#i do not know how it is cut but this subject seems to be dropped a bit out of nowhere

[russell-crowe]

INT: To be totally honest, coming here, I didn't know who I was going to meet. From a personality perspective, you read all sorts of things about you. RUSSELL: You do, don't you? INT: Do you feel that this image of 'Hollywood's bad boy' is overblown? RUSSELL: Here's the thing mate, I'm not from Hollywood. I go there to work. But it's all made up and I'm sorry to burst your bubble. What do you think the whole tough guy thing is? I put makeup on for a living, brother. That's all. That's what I do. But it's not an act. It's a perception that somebody writes and then the next person goes on top of that and goes on top of that. You know, I'm in no way, shape or form like an angry person, you know, but if you do my job. And you don't get irritated by certain points of it, right? There's something wrong with you.

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 5. Back to Square One

Masterlist

Summary: Simon's rapidly growing obsession with you comes to a halt.

Warnings: obsessive behavior, cursing, slight nsfw

The drive back to Simon's house was quiet and dark. Price had turned on the radio, letting classic rock play quietly in the background. He tapped the steering wheel every so often, humming to whatever lyrics he could remember.

Simon sat in the passenger seat, staring at the cars ahead, occasionally glancing at the signs that whizzed by the truck. Each sign that brought him closer to home made him ache. He thought about his bed. He thought about Riley. And, of course, he thought about you. He knew you most likely wouldn't be there - it was after midnight. But he liked to imagine that you'd be waiting there, sitting on his couch with your book and mug of tea, Riley settled next to you, ready to greet him with your smile - the smile that he'd been thinking about in every stolen moment during the mission.

"Alright there, Simon?" Price cut through the silence, dragging Simon back to earth.

He cleared his throat. "Yes sir. Jus' ready to be back."

Price scoffed. He knew Simon didn't consider his house a home. If anything, it was a safe house between missions. "I'm sure Riley will be happy to see you."

"We'll see about that." Simon said with a chuckle. "This dog-sitter might've stolen her from me."

"Nah, she's yours. Been with 'er through it all." Price said as he turned into Simon's neighborhood. "I'm sure she enjoyed the company, though."

Simon grunted. "Seems like it." He said, remembering the picture you had sent him; the way Riley had cozied up to you, the way she seemed so docile and calm in your presence. He imagined you running your fingers through her fur, the perfect ratio of scratching to gentle pets. He wondered what it would feel like on his scalp...

A shiver ran down his spine. How does one become jealous of their own damn dog? It was ridiculous.

"Speaking of the dog-sitter..." Price said, "Johnny mentioned she's a real-"

"Whatever Johnny told you, you can disregard." Simon grumbled. "I told him not to worry 'bout it."

Price chuckled, which made Simon burn with frustration. "Touchy subject, eh?"

"There's nothing to discuss." He replied bitterly. Quite frankly, he didn't like the picture Soap had managed to paint of him. His entire team thought he was whipped by someone he had barely known. Despite it being entirely true, it was the complete opposite of the image he had built of himself - and he had a reputation to keep.

"Right." Price nodded. Simon could tell he didn't believe him, but as long as he didn't try to pester him anymore about it, Simon would take it as a win.

Price pulled into the driveway, and Simon immediately unbuckled. He reached into the back and grabbed his duffel bag, then yanked his door open and got out.

"Y' know this isn't over." Price said, right before Simon could close the door. "We most likely 'ave a week 'fore we get sent out again. Just don't get too comfortable 'ere."

"Never do." Simon replied, shouldering his bag. "I'll wait for your call."

Price nodded, sending Simon off with a wave. He watched as he closed the passenger door and walked up the path to his house, before pulling out of the driveway and heading towards his own home.

Simon sighed as he fished his keys from his pocket. He heard Riley barking on the other side of the door, and a small smile formed on his face. When he pushed it open, she immediately jumped on him, whining and sniffing him all over. He knew she could smell the others on him, and probably wondered why he didn't bring her this time.

"Hey, girl..." he said, yanking his balaclava off and kneeling down to ruffle her fur. "Sorry I's gone so long. Miss me?"

She stood her front paws on his knees and licked his face, still whining and swinging her tail rapidly.

"Yeah, missed you too." He chuckled. "D'ya have fun? Did she treat you right?"

Riley dropped down to the floor as Simon stood. She turned towards his duffel bag and began sniffing, eyes focused on the fabric as she took in all the new and familiar scents.

Simon sighed. "'Bout time for a proper cuppa." He said, making his way into the kitchen. Despite it nearing one in the morning, it would be a while before he was decompressed enough to fall asleep.

He reached into the cupboard for a mug, ignoring the way his back popped. When he placed the mug down and reached for a teabag, he saw a note on the counter. With a furrowed brow, he picked it up and read it.

Hello Simon!

Hope your deployment was fun good! Riley and I had a blast! She learned how to play dead - if you want to try it, just make sure to give her a biscuit for it (she's only had one today, and she was a bit bitter that I left before giving her a second one). Also, she's had her medicine for the day. I gave her last dose around 9 pm.

Can't wait to spend more time with her, but I'm sure she's happy to see her dad! Let me know when you need me next!

Have a nice evening!

P.S. I had to use your washing machine, I hope that was alright. I got a bit muddy trying to teach her the new trick.

He stared at the note for a good amount of time. His eyes wandered over your meticulously neat handwriting. He noticed how often you liked to use exclamation points - the same way you did in your texts and emails. It made him annoyed - but not with you. He was annoyed that he found it... adorable. He shouldn't. You were too bright and happy; your personality should burn him, not warm him up.

He tried to brush it off, blaming his obervant behaviour on the recent mission. Old habits die hard, he lied to himself.

"Riley, c'mere."

Upon hearing her name, Riley meandered into the kitchen and stopped in front of Simon. She sat on her hind legs and looked at him expectantly.

He looked back at her - he felt a bit silly, commanding a retired veteran dog to do simple party tricks. But, it sounded like you put a lot of effort into teaching her this - not to mention, you had somehow dirtied your clothes over it - so he decided to entertain the idea.

"Play dead." He said firmly.

Riley immediately flopped down onto her back, sticking her paws into the air. She even let her tongue hang out of her mouth to really sell the image.

He felt an immediate rush of pride. "Atta girl..." he praised, kneeling down and patting her affectionately. Despite all the annoyance he felt a moment ago, Simon couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face.

She twisted and sat up, snuffling and groaning as he rubbed her fur. She barked once, sharp and demanding.

"Yeah, yeah- suppose you deserve a biscuit, huh?" He stood up and grabbed the box of peanut butter and bacon treats, fishing one out and tossing it to Riley. She caught it perfectly, crunching it with an open mouth and licking her lips afterwards.

He watched her with a smile, his arms folded over his chest. Sure, tricks were dumb, something only glorified house pets did for small rewards. But he was impressed that Riley had so effortlessly followed a new command, especially after being out of work for so long. And he was warmed by the fact that, not only did you watch her, but you engaged with her. He was confident he'd found the perfect pet-sitter.

After starting a load of laundry, Simon had taken a cold shower. He scrubbed his eyeblack off with nothing but his hands and the generic body wash from the corner store. He slathered some of his 3-in-one hair gel into his scalp, giving it no more than seven scrubs before rinsing it out. He stood there for a while, letting the water beat against his sore back as the details of the previous mission swarmed throughout his head. He picked apart what he could have done better, what had nearly gotten him killed, and what had probably saved his life.

His eyes flickered to the corner of the tub; there was a cluster of travel-sized bottles, labeled "face wash", "body butter", and so forth. He let himself imagine - who was he kidding, he had no control over his thoughts when it came to you - your body, standing under the stream of the shower. You probably liked hot showers, didn't you? You most likely stayed in there for an hour, going through your meticulous routine, lathering yourself in scented soaps and creams... you'd be appalled if you had seen the three-minute showers he takes, wouldn't you? Maybe you would pull him into your routine, once Simon did eventually get the balls to ask you out, despite how much the thought of being romantic with someone made him scoff. He'd let you wash his face, or shave his balls, or do whatever it is you would do to him.

He suddenly snapped out of his trance, realizing he was holding one of the bottles labeled "conditioner". His thumb was on the edge of the cap, ready to flip it open and take a whiff of the scent - but he quickly stopped himself. He put the bottle back with the rest, then splashed cold water over his face. Quit being a fuckin' creep... he thought.

After turning the shower off and drying himself with a towel, he went into his room and grabbed a pair of sweatpants. He made his way back into the basement, patting Riley on the back as he passed her by the door. He pulled his laundry out and placed it on top of the washing machine, and opened the dryer. Just as he was getting ready to toss his clothes in, he noticed something hiding in the back of the barrel of the machine.

He reached in and pulled it out - it was your flannel. The same green-and-grey one you'd been wearing during your interview.

He paused for a moment, posture rigid as he held the fabric in the air. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it. It was just a flannel... but it was your flannel. He fought with his muscles, resisting the urge to bring it closer and inhale the scent - he tried to reason with himself. Maybe she used my soap, and it would just smell like my detergent. Nothin' special.

He dropped it on top of the dryer, still wrinkly and warm - but, strangely, that felt too rude. It's a fucking piece of clothing, for Christ's sake... he thought. Not her dead nan. He then attempted to hang it on the rack, but that felt too formal. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with irritation. How something so insignificant was causing him so much turmoil was beyond him.

He ended up bringing it back upstairs. Riley sniffed the fabric as he passed her - she thumped her tail eagerly on the floor as she smelled your scent. Once again, Simon was jealous of the dog being able to act so carefree with you - he knew for sure that if he tried sniffing your flannel, he would be a certified creep. Or, worse yet, he might not care, and wouldn't be able to stop himself.

He tossed it over the back of the couch, planning on forgetting you had ever even worn it. He dropped himself onto the cuhions with a groan. Riley immediately took her place in her bed, just a few feet away from him. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the telly, flicking through the channels until he found some action/drama that caught his interest. He watched it boredly, drowning himself and his thoughts in the drone of the movie.

Suddenly, Riley barked. Simon looked at her - his gaze was met with hers, mouth opening and tail thwapping against the wall.

"Hmm?"

She let out an impatient, garbled sound. She lowered her head to the edge of her bed, still looking at Simon.

He shrugged internally and looked back at the screen. He settled further into the cushions and let his eyes fall shut. He thought about maybe drifting off then and there - the din of the telly might help keep the nightmares at bay...

Riley barked again, making Simon jolt. He snapped his head towards her - she was standing at the foot of the couch, ears back and panting.

"Wha' d'you want?" He asked in an annoyed tone.

She barked again, shifting her weight from one paw to the other.

"Ya need to go out?" He asked. He stood from his seat, only for Riley to scamper back to her bed and plop down on it. She looked at him expectantly.

Simon huffed. "'M not following." He dropped down to the sofa again. Riley groaned, making a scene of dragging herself out of the bed again and walking over to Simon.

"Now, don't you go 'n start aga-"

She cut him off with a shrill yap.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew it couldn't be time for her medication - you had just given her some at nine. But he was entirely stumped on what she was trying to communicate to him. Was she hungry? She wasn't usually, after she'd had dinner... did she want to play? But... she was acting like she wanted to go to bed.

"What are you on 'bout?" He asked, leaning down to ruffle her fur. She dodged his hand and backed up a bit, yowling out a frustrated sound.

He scoffed. "Fuckin' hell..." he mumbled, pulling his phone from his pocket. Only one way to fix this, he thought, as he tapped through his contacts, until he landed on yours.

He stared at the picture for a moment, familiarizing himself with the details he had spent so long ogling at: your smile, your damp hair, the curve of your cheekbones, the way you marked your spot in your book with your fingers-

Riley barked again, making Simon scowl.

"A'right- just hush." He ordered, sending her a stern glance as she shuffled back to her bed. He started the call - he felt unusually nervous, his gut twisting as he listened to each ring on the line. Maybe he really was whipped, he thought.

Eventually, the call picked up. His shoulders tensed as he heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

"... m... hello?"

Fuck. You sounded tired- no, you sounded like you were still asleep. He quickly pulled the phone away and checked the time; it was nearly two in the morning. Of course you'd been asleep.

"Uh... hey." He said, mentally cursing himself. "Shit, I, uh... didn't even consider you might be asleep."

"No..." You mumbled - were you even awake at all? "No, iz fine... yeah..."

Simon waited a moment, expecting you to say something else - but you didn't. Eventually, he heard the soft sounds of your breathing again.

"Hello?" He asked cautiously.

"Up... 'm up... what's up?"

Simon shifted in his seat, slightly ashamed that he hadn't put two and two together and ended up calling you so late. "Right- jus' a quick-"

Riley barked again, staring at Simon impatiently.

Simon covered the speaker to his phone and sent her a harsh glare. "Oi! 'M workin' on it, hush!"

Your sleepy giggle wafted through the phone and into Simon's ear. "Sweet baby..."

Simon's breath caught in his throat, and he coughed nervously. She means the dog, the fucking dog, you idiot.

"Uh, sorry- jus' got a question for ya."

"Hmm?"

"Well- she's acting a bit funny," he stared at Riley and held a cautioning hand up as she shifted her weight and whined, "she's runnin' around and yellin' at me. Keeps gettin' in 'er bed, then comin' back like- like she wants somethin'. I have no bloody idea. Just wonderin' if she was doin' this with you."

"Oh, yeah..." Simon could hear your smile through the phone, and he desperately tried to push the image of your tired face from his mind. "She wants her blanket."

Simon paused. "She- she's got her blanket."

"No- she wants you to tuck her in."

"She wha' now?"

You laughed again. "You need to tuck her in her bed. She's right under the air vent and she gets cold."

He looked back at Riley. She was now sitting down, mouth closed, as if agreeing with what you said. He scoffed, rising from the couch and shuffling towards her. She slowly thumped her tail as he approached.

"Never 'eard of a dog gettin' tucked in..." he grumbled. He grabbed the felt blanket behind her, swaddling it around her body. She groaned, slowly blinking at him in an appreciative manner.

"Ya spoiled, you hear me?" He said quietly, tucking the blanket in between her and the cushion of the bed. She sighed happily, completely unaware that he was insulting her. She licked his cheek when he bent down close enough, and he grumbled and wiped the spittle away.

You giggled in his ear - Christ, you've got to stop doing that, do you have any idea what it does to him? - as he sat back down on the sofa. "All better?" You asked.

"Seems t' be-" he replied, watching Riley as she settled into her cocoon, "ya turnin' her into a princess."

"Well, she is one." You quickly replied - Simon could hear you stretching your limbs, followed by a long exhale.

He wanted to talk to you all night. Hearing you prattle on was like a balm to his jagged mind. But he knew he couldn't. You were half asleep, after all.

"Well, tha's all I needed- oh, and you, uh..." he grabbed your flannel off the back of the sofa. "Y' left your flannel here."

"I did?"

"Yeah. The green one."

"Oh, bullocks, I knew I-"

"Who are you talking to at this hour?"

Simon felt his heart stop when he heard the other voice. It had hit him like a train, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His brain went into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible scenario. Break in? Crazy stalker? Murderous ex? "Y' aright, love?"

"Simon." You said, and he couldn't tell if you were talking to him or someone else. Were you trying to warn him? To ask for help?

"Talk to me."

"Who the bloody hell is Simon?"

"My client, ya git."

"Oh- sorry love-" Simon heard more shuffling, then a kiss, followed by a grunt from you. He let himself linger in the confusion of what was going on - but, in the back of his mind, he understood it completely.

"Got me right in my bloody eye-"

"Oh, hush."

"Left your flannel at his house."

"My green one?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were using the grey one!"

"Well, I was, Tyler, and then I wanted the green one!"

"That's it - I'm stealin' all ya knickers tomorrow."

You laughed again - this time. The sound nearly shattered Simon. He felt like it was wrong to hear you laugh so sweetly.

"Well, uh-" he was speaking before he even realized it. "You can pick it up- or I'll drop it off- or, uh, I can drop it- I mean, I'll-"

"You can shove it in the closet until next time, if that's alright?" You said, yawning shortly after.

Simon paused. He needed to get it together. "Yea, that'll work. I'll let you go then - sorry to call so late."

"It's fine, really. But let me know when you'll need me again, ok?"

"'Course I will. I'll send you an email, as usual."

You scoffed. "I know you said we should only text for emergencies, but you can text me if it's something small, Simon."

"Right, will do. I'll text you."

"Is everything ok?"

"It's fine. You should sleep. I'll talk later."

"Ok. Goodnight, Simon."

"G'bye."

He ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, until your contact photo faded away. He leaned his head back and sighed. His thoughts suddenly came rushing back - except this time, they were about you. How he should have expected you to have a partner. How could you not? You were so bright and bubbly, of course you'd be snatched up. He felt stupid for thinking you'd be single. Maybe this whole idea of you falling for him was stupid. Maybe this was better - he was saved from rejection, even if this situation stung painfully within his chest.

Whatever. Hopefully, your personality would finally drive him over the edge of annoyance and anger, and you'd be more of a nuisance to him. That'd be the easiest way you could let him down.

He looked at the flannel in his lap. It's not even hers. He thought. He crumpled the fabric into his hand and flung it behind him.

Riley's head snapped up at the movement, and she floundered out of her bed, chasing after the flannel.

"Riley, no- don't-" he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard her scuffling across the floor. He kept his eyes closed as he heard her come trotting back, before she stopped at the edge of the couch.

She whined and tilted her head. Simon opened his eyes and looked at her.

"That's not even hers, ya ninny." He said. He looked away and turned up the telly, hoping that everything in his head would just disappear into the back of his mind.

Riley stepped around Simon's feet as she carried the flannel in her mouth. She then hopped onto the couch and settled next to Simon, depositing the (now damp) clothing onto his lap. He grunted as she laid her head down on his leg, whining and flattening her ears. She looked up at him with curious eyes, slowly thumping her tail on the cushion.

He exhaled through his nose. He stared at the flannel, then back at Riley. "Ya really like her, eh?"

She licked her lips and blinked, sighing through her nose.

He chuckled, patting her side and looking at the ceiling. "I know. I do too." He closed his eyes.

"We'll be alright, girl."

Next ->

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon

[lightseoul]

so i finally did it, y'all—i commissioned the wonderful @zestivivi to draw my first-ever °˖✧ self-ship art °˖✧

and i couldn't help it upon seeing the draft; i had to write a drabble to give it a bit of a backstory and to really just treat myself, so here it is!

(the pic is under the cut, if you're not in the mood to read and just wanna take a peek at it!)

CALL ME YOUR FAVORITE, CALL ME THE WORST (k. bakugou x reader)

“—and so i told eijirou he could go to hell if he asked me to cover for him tonight,” bakugou finishes, just as you twist your key one last time, effectively unlocking the door.

you toss him a chastising look as you push it open, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest as you do so. “don’t talk to your best friend like that, katsuki.”

at that, he scoffs, trailing behind you and entering through the doorway. “correction, you’re my best friend. and he’s used to it.”

despite yourself, a smile manages to creep into your face, which bakugou unfortunately catches sight of. the man only smirks to himself before gesturing to his trainers, “where do i put these?”

“beside my birks, please,” you sing-song, although your voice comes out a bit wobbly.

fucking nerves.

dropping your bag on the counter, you quickly shuffle through your kitchen and toward your dining area slash living room slash bedroom, scanning the space for any spot you’ve missed before bakugou could see them.

you’re just about to conclude that this place is as tidy as it can get when you sense the pro-hero walk up beside you, and you look at him to see his eyes darting across the area in inspection, a pensive expression on his face.

