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salem-s · 1 month ago

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03 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, fingering, nudity, p-in-v sex, mentions of body insecurity, unhealthy eating habits, and parental induced insecurity. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 7.7k. no comment. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. ── SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER sunshine by steve lacy, fousheé

When you wake, Rafe isn’t in bed.

You have a brief moment of panic, but your mind eases when Po sits a foot away from your face, looking at you curiously with a low purr and slow blink. Sleepily, you bring your hand up to pet him, to which he nuzzles right in as if he's been waiting for your attention for hours.

This is a nice wake up call, you figure.

Taking in your surroundings, you notice Rafe’s bed is neatly made, which is odd in itself since he usually just throws a blanket hazardously over his sheets, and his suitcase is laying open on the floor. A laugh rises to your throat when you notice a Po-sized indent on his clothes in the bag.

The culprit simply continues purring, relishing in the attention. The bed is warm and the cat’s making it even cozier, and the urge to stay right here is sky high.

But you're craving a coffee and the sun beaming through the curtains reminds you of the beautiful day ahead. So you scoop Po up under your arm and swing your legs over the bed, wincing at the cold tile against your bare feet. The door’s been left ajar, but regardless you slip through easily.

You stalk through the quiet cottage, smiling when you see Lorenza sitting in the living room with a coffee as she stares out the window to the yard, sun beaming through the tall windows and accenting the blue walls a few shades lighter than normal.

“Buongiorno,” you say sleepily, yawning. “Dormi bene?”

Lorenza nods without taking her gaze away from the window, a knowing smile etched on her lips that's targeted at whatever she's observing in the yard. You stand behind her, and curiously look up to follow her gaze.

The sight is overwhelmingly endearing when you see Rafe outside with Ticino playing fetch.

Judging by the glee on his face, it's like he’s enjoying it more than the dog himself.

The shetland-sheepdog has the craziest energy levels you've ever seen in a dog, and it’s proving that right now as Rafe continuously throws the ball, further and further each time. Ticino retrieves it and sprints back with more and more energy every throw, tail wagging passionately fierce.

Rafe says a command to the dog, to which Ticino drops the ball and obediently waits for him to throw it, and the cycle continues.

The grin on Rafe’s face is comparable to a kid on Christmas.

“Ho insegnato la parole ‘lascia’ a lui,” Lorenza murmurs teasingly. “Ha giocato per un'ora." (I taught the word ‘drop’ to him. He's been playing for an hour.)

You hum, not trusting your voice.

Instead, you turn and head to the kitchen to brew yourself a fresh pot of coffee. Distractedly, you don't even have the thought process to take any milk with it as you tiptoe back into the living room, selfishly wanting to catch another moment of Rafe’s little act.

You're no better than the next person, because frankly you'd be an idiot not to watch.

Like a rightful creep.

You sit on the seat adjacent to Lorenza, both of you simply ogling at this scene in the yard. Po meows quietly as he jumps in your lap, wanting to continue his head scratches from earlier. You abide by his terms, alternating between sipping your coffee, petting the cat, and trying to disregard the rapid thump of your heartbeat at the sight of Rafe's biceps.

How dare he.

It doesn’t help that ten minutes later, Rafe enters the house all sweaty and glistening that you have to focus really hard on your coffee or on gazing solely into his eyes to refrain from looking further down...

If your gaze drops any lower, he’ll definitely make fun of you.

And that's proving correct when he smirks at you deliberately not looking at him below the chin, and it only pisses you off further. To push his luck even more, he intentionally sparks up conversation with Lorenza, to which she forces you to translate, trapping you in the room for longer than you'd like.

When Rafe crosses his arms and purposefully bulges his biceps, you nearly scoff.

Lorenza packs a few sandwiches and homemade arancini for the beach while you both get dressed. To avoid climbing him like a tree (or showing that you'd like to), you linger in the living room and nurse your coffee as you wait for Rafe to change, not wanting to seem entirely desperate as your thoughts tell you to jump him like there’s no tomorrow.

Even though he can probably already tell.

He unabashedly takes his time, strolling out of the bedroom ten minutes later in a simple t-shirt and his bathing suit with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Sunglasses perch on the bridge of his nose as he narrows his gaze, ducking his head low and meeting yours with his piercing blue eyes. You rush past him with a traditional eye-roll and shut the bedroom door, changing into your suit and gathering your items for the day.

You two trek on the dirt path quietly. You sling a tote bag over your shoulder that holds a towel and a book while Rafe carries the backpack with his towel and lunch. The silence is comfortable as you take in the sight before you, relishing in the summer-like breeze as you desperately try to ignore the tingle on your skin every time Rafe’s arm brushes against yours on accident.

Or at least you hope it’s an accident.

You stride a little ahead of him, ignoring his piercing gaze on the back of your head as you try to relax. This is a beautiful walk, your favorite kind of walk, and you want to relish in the sights as much as you can as you descend closer and closer to your most prized spot.

After about twenty minutes of silent strolling (or more so silent on your part, with the occasional random question from him that either has you scolding him or ignoring him altogether), the two of you reach the bottom of the hill and enter town. A few people walk past you towards the more public part of the rocky beach, but you diverge from the crowds and slip through a man-made path between two trees, Rafe following your every step.

You can’t help but grin when you see your favorite spot approaching in the distance, and sigh in relief when you notice no one has discovered it.

Yet.

The nostalgia hits you at once, and you find yourself talking before you can stop it once you breach through the trees and emerge into the open cove.

“I discovered this spot my freshman year of high school. I used to come here almost everyday in the summer.”

Stopping on the rocky beach, you slip off your sneakers, socks, and tote bag and walk to the edge of the water, the gentle laps kissing your feet. As if it cures you of any negative weight, you sigh at the feeling. Like you're home.

Rafe follows your motion silently, soon standing right next to you and feeling the crystal blue water as well. You feels his gaze on you, patiently waiting for you to keep talking.

Despite the nagging feeling of not wanting to reveal too much, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“I loved it because my mom could never find me,” you continue softly, looking out onto the horizon. “Paulette never really cared for this place, this town, these people. She always came on the yearly trip with me and my dad to say she's been to Italy, but never as a courtesy to Lorenza, who practically raised my dad when she lived in the States. So we fought a lot on what Paulette wanted us to do, and vice versa."

You look down at your feet, pushing around some small rocks with your toes. His stare burns in your peripheral.

"She always wanted to get out of here and go to the touristy spots, mainly so she could post the trip on Facebook, or whatever. It was always Milan this, or Rome that."

You snort humorlessly at the memories of Paulette frowning in disgust at the more rural areas.

It only makes you scoff gently. "But me? I wanted to stay with Lorenza. Practice my Italian. Learn what it’s like to be a local. Hear stories from my dad's childhood. One day, mom nearly dragged me out of the house by my ears to get on a flight and I just...found myself running."

The memory burns in your mind, smiling at your rebel.

"I didn’t even have my phone. I don’t know what led me to slip between those trees, but it led me here. To my spot.”

Rafe has the overwhelming urge to grab your hand.

“So far, no one else has discovered it,” you smile, priding yourself on that small tidbit. “I expect you won’t tell anyone?”

“And if I do?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I might have to drown you.”

Rafe barks out a laugh, not expecting that answer.

Before he can retort, you're stepping back out of the water, shimmying your shorts down your legs and lifting your shirt off your back. Shamelessly, his gaze zeroes on your chest, lightly littered with his marks from last night that just peak out from under your bikini top.

Without hesitating, you walk back towards the water and gradually sink deeper and deeper until you're waist level, the temperature greeting you like an old friend.

The water is crystal clear, and you look down to see some small minnows swimming about around your legs.

You look up to Rafe, who stands unmoved from his spot watching you with a slight tilt of his head.

(As well as a smile so earnest it makes your heart flutter, but you choose to ignore it.)

“You gonna keep standing there looking stupid or are you gonna get in?” You continue to go deeper in the water, moving up to your neck as you cautiously step on a rock.

Rafe rolls his eyes, throwing his shirt up over his head and descending into the water.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he grumbles, but his suppressed smile gives away his indifference. “Which reminds me, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?”

Rafe is suddenly right in front of you, crouching so you're at the same eye level. You nearly slip on a rock taking a step back at the sudden intrusion, especially when his eyes soften and arms barely -- just barely -- outstretch as if to grab you.

“You left last night.”

Is he serious?

You shoot him an incredulous glare, unsure if he’s acting upset to uproot his doting boyfriend facade or if he’s actually torn up about it.

The latter can't be true.

Nonetheless, you furrow your brows. “Uh, I was naked. And judging by the way your bed was made this morning, my nonna was in the room checking in on us. Could you imagine if I didn’t get up and change, and she walked in? She’d probably have a heart attack.”

Rafe knows it’s stupid to even bring it up, but he hated the way his chest felt funny when he woke up this morning alone, noticing your sleeping figure across the room instead of with him.

“Besides,” you continue, “the light was still on.”

Rafe doesn’t take that as an excuse, and cocks his head to the side with a deadpanned look.

Whatever. You decide to indulge in his pity party. “Stop getting mopey. I planned on getting back in when I changed, but someone decided to take up the entire bed in the ten seconds it took for me to change.”

“Excuses,” he murmurs, unconvinced.

“You were sprawled out everywhere. I had no room.”

Rafe cringes. “I don’t sprawl.”

You raise a brow.

He secedes. “Maybe I sprawl. Sometimes. Only on Tuesdays. You could’ve just, I don’t know, slept on top of me.”

“Slept on top of you?”

Rafe hates how ridiculous it sounds. But yes. He would’ve preferred that instead of sleeping alone.

(But he’s not ready to admit that, not outright, anyway.)

Instead of responding he sighs deeply, as if this whole conversation that he started is an inconvenience. He moves forward lightning fast, placing his hands on your shoulders and dunking you so quickly you can barely register what’s happening. It’s only for a split second before he lets you resurface.

You splutter and sucks in a huge breath, throwing your hands out to splash that stupid grin off of his face. “The fuck, Cameron?!”

“Oh, c’mon, you were gonna go under anyway.”

The rest of the morning is spent having lazy conversation in the water, alternating positions from floating on your backs, to you on Rafe’s back as he swam through the deeper sections where you can’t touch the bottom, to Rafe on your back as you (unsuccessfully) try to carry him through the water.

He dunks you a few more times, irritably, and you really do try your best to dunk him back but it never works, as the guy is built like a tree.

A strong, muscular tree.

You show off your perfect handstand as Rafe tries to emulate the motion too, but despite being able to balance on his hands underwater, his feet unnaturally would not stay straight, so you had to deduct points for the informality, much to his dismay.

"You're judging based on a professional scale," Rafe albeit complains when you give him a whopping 5/10 score. "I'm very much at a novice level, and considering that, I think I deserve a higher score."

Your rating did not change.

Lunch rolls around and you eat together, the current debate of the hour being if a tsunami came at this very moment, how they would be able to survive.

You nearly want to shove the arancini down his throat when Rafe says that he’d simply dive through the wave.

"Gimme a break," you say, half annoyed yet half amused. "You know that's not physically possible."

Rafe shrugs with a half lipped smirk. "Well, I'm built different, baby."

Rafe goes back into the water after lunch as you stay on the rocky shore, finally being able to lay in the sun, get some shut eye, and hopefully have some peace and quiet to soak in the feel of the warmth, the sound of the small waves lapping the shore. You adjust your bikini quite skimpily so you have the most optimal tan space - the reason you're telling yourself for practically having your tits out - and soaking in the rays.

The peace and quiet only lasts about thirty minutes before Rafe is standing over you, sopping wet and blocking the sun, complaining that he’s bored.

It takes some serious convincing from you that laying on your towel and resting your eyes is also fun.

You make small talk as you lounge in the sun for a little while longer, which is ultimately Rafe just talking your ear off about whatever bullshit he can muster up, and you're unsure if he's doing it to piss you off or if he desperately needs answers (i.e. "How do you come to terms with the never-ending universe even though your consciousness has a time limit?" to which you answered, "Do you ever shut up?").

