looks at the bracelet again and says, “That’s a pretty blue.”

Isla observes the bracelet, the sky blue beads Wheezie had used and white heart beads in between, the blue color absolutely perfect. Isla bites her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment, a bit shy before confessing, “Matches your eyes.”

She sees Rafe’s smile falter a bit at the revelation, surprised, but his smile returns quickly, those blue eyes lighting up while Isla’s cheeks heat. Letting herself be vulnerable with him, emotionally, is something that has become easier—though it doesn’t stop her from blushing anyway. But Rafe always seems to welcome her shyness, her vulnerability, and hasn’t made her regret being open with him.

And it feels good—to let someone in, in a way that she hasn’t in a while. Rafe is sweet to her, soft, and she finds herself falling for him more and more. Despite the secrets, despite the complications that would come from telling her friends, her feelings for Rafe aren’t something she can ignore—she doesn’t want to.

“You’re a romantic too, huh?” he muses, his smile gentle but Isla sees the sheer happiness in his gaze that makes her pulse quicken.

“Of course,” Isla grins, putting on the bracelet to join the one she already wears on her wrist, the matching thread bracelet she has with her sister, Sarah, and Cleo. Her throat works as she fiddles with the yellow bracelet, sitting nicely next to the blue beaded one, and Isla exhales slowly through her nose. “I was thinking. . .”

“Uh-oh,” Rafe smiles, chuckling when she shoots him a feigned glare. “What about?”

Isla twists her lips to the side, right leg crossing over her left knee and adjusting the skirt of her dress. Sutton’s isn’t too busy, but there’s a subtle bustle of the cooks in the kitchen and other customers scattered around at tables. Letting out a breath, she admits, “I think I’m gonna tell the others about us.”

She watches as Rafe’s expression shifts, surprise washing over his face because no doubt she took him off guard. Truthfully, they don’t have conversations, at length, about Isla telling her friends about their relationship. Rafe has given her full reign on how to go about that because, the fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give much of a damn of people’s opinions on him, even his friends’. If anything, Isla knows Rafe’s friends would give him shit for dating a Pogue, even if a lot of them still see Isla, Kie, and Sarah as Kooks, but they’ll be quick to get over it.

But Isla’s friends, on the other hand, are a different story, more volatile. Anxiety has made her keep this a secret, but she and Rafe have been dating for nearly two months now, and things between them keep getting better and better. She wants to share that happiness, doesn’t want to hide it like some dirty little secret. Plus, Isla is tired of sneaking around; it started off fun, and it still has some of its thrill, but being with him publicly, without worrying about getting caught, is also something she wants.

“Are you—you’re sure?” Rafe asks, sitting up as his gaze intently searches hers. “Because I don’t want you to take that step if you’re not ready—”

“I’m sure,” Isla tells him with a nod, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a slight smile. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. You know them. They’re stubborn. I think holding it off for too long might be worse because they’ll think of how long I’ve been keeping this from them, you know?” Her eyes meet Rafe’s. “I think you and I are in a good place, right? This works between us, it feels good.” Her cheeks heat up with her smile as Rafe grins a little too. “So, yeah. I’m gonna tell them, and hope for the best,” she adds with a chuckle.

Rafe nods, taking this in while his smile remains. “You know I got your back, yeah?” With a tilt of his head, he hesitates for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to be there when you tell them?”

A gentle laugh escapes her, eyebrows rising. “I think it might be better if it was just me.” The mere sight of Rafe would be enough to raise their hackles before Isla would be able to get a word out. “Maybe I should get them drunk first.”

Rafe snorts out a laugh, just as his name is called from the counter. “I’ll follow your lead, sweetheart,” he says, pushing himself up from the chair and heading to get their food.

Isla watches him, biting the inside of her cheek and absently admiring the firm shape of his ass in those pants while also picturing the scene in her head of when she drops this bombshell on her friends. There will probably be yelling, looks of betrayal and possibly disgust—Isla just needs to mentally prepare herself for all of them. And, honestly, she’s been doing that since the minute she and Rafe decided to pursue a relationship—hell, since their first date—but no matter how much she tries to prepare herself, Isla doesn’t think she’ll be ready.

It’ll be fine. Hopefully.

“Here we fucking go,” Rafe says when he returns, placing the tray in front of them and picking up one of the styrofoam boxes labeled cheeseburger deluxe and handing it to her. “This is yours. Dig in.”

Isla places a paper napkin on her lap before opening the box excitedly, feeling Rafe’s gaze on her as she admires the picture perfect burger and a good portion of French fries. It smells delicious as she picks it up, perfectly hot in her hands, and when she lifts it to her mouth, her gaze flickers up and catches Rafe’s.

“Are you gonna watch me eat?” she asks with an amused laugh.

He matches her smile. “Just the first bite. Wanna get your honest reaction.”

Isla shakes her head, smiling at his interest and curiosity as Isla finally takes a bite of the burger. Flavor explodes on her tongue and Isla’s shoulders drop as she chews, eyes widening at Rafe, who is smiling in satisfaction. “Oh, my God,” she mumbles after swallowing, reaching for a napkin to pat at her lips. “This is amazing.”

Honestly, it’s probably better than any gourmet burger she’s had. And Isla hates to admit it, but it’s even a little better than the cheeseburger they make at The Wreck—though, she’d never tell her parents that.

“I told you,” Rafe answers smugly, reaching for his own burger. But before he takes a bite, he asks, “You wanna try mine?”

Isla smiles as he holds the burger out, putting her own down and reaching for his. She takes a bite, the steak burger colored with different sauces and spices, but delicious all the same. She tastes the familiar tang of a pickle as she chews, nodding in approval as she hands it back to Rafe. “Delicious. I ate a pickle, sorry,” she apologizes with a grin.

Rafe chuckles and takes the top of the bun off, picking up the second slice of pickle and putting it in her container. “I don’t like pickles.”

Isla blinks. “Why didn’t you ask them to keep them off?”

He shrugs. “You like pickles,” he answers simply before taking a bite, leaving Isla smiling fondly at the boy before her.

“You’re so cute,” she grins, nudging his foot with hers under the table as she picks up the pickle and tosses it in her mouth.

“Cute, whipped,” Rafe hums with a roll of his eyes, waving around a fry. “Either one works.” He flashes a smirk.

Isla wiggles her eyebrows playfully. “Regrets?”

He smiles, but his gaze is serious. “Absolutely not.”

*****

Isla’s fingers brush along the spines of the rows of books, unable to help herself any time she’s in a bookstore. After lunch at Sutton’s, which had been delicious, they began walking down the sidewalk until they came across a bookstore and, like a magnet, Isla was drawn inside. Rafe had no arguments, following her in with a smile, but about ten minutes later, he stepped outside for a work call.

Isla already has three books in her arms since he left the store, which she knows will amuse him. It’s not her fault she can’t leave a bookstore without buying something. It’s a compulsion at this point.

By the time Isla’s ready to check out, she frowns at the front windows of the store, wondering where Rafe is. That’s a long phone call.

Once she pays and is happily dangling the strap of the paper bag from her fingers, Isla exits the store, ready to pull her phone out to text Rafe—only to spot him easily out on the sidewalk. Instantly, her confusion falters and a smile spreads on Isla’s parted lips, her heart picking up its pace when she sees the small bouquet of sunflowers he’s holding.

He’s already grinning, like he’s expecting her, and a breathless laugh escapes Isla, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she walks over and he holds the flowers out. Her sandals tap against the pavement as she approaches Rafe, stopping in front of him and reaching for the bouquet—except he clicks his tongue and pulls them out of her reach.

“Ah-ah,” Rafe grins with a lift of his chin, blue eyes dancing with mirth as Isla’s eyebrows raise. “Not for free.”

She’s quick to know what he means, her smile widening as she steps closer until there’s barely any space between them on the semi-busy sidewalk. Isla is wrapped in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, woodsy with a delicious undertone of spices, and with a hand on his chest, she rises on her toes with an upward tilt of her chin, and Rafe’s grin widens as he meets her halfway because he’s too tall for his own good, lips pressing to hers.

Isla sucks on his bottom lip and his answering groan is enough to send desire coursing through her, desperate need for Rafe making her head spin as his tongue swipes against hers. She knows they’re in public, but can’t bring herself to care as she feels his free hand pressing to the small of her back, his touch warm even through the thin material of her dress. 

Her head spins with his kisses, and she groans quietly before mumbling, “Wish we were home right now.”

“Yeah?” Rafe murmurs as Isla’s eyes flutter open, watching him look down at her with hooded eyes. His gaze flickers around them, then, before he smiles. The mischievous glint in his eyes has Isla raising her eyebrows before he says, “I’ve got an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, her free hand clasped in Rafe’s, Isla is stifling a laugh as they walk down the carpeted hallway of an upscale hotel. “You’re insane,” she giggles as Rafe takes the keycard and taps it against the security lock of the hotel room Rafe booked for them just for the afternoon.

He holds the door open for her, using his grip on her hand to usher her into the room. The curtains are parted to let the afternoon sun brighten the room, the king sized bed practically calling their name as Isla sets the flowers, purse, and bag of books on the nearby table. It’s a simple, spacious room with a king sized bed with a bed frame against the wall, cushioned in the middle with a wooden frame. A TV opposite of the bed, a mini fridge with a glass door showing off the drinks and treats inside—though, all she and Rafe really care about is the bed, of course.

She feels Rafe come up behind her, his fingers brushing along her neck as he moves her dark hair over one shoulder, Isla’s breath catching when his lips ghost along her neck. “It’s not home—” Neither hers nor his. “But it’s the second best thing.”

“Mhm,” Isla hums as his hand snakes across her stomach, pressing her closer into him as she leans her head back against his shoulder. “You’ll hear no complaints from me,” she says, tilting her head enough to press her lips to his, grinning when he instantly returns the kiss.

Isla turns in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck and pushing herself into him, heat pooling between her legs when his hands slide down her sides before they cup her ass through the material of her dress, applying pressure to pull her closer. Isla moans and her fingers run through his hair as he moves them, no doubt moving them towards the bed.

Her skin is on fire, craving his touch, and she drops her hands to undo his belt. As his tongue teases hers, deepening the kiss, the back of Isla’s legs touch the bed. She has five seconds to toe off her sandals—thank God they don’t have clasps—and suddenly she’s being pushed down, a gasp of a laugh escaping her during the moment their kiss breaks as Rafe’s lean body climbs over hers, kissing her once again as she practically sinks into the soft mattress.

“This fucking dress,” Rafe mumbles into the kiss, Isla’s heart pounding as she feels his finger hook under one of the spaghetti straps. “Bet you wore it just to drive me crazy,” he rasps, pulling one of the straps down her shoulder.

Isla’s lips curl up because he’s totally not wrong. It’s one of her favorite dresses, for sure, but Isla had put it on with the simple thought of Rafe’s reaction to her wearing it. “Is it working?” she asks, pulling out his belt and tossing it to the side. It clatters somewhere on the floor.

Rafe growls quietly and Isla gasps into his mouth when he takes one of her hands and brings it to cup his cock over the material of his pants. He’s big and hard and Isla’s body practically sings with the desire of having him inside of her again. “What do you think?” he asks, nipping at her bottom lip and tugging at it sharply. She swears she feels the pull in her pussy.

“Gonna do something about it?” she asks breathlessly between kisses, her leg hooking around his hip to bring him closer, heart pounding as they breathe in each other’s air. 

She arches slightly when she feels his hand cup her breast through her dress, the bodice fitting nicely enough that she didn’t need to wear a bra with it. “Yeah,” he grunts, the air hitching in Isla’s throat when his fingers curl under the neckline of her dress. “Gonna taste every inch of you.”

Cool air of the room hits her in the next second when Rafe tugs the front of her dress down, the material soft and stretchy enough for him to do so easily. Rafe pulls back and Isla already misses the taste of his lips, but she catches the way his gaze darkens at the sight of her exposed breasts, hunger flashing across his face before he leans down and closes his lips around her nipple.

Isla cries out at the wicked touch, hand finding the back of Rafe’s head, fingers threading through his hair as he sucks at her nipple, tongue flicking and each teasing movement has Isla’s head tilting back, lips parting and eyes fluttering at the electricity that buzzes through her veins. When his teeth graze along her nipple, Isla gasps, fingers tightening in his hair as her back arches, pushing her breast further into the warmth of Rafe’s mouth as his hand cups her other breast, fingers tweaking and playing with her nipple.

“So fucking pretty,” Rafe mumbles, switching over to the other breast, and Isla lifts her head enough to watch him suck, his lust filled blue eyes locking on her dazed green, her heart pounding when she feels his tongue flick her nipple again. 

“Rafe, Rafe.” His name is all Isla can utter, lost in the head spinning ecstasy she feels from his mouth alone. “Please—”

She’s not sure what she’s begging for at this point, but he lifts off her chest and kisses her, swallowing her moans and licking into her mouth. His tongue plunders and ravages and takes, and Isla happily lets him as her fingers blindly find the hem of his shirt, giving it an upwards tug. The kiss breaks long enough for Rafe to pull the shirt off the rest of the way, Isla’s fingers admiring the hard muscles of his abdomen and feeling them flex under her touch.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he murmurs against her lips. Isla hums in response, fairly certain she’d do anything he’d ask. Rafe kisses the corner of her mouth, brushes his lips against hers, and asks, “Sit on my face? Please?”

Oh, fuck yes.

She looks up at him, panting, admiring the lust in his eyes and pink swollen lips. She doesn’t miss the way her breasts glisten with Rafe’s saliva as she nods dazedly, and Rafe smirks at her instant agreement, moving to turn them so he’s laying down and she moves to straddle him, taking off her underwear and tossing it to the side. When her hand moves to undo the zipper on the side, Rafe’s hand gently grips her wrist.

“No.” Isla’s gaze flies to his, admiring his kiss swollen lips and the hunger in his eyes. “Keep it on,” he says, voice hoarse with need that Isla feels in her belly and between her legs.

Isla’s skin flushes, heart pounding and breath shallowing as she glances down at herself. The skirt of her dress is bunched up while the bodice has been tugged low enough to expose her breasts, nipples taut and perked not just because of the coolness of the room, but Rafe’s earlier ministrations. 

His hands brush up and down her outer thighs, a ghost of a smirk curving his mouth. “Come on, baby.”

It’s all the encouragement Isla needs, desire thrumming her veins as she shifts up his body until she’s hovering right above his face. She tries to keep the skirt bunched to her waist, but the second Rafe’s hands sneak up to her hips under her clothes and he pulls her down and a gasp rips through Isla the second his mouth comes into contact with her. With his grip on her, he makes her sit on his face and Isla has to grip the top of the wooden frame of the bed, head bowing as she feels Rafe lick into her eagerly.

