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aemondsbabe · 7 months ago

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From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

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"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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floralcyanide · 9 months ago

Text

ʙᴏʙʙʏ's ɢɪʀʟ

(joe rantz x fem!reader)

Joe has a major crush on you, but you're Bobby's girl. Or so he thinks.

✣ warnings: cursing, mentions of fighting

✣ word count: 1.4k

✣ author’s note: I wish I had more time to work on this, but I've been busy with work, and a friend has been in town so ): I will definitely post more Joe though. hopefully it'll be better quality lol I just wasn't sure of what to write for Joe specifically so this is sort of a brain dump.

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

Joe Rantz has a major crush on you, but you’re Bobby’s girl- or that’s what he thought.

The first time Joe sees you is when the team meets Bobby, their new coxswain. You had tagged along as you followed Bobby everywhere he went, as he did you. The two of you were as thick as thieves. It made Joe a little jealous because he thought you were attractive, and Bobby didn’t seem like the type to have a girl on his arm all the time. Don’t get him wrong, Joe respects Bobby. But he seemed more focused on other things rather than dating. Joe watched you that whole day when his attention wasn’t on rowing. As the weeks of practice continued, the more the boys got to know you. Plus, the more they improved, the more you cheered them on. You took pride in getting the boys in the boat to do better than before. And the more you pushed them from the dock, much like Bobby did in his seat, the more they showed out for you, especially Joe. Joe would catch you smiling at him, and he’d smile back but would quickly recover. You’re Bobby’s girl.

After the team’s first win, you’re glued to Bobby’s side at the celebratory party. Joe tries to keep his eyes off you and your stunning outfit but fails most of the night. At one point, you separate from Bobby to converse with Don and Chuck for a little while. Then, you find Joe, who is tucked away in the back of the gymnasium. He quickly looked away from you, not to give himself away.

“Enjoying the party?” you ask, nursing your punch glass.

“Not really my scene,” Joe shrugs.

“Oh,” you nod, “What is your scene, then?”

“The library, usually. Or the boat, of course.”

“I’d say so. You’re great at rowing. I love watching you all.”

Joe blushes at that, “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, Bobby pulls the needle off the record player on stage, forcibly introducing Don as the live music for the night. You and Joe watch, amused, as the boys shove Don across the stage and to the piano bench. Don dug his heels into the stage floor the best he could, to no avail. He nervously looks out at the crowd before beginning to play.

“Wanna dance?” you ask Joe.

He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Sure.”

The two of you dance along to the music, singing along as well. Joe tries not to let himself get too deep in his head about how close you are to him. You sense this, trying not to get too handsy despite your inner desire to. You leave room between the two of you for it to be casual. When the song ends, you kiss Joe on the cheek and go to find Bobby. Joe’s cheek burns the rest of the night as he reaches up to brush his fingers across it a few times. He wanted to make sure what had happened was real.

Bobby encourages you to tag along with the team to the East Coast. This race was significant for the boys and would throw them off if you weren’t there. Bobby especially- Joe even more. On the train there, you sit with Bobby. You’re mid-conversation about the paper he’s reading when suddenly, Joe lunges at Chuck. You hurry to stand from your seat and pull them apart, following Joe to the other side of the train when he hurries away from the group.

You stand there momentarily as Joe catches his breath, his face beet red.

“What was that all about?”

Joe brushes you off, not making eye contact. You sigh and sit next to him.

“Chuck probably didn’t mean it like that, Joe,” you put a hand on his shoulder, “Even if he did, you know his jokes are shit anyway.”

Joe cracks a smile at that, glancing over at you without moving his head, “Yeah.”

Before you can say anything else, Chuck comes to apologize, and you get up and leave them to it. When you return to your seat, Bobby is smirking knowingly.

“What?” you ask, already knowing what’s gonna come out of his mouth.

“Nothing,” Bobby says, returning his eyes to the paper he was still reading.

“Just say it,” you sigh.

“You guys should kiss already.”

You snort, “I don’t think Joe likes me like that, Bobby.”

“It’s so obvious,” Bobby slams his paper down on his lap, “He’s so obvious, you’re so obvious. Just get together!”

But of course, it’s not that easy. Joe keeps his distance, so you keep yours out of respect for him.

Securing the win to head to the Olympics meant preparing to go to Berlin. So, training and practice is never-ending. The stress is, too, and it bleeds into you and Bobby’s usually chill dynamic.

Everyone had already left the gymnasium except Joe one day after strenuous practice. He decided to piddle around for a little while. He had nowhere else to be, anyway. Joe sees you and Bobby getting into it by the boat and hangs back to eavesdrop.

“You have got to get your head in the game, Bobby! Stop worrying about everything else and keep your focus on the team.”

“It’s kind of hard when he’s making mistakes because he can’t stop thinking about you. It’s becoming a problem, and I think you need to fix it.”

Joe’s ears perk up at that. He couldn’t possibly be talking about him, right? That’s when you shove Bobby into the water. You wish he’d realize it isn’t that easy to solve.

Bobby resurfaces, pushing his hair from his eyes, “You bitch!” he squeaks in shock.

You start laughing like a maniac at his expression, and Joe is left wondering what is really going on between you and Bobby.

“What’s going on here?” Joe steps out, walks to the dock, and offers Bobby a hand from the water.

“Typical sibling banter,” you wave Joe off.

“Sibling?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m Bobby’s adopted sister.”

Joe’s face is one of shock. Bobby is behind the blonde, keeping him from throwing you into the water next.

“Makes sense now,” Joe chuckles, blocking Bobby, “If I were you, I’d skedaddle.”

You make a run for the gymnasium quickly, Bobby trailing just a little behind. Joe shakes his head, relieved that you aren't Bobby’s girl. From then on, he paid more attention during practice now that he wasn’t plagued with thoughts of you and Bobby together.

The Olympics come quickly, and you’re nearly as nervous as Bobby. Berlin is an interesting sight, considering every surface is covered in Nazi propaganda. You can sense Bobby’s nervousness about it and try your best to ease him. Being someone of Jewish descent in a place like this was not easy. Don isn’t doing too well health-wise when you all arrive and skips out on the opening ceremony. You watch the USA walk with pride from the stands, your eyes on Joe the whole time.

You’re a ball of nerves during the qualifying race, but of course, that goes away when Bobby pulls his magic stunt, and the boys win yet again, making an Olympic record. You’re beyond proud and can’t wait for how they compete for Gold.

The day comes for the final race, and when Bobby starts off delayed, your heart jumps out of your body. You’re on pins and needles the whole time, urging the boys to push. When the results of who won aren’t immediately apparent, you hold your breath and hope and pray, even, that your boys won. And sure enough, the USA takes the gold. You shoot up from your seat, cheering louder than anyone else around. When you finally are able to meet up with the team, you slam into Bobby full force in a bone-crushing hug.

When you pull away, Joe immediately approaches you and wraps his arms around you.

“You did it!” you grin.

“We did it,” Joe smiles, “But we couldn’t have done it without you and Bobby.”

You and Joe stare at each other momentarily, and Joe seems to be deep in thought about something.

“Just kiss me, Joe,” you blurt, your arms still around his neck.

Joe throws caution to the wind and kisses you in front of the whole world, finally able to breathe with you pressed against him. The boys cheer, and Bobby stands there with his arms crossed, shaking his head with a smile. Finally, you have taken your leap of faith. But you were a stubborn Moch, after all.

#joe rantz #the boys in the boat #joe rantz x reader #joe rantz x you #joe rantz x y/n #joe rantz fanfiction #joe rantz fanfic #joe rantz fic #joe rantz imagine #the boys in the boat fanfiction #the boys in the boat fanfic #callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic #callum turner fic #callum turner imagine #floralcyanide writes

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cuteandhughesy · 3 months ago

Text

Guess They Call It Fallin’ | Matthew Knies

summary: you and matthew promised yourselves once you took each others virginity's, nothing would change between you. but fast forward 3 years - between casual hook ups and spending all your time with one another: you can't help but fall deeper and deeper in love with your best friend.

24.8+K

link to masterlist

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Prologue: 3 years ago

since your shared freshman year of highschool, you knew you'd follow matthew knies anywhere.

when you moved to arizona the summer before the september school year, you had never dreaded anything more than the first day of highschool. all that fear and dread faded when you sat down in your home room beside matthew.

you're not sure how it even happened, but soon enough you and matthew became best friends. maybe it was because he reminded you of your old friends from public school - or maybe it was the way matthew treated you so kindly that very first day. you two were always seen with one another - in school halls and out of them.

it didn't take long for you to realize you had feelings for your best friend. I mean, he was nothing short of perfect. your little teenage hormones couldn't help but notice how handsome he was and how good he smelled - his growing biceps and how he seemed to get taller every summer: it was impossible to not fall for him.

you were always good at hiding your feelings. in fear of loosing your closest friend, you didn't even give hints away that you craved something more with matthew. you would take your friendship and hidden crush over loosing him completely- always.

but then something changed.

it was your senior year of highschool. college and university acceptance letters were flying through the doors, celebratory parties and drinking away the weekends were constant reminders of the upcoming graduation. like you've always known, you would follow your best friend everywhere - and that included post secondary school. when matthew got accepted to play for the university of minnesota's hockey team, you worked your butt off to get the grades the university was looking for. all that extra studying, and staying up late for practice payed off: you were accepted to the university of minnesota.

with only a week left before graduation, you and matthew found yourselves at some mutual friends house party. although most people were swimming or laughing by the bonfire, you found yourselves off to the side - enjoying the presence of one another as you lounged on sun beds and stared up at the stars.

the air was warm, and the alcohol in your system was keeping your blood running hot. you were still coherent and conscious - not having drank that much. matthew was the same, with flushed cheeks and a dopey smile, but not slurring or tired. you were both just...free and happy.

"hey," he said at your side, your attention drawn away from the night sky and over to him. he was so handsome, even more so with a cheesy smile and dim outside lighting. you swallow thickly and quirk a brow in his direction. matthew continues, "I just thought of something kind of crazy."

you turn you head so you can look at him comfortably, "oh no."

he laughs, "no nothing like, that crazy." suddenly, he springs up, now sitting with his knees facing you. "come here."

your brows shoot up, but you listen, hesitantly following suit and mimicking your best friends position. your knees brush against his much larger ones, the hairs tickling your bare skin - goose bumps rising over your tan legs. then, he slots his thighs between yours, and you get goosebumps for a whole other reason.

matthew leans in close, almost looking as if he was going to kiss you. you don't move an inch, just watching as he gets closer and closer to your parted lips. just when you go to close your eyes, his breath fans against your warm face.

"you know how we talked about uni - and how it's different there. how the hookup scene is wilder and how easy it will be there to loose our virginities?"

oh.

you recover from the thought that you were about to finally be kissed and furrow your brows. "yeah, what about that?"

"I was thinking - and you don't have to say yes or agree, but..." he pauses and analyzes your face quickly. you urge him to continue with a nudge against his thigh. "by the time we are both 18 and if we are still virgins - we should just have sex...together."

you're glad it's dark outside because your face and neck flush beat red. "matty..."

he sighs, and bows his head slightly. "It's crazy, I know. I just thought who better than each other, right? it's stupid, I shouldn't of said anything-"

maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was because you were hopelessly addicted to making matthew happy but you grab his face between your small palms, urging him to look into your eyes. "it's not stupid." you swallow gently, "and it's definitely not crazy."

matthews tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and you feel yourself lighten. you let go of his face before you have the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

"I think we should do it."

his eyes brighten ever so slightly, "really?"

you nod, "yeah! I mean if we both turn 18 and it hasn't happened - we should just do it. that way, we will enter our 'adulthood' with a notch on each of our belts."

he smiles ever so slightly, "yeah exactly." then he sticks his thick pinky out towards you, "let's pinky promise this, y/n/n. we won't be 18 year old virgins if all else fails."

and your finger wraps around his, solidifying your agreement.

—

college was fun. you think being away from home was easy because you had matthew with you - and he was all you needed to feel at home. although you both attended parties and made new friends - it didn't happen. you were both still virgins. matthew had an excuse though - he was so busy with hockey. between training, practices and games - he barley had time to see you, never mind some other girl.

and you, well, deep down you knew you weren't seeking anybody out because you couldn't think of anybody better than matthew to take your virginity. you're sure it was just your feelings for him talking, but you didn't care.

on october 17th, matthew turned 18. you and your small group of friends went out to some campus party and at the end of the night, matthew informed you he was still a virgin. although you knew that, it was still a relief to hear. in some twisted fantasy, you can help but hope maybe matthew was purposefully avoiding girls for you.

one month and a few days later, it was the eve of your 18th birthday. it was an odd day, because instead of going out like you did for matthew's 18th birthday, you stayed in with him, watching movies and having chocolate cupcakes- just the two of you. almost like you both knew - both ready to ignite the flames of your drunken agreement many months ago, and give one another your most intimate experience.

it started before midnight even hit - you wonder if matthew was sick of waiting around with his virginity. it was a mess of lips and spit, followed by the tangle of limbs and interlocking fingers on your dorm mattress. you had to ignore how perfect kissing matthew felt - how right it all felt.

slowly, clothes disappeared and kisses travelled - excitement grew. although this was supposed to be a nerve wracking experience- there was no signs of that between either of you. only gentle smiles and longing glances.

and when you were both finally naked, matthew clumsily wrapped up with a condom and you spread to accommodate his body between your legs. he paused the kiss, slowly pulling away to see your face.

matthew smiled, pushing the hairs back and away from your flushed face. he held your cheek tenderly, and you mimick his grin. "let's not let this change anything, okay? because I can't loose you." he whispers, thumb stroking the shell of your hot ear.

you nod, "I can't loose you either." one of your hands slide down his strong shoulder and grip onto his bicep, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "it's just us, matty. nothing will ever change."

and with that, matthew slowly pushed himself into you.

the following morning, you were awoken by the quiet shuffling in your room. slowly, you crack one eye open to see matthew, now dressed and smiling gently at you.

"hey," you mumble.

"morning," he hums, "I was just about to wake you up. I'm going to practice."

"okay," you say groggily, tucking yourself deeper into your pillow and away from the daylight streaming through your small window.

he laughs at your usual sleepy routine, very much used to your morning tiredness and uninterested state. turning, he grabs his phone from were he disregarded it the night prior. "i'll text you later, okay," he says, moving back to your slumped figure - running a hand over your mess of hair.

"m'kay," you mutter into your pillow.

then he leaves.

the door clicks shut, and your eyes shoot open- memories of the night before rushing back into your brain faster than you can comprehend them. you and your best friend had sex - and it wasn't akward or painful or anything remotely close.

it was perfect. soft touches, and sweet glances and everything you had ever wanted when experiencing sex for the first time. girls in highschool had talked about there experience- how awkward it was and uncomfortable they felt. with matthew, it was out of a fairytale.

your momentary wave of panick washes away, and you smile. your hand reaching up to gently trace over your lips, thinking of matthew's soft ones slotting against them only hours before.

this was the best case scenario- and you were living it. truthfully, you were expecting it to be this easy with matthew, solely because it was him.

what you weren't expecting though, was every so often when you were both a little tipsy and needy - you'd find yourselves back in bed, sharing kisses and exchanging orgasms.

but nothing ever changed between you. it was still just you and matthew, continuing to be best friends like you haven't had the most intimate parts of one another. you weren't dating, or acting any different outside of the bedroom. just the occasional longing glance, or brushing hands, or trying your hardest to resist kissing, it was fine...really.

Part One: May 2023

you roll up to the balls of your feet and then fall back to your heels. the attempt to see over the bustling airport crowd was unsuccessful, and you sigh gently.

you knaw on your bottom lip and again try and peer over the sea of heads moving throughout the building, trying to catch a glimpse of your tall friend.

matthew had been living in toronto for a couple months while he made is nhl debut with the toronto maple leafs. although the season ended quicker than anticipated, you were still extremely proud of your friend.

with your exam schedule, you couldn't make any of the games like you had hoped. you would've spent your life savings on a plane ticket and glass seats if it meant seeing matthew play in the major league - but school had other plans for you. although, that didn't stop you from calling him or texting him after every game, both of you talking about every single thing you've missed.

in the second last game of the leafs playoff season, matthew got a concussion - a pretty bad one at that. matthew had been pretty upset, and even looked sniffly on facetime (you gave him shit for being on his phone when he wasn't supposed to, but he didn't care: he just wanted you). once he was cleared to fly back home, he called you immediately to ask if you could pick him up from the airport - obviously, you agreed.

so there you stood, in the middle of the airport as families and business men alike all passed by, distracted as they tried to make flights and get to security. it's almost 30 minutes past the time matthew had told you he'd landed. you try not to worry too much - he'd probably just gotten held up at baggage claim or needed the bathroom before he made his way to you.

just as you pull out your phone to call him, a strong arm wraps around your shoulders from behind, pulling your body into their broad chest.

you don't panick, because you know it's matthew immediately. you can smell the ralph lauren cologne he's been wearing since freshman year, and you recognize the soft material of his t-shirt - the t-shirt you've not only pressed your face into in search of hugs but also have stolen on a few occasions.

"you're not even looking for me, what the hell." matthew says against the shell of your ear. his tone of voice is clearly teasing, trying to get a rise out of you.

you spin in his grasp, your air forces squeaking against the tiled floor of the scottsdale airport. he doesn't release your shoulders, keeping you against his front. automatically, you wrap your arms around his thick waist. "it's not my fault you took an hour to get through the airport - I got bored and gave up."

he scoffs playfully, tugging the end of you ponytail, "rude."

you smirk teasingly, "you're right, that's no way to talk to an nhl superstar."

matthew blushes at your words, and his smile brightens right before your very eyes. the sight of his overwhelming happiness has your stanch swooping, butterflies banging against your sides as they fly about.

"i'm no superstar, y/n/n." he whispers, face tilted downwards so he can keep eye contact.

you shrug against him, "I disagree."

you watch as his tongue passes through his lips, swiping along his bottom lip to wet the already plump and pink skin. in that moment, as matthew stares back at you, you think he may lean in for a kiss and you feel your heart hammer with joy.

instead, you see matthew's other hand jolt up, gripping a bouquet of flowers and waving them ever so gently in your peripheral vision. you look over to the blooming display, brows raised.

"got these for you," he muses.

you smile, "why are you getting me things! you're the one who deserves the good things."

his eyes flicker with something you can't quite understand, and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "i've got my good thing right here with me." his words have you freezing ever so slightly, but you don't have time to think of any underlying meaning, because matthew continues, "it's a thank you for coming to pick me up."

you take the flowers, sniffing one of the deep pink tulips, your senses filled with the sweet floral smell you loved so much. "well, then, you're welcome." you tease, dropping the bouquet down from your nose. "that reminds me," you smile, your free hand digging around your jeans back pocket until you locate a chocolate bar. the kitkat is a little mushy from the heat of your body, and the wrapper is a bit crinkled, but you jut it in matthew's direction anyway. "your favourite!"

matthew smiles, taking the chocolate from your hand and inspecting the wrapper. then, he glances back at you with a teasing look. "you know, athletes aren't supposed to eat stuff like this."

"so you don't want it?" you question, a raise to one of your perfectly styled brows.

"oh no, i'm eating it." matthew laughs gently, immediately ripping the red wrapper off the chocolate and taking a messy bite. chocolate smears on his top lip and you laugh.

"you got a little something right there," you whisper gently, finger ghosting over his cupids bow as you gesture to the smeared sweet goodness.

his hand is now wrapped around your waist, holding you to him. matthews brows raise ever so slightly, a grin slowly appearing on his mouth. "yeah?" you nod. "you gunna get it for me?"

you want to kiss him so bad...does he want you to kiss him?

but instead you scrunch your nose playfully, wiping your thumb over his mouth until any traces of smeared chocolate are gone. you don't see the way matthew's eyes change slightly, watching as you use your hands to get rid of the mess.

"ready to go, matty?"

he nods softly, "let's go."

the ride back home is filled with laughter and smiles. matthew is so happy to talk about his experience playing in the nhl - even though you've talked about it before. seeing him speak about the opportunity face to face was something you'd never forget.

you tell him about how emma from your shared history class bombed her final presentation, and that had matthew laughing as you explained the whole thing animatedly. you talk about plans for the summer and finally seeing your friends from highschool after a year away in minnesota.

a kelsea ballerini song slowly fades as you pull up against the curb of matthew's childhood home. a home that you spent your entire highschool life in - studying and laughing and watching movies and just enjoying each others presence. the thought of all those memories have you grinning as you park the car - unlocking the doors once you've stopped.

matthew unbuckles his seat belt. he doesn't hear you move, or the click of your seat belt buckle and looks over at you, a small v shape forming between his drawn brows. "are you not coming in?"

"I don't want to interrupt, matty. they haven't seen you in a little bit."

he shakes his head, "my mom already asked for you to join - and I told her you'd come in, so..."

you sigh and he watches you give him a knowing look - one that isn't buying his bullshit: he knows it all too well. matthew sends a sheepish smile your way and briefly shrugs his shoulders. "at least help me with my bags. what kind of friend would you be if you didn't help me with them," he teases.

the kind of friend you kiss and hold and fuck, you think.

regardless, you unbuckle your seatbelt with a faux annoyed look. matthew's smile grows into one of successes, and you purposefully avoid his now cheeky expression. "yeah, yeah, let's go."

matthew lied about his mom inviting you over - which you knew he did (because you can read your best friend like a book), but she was excited to see you regardless. as soon as his mom jumped in suprise and expressed her joy at your presence- you sent matthew a deathly glare for his lie. he could only smirk playfully in response to your obvious annoyed reaction.

in her typical fashion, matthew's mom coddled both of you and fed you dinner just like she used to do when the two of you were still kids in highschool.

unlike you, matthew's parents made it to a couple of his nhl games. even though they've seen him since he left for minnesota, they haven't talked about school since christmas - when they were down in toronto, the topic of conversation was obviously matthew's nhl debut.

so you weren't suprised when his mom, between chews of her cheesy pasta, started peppering her son with all sorts of questions.

"did you make friends with anyone new since we last talked?"

"how was your roommate and the dishes situation?"

"did you ever figure out your biology assignment? or was it chemistry?"

"any girlfriends while you were in toronto?"

"mum," matthew laughs awkwardly, his fork hitting the plate with a clinck, "your foods going to get cold if you keep asking all these questions."

his brother snickers into his pepsi filled glass. you and him share a brief look once their mum kicks matthew under the table because of his remark - regardless, she was laughing along with the table. "you're right, i'm sorry - just curious."

matthew doesn't answer the last question, which has you feeling nervous. you watch as he drags his bread through a section of sauce, soaking the garlic flavoured dough. he meets your curious eyes - deep in thought - as he takes a bite. you smile politely in his direction, eyes darting away. if he sees your worried expression, he doesn't say anything, looking away once you do.

you shove some pasta in your mouth and try not to overthink - which was always impossible when it came to your brain and matthew.

"what about you, y/n?" his dad asks from the head of the table, dropping his piece of garlic toast on the side of his ceramic plate. "any boyfriend?"

you choke slightly on a spaghetti noodle, taking a few gulps of water to calm your coughing and burning face. "sorry. no," you hum once you've collected yourself, "nothing like that."

in your peripheral vision, you see matthew turn to look at you again. you glance at him quickly, and he gives you a knowing look, shoving a large bite of food into his mouth in an attempt to cover his smirk.

you dart your gaze away quickly - your face burning for an entirely different reason.

"really?!" his mum muses, oblivious to the glances exchanged between you and her son, "I gotta say you two, all these years away at school and neither of you in relationships - I'd say you spend too much time together."

you blush, clearing your throat. your eyes meet your plate of food as you begin to slide your fork through the last bites of sauce and meat.

"that's definitely it," matthew hums, not meeting your eyes in favour of finishing off his plate. underneath the table, his knee bumps yours once, and you're not sure if he meant to do it, but you fight a smile regardless - gently bumping his back.

only an hour after finishing dinner and cleaning up the mess of pots and plates - matthew was begging you to come to the beach with him for sunset before heading back home. you let him him beg and convince you, even though you were set on going as soon as the words left his mouth.

the sand is warm on your feet as you dig them into the granules - sand dusting up to your ankles and coating your braided anklet. the sunset is reflecting on your face, providing a warm glow not only on you, but on the entire beach. you close your eyes and take a long inhale, basking in the feeling.

matthew drops down beside you, his added weight pulling on the blanket you'd set down. he leans back on to his hands and stretches his legs out - his feet sliding through the sand and sending tiny particles onto the blanket.

you huff, immediately trying to dust it all off. it makes your best friend laugh quietly beside you.

"I missed you," matthew whispers a few minutes after you cleared the blanket. "so much."

you look over at him, meeting his blue gaze. he looks so beautiful with the hues of orange and fuscha reflecting around him. clean shaven, and t-shirt stretching around his muscles ever so nicely. "i missed you," you say back.

matthew's forearm brushes against yours and his palm is so close to yours in the sand that if you just reached out, you'd be able to wrap your pinky over his. you're unsure if he means to brush your limbs together, and you think about pulling away, but then his muscles flex against you, and you feel him press his arm against yours firmly - conforming he wants you there.

that action has you thinking back a few hours ago at the dinner table - matthew's knee touching yours under the table privately. but thinking about that part of the dinner, also has you thinking about how matthew never gave an answer about having a girlfriend while he was away.

even thinking about that has your stomach dropping like you'd just dropped on a roller coaster. before you can stop yourself, you get his attention gently, "matty?"

he hums, his eyes trained on the setting sun across the water.

"is there a girl in toronto?"

you're pretty sure his arm goes rigid on yours. you've dropped on the roller coaster again, feeling your organs fall all the way to your feet. matthew sighs gently, "y/n.."

when you and matthew started casually hooking up, you both decided to not only stay best friends, but you also chose to not be exclusive. the point of loosing your virginities to one another was to get over that awkward milestone with a future partner. therefore, once you were both free of that title, you could go out into the dating scene and feel free - and have sex with whoever.

so of course there was a chance matthew was hooking up with somebody in toronto - you'd be happy if he did, truly. as his best friend, you want him to be happy. as his unrequited lover, you couldn't bare the thought. because although matthew may be not be exclusive, you have always been (unbeknownst to him).

without wanting to sound bothered or upset, you laugh breathlessly. "it doesn't matter if you do, matty. we're friends, right? no secrets ever." - a promise you and him had always cherished was never ever having secrets - excluding your painfully excruciating crush on him (obviously).

"no, I know," matthew nods with an expression you can't quite decipher. it's something between soft and maybe guilty - possibly innocent or nothing even close. he sighs again, "there's no girl...and no secrets."

you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, suppressing the grin as it slowly made its way onto your face.

"well," matthew says lightheartedly. he pushes off his hands, dusting the sand off his palms once he sits up. his back muscles have you too distracted to notice all the sand covering your blanket. once positioned, matthew looks back at you over his shoulder, "there is one girl."

if it wasn't for his playful tone and the smirk he was sending in your direction, you'd think he was being serious. you push off your hands as well and wrap them around his bulged bicep. "oh yeah? who's that?" you ask gently, leaning into his warm body.

"you," he whispers, hooked nose brushing against yours delicately - if you didn't know this was the way you and matthew acted, you'd be tricked into thinking he had feelings for you.

you scrunch your nose against his, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "you just want to get laid."

matthew's lips look like they may turn into a downwards pull, and you already feel the panick bubbling at your chest - what had you said wrong?

but he clears his throat, mouth turning into a soft smirk. "maybe..."

you force another laugh, "good," you lie, "me too."

and in your and matthew's lonesome on the sandy beach, he slowly leans back into your space, finally pressing a kiss against your lips.

your grip on his arm tightens when his tongue slips between your parted lips, allowing him access to deepn the kiss - tongues massaging one another as they skillfully move.

when matthew pulls away a few minutes later, he's breathing heavily, an all too familiar haze in his eyes and smile on his swollen pink lips. "let's get in your car."

you nod, "m'kay."

the last bit of the evening sun is falling on you both and illuminating the water. matthew's helps you up, grabbing the blanket and making sure to dust all the sand off before throwing it in your backseat.

when he pulls you against his chest in the privacy of your car and continues your hot kiss, you think you just so happen to be falling deeper in love with your best friend.