The delusional and partly existential questions continue until you feel yourself getting hot. To cool off, you stand to go in the water and Rafe’s right behind you like a lost puppy, glad to know that his aquatic entertainment has come back to play.

Despite his childish whines, Rafe reluctantly lets you swim around on your own for a bit, not without lamenting his boredom, before he forces you to get on his back again, coming up with the lame excuse that he wants to see how deep he can touch, but is too scared to do it alone.

Surprisingly, you agree to his stupid reasoning (not without a few sarcastic retorts and a creeping blush), and let Rafe drag you around the small private cove, wading through the water as if you have all the time in the world to do so. He doesn’t even care that you're relentlessly dragging him right next to his ear, because he likes the way you're clinging to him, skin to skin.

"What if a shark swam up to you right now? And if I couldn't swim?" You tease when he carries you so deep that it's up to his neck and your collarbone.

He grunts amusingly. "You'd drop you as bait."

At one point, you stay in the water while Rafe swims to shore to check his phone. In the backpack, his fingers brush against the old camera Lorenza gave him this morning, the topic of photography coming up at dinner the night before on his long list of interests.

He completely forgets about it until now.

An idea crosses his mind, and Rafe turns around to check on you, heart lurching as he sees you standing on one of the bigger rocks that breach the surface, teetering balance precariously. Without hesitation, he turns the camera on and snaps a photo of you.

He doesn't have time to inspect the product as Rafe quickly puts the camera away before you turn back around, yelling to see if he’s coming back in or not.

Three p.m. rolls around where you decide it’s time to leave, much to Rafe’s dismay.

He feels like a little kid all over again because he wants to stay for a little longer, relishing in your private company, but you simply don't give in. Albeit, it is fairly childish on his part. When his pleading goes nowhere and he refuses to step out of the water, you simply shrug and start walking towards the trees.

Rafe has never put shoes on quicker.

The walk back is trudging, but the two of you are content enough to do it with limited bickering.

When Rafe finds himself lingering behind you a little, he carefully slides the backpack off his shoulder enough to grab the camera again and snap another photo of you with the picturesque landscape in the back, unbeknownst to you.

Though his eyes only linger on you in the photo.

Once the cottage is in sight, Rafe casually slips his hand into yours, ignoring the way you quizzically look up at him at the gesture. Before you can protest, you hear Ticino's bark in the distance, the shetland-sheepdog looking at you from the window. Lorenza is quick to open the door, leaning against the frame as she did yesterday in her introduction and taking note of their intertwined hands.

“Devo andare al mercato,” Lorenza tells you when they approach the door. “Tornarò presto.” (I have to go to the market, I’ll be back soon.)

When Lorenza leaves, Rafe occupies Ticino briefly as you take a quick shower, washing the salt and exhaustion off your body.

The sun was beaming bright today, undoubtedly tiring you out. With bloodshot eyes and sopping wet hair, you collapse in your small twin bed with nothing but a t-shirt and sleep shorts, wanting nothing more than a few minutes of shut-eye.

After Rafe’s done entertaining the dog, he barrels into the room after his quick shower to try and initiate something he’s been thinking about all day - especially after seeing you in the skimpiest bikini to grace the earth and especially since you have the house to themselves with a short time frame - but his gaze softens when he sees you peacefully passed out, curled in on yourself in the twin bed as your arm hangs off the side.

God, he swallows the lump in his throat.

Rafe looms over you for a moment, frowning. He nudges his knee with yours to see if you're awake, to scout for any sort of movement or reaction. You're seemingly not as you don't even budge. He figures his arousal can wait.

He doesn’t even think twice about throwing on boxers and shorts and climbing in beside you.

Rafe cautiously lowers himself behind your sleeping figure, brushing your damp hair off the pillow so he doesn’t lay on it, and wasting no time nuzzling in and inhaling the scent of your shampoo, the same citrus smell that radiates from his hair.

Familiar, he thinks as he slides an arm around your waist, gently pulling you flush against his chest as he hums in contentment at the contact.

For Christ's sake, he’s practically been holding you all day but Rafe can’t seem to get enough. It’s intoxicating.

It must be something in the Italian water, or whatever, he figures.

A low groan escapes his throat when you shift your hips against his, and regardless of if you do it on purpose or subconsciously, he finds himself stilling, holding his breath to see if you do it again.

After a moment, Rafe thinks you've fallen back asleep and he exhales deeply, but as soon as the affirmation comes on, you do it again.

Rafe grips your waist in warning. “Sweet girl.”

“Your bed is over there, by the way.”

“Stop playing.”

You hum sleepily, a shiver running down your spine as his fingers edge the waistband of your shorts. “Playing? I’m only trying to sleep, baby.”

Rafe scoffs at your faux tone, as if it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard. His fingers are ice cold against your hot skin, warmth pooling in your belly as they travel lower and lower.

“You really expect me to not fuck you stupid after seeing you parade around all day in that slutty little bikini?” he murmurs gravelly against the shell of your ear. "Drivin' me fucking crazy."

There’s a small swell of pride swirling in your chest when you realize you've been making him all hot and bothered all day. But it fades as quickly as it came as he firmly presses himself along your backside, nearly gasping when you feel his hard-on against your ass, the product of your practically nude flaunt all day.

You squirm when his fingers ghost over your cunt, growing impatient at the buildup and elongated foreplay. It’s as if he can sense your frustration, retracting his hand every time you try to wiggle your hips closer and speed the process up.

You groan in irritation at his teasing.

“Rafe.”

“Hmm?”

Your words die in your throat.

You wouldn’t be caught dead saying please.

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s begging for dick. Especially Rafe’s, because it always goes straight to his damn head and he gets even more insufferable than he already is. And he really doesn't need any more fuel to boost his ego as it's already the height of Everest.

There was one time you said it during a moment of drunk desperation and he’s been elongating foreplay to get you to say it again, and again, and again ever since.

But you refuse.

(That particular night was one of your best lays together, maybe because you were both drunk enough to admit how badly you needed each other, but still.)

The hesitation drives Rafe up the wall. He wants to hear your words.

“What, princess? What do you need?” Rafe mumbles low with a tone that’s anything but sweet, almost mocking you.

You huff, pushing his hand out of your pants and turning around as efficiently as the twin bed will allow. Pressing forward, you swallow the cocky laugh that emits gravely in his throat as you kiss him. A large hand immediately presses against the small of your back under your shirt, pulling you taut against his bare chest.

The moment goes as quickly as it comes, because soon enough Rafe’s shifting your bodies so your back is flat against the mattress and he’s hovering over you, kissing you bruisingly.

One of his hands slides underneath your t-shirt and immediately kneads the swell of your breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple. The sensation is so startling that you moan into his mouth, and, fuck, you want to take it back immediately when you see the smug smirk on his lips.

Rafe pulls back and peers down at you writhing figure in mockery, as if he's looking at a masterpiece.

“What happened, baby? Forget how to speak?”

You roll your eyes so hard as you turn your head away from him, but his hand leaves your breast and comes up to grip your chin, stubbornly pulling your gaze back to him.

He hums mockingly, and you hate the way you nearly pout. “Don’t get all shy on me now. Tell me what you need.”

You speak before you can think.

“Need you inside,” you murmur, growing tired of playing cat and mouse.

“Magic word?”

You groan in irritation. “Really?”

He imitates a buzzer. "Wrong."

"Rafe."

He repeats your name back, tone teasing.

God. You hate how wet you are, how turned on you are, and hate even further how you're a mess and he’s barely even touched you.

Huffing again, you try to take back any ounce of control (before you'll eventually submit). You narrow your gaze to the best of your ability, trying to act indifferent at the fact that he’s getting you stupid horny just from a little bit of kissing and fondling. Pathetic.

“You said you were gonna fuck me,” you weakly retaliate, crossing your arms.

But Rafe doesn’t let up control, instead he leans down so his lips are brushing yours, the ghost touch making you twitch. “I said I was gonna fuck you stupid. But I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already blabbering.”

“Rafe–”

“Beg for it.”

“No.”

“No?”

Rafe pulls away, feigning hurt as he tries (and fails) to form a frown. You nearly whine at the loss of contact, frustration snowballing as he sits up on his knees and peers down at you in anticipation. He cocks his head to the side and takes in your flushed cheeks and how your hands almost – almost – grab at him in desperation, and you retract them quickly so he doesn’t notice but, oh, he does.

“We can go all day, sweet girl,” he drones out, checking his wrist as if he’s looking at the time.

He’s not even wearing a watch. Prick.

Sitting up, you cross your arms again with a pout that makes Rafe want to screw all the foreplay and take you on this twin bed. You're inches apart, chests heaving at the intensity as you stare at each other, waiting to see who’s going to crack first.

It’s a standoff, and neither budge in aggravated stubbornness.

Well, stubbornness on your part and pure amusement on his.

But all of that goes out the window when your gaze flickers down to his shorts, the obvious tent making your heart flutter with desire.

Because despite all of the arguing, he wants you just as much as you want him.

“Fine,” you grumble, cheeks unprecedentedly burning. “Please.”

Rafe grins. “Please what?”

You shoot him a glare that could kill.

He doesn't falter, and your struggle only eggs him on further. Rafe raises a brow and still achingly refuses to touch you, anticipating a response, and you decide to swallow your pride, knowing this is going to be the only way you'll get what you want.

“Please fuck me.”

It takes less than a second for Rafe to press forward, kissing you fervently as he guides you to lay down on your back. When your head hits the pillow, his large hand comes up to cradle your jaw and, for a moment, you hate how intimate it is, especially when it’s soft in comparison to how he normally handles you and how his eyes gleam with pride.

The emotion behind it makes you sick.

He hums as a thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “See, baby? You just had to ask nicely.”

“Shut up.”

Rafe snorts with a stupid smile, leaning back to pull your shorts down. You lift your hips to accommodate, and the way his breath hitches as he stares at your bare cunt dreamily has your tummy pooling with desire.

It's as if he sees it for the first time every time.

“So pretty. Such a pretty cunt, princess.”

You zoom your focus out, pulled from the moment with a harsh swallow.

You're only fucking. Just that. He likes you for your pussy. You like him for his dick.

With the way he was holding you earlier, you need to remind yourself of your arrangement. He’s here to pretend to be something he’s not. Having sex in between the lines of the main mission of the trip is simply a bonus, an activity. Nothing more. Reading into it more than that is going to complicate things, and you don't do complicated.

You can't do complicated.

“You’re taking an awfully long time after I was so nice,” you murmur irritably and it earns a belly laugh from him.

Rafe digs in his pocket for his wallet and pulls out a condom, proceeding to carelessly throw the expensive leather somewhere in the room as he slides off his shorts and boxers. He comes down from his laugh when he slides the condom over his cock, shaking his head in disbelief as he hovers over you and places the most chaste kiss on your lips as an apology.

You hate the tenderness, but it doesn’t seem to faze him as he kisses you again while simultaneously lining himself up with your entrance.

“You were so nice,” he says against your lips. You both moan into each other’s mouths when he slowly pushes himself in. “Asked so nicely for me.”

He bottoms out painfully slowly, holding himself there basically at the tip of your cervix torturously as he exhales deep through his nose. You nearly buck your hips up at his stillness in frustration.

“Missed this so fucking bad.”

You try to ignore how it’s only been days since you've had sex. “Rafe, please move.”

Rafe hums in adoration at your pretty, breathless words. “Being such a sweet girl for me. Sayin' please.”

Your nails dig into the grooves of his back as he pulls out just as slowly as he entered before pushing himself back in, settling at an agonizing pace that has you rutting your hips into his with impatience.

He growls, fingers tightening on your neck in warning. “Stop.”

You do it again in retaliation. Rafe says your name as a second strike.

“Hmm?” you hum, feigning mock nativity that you know is going to piss him off. The heel of your left foot slowly eases up his spine until you're hooking your leg over his shoulder, allowing him deeper access. “Faster. Going so slow, Rafey.”

His eyes roll back at the nickname, hating the way it sends a shiver down his spine.