“what’re you thinking?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. you immediately regret it, though, bracing yourself for constructive feedback that you know will sting nonetheless.

it’s not every day you get to show your new place that’s your very own to anybody, let alone to your famously (notoriously) pedantic boyfriend.

“it's really clean,” he starts, pausing to think for a moment. he eventually turns to face you, that smirk from before now back on his face, “it’s very you. i like it.”

you feel a warmth wash over you, and you don’t fight the grin that’s invading your features. “aww, thanks, babe!”

he waves you off with a hand, resuming his thorough survey of your unit. “‘s nice how you displayed your books here, and that your guitar is easy to reach for. and your decorations are just abo—”

you glance back at the man from where you were hurriedly pouring him a cold glass of water, “just about what, kats?”

to that, bakugou doesn’t say anything. he seems frozen, eyes fixed on what you think is your entertainment area.

you pad toward the spot beside him, and you follow his line of vision.

directly right to your dynamight figurines.

almost instantly, your stomach drops as if you just got hit by a metaphorical tsunami of scalding humiliation. your feet move before your brain can catch up, and in a matter of seconds, you find yourself planted right in front of bakugou, obscuring his view of his mini-me’s.

at least, you tried to. the tall man only continues to effortlessly stare at them through the space above your head.

“so what do you want for dinner?” you manage to croak out, desperate to change the subject and bones threatening to give out in embarrassment.

“…is that a funko pop of all might and… me?”

the ground can swallow you up just about now, thanks.

for a beat, you debate as to whether or not to joke or lie your way out of this one, but one look at the inexplicable expression on your boyfriend’s face has you ultimately decided against it.

“…yes?”

now, in the split second of choosing to tell the truth, you came up with the expectations of him snorting in response, or maybe shooting you a confused look that reads ‘what the fuck’ or something similar, but you certainly didn’t predict him to laugh.

as in, drop his head back and howl laugh.

immediately, you feel yourself flame in shame as you watch the pro-hero bend slightly over and clutch his stomach in mirth, what you think are tears now pooling in the corners of his clenched eyes.

you can’t help but frown, “quit laughing at me, you jerk!”

that only makes him bark out another loud one, and just when you think he’s about to finish, he wheezes: “and you’ve got a nendoroid of me, too!”

that’s it.

you spin on your heel, turning your back on your jackass of a boyfriend, and you’re about to scoop the figurines into your arms and throw them into the abyss at the back of your closet when you feel something tug at your wrist, pulling you and your entire body back.

and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, bakugou’s invading your space and leaning toward you, planting his forehead right at the crook of your neck.

“wha—”

you’re cut off by bakugou snuggling into you, and you can feel him shake in laughter before the chuckles finally escape him and you’re both left in comfortable silence.

you hope he’s not hearing the thunderous ruckus your heart is making right now despite yourself.

a few moments pass with neither of you moving or saying anything before you finally decide to speak up.

“if you think this’ll make up for you laughing so blatantly at me, you’ve got another thing coming for you, mister.”

at that, bakugou snorts, retorting without missing a beat. “i wasn’t laughing at you, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, although you don’t make any move to push him away. “sure, you weren’t.”

“i’m serious. it just caught me off guard.”

“and then you started laughing at me.”

from where he’s slotted right by your neck, bakugou huffs, and you stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of his breath against your skin.

“i was just laughing at how everything’s turned out, alright?”

instinctively, your eyebrows furrow in question, “what do you mean?”

he sighs, the puff of air he lets out tickling your flesh again, “i just think it’s fucking funny how i grew up with a shit ton of all might merch, and now i have my own merch displayed right beside him, in my girlfriend’s new home, no less.”

and, before you can even feign offense at his comment, he beats you to it.

“i’m just fucking happy, okay? just let me have this.”

you don’t know what else to say at his sudden confession, and so you only manage a nod, moving your head just enough for him to feel the gesture. slowly, you allow yourself to relax your shoulders and lean toward bakugou, who snuggles even closer to you in return.

“they’re quite expensive, you know,” you offer after a few seconds of silence. “and yours are especially hard to come by.”

you can practically hear the grin on his face when he quips, “what, am i your favorite hero, or something?”

“no,” you immediately retort, deadpan. “all might is. explains why i only have one figurine of him and a gazillion of you in here.”

at that, bakugou lets out a genuine laugh, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s sporting that boyish grin and disarming eye smile that really nobody else has the honor of witnessing.

nobody except you.

you hesitantly bring your right hand up, unable to resist the urge to gently cradle the back of his head. upon the split second of contact, however, bakugou stiffens, and you’ve half a mind to withdraw and pull away when he does so.

but all the apprehension evaporates from your system when almost immediately after, he nestles closer into you.

you feel yourself flush at the motion, failing to stop the smile that takes over your lips.

and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d bet your expensive ass dynamight figurines he’s blushing, too.

bonus:

you’re in the middle of feeding yourself a spoonful of chicken curry when you decide you finally have enough. placing the serving firmly on your platter, you shift to face bakugou, who’s at your right and eating beside you.

more of side-eyeing you than eating in the past thirty minutes since dinner arrived, really.

you pull your lips in a tight line, “spit it out, kats.”

at that, he tosses you a disgusted look, before quickly swallowing the mouthful of cabbage he was just munching on. “why the fuck should i do that?”

you roll your eyes, “not the food, dummy. you’ve got something you want to say.”

“i do not.”

you only give him a knowing stare.

bakugou huffs, putting down his own spoon after a pregnant pause, “fine.”

it takes him a moment to finally do so, and when he does you almost choke.

“…so who the fuck is akaashi and why do you also have one of him?”

for context, here's my entertainment area LMAO i really took self-indulgence to another level, huh (sorry not sorry) title is from the song call me by shinedown (credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for the idea)

anyway, thank you so much again to @/zestivivi for turning my vision into reality and then some <3 thank you for being so easy to work with and receptive to my requests, particularly to make the character look just like me! 'til the next one, for sure :,)

[kithtaehyung]

lollipop (3tan) (m) | myg

title: lollipop (m) | part one: summer bbq pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) | broken (pt. 2) rating/genre: m (18+) ; fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: after the summer cookout ends, you say goodnight to your brother and his best friend. but the latter just had to have a lollipop in his mouth… and had to make you aware of it hours later.  note: this is part two of the three tangerines drabble summer bbq! undisclosed whether these are in the main storyline or not, so it’s a standalone for now. note 2: also..... hope y'all read this in private :))) hahahah  warnings: yoongi is the biggest warning, but reader almost inches him out here🤭, no joke we may need to form a new line for reader, kissing, hella kissing, a mirror makes an appearance.. 🫣, tense situations, tender moments, lollipop gets its own warning i’m so serious, cocky yoongi lolll explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 22nd, 2024, 7:17pm est word count: 7.3k💀💀💀

explicit warnings: food play (just roll with it😂), oral sex (m/f rec), masturbation, the struggle to keep quiet is real, mirrors are involved lord have mercy, spanking, breast play, multiple orgasms, yoongi hands, choking, fingering, face f*cking, titty shotsss, a little bit of manhandling and roughness but we love it🤭🤭, aftercare and cute cute reader afterwards

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—

It’s not long until you’re snuggled under your covers, every limb in your body relieved to be at rest. From getting ready, cooking for hours, to general host duties—all while trying to avoid sin in human form—you’ve completely exhausted your living battery. 

But for some reason, sleepiness is out of reach. 

Tiredness? For sure. But sleep seems to elude you, and you toss and turn before giving up and turning your television on. 

It’s after you get through two episodes of something random and endless doomscrolling that you get a text. 

From the last person that should be texting you right now.

And your heart slams on every brake it has.

Yoongi [2:37am]: You up?  

Umm.

What.

Why is he asking you that? It’s quite possibly the worst time and type of message to receive right now. 

Don’t overthink it. He probably just needs extra hands to drag your brother back to his room again.

You [2:37am]: mmhmm 

You [2:37am]: you need me for something?

With a sigh, you rest your phone by your side.

The last time that happened was so long ago. Back when you were fighting off sickness and absentmindedly grabbing tangerines to snack on.

You wonder what that man wants this time around.

Yoongi [2:37am]: Haha nah

Yoongi [2:37am]: Just curious

Well that’s interesting.

Is he still in the backyard? Somewhere in the house? You knew he was staying over, but is he in the guest room with Jimin lying down like you are?

Why is that making your soul squeeze? 

You [2:38am]: yeah i am. can’t sleep :\

After hitting send, you feel more awake than ever, staring at your ceiling changing hues from the light of your tv. 

It kinda hurts knowing Yoongi’s the closest he could be tonight. 

On one hand, you still remain feeling safer than ever, having all of them here. But on the other, you’d much rather Yoongi be right next to you, heart beating under the same covers and eyes covering you in moonlight.

He’s so close and yet… 

So damn far. 

Yoongi [2:39am]: Same. 

Your arm slings right over your eyes.

How is one word from him enough to make your legs shift? That is something that needs to be studied, but alas, you would only be the subject if someone paid you for it.

What do you say now? You miss him so much it practically hurts? You want him to be lying next to you even though it’s the riskiest thing in the world?

Maybe start slow.

You [2:40am]: did you have fun today? 

Shit, was that a little too slow? Abnormal? It’s not like you two have as much small talk as other people. Though you wouldn’t mind any type of talking with him at all, casual small talk just isn’t on the list of defaults.

When you check the next text you get, it’s hard to keep your phone from falling onto your face.

Yoongi [2:42am]: I’ll tell you if you open the door :)

Huh.

So much for starting slow what the fuck! 

You [2:43am]: ???

You [2:43am]: front door? 

Yoongi [2:43am]: Yours

There have been many times in which this man has made you speechless. Some just for being so heartstoppingly handsome; others for being the most considerate person you’ve ever met.

But this time?

You can’t even form all the reasons why you can’t form words.

You [2:44am]: ?????

Yoongi [2:44am]: 🤨

Yoongi [2:44am]: Feel like this is pretty easy stuff, doll 

What is happening? What possessed your brother’s legitimate ride or die to stand at your door while still in the same house? When other people are also staying over?

You’re so close. He’s right there. You can see a slight shadow underneath the wooden frame and it’s making your stomach silly.

But you have to be sure.

You [2:45am]: is he asleep? 

Yoongi [2:45am]: Yeah he’s out 

Getting up, you already miss the warmth of your sheets as you tiptoe towards the only thing separating you from the man you’ve yearned for all day long.

Fuck. If this isn’t the worst decision you’re ever gonna make in your life.

But damn it, you already knew you were gonna let him in as soon as he asked.

After checking what you’re wearing before knowing it doesn’t matter, you open your door while fearing what it reveals. 

And Yoongi slowly enters through the night—freshly showered, still studded with jewelry, and decked in clean clothes while dirtying your mind to hell.

Because of the goddamn lollipop in his mouth.

“What’s going on,” you whisper, knowing your brother could wake up at any second. Maybe. Possibly. Everything bad is always possible when you’re paranoid about it—especially since Yoongi is in your room! “What are you doing?”

Your secret wastes no time as he quietly shuts and locks the door, hair shifting down his head in damp waves as he takes out the sucker,

“This.”

Silent, he pulls you in slow for a kiss, melting you down with ease. When he presses you into one of your walls, you know the only thing propping you up is his pelvis molding with your front. 

Already, your senses are on high alert, wondering how long Yoongi plans on staying because as much as you want him here forever, you still want him in one piece. 

But it’s getting hard to concentrate on consequences and scenarios when this man is infiltrating your every thought. His lips feel like summer and his fragrance reminds you of spring, and you immediately know it’s that subtly scented body wash you picked to put in the guest bathroom. 

Strange. You both have now used each others’ soap and showers. That has to mean something intimate, right? How many people can say that about one another and not look into it too much?

Well, he technically hasn’t used the shower in your bathr—

“You looked great today,” Yoongi whispers into your neck. 

His kiss there renders you speechless for what seems like eons. Today. Uh huh. What were you thinking just now? “Thank you,” you finally sigh, relishing in the way he’s holding your side. “So did you.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I mean.. You always do, so. Nothing new there.”

Yoongi quietly huffs a laugh before tugging your hips. But he doesn’t say anything in return, and you wonder if he didn’t have an answer or just didn’t feel the need to. 

So your nerves fill the space again. “Is it weird that I missed you? You were here the whole time.” 

“Mm.” His kisses traverse up your shivering throat, and his raspy answer has your eyes fluttering shut, “I get that.”

Fuck, you can’t deal with him. “Is.. Is that so..”

“People miss me all the time.”

A snort. “Ass.”

Yoongi immediately laughs into your skin. “But they aren’t here now, are they?” When you don’t respond with anything substantial, he squeezes the side of your ass. “Are they.”

“No,” you hitch out. “But you shouldn’t be here, either.”

“Tell me to leave then.”

Shit. You can’t. You both know you can’t. You try so hard to stifle a moan when you feel Yoongi grip an asscheek, his lips finding your ear at the same time he gives a firm smack.

“Do it, doll.”

“I…” Fuck, he’s surrounding you and there’s no way no way out. “I can’t.”

“Good.” Yoongi then slides your hand from his side down to his legs, placing it on his very big, very hard length. “Cus I can’t fucking stay away from you.” 

You grip him through his pants, pleased when he moans deep. “What if he wakes up?”

“He won’t,” your handsome rebel purrs. “Drank for hours.”

“You sure?”

“Course I am.” Yoongi slides a finger along the outline of your breasts. “He tried to keep up and lost.”

“Typical.” 

He keeps doing exactly what you want him to do. It’s quite scary how well he knows your body now, but you’d also like to think you have a good level of knowledge with his.

Especially when you reach up to twist his nipple. 

A groan mixed with dark chuckles has your knees shaking, and you prolong it by doing something else you know—or think you know—he likes,

“I think you’d like it if I kicked you out now.”

The volcano inside Yoongi rumbles. “Is that so?”

“It is,” you huff out in mock triumph, loving how his cock twitches against your hand. “Or am I wrong?”

He flicks his eyes to yours before holding a gaze. A look so telling, and full, and searing. When his mouth flicks upward, he admits,

“I’d love it.”

Laughing as softly as you can, you stop to simply hug him. Leaning forward until your head rests, feeling the most at home and happy hearing his own amusement vibrating through his clothes. 

And just like that, you’re conflicted. 

What the hell are you doing? Even though passed out and sloshed, your brother could still wake up. It’s not like he’s totally gone. And if he catches his best friend in your room? There’s no telling what damage could be dealt.

Actually, the damage could be told in gruesome detail.

But the way Yoongi’s filling the distance from today, you really don’t want to stop. In fact, you don’t even want to pretend to shoo him off.

So this is your first step onto a precarious, unpredictable tightrope. A step you are very okay taking. 

“Babe?”

Shit, you got lost again. When you find your way back, Yoongi’s concern materializes at once,

“If you really aren’t down—”

“Fuck it.” 

Your kiss digs into his face so hard you strike gold, rewarded with a growl so potent it disrupts your core. Lightning zaps through your veins at the hands squeezing your hips, and you buck with a desperation that’s been stockpiling all day long.

Sliding along the wall, you notice that Yoongi tastes like alcohol and sugar, and you wanna lick every crevice you can reach, drunk off his cockiness and audacity alone. 

It’s no use fighting this. He’s really in your room, making out with you like a demon while the house is filled with your brother’s sleeping friends.

Fuck, you two could really get caught here.

The swirl in your belly keeps you on your toes, transforming your movements into sharp, hasty tugs on his clothes, hemlines, hair. You’re practically acting like you’ve never had him before and want to make up for all those missed opportunities.

Not like it’s any different every time.

But you’re quelled by a calm hand on your wrist. “As much as I like you like this,” Yoongi whispers across your cheek, “You can’t be too loud, baby girl.”

Your silent question must’ve escaped past your teeth. Because you hear a deep chuckle before shivers run down your spine,

“If you aren’t quiet enough I’m gonna fix that.”

Oh. Fuck.

“I didn’t even know I was talking,” you admit, body creasing in embarrassment and a bit of nervous laughs. Your grin cannot be contained by the fingers you slide up to cover it. “Oh, my god.” 

“What?” Yoongi’s devilish look is even more potent in the flashing lights of your television. “You serious?”

When you scrunch in deeper admittance, he flashes teeth with a wider smile than yours. It’s a prelude to the way he launches your heartbeat, his scent mesmerizing and his fingers lethal on the back of your neck. 

“Adorable.”

You groan into his swooping kiss, the rush of a thousand rivers carrying you to bliss. Breaths intertwined, the pair of you can’t seem to part until Yoongi accidentally shoulders something at his side.

Your mirror? When did you both travel so far that you got here? 

He lets off with a pop to steady the wavering furniture piece, pausing to make sure it’s stable before looking at the movie playing nearby.

And you watch in curiosity as he backs further into your room, eyeing himself in the mirror while slotting the sucker back into his mouth.

God. How did you forget he was still holding that?

And why can’t you move even as he turns around, even as he glances at the tv, even as he sits on the edge of your bed?

Move. Walk. Do something!

In the end, you can’t.

Because Yoongi’s stare alone gives you first time jitters, like you’ve never even conversed or much less slept with him before. 

How the fuck are you gonna get through the night? 

Swallowing and shooting one more look at your door, you pad your way to him, knowing he sees your nipples poking through your shirt and assuming there’s not much else you’re wearing. 

And he’s right. 

As you stop at Yoongi’s knees, you watch as he gives the lollipop another slow suck, groaning at the red smeared across his tainted lips.

That’s it. It’s decided. There’s no way you’re making it out alive.

“Get up here.”

Obliging but unhurried, you mount his lap, your heart skipping at the way he enjoys your shirt riding up your thighs.

So that damn sucker is gonna stay in his mouth? 

Min Yoongi is your enemy tonight.

Your nemesis, in fact. Even if he slides both free hands up your ass like that fuck he squeezes so expertly. Fuck. 

It’s keeping everything in you to hide your moan, your head falling forward as he slightly lifts you to drop you onto his comfy sweats.

When he chuckles in your ear, your muscles lock. And when he pops the lolly out of his mouth, you crumble at his mercy. “You were lucky to be off-limits today, doll.” 

“What…” You tense at another grip to your ass. “What do you mean.”

As you eye the silver around his neck, Yoongi’s smirk pours weight on your legs. “If you weren’t? There’s no telling what I would’ve done.”

You don’t think you’ve ever gulped so deeply. What toe-curling secrets is he hiding? Today could have gone a much, much different route depending on what he’d spill. “Tell… Tell me anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The man below you huffs quick, and you watch the corner of his mouth lift at a dangerous angle. “Would’ve kept you in that bathroom,” he divulges, voice dragging across the rattled surface of your brain. “Bent you over the sink.”  

Your breath hitches when he gets close, lips caressing your ear but words striking through your chest, “Just so you could watch me fuck you in that sundress.” 

“Fuck.”

“Uh uh,” Yoongi coos, chuckle so, so deep. “Quiet, baby girl.”

“I just…” It’s already hard to think around this demon of a person. But it’s even more difficult when he’s got your ear in his teeth. “Wait.” 

As he pulls away, the light of your television highlights his features. And you find that this specific, comforting look of attentiveness is what attracts you the most. 

Now that you can think clearly, you remember exactly what you were gonna do. It’s simple but significant nonetheless. 

Because your dress from today is in the laundry already. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have another one. Another very particular one he may remember, in fact. 

“Go over there,” you whisper, smile wide as you dismount. “Turn around.” 

