#none of them know what anything tastes like

[saioratral]

salvatore - itoshi sae being a romantic genius cause i said so warning: none + aged up! itoshi sae note: i still cant believe the fishi, the legend might i add, asked ME.. ME for a collab write. am i dreaming? i completely went off topic btw cause that song made me confused

link to goatshi's ver (you better read it) also forgot to tag the goat @fishii-writes

expensive cologne floated through the entire penthouse, filling the air with its rich scent after a perfume bottle shattered. the owner shrugs, it’s like pocket change for him, you laugh at his nonchalant attitude, settling to stand in the balcony until the smell is gone 

the view of the spanish coastline looked almost like a sight straight out of a movie, making the penthouse felt like a castle perched on a hill, its high walls shielding you from the outside world and prying eyes. a velvet sofa rests outside to accompany you both, sae sitting and staring at you 

“cariño”, sae's deep voice brought you back to the present, to turn around and face him. “like the view?”

“i love it”, you lean on the balcony railing, eyes drifting between the view and him

his  teal eyes softened slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but it seemed tinged with sadness. his gaze lingered on you, as though memorizing the moment, taking the time to photograph your beauty as if you were leaving soon 

“people know how to live and forget," sae sighed, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "there are only two options" 

you arched a brow, intrigued. “and what are the two options?”

“you either forget, or you get swallowed by it," he said, voice dropping a little. "it’s everything—the past, the present, and the future” 

“.. i dont understand anything but you look handsome under the moonlight”

your laughter broke the tension, and sae raised an eyebrow, surprised by your light-hearted comment. here he was, getting sentimental, and you were busy admiring him? he watched you walk closer, your hands brushing over the soft fabric of his silk shirt. he let you feel it before you both sat down together

“i know,” you continued, resting your head on his shoulder, “everyone wants something from you. but i want you to be you. not the ‘japan golden boy,’ just… be you”

sae relaxed at your words, letting down his guard. your hand found his, fingers lacing together, and the ocean waves becoming a little lullaby for you both 

“me gusta cómo te ves esta noche”, he murmured, searching for your gaze

“oooo, spanish,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him

“eres... como un sueño”, he said, his voice softening as he saw your bright smile 

the night continued with the both of you laughing over silly jokes and guessing what sae was speaking in spanish. you got up, changing the song to something more slow before pulling him up with you 

“what are we doing?”, sae asks, curiously watching you 

“you’ll see” 

you took his hands in yours, and as the song played, the two of you began to slow dance. the ocean seemed to quiet down, as if wanting you both to take the spotlight and the moon’s light giving the perfect photo moment

“lana del rey?” sae asked, recognizing the artist of the song

“the one and only,” you replied, resting your hand gently on his neck

at that moment, the world seemed to pause. sae leaned closer, his warm breath fanning your already flushed face. the smell of his cologne making you enter a new world, his words falling out like music, as if you understood 

“sometimes it’s better to not know all the words”, sae said softly, his eyes locked on yours 

“alright, prodigy”, you giggled. “you still sound hot” 

his gaze flickered to your lips before he leaned in even closer. his lips ghosting yours, teasing you to take the bait. the bait he had set up all along afterall, everything goes with his plan, no matter what 

“mi vida… may i?” 

you nod, feeling his lips finally meet yours, the faint taste of wine still lingering on them. the kiss begins softly, slow and teasing, just as before. sae liked taking his time, he wanted to build up the moment with you but even he could lose his patience once in a while 

the pent up desire took the best of him. with a quiet murmur, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath warm against your skin before gently guiding you toward the sofa. you follow the pull of his touch, your back sinking into the softness of the velvet cushions

he hovers above you, his finger moving to unbutton his shirt a little bit before leaning down. his lips finds your neck, kissing you slow and deliberately, the heat radiating from his touches gave you goosebumps 

“you’ll get the rest later”, he mumbles before crashing his lips back to yours  

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

[maskedbyghost]

after the divorce, you thought you’d finally drawn a line in the sand, clear and bold, separating yourself from simon riley and everything that came with him. but simon? he wasn’t ready to step back. not fully. at first, it was silence—an absence so heavy, but then, slowly, the messages started.

they weren’t the cryptic, blunt texts you were used to during your relationship. no more “you around?” or “we need to talk.” instead, they carried a rawness that made you hesitate before opening them. one night, your phone lit up: “i’ve been sitting here, going over everything. i keep thinking about how i pushed you away, how i let my own demons ruin what we had. you didn’t deserve that. none of it.”

you read it three times before setting the phone down, heart heavy and conflicted. simon never said things like this when you were together. and yet, here he was, baring himself in a way that felt almost foreign.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things that carried weight. one afternoon, a neatly wrapped package appeared at your door. chamomile tea—the good kind, the kind you’d mentioned in passing during one of those rare soft moments between you. you’d joked that his taste in tea was pretentious, and he’d grumbled something about chamomile being “too bloody mild.” now, seeing it in front of you, carefully packed with a handwritten note that simply said “thought you might like this”, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

the late-night call was unexpected. his voice was rough, the way it always got when he’d had a drink, but there was a tremor in it you didn’t recognize. “i’ve started therapy,” he admitted, the words slurred but clear enough. “trying to figure out... what’s wrong in my head. i don’t want to hurt anyone else. especially not you. not ever again.”

your chest tightened at the honesty. simon had always been guarded, his emotions buried so deep even you had trouble finding them. hearing him like this—open, vulnerable—was disarming.

when you finally told him he needed to stop calling you love, his answer was immediate. “can’t do that,” he said, his voice low but steady. “it’s what you are to me. maybe i didn’t show it right before, but it doesn’t change the fact. you’ll always be my love, even if it’s just in my head.”

he wasn’t asking for anything outright, and maybe that’s what made it harder. he wasn’t begging or demanding. he was just there—offering pieces of himself you’d spent years wishing he’d share, now arriving when you weren’t sure you wanted them anymore.

simon had always been a storm, intense and unrelenting. but this? this felt different. he wasn’t trying to sweep you off your feet. he was trying to meet you where you stood, hoping you’d see the man he was trying to become. and maybe—just maybe—give him another chance.

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

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 14

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

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

“Kegs have been secured, so we should be good for tonight,” John B announces from where he’s sitting on the steps of the pool, phone in hand as he shoots off some texts.

“Hallelujah,” Isla sounds blandly yet playfully, as she remains laying with her eyes closed on the floaty, enjoying the warmth of the sun against her skin.

“You’re not enthusiastic enough for my liking,” JJ’s voice comes from next to her and, before Isla can even open her eyes, the floaty she’s laying on is suddenly jerked and a shriek escapes Isla, which is silenced when she’s underwater.

She instantly closes her mouth so she doesn’t swallow any water, which roars in her ears and muffles the sound of her friends’ laughter as Isla pushes herself back up before breaking through the surface. “JJ! I’m going to fucking kill you!” she yells, pushing her hair back and wiping the water out of her eyes before she opens her eyes to glare at her best friend roaring with laughter. Kie is pressing her lips together at the other side of the pool, clearly trying to side with her sister but struggling to stifle her laugh.

“I was trying to keep my hair from getting wet, you ass!” Isla growls, tugging at the hair tie that had been keeping her hair up, but now the wet strands were making it hard until she was able to yank it out. No point in keeping it up now.

Now she’s going to have to wash her hair before the party tonight, and her scowl remains on her face while JJ remains grinning widely. “Just making sure you’re wide awake for tonight.”

Isla throws a few more colorful curses at him, but of course he only laughs in return until she splashes him. She swims towards the steps, walking when her feet can touch the ground and walks out of the pool. “Where are you going?” Kie asks.

“Getting something to eat. You want anything?” Isla asks, grabbing her pink towel and drying herself off as much as she can before wrapping the towel around her hips and securing it there. The metal of her necklaces feel cold against her skin, hair wet against the bare skin of her back thanks to the red bikini.