God, he hates it with a burning passion, since girls have said it to him to hold some sort of possession over him in bed or at parties to stake their claim. You overheard one of Rafe’s booty calls whine it once, just once, and now you'll dangle it over his head every now and then to get what you want, or when you simply want to piss him off more than usual.

Now, Rafe can claim all he wants that it drives him up the wall, but the first time you said it mockingly to him during sex, he immediately came.

The word triggers something in his gut, switching his pace from sweet and achingly gentle to animalistic, fucking you rough and deep against this godforsaken mattress, the lewd noises only spurring your arousal.

And, god, it pisses him off the way you're fucking beaming at the change up because you, ultimately, got what you wanted simply by uttering one word. That godforsaken nickname.

Your tits bounce from the force of his thrust, his tip hitting spots unknown as you moan shamelessly into his mouth.

Rafe nearly scoffs against your lips, moving to ghost over your ear as your cheeks press against each other. You arch your back as much as you can at the sensation, chest to chest, and the movement causes Rafe to bring his hand down from your neck to your clit.

Your nails dig further into the planes of his back muscles because of it. The guttural moan from you makes Rafe chuckle darkly, the noise being nothing nice.

“Is this what you needed, baby?” he mocks. He feels you nod against his cheek. It only spurs him on further, addicted to you. “A bit of attention?”

“Been thinking about you all day,” you challenge shakily, smirking at the way his pace falters momentarily, then resuming the original rhythm. “Wanted you to fuck me on that beach.”

Rafe presses his thumb firmly against your clit to shut you up, and your hips rut in synchronization to his thrusts, causing him to hilt into you deeper, harder, rougher. “Fuck- princess, you know you could’ve asked nicely.”

“Don’t like being nice,” you pout, breaths becoming shallower the more he rubs circles on your clit.

“Only for me, right?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the possession, hating the way it makes your heart flutter. As much as you want to retaliate and deflect the ownership (because you'd rather fucking die, truthfully, then give him that satisfaction), you hum in a tone that can be argued is in agreement.

At least Rafe seems to think so as he accepts it with a low moan that only turns you on.

It kickstarts the warmth gradually building in your core, a wrangled whine escaping your lips before you can bite it back. One of your hands immediately find his hair, tugging it harshly as your pants become shallower, shorter, breathier.

You don't even need to give a warning that you're close, Rafe already knowing your body like an open book as he continues his movements, his own thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own high. The sounds of slapping and moaning and the mattress creaking underneath you echo off the walls.

In seconds, your grip tightens as you writhe underneath him, coming with an embarrassingly passionate whine as your back arches into him.

You whisper something in the shell of his ear that he can’t even comprehend, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your warm cunt, your hot breath, your rough grip on his hair.

Every feeling, every sensation in this god-given moment has his brain saying your name over, and over, and over again until he’s murmuring it like a prayer, like it’s the only mantra he’ll ever need to say again.

You breathily moan again, and Rafe realizes you're saying his name, too.

“Oh, fuck–”

The sound is so fucking pretty that it has his rhythm stuttering as he comes with you with a strangled moan, releasing into the condom in hot spurts and riding out his devastatingly early high.

Rafe refuses to look down at your connected bodies, knowing the sight is only going to make him do something embarrassing again – as in moaning like a pornstar – and instead squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in the crevice of your warm neck to attempt to hide from whatever the fuck just happened.

Your chests heave against one another and his movements gradually slow until he stops, still fully buried inside you.

Spent, Rafe lowers his elbow and collapses on your chest, soliciting a low moan from you when his thumb leaves your clit as his hand settles on your hipbone. That same thumb traces lazy circles on the bone, Rafe doing it without thinking as he exhales deeply against your vocal chord, brows furrowed as he suddenly has a revelation.

Not a good one.

You smooth out his hair, which ultimately is just you stroking his head gently. He nearly sighs at the sensation, subconsciously nuzzling a fraction deeper into your embrace in contentment to push down his thoughts.

Because he can't look up at you. Not after what he just discovered.

But you stop as soon as you start, as if you realized what you were doing, and instead place the hand cordially on his shoulder to backpedal from any moments of accidental intimacy. He replicates your intention with a weird tug in his chest, his thumb stilling and simply resting on your hip.

Despite it, he says nothing.

Very on the contrary to his usual behavior, especially after sex.

He loves to talk. He never shuts up. He cleans you up, dresses you if you want to be dressed, cracks a joke or two about your fucked out state and calls you something stupidly and aggravatingly endearing that turns your mind to mush. Even last night– he held you and had the energy to annoyingly quip despite being on the brink of sleep.

But now Rafe offers nothing but uncharacteristic quiet.

You don't like it, not because it’s silent, but because it’s different.

After a few moments, you let out a long breath. You're sure that he can feel your erratic heartbeat as you can feel his eyelashes fluttering shut against your skin, an ounce of anxiety rising like bile in your throat.

Why is he so quiet?

“Are you–”

Before you have the opportunity to make the matter worse by opening your mouth, the sound of the front door startles you both as you simultaneously sit up in panic.

Lorenza doesn’t catch you, too busy unloading the groceries and addressing Ticino when she arrives back.

As you get dressed and leave to help her, Rafe stays in the room. After peeling the condom off, wrapping it in tissue paper, and throwing it in the trashcan behind your bed, he pulls his boxers and shorts back on and flops back down on the sheets that smell of you, remaining unmoved as his thoughts race.

The realization hit him – shamefully – mid-orgasm.

It further rendered him unable to trust his words in the post-sex haze in fear of saying something that’ll, undoubtedly, scare you away.

A haze is what Rafe hopes it is, just a fleeting thought that crossed his mind in such a vulnerable moment.

Sometimes sex – mind blowing sex – makes people feed into their delusions in the moment, but later coming to their senses when their head is screwed on straight. Then they laugh about those silly little thoughts in the long run, looking back and making fun of how ridiculous they were.

Rafe waits for the moment his thoughts will return back to normal, but this epiphany only drums in his mind harder and harder until he feels a migraine splitting his head in two.

Rafe likes you. Bad.

He slaps a hand on his forehead and groans.

Fuck. This isn’t good. There are so many things wrong with this blossoming feeling bubbling in his chest, and he tries and tries to push it down but it keeps springing back up stronger than before, and it only augments his panic as he lays here in this twin bed staring at the ceiling.

Rafe doesn’t do crushes.

He hates vulnerability, hates the level of trust he’s required to put in another person, hates the expectations that come with being romantically involved with someone. It’s much easier to do things casually, to not let feelings get in the way because feelings cause complications, feelings create dangerous situations, feelings don’t take prisoners.

The whole idea of trusting another person in such an emotionally intimate way makes his chest feel heavy.

It is so detrimentally unfamiliar that it scares Rafe.

The idea of not having any control in any scenario already terrifies him, because if he can’t dictate a situation then he’s at the mercy of another person. He was always taught to be in charge, to be the commanding person in the room, to be feared so that he’ll be listened to. Not having control means submitting. Rafe doesn’t do that.

Especially not emotionally.

The only person he'll let take control of things is his father. Ward's the one who instilled the lesson that control is created, sought upon, and needed in every situation. Rafe was only a kid when he knew what was expected of him whenever his father wasn’t present – which was often – and it simply grew when the only person allowed to tell Rafe what to feel and what not to feel was his father.

Crying was for pussies and being sad was something you pushed down deep and replaced with anger. Trusting other people was dangerous, because they could use your most vulnerable moments to their advantage. It lowers inhibitions, fogs logistics, and makes people do stupid things against the betterment of propriety.

Rafe knows what he has to do.

He has to distance himself from you.

The decision is ridiculous, Rafe already knows. He’s trapped in a foreign country with you for nearly a week, and it’s not like he can avoid you in the meantime or act like he still hates your existence.

He’s supposed to be your boyfriend, playing a part that entails being loving and doting and disgustingly devoted. He has to be able to properly emote his affection for you, to show your family how much he supposedly loves you without outright saying it out loud.

Rafe’s always been bad with his words, his actions doing most of the talking for him throughout his life.

Right now, that's coming to bite him in the ass.

Rafe spends the rest of the evening uncharacteristically quiet, smiling politely and nodding to anecdotes Lorenza tells during dinner. He adds his own, not as animatedly as he was the previous night since he doesn’t want any alarm bells to go off for her, but also trying to distance himself emotionally to attempt his plan of shoving away this stupid crush.

He barely even looks at you for the entirety of dinner, and doesn’t loiter in the kitchen while you and Lorenza cook.

Well, Rafe's plan lasts about four hours, which is four hours longer than he expected.

After dinner, Lorenza sends you out of the room to do something that he doesn’t comprehend. When you're gone, Lorenza turns to Rafe who unsuccessfully attempts to help her clean. She takes the plate out of his hand and puts it down, instead grabbing his hands and leading him to the doorway of the kitchen where her calendar is.

She points to today’s date. “Oggi.” She then taps yesterday’s date. “Ieri.” Lorenza then taps the next day. There’s a red circle around the number. “Domani.”

Rafe nods, assuming the word means tomorrow. “Domani…” he trails off, not sure where she’s going with this language lesson.

Lorenza looks at Rafe and calculates her words, saying your name quietly. “Domani è il compleanno di lei.”

“Compleanno?” He feels like an idiot as he repeats it back to her, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when she says your name.

“Compleanno è…” Lorenza drones out, thinking about the word very hard. Then it comes to her as she snaps her fingers, as if it’s an epiphany. “Birthday.”

Rafe freezes, blinking stupidly down at her.

Wh-

It’s your birthday tomorrow?

Panic rises in his chest as he fumbles for words, but instead of interrogating him on his lack of knowledge for his supposed-girlfriend’s birthday, Lorenza huffs and shakes her head irritably.

“Questa ragazza non lo dice mai a nessuno,” she hisses quietly, mainly to herself, it seems. (This girl doesn't tell anyone)

Then, she turns to Rafe and takes a deep breath, her next words very slow and calculated.

“Domani, she say she do not want party. Solo cena e vino. The birthday she does not like.” (Only dinner and wine.)

That makes Rafe frown. Deeply. He hates that you don't like your birthday, he hates even more that he wants to know why, and hates even further that he wants to shower you with gifts.

The latter makes him reel because, fuck, man, he's supposed to be distancing himself.

“She does not know I tell you this,” she adds, pointing a knowing finger to him as if to say you better not tell her I told you.

Rafe nods wordlessly, still frowning.

Why wouldn’t you tell him that it’s your birthday?

He thinks back to birthdays at home. They were always the talk of the season, as the Cameron siblings always had to throw the craziest ragers to grace their side of the island. They were always coined the term event of the year every year.

Rafe’s birthday has always been nothing short of a giant celebration, half relishing in everyone kissing his ass all day and half loathing all of the attention. He never really cared about the gifts since he always had every material object he could think of (that he never really cared for), but he always appreciated when people brought him alcohol and weed and things that could make him feel good. He always got a lot of birthday sex, too, which was always a plus.

Shaking away the memories, Rafe goes to ask a question but steps away from the calendar when he hears you come back into the house, barreling into the kitchen with an empty box while fisting a silky lilac dress.

However, you're not looking at him, instead looking at Lorenza with an exasperated expression.

“Paulette ha sbagliato taglia!” (She got the size wrong!)

Rafe’s ears perk up at the mention of your mother’s name, brows furrowing as his gaze darts between your expression, the dress, and the way you hand it over to Lorenza who inspects the tag intently. The two of you talk at such a rapid pace that he feels like he’s intruding even though he doesn’t understand a lick of it. All he can gather is that you're upset about the dress, or upset with your mother. Maybe both.

Either way, you're clearly not happy.

Quietly retreating back to the bedroom, he leaves the women in the kitchen as he’s no contribution to the conversation. He sits down, this time on his own bed, leaning up against the wall as he sighs deeply, attempting to rub the growing migraine out of his temples. The effort to look online to see if anything can be delivered to the house for your birthday falls short, and Rafe groans when he comes to the conclusion that it’ll be impossible to get you a gift before tomorrow night.