When he wordlessly asks what you’re up to, a single finger presses against your lips before you assure, “Just trust me.” 

The way his brows scrunch makes your cheeks hurt as you watch him get up and swivel, endeared by the casual lean on your wall and the lollipop stuck in his cheek. Just as his head falls in waiting, you slip into your closet, darkness getting even darker as you enter.

Due to an afterthought, you pop your head out. “No peeking in the mirror.”

“Uh huh.”

Satisfied, you go back to your lightless search. 

You know exactly what you’re going for. It’s too easy for you to locate your chosen piece of clothing before stripping and changing as orderly as you can. 

Okay. This is okay because you’re alone, right? No one else is here. Technically. Okay.

As you make your way out, a million nerves pop and fizzle under moonlight. The air surrounding your bare shoulders proves charged. Electric enough to send shivers down to your pedicured toes.

Composing yourself before you break, you softly catch his attention as you eye the sucker poised in his fingers,

“Ready.”

The moon waits.

Your breath follows.

And when Yoongi turns, you know you’ll never forget this moment. It feels exactly like the time in that restaurant long ago, but more potent. Shimmering. 

Because you’re wearing the same sundress he witnessed you in on the night of Dom’s party. 

And you’ve never been so delighted to see the stars in his eyes go dark.

You expect him to call you over. Whether with words or not, you’re gonna do whatever he wants—because it’s what you want… too…

Yoongi’s aura billows as he closes the distance himself. No words. No gestures. Just step by breath-taking step, air around him so charged and commanding that your knees threaten to buckle. 

For reasons you won’t admit, your mouth can’t even create sounds. All you want to ask is if he likes the dress, or if he even cares you aren’t as dressed up as before. 

Of course he wouldn’t give a single shit. But you can’t stop yourself from these thoughts just yet. 

Swallowing, you stare as he rolls the sucker in his mouth, eyes in no other direction but yours. “You, umm. Does this one work instead? The other one is in the—”

Quick isn’t fast enough to describe what’s happening, your shoulders pressing into the nearest wall as your lips get consumed by lust and possession. Everything in your body tingles, and for a split second you wonder how Yoongi managed to swing you around so swift with barely a sound. 

Stars fly from your eyes before they slip shut, pouring want onto his veins as he circles strong arms across your waist. Sparks erupt the scant distance between your hips and his, and you are once again reminded why you feel so high-strung. 

There are so many people staying over. Not just Yoongi and Jimin. From what you can recall, at least ten people are passed out around the house, any of which could wake up for a bathroom break or something at any second. 

And yet. You will not tell this man to leave. Truthfully, this is exhilarating and all you’re doing is ki—

“Get down there.”

Oh, fuck. 

This is the new point of no return. 

If you do this, not only will Yoongi be a goner, but so will you. Both of you would never, ever come back from this. 

But that fucking lollipop…

Screw everything to hell.

Your smile grows with his, lip bitten in the throes of your newfound excitement. You already feel how rock solid he is through his pants, and you make it a point to stroke him on the way to the ground. 

There’s so little room that your ass skims the wall, your chest the second part to slide along his covered length and causing him to groan out a curse. 

Is there a shift here? Did you change the whole dynamic with one move? Maybe you’re the one with the power now. 

“Look at me.”

Ah. Maybe not.

Obedient, you stare upward, catching the fire in Yoongi’s eyes as he gives the sucker one more pass in his mouth. 

God, he makes it look so enticing. It’s just a piece of candy but you’ve never been this desperate to have one, too. Or be the one treated with his tongue like that goddamn does he have to make it seem so erotic?

With a pop, Yoongi releases the stick, lips shiny and tainted in the television lights. When he lowers it, you realize it’s descending—farther and farther—until it stops in front of your face. 

And shivers overtake you.

“Suck.” 

Well. You’ve never done something like this before. In all the relationships you’ve been in, you have never experienced anything like this. Much less in your own house. 

Which makes your eyes flare and the monster in your belly rumble, fire hissing from its nose and prying your mouth open to do exactly what you were told. 

“That’s my girl.”

Sugar coats your tongue immediately. Glowing, the heat in your core stokes embers, warning with each loll, each cave of your cheeks. You treat the candy so tenderly Yoongi will deny jealousy, and your lips pucker and puff with a sheen. 

Are you glistening as much as his eyes? Are you causing him as much grief as he has put you through?

You damn well hope so. Yoongi isn’t the only one that’s gonna unleash his needs from the whole day. 

So you keep sucking with closed eyes, swirling your tongue around the lolly and licking it just how you would his tip. It tastes like sweet rebellion, but also late nights with your friends. And with a fleeting thought, you know said friends would grill you if they ever found out this was happening.

Maybe Tae would just laugh his ass off. 

Fuck, this is so unbelievably risky. Your door is locked, sure. But the guest room is still very much missing an occupant and one look in there and at Yoongi’s car in the street would cause an eruption.

Through the haze of your thoughts, you hear shuffling and a low droning grunt. 

With one glance, you know Yoongi is crumbling. The shadowed promises under his bangs make you preen, and you remain on the precipice of anxiousness and glee.

“Keep that tongue out for me.”

Clearly, he doesn’t give a shit about risk.

So gladly, you oblige, flinching when the lollipop is replaced by something you’re much more familiar with, and your eyes bat on instinct as you know exactly what to do with this one.

When did he shove his pants down? Were you that lost in your sticky treat that you didn’t even notice? 

Doesn’t matter. You feel his beautiful weight on your stained tongue and it’s second nature to pleasure. When you grab hold of his base, you give one more suck before popping him out of your mouth to lick down.

For someone that’s been shushing you, Yoongi’s groan is not quiet, and you pause just in time to see him grit his teeth with a nose scrunched to hell.

And his attention is sideways. What is he…

Oh. Fuck.

You can see yourself in your mirror on the other wall. 

Is that… you? The one looking back with a visage so arousing your breath stops? If this is the person that Yoongi brings out you actually feel your confidence inflate like a parade balloon.

“So fucking hot.”

When you laugh in shyness, his eyes slide shut in agony as he rakes through his hair. Crumbling inside, you offer a compliment of your own, 

“You’re so unfair when you do that.” 

Yoongi has the audacity to grin wide as he grips his long strands. “This?” 

“Ugh. Whatever.” You wanna smack that smirk right off his face.

So you keep going, loving the way his walls and defenses are back to shattering at your knees. From your inappropriate level of experience with his cock, you go for what you know. Licking his underside, swirling around the tip, sucking just the first bit, gathering spit all over before taking him in deep. 

The smells around you coalesce into something potent. With the fruitiness of the lolly and the headiness of Yoongi, it’s pure bliss in your nostrils and you soak it all in. There’s no pause in your sucking, licking, tugging him rough. You’re giving it your all and feeling the effects between your legs. 

Suddenly. 

Huffs litter around your sundress as Yoongi yanks himself out, sticking the sucker in your mouth again while holding your head. And his smile puts devils to shame when he scoffs, “Unfair, my ass.”

You giggle, sliding the pop up and down your outstretched tongue before slowly pushing it in. When you watch one of his veiny hands grip his cock, your brain resets and rewires, prompting you to be a little bit more daring.

As if this whole situation wasn’t daring enough.

You coyly slide one of your sundress straps down your arm, slowly revealing the top of a breast before going for the other side. Not enough to show everything. But enough to give him a much better view from above. 

And the sound you hear in response causes pulses between your legs,

“What the fuck.”

Satisfied, you ride this high of praise and keep diligently sucking on the lolly, watching him pump himself until you can’t can’t can’t take it anymore.

It all happens in quick succession, your hand outright slapping the lollipop out of his hand before grabbing for him, shaky fingers knocking into his slick ones before slipping his dick in your mouth.

“Shit—”

His scent captures your nostrils as he bucks forward, knocking your throat and causing your gag to hit the wall. When you keep sucking, Yoongi grabs your chin, chains swaying as he rocks in, out, in, out again.

Drool and spit cover your neck, seeping onto his fingers as he keeps them where he wants. Imagining how you look in the mirror makes you moan, and imagining Yoongi watching everything from his view makes your cunt leak onto your thighs. 

Fuck you wanna watch, too. What does that say about you? You’re legitimately jealous that you can’t see yourself taking Yoongi so deep he’s cursing in strings. 

When you choke, it’s disgustingly loud, so he has to pull out once again just to command, “Quiet.”

“Ye—” 

He’s shoved back in before you can finish one syllable, back out after a single suck before he drives his point home, “Understand?” 

“Y—”

Your words are pushed down your throat again, the intensity Yoongi’s exuding rolling your eyes back and shaking your muscles. Spent and unable to speak, you nod around him, and your arms are suddenly gathered against the wall until you’re fully flushed, held up by one of his strong hands.

“Good girl.”

You brace yourself for his complete control, dick sliding down your throat and pushing tears out of your eyes. Breathing through your nose, you keep your tongue flat, taking him in until your full body gag alerts him to pull out. 

As soon as he does, you buckle straight towards the mirror, eyes bursting with shock as you drink in the man watching your heaving, shimmering chest.

“This is what you do to me, doll.” When you shift your attention upward, you gulp at his smile of pride. “Can you stand?” 

“I…” Holy shit, he fucked the voice right out of you. “I think so.” 

“Here.” 

You place your hand in his, muscles in your legs stinging at the change in position. When you go slow, Yoongi lets you, and your lips curve tenderly at the way he kisses you at your peak. 

“You almost made me come,” he whispers, chuckling when you watch his eyes. “Fuckin’ hustler.” 

“You didn’t want to?” 

“Not yet.” Winking, Yoongi gives you another peck before getting close. 

As you look in the mirror, you catch the way he kisses along your neck, his hair tickling your skin and his arms bent as he holds yours. It’s almost enough to make you feel higher than royalty, now knowing what it looks like to be feasted on by a king.

“Promise me something,” he rasps. 

“Anything,” you whisper in confidence.

“It’s your turn now.” Another kiss to your ear makes you flinch. “But if you’re too loud that’s all you get.” 

Bold statement coming from the guy that couldn’t stay silent. But you’re far too gone to dwell on the past so all you can do is nod in understanding. You need this. After today? You really fucking need this.

Yoongi tucks himself back in his sweats before kissing your neck again, lips leaving a trail along the tracks left by your own actions. When he gets to your chest, he gets to unwrap another treat, slowly peeling your dress down to suck on a nipple. 

You almost cut the whole thing short. 

A hand flies up over your mouth, and you watch your face twist in anguish in the glass. Sparks tingle from where Yoongi slides his tongue, and seeing this man in action from another viewpoint launches you across the edge instead of right to it. 

You’re gonna get yourself caught. There’s no way you aren’t crying out by the time he’s done but goddamn you’ve got to keep it toge—

Deft fingers rub your other nipple, causing your body to jump forward and Yoongi to chuckle into your chest. After he squeezes, you watch as he pops off your tit. “What’d I say.” 

This is the hardest thing you’ve ever done! 

You can only shake your head, hand still preventing your mouth to move and your throat stinging from suppressed screams. 

“That’s what I thought,” Yoongi quips before kissing the rest of your dress downward. 

And the fucker didn’t even look back at the mirror. Like he already knows exactly what he looks like or doesn’t care in the slightest. All he’s focused on is you and you alone, and you’re so enamoured that you watch his head below you, too. 

Calmly and surely, Yoongi lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, kissing along your skin and gripping you tight. When he lifts a brow upward, you nod downward, bracing yourself for him to notice something else you had planned to show.

Works like a sinful charm. His reaction could be felt better than seen. 

Because as soon as he notices that you don’t have any underwear on, Yoongi pours out dark amusement before giving your cunt the deepest kiss it’s ever felt.

A mewl smushes into your fingers as you cave, eyes shutting so tight as he eats you out like a man starved and never satiated. 

His licks hit just right, and the way he tongues you causes stars to pierce your eyes through. Over and over and over, Yoongi is merciless in how he pleasures, and your esophagus burns and burns and burns. 

Both your legs quake as he slips a finger under his tongue, and your eyes fly open just in time to see yourselves in the mirror again. 

Holy fuck.

You’ve always known this man was attractive. Overwhelmingly so, in fact. But seeing him on his knees and knowing it’s not a dream makes you so dizzy your brain can’t keep up. 

Yoongi’s hands flex on your skin with each minuscule grip, and his hair bunches as he moves between your legs. Your thigh covers his face, but maybe that’s for the best, because you don’t think you could handle watching his tongue while feeling it inside. 

“So fucking wet,” he hisses out before diving in again, and you use your other hand to grapple a chunk of his drying hair. “Fuck.”

Yes, keep going. He’s so close to making you come you squeeze even harder. By now, your whole upper body is burning with unreleased yells and your lower body is suffering just as much. He’s too good. Way too good for a quiet house.

You can’t hold it in. You can’t you can’t you can’t.

“Yoongi, please”—your legs start to twinge with want and pending release—“Gonna come, I—”

Everything snaps as soon as he reaches to grope your ass, tugging you forward to lick a spot that has you vibrating like mad. 

And your orgasm is so potent that your knees legitimately buckle, your body slipping with no purchase before you catch yourself on the wall. Waves hit you from all directions and you let out one yelp before you feel a moist hand clamp over your lips.

Oh, he’s standing now. Oh, he’s fingering you. Oh fuck, he’s talking you through your orgasm and you can’t understand him but your body reacts either way. 

“—another one for me.”

Your pulses wreck your body into angles, each one shifting into another as your mouth is still covered. Yoongi’s fingers prove fatal as he leads you into a second paradise, and you cry into his hand as you come into his other—harder, stronger. 

“Just like that, doll, fuck.”

Tears stream down your cheeks again as you lift, soaring into the summer skies and leaping over sleeping souls. It’s too much to keep inside. Too powerful to not let out all at once. 

“—this fucking dress.”

You don’t know what’s being said. Nor do you care. Your body is so spent from the vicious tempest and all the energy leaves you at once. 

“Uh uh.”

What. 

“One more for me,” Yoongi goads. “And you’re gonna watch this time.” 

Your chest beats and beats as his fingers pump slow, and your head lolls to the side as you catch sight of your salacious act in the mirror. 

Immediately, you know exactly why he said that. Watching the way his arms bulge with effort is encouragement enough to stay upright. With each thrust, you can see your dress hitching with your arches, and Yoongi dives into your neck to strike lightning. 

“Baby—” You feel it. You feel a third wave incoming and its crest seems higher than the rest. 

“Come for me,” he whispers, his dark bangs peeking from behind your neck in the mirror and his throat stretching out. “And don’t fucking scream.” 

Fuck! Your hand grips your mouth so bad it will leave soreness. But water pulls you under and twists you like a ragdoll. Unlike the other times, this orgasm quivers your legs to the point where Yoongi teases. And he can’t stop praising you for being naughty, for letting him in here, for letting him destroy you while everyone’s here.

“I love it,” you whoosh out into his throat, voice cracked and chipped. “Fuck, I love it.” 

“I know you do.” Another deep set of laughs. “You’re a problem.”

Head lolling forward, you slowly slip right into Yoongi’s arms before he helps you stand. “Come on,” he leads, walking you a short distance to your bed before chuckling at your cartoonish collapse.

Some moments pass. One, two, four or five more. Even the room seems to swim a little in your vision when you struggle to open your eyes. 

Finally, after breathing hard, you can only manage a gravelly, “Holy shit.” 

Yoongi laughs soft before wiping your forehead. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you exhale, chest heaving and heaving. “I’ll be good.” 

Fingers still wisping across your face, he praises, “So beautiful.” 

You finally calm your pulse before you slide your hand over his cock. “Did you come?” 

“Nah.” 

Looks like you aren’t done. “Mm,” you whisper, trying your best to prop yourself up. “Lie down for me.” 

“You sure?” 

You nod with heavy eyes, and he slowly occupies your bed while you caress him again. So smooth and so tender before squeezing just right. 

It’s already almost enough because Yoongi throws his head onto your pillow. “Goddamn.”

When you slip his sweats down, you use willpower alone to consume him again. You will not rest until he’s fully content, too. With this in mind, your cheeks and jaw work overtime. 

You want this, want this, want this. He gave you the world and then some, you can run on fumes to make him a mess. After all, you’re drunk off the pleasurable cocktail he just concocted with his tongue. This will carry you despite your functioning levels in the trenches. 

“Babe—”

For a split second, you forget where you are. Your eyelids droop so low and your body twinges with aftershocks as you spit right onto his cock, sliding your lips along his pretty length before you feel him tug your sheets.

“Shit.”

He’s close. He doesn’t even have to tell you. You can tell by the way his body reacts and bends and folds, and you quickly decide what that means for you.

Because you could swallow. 

But you instead make your way to the floor, commanding him before realizing just how authoritative and raspy you sound, 

“Sit up.”

Right as he does, you pump him right above your exposed chest, shocking him so abruptly his low groan shakes your core,

“Oh, fuck—”

Hot, thick spurts land all over you, his release your only focus and not the pain in your knees from hitting the floor in round two. As his head rolls back, you watch with heightened pride, loving the way he looks lost in delicious, honeyed ecstasy.

And just like that, both of you are satisfied. Both of you got what you needed and wanted from this… hot summer… day…

There was a sound outside your door, further down the hall but fucking close enough. 

And holy shit his cum is on your tits.

Holy shit holy shit this is the absolute last thing you should’ve let him do what the fuck what the fuck! 

If anyone sees you like this you are both finished. Cooked. Banished.

You glance at the door, body locking and hands massive weights at your side. 

One second. 

Two seconds. 

You’re fully awake now. 

Four seconds. 

Nothing else happens. Your ears strain wildly but you don’t hear any noises in succession, and you wonder if it was just a snore or something similar. 

Sighing, you breathe out relief before peering straight up.

And the look you get in return is pure, primal hunger. 

Yoongi’s never looked like this. Maybe he’s come close that one time before, but this is much different. 

What is this? His pupils are magnified and his lids are lowered in fire, stoking the heat within you and clutching your cunt with his eyes alone. You’re so wet that you can come again if he so much as touched you. “Baby?” 

Yoongi simply grazes your cheek with his knuckles. “Just want this in my phone so fucking bad.” 

Oh. Well, fuck. 

You blink at his shamelessness. But it makes you so exhilarated and shy that you resort to your default—cracking jokes. Of all the things he could’ve mentioned like the sound outside or possibly getting caught and dragged to hell he decides he wants your pictures in his phone. Right.

“Happy you painted me like Picasso?” You laugh before you can even finish, but so does Yoongi as he throws his head back. 

Immediately, the atmosphere calms. “You heard that earlier?” 

“He’s an idiot.” 

“He is.” Yoongi helps you up and onto your bed before he asks, “Towels in your bathroom?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Under the sink.”

You watch as he goes to fetch them, heart pulsing extra hard at his consideration. When he bustles around in a room you use everyday, it’s surreal to witness. Both unnatural, but so natural at the same time. 

He’s careful not to make loud sounds, gently closing your cabinets and coming back with a cloth he ran under water.

A sudden pang hits your chest and you have no clue why.

Is it because you’ll never see him in there again? Or is it because of the conversation you just brought up? 

Maybe both. The convo from earlier today still rings in your ears, everyone hounding Yoongi about the scratches you left on his back. They were old but still very visible. You need to be more mindful of what you can and can’t do right now. 

As Yoongi wipes your shivering chest, you ask something that’s been weighing on your mind, “Did I get you in even more trouble?” 

He just looks at you before finishing his cooling task, raising straps back onto your shoulders. “Course you did.” 

