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hischierjustscored · 22 hours ago

Text

accidentally yours.・゜・quinn hughes

summary: you barely remembered putting quinn as your emergency contact until he showed up like the universe's idea of a bad joke

a/n: this is my contribution for the winter fic exchange 2k25 by @wyattjohnston for @hanaaishi 🧡 i still owe you forever for being patient and bearing with me on this!! seriously i mean it!! thank you both for making me a part of another amazing exchange which was my first one ever but i'm so happy that i was!! it was such an experience for me diving into all this and hope i was able to do some justice on my part 🧡 i got too carried away smoothing the final edges, hence the delay again 🥺 i also changed the idea we talked about a little but i hope it's all good in the end 🧡

warnings: mentions of injuries (light concussion, ankle sprain), hospital, parents pressure, overthinking, scratchin on the surface???, and i trusted myself to do a reader insert so bear with me once more

word count: 5.5k

You remember when you were 8 and took your brother’s bike to try out his self-made wood ramps in the garden, only to fall 6ft from the side and drop straight onto your left hip. That day you found out that grass wasn’t nearly as cushy as it looked but it was your mother’s “told you so” you never forget, lingering in your ears from where you sat in the backseat on the way to the hospital.

You also remember your best friend Lia leaving you in charge of booking an Airbnb for your first trip to Austria together, and you were proud of that cozy little place you found nestled in a mountain valley. But the "cozy" and "European" charms you both imagined left you searching desperately for a hotel in the middle of the holiday season instead, and Lia didn't have to say the words. You could hear the "I told you so" for really trusting someone with the username wanderlustgirl98.

And you remember moving to Vancouver a year ago after your studies, taking up your former professor's advice to follow one of its renowned urban development programs and put your "big-picture" skills to work. He didn’t have to try hard to convince you. You’d already been thinking about it for a long time until it felt like your chance to finally prove yourself. Perhaps even more to your parents. A naive part in you hoped you'd fit into their expectations for once. But if you really did, you'd reach out more than just on birthdays and festivities, maybe even give in to that other more vulnerable part in you and tell them how over your head you've been lately or that, deep down, they were probably right about all of this being a huge leap you still weren't ready for.

And you can only imagine…

Told you so.

It long replaced the loud ringing and the whole new level of woozines you felt an hour ago on the bus, as you watched the nurse adjust the brace on your right ankle, all black and chunky.

You sighed heavily for the 5th time in under 2 minutes, because what did you do to deserve all this?

Oh right, maybe being a chronic people pleaser, staying late at work to set other people's shit right. Fixing last-minute deadlines, cleaning up mistakes that weren’t yours, saying yes when you wanted to say no.

But you couldn't help it.

"It shouldn't take more than 3-6 weeks to heal completly, your lucky it's just a moderate strain. Nothing that can't be fixed."

She looked up at you over the rim of her glasses, still perched hideously, before she slowly swiveled back to her desk.

"Can I still work in that thing?", you tried testing out the waters, bending your feet just a little, then more until you sucked in a sharp breath when the pain hit.

"Honey, what do you think this is?", she drawled follwed by a low chuckle as if she couldn't quiet believe this being your first question.

“It’s meant for the healing, you have to keep it still completely and not put any weight on it. And that includes not working."

The last straw keeping you grounded right now is that this could have been much worse.

From the moment the bus driver hit the brakes like in that one Harry Potter scene, your new plateau sneakers giving out on you and your head bracing the inevitable fall on some window. Your initial hope bubble of no one noticing quickly busted as people came to your side, but you brushed them off mumbling that you were fine through the worst cringe of unwanted attention. Until you tried to balance yourself, only to realize you couldn't, and straightening up nearly made you sick.

You shifted, bracing your palms against the mattress to find a more comfortable position, minus flaring your ankle up again. You’d been in this bed for too long, it was driving you crazy.

"But how am I supposed to do that? Other than floating maybe..."

The mocking arch of her brows made the wrinkles on her forehood stand out more, but you couldn't care less, it was the pure frustration blurting out of you at this point you weren't even kidding about the last part. The last thing you needed on your mind was your boss' face to your sick call tomorrow morning. Not with the mayor visiting your office in 2 days, waiting to hear your thoughts on improving Vancouver's climate neutrality through sustainable architecture. And what you’ve worked tirelessly on, perfecting every detail from start to finish.

And you thought if all of this is some sort of reverse karma. Only for being hardworking. Is that a thing?

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the shuffling in the room until she came back with something that, if any shred of humor was left inside you, you would've laughed at. But instead, you just slumped back against the headrest, the wave of déjà vu taking you back to when you were 8 looking between the crutches in her hand.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

"I think you will be good with these", she offered, leaning them against your bed within reach, "maybe if you try hard enough you will actually float."

Her chumy tone you still couldn't quite feel yet, had your eyes roll back in an instant before closing them, grumbling to yourself, "Just great, really, really, great", but it was a mistake once you did as you fought off the urge to drift off completly.

A piece of mind for the first time in hours. Maybe for the first time in forever even.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

After the biggest "told you so" that was bound to happen eventually. 2 months from now or more, or perhaps between his work, your work, balancing on a life that went past deadlines and demands, between 2 people who have their own reasons to prove themselves to everything around them, you slipped out of each other’s reach.

But it’s not like there was ever an official you two.

It was just the version of the story you always liked best.

“Here you go, I was able to find one in the random stash we keep in our break room, but it should work though," a voice light and sweet snapped your attention back faster or not fast enough, you didn't know, blinking against the lights now.

For a second, you felt like you were back on the bus with the dizziness and nausea creeping in again.

But no. Just him. It was just the thought of Quinn.

Your weighted gaze shifted to the bubbly blonde next to you, then down to your forearm where she lightly nudged a charger against it, and you suddenly remembered how determined she was to get it for you when you realized your phone powered down.

You couldn’t even text Lia back in time, knowing you were already too late for the rare occassions of missing your daily Facetime calls, with her still being back home in Seattle. Not in a trillion years you expected to feel this way about her, but right now you're glad she is.

Because if she she'd see you like this, she'd already know the answers without you giving it to her, that you take on more than your chronic people pleasing heart could handle sometimes.

And he'd always know too. When to snap you out of it, when to just exist beside you with no words. He'd never have to ask.

"Oh yeah, thank you", you forced out in the most put-together tone you could pull off right now, hoping our smile was convincing enough to distract her from the way your clammy palms were rubbing against the mattress, or the rapid thumping of your heart that you’d see too on your chest if you dared to look down again.

"Just enough to call a Uber and you can take it back."

She gave you a simple half-shrug, taking your phone from your outstretched hand, "It's stuff patients leave behind soo..", and plugged it in for you. But before you could brush her answer off again, the low calling of your last name made you snap to a tall man in the doorway, and his two long strides toward you could either mean more bad or good news.

You held your breath as you listened to him in silence going over your completly normal labs and scans which only told you everyone was making a bigger deal out of this anyway. You were fine, biting the inside of your cheeks reluctantly when he added they'd be filling out a sick report too.

"-though we would like to monitor you here for a night just in case you develop more symptoms that can’t be ruled out from the hit, and given that you already experienced dizziness and nausea-"

No person or force on this earth could make you stay here for one minute longer.

You released your cheeks with a click of your tongue, cutting him off quickly, "Uhhh that's not necessary, I mean I feel way better now and you just said it too didn't you?", which finally made him look up from whatever, clearly taken aback, his suprise mirrowing your own for a different reason.

Plus, you knew your rights. They couldn't keep you hostage here, you were ready to remind him of their own policy.

"I'm glad you do, we just want to make sure that-"

But you barely registered his next words, lost beneath the familiar sound of your phone finally wrapping up in your hands, and you were as happy as a little kid seconds away from unwrapping the biggest gift under the Christmas as tree, just, it didn't ask you to press your thumb down to unlock it as it normally would but...

"Damn it."

The one time your phone decides to ask for your SIM card code, and you’re completely blank.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

Yes, you really believed now, you did everything wrong tonight and this was the real karma of it all.

Your thumbs brushed the screen, trying to remember 4 digits like your life depended on it with the only 3 attempts you had.

The day you bought it you scribbled it down, along with the backup code (of course), and put it on your fridge because your memory rivaled that of a goldfish sometimes.

Was it 5678 or 5679?, and you heart dropped as deep as the Marianna Trench when it said only 1 attempt left.

"...and with how things are right now, we wouldn't encourage you to leave on your own. Do you have someone you can call right now to pick you up? Someone safe?"

Was he still talking to you?

"Huh? What?", the phone nearly slid from your grip, your palms starting to clam up again, and he lowered his clipboard studying you with an expression you weren't sure you had the energy to fully read, but it felt too damn close to pity.

"Or anyone we could call...?"

Quinn knew now that he could only trust Jack when it comes to discussing goodreads.com reader's favorites, ideas for lake house interior, and shooting pucks.

Not with anything close to dating. Or helping him out with that.

He was doing just fine. Thank you very much, but he knew Jack. Too much for his own good sometimes.

"Why do you act like you don't want it when you actually do. You need this. Get out of your head.

Sitting in this Italian restaurant that was a little too crowded for it being a secret "gem" as Jack said suggesting it to him, and he didn't even live here, listening to his date "soul-searching" trip to Bali was far from want and need.

He checked her Instagram highlights before, clicking on her profile Jack DM'd him. A friend of a friend. If overpriced veggie bowls and infinity pool thirst traps were anything soul-searching she's deluding both of them, and so was his thinking that maybe he should give this a shot. Getting out his head like Jack said with the season already hitting him with flashbacks he wanted to forget fot the sake of his sanity, and keeping away from anything that kept him running on autopilot.

"It just put everything into perspective", she said, her voice pulling him back just enough to realize he had no idea what she was talking about.

And he knew the moment he looked up from stirring the ice in his water with his straw for the past 5 minutes, there wouldn't be damn thing he'd remember about her either. She was beautiful, that much was obvious. The kind she knew and had probably been told her whole life, she didn't have to try too hard.

He preffered not trying at all. It was his favorite.

Probably ever since you took his drink at the coffee shop one day, the place too crowded for names to be called, just cups sliding across the counter and you didn't even look down at his name scribbled on the side in Sharpie when you slipped past him on the way out, not bothered to notice him eiter. The moment he should've said something, tap your shoulder, say anything when he just kept watching you move outside, tilting your head at street signs like they weren’t second nature yet, checking your phone every few seconds like you had somewhere important to be. Grabbing the wrong coffee without a second glance wasn’t his only hunch that you weren’t from here. Then, the sip. Too strong. Wholebean. Definitely not yours.

You turned back, ready to go back inside, but he already had yours in his hands on his way out to you when they started calling out names again, and no one responded to except for him.

A moment, A pause, your cold fingers brushing against his warm ones, or when you laughed at your mistake all crinkly around your eyes, perharps for the first time in a while that day, that should have been it, but wasn't, because between all of it you just became a part of his routine.

“…And then, on the third day, we did this sunrise meditation hike just me and a few people from the retreat, barefoot, totally disconnected, away from everything."

She kept going, oblivious to the way his focus had disconnected, his mind already elsewhere, lost in the memory of the last time he wanted to get away from everything, and the cushion underneath him slid akwardly when he shifted in his seat.

I wasn't about overpriced veggie bowls or infinity pools. But his favorite place in Michigan. Always.

And he wanted to take you there.

It had been a vague idea, one that had come up in the quiet moments in betweeen road trips and late-night talks at his place that were too deep and glances that lingered too long to mean anything less than what he had already convinced himself was true about you. The same feeling hit him when you gave him that slight curve of your lips, the one that always told him you had him figured out when when he told you about the days being slow and the nights nothing but still stars at the lake house.

"Hmm, that's not true stars are moving constantly, we just don't see it."

He laughed, quiet but warm,"Can you at least pretend to fall for it?" just to get stuck in his throat.

"It never is with you."

"What?"

"Pretending."

It never was with you either.

But it never became anything more than vague. Because there was always something else. Texts left on read for too long, you and your own world to keep up with just as much as he did with travel schedules that blurred weeks into months, not leaving room for things he didn't know how to hold onto. Or someone who didn't know either.

A low buzz from behind, easy to miss if it hadn’t lingered just long enough to jolt him back before he knows. He shifted again, and even though this was only ever one-sided, a genuine "Really sorry, I will turn it off" left his lips as he gawkly reached for his jacket over the backrest.

He hadn’t meant to look, a habit more than anything. But then his thumb hesitated mid-air, double-taking the number.

Unknown. Vancouver area code. Probably nothing. Probably something.

But always a red flag, especially for someone in his industry.

"Thought you were turning it off?", she mused, tipping her wine glasss to her lips, watching him over the rim and he forced a quick exhale, "Yeah, I-", but he didn't have a real answer with the buzzing still alive in his hand.

And he should've turned it off, ignore it, and sit through the night rest of the night pretending like he hadn't already made up his mind about this whole thing.

You need this.

But Jack was wrong.

He wasn't even sure what "this" was even supposed to be. Whatever, it never felt right since the start.

His phone buzzed again with the same caller, but now he thought about it being a perfect timing.

"I gotta take this...", he mumbled, barely shooting her a glance, and he swiped right before his mind could really caught up with it.

"Hello?"

A breath, a pause, nothing good he thinks already but he used it to press his index finger to his ear to drown out the noise, shifing again.

"Uhm, yeah, hello it's Vancouver General Hospital am I speaking to Quinn H?"

Well this was new.

"Depends, who is this?", ignoring the "H" making it sound like a witness protection program name. Not that he planned on correcting them. Or rather, a nurse as she introduced herself, surprisingly professional, enough to raise his interest and, slowly, his concerns too.

"Sir, we have your sister here, she was brought in with a mild concussion and a sprained ankle some hours ago. But don't worry, she is totally fine, she just needs someone to pick her up which is why we're calling."

His brows snapped together, head jerking back to the slightest bit like his brain needed an extra second to process.

"My what? Excuse me?"

Last time he checked it was Jack and Luke. Their parents would never screw them over like that, no way the would forget an entire human being for twenty-something years. Right? Not even back when they first sat him down to tell him he’d be a big brother, and his two-year-old self, without hesitation, decided he wanted a sister. But by the time Luke came, he was bound to live with brothers. He wouldn't change that for the world now.

So when the nurse repeated the words that his sister listed him as her emergency contact Quinn could only stare blankly ahead, "Yeah, I still think you've got the wrong number..."

She is wasting her time on a call when this girl was really waiting to be picked up, and he was just about to put it in terms she’d finally grasp, until-

You.

The noise around him, muffled laughter and the hum of conversation, the restless tapping of manicured nails against the table cloth across him, faded into nothing. And if with his thoughts already going from 0 to 100, this is his breaking point.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, but his voice came out strained, throat too dry, "Come again?"