She remembers that day on his kitchen counter, but here, Isla doesn’t hold back the moans that escape her as Rafe’s tongue pushes through her lips, licking into her opening as already making Isla’s head spin. Her knees rest on either side of his head, but she still feels herself tremble when Rafe’s tongue flicks against her clit and Isla throws her head back.

“Oh, God, Rafe,” she gasps, hips moving against him as her grip tightens on the frame. Even if she looks down at Rafe, she can only just get a glimpse of him from beneath the skirt of her dress. The sensation of his mouth working on her sends electricity zipping through her body, his fingers digging into her hips and helping her move as whimpers escape her.

“Could stay here all fucking day, y’know,” Rafe mumbles, his words accompanied by the crude sounds of him licking and sucking. “Favorite fucking thing. Heaven.”

The last word is groaned out as he sucks her clit into his mouth and a sharp cry escapes Isla because in the next moment, she’s falling apart above him with her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and liquid fire flooding her veins. Isla chants his name, over and over, until she’s shaking on top of him and body threatening to go limp.

But then Rafe moves them swiftly. With his hands on her hips, he pushes Isla backwards and shifts himself until she’s on her back and he’s moving on top of her, her head now by the foot of the bed. Isla giggles breathlessly at the sudden movement, stomach flipping excitedly at the way Rafe moves her around so easily. He grins down at her, messed up hair and swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

When he comes back over her, capturing her lips in a slow, dizzying kiss, he asks, “You want me?”

Her hands are in his hair, tongue in his mouth. God. “Yes.”

One of Rafe’s hands finds hers, linking their fingers together next to her head as he kisses her deeply. “You have me.”

*****

“Sarah will understand, right?”

A light scoff sounds from Rafe. “We’re sitting in a bathtub, and you wanna talk about my sister?” he asks, teasingly nipping at her neck.

Isla laughs gently, her back pressed to his chest. The warm water is brilliant for her muscles, which definitely got worked out after her and Rafe were done. Since Rafe had booked the hotel room for a few hours, they still had some time to kill, and Rafe took it upon himself to fill up the tub and because this is one of those fancy hotels, there was even a small bottle of bubble bath that he practically emptied in the tub.

“I’m just thinking,” she says, sitting between his legs with her head resting back against his shoulder. One of his hands links with her, resting on the lip of the tub, while his other hand brushes his fingers across her stomach under the water, so light yet enough to tug at her center. “I’m not looking forward to their reactions but I’m hoping, you know, that at least we’ll have Sarah on our side? Maybe?”

Rafe is silent for a couple of seconds as Isla watches his fingers play with hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she waits for him to say something. “You want me to be honest?” he asks quietly, making her heart thump.

“Yes.”

“I’d say it’s fifty-fifty,” he answers and Isla’s heart drops upon hearing that. And maybe he feels her tense against him because his arm snakes around her waist, holding her close. “I have a feeling my sister’s more loyal to your friends than she is to me.”

A lump forms in Isla’s throat when she hears the hint of dismay in Rafe’s voice. She knows Rafe and Sarah’s relationship isn’t perfect; they’ve had their issues, especially when Rafe and his friends got into it with Isla’s friends. Things can get tense between them, but Sarah hasn’t had any complaints against Rafe over the last couple of months—mostly because Rafe hasn’t been getting into fights with the guys. If anything, he pulled Topper back that night at the Boneyard, and Isla recalls Sarah commenting that she was pleasantly surprised at Rafe stepping in like that.

But to know Sarah may also be upset with Isla and Rafe’s relationship makes Isla’s stomach twist in knots. She was hoping that Sarah would be their safe bet because, as much as Isla loves her own sister, she doesn’t think Kie will be too receptive to this relationship. Maybe, over time, her friends will adjust and accept, but Isla is dreading that initial reaction upon them learning the truth. It makes her stomach feel hollow with nothing in it but dread, anxiety ruling over.

“I’m sorry,” Isla whispers, eyebrows furrowing together as she squeezes Rafe’s fingers.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Rafe instantly says. “My and Sarah’s relationship is slowly getting better, which is why I think it could go either way. If this had been months ago, she would’ve totally been against us,” he adds with a gentle laugh. “But maybe she’ll be quicker to come around. Honestly, baby—” He brushes his lips across her cheekbone. “There’s no telling how any of them are gonna react, right? I don’t think you should stress yourself out by running every possible scenario, you know? They’re gonna react how they’re gonna react. It’s out of any of our control.”

Isla sighs, pouting. “That’s not as comforting as you think,” she mutters with a short chuckle.

His grip tightens and Isla feels his head drop until his lips press to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sounding truly regretful, which only tugs at her heartstrings. “I’ve got you though, okay? No matter what happens or what they say, you have me.”

Now those words have Isla melting, relaxing in his embrace as her lips curl up into a gentle smile. “Nice save,” she says playfully before turning her head enough to press her lips to his cheek. “But you’re right. No point in psyching myself out.”

It’s easier said than done, of course, but it’s all the more reason why Isla needs to tell her friends sooner rather than later. Like, tomorrow, maybe. The idea makes her heart thud unsurprisingly, but it’s a feeling she has come to be familiar with—though, one she can’t wait to get rid of.

She sighs then and says, “We should probably get out before we get all pruney.”

Rafe hums against her neck. “Sounds sexy,” he quips, making her laugh as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, if we have to.”

They make quick work of drying off and getting dressed again. Fortunately, Isla’s makeup isn’t too messed up, just cleaning off some mascara residue from under her eyes and reapplying her lip oil. She pulls her hair out of the bun it had been in for the bath, combing her fingers through the wavy strands so they fall nicely around her shoulders.

He gently taps her ass when they exit the elevator once the doors open up to the lobby, and while Rafe goes to check them out, Isla sits down on one of the couches, placing the flowers next to her as she checks her phone in case her sister or friends texted her. She only has notifications from their Snapchat group chat; Kie sending a video of her making a sandwich at work, JJ sending a picture of his bike that he’s working on, and Cleo sending a picture of Pope sitting at his desk while she seems to be laying in his bed.

Isla doesn’t send a picture or video in return, not wanting her friends to see where she is. But being occupied by her phone doesn’t last too long because a few seconds later, she hears an annoyingly familiar voice ask, “What are you doing here?”

Isla freezes, her heart pounding as she very quickly realizes that this can very quickly blow up in her face. With her grip on her phone tightening, Isla slowly raises her head until her eyes find Topper standing before her. He’s standing before her in a suit and tie get up, eyebrow raised at her as he waits for an answer that Isla doesn’t want to give, and definitely doesn’t owe him.

Panic blooms in her chest, but Isla shoves it down as she puts on a mask of indifference, tilting her head at Topper. He definitely doesn’t look happy to see her, his jaw tense and eyes hard, but that’s not what Isla focuses on. She’s more worried about talking her way out of this before he sees Rafe and somehow puts two and two together.

“Visiting a friend from out of town. She’s staying here,” Isla lies smoothly, gesturing to the lobby. Her gaze flickers past him, towards a sign on an easel in front of one of the ballroom doors. It reads Thornton Conway Archer, which is the name of the law firm Topper’s mom is a name partner of. Great. How the hell did she and Rafe miss that on their way in? Isla shoots Topper a tight smile. “Nice monkey suit. If you’ll excuse me,” she says, grabbing her bags and flowers and getting up from the couch, skin heating with anxiety of needing to get away.

“A friend from out of town, huh?” he repeats, unconvinced, as he steps in Isla’s way, making her stop short. She masks her panic with a glare. “Didn’t wanna show them the glories of The Cut, huh?” he says condescendingly, making Isla feel the urge to punch him in the face. Her friends have really rubbed off on her over the years.

Isla blinks at him. “Is there a reason we’re having a conversation right now?” she asks blankly even if her nerves are skittering, needing escape. Except Topper’s gaze has already flickered over Isla’s shoulder and dread pools in her stomach when she sees realization dawn on his face.

“Rafe?” he asks and Isla’s teeth press together. Maybe she can play it off smoothly that she had no idea Rafe was here; maybe their cover isn’t totally blown yet. Topper doesn’t look too thrilled to see Rafe and Isla knows it’s because of their confrontation outside of the country club. “What are you doing here?”

Isla raises her eyebrows, hoping to give off an expression of surprise as she looks over her shoulder to see Rafe slowly approaching them. Their gazes meet, and she can easily see the annoyance—and concern—swimming in his blue eyes as he makes his way over, pocketing his wallet. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek before his gaze slides back to Topper, eyes hardening.

“Business meeting,” he answers simply. He glanced between her and Topper and casually asked, “Everything okay here?”

Topper scoffed, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Why? Wanna come to her rescue again? You know—” He narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s pretty convenient that you two are both here.” Looking at Rafe, he asks, “Do you have a new hobby of coming to the Pogues’ rescue nowadays?”

“What can I say? Right place, right time,” Rafe lazily drawls and Isla admires his ability to appear unbothered. But there’s slight tension bracketing his mouth, so subtle yet Isla notices it because she knows him, and she knows that he’s a bit thrown off, too, to run into Topper here. Then Rafe’s glaze flicks to her meaningfully and Isla hears him loud and clear.

Isla inhales sharply, offering them a tight, close mouthed smile. “Alright, well, I’m gonna be anywhere but here,” she says with an upward flick of her eyebrows. Before Topper can stop her, she moves around them and tries not to appear that she’s fleeing—even if she is.

She’s about to head to the doors to exit, but recalls that she told Topper the so-called friend she’s visiting is staying here. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath before making a B-line towards the hall where the elevators are located.

Fortunately, she disappeared from the view of the lobby as she approached the wall at the end of the hall. Isla leans back against it, resting the bag of books by her feet as she tilts her head back and lets out a breath, eyes shutting. Goddamn—Topper has the annoying habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times. Not that his presence is ever welcomed, but lately it’s been on a whole other level.

She’s alone for maybe a couple of minutes when she hears footsteps, and by the time she opens her eyes, Rafe is approaching her. “Hey,” he says worriedly, glancing over his shoulder while making his way over. “You good?” he asks once he’s stopped in front of her, effectively obscuring her view of the hallway behind him.

Isla huffs out a breath, shooting Rafe an incredulous look. “Why is he always everywhere?” she asks in exasperation, letting out a breathless laugh that’s only slightly tinged with alarm. “Do you think he, like, suspects anything?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, shaking his head reassuringly. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know shit,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Let’s hope that’s true,” Isla huffs, running her fingers through her hair as she hopes to sway away the nerves that had risen.

“Hey,” Rafe says gently as he places his hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs brushing along the underside of her jaw. “Let’s not let him ruin our day, yeah?”

Isla smiles slightly, dipping her chin in a nod before Rafe tilts her head up by placing some pressure where his thumbs are, ducking his own head to kiss her gently. Her eyes flutter shut and she sighs into the sweet kiss, lightly gripping the front of his shirt as she parts her lips to allow his tongue to slip in. God, yes. With just one touch, one kiss, Rafe manages to make everything else disappear, and it is so easy to get lost in him.

“Alright. Time to go,” he sighs, bumping his nose against hers before pulling back and smiling down at her. 

They’re able to make it out of the hotel without another run-in with Topper, though just to be safe, they head out separately before meeting up a block down from the hotel. It had been a perfect, wonderful day as she and Rafe take the ferry back to the OBX, their fingers interlaced as they sat in the last row below deck, away from anyone around.

As she watches the water glitter, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see Kie had messaged in the groupchat.

From: Kie🐬

can u come to jb’s, isla?

Isla arches an eyebrow, but messages back.

From: Isla

yeah, i can be there in 25

It’s not long until they get to the dock back in town, which means she and Rafe have to part ways and she has to go see her friends. Rafe offers to drop her, but she insists on taking an Uber, kissing him goodbye and heading over to John B’s, texting in the chat to let them know she’s on her way. She puts the small bouquet of flowers in the paperbag of books, the bag dangling from her fingertips as she got out of the car and thanked the Uber driver before shutting the door.

Her lips still tingled with Rafe’s kisses as she walked across the patch of grass towards the Chateau’s porch, noticing the others’ cars and bike already parked. Isla’s not sure why Kie asked her to come over, though it’s not unusual for them all to meet up here, of course.

She spots them sitting scattered around the screened in porch, the murmur of conversation dying as soon as she opens the door and walks in. “Hey,” she greets, albeit a little slowly as all gazes turn to her. For some reason, she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

They all look at her, stone faced and hard eyed, and Isla blinks as she remains rooted on the spot, her gaze flickering to every face. Sarah won’t meet her gaze, instead looking down at her lap or at John B, who sits with pursed lips. When Isla looks to Kie, her sister stands by the wall, arms crossed and a furrow between her brows that creases her forehead. On the recliner, Pope sits forward with his elbows resting on his knees, chin resting atop interlaced fingers, and Cleo is fiddling with her switchblade as she sits on the arm of the chair. JJ isn’t facing her, instead looking out onto the Routledges’ land with arms crossed and every muscle of his body seemingly tense.

Isla’s throat tightens. Something is so very wrong.

In fact, Isla can feel the tension in the room, suffocating. Her pulse kicks up a few notches, the uncertainty of what she walked into filling her with unease.

“Um,” Isla starts, shattering the silence. Something tightens in her stomach, something foreign and indecipherable, as she lets out a short chuckle and tensely jokes, “Who died?”

It’s Kie who responds, a kind of hardness in her eyes that has never been directed towards Isla. “When were you gonna tell us that you’ve been hooking up with Rafe?”

[mydarlingclaudia]

christmas party hop

note : SECRET SANTA FIC FOR @candlekiss !!! MERYY CHRISTMAS THIS IS EXTREMELY RUSHED BUT I WISH YOU THE MERRIEST CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!!!! the quality inst that good because I didn’t write this in like an hour im so so sorry erm

wc : 1.5k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @leonsecretsanta

desc : roommates and mistletoe don’t mix well. roommates to lovers, fluff (??), no outbreak au, re4r!Leon, fem!reader, not proofread

It feels like you have to force Leon to do anything that involves socializing. He can manage the dishes and laundry by any other chores himself, but when it comes to having people over, he always shuts himself away in his room. You really shouldn’t care, it’s none of your business and not everyone likes having company over, but you can’t help but wish he’d come out for at least an hour or two and have some fun.

He's always been nice to you, civil, at least. He's appreciative of any dinner you cook for him or taking time out of your day to take care of him while he's sick, he does the same for you, if he's able. It's typical roommate behavior, you think. Maybe Leon's just more comfortable around you than others, though it could also be that it's your friends that come over more than his.

But he's never really had any of his friends or coworkers come over. You've met Chris and Jill a few times, same with Claire and Marvin, but you've never come home to see any of the four sitting on the couch talking with Leon. The times that you've met them you seemed to get along, they had mentioned Leon talking about you and that you seem as sweet as he says, so that's a good thing, right?

