#let's say this is late afternoon/early evening the next day

[hrhprincerichard]

[Attached: A photo of Richard M with Grant from the dinner from a news site]

I hope he wasn't too uncouth or a complete arse.

Last night was amazing. Hope you weren't too tired today.

[papercorgiworld]

Apologies and love confessions

The Slytherins guy’s are jealous because you have a date. When your date flops, they show up: to make up or make out, or both…

General story introduction and then you pick your favourite Slytherin. Or all of them, I won’t judge.

Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Draco and Mattheo.

Warning: a little bit of smut bc of Enzo and Mattheo ofc.

Not proofread, so if a sentence hurts your brain, my apologies. Let me know and safe an innocent reader.

After months of not writing, I present you… whatever this is.

You took one last look in the mirror and turned to your friends, Pansy and Hermione. “Acceptable?” You asked sheepishly. “More than acceptable.” Hermione smiled. “Hot.” Pansy bluntly stated.

It was a late Saturday afternoon as you made your way to the great hall to meet your date. A few days ago, Neal - a Ravenclaw one year older than you - had asked you out. You hadn’t talked much but all of your friends liked him and he wasn’t bad looking. As you almost reached the great hall you ran into the notorious Slytherin boys. When you spotted them you wanted to turn on your heels, but Enzo already called for you. “Y/n, you’re looking fine.” He slurred the last word a bit as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks went red as all the guys stared. “Ah, your date’s today, right?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. You nodded, getting a little nervous. “What was his name again? Dirk… Dean?” Draco asked with his usual voice filled with arrogance and annoyance. His eyebrows went up and down as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “Neal. And I should be going.” You blurted. Theodore was slow to move aside and you passed him, his eyes never leaving you. As you walked away you could hear Mattheo snicker and your heart sank.

Up until recently you had gotten along with them just fine. You were Pansy’s friend and by association also theirs. Just like you were Ron and Harry’s friend because of your friendship with Hermoine. However, there was a difference. You always wanted to be liked by the Slytherin guys, or just by one. Unfortunately, ever since you mentioned you were going on a date they had collectively decided to ridicule your every move. Making you feel terribly insecure.

***

Your date flopped. Neal was a great guy. Accept for the fact that he was obviously still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. When you entered the Three Broomsticks and chose a table near a window, he told you his ex liked to sit by the window too. When you ordered drinks, Neal told you his ex didn’t like your choice of drink. When he mentioned her for a third time, you fell silent and gave him a tight lipped smile. Oh Merlin. This was the worst.

After a little over an hour you said your awkward goodbyes. You started to walk back to Hogwarts, dreading the idea of telling your friends about your date or worse all those other gossiping people finding out.

As you arrived at the courtyard the ones you wanted to avoid most were there. You tried to subtly speed walk past them. This time it was Mattheo who was first to speak. “Y/n! You’re back early.” You simply sighed and Mattheo smirked. “How long were you gone? Didn’t even last two hours.” Mattheo turned to Theodore who let out a short laugh. Pansy who sat next to Enzo shot up and started yelling. “Oi, shut it!” Your friend took your arm to guide you away from them, towards the castle. “Pay up, Blaisy-boy. Not even two hours, so I win.” You heard Riddle say and you shot one last look at them, seeing how Blaise grimaced and reached inside his pockets to pay up. You were nothing more than a joke to them.

Pansy held onto your arm while you walked towards your common room. Hermoine spotted you from afar and pushed Ron and Harry aside to get to you. “So how was i…” Hermoine’s question was cut of my Pansy aggressive signal to shut up. “So, should we hex him?” Hermoine suggested as she saw that your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, it’s not him. I mean it was a bad date. But, so what. No biggie. But those, those, those… twats! They, they are the worst!” You yell, attracting the attention of students nearby. Hermoine looks over to Pansy with a confused look. “Will hex all five of them.” Pansy said and Hermoine caught on, she knew exactly which five morons you were talking about.

You nodded and sighed. “I need a moment alone. I’m going up to the astronomy tower for some quiet time.” Your friends were understanding and you left.

Theodore

“This is my hang-out.” Theodore says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts. “This is the spot people go to when they’re sad. If this is your hang-out, then that says a lot about you.” Theo halts for a moment, feeling a little exposed by your analysis, but joins you nevertheless, his arms resting on the railing. You notice how he plays with a cigarette between his fingers. “I won’t light it. I know you don’t like it when I smoke.” You raise your eyebrows. “I also don’t like it when you ridicule me, but that’s never stopped you or your merrie band of delinquents from mocking me.” Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

He’s about to open his mouth and give you some lame excuse for his behavior, but you stare at him with unimpressed eyes. So, he closes his mouth and lets out a nervous laugh. He takes a step back from the railing and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll admit, I’ve not been on my best behavior the past week.” Now, he has your full attention. You wanna hear what he has to say. “But neither have you.” He points to you and you scoff, no longer wanting to listen. “Going on a date with… what’s his name again. Of course everyone’s laughing.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Unbelievable.” You sigh.

“How about you go out with me? No one will laugh.” When you didn’t immediately respond he tried to sell the idea a little. “I’ll tell Matt and the others to behave. No more mocking.” You tilt your head in amusement to his suggestion. This guy, unbelievable. “You can do that, tell them to behave?” Theo takes a step closer towards you, leaving no space between you two. “Uhu.” He absentmindedly breathes while his hand softly caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And will you behave?” You ask, subtly taunting him. “I’ll be good.” He says softly and licks his lip.

“I’ll think about it.” You say taking a step and putting some distance between you two. But Theo quickly reaches for your arm, pulling you back towards him. “Don’t play with me.” As soon as you look into his eyes, his lips are on yours. The kiss is filled with longing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in. Theo pushes you against the railing, never breaking the kiss. Your hand finds their way to his messy hair. The more you tug on one another and push into each other, the sloppier the kiss gets. He squeezes your ass and as a reflex you gently buck your hips into him. “Fuck.” He growls. You smile at his reaction and seize the moment to push him away.

Walking past him, you never take your eyes off the confused man. “I’m looking forward to that date.”

Blaise

“I lost a bet because of you.” Blaise says with a loud voice while he’s still on the stairs almost at the top, but still out of sight. You turn towards the stairs waiting for him to arrive. “I mean really, not even two hours.” “No.” You cross your arms in annoyance. “I mean you're annoying sometimes, but-“ You shove his shoulder. “I was not annoying! I AM never annoying. I’m a blessing to be around.” He raises his eyebrows, but you ignore him and continue your rant. “You! You on the other hand are frankly unbelievably childish!” You poke his chest, being more than a little shocked at how muscular he is, but you push that thought aside. “Betting on my misery, have you no shame!”

He spreads his arms in defense. “Well, that was Mattheo’s idea. No morals, that guy.” You raise an eyebrow in response. Just Mattheo. Think not. All of you, you’re a bunch of demon children. “You joined in.” You throw at him, like a lawyer making their case. “And lost.” Blaise says sheepishly. “Don’t be mad at me. I lost money, my day is already bad enough.” You turn on your heels, away from him. “Well what about my shitty day.”

“Ah, about that, your shitty day, I can make it better.” In a split second you’re facing him again, eyes shining with curiosity. “This better be good, Zabini.” He simply grinned. “There’s this guy, who’s been into you for months now. Incredibly hot. Sixpack and everything. Really into quidditch, a bit of a jock, but also really likes wizard chess and magic history. And has a soft side, secretly loves to watch muggle-movies. That’s some boyfriend material, uh?” You’ve been nodding along searching for the catch.

“What’s the catch, Zabini, no dude’s that good. Definitely not one that happens to have a thing for me.” He smiles as takes a step closer. “He would like to ask you out. So.. what do y’say?” You drop your head and shake no. “I’m not going out with him until you tell me what the catch is.” “Fineee, the catch is… he’s me.” You frown in confusion. “You, Blaise Zabini, want to go out with me?” A nervous and adorable smile appears on his face. “Yeah, and I would like it to last longer than two hours.” You give his shoulder a little push. “Depends, are you going to talk about your ex the entire time?” “What? That’s how Dirk ruined your date? What a git.” His name was Neal, but whatever. I got a new and better date.

Enzo

Enzo has his back against the railing. His eyes trace your face. “Didn’t go well did it?” Your eyes meet his and he sees your forehead wrinkle at his stupid question. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re back on the market.” You shift yourself so you’re leaning against the railing with your side and facing Enzo. “I was never off the market. I went on one date.” He also shifted so he’s facing you. “Yeah, you’re right. I was overreacting. I shouldn’t have worried so much.” You look confused at him, but he doesn’t immediately explain. “Why were you worried?”

“Well, uhm, you know, maybe you would’ve liked him.” He tried his best to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. You took a small step towards him. “Why would that be a bad thing?” He huffed like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s wrong to ask out a girl who's dating.” You frown. “You’ve lost me, Enzo, I don’t follow.”

“Wait, wait. This will clear it up.” He closes the space between you two and cups your cheek. What followed was the softest kiss ever. After a moment you both opened your eyes, but didn’t move away from each other. “See, I couldn’t have done that if you were dating Neal.” You nodded. “I follow.” You brushed your lips over his. A cheeky smile covered his face. “You know, if you’re interested… there are a lot of things we can do now that it’s just you and me.” “Care to give an example.”

“My pleasure.” Is all he says before his hands find their way to your hips lifting you up. Your legs tangle around him as he pushes you against a wall. The cold stone makes you arch into him. His mouth nips on the flesh of your neck. “You and I should go on a date.” Enzo breathes in between kisses. “You two need to find a room.” You're both startled by Neville’s sudden appearance. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Enzo says, looking at you with lust. “Mine or yours?” You ask as you lick your bottom lip.

Draco

You sighed, letting the view and silence calm you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and when you look up Draco’s walking towards you with his usual flair. “What a tool, that Neal-guy. Taking you to the Three Broomsticks.” You roll your eyes and look away from him. “You should’ve known, a guy like him is no good.” Before he opens his mouth again you whip your head around towards him, eyes ready to kill. “He’s no good? Neal’s not the problem. You are! You’re no good, with you mocking and ridiculing. You’ve been acting like a total ass the last few days! So get lost, Malfoy!”

Draco remains quiet for a moment. The frown on his face grows as he realizes his jealousy might have taken the upper hand these past few days. Falling back in his normal composure, his hands reach for the cold railing as he comes to stand next to you. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea. You, going out with him. You need someone who buys you a dress and takes you to a fancy place.” When you look up at him in confusion, he continues staring in front of him. “I think you deserve better.” You huff, indulging his lame excuse for his behavior. “Know any guy like that?” You blurt out thinking back to your miserable date.

Draco inspects the rings on his fingers as he searches for the courage to say what he so badly wanted to say these last couple of days. “Me.” He says so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you did and you look up at him with wide eyes. Where is this going? “I would like to take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you.” You let out a laugh and he immediately snaps at you. “No, need to laugh. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” You press your lips together and take a step towards him. The scowl on his face falls when your hand reaches for his tie, gently playing with it. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, Malfoy.” Your face inches towards him and his lips brush yours.

The kiss immediately becomes more passionate and his hand tangles in your hair holding you in place. His other hand snakes to the small of your back pulling you close. You whimper softly at the feeling of your bodies against one another. This gives him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss even more. You break apart to catch your breath, but you stay close. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” Draco scoffs. “Not. It’s simply a matter of principle. Classy women belong with classy men.” You roll your eyes. “Draco, kiss more, talk less.” He huffs in annoyance, but obliges.

Mattheo

“I told you so.” Mattheo’s voice sang as he approached you. You didn’t turn around, instead you just rolled your eyes. “That guy just wasn’t for you. Don’t be so upset about it.” You shook your head. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be laughing behind your back with friends? When you stayed quiet Mattheo got worried and his tone softened. “He didn’t hurt you or anything? ‘Caus I’ll deal with him. He’ll never bother you again.” Okay that’s it, Riddle. You angrily grab onto the railing you were leaning on before turning around fuming. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just boring. But you on the other hand, you hurt me with your constant mockery. So why don’t you punch yourself in the face and stop bothering me.” Mattheo looked away from you for a moment, making you think he actually felt bad. But when he looked back up, he was back to being his cocky self. “Can’t punch this pretty face.” He said, pointing at himself, grinning.

You turned away from him, hoping that he would leave. You couldn’t see it but his face fell again, really feeling bad about hurting you with his stupid jokes. “I just knew he wasn’t the guy for you.” No reaction from you. “Look, we can split my win from the bet with Blaise.” You let your head fall, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. The audacity. He came to stand next to you and also rested his arms on the railing. “I know, I can be an ass sometimes. So, just tell me, love, how do I make this right.” Your eyes meet his, you’re surprised by his gesture. “I guess it’s alright. I’m a forgiving soul.” He turns away from the view, towards you and lays a hand on the small of your back. “No, don’t be forgiving. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

He uses his body language to make it clear that he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you, shuffling closer, leaning into you and licking his lips suggestively. “Are you really trying to seduce me into forgiving you?” You ask not believing that that’s the best he can come up with. “Well no, love, I’m going to fuck you into forgiving me.” This man. Who does he think he is… well, the dark lord’ son, but still. Unbelievable. Mattheo falls to his knees, his hands moving from your back, sliding over your ass to your legs. He looks up at you with soft eyes before gently pushing your skirt up. This man… should be my future husband. Mattheo places soft kisses on your thight, slowly getting closer to your panties.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he gently tugs down your panties. “If we get caught up here. I’m never going to forgive you.” He places a featherlight kiss between your legs and you instinctively reach for his curls. “Are you sure? Because I think I’m really excelling at apologizing, don’t you think so, love?” Damn you, Riddle. You’re good, and you know it.

[wonsdoll]

SATURN ── LHS

PREC𝓲S ｡｡ 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾

이희승 ／⠀ female reader ── fluff + non idol au ｡｡ ⠀ happy birthday to the loml 🎀 my seungie i love you and i adore you forever. . . . more

THAT TIME WHEN he stayed up late with you when you were sick

it was early october and the weather was starting to get cold. you shivered under your blanket, your nose running and your hair a mess, a state you didn’t want heeseung seeing you in. instead of pushing you away, he came over, holding medicines and all your favorite snacks.

“i know you need me princess..” he sat beside you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you.

“what if you get sick to?” you sniffled, attempting inhaling his scent through your clogged nose.

“it’s okay.. as long as i’m with you, that’s all that matters to me.”

it was during those moments, when he looked after you even when you felt your worst, that you realized heeseung’s love was all pure. heeseung didn’t just show up on your good days, but the days you felt vulnerable, and unwell.

THAT TIME WHEN he surprised you with a bunch of hand written love letters

it was your first valentine’s day with heeseung, you were super unsure of what to get him. all those store bought gifts didn’t have as much love as a homemade gift. you made him your infamous homemade chocolate chip cookies and crocheted him a new sweater.

as you finished taking the cookies out of the oven, you heard a slight knock at your front door. you hurried over and opened the door, seeing a basket of letters resting perfectly on the porch.

“100 reasons why i love you..” you read the basket, smiling softly as you reached to grab it.

you went back inside, reading each letter individually. tears flew through your eyes as you read the letters. heeseung’s love was stronger than anything, he always make it clear.

THAT TIME WHEN you had your first fight

a small argument broke out between you and heeseung, it wasn’t anything big, but something that could’ve easily been forgotten. you stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, both of you too stubborn to back down.

“i don’t even know why it matters this much to you.” you muttered under your breath, a sharp edge to your voice. it stung more than intended.

heeseung’s face faltered for a second, hurt in his eyes, but instead of responding out of anger, he paused. from past relationships, you expected him to walk out and not say anything, but he did the opposite.

“i don’t wanna fight with you, i never do. come here and let’s make this right.” he holds his arms out for you, without even thinking you ran into his arms. heeseung wasn’t focused on winning this fight, he just wanted to make things right between the two of you. his touch was comfort, something you needed in that very moment.

THAT TIME WHEN he came to your rescue when you least expected it

it was a stormy afternoon and you had forgotten your umbrella on the kitchen counter. one moment it was sunny, the next it was pouring ran. your clothing was soaked and your hair was wet, you shivered as you continued to walk.

suddenly a car pulls up beside you, the window rolling down. “get in, princess.” he calls out, opening the passenger door for you. you quickly walk over to his car, closing the door behind you.

“you came…” you looked at him, almost as if he was some sort of hero.

“of course i came. you weren’t answering your phone, i figured something wasn’t right.” heeseung smiled, grabbing one of his hoodies from the backseat. “put this one..i’ll drive you home okay?”

THAT TIME WHEN he comforted you when you were nervous

it was your first big job interview, you sat in your car anxious and scared. your palms were sweaty, your breathing was faster than usual. you spent weeks preparing, even having a little bit of heeseung’s help.

your phone buzzed, signaling a call. it was heeseung, without even thinking you answered it. “hello?” you answered, hearing heeseung’s voice suddenly calmed you down.

“hey princess.. don’t stress it okay? you’re gonna do great and they’d be extremely lucky to have someone like you on their team. i love you okay?”