Ah. He didn’t seem bothered, but your apology follows him as he goes to pick up the abandoned candy from earlier. “Sorry. I didn’t think about it at the time.” 

“S’ok. Hope you’re fine being some chick from outta town, though.” 

Your chuckle hurts your throat on the way out. Not from disappointment, but from the very man you’re talking to. “I can deal with that. Is she nasty?” 

It takes a bit for him to discard everything. When he comes back, he bends down to answer, 

“So fuckin’ nasty.” 

You giggle right into his kiss. Fully spent, your arms around his neck pull him in close, and his rough laugh makes your legs even weaker. “Can’t believe we just did all that.”

“Same.”

“Guess you like the dress, huh?”

A hand comes up to squeeze your thigh. “Dunno. Might have to see it again when the sun’s out.”

“Ass.”

“You get it.”

“Wow.” 

Yoongi hisses amusement, shifting to lay beside you across your bed. When he does, light from the window hits him just right, and you fall silent at once.

So perfect. So unfair.

“I think this is my favorite,” you admit, not giving him full context. So when he wordlessly asks for it, you reach up and caress his cheek. “When you look happy.”

“I am,” he says after a pause. “Cus of you.”

You feel starlight in your own eyes. “I’m happy, too.”

For this, Yoongi doesn’t need to ask for more context at all.

The lingering fear of being caught is still there, but it’s not as present now. Maybe it’s because you’re both content again, but you don’t feel too stressed. 

Did you want to get caught that whole time? Surely not when things were going down.

But what about now? If someone saw you lost in each others’ stars, would you care if they plucked you from the sky? 

Staring into this man’s eyes, you can’t bring yourself to say you would. 

“When will I see you again?” you blurt out of nowhere.

At this, Yoongi props his head up with an elbow. “When do you want to?”

“Tomorrow.”

His chest bobs with his laugh. “I’ll make sure to see you before I head out then.” 

You nod, eyes shutting when Yoongi goes in for another kiss. 

Another kiss is how you frame it. Because a final kiss is too painful to think about. 

Yoongi has to leave. You know he literally cannot stay.

But facts and logic don’t make this parting any easier, and your heart breaks when he slips out of your bed.

It’s too soon. Yes, it’s also way past the time he should be in your room, but it’s too fucking soon. 

Your chest burns. Sears make fiery ridges along your ribs until they overtake your heart, creeping closer and closer.

Until Yoongi bends to kiss you again, fingers slotting into yours and squeezing some liquid out of your eyes. 

But his rasp gives you pause, “I did, by the way.”

Blinking, you feel him swipe at oncoming tears when you ask, “You did what?”

“Have fun.”

Oh. Wait, he’s answering the text you sent? You already forgot about that. Ages ago. “Good,” you say with a slight ghost of a smile. “It looked like you were having a good time. And I.. Really liked seeing you laugh.”

Yoongi just stares, thoughts and emotions skimming across his eyes. When you reach up to cradle his cheek, they then slip shut, brows dipping as he presses into you further. “You were the reason,” he admits with no hesitation.

Don’t cry more. Not now.

He gives you one more hug, and you cradle his head into your skin. “Good night, baby,” you whisper so softly, planting a kiss on his cheek. 

When he does the same to yours, you wonder if his reaction was also reminiscent of tiny sparklers on a summer night. 

“Night, doll.” 

The steps he takes all stomp on your heart. 

But you find solace in the hopeful future. One where you can stand next to him at summer barbecues, or host them with him, or just simply be anywhere with him. 

But mostly, you’re yearning for a future where you don’t have to keep watching him leave through a door. 

But come back through one.

-

-

fin. :)

-

🍭so... how did it go!🍭 | join the server! | join the taglist!

a/n: thank you to everyone that has stuck around while i took my huge rest! it was a little strange to not be here everyday talking to you all, but looking back, the resting and step back was needed. although it looks like some people left - whether the blog or in general - i am happy to see so many familiar and new people! let's keep having fun with the 3tanverse and beyond, yeah? a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! i'll be here to talk and scream with y'all whenever, and it should be more frequent now. also be on the lookout for some physical copy interest checks! we are getting closer to 3tan copies being A Real Thing! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[faithisyours]

can you write something about az eating out reader while she reads!

Absolutely obsessed with this request. Here you are, Love. Hope it’s everything you hoped for and more 🫶

Just Keep Reading

Azriel x Fem!reader

CW: smut, oral F receiving, fingering, I think that's it

Word count: 1.5k

It’s your day off, and on your days off you tend to curl up with a good book and read for the entire day. So that is what you are doing, curled up in your reading chair in the corner of your living room reading a smutty little romance novel Nesta had recommended. And it’s safe to say it was a good one, because you can't seem to put it down.

You hadn’t realized how long you’ve been reading until Azriel comes home, pulling you out of your reading trance. And just as you’re getting to the smutty part, too. As he walks into the living room, you look up from your book and give him a warm smile. He returns it, and gives you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading into your shared bedroom to change into something more comfortable than what he’s currently wearing.

You continue reading, which now has just turned to pure smut. You look towards the bedroom to make sure Azriel doesn’t see your giddiness, then you dive into reading. Subconsciously, your thighs start to rub together, and your scent gets sweeter, thicker.

All the way from in the bedroom, Azriel can smell you, or rather, the change in how you smell. He pokes his head out, looking to see what has gotten his mate smelling so sweetly. Silently he makes his way back to the living room to find you curled up even tighter than you were before, nose buried in your book, and the smell of you getting headier by the second.

When you notice he's standing right in front of you, you startle, looking like a deer caught in the faelights. You watch as a small grin takes over his mouth. “What are you reading?” he inquires, an eyebrow raising.

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly.

“Is this one of Nesta's books?” You don’t respond, but he already knows the answer. He takes a step closer to you. “How long have you been in this chair? Your legs must be stiff by now, no?” The change in subject is suspicious, but you're hoping this means he’s going to drop the fact that he just caught you reading smut in the middle of the afternoon. Without waiting for an answer, he kneels down in front of you and grabs one of your legs, pulling it towards him. You let out a small squeak at the sudden change in position. Azriel, as always, was right in guessing you’d be stiff. “Keep reading,” he says when he notices you've stopped.

He starts massaging your leg, staring at the ball of your foot and making his way up to your calf muscle, working his thumb in soothing circles. After a couple minutes he pulls your other leg out towards him, massaging that one too. It would be enjoyable if you weren’t so pent up already from your book.

As you continue reading, the chapters just keep getting smuttier. No wonder Nesta highly recommended this one. You can feel slick gathering at your core, can smell your own arousal getting thicker in the air around you. Azriel’s grip on you gets tighter, so you risk a glance over the top of your book to look at his face. His jaw is clenched, but that’s the only fault in his mask. He continues massaging your legs, paying seemingly no mind to you otherwise.

Even though Azriel looks fine, internally he is not. Your scent is driving him mad, and the fact that it isn’t him causing you to smell like that is getting him wound up faster than usual. A soft gasp escapes you, and that’s when he snaps. His hands glide up your thighs and towards the top of your lounge pants, pulling down on the waist.

“Azriel, what-”

He cuts you off. “Shh, just keep reading.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says. Or at least try to do as he says. Your brain short circuits a little when he pulls down your pants, panties along with them, the motion jerking you bottom half closer to the edge of your chair, closer to his mouth. You're naked from the waist down, and all you can focus on is Azriel’s gaze burning holes into your flesh.

“Az, seriously what-” you try to protest again, but he cuts you off a second time.

“Keep. Reading,” he growels, and then his mouth is on you, biting and licking and sucking his way up your thighs towards your soaked core.

You’re trying to read, and it's kind of working, until Azriel parts you with one hand and gives you a long, thorough lick up your core and hums.

“Lucky me,” he says between licks, “To have a mate wet and ready for me when I get home.” you squirm at his words, at the attention he's giving your clit. The hand that parted you goes to your hip, ceasing your squirming, the other curls around your thigh, digging fingers into flesh. “Keep reading or I stop,” he warns, when he sees you've stopped again. You take a deep breath and continue.

You manage to read a couple more pages before doing anything other than moaning seems impossible. Both of your legs are now swung over Azriel’s shoulders, and the hand not clutching your book in a death grip is white-knuckling the arm of the chair. His nose nudges your clit as his tongue teases at your entrance. You don’t want him to stop, but right now all you can do is lean your head back and pant.

But then he does stop, and it’s earth-shattering in a bad way. You look down to meet his eyes, which are full of determination and hunger. “Read,” he demands. You blink a couple times in hopes it will clear your mind, and start reading again. It takes you a second to find where you were, but you eventually find it and begin. But Azriel doesn’t. “Aloud.” His voice is low, so low you barely hear him. “Read aloud,” he states again. It takes you a second to completely understand what he is saying, what he’s asking you to do. But you know not to question Azriel when he’s like this, so you shove your pride down and start reading.

“His hand drifted over my thighs,” you start, glancing over your book to Azriel, making sure he heard you. “And his touch was like liquid fire.” Azriel’s head finally drops down to between your thighs, pressing kiss after kiss to your thighs and pussy, teasing, taunting his touch.

“His fingers parted me,” you continue, “feeling how wet I was, how warm and ready I was to take him.” Azriel groans at your words, sending shockwaves through your body. ““So…so sweet,”” you stutter, trying to regain some of your composure and failing miserably as Azriel starts using his tongue again. ““So soft,” he cooed against my clit. I…”” you gasp as he works a finger into you, curling to find that perfect spot.

“You what?” he prompts, urging you to continue. If only it was that easy.

“I squirmed in his grasp, but…his other hand,” your panting, whimpering between every phrase, “His other hand circled my waist, pinning me back against his chest.”

Your divine noises are music to Azriel’s ears. And hearing you recite the filthy things you read is even more of a turn on. He should do this more often, he thinks, but for now, he adds a second finger into you on a hard thrust, which has you moaning his name along with a slew of other expletives.

“Oh my gods, Azriel, please,” The fingers of your free hand reach for Az’s head, threading through his thick dark hair. “Plese, don’t stop.” He wants to make you keep reading, wants to hear those filthy words come out of your mouth, but your begging has him doing exactly as you say. He doesn’t stop. In fact, he speeds up, thrusting his fingers into your dripping heat, licking and sucking and nipping at your clit.

And then you’re coming, clenching onto his fingers so he can barely move them, thighs bracing his head as you ride through your waves of pleasure. And he works you through it, continuing the attention on your clit, rubbing his hand over your thigh to sooth you. Eventually you return to your body, becoming aware that your book is now on the floor, you’ve just come in the middle of your living room, and that Azriel still has that hunger in his eye.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, but it isn’t really a question. You shed yourself of your top layers, getting completely naked, and launch yourself at Azriel, who catches you and carries you towards the bedroom, much more fun to be had in there. Of course you’re ready for round two.

—

Also, just wanted to mention that I started a ko-fi for tips. No pressure of course. Just figured I’d start one since I’m a student with not much of an income at the moment. Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)

[tomriddleswhcre]

| A Whisper of Serpents

Masterlist

[Tom Riddle x Reader]

summary: You and Tom Riddle are rivals at Hogwarts, constantly clashing and challenging each other. One day, you discover an unexpected attraction to him when he speaks Parseltongue. After Tom teasingly uses it to get under your skin, you confront him in the common room, and the tension between you both finally explodes into an intimate encounter.

warnings: MDNI, characters are 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, smut.

words: 3,3k

a/n: cannot believe i've created this.

devider by @bernardsbendystraws

Cool air in the Slytherin common room whispered along stone walls, and the green light of the magic lamp flickered. You sat in your usual place in the corner by the fire, scratching your quill on your potions paper. The air was filled with the smell of black and sand, a smell that reminded you of Tom Riddle struggling with essays and exams.

Tom Riddle. A name that evoked both ire and admiration in equal measure. The boy was brilliant—too brilliant, you thought, the instant his black eyes darted across the room to you over the desk. He sat at his desk, posture precisely straight, lips curving in triumph, as though he knew he would best you in tomorrow's Potions.

“Enjoying the thrill of inevitable defeat?” he breathed, his voice cutting as effectively through the silent room like a knife.

You looked up, decided not to let him bug you. “I’ll let you know after I see the marks. Should I save a seat for you in second place, Riddle?”

A dark light glittered in his dark eyes, and his smirk deepened. “Confidence suits you. Shame it’s misplaced.” The rivalry had always been this way—sharp, laced with an undeniable tension that neither of you acknowledged. Still, tonight you noticed a difference. The second time Tom spoke, his voice was softer and his rhythm was more even. He muttered something very quiet and soft that you couldn't really hear.

You froze.

It wasn't English. It was something ancient, something primal.

Your eyes narrowed as you leaned forward. “What was that?”

“Hmm?” He looked up, feigning innocence, though the curl of his lips betrayed him.

“That. Just now. What did you say?”

He shrugged, turning back to his parchment. “Nothing you'd understand.”

It clicked then, the penny dropping in your brain—you'd heard rumors, of course, among quiet whispers, huddled as your classmates were on hushed subjects. Tom Riddle spoke Parseltongue, a gift said to be rare enough that not only did they not live alongside Muggle-born witches or wizards, they would think those with Parseltongue came from gods. Of course, you didn't, though: a tingle down the back of the spine was left as well, it seemed.

In the following weeks you became increasingly aware of him. It wasn’t just his flawless academic credentials or the ruthless intellect he wielded as a weapon. It was also the way he moved, the way his voice slithered into that serpentine language when he thought no one was listening.

Finally, one night, you stepped up your game and decided to confront him late at the library. The two of you were all alone in the room, and the silence was often broken by just the sound of a flipping page.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, doing your best to sound casual, “how does it feel to be a walking myth?”

Tom didn’t even look up. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to stand besides his table. “Don’t play coy. Parseltongue.”

This time his head cocked, slight but a glimmer of interest on his face. “What about it?”

“I’ve been listening to you,” you said, your voice lower now. “In the common room. During Herbology, when you thought no one was listening. You do that on purpose, don’t you?”

"Maybe,” he said slickly, leaning back in his chair. Your eyes met his dark eyes, and for a single moment, you forgot how to breathe. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” Words came out a little too fast. You cleared your throat. “Well, it's unusual, but no...”

Suddenly his gaze became sharp.“Unusual,” he repeated, his voice lowered a shade. “That's one way to put it.”

Something seemed to shift in the air between the two of you. It was slight, so fine as to be almost imperceptible; but the weight of his attention pressed against your skin, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“You like it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

From then on, Tom appeared to seize every opportunity to taunt you, slipping into Parseltongue during your arguments or mumbling it just close enough that only you could hear. Every time, your pulse raced, your cheeks flushed, and you hated how easily he unraveled you.

One evening, you’d reached your limit.

You knew you’d find him alone in the common room. And there he was, his long fingers expertly flipping through the pages of the thick, ancient tome. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew he sensed you there.

“Do you enjoy torturing people, or just me?” you demanded.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “You make it so entertaining.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are.”

You were about to shoot back a retort, but the words failed you when he spoke again.

“Come closer,” he said, in Parseltongue, the words coiling around you like a corporeal touch.

Your knees weakened. You hated him. You hated how much you needed him.

“What did you say?” you said, though you knew perfectly well.

Tom stood, the motion smooth, predatory. He moved closer enough that there was hardly space between you, breath ghosting against your cheek.

“Do you really want to know?” he said, reverting to English.

“Yes.”

A certain tension crackled between you, thick and unrelenting. Tom’s dark eyes were locked onto yours, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smirk. His presence was magnetic as if he had a gravitational pull, and while all logic and reason screamed at you to step back, your feet remained rooted in place.

“Tell me what you said,” you ordered, but your voice didn’t follow you with the tone.

Tom cocked his head and examined you as though you were some especially intriguing puzzle. “Why?” he wondered, his voice silky smooth.

“Because—” Your words abandoned you as he closed the distance, the faint scent of parchment and dark spice encircling you. “Because I want to know.”

He smiled a little wider, a little deeper, and he tilted his head down just enough that his lips almost brushed against your ear. “Do you?” he said in Parseltongue, the syllables curling through you like a forbidden spell.

A shiver surged through your body, involuntary and ungovernable. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and your breath caught. The language was intoxicating, the sound of it vibrating in a place you didn’t know existed.

“Stop,” you gasped, although your hands betrayed you, the fingers curling into the edge of the table behind you for support.

“Stop?” Tom echoed, half mockingly, half in wonder. His hand lifted, lightly sweeping a single lock of hair away from your face, deliberately slowly. His touch was cold, his fingers grazing your cheek before retreating. “You don’t want me to stop.”

You opened your mouth, but you couldn't deny it: the words died on your tongue; and before you could think of anything to say, he spoke again, soft and low.

“Do you know what I’m saying?” he asked, his tone nearly tender now. “Do you feel it?”

“I can’t understand it,” you confessed, voice barely at a whisper.

“But you like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing so close to your ear you could sense the warmth of his breath. “You like how it feels.”

Your knees buckled a bit, Tom’s hand flying out, gripping your waist, steadying you. His grip was solid and his fingers sprawled over the curve of your hip as though staking a claim.

“You’re flushed,” he observed, his voice nearly clinical. “Your breathing is uneven. Your pupils are dilated. All from a few words.”

“Shut up,” you said, not without heat, but there was a tremor running through you.

“Why should I?” he dared, the grip tightening just enough to get your adrenaline-fueled. “You’re mine to unravel, aren’t you?”

The audacity of his words sent a surge of defiance through you. You threw your hands up and pushed against his chest, though it was a half-hearted attempt at best.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed.

“And yet,” he drawled, his lips twisting as he leaned in closer, “here you are, trembling in my arms.” 

He didn't waste any time; it was almost startling intense when his hand caught your chin before his lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting. The kiss was searing and desperate, like a starved man. His other hand found its place at your waist, tugging you closer until even the air dared not to linger between your bodies.

His lips were demanding, his movements precise but passionate. The hand on your chin moved in your hair and tangled in such a possessive way while tilting your head to kiss deeper. An involuntary sound came out of your mouth; it was a soft whisper surrender, which Tom devoured greedily. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing, commanding, until you parted them to let him inside.

He was dark and heavy, sweet and dangerous like stolen wine tempered with poison. His body pressed against your own-firm and unforgiving. His hands moved with unerring confidence, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, as if he had memorized every contour. It was a heady contradiction between precision and raw need, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

The next you know, the edges of the common room table were cutting into your thighs as he turned you with a masterful grip while maneuvering effortlessly; books and parchment flew in a frenzy, pages whispering against the stone floor, but it seemed like Tom had no time nor paid any attention to it. The dark glint in his eyes promised that he was completely absorbed in you.

He bent you over the table, leaving you no time to protest or think. The cold surface was nothing like your flushed skin. You gasped when he started to push your skirt up with deliberate, unhurried hands. The sound of impact between his palm and your skin broke the weighty silence, leaving a swift sting and warmth behind with it.

The sensation sent a jolt through you, heat pooling, making your folds wet and insistent as his touch lingered. Tom’s presence was overwhelming, his control absolute, but there was something in his movements—some barely contained intensity—that betrayed just how deeply you unraveled him.

“T-Tom… what are you doing?” Your voice trembles, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation slipping through as the words escape your lips. Your body betrays you, shivering under the chill of the room’s air, your bare skin prickling with goosebumps. The vulnerable position you're in only heightens your awareness, thoughts swirling chaotically in your mind. Tom noticed. Of course, after all he’s very skilled at legilimens.