Part Two:

the alchemy was the towns best hangout spot. not only was there a bar and dance floor, but they had amazing food and an even better atmosphere. at the end of every week, they'd often have local bands come in to play their set - friday was always the night to go.

this friday was no exception. there was a lineup outside the building, and every few minutes it would get shorter as the bouncers checked ID's and sent people in. you, as well as some other friends in your group, weren't of age yet, so you were already preparing for the purple X they'd draw on your hand to stain your skin and indicate your age.

your good friend janie is fixing her lip gloss in her small compact mirror as she faces you. janie was somebody who valued her appearance very much - but she was so beautiful, she barley had to do anything to maintain it. you watch as her boyfriend, daniel, talks her ear off about something he had seen at the mall earlier, face animated as he flails his hands.

the line moves again and behind you, matthew pushes you along gently - presses into your backside with his hips as you inch forward. he's not even looking at you when he does it, too busy conversing with another friend of yours, logan.

matthew's hand is warm on your exposed hip, his thumb gently resting against the waist band of your jean shorts - slowly stroking the edge, thumb occasionally dipping under the material. you sigh pleasantly, head falling back to rest against his peck.

a moment later, matthew looks down at you, a smile making its way onto his face. you notice logan has turned his attention to another person in your small group of friends - leaving all your friends distracted.

you loved and appreciated your small group of friends from high school, and always cherished your time together as well as your closeness. but there is one thing you and matthew never disclosed: your complicated relationship. at the beginning, you weren't sure there was a term for you and matthew's situation, but now you know it's friends with benefits. you'd never even admitted that to yourself, never mind telling all your friends. in fantasy land, matthew was your boyfriend and he loved you back - he pulls you in for kisses in front of his family and your friends, and he tells his family he has a girl: you.

"what's going on with you?" matthew's whispered words have you pulled from your own thoughts, his hips still against you - shuffling you further up line. "you look deep in thought - that's never good." he teases.

you scoff, smacking his chest with the back of your hand playfully. your actions have matthew laughing deeply, chest rumbling against your shoulders - which makes you smile. "not much," you hum.

discreetly, you check and make sure nobody is in earshot and eavesdropping on you and your best friend - you notice they're distracted. you lean your head up so you can be closer to his ear and whisper, "just that you look kinda hot in that hat."

matthew is wearing a western style cowboy hat atop his head, paired with jeans and a white tshirt. it's rodeo theme at the alchemy tonight, and matthew isn't the only one dressed for the occasion. your friend group and everyone else in line are dressed in their best western style. hats and boots are everywhere in sight, along with cow prints and pleather tassels.

"goes it make me look like a cowboy?" he questions with a suggestive raise to his eyebrows - a smirk tugging at his mouth.

you giggle slightly and nod once with conformation. "yes."

"good," he hums, "you gunna ride me?" his eyes dart down to your shirt, which so happens to say 'save a horse and ride a cowboy.' you bought it specifically for the occasion, obviously - paired with your favourite denim shorts and cowgirl boots. definitely not the most creative or unique outfit - but still on theme.

you blush, "depends...you gunna let me try that on?" with your question, you spin around to face matthew, reaching up to try and grab his hat from his head. matthew grabs your hand before you can reach the brim, halting your movement.

you pout, "matty..."

matthew huffs likes he's annoyed, but the very edges of his plump lips begin to tug upwards. without another word, he grabs the hat from the top, plopping it down on your head so that it covers your eyes, your straight hair falling over your face.

you laugh, pulling the hat off so you can attempt to adjust your hair back into place. matthew beats you to it, his warm hands pushing away all the strands from your vision with a fond gleam in his eyes. he doesn't pull away once he's done moving your hair and his hands slide down to hold the side of your face for a moment longer.

you wish that he'd kiss you then. but he doesn't, and you feel your face wanting to drop with disappointment.

trying to hide the sadness you feel, you put matthew's cowboy hat back on your head; properly this time so that no hair gets in the way.

your group makes it to the entrance of the alchemy, and country music is flowing through the open doors. the two bouncers check over all your id's and mark the appropriate people who are underage - matthew and you included.

once you enter, you immediately notice how the crowd was bustling - loud laughter, music and the tangy smell of beer throughout.

"yo, let's get that table!" daniel shouts over the noise of the crowd, pointing in the direction of an area near the back of the alchemy that seemed unoccupied.

while you walk through the busy place, matthew grabs ahold of your hand softly, guiding you behind him as you all make your way to the table. the feeling of his hand on yours in such a public setting feels overwhelming in the best way, and there's a part of you that hopes any girl who'd seen him walk in - now thinks he's in a relationship and any advances they'd thought of making are halted.

you and your friends order a round of drinks as soon as you sit down, and you send your friend april, as well as logan, up to the bar to collect everyone's desired beverages.

although you couldn't order the drinks, that didn't mean you couldn't sneak some. one or two vodka sodas combined with the shots you pregamed would have you feeling drunk in no time.

and that was true, because an hour later, you and janie were both very buzzed in the middle of the crowded dance floor - dancing to some megan moroney cover song.

"so," janie starts with a suggestive smirk, "you and matthew looked pretty cozy earlier."

"what?" you squeak, "no, we're just -I don't know janie, you know how we are."

she eyes you suspiciously, "you two have so much sexual tension recently. you guys should like...fuck or something."

your eyes widen and you blush, slightly choking on your own attempt to cough. "absolutely not," you squeak, "I mean - that would just...ruin things."

she laughs slightly and shrugs her exposed tan shoulders in your direction, "just a suggestion. I mean, he probably wants to do it anyways."

you knaw on your lip, forehead lines deepening as you take in your friends words. "why do you think that?" a momentary swirl of panic overtakes you, and you're worried yourself and matthew were being too obvious.

"y/n," she laughs, her hips swaying to the country tune lightly, "guys don't act like that for no reason! I mean, the way he looks at you..."

you swallow quickly. briefly, your eyes meet your shoes and you resist the urge to sigh sadly. "we're just best friends, jaine, believe me."

you wish you were more, your drunk brain reminds you.

you look away from the floor to find janie, but she's isn't looking at you, but rather her eyes are trained over your shoulder. then, she smirks slightly at you, "looks like he's coming over here."

just like a 6th grade girl with a crush, you freeze. blushing all the way down to your chest and eyes widening. trying to remain nonchalant, you shrug and take a sip of your drink.

"i'm gunna go." your brunette friend says, "before you two get all...sensual." janie sends you one last teasing look over her shoulder as she walks away - leaving you waiting anxiously for matthew's touch.

a moment later, you feel matthew press against you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a brief hug - merely missing your drink as he does so. immediately with his touch, all earlier anxious and physical jitters vanish and you relax into matthew's familiar grip.

"missed you over there," he mutters into your ear. "our table was boring without you." matthew's nose nudges against the shell of your ear and then he leans farther down your body - pressing a hot kiss right between the skin of your shoulder and the base of your neck.

you swoon. his touch combined with the warm breath tickling against your skin, as well as the feeling of his lips pressing against you, causes something similar to a moan to leave your lips quietly.

the alcohol in your system has completely stolen your filter, and you can only pray that your friends can't see the way matthew had just approached you - or how you reacted to his touch.

at your breathy exhale, matthew spins your body around so that you are standing pressed chest to chest. he smirks when he catches sight of your happy flushed face and drunken hazy eyes. "you look so hot dancing." he says lowly.

you reach up and delicately brush a fallen eyelash off his cheek. "is that so?" you question, purposely pressing your boobs harder into his chest.

"definitely so," he agrees.

behind you, the band starts a new song, something with less tempo that your buzzed brain doesn't recognize immediately.

it looks like matthew does recognize the tune though, and he sends you a smirk. "dance with me?" he questions cheekily, reaching down to grab his cowboy hat you were still wearing, placing it back on his own head.

you don't care enough to protest, partially because he looks too good in it for you to complain. you raise your cup in his direction, "i've got this still."

just as you finish your scentence, matthew grabs your drink, raising it to his mouth and chugging the last of its contents. you gawk, watching as he wipes his mouth and places your now empty cup on a nearby table.

one of matthew's hands grab ahold of your waist, while the other takes your hand in his own - interlocking your fingers together. "now you can dance," he teases, swaying you both to the song.

"I hate you," you huff. your words have no real bite as you begin to smile.

"you can't hate me," matthew says matter of factly, "i'm your best friend."

you frown ever so slightly, jutting your chin up, "just your best friend?" you're buzz has you clearly teetering on drunk, and matthew can tell - not only from your question but your blissed expression.

he chooses not to answer your question but you don't seem to mind, too busy swaying to the song you loved so much.

"stand by me," you sing to him, "ooooh stand by me."

matthew laughs fondly, and you beam up at him. "you're a natural," he states teasingly.

"you sing the next part with me," you insist.

"it's not a duet."

"it is now," you state, "c'mon - just as long you stand, stand by me."

matthew joins in, "and darling, darling stand by me!" his tone is pitchy and he's singing loud enough to earn interested stares from the people in your vicinity.

it has you faltering, laughing into his warm chest. matthew stops singing as well, watching amused as you lean into him with nothing but happiness on your face. he releases your hand in favour to wrap that hand around your shoulders, keeping you pressed against him.

you wake with a deep groan, squinting at the harsh light on your face that was streaming through open curtains. with another groan, you pull the blanket up and over your face to hide yourself from your own hangover.

the smell of matthew's cologne and laundry detergent has you pausing, cracking open one eye to see the familiar navy sheets on matthew's childhood bed.

you toss the blanket away from your face, and turn to see him watching you gently from the other side of the bed - an ever knowing grin on his face at your hungover morning behaviour.

"shut up," you grumble, pushing up from your flat position to mimic him, sitting with your back flat against the headboard.

"didn't say anything," matthew muses.

"but you thought it," you huff. his laughter is enough for you to know your accusation was true, and you squint annoyed at him.

"I brought you this," he hands you a bottle of water and two aspirins, which you take immediately, sighing in relief at the water falling down your dry throat.

slowly, the night before comes back to you. memories of cowgirl boots, your friends downing drinks and dancing all night flooding your brain. your groan once more, covering your face briefly when a wave of nausea comes over you. "ugh, I never want to here stand by me again."

matthew laughs loudly, body rolling over until he's pressed into your side.

you laugh gently with him, dropping your hands from your face so you can see. "seriously!"

"anytime I hear that song now i'm going to think of you," matthew insists. subconsciously, one of matthew's fingers trial over your forearm, gently tickling your skin as he looks up at you from his now slouched position.

although the thought of the song is currently making you feel sick, matthew's words have you feeling fuzzy - there was worse songs that could remind him of you, and stand by me was a really sweet one to he associated with.

because you don't say anything, matthew starts to sing, "stand by me, ohhhh!"

you shush him with a laugh, placing your hand over his mouth.

Part Three (A):

"5...4...3...2...1....and you're done," daniel cheers as you all watch jaine drop back down to her feet from her previous hand stand.

she smiles victorious, giving a bow in your direction. she stumbles slightly, the combination between her various drinks and uneven grassy ground throwing her off balance. she is still just as happy for completing her dare despite her shaky balance, skipping back towards the bonfire you all sat around and taking her seat between you and her boyfriend.

"I did the 20 second hand stand - those 3 years of gymnastics really payed off," she chimes, "take a sip, logan."

logan, the one who gave her the dare, tongues his cheek before he takes a large gulp of his seltzer. it goes down easily, and you watch his face in the glow from the bonfire - some of the liquid falling from the corner of his mouth, dripping until he wipes it away. "alright, janie, we don't have all day."

she doesn't answer to his teasing, eyes searching your small group of friends to find the next recipient of her question. "april," she starts, "truth or dare?"

april, another one of your highschool friends, laughs lightly, uncrossing her tan legs as she ponders. "truth," she settles on.

"when was the last time you had a dirty dream?" janie giggles like she already had the question locked and loaded in her brain - either that or she knows something about april that the rest of you don't. the thought has you giggling into your chest.

the guys in your group all tease her, a low chorus of 'ouuuu' echoing in logan's backyard.

she blushes at the question. "god, I can't answer that! I don't even think i've ever had one!" april squawks, covering her burning cheeks with her hands.

"you gotta finish your drink if you don't answer," dylan, another member of your circle of friends reminders her.

without another word, april chugs her entire can, finishing off the fruity drink in mere seconds. you all cheer her on as she finishes, trying to collect her breathing.

classic party games have always been a staple when your friends all got together. whether it was back when you were all still in highschool - akward and acne prone, or times like right now - when you were all home for the summer - you all played them. truth or dare was a common one, offering the best combination of fun activity and talking. plus, it was easy to incorporate a few drinks - which always spiced things up.

"y/n," april's sweet voice calls your attention, "truth or dare?" she asks, a mischievous grin beginning to tug at her lined lips.

on instinct, you want to say truth. truth is usually easier and sometimes less embarrassing than the dares that go around this group; you think back to highschool when logan had to streak through the neighborhood or when janie had to post an akward singing video for her followers to see. but with truths, secrets can go hand in hand - and you had a big secret - one that you aren't sure you can hide too much longer.

across from you, matthew meets your gaze. he's watching you with a teasing glimmer in his eyes, mouth hid behind his canned drink as he takes a nonchalant sip.

"dare," you decide, eyes darting back to april.

her smile widens, and if she wasn't so pretty you'd think she looked rather evil. you wouldn't be suprised if her hands came together wickedly and she begins to cackle. "I dare you...." april pauses dramatically, grin growing "...to kiss logan."

oh my god.

"what?" you ask, brows raised in a mixture of suprise and shock.

"c'mon!" daniel cheers, reaching over his girlfriend's body to push against your shoulder playfully.

"pucker up those lips," dylan teases.

you laugh awkwardly, tucking some of your hair away.

daniel interrupts, "-and no drinking out of dares!"

you'd honestly forgotten about that rule - one that you had made up a few years back when too many people were opting out of dares and the game had just become a chug fest.

you meet matthew's eyes again, expect this time he is looking at you with a weary expression. fair enough, you think, because why would he want his fuck buddy to make out with his friend right in front of him.

"if she really doesn't want to we shouldn't make her," he says firmly.

you heart flutters in your chest at the thought of matthew possibly feeling jealous, but then you remember what you and him are, and you deflate once more. he wasn't jealous, more likely feeling uncomfortable.

"rules are rules," janie sing songs, bumping into your side teasingly.

you don't want to draw to much attention or conger any questions from matthew's words being tied to your hesitation, so you stand up, walking confidently to the blonde boy across from you.

logan laughs, letting you invade his space.

"hands to yourself," you tell him, trying your best to sound playful and not worried or nervous.

"same goes for you," he quips back.

you ignore him, gently grabbing onto his shoulder as you lean down to meet his seated height, pressing your lips onto his. they slot together, and he gently sucks along your bottom lip.

logan's kiss is nowhere near as nice as any of the ones matthew has given you. his lips weren't as soft as matthew's, or as gentle. logan's only held notes of lust and eagerness - matthew's always took their time and moved skillfully.

then, logan grabs your face between both your hands, stopping your kiss so he can lick up the side of your cheek sloppily.

your friends laugh, and you push away with a smile, wiping away any silva with the back of your hand. "you're foul," you breath with quick laugh.

"gotta keep it interesting," logan teases, shifting in his seat so he can reach for another can of beer.

"I have to go clean my face," you say loudly, "i'll be in the bathroom." you make your way to the patio door, entering the quiet house, your friends laughter and continuation of the game slowly quieting as you slide the door closed behind you.

you flick on the bright bathroom light before shutting the door, leaving you alone in the small powder room near the front of the home. you quickly clean your face with a baby wipe, then washing off any residue with some soap and water.

thankfully in the summer months, you didn't wear much makeup, meaning you weren't really altering your appearance but rubbing suds into your face and rinsing with water.

you turn to leave, but out of something that feels like guilt, you walk back to the sink and scrub at your lips, essentially wiping off the traces of the kiss with your longtime friend.

for matthew, your brain reminds you with a tease.

you shake your head and blink away the thought, turning back to the door and pulling it open.

matthew stands there, hand reached out like he was about to open the bathroom door just before you. you meet his eyes gently, and he looks down at you with a darkened gaze, slightly breathless as he stand in front of you.

then, he backs you both into the powder room, shutting the door again so you're both standing in the small space. matthew strides towards you, grabbing onto your face and tilting your head back into the perfect position for him to press his lips against as yours.

you moan immediately, hands grabbing onto his waist over his shirt. you both smell like bonfire mixed with your respective alcoholic beverages, but it isn't off putting: only familiar - comfortable.

matthew nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp gently, which gives him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. the feeling has you panting into his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt tighter.

he pulls back only briefly, "how long before they come looking?" his lips brush against yours as he asks, and you can barley focus on his question at the feeling.

"couple more minutes," you pant.

he doesn't say anything else in favour of pushing his mouth back into yours. it's sloppy, like he's racing against time -desperately trying to get as much of you as humanly possible.

matthew turns your body until you're pushed against the bathroom sink. the ceramic digs into your lower back, but you don't care enough to change that. you're too focused on the way matthew pushes his thick thigh between your legs, simultaneously moving your thighs apart as well as providing his leg as another form of stimulation.

he grunts against your lips as you rock against him, and one of his hands leaves you face and drops towards your lower back - slipping between you and the hard sink. he pulls you closer by your back, dragging your core farther up his thigh.

"we need to stop," matthew breaths, "because soon i'll have no choice but to fuck you on our friends sink."

you gulp, "is that so bad?"

"no," he licks his lip, "but they'll definitely catch us."

with that, you agree, and you both untangle yourselves from one another. you turn away to adjust your frazzled hair in the small mirror above the bathroom counter. unfortunately, you can't do much about your glossy eyes and flushed face, but both can be disguised as you just drinking too much.

you feel matthew press himself behind you, his bulge resting against your ass and you look away from your appearance to meet his eyes through the mirror. he's looking at you with an odd look, so you raise one of your brows in question. "you okay?"

he blinks three times, taking a deep breath. "yeah, just...lost in my thoughts for a moment there."

you frown, worries of only minutes ago of you kissing logan filling your head - he's come in here to claim his territory and assert dominance because you'd kissed logan. "are you mad at me?" you question gently, eyes still trained on his through the mirror.

matthew's brows pull together, and he grabs onto your hips, spinning you around to face him once more. "why would I be mad at you?"

you shrug sheepishly, and you hold onto your own arms apprehensively. "maybe because I kissed logan? right in front you. and I know that we are just fucking or whatever...but, you're mad because you feel, I don't know, disrespected."

immediately after you finish, matthew shakes his head. he pushes away any baby hairs around your face, keeping his hand resting on the side of your head. "absolutely not." you see something flash in his eyes before he continues, "i think i'm just jealous - actually I know that i'm jealous."

"jealous?" you whisper.

he nods again, "jealous because logan got to kiss you before I did tonight."

"oh," you fight back a smirk, and you drop you arms in favour of wrapping them around matthew's torso - he lets you pull him closer wordlessly. "if it's any constellation, out of the two kisses i've had tonight, yours is the only one I enjoyed."

he smirks, "I bet the licking had something to do with that."

you laugh, "something."

he pretends to ponder, "maybe I should up my tongue game some more."

you giggle loudly, and the sound has matthew breaking character to smile fondly down at you. then he interrupts your giggle with one more kiss.

in that moment, it feels like a relationship rather than just friendship with perks. the way matthew holds onto you, and smiles down at you - the way you smile back. merely moments ago you were ready to have sex in somebody else's house, purely because you couldn't help yourself - too in love and drunk to not. that intense, hot moment now turned soft and sweet, while matthew say's things that he knows will make you laugh. in that moment, you let yourself pretend.

you let yourself pretend matthew wasn't only jealous because his friend got the kiss question before him - he was jealous because the girl he loved had to kiss someone else.

how you long for that to be true.

nobody is suspicious when you and matthew make your way back outside and take your respective seats. nobody questions either of you - too busy watching daniel give dylan a lap dance.

over the flames of the fire, matthew catches your gaze. he tongues his cheek to try and hide the smirk he couldn't help.

Part Three (B): junior year of highschool

you often worried when it came to your best friend. not necessarily about him physically, but rather about what what he thinks and knows. not to say you didn't care about what physically happened to him, but the thought of him finding out your deepest hidden feelings for him was more worrying than a bruise or a headache - or so you thought.

when matthew texted you late at night that something had happened to him, you didn't hesitate to hop in your car and make the drive over to his families home.

you knew the code to his front door and let yourself in quietly - mindful of 11 p.m. approaching.

you toed off your slippers on the christmas themed door mat before making your way further into the gingerbread scented home. the sound of friends and the glow of the tv alerted you to somebody up in the family room, and you slowed in your steps as you approached.

phil, matthew's brother, looks in your direction. he doesn't seem suprised by your presence, so you think matthew must've mentioned that you'd be coming over. phil nods once over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the show. "he's upstairs."

"thanks," you say gently, making your way up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, and all the way to matthew's bedroom door.

you don't bother knocking, because you and him never did, and push open his wooden door. the room is only illuminated by his bedside lamp, casting a warm glow on his cream coloured walls and mousey brown furniture.

you catch matthew's eyes and a frown tugs at your lips. he looks tired, presumably from his hockey game earlier in the evening.

"hey," he says quietly. he pushes up from his slouched position and gets off his bed, making his way over to you.

you walk into the room and shut the door softly behind you. "hey," you say, "what's wrong?"

you catch a glimpse of matthew's frown and teary eyes before he wraps his arms around you - pulling your body into his chest for a tight embrace. instantly, you reciprocate the hug, your smaller arms wrapping around his upper back, rubbing soothingly along the ripples of muscles under his skin.

he takes a shaky deep inhale against you, and the feeling has your frown deepening. seeing your best friend so upset was gut wrenching enough, never mind when you also have an embarrassingly large crush on him. "please, talk to me, matty. what's going on?"

he takes one more big breath before he releases you. "i've had a shitty day. school dragged on and then mr. johnson failed me on that assignment from last week. then, during my game I took a weird hit and totally fucked my shoulder! not only that but after the hit I made a shit play and got benched. i'm just...tired." he finishes, his shoulders deflating.

you listen with a slight pout, your eyes intensely dancing over his flushed cheeks and deep coloured bags sitting below his eyes. "i'm sorry about your shitty day." you say.

"not your fault," matthew shrugs.

"what do you want me to do for you?" you ask gently. you think about reaching out again, maybe to run your hand over his arm reassuringly - or caress his face as you tried to ease him into a less overwhelmed state, but you decide against it.

"I just want you to be with me," he admits quietly, "can we just watch a movie or something?"

you nod instantly. you do touch him this time, but he is the one who initiates the contact - grabbing on to your hand gently to guide you over to his unmade bed. you're thankful it's not too light in his bedroom, because you blush at the feeling of his hand in yours.

matthew pulls back the already flailed blanket, allowing you to climb into the mess of bedding and get comfortable before he makes his entrance.

he sits back against his headboard as he scrolls through options on netflix. wordlessly, he chooses 13 going on 30, which you think is a bit odd - but you've always loved the jennifer garner rom-com, so you weren't complaining.

the start of the film begins to play quietly and matthew sinks down into the pillows. he rolls towards you and pushes himself into the side of your torso.

you instantly feel hot. you thank your past self for choosing sleep shorts to go with your long sleeve top, because you would've died from overheating if you choose sweatpants. he throws his arm across your belly, hand reaching up to rest against your rib cage - you hope he can't feel your heart beating too hard. matthew pushes his knee under your leg, effectively sliding between you and the mattress - your leg now resting on top his.

you stay still, too worried that if you move or speak you'll wake up from a dream - a dream in which that this was a normal activity for somebody and their best friend to do. it's not that you and matthew were never touchy, as he would often find your hand in large crowds so he didn't loose you, or hug you in greetings and partings - but very rarely did you cuddle.

"can you tickle my arm?" he mumbles into your shirt, "your nails feel nice."

his request has your spiraling thoughts coming to a halt. his gentle tone and sweet question immediately has you smiling, your body relaxing into his - "of course," you mumble, raising your hand until your nails can run gently over his arm.

matthew sighs happily, tiny goosebumps prickling on his skin. you smile bigger at the sight just as matthew tucks his head further up your body, the top resting against your collarbone. you let your head fall against his, your eyes trained on the movie.

it's obvious why matthew picked one of your preferred movies as you feel his breathing slow down - looking to see his eyes closed shut and his lips parted to release soft breaths.

matthew just needed his best friend.

although you wish you were his girlfriend coming to his aid - you're just happy matthew feels close enough to you in the relationship you do have.

in his sleep, matthew moans briefly, adjusting his hand so it scoops under your back to cradle you against his body. between his peaceful expression and the warmth of his body laying on yours - you know in that moment it isn't just a crush on you're best friend: you're falling in love with him.

Part Four (A): july 4th weekend

"I hate this," you huff, standing up straight and tossing your hands on your hips.

janie laughs from somewhere on the campsite at your words, but you don't feel like laughing along. you're sweating because of the sweltering arizona heat and you're frustrated from the task at hand.

your tent is only half up, and putting that side up was a challenge. you hear somebody approach you from behind, and you turn to look over your shoulder to see matthew. he drops one of the cooler's at the picnic bench beside your deflated tent and he laughs gently.

you squint at him, "it's not funny. i'm going to have to sleep outside because my tent won't be built."

he tuts his tongue at you, taking one of the long metal rods sticking out of the pile. "you're so dramatic." immediately, he begins to expertly thread the pole through the tents openings. the heat has you feeling flustered, and watching matthew's long fingers navigate the metal wasn't helping...at all.

you scoff, "you love my dramatics, matty, don't pretend it bothers you now."

he doesn't look away from your tent, but he smiles anyways. "yeah yeah, can you grab me another pole? and start bringing the pins over as well - since you're just standing there."

you scrunch your nose up and drop your hands from your hips. "i'll grab you a pole alright."

your grumble has him laughing as you turn on your heels and walk away, gathering the rest of the parts to bring them closer to your tent - which now is beginning to look more functional.

you place them where matthew is working, dropping down to a squat beside his crouched position. he sends you a playful look out of the corner of his eye, "now you want to work?"

you shrug, threading a different pole through the polyester loops. "what kind of friend would I be if I made you do all the work on my tent?"

logan passes with an armful of firewood. he drops the pile of logs into the designated fire pit, already preparing for the night before noon has even hit.

for this fourth of july weekend, you had all decided you wanted to do some sort of camping trip. old fashioned camping - completed with tents and smores and picnic benches. thankfully, there were a couple high rated camp sites around the scottsdale area that had vacancy, and you all had packed two of your cars full for a weekend vacation.

"kniesy, you dick, you're supposed to be putting up our tent - never mind y/n's," logan teases as he passes again, gently nudging his foot against your strained calf - which makes you sway, loosing some of your balance.

"go like set up the grill or something," you tell the blond after you flip him the bird, "before I decide to kill you and throw your body in the lake."

"gruesome," logan says. he does what you suggested though, and you catch a glimpse of him unloading the portable barbecue before you turn back to the tent.

"okay," matthew says, pushing off his knees and into a standing position. "you stay on this side while I pull on the support strings and start to hammer them in- I just need you to keep it straight."

"aye aye captain," you salute, pushing yourself to stand just as he did moments prior.

he chuckles under his breath, moving around to the first side of the tent he needed to secure into the ground.

you watch him work with a soft gaze. the way he kneels in the dirt to ensure he's got the tent pulled in a way it won't collapse - watch as his tongue darts out as he concentrates on nailing in the pins. you're sure there's a look on your face that would warrant questions if somebody caught you - but you don't care.

"is it straight?" matthew asks, eyes glancing up in your direction. he catches you admiring him and you clear your throat, looking away with a few quick blinks.