Of all the names, hitting his ears after all these months but thought more of than he'd ever admit. The name he'd seen on his screen too many times, resisting the urge to check, to ask, to do something.

Everything dropped, turned over, a slow ache pressing against his ribs, too overwhelming and far too familiar.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up, momentum taking over. Someone said his name. Maybe, he couldn't care less. Something about a drink next, about sitting back down, but he ignored it again.

Because you were still ringing in his head, louder than it had in months.

And he wasn’t about to ignore it now.

"He said he's already on his way, shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes"

It made your brows furrow in confusion, "He's in the area?", but you said it more to yourself than to her, not that she heard it either in the crowded waiting room you were sitting in now, your ankle on a cushioned chair they'd given you.

Turns out you had listed an emergency contact the last time you were here, one you didn’t even remember leaving behind. Apparently, hospital policy included holding onto records long enough to make you wait nearly an hour, because the name they had on file was your brother. And, of course, he was on a business trip in Abbotsford, 1 hour away. The only reasonable choice to put down when they’d asked back then. Then again, you barely remembered.

Except for the fact that it was your first public unveiling of a project you led. You had invited your parents, that small, hopeful part of you giving in, calling them, telling them you’d be happy if they came. You were almost surprised by their promising tone, as if, finally, they’d understand this wasn’t just about concepts and sketches but about your dream.

But they didn’t come, texting out of everything, with an excuse that felt too made up. And hours ago, when your stomach had already sunk from scanning the crowd for them every time a new group arrived, it sank further. This time with the mix of one bad shrimp and something stronger you’d used to numb the disappointment.

How could you forget when you really really wanted to.

"Is you brother like...famous or something, because your records were pretty mysterious."

You looked up to the same bubbly blonde nurse, still standing in front of you with her lips pressed together,

"I think we're close enough he'd care to tell me or I would've found out sooner or later, but no, sorry to dissapoint you or anything", you corrected, hoping that was enough while you were already done processing the absurdity of it all. You slumped against the rigid backrest, sighinh as the exhaustion crept in again, but rest was the last thing anyone was willing to grant you right now.

“Your record,” she rambled on, not getting the memo, "it was… kinda mysterious.”

One eye popped open, then another when you saw her crossing her arms now. This conversation slowly glided out of your hands, you just leaned forward, jerking your head to the side, silently urging her to make sense of whatever this was.

"Your record just said Quinn H. and nothing more. I had to call him Mr. H. the whole time, but I figured he prefers this kind of privacy and that's what you want for him too. He didn't tell me his last name though, so like I said, all mysterious."

Your fingers now hoved near the cushioned stool, reaching for your calf to lift it off with more force than you should've and the sting was instant. But it was nothing compared to the irritation climbing its way up your throat where your heart already pounded in it.

Because not your brother was about to walk through that door. The person who should've been here.

No.

It will be Quinn Hughes.

And suddenly you were mid-fall again, right there on the bus, every last bit of control slipping past your grip. Nothing you could do.

Because drunk you put him down as your emergency contact that time. The one you barely remember.

"Wait, no", a breath left you, unsteady, "Call him again and tell him it's a big fucking mistake", your hands twitched in flight mode as you darted between her and the sliding doors open-mouthed, cause you remembered her saying he was only 10 minutes away. 5 even, if you're unlucky.

The same Quinn you stopped talking too, who if you looked into his eyes again, the same on that always made you wonder, if they could get any darker, any greener, would he notice?

That you mever meant for things to be this way? That it wasn't him, not really but your own mind, the way this new life kept pulling at you, and how you wanted to reach out when things calmed down. When you had space. When you could be the version of yourself that he deserved.

Maybe he was waiting for you. Maybe he thought you didn't care. It was only fair, but it didn't loosen the knot in your chest, nor how you blinked away the sting in your eyes that you told yourself was from the stuffy air with too many people breathing in here.

Because you did. You always did.

"Hey sis."

And in that instant, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, how else could you explain the way your lungs refused to function, as if they’d forgotten how, when you snapped your head to where he stood now inches away. How long?

His navy blue shirt was barely visible under his coat, his hair grown out just enough for the ends to curl, for it to peek out from the beanie he held in his hand, looking too good even with his hair tousled still like he'd always did asking you if he looks okay, what you could see him doing in whatever thing you interruped him in before he got here,

It pressed in too heavy, you had to cut through it.

"Why are you here?"

"What happ-"

You barely felt the ache in your ankle over the blood rushing in your ears when you shifted your weight standing now, his gaze dropping to the crutches you stood up without, your brace, the subtle wince you thought you hid. And it was fucking with your heart that he wasn't just looking at you, but like he was piecing something back together.

He parted his lips, but his eyes flicked past yours first, toward the nurse behind you, when his fingers around his beanie, "You were brought in here", he hesistated, "Needed someone to pick you up."

That was the objective, something everyone would've done perhaps if they received such call, being a good or person, or the simple fact that he was your emergency contact.

You needed the subjective.

You huffed, shaking your head, "This is not what I meant. You could have said no."

"I didn't."

"You should have."

The words sounded sharper on your tongue than you wanted them to be, and you didn't know what hurt more, the way his expression barely shifted like he'd expected to be shut down again, because you were getting so good at it, or how your insides churned 360 degrees of how much you already regretted them.

"What do you want me to say? You're the one who put my name down I didn't even knew until now or let you bolt out of here with an concussion like they told me?"

Bolted. Floated. Whatever to get out of here finally.

"Well, neither was I, and I'm fine", you muttered fixing you gaze on the sterile floor instead, on anything but the way how he was fixing you, "but let's just drop it to the part where you go back to whatever you had going on before coming here I guess and me saying sorry for it."

The bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Only when the dull ache flared up in your good ankle did you realize you’d been standing without your crutches all this time. and before you even thought to reach for your crutches, he was already moving. Anticipating. The moment your balance gave out on you, he was already there, steady hands at your elbow and bicep, grounding you before gravity could do worse, and your pulse skipped how easy it was to sink into it.

His breath hitched, and so did yours, the warmth of his touch pooling through your fabric like you swallowed an ember, and his eyes, god his eyes, the darkest green, you don't even have to look up to be convinced about it again, all on you, as he murmured, barely a whisper.

"Don't be sorry, because it didn't mean anything."

Sitting in his car with the seat warmer already on like he remembered how easily cold you can get, watching as he pulled up your adress from his "saved", it fucked with your heart all over again.

You should have protested, insisting you were fine enough to make it out on your own, scoffing when the nurse told Quinn, not you, that you needed monitoring, just in case.

But exhaustion had already settled too deep in your bones, that you were almost thankful for the silence settling between you since he helped walking you out and insisted to drive you home at least.

Almost.

You would’ve been the biggest fool alive if you let this slip again, like you always did, like you always regretted.

"I am sorry though."

"And I told you not to be."

The darkness in his eyes gave way to the streetlights flickering through them as you turned to face him, "You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be sorry for, Hughes", you jested and Quinn huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking his head lightly. The soft glow from outside looked too good on him when you stopped at a right light, you swallowed hard, "What kind of brother would I be too?"

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Oh my god, stop. I didn’t even mean to put you down as my contact."

"Keep it, I don't mind."

"You say that like you wouldn’t have blocked my number by now if you had the chance."

Quinn smirked, tilting his head against the headrest, his eyes flickering toward you. "Would’ve done it already if I wanted to."

Then, before either of you could think too much about it, his hand reached out, his pinky brushing against yours on the center console, like testing the waters, like answering more questions without words. It was enough.

He squeezed your hand once.

You squeezed back. An answer.

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #nhl fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine

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themultifanshipper · 10 hours ago

Note

nobody gets me when i say daniel x oscar x reader but i need it desperately

“What's an Aussie kiss?”

Or, the story of how Mark Webber’s existence led to a series of very fortunate events.

Warnings: smut, threesome, mention of alcohol, oral, brief anal play, the sloppiest two person blowjobs, just pure filth, anti FIA propaganda lmao, also bad dirty talk?

Being Daniel's ex-teammate, and current best friend, you knew a lot of Aussie slang.

And you'd learned even more upon becoming Oscar's teammate.

You were in a club, and for some godforsaken reason, you were squashed in between Mark and Oscar, with Daniel on the other side of the table in the small booth.

And then you'd met Oscar's manager Mark, and, well… whenever the three of them found themselves together, your head would start pounding within minutes of them starting a conversation.

“F1 has gone soft!” Mark slurred, already halfway into a coma. “And it wasn't even that long ago that we could swear freely and make dirty jokes without FIA cunts breathing down our necks!”

His drink sloshed around his glass as he spoke, and you managed to dodge the spills despite being in the splash zone.

Daniel laughed and added “Yeah, you couldn't talk about Aussie kisses nowadays without being fined!”

The three of them laughed freely, taking sips of their drinks.

Everyone had seen the famous clip of Mark.

Unfortunately, you had not. And that delightful little nugget had never come up in conversation before.

So you turned to Mark, and drunkenly asked “What's an Aussie kiss?”, much to the delight of your two fellow drivers.

“You'll find out when you're older, kid” he smirked and you scoffed.

When he tried to get up to order more drinks, he swayed so badly that Daniel had to catch him to avoid him falling onto the table.

“Okay old man” he chuckled “let's get you an uber while you're still conscious”

He led Mark through the crowd towards the exit, leaving you and Oscar to laugh at their retreating figures.

“He's such a lightweight” Oscar giggled.

"You're one to talk!” you slapped him on the shoulder “Your cheeks are redder than a fucking Ferrari”

“Oh yeah?” he smiled at you, “At least I know what an Aussie kiss is” he bit his lip teasingly.

The way he said it made a shiver run down your spine. Despite not knowing what it meant, you felt the urge to ask him to show you.

You were suddenly very aware of how close you were, and the heat of his thigh against yours made your stomach clench.

You cleared your throat, breaking the awkward tension and took a shy sip of your drink.

“Don't suppose you’re going to tell me, are you?”

He chuckled and bumped his knee against yours under the table.

“Like the old man said, you'll find out when you're older” he teased.

Even though there was only a year between you two, you always felt like he was the mature one of the team. The older and wiser teammate.

You found that quite attractive, if you were fully honest. And with the amount of alcohol in you system, you definitely wouldn't hesitate to say so if asked the question.

“Fine, I'll just ask Daniel, I'm sure he would be happy to show me”

Oscar rolled his eyes dismissively, absolutely hating the idea of you going to someone else, just as Daniel stepped back into the booth and sat down where Mark had been a few minutes before.

His thigh was now firmly pressed against you, and you suddenly felt very overwhelmed by their presence.

“Dannyyy” you whined “Oscar won't tell me what an Aussie kiss is!”

Daniel just laughed.

“That's because he probably doesn't have much experience in that domain. I on the other hand-“

“Uh, actually I have more than you think!” Oscar interrupted and Daniel grinned at him.

“Sure you do Piastri, but I’ve had at least a decade of practice more than you so-“

Oscar scoffed and gave him the finger.

“Guys!” You slapped the table to grab their attention. “Just tell me and I’ll be the judge!”

Oscar hesitated. He was slipping into dangerous territory right now.

He was very attracted to you, and would love nothing better than to spend the night showing you his uhh… kissing abilities.

But you were all far too drunk to make any rational decision making, and Daniel's presence was making him uneasy.

Not to mention you were his teammate and friend.

Daniel was thinking along the same lines. You were his drunk best friend, and the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of you.

“I'll tell you what” he piped up. “If you ask again when you're sober, we'll show you”

They nodded at each other. They both wanted you, but they needed you to be clear headed.

There was absolutely no chance you would remember this tomorrow, so this was their safest bet.

You warily agreed, and the subject was quickly changed.

What they didn't know, is that that night, before you went to bed completely hammered, you set a reminder on your phone.

“lok up Ausie Kiiis on gogle”

Well, at least it was readable to you the next day.

And you did look it up. And found the video of Mark, which made you laugh.

But as the night before came flooding back in your mind, you remembered Daniel's offer.

They wanted you. They wanted to do that to you.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as the thought of the two of them between your legs made you gasp. Yep, it had to happen.

Daniel and Oscar really thought they were out of the woods when they didn't hear from you all day. But then, in the evening came a text from a group chat you'd created with the two of them.

There was a screenshot of the urban dictionary result, and few simple words that made both men twitch in their pants.

“Instructions unclear, demonstration necessary. Room 312”

Oscar being only a few rooms away in the same hotel meant that he got there within two minutes of his phone buzzing.

As soon as you opened the door your were lifted by your thighs and carried over to your bed.

He crawled over you, not giving you so much as a hello before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

He was going to make the most of Daniel’s delay.

You couldn’t help but gasp into it when you felt his hands wandering over your body teasingly, making quick work of your outer layers.

“Jesus Osc” you panted as his lips travelled downwards, sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck. “If you were this desperate to touch me you could have just asked”

He grunted into your skin, continuing his descent and leaving soft kisses over your barely covered breasts.

“Didn't know you'd be into it too.” He mumbled “I didn't want to make anything awkward”

Any response you had quickly died on your tongue when you felt a fingers brush against your clothed cunt.

“Soaked through your panties already?” he chuckled darkly, rubbing against you with more pressure.

You blushed, hips bucking against his hand.

“Please, Oscar” you whimpered into your hands that were covering your face.

“Please what?” he teased, sliding a finger under the fabric and ghosting it over your sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, please” you whined.

He laughed softly. “But darling, that's not why you invited me here, is it? And in any case I think we should wait for Daniel, don't you?”

You huffed impatiently.

“If you're that wound up, why don't you come here and let me use that pretty mouth of yours, hmm? It'll give you something to do while we wait…”

Daniel almost broke his neck by tripping in the stairs while running as fast as he could to get to you.

When he wrenched the door to your room open he scoffed at the sight of you on your knees at the foot of the bed.

“Couldn't even wait for me, could you. Bastards…”

He ripped his shirt off and made his way over to the bed.

“I had to shut her up somehow, she's so fucking needy” Oscar pulled you off his cock and helped you to your feet.

Daniel cooed and leaned down to kiss you, and expertly unclasped your bra while Oscar dragged your underwear down your legs.

The kiss with Daniel quickly turned filthy, and he walked you slowly towards the bed and pushed you down on it.

“So who gets first dibs?” Oscar asked, eyeing your body and smirking at the goosebumps appearing on your flesh as you gazed up at the two men.

“How about Oscar first, since he was gentlemanly enough to wait till you got here?” you offered and they shrugged in agreement.