“i love you too, thank you for helping me prepare for this day.” you smiled. you were lucky, heeseung knew how much this job meant to you, and he didn’t want you to stress yourself out about it. you went into the job interview and handled it perfectly, just like heeseung had prayed for.

💌 : happy birthday to my heeseung :( ugh he makes me so proud i love him so much. i adore him so badly. lets meet soon my beloved (i hope) >_<

[daycourtofficial]

And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you

Pairing: Cassian x reader | WC: 1.7k | warnings: none

Summary: after spending your birthday forgotten by your best friend, you try to grapple with the fact that his affections definitely lie outside of you

Author’s note: happy (early) birthday @sarawritestories 🥳🥳 this was fun and I hope you have a great birthday, try not to get overloaded with fics!!

You closed your eyes, wanting to drown out the noise of the clock that kept ticking, every chime from it another punch to the gut. It was a quiet evening, the only noise was the wind howling outside. You looked down at the lone cupcake on your coffee table, the unlit candle nestled within the frosting.

You sighed, looking from the clock to the door once more, the clock reading that it was a new day. Your birthday was over and your best friend blew you off. You sighed, lighting the candle by yourself, looking into the flame before blowing it out, a wish in your thoughts.

You had been contemplating the wish since last week when Cassian had brought it up. Every year, you make some variation of the same wish - that Cassian would fall in love with you, that he was your mate, that he would declare his undying love for you.

This year had to be different. You had to be different. You blink back your tears, inhaling a breath, letting your thoughts go somewhere before exhaling, the breath extinguishing the flame.

I wish Cassian would see what he’s missing.

-

You woke the next day, sluggishly preparing for work before opening your door to find a bouquet and a white box on your welcome mat. You brought the bouquet in, smelling them as you plucked the card from the top of them.

Sorry I missed your birthday, hope you had fun anyway. Azriel.

You brought the flowers and the box of pastries inside, opening the lid to find your favorite doughnuts and turnovers. Cassian may have sucked, but his brothers were incredibly thoughtful. You knew Azriel had been away on a mission all week, and a part of you wished your heart yearned for the shadowsinger instead of Cassian.

At least Azriel wouldn’t ditch you for Cauldron knows what.

You sighed out of your nose. You were three hundred and fifty two, for Mother’s sake. Cassian was a stupid male. A beautiful one, but a stupid one. If he forgot your plans, you can respond maturely by forgetting him.

An easier said than done plan when the next time you saw him later that afternoon, he made an immediate beeline towards you, a massive smile on his face as he maneuvered through the crowded streets of Velaris.

“Hey, doll.”

You kept walking, determined to make it through the streets of Velaris without paying him any heed, except Cassian doesn’t quite get what you’re not saying.

“How are ya, buttercup? Haven’t seen you for a few days, you okay?”

He had to be joking. Was he really this obtuse?

“Fine.”

His smile faltered at your clipped tone, and he rushed to keep up with you as you slipped through the crowd.

His massive body kept bumping into random patrons, his wings nearly toppling over an entire table in his attempts at keeping up with you.

“Yesterday, Nes and I found this-“

“You were with Nesta yesterday?”

You stopped in your tracks and whipped your head around so quickly Cassian backsteps. You felt your eye twitch at Cassian’s revelation, but he seemed unfazed, albeit a bit confused.

“Uh, yeah. Is something wrong?”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep in your tears. You started counting your breaths, checking your bags, ensuring you have everything you came with. “It’s fine, Cass. I have to- I gotta go. I’m late.”

You spat your words out before looking down at the ground, missing the way his face softened at your words.

“Sweetheart, wait-“

Despite Cassian’s protests, you slipped through the crowd and you could hear his heavy steps follow after you, but once you were far enough from the crowd, you winnow away, leaving Cassian alone and confused on the streets of Velaris.

You landed in your apartment, your knees hitting the floor as you fell apart completely. You could handle a half assed excuse, but the fact he had no idea he blew you off for Nesta?

You were indifferent about Nesta - she was a force to be reckoned with, she stood up for herself, and she took shit from no one. You would even like her if it weren’t for Cassian.

You could understand why Cassian would be obsessed with her, why his eyes have hardly left her since she showed up into your lives months ago.

But it didn’t lessen the punch to the gut you felt every time you had to be subjected to it.

You decided to avoid Cassian and everyone else for several days, opting instead to stay home and try to figure out just how to move on, preferring some space to sort out your feelings.

Four days after your birthday, around midnight, loud incessant knocking woke you in the middle of the night. The soft pitter patter of rain had lulled you to sleep a few hours prior, but now a raging storm was going on outside, the harsh rain colliding with your window.

The knocking started again and you crossed your house trying to figure out who would be at your door at this hour.

“Sweetheart?”

Cassian’s voice stopped you cold in your tracks a few feet away from the door.

“Sweetheart, open the damn door before I kick it in.”

You knew he would too, which was exactly why you decided to open the door with no warning, causing him to stare as he saw you.

He was drenched. It was raining so hard outside, the water poured down his face, soaking his clothes entirely, his hair undone around his shoulders. He was breathing hard, and he likely took a hard and turbulent flight to get here.

The rain bounced off his wings, his hair was limp from the water, the trellises of hair curling at the ends. He looked devastatingly handsome on your doorstep.

He looked like a marble statue of a long forgotten god.

“Sweetheart I- can I come in?”

“No.” You shouted over the rain, and you were not sure why you’re being so petty. Does he really deserve this treatment for what - falling in love with someone who wasn’t you?

Yes, you decided, he does. Because you weren’t being petty about him being in love with Nesta, you were upset about him forgetting your birthday and blowing you off, not even a half assed apology from him.

“No?”

“No. Whatever you have to say, you can say it from there.”

You pointed at the doorstep. He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to clear the water from it but the action did very little to help. His smile was blinding as he laughed, but you saw a mixture of sorrow, annoyance, and amusement all dance across his face.

“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.”

You wanted to slam the door in his face, wanted to lock him outside in the rain forever. But you couldn’t.

He was your Cassian.

And his foot was in the doorway, a precaution he took the moment you opened your door.

Bastard.

“Ever since I got back from the continent I haven’t been keeping track of my days well. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t- nothing would be more important.”

You scoff, “are you sure about that? Not even fucking Nesta is more important?”

He took a step back, shocked at your words, and you take the moment to try to shut the door, but his hand stops you.

“Nesta? What does she have to do with this?”

“What do you mean what does she have to do with this? Don’t be an idiot, Cass.”

He barked back at you, “I’m not being an idiot, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

The two of you were now shouting to be heard over the rain, and you opened your door wide, moving towards him. The rain started falling on you, your doorstep not having an awning to protect you from the weather.

The rain soaked your nightgown, making it cling to you like a second skin, but your anger was making you so hot that you didn't even notice.

“You are being an idiot! Because I’m in love with you! And you’re in love with her! And you forgot me on my birthday!”

You pushed his shoulders, annoyance seeping from every pore. His face quirks in confusion, but he squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest to you.

“No, you’re the one being an idiot because I’m in love with you!”

Your heart stopped, but you weren’t sure if you heard him right. You stood up taller, getting in his face. “Oh yeah? Well, if you’re in love with me, why were you fucking Nesta on my birthday?”

He towered over you, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

“Fucking Nesta? Nesta was helping me plan things for your birthday. I knew I couldn’t ask Rhysand because he can’t keep secrets from you, Azriel’s been hard to catch the past few weeks, so I asked Nesta to help me pick out some jewelry for you!”

Your chest heaved, throat burning from yelling.

“So you love me?”

A crackle of thunder could be heard, causing you to flinch slightly. Cassian’s hands reached your arms, and it’s then that the chill of the rain started to seep into your bones.

“Of course I do! You’re the nicest, most beautiful, most caring female I’ve ever met!”

His words were lovely, but he was still shouting at you, a juxtaposition if you’ve ever seen one.

You scoffed, and you watched as it made him angrier. “Of course I fucking love you, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, because Nesta’s hot?”

He threw his hands up in the air, running his hands down his face. “I thought you’d never want me. Nesta was helping me get the courage to tell you how I felt! She kept threatening me that she would do it if I didn’t and I suck with words, but gods damnit-“

His words cut off there as his hands roughly grabbed your face, pulling you into him. The kiss was magical, and your hands grabbed his shoulders to pull him in closer.

Despite the rain, he was so warm. The water cascaded down both of your faces, making it a little hard to breathe, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

He was the perfect mix of rough and gentle, the feeling of his hands and lips was so Cassian you wanted to laugh and scream. He was both so familiar and so new all at once, it was everything you ever thought he would be.

Your lungs eventually pulled you back, desperately clawing for air. The two of you looked at each other, Cassian’s thumb swiping across your jaw, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Can I come in now?”

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[lxndonorris]

a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"

It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.

The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.

The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.

Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you. 

You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.

The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.

Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.

"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.

"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."

He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."

You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.

You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.

"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."

You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.

"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."

"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.

He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.

"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."

'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.

And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.

"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."

You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.

"I bet it looks good on you."

"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.

"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."

You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.

"And how does it feel?"

Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."

"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"

Your heart skips a beat. 

"Yes."

"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.

"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."

You nod, even though he can't see you. 

"I promise."

"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

And then he steps out from behind the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.

But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.

"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"

Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.

He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.

Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen. 

As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.

The way he moves is mesmerizing.

His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.

It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.

As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.

His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.

For a moment, you can't speak. 

You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.

Finally, you find your voice. 

"You look.... phenomenal."

His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.

He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.

His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.

As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey. 

His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.

You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.

There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore. 

Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable. 

Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.

Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"I do. It feels amazing."

He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.

"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."

"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."

Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.

"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."

You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"

You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.

"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."

He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word. 

"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.

"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere. 

"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."

Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.

"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.

"I love making you feel good."

"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger. 

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

"You always do."

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away. 

Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.

The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.

Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.

The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.

Charles seems to notice your reaction. 

His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you. 

"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.

You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.

"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.

Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.

"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.

You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.

Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.

The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.

His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.

Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.

"This feels so good."

You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen. 

Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.

Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.

The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.

Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.

You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.

Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.

His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.

"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."

You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey. 

"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."

He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.

Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.

His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.

"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."

Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.

As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.

You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.

As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.

The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.

Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.

However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.

Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.

You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.

The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch. 

All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.

Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.

His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.

"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.

Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.

And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.

"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.

That is all he needed to hear.

Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.

His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him. 

His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.

You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.

The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.

"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.

You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.

When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.

You smile, your heart swelling with desire. 

"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.

He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.

That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.

"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.

"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."

His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower. 

The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.

As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. 

You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.

Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."

You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.

"Isn't that the point?"

Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.

"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.

The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.

You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.

"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.

Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.

"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.

You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.

"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.

"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."

Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.

You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.

"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."

The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.

"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I promise."

With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.

As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.

Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.

With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.

His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.

"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.

You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."

Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.

"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.

"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.

He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.

"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.

With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot. 

His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.

With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.

He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look. 

You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask. 

"Are you satisfied with what you see?"

Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.

He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.

"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."

You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.

"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.

"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.

With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.

"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[nerdy-novelist017]

Apologies (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader pt 6)

Ahhh don't come at me for the lack of updates lately! 😅 I've been so distracted with watching the Olympics and my job. I'm not meant to work a ful-time job, your honor. I just wanna write silly fanfics all day and read all night pls and thanks ! Anyway, enjoy! 🩷

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- The last person you expect to be there to dry your tears is that stubbornly persistent biker of yours.

******

Pete never showed up to your fundraiser. You had waited the whole afternoon in the hopes that you’d see him, but he wasn’t there for your event. He wasn’t there for the bake sale, or the picnic. He didn’t even show up for the auction which you were sure he’d be interested in that since one of the items to be sold was an expensive golf club set. He must have had other plans, you tried to tell yourself. He must have been too busy. 

You hadn’t seen Benny after that either, but you tried to find that as more of a relief than disappointment, after all, he was the reason you and Pete had a bit of a disagreement anyway. Part of you wondered if he only showed up for your tent since you hadn’t seen him anywhere else at the charity afterwards. Regardless, the hours passed at the picnic and you eventually helped everyone pack up before you left too, riding home on your bicycle. You tried to call Pete when you made it home, but his mother answered and told you he wasn’t home. You asked her to have him call you when he could. You ate dinner with your family and tried to not look too hopeful every time the phone rang because it was never Pete calling you back. You expected to go to bed with a sense of dejection, but instead you were surprised to feel something closer to  . . . relief. 

So the next two days went by quickly. You were too busy with work and household chores to notice that Pete hadn’t called you back. It was only when you had gotten up early to start on breakfast on the third day that he finally did ring you. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much,” he told you over the phone. “I miss you.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy,” you mumbled as you stirred the pancake batter, phone receiver balancing precariously between your cheek and shoulder. 

“I want to see you this weekend. I can pick you up around noon on Saturday if you’re free.” 

You agreed a bit reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to catch it. 

******

“Oh, are you going to teach me to golf?” you asked excitedly as Pete pulled into the country club parking lot. He’d been quiet to tell you where it was that he was taking you today, but you wanted to trust the spontaneity of the moment so you let him drive you to the mystery location. Out of all the places he could have surprised you with, this certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Part of you was confused because you hadn’t expressed a particular fondness for the sport, but another part of you felt warmth that he wanted to share his hobby with you. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to join me and the boys today.” He smiled at you as you both exited the car. “Sit in the cart and look pretty while you cheer us on.”

Oh. So he wasn’t even teaching you his hobby. You wanted to say something back, to tell him that you were willing to learn if he taught you, but his friends came over then, interrupting your chance to speak. Pete introduced you to them, five in total and you struggled to remember their names. But it didn’t matter much since all chances of you speaking were thrown out the window when they bear hugged each other, and turned to go out onto the field. You followed behind, quietly trying to find a place in their obviously-tight friend group. And that’s how you spent the next three hours: awkwardly existing in their world, sitting on the cart and watching them play. You were the only girl, and it was clear that they didn’t know how to involve you much in their conversations. And when you were able to pull Pete to the side for a moment, you asked if he could let you take a swing once, just to try it out. He nodded but said, “Well, maybe in the next game, this one I’ve got a bet on and every shot counts.” You didn’t ask again. 

Even though you were still technically spending time with him, this didn’t feel in any way fun or exciting. You tried not to, but your mind drifted to your night spent at the bar with Benny and how fun that was, despite it being a bar full of bikers – a scenario you would have never thought you’d be in, let alone enjoy. As you sat in the golf cart, having nothing better to do than to watch Pete with his friends, you wondered if this was all he wanted you for. Were you really just a doll to him? A trophy? You didn’t get to play? 

After the next game ended, you asked Pete if he could take you somewhere for lunch and he seemed almost reluctant to leave his friends. But in the end, he did agree, and you said goodbye to the band of golfers. You walked back to the parking lot together and when you spotted his car in the distance, you figured this was your chance to actually talk with him, not just listen to him speak. 

“What do you want out of life, Pete?” you asked quietly as you slowed to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What?” He paused a few paces ahead of you, glancing back. “What kind of question is that?” 

“I mean,” you struggled to gather your jumbled thoughts. “What kind of life do you want?”

His brows pinched together in confusion. “Well, I’m going to school for engineering so I’m going to do that.”

You waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and motioned for the car. “You coming?”

Not seeing the conversation over quite yet, your feet remained firmly planted in your spot. “But what do you want out of life? What do you want for me in your life?” 

“Geez, (Y/N),” he laughed humorlessly. “Where is this coming from?” His expression darkened suddenly. “Is this because of that dirty biker?”

It was your turn to look confused as you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Have you seen him again, hmm?”

“I . . . he was at the fundraiser–”

“What did I tell you?” He asked rhetorically as he closed the distance between you. “I don’t want you around that deadbeat again.”

“It wasn’t like I sought him out,” you defended, trying to ignore the rush of agitation at his choice of description. “I had no clue he would be there. I thought you were going to be there.”

“Well, I couldn’t be. You can’t just expect me to drop everything for you at such a late notice.”

“What was more important that you needed to be at?” You frowned.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the car. “I have my own life.”

That’s when you realized that he was so . . . disconnected, uninterested. He may have wanted you but not in the way of getting to know you. His want was selfish, only born out of lust. He didn’t care about your hobbies or interests. You weren’t even listened to when you spoke to him. The realization was painfully obvious and you felt like a fool, like he had played you. And maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, but you could see it now: he didn’t care for you, not in the way you longed for. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking your head as you watched him approach the driver’s side door. “I know that, but . . . I was just hoping to spend time with you.”

He turned back and threw his arms out dramatically. “I’m spending time with you now, aren't I? Will you just get in the car?” 

You took a deep breath, looking down at your shoes. “I think I’m gonna walk home.”

“Are you serious?” His voice grew colder as he yanked open his door. “Because I didn’t go to your bake sale?”

You shook your head. “No, I like walkin’ and I just want some time to think–”

“You’re going off to find that biker, aren’t you?” 

“What?” Your gaze shot back up to his. “No, I–”

“I knew this would happen.” He shook his head, an unamused smile flashing on his face. “He’s filling your head with all these dangerous ideas. He’s poisoning you against me. Me.”