Tom’s breath brushes against you, sending an electric charge down your spine. “So eager for me,” he murmurs, his voice dark and laced with something primal. The unfamiliar hiss of Parseltongue wraps around the words, a forbidden melody that makes your body react instinctively. Your core tightens in response, a flutter of sensation you can’t suppress.

“What… what does that mean?” you stammer, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of him. Your breath hitches as your eyes meet his—a smoldering gaze fixed on you, devouring the sight of your exposed pussy. His tongue darts across his lips, slow and deliberate, his expression one of barely-contained hunger.

Tom doesn’t falter. Every movement is deliberate, exuding raw confidence. In one swift motion, his trousers fall to the floor, pooling at his ankles. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. The air between you is electric, charged with unspoken tension.

His hands find yours, firm but not harsh as he guides your wrists behind your back. His grip is unyielding yet measured, a silent promise that he’s in control, but not without care. There’s no cruelty, only purpose.

With a sharp, deliberate tug, the material of your tights gives way, the sound of tearing loud in the charged silence. He doesn’t flinch at the destruction; it doesn’t matter. He can just get you new ones later.

The other hand grips his cock, his hard cock at the sight of you like this. With deliberate slowness, he rubs it along your wet folds, blending his precum with the heat of your arousal. His lips curve into a dangerous smirk as he leans close, the whisper of his breath ghosting over your ear.

"Be quiet for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words curling like silk, dark and intoxicating as they spill from his lips—in Parseltongue.

A shiver courses through you, a mix of the forbidden magic in his voice and the wickedly possessive way he moves. Your moans escape, unbidden, half driven by the sinful pleasure of his thrust, half by the raw power that drips from every syllable of the serpentine language.

He thrusts into you, rough and unrelenting, his desire consuming him like wildfire. Pain and pleasure blur together, and you feel the force of his need—not just a craving, but a deep, primal hunger that won't be denied. His movements claim you completely, leaving no room for anything but him.

A low moan escaped your lips as the sharp mix of pleasure and pain surged through you, his thick cock stretching you in ways you never imagined. The absurdity of it all struck you briefly—getting off to Tom Riddle speaking Parseltongue, of all things, while he fucked you so thoroughly. This felt like a fever dream, surreal and all-consuming. You turned your head to look at him, needing to see the man unraveling you so completely.

Tom reached for the hem of his crisp white shirt, tucking it between his teeth as he pulled it over his stomach. The fabric bunched at his chest, revealing the sharp ridges of his abs and the defined cut of his V-line. The sight alone made you clench involuntarily around him. His piercing gaze snapped to yours, and the subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth set your pulse racing. You hated that smirk—hated how smug he always looked. But Merlin, he looked devastatingly good right now.

A muffled groan left his lips, raw and unrestrained. "F-fuck, yes. Just like that," he rasped, his voice breaking as the shirt slipped from his teeth, falling to obscure his torso again. His tone dipped, sliding into Parseltongue as his hips began to piston into you with relentless precision. "You take me so well," he hissed in that serpentine tongue, each word coiling around you like a spell.

Your cheek pressed against the cool, unyielding wood of the table, a faint sheen of drool escaping from the corner of your mouth as you lost yourself in him. "Tom, please," you begged, voice trembling with need, arching your back in a desperate bid for more.

His response came swiftly, cutting through the haze of your mind. "Such a filthy little whore," he growled, the final word spilling from his lips in Parseltongue, each syllable dripping with sinful allure. "So greedy for me." His hands gripped your hips firmly as he withdrew his cock, leaving you unbearably empty.

A whimper fell from your lips at the sudden loss, only to be silenced as Tom flipped you effortlessly, laying you back across the desk. His dark eyes bored into yours, a dangerous glint of control and desire reflected in their depths. He didn’t waste a second, shoving his cock into you with a maddening slowness.

It was torturous—the deliberate pace, the teasing stretch that left you gasping and clawing for more. "Tom," you whined, the word escaping as a desperate plea. He chuckled lowly, a sound rich with amusement and wicked satisfaction. "Shhh, darling," he murmured in Parseltongue, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

You didn’t understand the words, but they set your nerves alight nonetheless. The cadence alone sent a shiver racing down your spine. Unable to resist, you reached up, cupping his face gently with trembling hands and pulling him closer. Your lips met his in a searing kiss, your desperation pouring into it. Tom responded in kind, his hips snapping forward with sudden force, tearing a moan from your throat. 

Tom seized the moment, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. His kiss was relentless, consuming, leaving no room for thought. One of his hands snaked up to your neck, his fingers curling around it. He felt the heat of your pulse, the rhythmic throb against his fingertips igniting something dark and primal within him. His grip tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch—a perfect blend of restraint and domination.

It was all you needed. Tom Riddle, his hand firm on your throat, his lips devouring yours, sent your mind spiraling. A delicious haze clouded your thoughts, a mix of the airlessness and the intoxicating way he kissed you. He pulled back briefly, his piercing gaze sweeping over you, satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. Then, he leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth.

The sharp sting of his bite made you gasp. You tasted blood, metallic and warm, as his tongue swept over your lip, soothing the pain while claiming every part of you. The sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body. His free hand drifted from your neck, trailing lower with purpose. When his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, the pressure made you cry out.

“Tom…” you moaned his name, the sound drawing a deep groan from him. His lips curled into a smirk as he watched you writhe beneath him.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your body trembling. The way his fingers moved, the rhythm of his hips driving into you, was pushing you to the edge.

“Do it, whore,” he commanded, his voice low and laced with Parseltongue. “Come on my cock.”

The forbidden, guttural language sent you over the brink. Ecstasy ripped through you, your muscles tightening around him as waves of pleasure crashed down. You cried his name, your legs wrapping around his waist, trembling as the aftershocks hit you.

Tom’s control faltered, a guttural growl escaping his lips as he drove himself deep, holding your waist tightly as he cums inside of you. His hips moved in slow, deliberate motions as he rode out his climax, his weight pressing into you.

When it was over, he collapsed onto you, his breath ragged, his forehead damp with sweat. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing. Slowly, your hand drifted to his back, tracing soft circles until the rhythm of your breaths aligned.

After a while, Tom pushed himself up, his expression unreadable. He muttered a spell, cleaning himself with a flick of his wand. Without a word, he dressed with practiced precision, his movements calm and calculated. Then, with another spell, he tidied you up, fixing your disheveled appearance as if nothing had happened.

You adjusted your skirt, tossing your ruined tights onto the chair nearby before running your fingers through your hair. When you glanced at him, he was already watching you, his intense gaze locked on yours.

With a surprising tenderness, Tom reached out, his hand resting on your cheek, thumb rubbing against it slowly. The simple gesture sent warmth rushing to your cheeks. You blinked, startled—not by his touch, but by the realization that Tom Riddle, of all people, had just done something so unexpectedly intimate.

“I suppose I should speak Parseltongue in front of you more often,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t stop the blush that deepened as he stepped back, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

With a flick of his wand, he summoned your discarded tights into his hand. “A souvenir,” he said smoothly, tucking them into his pocket before striding out, leaving you stunned.

[mediumgayitalian]

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———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

next

[ven0moir]

Will had hope ... and then lost it.

He had hope that maybe, just maybe, Mike and he felt the same way. And I think it started here:

Mike expressed relief at the idea of Will not joining another party. And Will's look seems ... surprised but joyful? Like he's picking up on Something the audience is not.

Then we have this:

I know a lot of people say he meant this in a friendship way. But I don't think he did entirely. I think he was 'testing the waters' so to speak, to see Mike's reaction to him asking something like this so forwardly--an action driven in part, possibly, also by frustration. Of course their friendship was his priority but he was also Sending Mike a Message. Speaking in code, if you will. And I'm not sure if Mike picked up on it or not, but he knew what he was doing when he used the word 'us'.

Then of course we have Mike's speech to Will in episode 4. The way he slightly tilts his head to the side inquisitively after Mike said 'It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you', as if he's thinking "am I dreaming? Is he really saying this?" And not to be meta but he might even be wondering if he's being delusional here.

On top of that, the speech prompted him to gather the courage to do this:

hope again. But then his arc culminated in this:

Will's facial expressions when Mike is self-depricating ... he seems so sad. In the second one, even Mike notices and cuts himself off to apologize for bringing up this subject.

I think he, sadly, realized Mike did feel the same way as him, but not in the way he had initially hoped. Mike, like him, is struggling with not feeling good enough for the person he loves.

And Will did not want Mike to feel the same way he did. So he did what we saw him do and give the painting to Mike, which symbolizes his love for DnD, for what they do together, for their friend group, for him. His intention here was to make Mike feel better. Important. Seen. Even at the cost of his own heartbreak.

"Every smile you fake, I'll be watching you."

So to recap, at the beginning of the season, Will had been acting weird and painting for someone he liked ( according to El ). We find out very quickly that the recipient of the painting was intended to be Mike. I don't think Will ever intended for the painting to be a full blown love confession--but a start. A continuation of the 'hint dropping' they started doing at the end of S3. But of course, the whole world went to shit, and his feelings got amplified to the point where the painting's meaning took a different turn. And it became the basis of a veiled love confession.

I think this is devastating because the narrative forced them, once again, down a different path from the natural progression this would've been had Mike been allowed to enjoy a nice spring break in California.

I do believe by the end of S4, Will has completely lost the last vestiges of hope he had left that Mike would ever reciprocate his feelings, especially after Mike's love confession. I think he feels stupid for even allowing himself to believe there was a chance.

I mean, look at him. And, terrifyingly, I feel like that is exactly where Vecna needs him to be at the start of S5.

Sprinkle in some #birthdaygate and voila ... we have the perfect recipe for a horrible Vecna vision.

I don't know how they'll resolve this, but it does feel to me that the intention of Will's S4 arc was to get him to a point of loss of hope, which signifies the death of his dream.

Going into S5, he probably sees this dream now as stupid and childish--an impossibility. Adding to this, there's no way in hell Will is going to confess. Not when this happened and it was never resolved.

The ball is on Mike's court, for better or for worse.

And I think this is also another plot twist we will find out through Vecna: the fact that Will had hope that he and Mike could be together and felt the same way. And that honestly makes whatever Vecna does to Will 10 times worse because if Will had NEVER had hope, then there's nothing new there. But having hope and then having it crushed to the ground? Yeah ... my heart hurts as I type this.

[risuola]

▶ MOM ISSUES — late night talks, cuddles and lots of theatrics. that's what living with your boys mean, but your mom seems to see it a little differently.

contents: college+roommates!au, sa/domestic violence mentioned (it has nothing to do with the story, but it's a warning nonetheless) — wc. 800

a/n: there it is! i've been thinking about this story for months, drafting dozens of scenarios and finally it's happening! this series will be made of short pieces about three best friends turned roommates that slowly realize there's more to it than just friendship. it's not gonna be chronological, more so a series of random moments from their adventure - in the masterlist i'll try and organize it in an order, more or less. also, as you read it, can you hear Suguru's nagging voice when he calls Satoru's name or is it just me?

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

First thing you learned at the beginning of your university journey is that no amount of sleepovers and cuddles could ever justify sharing an apartment with two grown ass men. To your mom, at least, because once you told her that you and your two best friends – Satoru and Suguru – are going to live together, there’s not a single phone call that goes without her assuming you’re being regularly subjected to domestic violence and sexual harassment. They are men, she always tells you and it’s been long since you’ve given up any attempts to tell her otherwise. They were futile after all and what surprised you the most was that your boys are no strangers to her.

With a low grunt you made your way above Satoru’s ass and dropped onto the mattress in the middle. Both men shot you a short glance before resuming their things – the white haired one was playing a game on his phone and the brunette was reading a book.

“How’s mom?” Gojo broke the silence, cutting the thick tension around you with his voice. “Still convinced we’re fucking you dumb every night?”

“Satoru–“ Geto was quick to nag his friend and his manners (lack of them, actually), and the other one didn’t skip a beat before defensively asking “what?”

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed, covering your face with your hands, hoping to squeeze out some stress out of your head that way. “I can’t believe it. She knows you two for over a decade and it’s only now that she’s absolutely convinced I’m being abused even though she knows I’m safe with you.”

“She used to feed us cookies and now what?” Satoru gasped, his theatrics reaching a critical point as he dropped his phone onto the pillow and fake-sniffled dramatically, clutching the fabric of his white shirt over his chest.

“Do you want me to give her a call?” Suguru offered, now focused more on you than on his book. He reached to you, pulling your hands away from your face and brushing some stray hairs away from your forehead. There’s a delicacy to his movements, a subtleness that the other one of your friends lacks and you’re yet again made aware of it, when Gojo throws his arm over your middle, pulling you towards his body as if you weighted nothing.

“No, Sugu, it’s pointless,” you replied, exhaling deeply and patting the strong grip away before it got a chance to suffocate you. The very aggressive cuddle only got more intense and for a brief moment you thought Satoru wanted to squeeze you out like a toothpaste. “Besides, we all know that whenever she talks to any of you, she’s as sweet as honey. It’s only me who has to listen to her weird assumptions.”

Gojo scoffed and giggled at the same time, a huff of air brushed against your cheek as he nuzzled his nose right next to your temple, threatening to bite your cheek. “Told you she’s gonna get addicted to criminal podcasts when you were introducing her to Spotify and you didn’t listen to me,” he said in a light tone and the few seconds of silence that followed made your heart skip few beats. Any sudden loss of words is always a bad sign when it comes to the blue-eyed princess. “Does your mom know about our sleeping situation?”

“Oh god, no,” you whined, pushing his face away before his teeth sunk into the flesh of your cheek that he always insists, reminds him of mochi. Sugar addict.

“Should I accidentally send her a selfie with our bed in the background? On the group chat?”

“Satoru.” Suguru grunted, nagging again and visibly reconsidering all the life choices that led him to being friends with Gojo. You knew that look, you saw it many times over years of friendship with them.

“You can do that, Toru,” you replied, your tone dead serious. “But if you dare, I will change my number into yours in her phone and you’ll be the recipient of the shitshow it will cause. And you know the hell will break loose.”

“Throughout heaven and hell, you alone will be the fucked up one,” Geto mused, pressing the dark red, hand-painted bookmark that you gifted him a year prior, between the pages of his book, ultimately deciding that it’s enough of reading for today.

“Point taken, no pictures then,” Satoru hummed and nodded once, ignoring the obnoxious insult and he let go of you, suddenly not overly dramatic anymore. He got back into indulging his phone-gaming addiction.

You let out a small sound of resignation and helplessness and crawled underneath the sheets. Suguru soon joined you on the pillows and as you quietly chatted the time away, Gojo fell asleep, nuzzled between your shoulder blades.

[cameronsprincess]

Pretty Blue Eyes — R.C

— summary: you see rafe at a party after he’d dumped you, and it hurts more than you thought it would.

— CW: 18+ only! angst, strong language, alcohol consumption, drunk!reader, hurt/no comfort.

— a/n: i’m so sorry. i love angst and when i’m sad, i have to make y’all sad too. this angst prompts list gave me ideas and i used dialogues 3, 14 and 20<3 likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

I never knew losing him would hurt so much. Losing the one person I’d spent the last six months of my life with.

Six months might not seem like much to some, I understand people have gone through greater losses. But I’d fallen in love with him. Fallen in love with all the meaningless words he’d said. Fallen in love with his scent, his touch, his pretty blue eyes.

But he never loved me. I was just a game. Something to use to pass the time. I boosted his ego, made him feel special. And all the while, he was using me. Playing me. Making me fall in love with him, just so he could break my heart. It was random, and very unexpected. Four words was all it took to shatter my heart into a million little pieces — “I never loved you.” is what he’d said.

To make matters worse? He’d told me this right after we’d had sex. I gave myself to him. My whole self. And he took. He took and took, but never gave. He took until there was nothing left for me to give. He owned my soul, my heart, my body. He owned me, but I never owned him.

That was three days ago. Three days of crying myself to sleep, three days of not eating and drinking myself to death. Three days since I’d seen his face. I’ve tried to avoid him, but I knew I’d see him again. We live on a small fucking island for Christs sake. And he’s everywhere. He’s very well known. There’s no escaping him. And tonight proves that. He’s here. His pretty blue eyes watching me from across the room. I wish I could show him I don’t care, that he didn’t rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it…

But I can’t. I still love him.

“Are you okay?”

My best friend, Ashlyn’s, voice pulls me from the darkness I’ve allowed myself to crawl into. I slowly turn to face her, light brown eyes filled with concern intensely stare back at me.

I put on my best fake smile. “Yeah. Fine, why?”

Lie. I’m not okay, and I don’t know if I ever will be. But I can’t admit that.

She frowns. “You’re not okay though, I can see it in your eyes. Do you wanna leave? We can lea-”

I quickly cut her off. “No, no. It’s fine. Let’s just go get another drink. I’m gonna need them if I’m going to last here all night.”

Her frown deepens, but she nods her head. I internally thank the Heavens that she dropped the subject. I don’t want to talk about Rafe and how he’d absolutely obliterated my heart.

She grabs my hand, lacing her fingers with mine before pulling me off to the kitchen, and out of the eyesight of the beautiful, blue eyed man I once had all to myself.

“I’m thinking shots of fireball. Shit will get you drunk so fast.”

I laugh. “The alcohol version of red hot gum, I’m down.”

Laughing at my lame attempt at a joke, she grips the neck of the bottle, grabbing two shot glasses next and filling them both to the rim. I quickly grab mine, tossing it back and swallowing the harsh amber liquid. A shiver wracks my body as the burning liquid makes its way down my throat.

I cough, placing my hand over my stomach. “Fuck, I forget how much that shit burns.”

Ashlyn chuckles. “Yeah. But that’s what makes it great. The burn of this can help erase the burn you feel from Rafe being a royal douche.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. She’s right. I prefer the burn of the liquor over the burn of Rafe and his heartbreaking words.

She quickly fills the shot glasses again, handing me mine and watching as I down the amber liquid once more.

I slam the shot glass back on the counter. “Another, please.”

She smiles widely. “Atta girl. You’ll forget about the smug bastard by the end of the night at this rate.”

***

Ashlyn was right. I was…. twenty shots in?? I don’t fucking know, I was drunk. And I wasn’t thinking about the pretty blue eyed man.

I’m about to take another shot when a voice I didn’t want to hear anytime soon has me dropping the glass on the floor, clear liquid spilling at my feet as the glass shatters — representing my heart because of him.

“Y/N… I think you should cut yourself off and go home.. I’ll take you.”

I snap my head in his direction, those damn pretty blue eyes staring down at me. Looking at me like I actually meant something to him. Lies. He doesn’t give a fuck. He just doesn’t want me embarrassing him tonight. Fuck him.

With shaky hands, I grab another glass from the counter, my eyes never leaving his. I reach out and find the tall, glass bottle of Tito’s, pouring myself another shot and then downing it with my eyes on his.

“Fuck you, Rafe.”

He sighs, setting his beer bottle on the counter and placing his hands on my shoulders. His blue eyes search my face.

“Y/N. Please, go home. You’re drunk, and you’re hurting.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. Fuck him for trying to pretend he cares. He doesn’t give a shit about me. And I’m done caring about him.

“Stop acting like you give a fuck about me, Rafe. You dumped me. So it’s done. I just want to get drunk, and fucking forget I ever loved you.”

He glances behind me, his eyes taking in everyone that’s watching us. “Hey, can we please go talk outside?”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he grabs my hand, pulling me outside. I’m so drunk I can’t fight him off. He pulls me all the way down the stairs of the front porch and down the long driveway until we reach his truck.