"yeah! all good," you tell him. matthew just smirks at you before finishing building your tent.

a while later, while the afternoon sun is still beating down on your bare shoulders, april suggests you all head to the water for a quick swim. obviously you agree, quickly changing into your bathing suit.

you're all almost near the mini beach, saved for daniel who opted to stay back and watch over the campsite, when matthew falls into line with you - his bare arm brushing against yours as you walk side by side. his pinky runs along yours discreetly, his much larger finger almost hooking yours.

the sun reflected off his tan and toned body, the light accenting the ripples of his strong muscles: abs, biceps, triceps and everything in between.

"i'll race you," matthew says, breaking the quiet tension that had built between you as you both reach the sandy beach.

you look up at him to find a challenging grin on his face - a teasing sparkle in his bright eyes.

"matty," you start, "we aren't kids - besides, it's busy! all these people we'd have to avoid...." you trail off, gesturing to the crowded beach. "...it's a shame they will all have to watch you loose."

you take off, dropping your tote bag as you make a mad dash towards the water.

you hear matthew laugh loudly behind you, surely already beginning to run in your direction. you weave between the bodies throughout the sand, muttering apologies as you approach the water.

you laugh as you miraculously make it into the warm water, just beating matthew in your foot race because of your (cheating) head start. you slow as you go deeper into the lake, turning your body back around just to watch matthew splash into the lake, his body slowly disappearing under the surface as he follows your trail.

on the shore you see your friends laughing in their own world, setting out towels and the umbrella and their few trinkets - janie with her book and april with her phone. briefly, you wonder if one of them had grabbed your bag from where you abandoned it.

the water ripples against you skin as matthew reaches you, his smile an instant distraction from your tote that you suddenly couldn't care less about in his presence. "you tricked me." he states, hands running through the water, sending more sploshes up your tummy.

you shrug innocently, "did I? or are you just slow..."

he splashes some water at you, wetting your bikini top and shoulders. matthew laughs loudly as you screech from the sudden cold temperature, trying to turn your back on his attack.

"I let you win," matthew says after he splashes you once more.

you turn to face him slowly, still weary of any more water he may send your way. "is that so?" you ask lightly. there's a mischievous grin on your face that matthew knows too well - and his suspicions are confirmed when you begin to splash water back at him, drenching his face and hair.

you giggle as he wipes his face, the same hand sliding up and pushing his dark hair away from his face. the water making his brown locks look even darker. "I let you win and this is how you repay me?"

you shrug again. you don't want to feel chilled, so you drop your shoulders into the water so that your whole body is under the water's cool surface - saved for your neck and head. "yeah - can't think of a better way to show my gratefulness." you tease him.

matthew follows suit and submerges his upper body in the lake. he moves impossibly closer to your body - the water providing a privacy in the public setting. with that in mind, he reaches for you, grabbing your leg to gently drag you through the last bit of water left between your bodies.

you gulp nervously as your leg rest's on him. he doesn't let you go, holding your thigh against his hip while your other leg slips between his own two. you can't find the strength to look away from his gaze - not even concerned if you're friends are eyeing you two suspiciously.

"I can think of a way you can show your gratefulness." matthew whispers, hand moving up your thigh in the water until he reaches your bikini bottoms, fingers moving along your ass cheek and slightly slipping beneath the edge of your bathing suit.

"matty..." you breath. his chest heaves with air as he stares down at you - your cheeks slightly sunburnt to give you a permanent sun kissed glow. your lips plump and pink, dark eyelashes wet and making your eyes look even bigger as you blink prettily up at him.

you hear janie and logan laugh as they get into the water, only a few meters away from your and matthew's intertwined bodies. it has you coming to reality, pushing away from matthew to create an appropriate amount of space between you all while trying to appear nonchalant.

logan was too busy trying to sneak attack you to dunk your head under to notice the tension between you and matthew - janie distracted by logan. your and matthew's touching flying under the radar once again.

after a little more swimming and trying to cool your body down from your sensual encounter with matthew - you all decide to lay in the sun for a little bit longer before heading back to the campsite: saving daniel from his lonesome.

daniel has just got the fire started when you all get back from the beach: the warmth of the flames sooth your chilled damp skin. regardless of the warmth, you slip into your tent to grab a hoodie to further keep you from feeling cold.

logan and matthew had just started the grill when you emerge back outside. logan was preparing the frozen patties for cooking, while matthew was cleaning the grill's top with the metal bristled brush - his biceps flexing with each movement on the bars.

"hey, y/n, wanna help me with the salad?" janie asks from the picnic table. her voice has you quickly looking away from your friends arms and over to her - janie eyeing you playfully as she chops through some cherry tomatoes.

"yeah," you hum, taking a seat across from her. you can feel her still giving you that teasing look, so you busy yourself with slicing through the sticks of celery - cubing them because you know matthew prefers them that way - to avoid her gaze.

a moment later, you hear the brunette sigh, tossing her tomatos and shredded leaves into the red serving bowl. "so," she begins, "what were you and matthew talking about."

you eye her, but she has moved her attention to crumbling feta.

janie continues, "in the laker earlier. it seemed..." she pauses, squinting in thought as she tried to think of her wording - "intense." she settles on, feta clinging to her fingers.

you hum nonchalantly, scooping the cubed celery into your palms and dropping it into the salad. "did it?"

she nods suspiciously, "yeah, and i've been thinking about how the past few years something between you two has seemed rather intense - since college. what's up with that?"

she is talking relatively quiet, but you still glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody is listening - the three boys are laughing around the grill, completely oblivious.

when you meet your friends eyes again, she quirks an eyebrow in your direction knowingly. janie is looking at you like she knows you're deepest darkest secret - not just about the casual hookups between you, but also your feelings for matthew.

you should've known janie would figure it out sooner or later. when you moved to arizona and started at the new highschool, not only had you become close with matthew, but you had become just as close with janie. you were instantly drawn to her bubbly personality and confidence - she was your best girl friend. if you weren't with matthew - you were with the small brunette girl.

as she looks at you, she's not even working on cutting up vegetables for the salad - her full attention is on you.

you don't feel like hiding anymore. "janie," you sigh sadly, hands dropping the knife so you can cover your cheeks, "I have to tell you something."

she huffs happily, leaning further over the picnic table. "spill."

then, quietly and with a much detail as you can manage, you tell your friend everything. you start with when you realized you had feelings for matthew in freshman year and when the crush turned into love. you tell janie about your and matthew's pact about loosing your virginities and then turning 18 and having sex for the first time - about how your relationship turned into one with benefits and how you were still falling deeper in love with matthew.

she listenes intently, every so often making sure the guys are busy and not eavesdropping on your private confession - which you were thankful for as you were way too distracted with your own beating heart to notice if there were prying ears.

when you finish, ending on your brief conversation in the lake that afternoon, janie smiles at you softly. "I had a feeling there was something going on - but I didn't realize you were in love with him."

"really?" you laugh in disbelief, "I thought I was being obvious at times."

she hums in thought, mixing the dressing into the fresh salad. "if anything, I thought it was the other way around. like if it was matthew here telling me he loved you - I wouldn't be suprised."

her words are similar to a punch in the gut, but instead of pain it's a wave of hopefulness and excitement. "what?" you question gently, "what do you mean?"

she laughs gently, "this whole time I thought that he's had a secret crush on you. he's been so touchy with you, and he's always looking at you all cute and blah," she says, "it makes sense now - you've been hooking up."

and now it feels like a punch, you think. matthew was only looking at you and teasing you and touching you in a way that could be construed as being in love because he knew you'd give him sex. and like you've already comes to terms with that - you're okay with that. you love matthew, of course, not just romantically but as your best friend. so as long as he was happy with your arrangement, and still felt comfortable telling you everything and anything like you two have always done - you were happy.

"you're right with that," you tell janie. you reach into the cooler pulled open on the picnic bench, cracking open a white claw to take a gulp. "but seriously, i'm fine with this. i'm used to the unrequited love thing with him, trust me."

she gives you one more smile, "okay, as long as you're okay then i'm okay."

"care for some meat in your buns?" logan says loudly, approaching the picnic bench with a paper plate loaded with burgers. matthew and daniel follow behind him, both laughing like little kids at their friend's attempt at a dirty joke.

"don't be gross," janie stands, grabbing the plate to set it next to the condiments on the other side of the salad and cooler.

you watch as daniel thanks his girlfriend with a kiss on the cheek, making janie smile brightly as she opens the bun bag.

you're hit with a momentary wave of longing as you watch your friend so happy with the man she loves, and you wish it was like that with you and matthew - despite knowing he would never want that with you.

logan, ever the flirt, kisses your cheek loudly and then rounds to the other side of the wooden bench to give janie the same one. "thanks for the salad ladies, love you both." he plops down beside daniel and starts to load his plate with some macoroni salad.

you laugh gently while daniel starts playfully yelling at logan about kissing his girlfriend. subconsciously, you use your shoulder to wipe the cheek your friend had smooched.

matthew sits down next to you, definitely too close for just friends. now that janie knows though, you don't feel to worried about the proximity, letting his leg push up against yours underneath the table.

"you want a burger?" matthew asks you, his hand circling on your lower back.

you nod, "yeah, thanks. just one."

he reaches down the table towards the end farthest away, grabbing your burger and two for himself - he even dresses yours exactly how you love it, which obviously has you smiling. in thanks, you serve him his salads - matthew too distracted with devouring his first burger to serve himself them.

matthew acknowledges your act of service with his calf wrapping around the front of your shin, pulling your leg to rest between his own under the table. and then when he smiles at you all cheesy between bites of his food - you don't even get disgusted, only feeling fuzzy and tingly all over.

you chug the rest of your white claw.

"when do you think the fireworks will start?" logan grunts across the bonfire, shoving a marshmallow on his stick roughly. "it's dark as shit."

janie shushes him and tells him not to swear - a couple little kids laugh in the distance to prove her point.

"soon," you tell him, twisting your metal stick that holds your marshmallow over the flames. the gooey ball slowly turning brown and crispy as you spin it. "patience is key, logan."

"yeah, well, my patience is running thin." logan chimes, pushing his own stick into the fire.

matthew laughs beside you, "you don't have patience to begin with."

the blonde scoffs, "y/n, tell the peanut gallery to quiet down."

you and matthew giggle quietly to each other at your friends annoyance. you let your arm bump into his bicep on your shared bench, head briefly resting against his shoulder as you laugh.

your marshmallow catches fire, and you smile victoriously. you pull it out from the bonfire and up to your mouth. the flame from the treat is hot on your face, but you blow it out quickly, leaving you with a melted and charred marshmallow. "alright, matty, i'm ready for the sandwich."

matthew praises your perfectly burnt marshmallow. "yes ma'am," he teases. you watch as he brings his arms up, a graham cracker with a square of chocolate in each hand, clutched between his fingers. you watch as he smooshes the marshmallow between the crackers, smoothly pulling the gooey sticky treat off the stick.

he smiles, "and there you go," matthew hands you the campfire treat, "take a bite of that and tell me it's not the perfectly crafted s'more."

he had been going on about his double deckered s'more since the drive to the campsite - claiming nobody could make the desert as good as he could. you had teased him relentlessly all afternoon about it, so once the fire had gotten started, matthew was quick to get the s'more kit out.

you send him a look, grabbing the s'more and taking a big bite. you feel the marshmallow goo smear onto your lips, graham cracker crumbling to the ground. you chew delicately, matthew watching you the entire time.

you swallow, "it's good."

"just good?" he repeats, eyes widening.

your use your free hand to wipe your mouth, "the best part was the marshmallow - which i contributed. just tasted like a normal s'more with extra chocolate."

he scoffs in disbelief, "which is the best part!"

you scrunch your nose, licking some smeared chocolate from your thumb. "the marshmallow is the best, actually."

he rolls his eyes playfully, "fine." then he dips his head down, taking the rest of your s'more between his teeth and right out of your hand.

you screech, "you better make me another one."

he shakes his head and swallows, "no you didn't like it." he faux's annoyance, turning his face away from you.

"oh my god," you huff.

"can you make me one of your s'mores?" daniel asks from across the small bonfire, leaning forward on his camping chair to catch matthew's eyes.

matthew sighs, "what's the point...my best friend doesn't even like them."

you laugh at his fake huffy tone, "I didn't say I didn't like them!"

he turns back to you, "didn't have to."

you laugh again loudly, and at the sound matthew finally cracks a smile. he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. "i'm teasing you," you whispers into your hairline.

"had no idea," you tell him playfully, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. he smirks down at you - one his his hands coming up to your mouth, where he thumbs the missed marshmallow off your lip.

you swallow nervously but continue to look up at him - the sound of your friends laughter and obliviousness to you and matthew fading into the background.

the squeal of a firework has you looking away just in time for the boom to sound throughout the campsite, sparks of red and blue lighting up the sky in the distance.

"fuck yeah," logan cheers, jumping up from his seat, claiming he gets a better viewing angle if he stands.

janie follows suit, phone out to get pictures and videos of the firework show - daniel at her side as all there backs are now turned to the forgotten flames of the bonfire.

as you watch the beautiful lights, you feel matthew squeeze around your shoulders tighter and then he presses a long kiss to the corner of your mouth.

you're one of the last ones sitting by the dying fire, your body flushed with the heat and alcohol. still sitting beside you, matthew laughs deeply at something logan says - his shoulder rubs against yours at the movement. you're also laughing at logan's slurred attempt at a joke, and you shush them gently through your giggles.

logan moves to stand, his lean body swaying slightly as his arms reach up over his head in a long stretch. "should probably head to sleep anyways."

"me too." you nod in agreement, "janie will have us all up before 7 for that hike she's been taking about."

both matthew and logan groan at the thought, heads dropping backwards in protest. you roll your eyes but smile, although you're also not looking forward to the early wake up call, the hiking trail looked beautiful and you were looking forward to the scenery - clearly, the boys couldn't care less.

"alright, kniesy, you want the blue sleeping bag or the green one?" logan teases, his fingers working against the zipper of the tent as he glances over his shoulder at you both.

matthew shrugs nonchalantly. he puts out the last tiny gathering of flames in the pit with a jug of lake water. "i'm not sharing with you. i'll share with y/n...she smells better."

his words make you blush. you turn away and busy yourself with cleaning up the collection of alcohol cans littered around the small campsite - tossing them in one of the empty coolers for disposal in the morning.

"dick." logan scoffs playfully, "I wear dior but suit yourself." logan doesn't protest any further, and clambers into his form of shelter, zipping up the tent's entrance behind him - leaving you alone.

you can hear matthew pick up some beer bottles, the glass clanking together in his hands. he clears his throat, "is that okay?"

you hum lightly with question. you don't turn to look at him, too worried about the reaction your body might have now that you're finally alone with matthew after a day of tension.

"that we share a tent? is that okay?" matthew walks up behind you, and he reaches to grab the can in your hand.

you finally meet his eyes as you look back at him. "course it's okay," you say gently. with your hands now free, they itch to reach out and run over his torso, pull him into you and kiss him roughly right there.

"i've got these if you want to head into bed." matthew tells you quietly, tossing more cans into the cooler.

you blink three times, and you swallow with a quick nod. "okay." you start making towards the direction of now your and matthew's shared tent, listening as matthew cleans up the picnic table. you pause, looking over you shoulder.

as if matthew can feel your stare, he glances back at you. he raises his brows with a smirk at your face - clearly on the verge of saying something. before you can talk yourself out of it, you smile teasingly. "i'll make sure I smell real good for you."

matthew grins, straightening his posture as he finishes cleaning the table he'd been hunched over. under the glow of the stars, you can see matthew's face flush at your comment, and knowing your words had affected him in some way have you blushing.

matthew clears his throat, "looking forward to it."

your blush deepens.

you take two steps backward until you feel the polyester entrance of the tent. matthew sends one more seductive smirk in your direction before you spin around, climbing into your tent in an attempt to calm yourself down.

you can hear matthew tidying up the plastic garbage bags while you take a few deep breaths, pressing a hand to your warm forehead in an attempt to stay grounded. your stomach flutters at the mere thought of matthew coming into the tent with you, never mind the ideas that flood your head of what will happen when you two will finally be alone.

you exhale, kicking your sandals off to the side so you don't trek any dirt into the sleeping area. you had already pumped up the air mattress in preparation for sleep. sleeping bags had always made you claustrophobic: so you avoided them.

quickly, you start fluffing the bedding and shoving your things around until it looks somewhat organized. you're not sure why you feeling so nervous, but there's something about what's been brewing that has your chest tightening and mouth drying. maybe it was because you two were technically in public and not alone - or possibly because you hadn't had sex in a few weeks. either way, the thought of matthew had you trembling.

just as you flick the small portable lamp on and the inside of the tent becomes illuminated with a dim glow, you can hear matthew begin to tug on the tent's zipper - he struggles a few times, no doubt from the combination the alcohol and the darkness of the late night.

"fuck me," matthew mutters as he finally steps in. the sound of his voice sends your heart racing, and you smile gently to try and seem calm. the flashlight is shining from his phone and through his front hoodie pocket - he must've just slipped it in there as he entered. "stupid zipper."

you clear your throat, "maybe it's not the zipper that's stupid..." you trail of teasingly, grabbing onto your duffle bag to lug it on top the mattress.

matthew laughs, raising his brows in your direction. "you're just such a bully today."

you purse your lips, digging through your belongings until you find your lemon printed pyjama set. "you're still bitter because I won the race -"

"by cheating," he reminds you cheekily. matthew must've made a trip to his car after putting the garbage in logan's truck bed, because you see his overnight bag on his arm. he drops it near the foot of the bed with a thud.

"by being smart." you correct him with a hum.

matthew drops down to the mattress beside you, the velvet material puffing under his weight - the movement sends you into his side. now that you're closer, he reaches out slowly, tucking some of your fallen hair behind your ear.

you grip onto your pyjamas to keep yourself present as matthew's eyes bore into yours - a little hazy from the alcohol but they're still the most beautiful eyes you've seen.

his hand moves back, thick fingers threading through strands of hair so he can hold the side of your head, his thumb stroking along your scalp behind your ear.

you think you may have a heart attack. the combination of his intense lustful gaze and his hands on your skin has you squirming.

"you've always been so smart," matthew continues quietly, and his breath tickles against your red cheeks. "expect for s'more knowledge - you're not too smart in that department."

you click your tongue, gently pushing against his peck in protest. "you're such a little shit."

matthew grabs you, his warm palm wrapping around your wrist so you're unable to pull your hand away from his chest. "I miss you," he tells you through an exhale, his finger stroking along the pulspoint on your wrist.

you hope he can't feel how fast your heart is beating. you swallow gently, and your free hand slides up his leg, resting right against the thick muscle above his knee. "i'm right here," you whisper.

matthew nods once, "I know."

the tone of his words seems off, but he doesn't leave you room to question it. matthew leans in, mouth capturing yours in a long awaited kiss. the little moments of tension throughout the day had finally spilled over as his lips slide against yours.

all nerves you'd been feeling disappear at the familiarity of his kiss and you sigh into his mouth pleasantly. slowly, your hand slips up towards his face. matthew allows you to move, releasing his grip on your wrist so you can cradle his jawline with both of your hands.

with his now free hand, matthew grabs onto your waist, fingers curling into your skin as he begins to guide your body backwards - slowly, as if not startle you or rush you.

matthew keeps your lips connected until your back hits the rubber mattress, continuing his delicious assault on your mouth as you fall into a horizontal position. the air mattress squeaks and puffs under the change in position - typically a comical sound, but with the way matthew's lips trial down your jaw and continue down to your jugular, you don't find it humorous. you're too distracted from the wet kisses on your skin and the weight of his body on yours.

matthew pauses where your neck meets your collarbone, nipping at your sunkissed skin before soothing the sting out with his tongue, licking a flat strip over every bite. the feeling has you panting quietly, your hands raking through his thick brown locks. he sucks on to your sweet spot, right in the pit of your collarbone, and your grip tightens - illiciting a moan from matthew.

"lift your hips for me, baby," his command is whispered against the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss there, which sends a shiver through your body.

you do as he requested, lifting your lower half off the bed. you core bumps against his crotch, matthew's semi bumping your bundle of nerves perfectly - the contact sends a moan tumbling past your puffy lips.

matthew hisses, "fuck can't do that baby - feels too good." he pushes off your body, leaning back to rest against his heels.

your smirk, thrusting your hips into the air involuntarily - searching for the friction he had provided just moments before.

matthew reaches towards you, hands landing on your hip bones. he curses, two of his fingers hooking the waistband of your bottoms, tugging them down in one rough pull.

instinctively, your legs fall open wider, exposing your bare core further for matthew. your body was clearly ready for whatever was to come next - you feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought.

the dim light catches you, and matthew smirks at the sight your pussy glistening with arousal. "fuck," he curses again. two of his thick fingers slide through your folds, playing and gathering your wetness and spreading it up to your clit. "already so wet for me."

you whine, "please, matty - don't tease. I need you so bad." his fingers prode at your dripping entrance and you sigh pleasantly, tugging your lip between your teeth as you watch him move. matthew slips a finger inside and your back arches off the mattress, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

"feel good, baby?" he question, pumping into you lazily - hitting all the right places and nerves that could have you coming in seconds.

you moan again, "I need you inside me."

"yeah, okay," matthew breaths, pulling his fingers from your entrance with a squelch. he makes you suck your arousal off his digits - watching you blissfully and mouth hung open as your tongue swirls along his fingers.

matthew stands up, quickly shoving his pants down his thick thighs. he's left naked from the waist down, only left in his maroon hoodie.

the sight of that has you giggling, biting on your thumb to try and contain your wave of laughter.

matthew laughs as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head in one swift motion - leaving him bare in the privacy of your tent. any and all previous laughter comes to a halt, and you admire his naked form shamelessly. he's always been so sexy, you think. with a broad strong chest and defined abs, accompanied by his thick arms and legs - he was the epitome of perfect.

"fuck," you swear, "come back here."

he listens to you request, naked body soon hovering over you. "shit," matthew curses gently after a quick press to your lips. "I don't have condoms." he tells you, pushing himself further above you with one arm. affectionately, his other hand strokes the hair away from your face.

you shake your head and bring your lower lip into your mouth again - knawing on the swollen skin. "I don't care," you admit to him quitley.

matthew's face lights up, and his brows raise in a silent question. "you sure?"

you shrug with a small smile, "I mean, I haven't like been with anyone in awhile- and i'm clean...if you're-"

"i'm clean," he interrupts you gently.

you stomach swoops with a mix of nervousness and excitement. the lips you had once been knawing at is released with a quiet pop - a wide grin breaking out on your face.

matthew takes the bruised coloured lip between his, licking the skin before bringing you into another kiss. your lips crash together passionately, brushing over one another in a way that makes your body feel like it's on fire. your heart is palpating in your chest when matthew's hand leaves your hair, trailing down your body until it reaches your bare hipbone.

his warm hands slides up, pushing your hoodie towards your chest with his fingers. he breaks the kiss momentarily, matthew's chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath. "arch your back for me."

"m'kay," you hum, lifting your lower back offthe mattress. with the space under you, matthew pulls your hoodie off your torso, pulling it over you head and throwing it towards your duffle bag that had been pushed off the bed - sitting upside down on the polyester floor.

now left in only a yellow printed bikini top, nipples pebbled underneath the thin damp material. matthew's tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and he rips away the cups from your breasts, revealing you completely. "fuck, you're so pretty." he mumbles.

"matty, please fuck me." you whimper, hooking your leg around the curve of his hip, locking yourself in place against him. you tug him down gently, his hard on bumping your bare core roughly.

you moan in unison at the friction. matthew answers you by gripping his throbbing dick in his fist and he pumps himself a few times, readying himself for your warmth. he lines the tip of himself with your hole, gently sliding his head through your dripping wet folds - bumping your clit until your whining.

"matty," you whine. "please."

his head slides into you, slowly, your pussy pulling him in naturally. the full feeling was so beautifully overwhelming, and you push your head further into the pillow under you, mouth falling open in pleasure.

you mewl at his dick filling you, "so much," you mumble, hands blindly finding the edge of your pillow case until you can grip onto it - grounding yourself. "always so much."

"shh... just a little bit more, baby," matthew soothes you, his hand coming up from between your bodies to untangle your hand from the pillow. he interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing his hand in yours as he slides into you fully.

"oh my- shit," you curse, eyes darting down as matthew begins to thrust into your pussy. your free hand shoots up to hold onto his thick shoulder, keeping yourself in place as the pace begins to pick up.

"god, you feel so fucking good." he moans, leaning down so his lips capture yours. the kiss is more heavy breathing and exploring tongues than anything else, but it all feels too damn good to care.

matthew breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours. his hips and dick continuing to thrust into you at the speed and pressure you love so much.

in that moment, you think how easy it would be for you to tell him you love him. the way he keeps his eyes trained on your face, or the way he touches you so delicately - it's almost impossible to not to slip up and say something. his skilled kisses and forceful thrusts into you, it's all too much.

"you okay, baby?" he huffs, eyes locking on yours as he continues thrusting.

you nod, pushing your lips on his once more. your stomach tingles when matthew immediately kisses you back. he untangles your intertwined hands in favour of reaching between your bodies again, thumbing your sensitive clit.

you moan loudly, "fuck, keep doing that." he silences your noises with a quick peck, continuing the double stimulation on your pussy.

in the three years of having casual sex with matthew, he has come to know your body very well - including when you're going to finish. he feels the way your walls begin to clamp down on his dick, as is if you were trying to pull him deeper into you. your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails no doubt leaving creasing shaped indents on his tan skin.

matthew watches the way your face changes, an intense blissful expression taking over.

"i'm gunna..."

"I know, fuck, cum on my dick." he grunts between thrusts.

the coil in your stomach snaps at his command, and you release on him - your juices flowing from your weeping hole and wetting his lower region.

with three more hard thrusts, matthew moans, pushing into you as he finishes. you feel his cum coat your insides, thick ropes of semen spilling from his head and covering your sticky walls.

matthew grabs a hold of your hip, gently pushing down as he slowly pulls himself out of you. "shit," he curses, watching the way his cum drips from you, pooling against your ass and spilling onto the mattress. "you okay, y/n/n?"

you nod tiredly with a faint smile on your puffy lips, pushing up onto your elbows. "i'm okay," you confirm. "can you get me my pyjamas? I think I threw them on the floor earlier."

matthew laughs gently, "yeah." he crawls off your body, and you admire his naked ass as he walks over to the opposite of the bed to your tipped bag. he picks up your lemon set, tossing them at you gently. "you don't want to naked cuddle?"

you giggle, pulling on your top and buttoning it together. "janie will be in here early - can't have her seeing us naked."

he shrugs, pulling his boxer briefs back up his legs. "nothing wrong with a bit of nakedness."

you squawk, "maybe I don't want her to see you naked."

matthew brings his bottom lip between his teeth, smirking down at you as you pull your shorts on. "why? you'd be jealous?"

"more like embarrassed," you tease.

"hey!" he laughs, crawling back over your body to capture your laughing mouth in another kiss.

Part Four (B):

the summer breeze blows your sundress against your knees, the soft fabric tickling your legs. you sway with the warm air, eyes dancing over the busy park as you wait for matthew to return.

you watch him make his way over, a bright smile on his face as he weaves through walking adults and hyper kids. the sight has you breaking out into a grin, your previously crossed arms falling to your sides just as he reaches you. "and one vanilla cone for a pretty girl."

"why thank you kind sir," you tease with a light giggle. you waste no time, licking a flat strip up the sweet ice cream, moaning gently as the cool desert melts in your mouth.

matthew chuckles at the sound, tongue wrapping around his own cone. "good?"

"mhm!" you mumble in answer, your mouth full of ice cream.

matthew smiles, licking some more chocolate desert off his cone. he grabs your hand in his much warmer palm, interlocking your fingers together as you continue to stroll further into the arizona park.

the bright sun shines over the area, illuminating the vibrant leaves on the trees and the colourful flower beds that sat at every stump and bush. the scene is so relaxing and peaceful, like something from a painting.

matthew has always looked so amazing in the summer, you think. his hair becomes lighter, and he always bulks back up from the end of season weight loss. you watch as his muscles contract under his white shirt, and the sight has your mouth watering. you distract yourself by eating some more of your treat.