“Diet Coke, please,” her sister calls back.

“Oh, me too, girl!” Cleo adds on from where she’s laying on one of the poolside chairs. 

Isla gives them a two fingered salute, slipping her feet into her flip flops and heads inside the Cameron house through the back French doors. Sarah’s parents are out at work and Wheezie is up in her room, Isla thinks, as she walks into the kitchen and heads towards the fridge.

She opens the fridge door, whistling a tune to herself as she digs through the various items to grab two cans of Diet Coke and puts them on the counter next to the fridge. Isla reaches back inside and grabs one of the chocolate pudding cups, her sweet tooth acting up.

She straightens, peeling off the top cover and dipping her finger into the pudding, scooping some up and putting it in her mouth, licking it clean and humming appreciatively at the chocolaty taste. And then a pair of large, warm, and familiar hands grip her bare waist right above the hem of the towel, and Isla instantly melts when she feels lips on her neck, a blonde hair ducking into view.

Isla’s pulse quickens, pulling her finger out of her mouth as she smiles and whispers, “My friends are right outside, Rafe.”

“We’ll hear anyone if they walk in,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low as he kisses her neck. Isla’s stomach clenches as she sighs contently and leans her head back against him, eyelashes fluttering when he nips gently with his teeth and soothes with his tongue. “I missed you.”

The breath shudders out of her, cheeks warming as she tries not to tighten her grip on the pudding cup lest she squeezes the pudding out of it in response to what Rafe is doing. “You saw me yesterday,” she reminds him through a breathless smile.

“Truth time? It’s getting increasingly impossible to get you out of my mind, Isla,” Rafe says, the heavy honesty in his words making her heartbeat seize for a moment.

He has the fascinating ability to render her speechless. Biting her lower lip, Isla turns in Rafe’s arms to face him, tipping her head back to look up into those pretty blue eyes with that gentle smirk dancing on his lips. “Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so romantic?” Isla teases, well aware her friends are right outside, but craving the warmth of his body as his arms loop around her waist once more. He scoffs out a laugh, his cheeks slightly pink, and it makes her grin as she places her free hand on his chest. “I think about you all the time, too, you know. It’s very distracting.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs quietly, smiling down as his gaze dips to her lips, the desire evident in his eyes. “Hope you’re not expecting an apology.”

Isla laughs and rises on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, sinking back to her feet when he leans into her, his hands at the small of her back to keep her close. Despite her friends being just outside, the kiss is slow, dragging, tasting each other and reveling in it.

“Okay, okay,” Isla breathes out, reluctantly pulling away from him and slowly opening her eyes. “Very risky. We’re gonna get caught.”

“Scandalous,” Rafe smirks, their moment at the beach flashing through her mind as she laughs breathlessly. As they pull away, both obviously hesitant as the space between them grows, the mischief remains in his eyes as they dip to the pudding cup. “You’re gonna keep that all to yourself, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. She likes that as much as when he calls her baby. Giving an amused, close mouthed smile, she holds the cup out to him. But then he raises an eyebrow at her when their gazes meet, the expectancy obvious in his eyes, and Isla’s stomach dips as she instantly realizes what he’s—silently—asking of her.

Throat drying, Isla dips her finger into the cup, scooping the cold pudding, taking a step closer to him again and raising her chocolate pudding drenched finger, careful not to let any of it drip to the floor. A quiet, almost thrilled laugh escapes her as she rushes out, “Hurry, before—”

Rafe is swift. His larger hand wraps around her wrist, bringing her hand closer to him. His gaze is locked on hers and Isla’s thighs clench when Rafe wraps his lips around her finger. 

Electricity explodes throughout Isla’s body, the breath stalling in her lungs as Rafe’s tongue slides around the digit, cleaning up the pudding that she scooped for him. When she becomes aware of her breathing, it comes out in labored pants, lips parting slightly as Rafe licks her finger clean in the warmth of his mouth. She feels the tightness travel between her legs, pulsing, breathing shallowing out as the smirk is reflected in those wicked blue eyes.

It’s over too quickly, though Rafe takes his sweet time in pulling his mouth off her finger, now clean yet shining with the sleek sheen of Rafe’s saliva. He slowly straightens, rising to his full height, looking down at her with heat darkening his eyes while Isla struggles to get her racing pulse to calm down.

She can’t process a single coherent thought, though she’s vaguely aware she’s probably standing there like an idiot, slightly open mouthed as she tries to get the world to stop spinning so wildly. 

He’s totally going to be the death of her. And judging by the smirk on his face, he knows it—and is proud of it.

“You should get back to your friends,” Rafe quips, leaning back and taking a step away, much to Isla’s dismay. But he’s right, even if she pouts and scrunches her nose in response, which only makes Rafe break out into a devastating grin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Isla shakes her head, snatching up the soda cans and tucking them into the crook of her arm against her body while the other hand holds onto the pudding cup she won’t be able to eat now without picturing him. “Asshole,” she hisses, trying to bite back a smile as she moves around him and out of the kitchen, throwing him a grin over her shoulder at the last second before disappearing from his view. She swears she hears him chuckle.

*****

Five hours later, when the sun is gone and the moon has made her appearance, Isla is surrounded by drunk peers at the Boneyard. A few bonfires are scattered around, music playing and drinks being poured. Some take advantage of the kegs, while others brought their own drinks. Isla sits with her sister around one of the fires, her beer cup between her legs but the two of them more so enjoying the joint they pass back and forth.

The party started a while ago and Isla’s only one drink and half a joint in, but it doesn’t stop her gaze from wandering, looking for Rafe. She doesn’t risk trying to be sneaky by pulling out her phone and texting him, not with Kie sitting right next to her. So she just tries to enjoy the party, watching people play games or dance. Her immunity, so to speak, to weed keeps her from losing all of her faculties—unlike Sarah, who takes a few hits and gets lost in her own world filled with giggles.

The summer night chill is drawn away by the warmth of the fire, and Isla enjoys the sound of people talking and music playing mixing with the crash of waves on the shore. The salty breeze dances through Isla’s hair, tickling her cheeks as she passes the joint to her sister, slowly blowing out a puff of smoke as her gaze wanders.

Unsurprisingly, her gaze glances over faces familiar and not, smiling when she spots Pope and Cleo dancing as he twirls her around. Isla’s tongue pokes the inside of her cheek as she searches and is disappointed when she doesn’t spot Rafe. He had said he would be coming tonight, but Isla hasn’t seen him yet. She lets out a quiet breath, gazing wandering up to the sky as she distracts herself by counting the stars she can see. It’s not as though she and Rafe could even hang out closely whenever he comes, just admire each other from a distance and let their eyes do the talking without letting anyone in on their secret.

It’s a fucking pain to be in his vicinity and not being able to do anything about it. Her body craves being near his, feeling the warmth of his skin and the solidness of his body, the electricity of his touch and the flutter in her chest when she sees him smile. To feel all of that, so much, and not being able to do anything about it publicly yet. But soon. Someday. She just needs to figure out how the hell to break the news to her friends and when. Either way, she’s not sure she’ll be prepared for the fall out.

Straightening her head from being tilted back, she tilts it to the side and eyes her sister. The fire glows against Kie’s warm brown skin, the light reflecting in her eyes as she lazily eyes the joint between her fingers. As Isla welcomes the warmth in her own chest—from both the joint and thoughts of Rafe—she finds herself asking, “What’s stopping you from telling JJ how you feel?”

She watches as her sudden question registers on Kie’s face, but Isla couldn’t stop from asking. As she swims in her own feelings for Rafe, how this short time with him has thrilled her, made her happy, in ways she hadn’t seen coming, Isla finds herself wondering about her sister and the boy Kie so obviously likes. Kie and JJ are perfect for each other, balancing each other out when necessary, and it’s frustrating that they’re still dancing around the edge of everything. 