He opens the passenger door, tossing me inside and slamming it shut behind him. My heavy eyes watch him round the front of the truck before he hops inside the driver seat. He pulls the keys out of his pocket, sticking them into the ignition and bringing the truck to life.

I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “Where the fuck are you taking me, Rafe?”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye before placing them back on the road. “Home.” comes his clipped answer.

I lean my head against the window. Why does he do this? He left me. Why does he care if I’m drunk at a party or not? Why can’t he just leave me alone and let me heal?

The smell of leather and his cologne fills my nose. I feel the tears begin burning the backs of my eyes, and I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I lift my head, turning my head to the side to look at him. He still looks so good, and it hurts. He has one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel and the other lays lazily in his lap.

He has on a tight baby blue polo, and khakis with a backwards hat on. I want him to kiss me, and tell me everything will be okay. Tell me that he made a mistake and he does love me. But I know that won’t happen. He meant what he said, and there’s no getting him back, no matter how badly I want him back.

A few minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway of my parents house. He puts the truck in park and hops out, rounding the truck to my side and opening the door for me.

He reaches his hand out, and I take it. My heart pulls in my chest at the feel of his touch again. I miss him.

He helps me out of the truck, and walks me to the front door. I turn and face him, wanting to get some things off my chest before he goes.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask softly, tears stinging at my eyes and threatening to spill.

He sighs, and the look in his eyes hold slight regret. “I can’t answer that… I just, I didn’t want to be with you anymore. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process, but I couldn’t pretend to love you when I didn’t.”

The first tear falls, and I blink rapidly, swiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I still don’t understand what I did wrong..”

He places a hand on my shoulder, and I can’t stop the sob that is pulled from me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N… I promise. I know this is so cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I just couldn’t commit.”

The tears are now flowing uncontrollably down my face and my body is shaking. I’m in pain. And he’s making it worse.

“I love you, Rafe. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry.. I just can’t. You need to stop loving me.”

I choke out a sob. “I don’t want to love you anymore. But I do.”

He sighs, letting his head fall and his eyes look to the ground.

This is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I’m not getting him back. I’ll never have Rafe Cameron in my life again. And that thought alone has me spiraling into a depression I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back from.

“Say something, Rafe.” I choke out.

His head lifts, and his eyes find mine again. He’s went from looking regretful, to angry in just seconds.

“What do you want me to say? I left you. And now you’re showing up to my friend’s house, getting fucking wasted and causing a scene. What the fuck do you want from me? I can’t fucking force myself to love you! I just fucking can’t! I’m sorry, but that’s the fucking truth. I never fucking loved you, Y/N. Let it the fuck go.”

Another harsh sob wracks my body as I come to terms with the fact that he truly never loved me. He never cared about me. He used me, and I let him. I grab my house key out of my small purse and stick it into the lock. I push open the front door, turning to face him before I walk inside, I say, “I could have lived without knowing you never meant anything you told me. You fucking broke me, Rafe. You ruined me. A once bright and happy fucking woman, and you’ve shattered me. I fucking hate you, and I hope you’re happy. Please, just leave me the fuck alone.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I slam the door in his face, quickly locking it and sliding my back down the door until my ass hits the floor. I bring my knees up to my chest, curling in on myself. I let out a loud scream, knowing my parents aren’t home tonight. Sobs wrack my entire body and I feel the physical pain in my chest from where he once lived. He fucking broke me, and I will never forgive him for that.

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rafe cameron masterlist | taglist form

[xetlynn]

Until Dawn- By Your Side: Chapter Two, Promise

(Joshua Washington X Reader)

[One] [Two] [Three]

“I hope this was the right thing to do.” Sam quietly says, it seemed like it was supposed to be to herself. Chris and I give her a confused expression. “What?” He questions.

“You know, getting everyone together on the anniversary.” She explains further. “I mean Josh seemed really pumped about us all doing something didn’t he.” She starts but it was more of a question in the back of her mind. I just look at her with the same expression I’ve held. “Yeah, no, he definitely did.” Chris assures her. “I haven’t seen him so excited about something in… forever.” He continues, Sam looks at me to see if that’s true and I nod my head. “Good, good.”

“It’s hard to tell with him, and I’ve kinda been worried. Only hearing updates through [Name] or you.” Sam tells the blond as I notice her avoiding eye contact with me. I mean she has every right to feel worried about him but why is she acting sort of weird with me right now. “No, no, it was a good idea.” He tells her.

“I hope everybody else feels the same way.” She whispers. “we’re here aren’t we?” I add in, leaning back. “Well thanks bros, good talk.” She playfully punches both of us. “You know what? Let’s just stop talking about what happened and enjoy the trip.” Chris suddenly tells us. “You know what? You’re right.” Sam sighs.

“You know how Josh and I met?” He switches the subject and I smile, remembering it’s because of me that we all met. “No…?”

“Ok, [Name] became my friend in second grade. Neither of us remember how or when that happened but suddenly we were just friends. In third grade Josh sat in the back of the room, I sat in the front and [Name] was also in the back with Josh. She instantly talked with him and they became friends but somehow Josh and I never knew each other existed. But the kid sitting on the other side of him started strap snapping the training bra on the girl in front of him so the teacher made him move to the front- where I was sitting.” He smiles, and I lean back, listening even though I lived through it. It’s nice to hear. “Okay, so?” Sam asks.

“So I got moved to the back!” He exclaims. “And?”

“And next to Josh, that’s how we met! And us three became friends. To this day. Well [Name] and Josh a bit more than friends now.” He chuckles, pushing me closer to Sam and I roll my eyes, shoving him back. “A match made in heaven.” Sam smirks, “Josh and Chris definitely are.” I say, laughing. Chris scoffs.

“If it weren’t for the fact that Jeanie Simmonds hit puberty like three years early and on that day decided to wear a low cut shirt that showed off her training bra. I mean who knows? You could be riding in this cable car alone or with just [Name].” He pulls out a hypothetical and I shake my head. “Right now. Or talking to some other person or persons entirely. Boom: Butterfly effect.” He does a mic drop motion with his hand. “You’re so dramatic, Chris.” I sigh.

The cable car gets to our destination and we climb out. We try to open the door but it doesn’t budge. It had been a couple minutes of trying to get the stupid thing to open. “Jessica, over here!” Sam suddenly calls and I stay in the back after hearing my sister’s name. We were supposed to come here together but after I found out she’s going after Mike, we had a huge argument and I want nothing to do with her. “Uh… are you guys having a really weird stroke?” Jess asks them.

“We’re stuck in this stupid thing.” Chris answers her. “Can you please let us out? Pretty please?” Sam asks.

“Jess, don’t play a dumb prank either, just hurry up.” I tell her, annoyed. She ignores me and presses the button, letting us out. “Oh, my God. I thought we were goners. Another ten minutes in there and I would have chewed off my own leg.” Chris exasperates. “Aw, sick, Chris.” Sam mutters. “Like I said before, you’re dramatic.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Look I got a lot of meat on my bones. This is all muscle down here.” He explains and I just walk away from them. I hear them talk about Jessica having a crush on Mike. Jessica telling them about how she’s with him.

I take my phone out and text my boyfriend. Wondering if he’s got everything set up. I don’t get a response though.

I walk behind everyone as we make our way up to the lodge until I find my way back to Chris and Sam who’s weirdly being quiet. “Chugger gonna make her big come back this weekend?” He asks me and I glare up at him. “Again with this?” I groan, both of us stop walking and I place my hands on my hips as I stand in front of him. “I’m just saying Josh found her pretty hot.” He puts his hands up defensively.

“Chris, we’re 20 years old now, Chugger no longer exists. Plus Josh still finds me hot. Obviously because we’re dating.” I scrunch my nose, irritated on this being a conversation once again. He goes to say something but has a smirk tied to his lips, I glance to Sam who was looking behind me.

Suddenly arms wrap around my waist and I’m lifted up into the air. I let out a squeal, kicking my feet. “Woah!” I get placed back on the ground and then spun around.

“Hello, my beautiful darling.” It was Josh, he pulls me into his arms and I hear him sniff my hair. I let out a laugh. “Hi, my love.” I look up and he kiss my lips. “Where have you been?” I ask him.

“Oh you know, around. Setting everything up. Or at least trying to.” He frowns. “Hm, I tried texting you.” I pull away from him.

“Sorry, haven’t really been on it much with all the running around.” He rubs the back of his head. I stare at him, my face scrunched with confusion. He’s acting weird. He gives me a wink and I roll my eyes.

We get to the stairs of the lodge.

“Man I feel like this mountain gets bigger every time I climb it.” Chris complains, he keeps walking behind me and kicking the heel of my shoe. “Oh yeah? Feels the same to me.” Josh says, grabbing my hand. “Oh come on, you grew up here. It probably feels like it’s shrinking.” Chris huffs.

“I guess that’s true.” Josh smiles, squeezing my hand. “When are you gonna install some cell towers up here? I’m getting withdrawals already.” The blond criticizes the mountain, lifting his phone in the air to try to get some sort of service.

“You got a spare million lying around and I’ll fix you right up.” Josh jokes, chuckling to himself and I smile. “Funny you should say that…” He checks his pockets as we start walking once again. “Ah I think I left it in my other jacket.” Chris points back. “Oops.” Josh shrugs. “Darn, that sucks.” I snap my fingers.

“Hey guys… Get up here okay?” Josh questions the rest of the group ahead of us.

“Yeah… well, more or less. But it’s so good to see you!” Ashley smiles to my boyfriend and then makes eye contact with me, giving a big grin. I’ve always loved Ashley. She’s a sweetheart. I’m iffy about her after the prank but Josh keeps telling me the twins would’ve wanted me to forgive them. It feels like I should be telling him that. In the beginning his anger was strong…

“Sup with him?” Josh motions to an upset looking Matt. Matt just looks away, I let out a breath. “Let’s just get inside.” I whisper, tugging Josh to come up the stairs.

“Yo yo yo! Are we gonna get things moving up here or what?” Chris asks Josh. “Yeah man!” He smiles.

He grips my hand once again and I look up at him. Wondering why he keeps doing that. “Hey… you doin’ alright?” Our friend gets serious, my eyes soften and lean closer into my boyfriend. Wanting to know the same thing even though I’m with him so much. His mind can go everywhere sometimes. “I mean I know it must be really tough without your sis-“

“Stop.” Josh warns him, letting go of my hand. “I just meant that-“

“No I know what you meant. You know seriously I’m over it and I just want us to have a good time, you know? Like we always used to.” Josh turns away from us and I frown, I know he’s not okay. I don’t know why he said he’s over it. He doesn’t have to be over it.

Chris nods his head though, “Right, Chugger could come out like she used to. But she won’t budge through this facade.” Chris pokes my side.

“Shut up about the Chugger thing already.” I throw my head back, jokingly gripping my head. “If my lady says no Chugger, that means no Chugger, sir.” Josh points a finger in our best friend’s face with a smile. Turning back around to try and open the door. “Dammit, this freaking thing.” He curses.

“It’s iced?” I ask. “What else.”

“Maybe there’s another way in.” Chris suggests. “There are a million ways in. They’re just all locked.” Josh continues to try with the door. “There’s gotta be, like, a window round the corner we can get like, get open or something.” Chris tells my boyfriend who stands up straighter at his idea.

“Wait a second, are you saying we should break in?” He questions Chris. “I don’t think it’s technically breaking in if you own the place, right?” Chris laughs.

“Hey, not if I don’t report you.” Josh jokes, making our friend nervous. “Lead the way, Cochise!” He motions him to go back down the stairs.

Once we get down Chris talks to Ashley. Josh and I watching the scene, his hand finds his way back to mine and I feel a kiss on my jawline. “I missed you.” He whispers in my ear and I smile. “I saw you three days ago.” I keeps my eyes looking ahead of me. “Three days too long.” He pulls me closer to him, kissing my neck making me laugh because it tickles.

“All right, all right, love birds. Keep it moving!” Chris orders us, shooing at us like we were cattle or a flock of birds. Instead of arguing we move it. Wanting to get inside. “Ashley was looking pretty hot today, right?” I teasingly ask the blond.

“Yeah if you don’t hit I’m sure Mike will get on that case.” Josh tells him, I pinch his hand, thinking that was a little too far. “Hey, cut it out you two.” Chris shakes his head but doesn’t lock eye contact with us. “Re-laaax I’m just checkin’ to see if there’s some blood flowin’ down there.” Josh laughs. “Tsk yeah…”

“Listen dude. Look around you. Look at these beautiful mountains. Do you see any parents?” Josh even takes a glance around him as he instructed our friend to do the same. “I mean can you imagine a more perfect, ripe scenario, just dripping with erotic possibilities? You, and Ashley, alone at last…” Josh makes up a hypothetical and I can see how these two are best friends. “You’ve laid all the groundwork… you’ve been a perfect gentleman. Now you come in for the kill!” Josh dramatically tells him. I let out a sigh at this awful conversation.

“Maybe you’re right.” Chris smiles.

“You’re a hunter bro. No fear. No mercy. I mean she won’t even know what hit her.” We walk around him and start back up to get to another way inside the lodge. “Alright, alright. I got it. Jeez.”

“You’re gross, Joshua.” I gently push him, he snickers pushing my back but we’re still holding hands. “You know I’m only messing.” He stops us to kiss me on the lips before continuing again.

“So how are we planning on breaking in to my parents lodge, bud?” Josh asks Chris. “Wait, I didn’t say I had a plan-“

“You sounded like you had a plan.” I chime in, Josh hums, agreeing with me. “You better deliver, Cochise, or else you got five lovely ladies who are gonna be freezing their bus off and last time I checked, that’s not a good way to get laid.” Josh tells him, playfully squeezing my hand and I scoff.

“All you think about is your penis.” I mumble. “Mm, maybe.” He whispers back to me. “well shoot, nobody likes cool buns.” Chris says.

Chris walks over to where an emergency axe should be but he lets out a disappointing sounding “oh.” Then he goes over to a cupboard? “Well well well. We got ourselves a thinker. Nice one.” Josh pats the thing, letting go of my hand. They push it over to the closest window. I watch them do the work.

“Who’s gonna get in there first?” Chris jokingly asks us. I shrug my shoulders. “if you want, I can do it.” I offer but Josh immediately pulls me back shaking his head in disagreement. “No, no, let Chris go.” He tells me, I look to Chris who waves it off. Climbing on the thing.

He lifts the window open and climbs inside the building. We hear a thud and him groan afterwards. I wince. “C’mon.” Josh lifts himself up and then helps me beside him but there’s barely any room. “Ugh, I’m okay!” Chris moans. “I should’ve pain more attention in climbing class…” He talks to himself. “You mean gym?” Josh furrows his brows as I laugh.

“Yeah, you know, with the climbing up the rope.” He stands up from the ground and then the light in the room shatters. “whoa.” Josh steps back, I almost slip but I catch myself. “Did I do that?” Chris asks.

“I don’t… I don’t think so. Here, use this.” Josh throws him a lighter. “Whoa- Chris, I just got an awesome idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally!”

“Well what is it?” Chris asks, looking up to us. “Okay. So I am pretty sure that I’ve got some deodorant in one of the bathrooms… you could use that with the lighter.” Josh tells him. “I don’t follow. How’s a stick of deodorant gonna help?”

“Spray on. It’s a can.” Josh corrects him. “Ohhh yeah, now I gotcha. “Flamethrower.”

“Just like we do with the lil army dudes.” Chris excitedly remembers and I wince at the memory. The smell of the plastic burning in my nose. “Yup. The ones we melted. Just point the spray-can at the lighter and Fwoosh!” Josh flings his arms up, almost knocking me before he grabbed onto my waist quickly. “Bye-bye frozen lock.” Chris chuckles. “Bingo.” Josh looks to the side. “Alright, so you got this. I’m gonna go sort something out- you up for hunting around in the dark for a little bit?” He asks Chris, I’m confused on what he has to sort out.

“Nope. But I’ll do it.” The blond shrugs. “Godspeed pil’grim.” Josh salutes to him before jumping down and then motioning for me to get on his back. “In the snow?” I nervously ask.

“Yes, I got you.” He says. “I… okay.” I slowly get onto his back and I feel his hands grip my thighs immediately. He makes his way back to the front of the lodge. Sam and Ashley were still sitting there. “I gotta go do something, I’ll be back.” He pats my thigh and I jump down.

“Joshua, where are you going?” I ask him in a quiet tone, we were a few feet away from the stairs still. “Just a sorting out a surprise for everyone.” He doesn’t look me in the eye and I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re acting strange, love.” I tell him.

“I’ll tell you later, I promise.” He puts his hands on my hips, pulling me closer to him. “You promise?” I raise my brows, he smiles. “Of course.” He gives me a long kiss before letting me go.

I go over to Ashley and Sam who are huddled up together. “Where’s Chris?” Ashley asks and I laugh. “He’s in the house, gonna open the door for us.” I inform them, sitting with them.

“Where’d Josh head to?” Sam speaks up and I glance off to the direction he was heading. “Um, I don’t actually know. He told me he would tell me later.” I frown, now feeling myself getting colder. “Weird.” She mumbles.

“Let’s go over to the door so we can get that fire started as soon as possible.” I pat both of them and we stand up. Walking up the stairs to the front door.

Masterlist

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[letstripdotcom]

9:00am- matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: it took a while for you to get used to matt. he was hard to read and could come off as mean. once you got to know him you guys started to become friends. after a long night out matt falls asleep in your bed.

warnings: smut bc you already knowwww

-

“y/n this is matt, matt this is y/n” my best friend nick explains. from what i heard, matt was a pretty cool person and i i was excited to meet him. “hey nice to meet you” i said cheerfully

“hey” he said flatly, giving me a flat smile. he walked off into the kitchen as nick and i got situated on the couch. that was rude. i thought to myself. matt definitely didn’t seem like the person nick had told me about.

after a while, matt had got situated on the couch with us and helped us pick out a movie. once we finally decided on a movie we all liked, we turned of the lights and got comfortable. matt sat on the other end of the couch and i cuddled up next to nick.

after the movie ended we were all hungry. we eventually decided on ihop, since it was the only thing open at this hour of the night. “i’ll drive.” i offered, getting my keys off the hook.

when we got to ihop i found myself trying to make small talk with matt, trying to see the side of him his triplet brothers saw. i eventually gave up on the conversation, feeling it was very one sided. we ate our food in almost pure silence, then left.

“i’m tired so i’m gonna head home. goodnight guys.” i said as we pulled into the driveway. i dropped the boys off and drove home. the whole drive all i could think about was the way matt acted. he definitely wasn’t the sweet guy i heard about.

-

i hung around matt more often, trying to figure him out, but almost seemed impossible. when i would go somewhere with him and his brothers, he would sit quietly and let them do the talking. conversations with him were almost impossible, because he would try to cut them as short as possible

one day i’m particular, you felt like you needed to know more about matt, and why acted the way he did towards you. you thought out what you were gonna say as you sat on the triplets couch.

“hey matt can we talk for a sec?” you whispered, trying to not be a distraction from the movie that was currently playing. “uh- yeah- i- sure” he stuttered, being caught off by your question. you guys got up and went into the kitchen.

you sighed, and decided to just rip off the bandaid. “is there a reason you don’t like me, or…?” you spoke. “what?” he asked. “i don’t know nick just tells me how sweet you are and all so i just get the feeling you don’t like me” he soaked in my words.