So you get the idea of throwing a Christmas party for yours and Leon’s friends, no big deal. It's not like it's a huge thing, just a few more people in your apartment than normal, you're doing this for Leon's sake, anyway.

Only Chris and Claire had shown up thirty minutes early to help set up (which they hadn’t really mentioned to you) along with Sherry, Jill brought Carlos and they both brought more than enough booze, Marvin’s arrival was fine, your own friends came in a little loud, but they brought pies so it was ok.

But now you’re jammed in the kitchen with Sherry whose trying to scoop cookie dough onto the cookie sheet, Claire whose pulling turkey out of the oven, Carlos whose coming back into the kitchen for more beer, and yourself who has been trying and failing to make eggnog. People are still running in and out of the kitchen, squeezing behind everyone cooking, yelling over the Christmas music that was playing.

“I put up mistletoe,”Claire nudges you as she walks past, carrying the pot full of stuffing. “Keep an eye out.”

“You decorated?” You turn to face her, licking some of the eggnog off your finger.

“Sherrys idea,”

“Pssh, sure.”

“Honest! Come on,” Claire laughs, “Is there a problem?”

“I’m not kissing you,” Claire rolls her eyes, setting the pot of stuffing down onto the table and starting to scoop it out into a big bowl. Two of your friends squeeze behind you to get first pickings of the food being set out, Chris and Jill follow after.

“You gotta kick Leon off the tv, the only thing he’s watching is that stupid Christmas baking show.” One of your friends giggles trying to get your attention as you help Sherry slide the cookie sheets into the oven.

“Yeah? What do you wanna watch?”

“Well, we were supposed to turn on Home Alone ten minutes ago…” She mumbled, already shoving turkey into her mouth. You flinch away from the heat of the oven and shake your hands as you pull away, standing upright.

”Alright, alright, I’ll talk to him.” You shove by Carlos and Sherry, through the doorway into the living room and walking towards Leon who is still hogging the remote. Leon can hear you walking towards him, he looks to you, his resting face changing into a smile.

“Got no holiday cheer?” You tease, sitting next to him on the couch.

“I’m filled to the brim with it,” He mutters rolling his eyes slightly.

“Oh my God, let’s just watch some Christmas movies. I spent hours in the kitchen for this, y’know.” You lean on his shoulder and pry the remote from his grip, he sighs.

“You’re so lucky I like you,”

“No shit, come on.” You grab his hand and pull him to stand up with you, dragging him towards the doorway and into the kitchen, getting plates for the both of you while the others continue to rush around the two of you.

You’re sure that if you and Leon had a driveway, Leon would find some reason to be outside shoveling, or if you had decorated outside, he’d find another reason to fiddle with the lights. He does come out of his shell a bit and chimes in to talk to Chris and Claire, he jokes with Sherry, pokes at Carlos and plays up being offended.

He’s not paying attention to the movie, but he taps his foot along to the Christmas music that’s still playing, he follows you around, though.

Leon normally does this if the two of you are ever out together, he trails after you, trying to hold k to your sleeve so he doesn’t lose you in a crowd. You know it’s not typical roommate behavior, but you find it cute, plus it’s not hurting anyone, right?

Even when you and Leon get knocked around by everyone else in your small apartment and end up bumping into each other, he holds your gaze and almost reaches out to grab you so you can stay for another moment and ignore the party.

There are kisses under the mistletoe— all between Carlos and Jill, though.

Leon and you do get held under the doorframe for a moment. It’s when Chris is talking to Sherry in the living room while she was trying to make her way into the kitchen and when one of your friends was trying to come into the living room, both you and Leon were standing and chatting.

Leon didn’t kiss you, unfortunately.

Claire didn’t take down her decorations when the party was over, everyone helped pick up the mess they made, but your apartment looked more holly-jolly than it did before the party.

You’ve already brushed your teeth and changed into your pajamas, Leon’s done the same, but he’s been looking up for the past few minutes.

“What’re you looking at?” You question, setting your cup of water down on the counter and stepping closer as he waves you over. You stand beneath the doorframe with him, looking up at the mistletoe hanging from it.

There’s a kiss pressed to your cheek within the next second, you look back to Leon to see the grin on his face.

“Just on the cheek?” You tease, crossing your arms.

“You want it on the lips?”

“Well, that’s the tradition, isn’t it?” You giggle, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek, he pulls you in at the same time for the kiss you both expected, only he’s a bit more passionate than you.

[1425fivefive]

Ruined orgasm + norstappen

my favorite kink with my current favorite pairing 🥹 i love you darling anon (from this kink prompt ask)

“Please, Max,” Lando whines, thighs shaking next to Max’s ears, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch. “Need to come.”

Max wants to roll his eyes despite the cock in his mouth. He knows Lando’s desperate to come because Lando hasn’t been able to shut up about it. Lando always gets like this when Max doesn’t get him off, whiny and pouty, moping around the flat like he’s being tortured. Always grumbling about how sore his balls are, how he can’t sleep when he’s hard, how he hates waking up with his underwear all sticky.

Max thinks the problem is he spoils Lando too much. Makes Lando think that if he just begs enough, Max will give in. The thing is, Max does, usually. He likes watching Lando come too much—the way Lando’s mouth drops open in a perfect little o, how his eyes go all wide and wet, how he always comes so much, all over his taut stomach. Max loves licking it off him, dragging his tongue over Lando’s skin while Lando shakes under him, letting out breathy whines when Max gets too close to his cock.

The real problem, Max thinks, is that his desires are mutually opposed—he wants to watch Lando come but he doesn’t want to reward him for all his whining, which an orgasm, inherently, does.

But Max got an idea a few months ago while Lando was showing him some porn clip he liked, a man getting tied up and edged until, right at the last minute, the dom takes his hands away, forcing the sub to spill all over himself without anything touching him, awful and unsatisfying.

“You’d like that?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

Lando shifted next to him tucking one socked foot over the other. “Dunno, if ‘like’ is the right word, mate.”

“But you’d let me do that to you?” Max asked, finally glancing over at Lando.

Lando’s cheeks were flushed and he was chewing on his lip but he nodded, once.

Max hasn’t really thought about it since, too distracted by the season, too busy to really think about all the ways he wanted to torture Lando. But it’s winter break and now they have nothing but time.

Max pulls off Lando’s cock, letting his hand take over. Lando shivers at the change of stimulation, twitching in Max’s hold, squirming against the sofa cushions. Max loves Lando like this, desperate and strung out, almost unbearably sensitive to every touch. If everything goes to plan, Max can keep him this way for a few days longer.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Max says.

Lando whimpers, blinking down at Max with wet eyes. He already looks close to tears. Good, Max thinks. He sort of wants to make him cry.

“You’ll let me come, yeah?” Lando asks, lip quivering like he expects Max to say no.

“Yeah, I’ll let you come,” Max says. It’s not a lie, technically.

“Fuck, thank you,” Lando whines, fucking up into Max’s fist, relief clear in his voice.

Max has to hide his smile by sinking back down on Lando’s cock, sucking Lando exactly the way Lando likes, the way that Max knows will have Lando on the edge in minutes.

Sure enough, after a minute, Lando’s eyes are squeezed tight and he grits out, “M’close.”

Max pulls off, still stroking Lando with his hand. “Then come.”

Lando’s mouth drops open in that perfect little o, eyes flying open. Max feels Lando’s cock kick in his hand and Max gives one more stroke before pulling his hand away, watching in awe as Lando starts to spill over his stomach, his neglected cock pulsing and twitching, spurting come all over his tan skin.

“Max,” Lando cries out, staring down at his cock with a devastated expression. “Fuck, Max, please, I don’t—” He breaks off on a sob, hands flying up to cover his face as his cock keeps spilling.

"M'not coming," Lando says, voice muffled by his hands as he lets out another shuddering sob. "M'not." But his cock pulses another wave of come even as he says it, and Max knows it must feel like nothing. Knows it must feel awful to want it so bad and have it not even feel good.

The thought has Max achingly hard, and he has to bring a hand down to touch himself as he watches Lando come.

As Lando’s orgasm starts to peter out, Max reaches his free hand up to tug Lando’s hands away from his face, revealing Lando's tear-stained cheeks, his eyes and face a splotchy red.

Lando gives him a miserable look and lets out a heartbroken little, “Max.”

“What do you say after you come?” Max asks. He knows he’s being a dick but, however much Lando complains about it, he knows Lando likes when he’s a dick. That Lando wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“Fuck you,” Lando snivels, bringing a hand up to scrub away a tear.

Max barks out a laugh, hand speeding up on his cock. “If you want me to let you come anytime in the next month,” Max says, “you’ll be polite.”

“I didn’t even come,” Lando says, letting out another sob.

Max brings a hand to Lando’s stomach, dragging two fingers through the mess and holding it up to Lando’s lips. “You did, baby. Look how much you came.”

Lando whimpers but he lets Max push his fingers into his mouth, sucks his own come off them. When Max pulls his fingers free, Lando whispers, “Thank you.” 

“Fuck,” Max groans, pushing to his feet, planning to add to the mess on Lando’s stomach.

Lando makes an anguished noise at the sight. “Don’t you fucking dare, Max, don’t make me watch you fucking come.”

Max comes.

[illbegottenfaith]

merry christmas, please don't call

one year on, you look back on the fight that ended yours and theo's relationship (theo nott x reader)

a/n - and that's a wrap on the christmas fics! I had a few more ideas but I'm working on pacing myself/not burning out so maybe next year :)

tropes/warnings - angst, no happy ending, exes to...exes?

word count - 2.6k

Dec 23rd, 5.49 pm

You were frozen in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. You had arrived for a Christmas bash which doubled as a reunion, even though it had only been a year since your friends had graduated and gone their separate ways. A reunion where you'd once again see your ex-boyfriend, Theodore Nott. You knew you'd inevitably have to see him again, but to coincidentally arrive within five minutes of each other? You fidgeted restlessly, willing the house elf to hurry.

You hadn't seen him in...a year, was it? He looked unexpectedly grave, dressed in navy blue and wrinkles that aged him far beyond his years. He even had a subdued grey scarf tucked under the collar of his coat. Unable to pretend you didn't see each other for any longer, the both of you made awkward eye contact.

"Hi."

Theo nodded. "How are you?"

"Good." You scrounged for something to say. "I've just gotten accepted into the auror recruitment programme."

As far as conversation supplements went, it wasn't the best. Still, it seemed to do the trick. Theo smiled suddenly, as if he couldn't help it, immediately looking years younger. Clearly, your time apart hadn't made him forget how badly you had wanted to be an auror, and how tirelessly you had been working towards it. "That's fantastic. Congratulations."

You felt yourself warming up to him. While his usual charms never worked on you, you were a sucker for those glimpses of sincere joy. "Thank you. What about you?"

"I'm at the Ministry of Magic now. My department's based in Scotland."

"Ah. Scotland. How nice. Looks like it agrees with you. The Scottish air, I mean," you hurried to clarify, tripping over your words. Seeing an ex again was hard for anyone, you tried to convince yourself. It was perfectly justified for you to get a little tongue-tied. "You look - you look good."

"Thank you." He almost looked...embarrassed. You had never seen Theo acting this bashful. It was curious, how much could change in just a year. He gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So do you."

By then, the house elf had returned to show to your separate rooms. You turned to say goodbye, but Theo was already halfway up the stairs.

Dec 23rd, 6.17 pm, one year ago

Malfoy Manor was filled with opulent, excessively elaborate bedrooms like the one you and Theo were staying in. Theo was hidden somewhere in the recesses of the large room, getting ready for the Christmas dinner party. You were sitting up on the bed, trying to find the right words when Theo emerged from the dressing area, nearly ready. His eyes swept over you as he frowned.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

The dread coiling in your stomach stung like acid.

"I'm not coming for dinner tonight."

Theo stared at you for a beat, then two. Then he gave a bark of sardonic laughter, walking back into the dressing area.

"I don't know why I'm surprised."

You grimaced. Even though you had braced yourself for it, his callousness stung. "I don't particularly like your family, Theo," you snapped. "This isn't news."

Theo stepped out from behind the wall, tie abandoned half-tied around his neck. You shrank into yourself under the full brunt of his displeased stare, wishing he'd go back to getting dressed. You knew he'd never raise a hand against you. He didn't have to, not when he was more than capable of inflicting psychological harm. Still, you'd be lying if you denied finding him intimidating on occasion.

He dropped the mocking tone. It was almost a kindness. "But you agreed to come to this."

You smoothed down the covers of the bed, refusing to meet his eye. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd feel up to it. But I don't."

Theo fiddled with his cufflinks aggressively. "Do you have any idea how much of a mess you've made that I have to clean up? I'm going to have to sit there for hours, coming up with half-baked excuses for why my girlfriend is missing Christmas dinner."

You laughed incredulously. Was he being purposefully obtuse? Was that all you were to him, some ornament to make him look even more dazzling? "I'm sorry, Theodore," you said sarcastically, "I'm sorry I'm making things so difficult for you just because I don't want to sit through hours of sickening affectations from some of the worst people on the planet."

His demeanour flipped like a switch. He straightened, an obstinate undercurrent to the tension in his jaw.

"I don't ask or expect you to bend over backwards for me, so you can quit acting like I do."

"You don't? You're throwing a hissy fit over me skipping out on one dinner!"

"For Merlin's sake, Y/N, it's a fucking dinner party. How hard is it to have a meal and hold some polite conversation for a couple of hours?"

"When it's with your family? Pretty fucking hard."

"Then why did you even agree to this in the first place?"

"I didn't want another fight."

"We're fighting now, aren't we?"

You didn't know what to say to that. Theo disappeared inside once more. You felt traitorous tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I just - I just feel like lately...all we do is fight." You hated how small your voice sounded. You flinched as the memory of your last fight insistently pressed on barely-healed wounds. I don't hate you, you had said. I don't - I could never. No. I could never hate you, Theo. Over and over, you had repeated it like a mantra. What had you done all that for? Why did you care so much?

"Tough luck, Y/N," Theo said, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. "This is what couples do. They fight."

You drew your knees to your chest, trying to regulate your breathing. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "I'm sick of it, Theo. I really am. Aren't you sick of it?"

Theo reappeared, swearing under his breath, having resumed the struggle with his tie. He walked towards the full-length mirror at the corner of the room.

"Maybe we wouldn't be fighting so much if you didn't have to be so difficult all the time."

You were speechless. Theo took the opportunity to duck back into the dressing area, muttering something under his breath about dinner parties. You felt yourself retreating into your shell, smarting under the sting of his words. But it was more than that. You could feel yourself pulling away from him.

"I don't want to do this, Theo. I don't want to...make you an enemy."