Kie lets out a long sigh, head tilting back and as she uses her free hand to brush back strands of hair that escape the bandeau wrapped around her head. “I don’t know if the time is right,” she says lazily. “Don’t know if he’s ready for something like that yet. He’s dealing with some shit with his dad.”

Isla huffs. “He’s always gonna have shit to deal with when it comes to Luke. You might be waiting forever if you’re waiting on that,” she points out with an arch of her eyebrow.

Kie bumps her shoulder with Isla’s. “Why’s it so important to you, anyway?”

Isla pauses for a brief second, reveling in the haze of the weed that lightens her head, before she decides to be honest. “I want you to be happy. I see the way you two look at each other. Everyone sees it, Kie,” she adds pointedly, though with a gentle smile. “It’s only a matter of time, you know.”

Her sister throws her a look, one that is a mix between wary and bemused as she takes another hit. “What about you, huh?” Kiara counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re so obsessed with my love life, what’s going on in yours? Anyone keeping you busy?”

Isla pushes aside the way her heart skips a beat, Rafe’s face flashing through her head upon hearing Kie’s question. Somehow, though, she manages to keep her cool, her smile at ease as she gives a single shoulder shrug. “Nope. I’m just enjoying the summer with you guys before college starts.”

It’s a lie—a big one. It tastes a little bitter, but right now, it’s necessary.

Kie groans, face scrunching and throwing her head back before she shakes it. “God, please, summer only just started. Don’t talk about college.” Huffing out a breath, she says, “But I mean, come on—there’s a lot of potential out here, no?” She spreads her arm out, gesturing around them. “You could find someone.”

Except Isla already has, but Kie can’t know that. “I’m good,” Isla snorts out a laugh, pulse quickening for a moment. “You know me and my very particular tastes,” she adds jokingly.

And as if by some answer from the universe, Isla’s gaze catches sight of Rafe through the crowd of partygoers. She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, watching from a distance as he smiles while greeting his friends. The sea breeze dances through his hair and he, too, is by another bonfire that makes him glow in an orange-golden light. And there it is—the fluttering in her heart that comes wherever Rafe is concerned. She has to admit, it’s a new development in her life that she’s not at all upset by.

Taking the joint from Kie, Isla takes another long hit that she knows won’t do much, but it’s enough to keep her from launching off the log she sits on and go kiss her boyfriend. Her very hot, very secret boyfriend.

Isla’s neck tenses, physically stopping herself, and only reaching down to grab her cup of beer and taking a swig. She needs a distraction. She had been eager for Rafe to get here, but for what? They can’t be together, can’t dance, without her friends looking at her like she’s crazy. 

If only it were easier.

But it’s not, so Isla looks at her sister and asks, “Wanna grab the others and dance?”

A lazy grin spreads across Kie’s face as she nods. “Hell yeah.”

Minutes later, they have found Sarah and Cleo, joining the groups of people in a mutually decided area that’s designated as the dancing area. Isla’s free hand is locked with Sarah’s, the two of them dancing to the beat of a Rihanna remix with Kie and Cleo, drinks in their other hands. The music makes a lovely cacophony with the rush of waves against the shore, people’s chatter joining in but slightly muted.

Isla’s not sure where the guys are—she wouldn’t be surprised if John B and JJ were caught up in a keg stand somewhere with Pope supervising. But as she twirls Sarah around, laughing, her gaze catches something through the crowd of people. Absently moving to the music, Isla brings her cup up to her mouth, eyebrows furrowing slightly over the rim of the cup as she sips while watching some girl get a little too close to Rafe.

An obvious Kook, by the looks of it. Rafe stands with his usual group of friends, and Isla recognizes the girl as Danielle Greggs, a girl who is closer to Rafe’s age. . . With very little space between the two of them. Isla narrows her eyes, somehow still absently moving to the music with her friends, and watches as Danielle laughs at something Rafe says, clearly swaying closer to him, and suddenly Isla’s chest burns. But then—

She watches as Rafe’s gaze flickers down to Danielle and, without drawing too much attention, takes a step away from her to add some space as he takes a sip of his drink. Isla takes a deep breath, warm satisfaction coursing through her when Danielle notices Rafe’s step back and a quick look of embarrassment flashes across her face as she looks away and brightens her smile while engaging in the group’s conversation. 

Isla finds herself smirking, relieved at Rafe’s obvious display of loyalty, even if her own jealousy still brims. This—this part of a secret relationship is what severely sucks. Watching other people flirt with her boyfriend because they think he’s single, and not being able to step in and show her own possessive side. Isla tries to relax her tensed muscles, subtly rolling her neck as she forces her gaze away from Rafe. Even the sea breeze isn’t enough to cool down her heated skin that erupted at the sight of another girl flirting with her guy.

She’s yanked out of her thoughts when Sarah bumps into her with a giggle, and Isla’s eyes widen slightly in amusement as she keeps her friend upright. “I need another drink,” Sarah grins, looking at Isla and squeezing their joined hands. “Come with?” 

Isla laughs, nodding. “Let’s go, babe.”

She lets go of Sarah’s hand only to throw her arm around Sarah’s shoulders, Sarah’s own arm winding around Isla’s waist as they weave around people to where the kegs are kept. Isla’s face scrunches when they pass by someone throwing up a few feet away, a friend holding the girl’s hair back, but they’ve all been there. 

“Let it out, Stacy! Puke and rally!” Isla calls out to the vomiting girl, earning a chuckle from Emma, the girl who’s holding Stacy’s hair back as Stacy waves feebly before going back to puking. 

“Oh-ho, that’s gonna be me by the end of the night,” Sarah laughs, her brown eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed. Isla has a feeling she resembles more or less the same as Sarah.

“Not if you pace yourself,” Isla tells her through a laugh of her own. “Drink some wa—”

“Sarah, hey.”

Simultaneously, both Isla and Sarah roll their eyes in exasperation, though Isla doesn’t stifle her groan before muttering, “Here we fucking go again.”

They don’t stop, but are forced to when Topper appears in front of them. Isla presses her lips together when she feels Sarah’s arm squeeze around her waist. The wind tousles Topper’s blonde hair as he gives Sarah that half smile that Isla thinks he probably considers charming, but to her it’s just an indicator that he’s about to make a fool out of himself again in front of Sarah.

“Hi, Topper,” Sarah returns, considerably less enthused, as she brushes her hair behind her ear with the hand still holding the empty cup.

Isla’s lips twist to the side, her patience immediately wearing thin. How does Topper not notice how Sarah would rather eat sand than have a conversation with him? Is he truly that oblivious—or does he just not care? Never mind the fact that she’s been with John B for a year now. It’s about time Topper lets the candle he’s still holding for Sarah blow out.

“How’re you doing?” Topper asks her, not even glancing towards Isla, as if she’s not there. Which is fine by her because she could give a shit about being acknowledged by Topper Thornton, but his obsession with Sarah doesn’t just piss off Sarah and John B—it annoys their friends, too. Come to think of it, how is Rafe even friends with him?

“Good, good,” Sarah answers, always polite, offering a close-mouthed smile that doesn’t at all meet her eyes. Isla wonders if Topper notices or cares. It’s just embarrassing at this point. “Isla and I were just getting another drink.”

“Oh, cool, I’ll walk with—”

“Jesus Christ, Topper,” Isla cuts in, groaning as she throws her head back before straightening to glare at him. This time, he finally looks at her, that idiotic expression on his face. Isla gives him a look of her own, as though he just drooled on himself. “She’s not fucking interested—hasn’t been since she dumped you. When the hell are you gonna move on?”

From her peripheral vision, she sees Sarah pressing her lips together, no doubt trying to stifle a laugh. Meanwhile, Topper’s expression quickly transforms into an annoyed glare. “I don’t think this conversation involved you, Isla,” he says evenly with a lift of his chin.

