#really need to get into the habit of proofreading my works
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so kiss me | laura freigang
warnings: f for fluff
word count: 748
summary: laura asks if she can kiss you, provided that frankfurt finishes top three in the league
a/n: a little blurb in honour of laura freigang fc making it to the uwcl 😊
it’s after frankfurt's loss to leverkusen in march, when everyone begins to doubt if they'll be able to make third place that laura makes a bet with you.
that if your club do qualify for the champions league, she can kiss you.
frankfurt makes it. despite all the odds, your club makes it.
you sorta think the forward’s forgotten because she goes through the entire post match celebrations without mentioning it.
you don't know if you're disappointed or relieved.
barely a half hour after you make it home, your phone chimes with a text from laura.
it reads, 'are you too tired?'
you hesitate wondering what she is up to before replying, 'no?'
her response comes quickly, 'great! open your door please?'
with wide eyes, you do as she asks and it reveals the smiling blonde outside your apartment.
'lau what are you doing here?'
the german woman in question winks, 'as you know i made a bet with you...'
you blush and she continues, 'and since we did qualify i was thinking about the kiss you owe me.'
'the kiss i owe you? i recall the conversation quite differently lau. more of a you asking me if you can kiss me if we finish third in the league.'
laura tsks, 'semantics.'
you roll your eyes with fond exasperation, 'still doesn't explain why you are here.’
the blonde grins, 'right so as i was saying before you so kindly interrupted me, i was thinking about our kiss.'
despite what she just mentioned, about you interrupting her, you do so again, 'our kiss? we haven't kissed yet.'
'exactly! we shouldn't just kiss without at least having one date. that's why i'm here...to ask if i can take you out on a first date.' laura finishes shyly and you stare at her in surprise.
'it's almost midnight schatz and you didn’t say anything after the game so i thought you forgot.’ you whisper.
'the late hour doesn’t mean my feelings for you lessen and there’s no way i forget anything about you. the two goals i scored tonight were just for you.’ she murmurs, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
it's so cute that you can't resist leaning in to press an affectionate kiss onto said blush.
'okay. okay let's go.'
'really? cause i was prepared to do a whole lot more convincing.' laura rambles in disbelief.
'schatz if you don't shut up, i'm going to have to kiss you to make you stop.'
the blonde goes quiet but smiles brightly at you.
'our date first. then i'm going to kiss you.'
'more than once i hope. because you're not the only one with more than friendly feelings lau.' you murmur.
laura if possible, looks even happier.
'as many as you'd like.' she promises and eagerly takes your hand in hers.
and the striker doesn't disappoint.
she takes you to get ice cream at a twenty four hour dessert place and teasingly steals spoonfuls of your ice cream whenever you're distracted.
which is easy when you’re sitting opposite the laura freigang, the most beautiful person you have ever seen.
she’s got such mesmerising blue gray eyes and her blonde hair frames her face perfectly.
the german woman is in a simple sweatpants and hoodie but you think you might fall in love with her.
when she takes you back to your apartment, she draws you close to her by placing her hands on your waist.
‘close your eyes.’ she barely audibly murmurs.
you listen to her, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.
still, nothing can quite prepare you for the moment laura presses her lips against yours.
tentatively at first but far more confidently once you melt into her and bring your hands up to cup her face.
right there and then, you are certain that falling in love with your fellow eintracht frankfurt player is inevitable. she’s just that special.
the feeling seems to be mutual because the striker readily accepts your invitation to come into your apartment.
it’s in your bedroom that she fulfils her promise entirely, sharing kiss after kiss with you.
intimate ones, teasing ones, ones that have you gasping her name, she holds true to her words.
as many as you'd like is what she promised you. as many as you like is what laura gives you.
for tonight at first and then for the rest of your life as she goes from your crush, to your girlfriend and eventually to your wife.
German Translation:
schatz - sweetheart
#really need to get into the habit of proofreading my works#laura freigang#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#laura freigang x reader#laura freigang imagine#woso fanfics#woso community#woso blurbs#eintracht frankfurt frauen#dfb frauen#gerwnt#katelynnwrites
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Listen to your elders
So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.
So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.
But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?
In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.
Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download
Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title:
No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.
Now you’re going to need some materials: 8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife
You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.
Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:
use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.
Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.
Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.
You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.
Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour
In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock
Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)
Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.
Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine
Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.
Voila:
I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.
The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.
If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders.
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ᴅᴇʟʟɪɴɢʀꜝ ⨟ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ
✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader
✩ in which: you wake up next to them.
✧ a/n: for those who have read my works since i first started writing, i made a little masterpost on the mk(1) boys nightly rotuines... i figured id do one for hsr men since my mk hyperfixation died and is buried 6ft under... and i might do one for the hsr men nighttime routines but for now... wakey wakey
✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora
🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread
✎ wc: 3.9k
⎯ Aventurine
Ever the gambler, AVENTURINE even takes a gamble on waking up in the morning. He can set as many alarms as he wants, but he always sleeps in. He finds any excuse to cuddle up next to you and enjoy your warmth for a minute, or even an hour more. He doesn’t mind coming into work late, he always finds a way to slip out of write-ups.
You’ve lost count of how many alarms went off by now, as annoying as it was. Still, despite how important Aventurine was, he’s cuddled up against your back, hands gripping your clothes tightly as if you’d dare to wiggle out of his arms. You could remind him, again and again, that he needs to go, that he has a meeting that day, or a certain deadline, and he’ll just groan and say that his superiors can handle him being gone for another hour or so.
When you do manage to convince him to get up and start the day, he does everything with such reluctance. Forget his rank, forget all of it, he’d much rather spend several more hours in bed with you, even when the sun dips low. He’s slow to put on his uniform, asking you the most mundane of questions, with answers he already knows. He skips out on breakfast at hope, douses himself in that expensive cologne that makes you have to distance yourself until he leaves, and wires you enough money to buy the entire menu from the cafe you mentioned you liked in passing.
⎯ Dr. Ratio
The early bird gets the worm, as they say, and VERITAS is no exception to the saying. Considering work has him busy, he’s thoughtful enough to leave you to sleep, if you are not accustomed to a sleep schedule like his. He tends to wake up early, to give himself enough time to prepare himself for the day. He likes to be thorough, check over his lesson plan for the day, make sure he made no mistakes the day before (although he rarely needs to revise it).
While on the outside, he seems cold and uncaring, on the inside he’s flustering himself with how much he worries about you. He knows he will see you later in the day, when you’ll bring him his lunch, or after his lectures, but some part of leaving just unsettles him. Not that he believes you’d be in danger if you were gone, but more so how you take care of yourself. Of course he knows you’re capable, but some part in him wants to make sure.
So, before he leaves, right when you wake up, he does his best to cook a filling breakfast. Most of the times, Ratio has to put it in some tupperware and save it for later at work, but there are very rare occasions that he gets to enjoy the meal with you. He always makes more– “it was an accident, nothing more,” he’ll say, shaking his head, stoic as ever. But you know it wasn’t– and shovel it onto your plate, it’s his own love language.
⎯ Boothill
BOOTHILL is an early riser. It’s a habit that was ingrained in him since he was knee high. Granted, he doesn’t need much sleep, and he isn’t around as often as you’d like. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, and he really only swings by your apartment once or twice every month. But that doesn’t mean he’ll sleepover, if only for a night.
Despite the fact that he wakes up even hours before you, he decides to let you sleep. Sometimes he’ll stay in bed as long as you are, soaking in the peaceful sight, one that he’s never afforded himself until you came along. He reaches out ever so tentatively, as if he’ll feel your warm skin underneath his finger tips, but all it earns him is a shudder and your face scrunching. And when you wake up, he’s in such a hurry to pretend he wasn’t watching you sleep, mumbling apologies like he’s disturbed you.
When he’s not watching over you, Boothill enjoys cooking. He might’ve lost his taste and stomach a while ago, but he’s still an excellent chef. For all he can’t eat, he loves cooking. And he believes one of the best ways of waking up is to have a hearty breakfast. While you catch up on your sleep (most likely because he showed up at your apartment late into the night scuffed and bloody(?), acting like nothing happened), he’s making the most heavenly smelling pancakes ever, humming some old country tune to himself. If you dare get up to see what he’s cooking, he shoos you back to bed, tutting and claiming that you’re ruining the surprise, as if he doesn’t do this every time.
⎯ Gallagher
For such a busy man, GALLAGHER tends to sleep a lot. Or perhaps, too little. His schedule is always fluctuating, which means he’s up early and home late. It’s unfair, you think. Most of the time he’ll come home all quiet, settle on a snack, and then sneak into bed, and pull you up close. Half the time he doesn’t even care about his clothes, opting to take off his vest and shirt and throw them on the floor. He’ll worry about the laundry later.
That being said, it’s often a gamble if you’ll see him in the morning or not. He wakes up quite early, and as much as he’d love to spend time with you, cuddle up, and go straight back to sleep, he has to at least look presentable for the next time he’s called in. Most of the time, he accidentally wakes you up when he gets up to shower, but you settle back in quite comfortably.
Most of the time, he’ll have to leave right after his shower. So he’ll do his best to be quiet as a mouse, sneak in, and press a kiss to your forehead, before starting his day. But on the days he can sleep in, or when he doesn’t have work… he climbs right back into bed. The scent of his body wash rolls over you, in the near-overpowering sandalwood haven it is. He’ll wrap his arm around your waist, pull you impossible closer, and nuzzle into your neck. If you are awake by that time, he urges you to go back to sleep. ‘5 more minutes’, he’ll grumble, and in possibly record speed, he’s out like light. His arm loosens ever so slightly, as he snores away until his thirteenth alarm goes off.
⎯ Sunday
As a stickler for schedules, it’s no surprise that SUNDAY has a strict morning routine. He wakes up at 7 AM system time, 6 AM being too early, and 8 AM being too late. Of course, he encourages you to do the same. You get used to it with time.
He likes to start with a shower, of course. Something intimate with you, yet so normal. He does not mind spending an hour in the shower, but with his station, he cannot. So unfortunately, he has to cut such time short. But he makes sure to soak in every single minute left in the morning with you. A nice breakfast and some tea, as he chats away about his ‘chores’ for the day, what matters he is attending to, whether or not it is a day in the office or out and about.
Regardless of how busy his day is, Sunday makes sure you know that you are in every waking thought of his. A kiss and a hug at the door, and he’s on his way. You can see some flicker of sorrow as he leaves, as if it is something to grieve over, not being by your side for a minute longer. But alas, to achieve and infinite amount of sundays, he cannot afford to make room in his schedule for more down time.
⎯ Argenti
ARGENTI never ceases to look as heavenly as ever, even in his sleep. However, he has quite a strict schedule he sticks to, something that manifested when his master started training him. He has quite the strict schedule: wake up early, shower, enjoy his breakfast, and start training, unless he has somewhere to be.
However, he does allow him so rest days, where he sleeps just a little longer, and allows himself more spare time. Very rarely do you catch him asleep when you wake up, and most mornings when he does ‘sleep in’, you often wake up to him gazing down at you. His head propped up by his hand, hair cascading down his shoulders. He could even miss out on several hours of sleep or perhaps even the entire night, and still look angelic. He greets you with a soft smile and a huff, his fingers brushing against your cheeks, as he waits for you to properly wake up.
And once you’re ready to get up, he’s ready to start the day. Anything you do, he's practically following you around like a lost puppy. When you make breakfast, you're either watching over his shoulder, or he is. He never skips out on a chance to dance in the kitchen, making something that was normally a spectacle regulated, and yet, it still feels as intimate as it does the very first time he pulled you into his arms.
⎯Sampo Koski
SAMPO KOSKI needs his beauty sleep. Granted, his sleeping schedule varies based on his business. Sometimes he needs to rob someone blind in the early hours of the morning, or his clients want to meet way past his bedtime. He’ll huff and puff and complain about it, but he always makes time to curl up in your arms like a poor little stray kitten.
When he is finally free of his dreaded work (his path in life that HE chose), he sleeps in quite late. Most of the time, he wants to enjoy the time he has left with you, pout and complain about how hard his job is (again, a career HE CHOSE). He has a lot to say when he (or you) wake up, only because he’s missed talking casually, and most of all, he’s missed you. His jobs and clients have him acting all proper, putting on some other character than he truly is for his clients. While there are some acts he likes… sometimes he just wants to break character and get his clients to buy whatever piece of junk he’s stolen.
Despite all his yapping, he truly enjoys the time he gets with you, even if most of it is him keeping you in bed. He pulls you up close to his chest if you even dare to move, burying his face in the crook of your neck and muttering pathetic little ‘don’t leave’s and the like. When you look down at him he’s just so tired, his eyebags are somehow seven times darker and he’s lost all that luster in his eyes. But you know he’s putting on an act. When you get up, he’ll be crawling to your side in no time.
⎯ Jing Yuan
Ah, the Dozing General. Who better to wake up with? While JING YUAN has to be up early, he doesn’t skip out on any time that could be spent with you. When his first alarm goes off, he’s quick to snooze it, rolling over and throwing his arm over your waist, pulling you closer. He’s used to waking up this early, of course, but he doesn’t like to miss out on those precious 30 minutes where he’s holding you close, uninterrupted. You’re accustomed to this schedule, as well. Wake up; but not really, spend the next moments cuddling, and then start your day.
As the Divine Foresight, he doesn’t get as much leisure time as he’d like, or days off. He could spend all day in bed, really, spoiling himself (as he sees it) to high heavens. But unfortunately, there is work that needs to be done, and he needs to start his day. And (un)fortunately, he quite enjoys dragging you along. A nice walk in the garden before he truly starts the day is a sign of a peaceful day. With you by his side, half-awake or not.
That being said, he does so because he wishes to spend every possible moment he has with you. His station means his workload will be unpredictable, and while he wishes that all days would be mundane, that wish will never come true. So, spending the first thirty minutes to several hours of his morning with you is what he rewards himself with. A nice meal and a good bath sets him in the right mood, being simply a step away at most in the morning.
⎯ Blade
BLADE doesn’t sleep well in general. Often times he’s woken up at all hours in the night by things he won’t share– “It’s childish.” is what he says, with a huff. Nightmares. It’s nightmares. He doesn’t have much of a reaction to them anymore, aside from grumbling and complaining quietly, which is normal. As much as he tries to go back to sleep, he simply can’t most of the time, opting to do something to keep his mind and hands busy, as sleep deprived as he is.
You tend to be met with his back when you wake up, tense as ever. When he can’t find something to do, he settles on meditation, which does nothing to calm the voices and ‘vengeance’ that addles his mind. It does too little for him, his mind always circling back to what could have been. The minute you shift in bed, he snaps out of it quickly, looking back at you with his unreadable gaze.
Most of the time, if you ask him to lay down with you, he will, as long as he doesn’t have an assignment he needs to be on. For all his sharp edges, he’s quite… dull when it comes to you. Perhaps it’s the many years he’s faced that’s made him lose his luster, or simply his own undoing. Yet, somehow, when you pull him in close, he relaxes ever so slightly. Perhaps not all the way, but it’d take you a couple more years to break down his walls completely. You could sleep for another three hours and he’d at least get time to close his eyes and let his mind rest; something he desperately needs.
⎯ Luocha
While LUOCHA’s “work” has him up quite early, well into the AMs. Of course, with all the traveling he’s done, his sleep schedule varies, and it’s not like he gets to spend as much time as he’d like with you, but you tag along all the same. He could be awake at 3AM system time and you’d be sound asleep until 10AM, and somehow, he’d still look as handsome as ever. You’re starting to feel a little jealous.
Still, he makes time to greet you in the morning. Aside from being a merchant, he is, of course, a healer, and he wants to make sure you're sleeping right. And, perhaps to catch up, if he has been gone for a few days. After all, not only does physical health matter, but mental, as well. A quick little chat, maybe some tender touches, and a hearty meal that he’s brought from the markets is quite enough mental stimulation, yes?
Sometimes, it seems he disagrees, choosing to crawl in bed alongside you, even if you chose to wake up properly. He’ll play with your hair, whisper sweet nothings to you, or simply just stare and smile. He doesn’t get to be affectionate often, either, and often that need for human touch culminates, which leads to those impromptu cuddling sessions in the morning.
⎯ Jiaoqiu
As a healer, JIAOQIU wants to make sure you (and him) maintain a normal, healthy sleep schedule. Unless he’s on an emergency call, he tends to wake up at a mostly normal time, between 8-10 AM. Of course, he wakes you up with him, wanting to start his day off right with your pretty face.
He wakes you up oh so sweetly for a man with such a scheming smile. His fingers glide over your skin, pushing your hair behind your ear, using such a sweet voice, one so sweet that it makes your teeth ache. And when you're finally properly awake, he’s all too excited to rush off to the kitchen, like a giddy child.
Of course, what’s a morning without Jiaoqiu without some breakfast? When you return from your shower, the kitchen is alive with his cooking, the sounds of sizzling and smells of spices (what else?) a delightful concoction. What is he cooking? Ji dan bing, a fulfilling breakfast. While you are the only person he cuts down the spice for, the food still has enough kick to make you make a face. Of course, his plate smells so spicy that it makes you recoil, which earns a chuckle from the Foxian.
⎯ Moze
Most of the time, MOZE sneaks into your shared bed by the morning, seeing as most of his work is carried out during the night. By the time he’s settled in bed, it’s around the time you wake up. It’s a peaceful sight, really. You’re so used to him scowling or simply not emoting, that when you wake up to his face, tranquil as ever, it makes your heart flutter.
Of course, that does not last. He is up within the first couple of seconds you stare too long, easily woken by any simple rustling. The feeling of someone’s eyes on him means one thing: danger. And he unfortunately hasn’t shaken that habit. However, he has grown used to the fact that it’s you staring at him in the morning hours, and thankfully you are spared a knife to your throat.