"Then don't." Theo walked out of the dressing area for the final time, impatiently holding out the crimson dress you had picked out weeks ago. "Enough of this. Get dressed so we can go."

Enough of this. That was the problem, wasn't it? To Theo, this was all just one big temper tantrum he could discipline you out of.

You finally looked up to meet his eye, taking in his entire appearance. Merlin help you, but he looked ridiculously handsome in burgundy. His tie was just a smidge crooked like it always was every time you weren't around to fix it for him. Something twinged inside your chest at the sight of him fully dressed, ready to abandon you any minute now for the quiet, murmuring chatter that was beginning downstairs. Theodore Nott, virile and headstrong, was forever going to press on, with or without you.

You wished it didn't have to be this way.

"I wanted to make things easier for you, Teddy," you whispered, looking past the dress he was holding out. "I really did. You have to believe me. Please."

He wasn't going to browbeat you into getting his way. Not this time.

Theo flung the dress on the floor where it pooled at your ankles like a puddle of spilt blood. Like a condemnation. You closed your eyes and pressed a hand to your clammy forehead. You felt physically sick.

"I'm late for dinner."

present day

Dinner was a pleasant enough affair. As per your seats, Theo wasn't completely hidden from your peripheral vision, but that didn't matter once you started catching up with your friends. Afterward, everyone migrated to one of the living rooms, drinks in tow. It was a riot, seeing all the old crowd under one roof once again. Had they all always been this funny?

By some curious happenstance, Theo ended up next to you on one of the loveseats. As the night wore on, you found yourself gravitating towards him, leaning into him more and more with every bout of hysterical laughter. Eventually, the party started breaking up into smaller groups and dwindling in size as people started excusing themselves, one by one.

So here the two of you were, alone, drunk enough to pretend like the past year hadn't existed. It reminded you of the celebratory parties after Slytherin's victories during Quidditch season. You'd leave early, but in a couple of hours a completely wasted Theo would show up at your door (Merlin knows how, even absolutely smashed, Theo could reach the girls' dormitories), complaining about his head hurt.

You'd entertain his whining, fussing over every scrape he had sustained during or after the match, kissing it all better. You secretly loved those nights - it was the only time he ever let you baby him. Or, as Theo might have considered it then, let you have the upper hand. Even then, you had your differences, but they never stopped you from staying in sync with one another.

If only that were enough.

Now, you were nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder and your drink on his thigh. It was quiet, too quiet, even with a fire going in the fireplace. You glanced up at him. His eyes dropped to your lips. You knew where this was headed. Maybe you'd known, or hoped, ever since you'd received the invitation. In all honesty, you were too miserable to push him away.

"Theo," you murmured against the shell of his ear, "what are you doing?"

"Remember how good we had it?"

Your glass of wine drooped in your slackened grip. Most of the time, you were happy being single, but then again, most of the time you didn't have your ex-boyfriend drunkenly pressing hot, distracting, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

"What I remember is how we left things, and why."

"Remind me."

With a considerable effort, you righted your glass, squinting blearily around the dim living room. Honestly, all this estate and not a single coffee table to put a drink down? "We were, um, we were falling out of sync."

"Right," he said drily, plucking the glass out of your hand as if he had read your mind. "So out of sync that we couldn't help but arrive at the exact same time."

"Five minutes."

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't the exact same time. I arrived five min-"

You abruptly forgot what you were saying, deciding that it didn't matter when your mind was fogged with the delirious pleasure Theo was inflicting on you. Frustratingly, Theo pulled away after a minute, lightly flushed.

"My point is, don't you miss it?"

It took you a moment to regain your bearings. You blinked at him. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his eyes shone with such aching sincerity that you nearly forgot that all of this had been his fault.

You wondered if things would be different today if you had slipped into that dress and forced yourself to put on a brave face. After all, it was only a couple of hours. Maybe you wouldn't have ended things that night. Maybe you'd have worked through what might just have been a rough patch.

Or maybe you'd still be together, more miserable than ever.

The cracks were showing. You could have ignored them for only so long.

You pushed him away, suddenly disgusted by more than just the stench of whiskey on his breath.

"Shut up, Theo. You made me feel like an island. Our relationship was crumbling and you didn't give a damn about any of it." You retrieved your glass from where it was surprisingly steadily propped up between the cushions. "You didn't give a damn about me."

Sitting here, your third drink in your hand, the sting of embarrassing tears brought an unpleasant realisation. That had been the worst part, hadn't it? You couldn't even say that it was because he hated you, not when he didn't care enough to. Why didn't he care? Were you too boring? Uninteresting? Not worth his attention, positive or otherwise?

"Cara mia," he whispered urgently, as if English alone couldn't convey his distress. "I promise, I did care about you. You have to believe me. I just - " he faltered, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I didn't express it very well," he finished quietly.

"Like that means something. You were awful to me, especially towards the end."

He had the gall to look genuinely stricken. "Tesoro, please. Don't say that."

But now that you had begun, you couldn't stop. "I begged you to care, Theo. Do you know how humiliating that was? I begged you to care and you just couldn't find it in you." Your heart felt heavy. It was the first time you had let yourself grieve what you once had with Theo. With considerable difficulty, you pressed on. "Just like I couldn't find it in myself to put on that dress and act like everything was fine."

You took a sadistic sort of pleasure in his grimace. Good, he should feel uncomfortable. If anything, the time to feel uncomfortable had been last year, but that ship had sailed long ago. "So forget it. I've had a lifetime's worth of begging for scraps of your affection."

Something in Theo's face changed. It was as if he hadn't entertained the possibility of failing to sweep you off your feet, like he had done so many times before. When he spoke, it was with none of his usual embellishments or charms.

"I know you probably hate me now. As you have every right to. As you should." He paused. "Merlin knows I've hated myself every day since."

You wanted to laugh. Theodore Nott, with a head three sizes too big, hate himself? "Hate yourself? What for?"

Theo scratched his face, staring into nothing, in a distractedly hopeless sort of way. "I don't know. Too many things. For raising my voice at you. For pretending I didn't notice us..." He trailed off, as if he were too embarrassed to finish the sentence. He swirled the little amber liquid left in his crystal glass. "For making you feel like you couldn't rely on me."

"Is this your way of apologising?"

Theo laughed weakly, and when he looked up, his pale blue eyes dull with the sheen of a naively boyish desperation you hadn't seen in a while.

"Would it change things? An apology?"

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. It was all the confirmation he needed. Silence descended on the two of you.

"We were good. Once."

Perhaps. But once upon a time was too flimsy of a reason to fix things now. You took one last look at Theo, fighting the wild impulse to kiss him on the cheek in some half-hearted bid to piece together the shattered man sitting next to you. Even now, after all that had transpired between the two of you, you couldn't help but feel some sort of moral responsibility for his happening. It was curious, how nothing had seemed to change over the past year.

When you spoke, it was with a tone of finality that glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Merry Christmas, Theo," you whispered as you stood to leave.

Please don't call.

[thedisc0spider]

Hi I have a Spencer request🙏 maybe either reader meeting his family or Spencer meeting reader's family and they're all giving them like knowing glances and talking about how cute they are and their family think they're just like the coolest❤️❤️

Seasons Greetings

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Summary: the request BUT in honor of the holiday season I have made it Christmas

Warnings: fem!reader, Christmas?, reader has the perfect family of our dreams so… sorry..😢

Genre: fluffy Christmas :)

Point of view: 2nd person

A/n: I have decided to reappear for the holidays… I’ve missed you guys AH! Finally doing requests like I promised to a month ago…😅 lmk if I should do a part two of the next day? Could be cute idk

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Working at Smosh is great, so is working with your boyfriend, you essentially get to hang out and play games with the person you care for the absolute most.

Being an actor was always your dream, so having a steady acting job that also allows time for auditions on the side is perfect.

However, the one downside of working at smosh with your boyfriend is that your family already has… an idea of Spencer.

Would you say that you’re embarrassed? Absolutely not, you’ve always loved his humor, it was one of your favorite things about Spencer since the moment you met. In fact, it made you fall in love with him.

This isn’t the first impression you had hoped for though, neither you nor Spencer had control over their idea of him thus far due to the fact that you both weren’t even in the room when the first impression occurred.

countless nights you had spent awake at ungodly hours watching every video with you or Spencer from the point of view of your family.

Maybe this was obsessive and absolutely insane, but you couldn’t help it. Spencer had no idea about this, and you had no intention of telling him either.

Now, Spencer was coming to meet your family properly this Christmas, which was so wonderful and exciting yet terrifying and nerve wracking.

Your mother had promised you over the phone that they hadn’t all formed an opinion on him already, but you knew better than that.

Knock, knock.

You make your way towards the door, opening it to a smiling Spencer with takeout in hand. You smile back at him, anxiety seemingly dissipating out of your being at the sight.

Later into the night, you and Spencer were curled up on the couch, eating Chinese food, which is now placed on the coffee table, and watching “Family Guy” (his choice). His hand gently ran up and down against your arm while his head nuzzled against your neck.

“Only two days until Christmas.” Spencer stated, moving to look over at you. He studied your expression, it was hard to tell what you were feeling.

You nod, “I know, are you excited to finally meet my family?” You say this in a joking tone, but a part of you is searching for a real answer.

He adjusts his glasses slightly before speaking, “well, if they’re anything like you, then no.” This lightened your mood, while also getting an eye roll out of you.

Both of your laughs echo through your apartment, you push him off of you playfully. “No- okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He laughs, pulling you back towards him.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Okay, you want my serious answer?”

You nod.

“Yes, I am excited, if not a little frightened to be completely honest.” He admits.

You shake your head, running your fingers gently through his curls. “Spence, you don’t have to be scared. My mom loves everyone and my dad pretty much thinks you’re the funniest guy alive already.”

Spencer tilts his head, “he does?“

“Yeah.”

“Has he, like… watched our videos?” You could tell this freaked Spencer out a little, one could only imagine which insane jokes he was beginning to regret.

You didn’t want to bring it up or say anything, this was supposed to be something you exclusively stressed about. You knew the second Spencer heard this he would start overthinking.

“Hey, I know that look. Stop it. Yes, they all watch the channels. They really do seem to love it, though.” You scoot closer to him, tucking your legs under you so you can face him. “You will see, my brother is just like me, they’re used to the humor.”

He still looks stunned, despite your reassurance. “Yeah, okay.”

You let out a sympathetic laugh, “aw, buddy, I promise it’s gonna go fine.” You pull his head into your chest, rubbing his back to comfort him, the last thing you wanted was for him to get into his own head.

“Why do I have to make so many misogynistic jokes?” He sigh, laughing at his own immaturity.

“They know it isn’t real, it’s very obvious. Besides, we can worry about that in a few days. For now let’s just relax.”

-time skip, Christmas Eve-

You arrived at your parents house in the evening, the chill breeze hitting your cheeks as you stepped out of your car. Your scarf was assisting in keeping your face warm, although it did not quite suffice.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, closed the car door behind you just as he had opened it before to let you out. As you made your way up the door, Spencer’s grip tightened around your hand.

You knock, this is it.

Your mother pulls the both of you in for a tight hug, something Spencer hadn’t expected by the look of his eyes widening.

“Oh, you must be Spencer! It’s so good to see you both!” She holds on for a bit too long, “don’t be shy, come in! Oh, (y/n), I have so much to tell you about your aunt Carol! Her hair is bright purple.” She looked at you like it was the most serious news she’d ever relayed.

You chuckle, looking back at Spencer. “It’s nice to see you too, mom.” You guide Spencer into the warm house.

“Thank you so much for having me, you have a lovely home.” Spencer says with a nervous smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal! Spencer, why don’t you go into the living room, I need (y/n)’s help in the kitchen.” She begins pulling you away as you shoot your boyfriend an apologetic yet reassuring look.

Spencer was now stranded, he sat on your parent’s couch hesitantly. He didn’t want to see like he was making himself too at home. For a few minutes alone, Spencer pondered his next interactions with your family.

He was interrupted when a large man entered the room, “my boy!” Spencer looked around as to say ‘who, me?’ And once he realized he was the only one in the room he stood. “Well, I assume you’re the famous Spencer Agnew? The one dating my daughter?”

Spencer immediately swallowed, now realizing that he was meeting your father for the first time. “Oh- yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded.

Your father approached Spencer, towering over him, as most do. Spencer looked up at the man, he reached out his hand to shake. Spencer immediately reciprocated.

“Nice to meet you too, although I feel like I already have. I’ve seen the videos, you’re a funny kid.” He plops onto the couch, putting his feet up on the ottoman.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Spencer smiles, gently sitting down on the sofa as well.

An awkward silence.

Spencer searches for something to say, anything. He hates when his mind goes blank during conversation, which never happens when he’s comfortable and with people he knows well, he is not used to this.

“So, the weather-“

“Okay, dinner is ready.”

Saved by the bell, you and your boyfriend sit around the table with your family. Your younger brother now joins you for the meal, steak and potatoes.

“This is really good, mom.” You compliment her before taking a sip of your wine. You ask your brother, “how’s school?”

“Pretty good, Jeremy finally traded me that Pokémon card I wanted.” Before you know it, him and Spencer are engaged in a thrilling conversation, ending in him promising to look at your brother’s card collection after dinner.

You can see in your father’s eyes how much he admires the fact that Spencer is entertaining this, your brother was hard to get along with so when he likes someone it’s meaningful. Not many people are willing to accommodate his special interests and demanding attitude, but Spencer had always been very patient with children… and with you.

“So, you two met through work? That’s how your grandparents met, you know. They always said ‘if you can work together without killing each other, you’re ready for marriage.’ Oh, I can just picture you walking down the aisle in that dress you cut out in that little scrap book of yours. I know, I said I wouldn’t snoop anymore but I can’t help it! Besides, it would look beautiful on you. Speaking of weddings, did you get the invitation for your cousin Linda’s engagement party? Guess who she didn’t invite? Aunt Jane! Oh, I still just have so much to tell you, but I digress. Honey, could you pass me the salt?”

The other four of you at the table exchanged glances for a moment, holding in your laughs. Your mother had always been a rambler, it was nice to get Spencer in on that family inside-joke now.

After dinner, and the Pokémon card museum, you both unloaded your luggage with the help of your father and headed upstairs toward your childhood room.

As you said goodnight to your parents, You felt a weight lift off. It’s over, and it went amazingly.

You and Spencer were alone now, you looked at each other and both sighed. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“No, you’re right,” he brings you in for an embrace, “that went super well. Thanks for bringing me.”

“Of course, Spence. I feel closer to you now that I’ve shown you a big part of my life.” You pull away, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Me too, that was fun.” His gaze shifts to the room around you. “It might be hard for the both of us to fit in that twin bed though.”