"you okay?" he squeezes your hand, "want some chocolate ice cream?"

"i'm fine," you say, "I do want some though - give me a lick." matthew holds his cone out infront of your face, and you grip his wrist to steady his hand while you taste some of his ice cream - taking a good sized amount of chocolate on your tongue.

you smile, pleased, and release your grip - once he pulls back, matthew eyes you suspiciously. "you sure you're okay? you looked pretty deep in thought for a minute there."

"just thinking about how delicious my ice cream is!" you say lightly, sending matthew an overly large grin in hopes to throw him off your track - it fails.

"y/n." he deadpans.

you moan gently, head falling to matthew's bicep. "fine! honestly i'm thinking about how pretty you look in this sunshine."

a fond smile makes its way onto his face, "you're such a sap."

"hey," you scoff, pulling away from matthew's touch. "don't be an asshole, I was trying to be nice and compliment you - I take it back."

"I was joking," he draws out, hands reaching back out for you, "come here." matthew successfully grabs onto your wrist, pulling you back into his space. he then wraps his arm around your shoulders, keeping your body tucked into him as you leisurely walk along.

you pout largely and mumble, "better be."

matthew laughs breathily at your exaggerated facial expression, and he brushes his lips against your sweaty hairline in an apology.

you walk in silence for a few minutes, taking in the busy park while you and matthew finish off your respective ice cream cones. it's moments like this that you cherish so much with your best friend. the moments of complete silence, where the two of your just enjoy each others presence without words. one of the reasons you love matthew so much is because how comfortable he makes you, no matter where you are or what you're doing.

eventually, you take a deep inhale, breaking the silence between you. "thanks for the ice cream, matty. and for bringing me here."

he shrugs nonchalantly, "of course. I feel like we haven't spent time together, just us, in sooooo long. wanted to be with my favourite person."

your face heats up instantly and you smirk teasingly, gazing up at him fondly. "look who's the sap now." you nudge your elbow deeper into his side, and then wrap that arm around his waist so he can't pull away from you.

"oh okay," matthew sighs, "I see how it is."

"i'm kidding," you sing song, laughing gently. your free hand comes up to grab his fingers on the hand that was dangling of your sundress covered shoulders. "dish it but can't take it, matty?"

matthew slows in his steps, making you both come to a gradual stop. he grabs your waist, spinning your body to completely face his as you stand still in the middle of the park. "you're impossible, y/n/n." matthew says with a grin. he takes one hand and reaches for your face, your warm summer flush being covered by his palm.

"shut up," you say through a smile, "you're the impossible one."

"mhm," matthew hums quietly, thumb stroking along your cheek bone as he holds you. you watch the way his eyes move over your face gently, staring at all your freckles and moles, down to your lips and back up to your bright eyes. matthews tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, his fond expression indicating he didn't really hear what you said - too distanced by....you.

you swallow gently, your own eyes never once straying from his face as he studies you. you feel unbearably warm under his gaze, heat bubbling in your blood in the best possible way.

matthew's right hand comes up to brush against the other side of your face, holding you between his large palms. on instinct, you touch his hips, your delicate fingers dusting along the linen fabric of his shirt.

he finds your eyes once more, holding your gaze for a long moment. that fond look had yet to disappear, and if anything it become more prevalent when your eyes locked.

you think you might gasp, or swear or pass out - you're not sure, but your head is spinning with love and happiness under matthew's stare.

you're not sure if you should say anything. you think of maybe asking him if he's okay, but your words die on your tongue when matthew licks his lips again, wetting the plump skin in a way that makes them even more desirable.

a beat passes, and then matthew finally closes the gap between you and captures your lips in his. the pressure is comforting and the way he sucks your top lip into his mouth expertly had your knees feeling weak - gripping onto his waist to keep yourself upright.

the kiss doesn't last long enough before matthew is pulling away - mindful of the busy public setting and the people bustling around the park. you sigh at the loss of contact, and at the sound of your disappointment matthew leans back in, stealing one more chaste kiss.

"you taste like vanilla," matthew says cheekily, he's still holding your face, keeping you close in his space.

you scrunch your nose up, the skin crinkling in the middle of of your face. matthew smiles at the sight. slowly, he releases your face, hands coming down to interlock your fingers once again - tugging on your hand as he begins to walk again.

"you taste like dusty waffle cone." you say, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

matthew chuckles, "you love my dusty waffle cone." he swings your intertwined hands between your bodies, his knuckles brushing the soft material of your sundress with every pass.

you take a long breath in, smiling gently - the scent of peonies and roses invading your senses pleasantly. you look towards matthew and find him already smiling at you.

you shrug at his statement, "I prefer sweet."

his smiles widens, "good thing i'm sweet enough without the ice cream then, huh?"

matthew's teasing has you blushing all the way to your chest and up your ears, nibbling on your lip in an attempt to contain your grin. "good thing."

matthew's smile softens slightly, but the look of amusement never leaves his eyes. he tugs your arm, "c'mon," he says, "let's go get food and then head home - i've been having an urge to binge american pie."

"deal," you smile, "but only if we get pizza."

matthew groans in agreement, "you've got a deal."

Part Four (C): halloween, sophomore year UNI

"whoops," you mumble, arms held out to regain your shaky balance after almost falling over. normally you'd blame your stumbling on the uneven concrete outside your residence building, but the margarita's pumping through your blood were definitely the reason tonight.

"careful," matthew laughs, a strong arm reaching out to grasp on to your waist. one of your devil wings stabs into his ribs, but because of his own alcohol intake, matthew doesn't seem to feel it. "did you want me to come up with you?"

you hum with contemplation, slowing in your steps as you approach the glass doors of residence. "think i'll be okay..." you smirk, spinning in his arms so fast it makes you momentarily dizzy. "unless you want to fuck."

matthew laughs, "we are both too drunk." he's almost suprised at his own common sense - even furrows his brows after he finishes the scentence.

"you're right," it's a sigh from your lips, and you fall forward into his chest, arm circling around his waist over the angel costume. "at least a kiss before I go?"

matthew smirks at your pouty face, your chin pressed between his pecks as you stare up at him. wordlessly, he grabs a hold of your face and kisses you.

the kiss is a little messy, and the flavours of your respective drinks mix between your shared silvia. regardless, it still has your blood pumping in your ears and matthew grinning against your mouth - both of you too drunk to care.

when he pulls away, his eyes are droopy with sleep and lust. "y/n/n," he whispers, "can I tell you something."

"always," you slur.

he brushes over the top of your head, smoothing your frizzy curls. "I purposely rejected girls last year so that i'd loose my virginity to you....because I only wanted it to be you. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."

too drunk to disect his words, you smile clueless, pressing a chaste kiss to the palm of his hand. "I wanted it to be you too."

matthew, who is also too drunk to take in your words or understand his own, smiles cheekily. "wanna get frozen yogurt tomorrow?"

you gasp, "yes!"

the next afternoon when you both wake up, neither of you get frozen yogurt because neither of you remember the conversation.

Part Five:

something has definitely changed between you and matthew. maybe it was just in your head, but ever since the kiss you shared in the park a few week prior, there has been a shift between you.

touches lingered longer, eyes swam with newfound confidence and when he would kiss you, he would do it just for the purpose of kissing. it wouldn't lead to sex or a heated make out, matthew would simply just kiss you hello and goodbye or after a teasing remark.

and sure, it's not that matthew would only kiss you when he wanted sex before that - but it was never for no reason. the park kiss was the first time you felt loved by matthew and when he kissed you because he just felt like it.

you think maybe there's a possibility something was blooming between you. a small chance that matthew had feelings for you - that he loved you.

"hey," matthew whispers, hand squeezing your thigh to grab your attention. "you okay?"

you blink, looking away from the tiny airplane window and over to your friend. you nod, "i'm okay," matthew's eyes scan your features quickly, but you catch his worried eyes - sending a reassuring smile. "just trying to remember if I packed my toothbrush." you lie easily.

matthew seems to buy it, laughing gently into your shoulder. "if you did, i'll buy you a new one."

you smile, and your arms snake around his bicep in a hug. "better be one of those expensive electric ones if that's the case." you tease quietly. matthew laughs again, his arm flexing under your hands.

"anything you want."

only a week after your ice cream date in the park, matthew had asked if you wanted to come with him to toronto for a week. he said that around august every year, the guys started to get back into the groove of things, so he was thinking of heading back for a brief visit before moving back for the season.

when you asked why he wanted you to come, he said he wanted his favourite person to meet his toronto family, which obviously sent you into a loving spiral. it was enough for you to agree, packing your bags and accompanying your best friend to canada a week later.

you find yourself turning to look out the window once again, the CN tower looking back at you from a few miles in the distance. a wave of excitement floods you, and your turn back to matthew.

"i'm excited to meet everyone," you admit. one of your hands move from his arm to grab his hand that was on your leg, palm coming down on the top of his hand. "can't wait for them to tell me how much of pest you are in the locker room."

he scoffs playfully, "the only reason you want to see everyone is so that you can talk shit?... I should've known better."

you laugh, hiding your face in matthew's broad shoulder. he smiles at the sound, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you smile into his shirt at the feeling, letting your brain run wild with feelings.

"are you sure it's okay that i'm staying with you?"

"course," matthew hums, "john and aryne are so excited to meet you. aryne has already said how stoked she is to have a girl in the house for a week."

that has you grinning, squeezing his hand happily. "I can't believe i'm going to meet an nhl superstar," you whisper giddy.

matthew quirks a brow, "you've met me. I thought I was an nhl superstar?"

"you'll still be my favourite," you trail off, tilting your head up so brush your lips against his, giving matthew a chaste kiss.

'attention passengers, we will be making our descend to toronto pearson international airport now - please ensure you remain seated and keep your seatbelts buckled until landing."

matthew pulls away from your kiss, giving your thigh another assuring squeeze.

—

"no way!" you grin, your knife slowing is it cuts through your piece of saucy chicken, "what did you do?" you asked amused, stabbing your food before bringing it to your mouth.

aryne tavares swallows her mouthful of water, placing the glass down gently. "well, I panicked for sure! I ushered axton to go with steph, and handed the baby to jake's wife. then I ran after jace! he sure is small but god did his small legs outrun me."

you laugh lightly, slowly chewing your piece of chicken before swallowing. "that's sweet though, regardless."

"I know," she smiles sweetly, eating some of her own honey garlic seasoned meat.

beside you, matthew laughs as well, shoving another mouthful of rice in his mouth. "he made me ride home with them because he was worried - held my hand the whole time." he tells you between chews of his food.

you coo, forking some of your crispy potatoes.

aryne and john tavares had picked you up from the pearson airport terminal, and they greeted you like you were apart of their family and have known you for years. immediately, you felt welcomed by the tavares', all of you falling into comfortable conversation on the drive to their home.

you and aryne had cooked dinner together, laughing and talking like the two of you had done it many times before - making a delicious honey garlic glazed chicken with whole grain rice and crisp baby potatoes.

as you all sat down to eat, john and aryne wasted no time jumping into stories about matthew and his first few months in the NHL - including the most recent one that aryne had been sharing: when matthew got his concussion and their son, Jace, had ran through the arena to make sure matthew was okay.

"didn't stop him from whacking me with a mini stick the next morning," matthew teases after your fond coo.

you all laugh gently, not wanting to wake any of the kids from where they slept upstairs - wiped out from spending the day at their grandparents.

"I love that story," you admit fondly, finishing off your portion of perfectly seasoned rice.

"matthew said you would," john muses, sending your friend a knowing glance through his thick dark lashes, a smirk beginning to tug on the captain's mouth.

"did he now?" you tease in matthew's direction, further contributing to the blush rising on matthew's warm face. he chuckles gently, eyes trained on his empty dinner plate to avoid his captains tease and your soft gaze.

"he talks about you all the time," john continues to tease, laughing as his younger teammate splutters with embarrassment. "think I know more about you than I do about matthew."

aryne scolds her husband with a smile, smacking his arm gently.

"all good things I hope?" you question gently, a hopeful smile tugging your lips upwards as you look around.

matthew clears his throat quickly. "always" he tells you, rubbing along the top of your thigh, his warm palm tickling your exposed skin underneath the dining room table.

you blush, clearing your throat before taking a healthy sip of your water.

—

the weight of matthew's body on top of yours is foolproof. although his full weight isn't on you, the heat of his skin has you feeling amazing.

the spare bedroom popcorn ceiling of the tavares house is staring down at you, bright white and crisp. the room still smells like matthew - like he never left his home in toronto. his clothes still in the closet, and his cologne and old spice deodorant on the dresser.

a smile breaks out on your face at the sight and thought of matthew being so comfortable and happy in toronto, your eyes darting to his as he looks down at you - his own grin playing at his lips.

"I can believe i'm in your room."

his brows pull together ever so slightly, his lips tugging further upwards. "you've seen this room before."

"yeah," you sigh, "but only on facetime. this is different - I love it."

matthew laughs gently, face dipping down to hide in the crook of your neck. his hair tickles your skin, and the tip of his nose nudges against your pulse point. matthew presses his lips on your sweet spot, but instead of kissing you, he blows a raspberry. the feeling has you squirming, a tiny squeal falling form your lips as you laugh - trying to escape the tickle sensation.

he pulls away to look at you, a cheeky smile on his face.

"you're ridiculous," you laugh, pinching the inside of his bicep.

matthew's smile widens, "you love when I do that."

"no I don't." your smile gives you away, and matthew is leaning back in, blowing a quick raspberry on your flushed cheek - eliciting another laugh from you. he soothes the tickle with a quick kiss, turning your face more pink.

"I missed you so much when I was here," matthew says gently, "I can't believe that you're with me right now."

you blink in suprise, a fond smile blooming on your lips. "nowhere else i'd rather be."

he quirks a brow up playfully, "than with me?"

"no," you deadpan, "this bed. god, that nhl money really gets you the expensive mattresses, huh?" you tease, stretching your arms over your head in an exaggerated stretching motion.

matthew tongues his cheek with a grin before using one of his hands to tickle your exposed under arm. you squeak again, bringing your arms down quickly.

a moment passes, and then matthew is holding your cheek, his face coming down again but this time to kiss you softly. like usual, your stomach swoops, the feeling of his lips tenderly pressing into yours nothing short of perfect.

he pulls away an inch and then presses one more long kiss to your lips. you sigh pleasantly, eyes fluttering open to meet his blue ones again.

in between your spread legs, you feel matthew's dick twitch through his lulu shorts, right against your core. he groans quietly, "you know how many times i've jerked off in this bed thinking about sex with you?"

a mix of a laugh and gasp passes your lips, "matty! that's so gross."

he laughs amused, "and you love it."

you really do.

"so, what? i'm just laying in your cum? you're nasty." you laugh again, covering your face with in the crook of your elbow.

gently, he tugs your arm away, revealing your face to him once more. "my cum is literally in you."

you shush him, burning a deep burgundy all over.

"hey," matthew starts, "tomorrow I was thinking we could go around the city? do all that shitty tourist stuff until our heads explode. then tomorrow night, mitch and steph are having a get together at this club, thought we could go. then you can meet everyone else."

you smile brightly as you listen to matthew, enjoying the way he absentmindedly plays with the baby hairs around your face, pushing them off your forehead as he talks. "sounds perfect," you hum once he finishes.

matthew's smiles and he nods, pressing two quick kisses to your lips.

—

matthew woke you up at 7 a.m. the next morning, claiming you two had to get to the aquarium before the tourists did - when you reminded him that the two of you are also tourists, he shushed you quickly, making you laugh as his index finger pressed to your lips.

like he said he would, matthew took you around the whole city. he showed you the most iconic tourist spots in toronto - like the CN tower and museum, as well as bringing you to leafs square and showing you all his favourite spots. all day, matthew was so bubbly and happy showing you everywhere - he talked and laughed with you, never letting go of your hand or waist as he dragged you around toronto.

for a late lunch, matthew brought you to a cute cafe in trinity bellwoods, which was so delicious. while you both ate cheesy sandwiches, he had trapped your leg between his own, smiling gently anytime you caught gazes. it was all so....domestic and wonderful - you fought hard to not grin like a manic the entire day.

"you still up for tonight? everyone's looking forward to meeting you." matthew spoke into your ear on the walk back to his parked car, arm wrapped around your shoulder to keep you close.

"yes," you said, "i'm excited." and then matthew kissed you right outside the sky dome for everyone to see.

you were....so in love with him.

—

you sighed, hands flattening your black skirt down as you checked your outfit over in the bathroom mirror. your top glittered as it caught the warm glow of the lightbulbs above, elevating a rather simple outfit into one appropriate for an expensive night club.

still unsure, you brought you lip between your teeth, tasting the strawberry lip stain as you did. "matty," you called out gently, padding out of the en suite and into the spare room matthew's stuff occupied, "is this okay?"

sitting on the mattress, matthew looks up from his phone at the sound of your voice. instantly, his eyes soften and glaze over, his plump lips parting as he drinks you in from head to toe.

he stands up, phone long forgotten as he makes his way over towards you. "more than okay," matthew mutters, reaching out to run his calloused fingertips over your bare shoulder, "i'm going to have to fight off other men - you look so pretty. i'm pretty good at fighting though, so don't worry."

"loser," you chime with a smile, "think it's appropriate?"

"yes," he smiles, "they'll be falling at your feet."

you roll your eyes playfully, brushing past him to grab your shoes in your small travel bag, rifling through your options. "is the uber almost here?"

he nods, watching as you pull out your favourite pair of shoes. "yeah, they're about to pull up." matthew answers, walking back over to your side.

"m'kay," you hum, strapping on the heels of your sandals. you teeter without your full balance, and matthew immediately grabs your arm to steady you.

you fight back your grin, finishing with the buckle.

matthew leads you outside with a hand on your lower back, gently guiding you into the back seat of the uber. you think he may choose to sit in the front seat, but he climbs in after you, sliding beside you effortlessly.

in the short ride to the nightclub, matthew's hand doesn't leave your leg, his palm either squeezing the meat of your thigh or a finger stroking along your tanned skin.

there's a moment when your driver makes a turn onto the street for the club, and matthew looks down at you fondly. his free hand brushes away some hair, lingering by your ear when he whispers, "being with you feels like a dream I never want to wake up from."

you feel your body melt into the backseat, your grip on his bicep tightening as you stare up at him. without knowing what words to say, you choose to lean in, kissing him with as much love you can put into a kiss.

as matthew pulls away with a giddy smile, getting ready to guide you out the uber and into the line for the nightclub - you decide you're ready to tell him how you feel. when you both are back home, you're going to confess your love to him and you think - after this trip - he will feel the same.

you can see the way matthew looks at you, how he touches you and the words he says - you are positive your best friend is in love with you. the thought has you giddy, letting matthew pull you into the club with smiles on both your faces.

a cheerful loud chorus of greetings are thrown in your direction as you and matthew approach the teams occupied table at the back of the club. watching matthew light up at seeing and hearing his teammates reactions to him, instantly had you beaming.

your smile widens as matthew introduces you to everyone - first as a group, and then to everyone individually. he praises you everytime, which has you blushing. and when he doesn't introduce you as his best friend, but rather his girl, you just about melt into the sticky flooring.

everybody is friendly with you, and as you sit between matthew and steph marner, you've never felt more included in a new group of people before. steph asks about anything and everything she can think of, and you answer with just as much passion and enthusiasm as she has. then the other wags chime in and ask you about yourself - matthew smiling fondly with an arm strewn over the back of your chair - it was all you could of wanted.

the first hour is spent catching up and getting to know everyone at the table, laughter and appetizers shared between you all.

it was all going perfectly, and then, "kniesy, does your girlfriend want another drink?" you hear jake mcCabe ask matthew. you tune out amber brodie's words at the question, your heart thumping and stomach churning as you anticipate matthew's gentle correction.

she's not my girlfriend, but she'll probably want another one or we're just friends, but sure.

"hey," matthew mumbles against your ear, "want another drink?"

you smile through your momentary moment of shock, "yea...thanks."

matthew didn't correct the title of your relationship to him.

your smile widens, and you turn back to amber with a new sparkle in your eyes.

the music is a dull thump in your ears, the bass of the song sending vibrations through your body as you sway with the beat. matthew's hands are all over you, sliding down your curves and spinning you around to dance with him. it feels like your 18 again, getting drunk and dancing your nights away at the alchemy.

you think you've been out here for at least an hour, and your feet are starting to ache - but you don't find yourself to care. you can see some of matthew's teammates dancing on the floor as well, laughing and moving with one another a little bit aways from you both.

you still can't believe how nice and kind everyone of matthew's teammates and their significant others are - you hope you see them more often.

you hope you'll be coming down to toronto during the season to watch matthew play this season - sitting in the WAG box and wearing your friends last name on your back. steph has already (very tipsily) shouted about how she's adding you to their groupchat - the rest of the girls agreeing just as loud.

you feel so at home.

matthew's hand slides down over the round of you ass, squeezing the flesh tightly. you're pulled from you own thoughts at the feeling, blinking hard to regain reality. there's a glimmer in his eyes, sparkling under the blue lights and he smirks.

"I want to kiss you so bad," he says over the music, his words hitting the side of your face as he leans down.

thankfully, matthew's slightly hunched position has him close enough for you to be able to turn your head and speak directly into his ear. "kiss me," you tell him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you do so.

the kiss is messy and hot. the flavours of your respective drinks mixing on your tongues as they swirl in a dance of their own. you feel matthew smile into the kiss, which has you grinning as well.

somebody hollers in passing, and when you open your eyes you catch sight of mitch and steph behind you - sending you both grins and thumbs up, clearly the two of them for the cat calling moments before.

the combination of being flustered, the kiss and being surrounded of sweaty moving bodies has enough for you to pull away form matthew, swallowing thickly. "I need a drink."

"m'kay," he hums, "lets go back to our table first? then you can sit for a bit while I get us some drinks?"

you grin, nodding in agreement, matthew grabbing your hand and interlocking your fingers, pulling you through the crowd of people and in the direction to the table.

the table is covered in various picked through appetizers, half empty glasses and bottles. there's a few people still sitting around and socializing- mostly the older guys who don't feel like dancing.

there's somebody there you haven't met, a pretty blonde girl who is chatting happily to pontus holmbergs girlfriend near the end of the table.

matthew sees her too, and immediately he tenses, his hand in yours going limp as his body goes still, eyes wide and face pale.

you frown at him, "hey, what's wrong-"

"matthew?" the girl asks loudly, a grin taking over her perfect face as she bounds over to you both. "I didn't think you'd be here!"

the girl hugs matthew's tense shoulder and then...she kisses his cheek- very close to the side of his plump pair of lips.

you stomach falls along with your face. you pull your hand away from your friends, bringing it back to your side just as the girl turns in your direction, arms still draped over matthew's shoulders.

"i'm hayley," she says, "i'm matthew's friend."

matthew blinks hard, turning to you with an expression of guilt and sadness and fear....and your heart shatters.

she continues, "well, we've like hooked up a few times. is that friends, I don't know," hayley laughs, clearly unaware of the growing tension, "anyways, who are you? I don't think we've met."

matthew opens his mouth to speak, but you don't let him and you cut him off with a closed mouth smile, "just a friend from home."

"cute," hayley hums.

you nod, tears beginning to gather along your waterline. matthew watches you with that same shocked look, eyes bewildered and chest heaving. the walls feel like they are closing in on you, and your throat closes so you can't breath properly.

"I need some air," you say quickly and quitley, your eyes downcast as you turn around, darting through the crowd of the nightclub and to the door - leaving hayley, the team and matthew without another glance.

you begin to cry as soon as you step outside. your stomach is sitting heavy in your belly, weighing you down as your insides crumble with disappointment and heartbreak.

you don't know where you are going, but you start walking down the sidewalk. you didn't know where you were downtown, but you knew you couldn't go back inside and watch hayley hang over the man you love - even worse, you can't watch the way matthew lets her.

"y/n!"

you don't turn around, speeding up your walk. you pull out your phone, opening the uber app. you are already planning on getting a ride to the nearest hotel for the night - you'd get your bags tomorrow.

"y/n!" matthew calls from behind you again, "please, don't walk away."

you ignore him.

you can hear his footsteps on the pavement getting closer, and you bite down on your lips to stop the gut wrenching sob from leaving you.

"please let's just talk." matthew says loudly, "why are you so upset? stop walking away!"

you stop walking quickly and turn around forcefully. matthew takes a step back, closer than you anticipated, and stares at you breathing heavily, his brows pulled together as he sees your tear soaked face.

you huff, "you lied to me matthew."

he cringes at your angry tone and the use of his full name. matthew closes his eyes momentarily and takes a deep breath. "I should've said something sooner, I know, but it's nothing - there's nothing going on."

you laugh exasperated, "but clearly there was! fuck, I thought we had no secrets."

"we don't!" matthew sighs, "I didn't feel like it was important enough to mention."

"not important enough to mention?" you repeat, brows raised in suprise. "did you forget that we are having sex, matthew? god, I let you fuck me without a condom when you've been sleeping with someone else! the first thing you should've done was tell me."

"I didn't want it to get blown up like how it is right now," he seethes, "honestly, this is why I didn't tell you."

you scoff, "don't make this my fault!" you tell him roughly. "I don't care that you hooked up with somebody matthew! it's the fact you never told me - even before we had sex without protection. I told you there was nobody else and you said the same," you sigh gently, "janie said it first, last week she said we should of had an exclusivity talk a long time ago-"

matthew squints, "you told janie about us? what the fuck."

"you lied to me matthew!" you repeat loudly.

his expression falls, and he sighs gently, blue eyes meeting the sidewalk under his shoes.

a beat passes between you.

"you're making me feel guiltier than I already feel," he tells you harshly.

you laugh harshly again, "good! god matthew, I can't fucking believe this right now! bringing me here and introducing me to your teammates. the touches and kisses and looks you've been giving me! what you said in the cab! I thought...." you pause, bringing your lip into your mouth.

matthew's eyes soften, "you thought what?" he asks you gently. when you don't answer right away, he takes a step towards you, hand outstretched like he will reach out and touch you.

you shake your head, laughing dryly as another set of tears spring into action, dampening your cheeks. you take a step away from him, ignoring the frown tugging at his lips and the emotions in his eyes. "I thought nothing, matthew." you turn away, continuing to walk down the street.

"no," matthew says, catching up and grabbing your arm, spinning you back around and keeping you in place, "don't walk away, y/n. we need to talk."

you sigh sadly, eyes closing as you desperately try and keep your tears from falling further. "what are we doing, matthew?"

he frowns deeper at your question, his brows drawing together as he looks down at your heartbroken expression. matthew doesn't know what to say, eyes darting between the two of yours in search of some sort of indication- an answer.

"I can't keep doing this. I can't keep lying to myself that I don't want more with you, because it's fucking me up so badly." you admit quietly, salty tears falling down your cheeks and wetting your mouth. you weren't expecting to say that to him - especially tonight. but you were so tired and distraught, your body was tired of fighting for his sake.

slowly, matthew's expression changed, mouth slightly parted as he breaths deeply. "what did you say?

"nothing," you sigh again, "clearly this arrangement we have doesn't work for us anymore. go back inside with hayley, don't let me stop you anymore."

finally, you walk away from matthew. he calls your name once more, but you don't dare turn to look, keeping your eyes on your phone as you order an uber - leaving your best friend and your heart on the streets of toronto.