He jolts awake with a disgruntled groan, his eyes darting over your features, taking in as much information as he can in his hazy mind state, as if he hadn’t seen your face a thousand times over. Once he is satisfied with the fact that it’s you, he lays back down with a huff, before pulling you down with him. You may have the day to start, but he would like at least a couple more moments in bed with you, he’s stubborn that way.
⎯ Dan Heng
With his days off, DAN HENG tends to enjoy lounging. If not lounging, then reading, and if not reading, then cleaning. But most of the time, since you came back from the Xianzhou Loufu, he’s been sleeping in an awful lot. You're often the first to wake up, or at least, the first to get out of bed.
Most of the time, you sleep in with him, happy to get a couple extra minutes to a couple hours more of sleep. It’s a nice moment of peace and quiet after the amount of missions you two have been on, while March and the Trailblazer updates you on what’s happening wherever they are. Still, sometimes sleeping in gets kind of boring. So while Dan Heng catches on some much needed sleep (and alone time), you busy yourself with cleaning around the express, helping Pom-Pom with certain tasks, and even doing your best to cook up some breakfast.
When you bring your expert attempt at pancakes back to you and Dan Heng’s room, he perks up. He goes from sulking to practically beaming (or what you can consider beaming, you get a soft smile nonetheless), and digs in eagerly. It seems like enough to energize him for a couple of days, pushing away what had happened on the Loufu to the furthest reaches of his mind.
⎯ Gepard
GEPARD does not get much time in the mornings with you or himself. As captain of the guard, he has to be up early, and on call whenever the need arises. While it is very rare that he is called to dispatch an issue in the middle of the night, he is often reluctant to simply leave you in the morning. Of course, he won’t wake you for his own selfish reasons, he just simply wishes he could get more time to enjoy your presence in the morning.
As quietly as he tries to move, somehow he always wakes you up, or perhaps that's what your sleep cycle has gotten used to. Oftentimes, you wake up when he’s taking his shower, his soft humming rising over the sound of water. You know he only does this when he believes he is alone or heard, and every single time, you can’t help but think of it as cute. But you won’t tell him you heard it.
Most of the time you stay up so you can say goodbye to Gepard and tell him to have a good day, while he stumbles over excuses that he doesn’t need. He’s adorable in all his fluster, before he finally collects himself with a deep breath. He promises he’ll see you at the end of the day, and that he’ll bring some dinner home from one of your favorite restaurants.
⎯ Caelus
What adventure with CAELUS drag you on next? That’s a constant question that haunts your mind every time an adventure is done. The most sleep you get is on the Express, in between missions. In the morning’s, he wakes up with such determination, it’s almost impressive. He could have the worst sleep of his life and he wakes up raring to go.
Of course, he does his best not to wake you if you aren’t up. In fact, he’ll do his best to be as quiet as possible, sneaking out of the room, and even tip-toeing down the cabins. Like any little movement will wake his precious partner up. However, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little clingy, he’ll cuddle back in bed and pull you really close, refusing to let go unless you need to do something.
On the occasion you guys are out on a mission, he is the complete opposite. He could wake up well into the noon and groan and complain about not getting enough sleep, even if he slept like a baby. Of course, he wants to get on with his adventures, but at the same time, the hotel’s bed is soooo comfy, and he doesn’t want to leave. Which, he’ll keep you there too until he’s fully awake, spooning you and hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
⎯ Welt
On his days off, which seems to be most days now, WELT sleeps in only a little. Mornings with him are nothing short of intimate, simply laying there in each others arms, muttering sweet words. Truth be told, he enjoys these quiet moments, even if they push back the work he has to get done around the Express.
Still, no one's complaining, right? The work he has to get done will get done eventually, and he can spare a couple hours for his beloved. He cherishes every stolen second, as the hours tick away, his fingers trailing over your skin, before cupping your face. Framing his entire world in his palm.
However, you can’t stay in bed forever. Unfortunately, you do have to get up, and start your day. Welt won’t leave your side, though. Not if he can help it, at least. You two share a shower together, some more words, of course, and even cook together afterwards. Pom Pom huffs and puffs about not only Welt, but you being late and taking too long, and how the Express is founded on the structure of the schedule. It’s okay, however, because Pom Pom will be thanking you two for your hard work (sweeping the other cabins, cleaning the windows, and vacuuming the carpet) at the end of the day.
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𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.
The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).
ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.
You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements.
The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day.
Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself.
You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need.
It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there.
But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can.
Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer.
Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore.
So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through.
If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office.
Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it.
But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town.
It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second.
You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely.
"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -"
Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream.
No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced.
You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too.
Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue.
It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you.
You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals. Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times.
But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie.
It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths.
You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet.
But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air.
It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.
It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face.
You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it.
Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent.
Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist.
But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.
It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.
It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue.
It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf.
You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice.
There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate.
"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his.
"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases."
He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style.
You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it.
"Maybe I wanna get close."
It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him.
He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks.
You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon.
At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on.
And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet.
His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you.
He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed.
You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands.
There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day.
It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked.
Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you.
You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal.
it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back
Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it.
You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet.
But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls.
"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?"
You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot.
He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under.
"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "
His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out.
You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl.
"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!"
It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.
It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle.
It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles.
For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief.
It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad.
She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why.
You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details.
For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit.
Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present.
It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint.
Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have.
Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island.
But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went.
Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum.
He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move.
"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo.
Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge.
"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night.
"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "
"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup.
"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself."
She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips.
As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible.
It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with.
It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds.
It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions.
You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor.
"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever."
"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space.
You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful.
You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come.
You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you.
Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom.
"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick.
"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack.
He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?"
You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging.
"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly."
Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him.
"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-"
"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely.
Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one.
"I appreciate it." You offer a smile.
Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach.
"Who the hell is this?"
At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire.
It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights.
Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs.
It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot.
"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell.
"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"
"It was a lucky guess."
Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before.
Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -"
"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long.
You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral.
You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief.
"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't.
"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way.
"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land.
It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?"
That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut."
You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge.
"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following.
You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root.
You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges.
Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed.
"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely.
His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?"
"Yep."
He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?"
A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies.
"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?"
"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk."
It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead.
t
"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. "
"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world.
"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - "
He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you.
"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back.
When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself.
Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare.
"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice.
He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole.
"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself.
It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat.
"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable.
"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did."
"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us."
"There is no us."
"But there could be."
He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies.
And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain.
"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been.
"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days.
"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering.
"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you."
You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins.
A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours.
It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved.
You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you.
Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies.
He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave.
You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest.
Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh.
It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.
He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do.
"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away.
"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt. Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure.
Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?"
He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention.
Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue.
"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home.
"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.
There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust.
"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?"
He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen.
You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold.
Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive.
"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace.
"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?"
The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks.
You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod.
"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels.
"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit.
The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you.
"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-"
"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?"
It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point.
He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved.
A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside.
Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him."
Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding.
You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists.
You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard.
His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts.
Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged.
"Rafe - oh fuck. God."
"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it.
His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray."
"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before.
He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below.
You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body.
"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum."
He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm.
You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity.
It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them.
"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place.
He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby."
And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure.
A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom.
But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system.
The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal.
You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy.
You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me."
Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom.
He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained.
It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you.
Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles.
You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration.
"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality.
"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress.
But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath.
It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck."
"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.
"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material.
The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit.
He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.
"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back."
That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself.
He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break.
It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath.
You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death.
"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore."
It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean.
"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. "
You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out).
But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips.
So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it.
"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes.
Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.
Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy.
There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible.
It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it.
He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained.
He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again."
It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can.
It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck.
It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him.
"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.
He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise."
One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust.
One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up.
It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.
You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock.
You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job.
"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that."
But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit.
You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind.
It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly.
"Shit, Rafe - my God."
"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl."
It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright.
It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you.
It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken.
"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his.
You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-"
That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop.
That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart.
It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you.
It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool.
Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body.
You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths.
Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on.
You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it.
"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him.
His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.
"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain."
You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing.
He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his.
It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does.
But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it.
"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do."
Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind."
You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place.
"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer.
You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares.
"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door.
"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves.
A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter.
"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him.
As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment.
"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice."
That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight.
Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of.
"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it.
But it never comes.
"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.
It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them.
Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life.
You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all.
"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips.
"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me."
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe cameron obx#obx x reader#obx fanfiction#obx fic#outer banks#outer banks x reader#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks x y/n#outer banks smut
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for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei
synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.
notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei
tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really
tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.
there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.
where had the last decade gone?
he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.
no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.
and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.
but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.
when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.
a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.
you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.
you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.
tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.
the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.
as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.
the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.
before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.
he was also there.
“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.
“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”
tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.
you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”
tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.
for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.
what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.
it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.
you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.
the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.
this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.
silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.
at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.
“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.
“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.
there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.
eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.
it was silly.
you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.
“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.
tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”
“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”
he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”
“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”
“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.
“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.
the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.
you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.
he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.
tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.
on the other hand, you were horrified.
to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.
mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.
(“then what do you listen to?”
“… radiohead.”
“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)
tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.
a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.
tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.
it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.
he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.
instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.
tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.
he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.
your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.
for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.
“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”
there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.
so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?
the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.
“what the fuck are you doing here?”
withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.
you needed to leave.
your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.
it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.
tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.
“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”
“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”
it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.
tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it’s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.
the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.
it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.
you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.
a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.
it was quiet.
the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.
just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.
the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.
you missed him. but it was wrong.
that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.
he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.
before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”
talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.
tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”
he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”
“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.
you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.
tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.
he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.
in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.
“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”
you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”
he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.
even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.
he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.
tsukishima didn’t understand.
he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.
not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.
but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.
you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.
“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.
“what?” you exclaimed.
“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”
your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”
“you did.”
“what?”
tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.
“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”
you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.
𝜗𝜚 。 ˚.
through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.
tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.
the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.
tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.
#haikyuu#tsukishima haikyuu#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu fanfic#haikyuu!! fanfics#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu smut#tsukishima#tsukishima kei#kei tsukishima#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima hcs#tsukishima angst#tsukishima fluff#tsukishima smut#haikyuu tsukishima#hq tsukishima#tsukishima x y/n
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✰ . . . minors do not interact !
✰ . . . just over 1k of filth that includes stepcest, stepdad!gojo, dads best friend!nanami, perv gojo, perv nanamin giggles, recording without consent, spying, implied agegap, gojo is a menace as usual. um yeah i need them both. eiffel tower if you will– anyways!! this isn't proofread sorry not sorry. i'm lazy and this has been running around in my head for days.
step dad gojo and his single best friend nanami. both a little bit messed up in the head, satoru more than kento but...
they have regular jerk off sessions to you. whether gojo is convincing nanami to spy on you with him while you're in the shower, or even while you touch yourself. nanami knows it's wrong. you're satoru's daughter. in fact, satoru is in the wrong as well, even more in the wrong than nanami given he's your father, but you're just so damn pretty. it's gotten so bad, became a habit that he hates, that he doesn't think twice about rubbing his growing bulge over his pants as he watches you.
you're so... oblivious, wandering around your room, closing the windows and shutting the blinds before you start to unbutton your pyjama shirt, thinking you're in the comfort of your room. so oblivious that you don't even notice the little camera set up in your bookshelf. satoru was proud of himself for the placement of the camera, it gives the perfect view of your bed.
your stepdad knows your routine by now. what time you wake up, what you have for breakfast and what time you leave for work. he also knows once you're done with dinner and load up the dishwasher, you bid him goodnight and head into your room to touch yourself. satoru isn't quite sure how he started to perv on you like this but it just can't stop. perhaps it's the taboo nature of it that really turns him on, or maybe it's just because you're just so... delicious. so damn pretty and you look so soft all over. if he doesn't get caught, it's not a crime right? and somehow he's dragged his own coworker, his best friend, into the whole ordeal too. nanami's grown used to your routine too, coming straight to satoru's place after work.
they both watch on from satoru's room on the screen as your shirt falls from your shoulders and hits the floor, like they're predators watching their prey. the first glimpse of your round tits have them going crazy already. gojo's smiling, waiting rather patiently, not touching himself just yet but nanami's already fully hard, cock straining against his work pants.
gojo finds it cute how quick you work, laughing under his breath a little as he sees your pants on the floor and your underwear pulled to the side within mere minutes. meanwhile nanami curses, he always forgets just how clear the camera quality is. nothing will beat the up close and personal view but this? it's all he has, and it's almost as good.
soon they both find themselves with their cocks in their hands, attempting to fuck their fists at the same pace your fingers go in and out of you, thinking about how the ring of cream around the base of your fingers should be around the base of their cocks, how your juices should be all over them. nanami's so caught up in watching you through the screen that he doesn't realise when gojo's free hand wraps around his own, covering the entirety of his with how large it is.
"keep watchin', kento. just keep watchin'." gojo starts, and nanami just lets it happen. he accepts it, removing his hand away so gojo's jerking him off. it's rough, it's messy, shlick shlick shlick echoing through the room as nanami bucks his hips into his best friends fist.
you're now burying your face into your pillow, legs threatening to close every second as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. your thighs are wet, splashes of your wetness on your sheets as you fuck yourself a bit harder, a little bit faster.
all this does is fuel gojo and nanami's sick, twisted brains. "hhah–ah... dontcha just wanna hold her legs open?" nanami isn't sure if it's meant to be a rhetorical question or not. they usually don't talk when they watch you like this. it's nothing but heavy grunts and groans and the sickening sounds of their fists working their cocks. satoru has never spoken to him before.
"i do." gojo's voice fills the silence. "i jus'... mmmffuuck... i wanna see her cunt throb on my cock– her fathers cock as she cums. she'd look so fucking cute cummin' f'me. ya think she's as tight as she looks, kento?"
silence...
is he allowed to reply? should he reply? this is his best friends daughter... he can't. nanami's throat feels dry at the thought of even trying to speak. what if he offends him? what if he's not allowed to spy on you like this anymore? what if–
"c'mon kento." gojo speaks, giving the mushroomed tip of nanami's cock a couple of squeezes that have the younger man hissing through his teeth. "answer me, won't ya? you wanna fuck my daughter? wanna bury your fat cock in 'er cunt? stretch it riiight out and watch her cream on it? just talk t'me. say yes. i know you wanna." it's as if he's being tempted by the devil. like he's eve and he's being tempted to eat the apple by the snake. satoru's words have his head spinning and he shakily exhales before replying, hands gripping his scrunched up work pants that are halfway down his thighs.
"y-yes... i do, satoru."
"aaatta boy. knew you were as sick as me."
the sight of you rubbing your clit and fingering yourself getting closer to orgasm with satoru's praise and the grip around his cock have nanami's head spinning more and more, and the second he sees you cover your mouth and your thighs shake, it triggers his own high. nanami's cum spurts all over gojo's hand and wrist in ribbons, shooting up and landing on his dress shirt as well. then finally, gojo cums as well, almost as hard as his best friend by the amount of cum dripping from his cock and pooling at the base, coating the wispy hairs.
the room is full of breathless pants as the two men attempt to catch their breath, watching you take your fingers out and try to fight the urge to fall asleep then and there. and then gojo's asking the same question he always asks nanami after it's all done.
"same time tomorrow?"
yes i'm sick and deranged but if you read it then you're out here matching my freak kiss kiss mwah mwah <3
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Two's A Crowd
College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader
MDNI 18+
(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)
Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.
Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing
Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added
Author's Note: Yay!! New multi-chapter fic in honor of 800 followers!!
I'm a sucker for tropes and mean Leon is one I can't keep out of my head. If you're not good at math then this is the fic for you! (also don't mind me slipping some Sky lore in here...)
Cross-posted onto AO3
Chapter 1
Growing up, college had always been a big dream of yours, leaving you fantasizing day in and out about all the possibilities that would open up, along with actually getting to live through the renowned “college experience”.
In reality, college was a lot harder than you were expecting. Your parents had told you to jump right into it after high school, fearing taking a gap year would ruin your good streak. The stress was starting to get to you and it was only a semester into your freshman year. All the tests, projects, and general studying really wore down on your mental health, not to mention you were failing the one math class you had.
You couldn’t tell your parents, no, they’d probably have a heart attack, especially since that math class was a prerequisite to another class that you needed to take. They were already worried enough that you hadn’t picked a major yet, so who knows how they’d take the news that you were failing right off the bat.
It was hard enough that you were feeling homesick. This was the first time you’d ever been this far away from home, studying at a university when you would’ve been perfectly content going to a community college closer to home. Your roommate was nice, but the two of you weren’t growing any closer than mere acquaintances, so it always felt awkward to just exist in your own dorm room.
Your eating habits worsened with the lack of any real food within five miles of campus. Sure there were a couple fast food chains on the campus itself, but they closed incredibly early. By the time you finished studying, which was around six in the evening, it had already closed. Not to mention that when they were open, the lines were comically long. University food was out of the question after you got violently ill from their “chicken nuggets”, so you were left with the little money your parents provided once a week to order takeout or make quick trips to the store to buy a frozen meal. Only one, since the mini fridge in your dorm was almost always occupied by your roommates stuff.
Everything was so exhausting and you were way out of your comfort zone having to use the community bathrooms for all your hygienic routines. Walking in always made you feel like you were interrupting a meeting in the president’s oval office with how many nasty looks you were given when all you were trying to do was brush your teeth.
The first thing you saw whenever you opened up Canvas was a massive F staring you down from the little box that comprised the majority of your math assignments and tests, making you feel less than worthless. This one semester alone helped you understand why so many people dropped out, this was hard.