Isla scoffs, her mouth curving up in a sardonic smile. “Thank God for that, because I don’t think Sarah wants to be involved in that conversation, either,” she counters. A glance at her friend tells Isla that Sarah is definitely trying to smother a smile. With a shake of her head, Isla says to Topper, “Dude, just let it go. She’s not into you. She’s moved onto bigger and better things—”

“What’s happening here?” John B suddenly appears out of nowhere on Sarah’s other side. But his gaze, hardened, is fixed on Topper, who immediately straightens, like he’s trying to puff out his chest.

Isla glances at Sarah, who suddenly looks like she has sobered up now that John B has made an appearance. Isla can’t blame her for that, because whenever John B and Topper are in the same space, people need to be on their toes because no doubt a fight may break out.

Gaze darting, Isla tries to see if JJ or Pope are nearby—preferably the latter, because while JJ is more liable to join in on the fight, Pope would try to pull John B away. Isla watches as John Be steps in front of them, staring down Topper, whose chin lifts as he says, “Nothing, man. Just chatting.”

“Okay.” John B gives a single dip of his chin. Isla, standing behind him, can’t exactly see his expression, but she knows there’s that special glare on his face that he reserves just for Topper. “Find someone else to chat with. Not my girlfriend.”

Oh, Isla sees the flash of anger in Topper’s eyes when John B utters the g word. No doubt rubbing salt in the wound that Sarah left Topper for John B, but who could blame her? Then again, Isla may be biased since John B is one of her best friends, but whatever. 

But that anger that Topper shows has him switching gears, Isla realizes, when he scoffs and spits, “You know, it’s only a matter of time she leaves you the way she left me.” Isla feels Sarah stiffen, while her own eyebrows slant down in a glare as Topper steps up to John B. The air is immediately tense with the anticipation—or dread—of something about to happen.

Over the sound of the party, Isla hears John B scoff. “When are you gonna let that go, man? It’s embarrassing at this point,” he says, giving voice to Isla’s own thoughts from seconds ago. “Move on—and back the fuck up.”

Those last few words are harshly spoken because Topper had, indeed, stepped up to John B. Around them, Isla can see others taking note of what’s brewing; everyone knows fire is bound to erupt when John B and Topper get into it. “Oh, God,” Sarah mutters next to Isla, her grip around Isla’s waist loosening as she takes a step towards John B, her hand reaching out to gently fist the back of his shirt. “John B—”

“Why’re you getting so defensive?” Topper asks John B, arrogantly tilting his head to the side. At this rate, more and more people are gathering, watching the scene unfold. When Isla glances past Sarah to her right, she sees JJ and Pope shoving their way to the front, Kie and Cleo right behind them. The girls look unsurprised about this confrontation, though wary, and while Pope looks like he’s trying to calculate the fastest way he can pull John B away, JJ looks like he’s ready to jump in and join. 

Topper’s mouth curves up into an almost cruel grin. “Is it ’cause you know it’s true?” Isla’s jaw clenches, and then Topper goes for the killing blow with a scoff. “Once a whore, always a whore, am I right?”

That does it.

Isla has a split second to pull Sarah back from John B, the blonde yelping in surprise as Isla yanks her away from her boyfriend, right when John B lunges forward and cracks his knuckles against Topper’s jaw. Gasps sound from the surrounding crowd, Isla’s eyes widening and holding Sarah’s hand as she tries to go after John B, but Isla doesn’t want her friend to get caught in the crossfire as Topper recovers and goes after John B.

“Shit,” Sarah curses as Isla moves her to the side, watching as John B and Topper crash onto the sand, fists flying viciously. “Topper, get off of him!”

“You son of a fucking bitch.” John B’s words are spoken through gritted teeth, in between punches thrown at Topper. He’s on top of Topper, one hand gripping the front of Topper’s shirt while the other throws another punch. “Keep her name out of your mouth, you fuck.”

“Oi, stop them!” Isla hears Cleo say, glancing over to see her talking to Pope. “They’re gonna kill each other!”

“My money’s on John B,” JJ says from the other side of the crowd from where Isla and Sarah are, looking far too entertained to put a stop to what’s going on. By the sight of his lazy yet excited grin, he’s not too worried about stopping the fight.

Somehow, through the struggle, Topper ends up on top of John B, and Isla’s heart drops to her stomach when she sees with widened eyes that Topper has his hands around John B’s neck, right on top of his bandana. And Topper’s grip is tight, judging by the way John B struggles, his face turning a dangerous shade of red to purple.

“Oh, my God,” Sarah panics, fear stricken.

“Topper, let him go!” Isla yells, muscles tight as she stops herself from launching at the blonde to pull him off. “You’re gonna fucking kill him!”

Her heart is racing, pounding in her ears, but it’s as though those words trigger JJ, because suddenly he’s there, too. He grabs fistfuls of Topper’s shirt and yanks him back, JJ’s teeth obviously gritted as he uses all of his strength to shove Topper off and onto the ground. He falls on his ass with a heavy thud, but isn’t down for long.

“Oh, you want some too, Maybank?” Topper taunts, getting to his feet. 

John B is gasping for breath, Sarah racing to him after she breaks out of Isla’s grip and crashing to her knees next to her boyfriend, fussing over him. Isla’s gaze is wide and darting, going from John B and Sarah to JJ, who shouts at Topper, “Think you’re forgetting this is our side of the island, Top! You can fuck right off back to Figure Eight.”

Isla crouches on the other side of John B, wincing when she sees the bleeding cut on his lip and the discoloration already starting on his jaw. Sarah, meanwhile, goes back and forth from worrying about him and admonishing him for getting into a fight, her panic still evident as John B calms her down while trying to catch his breath at the same time.

“Oh, God,” Isla mutters, catching Sarah and John B’s attention. They follow her gaze ahead, to where now it’s a confrontation between JJ and Toppers. People surrounding them are either egging one or the other on, or recording on their phones. 

Isla bites the inside of her cheek when she sees Rafe and Kelce break through the crowd to get to the front, behind Topper. She watches as Rafe’s narrowed eyes find Sarah, looking as though he’s searching her for any sign of injury, before his gaze locks with Isla’s. She widens her eyes at him, gaze flickering to Topper, a silent plea for Rafe to pull his friend back. 

In the past, Rafe has always been eager to jump into a fight against Isla’s friends; it’s one of the reasons why JJ, John B, and Pope hate him, and it’s as good of a reason as any. But it’s been months since her friends and Rafe physically got into it, since before she and Rafe started seeing each other. And Isla hopes that tonight that streak isn’t broken. It’s not as though she doesn’t have faith in Rafe, because she does. But as much as she loves her friends, Isla is fairly certain that they won’t have an issue picking a fight with him.

She sees Rafe’s jaw clench, his chin subtly dipping once, and a semblance of relief pours through Isla to know that Rafe is on her side on this. But the situation needs to be deescalated fast, because Topper sneers at JJ after hearing his words. “Yeah, your side of the island,” Topper scoffs with a shake of his head, that sardonic smile back on his now bruising face, since John B had gotten some good hits in, too. “But you freaks took our girls, didn’t you? First Isla and Kie—” Isla stiffens when she hears her name, noticeably catching sight of Rafe’s eyes narrowing even further, this time at his own best friend. “—and now Sarah. What, the girls here aren’t good enough for you Pogues? You gotta take what’s ours and screw them, too?”

Isla’s face scrunches up at his gross words, exchanging a look of disgust with Sarah, who looks like she’s wondering, for the hundredth time, how she dated Topper in the first place. 

“Take what’s ours?” Oh, no. Isla freezes, watching wide eyed as Kiara steps away from the crowd and storms up to Topper, shrugging off Pope’s attempt of trying to pull her back as a look of indignation fires up her dark eyes. Even JJ is suddenly not very interested in Topper, looking at Kie and putting an arm out to keep her from getting too close to Topper. “Could you be more arrogant? That is some disgusting patriarchal bullshit, Topper.”