“Works for me, that way I'll get to prove I'm better afterwards”

You and Oscar both rolled your eyes at Daniel's statement, and the younger man quickly spread your legs and kneeled in between them.

You were dripping already, and at the first swipe of his tongue through your folds, Oscar thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

He groaned, lapping up your juices, and then alternated between fucking you with his tongue and circling it around your sensitive clit.

You were moaning freely, gasping at every change of pace and pressure.

There was definitely no denying it, he knew what he was doing.

When he sucked on your clit your back arched, letting out whiny little moans as he made your legs tremble in no time, your thighs trying to close around his head.

Daniel, despite not touching you, was having the time of his life.

He was sitting next to you on the bed, and from this angle he could see every tremor, every micro-expression as you writhed under Oscar's undeniably skilled mouth.

You were exquisite in his opinion, and he hungrily watched your breasts heaving as you tried to catch your breath after Oscar made you come all over his face.

The younger man licked his lips hungrily as he stared up at Daniel, eyes challenging him to do better.

You barely got any reprieve before Daniel was pushing Oscar out of the way and bending your legs at the knees.

“Hold yourself open for me, darling”

You did as you were told, and looked down at him while he nosed along the crease of your inner thigh.

He pushed his tongue inside you, and you let out a gasp when his nose brushed against your clit as he moved.

The tip of his nose was quite cold, and the difference in temperature was surprisingly pleasurable.

But Daniel didn't plan on staying there for long, he'd come to win, even if that meant playing dirty.

He gave your clit a teasing suck before releasing it with a pop, and slowly, his tongue made its way lower, exploring your taint, and eventually making contact with your tight rim.

The new feeling made you shudder, and he brought a hand up to thumb at your clit in a steady rhythm while he worked his tongue against your ass.

Your nails were digging into your own thighs where you were holding them open, and a quick glance at Oscar's expression told you he was not happy, despite being obviously turned on.

Once Daniel could feel you loosening, he prodded his tongue inside you a little, and the sensation was so foreign to you it forced a shaky moan from your throat.

You felt Daniels smirk against your skin and he quickly retracted his tongue, and slowly made his way back up.

You were rapidly approaching the edge now. And the renewed attack of his mouth on your cunt was promising a spectacular finish.

Then you felt a slight pressure lower down.

He was rubbing his thumb against your asshole, aided by your dripping juices.

He applied some pressure, and his thumb easily slipped inside, carefully massaging your walls while his tongue lapped at your clit hungrily.

It took you seconds.

You came with a loud cry as you arched your back, riding out the waves of your intense orgasm, through which Daniel helped you gently by slowing down his movements until you were shaking under him.

He sat up and grinned at you from above.

“So? Who was better?”

“That's not fair, you cheated!” Oscar huffed indignantly.

“I did not! It isn't specified how low we're allowed to go”

“But you used your fingers! I didn't”

“Well yeah, you gotta make use of all your assets” he wiggled his brows.

They looked at you expectantly.

“If one of you isn't inside me in the next 30 seconds I am kicking you both out” you muttered at the ceiling.

They chuckled and shuffled around the bed.

You ended up on top of Oscar, sinking down on his surprisingly thick cock while Daniel sat next to Oscar's head.

You leaned down to take him into your mouth and he grabbed your hair in his fist in a makeshift ponytail.

“So eager to please, isn't she Oscar? I think we’ve struck gold with this one”

Oscar started thrusting into you slowly, and your deep groan around the cock in your mouth made Daniel mad with need as he watched you take him down eagerly.

He then noticed Oscar was eyeing his cock with something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“You look jealous, Oscar” he teased. “Fancy a taste?”

He pulled you off him, and Oscar licked at his tip teasingly.

You didn't feel like stopping though, so soon Daniel had two mouths on his cock, licking and sucking at his shaft.

“Jesus Christ, you two are so fucking hot, what the fuck”

You and Oscar worked in tandem, lips making brief contact as you made out with the cock between you.

It was truly a porn worthy performance and Daniel could feel his composure slipping.

“Fuck- stop, I'm gonna come too soon”

He pulled you off and shuffled backwards, taking a quick breather, and Oscar laughed meanly.

“The old man's gonna come first, that's funny”

He was obviously just goading Daniel, but the evil glint that suddenly appeared in the older man's eyes as he got an idea made his stomach churn.

“Wanna swap then?” he grinned, and Oscar nodded eagerly.

Daniel lay down so you could climb on top of him, rolling your hips slowly to get used to the slightly lengthier cock, and Oscar kneeled next to him, mirroring the position from before.

You took him down to the base first, the taste of your own slick making your eyes roll back in your head, and Oscar couldn't resist thrusting into your mouth a few times.

“Fuckin’ hell, why were we arguing over who's better when her mouth is clearly superior”

He gasped when you swallowed around him and used your tongue to trace the underside of his cock.

Then you let him go with a pop, and looked at Daniel with a smirk.

The two of you got to work, worshipping Oscar's cock with your mouths and he marveled at the sight.

But then Daniel decided he needed to prove his superiority.

He licked down the vein on the underside, slowly inching towards Oscar's balls.

He licked over them, and took one into his mouth, gently sucking on it just to make Oscar lose his mind.

“Jesus, Daniel… fuck-“

With Daniel working wonders down there, and you making your way up his body, currently scraping your teeth over one of his nipples, he was scared of coming before he'd even had a chance to savour the experience.

Daniel huffed under him, drawing his attention.

Apparently his tongue could just about reach behind Oscar's balls, but the position didn't allow him to go any further.

“Sit on my face” Daniel panted.

“What?” Oscar squeaked, sure he'd misheard.

“You heard me, come here” he slapped Oscar's thigh to get him to move.

Oscar didn't hesitate for long, he swung a leg over Daniel's head and hovered, facing you as he bit his lip to hide just how aroused he was at the idea.

Daniel wrapped his arms around Oscar's thighs and slammed him down onto his eagerly waiting mouth.

Oscar let out a high pitched moan and had to stabilise himself with a hand on Daniel's chest.

You grabbed his hair and pulled him in for a rough kiss.

Daniel somehow had the dexterity to pound into you from below while eating Oscar out like his life depended on it, and all the two of you could do was pant into each other's mouths as Oscar came untouched all over Daniel's chest and his own hand.

He crawled away, and Daniel grabbed your waist to pull you down onto his cock while he rolled his hips up into you.

“You close, beautiful? You gonna come all over my cock?”

You nodded desperately, the new angle and speed was making you cry out in pleasure as it built up rapidly inside you.

“Do it then, show Oscar what a good girl you are and come right now, baby”

How you managed to stay upright will always be a mystery. The force with which your orgasm washed over you was enough to make your voice crack and your vision go momentarily dark while you rode out the most intense pleasure you'd ever felt before.

While you waited for the feeling in your legs to come back, Oscar went to grab a washcloth to clean you all up.

You were lying on the bed, limbs akimbo while Daniel’s cum dribbled out of you.

“Remind me to thank Mark Webber” you said and the other two guffawed in disbelief.

“You want to thank him? What about us, we actually fucked you!”

You laughed. “You're right! Maybe I should ask Mark to fuck me!”

The other two groaned.

“Never say that again”

You all got into bed, you in the middle, facing Oscar while Daniel spooned you from behind.

“Well at least now I know” Daniel muttered.

“Know what?” you asked.

“That Piastri likes getting his ass ate” he chuckled and you burst out in a fit of giggles.

“Fuck you” Oscar groaned.

“In your dreams Piastri” Daniel chuckled.

“Next time, I'm fucking you”

“Ha!” Daniel laughed “As if !”

But you saw the defiant look in Oscar’s eyes.

You knew him in and out, he was not going to back down from a challenge.

#my thots #oscar thots #daniel thots #oscar piastri #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x oscar piastri #oscar piastri x daniel ricciardo #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #f1 #formula 1 #request

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rainydayathogwarts · 17 hours ago

Note

hi, this is the first time I'm writing a request on tumblr but I really like your writing (and unfortunately I'm very picky about writing styles🫣) I have tons of ideas for one shots in the back of my head so I'm coming to you with this rather simple one: reader x remus

Remus & reader are sth like friends, they have a secret crush on each other; remus is the casanova of gryffindor tower and all the girls (and probably boys) are crushing on him, Remus isn't quiet aware of the impact he has, reader reveals it to him in a convo (maybe while studying?) they're having that everyone finds him attractive and he asks if reader does aswell and so onnnn...

honestly, do with it what you want, I'm sure you will slay it! in case you hate the idea pls just ignore my request haha!⭐️

What about you? - Remus Lupin

summary: despite having a whole fanbase of girls who want him as their boyfriend, remus is only interested in your opinion wc: 1k

The giggles you heard as you walked past a group of girls with Remus had you rolling your eyes, cutting off the middle of your conversation. You couldn’t even have a single trip back from the library without a group of Remus’ fangirls making a big deal over him, but the boy didn’t notice them, only taking note of your unusual reaction.

Remus brushed a hand to the back of your arm, his soft touch stealing your attention from the group of insolent girls. “You alright?” Remus asked, carefully watching your expression change from one of annoyance to empathy. “They don’t bother you?” Remus’s eyebrows furrowed, a crease forming between them “Who?” You glanced around the hallway, looking for another group of Remus’s fans. Finally, at the sight of some third year girls huddled around in the corner of the hallway, nervously glancing towards you both, you nodded your head in their direction, softly elbowing Remus in his side. “You know, your little fanbase of girls?” Remus stopped in his tracks, making you look back at his when you realised his disappearance.

“My little what?” You laughed at the shock in his voice, repeating “Fanbase. Honestly Rem, it shocks me every time that you don’t have a new girl in your bed every day. You could have the entire school lined up to have a turn with you.” Remus stammered, finally picking up his pace, hooking his arm with yours to drag you back to the common room with him. “You need to start over, you’ve lost me.” He said, coming to a stop in front of the fat lady’s portrait to mumble the password.

“I’m surprised you don’t know.” “Sweetheart, just give it to me straight.” He begged, slumping down on the couch in front of the fireplace and patting the spot next to him. You didn’t fail to take notice of the jealous eyes following your figure as you sat close to Remus. You felt your chest swell with pride, and almost wanted to call out ‘Yes, I’m closer to him than you’ll ever be. Cry about it.�� But there were pros and cons to being Remus’s best friend. Pro: you were Remus Lupin’s best friend. Con: you were only Remus Lupin’s best friend. And you feared that with the discovery of all the girls who wanted to have him as their boyfriend, all you’d ever be was his best friend.

“There’s nothing much to it. You know, apart from the fact that every girl in the castle wants you as their boyfriend.” Remus was silent as he processed the information, blinking slowly. “You know, it’s just always been this way. I think people started realising that you’re more than just a pretty face.” “Pretty face?” He mumbled. “Wait. Every girl in the castle?” You shrugged, replying “More or less. I mean, I can assure you that Lily isn’t one of them.” You both laughed at the comment, an image of the infatuated couple displaying in your head. Remus slid his hand into yours, squeezing it softly. “Well, what about you?” You felt your face immediately heat up at his question, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact with the boy, but you couldn’t help the way your gaze dipped down to look at the way Remus held your hand.

You gulped. This was not the first time you and Remus held hands, not at all. But you’d never held hands in this context, with the boy asking if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. “What about me?” You echoed, returning your gaze to Remus’s eyes. The boy seemed to suddenly get nervous, his face flushing as he began to stumble over his words, voice quieting down significantly. “You said every girl in the castle wants me as their boyfriend. Does that apply to you?”

You were very aware that Remus could probably hear the fast thumping of your heart, and you could too. You only wished you had a trick to know how he was feeling too. “It’s fine if not!” He announced at the same time you said “Only if you want it to!” A painful silence settled between you. You cleared your throat, watching as Remus opened and shut his mouth. He didn’t make a move to say anything, forcing you to speak up. “It’s fine if not…” You started, “Does that mean you want it to apply to me?”

“I mean, it would be pretty nice if the girl I like wants me to be her boyfriend. But if she doesn’t, I guess it’s…” Remus’s words trailed off as he saw a wide grin on your face. He swallowed thickly, forcing his face to cool down, but that wasn’t possible. Not when you were cupping his cheeks and leaning forward to press a bold kiss on his lips. Remus’s hand curled around the nape of your neck to keep your lips pressed against his, only pulling away when he deemed himself ready. “Let’s go out!” He announced the second your lips parted, standing up abruptly.

You blinked quickly, looking up at the tall boy and asking “Now?” Remus nodded, holding his hands out for you to take. “Yeah, let’s go out now. On a date.” You took Remus’s hands, letting him pull you off the couch. He let go of one of your hands, the other one sneakily intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you out of the common room. Remus led you onto the Hogwarts grounds to spend time together, but it was impossible to have a conversation when neither of you could take your eyes off the other’s lips. Instead, your first date was spent chasing each other for kisses by the black lake, where watchful eyes allowed the news of your relationship to be spread all around hogwarts by the time you got to the great hall for dinner.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl

#rainydayathogwarts #harry potter #hogwarts #marauders era #gryffindor #marauders #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #remus x reader #marauders x reader #remus x you #remus x y/n

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queensunshinee · 2 days ago

Text

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers fic #challengers #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #so sweet

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princesseilish · 17 hours ago

Text

ROCK BOTTOM

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: divorce? talks about drug usage, angst

Synopses: Billie put her addiction first, causing her to lose the most important things in her life in the long run

The living room smelled like stale air and broken promises.

Billie sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the divorce papers spread across the coffee table. Her eyes were bloodshot, not from the drugs—not this time—but from the hours she’d spent crying, pleading, begging Y/N to reconsider. But the silence stretching between them felt like a final nail in the coffin.

Y/N stood by the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the same arms that used to hold Billie at night, the same hands that once traced gentle lines down her back. Now, they were cold, distant. Detached.

Billie’s voice cracked as she tried again, even though she knew it was useless. “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this. Don’t take Ro from me.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, her gaze hardening. “I’m not taking her, Billie. I’m protecting her.”

Billie flinched like she’d been slapped. She knew she deserved that. Deserved worse, probably. But the idea of losing her daughter—their daughter—was a suffocating weight pressing against her chest.

“I’m clean,” Billie whispered, her voice hoarse and desperate. “I swear. I haven’t touched anything in—”

“How long?” Y/N shot back, her voice sharp enough to cut through glass. “A week? Two? Until the next time you spiral and we find you passed out on the bathroom floor?”

Billie’s hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms until it hurt. She wasn’t mad at Y/N. She was mad at herself. Mad at the empty promises, the late nights, the lies. Fuck, she was pathetic.

“I can do better,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. “Just… don’t take her from me. She’s all I have.”