One that you deserve, anyway.

He finds himself deep in thought when you enter the bedroom, throwing the dress carelessly on the table in the corner of the room and flopping down onto your bed, sighing. Sitting up from his slouching position, Rafe pinches his brows in concern when he sees you pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

Pushing away the urge to go over and coddle you, he resorts to his default state.

“You good?” he settles on, his voice forcefully even.

You huff. “She drives me fucking crazy. I can’t take it.”

Rafe connects the dots. “I’m assuming…your mom?”

“She forces me to sit at some pretentious restaurant for two hours going over measurements and alterations for the dress for the wedding,” you suddenly rant, sitting up and turning to him to dial him into the dilemma.

The eye contact has him shifting uncomfortably.

“I tell her three different times what my measurements are, and she even pulls out the damn tape measure at the table and makes me confirm my actual size in front of a hundred people. She writes the numbers down and says she’ll call the tailor to make the alterations, and – lo and behold – the measurements are wrong.”

He’s confused about why you're worked up over a dress, never hearing you be picky about clothes before. “Can you call the tailor and have them–?”

“No,” you interrupt harshly, then recoil at your tone and replace it with something softer, more calculated. “It’s not– this isn’t about the tailor.”

“Then…what is it about?”

You hesitate and he hates it.

He despises how you don't tell him anything about yourself. He’s been chasing anecdotes ever since you told him about the beach spot, silently wishing you'll talk forever and forever about yourself because you never do.

Rafe feels like he’s blind when it comes to knowing you. Sure, he knows when you're seconds away from coming and what makes you moan and what makes you squirm, but god forbid he tries to know your birthday. Why does it take so much for you to open up to him?

It’s simple. Because you could never trust him. Could never see yourself with a guy like him.

That thought makes Rafe feel weird. “Hey. Answer me.”

You sigh so gutturally it makes Rafe frown at the sound. “She does this." You gesture back to the discarded dress. "She purposefully buys me clothes that are smaller in hopes that I’ll slim down enough to fit into them."

The look on his face, the confusion and hurt, is making you nauseous.

So, you dart your gaze to the bedsheets to aimlessly pull at the seams, because the thought of his eyes staring you down makes you nervous, especially about this topic. "I mean, my junior prom dress was conveniently a size down a week before so she had an excuse to give me an almond diet.”

"What?" he asks quietly, and it sounds so innocent that it makes you reel.

Did you...say that out loud?

You suddenly look surprised that you even said that. Immediately, you shake away any shroud of hope that you'll be continuing that story. “That’s not– that’s not the point. The point is that I should’ve expected this. I should’ve just taken care of the dress myself.”

He sucks in a breath.

The confession breaks Rafe’s heart.

It feels awfully similar to how little control he has with his father, how he tries and tries to be patient and do everything right but it only backfires and makes things worse. It only gives his father an excuse to cuss Rafe out or embarrass him publicly in front of his peers. He hates how you have had to go through a similar emotional turmoil with your mother, and the whole situation makes his heart feel like lead.

You take his silence as indifference.

Before Rafe can say anything, you wave it off nonchalantly.

“Whatever. It doesn’t– it’s fine. I’ll have to go into town tomorrow to look for a replacement. Nonna said there’s a couple of places.” You abruptly stand and grab your toiletry bag, needing to leave the room and his silence to refrain from crashing out. “I can walk you to the same beach tomorrow so you have something to do.”

You move to leave but your words make him panic.

“Uh, wait.” Rafe sits up with an outstretched arm in your direction, heart thumping when you turn to meet his eyes. “I’ll, uh, come with you tomorrow.”

You quirk a brow in disbelief. “You want to come shopping? Willingly?”

Rafe nods quickly.

“Really?”

He finds himself rolling his eyes, his plan on distancing himself long out of the window. “I’m not sure I like your prejudicial tone. Who says all guys hate shopping?”

“Every single man I have ever met hates shopping,” you retort, placing a hand on your hip and popping it out with attitude. He nearly grins at the gesture. “You’re really telling me you enjoy it?”

No, he really doesn’t.

But he’s accustomed to it with two younger sisters. The amount of shopping sprees he’s been dragged to is astronomical, and while he usually complained the whole time and verbally wished he was anywhere else, he secretly found the endeavors fun.

At least, it got him out of the house and away from his father for a few guaranteed hours. However, the thought of watching you play dress up excites him, and the perfect opportunity to shower you in birthday gifts falls right into his lap.

“Yep. I love it,” Rafe settles on saying.

You roll your eyes. “Try saying it more convincingly next time.”

Before Rafe can retort, you're leaving with a pointed look as if to call him out on his BS. His laugh reverberates through the room, sliding out of his sitting position so that he’s laying on his back, drumming his fingers on his tummy as he suppresses a grin as his thoughts pool with excitement for the upcoming day.

Rafe figures he needs to make the most of this boyfriend role, since it’ll be the only time he’ll ever get to treat you the way you deserve, all without raising suspicions of his true feelings.

So, it's settled. He’ll shower you with gifts in front of Lorenza to set your relationship in stone, and play the hell out of the part when the wedding rolls around.

Rafe figures having the privilege of being your boyfriend for a week is better than not having the opportunity at all.

notes reminder that this will be an emotional slow burn even though it might not feel like it. hope you enjoyed!

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #reader insert #rafe cameron x female reader #outerbanks

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redroses07 · 9 months ago

Text

The Umbrella Academy Season 4 Fix It Fic // Five Hargreeves x Reader Edition

WC: 3.1k

CW: Canon accurate violence, swearing, kissing, use of Y/N, Y/N is a bad ass, domestic fluff, angsty af.

Summary: A Five x Fem!Reader rewrite for the end of season four because I absolutely hated the ending. Five and Lila are not a thing in this fic, because that made me literally gag.

A/N: Hey luvs! I worked my ass off writing this fic because I needed to have a better ending for season four. In my mind this fic is canon. I hope y'all like it because I truly love how it turned out! Have an amazing day and enjoy! - Claire ♡

Five sat on the empty train, riding round in aimless circles. He had no intention of ever stopping. Perhaps he would die here, if death was even possible in this endless void. There was no reason for him to continue, they were out of options.

All he wanted to do was save his family, save you, but he couldn't even do that. At least this way he could escape having to witness the end of their lives.

He couldn't help but feel as if this was all his fault, if only he had listened to Reginald when he told him never to time travel. So much pain, so many lost lives, it never would have happened.

Five looked out the window, he didn't know what exactly for. Everything looked the same. Round and Round again, each identical station feels more hopeless than the last.

After an immeasurable amount of time, days? years? who knows. Something caught Five's eye.

He jumped up from his seat, following the dark figure out into the station.

Was that? No.

"Hey, wait!" Five shouted, chasing him down a staircase.

He rounded a corner, seeing a dimly lit cafe filled with all too familiar faces. The place was filled with several alternate versions of Five himself. It was an odd feeling for him to see himself this way.

Nonetheless, he took a seat across from the Five he had followed.

No more than ten seconds later, another Five served up two pastrami sandwiches. Five number two began to complain about the amount of sauerkraut on his sandwich, staring intently at the meal.

"What is this place?" Five asked, reaching for the cup of hot coffee next to him.

"It's a gas station. What the hell does it look like? It's a Deli." He could see that the alternate Five share his love of sarcasm.

He went on to explain how this was a place where all of the Five's from alternate timelines end up while trying to fix the "broken timeline" issue.

"Okay, so what shattered the original timeline?" Five asked.

"Not what. Who? I'll give you three guesses." Alternate Five held up three fingers.

"We did!" Another Five yelled.

Five wasn't surprised, everything always seemed to be caused by him.

"By we, do you mean my siblings?" Five asked.

"Yep, the morons."

Five rolled his eyes.

"When we come into existence, the timeline is shattered, and then we're stuck trying to save the world. How many times was it again?"

"145,412."

The number seemed almost impossible to fathom, but the more alternate realities, the more opportunity for the world to end. Alternate Five pointed at the wall, which was filled with every possible way the world had ended. Viktor's attempt at blowing up the moon was front and center. Seeing it gave Five an unpleasant sense of nostalgia.

Five came to realize that the commission was created by an alternate Five in an attempt to fix the timeline, but it was never successful since the Hargreeves siblings were the root of the problem.

"I have to get back." Five turned, rushing out the door. He heard the alternate versions of himself begin to speak, but his overwhelming thoughts drowned it out.

Five ran as fast as he could, getting back on the train and returning to his rightful place. With his family.

As Five entered the abandoned shell of his former home, the room's occupants turned to look at him.

The first person he noticed was you. You watched him with sad eyes, eyes he thought he would never have to gaze into again. Yet here he was, and undeniably, he had a plan.

You watched Five scan the room. Dark hair hung in front of his eyes, his chest heaved from running, or perhaps from anxiety.

"I didn't think you'd be back." You purse your lips, giving him a sour look. '

Facing your bitterness was the hardest part of all this for Five. Of course you had every right to feel that way, he had just up and left you. Although, in his mind that was better than having to watch you die.

"Yeah, neither did I." Five muttered.

Everyone looked at him, obviously awaiting an explanation.

"We caused this." Five began.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alison sighed.

You stared at Five intently, wondering what had changed since he decided to ditch you and everyone else.

"The marigold that infected our mothers bringing forth our births had a side effect, it fractured the timeline, bringing forth the end of the world."

Five looked from person to person, attempting to read everyone's emotions. They were unreadable.

"Extracting the marigold from our bodies is the only way to stop the cleanse, and in short, fix the timeline."

Silence settled over the room. You weren't born with marigold as the Hargreeves were, but due to Ben's antics, this now concerns you too.

"Okay, but how exactly do we do that?" Diego asked.

Five looked over to Viktor.

"Viktor, you can use your powers to extract the Marigold from our bodies. Unfortunately Ben and Jennifer are too far gone to be saved, but their sacrifice will have been for the greater good."

Viktor let out an elongated sigh, and with little to no hesitation, he agreed.

"Okay, let's get moving before it's too late." Viktor said, speeding out of the room.

You followed closely behind, trying your hardest to avoid Five's gaze.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off, this was not the time to be talking about all the mistakes he had made. Even if those mistakes led to the answer for all your troubles, they were still mistakes.

"We can talk about this later, if there is one."

Five sighed and watched you exit the room, not even bothering to look his way. He had fucked up big time.

You watched Viktor head towards the monster that was Ben and Jennifer. The creature growled, as it hurdled towards your group.

You turned back as you felt someone grab your arm, Five was standing behind you. You saw something in him that you had only seen a few times before, fear.

"Please. If we don't make it through this I want to make sure we're okay." Five begged for your forgiveness.

In any other circumstance you would not have given in this easily, but the dire situation has just begun to settle in. This could be it.

Neither of you wanted to leave this world with so many words unsaid.

Your gaze softened, and you followed Five away from the other Hargreeve's.

"I know what I did was wrong. With every bone in my body I feel that it was wrong."

He spoke loudly enough to drown out the oncoming chaos, but softly enough to omit any sort of aggression.

Five reached for your hands, and you reluctantly let him take them.

Five paused for a moment, trying to find the words that would mean the most, considering he was dealing with limited time.

"My worst fear is to see you suffer, and at the time, running away seemed like my only escape. I feel like I've already caused so much hardship in your life, and the thought of any more terrified me." His eyes stayed glued to you.

Five was the whole reason you had joined The Commission to begin with. He helped you to believe in a cause that you otherwise wouldn't have, and the two of you hadn't left each other's side since.

You didn't regret it per say, but you couldn't deny that you often wished for a different life. You would never blame any of your circumstances on Five though, and you hated how he always chose to blame himself.

"Nothing that has happened to me, or to anyone, is your fault. I think all of us share some responsibility, but blaming yourself is just wrong." You squeezed Five's clammy hands.

Five let out a sigh of relief as he was able to recognize forgiveness in your eyes.

"I love you." He said, fighting the tears that began to form in the corners of his eyes. The phrase was reserved only for you, as it is a concept that has always been hard for five.