“I’m not–” 

“Get in the car.” You didn’t realize that it wasn’t a request anymore. 

“Pete, I just don’t–”

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N)!” He shouted, slamming his hand on the roof, and you jumped at the sound. 

You stared at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You’d never seen any man act like this, especially not Pete. Panic turned the blood in your veins to ice and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how fast your heart was beating in your chest. Seconds ticked by, and he finally reacted to your speechlessness by rubbing a hand over his face, sighing loudly. 

“Look, just get in the car,” he tried again, his voice barely controlled. “We came here together and I don’t want people to talk about how I’m leaving without you, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay, you wanted to say, but your throat was suddenly too tight to speak. All you could do was stare at this man who you thought you had a pretty good understanding of, who you never thought would raise his voice at you, who would never command you to do something you very obviously denied. You shook your head, hand holding over your chest in an attempt to even out your heart rate.

He called your name, but you turned and forced your legs to walk, to move away from him. You just wanted to get home to the safety of your bedroom. Behind you, you could hear his car door slam shut and the engine whine as it fired up. He drove over to you, nearly hitting the curb as he weaved.

“Fine, walk home then!” he yelled and revved the engine, tires peeling out on the blacktop as he zoomed away. 

That’s when the tears started falling. You sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and a sob choked into it. The sidewalk blurred from the stream of tears but you trudged on, wanting nothing more than to escape the prying eyes of the neighborhood. The action of Pete slamming his hand against the metal proof of his car replayed in your mind and something unpleasant gripped your heart at the realization that what you saw was his reaction to not getting what he wanted the first time. This was supposed to be the exciting moments of you relationship, the time when you were still discovering who each other were. If he could be so easily angered by you now, what would 5 years of marriage look like? What would 10? 

And as you approached the intersection, a thought came to you and you felt sick at the possibility that maybe this is what your mother felt before she married your father. And your grandmother before she married your grandmother. Like a chain, these women with hearts and ambitions and dreams all just got married and became something their husbands wanted, lived a dream their husbands had. And maybe that was their dream, but what if it wasn’t yours?

The revving of an engine broke you free from your all-consuming thoughts and fresh fear spiked through you. Was it Pete coming back? But no, you realized. The engine was coming from the gas station you were passing on the corner, and it wasn’t a car, but a motorcycle. The rider pulled up to one of the free parking spots, cutting the engine and kicking out the kickstand. His back was turned to you, but you knew who it was already by the messy blonde hair and signature blue jacket lettered “Vandals” across the shoulder blades. You groaned because he was the last person you wanted to see right now but you needed to walk right by him to continue on your way home. And as ridiculous as it was, you wanted to cry harder at the thought of him seeing you crying. 

When he dismounted, you quickened your pace, putting your head down in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice you. But of course, you heard him call out, “Hey, Little Bunny.”

You sniffed hard, quickly swiping your fingers across your cheeks as you heard him approach. Even though you didn’t slow your pace, he caught up to you quickly. 

“You walkin’ home again?” His voice was light, teasing but you didn’t dare to look up at him. “You must really like–”

But he must have seen your tear-soaked face because he stopped, his hand gently grasping your upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, and against your better judgment, you glanced up at him. That was all it took before his shoulders visibly stiffened, and his jaw locked tightly. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” you muttered softly, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”

“Was it Pete?” his grip remained firm on your arm.

“Please, just leave it alone, Benny,” you whispered desperately, and his eyes softened as he released you. A painfully long beat played out between you as you watched him decide if he wanted to press you further for details. But to your surprise, he dropped it, instead, reaching out, his calloused thumb brushing away a solitary tear from the apple of your cheek. You flinched at the contact, not expecting him to touch you so intimately. As quick as he was to make contact, so was he able to let his hand fall back to his side, leaving you wide-eyed at the act. 

“Let me give you a ride home, please,” he asked, his voice so quiet, so compassionate that you were honestly dumbfounded that this was a biker in a notoriously revered club standing before you. “I don’t want you to have to walk back when you’re upset like this.”

You glanced down the sidewalk, knowing you still had a few miles to go before you’d see your house in the distance. You sniffed again, “You won’t try to propose to me again, will you?”

“No strings attached, I promise,” he replied quietly. 

You relented, nodding slightly, and you didn’t protest when he slid his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and gently tugged you back to his bike. 

******

Benny drove slowly back to your house, and you just buried your face against his jacket the entire ride, focusing on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. It gave you time to settle your breathing, to dry your tears, and when he finally did pull up to your house, a disappointed wave surfaced over you. He put both feet down to balance you both, but he didn’t cut the engine, and you didn’t release your arms from around his torso.

“Can we . . . keep going?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of just how patient he was willing to be with you.

“You wanna keep going?” he questioned over his shoulder, and you responded with a brief nod. “Where?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

He pushed off the ground, revving the engine slightly and the bike picked up speed as you left your neighborhood. You tightened your grip as he drove you out of the city, down the long country roads, past barns and farms, out by the lake and through the winding back roads which cut the woods. He drove until the sun began to make its descent over the far wheat fields, the last warmth of those golden rays catching the two of you like a spotlight, like you were the only two people on stage. And you realized that’s what riding with Benny felt like: solidarity together. You’ve felt a strange sense of loneliness most of your life, even when you were surrounded by others who loved you, but with Benny . . . it was like you were finally being seen. No, not just seen, it was like you were finally being heard. 

But reality came back too quickly when Benny pulled up to a stop light, hand moving to brush across yours as he asked, “You ready to go back now or d’you wanna keep going?”

Keep going, your heart wanted to shout, keep going and let’s drive until we hit the sandy beaches of California. But your head always won the battle in the end, and you only nodded mutely. 

When Benny pulled up in front of your house again, he cut the engine, but remained seated. He held his hand out for you as you dismounted, and he wanted to say something – anything– to make sure that you were okay, to help you. But Benny’s not known for his good communication skills so he clenched his jaw tightly, frustration building in his chest. You needed him, you needed to be consoled, and he was so pathetic that he wasn’t even sure how. 

Sure, he knew how to have someone’s back, especially in a fight. He knew how to throw punches and get back to his feet after getting knocked down. He could do that all day. But you staring at him with your Bambi eyes and heartbroken expression, he couldn’t take it. He just wanted to pull your tiny frame to him and kiss away the tears, to tell you that everything would be okay because he’s got your back. Then a horrible thought clouded his mind because what if he was the reason you were crying? A bitter taste filled his mouth at the possibility. And my god, how stupid could he be because of course he had to dig himself deeper into that hole when he had told you that he wouldn’t apologize for his conversation with your date. At the time he said it, he had no guilt or shame for his actions because he saw nothing wrong with it. He wanted you more than Pete did, he was sure of that. But now as he glanced at your sweet face, he realized that his actions could have hurt you. And all for what – his pride? That seemed so insignificant now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said ever-so-politely. 

Before you could turn to walk to your front porch, Benny’s hand reached out to lightly touch your own, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to Pete. That was wrong, and I see that now. I’m sorry if what I did has hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.”

Your frown deepened, and Benny’s heart sank. But then you said, “I’m not upset with you, Benny, but thank you. That . . . that means a lot to me.”

He was at a loss for words, struck by your angelic voice and unwavering benevolence. He could only watch as you slipped from his grasp and turned away. You were walking away from him, but Benny couldn’t help but feel it meant something more than just putting physical distance between you. His mind raced with thoughts, trying to find something he could say to get you to stop, to be able to see your face again. 

However, it seemed that fate had other plans because you halted in your tracks, hesitating a moment before spinning back around and approaching him again. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you cut him off as you leaned up and planted a quick kiss to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch of your soft lips, and he widened his eyes as you pulled back, a shy smile on your face. He grinned because every time he thought he had you figured out, you continued to pull stunts on him. You were the most entertaining thing he knew. 

You took a few steps backwards, but maintained his eye contact as you spoke, “Maybe . . . next time we could go a little faster?”

He knew you were referring to the bike, but God help him because heat burned in his lower belly, and he wanted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you into your house where he’d show you just what speed he was capable of. He wasn’t sure you even knew what effect your words had on him, or if you even knew the sexual implications, but he felt himself losing a battle of will. “You want there to be a next time?”

You nodded and that adorable rosy color tinted your cheeks. “Yeah, if-if you do.”

He shook his head in disbelief that you were finally giving him a chance. Though looking at your sweet smile now, he didn’t seem to mind the extra effort he had to put in. “You wanna go fast? Look who’s the trouble now.”

You fought to control your smile. “Goodnight, Benny.”

“Night,” he replied as he watched you walk back up the steps to your house, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his cheek that you kissed, wondering if apologies were really that easy. 

-Tag List-

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[heavyhitterheaux]

Under the Influence (Slight NSFW)

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: a little twist on the pheromone perfume trend 🤭

Synopsis: An argument earlier in the day is still lingering in the air as Jack tells you his plans for the rest of the night. However, once you get a whiff of his new cologne, you quickly try to put a stop to them.

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon 💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Tension was lingering in the air as you eyed Jack as he walked into your shared bedroom. The argument that had taken place earlier left the two of you not speaking to one another since early in the afternoon. You wanted to put an end to it because the last thing that you ever wanted to do was fight with your husband.

“Um, babe? Where are you going?” You asked as you sat up from your position on the couch in the corner of the bedroom as you saw him getting an outfit together.

“The Hub. I'm doing a set.” He quietly responded as he took off his shirt and threw it into the hamper without bothering to look over at you.

“Since when? You didn't tell me that.”

“Aren't you going out with Taylor? I only did it because I thought you told me you would be with her. Besides I do recall earlier you saying that you didn't want to be around me. So I'm doing what I was told.”

“Well that was earlier and I want to call a truce. You had an entire attitude with me for no reason. But no, she had to reschedule. I thought we could stay in with it being just us. We haven't had a night to ourselves in a while.” You told him as he walked over towards you with an expression on his face that you couldn't quite read.

“Y/N, I dropped the triplets off with my parents so I could go.”

“I-... not you calling me by my first name. Well, can't you do it another day?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around him. But it didn’t look like you were about to change his mind.

“When I stop being mad at you, that's when your name goes back to being baby. And no, I already told them I was coming.” He replied as he moved your hands away from him.

“But…”

“I have to get ready so I won't be late. Call hot chips and bad decisions.”

“They're busy and I want my husband.”

“Hmm, tough because you said the opposite earlier.” Jack replied as he walked away from you and headed towards the bathroom as you rolled your eyes.

“I know you rolled your eyes at me and if you keep doing it they're going to get stuck like that.”

“You weren't even looking at me!”

“Doesn't matter. How long have I known my wife? Since I was fourteen? I know you like the back of my hand.”

A few minutes later, you heard the shower turn on and you went back to reading your book as you sighed. This had been your first night without the triplets in a while and as much as you were trying to take advantage of it, your husband wasn't budging.

When Jack walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, you slowly lowered your book so that you could look at him. He wasn't paying you any attention and it made you feel some type of way.

“Smush?”

“Yes?”

“You still have an attitude with me but I want a kiss.”

“You'll get one before I leave and no I don't.”

“Yes you do! And you NEVER deny giving me kisses. Stop being mad at me!” You whined as you put your book down next to you and pouted as you crossed your arms.

“No one is denying you anything. I'm trying to hurry up so I won't be late.”

“You hate me.”

As those words left your mouth, Jack slowly turned his head to look at you and gave you a blank stare.

“If I hated you, we wouldn't be married. Stop saying stupid shit that isn't true. Starting to piss me off all over again.”

You made a face at him before proceeding to pick up your book once more to let Jack finish getting ready. When he was fully dressed, you got a whiff of his cologne as he put it on and it immediately made you stop in your tracks.

Got damn he smelled good.

“Is that new?” You asked him and all he did was shake his head no.

“I've had it for a while, just never used it. Got it in Cannes.”

As Jack turned around to come towards you, he was startled as he noticed that you were now next to him and wrapped your arms around him once more.

“Who are you wearing that for!?”

“Do not fucking start.”

“That smells really good. Can I have my kiss now or multiple? Or you can just take my clothes off too. Whatever works.” You said as you squeezed him tighter.

“I… what?”

“I don't want you to leave.”

“I'm giving you a kiss and then I'll see you when I come back but you'll probably be asleep.”

“But…”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” You mumbled as Jack leaned down to kiss you and you made sure to keep a tight hold on him. He noticed that you wouldn't let him go and simply placed several more kisses on your lips.

“Y/N, I can't go anywhere if you don't let me leave.”

“I know that's the entire point. How long will you be gone? And stop calling me Y/N!”

“Not that long. The sooner you let me go, the sooner I come back and that was the name you were given at birth.”

“Actually it wasn't, but that's a whole nother story. My mother, well grandmother changed it. But I don't think you need to go anywhere anymore.”

Jack let out a frustrated sigh as he wiggled out of your grasp.

All you did was go and stand in front of the bedroom door and cross your arms.

“What…. What are you doing?”

“Standing here so you can't leave.”

“That's cute. Really cute actually.”

“I'm not cute, I'm horny and you are NOT fulfilling your duties as my husband!” You explained to him and he did not look impressed.

“Remember what you said earlier or do I have to remind you again?” He replied as he checked the time on his phone.

“Well that was earlier and now I want you to rearrange my guts.”

All Jack did was walk over towards you and you thought he was leaning down to kiss you, however he simply picked you up and moved you to the side but not before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Excuse me, little one.”

“I… JACKMAN!”

“See you when I get back and stop all that yelling.” Jack replied as he was walking down the steps and you were right behind him.

“Nooooo! We're not done here! Just put the tip in!”

“You are no better than a man, I swear.” As he went to open the door, you hugged him from behind.

“Babyyyyy! Pookie! Smush!”

“No.”

“Damn, you probably won't even let me suck your dick so I know you're mad at me. You probably put that cologne on to find another wife.”

“Your mouth gets you in so much damn trouble sometimes.” Jack responded as he turned around to see you looking up at him.

“But, it also gets me out of it.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

Before he responded to you, he took hold of your neck and lightly squeezed it.

“I will put you through the fucking mattress and you won't be able to walk properly for a week if you keep playing with me.”

You couldn't help but to smirk at him knowing that it would piss him off more.

“Who's playing, babe? Certainly not me. You got your wife so wet right now and she can't understand for the life of her why you won't do anything about it.”

By this point, you knew he was completely done with you with the way his neck vein was protruding, indicating his frustration.

“Don't you want to see how wet I am?” You asked as you grabbed his hand and moved it to the waistband of your shorts.

When you heard him sigh, you knew that you had won.

“Get on the couch and do not making a fucking sound or I'll stop. Face down, ass up. I have ten minutes.”

“Yesssss! I knew you'd fold. With the way things are going, you're probably going to make me come undone in five.”

“This doesn't change anything and I’m still mad at you.”

“We'll see about that in ten minutes.”

“I'm definitely wearing this cologne every day if this is your reaction to it.”

“Jackman, we will end up with twenty children if you do that.”

“Doesn't bother me. I love how you look when you're pregnant. And your boobs will probably get even bigger so it's a win for me.”

“Hmm, just like a man.” You mumbled as you rolled your eyes as the two of you were now on the couch.

“Well you were yelling at me to just put the tip in earlier so you aren't any better.”

“And I'd do it again too.”

[sturniqlo]

In Between- M.S

summary: with their usual bickering, Y/n and Chris escalate into a heated argument and Matt has to break up a fight between his girlfriend and his brother

cw: angst, cursing, crying, fluff at the end

an: thank you to @ik33pitundercover for this wonderful idea (if you have any idea pls comment them here or in my 'send requests' in my bio and i might make them happen!)

masterlist

-----------------------------------------------

Before Matt and Y/n got together, it was always Chris and Y/n the bestest of friends. Though they never had any feelings for each other, they were always together. Everyone always told them they had a sibling like relationship. And they both agreed. They constantly bickered, pushed each other around playfully, just everything siblings would do. Eventually, the two other brothers, Nick and Matt, also became close with Y/n.

A couple of month of hanging out one on one, Y/n and Matt ended up dating. And Chris couldn't be happier. His brother and best friend were both together what more could he ask for?

Earlier today, Chris had texted Y/n if she was down to hangout. She politely declined, telling Chris she was going to hangout with Matt for most of the day. He understood and responded to her that he'll probably hangout with his other friends. He was a bit bummed to say the least. Chris can't remember the last time him and Y/n hung out one on one. Not that he was jealous of her and Matt, never. He just wanted to spend some time with his best friend.

After messaging Y/n, he didn't text any of his other friends, too upset to even hang out with anyone else. As the day went on, Nick had came into Chris' room to ask if he wanted to go hangout with him and Madi, he declined. When the afternoon came by, he ordered takeout and ate his taco bell. After eating he hopped on fortnite and played a couple of rounds before deciding to take a nap.

Y/n spent the whole morning and afternoon with Matt. Although she did feel a bit bad for declining Chris, Matt reassured her and told her Chris would be fine. Around ten in the morning, she picked Matt up in her car, and drove them to their usual breakfast spot. They shared each others plate and were both bloated with good food at the end of it. During their breakfast time, Matt had mentioned how Chris had seemed a bit down as of lately. "Do you think it's because you haven't hung out with him?" He said while taking a bite of his pancake. "I've hung out with him. We were all together last weekend." She replied.