Isla rises to her feet, watching raptly to see if she needs to step in and pull her sister back, despite the truth of Kie’s words.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, here we fucking go,” Topper groans with a roll of his eyes before shooting Kie an irritated look. “This has nothing to do with you, Kie.”

“Um, you mentioned my name, so it kind of does,” Kie snaps back, taking another step forward, JJ right next to her as Isla’s heart thumps. She’s hoping that as shitty as Topper is, he wouldn’t lay a hand on a girl, but tension still tightens Isla’s muscles. Her alarmed gaze flickers to Rafe, who is watching with that same look of concentration furrowing his eyebrows—but he’s also slowly approaching where Topper stands. Kie, however, isn’t done. “Just because you haven’t moved on from being dumped, doesn’t mean you can come here and pick fights just because your pathetic ego is hurt.”

As much as part of Isla wants to cheer at Kie’s words, her heart jumps to her throat when that previous anger flashes across Topper’s face and, to Isla’s horror, he narrows his eyes and takes a step towards her sister. Isla finds herself instantly moving forward, too, JJ growling a low and warning, “Hey,” at Topper and the threatening step he takes towards Kie.

But then before anyone else can do anything, by the time Isla has reached Kie’s other side, Rafe is right behind Topper, his hands gripping Topper’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, man,” Rafe says to Topper, his voice calm yet Isla detects the thread of edge creeping into his tone. Topper stops in place under Rafe’s grip, and Isla inhales sharply yet quietly as Rafe forces Topper to take a step back, his gaze on his friend. But Rafe’s eyes—she’s seen that look in his eyes, previously directed towards her friends. Rafe is pissed. “Forget about it, alright? Let’s get out of here.”

Isla’s narrowed eyes watch Topper’s jaw work, her heart thumping wildly and having practically forgotten about the audience around them. But they’re all silent, watching, as Topper finally raises his hands up and takes a step back, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Fine, whatever,” Topper scoffs, shaking his head as he shrugs Rafe’s hands off of him and turns. But not before muttering, “Fucking Pogues, man.”

Isla watches as Rafe watches Topper go and join Kelce, before Rafe glances back at Sarah for a split second, who has helped John B up to his feet. Rafe’s gaze then flickers to Isla and she presses her lips together, offering the slightest bit of a grateful smile. She wishes she could hug him for pulling Topper away, from putting a stop to this before Topper went after JJ and, worse, Kie.

But he gives her the tiniest of smiles before he turns and goes, and Isla feels stuck either way, between him and her friends, with one foot in both worlds and wishing they’d collide sooner rather than later.

[ameliathornromance]

“This is Hell.” You groaned to yourself. Curled up under the bedsheets of your shared tent, you lay, with your arms clasped firmly around your lower stomach in the fetus position.

It was the only way your period cramps would stop… sometimes. And today, was not a ‘sometimes’ day.

You thought, God forbid, for a moment before you came on, that you were spared one month of this. But of course, the usual fears came into play – could you be pregnant?

And after determining that there was no way you could be, you thought that this might just be a month where you missed your period.

It was joyous for you. You felt like you could frolic in a field, hair flying in a warm breeze as you hop, skipped and jumped. Right up until you woke up this morning with the worst cramps of the whole of your menstrual life.

You had been in bed the whole day because of them. Your Orc boyfriend had done his best to comfort you when you woke up, but unfortunately, none of his reassurances or soothing back rubs could quell the pain of your uterus taking revenge for your fantasies of one month without a period.

When it was clear that his efforts were doing nothing to sooth the pain, he sighed. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get for you?” your boyfriend asked, feeling completely powerless to the machinations of your body.

You groaned, sarcastically, “you could get your hands on some chocolate for me.”

Chocolate was a rare thing for people of your social standing to afford. It was only given to the richest of people and you had only tasted it once while you were working in a Nobles house for a brief moment.

Right now, the idea of that velvety sweetness gracing your lips was all you could think about right now.

Your Orc, who could sense that you were not in the best of moods, grunted and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You felt guilty asking for it in such a tone. It’s not like your boyfriend had done anything to deserve your sardonic attitude. He was only trying to help.

After that, you hadn’t seen or heard from him for the rest of the day. Your hormonal brain had convinced you that he had abandoned you for how you treated him and sent you into a fit of tears.

Which is why when he came back, you were surprised to see him grinning from ear to ear.

But at the sight of your tears, his expression fell. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Your Orc rushed over and placed what he was holding on your bedside table.

You sniffled and dried up your tears using your sleeve as you apologised, “I-I’m sorry for being horrible earlier,” you sniffed, “I didn’t mean it, I’m in a lot of pain so please don’t leave me alone!”

Your Orc let out a sigh of relief to your surprise and smiled at you, “honey it’s okay. I know this time is really tough for you, I get it.” He picks up what he left on the bedside table and held out a steaming towel to you. “Here for your cramps.”

Taking the towel, you wrapped it around your stomach and the clenching pain of your abdomen ceased instantly.

More tears began to run down your cheeks as your Orc cupped your face in his hands, “oh I’m so sorry sweetheart, if I’d known it hurt that bad, I’d have been quicker about coming back.”

You shook your head, just grateful for him to be there.

“And, I know you said it with a hint of sarcasm, but I found some anyway.” He held out a small box to you.

You stared at it, taking it from him.

The box was gold and held together with a silky black ribbon tied into a bow, with a tag that had some random mans name scrawled on it in cursive.

Tugging on the ribbon, the bow collapsed and allowed you to open the top of the box. Inside, wrapped in small, individual shiny pieces of paper, was chocolate.

If you were crying before, you were now sobbing. “I… I don’t deserve you.” You said, tearfully. “You’re too good for me.”

Shaking his head, your Orc dried your tears with his thumbs, “that’s nonsense. We all have tough days, okay?” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he made you look at him. “And I’m not going to go anywhere. I promise.”

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@sunndust @greenie-c

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 1. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader 18+)

Part 2. Part 3. Warnings: Profanities, sexual tension, alcohol and cigarette use.

Author's note: I'm not exactly staying on top of the timeline of rivals, bare this in mind as you read. Of course with any self inserts, it's an AU with a bit of tweaking. No smut involved in this chapter, just fluff until I post more parts. AGE GAP (22!Reader). Thanks for reading.

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

It was your first week at the Corinium. You were a fresh-faced journalist straight out of Washington State University who had accepted an internship at the independent commercial television station in the county of Rutshire, England. Far from home and comfort, you strived to be the best at what you were asked to do. The pay was good, and the idea of being in another continent where anything was possible kept your drive at an all-time high. You were practicing your decorum quietly to yourself at your desk, fiddling with your pen.

"Already going mad, are you?" Your co-worker and new friend Seb asks, grinning as he puts down his homework on your desk.

You laugh awkwardly, crossing your leg over the other as you lean back to look up at the ginger. "If I have to hear Tony Baddingham cuss out another person because Declan O'Hara is too stubborn to take his lead," You quip, closing your own folder of paperwork. "I think I'll start drinking more." You exasperate, recalling the sudden outburst from Tony's office a mere five minutes ago. Seeing Declan O'Hara riled up was never a great sign, but you couldn't help but run your eyes over his sculpted arms when he took off his blazer in frustration.

"I think you need to start drinking more in general, y/n. You're in England now. We all have a problem." Seb comments, half-sitting on your desk. "You should come with us to Bar Sinister. It's owned by Basil, Tony's brother." He says, crossing his arms.

You raise a brow. "I thought we were assigned to get dirt on the next guest on Declan's and have it in by Monday. Wouldn't that cut into our research time?" You query.

Seb laughs. "You Americans are such workaholics." He shakes his head. "Come get a drink with us!" He pleas, hitting your arm lightly. "Those reputations aren't going anywhere. Besides, we're all going, you'll be the odd one out if you don't."