“i don’t not like you, it’s just hard” he paused “ you know, meeting new people, it’s hard to- i don’t know” he sighed, running a hand down his face. “sorry” he muttered.

“hey no it’s okay” i said reassuringly. “i didn’t mean to come at you like that. i guess i was just upset.” he smiled at me softly. “you’re cool, y/n and i would like to be your friend.” “yeah of course” i said semi-cheerfully. we went back to the couch and continued the movie.

-

after that day me and matt became much closer. we talked more often and we found out we actually had a lot in common. we both liked to read and write. we had the same music taste, and we disliked the same people.

one night, me and the triplets sat out by my pool and just talked. hours passed as we changed subjects, talking about life, friends, dreams, and anything you could imagine. “ok ladies i’m going to bed.” nick announced.

shortly after, chris got up too. “i actually have somewhere to be, so see you never” neither of us questioned where he might be going at three in the morning, and we continued our conversation.

“hey i’m hungry, wanna hit up ihop?” matt asked. “i’m so glad you said something because i’m starving.” we got in matt’s car and made the drive towards the restaurant. the whole way there was a blast. we blared music through the speakers and laughed about whatever.

we sat in the empty ihop for about an hour, laughing at the dumbest things before we decided the employees were tired of us. we went out to matt’s car and talked for another hour and a half in the ihop parking lot. we eventually got tired and drove back to mine.

we went up to my room, walking quietly past where nick was sleeping in the living room. “wow chris has been gone for a while” i pointed out. “yeah” matt sighed. we talked some more, the time now almost 6 in the morning. i looked at my phone then i looked over at matt who was passed out in my bed. i didn’t bother to move him so i just closed my eyes and went to bed.

at about 7 in the morning i woke up to feel matt’s arms snaked around my waist. i felt a strong sense of comfort like this, but his breathing on my neck made me slightly nervous.

without knowing i fell back asleep, and woke up at around 9, matt’s arms still around me. this time something was a little strange. i adjusted my position slightly, making me feel matt’s hard on. fuck. i sighed trying to go back to sleep and ignore it, but i could tell matt started to wake up.

“you okay matt?” i muttered, half asleep. he groaned and started to grind his hips into my ass, turning me on a little. “fuck y/n please” he whined. “please what?” i teased.

“m’ so hard” he whined “i need you” he placed his hands on my hips and grinded into me harder. “fuckkk feels so good” he whined. even tho i could probably get off to the sounds he was making alone, i decided to do something more.

i turned over, and pulled away, making him whine at the loss of contact. he looked at me with desperate eyes. “do you trust me?” i asked. “mhmm” he nodded frantically.

i threw one leg over him to where i was sitting on his lap. i pulled down his pants and boxers, just enough to release his dick. i took it in my hand and gave it a good squeeze, making him moan. i pumped it up and down a few times.

i then stood up and discarded of the clothes on my bottom half. i sat back down to the position i was in before. i rubbed him up and down my folds. he whined desperately under me. “let me fuck you” he pleaded.

“okay” i said, turning over as we switched positions. he was now on top as i lied under him. he placed sloppy kisses on my collar bone and chest.

he reached down and his thumb came in contact with my clit. he rubbed to slowly in circles. i moaned and threw my head back into the bed. he hit the sweet spot, making me squirm. when he noticed my actions, he rubbed that spot repeatedly til i came.

“fuck so pretty” he sighed, removing my shirt and bra. “ i wanna see all of you when i’m fucking you” he smirked.

without warning, he started to push into me. he gave me time to adjust before ramming into me forcefuly “fuck mattt, someone’s needy” i joked. he didn’t reply and just continued fucking into me.

he got so deep at one point that you can see it poking my stomach. “fuck matt just like that” i yelled, disregarding everyone sleeping downstairs. i gripped his back with my nails, slightly drawing blood.

“fuckkk- feels s-so good. i can feel you clenching pretty girl” he groaned “taking me so well.” i could hear his words forever. he looked down seeing my fucked out expression. “you doing okay baby?” i tried to come up words to answer his question. “mhmmm” is all i could say. he smiled at me and tucked a loose hair behind my hair.

he thrusted a few more times before i reached my orgasm. i breathed heavily, and raked my nails dow on his back, leaving bloody scratches all the way down. “cumming matt f-fuck” i managed to say as i came.

his orgasm wasn’t far behind. his thrusts started to become more sloppy. he whined and his face twisted as he came inside of me. he pulled out, the both of us breathing heavy. “good morning” he smiled. i rolled my eyes and laughed. “sorry bout your back”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n- the end sucks but i liked the majority of it😍

[novaursa]

Fire and Gold (the consequences)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne

- A/N: This is the last story for today.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep is silent, an oppressive stillness weighing on the air. Dread crackles like a storm about to break as King Aerys II Targaryen, known to many now as the Mad King, sits upon the Iron Throne. His fingers, thin and white as bone, drum restlessly on the armrests, the sound echoing through the chamber like the ticking of a clock counting down to catastrophe.

The hall is empty save for a few trusted guards and the towering presence of Tywin Lannister, who stands at the foot of the throne with his head held high, his face an inscrutable mask. It is a rare sight to see him without his customary calm, but even he knows the volatility of the man before him.

“You dared to think your lioness could strike my blood, my daughter, and there would be no retribution?” Aerys’ voice is soft, almost gentle, but it carries a terrible menace. The flames of the torches lining the walls flicker, casting shadows that seem to dance with the madness in his eyes. “Your precious daughter dared to lay hands upon my Y/N. My most beloved child.”

Tywin’s face remains impassive, though you can see the faintest tension in his jaw. “Your Grace, there must be some misunderstanding. Cersei—”

“Misunderstanding?” Aerys’ voice rises sharply, and he stands, the movement sudden and jerky. His robes billow around him like the wings of a dragon. “Do you take me for a fool, Tywin? My daughter returns from your encampment cut, shaken. My Y/N, who has never known such disgrace, such insult!”

Tywin’s green eyes meet the king’s blazing violet ones. “Your Grace, if there has been an offense, I assure you it was unintended. Cersei—”

Aerys’ laughter rings through the hall, a high, grating sound that sends a shiver down the spine of every man present. “Unintended, he says! The Hand of the King claims his daughter’s treachery was unintended. She openly shamed my daughter before the eyes of our people. Your daughter, who has been nothing but a viper in this court, tried to poison the hearts of our subjects against their rightful queen!”

The Mad King steps down from the throne, his gaze never leaving Tywin. The guards stiffen but do not move, knowing better than to interfere. “You think your children are safe because you are my Hand? Because you have served me well in the past?” He leans forward, eyes glittering with a wild light. “I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Tywin. I could order Cersei to be burned alive and no one would dare stop me. I could burn your golden boy Jaime as well, see how well your lions roar then.”

Tywin’s composure does not falter, but a muscle twitches in his cheek. “Your Grace, I beg you to consider—”

“Consider?” Aerys hisses, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I have considered. You think yourself so high, Tywin. So far above us all, above your king. But you are nothing without me. Nothing! You swore to protect my family, to serve the realm. And now, your blood turns against mine.”

He straightens, drawing himself up to his full, regal height, his presence a blazing fury. “I strip you of your title as Hand of the King. You will leave this court immediately and take your poisonous brood with you.”

Tywin’s eyes narrow, the only sign of his anger. “Your Grace, I have served the realm faithfully for—”

Aerys cuts him off with a savage gesture. “For too long! Too long have you schemed and plotted under my nose. Did you think I would not notice, Tywin? That I would not see your ambition, your pride?” He leans forward, his face a mask of twisted rage. “I see everything. I know everything. And I will not have it.”

The King’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “If your daughter so much as breathes near my Y/N again, if she dares to touch a hair on her head, I will burn her alive. I will burn you all. The lions of Casterly Rock will be nothing but ash.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Tywin stands there, a statue of marble and iron, the weight of the King’s words settling on his shoulders. But he does not bow, does not flinch.

“As you command, Your Grace,” Tywin finally says, his voice steady. “We will leave the capital at once.”

Aerys’ eyes gleam with triumph. “Good. Go back to your Rock, Tywin. And remember this day. Remember what happens when you think to cross a dragon.”

With that, he turns away, dismissing Tywin as if he were nothing more than a bothersome fly. The former Hand of the King bows, a shallow, mocking dip of his head, before turning on his heel and striding from the hall. His back is rigid, unyielding, but you can sense the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

As the heavy doors close behind Tywin, Aerys slumps back onto the Iron Throne, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The madness in his eyes dims, replaced by a strange, almost childlike weariness. He leans his head back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, a smile curling his lips.

“My daughter,” he murmurs to the empty hall. “No one will ever harm you. Not while I am king.”

But even as he speaks, you know that this is only the beginning. The wolves are circling, the lions crouched in the shadows, and the dragons? The dragons are restless, their flames licking at the bonds of peace that have held the realm together for so long.

And now, with Tywin Lannister cast down, those bonds threaten to shatter.

Storm’s End looms ahead, its ancient walls stark against the darkening sky. Tywin Lannister rides through the gates, his face as hard and unforgiving as the stone fortress that now houses his daughter. His entourage is small—just a handful of guards and his most trusted men. He has no intention of lingering here longer than necessary. He has come for one reason, and one reason alone.

As Tywin dismounts, his cold green eyes scan the courtyard. Servants scatter like frightened mice, aware of the tempest in his gaze. He strides purposefully toward the main hall, his boots striking the ground with a grim, unyielding rhythm. He does not slow his pace as the great doors swing open, revealing the grand chamber within.

Cersei stands at the center of the hall, her posture rigid, her face a mask of defiance and fear. She is dressed in her finest gown, a deep crimson that mirrors the color of Lannister pride, but the color does little to hide the trepidation in her eyes. She knows her father’s wrath is like a storm—merciless, relentless. And today, she is caught in its path.

“Father,” she greets him, her voice steady, though there is a tremor beneath it.

Tywin does not acknowledge her words. He looks past her, dismissing her greeting as if she were nothing more than a child who had disappointed him. His gaze sweeps the room and lands on Robert Baratheon, who lounges on his lord’s chair, a goblet of wine in hand. Robert’s eyes narrow as Tywin approaches, but there is no welcome in his expression.

“Lord Tywin,” Robert says, his voice slurring slightly. He shifts in his seat, a smirk playing at his lips. “Come to collect your troublesome daughter, have you?”

Tywin’s eyes, icy and penetrating, fix on Robert. “This matter does not concern you, Baratheon.” His voice is cold, precise, each word sharp as a dagger. “Leave us.”

Robert’s smirk falters. He glances at Cersei, who stands silent and still, and then back at Tywin. For a moment, he looks as if he might argue, but something in Tywin’s gaze—something deadly—makes him think better of it. He pushes himself up from his chair with a grunt and stumbles toward the door.

“Whatever,” he mutters, waving a hand dismissively. “Handle your family, Lannister. I’ve had enough of this.”

The doors close behind him with a heavy thud, and the hall falls into a silence so deep it seems to swallow every breath, every heartbeat.

Tywin turns his full attention to Cersei. The fury in his eyes is a burning, unyielding force, and she feels the weight of it like a physical blow. She straightens, lifting her chin, trying to summon her usual haughty confidence, but it feels brittle, fragile, in the face of his wrath.

“You dare,” Tywin begins, his voice a deadly whisper, “to jeopardize everything I have built, everything I have planned, for your petty pride? Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Cersei’s mouth opens, a protest ready on her lips, but Tywin’s hand lashes out, striking the table beside her with such force that she flinches. The sound echoes through the hall, a harsh, jarring noise that sets her nerves on edge.

“You drew dragon blood,” Tywin continues, his voice rising, each word a thunderclap. “Do you think that means nothing? Do you think you can strike at the heart of House Targaryen and there will be no consequences?”

“Father, I—”

“Silence!” His roar shakes the very walls, and she falls silent, her heart pounding in her chest. Never, not even in her childhood, has she seen him like this. The cold, controlled fury she is used to, but this—this is something else. This is rage stripped of all restraint, all reason.

“You have put our house in peril,” Tywin hisses, his eyes burning with a cold fire. “The Mad King threatened to burn you, Cersei. To burn Jaime. Do you think I will allow you to destroy everything I have worked for?”

Her defiance crumbles, the words she wants to say dying in her throat. “I—”

“You,” he spits, cutting her off, “are a foolish, reckless girl. You think yourself a queen, a lioness. But all you’ve done is make us vulnerable.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, every word enunciated with chilling clarity. “You forget yourself, Cersei. You forget your place. You forget that your actions reflect not only on you but on all of us.”

Her pride, her vanity, have always been her armor. But now, under the force of her father’s anger, it shatters. Tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them back, refusing to show that weakness. But he sees, of course. Tywin sees everything.

“You will not defy me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “You will remember who you are and what you owe this family. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” she whispers, hating the quiver in her voice, hating the way he makes her feel—small, insignificant.

Tywin’s gaze holds hers, his eyes as cold and unfeeling as the stone walls around them. “You will return to Casterly Rock. You will stay there until I say otherwise. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” she repeats, her voice barely audible.

“Good.” He steps back, the distance between them a chasm she cannot cross. “Remember, Cersei. The only reason you are still alive is because I will not allow House Lannister to be destroyed by your stupidity.”

She flinches at the harshness of his words, but she nods, holding her head high despite the tears that threaten to spill over. He looks at her one last time, his gaze filled with cold contempt, before turning and walking out of the hall, leaving her standing there, alone and broken.

The doors close behind him, and she sags against the table, her hands gripping the edge as if it is the only thing keeping her upright. She feels the rage burning inside her, mingling with the pain and humiliation. How dare he speak to her like that, treat her like a child?

But she knows, deep down, that her father is right. She has overstepped, has endangered everything. And now she will have to live with the consequences of her actions. She will have to endure the punishment he has decreed.

But as she stands there, trembling with the effort of holding herself together, she vows that one day, she will make them all pay. Tywin, Rhaegar, the Targaryen whore who has taken everything she wanted—one day, they will all suffer as she has suffered.

One day, the lioness will roar again.

The chamber is filled with the sweet scent of lavender and the faint, sterile tang of healing herbs. Soft light filters through the high windows, casting gentle shadows on the stone walls. You sit on the edge of the bed, the cold air brushing against your bare skin as Grand Maester Pycelle carefully unwinds the bandage from your side.

“Almost done, Your Grace,” Pycelle murmurs, his voice trembling slightly with age. He peers at the now-healed cut, his expression one of clinical detachment. “The wound has healed well, though the scar will remain.”

You nod, your eyes not on the maester but on Rhaegar. He stands nearby, his gaze locked on you with a mix of concern and anger that he has not yet managed to let go. His silver hair, caught in the afternoon light, seems almost ethereal, and his violet eyes soften as they meet yours.

“I should have been there,” he says, his voice low, filled with regret. He steps closer, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill in the room. “I should have protected you.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing his hand in a reassuring gesture. “You couldn’t have known, Rhaegar. Cersei’s malice was not your fault.”

Pycelle finishes his work, dabbing a final bit of ointment over the scarred flesh. “You must continue to rest, Princess,” he advises, though his eyes flick nervously between you and Rhaegar. “And avoid any strenuous activity.”

You nod absentmindedly, your attention still on Rhaegar. “Thank you, Grand Maester.”

Pycelle bows deeply and shuffles out of the room, leaving you alone with Rhaegar. He moves closer, his fingers gently tracing the scar that mars your skin, the touch as light as a feather. You can feel the anger simmering beneath his gentle exterior, the barely contained fury at what has been done to you.

“I hate that this happened to you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You should never have had to suffer such a thing.”

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, and you lean into the touch, closing your eyes. “I’m still here, Rhaegar. A scar is just a mark. It doesn’t change who I am.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened at all.” His tone is fierce, and you open your eyes to see the torment etched in his features. “I failed you, Y/N. I let that woman hurt you.”

You shake your head, taking his hand in yours and pressing it to your lips. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me by standing with me, by being here now. You are my strength, Rhaegar.”

He exhales shakily, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you,” he breathes, the words a soft vow. “More than anything. More than life itself.”

You smile, your heart swelling with warmth despite the pain and the memories that linger. “And I love you. We’ve faced worse than this, haven’t we?”

His lips curve into a small, rueful smile. “We have.” He lifts your hand, his lips brushing across your knuckles. “But I swear, no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I still draw breath.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice that sends a shiver down your spine, and you know he means every word. You pull him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck as you bury your face against his shoulder. His embrace is strong, protective, and you feel the tension in his body, the barely suppressed urge to take revenge for what has been done to you.

“I don’t care about the scar,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m just glad to be here with you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching your face. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “Stronger than I could ever be.”

You smile, a quiet, private smile meant only for him. “I’m strong because I have you.”

His expression softens, the anger fading as he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s not the fierce passion that sometimes flares between you, but something deeper, a promise of love and devotion that will withstand any storm.

When he pulls away, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Rest now,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

You nod, feeling the exhaustion finally catching up with you. He helps you lie back, his hands gentle as he adjusts the blankets around you. His presence is a calming, steady anchor, and as your eyes drift shut, you know that whatever comes, whatever challenges you still have to face, you will not face them alone.

Rhaegar presses one last kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there, as if to imprint his love and protection onto your very skin. “Sleep, my love,” he whispers, his voice a soft caress. “I’ll guard your dreams.”

[minimomoe]

Hi just wanted to let you know I LOVEDDD Not Just Neighbors but I have a question does reader know about Logan and variant reader in his past universe and if she doesn’t then who would tell her and how would she react?would she be understanding?or would she feel like Logan’s only with her to fill in variant readers place? (I don’t know if your requests are open so you can ignore this if not or if you don’t feel comfortable answering :D)

For the sake of keeping it a short (I tried my hardest but ik it's long lol) oneshot reader understands that she might have meant something to Logan in his universe but doesn't press on it since he seldom talks about his past. I kinda wrote that whole story on a whim so I didn't think too hard about it. Since you asked so nicely, here's an alternate excerpt of how that realization could've went: wrd ct: 1.9k tags: a little angsty but that's all

Not a Replacement

"Wade you gotta tell me. We're on better terms now, but why did Logan hate me so much? I hardly ever talked to him but when he sees me his face scrunches up like he smells shit. Do I smell like shit? Be honest."

Wade's nose went straight to the crook of your neck and you rolled your eyes before shoving him away. "What?! You said to be honest. You smell great though," he shrugged.

"Okay, so what was it?"

"What is what?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your patience was running thin and you didn't have time for Wade's games. "What was the reason? He's your roommate, you gotta know something."

You were sitting at Wade's dining table and you saw the food in his mouth slow to snail speed. His eyes darted to you for only a second but it was all you needed.

"Wade," you said in a warning tone. "Do you know something?"

"I know a lot of things. For instance, I know that you are the best damn cook in this whole apartment building, you're insanely gorgeous, you hate when people keep secrets, and did I mention how really fucking pretty you are?"

"You better tell me or so help me god every plate I bring you will be under seasoned and burnt to a crisp."

"Okay fine!" He dropped his sandwich onto his plate and crossed his arms over his chest. You scooched your chair in closer, finally ready to hear an explanation. "You better not tell anyone you found out from me or steak knives is gonna cut my dick off again."

"Again?" You gave him a concerned look.

"Don't try to change the subject, missy. The truth of the matter is that our resident honey badger might like you a lot more than he lets on. I am risking so much by telling you this."

"From my understanding you can't die, so how much are you really risking?"