Epilogue:

you booked a flight home the next morning. you had to use your entire credit card balance, which you would ultimately suffer for, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

you cried to entire flight home, starring out the small window quitley as music blasted through your headphones - thinking about your fight with matthew over and over again until you landed back in arizona.

as soon as you got the wifi at the airport, you called janie, crying into your phone as you asked her for a ride home. she picked you up, and immediately you told her what happened with matthew - hiccupping through salty tears and laboured breaths.

you were so devastated.

locking yourself in your bedroom as soon as janie dropped you home, not even making an appearance for dinner. you silenced your phone and cried yourself to exhaustion.

you cringe in the early morning sun, tucked solemnly between your fuzzy blankets - cringing further at how stupid you must look thinking that your best friends love wasn't unrequited anymore - that matthew loved you back.

the thought of seeing matthew again seemed taxing - you couldn't see him. not only had you borderline confessed your feelings for him in the middle of the fight, but your heart got shattered in the process.

the look on his face when you said it - makes your stomach churn at the mere thought.

not only was there that heartbreak to process, there was also the whole thing of matthew having a girl in toronto - one that was well enough associated with him for somebody to feel the need to invite her out to the club.

he had slept with her, and then didn't tell you - he kept it all a secret, and when you asked about it, he lied to your face. matthew fucked you without protection knowing that - and he let you believe there was something more growing between you.

sniffing, you sit up in your bed, falling back against the padded headboard with defeat. your gold plated clock sitting above your desk reads 8:37, a reminder of just how early you'd naturally woken up - tear stained cheeks and headache included.

a knock sounds at your door quietly, pulling you from your pity party and a confused frown begins to tugs at your lips. your parents should be at work already, and janie hadn't mentioned coming over. perhaps your mom was home today, or janie was coming to keep you company - you wouldn't of got the message because your phone was still very much silenced.

"y/n?" the voice is muffled through the door, but you'd recognize the sound of his anywhere. after all, you've been replaying anything he's every said to you over in your mind since freshman year.

"y/n? are you awake?" matthew questions again.

you shoot up out of bed, bare feet padding to the closed door. matthew hears the springs of the mattress through the door as you move and the sound of you shuffling towards him.

you don't say anything but matthew had the conformation you're there and awake - all the conformation he needed that you were alive. you hadn't responded to any of his calls or texts - he's pretty sure he even emailed you, desperate to get you to talk to him.

so like any logical person would, matthew hopped on the next flight to arizona, suitcase still in his car while he knocks on your bedroom door.

"can you please open the door? I need to talk to you." he pleads gently.

your voice is shaky, tears of embarrassment and pain threatening to spill. "about what?"

matthew breaths a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice - although you don't sound like you usually do. you sound sad and tired...and that breaks his heart. he sighs again, and firmly asks again, "open the door."

you find your self hesitating for a moment, hand hovering over the bronze knob as you think about what's to come. maybe matthew wants an apology - your hasty exit from the club and making a scene in the streets was embarrassing for him. or maybe he's here to let you down, tell you that you can still be friends, but he doesn't have feelings - or worse, he can't be friends with you anymore.

the unknown is eating you alive, and with a deep breath, you turn the door handle, pulling open the door that separates you from him.

his face changes into something similar to relief at the sight of you, and you look down to the floor, knawing on your lip as you try to stay calm.

"what are doing here?" you ask. you look back towards his kind face, your brows pulled tight as you take him in.

he doesn't seem angry or upset. if anything he looks nervous...anxious even. you wonder if there's a reason for that, after all, he has cut his own trip short and come home to arizona for this conversation.

"did you mean it?" matthew ignores your question, taking a step closer to you. "what you said?"

he has to be talking about your brief confession outside the nightclub during the fight, you think, and you stomach drops. you knaw your bottom lip, further shredding the soft skin you'd been tugging on all night. you nod your head once, so quick you're not sure if matthew even saw.

but he did see it, and he breaths what seems like a sigh of relief, a very faint grin beginning to make its way onto his face. matthew clears his throat, "I did a shitty thing," he starts quietly, his adam's apple with a nervous swallow, "I lied to you because I was embarrassed. I lied because we're not just friends and we haven't been for a long time."

you mouth drops, heavy breaths falling past your lips. before you can even fathom your response, he continues. "I should've told you about that girl, even if I didn't want to. I only hooked up with hayley because I was trying to forget about my feelings for you. I know we're best friends, but I want to be more. so if you really meant what you said the other night, say it again. let me hear you say it again." he takes a deep breath, and an airy chuckle leaves his lips, "and I know this is a lot before 9 in the morning, but I need to hear you say it."

you swallow, saliva thick with nerves. pushing your messy hair off your face, hands desperately trying to keep busy. you don't know what to think. "is this a joke? are you only saying this to make me feel better?"

his brows draw together and he frowns - fingers itching to reach out and touch you. "I would never joke about what I feel for you."

matthew knies confessed he has feelings for you. everything you've ever wanted, everything you've longed for is about to happen - is happening.

"matty," you breath, "I love you and i've loved you for years...and I know that's more than what I said the other night and I hope it's not too much for you, but-"

he kisses you.

matthew holds you close as he leans down to capture your lips with his own, bottom and top enclosing around yours as he kisses like he always does: perfectly.

a moment later, your lips part and breathlessly, he pulls away, forehead resting against yours as you two catch your laboured breath.

"how long?"

"what?" you question quietly.

"how long have you loved me?" he whispers softly.

"since highschool," you admit.

"god," matthew whispers wondrously with a small smile, "I wish we had this conversation sooner....because i've loved you since freshman year. that's why I never had a girlfriend and that's why I proposed the idea of loosing our virginities to one another. I wanted to loose my virginity to you - and only you since the moment we met."

"you've liked me since highschool?" you ask dumbfounded, your pointer finger gesturing between you. "we were both really oblivious, huh?"

"I thought I was being obvious," matthew admits with a laugh, thumb rubbing along your cheekbone.

you shrug, hand coming up to hold his wrist tightly - keeping him close. "well, I think I was the only one being oblivious- janie knew you had a crush on me."

"damn," he smiles, "janie is smarter than I thought."

you giggle just as matthew leans back in, kissing you with as much force he can manage - and this time, you're sure of it - it was love.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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strawberrykidneystone · 1 month ago

Text

bet on me

vi x female reader

summary: vi was in a celebratory mood and you were grateful for her win earning you a nice sum

a/n: cait i can't believe you rebounded with a ginger /j

tags: making out, alcohol, pit fighter!vi, fingering, spit (like a lot), pussy eating, cursing, finger sucking, locker room sex

ao3 version

vi had just won another one of her fights, she’s been on an intense winning streak for a few weeks.

and she was in the mood to celebrate.

normally she would get piss drunk with loris, but a pretty little thing had caught her eye while she was in the arena today. she had certain tensions that loris just couldn’t help her with.

you were already perched at the bar with a drink in your hand after vi won her latest fight. you knew that she would find you after the fight, her eyes flickering up to you every time she had a chance to breathe and every time she KOed an opponent. you bet on her on a whim, it was your first time coming to this hole in the wall and you chose her simply because you liked her name. you’d won a lot because a lot of suckers here hated rooting for a woman, but that just meant more coin for you.

vi sauntered over with her jacket over her shoulders, pulling out the chair next to you and taking a seat, the bartender passing her “the usual” on the house since she was the big winner, the big boss earning a large part of the pool from her winning. she gulped down the whole thing in one drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, turning her focus to you. you could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your skull, but you refused to turn your head. you held back a smirk in your lips as you saw her scoff out of the corner of your eye, slinging her arm around the back of her chair.

“come here often?”

you snorted into your drink and finally turned your head towards her, “really? that’s the best line you’ve got?”

she shrugged and smirked, “you’d be surprised how often it works?”

“oh so you do this often?” you teased, covering up your smile with your cup as you took a sip.

“only for the pretty girls,” she mused, an arrogant aura around her that you usually would’ve found annoying, but it worked with her whole shtick. plus she had the moved to back up her cocky attitude, so you let it slide.

“oh yeah? how about we see if that makeup is as tough as you?” you quipped, downing the rest of your drink and leaning in close to her.

she looked as though she were in a daze, her eyes locked in on your lips. snapping out of her trance as if she finally processed what you said, she slammed a few coins on the counter and grabbed your wrist, dragging you back to the women’s locker room at the back of the arena.

with the door quickly closing behind you, she caged you against the wall between her arms and roughly pressed her lips against yours, tasting the alcohol that was on her lips only a few moments ago. your arms wrapped tightly around her neck, gripping the back collar of her leather jacket. she kissed you with as much intensity, if not more, that she had in the arena with the same hands that were bashing in skulls a few minutes earlier were now desperately grabbing at your waist. you whined into her mouth as she shoved her thigh in between your legs, gripping your hips and moving your heat against her thigh that was made of pure muscle. vi groaned and pulled her head back, "fuck baby, you're so wet you're leakin' on my jeans."

"shut up," you strained out through a moan and whimpered when she pulled her thigh away. your hands trailed down her shoulder, pulling lightly at her jacket to wordlessly tell you to take it off. she took the hint and shucked off the jacket, throwing it off to the side. your hands traced up her biceps, biting your bottom lip and lightly dragging your nails down her defined muscles.

"take your skirt off," she demanded with a growl and slipped her hands under your shirt, digging her calloused covered fingers into your waist.

"no need," you said with a grin, shuffling your feet a little wider as an open invitation. she slipped her hand between your legs and groaned almost anomalistically as her hand immediately met your sex, rubbing her index and pointer finger along your folds.

"fuck princess, didn't know you'd be so dirty," she teased and gave your pussy a few love taps, a satisfying slapping sound coming from your wet pussy. she picked up the back of your right thigh and hooked it over her hip. you leaned back against the wall as her fingers explored your folds, her eyes meticulously watching every twitch of your hips and moan that left your mouth.

she swirled her fingers in your slick, making sure they were properly coated before she teased two fingers at your entrance. your hips tried to lower onto her fingers and you whined as she pulled her fingers away, looking up at her with desperation.

“beg for it baby,” she cooed and brought her hand up, parting her fingers to admire your arousal stringing apart like a spider web.

“please vi, need you inside of me,” you begged, your nails digging into the back of her shoulders. she hummed and shoved her fingers into your mouth, smirking as you automatically started sucking on them. she flattened her fingers against your tongue and slid them in a bit further, causing you to slightly gag as they brushed against the back of your throat. humming in satisfaction, she traced her fingers around the walls of your mouth, curling them up slightly and tickling the roof of your mouth.

“good girl,” she praised and pulled her fingers out of your mouth with a ‘pop’, licking your saliva off of her fingers. reaching her hand down, she plunged her two wet fingers into your heat and started rubbing tight circles on your clit with her thumb, the textured callouses pushing on your button in certain places that made your head spin. your hips jerked up as you threw your head back against the wall, clawing your nails down vi’s shoulders as her rugged fingers pressed against your walls and curled inside of you at just the right angle.

“y-yes! right there!” you moaned out, your clit throbbing against her thumb as her fingers found the perfect tempo to pump into your tight heat. adding a third finger, she stretched out your opening with your fluids slobbering all over her hand like a melting ice cream cone. the pleasure was getting to be too much and you hitched forward, your teeth sinking into her bare shoulder as you gripped onto her arms for dear life. your orgasm overcame you with a sudden snap, your walls pulsing against her girthy fingers. she continued at her bruising pace, rubbing your clit even rougher than before. you mewled and weakly tried to push her away, the overstimulation heightening your senses.

“awe c'mon baby, you can give me another one can’t you?” she said huskily into your ear, kissing down your neck and emphasizing her fingers deep inside of you as she said ‘another one’. you mindlessly nodded and buried your face into the crook of her neck, your mouth agape with a moan that never came out as she quickly brought you to another orgasm as intense as a wave crashing against a cliff in a storm. your walls fluttered around her, squeezing so hard she swore they were going to be pushed out. slowing the rhythm of her fingers, she shallowly continued to thrust them to help you ride out your second orgasm.

vi gently slipped her fingers out of your slick walls, sucking on her three fingers with a satisfied hum as if she just finished the best meal of her entire life. she grabbed you by the back of the head and kissed you so fiercely that you could practically map where the scar on her lip started and ended with your eyes closed. as she kissed you, she turned the two of you around and leaned back against the wall. your hands naturally found their way to her biceps again, but you couldn't help but let them wander to her chest and grope at her wrapped breasts. vi closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the feeling of you squeezing her tightly wound tits while you peppered kisses along her jaw. giving her breasts one last firm squeeze, you pulled down her wrap and licked your lips as you saw her nipple perk up in the cold air. you kissed down her sternum and looked up at her with hooded eyes, surprised to see her in such a state of relaxation with her posture significantly softened. giving one last long lick up the middle of her chest, you latched onto her right nipple while you twisted the other between your fingers, drawing surprisingly high-pitched noises from the oh-so-brave fighter in front of you. she seemed to have enough as she pulled you back bu your hair with your head craned up at her.

"down on your knees," she growled into your ear and watched as you immediately dropped down in front of her, looking up at her with big eyes.

"so obedient," she purred and squished your cheeks together in her hand.

"open and stick your tongue out baby," she instructed and smirked when you lolled your tongue out with your mouth wide open. she gathered up a bit of saliva in her mouth and slowly let the drool stretch out past her lips until the warm liquid hit your tongue. she spit the last part connected to her lips down into your mouth and patted the side of your cheek as if you were a street mutt who was begging for food.

"now swallow," she ordered and unbuckled her belts, pulling her pants down as she watched you close your mouth and swallow her spit.

she chuckled and threaded her fingers through your hair, pulling you close to the crotch. with her jeans gone and her low-hanging boxers, you could see a pink happy trail that disappeared down into her underwear. you nuzzled your nose against her crotch and could smell the surprisingly pleasant sweaty must in between her legs, as well as hairs from her bush sticking out of her boxers like a pink porcupine. you stuck your tongue out once again and pushed against the material of her boxers with your tongue, your saliva sticking to her wet lips.

you placed a soft kiss to the front of her crotch and looked up at her for confirmation. she nodded her head steely and gave a soft tug to your hair, "go on, eat."

pulling her boxers down over her hips, you leaned up and pressed a few strong kisses up against her folds. the grip she had on your hair tightened, clutching at the hair at the crown of your head. you leaned in further and sucked on her puffy clit with your hands gripping her meaty thighs to stabilize yourself. flattening your tongue over her clit, you looked up at her blissed-out face as she bit back her moans and started riding your tongue. you hummed to add extra stimulation to her clit and firmly pushed your tongue up against her.

"fuck fuck fuck," she cursed as she pushed her upper body against the wall as her hips bucked against your wet muscle, sinful squelching sounds filling the room as more arousal fluid leaked from her folds. you could feel her pulsing against your tongue, switching between hollowing out your cheeks to suck on her clit and rubbing your tongue against her soaked slit.

she seemed to finally have enough and gripped your head to stay in place, her wrapped palms slightly sticking to your hair. she started desperately grinding her hips against your tongue until a high-pitched moan left her mouth. her hips froze up and she spasmed a few times against your mouth, her juices leaking down into your waiting mouth. her grip loosened on your hair which allowed you to happily lick her up, mindful of her sensitive spots until you were satisfied with your work. her fluids were all over your face creating a celestial-like sheen on your face that she couldn't help but blush at.

as you stood up and brushed off your knees, she brought you into a surprisingly soft kiss, giving you a last few pecks before pulling back. she studied your face and chuckled, shaking her head, "looks like it's not transfer proof pretty girl."

you cocked your head to the side before catching a look at yourself in the mirror, black smudges all over your face and neck. you laughed and half-heartedly wiped at the black makeup, realizing your fingers also had a bit of the black pitch on them, "it was well worth testing out."

a/n: omg reader you're not wearing underwear to the gross underground fighting ring that's grossssss

taglist: @sunflowerwinds @oceanstrap @evelyn3 @naabbie

#vi x reader #vi x female reader #arcane vi #arcane violet #vi arcane #violet arcane #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season 2 part 2 #vi smut #vi x reader smut #ao3 #league of lesbians #vi x fem! reader #vi x fem reader #strawberrykidneystone #strawberrykidneystone writes

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u6is · 1 month ago

Text

"you cut your hair but you used to live a blonded life"

part 1

warnings: profanities, drug-use

— kylian mbappé x reader: angst

The lights of the club swirled in a dizzying array of colours, casting shadows that danced with the music.

It was a typical Friday night in Paris.

Your friends had claimed a table in the corner, your laughter bubbling up like a geyser of joy. You clinked your glasses together, the sound of ice cubes chiming like a celebratory bell. The whiskey burned a warm path down your throat, loosening the grip of the week's tension.

There was something unique about tonight.

Through the throngs of partygoers, the VIP corner, a bastion of opulence in stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the main floor. It was where the elite came to play, cordoned off by velvet ropes and stern-faced bouncers. Inside, the football players were celebrating their latest victory, and the air around them charged with excitement.

They were the kings of the city for the night, and everyone knew it.

The strobe lights painted the room in brief snapshots of reality, a visual symphony that only made the music feel more alive. You felt like a bird released from its cage as you moved through the crowd, your movements fluid and unrestrained. Your arms stretched out, as if you could touch the stars above.

You are as unbound as a bird in flight, weightless and free.

Kylian Mbappe, the soccer star everyone talked about, stood in the VIP section, his eyes scanning the dance floor. His restlessness was palpable, even from afar. He craved the pulse of the city's nightlife, the unscripted moments that made each night unique.

He slipped out from the VIP section, a playful grin tugging at his lips, and vanished into the sea of faces. The whispers grew louder as people recognized him, but he was already lost in the rhythm, just another soul seeking the essence of the night.

Suddenly, a flash of color caught his eye.

You, with your hair dancing in untamed delight, your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the disco lights.

He felt the music in your soul.

He approached you with the same swiftness he used on the field, weaving through the tightly packed bodies as if they were mere obstacles. As he reached you, the music dropped to a whisper in your ears as he leaned in to be heard over the din. You felt a rush of excitement as you recognized him, but you played it cool, not wanting to reveal the racing of your heart.

You two spoke, completely absorbed in the sound of each other's voice. His eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment it felt like the whole club had stopped moving.

It was an ordinary Friday night in Paris, yet that night held a quiet magic all its own.

It began so swiftly, your bond with him, like a spark that caught fire. What started with a simple meeting at a party spiralled into something more, something fast.

One moment, you were in the stands of a grand stadium, cheering for him, his invitation still ringing in your ears.

The next, you found yourself in the warmth of his arms, tucked away in the peace of his home, just you and him, lost in the stillness.

The bond grew stronger with each shared experience. In the quiet moments, you'd catch glimpses of his vulnerability, a side the world didn't get to see behind the glitz and glamour of his soccer career. He spoke of his love for the sport, his fears, his dreams, and the weight of expectations that sat upon his shoulders like a crown. You, in turn, revealed your passions, the dreams that kept you awake at night, and the fear of not making a difference. Together, you found solace in the understanding that everyone had their battles, even those who seemed invincible on the field.

"I want to dye my hair white."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his spontaneity.

"White?" you repeated, trying to picture his iconic buzz cut in such a stark color. He nodded eagerly, a childlike excitement lighting up his face.

"Yeah, like the moon. It'll be perfect for the next game."

The following evening, he arrived at your small apartment, a stark contrast to the opulent mansions he was used to. He brought with him a box of hair dye and a determination that was contagious. You led him to the bathroom, which was a cozy space filled with the scent of your favorite lavender candles and the faint sound of the neighbor's television. As you mixed the solution, the anticipation grew. The air was thick with playful tension as he perched on the edge of a stool, you nestled between his legs.

You painted the dye onto his buzz cut with a gentle touch, each stroke a silent promise of support. He leaned back into your touch, his eyes closed, a contented smile playing on his lips as the conversation flowed like a river between you.

He spoke of the pressure to perform, the weight of the nation's hopes and dreams, and you shared your fear of being forgotten in the hustle of the city. The strokes grew slower as you both lost yourself in the comfort of the moment, the world outside fading away.

The laughter grew louder as you accidentally smudged some of the dye on his forehead, creating a streak that looked like a rebellious warrior's paint. He playfully grabbed the brush, threatening to return the favour. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and the sweetness of your shared laughter as you danced around the bathroom, dodging his playful swipes.

Each kiss stolen felt like a victory, a secret shared only by the two of you in the sanctuary of your little apartment.

The game came and went, a blur of excitement and nerves as Kylian took to the field with his new white hair. The crowd erupted when he scored, the flashes from cameras creating a constellation around him.

Days later, the vacation invite came, a simple text message that felt like a ticket to the stars.

"I've got a week off, and I want to spend it with you," he wrote.

"How does a getaway to the Maldives sound?" Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the tropical paradise.

A week in the sun with the man who had captured your heart, it was like a dream you hadn't even dared to dream.

You replied with an enthusiastic "Yes!" before you could overthink it, your thumbs dancing across the screen.

The Maldives was a world away from the cobblestone streets of Paris, a place of azure waters and endless skies, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.

The private jet, the endless horizon outside the windows, it was all so surreal. Kylian sat beside you, his hand in yours, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as if to reassure you that this wasn't just a fleeting dream.

The resort was a symphony of bungalows floating on the water, a serene sanctuary that whispered secrets of tranquility to the soul. Each step closer to your destination felt like a step closer to paradise, a place where the chaos of the world was a distant memory.

As you stepped onto the pristine white sand of the Maldivian beach, the heat of the sun kissed your skin, and the scent of the ocean filled your lungs with a salty embrace.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes reflecting the same excitement and disbelief.

"This is all for us," he said, gesturing to the horizon. "A whole week of just us and the sea."

He took your hand, leading you to your private bungalow, the gentle sway of the wooden walkway beneath your feet. The moment you stepped inside, your breath was stolen by the sight of the vast expanse of turquoise water beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was adorned with tropical flowers, a romantic gesture that made your heart swell.

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange, you found yourself drawn to the beach. The warm sand felt like a lover's caress beneath your feet as you made your way to the water's edge. He followed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Without a word, you both waded into the warm embrace of the ocean. The waves kissed your legs, beckoning you further. He pulled you closer, his hands resting gently at your waist, the water rising to your chests.

Your foreheads met, the only barrier between the silent whispers of your thoughts. The horizon was a canvas of light, the setting sun a fiery ball of passion that mirrored the intensity of the moment. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore served as a gentle soundtrack, a natural symphony that drowned out the noise of the world. The salty kiss of the ocean spray mingled with the sweetness of his breath as you both floated in the embrace of the sea.

For the first time, he broke the silence with the words you'd hoped to hear.

"I love you."

They hung in the air, suspended in the warmth of the moment, echoing the rhythm of the waves. Your heart raced, a crescendo of emotions crashing over you like the tide. The world around you seemed to still, the very fabric of reality bending to the power of those three little words. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but found only the truth reflected back at you.

You felt the warmth of his love like the sun on your skin, a gentle reminder of the bond that had grown between you amidst the chaos of the city.

His confession was a soft melody in the symphony of the waves, a declaration that resonated through every fibre of your being.

"I love you, too, Kylian." You murmured your voice a tremulous whisper that seemed too small to hold the weight of your feelings.

His smile grew brighter, lighting up his entire face, as if the stars had descended to kiss him.

The days in the Maldives passed in a blur of bliss. Each sunrise painted a new picture of beauty, a backdrop for your burgeoning love. As you watched the sunsets melt into the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of pinks and purples that stained the sky. The nights were filled with stargazing, the constellations above whispering ancient secrets as you lay entwined in the soft embrace of the beach. The world had shrunk to the two of you, and everything else was just noise.

But eventually, the vacation had to end. You both returned to the city, to the bustling streets of Paris that seemed so much more alive with the vibrancy of your newfound love. Kylian's schedule picked up again, training sessions and games taking up the bulk of his days, but the nights remained yours.

His touch was a gentle reminder of the warmth of the sun you had left behind, his whispers in the dark a sweet symphony that lulled you to sleep. You watched him from the stands, his white hair a beacon of light as he ruled the soccer field, his every move a declaration of his love for the game.

The parties grew grander, the crowds more suffocating. His teammates' laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses became the soundtrack of your life together. Each night was a passionate dance, a celebration of victory and friendship that swirled around you like a tornado of glamour.

Kylian was adamant about keeping your relationship a secret.

His smile was for everyone, but his love was for you alone.

He'd sneak glances at you from across the room, his eyes speaking a language that no one else could understand. You felt like the keeper of a precious stone, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, cherished only by the two of you.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, the bars of the cage grew heavier. Each time you watched him leave for training or a game, a pang of sadness gripped your heart.

You were a spectator in his world, a silent cheerleader whose love could only be whispered in the shadows.

The night of the Ligue 1 final, the tension was palpable, a living creature that breathed in the air of the stadium. You watched from the VIP section, your heart racing with every step he took on the field. The crowd was a sea of noise, a symphony of hope and passion. And there, in the stands, were his parents, proud and stoic, watching their son play the game that had made him a star.

When the final whistle blew and his team emerged victorious, you felt the urge to celebrate with him, to share in the joy of his triumph. Yet, when you approached his parents to introduce yourself, Kylian's mother looked you up and down, her eyes cold and assessing, her smile forced. It was a look that spoke volumes without a single word.

You felt like an outsider, a mere shadow in the glaring spotlight of their family's success. Kylian was swept away in a tide of congratulations, leaving you to navigate the social current alone.

The sting of his mother's dismissal remained with you long after the game, a bitter taste that lingered like an unfortunate aftertaste. When you brought it up, Kylian was just apologetic but firm.

"They just need time," he'd say, his eyes full of hope and a hint of desperation. "They're protective."

Same thing happened, the excuses grew old, and the distance between you and your friends grew wider. Each time you suggested Kylian meet them, he'd find a way out. Training, games, press conferences, and the endless string of responsibilities that came with his stardom. The walls of his world grew higher, and you found yourself feeling like you were the only one making sacrifices.

The quiet moments of your solitude grew into a crescendo of doubt.

Was this really what you wanted? To be the hidden lover of a man whose every move was public property?

The silence in the car was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city outside. Kylian's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched in a way that spoke of his own internal war. You knew he felt it too, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"You never told them, did you?" you finally said, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You never told your parents about us." The anger simmered just below the surface, a pot ready to boil over at any moment. Kylian's grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he didn't look at you.

He had, in fact, spoken of you to his parents. But his mother, with a dismissive shrug, simply urged him to stay focused on his game, reminding him of all they had sacrificed for his success. To her, your bond was fleeting, a mere ripple in the tide of his life—nothing more than a momentary distraction.

"What does it matter?" he replied, his voice gruff with frustration. "They'll come around."

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "What matters is that I'm not some secret you hide from the world! It's like I don't even exist outside of these stolen moments." The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory.

He sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving the road. "You know it's not like that."

But you didn't know. You felt like a shadow in his life, a secret to be kept hidden from the glaring lights of the world. The anger grew hotter, a fire in your chest that threatened to consume you. "Then tell me what it's like," you demanded. "Make me understand why I can't be a part of your fucking life without hiding!"

Kylian's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his breathing was shallow.

"I am at the peak of my career!"

His voice was sharp, frustration cutting through every word. "I told you about this whole privacy thing," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "And you agreed! You said you were fucking fine with it!" The tension in the air was almost tangible, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not with your parents, at least!" you shot back, your voice rising as anger flared within you. The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharp and unyielding, matching the tension that filled the car. You stood your ground, meeting his fiery gaze, unwilling to back down from the storm brewing between you.

His voice rose, laced with frustration he couldn’t contain. "God, you’re so damn clingy sometimes," he snapped, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can’t just drop everything for you, alright? I have a career to think about—I don’t need you acting like a stupid bitch about it."

"Stupid what?" you interrupted, your voice rising as you turned to him, disbelief flashing in your eyes.

"Yeah, you heard me," he shot back without thinking, his frustration spilling over. "Stupid ass bitch."

Your breath caught, his words hitting harder than anything he’d ever said to you before. "Stop the car," you said, your voice shaking with anger.

"Stop the car!"

"Yeah, I’ll stop the fucking car!" he barked, slamming on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt by the side of the road.

Without hesitation, you flung the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, slamming it shut behind you. The sound echoed, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He sat there, gripping the steering wheel, his heart sinking as the weight of his words crashed down on him.