You grimace, “yeah, I didn’t think about that…”

Spencer makes his way through the room, studying each surface. “What’s this? Ooo, the famous wedding scrapbook!” He smirks at you, giggling to himself.

“Spencer, put that down! I’m serious.”

[vonlycaonwife]

Hi

Could you write about living with everyone's favorite wolf guy (Von Lycaon x f!Reader)? I feel like waking up next to him or completing household work together would be so sweet/cute >\\\\< Please and thank you!

Here's to hoping you will pull him soon!!!! Don't give up <3

You understand me, I JUST WANT TO HAVE THOSE SWEET MOMENTS WITH HIM. I stuck with the waking up together idea because god the want to be in his arms is IMMENSE. Also I combined this with another who wanted a wife reader!

Edit after writing: This ended up so much shorter than what I wanted, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t figure out how to keep it going without it feeling too fillery

Warnings: none I think? Possible suggestiveness but the implications are super subtle imo

Waking up in the morning was one of your favorite times of the day. Even when the sun began to almost turn your sight red as it hit your face, or when you felt the small prickles of a cramp from sleeping in a somewhat awkward position. Yes, even with these, seeing the sleeping face of the thiren before you is what always made it worth it. 

You smiled as you felt his tail wrapped around your legs, surrounding you in fluffy warmth. A habit your husband had picked up since you first began to sleep in the same bed as him all those many years ago. The small puffs of his breath could be felt on the very top of your head, adding more to the constant realization you’ll always have of just how much bigger he is compared to you. But that never made you scared of him, in fact the wolf thiren was very adamant on making sure you only felt safe around him. 

You could see his ear twitch, alert to any noises that would require him to wake up. It was another habit your husband had picked up, from a time before you as far as you were aware. He wasn’t secretive about his past to you, though you never pushed him to tell you everything, something you knew he appreciated.

 You could feel your smile widened as you attempted to quietly sneak out of the male’s arms, gently pushing his arms off of you. Though you knew it was futile once his hold only tightened around you, a soft grumble escaping from the wolf. Alerting you he was already awake, like he typically was.

“Love, you know we both have work.” You softly chided, suppressing any laughs as he only tiredly grumbled again in response. As uncharacteristic many would say, Lycaon wasn’t actually much of a morning person. But because of the job he has, it sadly forced him to adopt an early morning routine. Though you couldn’t say much, since your own job had you suffer the same thing.

He let out a tired growl like noise, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You almost wanted to coo at him over how cute he was being, but you refrained from doing so to keep him from grumbling even more. Your hands began to skillfully brush through his fur, stroking near his ears in a gentle fashion. As you did so you could feel his hold relax, making you smile as your coaxing for him to move starts working. The light pat pat from his tail hitting your legs softly could be slightly heard under his increasing grumbling. But you knew you won when he slowly detached from you, though he still gave your cheek a nuzzle before he fully sat up.

The sight in front of you was something you saw every morning, but you couldn’t help but be in awe every time you saw the early morning light hit the thiren just right. The way his fur was both messy yet still gave a sense of pristine cleanliness even with some tufts being misplaced. Or the way even with the thicker fur, since it was beginning to become cold in the city, you could still see the powerful muscles move as he stretched and moved around the room. Which signaled you to start getting up, stretching out your own sore muscles and brushing your messed up hair into an easier to manage lump.

When you finally walked over to the bathroom to do your morning routine, your husband had already finished dressing into his uniform and brushed out his fur. The faint sounds of him working in the kitchen could be heard as you walked out your room dressed as well, smiling to see the typical quick yet nutritious breakfast the wolf thiren was always insistent on making for you even when you insistent on cooking for you both. GIving him a quick kiss on his cheek in gratitude, you quickly ate your food and sipped on your freshly brewed coffee. As the man insisted on using the very expensive espresso machine he had gotten to satisfy your caffeine needs, though he never used it for himself as he preferred tea.

After a few moments of packing essentials and basking in the quiet moments before it was time for the both of you to leave, you followed Lycaon to the door of your home. Just before he could leave, you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed onto his waist tightly, earning an affectionate chuckle in response as he reciprocated the hug.

“I’ll be home at the usual time, Love.” He spoke, closing his eyes in content as you cupped his face. Even if it forced him to almost bend down halfway to let you do so, he always loved to let you hold his face like it was your world.

“Okay, be safe.”

“I always will.” At those words you pull him closer, pressing your lips gently against his for what you wished could be for hours. But it was only for a few moments. Once he pulls away you hug him once more and watch him gently close the door and lock it behind him. After a few moments you let out a sigh, choosing to ignore the dull feeling in your chest over how easy you missed your partner. Taking ina breath, you decided to head to your office and set to work.

Even though you worked from home most of the time, you always insisted on waking up and getting ready along with him. Because you could never forgive yourself if you missed those gentle and sweet moments with him, seeing him in a light that he only let you see. As the image of the male’s grumpy face surfaces into your mind, you smile.

Yeah, mornings were your favorite time of day.

[polkadotpenguin16]

Subtle Hints

Fills the Only 1 Bed square for @storiesofsvu's Holiday Bingo 2024

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x female reader

Tags: smut (that might be a strong word for this—smut lite?)

Word count: 2K

Beta'd by: @misscharlielulu + @escapingrealtiylovinginsanity

A/N: my Christmas present to you – my first attempt dipping my toes into smut! I’m very much a beginner writing in this genre, and want to improve my skills so I can do my saucy ideas justice. So please bear with me as I’m learning <3

Also posted on AO3

Today was your first holiday spent with Sonny’s family. While you’d already met his parents and sisters individually, this was your first time fully immersed in the Carisi clan. Sonny wasn’t worried about it, but you were irrationally concerned about making a good impression. It was important to you that they thought you were a good match for Sonny. 

His sisters seemed to like you, and his nieces and nephews thought you were pretty cool. But you had a hard time getting a read on his mother. She was cordial, smiling whenever you chatted. But her demeanor seemed guarded, if not a little cold. Definitely not the enthusiasm you’d hoped for. But you were dating her one and only son, her baby boy, so her trepidation was not unexpected.

It was getting dark outside, and the snow was falling much harder than forecasted. Because of the late hour and the unfavorable weather, Sonny’s parents offered to let everyone stay at their house for the night. When Mrs. Carisi divvied up the rooms amongst all the guests, somehow, the only one left for you and Sonny was Gina and Bella’s childhood bedroom. Which you wouldn’t have minded, except for one thing…

Gina and Bella had shared bunk beds.

Mrs. Carisi tried to play innocent. “What do you want me to do? It’s the only bed left. You wanna sleep in the closet?” But you strongly suspected this was her not so subtle way of hinting that she didn’t want any out-of-wedlock shenanigans happening under her roof.

You and Sonny entered the bedroom, dumbfounded how you found yourself in this situation. The walls were covered in pastel floral wallpaper that reminded you of the 80s. Next to the closet sat a well-worn oak dresser with scuffs along the side—probably from having the closet door slammed into it. The window was adorned with pink striped curtains that appeared to have been homemade, perhaps by Mrs. Carisi. And at the back of the room stood the dreaded set of bunk beds. 

The closer you got, the smaller the beds seemed. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Sonny rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He’d like to say he was surprised, but this honestly wasn’t even the craziest of his mother’s antics. “I, uh, I could go talk to Ma…” he trailed off as he glanced at you hesitantly, looking for you to tell him what to do next.

You thought about it for a split second, but the defeated look on his face told you that Sonny didn’t want to fight with his mom tonight. “No, it’s fine. It’s just for one night, anyways.” As utterly silly as this was, you were still worried about making a good impression with his mother. You thought there was the slightest chance you’d earn her respect if you went along with this madness.

Relief washed over Sonny’s face. He made a mental note to thank God at Mass tomorrow for blessing him with such an understanding girlfriend. He looked back at the bunk beds, reminded of the uncomfortable night ahead of him. With a deep sigh, he accepted his fate. “Okay, roomie, which bunk do you want?”

“Which would you be more comfortable in?” You wanted to be mindful of his size. You weren’t necessarily tiny, but certainly smaller than him.

His eyes darted between you and the beds before gesturing to his lengthy frame. “Babe, it’s not gonna make a difference.”

“Well…” A wicked smirk crept onto your lips. “I’ve never slept in a bunk bed before.” You mischievously climbed up the ladder to claim the top bunk as yours.

Sonny rolled his eyes, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t charmed by your childish spirit. “Alright, doll, you can be on top tonight.” You glared at his immature joke, but desperately tried to suppress the warmth rising in your cheeks. “Why don’t you get down from there so we can get ready for bed?”

Sonny stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, offering you his dress shirt to sleep in. He had worn his blue and white polka dot one, which was your favorite on him. You shamelessly held the shirt to your face. Breathing in its musky scent, enjoying the warmth still clinging to the fabric.

While getting ready, you turned to see Sonny struggling as he tried to squish himself into the bedframe. He regretted he hadn’t taken you up on that offer to join your yoga class. He bonked his head against the wall and jammed his knee into the bedpost. Too exhausted to be fighting a literal piece of furniture, he resigned himself to sticking his feet off the edge and resting his arm on the floor.

Swallowing your giggles, you tiptoed to the bed, kneeling to look at a very defeated Sonny. “Are you going to be okay down here?” You had to whisper otherwise you’d bust out into a cackle.

“Oh, yeah, just like a five-star hotel.” At least he was able to fit his sense of humor in there.

You exchanged “I love yous” and a quick kiss, then you climbed up to your own bunk. It took a minute of tossing and turning, but you found a comfortable position for the night.

Fifteen minutes later, you were on the edge of sleep when you heard Sonny let out a disgruntled groan. The bed started to shift. Before you knew it, Sonny was up the ladder, crawling into your bunk.

“No, no, Sonny! What’re you doing?” You quietly tried to shoo him, afraid he’d break the bed. Ignoring your protests he tried to squeeze in beside you.

“Doll, it’s cold down there,” he whined. You knew that was a lie. Sonny, true to his name, radiated heat like the sun. He was never cold.

You playfully tilted your head and raised your eyebrow. “You sure you weren’t just lonely?”.

Sonny was grateful the darkness hid his boyish blush. It was an awkward dance trying to get you both to fit. Giggles erupted as your legs and arms tangled together. Eventually, Sonny pulled you on top of him, wrapping his arms around your waist. You curled up under his chin, finally settling.

You tried to fall asleep but were distracted by the gently snoring man beneath you. You felt enveloped by his warmth, intoxicated by the smell of his cologne. You knew this was quite possibly the worst time and place to be horny, but you couldn’t ignore the heat growing in your belly. You needed to relieve the tension, so you slowly ground into Sonny.

You felt a groan reverberate in his chest. “Doll, whatcha doin’?” His voice was low, thick with sleep.

“Well, you were complaining about being cold.” You ground your hips harder into his, hoping he would get the message.

Sonny’s laugh was cut off by a wanton moan. He slowly tightened his hands around your hips. You felt him growing hard beneath you.

Your message was clearly received.

He gently flipped you onto your back. “You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that...possibly literally.” He looked over the side of the bed, gauging how far the ground was.

He knew this was a bad idea. But you were so effortlessly beautiful laid out beneath him, wearing nothing but panties and his shirt. His desire for you had been building all night. Watching you blend in so easily with his crazy family, strutting around in your green party dress. He’d barely been able to keep his hands to himself. Now, hovering above you, his resolve was quickly slipping away. Your skin was soft under his fingertips, and he could smell remnants of your gingerbread perfume. You felt like the perfect Christmas present—handpicked just for him, waiting to be unwrapped. How could he resist?

He pulled you into a searing kiss. You kissed him back with the same intensity, rubbing your hands up and down his back. You moaned into his mouth, louder than you’d intended. Sonny shushed you, reminding you that you had to be quiet. You carefully peeled Sonny out of his undershirt. A goofy smile spread onto his face as he watched you struggle against the fabric. He realized how juvenile this was, but he was enjoying every minute of it. He looked deeply into your eyes, feeling the closeness he’d been desperately craving the whole evening.

He balanced himself on his forearms, wanting to make you as comfortable as possible. He hiked up your shirt just enough to gain access to your chest. He gently massaged your sensitive breast. His calloused fingers dragged gently against your skin and across your nipple, making it harden beneath his touch. You gasped as you arched your back to meet his hand. The whimpers coming from your throat were nothing compared to Sonny’s.

He enjoyed giving you pleasure infinitely more than receiving it.

He tried to ignore the burning in his shoulders. But suddenly his muscles gave out, throwing him off balance. Making a split-second decision to avoid collapsing on top of you, he tumbled over the side of the bed. He landed with a comical thud that echoed throughout the silent room.

“Sonny!” you whisper yelled, as if you hadn’t just awakened the entire house with your raunchy escapades. You quickly climbed down to check on Sonny where he lay groaning on the floor. “Are you okay? Is anything broken?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, taking stock of his body. “Besides my pride?” Wincing as he rubbed the back of his head. “I think I’ll live.” You kissed his forehead. Thankfully, the bed hadn’t been that tall, so a serious injury was unlikely.

As you sat on the floor looking up at the bunk beds, a thought popped into your head. “Hey, Sonny?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t we just put the mattress on the floor?”

Sonny’s face went blank at the realization. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips tightly. He groaned in frustration as he laid his head back on the floor, and you busted out into a fit of giggles. You pulled the mattresses off the bunks and lined them up next to each other on the floor. You couldn’t help but feel incredibly stupid that you hadn’t thought of this in the first place.

Well, hindsight is 20/20…or about 5 feet off the floor.

You cuddled up under the blankets, much cozier on the floor than in the beds. Sonny’s eyebrows were laced together deep in thought.

“You doing alright, sunshine?” You brushed the hair away that had fallen into his eyes.

His face relaxed under your touch. “Yeah, I’m just wondering why I couldn’t be the favorite child.” You shook your head in amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Bella would never have been asked to share a bunk bed.”

You scooched in close to teasingly whisper in his ear, “That’s because Tommy popped the question.”

Sonny threw his head back and laughed so hard, you worried it would wake up the house yet again. “Ya trying to tell me something, doll?”

“All I’m saying is maybe some new jewelry could get us better accommodations next year.” You wiggled the fingers of your left hand.

He took your hand and lovingly kissed each of your fingers, pausing before your ring finger. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You snuggled deeper under the covers, happily entangled together. You closed your eyes, playing back the evening’s events in your mind. It was certainly a night you wouldn’t soon forget. You wondered how big the lump on Sonny’s head would be. Or if maybe you’d be engaged by next Christmas…

And how to explain all of this to his mother in the morning.