Y/N’s face softened for a moment, but it wasn’t enough. “We were supposed to be all you had, Billie. But you chose meth. Over me. Over her.”

Billie shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. “No, I didn’t—fuck, Y/N, I didn’t mean to! I was just… I didn’t know how to stop, but I’m trying. I’m trying, okay?”

Y/N let out a hollow laugh, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve been trying for years. And where has that gotten us?” She gestured around the crumbling apartment, the mess that Billie had made of their lives.

Billie’s chest heaved with sobs. She crawled forward, grabbing at Y/N’s hand, but Y/N pulled back like she’d been burned.

“Don’t do this,” Billie whispered, her voice cracking. “Please. I can’t lose her.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she shook her head, resolute. “You already did, Billie. You just didn’t notice until now.”

Billie collapsed onto the floor, her body wracked with sobs. She was begging now, and it was pathetic, but she didn’t care. She’d do anything—say anything—to keep Rosie in her life.

“I’ll go to rehab,” she choked out. “I’ll get help. I swear to God, Y/N, just… don’t take my baby from me.”

But Y/N was already walking toward the door, her shoulders stiff with the weight of finality. She paused for just a second, her hand on the doorknob.

“I hope you do get better, Billie,” she whispered. “For your sake. But Ro deserves better than this. Better than you.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving Billie alone in the suffocating silence. She stared at the empty space where Y/N had stood, at the divorce papers still fluttering on the table, and felt the full weight of her downfall.

She was fucking desperate. And it was pathetic.

#princess diary ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚#wlw #billie eilish #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #hmhas billie eilish #wlw fiction #lesbian #wlw post #fluff #wlw angst #angst

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laura1633 · 2 days ago

Text

I had to write something after hearing Crane suggest Max wear a ball gag to the first press conference of the year. It's just something short and silly but here it is. (1281 words)

“Charles, quick here, help me with this!”

Charles makes a peculiar squeaking sound as he finds two hands on him dragging him away from the direction he was heading and down a corridor. The Monegasque is just about to start kicking and screaming when he realises that it is Max who is currently manhandling him.

“We don’t have much time” Max holds something up in his hand. And Charles - , well Charles has to do a double take because -

“What the fuck is that?” Charles stares straight at the item. There’s no real need to ask what it is because it is quite clearly a ball gag. The real question is why Max is holding it up menacingly seconds before they head into a press conference.

“I was talking to Seb,” Max appears a little frustrated at the delay Charles is causing by wanting an explanation, “and he said that if I really want to make a statement about these new rules then perhaps the best statement would be silence….”

“Seb said to wear a gag?” Charles raises an eyebrow as he gives Max a curious look. He supposes that does sound a little like something Seb would suggest.

“Well no not exactly,” Max’s lips curl upwards into a grin, “The gag was my idea. Good right?”

“You know you’ll probably end up in the stewards room for this?” Charles’ heart rate spikes as Max impatiently thrusts the ball gag into his hands.

“I will end up in there anyway!” Max smirks, “May as well have some fun first.”

Charles finds a lot of things fun. Hanging out with friends. Skiing. Hiking. Music. Something. Anything other than stepping out in front of the world’s media in bondage gear. Clearly him and Max have different ideas of what is considered fun.

“Are you going to help me or am I going to have to do it myself?” Max huffs.

“I can help,” Charles tuts rather defensively. Of course he is capable of placing a gag into Max’s mouth and be completely normal about it.

Completely. Utterly. Normal.

“Cool,” Max opens his mouth wide. Ready, waiting.

And suddenly it doesn’t feel quite so funny because Charles’ hands are getting sweaty and his heart is about to break free from his ribcage. He doesn’t really have much choice though, he can’t exactly run away, so the Monegasque reaches out and tentatively places the ball gag directly into Max’s mouth and watches as the Dutchman wraps his lips around it.

It looks -, fuck it looks hotter than it has any right to.

Max makes a soft humming sound of approval and turns around to let Charles fasten the back.

This is absolutely not what Charles imagined he would be doing moments before the first press conference of what could be a pivotal season for him. He has no idea how he is going to answer questions about Ferrari’s championship potential or the impact of the arrival of Lewis when he has Max sat next to him like this.

Charles gets the gag properly fastened and is pretty pleased with his handiwork. It’s not too tight but it’s secure enough that it’s not going to fall out.

Max makes a muffled sound that goes immediately to Charles’ dick and the Monegasque tries his best to think unsexy thoughts. It’s bad enough Max is going in there with his mouth stuffed, Charles absolutely can not accompany him with a hard on.

“You ready to go?” Charles gets a gentle nod in return as Max rather dutifully follows him through to the room.

And just as Charles had anticipated, the whole room erupts with noise. There’s raucous laughter and excitable chatter along with a few gasps and most significantly of all a blinding amount of flashing cameras. Within minutes there will be photos all over the internet of Max with his mouth held open and lips plush around the silicone ball.

“Everything okay Max?”

Charles watches as Max gives the reporter a thumbs up and then slinks down on the couch casually. Like this is any other press conference. Like there isn’t the smallest amount of saliva already dripping from behind the gag.

There is though.

Charles is close enough to see it dripping around the sides. By the time they are done here Max will likely be drooling helplessly. Wet. Messy. Filthy.

Fernando looks endlessly amused. Ollie looks shocked but then giggles along nervously. Charles is - , well in truth Charles is turned on.

“Max why don’t you tell us what you think your chances are of retaining your championship this year?

Charles turns to his right and watches Max shrug and then make a ‘so-so’ action with his hand. It’s enough to earn him another round of laughter from everyone. Everyone apart from Charles who has to force a smile on to his face.

Max fidgets a little in his seat. Charles can’t help but wonder what the Dutchman is thinking, whether he is regretting it, whether he is enjoying it.

The Dutchman tries to swallow down the spit that is clearly building in his mouth. Charles hears the wetness of it. Sees more drool starting to escape down the sides, glistening under the lights. Max doesn’t look embarrassed though, he is just staring out ahead. Charles isn’t sure he has ever seen someone look so submissive and dominant at the same time. Gagged but in control.

“Max is this some kind of statement regarding the new rules and penalties?”

Charles tries not to groan as he hears Max make a murmured sound from behind his gag. It’s completely incomprehensible, obviously, but the helplessness of the sound makes Charles’ dick twitch. Again everyone in the room chuckles. And once again Charles has to force a smile on his face whilst also discreetly trying to readjust himself so his semi is not quite so obvious.

There must be other people finding this a turn on. Charles can’t be the only one. Except maybe its because Charles can hear Max trying to breath around the intrusion. Maybe its because he can hear the muffled sounds and the slurping of spit. Maybe it’s because he can see the stretch of the lips and the way Max’s throat muscles are contracting each time he swallows. Maybe its because Charles is the only one thinking about what else Max could be gagging around right now.

Charles has no idea what answers he gives to any of the questions thrown his way. In fact Max is probably making a lot more sense than he is. The Monegasque jumps up the second he is allowed to leave and immediately turns his back to the audience of journalists so they can’t spot the rather obvious bulge in his pants.

Max follows him closely out of the room and is quick to remove the gag. The Dutchman starts gently massaging lightly his own jaw and wiping the excess of drool up. His cheeks looked flush, red all along the cheekbones, his eyes are sparkling tough. Excitement.

“I think you shocked them,” Charles tries to look normal about the whole thing, “I don’t know whether you are a genius or an idiot.”

“Perhaps both,” Max shrugs.

“I can’t believe you bought a ball gag just to wind them up,” Charles’ gaze drops to the gag, it’s soaking wet, “What the hell are you going to do with that now?”

Max laughs and shakes his head.

“I didn’t buy this for them,” Max smirks as he meets Charles’ gaze, “I had it at home. It’s going straight back into my collection.”

Charles stares blankly as Max winks and then saunters off swinging his ball gag in his hand.

#Lestappen fanfiction #Max Verstappen fanfiction #Lestappen

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kurishiri · 13 hours ago

Text

ECB ┊ To our greed this Christmas —Elbert Greetia—

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to narrative flow or characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— the ecb story for elbert in the 2024 christmas collection event! ik its already feb but lets pretend its still dec 😂🙏 delulu is le solulu!

[ELBERT’S ROOM]

Kate: Lord Elbert!

Unable to conceal my joy, I burst into his room.

Elbert: Kate…welcome back.

Lord Elbert’s smile was laced with kindness as he wrapped me in his arms.

Elbert: What did Victor say? …Although I think I have an idea from your expression.

Kate: Hehe…it’s exactly as you think…

K: Victor gave us the okay! We have time off from today until the 25th.

K: Good work on all the missions these past several weeks.

Elbert: I’m glad…you too, Kate.

——With little time to relax, the days passed by in a flash, leaving little time left this year.

And so, with Lord Elbert and I deciding we should take some time off, including on Christmas day,

we moved forward with missions for Crown more than usual for some weeks after the second half of November.

Of course, evil knew no break, and so in more dire times we were required to respond…

but it would appear that, at least for this period, we would be able to pass our days by in peace.

Elbert: …Kate, come here.

Sitting on the bed, Lord Elbert patted his own lap as he called out to me.

Though hesitant that I may be heavy, I wanted to feel Lord Elbert’s warmth, so I timidly sat on his lap nonetheless.

When I did, I felt his arms wrap around me, his hands linking at the front of my stomach.

(I’m so happy…)

Like a jellyfish just floating about in the sea, my body swayed in full happiness.

Kate: Lord Elbert, what do you want to do during our break?

Elbert: I think…I would want to keep you in this room and spend time together…just the two of us.

E: Looking only at you, hearing only your breath, pulse, and voice…

E: I want to take in your breath and, forevermore, feel your existence.

E: It’s not very different from the usual though…so it may feel boring to you.

Kate: Hardly. I want to spend time together with you as well.

Elbert: …I’m glad.

E: Actually, the other day, I found something that could keep us in this room…so I ended up buying it without a second thought.

Kate: You found something…?

Elbert: …Mm, it is set to arrive at Crown castle tomorrow, so I would like to use it then——

Just then, as if he had just thought of something, Lord Elbert cut his words off.

Elbert: …Oh, right. I would like to show you that something in a perfect state…

E: So, if you could go elsewhere tomorrow morning, I would appreciate that.

[TIMESKIP – ELBERT’S ROOM – EVENING]

Kate: An…enlarged birdcage?

The next day, I did as Lord Elbert asked, returning to the room after my outing…

And there in the heart of the room was a birdcage large enough to fit a human.

Kate: I feel like I saw this before somewhere…

Elbert: Perhaps…it was from the time you had become a little bird.

E: This birdcage is more durable than what was used then, and it won’t break easily. …Apparently, even if the manor were to collapse, the inside of the cage will stay safe…

E: And like this, nobody can steal you away from me.

Looking up at the birdcage, Lord Elbert’s eyes narrowed in happiness.

Kate: So…you decorated this while I was out?

A Christmas tree was decorated outside the birdcage, as well as festive ornaments.

Elbert: …At first, I intended to just put the birdcage down.

E: But then…Al told me, ‘This reeks of savagery,’ so…

E: …I tried to decorate it so you would feel comfortable in the cage. I just hope it is indeed to your liking…

Indeed, if anyone who didn’t know Lord Elbert laid their eyes on this room alone, they would probably tremble in its unsettling air.

With the hodgepodge of a rugged, large cage and vibrant Christmas decorations, it seemed all too odd.

(But…to me, I hold this room very dear.)

(After all, I think it was because of Lord Elbert’s gentle love and an overflowing desire that makes up this very room.)

Kate: I really, really like it! Thank you so much for preparing all this for me, Lord Elbert.

When I gave him my honest thoughts, Lord Elbert smiled like a blossoming flower.

Kate: Would it be alright to go in now?

Elbert: Yes…of course.

Lord Elbert opened the entrance to the birdcage and extended his hand as if to escort me.

I took his hand, going inside the cage.

Elbert: How is it? …Do you feel cramped, or any claustrophobia?

Kate: Not at all. …It reminds me of a secret base, so it’s actually quite fun.

Elbert: A secret base, huh… When we were children, just once, I made one, together with Al.

E: We would bring out snacks and cushions to the bushes from the manor’s garden…

E: Though…in the end, the adults found it, and so it was removed.

Kate: Ohh, so you had such memories as well…

Elbert: At that time, I did not really know what was good about it, but now, I do.

[CG - START]

With a smile at its finest, Lord Elbert pulled me in.

And I, too, extended my arms, wanting to become closer with him.

Elbert: In this birdcage, there is only you. …It’s a space filled only with the things I like.

With my back to the cage, Lord Elbert’s arms trapped me in, filling my vision with him.

Kate: …It’s the same for me.

K: I’m happy…just being in the same space together, just the two of us…

Those deep blue eyes, swaying with a bottomless love and a dark obsession approached——and our lips met.

Kate: mm…

All we did was exchange a kiss, and yet it felt like a sweet poison was coursing through me from my mouth,

making my body feel hot, on the verge of melting.

Kate: ah…

Lord Elbert’s tongue slipped in through the gap of my mouth, deepening the kiss.

Elbert: haa…When we’re touching each other in the cage like this…it feels like you’ve become mine.

E: Unable to fly away from the cage, unable to do anything but sing in a beautiful voice…my one and only little bird…

E: I want more of you…until I reach the deepest depths…

[CG – END, FADE TO BLACK]

——And so, my life inside the birdcage continued for many days until Christmas.

It was not as though Lord Elbert had ordered me to do so,

but it just turned out that, other than going to the lavatory or taking a bath, we spent all our time within the cage…

[ELBERT’S ROOM]

(Ah, there’s snow…)

One day, as life continued in the cage, I saw something white started fluttering down.

(…I haven’t been able to touch snow this year yet.)

Elbert: ………

E: …We should go out soon.

Kate: Huh…? But…

Lord Elbert said life inside the birdcage would continue on until Christmas, and that’s what I intended to do as well.

Elbert: …I just want you, and looking at you inside the birdcage like this is enough for me…

E: But, I also think seeing you fly free outside is beautiful, so…

Lord Elbert opened the birdcage, taking my hand and pulling me out.

Elbert: …Let me love you as you are free outside the cage as well.

(…Lord Elbert really is kind.)

I was sure that he was thinking in his heart that he wanted to continue staying with me in the cage.

But, even so, his heart was filled with kindness to the point he would push down such desires for my little thought of wanting to go outside.

And so…

I walked out of the birdcage and hugged Lord Elbert as tightly as I could.

Elbert: …? …Kate?

While Lord Elbert looked troubled, he gently returned the gesture.

Kate: Me too…Even outside the birdcage, I want to love you, Lord Elbert.