By now you’d already gone to your math professor multiple times asking for redos or extra credit work. He was probably sick of seeing you since you showed up after almost every single assignment’s grades were submitted.
“Heeeyyy, Mr. Lebovic..” You said after knocking your knuckle against his open door to grab his attention. “Listen, about that last quiz, I-”
He cut you off with a wave of his hand before gesturing towards one of the chairs sitting in front of his desk. You hurried to sit down, watching nervously as he slowly pulled his eyes off his computer and onto you. “I get it, you don’t need to explain yourself.” His relaxed tone and faint smile was enough to ease your nerves a bit, letting your shoulders slump with a sigh. “You’ve been trying really hard, I can easily recognize that.”
You nodded eagerly, licking your dry lips as you opened your mouth to speak, only to be cut off again. “I’ve been looking into studying options that might help you. Resources are scarce for this material, but I think I finally have a tutor to help you out.”
A wave of relief washed over you at the mention of tutor. Maybe you wouldn’t have to face the wrath of your parent’s disappointment after all! “Oh.. o-okay…” you stuttered, eyebrows furrowing as you silently beckoned him to continue.
“I teach another math class, it’s higher level, but I have a student in there that’s just taken up tutoring the material you’re learning.” Your professor seemed just as happy as you were about the opportunity. “His name is Leon Kennedy, he’s got one of the study rooms in the library from three to five in the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”
It took you a second to process everything Mr. Lebovic was telling you before you scrambled to pull out a sticky note and a pen to write all the information down on. You heard the older man chuckle softly, looking over at him when he held out a small piece of paper to you. “I wrote it down already for you, don’t worry.” You wished you could’ve thanked him tenfold, but his office hours were closed for the day now, so you said a quick goodbye and hurried back to your dorm, holding onto the piece of paper like a lifeline.
Contrary to what your math professor thinks, you knew the name “Leon Kennedy”. You had a couple friends that you hung out with occasionally out in the grass in front of the science building and they’d brought him up before. The few vague bits of info that you’d heard weren’t flattering, painting this Leon in quite a bad light; the stereotypical jock in a frat flying by on a full-ride scholarship. However, he was your saving grace now and you needed to develop more of an unbiased opinion of him if he was going to help you raise your grade from an F.
“Yeesh, sorry I’m not better at math or I would’ve helped you.” One of your friends, Sky, spoke up as they read the piece of paper your professor gave you yesterday from over your shoulder. “Even if you were better at math, I still wouldn’t trust you.” Ella, your other friend, laughed out.
“Ha ha, yeah, Sky failed math four times. Big whoop.” Sky waved their hands dramatically before walking over to sit down next to Ella in the dead grass. “Seriously though, you’re better off taking a failing grade and dealing with your parents. Kennedy is the devil incarnate.”
“The devil incarnate sounds easier to put up with than my parents, so I’ll take my chances..” You grumbled, taking a seat on a medium-sized rock close to the pair. “Maybe he’s turning a new leaf? Deciding to tutor?”
Sky crossed her arms and rolled her eyes which made Ella elbow them in the side before giving you a sympathetic smile. “Maybe so, but please just be careful. I don’t want you having to put up with some jackass that has an ego bigger than Texas.”
You nodded with a slight frown, moving your foot side to side lazily to push the grass blades around. You didn’t even think to consider the repercussions of studying with some random junior. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Besides, just tell Sky and I if he’s giving you any trouble. I know damn well no man likes to put up with two women yelling in his face.” Sky nodded and pointed to Ella for added dramatics. “Yeah, and I bite. My top six teeth are porcelain so that shit hurts. Trust me.”
Your friends never failed to make you laugh, a slight resolve in a pool full of worries, you suppose. “Don’t worry, you guys’ll be the first to know if Leon is mean.”
“Good. Now, when’re you gonna go see the guy?” Sky rested their arms on their knees before looking up at you. “Uh.. in a couple hours I guess. I already made the appointment.” Your response seemed to surprise both of your friends, giving them a confused look in response to their shocked ones. “Is that.. Is that not a good time?”
“No no, just.. I thought you would’ve maybe taken a little longer to go and see him.” Ella shrugged, reaching a hand up to scratch behind their neck. “Proud of you, taking the initiative like that.” She then looked at her phone before pulling herself off the ground with a small groan. “I got class in a couple minutes. Good luck with the frat boy.”
She patted your shoulder as she walked off towards the larger building on campus, leaving you and Sky alone for the rest of the time. Part of you wished both of your friends could walk you to the library when the time came, but having Sky was enough. “So.. Leon’s bad bad?” You needed a bit more clarification on the guy you were going to spend one-on-one time with, something to calm you down after running through countless scenarios in your head.
“He’s not all bad, 'least I don't think. I’ve exchanged a few ‘hello’s’ and ‘excuse me’s’ with him here and there since we apparently frequent the same building.” Sky scooted over to the rock you were sitting on, placing the back of their head on your legs. A couple brown leaves blew over from a nearby tree which they grabbed and crunched with their hand. “I haven’t personally experienced any bad happenings around him, but he is part of a pretty notoriously rowdy frat, so you have to promise me that you’ll only study with him on campus and never go to that frat house or any frat house in general, alright?”
Sky pointed up at you, poking the underside of your chin which made you laugh again and swat their hand away. “As much as I rave about wanting to have the stereotypical college experience, going to a frat house was never part of my daydreaming.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” They switched their fingers to give you a quick thumbs up before letting their arm flop down into their lap, eyes closing with a sigh. “Anyways, besides all that, wanna go get some food? I don’t have another class today and you’ve got about an hour and a half to spare, so actually you have no choice. Get up.”
You stood up with a shake of your head once Sky pushed off of your legs who stood up as well with a small stretch. “Don’t burn me at the stake, but I kinda want grocery store sushi. I’m feeling lucky.”
“Please don’t.” You sighed, pocketing the piece of paper before beginning to follow behind Sky as they started to walk across the grass.
After the two of you shared a sandwich from some random shop not too far off campus, Sky walked with you up to the library, stopping just before the front desk. They agreed to not wander in with you under the condition that you’ll go to their dorm straight after to discuss details.
To say you were nervous was an understatement. Most of what you heard about this guy meant he was bad news, though you really didn’t have much of a choice when it came to seeing him. Like your math professor said, there weren’t a lot of options when it came to studying the material you were learning. Sure you had the internet and other students in the class, but you preferred the idea of a tutor since you’d already exhausted yourself trying to follow along with various youtube videos. You needed the in-person teaching, it just stuck better in your head that way.
Slowly starting to walk, you made your way over to the study rooms lining the back of the library. The rooms seemed pretty private with the only window being on the door, which had glass nearly top to bottom. Thankfully the rooms were numbered and Leon had texted you which room to go to when you made the appointment with him, you had no idea what he looked like and you didn’t want to look like a creep eyeballing people through the door until you hopefully found the right person.
Standing off to the side, you could see the number you were looking for sitting above the door, taking a brief moment to collect yourself and hype yourself up to talk to someone who didn’t have the greatest reputation. Set aside everything you’ve heard and just hope for the best..
You took in a deep breath as you strode over to the door, glancing inside through the window before knocking to let him know you were there. The table was angled off more to the left so you didn’t immediately see him until he leaned over the table to see who had knocked. Confidence left you as soon as you made eye contact with Leon due to the groan you could hear through the door. It took you a couple seconds, but you eventually managed to get your body to work with you, hand turning the handle to let yourself in.
“-the last thing I need..” You caught the end of his little rant to himself as you opened the door. The saying “fake it ‘till you make it” is harder than it sounds since your entire body decided to betray you, deciding that shrinking in was the best move. Quietly, you shuffled over to sit across from him at the table, placing your backpack in your lap in some weird way to provide comfort in this situation.
“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Leon grumbled, sitting far back in the tilted chair as his feet lifted the front end of the chair slightly. His arms were crossed and he was giving you probably the nastiest look you’ve ever seen, next to your parents, of course. All you did was sit there giving him a blank stare. It was obvious what he’d said, yet the sheer forwardness of that snide comment had you more than confused. “What?-”
“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Apparently he felt the need to repeat himself with some added bite, barely letting you get a word in. “No one ever shows up to these shitty tutor- whatever the fucks.”
Wow. Okay. “Uh..” You didn’t even know what to say to that. It completely caught you off guard. You’d run through countless ways this interaction would go in your head, but this wasn’t one of those ways. The two of you sat in a very tense silence with Leon just glaring at you from across the table, continuing to rock back and forth in the chair.
Without uncrossing his arms, Leon lifted a hand and waved it around slightly while shaking his head. “Are you actually still gonna sit here orrr…?” The sound of his voice finally snapped you out of shock, causing you to shoot your gaze down to your backpack, fumbling with its partially broken zipper. “I-.. Mr. Lebovic recommended you..?”
You pulled out a few of your failed assignments from your bag before setting them down on the table with shaky hands, keeping your eyes glued to the papers to avoid that burning stare the man in front of you has. “I need-.. I need help..?”
“Do you?” Leon let the chair fall forward, his sarcastic tone starting to make your whole body tremble. “You don’t sound like you do.” He snatched one of your assignments from the table and held it up, pursing his lips as he studied the various red marks made on it closely. You chose to not respond to that, letting your hands rest on top of your backpack so you had something to squeeze.
He turned the page around, the sound of the paper wobbling the only thing you could hear right after the sound of the central heat blowing through the vent in the room. Suddenly, Leon started chuckling to himself, shaking his head incredulously as he flipped the paper back and forth a couple times before letting it fall back to the table. “This is terrible!” His laugh grew louder as he tilted his body to the side to pull out his phone, taking a picture of the assignments you’d put on the table.
How on earth were you supposed to react to that other than just sitting quietly? He was actually making fun of you right to your face. Hell, he might as well point and laugh if he’s going to be this brasen.
The most you could muster up was a quiet yet high-pitched “... huh?” in response to him. This whole ordeal was spiraling a little too fast for you to keep up with. You were expecting to put up with some grown man with a bratty attitude or even just a very uninterested, not all there jock with how Leon’s been described to you, not blatant bullying.
“Huh?” He mocked, taking one last look at his phone while loudly sucking on his teeth before pocketing it again. “Anyways, this is actually sad. How are you managing to fuck simple math up like this?” He roughly grabbed all the papers on the table and stacked them before partially tossing them back at you, some slipping onto the floor. “You’re too far gone, even I can’t fix that.”
You let out a gasp when the papers were tossed at your face, scrambling to catch some of them. Pushing the chair back, you leaned over to grab the few that fell on the floor, desperately holding back tears. “Please, you don’t understand.” You pleaded, voice cracking as you tried your best not to start crying in front of him. “I-I need to pass this class. I’m passing everything else, I just can’t keep up with this one!” You were speed-talking to try and argue your case, sitting back up with the small pile of papers that you struggled to stack properly.
Leon started rocking back in his chair again, arms back across his chest as he watched you with squinted eyes. The corners of his lips soon turned up into a smirk, taking in your sorry state before rolling his eyes with a dramatic groan. “Alright, alright, stop whining, jesus..” He cleared his throat, letting his head fall over the back of the chair. “I’ll help you only because I feel bad for you.” It’s not like he was going to admit that he was being forced to be a tutor, no one needs leverage over him like that
You couldn’t help but give a small smile despite his implication. It was a start. “And I’m not gonna do it today, either.” Well, the sooner the better, but still, it’s a start.
He then stood up from the chair, fixing his jacket with a sigh. “If you show up even a minute late on Friday, I’m not helping” and before you even had a chance to reply, he walked out of the room, the door shutting with a slam which made you flinch. Luckily, you were a very punctual person when it came to this kind of stuff. This was important, so if you had to show up early, so be it. You hurriedly shoved your assignments back into your backpack, not even fully zipping it up before rushing out of the study room, back through the library, and to the dorms.
“He said that?!” Sky yelled, quickly wiping their hand over their mouth to quiet themself once you shushed them. “I don’t really feel comfortable with you going to another ‘study session’ with that guy if he’s just gonna bully you.”
“I wouldn’t call it bullying-”
“He was bullying you.”
“OKAY! So what if he was?!” You fell back onto Sky’s bed with a sigh, arms splayed out with your legs dangling off the side. “I can handle it. As long as I get my grade up, who cares?”
Sky sat down next to you on their bed, giving you a sad look as you sat yourself up with your elbows. “I care. So does Ella. You shouldn’t put up with that just for a grade. I’m sure if you explain to your professor and-”
“And what? Tell him that I’m a grown woman getting bullied over something I should know by now?” You sat yourself up fully now, leaning forward to place your elbows on your thighs as your head rested in your hands. “It’s only until finals are over and we’re already halfway through October. Maybe I won’t even need that much time, maybe I’m just missing one simple… math move and it’ll get the gears in my brain moving again.”
You tilted your head to the side to look at Sky, head now resting only in your right hand as you took in their annoyed look. “Trust me. I can handle this.”
“If you say so.” They ran their fingers through her hair before looking away from you, directing their attention forward to stare off at nothing. “Just remember that I bite and I’m not afraid to use my fake chompers on that no good-”
“I don’t wanna think about escalations right now, but thank you.” You chuckled, playfully nudging Sky with your free hand before moving it back to hold your head up with the other. Though you were trying to convince Sky on this, you were mostly just trying to convince yourself that you could handle this. Handle Leon and his.. alluring charm..
Only until finals, maybe even sooner.
#college au my beloved#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon scott kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon s kennedy smut#re4#leon kennedy fic#leon kennedy fanfic#leon scott kennedy#leon s kennedy x fem!reader#leon s kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x reader smut#leon kennedy x y/n#bully leon#college AU#leon scott kennedy x fem reader#leon scott kennedy x you#multi chap fic#multichapter
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In love with your writing, specially bsf!theo. I’m in such an angst mood. Everyone knows we’re in love with Theo and he’s in love with us besides the two of us. Longing with fwb to lovers? Maybe some more smut if you’re feeling spicy?
IN LOVE WITH YOU, POOKIE!!! If theres one thing I know how to do its YEARN and LONG so lets hope that translates into writing 🙏 it’s been a hot minute since I wrote an actual fic, and i took a few liberties with your rq, so please let me know how you feel about it!
Notes: i typically write for a gn!reader, but I really hope everyone can forgive me for writing in a FEM perspective today. It just makes writing smut a tad bit easier on me(an afab person)
Content warnings: As always, Hogwarts University AU, Characters are all 18+, Draco Malfoy calls Nott a fat ass(degrading eating habits, commenting on working out), Theo’s mom is dead, mutual pining but being too stupid to figure it out, crying during sex but not in a hot way(no safe word used/tech needed), angstyish to comfort, use of drugs(weed), SMUT, oral(fem receiving), kinda proofread? Please let me know if I miss anything major.
Things only got more intense as the… situation went on. Hooking up had become significantly more common, almost a daily occurrence. You found your mind drifting to Theodore more often than not, thinking about how disheveled his hair looked in the morning, or how the first words he mumbled when he saw you today were “Hello, beautiful”.
Your thoughts never strayed too far from Theodore, and to be honest, it felt like he never strayed too far from you.
In the most recent months, it felt like you two had become inseparable. That’s not to say it was a bad thing at all, oh no in fact, it made you quite happy to know he was around. He was your friend after all. The sex-thing, as you opted to call it, was just a benefit you both indulged in time to time.
Of course, neither of you dared to openly admit your scandalous behavior together. It wasn’t anyone’s business, even as Theodore had started seeing less women and spending less nights out partying. It wasn’t anyone’s business when Theo wrapped an arm around your shoulder while walking around Hogsmeade, or when he smiled at you when you weren’t looking. It wasn’t anyone’s business whenever Theo stopped sleeping around completely, and it certainly wasn’t their business when he beat the shit out of one of the Weasley twins for accidentally catching you in the crossfire of a loose prank.
It wasn’t anyone’s business besides the two of yours, and for the most part people had began to ignore it, except for a select group of close friends.
A day didn’t go by where you weren’t pestered by one of Theodore’s friends. They collectively figured that you were more likely to break under pressure than Theo was. It was ruthless.
Draco Malfoy stands at the front of your desk, glaring down at you. “You know you’re just another one of his phases. He does this. Falls helplessly in love with a girl, dedicates his entire time to her, only to remember he isn’t built for that life. It’s about time you save yourself the trouble. I’m only trying to help.”
Not everyone was as terrible as Draco, thankfully.
Mattheo Riddle would approach you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist, putting on his most convincing Theodore impression. “Ciao, Bella,” even his most convincing impression wasn’t very good, “My room or yours?”
Sometimes you play along, running your hands over Mattheo’s in a way that makes his skin prick with goosebumps. “I was thinking we could do it on Matt’s bed again.”
That usually get’s you a hard shove away if Theodore hadn’t already spotted the situation.
Lorenzo Berkshire isn’t as insistent, just staring at the two of you, raising a brow whenever he finds you hand in hand. He draws a huge smirk on his face every time he sees you alone.
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
“You mean your boyfriend? I see the way you look at him, don’t play dumb Enzo.”
He doesn’t like that game as much. Usually scoffs and ignores you.
Then there was Blaise Zabini.
Blaise Zabini.
He knows more than he should. Far more than he should. He watches. He listens. He knows. He perceives.
The first time Blaise found you asleep in Theo’s arms, it was early in the morning. Their little clique never missed breakfast together unless something drastic had happened. So, whenever Theodore didn’t show up for breakfast, Blaise volunteered to check on him. Only Draco questioned it when Blaise grabbed a plate and two muffins(“Those are practically cakes, Nott’s fat ass doesn’t need one to begin with, let alone two! Doesn’t even show up to quidditch practice anymore.”). Draco was ignored.