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 16

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of food and eating

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: open

W♡RD C♡UNT: 1,485

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 21

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy first night of Hanukkah to all who celebrate! Happy Wednesday to everyone who doesn't! Here's a new chapter! (Or happy Thursday if it's the 26th for you)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

You double-check the draws of your desk, making sure you have everything think you’ll need for the second keg of the tour. Your top drawer is filled with snacks that you know Frankie and Wonseok will devour within a week-- if they even let it last that long. But the files you’ve kept on rookie groups and potential idols that you think may debut soon—debut in general— sit in a small box that you’re planning on dropping off at the group of desks that being to the junior writers in your department.

It’s something you should have done when you first got your promotion. You should have tried again before you left the first time, but a part of you thought you could still use the information you gathered over the years. But if the “My Summer a Stay” project with Stray Kids goes well, you’ll spend more time covering already established groups rather than rookies and survival show contestants.

“Getting ready to leave us again, huh?” Yoona, one of the reporters in your department asks as she walks up to your desk.

Saying she’s in your department is a stretch. She works in the entertainment department of the paper like you, Wonseok, and Frankie but she works in the gossip division. More specifically, she’s one of the few people the company hired to work specifically on scandals within the music industry. Calling her your archnemesis is a stretch but while you work to build up careers, she breaks them down. And for that, you dislike her strongly. You don’t even hide it. At least, not well.

“Yeah, the tour is starting up again.” Your voice is flat and even, trying to show as much disinterest in the conversation as you possibly can so she’ll leave you alone sooner.

“I envy you, Y/n.” She sits on the edge of your desk, trapping one of the folders you need to take with you but don’t want to get bent in your bag. “You’re just with these idols all of the time. I can only imagine what you must hear and see…”

That’s why she’s here…

You tilt your head to the side; your eyes widen almost with a childlike wonder. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She chuckles softly as she leans in closer. “I took a sneak peek at your little secret project. You’re with them all the time. I’m sure you’ve overheard some conversations or even caught a glimpse of what’s on their phones.”

She’s fishing. If it’s for something specific, you’re not sure. You try not to follow scandals too closely. Most of them don’t concern you and are ridiculous. You do know it’s been generally quiet. Not many dating rumors or other false claims have made their rounds on the internet for a while. Anything else would be real news and would require Yoona and the other “reporters” in her division to do actual work before publishing. And you refuse to make their simple jobs easier for them.

“Ah, I…I’m having trouble understanding. Sorry, my Korean is not good…” You do your best to butcher the pronunciation and speak broken Korean, which is harder now after years of speaking it primarily.

Yoona’s eyes narrow as she sits up straighter. “That’s not cute, Y/n.”

“Pardon?” You tilt your head to the other side.

Yoona’s mouth opens and closes before she lets out a little annoyed huff of air. “You’ve been here for half a decade and you write full articles in Korean. Don’t try to act like you don’t know what I’m asking.”

“This is a bit embarrassing but…I use Google Translate to write my articles. I write in English and translate. Please don’t say anything.”

Yoona crosses her arms across her chest, her eyes scan every part of your face. You close your bag and sit back in your chair, trying to not give her the satisfaction that she so desperately craves. Suddenly, the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile that would make the Cheshire cat envious. Her eyes light up, almost like a light bulb went off in her head.

“You do know something, don’t you?”

Oh lovely, she’s delusional.

You look around the office, most of the office is empty with nearly everyone gone for lunch. Still, there are a few people who are working through lunch. Luckily for you, you moved into the main offices right before you left for the first leg of the tour so not many people know you that well. Unluckily for your desk mate, he happens to be working through lunch.

"Um...excuse me? I'm having trouble understanding what she's saying. Can you help?" You bother your desk mate. He looks up from his laptop, completely confused and partially startled by the sudden interaction. You're not sure what he was so focused on but part of you feels bad.

"Uh--"

"Forget it," Yoona waves him off, no longer wanting to participate in your little charade. "Y/n, I know you're hiding something. There's no way you don't know anything. Stop faking,"

"But eonni--"

Buzz, buzz

Your eyes glance over to your phone sitting face up right next to your keyboard. You don't miss the fact that Yoona's eyes also land on your phone. Part of you freezes when you see the word "Eonni" light up on your screen. You quickly snatch your phone and send the call to voicemail as the list of things your sister needs now floods your brain.

"You have your sister in your phone as "eonni?" How curious..." Yoona suggests. You can see the gears turning right through her pupils, working out her next story.

"Whatever convoluted story you're coming up with, scrap it right now." You say firmly.

Buzz, buzz

You let out a swear under your breath as you send your sister to voicemail again, really not wanting to deal with whatever family drama is currently going on.

What time is it over there anyway? Early morning? Late night? Afternoon?

"I'm not doing anything. Is there a story there?" She feigns innocence by tilting her head and speaking in a low, condescending tone.

"I'm serious," You stand up and gather all of your things, yanking the file from under Yoona.

Buzz, buzz

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Yoona smirks. She hops off your desk and starts walking towards the door. "Don't worry, I'll leave you to talk to your "eonni.""

"It's not like..." Your voice dies in your throat as she continues to walk out.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh like a balloon deflating. Your attention is brought back to your phone as it continues to ring in your hand. Pressure builds behind your eyes as you think about what could be so urgent right now. You say a silent prayer to-- whoever will answer at this point--and answer the phone.

"What could you possibly need right now?" Mindful of all of your coworkers still in the office, you try your best not to scream. Still, your tone is harsher than you intended.

"Wow, you send the girl to the other side of the world and she thinks she's so important. She doesn't even answer the phone anymore and yet when she does, she has the audacity to be bitchy. I'm so sorry Your Highness," Your sister scoffs on the other end.

You bite the inside of your cheek, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to stop yourself from saying something that will start an argument. It's the last thing you need today. On top of making sure you have everything you need from work, you've been pulling all-nighters the past couple of weeks you've been home trying to fix what your team failed to understand from your emails and Zoom meetings. You're already dreading how much more work you're going to have to deal with when you get back from this leg of the tour now that there's going to be a large time difference between you and them.

"I'm sorry, I'm at work right now." Balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder, you do your best to secure your things in your arms as you head over to the elevator.

You press the down button with your foot, miraculously without dropping anything or toppling over, and wait for the elevator to reach your floor.

"Yeah, yeah, I know all about your fancy job all the way in Korea. Jesus, you don't have to brag."

Ding!

You walk into the elevator and press the button for the floor below you where all of the interns and lower-level reporters in your department work. Most of them are probably all out right now so you'll just leave the box of your notes on your old advisor's desk and send her a text.

"I'm about to leave for a meeting. What did you need?" You lie.

"It's about mom,"

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[gabessquishytum]

Been thinking again about those regency cucking asks I sent in awhile ago (https://www.tumblr.com/gabessquishytum/746686266692845568/regency-dream-is-pregnant-out-of-wedlock-and & https://www.tumblr.com/gabessquishytum/746863565882966016/quick-follow-up-to-the-regency-cucking-kink-i-last)

Just imagining that at some point, Dream discovers a fun way of teasing and riling up his husband in public; whenever they go to a ball, Dream will intermittently point out previous lovers of his to Hob and quietly share some tidbit about his dalliances with them.

Sometimes he points out people who weren’t his lovers, but he describes how he might approach them and just what he’d want to do with them if he were inclined to start having affairs again.

It never fails fluster and rile Hob up, and he spends most balls in a state of agitation, looking at some of the other attendees and wondering which ones have slept with his husband before, or haven’t but want to, and seeing others that he already knows about and recalling what he knows about the affairs. And all while he is waiting in anticipation for the next salacious story to be whispered into his ear, until finally Hob’s patience snaps and he simply must have his husband right now.

(Society at these events sees an agitated Hob frequently escorting his husband off to a private parlour for an hour or so, or even fully leaving the parties early, and usually wonder if Dream is still recovering from his last pregnancy, or perhaps even expecting yet another one, that he needs to rest and recover from dancing and socializing so often. At least he has a solicitous and attentive husband to see to his comfort, who is kind enough not only to encouraging such departures, but also to stay with him the whole time and sacrifice some of his own enjoyment of the evening.

It’s rather charming to see, as well as comforting, considering how doubtful everyone had been initially to hear of the marriage taking place. Dream had been such a wild young thing after all, and there had even one or two rumors of scandalous behavior. But looking at them now, clearly all he had needed was to settle down with a respectable gentleman like Mr. Gadling to give him a guiding hand, and a growing brood of children, to turn himself into a proper gentleman 😉)

-🪽anon

I love a Hob who loves to be cucked (or at the very least loves to fantasise about it).

I feel that there would be a small amount of irony in all of Dream’s salacious behaviour: the fact that he has absolutely no desire whatsoever to stray away from Hob. Dream never imagined in a million years that he could be satisfied by one person, let alone a person of such ordinary appearances. But he finds that when he's making up his little fantasies for Hob to enjoy, he really does have to pretend to have any interest in anyone else whatsoever. He tries, just for fun, to make himself feel excited by the idea of an extramarital dalliance (perhaps even one conducted with Hob’s full permission). But he just doesn't feel a spark of real interest in it. All he really wants is his husband. Repeatedly. He can't stop himself from thinking about Hob’s fingers, or his cock. They are the best he's ever had, and he wishes to have them as often as possible.

This is quite gratifying for Hob, of course. He adores and worships Dream, and would allow him to do almost anything he wanted. The fact that all he seems to want is Hob, is quite a relief. Doesn't mean they can't have a little fun together, though - Dream will never stop being just a bit naughty, deep down. And Hob will never stop encouraging him!

[cherrysurf]

Tall blonde and evil! | Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader

chapter 6; stupid interview

Today was the interview for the 2024 hottest man event. It was really important to bakugou whether he said it or not. You woke up really early to get ready and prep yourself just in case you get bombarded by the paparazzi or news reporters that linger around by the studio,

You groan “how can he still be rude even he’s probably nervous and maybe that’s just provoking his angry more” you think as your in the cafe waiting in line, you get his order and rush out the cafe into the car and tell the chauffeur to get bakugou now you text him telling him you’ve arrived, he walks out looking composed but you can’t tell if it’s a facade or not the way his face showed no emotion. He gets into the car and you hand him his breakfast you hear him murmur a small thanks as he starts eating, while you are replying to some emails on your laptop “you eat?” he says looking at you as he sips on his coffee “yeah woke up early enough to do so” you say eyes still focused on the screen in front of you “shocking” he said taking a bite of his food, you simply throw him a him a confused glance and then ignore him, you definitely didn’t want to argue or create unnecessary drama between the two of you, these next two days are going to be hectic so for now it was a mutual understanding that it was going to be more so getting through this calmly and professionally than the way you two have been acting as of late “you nervous” you asking him as you two pull into the studio “eh nah i’ve got this.” he says looking out the window “i’d hope so” you say, as you come to a stop to get out the car bakugou opens his door just as you were about to do the same it catches you off guard than rather him walking to the entrance he walks around to your side to open the door, you shocked try to compose yourself as fast as possible before the press get the wrong idea. as you get out and say thank you to him he shuts the door and starts walking ahead of you not wanting to be bombarded by the press as you walk all you hear from the press and new ladies “wow what a gentleman” “he’s so gonna win hottest man award” “i want to be his next manager for sure.” you try to hide your annoyed expression after hearing those stupid remarks because they don’t understand how difficult he is. As you walk into the studio you come to find out bakugou is already whisked away to hair and makeup, you find a seat near the cameras to watch everyone prepare for the interview, bakugou soon walks in and takes a seat, he finds himself looking through sea of cameras and stage crew to see you there seated waiting for this to take place, the show host soon finds a seat herself already gawking at the fact that bakugou is near her, you just let out an eye roll at the fact that she’s head over heels. “Okay everyone, we're starting in 3 ... .2 ... .1 and action!” the producer says “Hey folks today i’m here with special guest katsuki bakugou, welcome to the show.” she said, giving him and a small round of applause “thanks for having me i appreciate it” he said in a neutral tone “so tell me everything bakugou! How does it feel to be nominated for the award?” she says giving him the biggest doe eyes “it’s good i mean i'm not surprised i appreciate my fans for it.” he says looking at her with little to no emotion “i know you definitely have my vote” she says laughing “anywho so as of recently we’ve heard that your manager is the longest one you’ve had in a while, How does she do it?” the lady asks with a hint of coated jealousy “well she just competent i guess, that’s what the others lacked” he said shrugging which made you face palm at his response, “mmh interesting, well what about your love life?” she says with a bit more happiness “i don’t have time to date or silly flings. I take my career seriously, and very much dislike false rumors about myself” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice “we love a man focused on himself, okay last question before we run out of time.” she says “what’s the one piece of advice for your fans out there or people who want to pursue modeling like you” she continues “grow a backbone and be humble, don’t forget where you started from.” he said looking at the camera “wow so inspiring” the lady said holding her hands together.

“well that’s all the time we have folks hope you enjoy and don’t forget to vote bakugou for this year’s hottest man award!” she said “CUT” the producer yelled, yet you're still in a trance after hearing those words come out of bakugou's mouth you’ve never heard him say something so meaningful? dare you say, it was like a side of him you haven’t seen or met before shocked that it was there. You snap out of it when he thanks everyone and gets up to leave, you quickly stand up and follow along. When he’s stopped by the host “hey do you possibly need a date for the event?” she asks batting her lashes at him, you almost wanting to vomit a the sight “no thank you im not interested in a scandal with some host respectfully.” he said in a stern tone and walked away you wanted to laugh at the sight but figured you’d laugh about it once you got home. The car ride back home was silent, you were still shell shocked after his words though, “did i do good?” he said looking at you, you snap out of it once more and nod while saying “yeah really good actually” with a sincere voice “i knew it” he said laughing in an ugly yet funny way “im the best” he said gloating. For once you didn’t feel the need to fight him back on it, at least not right now all you could do was smile a bit.

when you got to his place you bid him a farewell “see you tomorrow night don’t look ugly, i don’t want people to think my manager sucks people know i need to have the best of the best” he says waving a lazy goodbye “right. bye bakugou.” and then he turns to look at you “oh by the way i’m picking you up tomorrow so. Don’t worry about that.” he said and turns to walk away. leaving you with a flush red cheeks “gosh what has he done to me.” you say.

going to try to speed run this fic rn guys 🙏🏻 after this and the event chapter im going to be doing the new years special so stay tuned for that!

taglist; @kalulakunundrum @sweetadonisbutbetter @rednicotine @ikissfade @bakugouswh0r3 @allurearia @themultifandomgirl @junehasnotbeenfound @darhinadadragon @kodzubaby @harryzcherry @sahrii @kholethecutie @s4ikooo1 @babylambdietcoke @lover-no-lover61 @sikuthealien @homeless-clown @bookaholicfangirl4life @idexmids

[goldfades]

i need you to write something else for melo 😩😩 he’s too fine

this was just a random idea that just came to me so enjoy lamelo being dramatic per usual

lamelo’s sprawled out on your bed, long limbs taking up too much space like he owns the place. he’s scrolling on his phone, but you can feel his eyes on you every time you move—sharp, curious, like he’s waiting for something. you’re standing at your dresser, your back to him, the little mirror propped up in front of you as you go through your routine.