"All of you?" You say, looking across the room at Declan O'Hara. He's speaking to someone on the phone in his office, the blinds open enough to allow you for a peek. God, what a man he was.

"Yes, all of us. I can't speak for Tony or Declan, though." Seb hums, the feeling of disappointment washing over you. "I'd like to see you there, though." He adds, the both of you sharing a lingering gaze before he gets up and walks away.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think your colleague was flirting with you. You didn't mind it, really. Seb was attractive, and only a year younger than you. Unfortunately, you just had a taste something a little more aged. Everyone seemed to want to fuck each other in this office. You barely managed to avoid the claws of some of the older men yourself, not that you were complaining-- besides the fact none of them were Declan O'Hara.

You decide to stand up, grabbing ahold of your folder before boldly heading over to Mr. O'Hara's office. You slowly knock on the ajar door to get his attention before you step in.

"-We'll discuss this later. Goodbye." Declan says into his phone, hanging it up when he notices you. "Y/n, hello. What can I do for you?" He asks, putting his hands behind his back as he leans back in his chair.

Many things. You think to yourself, trying to look away from his stretched out torso before speaking. "I was just wondering if I could help you with anything else before I leave today Mister O'Hara? I just noticed you seem a bit stressed, maybe I could take something off of your plate if possible." You say, smoothing out your skirt.

He chuckles lightly, leaning forward to take a sip of his whiskey on the rocks. "Call me Declan, love. No need for so much professionalism." He sighs, your heart skipping a beat at his words of endearment as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm 'fraid not. Tony's up my arse, and my wife's trying to throw this ridiculously expensive party for my son's birthday which also happens to be New Year's and..." He notices your glimmer of concern in your eyes, staring into them as if he got distracted. "I uh," He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it." He says, waving it off.

"I'm sorry, that does seem like an awful lot." You say, your cheeks reddening from his stare. "You don't deserve that, you know. The way Mister Baddingham treats you." You mutter, toying with the folder in your arms.

Declan chuckles, pulling out a cigarette and popping it into his mouth. "Try telling him that." He says wryly, lighting up the smoke.

"Well Declan, there's a group of us going to Bar Sinister later, if you'd like to unwind. God knows we both need it." You try to joke, laughing awkwardly as Declan gives you a look. You clear your throat, straighten your spine. "Sorry, just a suggestion." You mumble.

He laughs genuinely this time, inhaling his cigarette again. "You're funny, y/n. I thought it would be intolerable hiring an American journalist-"

"Hey!" You interject, gasping playfully.

"But!" Declan holds a hand up, stopping you from speaking further. "You're quite lovely to have around. I enjoy your presence." He says, smiling at you. "I hope you consider a permanent placement in the future."

Your face lights up, a big smile on your face now. "Thank you Mister- Declan." You correct yourself. He laughs again. "But I would have to become apart of your personal board to get approved for anything like that." You add.

"Well," Declan says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. "I hope you don't mind if I consider that possibility y/n. You have a lot of potential, and I admire your drive." He admits, clasping his hands together and putting them on his desk.

"I am very flattered, Declan. Thank you." You say, looking down before meeting his gaze again. "It's been a pleasure working for you." The undertone of your words hint at something beyond, causing Declan to tilt his chin up a bit to analyze you.

There was something about you that had caught his attention since you first set foot in Corinium, and he couldn't seem to shake his mind from it. It was like a guilty pleasure he could never acknowledge out loud.

The phone rings. Declan nods towards it, signaling for the conversation to end. "See you tonight, y/n." He finishes, taking the phone off it's mantle as you feel heat beginning to simmer in your abdomen, nodding before leaving his office and closing the door behind you.

You have a wide grin on your face as you make your way back to your desk, hastily returning to your work in order to keep the evening free.

-

Much to your surprise, it was karaoke night at the bar. There was a good mix of random patrons and recognizable faces taking turns singing out ballads.

You and Seb were sat at the bar, him sipping on a Guinness as you had a vodka soda. Classic American, he commented when you ordered it.

“You gonna go up there?” You ask Seb, gesturing towards Freddie Jones who was pouring his heart out on the mic.

“Mm, possibly. What’d you reckon I sing? I’m tone deaf but maybe if everyone gets drunk enough no one will notice.” He jokes, earning a fit of laughter from you both.

“I love The Cure if that’s any help.” You suggest, finishing your vodka soda.

Seb quickly gestures for the bartender to bring over a bottle of wine. He notices your curious expression, shrugging his shoulders. “Company’s paying for this shite, not me." He explains. "Also, The Cure? I like 'em, but they’re not gonna translate with these guys.” He says, drinking his pint. He pours you a glass of wine as you glance around the space, trying to spot Declan anywhere.

“What about Last Christmas? You know, by Wham? It’s almost Christmas after all.” You say, already pouncing on your glass of wine.

“I do like that one, maybe I’ll do it yeah.” Seb says nonchalantly, finishing his Guinness. “I’ll go right now, actually.” He suddenly gets up, walking through the crowd.

You grab the wine bottle itself and take a swig from it, feeling the alcohol flush out your face. You hated how it made your cheeks red like you were ashamed to be plastered.

You finally see the man you were waiting for enter the place, scanning the room before his eyes landed on yours. You give Declan a timid wave, causing him to walk over as Seb began singing on stage. “You made it!” You exclaim, returning to pouring the wine into your glass so you seemed classy in front of your inappropriate work crush.

“Yes, sorry. Had to stay later at the office to do more flawed research.” He jests, nodding towards the bartender who already knew his regular. Declan referred to finding dirt on his guests as flawed research, mainly so it didn’t seem so inane in conversation.

"You're very dedicated to your work, I'm surprised you have time for any of this." You say, allowing yourself to speak more freely now that you were definitely tipsy.

"My wife would say the same." He sighs, taking a sip of his glass of whiskey.

You take another sip of your glass, trying to conceal your distaste at the mention of his wife. "Is she not very pleased with you, Declan?" You ask, causing your boss's face to harden. "I'm sorry," You quickly add. "That's personal I shouldn't have said that, that's so stupid of me-"

"Y/n." Declan says, putting a hand on your arm. You feel your body burn up at his touch. "It's okay, really. It's actually relieving to know you don't know anything about my martial problems. Everyone does." He says dryly, taking another sip of his whiskey. "She's not too keen on me being obsessed with my job. She compares it to cheating on her, which I find rather hypocritical considering..." He trails off, smiling at you. "Forget it." He raises his glass, clinking yours. "To you, for being an amazing intern." He slams back his glass, putting it down and grabbing ahold of the aged bottle of whiskey to pour himself.

You smile awkwardly, raising your glass before taking another sip of your wine. You piece it together in your head, realizing that his wife must've committed adultery; just like almost every other married person you've worked alongside so far. "Jesus, Declan. I'm sorry." You mumble, hearing Seb's singing end in the distance.

"Please, don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." Declan says, a look of yearning in his eyes.

"If I were her, I'd never do anything of the sort. If I was with someone like you I'd cherish it everyday." You say, finishing your glass of wine.

Declan raises a brow, chuckling heartily. "And someone would be very, very lucky to have you y/n." He replies, the two of you locked in a stare.

You were definitely drunk by now, and wine always gave you an edge to flirt with whomever you found most attractive in the room. You place a hand on his arm, finally knowing what it was like to feel his muscles through the thin material of his button up. "You deserve better, Declan." You say, rubbing your thumb along his bicep. You watch as the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, placing his hand over yours on his arm.

"How'd you think I did?" Seb asks, returning the bar and interrupting the moment between you and Mr. O'Hara. You pull back, turning yourself to face Seb.

"You did great, Seb." You say, pressing a kiss on his cheek, causing his face to go as red as his hair. "I think I'm gonna give it a shot, show the English what talents an American has." You grin, unable to make eye contact with Declan out of embarrassment for trying to flirt with a married man. However, the commonality of cheating on spouses here still gave you a sliver of hope as you walked towards the stage, a mask of confidence due to alcohol consumption.