I do want to be outside the birdcage, but I would also like to fulfill Lord Elbert's desire…

Unable to completely put down one of those feelings, at some point it would seem that this greed as influenced me.

Elbert: …Kate.

His murmur was filled with enough heat to perhaps melt all the falling snow upon London…

And as we loved each other both in- and outside the birdcage, we fulfilled each other’s greed.

Fin

A Christmas of deepening greed with Elbert

masterlist 🍎🎁 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

#why is elbie smile so precious #aughh #ikemen villains #ikevil #イケメンヴィラン #ikevil elbert #ikevil elbert greetia #elbert greetia #ikemen villains elbert #cybird ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikemen series #otome game #otome #ikevil translation #ikevil translations #d: cafekitsune

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bteezxyewriter12 · 2 days ago

Text

Corruption/ 1

Pairing- Seonghwa x Named Reader

Word count- 5.1k

Includes- Nerdy virgin Hwa, blow job, deepthroating, pussy eating, cum eating, cock riding, corruption, multiple orgasms

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes @insomniacatiny @stephy-nicole13 @mknae-jongho @bykeynote @amyz78 @blueie-things @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @armystayluv23 @soso59love-blog @annalynsworld

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Corruption Masterlist

📝Masterlists

📝ATEEZ Masterlist

📝Seonghwa Masterlist

Gif Credit- There's a symbol or something in the corner of the gif that I can't make out. If someone knows the creator let me know and I'll link them

J POV

"Yes, oh fuck yes", the woman on the screen yells

Seonghwa sits with his eyes wide behind his glasses and his mouth dropped while I smirk at him

"Is she-"

"Coming in his mouth? Yeah", I answer

I had no idea that Seonghwa was home when I decided to watch some porn and get off

Luckily I just turned it on and hadn't started undressing when he walked in asking about the moaning

His eyes hit the TV and he looked so surprised and immediately blushed

I made a joke about him never seeing porn before to cover up my embarrassment and he admitted that he's never watch any

Needless to say my jaw fell to the floor

I mean it's not unbelievable

Seonghwa is totally clueless about sex

I figured that out when his mom dated then married my dad four years ago

We were both 21 and thrown together, suddenly step siblings

Although he's never felt like a step brother

More like a shy, nerdy, clueless friend

He even offered to move out of our parents home and into this apartment with me so I'm not solely responsible for bills and rent

Don't get me wrong he's really nice and sweet but he's sheltered, socially awkward and completely dumb about sex

Which is surprising because he's totally hot

Beautiful

But he so doesn't know it

Anyway, I invited him to watch with me and to my shock he sat on my bed, his eyes glued to the screen

"In...his mouth?", he gapes

I nod, "Yeah"

"What uh...what does he do with it?"

I raise my eyebrow, "Swallows it"

"Oh", he says, his cheeks reddening

"Do you wanna stop watching?"

He shakes his head, "I'm ok"

I shrug

Fine by me

The couple on the porn move, her now giving him a blow job

As the scene progresses, Seonghwa pushes up his glasses, his hand shaking slightly

I watch him as the video goes on, liking how nervous he is

Also liking how awed he is at seeing two people have sex

I know his mom is nuts about sex, keeping him in the dark about it, telling him it's bad and to only do it if you want to have kids

I know, she tried the same shit with me when our parents married asking if I was a virgin, shaming me for not being one while proudly stating that Seonghwa is

I honestly have no idea if he is or not but I basically told her to shove it

Yeah, she doesn't like me much

She also is so mad that Seonghwa chose to move out of the house and blames me

Like I'm gonna force him to join a sex cult and have massive amounts of orgies or something

I have no clue how my dad handles her but love makes you deal with stupid things

The guys in the video groans as he cums inside the woman, then he pulls out and the camera does a close up of her pussy dripping his cum

As per usual

When the video ends, I go back to the home site then look over at Seonghwa

He's swallowing hard, his hands over the tent in his pants, trying to push it down

I wonder if he even jerks off

Nevertheless this is the perfect time to lightly tease him and find out about his virgin status

"So have you watched porn before at all?"

His whole face turns red as he answers, "Nnn..not on my own. Once when my friends made me"

Probably Hongjoong and Wooyoung

They're horny little shits, always hitting on me when they're over

I've considered fucking them but I don't want to make things weird for Seonghwa

He was nice enough to move in with me, I don't want him to feel like he can't has his friends over because his horny stepsister will try to fuck them

"Oh. Did you like this one?"

"I uh...well...I...", he stammers, "Yeah"

I nod

For me it was fine

Standard porn

I was just gonna get off quickly then nap so I didn't need anything too kinky

I decided to tease him further

"What part did you like the most?"

He keeps his eyes firmly on my blanket when he says, "I uh...when he.... licked her"

I smirk, "So when he ate her cunt"

I saw him lick his lips a few times while that was happening

His eyebrows shoot up, "Is that what it's called?"

"Yeah. Eating pussy or going down on someone. Or oral. You can call it whichever"

"Oh...I didn't know that", he murmurs, his sheltered life showing, "They...never told me what it was called"

I'm guessing he means his friends

"Have you ever-", I start, curious, but stop when he shakes his head

"I've never...done anything. Not even kissed anyone yet"

I'm fucking shocked

He hasn't even kissed yet?

He's a virgin virgin

Jesus

"You never liked anyone enough to kiss them?"

He shakes his head, "It's not that. It's just I was so worried about it, worried I'd mess up. I'm not really good with girls. And now it's pathetic to tell any girl that a 25 year old man has never kissed anyone and doesn't know how"

Ok now I feel sorry for him

He has to be so in his head about it and now he's scared

"Hwa don't worry about that. The right girl...she won't care that you don't know how to kiss. The right girl will teach you. Just remember that ok?"

He nods, still avoiding eye contact

This conversation took a serious turn and I need to steer it back to a light mood

"So what about the blow job part?"

"What uh...what about it?"

"Did you like seeing that? The girl sucking his dick, choking on it?"

"I uh..yes...the...the sounds...we're uh...nice...when she...choked"

And I see the perfect opportunity to corrupt my dorky step brother

Not gonna lie, I always wanted him

Wanted to fuck him senseless

And this is perfect

Of course if he doesn't want to do anything I won't force him

I'm not like his mom thinks

But I can offer

"Do you...wanna try that?", I ask

His eyes snap to mine, shock in them along with desire, "Try what?"

"A blow job"

"A..a...bbb...blow.."

"Job", I finish for him, "I just...I noticed you're hard and it can't be comfortable. I can take care of it for you"

"You...you can?"

I nod, "I can suck your dick for you. Make those choking sounds you like. Make you cum in my mouth and swallow all of it"

I see his cock twitch in his pants and I refrain from smirking

"I...uh...I don't...I don't....know...what if ..uh.. someone finds out?"

I think he means his mom

"Hwa, no one will find out. I won't tell anyone. We can keep it a secret", I tell him, "The only way anyone would know is if you say something"

"I..I won't", he answers, his eyes pleading with me and I don't think he knows what he's pleading for

He's not thinking, just horny

"So yes?"

He nods rapidly, "Yes. Ok"

"Ok", I smile encouragingly at him, "Lay back"

He slowly leans back against my headboard, sitting up enough so he could clearly see me suck his cock

I slide my hands up his legs, hooking my fingers in his sweatpants

His breathes get harder and harder as I slide the pants down

He automatically lifts his behind up so I can get them down and I smirk at his eagerness

I pull them off and throw them on the floor

Moving between his legs, I lean down and kiss along his cock through his boxers, feeling it twitch against my lips

Fuck, he feels big

I start pulling his boxers down, eager to be face to face with his cock

I waited a long time for this

Getting them off quickly, I move my gaze to his dick and oh fuck

Huge

Fucking huge

Long and thick, nice curve to it

And so fucking hard, straining and crying cum

I literally don't think I've seen a cock this hard before

"Oh Hwa", I murmur, moving my hand around him, pressing a kiss to his underside, "You're so big Hwa"

"I uh...I am?", he asks, so unsure

"Oh yeah baby", I tell him, then lick up from his base to his head, a soft moan coming from him

A moan that makes me so much wetter than I already am

"Your cock is long", I say, licking up again, "And so fat. You're gonna make me choke so good"

"Oh god", he murmurs, his legs already shaking

He's not lasting long

"But before I suck on you, I need a taste", I smirk, then lick along his slit, his cum on my tongue

I collect as much as I can then swallow it

Fucking good

"Mmm Hwannie. You taste so yummy", I praise him

I glance up at him, pleased to see him fucked out already, his eyes on my mouth by his dick

"Do you like seeing me lick your pretty cock?", is sk, kicking again

He nods, "Yeah"

"Want me to suck?"

He nods

"Words Hwa. Tell me what you want"

"Please Jo, sss...suck my cock"

Gotta admit, hearing him talk like that is such a turn on

He's normally so dorky, I don't think I've ever heard him curse before

So this is so hot

Moving my mouth around his head, I press my tongue to the underside and suck once

"Oh god...oh my....God", he groans and I take that as a cue to suck more

Hollowing out my cheeks, I suck on his pretty head, his slit already leaking so much in my mouth

I know he's not gonna last so I move down his cock more and more with each suck

Normally I'd take my time, go down his length slowly but I don't want him to cum without deepthroating him

He's louder now, letting out sexy moan after moan as I go down his entire shaft, his cock nestled in my throat

I choke around his dick, spit flowing everywhere, tears in my eyes

God, he's big

I slide back down his length to half way, then bob up taking him back in, his cock sliding down into my throat, making me choke again

God, I love this

I bob up and down fast, fucking my throat on his fat cock, watching his fingers twist in my sheets so hard his knuckles are white

"Oh my god, Jo..oh god....feels so good....fuck"

It's the "fuck" that sends chills down my spine, my eyes moving up to him, blinking the tears away

His face is in so much pleasure, biting his lip hard as he watches me go hard on his length

He's so fucking beautiful it's stupid

I take his hand off the sheet and put it in my hair

I'm craving to feel him pull it

He looks at me with a question in his eyes and I nod

His hand tightens immediately in my strands, holding on but not pulling

I tug on his arm, showing him what I want

"Yyy...you want me to pull your hair?"

I nod, slipping up and down his cock

"Ok", he whispers

I take him all in, sucking hard around his entire dick and he cries out in pleasure, his hand tugging hard on my hair involuntarily

I moan around his length, so turned on, so fucking wet, my panties are complete soaked through

"Oh my god. I can't....I..I think....I'm..", he trails off

I move faster, choking over and over, his cock throbbing in my throat

"Oh fuck, Joanne! Fuck", he cries as his hot cum spills down my throat, his entire body shaking from pleasure, the sound of my name in his voice driving me crazy

I bottom him out, sucking desperately, tasting his sweet cum and swallowing greedily

Goddamn, he cums a lot but I make sure I swallow all of it

When he finishes, I pull off him, licking along his slit to make sure I get all of his cum

Moving my eyes up to him, I smirk at the completely fucked out look on his face

I sit next to him, softly running my fingers in his silky black hair

His eyes move to mine as he smiles weakly

"How was it?"

"So fucking good", he murmurs

"Yeah?"

He nods, "Absolutely"

"Good"

I'm glad I could make him feel good

I give him a few minutes to bathe in the post orgasm bliss

He needs it

I have no clue if he ever jerked off and orgasmed before

But at least I know I'm the first one who's given him an orgasm

I like that

I feel his hand on mine, taking me out of my thoughts and I turn to him

He looks at me nervously

"Can I see....uh...", he trails off, his eyes moving down to my crotch

"My pussy?", I ask excitedly

He nods, blushing again, "Uh yeah"

I shrug, "Sure"

Moving off my bed, I drop my shorts and my panties to the floor

His eyes widen as they look directly at my cunt, him sitting up straighter

I smirk, getting on the bed again, facing him this time

"Wanna see more?", I ask

He nods

I lean back and open my legs for him

He gasps, his eyes widening as he looks

His hands moves around my thighs, as he moves closer, a move I'm not sure he knows he made

"Pretty", he murmurs, making me giggle

Taking his hand, I slowly bring it towards me, putting it on my pussy, pressing his fingers against me, moaning softly at finally feeling his touch

His breath hitches, making me smile

"Mm Hwa", I whimper, "Do you feel how wet I am for you?"

His eyes snap to mine, "Fffff...for me?"

I nod, holding his gaze, "All for you"

"I uh ..wow"

"Touch me", I ask

"I..I don't...I don't know how", he says, sounding so sad

"I'll show you", I tell him, putting my hand over his and guiding him

His fingers run up my cunt and I press them into my clit, moving them in a circle

"Mmm Hwa", I moan, "So good"

I move my hand from his, letting him play with my clit for a bit

I have to say, he's a fast learner, playing with me so blissfully

I look up at him, watching him look at my cunt, his tongue licking his lips slowly

And I get an idea

"Wanna taste my pussy?", I ask nonchalantly

"Yes", he answers immediately, his head nodding like a bobble head doll, "Can you show me what to do?"

"Yeah baby", I answer, moving his hand and putting it on my thigh

"Lick here", I tell him, moving my fingers up my cunt

He nods, taking his glasses off and putting them on my nightstand

He leans down, his tongue on me and he immediately licks up quickly, shivers running up my back

"Slower Hwannie"

He nods, "Ok"

His tongue moves again, this time listening and going slow

"Should I uh ..press harder?"

I nod, "Yeah"

He does exactly that, pressing against my cunt, licking right up between my lips then back down, over and over

"Mmmm", I moan, the pleasure so good, "A little faster"

He listens, doing what I ask and I'm amazed that he's such a good listener

"Where..where your fingers were...", I trail off

"Yeah?", he murmurs

"Lick there"

He nods, the tip of his tongue swiping against my clit over and over

"Yes Hwa", I moan louder, the pleasure increasing so much, "Yes baby, just like that. Fuck"

His tongue now flicks my clit back and forth, a new blissful sensation taking over my body

God he's doing such a good job

His tongue moves in different ways, flicking, swiping, using his whole tongue then just the tip to give me amazing pleasure

I look down to find him already looking up at me, as if he's studying which tongue movement is best, which is my favorite

They're all my favorite

His tongue is just...fuck

"Fuck Hwa", I whimper, "God, you're tongue baby. Fuck, it's so fucking good. You're so good"

He whimpers against my pussy, his tongue moving faster and on his own he tugs my clit in his mouth and starts sucking

Softly at first, stars blasting in my eyes as I scream in pleasure

"Seonghwa!", I yell, my hand burying in his hair, holding on tightly, "Yes baby fuck. Don't stop. Please, don't stop"

His hands push my legs open more, his mouth moving, the sight of his jaw moving as he sucks so fucking hot

The pleasure builds as he slurps around my clit and I let the feel of his mouth around me wash over me, ready to fucking snap

"Keep going Hwa. Just like that", I moan, my hips moving on their own, fucking his face, "I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum in your mouth"

He sucks hard and I'm thrown head first into a massively pleasurable orgasm, screaming his name as I pull his hair hard

"Seonghwa!", I cry, feeling so fucking good, "Seonghwa! Fuck Seonghwa!"