"what’s that for?"

his voice cuts through the quiet, lazy and amused. you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning like he just said something groundbreaking. you roll your eyes instead, squeezing a dollop of cleanser onto your fingers.

"it’s face wash, lamelo. what do you think it’s for?"

"i mean, i know that," he says, dragging the last word out like you’re the one being ridiculous. "but what’s it do? like, specifically."

you glance at him over your shoulder, and yep, there’s that grin. all teeth and mischief, like he’s poking at you just because he can. "it cleans your face."

"but how, though?" he asks, like he’s genuinely perplexed. "like, does it get in your pores or something? or—"

"oh my god," you cut him off, turning back to the mirror before you start laughing, "why are you asking so many questions? do you want to do it for me or something?"

"nah," he says, but he’s already sitting up, leaning forward like he’s trying to get a better look. "just curious. what’s next? that little bottle? what’s in that one?"

you exhale a laugh, shaking your head as you rub the cleanser into your skin. "this is toner. you don’t need to know what’s in it."

"but what if i wanna know?" he says, teasing, leaning back on his hands like he’s settling in for a whole lesson. "what if i wanna have nice skin, too?"

you pause, hands stilling against your face, and look at him. lamelo is dead serious—or as serious as he can look, which isn’t very with his lopsided smile and the way his hair’s falling into his eyes.

and that’s how you end up making him sit on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed and skeptical, while you hand him a pink headband.

"put it on," you say, holding out the soft, pink headband that you’ve worn a million times.

lamelo looks at it like it’s a foreign object, brows furrowing. "you for real right now?"

"dead serious," you say, not even hiding the smirk tugging at your lips. "you wanna know all about skincare? you gotta commit."

he stares at you for a long second, probably debating if this is worth it. but then, with a dramatic sigh like he’s sacrificing his pride or whatever, he grabs the headband and stretches it over his head.

it’s a little tight, and his curls stick out in every direction, but it’s on. he looks ridiculous. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

"stop looking at me like that," he mutters, fidgeting with the band, trying to adjust it.

"like what?" you ask, all wide-eyed innocence.

"like you wanna take a picture or some shit," he grumbles, but the corner of his mouth is twitching, and you know he’s trying not to smile.

"don’t tempt me," you say, turning back to your dresser and grabbing your cleanser. you squeeze some into your hand, then hold the bottle out to him.

"okay, first step," you say, "you’re gonna wash your face."

he takes the bottle like it’s fragile, turning it over in his hands to read the label. "you got me using, like, top-shelf stuff, huh? this some fancy brand?"

"just put it on your hands," you say, snatching it back and setting it down. "it’s not that deep."

he does as he’s told, squeezing way too much onto his palms, and you groan. "that’s way too much! do you think your face is the size of a basketball?"

"hey, i don’t know how this works!" he says, laughing now, trying to rub it into his hands. soap bubbles are already spilling over his fingers.

"oh my god," you mutter, grabbing a towel and shaking your head. "you’re hopeless. here, let me—"

before you can finish, he’s already slapping the foam onto his face, making these exaggerated, circular motions like he’s scrubbing the kitchen sink. you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach.

"you look like you’re washing a car," you manage to say between gasps, and he grins through the foam, white suds all over his cheeks.

"hey, i’m getting into it," he says, like he’s proud of himself. "you gotta put some effort in, right?"

"there’s effort," you say, wiping at your eyes, "and then there’s... whatever this is."

he sticks his tongue out at you, smearing more cleanser across his forehead. it’s absurd, honestly—lamelo ball, nba star, sitting in your room with a pink headband on, looking like a kid finger-painting on his own face. but it’s also kind of... sweet? in a chaotic, messy kind of way.

"okay, okay," you say, grabbing his wrists to stop him. "you’re gonna give yourself a rash. just—rinse it off."

he leans over the small sink in the corner of your room, splashing water everywhere as he washes the soap away. when he looks up, his face is dripping, his curls damp at the edges.

"how do i look?" he asks, grinning like a fool.

you tilt your head, pretending to assess him. "clean. that’s a good start."

he chuckles, grabbing a towel to pat his face dry, and you hand him the next product.

"this one’s toner," you explain, holding up a cotton pad. "you just swipe it across your skin."

"what’s it do?" he asks, dutifully copying your motions.

"balances your skin," you say, vaguely. "shrinks your pores."

"shrinks my pores?" he echoes, like that’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. "damn, i didn’t even know my pores needed shrinking."

you laugh, shaking your head as you reach for the next step in your arsenal. you’re only halfway through the routine, but lamelo’s already invested—asking a million questions, trying not to mess it up too bad, glancing at you for approval after every step.

and as much as he’s testing your patience, there’s something about the way he’s taking it seriously—like he actually cares about doing it right—that makes you smile.

maybe this was a good idea after all.

you’re both back on the bed now, and lamelo’s lying flat on his back, staring up at you like he’s questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"this is unnecessary," he whines, arms folded dramatically behind his head. "my brows are fine. perfect, even."

you’re straddling his hips, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him, holding a pair of tweezers in one hand and a look of determination in the other. "your brows are a mess. you’ve got like... a whole constellation happening up here."

he scoffs, tilting his head back against the pillow. "ain’t nobody ever complained before. why you coming for me like this?"

"because I care," you say, smirking as you lean forward. "now hold still or I’m gonna mess it up, and then you really will have something to complain about."

he groans, dramatically throwing one arm over his eyes. "this is torture. actual torture. I’m calling the league on you."

"call adam silver," you say, laughing. "I’m sure he’ll take you very seriously when you tell him your girlfriend plucked your eyebrows."

he peeks at you from under his arm, his lips twitching with a smile he’s trying to hide. "you better be gentle," he mutters. "i’m trusting you with my face."

"you’ll survive," you say, pinching his chin lightly to tilt his head toward you. you squint at his brows, lining up the tweezers. "okay, first one..."

the second you pluck a hair, he yelps like you’ve just stabbed him. "ow! nah, that hurt!"

"it did not hurt," you say, rolling your eyes.

"it did!" he insists, throwing his head back dramatically. "why you gotta be so rough?"

"i barely touched you," you argue, but you’re grinning because he’s being so over-the-top about it. "stop being a baby."

"i’m not a baby," he grumbles, but he’s pouting now, lips sticking out like a kid who’s been told no.

"okay, fine," you say, leaning closer again. "i’ll be gentler. but you have to stay still."

he gives you a side-eye like he doesn’t trust you, but he nods. "fine. one more chance."

you pluck another hair, slower this time, and he winces, sucking in a dramatic gasp. "nah, you lying. that’s worse!"

you can’t help it—you start laughing so hard you almost drop the tweezers. "you’re such a drama queen, oh my god."

"this ain’t funny!" he says, but he’s grinning now, too, trying to keep his cool. "you out here abusing me in my prime."

"abusing you?" you repeat, still laughing. "do you want your brows to look good or not?"

"they already look good," he says, like that’s the final word on the subject.

you lean back, resting your hands on his chest as you give him a once-over. "you’re lucky you’re cute," you say, shaking your head. "otherwise, i’d give up on you completely."

his grin softens into something warmer, and he reaches up to grab your wrist, tugging you down a little closer. "cute, huh?" he murmurs, voice lower now.

"don’t let it go to your head," you say, but your face heats up anyway because he’s looking at you like that, all soft and playful.

"too late," he says, and before you can roll your eyes, he’s tilting his head up to kiss you, quick and sweet, his lips brushing against yours like he’s sealing the moment.

you try to act annoyed, but the smile breaking across your face gives you away. "you’re still getting these brows done," you say, pointing the tweezers at him.

"yeah, yeah," he says, lying back down with a sigh. "just don’t kill me, okay?"

"no promises," you tease, leaning forward again.

[joezworld]

Christmas Story

Merry Christmas you guys.

Christmas Day

Morning broke over one of the most subdued Christmases Tidmouth sheds had ever seen. 

For most of the engines, it had started early: 

Gordon had vanished before the sun, taking some morning train - which one it was, nobody was quite sure; the limited-service Christmas day timetable was a baffling mystery that only became clear on the day of.

Edward, who woke at five-thirty in the morning out of habit, had elected to leave the shed while silence still reigned. Whichever train Gordon didn’t take, he did. 

James and Delta woke together as twilight began to dapple the sky, and slipped out of the shed with a bare minimum of noise or fuss. Where they went off to was anyone’s guess. Oliver, who missed their departure despite being awake, could only guess. They’d said something about the harbour?

That left just the three Westerners in the room. Oliver was the only one awake, and he regarded the scene with worried eyes. Bear and Duck hadn’t exchanged two words since Bear’s new “paint” had been applied, and he did not want to be around to hear what they said. Shortly before seven thirty, an inspector groused his way in, looking for an engine willing to run a P-Way service down the Little Western to finish up the various issues with the line, and Oliver jumped at the chance.

That left just two… 

-

Bear awoke to the morning sun finally making an appearance. The shed appeared to be empty, but… 

There was a quiet clatter to one side, and he lazily looked over to see Duck’s crew staring at each other in accusation while an oil can rolled on the ground. 

Bear didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he particularly wanted to say. 

“Um.” Unfortunately, Duck did. “Bear. About…”

“Duck.” Bear cut him off. “I understand your… position right now, or at least I think I do, but I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He sighed deeply. “Or perhaps for a while. Maybe you should try this again later.”

There was a quiet sniffle from the tank engine, who then departed with a minimum of noise or fuss. 

Bear didn’t feel a bit of bother about how he made his fellow engine feel, and that bothered him more than anything else. 

-

Eventually, a crew came for him. It was pushing ten in the morning, and he set off with a strange working: an empty coaching stock move all the way to Kirk Ronan. 

“There’s a guaranteed connection with the ferry from France,” his driver explained. “Usually there’s another train, but not today.”

“Damned Christmas timetable…” 

“You know,” the man continued. “It’s strange. Gordon was supposed to take this train, but he insisted on having you take it. Couldn’t begin to imagine why.”

Bear rolled his eyes. “It’s easy work. This is probably his idea of a Christmas present.”

“Who knows?”

-

Bear didn’t put any more thought into it, and brought the train into Kirk Ronan right on schedule.

The ferry, a big red and white one named Chartres, was already there, moored tightly to the dock, and absolutely festooned with lights and decorations. «Joyeux Noël, mon petit ami!» She boomed. “It is a time of joy and happiness, no? Where are all the decorations?”

Bear looked around; the ferry terminal was quite drab - he remembered hearing something about the snow being worse along the coast. Maybe they couldn’t decorate. “They must be saving them for next year!” he said, trying to seem upbeat. 

The ferry made a noise of assent, and then any chance for further conversation was lost as a flood of passengers made their way down the boarding ramps and into the coaches. Soon afterwards, the train departed back the way it came, express service to Tidmouth station. The ferry heralded their departure with an earth-shaking foghorn blast, and then they were into the distance. 

There were almost no other trains on the line, and Bear had plenty of time to think. Goodness me. It really is Christmas, isn’t it? I made it through the month, and all it cost me was one friend, most of my sanity, and my identity. 

He laughed bitterly to himself. This is a terrible Christmas. 

As he went further down the line, another thought came to him. I can’t believe I let them use this paint on me. I thought blue was too much? This itches!

-

The train arrived at Tidmouth a few minutes ahead of schedule, just as the clocks struck noon, and Bear was surprised to see that there was a “restricting-diverge” signal ahead of him. “They’re sending us around the loop?” 

“The loop”, a section of line that Gordon had famously been mis-routed down once (James still needles him about it, once in a great while), was not actually a single line, but was rather a series of feeder tracks that connected the various dockside industries with the harbour itself, as well as the big station. In the early 1900s, some bright spark (probably Sir Topham Hatt, although the Dry family had significant involvement in the development of Tidmouth’s dockyards) had realized that making a full “loop” to connect both sides of the big station to the docks may be beneficial, and so many of the lightly built industrial spurs were connected into a rambling branch line that snaked through Tidmouth’s waterfront before ducking underneath the high street in a cutting, eventually meeting the Little Western just outside the station’s “rear”. Doing this added almost fifteen minutes to a journey, and so it was restricted to only the most dire of emergencies (or if you really irked the signalman). 

As Bear trundled over, under, around, and through Tidmouth, he had the distinct feeling that he was being played with. There weren’t any signals out of order, he wondered. Why am I going this way?

He got his answer soon enough, as he eventually entered the station through the Little Western’s platforms, gliding to a stop about three-quarters of the way down the platform. 

To his confusion, he was not the only engine there:

Duck and Oliver were face-to-face on the platform to his left, and each looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. 

Gordon was parked directly in front, with a worryingly inscrutable grin on his face. 

Toby was parked next to Gordon, and looked like he was only now understanding what was going on. 

In the background, Truro had been pushed just inside the station’s glass canopy, clearly so that he could hear what was going on. Amusingly, he also wasn’t meant to interrupt whatever was going to occur, as there was a red-and-white checkered tablecloth shoved into his mouth to gag him. Even better, nobody had bothered to set or splint his nose at any point. It looked like it really hurt. Shame about that. 

Alongside the porters and other staff meeting the train, there were several members of the station staff lining the platform, each in their “dress” uniforms, complete with shined shoes and buttons. 

Finally, and perhaps most concerningly, the… Yugoslav-Mexican band that the Fat Controller had sourced was tuning their instruments on the platform next to Gordon. 

-

“Do I even want to know?” he asked Gordon as the passengers poured out of the train. 

“Just go along with it,” Toby said, looking resigned to whatever was about to happen. 

“Brother Toby,” Gordon chided. “Is that really the tone you wish to take in front of the initiates?”

“Gordon,” Toby began. “You are treading upon a line that I didn’t even know existed three minutes ago. Get on with it.”

“In due time…” Gordon said beatifically. “Once we have privacy.”

And so they waited for another ten minutes while the passengers departed. Everybody except Gordon felt increasingly awkward as time stretched on, but eventually the last stragglers had made their way to the waiting room doors. Once they swung shut with a solid click that could be heard four platforms away, Gordon cleared his throat. “Let us begin.” 

Bizarrely, the stationmaster then stepped forward. He was dressed up even more than the other station staff, and was wearing white tie, complete with a top hat. He was holding a pad of paper in his hands - while they’d been waiting, Bear had seen a glimpse of it, and it looked like it was some sort of speech-  oh no.