“You’re going to lose her if you keep acting like this, you know that right?”
Theodore tries to ignore Blaise as best he can, he really does. He traces his fingers over your hair softly, watching you dream.
“Just tell her, Theo. What are you so scared of?”
“Drop it, Blaise.”
“No. You obviously love her, you’re obviously in love with her!”
“Lower your voice-“
“Why are you so scared? Is it your father, Theo? Is it your-”
“I mean it Zabini, drop it.”
The room goes eerily quiet as you shift slightly in Theodores arms. It lasts for only a moment before your breathing returns to the deep, rhythmic patterns.
“Get out.”
Blaise didn’t brother bringing it up after that. He knew what was going to happen, and he was going to let it play out. It wasn’t his business, after all.
Your friends weren’t much different. You stopped hanging out with them as much, not on purpose at all, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Maybe one or two of your friends resented Nott for it, “He’s a playboy, everyone knows that. I don’t like how close he’s getting to you.” Or “You aren’t… sleeping with him right? Please tell me you aren’t.”
Both you and Theodore laughed endlessly about every comment. It was silly. I mean yeah, you two fuck, but you’re just friends. You’re just friends, and friends can totally cuddle each other to sleep, and friends can totally kiss without sex. Its not a big deal! Its not a big deal as Theo almost pukes every time he says, “You’re my friend, I’d tell you if anything changed.” And it’s not a big deal when your chest aches as you say “Same here. It’s not that weird when you think about it.”
It wasn’t a big deal the first time you cried during sex. It wasn’t a big deal when he pulled out immediately and held your face, asking what he can do for you to make it better. It wasn’t a big deal when you sobbed in his arms for hours, chest hurting because you loved him so much and you knew you could never say anything. It wasn’t a big deal when Theodore kissed your mouth shut when you tried to apologize. It was a big deal though. It was a really big deal.
It was a big deal when you wrote your name next to Nott like a child. It was a big deal when you kicked your feet in bed thinking about how he called you pretty. It was a big deal when he kissed your cheek so absentmindedly that it felt natural. It felt right.
It was a big deal, and it hurt so bad.
But you could manage. Look at how strong you are. Look at how composed you are. You knew that one day all of this would come to an end, and you were okay with that! It was something you knew you could one day stomach, so for now, you didn't let yourself worry about it.
What you worried about instead, was how fine the object of your affection looked tonight.
Theodore was dressed to the nines. Black slacks, a loose button-up shirt, and those eyes that undressed you no matter where you were. He was gorgeous, and he knew it. You looked wonderful too, showing just enough skin to keep Theo on his toes.
Slytherin winning the house cup was a moment to be celebrated, the common room decorated and loud music playing from every corner of the room. You and Theodore spent every moment together, laughing whenever someone dared approach either of you for a dance.
Smoke curled out of Theodore's lips as he snuffed out the filter of a joint you had shared. He grinned at you, and you smiled at him, and everything else faded away.
Time slowed down, and Theodore's smile fell.
"I want to be with you, this summer."
And you laughed and smiled, nudging his arm slightly. "Well, all you need to do is invite me to your summer home in Italy, and I promise I'll spend every day with you."
"No. I want to be with you."
And for a moment, it felt like everything was still. Theodore looked so scared, and you looked so scared, and your mind was fighting the high to fully understand and process his words.
"With me?"
"With you."
You bit the inside of your cheek, almost not realizing whenever Theodore groaned and stood up.
"Theo."
"Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea."
"Theodore."
"I'm sorry. I knew we shouldn't have."
"Theodore Nott, look at me right now."
And he did. He looked at you so sadly. It made your heart ache.
"I want to be with you, too."
It felt like a brick that sat on your heart had finally been lifted. You laughed at the smile that spread across his face. You laughed as he pressed sloppy kisses against your lips. You laughed as he picked you up, kissing you stupid as he carried you to your room.
The weed still made your mind and body buzz with a high, and fuck, every touch felt better than ever before.
Your back hit the mattress, and Theo climbed over you. He looked so handsome, and you felt so pretty the way he looked at you. His hands worked at your dress, pulling you into a deep kiss as he found the zipper in the back.
Your hands gracelessly unbuttoned his shirt, whining into the kiss as you struggled. Finally, with a small chuckle, Theo offered to help you. His hands worked smoothly, pulling his shirt off his shoulders.
"You're stunning."
"Take a look at yourself, cara mia."
Theodore pushed you back down, gripping your hips as he dragged you to the edge of the bed. You laugh, resting your hands over his, feeling just how wet you are between your thighs. You lean your head back, sighing softly as Theo drops to his knees.
Nothing else mattered when Theodore's tongue found your clothed pussy. His strong and veiny hands pushed your thighs further apart, and pathetic mewls spilled from your lips as he licked you.
Theodore continued to tease you, a grin plastered to his face at every moan and whine you let slip out. He licks over the lace of your panties, daring to suck on your clit through the soaked fabric. Pleas spill from your lips, and Theo can't bite back his groan as you tug on his curls.
Dead eyes look up at you from between your legs, and Theo pulled away just enough to remove the lace hiding your heat from him. He blows on your wet folds, pulling your thighs to his shoulders.
"I think I could stay like this forever, right here."
You roll your eyes and sit up, pulling Theo up just enough to admire his wet face. "I think I'd miss your face too much," you laugh, leaning in and kissing his lips, shivering as you taste yourself on him.
"I have a few other positions that I wouldn't mind staying in."
You push away his smirking face with a laugh, gasping for air suddenly as his mouth finds your clit. Gasps turn into soft whines as his tongue moves across your pearl, your hips jerking and shifting at each motion. You can feel his smirk as he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, collecting your arousal on his tongue.
"Theo," You whine out, but he silences you with a long finger prodding at your entrance. He shushes you, planting wet kisses along your thigh. "I know, bella, just take a deep breath. 'Gotta stretch you out all the way."
A needy moan slipped from your lips as a finger slipped inside of you. You could hear how wet you were, and Theo pulled back just enough to watch the digit disappear inside of you. He pressed a second finger in, carefully spreading them inside of you.
"So soft. So pliant."
His whispers made your legs shake as he stretched you out thoroughly. The knot in your stomach grew tighter, and it became almost unbearable as his lips found your clit again. He was slow, savoring the feeling of your legs shaking beside his head, and the feeling of your walls clenching around him.
Ecstasy flooded your mind before you had a moment to think about it. Theo groaned into your cunt, committing the taste to memory. He continued working his fingers in and out of your cunt until you were shaking in overstimulation, only then finally freeing himself from between your legs.
"You have one more in you, right? Can't get enough of you, cara mia. Will never have enough of you."
#fwb!theodore nott#bsf!theodore nott#ughh i havent written an actual fic in forever how do you guys do it#this actually pulled me out of a slump though so thank you anon!!!!#rot says so#slytherin boys#slytherin boys smut#theodore nott#slytherin boys fluff#theo nott x reader#theo nott smut#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott smut#theodore nott x reader smut#slytherin smut#theo nott x reader smut
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Ghost in the Austrian Asylum
Pairings ~ Ghost x You x König
König had a crush on both you and Ghost, but he would be surprised to learn that the two people he was practically infatuated with were married. Lucky for him, the two of you want him as well.
WC : 3K
Warnings ~ Oral {F&M} | PiV | Anal {M} | Toys | Masturbation {M} | Threesome | Unprotected Sex | Sub!König Switch!Reader Dom!Ghost | Descriptions of violence (just a little not a lot) | Creampie |
No use of Y/N (i don't think, there isn't supposed to be)
Not proofread (yet)
When König joined the 141, he was terrified. He knew of Price's habit. Picking some of the most lethal men in the military.
So he was surprised when he met you. The notorious 'Asylum', greeting him with a smile and a hug. Talking about how she had seen his file. Really impressive work.
König knew about your file as well. Knew that most of it couldn't be seen as it was marked as 'confidential'. So, why were you called Asylum?
When he asked Soap about this, the Scotsman merely laughed, telling him that he'll find out soon.
Find out soon he did. You were on a mission, and the team had a guy kidnapped for questioning. Nobody could get anything out of him.
'We should send her in' Price stated, lighting a cigar.
Ghost merely chuckled while Soap went white.
'Put König in with her. He should see what she's capable of' Ghost suggested.
Price nodded and motioned for you both to head into the room.
König followed you closely. Curious as to what you would do.
The man tied to the chair lifted his head, smirking when he saw you.
'And what are you gonna do pretty girl?' He asked.
You merely got closer to him, leaning down in front of his face.
'Listen, you could tell me what I need to know, or you can be in a world of pain' you said quietly.
'Fuck. You. Whore.'
You sighed, getting up and exiting the room, before coming in with a duffel bag? König stared at you.
Watching the way you dumped the bag on the ground. Grabbing a hammer out of it.
You gripped the hammer tightly before slamming it into the mans left kneecap. The man screamed out in pain, the sound of his knee cap breaking making König shudder slightly.
'Are you gonna tell me anything yet?' you asked, almost kindly.
the man kept his mouth shut.
you shrugged, reaching back into the bag, grabbing pliers.
'I'm gonna pull out your teeth one by one, until you give me an answer. If the answer you give me isn't worth my time or untruthful, I'm ripping out a nail' you said grabbing his jaw.
By the time you had gotten your answers, the man had only 4 teeth and 3 fingernails.
König understood why you were called Asylum now.
And he hated to admit that the scene had him feeling things. Watching you make this man who was at least twice the size of you break and cry, had him thinking.
But what felt most unsettling, you were back to smiles and jokes almost immediately after the ordeal.
König had a crush. He hated that word. He had a crush on you...and Ghost. But he couldn't help it. Ghost had this voice that drove him crazy, and your lighthearted personality compared to you on a mission had König's head spinning.
And what was worse? Soap knew.
'You haven't got a chance lad' he laughed.
'W-what why? I-I think I'm nice enough' König spluttered
'because they're married-'
'wait what'
'-to each other'
'oh'
God that did not help König in the slightest. His mind now swarming with images of the two of you fucking. You pressed against a wall, Ghost fucking into you hard enough that picture frames were falling off the wall.
Images of you giving Ghost the most soul sucking head, Ghost fucking your face, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Images of Ghost biting your thighs before shoving his face into your cunt. You gripping his hair like a vice. Bucking your hips, practically riding his face.
But his mind crossed into new territory. Something he hadn't thought of before.
You and Ghost fucking him, together.
You grinding on König's cock as Ghost fucks him. Ghost grabbing your hair, pulling your head back to spit in your mouth.
You sucking König's cock, leaving a sticky ring around the base of his cock from your lip-gloss. Your ass in the air as Ghost fucks into you from behind, causing you to moan around König's cock, creating a vibrator effect.
The idea of you and König tying Ghost to the bed, teasing him, using a vibrator all over him, except the part he needs it most just to have his hard exterior crumble.
'König!' Soap said loudly, waving a hand in front of König’s face.
'Sorry, got distracted' König sighed
'I can tell' Soap chuckled.
Thankfully, Soap didn't bring it up again. Merely throwing a glance when König would stare at you and Ghost for too long. To which König could feel himself burning up under the mask.
But one day Soap told König that you and Ghost were sparring. One of your guys' infamous sparring sessions. Everybody on base talks about them. Especially Soap.
As König and Soap walk in, already seeing the two of you in the sparring ring, König whispers to Soap.
'This is hardly a fair fight, they're gonna go easy on each other because they're married'
Soap just cackled, slapping König on the back.
König was so, so wrong. As soon as Soap said the word, you and Ghost were kicking, punching, König even thinks he see's you bite Ghost at one point.
König watched as you pulled Ghost's head down towards your raised knee. hearing the crack of Ghost's mask. Holy shit.
König hated how turned on he was. Watching you smile down at Ghost sweetly, before landing a punch on his jaw.
'I have to go' König mumbled
'Have fun!' Soap yelled
König got back to his room fairly quickly. rushing to lie down on his bed, his hands flying to get his belt unbuckled and fly unzipped.
Pulling out his painfully hard cock, he spat in his hand, stroking slowly, as his hand reached the tip, he swiped his thumb over the slit, causing himself to whimper quietly.
He couldn't get you and Ghost out of his head. What Ghost's cock would taste like, what you would taste like.
He imagined himself and Ghost, holding you, sandwiched between the two burly men, Ghost fucking into your ass, König fucking into the tight heat of your cunt. Your head lolled onto Ghosts shoulder, unable to hold in the whimpers.
And then his mind flew to having you sit in front of a full length mirror, Ghost devouring your cunt as you sat between König's legs, watching yourself come over and over on Ghost's tongue as König sucked hickeys and tweaked your nipples.
König was so close to his release. His eyes shut in pleasure, one more swipe of his thumb over his slit, he knew he would be done for.
But König was suddenly grabbed by his shirt, and slammed against the wall. His eye's shot open, to see Ghost, his piercing eyes, full of anger. König whimpered, he was fucking terrified, but he couldn't help the feeling of arousal that flooded through him and down to his cock.
Ghost looked ravishing. His balaclava not covering the chest that peaked from his tight fitting shirt, his chest (of what König could see) was sweaty, and König wanted to lick the beads of sweat that were probably running down Ghost's face.
His cock jumped at the thought, and that didn't go unnoticed by Ghost. König was roughly pulled from the wall before being slammed back into it
'You like getting off to the thought of fucking my wife?' Ghost practically growled.
'N-no! I swear, I swear I don't! Please!' König exclaims, tears filling his eyes.
'He's right honey, he wasn't getting off to the thought of just me' you giggled from behind Ghost.
Oh fuck, this was so much worse. So, so much worse. You were here too.
Ghost huffed letting go of König
'Are you okay König? Hope Simon didn't hurt you too badly' you asked, moving in front of him.
What was going on? You should be terrified, disgusted, mad, furious. But you're caressing König's face instead.
König swallowed thickly, looking down at you.
'We know about your dirty little thoughts König' you smile.
König wanted to die. Right then and there. How? How did you know?
'You aren't very quite soldier' Ghost said gruffly. König's eyes widened as he looked between the two of you.
König couldn't get the two of you fucking him senseless out of his mind. His hand moving at an almost inhumane speed, he tried covering his moans. But some slipped through.
'Scheiße! Bitte! Asylum, Ghost please, please let me come! oh Scheiße!'
Fuck. That was a week ago. König could've sworn he heard footsteps outside his door. But he couldn't care less as his orgasm rocked through him.
'König~' you said, his eyes snapping back to you. You reached down and gripped König's cock.
And König came.
König fucking came.
From your hand merely grasping his dick.
König could hear you and Ghost laughing together as he rode his high, bucking his hips into your hand.
As he came down from his (mind-blowing) orgasm, whimpering as he felt a hand stroking him still.
He looked down to see Ghost's gloved hand, König's head shot up, looking at the only slightly shorter man.
'Ha-ah~ Ghost, please~!' König cried out
'König, sweetie, you don't have to call him Ghost anymore. Call him by his real name, he'll go feral' you voiced from the bed.
'Si, Scheiße, SiMON~!' König wailed as cum spurted from his cock again.
König felt like he was gonna pass out, he felt tears under his hood.
The fabric sticking to his face was annoying him, and he wanted it off. He looked between the two of you, before yanking it off; hoping it wouldn’t ruin what was happening.
'Oh Köni~ you're so pretty' you smiled walking up to him, grabbing his face, pulling it down and inspecting it. Rubbing your thumb over the scar on his cheekbone.
He could feel the rush of blood go to both his cheeks, and cock.
'Isn't he pretty Si?' You asked the masked man now behind you.
'Real pretty' Ghost agreed.
You pulled König towards the bed, pushing him to lie down.
'Already hard again Big Boy?' Ghost asked. And König nodded pathetically.
'He has good stamina Si' you said, straddling König.
'God look how deep he's gonna go sweetheart, he's thick too. Have to stretch you out doesn't he' Ghost chuckled darkly.
He wasn't wrong. König stared at how you held his cock to you, seeing how far he would go. He would reach so far into you, the thought making his cock jump.
König moved his hands to your waist and moved you, so you were lying underneath him. He sat up on his knees, turning his head to Simon.
'Are-Are you sure this is all-um, okay?' he asked.
Ghost removed his balaclava, and grabbed König by his chin, locking their lips.
König gasped as Simon slid his tongue into his mouth. Moaning into the kiss.
They broke apart, a string of saliva connecting their lips still.
König could really admire Simon now, his blonde hair and sharp jawline. Something he thought he would only dream about.
König heard you whimper underneath him.
'She's so fucking impatient' Simon whispered. To which you groaned.
Simon helped König to his feet before practically tearing his clothes off. Doing the same to himself. And both men looked at you hungrily.
Fear flooded you but also flooded your hungry need.
König got back on the bed and pulled your pants along with your panties off. As Simon helped you to remove your shirt and bra. König settled between your thighs.
He wet his lips, moving forward to lick into you, but before he could he felt Simon grab his hair. Pulling him just enough so he wouldn't be able to taste you. No matter how hard he tried.
'Beg for it' was all Simon said. Staring directly into König's eyes.
'Please? Pleasepleaseplease, wanna taste her so bad, know she'll taste good, she'll taste so good. Please Simon!' König asked.
Simon shoved König's face into your dripping cunt. Almost immediately you arched your hips. König's large hands gripping them, and pushing them down.
You writhed in his iron grip. The pleasure overwhelming as he sucked your clit, moving his tongue to lap the juices practically pouring out your cunt.
You were close. Your hands pulling harder on König's hair. Moans moving to a higher octave.
Your thighs started shaking, so, so close.