Growing up with Reginald as a father, and a family that could win an Olympic gold medal in dysfunctionality, Five didn't exactly have a positive outlook on love.

"I love you too. We've been through worse, we'll get through this too."

Five pulled you into a tight hug, breathing you in as if it was the last chance he would ever get to hold you. The two of you were versed in the end of the world, this was not the first final hug you had shared. Five placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, and he didn't miss the small cry that escaped your lips.

You rarely cried, and when you did it was always around Five. He was the only person you felt comfortable enough with to show vulnerability. It was the perfect moment, and the past few days had worn down your patience. You reluctantly let a few tears slip loose.

"Get your asses over here love birds, Ben is here." Diego called from the other side of the room.

You and Five exchanged a look before running over to the center of the room and rejoining your family.

Ben growled ferociously, the red goo that dripped from his body falling around the room.

"Just so you guys know, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. So if we all die, I apologize in advance." Viktor said, clenching his fists on either side.

His newly improved orange power began to swirl around his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly focusing on the task at hand.

You reached for Five's hand, interlocking your fingers with his. If these were to be your last moments, you wanted to make sure he was with you.

Five gripped your hand with everything he had in him, every bit of strength was to remind you of his presence.

With each moment that passed, the colorful plume of Viktor's powers grew, encasing not only Ben and Jennifer, but all of you.

You and Five watched as the all too familiar gold marigold specks began to float through the air. It felt odd, it didn't hurt, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling. It was like your whole body was being poked by a prickly cactus.

The air turned cold, and all other sounds were overcome by the rumbling of Viktor's power.

An unbearable wave of exhaustion washed over you, and it became hard for you to keep your eyes open.

You looked over at Five, making eye contact with him one last time. He gave you his signature smirk, funny how in spite of everything he could still be himself.

The last thing you saw was Ben falling to the floor, the marigold protruding from him filling the whole room with a deep yellow glow.

And just like that, the world turned black.

· · ─────── ·☂· ─────── · ☂ · ─────── ·☂· ─────── · ·

Five opened his eyes, the bright light of day overwhelming his vision. The ground beneath him was soft, the tall grass tickling his fingertips.

Five sat up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the sun. He looked over next to him, and there you were. Just as you had always been, right by his side. Your chest rose slowly, a thankful sign that you were still alive.

Five looked beyond you, to see his siblings all scattered around the lawn. They were all exactly where they had been before the blackout. The empty patch of grass, of course, was where the Hargreeve's mansion used to stand.

Without the existence of their powers, The Umbrella Academy was never formed. It was strange, to know that what Five remembered, no one else did. It was like waking up from a strange dream.

However, one thing was missing, Ben. And of course Jennifer. Five wasn't surprised that they hadn't made it, considering how their bodies were overtaken.

Five watched as his siblings slowly began to rise from their temporary comas, their eyes heavy and glazed over.

Five nudged you slightly. Unable to wait for you to wake, wanting to share this beautiful moment with you.

You opened your eyes and felt as if you had awoken from a decades long slumber. The first thing you saw was Five next to you, a genuine smile on his face. That was something you had missed.

"Are we in heaven?" Klaus mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Well if this was heaven, I'd be awfully disappointed." Lila replied.

You laughed to yourself, and stood up on wobbly legs.

You all had done it.

"Viktor. I think you might have just saved the world." Luther announced.

Viktor smiled and looked down, maybe eventually he'd let himself take the credit.

You began to take in your surroundings. The sound of traffic in the distance, the wind stinging your cheek, the smell of spring air. It was all so normal.

"Guys, where's Ben?" Klaus asked, and your heart dropped.

"Klaus...we all knew he probably wouldn't make it.." Alison said sadly.

Just then, something caught your eye. Something yellow that stuck out in the patch of green.

"Guys, look!" You pointed at the unique plant.

"Marigolds." Five said softly, and you felt his hand close around yours.

Two beautiful yellow flowers sprouted from the earth, a reminder of what was sacrificed. A reminder of what had to happen for all of this to exist, and a symbol of hope.

~~ Two Years Later ~~

You awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside your window, a song that was often your wake-up call. You rolled over to see Five sleeping peacefully next to you. You weren't surprised. He always slept late, after all, he was an old man at heart.

It had been two years of living freely in the new timeline. You and Five now share an apartment next to Lila and Diego and their three kids.

Life wasn't without its challenges, but compared to everything else the two of you had been through this was paradise.

Viktor had started his own Cafe, a small shop on a street corner that had quickly become a local favorite.

Alison had landed a big movie role not long after everything returned to normal. Ever since it hit the big screen, she had no problem with job offers. She didn't even miss her power of persuasion.

Klaus still lives with Alison. He doesn't really do anything specific, he often refers to himself as 'self-employed'. But he was happy, and that was all that really mattered.

Luther had somehow reconnected with Sloane, who had re-appeared after the timeline was fixed. Of course she didn't remember anything, but it must've been fate because they got to fall in love all over again.

Diego decided to put his skills acquired from his power to use and now taught axe throwing classes.

Lila had decided to help people who had ended up in a mental hospital, similar to how she had. She was working on getting her degree in psychology.

As for you and Five. Five kept his CIA job, and you decided to join him in his career. As the two of you had always done everything together, why not this too?

You felt Five stir next to you, letting out a series of groans. He slowly opened his eyes, a smile spreading across his face the moment he saw you.

"Good morning, beautiful." His morning voice is thick and deep.

"I love you." You whispered, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes.

Five leaned up to kiss you but you counteracted it by jumping out of bed. You pulled the blanket off of him and he whined in protest.

"Time to get up, Gramps, Lila wants us to drive the kids to school today."

Five rolled his eyes at the nickname. You snickered and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the bathroom to get ready.

After the two of you grabbed breakfast, you met Lila outside, Grace and the twins behind her.

"Thank you again for helping us out with this, I don't know how I'd ever get to work on time without you." Lila gave you a quick hug.

"Of course, whatever you need." You ushered her away, signaling that you could take it from here.

You were used to driving the kids places, and they always said you were their favorite aunt. Five however, could not surpass Klaus for favorite uncle.

"Alright guys, who's ready for school?" You said as you jumped in the driver's seat.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic cheers from the back, and you laughed.

"I was never that excited about school when I was your age." The kids had no idea how long ago that actually was for you.

You made sure to put on some kid friendly music, anything but Baby Shark. You dropped the kids off and made sure they all got inside safely.

"Anything else on the schedule for today?" Five asked you.

"Nope, we're both off today so I think the rest of our day is free."

"Great, we should do absolutely nothing." Five's eyes lit up with excitement.

You nodded in agreement and drove towards your home.

Once you arrived, the both of you threw on pajamas and cuddled up in bed. Five flung his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder, simultaneously letting out a big sigh.

"I love you." He mumbled in your ear.

Even after all these years he still made you blush every time he said those three little words.

"I love you more." You pressed a kiss to Five's nose and he scrunched it up before responding with a chaste kiss to your lips.

After breaking apart you and Five settled into each other's arms, excited to spend a calm day together.

He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The small kiss he placed on your forehead didn't go unnoticed.

As Five settled into this new life, he found it hard not to expect a new life altering crisis to pop up at any moment. But it never did.

As the day dragged on, nothing out of the ordinary happened; and you could almost say that it was an ordinary day.

Taglist: @xreader-writing @dorkyfangirl24 @dinorawrss @anne-oop @ladynaviamin @i-amtrash @patchesofdreams @sarbear33 @marinalor

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 2 years ago

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Astarion Jealousy Part 2

The graphic extension to this but a lil less serious and definitely not sfw.

CW: Jealous spawn astarion who is still a sweetheart, but the drow twins get under his skin. graphic sex scenes, oral, relatively tame honestly. The sex part will be under the cut btw which is m/f. Also vampire man drinks blood. mentionable incorrect language for sex workers

It was odd, being home in Baldur’s Gate without the threat of Cazador always looming. Odd, but equally as wonderful. It had been so thoughtful, if not a little idiotic for Cazador to end up being your first stop in the city. The fight itself had been a blur, a barrage of intense emotions and bloody violence. Astarion had come so close to losing himself back there, losing everything that made him better than the man who almost ruined him. But then… you stopped him. You saw something more in him, a chance for a better life. A more meaningful life, away from the shackles of vampiric power obsessions.

He was officially free. Now he could exist without any fear of his disgusting master’s retribution. He could just… be. Well… not including his darling’s own myriad of enemies that seemed to follow them about everywhere. And there was still the matter of defeating the elder brain, and lord knows if any of you made it through that alive. But at least his personal demons were slain and out of the picture.

Every little step counted after all. Perhaps some of your delusional hopefulness had finally started to rub off on him, but Astarion was actually starting to look forward to his future. Your future, together. All he had to do was get through a few more perilous adventures and then he’d really have you all to himself.

All that said, Astarion could really go without the frequent visits to the local brothel. Was it the best place in the city for gathering information? Yes. It seemed that every walk of life in Baldur’s Gate found their way into Shar’s Caress and if you were going to find alternative passage to the underworld, this would be the best place to find it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. For one there were the unwelcome advances to his own person, the concept of grace and personal space apparently left at the door. He was so very close to breaking the hand of the next person who thought it was appropriate to grab his ass. And if they could afford to get kicked out he would have by now. Your verbal, angry tirades in his defense could only scare off so many.

But as terrible as his own discomfort was, it was nothing in the face of how often you were being fawned over. What was it about you that seemed to drive everyone mad? Yes you were objectively attractive, but this was frankly getting out of hand. First there was the green skinned druid doing something sensual to your mind, then there were the general stares and whispers as you walked by, and now a pair of gorgeous drow twins trying and failing to proposition you.

It was getting tiresome. There were only so many times a man could take his lover being offered “free” services before he snapped.

On one hand, he could respect the dedication they had to the craft. He could be considered something of a hired whore himself in his time, the old, “the first one’s free” was a tried and true trick. And he also knew, vaguely, that no one was actually trying to steal you from him. But on the other, he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to claw their eyes out for looking at you so brazenly.

He hadn’t expected the eyes of the woman to wander over to him, like she was just noticing the possessive arm he had wrapped around your waist, “Is that your partner with you? How would you both feel about having a little fun?”

Absolutely fucking not. Maybe the old Astarion would have smiled and nodded, ready to do whatever was asked of him. But the man from that wretched era had died, or at the very least was dying. And he would be damned if he let you lay with another, never less participate in it.

Astarion interrupted your overly-polite attempts stuttering of a refusal. He glared at them both, a sneer painted on his face, “We’ll be passing on that. You’d think the first no would have sufficed, but I suppose it’s not fair to expect everyone to have basic language comprehension. Now as illuminating as this conversation has been, we have places to be. Excuse us.”

Then he was pulling you away, happy to ignore the offended huffs of indignation he had left in his wake.

“We’re supposed to be investigating, remember?” You said with a giggle, not even questioning him as he dragged you to the second floor, “Being rude is not the way we’ll find travel to the hells.”

“I highly doubt they would have been of use,” Astarion said as he pushed you into the first empty room he could find. He felt off, maybe even a little crazed as he turned to you, “Tell me darling, what is it about you that makes you so irresistible, hm?”

He crowded you against the closed door, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to breath you in. You smelled heavenly, you always did. He could trace the barest whiff of your blood from beneath your skin, always calling to him. You were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. Delicious even, for more reasons than one.

“T-They just wanted my coin,” You gasped when he started to suck bruises into your skin, “That’s all.”

“I think they wanted a bit more than that,” Astarion bit out as he shoved his thigh between your legs, “What will it take for others to realize you’re mine.”

His hands were wandering, resting low to grip your hips. He was using them to move you, forcing you to grind against his thigh. You grasped at his shoulders, trying to bite back a moan as you stared at him with wide eyes, “You want to do it here? Does that door even lock?”

It looked like it didn’t, not that Astarion cared. Maybe walking in on him ravishing you would finally start getting the point across of who you belonged to. Astarion shrugged, "There are less appropriate venues than literal whore houses."