"Yeah, I get that but, I mean one on one." Matt didn't mind at all when his brother and girlfriend hung out one on one. He liked that she had a good relationship with Chris and Nick. "Oh, yeah, I see it now. Maybe I can plan something with him next week? If he want to, that is." That conversation was a couple of hours ago. The time was now nearing five in the afternoon and Nick had called Matt that he was staying over at Madi's. "Do you think Chris is home?" Matt asked as they picked out the ingredients for tonight's activity. "Not sure, he texted me earlier that he might hang out with some of his friends."

Y/n and Matt had spent the afternoon at her place watching movies and playing games. Y/n ended up making them lunch, and here they are now in the grocery store. They had both agreed the would make something at Matt's house so Y/n can drive back to her place when she was ready to go. Matt was a bit bummed that she couldn't stay the night but understood that she had an exam early in the morning. "Wait, let me get Chris a pack of Pepsi. He told me he was running low yesterday." Y/n said, pushing the cart towards the soda isle.

"He seriously needs to cut down on the Pepsi. But we just keep feeding into it." Matt wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I agree."

Chris woke up to the sound of a loud bang followed by laughter coming from upstairs in the kitchen. He checked his phone and saw it was almost six in the afternoon. He had slept for about an hour and a half. Confused about the loud bang, he got up to check. Coming up the stairs half awake, he saw Y/n on the floor cleaning up what looked to be some sort of dessert batter. "The fuck happened in here?" Chris said, startling Y/n. "Oh shit! Chris what the hell, you scared me." Y/n stood up from her spot on the floor. "My bad." Chris scoffed, going to the fridge.

"I thought you were going out today?" She threw the many stained paper towels in the trash. "I was going to but, you declined." He threw some shade at her. "I told you I was sorry, Matt had this planned for a couple of days now." She said, walking away to go retrieve their mop. "Where's Matt anyways?" He asks, as Y/n fills up the mop bucket. "He spilled his cake batter on the floor and it got all over him so he went to shower."

"Oh, well clean this mess up then. It not gonna clean itself up." He points to the remaining with his water bottle. "Woah, who put a stick up your ass?" Y/n was taken back a bit. Most of the time she could tell when Chris was joking when saying rude comments because he always smiled and tries not to laugh whenever he says them, so does she, but, he seemed serious about this one. "Stop playing around. Are you going to clean it or not?" Chris slightly raises his voice. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

"Okay, You've never talked to me like that and I'm not going to let you talk to me like that." She stops filling the bucket up and stares at Chris with a confused glare. What has gotten into him? "Whatever." He scoffs, as he starts walking towards his set of stairs. "Hey, no! You come back here and tell me what this is all about." She tells him, she slowly starts getting mad. "I'm not a fucking child for you to be talking to me like that." He fights back. "Well you're acting like one right now." She crosses her arms. "Just leave me alone and enjoy your time with my brother. Seems like he's the only one you've known for years."

"Is this about us not hanging out as much anymore?" She says as Chris turns back around to face her. "What do you think? You get with my brother and now you forget about me? Was being my friend just an act to get to Matt?" Chris yells. "Are you hearing yourself right now?" Y/n yells back, and she sees Matt walk in with wet hair. "What's going on." Chris turns his head to see who was talking. "Oh look, your boyfriend is back, looks like you won't be needing me this evening." He smiles sarcastically.

"You're being a fucking dick right now." She walks closer to him. "Woah, okay. Let's- why don't you two settle down. And talk without yelling." Matt intervenes and steps in the middle of the arguing pair. "Matt, move. Chris is being unreasonable and isn't thinking before he speaks." Y/n tries to move Matt out of the way. "Babe, hey, calm down. Tell me what happened."

"He came up the stairs and just started being rude to me. He's mad about me and him not hanging out as much. When he could've just told me in a nicely manner." Y/n leans her head at the last part to where Chris can see her. Chris only rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you always tell me you're busy. Seems like you have time for everyone else besides me. I hope you're happy Matt, considering the fact that you ruined our friendship." Matt turns around. "Chris, I didn't ruin no friendship and your friendship with Y/n isn't ruined."

"Matt do you know what he said to me?" Matt shakes his head. "Oh, please enlighten him, Y/n." Chris says mockingly, she only rolls her eyes at him. "If you keep rolling em' they're going to get stuck." Chris adds. "Chris, stop it." Matt turns his head towards him "Go on." Matt tells her. "He told me that I only became friends with him to get with you. Can you believe that? He doesn't know the shit he's saying!"

"Chris? Do you really think that low of her?" Matt is shocked by all of this. He's never seen Chris and Y/n argue this bad. And it's making him upset that he's in the middle of this. "I'm starting to." Chris' comment ticks Y/n off. "That's it, I'm out of here." Y/n grabs her purse and phone and pushes through them. "Y/n come back." Matt gently grabs her arm. "I can't be in the same room as him right now. Not when he's acting all bitchy."

"I'm not acting bitchy, so get your facts straight." Chris adds on to her anger. "Chris that's enough." Matt raises his voice at his brother. "Here, come to my room to cool down and I'll talk to Chris, okay?" Matt softly talks to Y/n as he sees that she near bursting into tears. He knows she hates arguing with anybody. "Okay, okay." She whispers walking off to Matt's room, not making eye contact with her best friend.

Once Matt hears his room door close he starts going off on Chris. "What was that all about." He points to his room where Y/n is. "An argument, dumbass." Chris makes a smart mouth comment. "You know you could've talked to her like a normal person right? And to accuse her of using you so she could get to me was a low blow." Chris now realizes how bad it sounded. When Y/n entered Matt's room, she sat on his bed and let her tears out. She's never fought with Chris this bad. Yeah, they might've had a little argument or two over something small, but it never got to this point where someone had to intervene.

"Sorry, I got carried away. It's just, I miss hanging out with her. I feel like she's slowly forgetting about me ever since you two started dating." Chris says, wiping his eyes to prevent his tears to come down. "She's not forgetting about you, trust me. We always talk about whenever we hangout. And, she's also noticed how you two haven't been hanging out as much. Also, Im sorry for hogging her for months now." Matt tells Chris, earning a light chuckle from him at the last comment.

"Why don't you go in there and talk to her while I clean this up, okay?" Chris nods and starts walking towards Matt's room where Y/n currently is. He lightly knocks before opening the door. "Hey." Chris says, walking towards the bed to sit next to her. "Hi." She says, lifting her head off her knees. "I'm sorry about everything I said out there. I know you didn't use me to get to Matt. That was stupid of me to say." He shakes his head thinking back on it. "I just felt like you were forgetting about me and I was upset and let out my anger on you instead of talking to you like a normal person would." Y/n finally looks at him. "I'm sorry you felt that way. But, I also wish I would've realized it sooner, it would've prevented this whole shit show."

"Do you forgive me?" He asks lowly. "Of course I do, you're my best friend." After a couple of minutes basking in the comfortable silence, Matt finally walks in. "Nobody has been killed, I'm guess you two made up?" He takes a seat next to Chris. "Yup, we're good now." Matt smiles at that. "That's great, how about tomorrow you two spend the whole day together after Y/n is done with her exam?" Both Y/n and Chris liked the idea of that. "That sounds nice. What do you think, Chris?" Y/n asks Chris. "I'm up for it."

"Come on, let's go bake the boxed cake since I spilt the other one." He stands up and sits in the middle of them wrapping his arms around both of them. "That's the first ever biggest fight, definitely going into the book."

"Shut up!" Chris and Y/n say in unison and laugh.

[alexia11luvr]

I Put My Hand On A Star, To See If I Still Bleed

-Part Two-

several months late, it's finally here :)

CW: same as part one

"Ale, wake up."

You stroked her face to wake her, and she nestled into you as she opened her eyes slightly.

"Hey." you whispered, smiling.

She covered her face, not wanting to wake up yet. Last night had been exhausting, to say the least.

"We have to get going, I've got to be at the airport by twelve."

"Stay."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You know why, c'mon. I've gotta go back with the team."

Alexia moved to get up, but stopped suddenly, wincing in pain. She'd momentarily forgotten what you'd done to her the night before, and you saw the realisation cross her face, the memory of it flashing through her mind.

"Take it slow, it's gonna hurt." you said softly, stroking her back as she sat up.

"I should've stopped you." she whispered.

"Did you want me to stop?" you asked, looking into her eyes.

"No." she admitted, running a hand through her hair.

A moment of silence passed before she looked into your eyes.

"Did it feel good for you?" she asked, placing a hand on your thigh.

"It felt amazing. You were perfect for me. You are perfect for me."

Thoughts of an actual relationship between the two of you had begun racing through your mind, and you knew Alexia was thinking the same things. The way she was looking at you lips, your eyes- you just knew. Last night it felt like lust, this morning it felt like love.

"Please stay." she said, quietly, brushing her finger gently over your hand.

"Ale, don't do this." you said, standing up.

"No please, you can stay, just make up an excuse, you don't have to get back for another game or training or anything do you?" she said, a tinge of desperation now present in her voice.

"No, but-"

"So stay, please. You want to stay- I know you do." her voice dropped a little, and her eyes weren't so wide now, darkening slightly too.

and she was right, you did want to stay, you really did.

"Alexia, I have to go, they're gonna ask questions if I don't, and there's no believable excuse I could give, you know that. The only way they'd understand is if I told them the truth."

You saw Alexia hesitate- she was considering it. Considering letting people know about the two of you. That was a big deal for her- she was intensely private, especially about things like this. She must really need you.

"When's our next fixture?" she asked.

"What?"

"The next match, between Barça and Arsenal?"

"In a few weeks." you replied, still unsure of where she was going with this.

"I'll fly out to London early, I'll stay with you the night before and you can come to the hotel the night after, okay?" she said, almost like she was telling you instead of asking you.

"Ale-"

"C'mon, it'll be fun, you and me." she said, using your shoulders to pull herself up.

"Okay." you agreed, you couldn't say no to her.

There was something very practical about this arrangement you had. The two of you were incredibly dedicated athletes, you trained alone whenever you weren't with your squads, you didn't really have much time for romance- so this thing that the pair of you had going on, it worked.

-

Those few weeks passed quicker than you expected, you thought about her time to time but your focus was on training and matches.

The fixture was to be played at the Emirates, over 60,000 tickets had been sold, you would be lying if you said you weren't nervous- but the thought of Alexia in your bed the nights before and after the game comforted you.

You were waiting at the airport for her that afternoon, the day before the match, baseball cap and sunglasses on in an attempt to disguise yourself. She'd told her coaches and the other players that she had to go see her family but would meet them in London the day of the match.

She sent you a text to let you know she was at the gate. You would be lying if you said you weren't paranoid- you knew fans would be flying in from Spain to see the match as well, and Alexia, even with sunglasses and a hat on herself, was very recognisable, as were you being the star winger at Arsenal.

You spotted her at the gate, she walked quickly towards you, nearly running into your arms. She slung her hands around your shoulders and you picked her up slightly as you hugged.

"I missed you." you said, quietly.

"I missed you too." she said, breaking the hug but keeping one hand on the back of your neck.

She let go of you a moment later, looking around subtly, and you realised the paranoia had got her too.

"C'mon let's get out of here." you said.

You wanted to take her hand but were aware that you shouldn't, just in case.

You got a taxi back to your place, you knew people would recognise your car.

As soon as you got through the front door she grabbed you by the waist from behind and pulled you into her, placing kisses on your neck and nuzzling into you. You leaned back into her, feeling her body firmly against yours.

"That desperate, huh?" you teased.

She laughed slightly as she tugged your coat off and tossed it aside before doing the same with her own. Her hands roamed up your back and the sides of your torso, tracing your toned muscles. You heard her heavy breathing as she did so and knew how desperately she wanted you.

"So what do you wanna do?" you asked.

"I'll have you first, then you can have me." she said quickly, lowly, a strong tone of desire in her voice.

As she pressed into your back you could feel what she was packing, and how big it was.

"Get undressed, get on the bed." she whispered, her hand squeezing your hip slightly.

You pulled of your shirt and trousers, then your underwear. You saw Alexia do the same behind you through the reflection in the bedroom mirror as you walked in.

You lay down on the bed, enjoying the soft cotton sheets on your bare skin. Alexia climbed on top of you and you placed your hands on her hips as she did, stroking her skin gently with your thumbs.

"How many times do you want me to make you come, baby?" she asked softly, a smile appearing on her face.

"Just once. We can't be up all night with the game tomorrow, and I've still got to fuck you too." you smiled back.

"Just once? I better make it a good one then, hm?"

"Shouldn't be too hard for you, Ale." you teased.

Just as the words left your mouth, she slipped her cock inside you. You let out a loud moan that was almost a scream at her suddenly filling you up.

"Oh my God, Ale-" you stuttered, losing the words as they were coming out of your mouth, trying to deal with the intense feeling inside of you- her inside of you.

"You like that?" she cooed.

You could only nod, overwhelmed with the feeling in your core and the sensation that her words sent through you.

She lowered her top half onto you, slowly placing a soft kiss on your lips. You moaned quietly into it, and she parted her lips slightly, urging you to do the same. The next kiss was open-mouthed and hot, animalistic. Her tongue tangled with yours as her hips continued grinding into you. Your grip on her waist tightened, your fingers digging into her, eliciting a moan from her mouth.

She broke your kiss and held herself up by her hands either side of your head, now focused entirely on how she was fucking you and the pleasure she was getting from it. She opened her eyes for a moment and looked down at where she was fucking into you, then placed a hand on your lower stomach and pressed down, feeling where she was inside you. You moaned at the pressure.

"That feel good, baby?"

Again, you just nodded, in no state to produce words.

You loved how focused she was, how fixated she was on the pure feeling of what she was doing. Soft sighs were falling out of her mouth, her pleasure increasing. You knew she was close, but you were closer.

You felt the pleasure and heat building inside you rapidly, becoming nearly too much to handle.

"Ale, don't stop."

Your core clenched around her cock as you came, and your back arched off the bed as her arms slipped underneath to hold you.

After your last wave of pleasure, you grab hold of her hips, stopping her movements.

"What are you doing? I'm about to finish." she said, breathless.

"No. Not yet." you say, brushing your thumb over her cheek.

You sat up slightly with her still above you, and you tilted your head back a little to kiss her.

"Please, I'm so close." she begged.

You felt her hips try to shift desperately against you but you kept a tight hold on them.

"Pull out, Ale."

"No, please-" she whimpered quietly.

"Pull out."

She did as she was told and shifted backwards onto her knees, allowing you to sit up fully.

She had a desperate look on her face, biting her lip and waiting for your next words. You noticed her moving her thighs together slightly, clearly trying to seek some pleasure and relief from the built-up tension in her core.

"Oh honey, are you that desperate?" you teased, pulling the strapless cock out of her. She whined as you did, gripping the sheets.

You slipped it inside yourself slowly as you got up onto your knees.

"Lay down." you instructed.

"Please, it hurts-" she whimpered, her brow furrowed.

"I know baby, I know." you smiled, loving what she became when you edged her.

She lay down slowly, a look of pain, frustration, and desperation painted across her face. You slipped it in her gradually, your hands grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the bed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering.

"Feel better now?" you smiled.

You knew she didn't though, she wouldn't feel better until she came. She writhed around on the bed, unable to move much under your grip.

"Harder, fuck me harder." she begged.

You looked down at her, the desperate look in her eyes drove you wild.

"God you're such a whore, asking for it like that."

She was gasping for breath between moans and was practically seizing under you as she finally came. You slowed down as she finished, placing kisses on her neck as you did.

"No, don't stop- fuck me like you did last time, fuck me there." she sighed.

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

"Get on your hands and knees for me then slut."

She quickly got up and into that position. You grabbed her hips and slowly put it in her, she practically screamed as you did, dropping her head and panting as she adjusted to the size of it. She looked so pretty like this.

"What would everyone say if they knew you liked taking it in the ass like this?" you teased, slowly pushing in and out of her.

"Please, harder." she whispered, barely able to catch her breath.

"You'll bleed." you said, stroking her platinum-blonde hair.

"Just do it, I need it." she begged desperately.

You did as she asked, not holding back anymore and pounding into her ass with no reservations.

You heard her as she started crying.

"Too much for you baby?"

"No no, keep going." she cried, her voice broken and shaky.

It was clear now that Alexia had some kind of deep, unrelenting masochistic desire, and a desire for you to fulfill it.

You were getting tired now, she could take a lot, more than you thought she could.

"You had enough yet darling?"

"Nearly."

She brought her hand into her cunt and began to pleasure herself there. You loved the sight of it, the way she couldn't help herself.

She came quickly again after that, her body now dripping with sweat and shaking.

"Go to the living room." you ordered, as you pulled your cock out of her ass.

"Why?" she whispered, a note of fear in her voice.

"Just go," you said "and don't get dressed."

You followed her into the living room after discarding the strap.