"What song are you gonna do?" Seb asks, following in suit.

"You'll see." You say. You walk up to the host, whispering a song in their ear. They nod, giving you a thumbs up as you get on the stage.

Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears starts to play, causing the entire place to riot with excitement. You grin madly, grabbing ahold of the microphone as the lyrics begin to play. You watch as Declan makes his way through the crowd, standing between Freddie and Seb to watch you perform.

"I wanted to be with you alone And talk about the weather But traditions I can trace against the child in your face Won't escape my attention."

You dance along to the music, singing freely like no one was watching.

"You keep your distance via the system of touch And gentle persuasion I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time You're just, just, just wasting time..."

You now make eye contact with Declan O'Hara, singing the chorus. Everyone's dancing around, paying no mind to where your attention was.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels I never find out until I'm head over heels Something happens and I'm head over heels Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart Don't, don't, don't throw it away..."

Declan watches you in admiration, realizing you're singing directly at him. You look away for the rest of the song, only returning your gaze when the chorus comes up again. When the song ends, you give a little curtesy, putting the mic back on the stand as everyone cheers madly.

"That was brilliant, y/n!" Seb exclaims, holding you in an embrace. You laugh, hugging him back. "Thanks, Seb."

"Seb, can you do one with me?" Daysee asks, causing Seb to pull away from you. "Course, what're you thinking?" The two of them walk away, leaving you be to earn compliments from the rest of your colleagues.

"You have a great voice." Declan says, causing you to turn and face him. "Great song, too." He adds.

"Thanks, it was a personal choice." You say, the next song starting up. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac starts playing, Seb and Daysee's choice. "Fuck, I love this song." You exclaim, looking over at the stage as your friends begin to sing along.

"As do I," Declan says. "Care to dance?" He asks, causing your gaze to return to his outstretched hand.

You smile. "I'd love to." You place one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand as he places a hand on the small of your back. Your breathing becomes more shallow as the two of you rock to the music, staring into each other's eyes.

You didn't know if you were simply too drunk to acknowledge the reality of the situation, but you couldn't help but wonder if Declan was starting to like you a little more than just an intern that was great at her job.

The space between the two of you becomes insignificant, your head slowly leaning onto his chest as his hand moves down to your lower back, staying at the top of your skirt. You close your eyes as the two of you rock in sync, hearing his heart beat rather triumphally. Your stomach is full of butterflies, and the heat between your legs is almost unbearable as he rubs small circles on your lower back.

He smelled like Tom Ford cologne and Marlboro Golds with an undertone of whiskey, the scent of him nearly more intoxicating than the alcohol itself. You feel his chest vibrate as he quietly sings along to the song, causing you to pull your head back to look at him. You both start singing along, your faces merely inches away from each other.

"When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know You will know Oh, you'll know.."

The song ends, everyone erupting into applause as you register the proximity of you and Declan, taking a step back as you notice the stares of your colleagues.

"Thanks for the dance." You mumble, looking down at the ground. "I uh, need to find Seb he's my ride." You say abruptly, leaving Declan stunned on the dancefloor as you hurriedly approach your ginger colleague. "Can you drive me home now?" You ask, putting a hand on his arm.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Do you need a ride too Daysee?" He asks, the blonde shaking her head.

"'M alright. I'll see you lads on Monday." She says, grinning as the two of you grab your coats from the bar stools.

"Goodbye, Declan." You say, making eye contact with the brooding man who simply looks at you.

"Goodnight, y/n." He responds, inhaling his cigarette before looking away.

You feel a pang in your chest as you look at Declan for another moment, expecting more. He says nothing else. Seb leads you away from the bar, allowing you to let go of any longing between you and Mr. O'Hara.

Declan knew it was wrong to think of you in any other light outside of work. Even if Maud had cheated on him before, with the tendency to keep going at it, he still couldn't shake the guilt away just yet. He retreated to disregarding you as a means to hopefully make you both forget about the whole ordeal, as if he wasn't thinking about what it would be like to have his hands underneath that tight pencil skirt of yours.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, lighting another cigarette. The holiday season was about to be a real hassle, and he was afraid of asking Santa for what he really wished for this time around.

-

guys... i finally did it... declan o'hara i want you so bad. i think im just gonna write a part two to this maybe three, and leave it at that. if you have any requests pweaseee leave them for meeee this show has me in a CHOKEHOLD.

much love as always, isabel

[tyrantisterror]

Wherefore Art Thou Clownfucker?

A while back I made a post explaining why vampires appeal to me, and while it was mostly in a more general sense, there was a specific focus on why I find them, you know, hot. And it was that was in part because I had recently discovered that I'm apparently surrounded by Werewolf fuckers on here, much to my dismay as a Vampire fucker. It's like being the only goth kid at a rockabilly concert or something. I felt defensive, is the point! I needed to go to bat (heh) for my pale ladies (and Astarion.... and Spike)!

And now, because Muncher compels me to do so, I'm doing the same for Clowns. My other pale ladies.

Now, keep in mind the fact that I'm a monsterfucker first and foremost, and that my clownfuckery is really more derived from my monsterfuckery. I imagine the middle section of the Clownfucker/Monsterfucker diagram is pretty big, but I also know there are some clownfuckers who are very much NOT monsterfuckers, and vice versa. This is not the case for vampirefuckers, who are nestled firmly within the monsterfucker circle, because while all vampires are monsters, not all clowns are monsters. I bring this up because while I'm gonna try to explain clownfuckery on its own terms, there is likely going to be some monsterfucker bias in my explanations and defense. That's just how it is on this bitch of an earth!

I'm gonna get real pretentious here and talk about the historic role of clowns for a moment. From Comedia del Arte harlequins to medieval court Jesters, the clown's role has always been that of Comic Relief. They are, simply put, here to be tonally dissonant - when everyone else is serious and dramatic, a clown comes in as this weird, silly, incongruously hilarious element that contrasts the gravity of everything around them. "Relief" is really the key word here - a clown's job is to provide levity when otherwise there would be none. When everything is dark, they provide a little light.

That's the core emotional appeal of clownfucking - a clown is/should be someone who can make you smile when you need it the most. Kingdom's at war, family's fighting, your life's in shambles? The clown will make you laugh. Everything feels dark and gloomy and depressing? Here comes a silly little goofball wearing bright, clashing colors and jingling with each step because they're covered in bells, and all they want to do is tell jokes until you start laughing. Clowns are, by intent, that sweet sweet hit of dopamine personified.

Clowns are here to make you smile.

Another important historical detail about clowns is their unique place in the hierarchy of society - namely, being entirely outside of it. A jester was in some respects the lowest person on the totem pole, a fool that had power over no one and nothing, living to be laughed at. Yet, because they had no power over anyone, it was generally poor taste to take offense to anything a jester said, which meant they could talk more freely than anyone else - when everyone else acts like a butt-kissing sycophant, a jester is free to talk shit and speak their mind.

The traditional attire and appearance of clowns plays into both of these traits: the bright, gaudy clothing and makeup is silly, yes, but it's also a sign that the clown does not give a single shit about fashion and other social norms. A clown is, by nature, an anomaly, a misfit, a rebel.

Nowadays we have another word for people with that attitude. Clowns are punk.

Weird makeup, crayola red hair, patchwork clothes...

I would say the very fact that "normal" people look at clownfucking as some sort of inexplicable fetish is, in fact, part of the appeal. It's a form of xenophilia, of attraction to things that are different and othered, a love for outsiders and misfits and oddballs. To fuck a clown is to show love and adoration for something outside of the realm of what is socially acceptable - something silly, goofy, and weird, yet also often harmless. After all, a clown's main purpose is to make you smile.