He sucks me through it, my hips snapping against his face, my legs shaking around his head

Once I relax into the bed, his mouth let's go of my clit but his tongue buries in my pussy licking desperately

"Mmm", he moans, swallowing my cum, soft pleasure humming through me

He licks a few more times then sits up, his cheeks so red, avoiding my eyes

"Hwa", I call softly, patting the bed next to me

He shyly moves next to me, laying down and I turn to him, smiling when I notice his dick is hard

Again

Oh yeah, this is great

I put my hand on his chest, running it down his shirt towards his dick

"Oh Hwa. What happened?", I ask, looking at his length

His eyes follow mine and he swallows hard, silent

"Did you get hard from eating my pussy?", I ask softly

He nods shyly as I wrap my hand around his hard length

So hard, skin so soft

"Did you like it that much?", I tease

He nods again, "So much. You...you taste really good"

I smile at him, "Thanks baby. You taste good too remember?"

"I uh...I...uh", he trails off, nodding

I swear I've never seen Seonghwa blush so much

It's adorable

"So what are we going to do about this?", I ask, glancing down at his cock as I start stroking him

"I don't...I uh I don't know"

"Hmmmm....well....I have an idea", I tell him, getting excited

And so wet from the thought of it

"What is it?", he asks curiously

God, I hope he goes for it

"I can fuck you"

His breath hitches, his eyes finally looking up and meeting my gaze

"You...you can?"

I nod, "I can sit on your dick, slip you inside my pussy and bounce on your cock. Like the girl in the video did when she rode the guy"

His eyes are wide as plates as he stares at me but his cock throbs in my hands as soon as the words are out of my mouth

"Would you like that Hwa? Would you like me to ride you?"

He nods rapidly, "Yes...do you...do you want to?"

"Do I want to be on your dick, riding you hard and coming around your cock? Feeling you cum in my pussy?", I whisper, smiling, "Yeah baby, I want that a lot"

He nods

"Words Hwannie"

"I want you to ride my cock"

Thank fucking god

"Ok baby"

Climbing in his lap, I sit on him, my hands on his shirt, "But first, I need you naked"

"I uh...ok", he stammers

"Sit up for me for a second"

He does and I eagerly pull his shirt up and throw it on the floor

Putting my hands on his chest, I gently push him down, my eyes raking down his body

And my god, what a body it is

His chest is muscular, his skin super soft as I touch him

His heart is beating so fast making me smile

He has upper arm muscles too, which is a huge turn on for me

I love guys' arms and Seonghwa's are perfect

As my eyes travel down, my mouth opens slightly seeing his abs

Like hard abs cut into his skin

How the fuck?

"Oh my god Hwa"

"Www...what?"

"You're a total hottie", I compliment

"I uh...what...I...ah... really?"

He's looking at me with such shock in his eyes

I nod, my fingers tracing his abs, "Oh yeah. I'm surprised you're still a virgin with a body like this"

"Uh...is that...doesn't that mean I'm....a .. loser? Because I'm still a virgin and uh "hot?""

I snap my gaze to him, "No Hwa, of course not. Who told you you're a loser for being a virgin?"

"Uh...well...Wooyoung and uh.."

"Hongjoong?", I finish and he nods, "Don't listen to those idiots Hwa. I like that you're a virgin"

Oh god do I

And if he allows it, I get to take it from him

"You do?"

"Oh yeah", I smirk, "Means I get to show you just how good you can feel. It means I get to have you first, make you cum and fill a pussy first. You liked the blow job didn't you?"

"So much", he nods

"You liked eating me out right? I mean you got hard from it"

"I...I liked going down on you more than the blow job", he says, then his eyes widen, "Not that the blow job wasn't amazing because-"

"Shh Hwa", I giggle, "You're allowed to like what you like ok? It's ok if you liked eating cunt more than getting your dick sucked. Most girls just do blow jobs to get oral from the guy"

"Is...is that why you-"

"Nope", I answer, knowing where he's going with this, "I like sucking dick Hwa. A lot. And I like swallowing cum. I don't give blow jobs to get anything back"

I lean over him, my mouth close to his ear, "And your cum is the best I've ever tasted"

"Uh...thanks", he chokes out

I nod, "Sure baby. How about we see if you like sex more than eating cunt?"

"Ok, but uh...can you...uh", he trails off, tugging on my shirt

"Oh yeah, of course", I answer, smiling, "Wanna see my boobs huh?"

"Yyy...yes", he answers truthfully

I nod, pulling my shirt off, his mouth dropping

Reaching behind me, I undo my bra, slide it down my arms then discard it and my shirt to the floor

When I look back at him, his eyes are huge again, his mouth wide open, his hands reaching out for my boobs

He stops just shy of touching me but I'm not having it

Grabbing his wrists, I pull his hands to me and push them on my boobs

"Oh fuck", he moans, my pussy clenching hearing him curse

His hands squeeze my boobs over and over, my nipples hard against his palm

"You're so....pretty", he whispers, his eyes drinking me in

His hands move down, his long fingers touching my body, tracing the tattoos I have when he gets to them

"You're perfect", he murmurs, shocking me, "Perfect"

Fuck, I need him inside me right now

I rise on my knees, aligning his cock to my hole, "Ready Hwannie?"

He nods, his hands moving back to the bed, palms flat against the sheets

I'll have to fix that when I'm sitting on his cock

He definitely needs to touch me

I sit on his fat head, a soft moan already out of his mouth

I push down, sliding him inside me slowly, letting both of us feel everything

His huge cock pushes into me, spreading me open so pleasurably

I clench on his cock over and over as I move down, sucking him in

"Oh god, oh my god", he cries, intense pleasure on his face

"Mm yeah Hwa, feels so good", I murmur, moving my hips in a circle as I go down his shaft, opening my pussy just a little more for him to fit in

"So good", he whines, "Oh shit"

I finally bottom him out, his head right against my spot, his cock so fat that there's no room to spare

A super snug fit that feels incredible

I rock on his dick, making his head rub my spot, sending shivers up spine

"Fuck", he pants as I reach for his hands and put them on my hips

"How does it feel?", I ask him, grinding on his cock, "How does my pussy feel?"

"So good!", he blurts, "It's so....wet. So warm. And tight. Are you supposed to be this tight?"

I smile, "Well, I've been told I'm tight before but your cock is also fucking huge Hwannie. You make me stretch around you and fill me so much"

"Does...does it hurt?"

I smile at his concern while he's practically unraveling underneath me, "No baby, it doesn't hurt. It feels good"

I slide up his dick then back down, his whimper so pretty

"Don't you feel how snug we are baby? How your big cock stuffs my pussy so perfectly?"

"Yes", he yells, "Yes, oh god"

I open my legs wide, leaning back on his legs, starting to bounce on his cock

I let the pleasure of his dick fill me- the drag of his shaft as he leaves my pussy, the full feeling of him sliding back in, the spark of ecstasy when his head hits my spot

I lean my head back, bouncing slowly but taking him in deep, hard

"Oh my god", I moan, in so much pleasure, "Fuck Seonghwa"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck", he chants

"Oh god, you're cock is so good", I whine, moving a bit faster, my pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock, "So hard for me. Feels so good Hwa"

I'm not lying

He fits inside me perfectly, making me spread around him so pleasurably, throwing my whole body into blissful shivers

I've never felt this good from sex before

It's been amazing but this...this is mind blowing

"Oh fuck", he cries, "Your pussy...so much....white...are you supposed to be..."

"Creamy?", I finish, moving my head, looking at him

His eyes are glued to my pussy riding his cock, his tongue poking out at the side of his mouth as he pants, sweat drenching his gorgeous body, his wet hair plastered to his face

He's so fucking ethereal, so fucking beautiful and he has no clue

"My pussy gets like this, so wet, creaming the cock I'm fucking when it feels incredibly good", I tell him, "How much is there?"

"So much", he answers immediately, "Pouring from your pussy. Covering my whole cock. All over my lap"

"Mmm", I smirk, my legs burning as I ride him but fuck it feels too amazing to stop, "I only cream a cock that much after I've fucked them for awhile. I've been riding you for only five minutes and I'm already that creamy. You know what that means?"

He shakes his head, his fingers digging into my hips so hard

"It means I love your cock inside me", I reveal, "It means your cock is the best I've ever fucked"

He murmurs incoherently, his cheeks blushing yet again

God he's so cute too

"Do you like that baby? That your cock is the best I've ever had inside me? That yours feels the best?"

"Yes", he whines, his cock throbbing hard, "I like that. I love it. Fuck"

I lean over him, my hands on his shoulders as I bounce as fast as I can, each hit to my spot bringing me closer and closer

"I'm gonna cum on your cock", I moan, my body shaking on top of him, "Can I cum on your cock Hwa?"

"Yes! Yes please! Yes", he shouts

His pleading and the sound of so much pleasure in his voice helps throw me over the edge, right into a mind shattering orgasm

"Seonghwa!", I cry, ecstasy rolling over me in waves as my pussy strangles his cock over and over, coming all over him

I feel myself cream his cock like I've never creamed one before, stars blasting in my eyes

"Fuck! Joanne!", he cries, "Feels so good! Fuck, oh my god, it feels so good"

"Cum inside my pussy Hwannie", I plead, still orgasming and wanting to feel him fill me so badly, "Fill my pussy with your cum"

"Joanne! Fuck! Jo!", he screams, his hips rising, his hands gripping me so tightly as he keeps me on him

His huge cock throbs, then shoots his warm sticky cum, my pussy greedily milking his cock

I want all of it

He screams wordlessly and I watch the stunning sight of him coming

His head pushes into my pillow, his eyes closed, tears falling down his face, sucking in breaths as he screams and shivers under me

"Hwa", I whimper, the last of the pleasure leaving my body the same time he finishes coming inside me

I stay on him, letting his orgasm end, watching him in pleasure

His eyes flutter open, unfocused, looking so fucked out

He looks so cute

I move my hand and wipe the tears away from his face, his eyes slowly moving to me and focusing

"Hi", I smile softly

"Hi", he smiles back

"Was it good?"

He nods shyly, "Amazing. I never expected it to feel that way. I...I didn't know something could....feel that good"

"I know what you mean", I say, moving off him and sitting next to him, "It hasn't felt that good before"

"Uh...really?", he asks, curiously

My face heats up as I realize what I just said

A virgin gave me the best sex of my life, his cock made me cum the hardest I've ever had

What the fuck?

"Uh yeah", I answer, avoiding his eyes

An awkward silence ensues and I need to leave

"So uh, I'm gonna take a shower", I tell him, standing up and inching towards the door, "I'll save some hot water so you can go in after me ok?"

He nods, shy again, his eyes on the floor, "Yea ok. Thank you"

I nod, "Sure"

I leave my room and basically sprint to the bathroom

I get the water on and get in the shower

But I can't get him out of my head

I can't get the images of how beautiful he looked under me out of my head

Of how hot he looked when he ate me out

Of the pleasure on his face when I blew him

And the feel of him inside me was so fucking incredible

Almost like he was made for me

Stop it

It was mostly likely a one time thing

I did what I wanted

I fucked my dorky but surprisingly hot stepbrother

I corrupted him a little bit, like I wanted to

It's over now

I force myself to stop thinking about him and continue my shower

#seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez seonghwa smut #seonghwa fanfic #park seonghwa fanfic #ateez seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez smut

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demigodsanswer · 2 days ago

Note

So you really are incapable of making a bad AU I'm absolutely loving the tattoo AU. I love mom annabeth and sophia, I love the lukabeth angst, I love the potential percy & luke angst, I love the fact that you have percabeth basically flip their traditional roles while staying true to their character (annabeth is still a genius and percy is still goofy but they can be so much more too!!). I hope you expand on this story more I wanna see percabeth develop and percy form a relationship with sophia and everything that does to annabeth bc we all know girl can overthink. Anyway I'm rambling but I love your writing you're probably my favorite fic writer and I just adore everything you come up with.

Thank you so much! I've noodled around with a few more ideas. Right now, the fic is really heavy on the Lukabeth B+ Coparenting, with just a side of Percy going "hell yeah, hot milfs in my area want me!"

(for any concerned, given what I did to him in tuap, this Luke is genuinly a good dad, and also mostly pathetic and sopping wet.

he spent his teen years in love with a girl who turned out to be a lesbian who got a tubal ligation at 27, and at 29 she introduced him to a pretty 24 year old who he might like. he ended up not liking her that much on a romantic level, but now he's tethered to her forever. Oh and the love of his life's snot nosed baby cousin is back in town, six feet tall, chiseled, and handsome, and now he's sleeping with his baby mama. And all Luke wants to do is take his daughter to disneyworld while princesses and minnie mouse are still real for her. And for some reason, baby mama isn't immediately on board with the idea. and he's also starting to think he might be gay. he's had a rough six years)

Here's a little bit more -- set a week after the last bit:

Percy still had his hand around her waist as they walked into the shop, ignoring the people queued up in line.

“I’m serious about that Sting tattoo,” Percy said.

“Give me a week to design a better one than what I scribbled on a place-mat,” she said.

“Deal, but next week,” Percy said.

“I book up months in advance, you’ll have to try your luck with a walk-in,” she said, turning towards him. His hands rested on her hips, and he looked at her with that troublemaker smile. Thank goodness he was on a tenure track; soon, whatever trouble he got into wouldn’t matter. “Of course,” she pulled him in a little closer by the belt loops, “I might be able to find the time, if you ate me out again.”

Percy smiled and brushed some hair behind her ear. “Baby, I’ll do that again, tattoo or not.”

“Stop being gross in my establishment,” Thalia yelled at them. “Things went well then?” She asked, looking between them.

“Yeah,” Annabeth confirmed, stepping away from Percy.

“So, should we expect a mini Percy in nine months?” Thalia asked.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and sat on the stool behind the reception desk. “I’m more careful at thirty than I was at twenty-four.”

“Not thirty yet,” Thalia reminded her.

“Birthday coming up?” Percy asked.

“In July,” Annabeth confirmed.

“July fifteenth, mark your calendar, we’re taking her out,” Thalia told him. She watched Percy take out his phone and make a note of it. Annabeth smiled.

She was about to warn him that she didn’t really party much anymore, but her phone buzzed. She slipped it out of her back pocket and stared at the screen.

Luke

Calling her?