You sat down on the sofa as she stood infront of you, her hands together.

"There's a match on, I wanna watch it, and I want you on your knees in front of me so I can play with you while I watch it." you smiled.

She got down on her knees for you and looked up at you with a piece of innocence still in her eyes- you were going to get rid of that.

You brushed your fingers over her lips and they quivered slightly under your touch.

"Open your mouth for me."

She did so, and you slid two fingers inside.

She began to suck them without instruction, and you immediately smiled at that.

"Good girl."

She never said a word, and her eyes never left yours even when your eyes were on the television watching the match. The feeling of her tongue gliding across your fingers was amazing, and seeing her like this, that was even better.

Eventually, you looked back at her, pulling your fingers out past her lips, and she instinctively leant forward, trying to get them back in her mouth.

"So needy." you smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She started rubbing her thighs together a little again, letting you know she wanted some friction.

"Get on top." you instructed, lying down on the sofa.

She got on top slowly, carefully, wincing from the pain caused by your roughness earlier, and she straddled you, her hands on her knees and her legs either side of your torso. You felt her warm cunt settle on your stomach, and you loved feeling her weight on top of you.

"You're soaked Ale, you need to cum again? hm?" you teased.

She nodded, still not in the headspace to speak.

"Can't talk baby? You're just a dumb little girl when you've been fucked y'know." you smiled up at her.

She moved her hands to your stomach, keeping herself steady.

"Go on, don't hold back." you said, your hands finding her thighs and holding them still for her.

She started to grind slowly, her eyes squeezed shut, whimpering. You were completely still until you took hold of her hips and her head fell back, a breathy sigh falling from her lips. You brushed your thumbs back and forth over her soft skin.

"That's it, you look so pretty like this Ale."

Her eyes remained shut and her hands moved on top of yours, her grip tight.

She was in pain, a lot of it, but her desperation for another orgasm outweighed that. She needed it.

Tears started falling from her eyes, and her breaths became deep and controlled, like she was focusing on that instead of the pain.

As she neared release though, she lost control of it and her breathing became ragged, her movements desperate.

As she finally came, she moaned in pain, and then she became still. She didn't open her eyes or move her hands from you.

"You okay Ale?"

She let out a sigh and nodded, then finally opened her eyes.

"We can go to sleep here, if it hurts too much to move." you said, stroking her cheek.

"No I wanna go to bed, can you carry me?" she asked, quietly.

"Of course."

You helped her slowly move off of you, and she winced in pain.

"It's okay, you'll be in bed soon."

You picked her up and she wrapped her arms around your neck and nuzzled into you as you carried her to bed. As you placed her on the mattress, she didn't let go of you.

"Are you okay, Ale?"

"More than okay." she smiled.

[kithtaehyung]

would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

-

-

Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

“Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

“Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

-

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

[keikikait]

ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

check out my other rafe series here!

read the prequel series here!

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 4.9k

summary: rafe is late for your date at the island club

warnings: no smut but is suggestive (read at your own risk), handsy rafe, mild violence/fighting, whipped reader & whipped rafe, they go to a restaurant but i don't specify any kind of food, rafe is angry for like 3 seconds but not at reader, mean jj, use of the word 'whore', i don't think they've shown rafe's new place yet so i made one up, i haven't watched all of s4 so if i get shit wrong i'm sorry, not proofread

a note: this was supposed to be short. oops

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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You and Rafe had date nights every Friday.

It was the only sense of regularity that he had, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He would plan it, tell you when and where to be, and you would eagerly oblige. He surprised you with something new every week; one Friday you’re driving across the thoroughfare towards the mainland for a shopping spree, the next Friday you’re on a private yacht watching the sunset. This week, he decided to go for the tried and true; dinner and a movie.

‘6 PM’, he told you, ‘and wear that silk emerald green dress.’ He had to run out for the day, still dealing with the aftereffects of Ward’s death and his departure from Tanneyhill. Trying to sell a giant, 6-bedroom mansion wasn’t as easy as you thought, as most of the residents of Kildare couldn’t afford to buy it from him. He was considering turning it into an Air B&B, a project he would rope you into to help with the interior design. You and Rafe had a new place, another mansion still located in Figure Eight, although this one is much smaller, a Spanish revival you had a lovely time decorating. 

As the afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the landscape, you found yourself perched upon a solitary bench situated beside the parking lot of The Island Club, the salty tang of the ocean breeze carrying the distant sound of crashing waves. Couples filed into the club, paying you no mind. Even though The Island Club wasn’t far from your new place, Rafe still bought you an Uber, just to make sure you were safe. It was almost 6:15 PM at this point, and every call and text to Rafe went unanswered. You had already informed the staff of his late arrival, ensuring that your reservation would not get cancelled. You check your watch again before standing, walking around the parking lot to check the streets.

Where was he?

You tug your dress down your legs. It was Rafe’s favourite on you, hugging your ass and hips perfectly. It was finally starting to get cold on the island, and even though the black leather jacket you stole from him didn’t exactly go with your outfit, it was keeping you warm. The wind flows through your hair, and you push it out of your eyes, looking down the street, trying to spot him on his bike. You sigh, your shoulders dropping. You turn around to head back to the bench, pulling your phone out of your small purse, ready to call him again.

You’re about to sit down when you hear the revving and rumbling of his dirt bike, pulling into the left side of the parking lot. You sigh, putting your phone away as you walk over to him. You bite your lip when you see him wearing that grey blue waffle-weaved sweater that makes him look delicious. Rafe turns his bike off, pushing the kickstand down before getting off, reaching up to unbuckle the strap of his helmet.

“Hey, handsome.” You say, stepping off the curb and approaching him. You reach out, putting one of your hands on his bicep, fingers slightly digging into the muscle. Rafe pulls his helmet off, keeping it clutched in his hand. His eye and cheekbone were swollen, slightly yellow, and a cut underneath his brow bone marred his otherwise handsome face. The cut was deep, and blood was caked along its edges. It was clear that he had been in a fight, and he had not come out of it unscathed. He winced as you suddenly reach up to touch his cheekbone, a worried look on your face. “What the fuck? What happened?”

Rafe winces as you touch his cheek, pulling back from your touch. He wasn’t in the mood for your coddling. His jaw was clenched tight, his shoulders tense from the fight. He had no intention of telling you what happened, either. You never needed to know about the trouble he was in. He puts his helmet on the seat of his bike and grabs your waist, pulling you in front of him. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice level so that he didn’t snap at you. He pressed a kiss to your temple, not bothering to conceal the bruises and blood on his knuckles. Was it his or someone else’s, or both?

“Are you okay?” You ask, moving your hand off his bicep to rest on his waist. “Rafe, please tell me.”

His expression hardens as you continue to push. His fingers grip your waist almost painfully tight. “I said, don’t worry,” he repeats, his voice stern. He’d never talked to you like this, and you could hear the warning behind his words. His eyes stare down at you, intense and full of anger, although you’re not quite sure if it’s meant for you. “Let it go.”

You don’t push it, not wanting to anger him anymore. It was supposed to be a nice, relaxing night. You wrap your arms around his waist to pull him into a hug, laying your head on his chest. Rafe hesitates, surprised by the sudden display of affection, but then he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you in close. He buries his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, and for the first time that night, his shoulders finally drop, his whole body relaxing. He squeezes you tight to his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head. 

He remains silent as he pulls away slightly, looking down at you. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist, his hand gripping your side as his other hand flies to your neck. His grip is loose, but his thumb presses against your pulse — a small habit he picked up after he started dating you. In his own words, it’s a way to calm him down and to remind himself that you were safe.

Rafe sighs, pressing kisses to your forehead before leaning his against it, rubbing your pulse back and forth as it races under your skin. His voice is soft when he finally speaks, “I’m fine. Just ran into a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” You ask, rubbing your hand up and down his side.

“Nothing you need to be worrying about, sweetheart,” Rafe mumbles, still keeping his head pressed against yours. Rafe never used pet names with anyone else, but with you, it felt different. His eyes drift down to your lips, unable to resist. They were a faint shade of red, glossy and puffy from your bites, just as he liked them. “Just some shit with JJ and John B. I handled it.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips, the hand on your neck moving to cup your cheek. Even as he pulls away, he keeps your body pressed against him. “Let’s not let this ruin our night, alright?”

“Are you sure?” You ask, brushing your thumb across his abs. “We can go home and order in if you want. I don’t want you to feel compelled to go out tonight.”

“Baby, I’m fine,” he murmurs, his voice soft. He understood where you were coming from, but only you would ever try to get out of a very expensive date because you thought he was too tired. “I got reservations for a reason. I don’t plan on missing our date night just because of a little fight.” The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back, pressing your body closer to his. He’d planned out everything for tonight. A fancy meal, followed by a quiet movie night at your place, then ending the night with his face buried between your legs, your wrists bound to the headboard. He didn’t want to ruin a date night that both of you were looking forward to. 

You sigh, but don’t push it. You didn’t want to ruin the date with an argument. You grab his hand, careful not to brush across his shredded knuckles, before leading him towards the entrance. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile a little bit at your persistence, thankful that you cared. He follows behind you, his strides matching yours. He winces a little bit when you grab his hand, his knuckles stinging from the fight, but he doesn’t dare let you know that. 

He holds the door open for you when you reach the entrance, waiting for you to go through before he follows behind, placing on hand on your lower back as you walk. His eyes drifted down to your ass, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and smacking it. Now that his father was dead, he had to try to keep the Cameron image clean and pristine at The Island Club. They weren’t fans of him to begin with.

You head through the small entrance, moving to wait in line for the hostess stand. The country club was pretty packed, a common occurrence for a Friday night. The couple in front of you were older, and the woman's eyes soften as she looked over her shoulder and spotted Rafe. 

He kept his hand on your lower back, not trying to hide the fact that you were both together. His eyes stayed locked with the older woman in front of you, not surprised to have already been discovered by one of the regulars. He could see the woman’s concern from a mile away, her expression shifting when she saw the scrapes and bruises on his face. Rafe sighed, his jaw clenching in annoyance. Even here, he couldn’t get away from his reputation. His hand started to rub small circles into your back, silently trying to soothe himself more than you.

The woman whispers to her husband before turning around again. “It’s Rafe, right?”

Rafe raises an eyebrow at the elderly woman, a hint of a scowl on his face as his eyes meet hers. He gives her a small nod, although he doesn’t feel like talking to a regular at The Island Club right now. He wanted nothing more than to spend the evening alone with you. “Yes, ma’am,” His response is short and brief. “That’s me.”

“I was a friend of your father,” The woman says. “We were business partners a few years ago. I’m sorry for your loss, Rafe. My condolences.” 

Rafe’s expression changes as soon as the woman mentions his father. He knew that most people from The Island Club had been friends with his old man and business partners with him. Hearing condolences for his father had become a regular part of his routine, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing about his father’s death every single time. His hand on your lower back tightens, pulling you a bit closer to him. He gives her a forced smile, trying his best to look polite. “Thank you, ma’am,” he responds, his voice stiff.

The woman smiles softly before turning back around, stepping forward towards the hostess stand. Rafe’s hands traveled from your hips to your lower back, pulling you closer to him. He was lost in reality, almost as if he didn’t want to admit to himself that his life was fundamentally changing. His father was dead, and his relationships with his remaining family were ruined. But he had you, and that’s all that matters to him right now.

You lean your head against his chest as you wait, hands wrapped around his bicep, rubbing it lightly with your thumb.

Rafe sighs as you lean against him, his hand on your lower back drifting down to cup your ass. He could only hope that the other patrons wouldn’t notice, although he didn’t really care that much. But that woman was going to tell everyone about how rough he looked tonight, and he knew that some people would have comments about that, too. Rafe lowers his head to speak in your ear, although his voice is quiet enough that only you could hear. “Can’t wait to get you home,” he murmurs.

"Yeah? You excited for me to get on my knees for you?" You ask. Just as Rafe had been thinking about you all day, you had been thinking about him. You couldn’t wait to sink to the floor in front of him, your hands eagerly unbuckling his slacks before letting him fuck your face. Your favourite part, though, was the way he gripped your hair and moaned as he cummed down your throat.

Rafe sighs, groaning low in his throat as your words go straight to his cock. He’d always loved it when you talked like this, even if you were in private or texting. He didn’t want you to talk to anyone else like that. You were his. “Mmm, I’m more excited to see your face when you ride me,” he mumbles, moving closer so that his mouth is right next to your ear, still careful to keep his voice low. He wanted to take you home right now, but he had been looking forward to this dinner all week, and he knew you were too.

The older couple in front of you step away, being led by the hostess to their table. You approach the stand, and you smooth out the front of your dress as you wait. Although Rafe was used to the rich life full of country clubs, cotillion and croquet, you weren’t. You wanted to make a good impression on the staff of The Island Club.

Rafe stands tall and proud as you both step up to the hostess stand, his arm still wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back. He glances down at your dress, taking in every detail of your appearance. You looked absolutely stunning in that dress, and it was taking all of his self-control to not get hard right now. The way you anxiously chewed on your lip, the way your hair was shining in the ambient lighting of the country club, the way you wore the ‘Rafe’ name necklace he bought you…he loved everything about you. He tugged you closer, loving the way you put a hand on his stomach as you leaned against him. You both had matching gold rings, engraved with your anniversary, yours on your forefinger while his sat on his thumb. 

The hostess looks up to greet both of you. She glances down at the reservation book for just a moment before nodding, a polite smile on her face. “Mr. Cameron,” she says. “Your table is ready.” She gathers two menus before leading you through the dining room towards the more private, member’s only area of the country club.

Even though you had been dating Rafe for a while, almost a year, you were always surprised by his influence. He had everything he ever wanted at the tips of his fingers, and because you were dating him, you got those luxuries too; endless shopping trips, a house full of anything you could dream of. And a handsome boyfriend, of course.

As you walk behind the hostess, Rafe’s fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hand tight. He was aware of all the eyes on him, as you could hear the whispers and murmurs from their fellow patrons, knowing they were all aware of the fight with John B and JJ, and the rumors were probably already spreading like wildfire. The hostess leads you to a secluded corner with a single table set for two, two candlesticks illuminating the table with a warm glow. 

“Thank you,” Rafe mumbles to the hostess as his eyes drift towards the far corner of the room. He lets go of your hand with some reluctance, before holding the chair for you at the small booth. He was thankful for the secluded booth, knowing it was going to be easier to touch you under the table. Rafe slides in next to you, reaching over to grab your knee, stroking his thumb softly back and forth. He wanted to put his hand on your throat to feel your pulse again, but he didn’t think that the patrons and staff would like that.

You thank the hostess, setting your purse down in the empty space next to you. As the hostess walks away, Rafe’s hand slips under the skirt of your dress, grabbing onto your inner thigh and rubbing back and forth. His touch is featherlight, just the lightest graze of skin against skin, although he can feel all the heat from your skin. 

He picks up the menu from the table, pretending to scan the food while his hand caresses you. He leans in toward you, although his eyes are still scanning the menu. “Do you know what you want to eat, sweetheart?”

“You.” You say immediately, flipping the menu over to look at the other side.

Rafe can’t help but let out a slight chuckle at your immediate response, his hand on your thigh stopping for a moment. His eyes finally look up at you from the menu, an amused look on his face. “Mmm, not yet, baby, but you’ll get it later. Promise,” he grins, his eyes drifting back down to the menu as his hand starts to rub against you again. “And for the main course?”

You sigh, glancing over the options. You didn’t really love any of the dishes on the menu, but you weren’t opposed to eating any of them. Rafe wraps his large, warm hand around your inner thigh and squeezes, yanking you a bit closer. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes your head spin, your brain shutting down for a split second. You purse your lips as you read before looking away, shifting in your seat. “You pick.”

He can see the way your body reacts to his touch, and it satisfies him to know that he can still affect you like that. It just makes him more eager to get you back home tonight. His fingers press into your thigh when you move closer to him, but he quickly loosens his grip when the waiter comes up to your table. 

He finally decides what he wants for the main course, and he orders for the both of you. His hand slides down your thigh, finally withdrawing, although he places his palm flat against your skin, resting his hand just below the edge of your dress. You sip on your drink as you wait for your food, feeling Rafe’s hand travel up your thigh again, as if he couldn’t resist. After the waiter walks away, Rafe’s focus turns back towards you, and he glances around the room to make sure nobody was watching. Seeing as everyone around him seemed to be doing their best to ignore him, he felt comfortable enough to continue his touch. His hand moves from your thigh to your hip, pulling you closer to him. “I like this dress on you,” he murmurs, his eyes raking over your body.

“Thank you,” You say as his hands travel up higher. “You look really good, baby.” You reach out and place your hand on his bicep, squeezing it. You couldn’t resist. He always looked good, but something about the way he looked in that fucking blue sweater and grey slacks made you go crazy, wanting to put your hands all over him and your mouth on his cock.

He gives you a smirk as your hand wraps around his upper arm, and he leans back into his chair. Your praise always brought out the cocky, arrogant side of him, and he absolutely loved when you told him how good he looked. His ego always needed a boost. He flexes the muscle underneath your hand, and it ripples underneath his sweater. “Yeah? You like this, don’t you?” He grins.