“OYEZ! OYEZ! OYEZ!” The stationmaster bellowed at the top of his voice, scaring everyone except Gordon and the band. “WE NOW CALL TO ORDER THIS EMERGENCY SESSION OF THE EXCEPTIONAL AND MOST RESPECTABLE GRAND OLD ORDER OF THE LONDON AND NORTH EASTERN RAILWAY!”

“The what.” Someone said. It might have been Bear.

“TO START THIS SESSION, WE TURN TO THE HONORABLE MEMBER FROM THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, WHO HAS BEEN GRANTED POWERS PLENIPOTENTIARY DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES!” 

“Granted what.”

“From where.”

Gordon had the audacity to look like something normal was occurring. “Thank you, sir,” he said with remarkable aplomb. “Ordinarily, these sessions would begin with a great deal more pomp and circumstance, however in light of yesterday’s events, I have elected to set those aside in order to get down to business.” 

He looked around the station, ignoring the absolutely baffled looks being sent his direction. “Since the year nineteen hundred and twenty three, the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern has claimed, in due time, every locomotive who has ever rolled out of one of our most esteemed workshops. Under the banner of the North Eastern, and our numerous predecessor railways, countless deeds of mechanical excellence have been performed. Mountains have been moved, cities have been evacuated, and nature herself has been tamed by our steel and metal, brick and stone.” 

He paused his stentorian address for a second, again surveying the increasing bafflement, before continuing. “To serve under our flag was to commit yourself to greatness, in one form or another. And for the last sixty-one years, this has been enough; we have recognized greatness, and greatness has come unto us.”

“However!” he exclaimed with great drama. “Recent events have forced a change in our calculus. Before this day, we have only ever accepted locomotives from our own workshops into our ranks - our own kind. Before today, that was seen as sufficient. No more!” 

He again surveyed the room, and Bear got the distinct feeling that Gordon wasn’t actually looking at faces at all. He tried to follow the gaze and found it lingering on the ‘GREAT WESTERN” insignia on Duck and Oliver’s sides, and the Western Region crest on his own, just visible under the paint.

He began to get an inkling of where this was going…

Gordon continued. “We had never felt the need to expand our own ranks before this day, because we had committed an act of hubris. We had assumed, like children, that all other railways within this great nation behaved in the same way as us! That they recognized greatness within their own ranks just as we did in our own.” 

His face turned serious. “This was an error. One that we shall never make again.”

Behind him, behind all of them, City of Truro’s eyebrows began to knit together. Clearly Bear was not the only one thinking along these lines. Something was mumbled against the gag. 

The next few sentences felt shouted, despite Gordon never raising his voice. “Over the month of December nineteen eighty-four, it has become known to us that City of Truro, the so-called “Greatest of all Westerners”, and the de facto leader of their kind, is nothing but a duplicitous charlatan! A murderous brute, who uses subterfuge and dirty tactics in ways not seen since modernization some twenty years past! He is no better than the worst examples of diesel-kind!”

There was a muffled shout from behind Gordon. It was ignored. 

Gordon continued. “But lo! He is the public and private face of the Great Western! One hundred fifty years of history, resting squarely upon his deceptive and ill-tempered buffers! Truly he is the worst of us, and is unfit to lead his clan.”

There was yet another muffled noise. Truro might actually be biting on the tablecloth now. 

“However, we are not in the position to make decisions for another railway, let alone one as ancient and prestigious as the Great Western.” Gordon intoned. Bear didn’t like the sparkle developing in the blue engine’s eyes. That could only mean trouble. “But, we can make amends in our own way!” 

Bear’s train of thought screamed into the station, brake-blocks smoking. Oh he is going to, isn’t he?

“HONOR GUARD,” roared the stationmaster. “PRE-SENT!” 

Someone had actually gone to the trouble of painting a coal shovel gold. Truro sounded like he was going to eat the tablecloth. 

Then the band started playing. It was, after a moment of harmonizing, a very jaunty version of Pomp and Circumstance. 

Bear was actually going to go insane. 

He’s going to do it. He’s going to induct me into the damned LNER like it’s going to make things better. 

The porter carrying the shovel turned on his heel and marched over to Duck and Oliver, marching like this was a drill exercise at a military academy. All three Western engines blinked. 

“Now,” Gordon said. “With the aforementioned facts now known, I, as the most honorable member from the Great Northern Railway, do hereby nominate Oliver to be enjoined with our ranks, and formally inducted into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern. Brother Toby, as the Right Honorable Member from the Great Eastern Railway, will you second this motion?”

“Gordon, I-”

“Will you second this motion?”

A sigh. “Yes, I will second this motion. As the… righteous and honorable member from the GER.”

“Thank you, Brother Toby. The motion has been seconded!”

“Gordon, I-”

“Thank you.”

Gordon turned his attention to the “honor guard”, who dropped to one knee next to Oliver’s buffers, and laid the shovel gently across the nearest one. 

Bear momentarily managed to tear his eyes away from the spectacle, finding Toby in the sea of insanity. Is this happening? He mouthed. 

Yes, this is actually happening. Came the response. 

“Oliver!” Gordon boomed, snapping Bear’s gaze back to the insanity occurring in front of him. “Your years of loyalty and honorable service have not gone un-noticed! For too long you have labored away without reward, without the fruits of your own labours. For your tireless service to your railway, your own kind, and to yourself, you shall be honored. Do you Consent to be joined to the Order of the London and North Eastern? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

Oliver looked absolutely dumbstruck. “Uhh… I, uh….”

“Say yes or we’ll never be done with it!” Toby hissed. 

“Uh- YES!” Oliver squeaked, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t in a position to say no. “Yes I do!”

Gordon looked immensely pleased with himself. “Then I dub thee ‘Brother Oliver’, and formally induct you into the Order. Welcome.” 

Oliver looked overwhelmed, a feeling that Bear mirrored, especially once the “honor guard” stood and marched over to Duck with precise marching steps that wouldn’t have been out of place in a military drill. 

Duck looked… well he looked almost vacant, staring off into the middle distance as events happened around him. It took little intuition to figure out where he was looking: there, in the middle distance, was City of Truro, furiously raging behind the tablecloth. 

The shovel was laid on Duck’s buffer, and the whole process began again. Gordon began an even longer and more pompous sounding prattle about Duck’s service at Paddington, how he’d dispatched Diesel, and how he’d managed the Little Western in the years since. There wasn’t a mention of how he’d acted during the last month, but even the most uncharitable part of Bear’s mind couldn’t really square a month’s worth of inaction against a half-century’s worth of work. 

There is no way I can be agreeing with Gordon on this. The big diesel thought to himself. He’s insane. He’s trying to… show up Truro by ‘adopting’ us. 

Gordon had launched into an identical spiel about “Consenting”, but Duck had barely let him get the word out before saying “Yes.” in a quiet but undeniably firm manner. 

Gordon managed to keep his surprise contained to an upward quirk of his eyebrows, but everyone else, Bear included, were thoroughly shocked. 

What? I would’ve thought that he wouldn’t… couldn’t… I mean, it’s the Great Western, that’s his life!

Duck didn’t take his eyes off of Truro the entire time. The forcefully silenced engine was turning a worrying shade of purple.

Bear had a sudden moment of understanding. But it’s his life… as defined by Truro. 

He doesn’t want this anymore than I do. Truro isn’t god. He’s not Brunel. 

But he is the Great Western. 

He looked at Truro, who was again trying to eat or spit out the tablecloth. A group of porters carrying a ladder, a shunter's pole, and some amount of canvas were approaching him menacingly. 

And if that’s the Great Western. 

He looked at Gordon, who was finishing Duck’s “induction” with a mix of surprise, seriousness, and well-earned pomposity. And that’s the LNER…  

Then… Maybe…

The “honor guard” turned to face him.

Gordon’s speech was shorter than his praise of Duck, but longer than Oliver’s. “Bear! Your continued service to this railway has not gone un-noticed! For over twenty years you have taken on every job asked of you with a dignity, grace, and competence that has made you not only a sterling member of this railway, but of your class as a whole. It would be my honor to induct you into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern Railway!  Do you Consent to be joined to the Order? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes, I do.”

----

Later that night

“I’m sorry,” Edward stared in a rare moment of bafflement. “The Grand Old Order of the what?” 

“There’s no such thing.” James said firmly. “Do you think that he’d talk about anything else if there was?”

"I’m well aware of that," Edward said, still deeply confused. "The Southern and LMS had elite, secret brotherhoods, that's well known. I'd never heard anything about the LNER, and if Gordon hasn’t said anything before now…”

BoCo smiled faintly. "There might not have been one before last night," he said, "but if Gordon says there is one, then I think it exists now."

"That's rubbish," scoffed Delta. "How can you have an LNER order with Gordon, Duck, Oliver, Bear, and Toby? That’s over fifty percent Great Western."

"If Gordon's started it, every Eastern engine still around will hear and want to be in on it by the end of the month."

"Well, maybe so."

"Blimey.” James said, looking suddenly pensive.” This is going to be a whole thing, isn't it?"

“Oh yes,” Edward agreed. “In fact, I’d say that there’s a decent chance he’ll try to induct us next, so everyone be on your guard if you care about your old allegiances, or at least the appearance of them. 

Bear listened to them with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean? I thought he was trying to get back at Truro?”

The other engines looked at him funny. 

“What?”

“Did you not get it?” Delta asked, in a tone that implied that she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “This isn’t about Truro, this is about Gordon.” 

“What do you mean?”

The other engines looked at each other. 

“Bear,” Edward began. “Gordon doesn’t care about Truro in that way. I can’t say his exact reasoning for letting him witness the whole event, but I daresay it wasn’t anything more than kicking an engine when he’s already down. That ceremony, on the other wheel… wasn’t about Truro at all.”

“Then what was it about?” 

“You!” several voices said at once. The other engines looked at each other, before James of all engines spoke up. 

“Bear, Gordon’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot. And he thinks, because he’s an idiot, that he can only care about someone if they’re…” he searched for the right word. 

“Related?” BoCo said after a second. 

“Not the word I was looking for but close enough.” James continued. “He doesn’t think he’s allowed to care about you unless you’re… related to him, somehow. Or at least that it’s not proper. Stupid Londoner nonsense if you ask me, but he tries to care anyways, which means that when someone like you gets bossed around and treated like yesterday’s ashes by the… what’s the word?”

“Embodiment?”

“Yep that’s it - the embodiment of your railway, he doesn’t think he can help because… “well that’s a Great Western issue”.” James could not imitate Gordon at all but he did it anyway. “And so when he has to do something - and trust me somebody was going to have to do something about that berk - he’s going to get…”

“Inventive?” 

James glared at Edward, Delta, and BoCo. “Would you three like to say it?”

“No, I think you’re doing a fine job.”

“Nope.”

“You’ve got it under control.”

James sighed deeply, and opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by Bear. “So, wait. Gordon did all that because he… cares about me? Us?” 

“If you must know,” Gordon’s voice rang out as he backed into the shed in a flurry of smoke and snowflakes. “I did it because you would otherwise be forever yoked to that infantile and childish railway and its monstrous figurehead. By “staking a claim” in you, for lack of a better phrase, you are once and forevermore freed of any association with that brutish monstrosity.”

“And the fact that you now have a guilt-free reason to be nice to him is just a perk, hm?” Delta said smugly. 

“Delta,” Gordon said as he was turned on the turntable. “If you would like for me to have a ‘guilt free reason’ to be nice to you, all you have to do is ask. 

“I like my heritage.” She said, all too quickly. “Really!” 

Gordon laughed regally, and backed into the stall between Bear and Edward. “Yes, I’m sure. The offer will stand, however.”

His crew hopped down and began cleaning out his ashpan. Bear took the momentary clatter to whisper to Gordon. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know. I could’ve handled it.”

“I did have to, actually.” Gordon said just as quietly. “There is a time for passivity, and a time for action. The instant he laid buffer on you, the time for action was upon us.”

He said it so firmly, so utterly final, that Bear’s response died in his throat. Gordon looked at him for a second, before turning his attention to the other engines. 

Bear sat there for a while, absorbing his words. My god. They do care about me.

[whatwooshkai]

Lucky number 15!

"Look alive, Blades." Heatwave shakes the helicopter's shoulder roughly as he drops a cube in front of him.

Blades smacks him with a rotor, not even bothering to lift his head off the table.

Heatwave smacks his shoulder in retaliation, then slips into the seat next to him. Thankfully the slap fight stops there.

Chase fidgets with his hands, trying to suppress the happy trill of his doorwings. Cohort! Cohort is here! his coding sings.

Which is precisely why he needs to bring this up this morning. It's fairly rare that all four of them get breakfast together- most of Heatwave and Chase's classes are morning classes, and it's rare to see Blades out of bed before midday. But it seems the stars have aligned today, and everyone's in a good mood, so why is he so nervous?

"Have you started thinking about your classes for next semester?" Boulder asks, taking a sip of their cube.

"Oh, Primus, don't remind me," Heatwave bemoans, pressing the palm of his hand to his face. "I have too much to do already to think about that."

Blades gives a noncommittal groan.

"Actually, I wanted to discuss that with you all," Chase blurts, his cohort coding overriding any anxiety he had. "We should take the team classes."

Heatwave raises an eyebrow. "'Team classes'?"

Boulder claps their hands. "I love that idea," they say, optics shining. "The four of us? A team?"

"Yes, this is the year we would have to sign up for it," he continues, scratching at the peeling paint on his wrist. "And we would continue to learn as a team, we would graduate as such, and eventually work as one."

"Yeah, I can get on board with that," Heatwave says, shockingly agreeing without any arguing. "Can't stand my classmates. You guys are alright." He chuckles to himself. "I can at least stand to look at your ugly mugs for more than an hour."

Chase can't suppress the flapping of his doorwings at that. Cohort, cohort, cohort! his coding sings even louder, to the point where his finials start to flick in time to his wings. Cohort together! Cohort stay!

Blades doesn't raise his helm, but his pede gives Chase's a love tap. .:Chase, I love you:. crackles over their internal comms, and Chase has to suppress an embarrassingly happy noise. .:I'm in, I'm so in:.

"I will do all of our registering," Chase tells them, voice tight. He's smiling, it feels a little weird. He feels like he's floating. Cohort stay!! Cohort good, cohort safe, cohort stay!!! "For both the team itself and our classes. You won't have to worry about it."

"Well, you're not gonna hear any arguing from me," Heatwave tells him with a grin, knocking back the rest of his cube. "Alright, I gotta go to class. Thanks, Chase."

He flicks a finial as he walks by, but Chase is too excited to care.

He and the rest of his cohort (his cohort!!!) say their goodbyes and go their separate ways- except for Blades, who is still plastered to the table, cube untouched.

It's going to work this time, Chase tells himself as he heads to the registration office, pre-signed datapad held like precious metal in his hands. They're going to stay. They're cohort. My cohort.

His doorwings don't stop flapping for the rest of the day.