Simon pulled König up from between your thighs. König's whines being louder than yours
'Please! She was so close to cumming! Please just need to feel her come on my tongue. Please!' König whimpered.
God he needed you to come more than you did it sounded.
Simon shoved König's face back into your cunt. König whimpering happily as he lapped up your juices.
König was gripping your hips and thighs like a lifeline. Something to keep him grounded.
'What's this?' Simon asked amusedly. König's eyes shot open and saw Simon standing next to his bedside table. Dildo in hand.
'No need to be embarrassed baby. Something we can have even more fun with' Simon said grabbing the bottle of lube from the bedside table.
König focused back on your clit, sucking on it like a lollipop, and your thighs started shaking again.
König removed his right hand from your left thigh, his finger dipping into your cunt, curling to hit the spot that would have you falling over the edge in no time.
König focused back on your clit, moaning as he felt Simon push a thick finger into his ass.
Simon moved his finger trying to find the spot in König that would make him-
'Mmmph!' König moaned around your clit, causing you to cum all over his tongue and finger. Pulling at König's hair and hips bucking sporadically.
König was addicted to your taste. His tongue lapping at your abused cunt.
You whined, overstimulated as König kept moaning around your puffy clit.
You shuffled out of König's grip finally. and motioned for Simon to remove his finger from König.
Simon did so, and flipped König over, smiling at his red chest and face.
'More' König moaned pathetically.
'Greedy' you laughed.
Simon squeezed a glob of lube onto the toy, pushing it slowly into König's hole. König let out a soft moan at the intrusion before relaxing into the pleasant sensation.
'How close were you? Huh König?' You questioned, letting a glob of saliva fall from your lips and onto König's cock.
You leaned down licking at his tip.
'So, so close!' König moaned.
You smiled, sucking on his tip. Causing him to buck his hips into the sensation.
You pulled off him, Simon pressed a button on the toy, a loud humming sound filling the room.
König moaned loudly, and you covered his mouth.
'König honey, I love your sounds but you don't want to get us caught do you?' you asked sweetly.
König shook his head no. And you started fingering yourself with two fingers, stretching yourself out. Watching as König's eyes rolled in the back of his head.
'Sweetheart, get on his dick' Simon said.
You smiled at him, before looking at König, his eyes almost comically wide.
You moved over and positioned yourself over König's large cock, sinking down slowly, your mouth falling open at the stretch, König moaning as you slid down his cock.
'Si-Simon' you moaned, swallowing before continuing 'fuck him'
You saw König's eyes widen again and he whimpers quietly from the feeling of Simons fat tip nudging at his hole.
You started bouncing on his cock, moaning quietly, and König moaned very loudly at the feeling of Simons cock entering him.
You leaned down quickly, covering König's mouth. Still bouncing on his cock.
'We gotta buy him a gag Si' you smiled
König nodded enthusiastically at the idea.
'He's such a slut' Simon commented.
You continued bouncing on König's cock, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lower stomach.
'Feel that Köni?~ you're so deep' You moaned.
König’s eyes widened as he felt the bulge that disappeared and reappeared as you slid up and down him, and you grabbed your panties that were discarded to the bed and shoved them into König's open mouth.
His eyes opened widely before rolling to the back of his head, the taste of you invading his mouth, only adding to the mind blowing pleasure he was feeling.
'Fuck I'm gonna cum!' you moaned, reaching your fingers down to your clit, rubbing messy circles.
'Me too lovie' Simon groaned, fucking into König relentlessly.
König whined around your panties as Simon’s cock pounded directly into his prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure up his spine and adding to the coil that was rapidly tightening in his abdomen
König still couldn't believe this was happening. Watching your tits bouncing in front of his face, his eyes couldn't stop glancing down to the bulge that continuously appeared.
'I think Köni has a size kink Si' you sighed softly
König heard Simon chuckle, his hips somehow pounding harder into him.
'Gonna cum!' König moaned, although muffled.
'Come for us Big Boy' Simon moaned, and König was gone.
His vision went white, he doesn't think he has ever come this hard in his life. And then he felt you clenching around him, your juices covering his cock, he also felt Simon shoot his cum inside of him.
He doesn't know if he came again or if his last one never ended. He swears he passed out.
He actually passed out.
He woke up to feeling a cold sensation on his dick, he whined but heard your muffled voice tell him that you were just cleaning him up.
He relaxed soon after, but not for long because he felt a water bottle be pushed against his lips.
König's tired eyes opened and saw Simon mouthing something to him, no he was saying something.
'come on, you gotta drink König' he said.
König gulped down the water, and pushed it away.
He felt somebody's warm body next to him but he couldn't care less who it was, he wrapped himself around them and judging by the size, it was Simon.
He soon felt your body on the other side of him and he didn't know what to do, did he hug Simon? Did he hug you? Should he have just left? It was his room though.
'You guys don't have to stay, I know this was probably a one time thing' König whispered.
'We're not going anywhere Köni, and this is totally not a one time thing'
'definitely not' Simon agreed.
König felt you pull his shoulder and he let go of Simon.
He felt you hug his side as Simon hugged the other, the sounds of soft snores quickly filling the space.
HI BOZOS!!!!!!!!
Longest fic in a while goodness me
I did this in one sitting jesus.
Anyway hope ya'll liked it, lmk if you did by liking, commenting, reblogging, or maybe even following idk.
oh also that little title i did, i thought it was pretty funny
I think i'm gonna start writing more COD stuff just for funsies
Ok it's 3:19am and im tired
BYE BOZOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#König x Ghost#Ghost#Cod#MW2#König x Ghost x Reader#Married!Ghost#König MW2#Ghost MW2#Ghost x reader#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod x reader#cod x you#konig mw2#konig x reader#könig call of duty#könig mw2#könig x reader#cod smut#ghost cod#ghost x reader#ghost x you#konig cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader
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Connected
Namjoon x Reader
Summary: Joon loves the way you take care of him and wants to be as close to you as possible.
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, swearing, not proofread
A/N: She finally wrote another drabble! It only took 84 years!🙃(I know it was only like a month, but it was pissing me off) A big thanks to @coffeedepressionsoup for this request! Sorry it took me a while to get to, I hope you’ll still like it!
Masterlist
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The late evening light that filtered through the bedroom curtains was just bright enough for you to make out Namjoon’s features as you lay against his chest, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.
Two weeks apart hadn’t really seemed that long of a time until you were back in his arms, and suddenly it was like he hadn’t felt you in months. The cozy dinner you had planned together had long been forgotten, finding a far more fulfilling reunion instead in feverish touches and strangled cries of each other's names.
It might not have been the exact way you planned for the night to go, but as you looked up at him in the cool glow of midnight, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening.
“You okay?” You asked softly, noticing the still unsteady pace of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
“Yeah, that was…” He let out a deep breath. “I needed that.”
You caught the thin strain in his voice, the tone you knew he used when he was stressed but trying to hide it.
“Rough week?” You asked, reaching up to comb your fingers through his messy hair.
“Mhm.” He hummed, closing his eyes, leaning into your touch.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” He laughed humorlessly. “Honestly, I’m so fucking tired, I don’t even wanna think right now,” He pulled you closer, letting his lips brush against yours as he spoke.”Just wanna be here with you.”
You connected your lips with his, parting them at the faintest probing of his tongue to grant him access to lazily explore your mouth.
As you rubbed his shoulders soothingly, he couldn’t help wincing into the kiss as you passed over a particularly sensitive spot.
Feeling him flinch, you pulled away, looking up at him with concern.
“Is something wrong?” You asked.
“I just twinged my shoulder earlier, it’s fine.” He said quickly, trying to brush it off.
“You want me to give you a massage? It might help?” You offered.
“I’ll be fine.” He tried again, leaning in to claim your lips once again, but you weren’t having it, dodging his lips and sitting up on your knees.
“Sit up.” You said, tugging his arm.
“Babe, I’m fine, really.” He argued, following your request anyway.
“Yes, but you could feel even better,” You said stubbornly. “Now let me take care of you.”
He sighed, caving easily to you. “Fine, but I want you here.” He patted his lap.
You straddled his lap without argument, letting him hold onto your hips out of habit, and giving him a quick peck on the lips before setting to work, trying to gently knead out the tension and soreness in his shoulder without causing him any more pain in the process.
You weren’t an expert by any means, but whatever you were doing seemed to feel good at least, earning soft, appreciative grunts from Joon as he let his head droop forward to rest against your chest.
You were always so good to him, so ready and willing to take care of him in any shape or form, whether that was making sure he slept and ate properly, or letting him use your body for his own pleasure. Even now, when normally he would be fussing over making sure you were okay, you managed to look after him as well.
He’d never felt so completely safe in someone’s arms before, so completely loved. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, but he was beyond thankful to whatever forces had led him to you.
Tilting his head up, he started peppering soft, lingering kisses across the expanse of your neck, sucking lightly at the still blooming marks left over from his earlier ministrations, making you squirm as his grip on your hips tightened.
“Joon.” You whined, feeling the growing weight of his hardening length against your core.
“Hmm?” He hummed, still focused on trailing kisses along your neck.
“I thought you were tired.” You said.
“Who said that?” He said, smirking against your neck.
“You did! Five minutes ago.” You giggled
“That was five minutes ago,” He said, coming back up to your lips. “You were right, I’m feeling much better now.”
He kissed you deeply, rolling you both over so that you were now caged in under him, your legs falling open naturally for him to settle between as his lips trailed down your front.
He loved you like this, all spread out and willing, any trace of shyness or hesitance completely absent from the way you whined out his name again as he latched onto one of your nipples, arching further up into his touch.
His fingers ghosted between your thighs, teasing your wet folds and making you shudder from sensitivity.
His gaze darted back up to your face, mirroring your earlier concern.
“Is this okay?” He asked, suddenly worried about pushing you too far.
“Joon,” You pulled him back down to you. “Stop thinking.”
You kissed him deeply, your hips up bucking against his hand all the encouragement he needed to continue.
He slipped his fingers between your folds again, his movements so soft and gentle as he spread your slick over your cunt, as if it was the first time he touched you.
“Fuck baby, how’re you always so wet?” He said, almost in disbelief. You were literally dripping, making a mess of the sheets beneath you as he toyed with your clit, pulling the sweetest little noises from your lips as he let two fingers sink into your wet heat, curling them inside of you to find the spot that made you see white.
He loved the way you fell apart for him, head thrown back as your eyes closed in bliss, clinging to him for stability as he pushed you towards your release.
He could feel his cock hanging heavy between his legs, twitching and begging for any sort of attention, but he chose to ignore it, focusing solely on the way you clenched around his fingers, your breath stuttering as your orgasm threatened to overtake you.
“Joon.” You tried to warn him.
“I know, Baby, it’s okay.” He breathed. “Let go.”
You let out a choked cry that faintly sounded like his name as you came, your back arching off the mattress and pressing you closer to him as your whole body shook from the intensity of your high.
"You did so good, baby.” He said softly, pressing a soothing kiss to your temple as you came down. “So fucking good."
“Joonie,” You whimpered in that soft tone that made him feel dizzy with need. “Want you inside, please.”
“Are you sure?” He asked gently. “It’s okay if you wanna tap out or take a break.”
You shook your head. “Need you, please.”
How could he deny you when you ask so sweetly?
He drew his fingers out slowly, letting out a deep groan as he wrapped the slick coated digits around his aching cock, jerking himself a few times to spread your wetness over the length as he stared down at the mess he’d made of you.
He guided the head of his cock between your puffy lips, tracing around the outside of your entrance teasingly, resisting the urge to slip in yet, loving the way he could feel you clenching around nothing.
“Joonie!” You whimpered, squirming impatiently.
He chuckled at your desperation, as if he wasn’t already nearly as gone as you were. “Alright, Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
He repositioned himself, hovering over you as he eased himself into your weeping cunt, eyes shut tight as he felt your fluttering walls stretch to accommodate him. He was amazed at how you still managed to feel this tight even after he fucked you less then a half an hour ago.
He forced his eyes back open as he bottomed out, staring down you with complete adoration.
“I love you so fucking much.” He sighed, kissing you softly, your arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, cradling him even closer to you.
If there was a way to preserve a singular moment to exist within for the rest of your life, this was where Namjoon would want to be; not a single thing in the world mattering other than you and him and the way you connected together so perfectly.
Eventually, he started to roll his hips into yours, earning a soft moan from you against his lips.
He kept his movements smooth and unrushed, not fully chasing his own high, just enjoying the feeling of you around him, the way you sucked him in with each thrust, the way you twitched in his arms when his cock brushed against that gummy spot inside of you just right.
Far sooner than he anticipated, he felt lower abdomen beginning to tense, his hips beginning to speed up as his release rapidly approached.
“Fuck, ‘m close.” He warned through clenched teeth.
“Cum for me, baby, please.” You whispered, clutching onto him even tighter.
Your words were the last thing he needed to push him over the edge, his hips slamming against yours with a sudden intensity as he thrusted as deep inside of you as he could manage before cumming, filling you to the brim and making you twitch with sensitivity.
He slowly fell down on top of you, his head coming to rest against your chest, your positions from earlier now switched, his eyes beginning to droop closed on their accord.
“Are you tired now?” You asked, grinning as you caught sight of his sleepy expression.
He chuckled drowsily. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good,” You kissed his forehead gently. “Go to sleep, Joonie-bear.”
“I love you.“ He mumbled, letting his eyes fully drift closed.
“I love you too.”
He slept better that night than he had in weeks, knowing he was back in the safety of your arms.
Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz
#namjoon drabble#namjoon smut#namjoon fluff#namjoon scenarios#namjoon oneshot#namjoon one shot#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x reader#bts drabble#bts one shot#bts smut#bts x y/n#bts x reader#bts requests#7ndipity
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#1 Eater (Sukuna x Reader) (Modern Au?)
Alright yall I know you guys really liked the Uncle!Sukuna x Reader I put out a while ago so here’s some more of that but with a bit of a different plot lmao. ENJOY!
Ps. Please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes I tried to proofread but I always miss stuff
Warnings: THIS IS 18+ minors gtfo.
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If there was anything you knew about your boyfriend, it was that he loved food. That mf could eat seconds, thirds, and forths if you let him and not even break a sweat. His love language was without a doubt home cooked meal and his favourite dessert after (9 times outta 10 it ended up being you)
That’s besides the point though. Today, his attitudes seemed a hell of whole lot more irritable than usual and it was taking everything in tiu figure out what the problem was.
The cabinet had closed for the third time after Sukuna had shuffled to the kitchen the fourth time in an hour. He scoffs, kissing his teeth as he moves to the fridge again.
“I don’t know what you keep looking in there like somethin’ new is gonna magically show up.” You tease, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, already looking for something to get delivered.
Hell you were hungry too, and if you were hungry, he definitely was. He fold his arms over his chest, hangry scowl ever present over his tatted facial features.
“Tell Yuji he can’t come over no more if he’s gonna eat up all my snacks.” Sukuna scoffs, plopping down on the couch, his cheek now resting on your warm and plump thighs.
He’d probably never admit outright but that was his favourite spot.
“Ryo, he’s a growing boy. He’s gonna want to eat everything you have in here. I’ll just get you more, let the boy eat what he wants.” You defend, brushing your fingers through his hair as he rolls his eyes, pressing kisses to your skin now.
“I don’t give a damn he need to stop eating up all MY shit.” Sukuna pouts, brows furrows as you laugh in response, still caressing his scalp as he hums into your thigh.
Your order had finally been placed and according to the app, food would be here in about 30 minutes. You drop your phone beside you, adjusting a bit but stop when you feel two strong hands and a set of teeth sink into you.
“OW! Ryo, the fuck-“
Your complaint is cut short when he looks at you, that same hungry scowl on his face as he kisses the indentation of his teeth upon your skin.
“ M’ starvin.” He states plainly, tugging your leggings down and away from your ankles.
“Yes I know, I just got-Oh fuck.” You swear, his tongue already sliding between your folds.
He’s got your thighs covering his ears partially so any protest on your part is muffled. He groans, only pushing his mouth further onto you, the grip on your thighs tightening.
“Yeah, this’ll hold me over just fine.” He hums, rubbing circles on your hips as you arch into his touch.
He takes his time, tongue sliding circles around your clit, the teasing making you whine. He laughs at your struggle to get more. Pulling away, he smiles, tongue running over his teeth when he does, chin glistening in the sunlight that fills the apartment.
“Squeezing your legs awful tight, you just want me to starve huh?” He jokes, plunging two fingers into you as your grip his forearm.
You can’t even think up a response, his fingers curling up, in, and out.
“Ryo I-.”
Sukuna had formed a habit of cutting you off in moments like this, especially when you were too blissed out to finish your sentence anyway.
“Ryo, Ryo, Ryo~” He’s mocking you, bastard.
“Hush and lemme finish.” He scoffs playfully.
His head delves right back to where it was before, only helping your orgasm creep closer and closer when paired with his fingers. And you can feel it, fuck can you feel it. The base of your spine tingling with that oh so familiar feeling and right before you can let that pressure snap-
*DING DONG*
There’s a pause, Sukuna’s brows furrows downward. He tried to ignore it but as soon as he put his mouth back to work there it was again.
“DING DONG*
*DING DONG*
By the third ring Sukuna is already up, his slides dragging angrily over the hardwood.
The swings the door open, the little delivery driver looking far more frightened than anything. Sukuna’s hulking frame fills the doorway as he leans down with a scowl, eyeing the bags in the persons hands.
“WHAT?” He announces loudly as the driver scampers to thrust the two big bags of food toward your boyfriend.
“D-Delivery for Y/n L/n! I just-just needed to confirm it before I leave!” They defend, hands shaking as Sukuna looks over his shoulder toward the couch where you resided.