On a Sunday morning?

She held the phone up to Thalia. “This can’t be good,” Annabeth announced.

“You better take it,” Thalia said.

Annabeth answered.

“Hey?”

“Hey, don’t freak out.” He sounded completely freaked out, which only freaked her out more.

“Why?” She asked, turning to face Thalia and Percy so they could read her expression.

“Sophie got hurt at the park. She fell. We’re in the ER,” he told her.

“What?” Her heart raced, and she ran a hand through her bangs.

“They did the X-rays, she broke her arm.” He sounded guilty, and sad, and scared. Although the sad and scared might have just been her projection. She turned away from Percy and Thalia then, her eyes welling with tears.

“Is she okay?” Annabeth asked.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, then a head. Thalia. Thalia’s arms wrapped around her, and held her upright. In her periphery, she watched Thalia flip off the walk-ins who were staring at them through the window.

“She’s okay. They gave her pain meds and set the arm. They just need to put it in a cast and discharge her. We should be out of here in an hour,” he told her.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Annabeth almost yelled at him.

“I’ve been trying. There’s no cell reception in here. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

All she ever wanted to do was get mad at him, but he always had a reason to keep her from exploding at him.

“Well, tell her I’ll be there in -- what hospital are you at?”

“Beth-Israel, fifteen minutes from Electric if you’re there already,” he said.

“Tell her I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said.

“You don’t need to -- I mean, I’ll bring her right to you --”

“No, I’m coming, and tell her I’ll be there,” Annabeth said.

“Okay,” Luke said, “we’ll see you soon.”

Annabeth hung up with a huff, before wiping at her eyes, grateful now that she decided against make up that morning.

Annabeth’s hands shook as she opened the Uber app, and Thalia just took the phone from her.

“I got it,” she promised, “he said Beth-Israel?”

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, her voice thin and squeaky.

“Kids get hurt, mama,” Thalia reminded her, as she confirmed the ride, “but if you go in there all weepy, it’ll scare her.”

Annabeth nodded and grabbed tissues from the box on the counter. Percy handed her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Annabeth said to him.

“Is she okay?” Percy asked. He hadn’t heard most of Luke’s part of the conversation like Thalia had.

“She broke her arm,” Annabeth said.

“I did that when I was seven,” Percy said, “it hurt, but once the bone was set, it was okay. And I still have arms,” he said with a dopey smile, holding up his two forearms to prove it.

“Which arm?” Annabeth asked, not sure why.

Percy pointed to his SPQR. “It broke right about there,” he said.

Her phone buzzed again. Her Uber was pulling up.

“I’ll call you?” She said to Percy. Percy gave her a thumbs up. “Do you need me to come back?” She asked Thalia.

“Just walk ins today, mama. Just take her home.” Thalia took out her wallet and handed Annabeth a twenty. “Buy her an ice cream on me.”

Annabeth smiled. “Her dad is probably going to buy her all of Disney World after this, I’m sure.”

“Good, he should,” Thalia said, turning Annabeth towards the door. “It’s just ink, it’ll be here tomorrow.”

And with that, Annabeth was out the door.

The nurses all seemed to figure out who Annabeth was right away. She didn’t know if Luke told them to look for a blonde woman covered in tattoos, or if she really did just look that much like her daughter.

They had given her a private room in the ER. It wasn’t too busy it seemed, and the nurses directed her there easily.

Sophia was sitting up in a big hospital bed, still in a pink tee shirt and gray sweats, while Luke read something to her. Her tiny arm was in a beige cast.

“Mommy!” Sophia called out, her eyes immediately filling with tears, her good arm reaching out to her, as both she and Luke said “be careful with your arm!” at the same time.

“Hi nugget,” Annabeth said, running over to her, and scooping her up in a big hug, mindful of her injury.

Sophia sobbed into her shoulder, her little lungs struggling to push out words as she became hysterical. “I was -- on the -- swings -- even though -- you told me -- not to -- and I jumped off -- even though Daddy -- told me not to -- and I fell -- and I got hurt -- and I learned my lesson!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Annabeth promised her, rocking her gently back and forth in her lap as she cried. “You’re not in trouble, I promise. You’re okay.”

Annabeth glared at Luke over Sophia’s shoulder though. You are in trouble, she tried to communicate. Luke looked away, guilty.

“Aw see, I told you your mommy would be here soon,” the nurse said, walking into the room. He was a male nurse with dark skin and locks pulled back in a pink bandana. “She was very brave, mama. But all she wanted was you. All the nurses have been on the lookout.”

Annabeth looked at Luke again, angrier now then she had been. This time he didn’t even try to look at her.

“I bet you were so brave,” Annabeth said to her girl, pushing down her anger. “I bet Daddy was scared.”

Sophia nodded, her tears slowing and her breathing calming down. Annabeth wiped her tears away with her thumb.

“Did this nice man get you all fixed up?” Annabeth asked. Sophia nodded. “Did you say your thank yous?” Sophia nodded again.

“Alright Sophia,” the man said, “I got the colors, which one do you want?” Annabeth spotted his name tag as he moved closer. Austin. She hoped her brain held onto it through everything.

There was blue, purple, orange, yellow, and pink.

“Your Belle dress is yellow,” Annabeth said.

“Oh, I’ve heard about the Belle dress,” Austin said. “Do you want yellow?”

Sophia shook her head and pointed to the pink.

“Pink?” Austin confirmed.

Sophia nodded.

“Can we use our words, nugget?” Annabeth asked.

“Pink please,” Sophia said.

“You got it girlie. Mama, we are gonna need you to put her down for this part.”

Annabeth nodded and got Sophia back into the bed.

A few minutes later, the hard cast was in place, and Sophia was cleared for discharge. They’d check on the arm in three weeks, and go from there.

“I want to go home,” Sophia mumbled into Annabeth’s shoulder while Luke filled out the discharge papers. Sophia was under his health insurance.

“I bet. We’ll go right home, I promise,” Annabeth said. She looked at Luke standing at the desk, filling out forms. It was still his day with her. She rolled over her options in her mind. If she wanted Sophia to herself, she’d bet Luke would allow it. But -- “Do you want Daddy to come home with us?” Annabeth asked.

Sophia nodded.

“Okay sweetie,” Annabeth said.

A minute later, Luke was walking up to them. “We’re all set,” he said.

“We want to go home,” Annabeth said, adjusting Sophia on her hip, holding onto her tight despite her weight.

“Right,” Luke said, “sure, I figured --”

“Will you come back with us?” Annabeth offered.

Luke’s face lit up. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Sophia wants you to,” Annabeth said. As if to prove, Sophia reached for her dad, who took her from Annabeth, holding her with more ease than Annabeth had been.

“Okay,” Luke said, “let's go home then.”

Sophia fell asleep in the Uber, and Luke carried her inside.

“I’ll order lunch,” Luke said, walking out of her bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Great, thanks,” Annabeth said, her tone short. For want of something to do, she started on the dishes she left in the sink.

Luke’s arms snaked around her waist and he rested his head on her shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked.

“Begging your forgiveness,” he said.

“Okay. Beg,” she told him.

He squeezed her a bit, and then said, rather pathetically, “Please don’t take her away from me.”

Annabeth laughed, confused. “What?”

“I’m sorry she got hurt, but please, I … I don’t want to stop seeing her.”

Annabeth put the dishes down and pulled herself out of his hold. She turned to look at him. “Kids get hurt,” she reminded him. “Would you sue me for custody if she broke her arm on my watch? Or would you sue her school if she got hurt there?

“No,” Luke said, “but you are mad at me.”

“Oh, I’m so mad at you I could scream,” Annabeth confirmed.

“See, that’s the difference. I also wouldn’t be mad at you if she got hurt on your watch --”

“I’m not mad she’s hurt!” Annabeth yelled, before bringing her voice back down to a whisper. “I’m mad that I told you no swings, and that you decided to undermine me, even though you said you wouldn’t. I’m fucking pissed that you told me not to go to the hospital when she’d been asking for me. All the nurses were looking for me!” Annabeth reminded him.

“By the time I got ahold of you,” he said it as if she simply hadn’t been answering her phone, “we had barely an hour left, you didn’t need to at that point --”

“You should have called me sooner!”

“I was trying! She was in so much pain. I didn’t want to leave her alone. What would you have done? Stuck in a hospital, no cell service, when would you have called me?”

“In the taxi on the way to the fucking hospital,” she said, poking his chest with a stiff finger. “What are you getting for lunch?” She asked.

“Jersey Mikes?” He suggested.

“Great, you know what she likes?”

“American cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and bread,” Luke rattled off.

“No oil or vinegar,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

Annabeth woke Sophia up after an hour and got her to eat. Sophia, blessedly, gave her parents a break from Beauty and the Beast and selected Encanto. Annabeth relaxed finally, nibbling on an okay Italian sub as the iconic tunes of Lin Manuel Miranda entertained her kid.

“Your grandpa is a big fan of the guy who did the music for this movie,” Luke told Sophia.

“Poppop likes Encando?” She asked.

“Sure does,” Luke confirmed.

At six, Thalia dropped by. “I had to come check on our tiny badass,” Thalia said, running over to hug Sophia as she giggled at the bad word. (Annabeth told her Sophia wasn’t allowed to say swear words until she was eighteen, and Sophia seemed to interpret this as legally she wasn’t allowed. Annabeth hadn’t corrected her).

“Nice cast,” Thalia said, reaching into her tote bag and pulling out a huge pack of Sharpies. “I brought you these so me and your mom can give you some tattoos on your cast.”

Sophia grabbed the markers with a big thank you hug for her aunt, and Thalia squeezed her back. Crotch goblin, ha.

Sophia started to rattle off the things she wanted Annabeth to draw, and Annabeth just smiled. “Okay, why don’t you sleep on it, and then pick out what you want where?” Annabeth suggested. Sophia nodded, obviously taking the decision about her tattoos very seriously.

“Now, I told your mom to take you out for ice cream,” Thalia said. Sophia looked at Annabeth, obviously already feeling betrayed. “Has she?”

“No!” Sophia announced.

“Well! We should fix that,” Thalia said.

“We were getting there,” Annabeth promised, “but we can go now. Go get your shoes on.”

Thalia pointed to Luke as Sophia ran to get her shoes. “Are we taking the pouty one?”

“Not sure I deserve ice cream,” Luke said.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a martyr, come on!” She said, pulling him to his feet.

Sophia picked the brightest blue ice cream Annabeth had ever seen. It was just vanilla, allegedly, with Oreos, but dyed bright blue to look like its namesake: the Cookie Monster. Annabeth stuffed napkins into her cast to keep it clean.

After a careful bath (with Sophia’s arm wrapped in a trash bag), Annabeth and Luke took turns reading more of The Hobbit to her until her eyes finally started to close. Thalia had been gone since Annabeth announced it was bath time, and now that Sophia was asleep, it was just her and her baby daddy.

“Should I stay over?” Luke asked.

“Oh,” Annabeth said. He did stay sometimes. They shared the bed when he did. It wasn't a big deal. It usually happened if Sophia was sick, or on Christmas eve. “Sure, uh,” shit, “I just need to change my sheets,” she said.

There was a long, terrible pause as Luke figured it out. “You and Percy slept together already?” He asked, obviously judging her.

“Yeah, so?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Seems a bit fast,” he said.

“Well, I haven’t had sex with someone since you,” Annabeth said, “so forgive me for having some fun.”

“I’m not mad at you --”

“But you’re judging me --”

“It’s just of all the guys --”

“What’s wrong with Percy?”

“He’s like a little brother to me!”

“He told me you two weren’t close!”

“Not anymore! It’s --” Luke lowered his voice. “It’s fine,” he promised, “I’ll just go home. Do with the sheets what you will.”

Annabeth frowned. She wasn’t sure how he managed to do it, but she always felt compelled to apologize to him at the end of every spat. She held herself back this time.

“Alright,” Annabeth said. “I’ll keep you posted about the doctor’s.”

Luke nodded. “What about …” he glanced at Sophia’s door, “that thing we were talking about.”

Disney World.

Annabeth smiled and nodded. “You’re right, we should do it. It’ll mean the world to her. It’s so generous, Luke, I … I’m sorry I wasn’t immediately grateful like I should have been.”

He shrugged as if to say it’s fine. “You’ll come with us?” Luke asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Annabeth said. “I can cover myself --”

Luke kissed her head. “I don’t want you to. Just go and enjoy yourself.”

“Okay, I will,” Annabeth said.

“My friend’s wife is a Disney travel agent. She thinks she can get us into the Beauty and the Beast restaurant.”

“Oh Sophia will love that,” Annabeth agreed. “Do they serve chicken nuggets?”

“I’d bet my life they do,” Luke said.

He leaned in again and kissed her cheek as a goodbye, but when he pulled back, his face lingered. She didn’t stop him from kissing her lips. They tried this every few months or so.

“Anything?” Annabeth asked when it was over.

“No,” he confirmed. “You?”

“Nothing.”

Luke seemed a bit sad but just shrugged. “Worth a try,” he decided. “I’ll be in touch about vacation,” he promised, before leaving her and Sophia alone.

#annabeth chase #luke castellan #lukabeth #percy jackson #percabeth #tattoo au #my writing #thalia grace

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writing-mlm · 2 days ago

Text

The boy next door

Summary: Simon and his neighbor throughout the years Pairing: Simon Riley x Male!reader Wc: 3.6k tags/warnings: mentions of military things, talks about Simon’s prior team, Mr. Riley trauma, military slander, jokes about sex, Pre-141 a/n: let me know if i forgot any tags :3

He had been your boy next door, the mysterious Simon Riley who lived in the brick house across the street. The house that always had its curtains closed, the ones who bricked garden never had anything but weeds and whatever passerby tossed inside.

Despite the discouraging outside, you had always been drawn to the place. But the only downside was that it was the house of Mr. Riley, the same Mr. Riley that had stolen your pet snake, the same Mr. Riley who would leave dead animals in your bricked garden or waste bin. The same Mr. Riley that laughed when your older sister died at a Bone Lickers concert.

Simon attended the funeral, though. Mrs. Riley hadn’t been too far behind but she didn’t join the service. Your brother commented it was probably so she’d get away from Mr. Riley. You didn’t argue, neither did Simon. He just apologized and kept his distance until it was time to leave.

When everyone was piling into their cars, he had gone inside for just a second and ran over to you just as you had placed a special flower on your sister's casket. There was a box in his hands, a small box poorly wrapped in newspapers and held together with a shoelace. There was a card in between the two, as well. It had almost fallen into the grave but you caught it before it did.

Simon handed you the box before he left again, this time he slid into the car and kept his head down as it pulled out of the graveyard.