“But-”

“But I can tell you want it,” Astarion interrupted with a smirk, his hands barely working to move your body anymore. But that wasn’t stopping you from rubbing yourself all over him, “Just look at you darling. Desperate little thing. But if you really don’t want to…”

Astarion made a lazy attempt to step back, laughing out loud when your desperately pulled him back, your desire finally winning out over your common sense. But you were glaring at him, obviously annoyed that he was so good at riling you up. He had seen that look before, the one that just screamed that you were scheming something.

He just hadn’t expected you to drop to your knees in front of him, huffing as you started to undo the fastenings to his pants, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a shit?”

“Maybe,” Astarion said with a strained laugh, his breath catching when you pulled his half-hard cock out, “But it seems to keep getting me the things I want.”

You rolled your eyes before licking a wide strip up his cock, like you weren’t directly proving his point. You looked amazing own there, you’re half-hearted glare morphing into a blissful haze.

Gods, how were you real? Astarion wasn’t quite sure why you were such a fan of getting him down your throat, but he knew that he was a lucky bastard for it.

“Sweet girl,” Astarion sighed, letting a hand drift down to tangle in your hair, “Sweet girl with a perfect mouth. And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You made a small, affirmative noise around his cock, taking him in deeper as you clutched at his thighs. You were so good at this, so well-trained after months of being together. He loved the soft, wet sounds that would escape your lips as you swallowed him down, the pretty way your eyes would water as you encouraged him to fuck your throat, how you would squirm in place on your knees, no doubt ruining your panties with how wet you were getting.

And no one else would ever know. No one would get to see you like this again, feel you like this. Needy, desperate, and his. Oddly enough, that thought was what sent him over the edge. He came down your throat, groaning as you eagerly swallowed around him.

You pulled off of him slowly, panting while you smiled up at him. There was the smallest string of spit mixed with his come, connecting from the head of his cock to your lips. You licked it up, still clinging to his thighs as you hazily stared up at him. Sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat, and his dick give a valiant twitch.

He pulled you to your feet, not wasting any time in smashing your lips together. He spun you around, pushing you towards what he prayed was a clean bed.

He pushed you back onto the sheets, making quick work of tearing your pants down your legs as he grinned down at you, “Your turn.”

He kneeled in front of you; spreading his hands over your splayed thighs to peel off your underwear. The core of you was already glistening, slick enough to make Astarion’s mouth water. He licked his lips as he spread your legs further apart, shameless as he feasted on you with his eyes.

You were shaking in his hold, biting your bottom lip when you whined, “Stop staring already…”

“But you’re so pretty here my sweet,” Astarion cooed, tracing a single finger over the seam of your cunt, “And you’re dripping. Poor thing, have I kept you waiting too long?”

You nodded excitedly above him, your hips bucking when he let his fingers dip in further between your pussy lips. He lightly traced your clit, softly laughing at the way the simple touch made you whine.

It was his own fault that you were so needy, a fact that brought a smirk to his lips. You always got so wet after you had him down your throat, soaked and gorgeous.

Astarion dove right in, loudly moaning as he licked into your folds. He dragged his lips upward to suckle on your clit, basking in all the cries and whimpers escaping you.

He licked back down, teasing your hole with his tongue as your legs quivered around his head. He let the sharpness of his fangs scrape against you as he started to fuck you with his tongue, threatening your most intimate places.

He knew you liked that; little minx that you were. The slight risk of pain that was always looming. It made him want to sink his fangs in you for real, a hunger that he'd sate after he had you gushing into his mouth.

You were already close, he could tell from the way your cunt was tightening around his tongue; too worked up from the thrill of being in public and the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Astarion trailed talented fingers up to rub against your clit, his tongue still curling inside of you as you cried out. Finally falling over the edge. But that wasn't stopping him from continuing to play with you.

You had to tug on Astarion’s hair for him to finally pull away, too over sensitive to handle his talented tongue. You were still trembling by the time he leaned back, licking his lips. He rested his head on your thigh, obviously pleased with himself as he grinned up at you. He could feel your heart racing against his cheek, the sound of your blood pumping singing through your veins. It had his mouth watering for a completely different reason.

He let his fangs drag against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, looking up at you through his lashes, "Can I?"

A superfluous question. Not when he already knew the answer before it escaped your lips.

“Y-yeah," You mumbled, lovingly gazing down at him. He would never tire of seeing that look on your face, "But be gentle? Please?”

"Of course my love," Astarion murmured, before promptly sinking his fangs into your flesh. He had to hold you down from the way you were still trembling, your quivering only getting worse at the pleasure mixed with pain. He didn’t let himself go rabid, just enough to get a taste. He was pulling back too soon, smiling to himself at the little whine you let out. He gently licked over the wound before standing, not yet swallowing the last drops on his tongue.

Instead he leaned forward to kiss you, more than happy to share the sweet taste of your blood as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Thank you my dear,” Astarion sighed as he pulled away, “That was exactly what I needed. Now I think that’s enough investigating for one day.”

You sighed, taking the time to card your fingers through his hair, “Agreed. Though you might have to carry me out of here now.”

Wasn’t that a wonderful idea?

Astarion hummed as he pulled your clothing back on, “I think I like the sound of that," He didn't give you time to respond, too busy sweeping you up in his arms with a grin, "I'll be taking you up on that."

You squeaked when he hefted you up, bridal style, “I wasn’t being serious!”

But it was too late, Astarion was already kicking the door open. He shrugged at you, completely shameless as he winked at a few onlookers, "Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt as he happily took you outside, “I’m going to get you back for this. I hope you know that.”

Astarion laughed as he kissed the top of your head, “I’m sure you will.”

It was a childish stunt, borderline on par with a jealous tantrum, but gods, did it feel good. Good enough to sate Astarion's obsessive tendencies for an impressive amount of time. Under normal circumstances.

But what about your lives were normal?

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #long fic #spoilers #and thats how later astarion found himself on stage with a killer clown #whoops #still fluffy i'd say #I got a soft (in comparison to cough alternatives) jealousy trilogy in mind so one more dirty part. Also #side note #in reality everyone in your party is attractive and probably gets flirted with an equal amount at the caress #but I love the idea of astarion being hyper focused on you.

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artisiumstudios · 3 months ago

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Stanley goes through extreme head trauma that causes him to either suffer extreme mental trauma and/or even cause him physical trauma. For example age regression or now being unable to speak properly (maybe unable to read) has to relearn how to do that, basically he has brain damage. Now this could go both ways.

(also TW for suicidal thoughts)

Either ford is called in and is told that his brother has been in an accident and when he gets there to the hospital he is told that Stan now requires full time supervision and needs to relearn how to talk, walk, basically everything, ford still wants to hold onto the grudges and be mad for the past. He tries to reinforce this by thinking "oh yeah of course now that im getting settled in now of all times he decides to be hurt. Now that im finally succeeding he has to barge into my life and make ME have to deal with the consequences of his actions." (he thinks while anxiety bubbles up in the pit of his stomach a voice in the back of his head praying that his brother is okay."

But the moment he sees Stan bandaged up, with tubes and wires wrapping around and inside him, keeping alive, all he feels is guilt, he’s scared. Stanley once so strong and lively now silently laying on a cold hard hospital as machines keep his body alive. Its a slow grueling process, first off having to relocate Stanley to Gravity Falls and then having to reteach him how to speak, motor skills, how to read, how to walk, how to live. Not to mention the mental trauma. The exhaustion for both twins, ford having to make time to go with stan to his physical and mental therapy appointments, and Stan having to actually go through with both of those. It only gets worse as Stan regains some of his memories both from his time from the street and the the worse one, the night at the gym leading to him getting kicked out.

he already felt like dead weight for having to rely on Ford all the time, but now with those memories his self hatred and guilt comes back to him full force and all he wishes is that he would've died upon impact. Maybe that way he'd finally stop being a burden.

Alternatively, ford doesn’t find out and Stan is left to relearn everything on his own (when his memory gets better he has some “sense” to ditch the hospital since he won’t be able to pay.) Unfortunately that means he now walks funny and is practically unable to run, his eyes become far too sensitive to light, he’s can't properly talk (he decides to just not say anything at all, after all what’s talking ever done to him but get him in more trouble) and mentally speaking he’s just worse off then before (mood swings, extreme anxiety, and paranoia).

When Ford calls for him it takes a bit longer for him to get there, and when he finally arrives, Ford is worse than in canon, much more irritable, tired, swaying on his feet. Not to mention he has foggy brain which makes it harder to pay attention to anything, to his brother.

Ford gets pissed thinking Stanley is drunk or high, the few words he has spoken are slurred, he’s wearing sunglasses inside the house for Moses sake! Not to mention that he’s literally tripping over himself and that he went from crying because of the crossbow (although Ford is a bit more sympathetic on that one, it would be weird not to panic at a weapon being pointed at you. But even then, t's odd his brother is crying-) to huffing and puffing like a child, to looking extremely fidgety and anxious in the last 40 minutes. Ford gets even more pissed when he tries to tell him about the portal only to find Stanley messing with something else.

He yells at him that he’s irresponsible to show up drunk and continue wasting his time, that he has shown to be untrustworthy once again. Stanley stays silent and unfortunately Ford can’t see the way tears swell in Stan’s eyes once more, he can’t say the way the glaze over as Stanley begins to dissociate. Ford lets Stanley stay the night, saying tomorrow he must leave. In the morning Ford finds Stanley whimpering in pain, his sunglasses are thrown across the room as his brother hit his palms over his head over and over again. Ford panics trying to understand what’s going on, he tries to pry Stan’s hands but he can’t seem to, his eyes are squeezed shut tears flowing down his cheeks.

Before he knows it Stan is dry heaving, Ford quickly finds a bucket and hands it over. When he asks Stan if he’s hungover Stan just stares at him weakly, his speech slurred he mutters the words bright and hurts. Ford catches on bring Stan’s sunglasses over. It takes moment, Stanley's shaky uncoordinated hands place the glasses over his eyes. He finally sighing in relief, his breathing more calm. Ford looks around the room spotting where sunlight creeps through the wood he hand hung earlier that week, the sun shines bright, the snow probably not helping. Ford looks at Stanley close noticing a jagged line that reaches from the bottom of his neck up to the back of his head, guilt creeps into his bones.

Without thinking he reaches out, brushing his hair tracing the line up til he reaches the lower part of his partial bone. Looking at Stanley once more, he notes the small scars that litter his face and hands, the way he seems uncoordinated, confused, unable to speak. Like he's-

Oh no.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #gravity falls au #stanford pines #stanley pines angst #stanley pines gets brain damage #brain damage #prompt #writing prompt #gravity falls prompt #i love stanley i swear #i just also love making him suffer.#mullet stan #Stan pines

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plethorawrites · 2 months ago

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Hey! Would you be willing to write a Jason Todd x southern!reader? Like the reader is from the southern states of America and just their cultural differences, like his thoughts on southern hospitality and the different slang and stuff? If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!

Of course! I'm really leaning into some stereotypes and really dramatic features, fyi. I'm fully aware of that. (Enjoy reading this while I go bomb my midterm because I didn't study enough!!!) (Send help. I'm begging.)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Everyone, even Jason Todd himself always imagined him ending up with someone a little bit more like himself—mistrusting, sarcastic, morbid. No one had foreseen him ending up with you, of all people, who were not only not hardened by the perpetually disturbing state of Gotham, but actually somehow cheerful? They chalked it up to one simple difference, though—the fact that you were from the south.

Geographically, he knew where your state was, but for whatever reason, the south seemed a lot more like an alternate dimension the more he got to know you.

Your look had, obviously, been the first thing to draw him in, seeing you from across a bar. But it was the accent that had him feeling his mouth go dry, that sweet, long drawl that made your words curve slightly at the end of every sentence. It was like his brain malfunctioned the first time he heard it.

And honestly, sometimes it still did.