“Uh huh. You only need to find the doorbell once, she’s busy.” He smirks, taking the food before shutting the door.
There’s a moment of silence before you hear slides shuffling again and the wrinkle of plastic bags. Then more shuffling, and before you know it Sukuna is back over you.
“Aren’t you gonna eat? I got food for us baby?” You hum, holding his have in your hands before he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You can briefly taste yourself on them.
“Well yeah, gotta finish my dessert first though. I don’t waste food.”
#x reader#reader is black#i don't care he's hot#hes so hot#smut#jjk sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna#jjk x black reader#jjk x reader#unkuna#uncle sukuna x reader#uncle sukuna#sukuna x reader smut#sukuna x reader
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Remember | Finnick Odair x Reader
THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox
Summary: The capitol has taken you from him, but he won't let them keep you. You can find pt. 2 here!
Content Warnings/Tags: Violence, bullet wounds, major character injury, blood, needles, angst, fluff, no use of y/n
Word Count: 4.0k
Requested by Anon: omg I love your writing and I have an unhealthy addiction to reading angst so could you please write something about the reader being with peeta and Johanna when they where taken by the capital and her being with finnick and recovering while she’s in district 13? 🫶🫶
A/N: The way I smiled when I saw this request I swear. This one has been in the works for a little while and I thought it fit perfectly. It is angst you ask for and it is angst you shall get. I'm considering writing a part two but I'm not sure how to yet. My bad habit of not proofreading happened again and with this one especially it was way too long so if I made any major errors pls do let me know.
The Capitol.
You are currently in the Capitol.
At least that’s where you think you are. You remember being in the arena, you remember running towards the general direction you last saw Finnick, remembering the marks you had gone by in case you had to take a different route. You remember seeing Finnick's face through the plantation, you’d be able to recall those features anywhere. You remember something hitting you from behind and falling to the ground, too caught up in catching up with him to check your surroundings. You remember crying out in pain, hoping he’d hear you. But the next thing you remember is the vision of him slowly going out of focus and losing consciousness not long after.
At least that's what you think happened.
At least you can still remember, that’s worth something right? You remember your past, and you remember the reaping that led to the arena. The flood of relief that went over you as you finally found your way back to him. You don’t know what happened to Finnick, he was there too after all, but you had needed to split up early. Maybe he had been caught off guard too. Maybe he escaped. Maybe they never even found him. Maybe with him being the idiot he could be, he was probably already on his way here, looking for you. Just like you would have done for him, and he would have called you an idiot then too.
You would get out of here one way or another, that much you knew, but you needed to remember more, you needed to remember the last look on his face, you hadn't had much time to take it in, but you remembered the furrow of his eyebrows, the same expression he always had when he was trying to concentrate, you needed to remember that.
You knew that once you did get out of here, Finnick would be furious, telling you that you had been reckless, that you shouldn't have let your guard down, shortly after telling you how worried he had been. And it would feel like coming home.
Your mind becomes hazier, and it is harder to remember. You feel your head throbbing, and you move your hand towards it until you feel it can move no further. You open your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the bright light that covers the room. You can't see much, can't move your head much.
You remember the rendezvous point you had talked about. You remember the quick “don't get yourself in trouble” and the kiss he gave you right before you parted ways.
You remember the layers of plants and trees you moved through, seeing some of them cut down, letting you know someone else had been there
But you know there is more, more that you missed. The stomped-out ashes that you ran past, you know you should have paid closer attention. But you can’t remember
You need to remember what happened. How you got here. Who got you here. If you really are in the capitol. But your mind doesn't want to cooperate anymore. The room is getting darker and darker, even though the lamp above your head is still dutifully buzzing
You wake up, you still remember where you are, or at least where you think you are. You still remember yesterday, was it yesterday? Why couldn't they just hang a clock in here?
You look up, and you see a device set up, not too far from where you're lying down. You try to get a better look but the light above your head is too blinding to see anything else in the room. You don’t fully understand it until a man walks into the room with a video camera in his hand and an expression on his face that seems just a tad too happy.
The camera starts blinking a red light, signalling you that it has started recording. The man has a sort of laser that he presses into your lower stomach, it doesn't breach your skin but it hurts like it does. It takes all your energy not to show him the satisfaction of it.
“Come on now darling, work with me a little.” He says after a while, changing the setting on the laser. The last bit of your energy is gone, and you can't keep the screaming from escaping any longer. It echoes off the white walls around you and when you hear yourself, you barely even recognize it. He seems satisfied with the result and finally puts the laser down. You look down but don't see any burn marks or indication of what has just happened.
He comes closer and you can see he is holding a sort of crowbar, but you're not sure why. You remember how you always left one outside your window in the districts, in case the wind had shut it and you needed to sneak back in. You remember Finnick finding out, giving you a serious, disappointed look, but not telling you to stop.
Before you can think of anything else, the bar hits you with full force, right above the spot he was previously focused on. You didn't expect it, and it knocks the little breath you had left out of your lungs. He hits again, not in the same spot, but close, he is very clearly aiming for your ribs. The switching between high-tech and old-school weapons has you puzzled, but you can't deny the result either of them has.
After a while, he stops, and with the added difficulty and pain that now comes with breathing, you are more than certain he just bruised a few of your ribs.
He walks back, taking the camera in his hands. He aims it at your face and you close your eyes to try and collect yourself as much as your current state allows. Your hair is a tangled mess and you are rather certain there is blood smushed over your face from the cuts you got in the arena.
“Smile for the camera sweetheart.” He asks, even though it sounds more like an order than a request. You open your eyes to look at him. He is so close, and you want to drive your thumbs so far into his eye sockets you can feel the front lobe of his brain, if he even has one. But you can't do anything, no matter how much you want to fight, you are powerless here. You close your eyes again, trying to block everything out and remember.
You remember District Four, the way the light summer breeze would always carry the smell of the beach to your house, no matter how hard you had it, it always livened you up. You remember the first time Finnick tried to teach you how to surf, being so gentle with you no matter how many times you fell off it, always there to catch you again. You remember your last birthday, well, the day after, but you couldn't even complain about that. He had picked you up from your place and brought you to one of the lakes with him. He told you the story of one of his birthdays when he was younger, along with all the embarrassing details, but of course, it only endeared him further to you. You told him about the presents you got and all the people who came to wish you a happy birthday. You told him everything you could remember. You remember last seeing his face, maybe it was the last time you will have ever seen it. No. No, you remember it, but you’ll see it again, you have to.
“I’ll make sure your loverboy gets to see this, wherever he is, wouldn't want him to miss out on the fun.”
Finn. Finnick. You remember Finnick. You remember when you returned from your first games. The black eye and broken arm you came home with. You remember how he lost it when they didn't immediately treat you for it. He would now either throw a fit over it for everyone to see or be so stoic in his thoughts even Johanna would get a little concerned.
You see the man standing up, walking to the table, and picking up something new. A syringe, it's a syringe. He walks over and pushes it into your upper arm, and before you know it, your vision turns black again.
You remember waking up to gunshots, and you panic. But after a few seconds, you figure out they’re not near you. There is, however, someone in the room with you, it's the same man again. He looks a little panicked, but you can’t figure out why just yet. The gunshots are becoming louder, and closer, and he seems more startled now. His arms drop to his sides from what he was doing and his eyes widen. Screams are echoing and you can hear footsteps.
You remember that pattern of paddling feet, and you recognize the second pair of steps too, but you can't remember much else.
The man gets closer to you, placing his hand over your mouth, pulling out a gun with his free hand and telling you to stay quiet. You never understood why people say that, it means he has something to lose, and you want to scream out, but your voice doesn't remember how to.
It's even closer now, right outside the door, and you can hear talking. You remember his voice. How he always asked you so sweetly how your day had been, the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you fell asleep.
You hear the door jiggle, and it makes you want to scream out for him, but your sore throat won't let you. For a moment you think that is it, you had your chance, and you let it go by. He’ll move along the hallway to the other doors and leave you here. But then you hear another gunshot, and they must have shot the lock, because right after you hear someone running into the door with an echoing thump as it breaks open.
The man next to you had his gun pointed at the door, and he changes it to point at you instead.
You were right, by the gods you had never been so thankful to have been right. Finnick walks in, and you can see the colour drain from his face as he does so.
The man standing next to you is starting to get nervous, you can see the sweat starting to drip down his face. He must realize he has been matched, because there are more people by Finnicks side. But the man still has his gun pointed at you, and this isn't over just yet.
You can't keep your eyes open anymore, and when you close them, you remember. You remember your first kiss with Finnick, how nervous he had been at the time. He had been shaking a little and told you he was embarrassed by how much you got to him, but it only endeared him further to you. He yells at the man to let go of the gun, he sounds nervous again.
But he doesn't let go, he decides to shoot.
You hear the bullet leaving the gun, and for a single moment, you think it's over. The last thing you’ll ever see is Finnick, but he’s not himself. He’s upset, and even though you know he’s not upset with you, it still tugs at you. Except when you feel the bullet piercing through your skin, that's exactly what you realise. You can still feel it. He didn't shoot you right in the heart, he didn't shoot towards your head, he shot you in the abdomen. You’re not sure why, not sure why he didn't kill you, but you will never know, because not even a second passes as you hear a second gunshot, and he falls to the floor.
You can't seem to remember how to open your eyes, but you can hear Finnick rushing over and right as he reaches you, you fall. You fall into his arms and the memory of it gives you hope. Something comes in contact with your stomach, and the agony of it makes you want to scream out. You can feel him lifting you, and the shift of your body makes the bullet move, making you want to scream again. And if you remembered how to, you would have.
You know he’s talking to someone, but it sounds more like buzzing to you. You can only make out certain parts of the conversation, something about needing to leave, something about infections, and something about an aircraft.
You can hear him talking again, and this time it’s directed at you. There’s a strain in his voice, and it sounds like he’s crying. It makes you want to comfort him, but you don’t remember how to.
“Please darling, just open your eyes."
But you’re afraid, youre afraid that if you open them, everything will turn out to be nothing but a dream, and he won’t be here anymore. But even if this is a dream, you need to see him. Even if it will turn into a haunted memory, you need to see his eyes looking back at you. It takes you some effort, but you open your eyes, looking at him. You can see tears flooding his face, you can see his lips moving, silent pleas coming from them for you to stay awake. He’s telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he's telling you to hold on. He promises that he won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again and that he won’t let go of you anymore.
You remember how he cried when you were reaped for the 75th games, and how you had told him everything would be okay, how you had comforted him, but you don't have the energy to comfort him this time. You remember hearing his sobbing, his shaking voice when you close your eyes again, not being able to keep them open any longer, even if you wanted to.
You wake up again, and for a moment you think it had indeed all been a dream, that you were right back where you had started, But then you remember the bullet in your stomach. You look down and see a bandage over it, even though it’s already soaked in blood. They must have taken it out.
You try and concentrate, and you can hear Finnick talking to someone. “Just tell me, I know it’s bad but I need to know.” “Finnick, it won’t make a difference.” The person he’s talking to sounds desperate, and you remember how stubborn he could be when it came to you.
But you don’t remember more, because your head starts to feel light again and you give in to the feeling.
When you wake up again, you manage to open your eyes, and you can see someone sitting in a chair next to the bed you're in. He’s slumped over, his face half pressed into the mattress and half into your stomach, both of his hands are holding onto one of yours. It hurts a little, but you don't mind, because it reminds you, even when you look away, that he is still there. You remember the way he always softly snores, and the way he wiggles his nose when your hair falls over it.
You think you're connected to a monitor, because something is beeping in the same rhythm you can feel your heart beating, and it gives you a headache. So you close your eyes again, and once again, you give in to the feeling of sleep that looms over you.
Since you had been brought to District 13, he has barely left your side. He keeps putting cold washcloths on your forehead to try and break your fever. It won't help, and he knows it, but no one has the heart to stop him.
You haven't shown a single sign of life since they had found you. It was unsettling, the silence that filled the room, none of your usual laughter and banter there to replace it.
It’s only when Finnick's head shoots up that the others notice it as well. The steady beeping that has been imposing the silence in this room for weeks picking up its pace. The beating continues to go faster and faster, your body shaking up from the bed in almost the same rhythm. But right before anyone can do anything about it, it stops. It all seems to stop, you stop moving, and the monitor stops beating.
He starts giving you chest compressions, and someone rushes into the room holding a small bottle, they fill a syringe with the clear liquid and inject it into your arm. Within a few seconds, your heart starts beating again. But it’s only after a minute of the monitor showing him a steady heartrate that he stops his actions.
It’s dark in the room when Finnick wakes up, and if it wasn't for the soft light and the beeping of the monitor, he would've thought he was dreaming, but it seems the reality won’t let him escape. He struggles not to fall back asleep, and every few minutes he does, but every time he wakes up startled again, scared that you’ll be gone if he doesn't open his eyes every once in a while. It was easy to see the toll it had taken on him. His posture was slouched, his face less well-groomed than usual. But no one could blame him, because they could see the way he looked at you, as if you were the sun and your dimmed light turned his world dark.
He knows the chance you can hear him is small, but he feels the urge to talk to you nonetheless.
“I don't think I can hold this in any longer. I remember some studies that have shown people in comas do hear what's going on around them, but maybe it’s for the best that you don’t, because you would never say yes.”
He continues but he feels his voice choke up, and he runs a hand through your hair to calm himself down, his other hand still holding onto yours.
“We talked about it once, I still remember every single word you said. You came at me with all your logical reasons for why it would be a bad idea. But what you never understood is that when it comes to you, I'm not able to think rationally, because my love for you will overpower anything else.” He chuckles softly as he recalls the memory he’s about to tell you next.
“I remember when I opened up to you for the first time. I had always held things to myself, but you were so calm as I talked to you. I thought for sure I had screwed it up somehow then. Everyone always tells me now how happy you make me, and they're right. Ever since you came into my life there has not been a single moment when the thought of you did not bring me joy, even when we fought my memories of you could still somehow bring a smile to my face.
I remember when they showed me the video, they hadn't wanted me to see it, but you know how stubborn I can be when it comes to you. I saw you, I saw the way in which they were hurting you. And I started yelling, ironically enough in that moment, you were the only one that could have calmed me down. I remember yelling at them, fighting with them not to wait any longer, that they couldn't let you wait any longer, they had to have me sedating until they came to a conclusion."
He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, taking a small ring. It was his mother's ring, he had found it a while back and had carried it with him ever since. He had thought of moments to give it to you, but every time there was one, every time he was about to ask you, something had happened, something had interrupted him. But there was no one interrupting him this time. “I have thought about asking you this every time I see you, and I can't hold it in any longer. So when you wake up, not if you wake up, because I know you will. I know you will wake up because you have to. So when you wake up, will you marry me.” A little part of him had thought you'd wake up, that you’d answer him. Even if you said no, it would still be better than what's happening right now, because he didn't care if you'd say no, if you’d say you weren't ready, because nothing could be worse than the silence that followed him. And so he slid the ring onto your finger delicately, as if you were to disappear if he wasn't careful. He put the ring on your hand because he knew that even if it wasn't today, and it wasn't tomorrow, someday you would marry him, and he wouldn't let you slip away.
At first, he thought he was imagining it, sleep deprivation and desperation playing a trick on his mind. But then he saw it again, in the beams of morning light he could see your hand moving, as if it was trying to grasp onto something, trying to pull you back into this world. It woke him up in an instant. But it was all followed so fast, the way your eyes slowly opened, squinting at the light. Before you had even awoken for a second, he moved from where he had been right beside you in order to hug you. And he was about to get lost in the thought of your moving lips, tears falling down his eyes, about to get lost in a kiss full of built-up pain and desperation when he noticed, something was wrong. Your eyebrows were knitted together and the corners of your mouth turned down just a little. He looked at your expression, your body language, something was wrong. You looked vulnerable, you looked like you wanted to protect yourself from someone.
It was only when he looked into your eyes that he truly understood something was very wrong.
Your eyes looked as if you were in pain, but it wasn't a look of any physical pain, it looked as if something was endangering you, but he couldn't understand what it was. He slowly moved so as not to startle you and asked you “Darling, what’s wrong” And at first you didn’t respond, but when he kept looking at you, expecting him to answer you, you started to speak. “Am I supposed to remember you?”
He immediately flinched back at the statement, his shoulder sunk and his eyes dimmed. Someone told him it wasn't uncommon for brain injuries to cause short-term memory loss after a coma.
So slowly, and surely, he made it work. But it was crumbling him down every time you didn't remember the unconscious acts of affection, so foreign to you now. A quick touch on your arm as he walked towards you made you flinch slightly as if his hand had been on fire. The subtle smiles he gave you when entering a room were now met with you looking down. The way that even though you were physically here, you really weren't.
He promised himself, he vowed to himself that he would make you remember. That no matter how long it took, he would wait for you. He would wait for you to remember, make you remember. Because he had very quickly learned that he couldn’t live without you anymore.
Part 2: Trying to Forget
#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x y/n#finnick odair x you#finnick odair angst#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair fic#finnick odair fanfic#angst#fluff#fanfic#fanfiction#fic#finnick#finnick odair#finnick x you#finnick x y/n#finnick fanfic#hunger games finnick#the hunger games finnick#thg finnick#finnick x reader#finnick imagine#finnick odair fanfiction#the hunger games fanfiction#thg series#hunger games fic#the hunger games fluff#the hunger games angst#the hunger games#hunger games
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ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴅᴏ
so sorry for the little mini hiatus! im finally allllll moved in and i think all i really needed was like. a clean space. refreshed my mind a bit, lol. can't promise i'll have a steady schedule cause im still working on my inbox, just dont wanna get anything done (after this) til i've finished my new masterlists... anyways! ideas been in my head forever, need to get it off my chest NOW
cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread
⎯ Liu Kang
Liu Kang will come up with poetry ON THE SPOT. It's crazy scary how quick he is with it. He chooses something about you and just runs with it. How your eyes are just the most enticing color in the sunlight, just how beautiful you are in kombat...