You didn’t see him the next day at school, then the weekend passed and his curtain remained closed. Sometimes, when you caught yourself waiting for it to open, it smashed against the window for only a second. A part of you wanted to go over, maybe invite Simon over but you worried, imagining Mr. Riley opened the door. Maybe a dead animal would be in his hand, maybe he’d have that same stupid look on his face that made you stop looking up, or worst of all, maybe he’d invite you in.

So, instead, that following Monday, you saw Simon in the hallways. He was a year older, or just a grade above. Either way, the two of you didn’t share any classes; you’d only see him in the hallways and coming from school. Going, he left earlier than he truly needed to. You would, too, if you were Simon Riley.

He had almost slipped past you, pushing past the younger years and keeping his head low. But you noticed him just before he went away. So, you stopped him and handed him a note before heading outside for lunch.

It took him all of four hours to respond, since, for the first time, he walked back with you home. He didn’t cross the street at any point, but he did stop at the bricks separating your house from the pavement and started into his house. Maybe five seconds passed before he followed you into the house.

From there, he spent almost every day at the house. Whenever he could slip away from his, he was at your house. Your folks didn’t mind, they didn’t like Mr. Riley either.

Sooner than you liked, Simon had graduated. He became a butcher for some time, he often gave you free or extra pieces and often got in trouble but never fired. His boss said he was too good with a knife and he wasn’t giving away too much.

He must’ve gotten tired of it, since by the time you had graduated, he told you and only you that he was leaving. Joining the Air Force! The military was something he had only mentioned in passing, you weren’t too fond of the idea of it, but Simon was dead set on it.

Something about September 11th had him thinking. He never told you what, but you didn’t care to pry.

“Okay,” You sat up from his bed, the bed he had in the middle of his small apartment far away from the Riley house he had grown up in. “I’ll apply too!” He looked over, his eyebrow cocked up and a glint in his eyes.

“You can’t deal with looking down from the second floor, you think you’d handle over a thousand meters in the air?” He sat up, the two of you face to face in his bed.

“I do,” Simon watched as your eyes went from his left eye, to the right, then down to his lips, and back again. He counted it five times before he shook his head and looked away.

“Do it,” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be in the same unit.” Then, he turned to look at you again, a smile on his lips. “But if not—“

It happened so fast, his hands gripped your face as he pulled you into a kiss. You let it happen, holding onto his shoulder for support as the two of you fell back into the bed. One of his hands— you think his left— went from your face to your side, rolling you closer to him as you gripped his hips.

The kiss lasted longer than either of you had expected. Just until the both of you had gone too long without breathing, your lungs screaming at you to keep it in your pants.

“Shit,” You laughed, looking at Simon. “Damn— that was good! You been practicing?” He rolled his eyes and then pushed you away from him. “What? Or are you a naturally good shagger?”

“We didn’t shag,” He got up from the bed and went over to the water bottle you had left there. “It was a kiss,” The water bottle opened up and you noticed he was drinking from your ice ice-cold water you spent two nights making.

“Aye! You know how many times I had to refreeze that water? Don’t drink it all!” Getting up, you took the bottle back from him and saw he had drunk all of the thawed-out ice. “Rude! What am I gonna drink now?”

Almost as if a lightbulb had appeared above his head, Simon grinned and gripped the back of your head. Once he felt he had a nice grip, he pushed your head towards his and kissed you. Then it happened.

He was shotgunning you with your own water!

“I need to reevaluate,” You gulped down the water. “God! You’re definitely experienced! Or have you been reading those old woman novels?” The red on his face let you know all you needed to know before you burst into laughter. “It’s okay, Si. I won’t tell anyone you read raunchy old women romance novels,”

“I want the water back,” He joked, setting the bottle back down on the dresser. “C’mon, spit it up,” With his hand held out as if you were going to spit the water out and ‘give it back’ you started to walk away.

“You can drink my piss, if you’d like,” You teased, opening the bedroom door. “But I’m going to Wimpy, I heard they just opened one across the street from that pub you like.”

“Bring me back a Wimpy Wednesday,”

—

Nothing further came between the two of you after the kiss. Things had returned to normal, save for the occasional make-out sessions over some takeout or a crappy movie. But no labels or discussions came about. No one tried to push it further, and you guessed because you were going to the British Army and he was going to the Air Force it was better-remaining friends— best friends. Best friends with kissing benefits.

Whatever it was, was remaining.

Simon had written that he was in SAS. Special Air Services. It was some big league unit for the skydivers of the military and you were happy for him. Of course. It just sucked not being able to sit down and watch movies with him anymore. But you found yourself busy with The British Army.

It wasn’t too bad. Could’ve been worse. At least you didn’t die, or get blown up and live to tell the tale. You didn’t think you could deal with everyone asking how you got hurt and having to explain that you had been blown up.

Highly invasive.

And the logo for TBA sucked.

The British Army didn’t suck, though. You had people you enjoyed around you, no enemies on your time— they weren’t friends either, though. You kept to yourself mostly, so no one really knew you all that well.

But you did create a reputation for yourself.

You had been dubbed Reaper, your official name on the field. Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick had come up with it after he was placed with you on a mission. He said he couldn’t find you, he just heard the bodies drop and the occasional gunfire when you didn’t use your knives.

It was corny, and probably cliche but damn did it feel good to answer to Reaper on the field.

It also made you feel mysterious.

Time had come and passed and you were given a temporary leave at the same time Simon had. The two of you had met at the airport and took a taxi to his old home since he had given up on his apartment; not wanting to pay rent for a place he wasn’t staying at or using.

You went home while he visited his folks, at his request. He wanted some alone time with them. Probably wanting to see if they had changed in the span of his moving out until then.

Later that night, when the two of you went to the pub to catch up, he told you what had happened. He said he’d be staying until things got better and you told him you couldn’t stay home, but would if he needed you to.

“I’d stop carrying the world if you asked me to,” You admitted after two or three drinks. Simon remained sober, instead, he nursed an apple juice. “Fuck, Si, I think I’m in love with you,” But it wasn’t the right time. He had his issues he needed to deal with, so he didn’t respond.

Instead, he offered to get Wimpy Wednesday and you happily agreed, spending the rest of the night at a park bench, sobering up before the two of you returned home.

He and your folks saw you off, he had promised to continue to write and you did the same.

After a bit, around three months, his notes got shorter. They felt cut off like someone had interrupted him and he needed to send the letter anyway. You never commented on it.

Your next leave had been asked by Simon. He had wanted you to come to his brother's wedding; he’d be the best man and he would ‘look like a loser’ if he didn’t bring anyone. You asked your captain, Price, if you could and he agreed. With nothing to do, he figured why not and you left for Manchester.

Keeping it a secret, you had your dad pick you up from the airport and had him sneak you into the house through the yard. He took you suit shopping and you almost bumped into Simon doing the same. He looked so lost, it was almost funny.

But still, you hid you were home until the day of the wedding, as Simon was getting ready to leave.

Not that Tommy didn’t know, you had written to him beforehand, asking to join and he agreed. He’s the one who suggested you keep it a secret for so long. It was just too funny to pass up.

“Is that my date?” You called from the side of Simon's car as he locked the door behind him.

“I thought you weren’t coming!” He smiled as he made his way over to you.

“Me?” You gasped, a hand in your chest. “I’d never turn down an invitation from The Simon Riley of the Special Air Service. Tell me, is this like one of your novels?” Wiggling your eyebrows, Simon blinked before shaking his head. He muttered something about being annoying before he looked back at you.

“You’re annoying,” He pointed at you then smiled and shook his head. “Get in the car, jackass,” It beeped as he unlocked it and you hopped inside.

“Nice car,” Clicking the seatbelt into place, Simon hummed. “Oh, c’mon Simon! I can’t really joke about the car— wait. Sex jokes or are you still a virgin?”

“As much as you are,” He side-eyed you and you laughed, watching through the passenger window as he pulled away from the parking spot.

“Maybe we could be each other's firsts again,” It was less of an actual suggestion and more of a what-if scenario. You honestly didn’t expect him to react or give you a reply.

“We should,”

“God, maybe shotgun some alcohol into me first. I need a confidence boost to into bed with my wet dream,”

“That can be arranged,”

—

Okay, maybe you hadn’t ‘shagged’ Simon that night, since after the wedding the two of you stayed in the car as he cried on your shoulder. And then spend the night in your bed, talking about the past two years. But you didn’t care. You had gone several years without having sex, you could go plenty more if it meant tender moments with him.

“You know…” He trailed off on your last day at home before you had to return. “When we went to the pub in 2003, do you remember— did you mean what you said?” Laying on his back, Simon wrenched his eyes shut as you turned on your side and moved your hair from your eyes.

“What did I say? Y'know, I’m a bloody lightweight,” He took a deep breath and held his stomach.

“That you were in love with me,” Sighing, you sat up, pressing your back to the wall your bed was pushed against while Simon watched you.

“I was— I am.” You admitted. Biting down on your lip, you looked up at your ceiling and laughed. “I had a crush on you growing up, then we met at the funeral and we started talking. I started to genuinely like you. I think I first really noticed it at the grocery store. One day I went in and you already had my order for me, but you still made me wait so we could talk for a bit. You looked so happy cutting meat and shit. It was goofy and I was so bloody smitten,”

“It was when I was in my room, wishing you were there. Sometimes I'd turn and expect to see you there, but you aren’t.” He almost whispers his confession.

“Can I admit something?” You whispered, holding onto his hand, watching as he nodded. “Sometimes, on the field, I picture you having my back and we’re doing it together. It sounds so goofy but it helps,”

“It does,” He nodded. “I do the same,” There was this warm feeling in your stomach that made you feel all giddy and stupid and you didn’t want it to end anytime soon.

“That’s so gay,” You laughed and he rolled his eyes, pulling you down onto him.

“You talked about me shotgunning you alcohol so we could shag, since I am apparently your wet dream,” Not really listening as he talked since his hands were running up and down your body, you blinked, staring directly at his lips.

“You are,” You mumbled against his lips. “I was gonna make an ocean joke, but I doubt it would make a big splash,”

“That was horrible,” He cackled, throwing his head back to the pillow. “Please, work on your jokes,” Groaning, you rolled off of him and turned your back.

“I take back everything, we are now enemies.”

“Mhmm, come and kiss me, I know you want to,”

—

Two days after that, Simon had gotten word he was being sent out to Iran. He had written about it briefly, mulling over it as if he wasn’t going back and leaving home again. But he seemed fine with it, so you didn’t push the topic and understood that it meant you probably wouldn’t get any letters from him for a little bit.

That little bit had stretched for a while, you had gotten more than worried about where Simon had gone that you almost quit. You were ready to go home and find out what had happened when a letter arrived for you.

It was a letter from Tommy, he said he was being stalked and he was fearing for himself, his wife and his son's life. After explaining to a person higher up in your chain of command, they agreed to put the three of them into protective custody. The only communication you had with them was via their guard through heavily coded letters detailing what was happening.

After they had seen the stalker, a former SAS agent named Marcus Washington, checking the place out for the third time that day, they agreed to move the three of them and Mrs. Riley to a safe house.

“Reaper!” Gaz has called out from the booth he was at. “Someone’s on the line for you, a uh—“ He waited on the phone for a moment. “S. R. says he’s from the SAS,” Dropping your gun, you went over to Gaz and took the phone from him.

“Si?” You asked once the phone hit your ear. Gaz had walked away, shutting the door on his way out.

“(Y/n),” Simon whispered, his voice wavering. “They’re gone! The house is a mess, (Y/n). Tommy— Joseph—“ He was about to start full-on sobbing.

“Darling, no. No, Tommy sent me a letter around a month ago. Marcus Washington was stalking them so I asked around and they’re in protective custody. They’re in a safe house, I spoke to them last night, I promise they’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” He sniffed. “Please, I’ve had the worst last eight months, I can’t take anymore,”

“I promise, Simon. They’re safe, I’ll give them your information once we hang up. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay,” He sighed. “Can you do that now, I just need to hear them,”

“Okay, my love. What number should I give them?” With the number jotted down on a random paper, you hung up and called the guard, giving her the number Simon had given you and explaining who it was and why he was allowed to have contact. It took some back and forth but eventually, she agreed and gave Tommy the number.

Throughout the week you got updates from Tommy and Simon but Simon had explained he was going to drop off again and he was going to explain everything once he came back.

He kept that promise, of course. It was a very lengthy letter that took you a good part of your breakfast to read. His team leader had betrayed him, he was almost brainwashed and his brainwashed teammate tried to kill Tommy. He was buried alive, only getting out using a guy's jaw to dig his way out of the dirt. And then he killed the people responsible.

Hopefully, he’d be getting therapy before going back, but the Military definitely wouldn’t pay for it.

—

The next time you saw him in person was two months after that letter. He’d picked you up from the airport, waiting patiently at your gate with his service dog, Riley. He’s amazing at picking names, you know.

“Si,” You breathed as you crashed into him. People around you gave small claps at the sight of someone in their military uniform coming home and you felt embarrassed. You wanted to take it off, to not draw attention to yourself but you’d been so damn nervous you’d forgotten to.

Simon, rather than letting you go after you pull back, loops his arms around your waist and buries his head into the crook of your neck. He thanks you a million times, sniffling ever so quietly while he tries to hold you tighter. He’s thanking you for a million different reasons, each one spilling from his lips faster than you can process.

He leans back and looks between your eyes, it’s been years since he’s seen them. Months since he used them to crawl from his grave. He smiles, his new lip scar flexing as he does before he kisses you. It’s firm, it’s warm and you find yourself chasing his lips even though he’s not pulling away anytime soon.

“Aye, mate, come on!” Tommy shouts from further down the gate. Simon only sucks his teeth and pulls away, his hands traveling to hold your hand. He slips your bags from you, shifting them to one hand before holding yours.

When you meet with Tommy, he grins and slaps your shoulder before holding something out for you.

“Heard you might be needing this,” He opens his hand and you see a whiskey shooter. It doesn’t take long before you get the joke he’s making and you gape at your boyfriend who’s simply cheesing.

“Si, you told Tommy about that? You arse!” You laugh, shoving his shoulder as the two brothers begin to laugh too. Tommy gives you a small hug once they calm down and you set out to the car.

“Did you get the letter from Captain Price?” Simon quietly asks as he sends Riley into the car and tosses your bags into the trunk.

“Task Force 141?” He nods and you nod back. “Heard it’s a secret op, not a lot of people were asked to join. I dunno if I’ll accept, though.” The trunk slams closed and you look over at him.

“I’m going.” Sighing, you check the time.

“Guess I’ll write him back when we go, 'cause you’re not going alone.”

#x male reader #x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x male reader #ghost x you #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader

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