Realization hit like a tidal wave, and he threw the car into drive, creeping slowly to match your pace as you stormed down the street.

He kept the car rolling beside you. “You’re really gonna walk out on the car like that?"

You didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him. “Fuck you!” you shouted, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“Come on, babe,” he called out, his voice softer now, laced with regret. “I can’t leave you like this. Let me take you home.”

You stopped in your tracks, turned to face him, your eyes blazing. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed, each word sharp and cutting. “I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

He stopped the car, watching helplessly as you walked away into the dark, your words echoing in his mind. He sat there, paralyzed by regret, knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who truly mattered.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, the only light the flicker of the streetlamp outside your window, casting shadows on the walls like a silent movie of your tumultuous thoughts. His words echoed through the empty space, a symphony of doubt and anger that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. How could he treat you like this?

The realization hit you like a cold shower.

The man who swept you away under the dance floor's glow,

Who held you close in quiet rooms, where whispers grow,

Who heard your first "I love you" by the Maldives’ gentle tide,

Was absent in the leathered luxury where his ego would abide.

Now, stats and numbers steal his tongue, your dreams left unsaid, a stranger in the driver's seat, where your heart once led.

Kylian had become a star, and in doing so, had forgotten the gravity of the simple moments that had brought you together.

The quiet moments of shared laughter had been drowned out by the roar of the stadium, and the gentle strokes of his hand had been replaced by the firm grip of his ambition.

Kylian blamed himself. He let his anger consume him, a wildfire burning through reason and restraint. When he finally told his mother about you, he hoped for understanding, maybe even support. Instead, her words cut deep, embedding themselves in his mind like code in a machine. From that moment, he felt programmed to meet her expectations.

Be the best, Kylian.

Her voice echoed endlessly in his head. It wasn’t a choice anymore; it was his identity, the role he was born to play. The weight of their pride, the legacy, bore down on him, suffocating his own desires.

He wasn’t just Kylian; he was their Kylian, the greatest thing they had ever created, and he couldn’t let them down.

But in trying to be perfect for them, he wondered if he was losing the parts of himself that mattered most. The parts that belonged to you.

Weeks turned into months, and the silence between you and Kylian grew louder. The only bridge between you now was his messages, desperate and pleading.

"I’m sorry, baby. Can we talk? Please?"

Your replies were short, distant.

"I can’t. I’m busy."

Winning Ligue 1, another trophy to add to his collection. But the victory was hollow.

The nights were the worst—endless hours spent scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, smiling again, surrounded by friends. That radiant face he had first seen in the club, now only a memory behind a screen. Not in his arms. Not his anymore.

"I’ll never mess up again, I swear. Just… call me."

Your reply came, cold and final.

"We’re over. Stop contacting me."

His thumb hovered over the screen, disbelief washing over him. He dialed your number, hands trembling, but each ring dragged into silence. No answer.

"Did you block me!?" he typed, panic seeping into his words.

Still nothing.

"Answer me!"

But his words only reached the empty void of delivered.

That’s when the rage bubbled to the surface. His fists clenched as the realization struck like a thunderbolt—you were gone. Truly gone. The medals and trophies that lined his shelves seemed to mock him now. All lost in the suffocating shadow of his parents’ expectations.

Kylian slammed the phone onto his desk with force, the ache in his chest unbearable. No victory could fill the void you left behind.

And as your presence faded further into the past, he realized the cost of trying to be perfect. It was too high. He had lost you. Forever.

The party lights flickered, reflecting Kylian’s distorted thoughts as he drove recklessly through the streets. Fueled by anger and a dangerous cocktail of drugs, his mind spiraled into chaos. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see past the image burned into his mind—you, smiling in someone else’s arms.

While scrolling through your friend’s Instagram story, he spotted you with a man, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, and you were smiling.

That picture had pushed him over the edge, and now, nothing else mattered.

Parking haphazardly outside the party, he stormed in, his eyes darting frantically through the crowd. And then he saw you—ascending the stairs with the man from the photo. His fists clenched, his pulse pounding as he watched from the shadows. When you reappeared alone, heading to the bar, he seized his chance.

He approached swiftly, his grip firm on your arm.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

“I’m trying to talk to you, but you blocked me. Why would you do that?” His words were sharp, almost desperate.

You yanked your arm free. “I blocked you because we’re done, Kylian. There’s nothing to talk about.”

But he didn’t back down. “Did you fuck him?” His tone was cold, accusatory.

“What?” You stared at him, stunned.

“You heard me. That guy upstairs. Did you fuck him?”

The confusion on your face deepened. “Who—Alex? Are you serious? He’s one of my best friends. He’s gay.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice rose, disbelief clouding his judgment.

“It’s not! And the drinks I was getting? They’re for my friends. You’d know that if you ever bothered to ask or get to know them!” Your frustration boiled over.

“You only care about yourself!” you added, your voice trembling.

“I only care about myself?” His anger flared, but you didn’t wait for his retort. Turning on your heel, you started to walk away.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” he growled, grabbing your arm again, pulling you into an empty room.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Kylian’s grip loosened for a moment, his expression flickering between fury and regret. “Baby, just listen to me. Please,” he pleaded, his hands shifting to your shoulders.

“I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell my friends. I’ll tell the world. I don’t care. Just come back to me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No,” you sobbed. “I can’t. Look at you!”

You saw it in his eyes—bloodshot, clouded, a haze of intoxication stealing the clarity they once held.

"You think I want a life with you? Just look at yourself!" Tears streamed down your face as your voice cracked with emotion.

“What do you mean, look at me?” His anger reignited, his voice sharp and cutting. “I’m here, aren’t I? I'm here for you, bitch."

Your gaze met his, hollow and disbelieving. “Stop calling me that!"

His anger surged again, and before he could stop himself, words he didn’t mean escaped his lips.

“You’re such a selfish bitch!”

Your slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling. You didn’t wait for his reaction; you pulled away, trembling, your tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” you choked, your voice filled with fear and heartbreak.

Something shifted in Kylian’s eyes then—realization, maybe. His hands fell to his sides, his body frozen in place as you stepped back, wiping the tears from your face.

As you walked away, his chest felt hollow, his world unravelling. As the drug coursed through his veins, it claimed his body in a haze of surrender, weaving a spell that blurred the line between control and chaos.

He watched you disappear into the crowd, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. For the first time, he saw it clearly—you weren’t just leaving. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

—

Years passed, but time never dulled the weight of his regret.

When you left, he stripped himself of the colors you gave him. The bright white streaks that once danced through his hair—your touch, your light—faded like the ghost of a dream. He dyed it back to black, the shade of before, as if erasing every trace of you could silence the ache.

Kylian had it all—his name immortalized in football, his dream club in Madrid awaiting his arrival. Yet, in the silence of his nights, the triumphs felt hollow.

Sometimes, when the ache grew unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, in Germany now—living the dream you used to whisper to him about, the life he should’ve supported. A home and a man who held you the way he never could. A picture-perfect, framed in a happiness he no longer dared to imagine for himself.

But it was the Maldives photo that truly broke him. It stayed tucked away, a relic of the love he lost. In it, you stared straight at him, your eyes warm and alive, as if seeing straight into his soul. He could barely look at it without choking on the memory of the first “I love you” whispered under that endless sky.

On the loneliest nights, when the roar of the crowd faded and his medals gleamed like mocking ghosts, he clutched that photo and prayed.

Not for forgiveness—he didn’t deserve that—but for you. For your happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, for you to haunt him.

"Come out and haunt me."

Lying alone in his cold, empty room, he whispered those same words into the void, hoping they might somehow reach you.

Haunt him with the sound of your laughter. With the light in your eyes. With the love he destroyed but never stopped yearning for.

But they didn’t. They never would. Because you were gone, and he was alone.

Because even in the echo of his greatest victories, it was your absence that screamed the loudest. And he knew—he would carry that hollow ache, that haunting memory of you, for the rest of his days.

this fic is deeply inspired by Waves (2019), directed by Trey Edward Shults.

the film brings me a sense of comfort, and the inspiration to write this story about kylian is exactly what i needed 😣

part 2

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader

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zablife · 1 year ago

Note

i love dark stuff so i know your plot will be right up my alley. i was thinking of a female yandere reader who’s in a relationship with thomas? something with that couple dynamic would be amazing 🩷🩷 thank you for letting me request

I Would Die For You

Tommy x yandere wife reader

“There will be more after the job is done,” you promised, sliding a thick envelope across the table. Leaning back in the darkened booth to conceal yourself, you lit a cigarette and watched your companion closely. He hesitated, not over money, but loyalty. No one crossed the Shelbys and lived to tell the tale. However, something about the authority in your voice convinced him the protection you offered could be trusted.

The man looked over his shoulder before snatching the money up in his large hand. He placed it in his pocket in one swift movement as you arched an eyebrow in his direction.

“We’re in agreement then?” you asked impatiently.

“The Shelby's charity ball next week,” he grunted, repeating the information you’d provided earlier.

“That’s right,” you smiled with satisfaction, pushing a celebratory glass of whisky into his hand. “I’ll ensure everyone is in place so you have a clear shot. You remember what to do with the gun?”

He nodded slowly before tossing back his drink. The burn of the alcohol barely took his mind off the thought of what might become of him if he failed. With slumped shoulders he pushed away from the table, lumbering toward the door of the pub.

You sat in silence, continuing to drink and ruminate over your detailed plan. Weeks of work organizing the catering and attending dress fittings had made you anxious for this important event, now only days away. It was all leading up to the moment of vengeance you'd dreamt of for years.

———————————-

As the gong sounded for dinner, you struggled to control your thundering heartbeat. It thumped painfully against your corseted chest while you waited for Polly's face to appear amongst the wide smiles of the other guests. When she finally swept past in a confection of pink taffeta and ostrich feathers, you gave a slight nod of your head.

With the signal given, you gingerly stepped to Tommy’s side, stealing his attention with a witty joke that made his eyes crinkle with laughter.

Bright blue eyes dancing with merriment, he never saw who fired the shot that came deafening close. There was only a look of horror as chaos broke out. Guests scattered to the far corners of the ballroom leaving him alone to witness your body fall to the floor in the slow motion of a nightmare.

Crumbling to the floor with you, he held you close. Tommy struggled to regulate his breathing, unsure how he would live if you died. "Call a fucking ambulance!" Tommy yelled over his shoulder. “And find out who did this. No one leaves!” he instructed his men angrily.

"Tommy," you whimpered, slumping against him weakly. The pain in your shoulder was like a searing hot poker lodged inside your muscle. It was far greater than anything you'd anticipated, but you reminded yourself why you had to endure the pain. Appealing to your husband you mumbled, "Help me."

"I won't let anything happen to you," Tommy promised, rubbing a thumb over your cheek. He continued whispering words of comfort as he willed you to fight the darkness threatening to descend upon you. The world outside stood still as he doted on you, eyes locked on yours for any sign of change.

As John approached with a pale face and trembling hands, Tommy knew it was more than the sight of your blood that upset him. “We found the shooter,” John announced in a shaky voice.

“Well?” Tommy barked impatiently, eager to return his attention to you.

“The coppers say it was Polly,” John muttered in disbelief.

Your gloved hand slid down Tommy’s forearm as he turned away from you, pale irises darkening with fire. His jaw clenched in rage before he spat, “Tell them to take her away."

“Wh-what are you talking about?” John stuttered as his voice raised into a shout.

“She tried to kill my wife!” Tommy bellowed in return. With that John backed away, afraid to challenge his older brother.

Tommy adjusted you in his lap as he listened to John's footsteps fading into the background. Placing a kiss to your temple he added, “I’m so sorry she tried to hurt you, my darling.”

You shook your head. “She was aiming for you when I …” you stopped short, falling back into his strong arm.

Tommy pressed a cool hand to your forehead to revive you as he finished your thought. “You saved my life,” he said in hushed awe. He smoothed your hair away from your face as he looked at you with complete adoration. “Is this what you've been trying to tell me about a traitor in the family? I should have known."

Tears began to well in your eyes with relief that everything was falling into place. As they slid down your cheeks, you proclaimed, “I would die for you.”

"I know," Tommy said, wiping them away with his fingertips. "You're the only person I can trust," he concluded. He pulled you impossibly closer and you pressed your face into his tuxedo jacket to hide your triumphant smile.

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@christinasyellowflowers

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@the-fangirl-diaries

@cillmequick

@kmc1989

@stilestotherescue

@helen06dreamer

@chaosinkest1996

@l1-l4

@runnning-outof-time

@look-at-the-soul

@peakyltd

@dearshelby

@brummiereader

@call-sign-shark

@holacia3

@thomashelbyswife

@dandelionprints

@gypsy-girl-08

@noforkingclue

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy

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koffeesfancy · 6 months ago

Text

The Tutor Ch. 1 | Letitia x Reader

Summary: You are a broke graduate student hustling through college when you unexpectedly land a job tutoring an actress in your native language—a language you've nearly forgotten. Instead of teaching, you find yourself becoming the student in this unexpected journey. As you fall in love for the first time, you begin to uncover profound truths about yourself and the world around you that you never knew existed.

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn, comedy

Word Count: 2731

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, the link is in the pinned post on my page Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

To be fair, you would—and almost had—done just about anything for money. Seriously, your resume of odd jobs looked like a carnival sideshow gone wrong. Washing cars? Check. Bagging groceries? Double check. Babysitting? Let's just say those kids still have flashbacks. Braiding hair? Sure, if they wanted a lopsided mess. Writing reports for books you never read? CliffNotes are your best friend. Music lessons for instruments you didn’t play? “Fake it 'til you make it” was your anthem.

Most of these ventures ended in irate customers hurling strong words at you, and you narrowly dodging potential assault. But hey, $40 is $40. And right now, you needed a whole bunch of those $40s, like, yesterday.

You’d printed and shared so many fliers for so many different gigs that you were like a human Rubik's Cube, colorful but often hopelessly scrambled. By now, you had no idea what the person on the other side of the phone was even talking about.

"So, is there an office address for this service?" the woman on the other end of the line asked, her voice dripping with the enthusiasm of someone waiting at the DMV.

After a thoughtful pause that was less "thoughtful" and more "panicked rummaging through mental chaos," you carefully responded, "Yes, you can trust that I have preserved a location most appropriate for our..." you leaned forward as if to coax the words out of her.

"This is the foreign language tutor, correct?" she quipped. You bit your lip to contain your celebratory noises, fighting back the urge to scream, "Jackpot!"

"Oh yes, ma'am, that is me. Totally, so yep... I do lessons at the University library or I can travel—with reimbursement included, of course," you added, trying to sound as professional as a used car salesman handing off a lemon.

She hummed thoughtfully as you spoke. "That will be $40 an hour for the first four hours and $35 afterward when you buy multiple sessions at once."

"Oh really? That's great, the flier said $60. Are you free this Saturday?" You swallowed a profanity at the realization you’d lost out on some money and pushed through with the booking. Inside, you were both cursing your past self and doing a victory dance. A gig's a gig, after all.

So there you were, the jack-of-all-trades, master of none, and not above doing something strange for some change. Because in your world, $40 could buy a lot of things—like loud shoes to wear indoors for your neighbor that liked to poke at the ceiling with a broom when you coughed or enough of the fancy Belgian chocolate you liked to eat yourself into a small coma. A lot of things...

On Saturday, you ventured out to the more upscale part of town. It was the kind of place that looked like it had springed straight out of a magazine. Each building practically whispered, "My mortgage could feed a small country."

You'd been wired enough money for two classes a week for two months, plus bus fare, which was a small victory in your book. As you stepped off the bus and onto the manicured sidewalk, you couldn't help but feel a mix of bewilderment and bitterness at the sheer luxury around you.

Looking around, you saw freshly washed windows, pristine sidewalks, and not a single piece of trash in sight. A roofless sports car purred by, driven by a guy who looked like he'd never known a day of financial stress in his life.

"Must be tough being a professional trust fund manager," you muttered under your breath, eyeing the back of the vehicle.

An impeccably dressed woman with a tiny, overly groomed dog strolled past you. "Dog Instagram influencer, probably," you thought, rolling your eyes at the absurdity.

Further down the street, a couple emerged from a boutique, laughing as they juggled bags from what must’ve been high-end stores. "Ah yes, professional yoga mat testers," you mused sarcastically. "Or maybe artisanal kombucha consultants."

As you walked a few blocks deeper into the neighborhood, you approached the address sent to you for work. It was a huge historical brownstone that filled you with intimidation. You couldn't help but marvel at the ornate door and the brass knocker shaped like a lion's head. "Sure, why not? Lion-head knockers. Probably enough to pay off student loans for my entire graduating class," you snarked internally.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited, feeling like an imposter in your own shoes. The door opened to reveal a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a lifestyle blog, all polished and perfect. She was of a medium height, but her long, toned legs made her seem modelesque. The woman was a dark brown color and had a chicly shaved head partially obscured by a multi print silk scarf. She wore an expensive looking linen short set and minimalistic gold jewelry.

“Welcome! You must be the tutor,” she greeted you warmly. “Come on in.” She waved her thin hands to gesture inside of her home, her dark pink lips widening to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. You feigned politeness while bitterly thinking to yourself about the iniquity of someone being both so rich and so attractive while people like you were left with flabby arms, hairy toe knuckles, and crippling debt.

Stepping into the foyer, you tried not to gawk at the marble floors and grand staircase. "Just your average entryway," you thought wryly. "Nothing says ‘welcome’ like a ceramic bust."

You followed her to a spacious study, filled with leather-bound books and more mahogany than you thought existed in the world. Sitting down, you mentally prepared for your first lesson, hoping your makeshift knowledge of the language would hold up.

In the days leading up to this tutoring gig, you thought you were being proactive. After all, you couldn't just waltz into a foreign language lesson without a clue, could you? So, you did what any desperate person would do: WhatsApp video call your cringey cousin from back home.

Your cousin was the kind of guy who thinks he's fluent in English because he once binge-watched a season of "Friends" with subtitles on. His grasp of English and your grasp of your family’s native language was about as solid as a Jenga tower in a hurricane. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.

The conversation was a comedy of errors from the get-go. You tried to explain what you needed help with, but every sentence he uttered was a linguistic train wreck. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, but with words.

"I need help. For teach… uh… English… speak person. You speak... uh... En-guh-lish, yes?" you attempted, your own language suffering under the weight of your desperation.

"Ah, English! Yes, yes! I know Eng-guh-lish!" he exclaimed triumphantly, his confidence only slightly overshadowed by the fact that he couldn't pronounce the word correctly.

What followed was a painful exchange of broken sentences, awkward pauses, and a lot of hand gestures that made you question whether you were communicating in semaphore or a spoken language.

By the time you hung up, you felt like you knew even less than before. If anything, you'd regressed linguistically. Welp, time to wing it, you thought grimly, resigning yourself to the fact that this tutoring job was going to be a wild ride. Who needs language proficiency when you have sheer determination and a healthy dose of delusion, right?

The woman fluttered around the study murmuring to herself until she retrieved a loose stack of papers from a bag.

“A-ha!” she chimed, turning to wave the papers at you with that same smile. She sauntered over and to your surprise, sat right next to you on the leather sofa instead of across the coffee table at one of the matching armchairs.

Up close, you noticed she had the slightest dimple in the lower left corner of her mouth and eyes that naturally set low in an effortlessly sultry gaze. There was something very classic and timeless about her looks. Like perhaps you had seen lots of women like her in commercials or in those huge luxury clothing brand displays at Macy’s.

She placed the papers on the table before turning and facing directly towards you, extending a thin, manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Letitia,” she spoke. Her voice was soft, a bit smokey, and had a bit of an encapsulating feel.

You shook her hand and formally introduced yourself as well. “I suppose you spoke with my manager Lashana on the phone about my goals. I have a casting audition in about 2 months and think having some exposure to the language beforehand could get me a leg up, y’know? Uh… these are just some things she sent for you to sign…” she said, running off into a murmur as she handed the stack of papers to you with a fountain pen. As she moved around you caught a whiff of her dark, woody perfume. It smelled more like an expensive men’s cologne.

For a moment you scoured your brain for any information you knew about this Letitia. You thought you might have heard Lashana mention the actress thing on the phone, but that was while you were on your other $40 gig moonlighting as an expert dog groomer. She interrupted when you were braiding the neighbor’s poodle- Fifi’s cornrows required utmost concentration so Lashana's words went in one ear and out of the other.

You signed the papers with a flourish, then handed them back to Letitia, raising an eyebrow as you joked, “So, what exactly did I just sign away? My soul? Firstborn child?”

To your surprise, Letitia burst into laughter, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. It caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but notice how her whole face lit up when she laughed. Her dimple deepened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners, giving her an adorable, almost childlike quality. At that moment, she seemed less like a polished actress and more like a regular person who didn't care about looking perfect.

“You're hilarious!” she said, still chuckling as she tucked the papers back into her bag. “I think this is going to be a lot more fun than I expected.”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks at the compliment. “Thanks,” you said, trying to play it cool. “I aim to please.”

Letitia leaned back on the sofa, her gaze curious and open. “So, tell me about yourself. How did you end up doing... well, this?”

You shrugged, deciding to be honest. “Oh, you know, just trying to make a living. I’ve done a bit of everything. Today, I’m a language tutor. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I’ll be wrangling llamas at a petting zoo.”

She laughed again, a light, musical sound that made you smile. “I admire that,” she said. “It takes a lot of guts to do what you do.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly glamorous,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but feel a little humble amidst the fancy room. “But it keeps things interesting.”

Letitia nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I’ve had my share of odd jobs too. Before acting, I was a waitress, a dog walker- I even dressed up as Minnie Mouse at kids’ parties once.”

You tried to imagine her in a pink polka dot dress with gloves and big, round ears, and the mental image made you laugh. “Now that I’d like to see.”

She grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe if you teach me this language, I’ll show you some of my old mouse tricks.”

“Deal,” you said, feeling more relaxed than you had all day. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

As you began the lesson, you realized that maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all. Letitia’s enthusiasm was infectious, and her genuine interest in getting to know you made you feel like, for once, you weren’t just a means to an end. Maybe this gig would be a turning point—something more than just another $40 in your pocket.

The lesson flew by in a blur of laughter, stumbles over pronunciation, and unexpected moments of connection. Before you knew it, the clock was signaling the end of your session. Letitia gathered her things, still giggling over a joke you'd made about mispronouncing a word in a way that turned it into something hilariously inappropriate.

As she walked you to the door, both of you were still caught up in the infectious energy of the lesson. “I can’t believe we spent half the time laughing,” Letitia said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Next time I’ll have to invoice you my rate for standup as well,” you replied, grinning.

Both of you stopped, laughter trailing off as you locked eyes, the air thick with an unspoken connection. You extended your hand for a handshake just as Letitia leaned in for a hug, and your misplaced hand awkwardly jabbed her ribs. As she toppled forward, her pillowy lips connected with your forehead in a soft, accidental kiss that sent shivers down your spine.

Time seemed to stand still. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in that moment. Her eyes widened in surprise, the rich depths of her gaze reflecting your own astonishment. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something more profound, something that made your heart race wildly in your chest.

Her breath, soft and warm, lingered against your skin, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The delicate scent of her woody perfume enveloped you, creating an intoxicating haze that made you dizzy with longing. Her nearness, the accidental intimacy, sent a thrill through you, a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating.

The spell was broken by the sudden roar of a fast car zooming by outside, yanking both of you back to the present. The world rushed back in, loud and intrusive, yet you remained rooted in that brief, unforgettable moment.

Letitia pulled back slightly, her own cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. She laughed nervously, a melodic sound that made your heart skip a beat. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she stammered, her voice a soft murmur of embarrassment and amusement.

“No, no, it’s fine!” you stuttered as she also spoke some unintelligible babble, the awkwardness dissipating into a shared chuckle. “That was... unexpected,” Letitia added, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Yeah, totally,” you agreed, trying to steady your racing heart. “Guess we need to work on our goodbye coordination as well.”

“Absolutely,” she smiled, a dazzling expression that made your knees weak. As she opened the door, the moment lingered in the air between you, a fragile, beautiful thing.

“Thanks again for today. I’m really looking forward to our next lesson,” she said softly, her voice like a caress.

“Me too,” you replied, your cracking voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding. “See you next time!”

As you walked away, the memory of her accidental kiss lingered, a tender echo that made your pulse quicken and your thoughts spin. It was a moment you knew you would replay over and over, a small, perfect touch that left you breathless with anticipation for something- anything.

You mindlessly followed the sidewalk, feeling a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. As you boarded the bus, you couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. Your heart was racing, and every time you closed your eyes, you could see Letitia’s face, the surprise and humor in her eyes.

You tried to distract yourself with phone games, but your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. Before you knew it, you were googling Letitia’s name, falling down a rabbit hole of biographies, interviews, and reviews of her films. Each article and video only added to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head.

Engrossed in reading about her, you completely missed your stop. When you finally looked up and realized how far you’d gone, you cursed under your breath, quickly pressing the button to signal the next stop.

As you walked the extra blocks home, you couldn’t shake the mixture of embarrassment and excitement from your mind. The day had taken a completely unexpected turn, and you knew it was going to be all you could think about until your next lesson with Letitia.

#letitia x reader #letitia wright #letitia #sapphic #wlw #wlw post #shuri

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sveanaxxremis · 6 months ago

Text

Jewel of the East P.1

Amidst the dense, foreboding mists that clings to the tangled depths of the Golemore Jungle, a haunting cry pierced the humid air. The sound echoing off the slippery stones and moss-covered trees, a cry that carried with it the weight of destiny. Here, in this shadowed realm where the sun's feeble rays fought to penetrate the thick canopy, the birth of a newborn brought forth a surge of emotions among the enigmatic Akuvik tribe. But unlike the jubilant cheers and celebratory whistles that typically would fill the air upon such occasions, these cries bore the somber timbre of a funeral dirge. The matriarch had given birth to a daughter, but by the cruelest strings of fate the daughter had been born with the "affliction. In the eyes of the healers, her pallor was akin to the blanched complexion often seen among the dying, her little tuft of hair the color of dried blood.

The Akuvik people, had learned to thrive within the gloomy embrace of the jungle, and had become as much a part of its shadowy landscape as the trees themselves. With skin kissed by shadows and hair resembling the rich, loamy earth beneath their feet, they blended seamlessly into their environment. The men of the Akuvik, like shadowy sentinels, lived solitary lives within the deep shadows of the trees within their territory, keeping watch over the village and lands. The village women wore their long, earthy tresses adorned with braids and feathers from the jungle's avian denizens and helped to clear away fallen trees and restore the growth of the underbrush. Their eyes mirrored the deep, verdant greens of the lush foliage that enveloped them. So, when the matriarch brought forth an afflicted daughter, with hair that shone like burning embers and eyes as pale as the Mist’s embrace, there was a collective gasp and murmuring among the tribe's healers. Her unblemished skin bore speckles of her kin's dark hue, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of contrasting tones across her cheeks, shoulders, and limbs. Yet, it was this wood-cursed babe who would unwittingly become the harbinger of the jungle's wrath.

Amidst the cries and lamentations that ensued, panic rippled through the village. Women hurriedly gathered the kits and ventured beyond the safety of their village wards, sending whistles and whoops into the wind, signals that would reach the wood-warders, alerting them of the evacuating village. Only the matriarch's two handmaidens would remain at her side, tending to the newborn as they cleaned and cared for her exhausted queen.

As days turned to weeks, the village lay in an eerie silence, its inhabitants lurking within the shadows like specters, their fear of the fiery haired babe palpable. During this time, sparing only fleeting glances at the child through the thick, reedy bars, a heavy sadness would descend upon her heart. How cruel fate could be, she thought, that her first-born child would be a wood-cursed daughter. In the early morning one day, she gazed into the bright, unsettling pale eyes of her child, who cooed and fidgeted on her fur blanket. Jade eyes blinked as they stared outwardly, unfocused but catching glimpses of shadows and shapes. Kneeling before the bassinet, the matriarch stroked the pudgy cheek of her cursed daughter, lost in her own thoughts.