⎯ Bi-Han
Bi-Han will place little notes around the house or on things he knows you use often. He'll place one on the cover of the book your currently reading, or even within the pages. Little love notes, mainly motivating you, praising you... but he'll write a simple 'I love you', too.
⎯ Kuai Liang
Specifically whenever it's colder, Kuai willpull you in for a hug, and make his body temperature increase. He'll do it under different circumstances sometimes, even to tease you. He likes to keep you close as his temperature steadily rises. Perfect for cold nights.
⎯ Johnny Cage
Footsies. Anytime you two are sitting across from each other, either at the dinner table, or at some fancy restaurant, Johnny's always tapping at your shins, your knee, anything. Brings you closer, in a way.
⎯ Kenshi Takahashi
Kenshi has a habit of placing his hand on your head, whenever he feels like it. He'll play with your hair, or scratch at your scalp. He likes the texture, but he also just enjoys messing with you a little bit.
⎯ Kung Lao
Tickling you. Always and forever. Kung Lao will take the most inopportune moments to taze your sides, find those soft bits of flesh that make you giggle in just the right way.
⎯ Raiden
Raiden will do the little heart thing with his hands (or fingers) from across the room when he can't be with you. Eventually, he'll even try to do it with his lightning. It's an uncontrollable variable, and it takes him so LONG to get ahold of it. But, when he finally gets it, he's all giddy.
⎯ Zeffeero
As much as Rain groans and complains that his magic shouldn't be used for mundane things or fun, sometimes he'll form water into little hearts or stars. All for you. But he'll do it away from you, and kind of side-eye you, to make sure your watching.
⎯ Tomas Vrbada
Smoke has a tendency to sway whenever you two hug. Specifically when it's a longer hug. He just finds the motion comforting! He'll hum a little as he does this, too. That hum starts small, but then it catches on, he'll hum the same tune to you before you fall asleep.
⎯ Baraka
Point. Why? Baraka doesn't know. But he kinda likes your reaction. You two have a little game where he'll point, and you'll pop up and look around, do the whole "who, me?" thing. It's like a displacement behavior for him. Secretly, he kind of just wants to place his whole hand on your face like a basketball. He won't. Too risky.
⎯ Geras
Since Geras is still kind of unfamiliar with mortal love, he'll bring you little vials of sand. Kind of like bottles of shelves you'd find in a souvenir shop? He also most definitely asks Liu Kang for help throughout your relationship. So, normally, you get sent little (they're not little actually, they're like 5-page essays) love letters via Liu Kang.
⎯ Syzoth
Syzoth will flick his tongue over your cheek unintentionally. He swears! He's not doing it on purpose! You'll be lying down, or just close in general, and boom! There's the tongue!
⎯ Havik
Havik does that thing where he'll pull you in with one arm around your shoulder and one on the side of your head, and shake you gently. He'll make a little "rah" sound, it's a whole thing. Sometimes he's just over-whelmed with the urge to do that.
⎯ Shao Kahn
Sometimes, whenever Shao passes by you, he'll take you by your hand, and spin you. He'll chuckle and go back to what he was doing. But sometimes, it turns into full blown dancing.
⎯ Shang Tsung
Shang loves passing winks to you. He'll do it when he's too busy, he doesn't even use it to imply something. He'll do that super corny thing where he over-exaggerates his face and winks at you a LOT.
⎯ Reiko
Whether Reiko's just sparring, or in a genuine match, he'll always dedicate it to you. Even if you're not there. He'll whisper something for you under his breath, then beat the shit out of his opponent. He also loves bragging about his achievements to you. Only you. A soldier MUST have some humility.
⎯ Takeda Takahashi
Takeda loves saying your name in a real stupid sing-song voice. Dragging it out, horribly, in such a cheesy manor. He'll bring his voice up all high pitch and even bring his hands up to his face.
⎯ Erron Black
As much as Erron tries to be smooth with it, he kinda fails at hiding the fact that he's doing this for you. He exaggerates his accent, he'll quote all sorts of westerns, and just play reaaaaal hard into the Cowboy part for you.
© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.
#*ੈ✩ freyito#mortal kombat 1 x reader#mortal kombat x reader#mk x reader#liu kang x reader#bi-han x reader#sub zero x reader#kuai liang x reader#scorpion x reader#johnny cage x reader#kenshi takahashi x reader#kung lao x reader#raiden x reader#rain x reader#zeffeero x reader#smoke x reader#tomas vrbada x reader#baraka x reader#geras x reader#syzoth x reader#reptile x reader#havik x reader#shao kahn x reader#shang tsung x reader#reiko x reader#takeda takahashi x reader#erron black x reader
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On a razor's edge.
Gif credits
Pairing/Au: Joel Miller x F!reader, no outbreak.
Word counts: 3087
Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW
Summary: Joel helps you shave. there.
Warnings: pov second person, no use of y/n, smut with very little plot, established relationship, soft Joel, Joel helps to shave your pussy (I also wrote it in the fic but I'll repeat it here, I don't mean to judge anyone's habits, I respect everyone's tastes and habits and everyone can do what they prefer with their body. Do you want to shave? Good. Don't you want it? Good too. For me it's enough that you are comfortable in your body and if you aren't I hope you can be soon), mention to reader's mom who is annoying about shaving, use of a razor, mention of a potential razor cut (it doesn't happen, there’s no blood), unprotected p in v (wrap it up IRL!), I didn't mention Joel or reader’s age but in my mind I imagine them both around 30/40, reader has hair, breasts and vagina, no other specific description of her is given, pussy pronouns, references to pussy as a flower, sex in the shower, oral (f receiving), cream pie, pet names (baby, honey), I think that's all, if by chance I realize I forgot something I'll add it right away.
English is not my first language, no beta, no proofreading, I already know I'm going to notice a lot of mistakes as soon as I post this and I will have to edit again and again because I'm like this, what can we do? 💀
Comments, reblogs and interactions are very much appreciated, please be kind.
Thanks to anyone who will read this!
You love Joel.
You really love him with all your heart and soul.
You also love your private time in the bathroom, that little time in your day that you spend alone doing skincare, face masks, tweezers your eyebrows, scrubbing your body and taking a nice shower with your favorite music playing in the background.
You just took off your favorites eye patches and you're ready to shave with your trusted razor when Joel knocks on the door.
“Honey, we’re going to be late, hurry up” His voice is muffled by the closed door but you can clearly hear a certain apprehension.
You hum as you take out your shaving cream and reply, “I’ll be right there”
Your neighbor invited you to his pool party the other day and of course you enthusiastically accepted.
It’s been so hot lately that being able to enjoy his pool for a while seemed like a dream.
Unfortunately, work kept you busy all week so you couldn't make an appointment with the beautician and you've arrived today with a few hairs on your legs and in your bikini area.
You're not particularly concerned when you can't wax and totally respect those who don't, hair removal is a personal choice and everyone should be able to do what they want with their own body.
Joel doesn't care if you have them or not, he's happy to have you either way and is feral with you regardless. In fact, you suspect he especially likes it when you have some down there but still he never stopped you from choosing for yourself and he never made inappropriate comments.
Anyway, today you planned to wear your favorite bikini and you wouldn't feel comfortable with hair sticking out from the sides of your bottoms.
The fact that a woman must necessarily be hairless down there is something that has been instilled in you since you were a teenager and as much as you manage not to care about it most of the time, when you wear a bikini you still have your mother's voice in your ears telling you to make those hairs disappear.
Ugh, your mother.
You shake your head, get in the shower and wash yourself, body and hair.
Then you spread the shaving foam well on your legs. You pass the razor carefully and rinse.
This neighbor is quite wealthy and Joel has heard that he would like to renovate his house so he is fully intent on offering him a quote with his construction company, which is why he is so worried about being late.
He needs some time to approach him until there are not too many people, have a casual chat and throw out the idea.
You also want to make a good impression since his wife is the head of the neighborhood committee and you want to ask her to convince the neighbor next door to cut down some branches that end up right in your yard filling it with annoying leaves. You tried to talk to him yourself but he is a cheap man and doesn’t want to spend money to have a gardener come and do the work. Joel tried too but to no avail.
Joel, on the other side of the door, is still impatient "baby, what are you doing?" you hear him ask after another 10 minutes have passed.
“I’m getting ready,” you say out loud from the shower as you check to make sure there’s no hair left on your ankles.
“You’ve been in there for an hour, what else do you have to do?”
You giggle, Joel will never understand how long it takes to be the way he always sees you. He’s in the bathroom for a maximum of 20 minutes when he decides to trim his beard, otherwise 10 minutes is more than enough for him to take a shower and come out with a towel around his waist looking as beautiful as a God. It’s so unfair.
“I'm making myself beautiful for you” you shout at him smiling at the thought of his answer which in fact comes exactly as you imagined “Love, you're gorgeous, you don't need to do anything, just get out of there”
“I'm almost done,” you reply as you begin to spread the foam on your bikini area.
“You said the same thing 10 minutes ago and yet you're still there,” he grumbles “and I don't hear water running so I don't understand why”
“You don't understand ‘cause you're a man darling, it's not your fault” you grin while you carefully run the razor to the right of your sex, at the point where your leg attaches to your pelvis.
You can clearly see him in your head rolling his eyes, hands on his hips, his weight resting on his right leg while his left leg is slightly jutted forward, his typical pose when he's annoyed.
“Cut me some slack, baby, you know how much I care about getting this job” he replies
“Yeah I know” you say sweetly “but I can’t come around like that, I need to be extra pretty next to you”
At this point he opens the door, just enough to enter and as he does so he replies "no one has a prettier girlfriend than me, I don't know how many more times I have to tell you"
You're all busy shaving so you don't even notice him until you hear his voice closer than before.
You look up and jump, almost cutting yourself with the razor. “Are you crazy?!” you yell at him. “Joel, I almost cut my thigh because of you!”
“And how was I supposed to know?!” his expression is halfway between embarrassed and horny, his eyes scan your body as if it were the first time he's seeing it, his pupils are dilated, his jaw muscles tense and his lips tight on the verge of curling into a smile, you can see it growing at the corners of his mouth.
Seeing you like this, leaning against the shower wall, completely naked and with nipples hardened from the fright he gave you, his nerves are going away.
“So, what? I have to finish, I certainly can’t go around with only a small part of my bikini area shaved, can I?” you rumble at him feigning irritation but oh, you like the way he's looking at you, hungry and feral. And you like that particular dark shade his eyes take on when they're lit up with desire.
He frowns and asks, “Can I help you?” rubbing his neck.
“Doing this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, moving from the wall to the center of the shower, razor still clutched in your hand “Joel…”
“Let me try,” he murmurs hoarsely
“Joel, if you cut me…” you say feeling a shiver down your spine, your eyes fixed on his, sparkling in anticipation.
“I won’t. I promise” He is deadly serious.
“Okay” you say with a sigh and you immediately regret having said it.
Joel takes the razor from your hands brushing your fingers slightly and then drop to his knees fully dressed on the wet shower floor without even thinking about it, as if in some kind of lascivious trance. At least he’s barefoot.
The deal, the job, the money seem like a distant, faded memory and the neighbor’s tree? You’ll think about it another day.
His heavy breathing crackles on your skin as he brings the razor close to your skin with the most intent look you've ever seen him do.
He starts with small movements from the bottom up and shaves a small portion of the left side of your pubic area, his hand is firm and precise and he doesn't seem to have any hesitation, however he is proceeding with caution and you are grateful for it, you have been holding your breath since he started.
The razor seems so small in his hand, like a child's toy, yet it has sharp blades that could cut you at any moment if his movements were not precise.
He pulls it away from your skin to shake off excess shaving foam and rinse it under the flexible shower head and you catch your breath.
You flinch for a moment as he brings the razor closer again, “stay still” he tells you in a peremptory voice.
There is something deeply erotic in what he is doing, in his calm and dedication, in his deep knowledge of every curve of your body. It seems like he knows exactly how to move his hand so as not to hurt you.
He rinses the part, then proceeds to take more foam and spread it tickling your skin with his calloused fingers. You're even impressed that he didn't put too much on, just a thin layer, so he can see the part and have full control of what he's doing.
His jeans are now soaked and stuck to his legs and you can see a bulge growing in his crotch.
He stretches your skin with his fingers and runs the razor over you, still in small motions, shaking it, finishing the sides of the top of your pubic bone.
“I need you to lay down, baby, I have to do the bottom part” he says tilting his head to one side to look better at what he has just done.
Joel himself wanted this shower to be big enough for two people, it's his job and he knows how to be far-sighted in this.
It is wide enough for you to lie down and for him to sit between your legs without difficulty.
You bend down and lay your back on the floor “spread your legs” he tells you “keep them raised”
The floor is cool and wet against your skin but you still feel heated.
You crane your neck to look at him and his eyes are focused, deciding how to position you to do the job.
He takes your ankles and bends your legs slightly, if it was a moment when you wanted to laugh you would say that you look like a frog but now you feel like a rose of flesh. A bold, cheeky flower that has blossomed for him.
“Stay like this, can you?”
You nod because you can’t do anything else, you don’t know what to say, you’re hypnotized by his deep breathing and his eyes.
You feel a pulse between your legs.
A heat that starts to rise from below.
He smears a thin veil of foam on the inside of your thighs near your pubic area, he runs his fingers almost absentmindedly near your folds, you know that every movement is thought out, he's purposely ignoring your pussy so he doesn't lose his concentration but you can feel desire creeping through the air between you.
It's thick, heavy, and smells of your perfume that invades your nostrils now that you're playing the obscene dancer for him, with your legs bent as if you had to warm up your muscles before a show.
He draws your edges with the razor, rinsing continuously, you feel the blade glide over you, darting across your skin, only slightly resisting to your roughest hairs.
You feel a glimmer of clear drool dripping between your petals, all the way down to the crack of your butt, that gives away your eagerness.
A couple more gentle swipes and he's done.
You can hear him swallowing nervously, your throat is dry too.
“All done” he whispers, running his fingers over your smooth skin.
You sit up, legs at the sides of his body and tug at his shirt to give him a kiss. You suck his bottom lip between yours, tasting his minty flavor.
You dwell on that ecstatic feeling for a while before you let go of his lips and take a breath back into your lungs.
“Do you want me to shave it all off?” Sometimes you do, you like it when you feel just the soft, just that, that tingles every time he runs his tongue over it.
Shiny as egg white, voracious, naked luscious lips ready to salivate and swallow until they’re full.
But now you can't wait and you know he doesn't care, they're short hairs anyway, you keep them trimmed.
It's just a little line that surrounds your flower to browse.
“No baby, I need you”
The razor is lying on the shower floor, you pick it up and place it on the steel shelf that Joel installed for you to put your things on.
“Mmm tell me what you want” He asks, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with lust.
He already knows the answer.
“Fuck me” you plead, voice trembling with excitement “fuck me with your tongue and fingers, please. Fuck me with your cock. Fuck me until I see white and I’m a mumbling mess underneath you”
You put your hand over his bulge, running slowly to his zipper strained and you fiddle your fingers on his button.
You feel him squirming, his eyes feral and mesmerized by your touch and your words.
You open his jeans as he takes off his water-spattered shirt and throws it on the floor outside the shower.
Sitting like this, you notice even more the softness of his belly, that little bit of flesh that you love to bite.
He gets up to get rid of his jeans, now soaked, annoying, heavy, he throws them on the floor and they land with a dull thud.
His boxers are damp and have a big stain on the front, but it's not water. It's his pleasure dripping.
He’s rock hard leaking profusely.
He leans down and gives you a long kiss, looking at you. His hands slide slowly over your arms, slipping onto your hips, squeezing your flesh and your body arches towards him, your tongue quivers on his, every fiber of you reacts and bends gently to him.
He brings a hand to your cheek, deepening the kiss, eagerly licking the inside of your mouth, tasting you.
You moan into his lips as you feel his other hand move up and rest on the side of your breast, his long fingers reach your nipple and trace its contours, they move circling it, he does it first with his thumb and then with his index finger. He passes them over your bud, titillating it, making it harden under his fingertip.
He makes space between your knees again, makes you lay down on the floor, caressing your torso, going down to your ribs, he touches the area just below and whispers “you look beautiful here”.
You like that he appreciates everything about your body, even those parts that others ignore, he sees the overall harmony and knows how to notice the details. He knows the map of your scars and every shade of your skin. He goes down, brushing your navel and then unexpectedly goes back up and takes your lips again.
He sucks.
He tastes.
He drinks.
He lowers himself and leans over your opening. He breathes hard as he gives the first lick, with his tongue flat, crawling from bottom to top, lingering on your clit. He spreads your folds a little with his thumbs and looks at you for a moment whispering “God, baby, you have the most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen” he inhales your scent “and she’s so wet…” and he licks again “so sweet” another lick “and she tastes so good”
You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, pushing him against you.
He keeps his mouth glued to your slit, his tongue seems everywhere, meticulous and insatiable, it seems he can never get enough.
You listen to his movements with your whole body, as if he were speaking to you, using a language unique to yours.
You feel his hand resting on your hip, you grab his wrist and bring him back to your tit, you don't need to ask him to touch it, he silently takes your nipple between his fingers pinching and twisting.
Your ribcage expand for air, you gasp with your mouth wide open and a long moan leaves your lips rising from deep inside you.
You lift your head to see him, looking disheveled and grateful, his beard glisten with your fluids as two of his thick fingers slide into you.