You nod, your mouth going dry. It was so hard to concentrate, all you wanted to do was shut your brain off and let him take control for the night. He knows exactly what effect he was having on you, and he loved seeing the effect that he could have on your body just from a little flex. “You feeling needy, baby?” He mumbles, his fingers pressing against your panties, right over your clit. You suck in a breath, gripping his sleeve to try to ground yourself. You nod.

The smirk stays plastered on his face as his palm squeezes tightly on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can see the way your shoulders tensing, knowing that you were trying your best to keep yourself from writhing in your seat. “Soon, sweetheart. We just gotta get through dinner,” he mumbles, although he wanted nothing more than to take you home right now and ruin you, make you cum over and over until you cry.

The waiter approaches with your food, setting everything on the table. It snaps you back to reality, and you move your glass so he can put your plate in front of you. As the waiter sets the plates down, Rafe reluctantly pulls his hand away from you. His hand goes to pick up his fork, although the movement is absent-minded. His eyes stayed focused on you, and the only thing he could think about was getting you home and alone. Eventually, he forces his eyes away from you and to his food. His other hand moves behind your lower back, resting his palm flat against the exposed skin, his pinky finger playing with the waistband of your panties.

You struggle through dinner, your thighs pressed together. The food was delicious, and you and Rafe spent a good amount of time talking about your plans for Tanneyhill, all the while he was brushing his fingers along your inner thighs and your panties. He was doing it on purpose, trying to rile you up, and it was working. You eat as quickly as you can, snatching your purse and  dragging him out of the restaurant after paying and leaving a tip.

You rush towards his bike, and he can’t help but chuckle at how desperate you are. He spins you around, pulling you against his chest. “Relax, baby. We’ll be home soon.”

You whine. “I need it, Rafe.”

Your whine was like music to his ears. His hand goes to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. His eyes are dark with lust as he looks down at you. “You’ll get it.” He says, grabbing his helmet and pushing it over your head. He secures the strap under your chin, kissing your nose. He climbs onto the bike, pushing the kickstand up.

“Do you have a helmet?” You ask, fiddling with it. It was definitely too big for your head.

“Nah,” He says, looking at you over your shoulder as you climb on, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I don’t need one, baby. I’m a professional. It’ll be fine, just hold on tight.”

“Rafe,” You say, your eyebrows furrowing with worry. “Are you sure?”

Rafe sighs as he places his hands on the handlebars, hearing the tone of worry in your voice. “Sweetheart, I swear, it’ll be fine. The house isn’t far,” he sighs, shaking his head and starting the engine. “I’ll go slow, okay? Just hold on tight and don’t let go. You’ll be fine, baby, I promise.”

You have no choice but to listen to him, tightening your grip around him, your purse squished between his back and your chest. “Okay.”

He nods slightly before reaching down to grab your thighs, pulling your body to fully press against his. He wants to be able to feel your skin against his. He doesn’t say anything else as he starts to drive, slowly making his way out of the parking lot. He had been through worse. He could handle a simple drive home without a helmet.

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You pull up into the driveway of your house, safe and sound. You wait for Rafe to pop the kickstand down and turn the bike off before standing, putting your purse back on your shoulder. You reach up, unclipping the helmet before pulling it off, shaking your hair out.

Rafe climbs off of the bike, gently letting go of the handles just in case it came tumbling. He bites his lip before reaching out, grabbing your waist and pulling you to him, his other hand immediately coming up to cup your neck. “You were worried for nothing, baby,” he murmurs, gently pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back, your hands flying to his waist, lost in the feeling of his tongue on yours.

“‘Bout time y’all showed up.”

You and Rafe pull away, glancing down your driveway.

JJ and John B hop out of JJ’s van, parked right against the curb.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You ask, your hands dropping from their spot on Rafe’s stomach. Rafe’s grip on you tightens, feeling you pull away. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at JJ and John B as they approach the two of you.

“What, you two on a date? Couldn’t even invite us?!” JJ laughs, his hands shoved into his pockets. You thought that Rafe looked awful, but it’s clear that he had the upper hand during his fight with JJ and John B. JJ looks terrible, his eye bruised and almost swollen shut, the side of his face scratched up like he fell onto gravel. John B has a split lip and a deep purple bruise on his eyebrow, his knuckles caked with dried blood.

“Wow, JJ. You look like shit,” You say, unable to hold back. “You already got your ass beat, are you back for more?”

JJ glares at you, his hands tightening into fists in his pockets. “Careful where you run your mouth, slut,” he growls, taking a step towards you. 

That’s all it takes to piss Rafe off.  “Watch your mouth,” he growls. He steps in front of you, blocking JJ’s path.

You just laugh, unable to take him seriously. You push past Rafe, shoving your purse into his chest. “Excuse me?”

JJ stares directly at you, his expression turning into a scowl. “Careful, you don’t want to fall back into old habits. You’re just a little whore for all of the Pogues,” JJ growls, and John B puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to shut up, but it isn’t enough for JJ to back down. He takes another step forward, his eyes locked on you and your face.

Everything happens quickly after that.

Before you could say another word, Rafe is launching himself at JJ, grabbing the collar of his shirt and throwing him against the side of his van. JJ tries to land a punch, but Rafe’s faster. He just keeps landing punches, one after the other, not letting up for a second. John B. jumps on Rafe, trying to hold him back, but it isn’t enough.

You quickly rush over, grabbing the back of Rafe’s sweater, tugging him backwards. “Stop. They aren’t worth it, Rafe.” His fist is raised, and he turns to look at you, hearing the panic in your voice. He freezes when you call out to him, and John B. jumps off of his back. 

The air is tense, everything is still and dead silent. All you can hear are their heavy breaths, and John B is holding onto JJ, preventing him from attempting to start another fight.

“If either of you ever come back here,” You walk towards them, getting up in JJ's face. “I'll bury you.”

JJ doesn't back off, and he glares down at you, a cruel smirk on his face.  “You gonna do it yourself?” JJ stands up, still being held back by John B. “Sweet, helpless little thing like you? Or are you just gonna try and hide behind your boyfriend?” His eyes trail down your body as his smirk grows, his teeth stained with blood.

You consider hitting him. You really do. But you know that JJ wouldn’t be scared to hit you back, and you really didn’t want to ruin this dress.

You step back before spitting on him.

A mixture of fury and shock shoots through JJ’s whole body, his face grimacing. “You bitch, I’ll fucking—“ JJ snaps, and he starts to come at you. John B grabs onto him, holding him back, but he’s barely able to restrain JJ, trying to calm him down.

You turn around, walking away from him, back towards your house. “Take your little bitch ass back to The Cut.” 

“You little whore, did you forget where you came from? Did you forget who you used to whore yourself out to?” JJ says, still fighting against John B’s grip on him. “You’re gonna regret that someday, you hear me? Someday you’ll have no one to protect your pathetic little ass, and I’m gonna be there, laughing at you. Just watch.”

Rafe starts to walk towards JJ and John B again, but you wrap a hand around his forearm, pulling him back. “Baby, stop. He’s not worth it.” You look up at him, trying your best to get him to calm down. 

JJ finally stops trying to shake John B off, realizing that he isn’t going to be able to land a hit on you, no matter how badly he wants to. “You’re lucky you’re not with the Pogues anymore. I’d teach you some manners,” he calls after you.

You drag Rafe back inside as JJ and John B get back into JJ’s van, the tires screeching as they drive away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

if you would like to be tagged for any future parts (if i make them), please reply to this post!

part two is here!

[buddie-buddie]

hi <3 how about bucktommy and "i can't belive this"

“I can’t believe this,” Buck groans, dropping his head to Tommy’s lap and stretching out, his feet hanging over the arm of the couch. 

It’s late morning by now, maybe even early afternoon. Buck had stumbled into bed last night with his head spinning, steadied by Tommy’s arm across his waist and his warm, familiar weight behind him. He’d slept like a rock until the pounding in his head woke him up a few minutes ago, his throat dry and his eyes hot as his hangover roared to life. His heart fluttered when he mustered up the courage to open his eyes all the way and saw the glass of water and two ibuprofen on the nightstand, both of which he downed before he let his feet hit the floor. 

He made his way into the bathroom, where his heart fluttered again as he realized he was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants he had no recollection of putting on last night, both of which are just a little bit too big to be his own. He brushed his teeth with the toothbrush that showed up in the bathroom the same day Tommy gave him a spare key to his house. It still makes him smile every time he sees it in the cup beside the sink, right next to Tommy’s own. 

Buck found Tommy in the kitchen, dropping a bagel into the toaster and humming to himself under his breath. Buck slid up behind him, snaking his arms around Tommy’s waist and resting his chin on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy had turned his head to press a kiss to the top of Buck’s head, murmuring “G’morning,” into his curls as his hands came to cover Buck’s own. They stayed like that for a minute, content to just hold each other in the silence of the morning, until the bagel popped up and Tommy ushered Buck into one of the stools at the small island so he could coax half the bagel and a few sips of coffee into him. 

They wound up in the living room after that, Buck’s need to be horizontal far greater than his need for the rest of the breakfast Tommy so sweetly prepared for him. Tommy shut the overhead lights off on the way in, just before he stopped to pull the curtains shut on his way to the couch. Buck’s chest ached beneath the pleasant weight of being loved like this. It still does now, as his head rests in Tommy’s lap and he announces that he can’t believe how hungover he is. 

“And yet I have no trouble believing it,” Tommy says dryly. 

Buck pouts. “I didn’t even drink that much.”

Tommy scoffs. Even when he does, it’s warm and fond and it doesn’t make Buck feel bad at all. In fact, it only makes him smile. “Sure you didn’t.”

Tommy strokes Buck’s cheek gently, his fingers trailing up until they reach the soft curls atop his head, loose and messy from a night of deep sleep. He runs a hand through Buck’s hair, soft and gentle in the same way Maddie always did when Buck was a kid and he didn’t feel well. 

He’s not six years old with the flu this time, and the hand in his hair isn’t that of his sister, but Buck still feels every bit as adored as he did back then. He could cry if he thinks about it too hard. 

“C’mon, I didn’t!”

“I could agree with you but then we’d both be wrong.” 

In Buck’s defense, the do-over bachelor party had been Chimney’s idea. Chimney’s idea that Buck took to immediately– he practically had the karaoke room booked before his next breath– but Chimney’s idea all the same. It was born out of Chim feeling so badly about missing the first one, despite everyone’s repeated insistence he wasn’t allowed to apologize for contracting a debilitating brain infection that nearly took his life. Though Buck likes to think that maybe, deep down, Chim wasn’t so opposed to the initial one as much as he led them to believe. 

And also in Buck’s defense, it was much more tame this time around. No hotel rooms were trashed, no doors were kicked in, and Eddie managed to keep his shirt on and intact the entire time. There was tequila, though. A lot of tequila. So much tequila that Buck can still taste it when he hiccups. Chim and Maddie were both there and Tommy wasn’t on call this time around, all of which instantly made it infinitely better than their first attempt. It was so much fun, the hangover’s worth it. 

Mostly. 

Buck sighs, closing his eyes as Tommy’s fingers card through his hair. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“Well, you would know,” Tommy deadpans. 

Buck grins, shoving Tommy playfully. “Not hit. Crushed.”

Tommy hums. “Semantics.”

Buck’s grin is so wide he thinks it might split his face in two. He can’t help it, though. He just… he loves this. Loves Tommy. Loves that he has someone who doesn’t shy away from laughing with him about things like this, someone who doesn’t treat him with kid gloves. Someone who takes him home after a night out and puts his pajamas on when he’s too drunk to do it himself. Someone who holds him when he has the spins and kisses the spot behind his ear and murmurs “Love you,” just before sleep pulls him under. Someone who leaves water and ibuprofen on the nightstand and who runs his fingers through his hair and turns off the big light and closes the curtains for him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up again, his head is still in Tommy’s lap, only now there’s a pillow beneath it. “Feel any better?” Tommy asks, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. Buck smiles at the thought of Tommy falling asleep beneath him. 

“No,” he says honestly. The pounding in his head is unrelenting, and he swears he can smell tequila in the layer of sweat that’s cooling beneath his now-damp t-shirt. “I think I’m dying. This is what death feels like.” 

He can feel Tommy’s laugh rumbling in his chest, warm and familiar. “This is a hangover in your thirties, baby.” 

“Same thing,” Buck mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut as Tommy dips his head down to press a kiss to the top of his head. As he drifts back to sleep, Tommy’s quiet laugh is the last thing he hears before sleep takes him.

prompt game

[imaginesmai]

Hiii I absolutely adore your fics! Especially the angst 😭😭

I was wondering if you could you write something super angsty about when Az comes back from the dungeons after torture and he just looks so... broken.

Y/n (his mate) first comforts him, ofc, but then she's so pissed at Rhys for making Azzy do this that she goes to pick a fight with him. Maybe even the others have to step in after the fight starts to get physical...

You asked for angst and you shall recieve! I kind of imagine Azriel being quite closed off about his missions, so I hope I made this right! Feel free to make more requests, and thank you for your kind words!

Warnings: mentions of violence against children and their death, kind of mean!Rhys but not cruel nor hateful, just a bit dumb. Not a hate Rhysand fic.

Breaking point - Azriel

The fire had already died down, and the dinner was cold. You had spent half of your afternoon cooking, and the other half choosing your best dress. The one that kept Azriel’s eyes captured all night, that seemed to be a magnet for his hands.

It was rare to have a night for the two of you, between his work and yours as an emissary. It was rare to have him accept that night without responsibilities, but lately you always found some excuse to be together. Not mated for too long, Azriel found himself drifting away from his work to your presence.

That wasn’t the case that night.

You stared at the last candle as the fire consumed it, minutes away from turning off. Azriel had closed his side of the bond early in the morning, before you started your shift, but you tugged at it once more. Briefly, softly, tired of hours of waiting with no result.

Part of you wondered if dating the shadowsinger would be always like that. You had never complained about him his work before you, but that night was starting to feel too long.

The brief rush of air from the door being opened turned the candle off, and you turned around with a scowl ready. Your high-heels laid forgotten next to the door, and that would have been enough other times to make Azriel feel bad.

But you watched as Azriel left his own shoes next to yours without saying anything, his shoulders tense and his wings dropped.

“Az” you stared, squinting your eyes to see in the darkness of the night. “Is that blood?”

“Not mine”

His answer was harsh, like the edges of his body. Once your eyesight accommodated to the dark, your discovered that there was indeed blood. Not only the smudge on his neck that you had seen, but also on his clothes. On his wings, dripping to the floor. Dried on his shoes, that had left a few prints on the wooden floor. His hands seemed too crusted with it.

You rose from the chair and he looked at you. His face already looked crestfallen, but after noticing your dress and the dinner table, slumped more. Azriel must have forgotten about the dinner, the date and everything else. You didn’t usually talk about the details of his job, yet you gathered it took a stroll on him most of the days.

Going against every fiber of your body that had been angry minutes ago, you walked towards him barefoot.

“I’m sorry” he sighed, turning around to hang his coat. “Lost track of the time down there. I… forgot”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t sure food was edible. It did smell weird” you tried to change the mood, but he didn’t look at you. “Everything okay? That’s a lot of blood”

“Not mine” he repeated. “It’s been… complicated. Do you mind if I take a shower? We can reheat dinner and eat in the couch. I’m sure we can savage something”

“Sure. There are some leftovers from yesterday”

Azriel was a tough male, and hated to talk about his feelings. You had learned that through hard years of friendship where he didn’t let on any feelings towards you, just cold indifference. Being mated changed some things, but other stayed the same.

It would have been a mistake to try and drag answer out of him, so you let him get away to the shower. He gave you a tense smile and walked out, ignoring the worried glance you casted.

Sounds of clothes hitting the floor filled the silent apartment. You doubted what would be best, if talk to him or leave him alone. Maybe he wanted to be alone, you tried, because he hadn’t asked for your presence. Shared showers were common in your household, but not that time. Biting your lip, you considered what to do until you heard the soft brush of his wings against the tiles of the bathroom.

Azriel wouldn’t be dragging his wings through the floor if he wasn’t devastated.

Fae hearing and smell weren’t a good ally to surprising people, so he didn’t say anything when you closed the bathroom door behind you and undressed. His bulky form took almost all the space, shadows gathering close to the sink and on every corner of the small bathroom.

They brushed against your feet when you pushed the curtain aside and squeezed yourself between him and the wall. There was no way of knowing if those were tears or drops of water on his cheeks, but he still smiled at you.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow” he tried, his voice sounding vacant. “I’m not feeling like it right now”

“It’s the first and last time you’ll hear me say this, but I’m not thinking about that right now. Do you want to talk about it?”

“About me not wanting – “

“About today, love. I’m right here if you want to talk” you wrapped your arms around his chest, staring up at him. “Maybe it’ll feel better if you let it out”

“Doubt it”

Azriel was a head taller than you, bigger in every aspect, but your eyes still bored into him. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and his left wing twitched. It was unusual for you to have his naked form so close and do nothing about it, for him to have his favorite parts of you within reach and do nothing.