"Would you have become a great warrior like me? Or perhaps a healer, like my mother before me? Would curiosity have led you away from the jungle?" The matriarch whispered, wrestling with the what ifs that plagued her mind. In her two and a half centuries of life, there had never been an afflicted child born within their shadowed home. It had been nothing more than a distant legend among her people for centuries. Then, she remembered the words of the elder priestess—a blind and cantankerous seer whose prophecies always came to pass.

"An afflicted child shall be born, a girl of unprecedented strength. A girl whose very existence would make even the gods tremble, for her heart's strength alone would be unmatched. She would walk over the bodies of loved ones, strangers, the old, and the weak, and darkness and fire would follow in her wake...and she...she shall bring salvation upon this star and usher in a new era." The words echoed in her mind, her long ears drooping, a signal of her distress. She reached for her daughter, who resisted with flailing arms. Cradling the child, the mother held her close, pressing her lips to the soft hair and hummed quietly, fighting back tears.

"Eira," the matriarch whispered, "your name shall be Eira." To name an afflicted child was forbidden, as a name was the one true possession that could never be taken away. Belongings, bodies, and even life itself were all subject to theft or loss. But a name, that was eternal and in the weeks that followed, she whispered her daughter's name in private, ensuring that when the Wood claimed her, it would have something to call her.

Since the birth of the babe a full moon would pass when the time came for the matriarch's journey into the jungle. She was relieved to find that her daughter had proven resilient enough to endure the trek to the place where she would be left. The matriarch was draped in ceremonial mourning attire as she cradled her slumbering child, who had been given a concoction of milk and herbs to ensure a deep, silent slumber.

After three nights of travel, far beyond any suitable location to leave the child, the grief-stricken mother spotted a caravan on the jungle's edge. Ignoring the pleas of her companions, she waited until the steel-clad soldiers settled for the night. When the moment presented itself, she moved in such a way that she barely rustled the leaves of the jungle foliage and placed her slumbering child within a nook between secured barrels and crates. She covered the infant with furs, and gently pressed her lips to her daughter's chubby, little fingers before retreating. Her whispered words, carried on the wind, wished for the Wood's protection upon her beloved Eira. Moving away as silently as she had arrived, she caught the stretching shadow of a man. In that moment, where time seemed to stop, her eyes met the lone, silver eye of his ever-watchful gaze. With a solemn nod he watched as she stepped back into the jungle's embrace.

It would be just four moons after the matriarch had entrusted her wood-cursed child to the caravan of steel-clad soldiers that a merciless plague would descend upon the savage and ruthless Akuvik tribe. The illness struck first as fevers and coughs in the elders, but as time wore on and the women and kits returned to the village, those afflicted by this mysterious ailment began to bleed from their mouths and yellow in the eyes. Violent convulsions wracked their bodies, forcing them into delirium before the inevitable, agonizing death claimed them. Word spread that the matriarch had disobeyed tradition, leaving the child with the steel-clad men who dominated the southern coast. Those who survived believed their suffering to be the Wood's punishment for withholding what was rightfully its own. In the end, the matriarch was beheaded by her own kin for defying the Green Word and the Wood's wishes, and that was what would end the Akuvik tribe.

*****

"What of the mother? Surely you saw her?" The woman asked, her lilac eyes peering out from beneath the tangerine-colored shawl, a mesmerizing gaze fixated on the suckling babe.

"The mother... she was as dark, as if a shadow had come to life, her eyes the hue of creeping jungle moss. We did not exchange words; she merely placed the child amongst the crates, whispering something before retreating. Our eyes met for but a moment, and then..." The burly imperial soldier's voice trailed off, uncertainty hanging in the air stiffly.

"She is Akuvik, but this child's pallor..." The nursing woman's voice trailed off; her words caught in her throat as she once again gazed down at the child. Her breath hitched as she met the babe's pale jade eyes. As slender fingers brushed against the baby's cheek, her vision was suddenly engulfed by a blinding light, and she found herself standing in a vast, verdant field. Towering white flowers swayed in a gentle breeze; the sun's warming glow bathed the landscape in its delicate light. Before her knelt, a towering woman clad in black, hair a sea of fiery locks. Her eyes were a delicate, glowing, jade green. A simple black mask rested against her chest, a mysterious golden marking glinting in the sun's warm glow. The woman's eyes filled with a curious mirth as her pale gaze flicked toward the woman's leporine ears, bringing forth the bubbling of a faint chuckle.

When the red-haired woman spoke, her voice resonated like the deep rumblings of the earth—ancient, powerful, yet gentle like a summer rain. "She will face a myriad of tribulations in the years to come, bearing witness to the world's most profound trials. A steadfast beacon of hope, an unwavering force. Her heart, once tender, will evolve into enduring stone, and her smile, once bright, will exude the grace of a humble maiden. She will ignite and quell wars, disassemble nations only to earnestly rebuild them, and ultimately, witness the world's humbling descent beneath her feet." The woman's lips curved upward in a delicate smile, but the warmth that should have filled her jade, lambent eyes was absent. Instead, her eyes were distant, flickering like a candle in the wind yet the shadow cast was one of doleful melancholy.

"No!" The vieran woman's voice cracked with commanding desperation, yanking the lambent eyed woman from her harrowing thoughts. "This child will not endure such suffering!" The nursing woman's voice trembled, clutching the babe suffocatingly close to her chest. She felt her eyes begin to sting as tears threatened to fall. "She's already been cast aside once; we will ensure she is cherished and cared for!" The jade-eyed woman offered her a dejected smile. The upturn of her full lips failing to reach her eyes.

She gently stroked one of the baby's small, velvety ears, her head tilting to the side as if contemplating various options. Her shoulders seemed to slump as if the weight of her unspoken grief was becoming unbearable. "She will be the flowers. She will also be the rain. She is the beauty of day. She is the nights full of pain." The despondent smile faded into an unreadable mask. "Her path is set, for if it is not, she who can do it, then there is no other." The nursing woman's gaze narrowed, and she sneered at the fiery-haired woman.

"And which of the twelve are you to decide that this child will suffer so? Are you so cruel a god that you would allow it?" Jade eyes widened at the sudden scorn from the woman, before the larger woman burst into laughter—a sound reminiscent of falling rain, soft yet lugubrious. She leaned in close, and as the nursing woman met her glowing eyes, her vision once again filled with blinding light.

"The child is me..." The woman's final words echoed in her mind as a final vision washed over her—a vision of the heavens falling and a city in ruins, bodies clad in the same black robes strewn about, terrifying creatures lurking within the shadows. Monstrous roars and terrified screams filled the smoky air. The scene vanished with a blink, and her purple gaze returned to the soldier before her—Marcellus quo Atronius, a weathered man of fifty-two winters, his leather-like skin bearing the marks of time and sun, his solitary silvery eye scanning the woman's youthful face. The nursing woman's eyes traced the deep lines on his once-pale skin, now tanned from years spent in the sun-drenched lands of Valnain and Dalmasca Inferior. She noted his short, silvery hair, which caught the dim room's light.

"What did you see, Cifra?" The grizzled man's voice rumbled like distant thunder. Cifra blinked and looked down at the content babe in her arms, then nodded, answering the man's question. She was a local beauty with rich, nutmeg-colored skin and eyes like fresh lilacs, Cifra's age was a mystery. She appeared no older than twenty summers, but she had always been part of the masses, long before the imperial occupation of Valnain.

"She is to be this star's beacon of hope." Despite the wondrous words, Cifra's tone betrayed doubt, as if she could not quite believe them herself. Her unfocused eyes roamed to a loose button clinging to the soldier's tabard. With furrowed brows, her expression contorted as if she were suddenly in pain, and her choked voice croaked the dispiriting phrase. "She will be the flowers. She will also be the rain. She is the beauty of day. She is the nights full of pain…" A tear traced down her cheek, and her gaze sharpened as she stared back at the soldier, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Cifra, what is—" Marcellus was abruptly cut off by the woman.

"Celli, you must keep her safe. You must give her all the love you can. Teach her what it means to be loved and to love." Cifra shifted the child, burping her before gently handing her back.

"Cifra, I cannot care for her just yet. She is too young, and I have no means to feed her... If Villi were alive, I..." He trailed off, cradling the infant in his arms, his gaze falling to her cherubic cheeks. She yawned and smiled a gummy grin, her unfocused eyes fluttering shut. "I don't know how to raise an infant like her. You and she are different from Garlean babes." Cifra rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed click.

"Celli, children are children. They eat and grow just the same. Raising a Roegadyn is no different from raising a Lalafell; the only change is the pace at which they grow. It's true that our kind stops aging after a certain point, around sixteen or seventeen by your people's standards, but you feed and care for a Viera the same way you would for a Hyur or a Garlean." Her arms were crossed as she stared pointedly at the man. Though he was the kindest imperial soldier she had met, there was no denying that he still regarded her and other non-Garleans as savages, as was their way. Garleans were raised to believe that other races, especially the more bestial ones, were uneducated savages dependent on their use of magic. Her annoyed gaze returned to tracing the worn lines of his face, his expression reflecting reluctance and disbelief. With an exasperated sigh, Cifra shook her head. "I can provide milk for the babe and the oils you'll need for her ears and tail, but the rest is up to you." The man's brows furrowed as he stared at the child.

He gazed at the now slumbering babe as if she had sprouted horns and wings. "How do I wash her ears?"

#ffxiv viera #ffxiv oc #ffxiv warrior of light #ff14 ffxiv #ffxiv #ffxiv rp

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bubblesandgutz · 1 year ago

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Every Record I Own - Day 799: The Rolling Stones Let It Bleed

The Stones grew on me over years, decades. I must've bought this beat-up copy of Let It Bleed sometime in the late '00s, back when my enjoyment of The Stones was centered almost exclusively on selected tracks from the first half of Exile on Main St. and a handful of other songs from their catalog. I wasn't blown away by Let It Bleed. I had always liked "You Can't Always Get What You Want," but there wasn't much else there that grabbed me.

While my appreciation continued to grow, my love for the Stones really started ramping up in 2020, during the summer of the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter protests. I spent a lot of time in my backyard, just trying to enjoy being outside and absorbing as much sunlight as possible. The Stones sounded ideal in that environment, even if it was just as background music.

Maybe it had something to do with the revelrous spirit of The Stones in a time of uncertainty. I mean, this is an album that opens with "Gimme Shelter"---a song with the chorus "rape and murder / it's just a shot away." Founding member Brian Jones had been fired during the writing of the album and had died a month later. There was already a black cloud hovering over the album. And then a week after its release, Meredith Hunter was murdered by Hells Angels during the Stones' set at Altamont. Let It Bleed was woven into the Zeitgeist of the end of the '60s, when the idealism of the hippie movement was crumbling under the weight of the Manson murders and the systematic undermining efforts of the CIA and the FBI.

"Gimme Shelter" might be a dark opening track, but Let It Bleed is largely an album about resilience. Side A closes with the title track and it's reassuring chorus "We all need someone we can lean on / And if you want it, you can lean on me." A similar sentiment closes out Side B with an almost parallel vocal melody when Jagger sings "You can't always get what you want / but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need."

There's a harbinger of the destructive self-indulgence of the '70s embedded into Let It Bleed too. There's casual mentions of cocaine and heroin. Brazen references to sexual exploits. One could even argue that the general upbeat spirit of the album in the wake of both personal and global hardships was part of a larger trend of the '60's counterculture's waning impact. As a punk teenager, the Stones' commercialism and seemingly a-political nature was the driving source of my disdain for the band. How could you write a song as frivolous as "Country Honk" when the world is burning?

As an adult, particularly during the turbulent years of the pandemic, the Stones ability to navigate and acknowledge social unrest and private tragedies while still finding a way to make life-affirming and defiantly celebratory music was downright healing. It may not have been what I wanted, but it was exactly what I needed.

#the rolling stones #everyrecordiown

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cinnamunspice · 8 months ago

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(okay hear me out.... An au where Silena survives the BoM...? For Thalia)

It was going to be a long road back to normalcy, especially given that, while no one had mentioned it to her directly, everyone knew what she'd done. Charitably, they called her a hero. Less so, they pitied the damage she'd taken in earning that status-- drakon poison to the face, leaving behind burn scars and blinding her in one eye, was apparently enough for them to forgive her of the bracelet they'd found on her. (Others would say that it was her bravery in leading the charge with the Ares kids that did it, but it was hard to separate the feeling of guilt from what she'd done in the battle).

In her opinion, however, the worst fate of all was facing the world after without Charlie by her side.

The camp had been a whirlwind of activity lately, between the battle, the new oracle, the new prophecy, the rebuilding efforts, and the endless celebrations. Everyone was joyful.

And it wasn't that she wasn't happy. She was. They'd defeated Kronos and made life better for every demigod who came up after them.

Still, it was hard to feel celebratory those days. The camp had given so much in an effort to survive, and what they had gained would never make up for what they had lost.

Perhaps it was this feeling that kept her from bothering the hunters the way she normally did. Instead, she sat on the outskirts of the bonfire, keeping mostly to herself, though she did cast the occasional sideways glance at the daughter of Zeus nearby.

There was so much to be spoken about with her, wasn't there?

unprompted / always accepting !

You ever see a storm without ever hearing the rumble of THUNDER ? The crack of lightning, the wind force, the storm revolving around you? It's not nearly as cinematic as action movies make it seem; the highest points of action slowing down reality, your ears ringing from the pure onslaught of brain numbing stimuli. She knew the looks others would throw her way at the celebration, whether or not she blended into the hunter's uniform, or opted for her casual graphic tee and ripped jeans. It didn't matter that she was out, because at the end of the day: you're never really out, right? And how could she say no to the faces of Percy, to Annabeth, to Grover? It didn't matter that she didn't need this. This was beyond her.

The sound of thunder hadn't returned. The storm came, went, and now she was staring into the bright licking flames of the bonfire, among a celebration that felt too weirdly like a dance after a FUNERAL. Too cheerful. Too much like a blanket over the grieving forms that she called comrades.

Smoke rose, dance, and played in a similar way. It was easier for her to focus on that sensation, any kind of reminder that she was alright, that it was over, and that the cost didn't rip out so much of her soul, her youth, and the space between her and those she might have considered friends, if things had turned out different.

Many of her sisters, the people she'd grown close to over the past year, were either huddled together, or absent completely. To mingle among the other demigods was rare, despite the past week's rare occurrences. The APOCALYPSE seemed like a good enough time to break old habits. She lifted the plastic bottle of her Kool-Aid to her lips, hunched over as she sat on the log, largely ignoring the sights around her for the quiet remembrance. Thalia saw his face. It hurt. It pissed her off.

Suddenly, the fire looked too bright. Too painful.

Thalia caught her eye, next.

It was a miracle that she survived. Even more, she looked like she needed company. Silena looked like she wanted Thalia's company, in particular. She wasn't afraid of a fight, she wasn't afraid of anything, anymore. The losses she gained ripped a tapestry she thought had been long burned, away in some haunted mansion where the rest of the dead she'd loved, gone.

Daughter of Aphrodite. Daughter of Zeus. Not anymore, and how much had Silena lost in love? How utterly ironic. The teenager moved slowly, but in the moonlight, she might have cast almost a glow. Sitting next to Silena, she offered the rest of her drink.

"I would have expected more ribbing, more teasing from you." Not tonight, obviously.

Thalia's facade crumbled.

What could you say? What was there to be said?

And then she just put a hand on the other girl's shoulder.

#(this is a gift... ty lKJASDLKAJS )#›› thalia grace . ❝ some say we're never meant to grow up. ❞#›› inbox . ❝ answered. ❞#nrthwind

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lordofthestrix · 1 year ago

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Tristora post ocean

Who asks the other on dates: Aurora invites him to partake in each step of her audacious and cunning plan to slowly reconcile him with the ocean. On a similar note, Tristan sets his own pleasant or thrilling events and experiences destined to make sure her forced sleep didn't leave her dejected or worried. They are considerably booked on both sides. Who is the bigger cuddler: Why are you making a question when you should be providing a fireplace? Who initiates holding hands more often: Aurora. But Tristan claims her hand to kiss its back or guide her in an improvised dance movement notably more often than ever before. Who remembers anniversaries: Aurora is absolutely convinced that while he is getting better and present in almost every way, Tristan remains dispersed enough as to have no idea what day of the week it is most of the time. So she is pretty surprised when her birthday gifts that year are even more elaborate than the norm Who is more possessive: Just don't step excessively close to the vicinity of either of them following the reunion for at least...The next century? Don't interrupt or join their conversations at all. Don't look for too long in their general direction. There is danger everywhere. It is an hurricane of fire zone. Who gets more jealous: Hurricane of fire zone. What is it that you are not getting, my esteemed meme? Who is more protective: We discussed surrounding topics in the past. I still maintain that Tristan is extremely bad at letting anyone take care of him in any capacity. I still maintain Rory would be the person who can get away with it. They tie in how extra they are about feral protection over the other at some moments following the re-encounter. Who is more likely to cheat: Aurora cheated several norms and regulations on how to legally build an aquarium. Who initiates sexy times the most: Tristan does return with insatiable and burning passion. Who dislikes PDA the most: I ignore who they are and that's probably for the best. For their own sake, it would be in their best interest to remain anonymous. -Points to the hurricane of fire explanation- Who kills the spider: You know what? They have a pleasant moment of wicked complicity. That one spider was a bothersome nuisance. They have a relaxing moment of enjoyment killing the spider together. Who asks the the other to marry them: In between their two classic and alternating backstories there is one that sounds incredibly more believable for the way they are behaving. Who buys the other flowers or gifts: ...Can you imagine the horror? They would drive the two of us insane. Who would bring up possibly having kids: You exhaust me, meme. Who is more nervous to meet the parents: Do you reckon the sleeping spell Aurora was under included dreams? If so, Aurora was more nervous about nightmares directly related to the Count than Tristan was hearing him as one of the many voices haunting him in between chocking to death again and again. Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: In their ecstatic and blissful celebratory decades over their reunion? Not likely. Who tries to make up first after arguments: Their willingness and/or capacity to play the long game if it involves more time apart is heavily compromised right now. Who tells the other they love them more often: 𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤? Do you keep the official score?

#Ladamedemartel

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boythirteen · 4 months ago

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Thank you for showing me the book and the chicken. I finished writing the sermon.I may do some revising but will show it to you anyway.

Hello everyone. Thank you to Rev. Pat for asking me to preach today. It feels like a better day. It feels like our world has shifted to a different timeline since last I was here. This timeline feels more on track toward the commonwealth. It has beacons in it like Tim Walz’s son Gus and the boxer Imane Khelif. I guess they were already here in the other timeline but this one has made certain that we take notice and claim them and share a celebratory, protective love around them.

The reading from Isaiah for today is about a celebratory shift of replenishment and renewal for people and nature. It says to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear. It also says that God will come with vengeance and divine retribution, which sounds like an old understanding of God that isn’t what I believe. Although I do believe in the call to hold Trump civilly and criminally accountable for his many heinous acts, and to have such a call be issued by God on high as a divine edict would be amazing beyond measure.

Otherwise I was thinking about how time seems to have sped up and is causing problematic things to develop exponentially, such as climate change and technological advancements like AI. And that the speed of their development is more than we can keep up with, much less stave off. And I had been considering this in a wholly negative way of everything racing toward apocalypse. But now I’ve become more open to the possibility that the exponential nature of time could also be affecting human evolutionary growth toward enlightenment—that we could be learning and growing together at an exponentially increasing pace even slogging through so many hateful and destructive elements. We could be having a big growth spurt. My openness to such a new and hopeful thought is part of the new timeline, and also part of what the verses for today are about—opening ears and loosening tongues and water gushing forth in the wilderness. Jesus says “Ephphatha!”“Be opened!”

I want to think about the gushing water first. How “water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.” How “the burning sand will become a pool, the thirsty ground bubbling springs,” as it says in Isaiah.

I’ve told you before about the annual bike trip I take with Frances every July, mostly in Florida. We went again this year. We took our bikes on a train from here to Jacksonville, then rode them from Jacksonville to Key West where we stayed for a week because of it being the best, most favorite place. Then we took a long ferry ride from Key West to Fort Myers on the Gulf side and rode our bikes from there to Tampa, with a side trip to Clearwater for 3 days. Clearwater is where we stayed at the funny old deco motel in a room that was somehow the size of a house inside. It had a kitchen and bedroom and bathroom and living room and old wooden furniture and deco prints on the walls. We watched the Olympics on the big incongruous flat screen tv on the wall in the living room and felt oddly patriotic and newly interested in sports of all kinds. Clearwater is also where I was hit by a car. It was all my fault and the car wasn’t going very fast, although it seemed to not want to stop in a sort of menacing way. I wasn’t really hurt but my basket on the front of my bike got crushed. Then we took the train home from Tampa.

What I can report is that this was one of the most fun trips of all of our many adventurous trips. I don’t really know how to say why. I just know that it’s settling in my memory as a big bright ball of fun and happiness, even with its many challenging parts, some of which were dark such as being hit by the car, which still didn’t override the feeling of joy and safety that imbued the whole experience. And yet it was notably hotter than ever before. I’m fairly certain it was. I’ve never really noticed the heat on previous trips, or not in the way of it being an obstacle as it definitely was for a few days this time. One day the heat index was 112 degrees. What I learned from the heat was to love water, and that the phrase “water is life” is true. I’d never thought so deeply about water before because I’d never needed it as deeply. I had a cup holder attached to my handlebars with a big insulated mug with artwork of smiling cows and bows and flowers on it. I’d bought it at a gas station having no idea that it would be a perfect mug. It fit exactly in the cup holder and kept the water freezing cold. Ice just never melted in my mug. It had a straw so I could lean forward and drink from it as I rode along. It was all such a rejuventing, magical thing. When I drank the cold water I could feel it coursing through me in the most literal way. I could feel the sun-baked, dried up parts of me moisten and plump up and become pliable. I started thinking of the water as a miracle cure. I was thinking of pouring it on lifeless things and possibly bringing them to life. These are thoughts that may happen when you ride along on your bike. I wanted to pour water on the flattened roadkill animals.

Because of this new relationship I made with water, I think I almost understand that Jesus spat and touched the man’s tongue because water is life.

I want to read the verses from Mark again:

Then Jesus left the vicinity of Tyre and went through Sidon, down to the Sea of Galilee and into the region of the Decapolis. There some people brought to him a man who was deaf and could hardly talk, and they begged Jesus to place his hand on him. After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue. He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means “Be opened!”). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly. Jesus commanded them not to tell anyone. But the more he did so, the more they kept talking about it. People were overwhelmed with amazement. “He has done everything well,” they said. “He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.”

In thinking about this story, or any instance of Jesus healing someone of a disability, my understanding is that it is always an act of inclusion. Those in need of healing are the ones who’ve been cast out, who've been deemed “unclean” by a restrictive, sanctimonious society. The act of healing is a loving act of embracing a person whom others have viewed as untouchable. In this particular healing story, Jesus is especially physically intimate with his healing touch. He kind of spits in the man’s mouth. He pokes his fingers in the man’s ears. Far from acknowledging any societal barrier between himself and the man, he seems to want to almost merge with him and mingle their molecules.

What I’m wondering about is more a modern question of ableism, of whether the man feels himself to be in need of healing or whether he knows himself to be already whole as he is, with the need being for society to make a place for him, not for him to be miraculously changed to physically match the majority or else accept exclusion and ridicule.

A notable aspect of Mark’s healing story is that others brought the deaf man to Jesus and advocated for him. These were our early forebears who envisioned a more inclusive world and saw in Jesus a promise of this world to come. I think Jesus was trying to address both an immediate human need for belonging and a longer-term process of setting in motion societal change, a very slow process but one I can feel as part of the growth spurt of now. I’m thinking of Tim Walz’s neurodivergent son Gus and his exhuberant public expression of pride in his father, how the atmosphere of the Democratic convention was one of inclusion and expansive room for all manner of diversity, with Gus being emblematic of authenticity and freedom from gender-binary expectations of behavior, and from restrictions on emotional expression altogether.

And Imane Khelif’s Olympic experience, too, points to societal growth in the face of desperately clinging bigotry. I’m so happy she won her boxing gold medal. And that so much of the world cheered for her and could see the ugliness of J K Rowling and her minions purporting to be arbiters of who can be women in their binary universe. How diversity won out. How the Olympic opening ceremony was just the gayest thing and felt like solidarity facing down bigotry.

The Olympics and the Democratic Convention, both, were occasions where the sentiments expressed and exhibited may once have seemed like cheesy platitudes but now rang out with sincerity and depth of meaning. I cried during both. I think everyone did. I saw someone online describe the collective crying as the most complex tears of his lifetime.

One thing I do wish, though, is that the Democratic Convention had agreed to make room for a Palestinian speaker. Because of how it could have further consolidated the already pervasive spirit of inclusion, as well as given a more complete voice to an urgent concern of the world. But still I feel heartened that this omission hasn’t been reason to condemn the convention as a whole. That the goodness of the convention is still very good. This idea that something can have flaws and still be very good also seems like a kind of growth, to me. That because something good could have been even bigger and better doesn’t mean that its own measure of goodness isn’t valid and enough.

Something like this seems to be happening with Jesus commanding everyone not to talk about the healing they’ve witnessed. I think it's because of the intimacy of it, and also because of something being enough as itself. Jesus shared love and healing with the man in a private way. He took him aside, away from the crowd, and did the intensely hands-on things of touching the man’s tongue and feeling inside his ears. The story doesn’t tell us what the man said with his new loosened tongue, but surely his experience of Jesus’s healing love was much more deeply affecting than any witness of it could fully understand or relate to others. And Jesus’s experience, too, was more than the seeing or telling of it could communicate. Maybe it just wasn’t intended to be a relatable production or proof of divine power. Maybe it was a singular, vulnerable occasion of giving and receiving love that Jesus wanted to protect as itself, not use to overwhelm everyone with amazement. He’d been able to offer healing love to someone who was open to it, someone who completely accepted and absorbed it in such a trusting, believing way that it manifested as bodily healing. And maybe this is the secret of divine healing. The openness to it. The acceptance of divine love. The belief in oneself as worthy and beloved.

What I’ve learned again and again from all of Rev. Pat’s sermons is that the most important thing is for us to believe that we’re God’s beloved— that this is our deepest, truest identity for us to fully accept and claim and know with our whole selves. And that knowing this and acting from this assurance is how we spread love in the world. Which is how we create God’s commonwealth of glorious diversity and shared humanity where everyone belongs.

But do I, still, not truly fully know with my whole self that I’m God’s beloved?

Is there anything you would change about yourself if you had the means? A spiritual thing or emotional thing or physical or even a material thing. I have a belief that whatever personal changes we may want to make, however in service to vanity or not, however deep or not, are all things we hope will be healing, and with a result of helping us to feel more worthy of love and belonging. Or this is true for me, anyway.

I was watching a video of Post Malone singing a country kind of song and found myself wanting silver teeth like his. And this would be an improvement of me and make me more worthy is what I believe somewhere deep inside.

But the more profound change or healing I want is at the heart of it all, which is that I want to be able to believe that I’m loved.

Something I realized more profoundly on the bike trip is that I have trouble believing this. I have trouble recognizing love that’s given to me. I won’t go into the many thoughts and glimmers of epiphany that helped me to better see this part of myself. The bike trip has lots of built in time for refection. Mine included childhood parts and other parts of my history and familial relationships, as all of us carry, as well as recent emotional events. The newest aspect of my understanding, though, the growth part, is that I want to change.

And this is an odd dilemma or catch-22 about the secret of divine healing, which is that divine healing seems to need me to feel worthy of it, to accept my belovedness in order to be healed of my inability to fully believe that I am beloved.

Well, what I want to say about this is that, strangely, it feels more like an opportunity than an impasse. It feels like something to pour water on.

Amen.