He traces with his tongue that little stripe of hair he left you, which frames your lips, he caresses them, takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly.
His strong aquiline nose is hitting your clit now, fingers curl to find that perfect spot, the one that makes you see white, like you asked.
You moan in disarray “your cock – God – I want your cock, please Joel”
He gives a couple more licks and then moves, towering over you, kissing you with lips that taste of salt and lemon, of you. It’s your taste, all over his mouth.
He lower his boxers and the tip of his cock presses against your hole, slowly making its way in.
You throw your arms around his neck, giving him sloppy kisses on his sultry skin.
He grunts as he thrusts into you, you wrap your legs around his waist as he slides a hand behind your arched back, pushing you, anchoring himself to you so you don't slip on the wet floor, his knee braced on the floor.
You stammer senselessly yes yes yes, you're both close to your peak.
You feel disarmed, completely enveloped by him, by his body, by his scent.
You're sweaty, even though your skin is still wet, your body contracts against his, waves of pleasure modulating your breathing.
Your orgasm explodes in a long sigh, then it goes silent, you bite your lips, you are overwhelmed.
He takes your hands, intertwines them with his and brings them above your head, sinking relentlessly inside you, hitting again and again, deeper and deeper until you feel thick, sticky stems filling you, painting your walls, dripping from inside you onto your thighs.
His hair is plastered to his forehead, his eyes searching yours as he fills his hands with your ass cheeks, giving the last hard thrusts before he pulls out of you and lets himself go on the shower floor next to you.
You take deep breaths, trying to come back to your senses, your bodies completely exhausted.
“Well,” he says after a while, “we’re officially too late to go now.”
“Do you mind?” you ask, rolling onto your side, tracing his broad chest with your fingertips.
“No,” he replies without even thinking.
You burst out laughing together.
No, this is definitely more important.
#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel the last of us#the last of us#fanfic#joel tlou#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#one shot#joel miller fanfic#joel miller one shot#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader
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ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟑 ꕤ
Park Seonghwa x fem!reader: sex tape
summary: There was one thing Seonghwa hated more than tomatoes. And that was your boyfriend.
warnings: smut, filming during sex, Yunho being the bad guy (i'm sorry i love him he's pookie), so much ass slapping, not proofread (sorry...)
word count: 1.8k
kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi
Top two things Park Seonghwa hated:
At the number two spot, tomatoes. Fucking hated them. He found them so bland and disgusting, he practically couldn’t even see them.
But something he hated more than tomatoes, if it was even possible, at number one spot was your boyfriend.
Seonghwa hated his guts.
Your boyfriend was a despicable person, he carried himself like he owned the world but he was just an idiot. But the thing that he hated the most about him was the way he treated you.
You were the most kind and lovable person he ever met, and you were just so beautiful. But that stupid boyfriend of yours just didn’t seem to notice it.
He treated you like shit, always taking the things you did for him for granted and plainly embarrassing you in public.
Your boyfriend didn’t understand that Seonghwa was kind of your boss and you, as his personal assistant, had to be there with him every single minute of the day. And it meant that if you were at home, and he needed you, you’d have to drop everything you were doing to go and assist him. It was part of your job.
Seonghwa had listened to you ramble on about him and the humiliation you felt every time he came to pick you up from work and give you shit for being close to him, in front of every single one of your co-workers.
He had to refrain from basically yelling at you to leave the motherfucker. It wasn’t worth the stress you were feeling.
It was a week later after your last complaint that you went to work with a frown all over your face.
Seonghwa was the first to notice. Mostly because he was pretty good at reading you and because he was obsessed with you and his eyes were always on you.
He let it go after the first few hours but when it was time for you to leave, he decided to ask you.
“Hey, Y/N?” he asked you.
You just hummed out your answer, looking up smiling at him.
“Um…” Seonghwa trailed off, suddenly getting nervous at the smile you had just sent him.
Focus Hwa, come on.
“I- I was just wondering… you know, because you arrived with a sad face and- well, I just- I just hate to see you sad- and-” Seonghwa almost face-palmed himself at how much he was stammering.
“Yeah…?”
“I just wanted to know what happened?” he asked with a sigh.
You smiled slightly at him and fiddled with your hands in an anxious habit. “Nothing… really” you shook your head, not looking at him but at your feet.
“Y/N, I know that it isn’t true” Seonghwa smiled.
“Okay, fine… I broke up with Yunho” you sighed.
Seonghwa’s eyes went wide like plates. “Um- what?” he asked, just in case his brain was playing tricks at him.
You nodded. “Yeah, I broke up with him and wel… he hasn’t been the best at dealing with it, let’s say” you chuckled humorlessly.
Seonghwa’s face went hard. “Did he hurt you?” he asked and your eyes widened.
“No! No, no, no, he’s been texting me nonstop ever since I told him that I needed a break. It was so freaking exhausting dealing with a person that always thought I was cheating on him, which isn’t true, of course. He was so jealous all the time and it- it was pointless to keep trying to reassure him I wasn't” You shrugged. You looked up at Seonghwa and grimaced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m just dumping all my shit on you-”
“No, no, I asked you because I wanted to know” Seonghwa said. “Do you want me to drive you home while you tell me more of this asshole who’s name I don’t remember?”
Lie, I do remember.
You laughed.
I just wanted to make you laugh.
“His name is Yunho, and no, you don’t have to Hwa. I can just take the bus, don’t worry” you giggled.
Seonghwa frowned. “With this rain?” he asked, his chin lifting up towards the window.
You turned around and sighed. It was pouring.
“Okay, yeah, thank you”
୨୧
“And he just continued to yell at me! For no reason!” you said as Hwa parked at the front of your apartment building. “We’ve been together for almost two years. You’d think at least he has some trust in me”
“Yeah, well, if you let me… from what I’ve noticed all these months you’ve been working for me, the guy just plainly had no respect for you” Seonghwa said with sincerity. “I’ve watched him yell at you in public and you, being the angel that you are, you just let him and reassured him kindly. You don’t deserve that, Y/N”
Your eyes just shined as you watched his flawless man talk to you.
“You deserve someone who literally brings you flowers every time he picks you up from work” he chuckled.
“You think so?”
“Yeah!” Seonghwa chuckled, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course you do”
You just stared at him.
“Hwa?”
Seonghwa looked at you and then his eyes visibly widened slightly when he noticed the look on your face, making him clear your throat.
“Yes?”
With a smirk, you said: “Do you wanna come upstairs?”
୨୧
Seonghwa gripped your hips tightly as he moved inside of you, the noise of your ass slapping against his pelvis invading the room, echoing through the walls.
Your moaned wantonly as his hand came to swat over your ass.
“Did that fucker ever fuck you like this, babe?” he asked you, grabbing your hair and pulling on it slightly, making you scream out as he found a new angle.
“N-no…” you cried out.
Seonghwa chuckled. “I fucking thought so” he said and delivered another slap against your ass cheek.
He spread your ass cheeks and started hitting your sweet spot even harder as he came to spit over to your hole. Seonghwa moaned as he watched his own saliva touch where you and him joined while he continued moving.
He saw your phone lighting up with a notification next to his leg and his eyes narrowed once he spotted that someone had texted you. And that someone being none other than Yunho.
Seonghwa grabbed your phone as he continued fucking you and smirked evilly when an idea popped into his head while he read the texts
Yunho: Y/N can we fucking talk?
Yunho: you can’t keep ignoring me
He switched to the camera and started recording a video of you being fucked from behind. His hands came to grope your ass and then delivered a slap to your cheek.
“God, right there, Hwa” you moaned. “Right there…”
“Yeah, say my name, babe. Come on” he moaned as you tightened around him and he thrusted hard enough to make you mewl and arch your back.
“Seonghwa!”
He put the camera close to your ass, filming how he was thrusting inside of you, wetness visibly splashing from the way you two joined.
Seonghwa then switched the camera to himself, smirking at the camera and placing it over his head.
“She’s busy bro” he said with an evil smile and then slapped your ass once again, making you moan.
He then grabbed your hair, and pulled you back against his chest.
“Say hi to the camera baby” he said and then licked a stripe over your neck.
You just gripped onto his arm while his hand snaked around your front to grab your neck as he kept you in place. “Seonghwa… I’m gonna come” you moaned, your head hitting his shoulder.
Seonghwa’s hand went down to grab one of your tits, showing on the video how he played with it.
“Yeah, baby? You close?”
“Yeah…”
Seonghwa gently pushed you back to your previous position and smirked at the camera. “Gotta go, bro. Have to make my girl come. Something you apparently don’t know what to do”
He ended the video and quickly sent it to him, leaving the phone by the bed.
His hands went to your hips and started thrusting violently, hitting your spot with such force that your body went limp and you could only moan at this point.
“Come for me, babe come on” he moaned.
You closed your eyes and tightened around him, coating his length with your orgasm while you gripped the pillow in front of you with your fingers.
He thrusted two times and filled the condom up with his seed. Then, he sighed in satisfaction and pulled away from you, grabbing the condom off from his softened cock, tying it in a knot and throwing it inside the bin next to your nightstand.
You melted into the bed and sighed contently. “Thank you…”
Seonghwa smiled at you and laid down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You rested your face against his neck and sighed.
“For what?”
You chuckled. “For being a sweetheart… and having sex with me” you let out a giggle.
He chuckled back and rubbed his palm over your back. “Why would you thank me for that?”
“Well, for starters, you’re like the hottest person I’ve ever seen and you’re a sweetheart. Two things that usually don’t go hand in hand. But here we are” You smiled.
Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I could say the same thing about you” he hummed.
You bit your lip to contain a squeal, afraid that you’d scarfe him off.
“By the way, did you send that video to Yunho?”
Seonghwa chewed on his lip. “Kind of?”
You didn’t say anything and he started to panic. But before he could even attempt to apologise, you sighed. “I hope he doesn’t bother me again”
Seonghwa visibly relaxed. “I’ll make sure he won’t” he nodded. “We can send him another video to make sure”
You lifted your head up and smirked. “How about one in the shower?”
── .✦
taglist: @annhearttihaehe // @frequentlykit // @alexisfeliz // @jeonginsleftcheek // @yaorzu-blog // @jisunglyricist // @leeknowinggg // @ka0ila // @minghaosimp // @lixies-favorite-cookie // @yn-x-them // @chrizrizz // @madkati // @starzystay // @pancake-freckle // @velvetmoonlght // @regardsto-hell // @jaiuneamesolitaiire //
#ateez x reader#park seonghwa#seonghwa#seonghwa x reader#park seonghwa x reader#ateez one shot#ateez seonghwa imagine#seonghwa imagine#ateez#ateez imagine#kinktober
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biopsy and bad habits
synopsis: in which sylus breaks your bad habit while you wait for your biopsy appointment.
tw: mentions of anesthetics, injections, stitches, dental stuff, cuts, reader is kinda sensitive, idk if sylus is ooc, recently established relationship, light references to razor's dance, takes place in LADS lore (?), kind of proofread, and first fanfic phew.
rating: fluff, comfort, and a smidge of ansgt
word count: 1.4k
author's notes: i wrote this on the way to my biopsy. i need this man. he seems affectionate in the audio dramas, so i made him affectionate here.
"you're shaking, love."
your leg stops mid-shake. releasing your lips from the claws of your teeth, you look up at him. even with how harsh the fluorescent lights are, he really was breathtaking.
"i'm sorry. i'm just really nervous right now. who knows how bad the stitches are going to hurt, let alone the injections?" you look away from him, trying to find something—anything that would calm your anxious heart down.
the view isn't helping, really. white walls, white tiles—the whole place was devoid of color. although that is the norm for a medical setting, it brings you no comfort at all. unable to find an outlet for your nervousness, your legs start shaking again. sylus grips your thigh, trying to ease your restlessness.
"it's a biopsy, sweetie. it'll end quickly, and you'll be fine."
this time, you glare at him. nevermind the fact that you're shooting daggers at the infamous leader of onychinus. no, you need to teach your silver-tongued, silver-haired boyfriend a lesson.
"easy for you to say. you DO know how an oral biopsy works, right? they're going to cut off a piece of my mouth and stitch it back together. how am i supposed to be fine?"
"y/n?"
you jerk away from sylus, flinching at your name being called by the dentist. at this point, your whole body is trembling, and you can't help but bite your lips again. as adorable as you look, sylus cannot stand seeing you so afraid. normally, he would relish in your antsy demeanor. after all, he was the one who caused them. seeing your doe eyes widen with fear but also with a lace of excitement whenever he pinned you down was just so damn intoxicating. however, what he saw right now wasn't a cute feline on edge. he saw a poor kitten, quivering uncontrollably with no source of warmth. he had to do something.
sylus frowns at the dentist with his sharp red eyes and juts his chin towards the transparent door the latter walked out of. "give us a moment." the dentist nods and recedes back to their office, taking note of how scared you were.
sylus averts his focus back to you. unable to witness your state any longer, he cups your chin. "y/n."
meeting his scarlet eyes, you can feel your tears threatening to spill. usually, you would flush upon locking eyes with sylus. he really was the most gorgeous man you have ever met. his dreamy pearly hair brought out his intricate ruby eyes. his nose was carefully crafted, and his jaw was just so enticingly sharp that you swear it could cut your own skin. and you were more than okay with that. and yet here you were, on the verge of crying from locking eyes with your boyfriend.
why were you even here? let alone inconveniencing your boyfriend by asking him to accompany you to the dentist? why was this happening to you? one bad x-ray read from your usual dentist, and next thing you know, you get referred to another dentist for a biopsy...
seeing your teary-eyed state, sylus tenses. one can't blame the man. he was used to your brave demeanor, taking down dangerous wanderers as if they were nothing and always prioritizing the safety of others. where was the hunter who dared to tell him what he could and could not do?
sylus drags his thumb softly along your jaw. "you have faced far scarier things than this." he kisses your forehead tenderly. you blink rapidly, not quite used to his gentle side just yet. "you can do this, y/n" he brings you into a hug. your eyes widen, feeling his muscular arms wrap around you. "i know you can."
the dam finally breaks, and you sob hysterically, reciprocating your boyfriend's warm embrace. "i-i'm sorry," you hic uncontrollably. "i'm j-just so s-scared of the p-pain." if only you could see sylus's smile right now. such an affectionate smile with fond eyes that only you could plant on his face. you can feel him nodding on your shoulder along with his hands patting your back. "it's j-just last time i-i had local a-anesthesia, it hurt so f-fucking bad," you continue.
sylus pulls away, gazing at you lovingly. yes, he was used to your courageous and bold antics that never failed to amuse him. but, he didn't hate this side of you either. there truly never was a dull moment with you.
"i know, sweetie. but, you need to bear through it so that the procedure won't hurt as much." he wipes you tears away. "besides, this biopsy is necessary so that we can know what exactly that thing is on the x-ray."
you sniff as hard as you could. god, you probably looked a mess right now. you could already feel how swollen your eyes were and how moist your lips were from all the snot dripping down. "i d-don't..." you take a moment to wipe your nose. "i don't care about the results."
sylus chuckles. again, never a dull moment with you. every single moment spent with you lit a harsh yet pleasurable flame in his icy heart. now that he has seen both your strong and vulnerable sides, he must keep that flame alive. what better way than to keep you by his side as his lover? perhaps he felt this way the moment you stumbled into the N109 zone that fateful day. no, he's felt this way ever since he first met you, but that is a talk for another day.
"you're worried about some temporary pain rather than the possibility that there might be something wrong with your lower jaw?" sylus raises a brow teasingly. despite the serious potential that there might actually be something wrong, sylus doesn't show his worry. even if there was something wrong, he would use all his manpower and fortune to employ the best of doctors and dentists to ensure you would be fine. after all, he needed his future bride to be alive and well. but for now, he would ease your nervousness in the best way he knew how: riling you up. "your priorities are a bit questionable, sweetie."
your eyebrows furrow immediately. sylus grins upon seeing your defiant side return. all of your tears dried up instantly, and your pout turned into a scowl. it was as if your body was hardwired to react to sylus's relentless teasing. the big, bad boss of onychinus loved the fact that he was the only one capable of causing these visceral reactions.
you took a deep breath. of course his gentle facade wasn't going to last long. what were you thinking? "listen here, you little-"
"y/n?" you jolt out of your seat upon hearing the dentist call upon you.
"yes?" you respond with gritted teeth, ignoring sylus's chuckles.
"i'm sorry but we must start your appointment," the dentist says with a tone of pity.
"right," you take a moment to inhale and exhale. "my apologies," you walk sheepishly towards the office door. oh lord, how long did you delay your appointment. you shouldn’t have let sylus distract you, like he always does.
you look back at sylus before you could enter. he leans back against the small chair with his arms crossed. he looks smug as if he accomplished something. with legs spread wide, he tilts his head to the side. "you stopped shaking, by the way."
blinking confusedly, you ask, "what do you mean?"
sylus chuckles once more, enjoying your curious face. you remind him so much of a kitten. "you stopped shaking and crying, sweetie."
you pat your face several times with your hands. "oh," you murmur, realizing that your hands were absent of salty fluids and your eyes were relieved of their tiredness from swelling up. now that you think about it, your leg doesn't hurt as much from your habit of shaking it like how you would shake mephisto out of annoyance.
you look back at your boyfriend, who looked oh so satisfied with his signature smirk. normally, you would attempt to wipe off that aggravating look on his face. but, instead, you give him a look of gratitude and walk into the office. after all, he did just relieve you of your anxiety and possibly your bad habit of shaking your leg. closing the door, you sigh endearingly. you really can't do without him.
#sylus x reader#lnds sylus#lads sylus#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lads x you#lads x reader#sylus x you#sylus x mc#sylus x y/n
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