But that night you weren’t thinking about any of it as his breath shuddered for the first time since you had known him, as composure seemed to crack a little.

His face was pure anguish for a moment, all pain, devastation and sorrow. Every feeling he had comforted you through broke through his face at once. Drops of water fell from his soaked hair, that covered most of his forehead. There was no way of knowing if those were tears of just water, but there was a suspicious salty scent on the air.

“I want to be here for you, but you have to let me” you assured him, squeezing him tighter in your arms. A primal need was born in you to keep him whole, to be the glue to his broken pieces.

“It’s not something you want to hear”

“Nothing you can tell me will make me love you less, or see you different. I already love every part of you”

“Not this part” his voice sounded tight, desperate, as he made eye-contact with you.

“That’s for me to decide, Az, and I’ve already decided. What’s the matter?”

Azriel still seemed to doubt for a second. His hand searched for the back of your hair and he tugged at it aimlessly. He tangled his fingers, now clean of blood, between your soaked locks. As if the words he was about to say would break him in two, he was steadying himself against the wall with his free hand.

Maybe they were, you thought. Azriel never shared his feelings with you. He was a closed person that barely let you inside his heart as his own mate, but you were okay with that. You would give him time, every minute and second he needed, until he was comfortable with giving you his heart.

That moment seemed important enough to deserve a short pause. Azriel’s throat worked around the words, his heart speeding.

“There is a man, in the mountains. He owns a cabin deep in the forest, at least ten miles away from the nearest civilization post. Rhysand has been keeping tabs on him for a while, for some… suspicious activities”

“What activities?”

“Children. Going missing” he explained briefly, avoiding the further explanation. Him sharing something about his life outside you and your family was enough though. “It’s been going on for a while. Devlon’s daughter was between the missing ones, so the camp lord finally demanded something to be done about it”

“And you were the one to do it”

You kept your annoyance to yourself, your thoughts about Rhysand using your mate as his personal guard dog. You might love Rhysand as your High Lord and friend, but the things he made Azriel do were enough to keep your distance from him sometimes.

That time, you braced yourself for Azriel’s information and tried to be as open as possible.

“Yeah”

Azriel took another pause, and that time you were sure those were tears filling his eyes. For any answer, you leaned a bit forward and got on your tiptoes to press your lips to his jaw. It was a soft, brief kiss against his stubble that had him shuddering once more. His head fell even lower after that.

“So that’s where you’ve been all afternoon. That’s fine, no different from any other day” you contemplated when he didn’t continue. “What really happen, Az?”

“You don’t want to know”

He made his intention, his thoughts, clear for a second time. Yet there was a hidden urge on his voice that pressed you to keep asking. The bond was still closed off, but through the cracks of his part, you could feel the need to share it. It was clear that he didn’t want you to be the person to share it with, and you would have normally respected his choice.

But there were tears on his eyes, actual tears on your precious mate’s eyes that were shattering your own heart into pieces. Your strong, brave shadowsinger was breaking in that tiny shower and you were dying to be there for him.

“Azriel”

You just needed his name. It was like a prayer, like an order or a command, like a petition. He used to tell you that you saying his name was enough to put him to his knees, that buckled at the sound. Azriel’s face broke into a grimace and he suck a breath before he finally broke down.

“He kept those children in cells in his own basement. They were so skinny, so small, he wasn’t feeding them” Azriel’s breath sped up, as his words stumbled down his throat. He broke eye-contact and stared at a spot in your collarbone. “I couldn’t tell one apart from another, because he heard I was coming and burned them all down. There was no one left alive”

It took you a moment to separate the horror of the story of his own horror. The one that marked his hands that held you so lovingly, that made you coffee each morning and ticked you in the early mornings. His stepbrothers had burned his hands down, and since then, Azriel hadn’t been near an uncontrolled fire.

“I tried to save them, so save any of them. But they were all ashes”

When Azriel leaned down so he could rest his head against your shoulder, you only held him tighter. When the water turned cold and he started shivering, you just turned it off in silence and guided him to bed.

You dried him with soft touches, stopping to touch every inch of his scarred hands. Helped him get into comfortable clothes and laid with him in silence, letting him knowing you weren’t going anywhere – at least yet. You stared at him with a small smile until his eyes closed and his body relaxed, his breathing finally becoming even.

For good measure, you brushed his hair out of his face. There was no need for him to happen what had happened next. The blood on his clothes, the stains on the wooden floor. You were sure there were specks of blood in his wings, where he couldn’t reach.

Nothing Azriel told you would drag you away from him. He could become a monster and you would destroy the world with him. But that night, after hours of staying awake just staring at him safe from the horrors of the world, you got up and put back your clothes.

Then, you winnowed away.

-

Rhysand had been finishing reports when he noticed the breach in his home. Cassian was sitting on the couch, half-asleep with un-done reports on his own desks.

He had been waiting for Azriel’s that night, but he guessed he would receive it the next morning. When he noticed the breach, he guessed it was his spymaster bringing back information from his latest task.

Rhysand didn’t expect you appearing out of thin air on his office, with a murderous look on your face. He raised his brows lightly, and got up from his chair. He didn’t miss the way you were clenching your fists, so he decided not to cross the barrier between you and him.

“Y/N” he called your name carefully. “It’s late, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Azriel just came home. Destroyed. And I’m supposed to be asleep?”

“What happened?”

The mean, sarcastic laugh you barked at his question wasn’t the ‘you’ Rhysand knew. The kind emissary that settled political relationships between courts, that lighted up his brother’s darkness. You snorted again when you looked at his expecting face.

“You mean besides completing yet another cruel mission for you, one he was clearly too attached to? Why do you always send him for the worse ones? What makes your sanity more worthy than his?” you extended an arm and pointed vaguely around the room. “You’ve been here, sitting so comfortably, while my mate was getting his hands dirty on your name. And you dare to ask about – “

“I don’t sit here comfortably, I don’t value my sanity over his. Where is this coming from?”

It wasn’t the first time you had that argument, more common during the last few years. Even when Azriel was just your friend, you had always spoken against his role in Rhysand’s court. You had seen the bags under his eyes, the weight of his actions that he didn’t share with his family.

Cassian perked up from his spot at your argument and raised voices, and noticed the hostile atmosphere immediately. It was hard not to, when your own power was making the lights tremble and your eyes spark.

“Because you are draining him! He’s not a weapon you can yield against your court, he’s part of your family and your brother. And you’re gonna end up hurting him”

“You’re not the person to talk about my court or how I handle those matters. You’re not High Lord and certainly not around enough to question my rulership”

“I am his mate, the one who picks up the pieces. What you do with him isn’t family or brotherhood, is extortion and manipulation” you busted out, taking a step closer. “You saved him, good for you! That was centuries ago! And now he feels like he owns you his life and you just throw him around!”

“Careful there, Y/N. I don’t appreciate how you’re talking right now” the high lord growled under his breath, his own power waking up.

“We should talk about this in the morning”

Cassian tried to interfere, but you didn’t pay attention to him when Rhysand stepped away from the table and towards you. It wasn’t your friend who stood before you, the man you had laughed with and worked for during many years. It was the responsible of your mate’s pain and all you saw was read and hate and Azriel’s first tear rolling down.

You bared your teeth at him like a wild animal, you guessed. You were coming at him with everything you had kept through the years, and maybe it was rushed and mean, but it wasn’t unfair.

“Azriel is my brother, and he’s a valuable resource for our court that I carefully blade against – “

Rhysand’s words died down when your fist collided with the side of his mouth. He stumbled against the table, a pen rolling off. Cassian finally rose from his seat and opened his mouth to warm Rhysand, to stop you or to do something. But he didn’t move as your hand lowered again against your High Lord. You pushed him away from you, and any answer or complain Rhysand had died down when he finally focused on your face.

There were tear tracks down cheeks, and you didn’t look angry anymore. You looked desperate, broken, so sad that it robbed Rhysand’s breath.

He kept still as you pushed him once more, now his body rigid against your touch. You chocked on a sob when he didn’t flinch, your fist hitting the side of his chest. He didn’t stop you when you kept hitting him, pushing him, as you cried down every truth in that room.

You’re hurting my mate

You’re going to kill my mate

Please just leave him alone

It was your begging that made him realize that his mistakes. The sorrows that you poured in them that he saw himself in, when Feyre was hurt. It made him wonder what kind of brother he was for driving Azriel’s mate to that state.

Rhysand took everything you gave him and ordered Cassian with a silent look to leave. The male obeyed with a sharp look, disappearing minutes before your knees finally gave out and you crumbled after a weak punch. You hid your face in your hands as Rhysand tried to keep you straight. Your body shook with sobs and you didn’t have it in you to feel bad when shadows caressed your shoulders as Azriel winnowed behind you.

Your mate gently grabbed you in his arms and helped you get up. Not once he looked at Rhysand, not once he acknowledged his brother’s desperate tries to meet his eyes and speak into his mind. Azriel just held you together as he winnowed back to your bed, where he had noticed you had left him to do what he was too afraid to say himself.

“Just let him be happy” you whined one last time as shadows covered you both. His arms pulled you farther against his embrace. “You fucking prick, let me be happy”

Rhysand watched you two disappear without catching his brother’s eyes once. Azriel only looked at you with a mix of adoration and gratitude, and kept Rhysand off his mind. The High Lord stared at the empty spot you had left for a while, caressing his already bruised jaw.

Then, he fell to his chair and let the doubts and mistakes crowd his mind.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Let me know if you want me to do an Azriel taglist!

Azriel taglist:

@boygeniuses10 , @tothestarsandwhateverend

[gatorlovebot]

part two of this little piece <3

you work early hours, not as early as simon, but in the mornings when he's bundling himself into his truck he notices lights on in your home. the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen. he watches you pull into your drive later in the afternoon. he gives you about an hour.

after the first time you agreed to accompany him and riley his feet always lead him to your front steps whenever he takes the dog out. the second day he can see the ways in which you weren't prepared for this to happen again like your feet still being in your fluffy slippers. but you oblige him again, turning back around inside to slip your shoes on.

by the end of the week when he comes to your door you're all ready to go on the other side. like you were waiting for him. it makes something rumble contently in his stomach. but when you two loop back around the neighborhood and say your goodbyes at your doorstep he vows to give you a break from himself over the weekend. he's been greedy all week, basking in your attention and kindness. the way you smile at riley, the way you smile at him, the giggles that bubble up out of you at his jokes. he'll revel in it over the next two days, drowning out the rest of the world with memories of you.

-

he wakes up later that night, disoriented and confused because he doesn't remember falling asleep. he's in a sitting position on the couch, boots still on, riley laid up next to him. when simon starts to stir riley's eyes cut to him, simon can feel them even in the dark of the house. it's late and simon is cold and his head throbs. when he reaches down to undo the thick laces of his boots his head feels impossibly full. he felt a tickle in his throat and a dull ache at his temples at the job site earlier that day but he had just brushed it off.

he drags himself from the couch down the hallway to his bed, curling up under the blankets still in his clothes, shivering despite the layers. when he wakes the next morning he feels worse, barely able to let riley out into the back garden. he spends most of the day resting on the couch, not eating, not drinking, until he opens his eyes to complete darkness and hauls himself back to bed again, the warmth of riley curling along his back.

the next day starts the same, simon waking to the ache in his ribs with every breathe he takes from spending the entire night coughing. he's not as cold, luckily, but his head still feels weighted down. he takes his place on the couch, dozing off once riley is back safe and secure in the house again.

he's awoken later in the day to a soft knocking at the door. he settles back into the cushions and let his eyes slip shut again, willing the stranger to go away. no one knocks at his door. his eyes snap open though when he hears the softness of your voice calling his name. he musters up his strength to get himself upright and hopes hopes hopes that he hasn't kept you waiting for too long, that you'll still be there waiting for him on the other side of the door when he finally gets it open.

you stand on his doorstep with tupperware in your hands and a smile on your face. he has to lean against the doorframe to keep himself up right. "oh, hi," you greet, color gracing your cheeks as you gesture at the tupperware in your hands, "i was baking and i thought i'd bring you over some cookies for being so nice to me since i moved in. i made a few different kinds because i didn't know what you liked. oh, i also made some dog biscuits for riley, they seem a little dry to me but the receipt i found used all dog safe ingredients."

he could listen to you ramble all day long, he hopes you'll keep going, hopes you'll explain each little thing you made him and his dog. he hopes you never leave his front steps, hopes you'll come inside. but you don't keep going, he instead watches as you furrow your brows as you take in his face. he hasn't looked at himself in days, can't even being to imagine the right state he's in.

"are you sick?" smart girl you are for putting the pieces together, he almost melts at the concern lacing your words. you reach a hand up, resting the back of it against his cheek, he tries not to purr against the softness of your skin. "you're so warm." you comment, reaching up to press your hand against his forehead, he shamelessly leans into your touch.

you giggle at him, a little thing, "you're burning up, simon."

his head still rests against your hand and his eyes are firmly shut, filling him with a sense of serenity for the first time in days. "sure am." he croaks, voice breaking against all the shit in his chest. it's the first time he's spoken to anyone in days.

"have you been taking care of yourself?"

he waits a beat, voice in his head screaming at him to lie, to push you away, but instead he shakes his head agianst your soft skin, mumbling out, "don't know how."

he doesn't see the way you roll your eyes at him, but he feels you take your hand away, instead moving it to his chest to push him back inside. once you toe your shoes off by the door you stop to take a moment to take in his living arrangements. the space and silence between you two allows for shame and embarrassment to start creeping up his throat but before he knows it you're leading him back to the couch, riley hot on your heels.

you get him to lie back down and even though he takes up the entirety of the couch you make space for yourself. sitting on the edge of the cushion, back against his legs as you reach over to fuss around with the blankets. it feels so good, but he knows its wrong. knows that you shouldn't be here, shouldn't be touching him like he's something to be taken care of.

he's almost about to listen to the voices in his head to push you away when you reach for his hand. he knows its clammy, but you slot your fingers between his like you want to be there. like you want to be touching him.

"have you eaten anything, simon?"

he vows to let you stay for as long as you like.

[creepling]

⋆.˚☀︎٠ ࣪⭑ A KNOCK AWAY

synopsis: returning packages and a broken washing machine lead you to spend the night with your hot neighbour, digger harkness.

tags: smut - minors dni. fem!reader. age difference (early 20s x late 30s). domestic elements. reader described as "shy" but not really. sexual tension. alcohol use. drinking games. awkward moments. oral (f receiving). couch sex. big dick (it's canon it's out of my control!!!). p in v. creampie. 4.4k words.

Your neighbour had a habit of ordering ludicrous amounts of packages but is never at home to collect them. It was almost every day they arrived and piled at your front door. The last few days you’ve knocked on his door to give them, but met by silence. Your small apartment is running out of room if any more decide to show up. You had been going in the afternoons once you came off work, but he either didn’t answer or wasn’t in. This time, on Saturday morning, you decided to knock on his door. Who cares if it’s the weekend, or it’s too early, you were determined to get those packages out of your house.

You knock gently at first and wait for a minute. No answer. A week. A whole week of this bullshit. Impatience clouds your sympathy, and you knock on the door harder. You hear a thud, a clank of glass, and a curse on the other side of the door. You knock again, calling up a groan of annoyance and an “I’m coming!”

The door opens, and you’re greeted by your neighbour for the first time since you moved here. He is shirtless, showing off a collection of tattoos. His mop of hair hadn’t met a comb yet; still scuffled by sleep. You could tell he was older, and you were taken aback by how attractive he was. Given in a rugged way. You half-expected a balding divorcee with a beer belly.

“You’re George, right? I live next door,” You introduce.

Eyes squint and bloodshot, he looks you up and down before nodding. “You know what time it is, sunshine? Too bloody early to be knocking on people’s doors.” He said, fighting through a hangover to communicate. The twang of an Aussie accent was the second thing to surprise you. Even with the twang of annoyance in his tone, you bite your cheek to fight off a flattered smile.

Your bashfulness forces you to ditch the defiant speech you prepared. “I’m aware of that- but I’ve tried to get a hold of you all week, but you seem to not be in during the afternoon.” You shuffle to your open door, grab one of the packages and gesture it to George, “There’s a ton of packages here for you.”

George’s annoyed face began to soften, and he let out an idle chuckle. “Shiiiiit, I forgot about those!”

He opened his door wider and began collecting the parcels from you. You got a peek inside his apartment. Your suspicions of his home were accurate, resembling what all men living alone succumb themself to; their own squaller.

“Thanks for holding onto them for me. And sorry for being cranky, hangovers, y’know?” George said, his tone now different, one more pleasant. You smile, feeling pleased that you have the chance to converse with a neighbour and know who lives next door.

“Hope you had a good night so it’s worth it,” you chuckle, taking a stack of the packages and shuffling to his door. George takes them from your hands swiftly. This left you standing by his door, looking around the living room, stumped on the small talk. You were never really good at this.

“I mean- it was alright. They just hit you more when you get older,” he dropped the remaining boxes by his door, rubbing his temples as he stretched. His abdomen extended, shifting the waistband of his pants, making you look away and stand in silence. George scratches the back of his neck as he looks at you, feeling the interaction fade to a farewell.