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abellinthecupboard · 2 years ago

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Blunt Morning

(July 15, 1979) I'll never forget that morning when my mother-in-law floated in a netherworld of morphine-induced sleep, those lingering hours of an otherwise ordinary Sunday when she entered into a country that wasn't sleep so much as a blue comatose state of semi- consciousness that she inhabited to avoid the pain. All that blunt sunlit morning we signaled each other and talked over and around her emaciated shape propped up on the pillows for what were obviously her final hours of life on this earth. She was breathing heavily, she was laboring in her non-sleep, in her state of drifting to wherever it was she was going—and suddenly I couldn't stand it any longer. I moved next to her and began talking, I didn't ask any questions, I didn't know what I was saying I was speaking so quickly. I said that we were all there, all of us, Janet and Sophie and Susan, who was playing the piano in the living room, that we loved her intensely, fiercely, that we missed her already—where was she?— we wished we could do something, anything, that we each have tasks to fulfill on this planet and her job now was to die, which she was doing so well, so courageously, so gracefully, we were just amazed at her courage. I know she could hear me— and that's when she opened her eyes and fixed me with her stare. She wasn't moving but she was looking at me precisely in the eyes. I'll never forget that look—haunted, inquisitive, regal— and she was speaking, except her voice was too week and the sounds didn't rise beyond her throat, but she was speaking, and that's when Janet and Sophie started singing Hebrew songs—not prayers or psalms but celebratory songs from Gertrude's childhood in Detroit, and she was singing, too, she remembered the words, except we couldn't hear any words, nothing was coming out of her mouth, but she was tapping two fingers on the side of the rented hospital bed— and her lips were moving, she was singing. That's when Sophie started telling stories about their childhood, which seemed so far away and so near, like yesterday, and Gertrude was nodding, except her head didn't move, but anyone could see that she was nodding yes, and then Janet started talking about /her/ childhood in this very room where sunlight burned through the curtains, and then suddenly Gertrude jolted forward and started waving her arms— What is it? What is it? What is it?— because she was choking on her own phlegm and then she fell back against her pillows, and stopped breathing.

— Edward Hirsch, Earthly Measures (1994)

#Blunt Morning #Edward Hirsch #Earthly Measures #poetry #literature #writing #poem #poet

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delopsia · 2 years ago

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Whiskey Sour | Rhett Abbott X Reader

Word Count: 5,600 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, , hand jobs, oral, unprotected sex, edging, begging, afab!reader. ya'll asked, and you shall receive :)

It really shouldn't bother you that Maria is back in town.

It really shouldn't bother you that she's decided to add herself to your little group, innocently settled between you and Rhett as she chatters away about high school events that you weren't here for. You're sure her friends didn't intentionally join just to push you all the way out of the little circle that's formed at the bar. Perry's receiving much of the same treatment, pushed away by a giggling flock of ladies that have taken a new liking to Rhett.

No, it shouldn't bother you.

"Is it just me," Perry says to you, although he makes no effort to lower his voice, "or did we just get kicked out of our own conversation?"

You've been so distracted by keeping the girls out from under your skin that you didn't notice Perry order two double shots from the bartender. But now, he's handing you a small glass, and you're clinking them together in a celebratory, 'fuck this.'

Whatever it is in this glass, tequila, you think, it burns its way down your dry throat like an inferno; not your favorite, but it gets the job done. Anything to avoid facing the intrusive thoughts ebbing at your psyche.

"Pretty sure we did," hailing down the bartender; it's your turn to pick a drink, and you're gonna need something that'll last longer than a shot.

As your bartender whisks off to craft your choice of beverages, the music blaring on the radio comes to an end. For a brief moment, the bar becomes quieter; it's now that you hear what Maria's friend is saying.

"Not to be rude, but Rhett's sex life must be boring as hell now," the blonde giggles, Molly, you think her name is. Her friends just laugh right along with her; you pretend you don't see the wayward glances and hands shielding their lipstick smiles.

So it seems we're being catty tonight.

"Whiskey Sours?" Perry's deep voice is a welcomed change compared to the shrillness on your left. "Haven't had one of these since I first got with Rebecca."

He's quick to pluck the cherry from his drink, gently placing it alongside the one floating in your own glass. Not a fan of cherries, it seems; to each their own.

"Need something that'll distract me for longer than a minute," sipping your drink; there's more lemon than there should be, but you'll take it.

Even the bite of the whiskey cannot tear your thoughts off that comment. You know very well that it's just petty trash talk to hype up their friend, but it's lit a match in the back of your mind. Boring, as in not having a new partner every week, or boring, as in bad sex?

Surely by now, you've got a leg up on the pretty pillow princesses and buckle bunnies that seem to follow Rhett like a bunch of cats in heat. But can you jump up on a ledge that they could never dream of reaching?

Hm.

The gaggle of goslings starts to fuss, and you don't need to tilt your head to know why.

"Hey, darlin'," Rhett's pressing a less into the side of your head, cold nose bumping against you and making you squirm, "what's my baby drinkin' now?"

You hate him for making your heart flutter like that; you really do.

"Whiskey Sour," you say, lifting your glass for him to take; if there's anything you know about Rhett Abbott, it's that he loves trying new drinks, but he's too shy to order anything that doesn't scream "manliest man to ever man."

Maria's saying something, you can hear her voice behind you, but you can't focus on anything but the little grin that etches its way onto Rhett's face when the drink hits his tongue.

"Don't suppose you want the cherry Perry forfeited too?" As if to emphasize your statement, you pick it up, twirling the stem between two fingers.Quiet, Rhett reaches out for it, brows furrowing as he pops it in his mouth.

Just then, Perry's phone lights up with a ding. In the second that it's on, you see that it's Rebecca who's texted him, and whatever the message contains must be quite something because Perry's face changes the second he sees it.

"I—uh, Rhett, do you want mine?" He fumbles to shove it in his pocket, already halfway out of his seat. "I need to...Rebecca needs me home."

...ah.

Rhett doesn't seem to have the same epiphany you've just had, but he's more than content to take Perry's seat and finish off his glass. Perry practically flies out of the bar; you suppose Rebecca must have just sent him a photo of her in the new lingerie set she just got.

Up until now, you'd forgotten about the ruby red lingerie you'd chosen to put on for tonight. At the time, you hadn't expected Rhett to have one of those rides that warrant a few rounds at the bar—you'd really just expected to watch him ride and then surprise him once he'd got back in the truck. It's a cute lace set, but now that you've remembered you're wearing it, you're acutely aware of how uncomfortable it can be.

"Can you watch my drink for me?" You ask him, and you don't need to provide anything else; he's already reaching out for it, covering the top with a protective palm.

"It's safe with me, doll," he sticks his tongue out, proudly revealing a knotted cherry stem. God, he's cute. It almost makes you feel bad for what you're about to do to him.

Almost.

The bathroom is just a single room; you're not sure why a bar this size chose to have it set up like this, but it only plays into your hand. Their poor design choice allows you a little more privacy in front of this mirror.

Hooking your thumb under your shirt and pulling it up, up, up until—alright yeah, maybe you should tilt your hips to the left. Hell, now it's not looking as good in the camera as it does in the reflection.

You almost regret this idea, but as you finally find the right angle to snap your picture, the results are worth all the awkward twisting and turning you've just done. Whoever said taking photos like these is easy was a straight-up liar.

It takes just as long to readjust your clothing, straightening your shirt, and fiddling with the itchy lace that just doesn't want to let you forget that it's there again. The photo should take a while to send; Wabang signal has never been great, to begin with; you probably still have time to finish your drink and get out before Rhett sees it.

Opening the door, you're instantaneously met with the mouth-watering sight of a slack-jawed cowboy walking down the hallway, your whiskey sour still held in his hand.

"Baby doll," haven't heard that nickname in a while, "when did—did you just take that?"

And yet, Rhett doesn't let you answer; as soon as he's close enough, he's crowding you backward, free hand on your hip as he pushes you right back into the bathroom. He's kissing you before your back has even hit the wall, and it's the messiest thing you've ever found yourself wrapped up in.

You don't want to melt into it, but you do. Your mouth opens to his, and you can taste the lingering whiskey and lemon on his tongue as it intertwines with yours.

You're not sure what it is, but something possesses you to reach for his hand, guiding it up under your shirt. You know he's found the answer to his question when he makes a noise against your lips, fingers curling around the lace adorning your chest. Your hips bump together; God, he's already hard.

"You've been wearing this the whole time?" Incredulous, his fingers crawl up under the lace, his thumb swiping over a sensitive nipple.

"Had plans," you offer, gasping against his lips, "your fans forced me to remake them."

Rhett frowns, and based on the way he draws back so suddenly, you know he must be feeling guilty. Your glass settles on the counter with a soft noise, and he's gripping your hips with both hands now, mouth finding its way to the skin under your ear.

"'m sorry, doll," voice gravely as he works his way down your neck, biting lightly at your collarbone. Calloused thumbs hook into the waistband of both your shorts and your underwear.

Oh.

Ever so slowly, he sinks to his knees before you, pulling your garments down in tandem. Good lord isn't that a sight to behold. Rhett Abbott, blinking up at you with those pretty blue eyes as his hand hitches under your left knee, pushing it up until he can hook it over his shoulder. He peppers the inside of your thigh with soft, fleeting kisses, each one closer and closer to the wetness between your legs.

There is no hesitation in giving you what you want, all you have time for is one shaky breath, and he's dragging his tongue between your folds, licking broad, flat stripes into your aching cunt.

"Rhett," you whine, tangling your fingers into his messy hair, still damp from his shower, "fuck."

He moans into you, twirling his tongue along your clit in messy figure eights. You've only told him how to do it once in the past, but fuck, he hasn't forgotten, it seems. He's got you tangled up in an iron grip, keeping your thigh securely over his shoulder while the other hand keeps your hips steady. Absolutely refuses to let you squirm away from his burning hot tongue as it licks rapidly at the little bud he's caught between his lips.

"That feel good?" He asks, voice rumbling into your sensitive cunt, "hm?" And you don't know who's more worked up, you or him.

Your hips twitch at his words, and he moans quietly, some soft little noise that barely reaches your ears. Fuck, you want to hear him make that noise again.

That's a thought you'll have to store for later because right now, there's a coil burning to life in your lower belly, twisting and tightening with every thick, wet stroke of his pink tongue. There's nothing you can do to slow your breathing; stop the way you've started panting into the open air.

You're already close, and you find yourself reaching for the cherry still floating in the remains of your drink, popping it into your mouth in an effort to keep yourself at bay.

"Come on, darlin'," picking up his pace, "cum on my tongue."

The coil snaps, and with a soft whine, your body tenses, cumming on his tongue as it continues to work you. He chuckles into you, lightly licking you through your high until you're squirming away from him.

By the time you catch your breath, he's already risen to his feet, tongue back in your mouth as he kisses you rather roughly. You can taste yourself on him.

"Go pay off your tab," you murmur against his lips, "if you're good, maybe I'll give you what you want when we get home."

The ghost of a pout lingers on his lips as your hand lands on his chest, pushing him back until he can no longer reach your lips. When you pull your shorts back up and don't budge on your decision, he reaches into his pocket, handing over his truck keys, "I'll be there in a minute."

You can't help but notice the severe lack of a cherry stem in your mouth as he disappears back inside. Based on your fleeting scan of the ground below your feet, it hasn't fallen either.

You're almost surprised to find that there isn't a line formed outside the bathroom, surely someone would have come knocking by now, but there isn't a soul in the corridor as the two of you slip out the door. Rhett's walking rather briskly, can't quite meet your eye as you split into separate directions.

Stepping outside brings you a welcome breath of fresh Wyoming air. Crisp with all things autumn and the lightest hint of lingering cigarette smoke, it's heaven, compared to the stuffiness of the bar, overcome with cheap perfume and the sharp bite of booze.

As nice as it is outside, it feels so much nicer once you've climbed into his passenger seat. You decide to be nice and take the liberty of starting the old truck up, turning on the heat. Long gone are the days when you could comfortably sit in here with the windows down. Now, your nose is red from the cold, cheeks threatening to become chapped if you stay out any longer than you have to.

Rhett's better at hiding his desperation than his brother, but there's a lingering agency in his step as he approaches the truck, adjusting himself in his jeans.

"Someone's bothered," you chime the moment he's opened the door.

"Yeah," damn near shuts his foot in the door with his urgency to get going, "that's the fault of the pretty little thing in my passenger seat."

That goddamn cherry stem is in his mouth.

He keeps it there, too. Rolls it back and forth between his teeth as he drives, flips it back and forth with his tongue at the red light. Toying with the prize, he'd so smoothly stolen right from under your tongue. Part of you wonders if he's intentionally showing it off, curling his tongue more than necessary just to remind you of what his mouth can do to you.

Maybe he stole it from you on accident, just like maybe you chose the middle seat by accident, and your hand just so happens to accidentally land on his inner thigh.

"Baby," he warns, but there's no venom to it.

Rhett only ever drives with his left hand on the steering wheel; he could very well reach down and stop your fingers from drawing circles into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, but he doesn't.

He squirms, kicks his hips lower in the seat in a feeble attempt to get your hand over his cock; you'll just let that slip your psyche, fingers remaining fixated on his thigh instead.

Soon enough, he's turning into your street, albeit a bit faster than he probably should. The movement jostles you into him, your hand unintentionally pressing against the hardness between his legs, and the noise that slips out of his mouth is the unholiest thing you've ever heard.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He huffs, and the turn he takes into the driveway is sharp; you're prepared this time, and your hand doesn't repeat the same mistake.

"My hand can take a pretty good guess," it's when the truck comes to a stop that your hand slides up, fingers gently tracing around the bulge in his jeans.

Just from your touch alone, his eyelids shudder, fighting to stay open. Using the palpable outline as a guide, your wandering fingertips are able to find the head of his cock, applying just a bit of pressure as your thumb fiddles with it. Back and forth, you roll him between your index and thumb.

"God, fuck," his forehead hits the steering wheel with a soft thump, "baby, I hope you're not just toying with me."

"Only if you figure out the magic word," taunting in your best sing-song voice, and in one smooth motion, you're sliding across the seat and hopping out of the truck.

Rhett is much slower to get out; you've already walked through the front door by the time you hear his boots hit the ground. Poor guy, you'd almost feel guilty if a cocktail of spite and curiosity weren't coursing through your veins right now.

Your clothes are discarded as soon as you step into the bedroom; you'd make him work to get them off if you weren't so damn tired of this lace itching your skin.

You feel Rhett before you see him, hot breath fanning out against the back of your neck as he looms behind you. The drag of his rough fingers against your sides is delicious, leaving goose bumps in their leisurely wake.

Not desperate enough.

However, as the scruff of that five o'clock shadow brushes against your cheek, thin lips pressing a kiss there, you can feel your willpower fold in half. God, why are you doing this again?

"So pretty," words crooned sweetly into your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe, "this all for me, darlin'?"

Your resolve weakens with each word; he's almost got you in the palm of his hand when the memories of the bar come flooding back. The comments, the giggling, the irritation that coursed through your veins when they'd hijacked your own conversation; like a phoenix, your intentions bubble back to the surface.

Turning, you come to face him, fingertips making quick work of his flannel as you meet his lips. He grunts, and you can practically feel the way his eyebrows raise with his surprise, but he's more than eager to reciprocate the gesture.

You've barely tugged his shirt off when finally, finally, that lace slips from your chest, lands on top of the shirt you've just made quick work of.

"On the bed," carefully disguising your orders with a sweet tone; if he catches on to what you're doing before you've got him at your mercy, he'll turn this into a battle over who can be more dominant, and he's got quite the winning streak.

It seems you've avoided setting off any warning bells because he sits on the bed without a complaint, is so, so pliant when you push him onto his back. Muscles flex under pale skin as he squirms until he's in the center of the bed, reaches out for you when you come up to straddle his hips.

"So pretty," you observe aloud, running your fingers through his hair; his cheeks flush pink, shy eyes averting your gaze.

The alcohol must be working its way into his system pretty well right now because he doesn't fuss like he usually does when you call him pretty. Still just as shy as he always is when you catch him off-guard, but less fussy.

He's so distracted that he doesn't realize you're leaning down to kiss his neck until your lips are on him. "Oh," he gasps, tilting his head to give you better access.

The possessive side of you wants to leave a mark right here, high up on his neck for everyone to see, telling everyone just who he belongs to, but you can still remember how awkward it had been the last time you gave him one.

Hickeys are all fun and games until momma asks where they came from.

So you forfeit his neck in exchange for kissing down his chest. Sucking soft marks into his skin that will disappear come morning, stopping midway to roll your tongue over a pink nipple.

Rhett jolts under you, his nipples have always been particularly sensitive, more so when he's tired, and there's alcohol buzzing through his bloodstream. Selfishly, you repeat the action, rolling the rapidly hardening bud between your lips.

"'t's not—" squirming below you, "you're not supposed to—"

"—not what, Rhett?" Playing innocent as you switch to pay attention to the other one, "hm?"

His argument dies in his throat the moment your teeth pull at his nipple, just enough to illicit a reaction, not enough to hurt, in the exact same fashion he's done to you oh so many times. Soothing your tongue over it, you replace your tongue with your fingertips, opting to roll it back and forth as you return to your original ventures.

He's properly squirming now, hips unable to keep still as your wet tongue trails down the defining line of his abdomen. There's something mesmerizing about it; if you'd known winding him up would get this out of him, you reckon you would have done it sooner.

Finally, you make it down to the waistband of his jeans, and you're already working on getting that bullhide belt off of him. It's tricky enough to work around that oversized buckle, but as soon as you've got it unhitched, it's smooth sailing from there. In a similar manner to what he'd done to you just an hour ago, you hook your fingers under his waistband and pull.

With his legs free of his jeans, It's only appropriate that you pay attention to those plush, milky white thighs of his. They tremble under your wandering fingers; always have been quite sensitive to your touches.

"Ah," whining quietly as your lips find the perfect spot to leave their first mark.

Rhett's thighs bruise quite easily; you already know the soft red mark you've sucked into his skin will blossom into a deep purple come sunrise. You wonder just how long he'll let you keep this up.

"So pretty," whispering praises into his thigh in between marks. You're almost eye level with his cock; hard against his belly. Experimental, you run a palm up the underside of it, and you find yourself mesmerized by how his hips raise with it, chasing your fleeting touch.

"Baby," he warns, but again, there's no bite to it, and he does nothing to stop you from switching to his neglected thigh.

Again, your palm meanders its way up the underside of his cock, swiping your thumb over his leaking slit, "poor baby," you coo, taking your hand off him once more, "is this all for me?"

Rhett refuses to speak, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in an effort to remain silent. What he doesn't say with his mouth, he says with his body instead. If only he knew you could tell exactly what he was holding back verbally, just by the way his hips writhe against the mattress, legs trying their damndest to lock you in.

You take him into your hand, giving him one firm pump; he must think that's the end of your teasing because when you retract your hand once more, he whines high in his throat.

"What the fuck," he breathes, and when he reaches down to do it himself, you bat his hands away, "why...?"

Someone must not have been paying attention in the truck.

Nipping at a fresh new bruise you've taken the honor of adding to his rapidly building collection, you repeat your earlier statement, "figure out the magic word."

"'m not fuckin' beggin' for it," bullheaded as always; fortunately, there's a spot at the meet of his thigh that doesn't have a mark on it yet. You offer him no warning, simply leaning in to wet the area with your tongue.

Rhett swears under his breath, little profanities that get quieter with your movements, tapering off into audible puffs of breath. You're almost amazed to see that cherry stem lingering in his mouth, poking out from between two canines.

Switching to the other thigh yields better results, especially when you take the liberty of running your thumb along the underside of the head of his cock, tracing back and forth as slowly as you can manage. Friction, touch, but not quite there.

Not quite what he's craving so badly.

Leaning back, you're finally able to fully take in and admire your handiwork; soft thighs, once completely unmarked now mottled with red splotches, some of which are already darkening. Rhett raises his knee, and you don't need to glance up to know that he's looking too.

You stroke him once more, and his head falls back onto the pillow. Pause, count to thirty in your head, then repeat.

"I—" eyebrows furrowing; you stroke him again, flicking your wrist as you do so.

As convinced as you were that it would crack him, it seems it wasn't enough because he stays quiet. Fine, you'll let him go and recalculate—

"Please."

It's so quiet, so barely there, that you're almost convinced you may be hearing things, but then, "please, I don't—I..."

On its own, your hand returns to him; using his precum as lubrication, you stroke him properly. The reaction you receive is instant, jaw falling slack, eyelashes fluttering like leaves in the autumn wind. The Rhett you usually receive in bed is quiet, nothing but deep grunts and breathy gasps, but the one in front of you is on the verge of whiny. Soft, barely there noises working their way out of his throat, so close to a proper sound.

Abruptly, you tighten your grip, and it's a motion that's always drawn a reaction from him, but you don't expect him to moan so loud. Just as quickly as you'd surprised him, he bites into the side of his palm, muffling the noises that follow.

"Aw, don't cover your mouth," you're settling back between his legs as you speak, "I like hearing you."

Something about your words causes his cheeks to turn cherry red, and yet, he pries his hand back out of his mouth. There's that cherry stem again.

Your tongue meets the sensitive base of his cock, laving at where it meets his balls until it's so wet that it shines in the dim light. He looks like he's about to start fussing again just as you trace your tongue up a vein, following it until you can swirl around his sensitive head.

"Fuck," he gasps, fisting the sheets, "p-please, darlin'."

And how can you wait any longer when he asks you so nicely?

Taking a deep breath in, you sink down on him, hollowing your cheeks as you work him into your mouth. Thick fingers take hold of the side of your head, gripping tight but not enough to hurt. You're only about halfway down when his hips twitch, and the head of his cock bumps into the back of your throat. You don't mean to gag around him, but the fluttering of your throat only serves to make him louder for you.

"God, shit—" Rhett swears, and it's so loud compared to his former murmurings, "baby."

Breathing through your nose, you gather your composure, pushing yourself further down until he's properly working into your throat. It's not a motion you can maintain for more than a few seconds at a time, but lord, does it work wonders on your cowboy.

Keening high in his throat, Rhett squirms against the sheets; you can't tell if he's trying to wriggle free or get more. The fat head of his cock eases into your throat with every motion, jaw already aching with the effort.

“Feels good,” he babbles, “fuck, that feels so good.”

With every motion, your throat grows more and more numb from the abuse it's receiving; as much as you know it's going to ache in a little bit, you take him even further until the tip of your nose just barely brushes against his belly.

"'M already close," the words are just barely out of his mouth when you reel back, letting your mouth off him with a soft pop, and he whimpers.

He's already about to fuss again when you wrap a hand around him, stroking once, twice, and then stopping firm at his base. What words were about to spill off his tongue instead ripples out as an outright sob, echoing throughout the bedroom. It sends heat flushing between your legs; you want to hear that again.

Rhett's hips attempt to draw back and rise into your hand, but you've got a firm grip that doesn't falter. "Please," like a mantra, over and over, “please, darlin', please let me cum.”

It's not your intention to make him cum yet, but your hand strokes up his cock anyway, painfully slow. "Are you gonna be a good boy for me?" Your voice is gravely, so different from how it was just a few minutes ago, "hm?"

At first, all he does is nod his agreement, but then your hand stops, "y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

He gulps, adam's apple bobbing with it, "I want—" his own voice is cut short by a sudden, shaky breath as your hand works him again, "I wanna be your good boy."

Letting go of him for the umpteenth time, you reach down to tug your lace panties off; even so, with your intentions so clear, Rhett starts to fidget.

"Hold on, hold on," you can't help but giggle at the sight; he's reaching for you, eager fingers wiggling in an attempt to beckon you back to him faster. They settle onto your waist as soon as you're within reaching distance, holding on as you settle into his lap and take him into your hand once more.

You only have it in you to slide him between your folds once, and then you're letting him catch on your entrance. Despite him having laid you down and fucked you on the kitchen counter this morning, you can still feel the delicious stretch of his fat head as it eases into your cunt.

As soon as your hips come flush together, you waste no time in placing your hands on his chest and drawing yourself back up. His head drags against the soft, spongey spot inside of you, and just the sensation alone is enough to have your entrance fluttering around him.

"Baby, baby, baby," Rhett babbles, squeezing your hips in his hands, "just like that."

The pace you set is intense, almost brutal as your hips rise and fall on him; it feels like he's forcing the breath out of your lungs with every downward motion. Long gone is Rhett's ability to stay quiet, keening with every move you make, eyes rolling into the back of his head when you clamp down around him.

"I'm gonna cum," he blurts, "baby—ah! I'm gonna cum."

You stop, and he loses it.

"Fuck!" He cries, loud and desperate, "fuck, why-why won't you let me cum?"

Feigning obliviousness, you lean down until your noses are touching, "tie that cherry stem into a knot," those pretty blue eyes widen, "and maybe I'll let you cum."

You grant him just a few more seconds to recompose himself, and then your hips are working again, thighs lifting and dropping at the same pace as before. Your change in angle has rewarded you with the dizzying pleasure of his cock driving directly into that soft spot, a slick noise bouncing off the walls as your cunt takes him.

Rhett's eyebrows are furrowing with his effort to tie that damn cherry stem, but you foil his work by tightening yourself around him, "god, fuck, baby."

His voice alone sends a wildfire raging in your lower belly, and with one hand, you reach between your bodies, fingertips finding your swollen clit. You're still so, so sensitive from your first orgasm, and all it takes is the fleeting memory of Rhett on his knees and few, well-placed spirals before you're freezing up on top of him. You cum with a soft cry, thighs clamping down on his hips as your body spasms.

You don't quite remember closing your eyes, you don't think they've been closed for that long, but when they flutter open, you find quite the sight before you.

"Darlin', please," his voice is weak as he squirms below you. His eyes water with unshed tears, threatening to bubble over with every blink, and he's trembling. "Darlin' darlin' I—"

His jaw shakes as his mouth closes, tongue working, again and again, to tie that damned cherry stem into a knot.

Just as you pull off of him, his mouth opens, revealing a loosely tied stem.

"Such a good boy for me," you praise, and your intentions are to lower yourself and suck him off, but he won't let you go. He's babbling something intelligible, pushed so, so far that he can't form his words properly. "Rhett?"

He keens high in his throat, tries to repeat himself, but you still don't understand, and he still won't let you free of his iron grip.

"Okay, okay," scooting up the bed, you settle next to him, and he's so, so eager to hold you closer.

Planting your hand on his back, you draw him in until his head is resting on your chest; with your free hand, you reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock. He jumps at your touch, squirming into it as he continues to babble something you can't make out, but it doesn't sound at all close to your safeword, so you keep stroking him.

You squeeze him a little tighter, wrist flicking towards the end of each and every stroke, and you can feel him panting into your chest.

"I-I'm," it's the first thing you can understand, stutter punctuated by his hips weakly twitching into your palm.

"Go ahead," murmuring into his messy hair, "cum for me, Rhett."

His breath hitches, and with a weakened whimper, he cums just as you'd asked, painting your hand and tummy with burning hot semen. You pump him through it until he's relaxing back into you, panting for his breath again.

Wet tears land on your chest, "fuck."

"Rhett?" You're worried—did you push him too far? Was he misremembering his safeword?

But then he's tilting his head up you, smiling weakly but so, so genuinely up at you, "'m alright," he hiccups, voice rougher than you've ever heard it, "don't think I've ever been so desperate to cum in my life." He laughs at his own words, even more so when you join him.

The both of you are an absolute wreck, sticky with a gross mixture of sweat, spit, and cum, but you can't bring yourself to move. You're not sure if Rhett will let go of you even if the house were to come burning down.

"If I buy you another whiskey sour the next time we go to the bar," he says, kissing your skin as he shyly blinks up at you, "can we do that again?"

You think you just might melt.

"Baby," leaning down to kiss him on the lips, "all you need to do is ask."

The next time you're at the bar, Rhett's so focused on ordering a very specific drink and high tailing it out of there that he doesn't even realize Maria and her friends are standing right next to him.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #outer range #oneshot #delgato writes

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