That's not to say that clowns have to be harmless to be attractive, mind you. Tons of people, many much smarter than I, have talked about the cultural shift of our perception of clowns that began somewhere in the 1980's. Clowns went from being viewed as genuinely fun and cute to primarily being figures of fear and terror - if a clown shows up in modern media, even if it's innocuous, there will always be at least one character who vocally talks about how creepy they think clowns are.

That may in part be due to the fact that clowns have such a benign mission statement - a lot of people, especially nowadays, do not trust a person who claims they just want to make others happy. Anyone who acts like that MUST be up to something - there must be something nefarious going on, some evil plan, some lurking danger.

Which is where you REALLY bring the monsterfuckers in.

You really don't need to do that much with a clown's design to push it firmly into monster territory - "a pale person with sharp teeth" is the bare minimum it takes to make a vampire, after all (and even the pale part can be downplayed).

And a clown's dedication to making things "funny" can make for a very enjoyably-scary persona for a monster - hell, half the appeal of the Addams Family is that they're a bunch of freakish inhuman monsters who react to a bunch of scary shit with absolute delight and adoration. Again, the tonal dissonance element is at play here, albeit in a different way - even when Clowns are the darkness in your world, they still bring light in the sense that they view it that darkness as funny in of itself.

(hell, the word "harlequin" means "five horns," and may be rooted in folkloric monsters like Herne the Hunter depending on who you ask, so in a way clowns have always been monster-coded)

I think all of this is pretty well exemplified in the current Patron Saint of Clownfuckers, the goddess of Clownfuckery if you will, Harley Quinn. Hailing from a story whose main setting is such a Gothic Horror-inspired nightmarish shithole of a city that it's literally called Gotham, surrounded by characters who are at least 60% gothic horror archetypes by volume, opposed by a hero who literally dresses like a Dracula, it is inarguable that Harley Quinn is surrounded by darkness that's both literal and figurative.

But she's always smiling, and not in an ironic way.

Harley Quinn suffers intense abuse, she's drawn into wicked schemes, and in the way of most modern clowns, she causes no small amount of mayhem and suffering herself. But even at her darkest, she's always smiling, always trying to find the bright side.

She's a rebel, she's a punk. Almost everyone thinks she's beneath them. Almost all of those people get proven they're wrong. In a world full of tyrannical hierarchies, she steps outside of them.

She's an outsider, a misfit, an oddball. And she wants to make you smile.

I think you can probably see the appeal of that.

[resident-idiot-simp]

holds out my hands so politely id LOVE the darker version of the victor catching origins poolverine,,

*evil cackling* Your wish is my command.

Darker origins Deadclaws caught in the act by Victor

Original

Tw for: Abuse and hints of one sided incest. It is not graphic or expanded upon I promise (Victor is just a fucked up individual ok)

Victor had misplaced Jimmy much to his displeasure and it wasn't going to be good once he found him again.

The camp was mostly quiet as he made his way around it searching for the runt. He had some nerve not telling him where he was going.

Everyone knew not to bother him or Jimmy without a damn good reason so it didn't make sense why the runt was not by his side where he belonged. It was an unwritten rule that the two of them were to be together always just like it had always been.

Jimmy was his and he always would be and he'd eventually wear down the runt enough to expect that and everything it included. The runt still had fight in him which is admirable but it was too much for his taste.

He wanted more out of the runt and he would get it. It would just take a bit more time. He found himself growing at the idea and stopped himself.

He eventually caught the runt's scent and started to follow it deeper into the forest. The familiar sound of panting breath and fumbling hands caught his ears and he had to stop the bone chilling snarl that tried to worm its way up his throat.

The bastard runt better not be doing what he thought he was. Sure enough the runt was being treated like a damn cat in heat by none other then Wilson.

It was pathetic and Victor felt the bone deep envy. It should be him.

Victor finally let out the growl he was holding back and the runt flinched hard eyes going wide with fear. Wilson too realizes he's absolutely fucked as he looks up.

The runt started trying to scoot away and Wilson the fool tried to get between the brothers. Victor hardly payed him any mind as he easily shoved Wilson aside and grabbed the runt by the back of his neck and slammed his head against a tree with a snarl.

"What a fucking sight. You whore yourself out to anyone huh? This is just pathetic Jimmy." Victor cooed down at him.

The runt said nothing eyes not meeting his. Wilson managed to get up and snarl at him, "Let him go Creed."

Victor just raised an eyebrow at him, "Out of everyone you choose him? That's even more pathetic than usual for you."

Wilson snarled and tried to get Victor to let Jimmy go. The runt still hadn't said a word as he shook slightly. He knew he was in trouble. Victor just smiled at the runt with far to many teeth.

"You know you don't have to go out searching like a cat in heat." Victor cruned and Jimmy let out a distressed noises that got him a backhand across the face.

Wilson looked like he wanted to be sick, "Your fucked in the head Creed that's your damn brother."

"I'm sorry." Jimmy apologized his voice shaking, he would usually put up more of a fight, but he knew if he did Victor would be more than happy to kill Wade in retaliation. Victor hummed to himself unpleased.

"Wade just leave please." Jimmy pleaded, Wilson looked like he wanted to do anything but that, "FUCK NO I'M NOT LEAVING YOU WITH HIM!" He snarled.

Victor finally made eye contact with the runt and the bastard took it for what it was.

"Wade leave before he kills you." Jimmy said more solidly.

Wade locked frantic eyes with him.

"Last chance Wilson. " Creed warned.

"You won't touch him like that." Wilson threatened, "Of course not but he'll beg for it one day." Creed dismissed.

The runt and Wilson shared one last look before Wilson scammed off.

Tags: @shy-canadian-snowflake

[poorlydrawnandroids]

From the people who brought you: "Android detectives can't cook!" comes the concept: "Hank has a horrible food palate!"

He's happy to try anything once.

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[elisedonut]

I'm always like man i hate making ocs but i also want to make a visual novel one day and that's only become more true now that I write

so like i'll have to learn how one day

like i mean i know technically how to like ive made four characters

its just do i give a fuck about them thats problem because the answer is no i'm a bad mother

i just can't bring myself to care about them enough to like do anything with them

so they are useless to me as they are now

[veilblight]

they said not to play as the dark urge for your first campaign because literally how am i supposed to do a custom origin run after this

[apollo-zero-one]

Man I can't believe I had the chance to go to a performing arts school up through middle school and I fuckin quit after 6 months just because I got bullied. BRO YOUR HOMEWORK WAS POETRY!! YOU HAD TO PRACTICE DANCING TO COTTON EYE JOE AS YOUR BIG UNIT TEST. GYM CLASS HAD A CIRCUS UNIT!! YOU HAD A WHOLE DAILY CLASS ON IMPROV!!! YOU FOOL!! YOU ABSOLUTE IMBICILE!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A YOUTUBER!!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THOSE TWEENAGERS GETTING LOADED BY MAKING SHITTY YOUTUBE SHORTS IN 2008-14!! But noooOoooOOOoo little miss Noellie (who WANTED TO GO!! who worked SO HARD and sent in an application essay and did an INTERVIEW to get in!!) couldn't handle disruptive classmates or little scuffles and petty grudges and general Attitude of the other students and cried to mommy to put her back in public school. I am EATING MY HAIR over what Could Have Been. I COULD BE SOMEONE'S ANNOYING YOUTUBER!! I could be a DISGRACED DISNEY CHANNEL STAR!! I could be an America's Got Talent winner! A mild to moderately successful comedian! I could be making short films!! But no no no precious thin skinned baby me heard a few new cus words and watched a teacher get heckled and begged to give up The Dream in favor of?? Quiet math tests?? I am such a fucking quitter I quit everything the second it gets too hard I always take the out as soon as it's offered what's my fucking damage.....

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.

[razorbladesandblackholes]

really really want coffee but. calories. >:(

[sangric]

just remembered that time I joined a dc and the atmosphere was very rude and unwelcoming! 😁

[a-b-riddle]

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.