"You don't live with him, smartass," he grumbled. Wade scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a lot more serious than you usually see him and he looked almost... apologetic. You straightened up when he hesitantly opened his mouth again. "I explained the different timelines, right? Logan isn't from our time line, I plucked from a different one and tricked him into helping me. The thing is, these timelines can be very similar to each other."

You understood it well, or as much as you could, from the first time Wade explained it to you. Time traveling, anchor beings, Paradox and Cassandra Nova all seemed too ridiculous to be true, but you knew Wade wouldn't lie about such a thing. Plus you know about mutants and Wade's regenerative powers. Of course crazier things existed.

"I'm picking up what you're putting down. What does this have to do with Logan's apprehension towards me?"

Wade sighed, running his hand over his face. "It's not apprehension, okay? Look, I noticed it too. The way that he acted like he might explode if you come too close. He knew you, and I mean knew you, personally— intimately, before and now you don't even recognize his face. I know that feels fucking horrible."

Wade stared down at his sandwich somberly like he was speaking from experience. You fell silent, ruminating on his words.

Intimately. You have never met anyone like Logan before, but he already knew you. There was nothing you could even compare this to. You slowly got up from your seat and patted Wade on the shoulder. Your mood was dampening at the new information.

"Uh, thanks man."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you. I don't blame you but you're all weird now," he groaned. "You're not a replacement. She could've been entirely different. She could've be Catholic."

He was expecting a smirk from you at the very least but got nothing. "That doesn't really help."

Wade watched you slump out of his apartment to head back to yours without another word. He could literally see the cloud of gloom forming over your head and he groaned dramatically.

"Canadians are supposed to be nice people. I should know! Leave it to the Australian to ruin that for us."

---*---

Logan could smell the difference in your mood around him. You were on edge, giving him sneaking side eyes when you thought he wasn't looking and nervously biting on your thumbnail. Something was bothering you, something pertaining to him, and you didn't know how to bring it up.

It would be hypocritical of him to drag out the issue with you, but he never played fair before.

"If you stare at me any harder bub, you're gonna put a hole in my head."

He offered to take you out to get dinner instead of staying in. It was nothing fancy, just a small Indian restaurant that he found on a whim, but he remembered you saying that it was one of your favorite ethnic foods to eat. The short walk back to home was just to kill more time to spend with you, but you were hardly saying anything.

You pinched your bottom lip between your two fingers, rolling it over slowly. "It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all."

The dismissive answer did nothing for Logan. He gave you a hard stare that you didn't return. Instead you walked a few paces ahead of him, leaving him behind.

"Hey!" Logan called out to you, grabbing your arm. You reeled back, shaking him off and pursed your lips together. The sudden coldness wafting off of you made him panic internally. Did he say something he shouldn't have? Did you suddenly get tired of keeping things friendly. Was he reading you all wrong? All those questions burned the back of his throat but he rather ask the obvious one.

"I've seen you tired and this ain't it. What's the problem?"

Finally you returned his gaze with an cautionary look. "What really happened between us Logan? In the past, or a different timeline, or whatever the fuck. How much history is between us?"

The question knocked Logan over like a mack truck. This was not the type of conversation he wanted to have with you in the middle of the street with cars honking and passersby brushing past, but you were standing your ground. Logan ran a weary hand through his hair then rested it on his hip. If he wanted to make this work with you, he'd have to be honest with himself.

“Did Wilson run his mouth—“

“Forget about him. I’m asking you.”

He stared at you dead on, looking into your eyes that were uncertain of him. "You left me.”

You stiffened up, the statement making you falter.

"And I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. You gave me chance after chance to get my shit together and I didn't. I was breaking your heart and you didn't want to stick around to watch me crash."

Logan sat down on the nearest street bench. The headlights of oncoming traffic blinded his visage with a pure bright white before turning. He could hear your pleas from time's past, your dissapointed tone. He could hear the screams of his x-men, his family that he left behind.

"You visited me after they... after the humans killed the x-men. You saw the damage that was done and you hated me for it."

Logan felt the thud of you sitting on the other side of the bench. He didn't look at you, now taken with his memories, but you were no longer on the run. You wanted to hear his side that he never got to tell anyone.

"They were like family to you too. Ororo, Charles, Jean, Scott. You loved them, so when you found out that they were gone and I was still alive..." Logan's voice trailed off and his head hung low. "I was never a hero. Or a good guy. I was a selfish asshole who left when things got tough. I couldn't save my relationship with you, or save the people I owe my life to because the only thing I'm good at is destroying things. Then I come to this world and you givin' me this bright eyed, hopeful look and I couldn't handle it."

New York City has never been known as a quiet city but there was an eerie silence that ensued. It was like everybody was holding their breath, silently listening to Logan’s darkest confessions.

"I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. What I did before keeps me up at night, eats me from inside. But being around you again... shit, it reminds me that I didn't lose everything.”

A long beat of silence stretched after Logan's words. You stared into on coming traffic too, unable to form words. You held your arms together, the cool breeze of the night chilling your bones.

“Fuck,” you sighed, a wave a guilt washing over you. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

He shook his head. “You have the right to know.”

“I just made you spill your guts out on this public bench because I was worried that I was some freaky look a like for somebody that you used to know.” You put your head in your hands and groaned. “I can’t speak for past me because she isn’t me… but I am glad to have you here in this timeline, Logan. If it’s any consolation, it seems like we were always supposed to find each other.”

Logan couldn’t be more grateful for that fact. He never sought out to use you to fix some broken piece in him. It just happened that if given the chance, he would choose to love you every single time. Given all his mistakes, loving you was never a wrong choice.

You scooted closer to Logan’s still body, closing the distance until your thigh was pressed against his. You leaned over until your head was resting on his shoulder, soaking up his body heat. Neither of you said anything for a while. You didn’t need to.

Logan’s voice travelled through your body when he spoke again. It was gruff, making him clear his throat before starting over. “They had a nickname for me according to the TVA. They called me 'the Worst Logan'.”

“Do you believe that?” You peered up at him. It was that same look that made him want to run for the hills. You were disarming without even trying. He felt naked, unable to hide his beating heart that you held in your hands. After a thick swallow he was able to answer.

“Not as much. I’m better than before.”

You nodded, content with his response. “And you’ll keep on getting better. The TVA doesn’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

You slipped your hand under Logan’s that rested on his thigh and he quickly squeezed it like a lifeline.

“I’m not subbing you in for anyone, bub. Plus, past you was never this sappy,” he joked.

“Oh fuck off,” you chuckled. “But thank you. For telling me everything.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” he shrugged.

You and Logan remained on the bench for a little while longer. The sleepless city continued to hum along, cars honking and people talking, and you sat there absorbing it all, hands still entwined together.

thank you so much for the request! sorry it took so long, I was trying to balance angst and good ending. Check out Not Just Neighbors ("the worst" Logan x Reader) for more context! I'd love to hear y'all thoughts xx!!

M.list || Ao3 || Twitter

[hannieehaee]

so about the dk thing... hold my beer, luna! I have some things for you:

- him being the biggest advocate for princess treatment™ 24/7, but becoming mean one specific night out of stress (due to work or anything you want), the outcome can be angsty or smutty >> this one can be a little tricky, because I swear I never saw seokmin mad...

- seokmin with an extremely shy s/o who makes him endeared every time, especially if she struggles when asking for any type of ffection

- dk in his mingyu era... also known as the scenario where seokmin gets constantly teased by his s/o about everything he does (which I can see happening, since he's such a sweet soul), but there's a turn 🤨☝️: dk gets his bite back by domming the f out of her 🫶

this is the result of being extremely dk obsessed.

I don't know if any of these were able to spark anything in your pretty brain, but I love anything you write anyway so...

kisses ♡

18+ / mdi

content: mean!seokmin, sub-ish reader, afab reader, smut, established relationship, angst, fluff, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2813

a/n: thank u for the suggestions anonie i loved them 🫡 i decided to do the first one hehe (mostly bc i live for princess treatment in fics but thats a subject for another day) hope u enjoy, fellow dk obsessed individual <3

masterlist

if there was an award for best boyfriend, seokmin would easily get first place.

he was always known to be the sweetest, most caring boy around. he had even gotten teased in front of millions over the extremely long texts he had a tendency to send to showcase how deeply he cared for the people in his life. seokmin just happened to be an overly affectionate guy, but who could blame him when he had so much love to give?

however, no one had truly scratched the surface of his affections. no one, but you. you bore the brunt of the most passionate and emotional aspects of his love. there was no one in this world seokmin knew how to love better than you. it was almost as if being your boyfriend had been the one task he had been sent to do on this earth. and he did it damn well.

to sum it up, you were his everything. seokmin had always craved romantic love; to have someone who he could give all his affections to without any type of filter or judgement. you happily received his love and gave yours right back, making you one of the most envied couples around due to the love that very clearly radiated out of the two of you.

every single one of your days was met by endless affection from your boyfriend, affections which he adored to give to you. you never had to ask for anything from seokmin. he just always knew the perfect ways in which to take care of you, always insisting on tending to your every need. however, everyone has off days. even seokmin.

the day had started like any other. you'd gone to sleep in each other's arms, waking up equally as tangled up as the previous night. seokmin woke up first, quickly getting ready before kissing you goodbye with the promise of coming back in time to have a dinner with you. the prospect always made him giddy. his whole life he'd always wanted a domestic routine to share with the love of his life day by day and now it was his reality.

like always, he departed home with a smile on his face, knowing he was about to arrive to his dream job that he shared with his best friends only to go back home at the end of the day and fall into your arms all over again. life was good; far too good to seokmin.

it seemed like those were the last few good moments seokmin was meant to have that day, as absolutely everything went wrong after that.

it first began with him embarrassingly tripping on his way out of the car that had driven him to the company, cutting up one of his favorite designer tops (one that had been a limited edition by the way!!). only a few people had seen, so the fall on its own hadnt been too embarrassing. however, as he fell he also happened to drop and smash his phone screen. upon trying to turn his phone back on, he failed, now being stuck with a useless phone for the rest of the day (or even all the way until he had a chance to get it fixed).

the shitty day did not end there. it was just starting.

the next awful predicament occurred just as he walked into the practice room. he hadnt known it until stepping foot inside, but he had just walked into a fight. a few of the members had been fighting about some stupid and unimportant thing, which made at least half of them far too irritable for their own good. on days in which members were irritated at each other, their coordination had a tendency to lack, which only caused more irritation. members snapped at each other throughout the day, making the hours of practice almost unbearable for seokmin. on top of that, he had developed a huge headache just an hour into leaving home. he was also nursing an old ankle injury he had neglected to get treated, which was now acting up due to his fall earlier that day.

his ankle injury led to a few performance team members snapping at him due to his lack in performance. he knew in his heart of hearts that it was just a stressful day for them all (and that his own attitude had been snappy thus far), but he couldnt bring himself to reason this, making him snap right back at his members. even upon going out to eat with his manager he bumped into some rude fans who had been a bit careless with his personal space, except this time he coupdnt react since he knew itd become a scandal.

halfway through his day seokmin realized how rude and unlike himself he had been acting. usually he'd be the mediator in any arguments among members, but today he had even joined in and worsened the situation. he also never really minded if fans were a little overexcited upon meeting him, simply chalking it up to the shock they felt at seeing him. except this time he found himself feeling annoyed? at it. this was very unlike him, but his mood simply continued to worsen throughout the day.

by the time he was heading back home, the final nail was hammered into the coffin. the van that usually drove him back and forth had broken down, causing seokmin, his driver and manager to have to stop on the side of a busy street to check on the issue. seokmin, of course, had to stay inside the van and not make his presence known, knowing he'd easily be recognized in the busy street. this was a fact that irritated him too for some reason.

by the end of it, it had taken over an hour to get the problem fixed, and he had no access to his phone to contact you and let you know that he'd be arriving home way later than usual.

that was the moment in which you entered his mind again. the thought of you instantly made him sigh in relief, knowing that soon enough he'd get to fall asleep in your arms and wake up to a better day.

it was 10:47 when he finally arrived back to your shared home, two hours after the usual time in which he'd reunite with you every day. upon walking in he was met with something he had not wanted to deal with after such an stressful day. you were there to greet him as per usual, but did not seem too happy to see him.

you opened your mouth before he could say anything.

"seokmin, what the hell? i called you twelve times. i even asked the members to call you and no response? what was so important that you ignored me all day?", you seemed very frustrated as you said it, clearly oblivious to the terrible day he'd just had.

"baby– "

"you said you'd be here for dinner by 8! what was so important you couldnt even give me a heads up? we rarely ever get to have dinner together. i spent hours cooking and getting ready and you just ditch me, and for what?", you continued to ramble, giving him no space to answer.

now, any other day seokmin wouldve maybe assumed that your outburst mightve been due to you having a bad day of your own. but today he was just too angry. there was no space in his mind for him to rationalize your lack of sympathy to him in this moment. despite knowing there was no way for you to know that his day had sucked, he also reasoned that you were not even giving him a chance to explain himself. this fact on its own finally did him in. you were going to be unreasonable? fine, then he was going to be mean. all frustrations from the day suddenly came together and manifested into the angry words that were about to leave his mouth.

"and– "

"god, can you please shut up?", he suddenly interrupted you with a tone so icy he even surprised himself, but he kept going regardless, "ive had such a horrible day, i dont appreciate coming home to your nagging. do you even care that maybe i had a reason for being late? i dont have to be here at eight on the dot every single night. nor do i have to keep you updated all day. god, please just leave me alone for today. i cant deal with you on top of everything else."

upon finishing his rambles, seokmin was out of breath. he hadnt said much, but the venom behind his words was enough to render him speechless. the moment the words left his mouth he felt the utmost regret. your face had gone from shocked to dejected to simply sad as he spoke. his went from frustrated to angry to regretful. the two of you stared at each other for a few seconds before seokmin tried to go and rectify himself.

"fuck, baby ... im so sorry, i dont know where that came from. i– i didnt mean any of that. i had a horrible day and– "

"is that it? it seemed like something you'd already thought about", it was now your turn to be angry, it seemed.

"no, baby, i swear! i was just trying to ... trying to be mean. i was trying to hurt your feelings. im so sorry. everything went wrong today and i was just so angry all day. i couldnt even call you because i broke my phone. see!", he pulled his phone out to show you, taking the opportunity to get closer to you, "i know its no justification, but i did not mean a single word i said. i love our nightly routine. i love coming home to you every day more than anything. please dont doubt that. i shouldntve taken out my anger on you. it will never happen again. please, please forgive me?", his endless ramble finally came to an end, puppy eyes staring into yours as he hoped you saw the sincerity in them.

halfway through his speech he had managed to make you give into him and let him hold you as he spoke. this simple act made him glad.

"minnie ... im sorry you had a bad day. but you should never speak to me like that. i love you, but i wont tolerate that. if something bothers you, you have to tell me, not blow up on me like– "

"no! nothing about you ever bothers me! i adore absolutely everything about our relationship and our routine. im so sorry. i shouldve told you when i came home that my day had put me in a mood instead of snapping at you like that."

you chuckled, "i cant really blame you. i threw accusations at you the moment you walked in. im sorry. can we call it even?"

"yes, angel. of course. im sorry i spoiled the dinner. wish i couldve seen how pretty you dressed up for me," he pouted at you.

"it's okay, minnie. there's always tomorrow. are you still feeling angry? did your ramble help you at least?", he winced at the mention of the disrespectful words he had just spoken mere minutes ago, but you seemed already unaffected by them.

to be quite honest, seokmin still felt peeved off at his day. from his fall, to his phone, to his members being mean and unreasonable, to then having his car fail and keep him from you, to then finally getting home and picking a fight with you, it was safe to say he was still dissatisfied. he needed something to relieve his stress, but he didnt want to put that onto you again.

"honestly? i still feel frustrated. it was just such a shitty day, i ... i dont know," he sighed, "i kinda feel like breaking something."

"how about me?", you sounded so genuine as you asked.

"huh?"

"yeah. you could use me to destress. right, minnie?", there wasnt even any lust behind your words. he could tell that it was simply you trying to help out your stressed boyfriend.

"d– do you mean be mean to you?"

you nodded, leaning closer to him as you smiled.

"yes, minnie. would that help? taking your frustrations out on me?"

he groaned with no response, choosing instead to pull you into a greedy and wanton kiss.

his hands were immediately rough as they desperately kneaded at every curve in your body, so harsh in their movements he was already sure he'd leave a bruise or two in his wake.

suddenly he pulled away to inquire at you.

"wait, baby. are you sure? i don't want to hurt you."

"you won't. you never would. do your worst, seokmin," and with that, you pulled him back to you to continue kissing.

surprisingly enough, the simple kissing on its own had begun to alleviate his mood a bit. being able to feel your whines as he fondled your body as he saw fit was already making him forget about his shitty day.

it didnt take long for him to drag you to your shared room and throw you on the bed, immediately going to rip your skimpy pajamas off so that he could have a full view of the body he was about to ram into the bed.

"oh, angel. you're so fucking beautiful ... gonna be so fucking mean to you, angel, im sorry," except he wasnt sorry. and both his tone of voice and devilish grin let you know of that fact.

you lay limp for him to take action, something which made him groan internally, knowing you were putting yourself fully at his disposition. he took advantage of this, choosing to undress himself and finally begin to hover over you.

immediately he flipped you around roughly, forcing you onto your elbow and knees as you gasped at the sudden movement. he fondled you some more and made it so you'd arch your back for him as much as physically possible.

he had no need to prepare neither you nor himself, as he was hard the moment you asked him to use you, and you were practically dripping at his rough attitude.

"baby, gonna fuck you now, yeah? let me know if it's too much."

you gave him the green light, leading him to immediately ramming into you with no further warning.

"f– fuck!"

"oh, fuck. feel so fucking good, beautiful. gonna fuck you so good ... gonna atone for every shitty thing that happened today ...", with that he began slamming into you with no mercy, drinking in every single scream you let out. he knew his neighbors might mind, but he didnt care for that right now. all he wanted was for you to crumble under him.

"you're such a good toy for me, angel. my pretty girl, letting me use her– fuck! ... however i see fit."

"m– minnie!"

"i know, beautiful, i know. such a pretty toy ..."

his movements only became harsher as he grew closer and closer to his end. he knew yours was coming too, based on the heightened pitch of your moans and the way you tried to push yourself back on him despite the sheer strength of his thrusts. it was impossible for him not to fall in love with how good you were for him. it was also impossible for him to be actually mean to you, choosing instead to praise you as your orgasm came to be.

"c– cum for me, beautiful. let me fill up your pretty cunt ..."

"yes, minnie! yours, all yours ..."

he didnt need more than that to fill you up, ramming against you one last time as he winced at the loud sound of his hips slamming against your ass. he swore he almost lost consciousness at the inexplicable pleasure he felt from cumming so deep inside you, hearing you slump over due to lack of energy.

your orgasms subsided together, leading seokmin to do quick work of your clean up and settling with you in the still half-messy bed, rushing to hold you in his arms, which was what he'd wanted since leaving home that morning.

"feel better?", you broke the silence.

"yeah, thanks angel," he grinned at you, giving you a quick peck.

"you weren't even mean to me!", you whined.

"it was hard, okay? i love you!"

"yeah, whatever ..."

"say it back!"

"ill think about it."

"baby!", this time he unglued your bodies, hovering over you as he tried to give you his, "you dont be mean!"

you giggled at him, giving in upon his sudden attack of kisses all over your face, "fine! i love you!"

he finally stopped, opting to cuddle into your side once more, "that's what i thought."

a/n: sorry the smut was too short idk how to write seokmin as mean 💔

[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?”