Hearing you mumble his name in the morning when your voice was all sleepy, a little rasp mixed with that twang that always drew his attention no matter how much he heard it. But your accent, although stark in comparison to the typical Jersey accent that was widespread throughout Gotham, there were a number of other traits that he also found out of place in the city.

Like your odd hospitality—condolence casserole was not a thing he even thought about, let alone actually made until one of the cops Jim Gordon knew died and you made the window, a woman you've never even met, a casserole. Multiple, actually. Along with cookies.

But then again, you baked frequently.

Like making cornbread. Which, was apparently something people actually made and ate? He had no clue. It was delicious though. Most southern food, he quickly realized, was. He usually ate fast food most nights, too tired to cook for himself and too busy to go to an actual restaurant, but you had cooked so often for yourself, always making enough for an entire family (What was with all the leftovers?!) that he started trying and liking almost everything you made.

He'd eat brisket, ribs, pulled pork sliders, devouring it all. You made an incredibly good steak, too. Better than at any restaurant or catering his dad ever had. Meals were typically paired with a glass of iced tea though. Sweet iced tea, obviously. You consumed an absurd amount of it, for some reason, making it from scratch frequently, along with lemonade. And while he disliked the tea, even after trying it repeatedly to make you happy, he adored the lemonade you made, which was tart and refreshing all at once.

He found out quickly, that you were far too pure for Gotham, opening doors for people instead of letting it shut in their faces, which was typical. Or saying ma'am and sir at the end of nearly every sentence, even with friends occasionally by accident.

He loved your pet names for him, though. Instead of baby, or sweetheart like most people would use, you called him sugar or darlin', sometimes sweet pea. It seemed like it would sound cringey, but with the way it rolled off your tongue because of your accent, it was so smooth, it just fit.

You also, quite frequently and without realizing, used words like y'all, reckon, howdy which he found utterly adorable. No where near as cute as the words he didn't even recognize, though. He thought he lost his mind when you first said the toaster was acting Cattywampus. He still didn't quite understand what that meant, but got the gist.

He'd admit, he got pretty jealous when you first called another man handsome when he was barely in range to hear it. He'd been hurt and pulled you away, asking why. You'd said it was because the man was an idiot and he stared at you like you grew a second head. "It ain't right to be beautiful and smart, so when someone's as dumb as a bag of rocks, you gotta call handsome." You explained and realization dawned on him that you'd been insulting that man directly to his face without him realizing it.

That was rather funny.

As was the number of 'bless your hearts' you would mutter to people with a sweet tone, only for it to be a subtle dig. He had no idea the south was so...well, catty.

Jason also appreciated some of your more obscure talents, like your strange ability to recognize types of snakes, which he discovered when Joker released dozens of them into the city causing mass panic. You were utterly perplexed, especially when he told you they were coral snakes, which had a paralyzing bite. "Are you sure we're seeing the same snakes, sugar? Those are king snakes, they're harmless."

In his and his family's defense, Gotham has a rat problem, not a snake one, typically. Plus they looked almost identical and moved so fast it was hard to tell the difference. Except for you, who'd grown up learning to know what venomous and non venomous snakes looked like to avoid getting bit.

In addition to your weird knowledge about reptiles, you also knew an awful lot about sports, mostly football. It was sometimes difficult to tear you away from the TV and even though he could care less, he'd watch it with you if it gave him the chance to pull you into his lap on the couch.

You were often a walking contradiction in his mind, so polite and kind, a fan of boots and extremely nice leather products that were probably better than his, yet so capable of spending the entire day fishing (not that the Gotham water was safe to fish in, because it really wasn't) or going to the gun range with him. A shotgun really wasn't what he'd had in mind when inviting you along, but since your family would always partake in hunting season, he supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised when you picked it up. And used it like an expert.

He'll admit, that was extremely attractive.

Your duality, your gentle nature, your southern hospitality which he quickly realized was a very real thing, all enticed him to no end. Until he was so utterly smitten he was incorporating your slang into his vocabulary and taking your every suggestion about quality leather goods.

Yeah, it was safe to say you were the last person anyone thought Jason would like, but turned out to be the one he loved.

#headcanon #x reader #plethorawrites #dc comics #jason todd x reader #batboys #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x gn!reader #southern aesthetic

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ghostaholics · 2 years ago

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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

#i got lazy again #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fluff

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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

Note

After request the kiss on the cheek and gotmany likes, its too joyful for me. Im craving angst

Stans brothers reaction when Bill told them that y/n will and always died in every universe and dimensions like stuck forever as zombie/wood statue/etc, which y/n will die in their own dimension too in matter of time or months, time is ticking, they can’t change destiny (can they?)

Ford

Didn’t like those odds at all.

He and bill had history and who’s to say that this wasn’t just Bill trying another method to get inside his head once more by using you, his beloved, as a cheap tactic to do so.

‘I thought a being would have more tact than this Bill.’ Ford would say as the dream demon only chuckled.

‘Oh Stanford, do you really think I’d bluff about this? You should know me better by now that I do not bluff, I’ll show you instead seeing as how stubborn you are into believing me nowadays.’ Bill said as he then showed Ford of all the infinite ways you died throughout the multiverse:

Drowned

Stabbed

Possessed

Lost in the multiverse

Body snatched

Turned to stone

Went through a curse doorway unknowingly and never returned, etc, etc.

Bill took immense pleasure in the horrified look upon Ford’s face as he gingerly traced your face as though you turned into porcelain and not stone.

‘Sucks doesn’t it knowing they your loved one is bound to die in every single timeline, it’s enough to suck the joy out of everything.’ Bill said as Ford only glares at him. You don’t deserve these fates, none of your alternate selves did and he could only imagine what you could’ve possibly felt before dying alone.

‘Oh and your beloved y/n is on route to die in like five months.’ Bill casually mentions and Ford immediately looks to him again.

‘What do you mean by that? How do they die! How can I stop it!’ Ford exclaimed as he felt his heart race and his blood run cold at the sheer helplessness he felt in the moment, but it only proved to humour bill all the more. ‘Oh you can’t prevent this one Stanford Pines, they’ll die regardless of what you do to try and prevent it they’ll die regardless and you’ll have to live with it.’ Bill says before leaving Ford alone with his rampaging thoughts.

He could send you away to Dimension 52 to stay with Jheselbraum for the time being, just until he figured something out, but what if Bill foresees this move being made and goes after you himself? Ford didn’t know what he could do to protect you and it was driving him mad with Bill’s vague nonsense not helping him in the slightest. He’ll become paranoid of every little thing you did from that point onward to the point that even if you got a paper cut Ford was expecting something unfortunate to happen, but it never did.

Shit like this kept him awake at night as he holds you tightly against his chest, staring at the ceiling as though daring it to try and take you from him, which it didn’t but Ford grew skeptical of everyone you came across in case they were the catalyst for your death and kept himself near you at all times, hand on his gun in the instance he need to use it to keep you safe.

Ford would busy himself down in his lab to the point of exhaustion looking and theorising methods on how he could prevent your death, so much so that you’d have to come down and practically dragging him out because he was worrying you and the rest of the family. But Ford was stubborn as stubborn could be when it came to you and your safety that he tends to drown out your concerns for him, much to your dismay.

Ford believed that Bill was tempting him into making a deal to keep you safe but he knew that even as powerful as Bill was, even he couldn’t prevent something that he himself and told him happened across the entirety of the Multiverse. So Ford stuck to his guns and buried himself in work to keep you safe because he couldn’t and wouldn’t loose you if he could help it.

Stan

Doesn’t believe a thing Bill is saying in the slightest and thinks it’s all a pile of horseshit, up until the triangle demon shows him of all the infinite universes of which you did indeed die did Stan actually start to believe that Bill was actually telling the truth for once.

Zombies made you one of them.

Got turned to stone by a gorgon like creature and wasn’t saved in time.

Possessed by bill and had multiple stab wounds, bruises, scratches and lacerations from his misuse.

Submerged in amber/tree sap, face permanently stuck in horror.

Eaten by the Summerween Trickster.

Replaced by the shapeshifter after you were killed for being the imposter.

So many timelines where you’ve died cruelly or unfairly and it broke Stan’s heart knowing that in all of these universes his other selves might’ve been either too late, or made the wrong choices that he probably regrets as he downs each and every bottle of the hardest liquor in hopes he’d numb the pain.

He was destined to loose you no matter what and things weren’t made any better when Bill tells him that you were on route to die really soon, taunting him with the fact that there was nothing he, Ford or even the Pine Twins and their stupid pet pig could do to stop it; you’re death was an inevitability across the entire multiverse.

Stan hated being told that there was nothing he could do to prevent you from dying, he hated being told what he can’t do in general! So he’ll much rather take his odds with trying any and everything in his power to keep you safe and sound, even if it means dying himself he’ll do it gladly knowing you were okay.

He was already protective of you to begin with but with the added fact that you were bound to die sooner or later had Stan become even more protective of you. So much so that he doesn’t leave the shack without a crossbow or even his brass knuckles to fight off whoever or whatever was going to try and take you from him; hell he might even teach you how to fight should you get into trouble and he’s not there to protect you.

He keeps you by his side almost 24/7 at this point and would shower you in affection as though he was going to run out of time to do so, even going so far as to keep you away from walking under any ladders, tripping over anything and or crossing the street when you shouldn’t. However it got concerning to the point where you’d have to sit him down and ask what was wrong. Stan isn’t one to talk about his emotions nor how he felt about certain things but this was something he knew he had to share with you sooner or later, regardless of whether you believed him or not.

Stan still thought Bill was full of shit and even acted like he didn’t believe him about you dying and everything, but deep down Stan was scared that his best attempts to keep you safe wouldn’t be enough and that you’ll be taken away, regardless of how hard he fought back but Stan wasn’t one to easily give up not when his loved ones are involved.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanford pines x you #stanley pines imagines #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanley pines imagine #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader

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snowball-doie · 8 months ago

Text

| pairing: gn!Reader x switch!Mark

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Under the desk blowjob. Edging. Overstimulation. Oblivious.... oblivious Mark..... He's more on the subby side for this one.

| wc: 3k

“How does London sound?”

You looked up from your laptop to raise a brow at your boyfriend who was sitting on the couch with you, your legs swung over his thighs while he slowly massaged your feet as he got lost in thought. That was what he spent the last hour thinking about? Really? He knew better than to ask you to go with him on trips, work or not.

When you and Mark started dating, a clear rule had been struck which stated that you could never, ever get caught dating— Not because he worried about his career, who gave a fuck about that? Mark was consumed with anxiety about you being attacked and harassed by cruel fans who felt they could say or do whatever they wanted behind the safety of their phone screens… Or worse, they would confront you in person and threaten your safety. He tried not to imagine the worst, but the possibilities seemed to be endless, and he wanted to protect you first and foremost, so the most important thing was being as careful as possible; That usually meant no public outings. You two lived together, you slept together, you ate together, but you would never be seen together.

However, the past few months had taken a turn for Mark. He disliked being away from you due to tours and comebacks, so his clinginess had grown twofold, leading to some instances which you found to be tiptoeing the line between breaking your number one rule and just Mark being a good boyfriend. You tried not to care about it too much. You were both adults making adult decisions, and you knew how to play it safely… But that didn’t stop you from wondering why the Hell Mark of all people was willing to play with fire like that. Now he was throwing out the idea of London? That was supposed to be his sponsored trip for Wimbledon. You weren’t invited. You didn’t have a plane ticket. His hotel room was only reserved for one person in a king sized suite, thanks to his sponsors. There was no room for you, and the odds of getting caught were too high.

“Can’t,” you replied.

Mark rubbed his thumbs into the arch of your left foot. “It’d be fun. We can fly first class together, stay in a nice hotel, tour the city… I don’t think I could get you into the game, but… There’s plenty of other things for us to do together.”

“Can’t.”

He tsked his tongue with frustration. “Why?”

“Too risky.”

“Not if we put the flight in your name, get you your own room in the hotel so no one would think we’re sharing a bed…” He hit a sore spot, causing you to stop typing on your laptop and put your full attention on him. “I’ll put on hats and masks while we’re walking around—”

“We can’t.”