“I better get going, you’ve got a lot to unbox,” you say, slowly backing away.

George gets to the door, nodding and shooting you a smile. “Thanks again for keeping them safe.” You could have sworn he looked you up and down, in a different way this time. Sizing you up, for other means. Maybe it was your imagination.

You meekly wave before retreating to your apartment. With the packages gone, your eyes adjust to the clear space, and the lingering images of your neighbour hot in your thoughts.

The washing machine was stuck again, and no matter how hard you hit it, it was still broken. Today is not going well, and you were on the edge, especially since the only other machine in the block has an ‘out of order’ sign on it. You rub your hands along your face, the skin already flushed from anger. A shuffle of footsteps approaches the entrance, and you reveal yourself to see who is witnessing your self-pity.

“Useless fucking thing, ain’t it?” It was George, the first time you’ve seen him in clothes that weren’t pyjama pants with socks and slides. He looks like he’s back from work, or the gym, it is hard to tell. You did wonder what he did for a living.

“I’m lucky it broke before I put my laundry in,” You look at the bright side with heavy eyes and a half-assed smile.

“Well, I don’t wanna brag, but I do have a machine. Wouldn’t mind ya using it until they fix it,” George shrugs with a ‘no big deal’ attitude. Suddenly your neighbour was a beacon of hope, and the stress left you with a sigh of relief.

“That would be really helpful, thanks,” you pick up your laundry basket, following up the stairs. He hunched the duffle bags over his shoulder. Reaching the top of the stairs, he unlocks his front door and lets you in first, taking a look at his living room and huffing. “Sorry about the mess.”

Beer bottles and cans littering the coffee table, clothes on the floor or hanging from the couch and chairs. You take one breath and smell the stale air, keeping a straight face. “It’s okay,” You smile through it, not wanting to place judgment. Maybe he’s just a busy guy.

George quickly shows you the settings on the machine (which he wasn’t so sure about) before excusing himself to the shower. Before you could ask questions, he was dashing to the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices. You load the machine, press the button and hope for the best.

Alone in his apartment was daunting and you begin to explore. Mostly focused on the messiness, the environment nagging at your senses. Clean space, clean mind, as they say. You pick up the trash and throw it out, starting with the beer cans. Luckily you didn’t find anything too disgusting, with the odd dirty plate you could place in the sink. You open the curtains, coughing from the dust and open the window to release the smell of stale pizza and beer. Your mind is clearer, you go to wash your hands until you spot George standing by the entrance of the living room in awe. He is still in his towel, his right hand clenching the side to keep it in place, his hair wet and slicked back. You turn away immediately, looking anywhere but him, a kick of adrenaline overtaking your insides.

“Wasn’t aware I ordered room service,” he joked, amused by your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry- I should have just left and come back later for the laundry. But- I don’t know- your place looked like it needed a tidy-up. I can’t help myself, it’s a habit. God- I’m so stupid-”

“Don’t get your undies in a twist, it’s fine. I appreciate it,” George reassures, rubbing the back of his neck, “As you can see, I don’t get many visitors.”

When he closes the bedroom door to change, it’s safe for you to look again. That feeling in your stomach didn’t go away, it still brewed in the pit and crawled its way up your core. It makes you think about him again, like those sleepless nights after your first encounter, and your cheeks grow hot. Maybe this is a good time to slip out and avoid him like the plague. But what else would you be doing? Watching TV? Playing video games? All alone in your apartment, like you always are. That’s how your life has been, work, home, bed; absent of social life, of anything remotely adventurous. You keep your feet firmly on the ground, chewing your lip in thought. There was a time when you lived life on the edge, out every weekend, hooked up with people. Letting your old self come out to play wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

“Where do you keep your cleaning supplies? I could do the rest for you if you want,” you call, inching towards the bedroom door so he can hear you. He opens the door quickly, startling you, wearing casual grey sweatpants and a white tee.

“Are you like a freelance maid or something? This how you get clients?” He leaned an arm on the door frame, looking down at you. He becomes the only thing in eyesight and you freeze, giving a shy smile.

“No, I just like cleaning, that's all. You seem like you need it, being a busy guy and all.” You study his eyes, wondering if he sees right through you.

George slowly nods, then snaps his fingers, heading towards the front door and sliding his shoes on. “Tell you what, love. I have to run a few errands, while I’m out I’ll leave you to it.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “You’re just gonna leave me, your neighbour you’ve met like once, in your house alone? You trust me like that?”

He shrugs, taking one of the duffle bags full of… something. “I’ve got many weapons I can pull on you if you try anything. Plus, you’re young and don’t look that strong, so I think I can take you on.” You weren’t sure if he was joking, but there was a cheeky look in his eye that allowed you to chuckle.

“That would do it. You can trust me.”

George gives a little salute, exiting the door. “Stuff’s under the kitchen sink. Good luck!”

You look at his limited supply, an empty bottle of bleach and a mysterious liquid in a spray bottle. You decide to use your supplies, grab them from your apartment, and come back to start the work.

You collapse on the couch gasping for air. People underestimate how much energy it takes to clean, especially when cleaning George’s house. Within an hour you cleaned the living room and kitchen and hung up your laundry to dry in your apartment. The worst part was the vacuuming, as like not owning cleaning supplies, he also didn’t have a vacuum. Go figure.

George eventually returned, greeted by your efforts and your limp body sprawled on his couch. You quickly got up, hoping he didn’t mind. Heck, this guy doesn’t have a vacuum, he can’t be the judge. “So, what do you think?” You anticipate.

“You did a bloody good job, I’ll tell ya that,” a smile on his face, making you smile too. “And since ya the best neighbour on this side of Metropolis, I got ya a lil payment to say thanks.”

George pulls out a crate of beers and takeaway pizza, presenting them to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you smile at the thought. “Thanks, George.”

“Please, call me Digger, everyone calls me that,” he said, “Thought we could have a couple of beers and I’d feed ya, but I’m no chef, hence the pizza.”

“So, Digger… is this you inviting me over for dinner?” You ask, pursing your lips. He thought about it and then nodded his head. “I guess I am,” he smirks.

Pizza crusts and beer cans decorate the coffee table, the television musing low music. You laugh at a joke Digger told you, hiding your mouth to not spit all over the place. He sits low on the couch, his hands resting between his legs with a beer. With your legs close to your chest, you take a sip of beer when a silence falls between you.

“Thanks for having me, I’m having a lovely time.” You confess, a little tipsy. You get shy admitting that, focusing on the music, unaware of Digger’s eyes not leaving your sight.

“I didn’t have a college kid cleaning my house on my bingo card,” he muses teasingly, smirking at your bashful smile.

“I am not a college kid! I graduated ages ago.”

“And by ages ago you mean in the last five years?”

He chuckles at your look of defeat. “Says the guy who’s five years off getting a pension,” you tease in defence.

“I’m not that old!” He defended back, “Nowhere near it!”

“Well, you’re at least old enough to clean your own house and have a vacuum.”

“You got me there…” he says into his beer.

The silence fell between you once again, but surprisingly it was not awkward. The air was thick, and not with stale air like before. You convince yourself it’s one-sided, keeping yourself together. You had an idea, but it was juvenile. When he doesn't say anything to keep the conversation going, you go on and suggest it.

“How about we play truth or drink?”

“How old are you? Five?” He scoffs.

“We already established my age, remember? C’mon, it’ll be a good icebreaker. Don’t you wanna get to know your friendly neighbour?” You nudge his arm playfully, realising you’ve been going that a lot since you had a drink. Mostly when he told a joke. You try not to cringe, realising your inferiority. He probably thinks you’re immature, and you suddenly see yourself as a fool. But when he turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention while cracking open another beer, you feel a little better about yourself.

“Who’s asking first?” He asks.

You volunteered since you suggested playing. You turn towards him, fighting through a fit of giggles, liking the way his eyes smile at you. He has nice eyes, light in colour, a mix of blue and grey with crow's feet winging the sides.

“Okay, let’s start easy. How long have you lived on the block?” You ask.

“‘Bout five months, I’d say,” he says.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“Oi, thought you ask one question at a time?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just curious,” you dart your eyes to his smirking lips before looking away.

“To answer your other question, I do move around a bit. It’s a job thing.”

You look back at him, catching his stare, the one that never seems to fade from you. You like the way he stares at you, so attentive like he refuses to have you out of his sight. It’s the type of stare that makes someone feel special.

“My turn,” he chirps, “are you always this shy around people?”

“What? I’m not shy,” you scoff.

“Really? You’re not shy?”

“What happened to starting easy?”

“No, you said that. I didn’t. I never start easy,” he says haughtily.

You roll your eyes, taking the beer can to your lips and taking a sip. Digger scoffs in shock, “No way are you drinking to that.”

“It’s a ridiculous question, plus I technically did answer the question. I’m not shy.”

Digger shakes his head in disappointment, breaking eye contact to chuckle into his hand. You narrow your eyes, readying the next question.

“Do you have a wife and kids?” You ask.

Digger didn’t act like you struck a nerve, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. He shook his head, and you take that as an answer, not wanting to press further. Yet, he begins to speak, in a tone softer than the one you’ve been getting used to;

“I know at my age I probably should, but it’s never worked out, y’know? The whole love thing I’ve never gotten the hang of.”

You resonate with him, meekly returning a smile. “Me either.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Digger said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re good-looking. Woulda bet somebody snagged ya by now.”

You can’t help but chuckle, hearing how wrong his words are. “I guess I’ve gotten close before, but it was never meant to be.”

Digger nods in agreement like he is in the same boat. You had a strong urge to move closer to him, but resort to fidgeting with a thread on the coach. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Mine,” Digger returns his gaze to you. It was more intense, and you feel him all over you. As you grow the courage to meet his eyes, you see them trailing from your lips to meet you, his icy eyes darkening and lips parting as he readies his words.

“How would you feel about kissing me?”

Your stillness speaks volumes to him, and from the look of shock in your eyes, Digger’s smile fades and turns sour. He hides his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck- Just drink to that, it was bloody stupid,” his self-depreciation eats at you and you try and find the words to explain yourself. He was right, you were shy, and it got in the way of your feelings. So much for being the big flirt like you planned.

“No, it’s fine, honestly-”

He cuts you off, “I just thought- why else would wanna hang out with an old fuck like me? Keep my packages, clean my house,” he groans out a sigh, “and the way you look at me, fuck, it’s been driving me insane all day.”

“Digger-” you catch his attention, softening your face, and placing your beer on the coffee table. You shift your body closer to his, your movement swift but gentle. “I’d like it if you kissed me.”

He blinks, adjusting his eyes to the proximity, noticing the small details of your features, the softness of your lips. He swallows back his nerves, “Nah- you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

There is only one way to prove him wrong, and you did it by making the first move. You press your lips against him, and you're struck with his immediate touch as he engulfs you in his arms. Your hands snake up his chest to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss as he beckons you to press your body against him with his firm hold. He grins into the kiss at the sound of your whimpers, holding the small of your waist and guiding you to his lap. You go with the motion, swinging your leg around and straddling him, enamoured by the hold he has on you. The makeout was sloppy, tipsy on beer and getting more drunk on each other’s lips. Digger’s kisses were firm and deep, his chapped lips coated in your sweet spot as he glided his tongue along yours. His hands lay haven on your asses, rubbing his callous palm around the fabric of your pants, enchanting your hips to move ever so slightly.

“Ain’t so shy now, are ya?” He grunts into your ear, migrating his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling on your faint skin. You see stars, closing your eyes in bliss, your fingers tugging at his shirt and fighting off the urge to rip it off. He takes the time to remove his t-shirt with your eager assistance, latching onto you once you discard it.

“Please, I need you,” you plead. You gaze down at him, your stare both close and far. His bucking hips invite your crotch to feel his length, the tip of his bulge grinding against your thigh.

He whispers to you, “Tell me what you want.”

 “Use me, I know you want to,” you taunt, enjoying the light that ignites in his eyes, his grip tighter on your skin.

“You’ll regret saying that, but I bet you can handle it,” he jesters, pulling your hair to expose your neck, his lips latching back onto your sweet skin. His other hand pushes your top over your breasts, exposing your hardening nipples. Licking towards your nipples, sucking on them gently and cupping your tits in his hands, grazing his teeth when you grind down on his erection.

Digger, hungry for more of you, lays you down on the couch. His eyes demand your attention, taking time to pull down your pants and underwear, drenched in your arousal. He lowers his head to your cunt, prying your legs open as you try to hide how wet you were.

“Don’t hide from me, love, show me how pretty you are,” he muses, admiring your glistening walls, lapping them tenderly with the tip of his fingers. Relishing in your squirms, he gazes at you under his lashes. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Your hands grip his hair when his tongue makes contact with your sensitive walls, his prominent nose snug on your clit as he eats you out. His movements are deep and steady, keeping himself in place between your quivering thighs, refusing to come up for breath as a rising feeling of release fills your insides. Shifting his tongue from your walls to your clit, his nose taking place not to neglect your pleasure, his eyes checking your reactions as his pride swelled from your raptured state. He takes a breath to tease you in between, his hoarse voice wavering against your heat, “Look at you, getting so worked up for me.”

“’m so close,” that was music to Digger’s ears, egging him on to keep up the pace.

Your whimpers rise into moans, and your thighs shiver under his grip and come undone. Digger doesn’t stop, pressing a firm hand on your stomach, keeping you in place so he rides out your high. You’re flushed in humility, but fuck it feels amazing. You break a sweat, shivering at the cooling of your hot skin, sighing in relief when Digger finally relaxes his hold on you. His face meets yours, your arousal coating the stubble on his chin and spreading to his chops. He is ferocious and light-headed – as if drunk on the taste of you.

“Hope you’ve still got some spunk in ya,” he pants, “I’m as stiff as a board here.”

Digger invites your hand to feel his erection. You didn’t think he could be harder than he was before, but he comes full of surprises. He slings the waistband of his trousers down and his cock springs free, twitching at the touch of your flinching fingers.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Blessed by the man himself, his size was insane. You straighten in intimidation.

“I’ll go slow, okay? Just- fuck- I’m bursting at the seams here,” he begs, cupping your cheek with a reassuring hand.

You nod with a morbid curiosity, unable to deny the instinct to have him inside you, to feel every inch of him. Digger litters you in kisses, sloppy and idle as he dampens your cheeks and lips. Opening your legs wide, sucking in a breath, you watch as he lines his cock to your entrance. There was no fuss in sliding inside you, your dripping cunt lubing his tip and coating his shaft, the feeling of him inside you more filling than painful. It sets a spark in your mind, your eyes distant, the twitch of his cock against your walls melting your senses.

An unexpected moan escapes Digger’s lips, but he is attentive enough to coo for your attention, holding your face and bringing you back to earth.

“You still with me, hun?” He chuckles at your dazed look, trying to keep himself together as you tighten around him. You blink back to reality and wrap your legs around him, mewling at the slow thrusts coming into you. You eventually nod a reply, straining your neck to witness his cock buried inside you to train your hole for his massive size. He takes advantage of your position, locking a hand behind your head and picking up the pace. He is smitten by your squeaks. His rough hand clenches your hip, setting out to fuck you good. As you will soon learn, Digger has a habit of getting carried away. You learn a lot of dirty things about him that both shock you and fill you with sweetly sick lust.

Digger has you bent over the arm of the couch, his cock pummelling in and out of your abused cunt, muffling your feral moans with a hand clasped over your mouth. He arches your back and presses his lips against your ear, reminding you that he can see right through you.

“Is this what you wanted? To fuck you; get you drunk on my fat dick. Bet you didn’t think I had it in me.”

“You’re so good, so ‘fucking good,” you moan, your eyes glued to him with lust, a sly smile across your face. Digger sticks two fingers into your mouth, teasing your tongue to swirl around them, smirking at your eagerness.

“Shit, that’s enough to make me finish,” he says in a low voice, “And you wouldn’t want me cumming inside you, would ya?”

The way you clench around his dick and the sidious look in the dim light suggest the opposite. “No, come inside me,” you seal the deal.

“You’re so bloody dirty.” Digger’s eyes turn dark, his hand wrapping around your neck, rutting into you faster and harder than before. You see stars, giving into the numbing pleasure you succumb to. A dumbfound smile stretches across your lips once you feel the warmth of Digger’s seed filling your cunt, hitting against your womb. His weight falls on you momentarily, leaving kisses along your back while his energy is slowly sucked out of him. His cock slips out and before his heavy eyes close over, he gazes at the cum dripping from your slit, groping your ass for a better view.

Digger gathers his senses, only noticing you struggling to get up from your stiff knees. He brings you onto his lap, soothing your legs and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Well, that was something…” He chuckles, “Ya think we got a little carried away?”

“I think I’ll never be able to walk again,” you joke, yet anticipated the next few days entailing leg pain.

He felt guilty, knowing to make up for it he would need more than pizza and beer. He continues to sooth your legs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He suggests.

There he is again, that beacon of hope. He is going to find it hard to get rid of you now. “That’d be amazing.”