Mark sighed. “Come on. Just once. I promise, we’ll be super, super, super careful. And if you ever get too worried, we can bail. Just say the word and we’ll go back to the hotel, no questions asked. We can stay in all day, watch movies, order room service, fuck a ton—”

You kicked his thigh gently.

“Ow!”

But with a little more persuasion and a few solidified plans about how you two would pull off your incognito trip to London, you were convinced to go with him at the last second. Mark paid for everything. Your first class flight— Somehow there was still a seat available next to him, so he snatched it up immediately, despite the insane price gouging because of how soon the flight was; Your hotel room, a small one since you wouldn’t be spending time in it anyhow, it was just for appearances; And he made sure that all other expenses were attached to his card. He truly wasn’t wasting any time locking you into the trip. He wanted you there no matter what. Stupid or not, he wanted you there so badly… If it were at all possible, maybe in some alternate universe, Mark would’ve had you at his side throughout the entire trip, no masks or hats, no more hiding from the world. But alas… that wasn’t your reality.

You and Mark had to arrive at the airport separately. The paparazzi and fans were waiting for him because he was flying for a schedule which meant that it was public information, unfortunately; But you managed to walk through check-in and security smoothly without any issues. Boarding the flight, you were able to stand next to each other, but you couldn’t be caught talking to each other. That didn’t stop Mark. At one point, as the line was moving towards the flight attendant who was scanning tickets, Mark’s pinky drifted against yours, letting you know that he was there and that he so badly wanted to hold your hand. On the flight. That was the look you gave him, a promise that he could hold your hand for the entirety of the trip once everyone was seated and no one was looking. And that was exactly what happened.

Mark fell asleep on the plane, his hand clasped with yours under his blanket. He was in the middle of rewatching one of the Spider-Man movies when his head slumped to the side, his mouth fell agape, and he started quietly snoring under the noise of the jet engines that kept the plane moving in the air. He looked really cute. You’d never flown with him before, and you never really imagined that you would, so seeing the way he so comfortably fit into his spot in first class and accepted all the amenities and even fell asleep so quickly was baffling to you— But his fogged up glasses, and his brown curls falling in his face nearly took you out. You figured out about two hours into the flight that it was cuteness aggression which nearly had you cuddling him, if it weren’t for the fact that anyone could have spotted you two at any moment.

Mark organized having a driver pick you up at baggage claim because fans were waiting for him there too so he couldn’t go with you. You were pampered completely by the driver offering to take your bag, dragging it behind him as he led you to the nice SUV which had water and snacks waiting for you, and he even offered to let you control the music if you wanted— You were too shy to entertain the thought. When you arrived at the hotel, the driver helped hand your bag over to the bell boys who opened your door and guided you to the front desk where you found Mark already checking into his room as well. He grinned over at you while you both stood at the desk. The lady across from him was trying to ask him questions, but he was so locked into staring at you out of the corner of his eye that he couldn’t focus on the topic at hand. You, however, made your check in brief because your bag was delivered to your room despite the fact that you needed to covertly transport it to Mark’s room. Idiot was already there by the time you arrived. Life of a celebrity… Even though he procrastinated, he still managed to beat you everywhere.

“You like it?” he asked, looking around the suite before falling onto the bed.

You also looked around a bit. It was a big place with a living room, a big TV, a small kitchen, the large king bed, and a huge bathroom that you couldn’t imagine why it was like that. “It’s nice.”

Mark smirked. “You tired? Hungry?”

“Both.”

“Room service?”

You nodded.

Over the next few days, Mark was so busy with work that he was up early in the morning in order to let the makeup, hair, and clothing stylists in so that they could doll him up for the day, then he wouldn’t be back until late in the evening when everyone would return with him in order to take back all their work. It gave you plenty of time to explore on your own, but you wished that it were with him, like a normal couple. You knew what you signed up for. You weren’t stupid. But that was exactly why you declined the trip in the first place because you expected that being alone and missing him would suck. Yeah, the city was pretty in certain places, and it was kind of funny seeing fangirls running around with their Mark Lee photocards on their bags while they ran to go find him at his next public schedule. He even thought it was funny when you told him about your day when you two would be cuddled in bed together, catching up on what the other missed out on. He had a lot more going on than you did, but that was a given.

After the last day of his sponsored trip, Mark was finally free. Like he promised, he took you wherever you wanted, despite the many layers of clothes he had to wear in the heat just so he could go unrecognized, and you felt too uncomfortable to hold hands while walking around. Mark noticed. He was always observant about those kinds of things, so he didn’t want to push you, especially when he was slightly worried too about the amount of fangirls that were still roaming around the city in the hopes of “accidentally” running into their favorite idol.

In the evenings, you and Mark returned to the hotel to relax. Sometimes you would go out for dinner, most times not because someone could snap a picture of you two at dinner and have it in the tabloids ten minutes later with a headline about how the lead rapper of NCT was on a dinner date in London. That was a shit storm neither of you wanted to handle. And it wasn’t like staying in was a bad thing! You still got to see the city as much as you wanted to, and you finally got to spend time with Mark in London, so what was there to complain about?

Work.

There was always work. Being at the hotel meant that Mark got caught up in making music at his laptop for hours on end without realizing how much time was passing. For the most part you didn’t mind because he began around the time you were getting in bed, and you always woke up in his arms regardless, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. But there was one night you were annoyed. Before your room service dinners arrived, Mark was sitting at the desk in his pajamas, headphones on, music blasting while he worked on creating a new mix for his solo projects that he enjoyed messing with— You were pretty sure that he and Johnny were writing another song together too, so his focus was tunnel visioned on work, work, work and not his partner whom he’d dragged to Europe with him after begging like a pathetic puppy for so long. Was he stupid? Yuta probably would have smacked him upside the back of the head if you told him what Mark was doing. “Idiot, there’s a hot person in the bed behind you. Do something about it!” But Yuta would have to smack some sense into your boyfriend later… In the meantime, you had to make due with fighting to put his attention back on you.

“Baby,” you cooed from the bed.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he clicked a few things, opened another Chrome tab, Googled something, then went back to his mix.

“Mark.”

Still nothing.

You tsked your tongue and crawled off the bed. Mark was so lost in his own world that he didn’t even notice that you were only wearing blue underwear just for him; and he didn’t even budge when you dropped to your knees beside him. You rolled your eyes. There was no way his tunnel vision was that bad… Sure, he moved a bit to accommodate you as you skillfully made your way under the desk and settled in between his man-spread legs, but come on, really? He still didn’t take off his headset? What the Hell did he think you were doing down there, counting specs of dust? Sometimes he really could be oblivious.

When you started fiddling with his pajama pants, Mark hesitated, leaning back slightly so that he could glance down at you through his glasses with a raised brow. You hesitated. With a doe-eyed look, you acted like you weren’t doing anything at all, because he seemingly didn’t want to pay much attention to you in the first place, even though it was his idea to drag you to London. Mark warily went back to his work. Once his focus was elsewhere again, you continued to tease him. He let out a quiet gasp when you ran the palm of your hand over the crotch of his pants, feeling up his length that jumped with excitement. You grinned. Still, he eyed you suspiciously while slowly clicking things with his mouse and readjusting tunes with the mixer to his left. Then the tips of your fingers danced over his sensitive tip. His breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut, and he adjusted slightly in his seat so that it would be easier for you to touch more of him. You didn’t enlighten him. Not yet. You just stared up at him with a grin, admiring how handsome he was, and how the blush on his cheeks was growing along with the erection in his pants.

To test the waters, you ran your hand along his cock again, content that he found you so alluring that he could get as hard as he was within a teasing touch or two. Surely he’d put his attention on you finally if you just… reached into his pajamas and pulled out his cock. Mark let out another quiet moan. But what really did it was when you held him upright as he was still getting harder, and you wrapped your lips around him, sinking down about half way.

“Oh— Fuck, baby—” His hands abandoned his music set up to tangle his fingers in your hair so that he could keep you on his cock. However, you pulled away with surprisingly not much protest from Mark who whimpered when your lips left him, and instead your thumb slowly played with his tip. “Baby, please…”

“Keep working.”

“What?”

You shrugged. “You’ve got a lot of work to do, right? You should keep working, or else Johnny’ll get mad when we go back home.”

“He won’t care—” He bucked his hips up in an attempt to get you to suck him off again.

“Oh? So it could’ve waited?”

“I—” He dawned on him that he’d gotten himself caught in your trap. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t even realize.” His head fell backwards when you suddenly licked the length of his dick from base to tip so slowly that you felt him pulse in your hand. “I’m so, so sorry, baby, please…” His hands unwittingly guided your mouth back onto him. Mark groaned loudly. “Just like that.”

He looked so cute with his headset slowly falling off his head, his glasses pushed all the way up the bridge of his nose thanks to gravity, and your name was being chanted like a prayer while it mixed with his moans and pleas for you to keep going. You couldn’t stay mad at that. Seeing him fall apart for you made you happier than anything else in the whole world.

“Use your tongue— Y-Yeah— Just… just like that… Don’t stop…”

You did as he wanted, patterning your movements between bobbing your head, swirling his tip with your tongue, and using your hands to play with his balls and the base of his cock. He whimpered pathetically. It seemed that you were getting to him, faster than you expected. The way Mark swiveled his hips desperately in his chair, and he finally knocked the headset off the top of his head and onto his neck, you could tell that he was already close to cumming.

You pulled away again, using that moment to catch your breath while Mark popped upright to look down at you with pouty eyes, wondering how you could possibly do such a thing when he was so close… Poor thing. Still, it was just as much fun to torment him as it was to see him falling apart thanks to you. When his breath was steady again, you went back to sucking him off slowly— Really slow in the hopes of working him up without getting him too close to the edge yet. It worked. Mark’s feet anxiously kicked against the floor. He groaned and grabbed onto the arms of his desk chair as tightly as he could to keep himself from grabbing you or fucking your face because he knew that would deter you from giving him what he desperately needed.

“Come on, baby,” he egged you on needily, “you look so good with my cock in your mouth… Wanna cum in your mouth… Wanna watch you swallow every drop.” He sucked in a deep breath to relax his body, recollecting himself. When he was calm, he put his fingers back in your hair and pushed you down onto his cock, letting you feel the way his tip hit the back of your throat, both of you moaning in unison. “Fuck, yes!”

For about a minute, Mark fucked your mouth, thinking that he had all the control in the world, but once again, when he got close, you squirmed your way out of his grasp and sat back to look up at him from under the desk. He pouted down at you. Okay, okay, fine, just one more… It was fun edging him, but you couldn’t bear that sad look on his face.

You tangled your fingers with his so that he had something else to hold onto when you returned to sucking him off with hollow cheeks and your tongue swirling around. Mark’s grip tightened against yours. He boiled himself down to pants and pathetic little whimpers rather than begging you, probably theorizing that it was his neediness that convinced you to keep edging him for fun. However, you wanted to drag those cute reactions out of him to make him earn the orgasm you’d already decided on giving him; So you made sure to put enough attention on his sensitive tip until he had no other choice than to start moaning your name again, coupled with quiet, “Please, please, please, please, please, please…” that indicated his brain had broken so soon and so easily.

With another doe-eyed look up at him, you silently told him that it was okay to finally cum. Mark tensed in his chair in preparation. His thighs squeezed around your head, his feet kept anxiously tapping the carpet, and his hips wiggled desperately in his seat while you bobbed your head faster up and down his length.

“I’m cumming—” He moaned out so breathlessly you almost missed it. “I’m- I’m— Fuck—” With his hips hovering in the air, he finally snapped.

He came hard, his legs shivering, his hands tugging against yours, his cum spilling down your throat. You pressed his hips down onto the chair so that he could relax while you helped him ride out his orgasm. Mark hunched forward when “helping” turned into overstimulating.

“Ah, shit, baby, wait, wait, fuck—”

Finally, you gave him reprieve by slowly dragging your lips off his cock with a pop. Mark released your hands while his body completely slumped with relief, and he reached out to run his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the little bit of drool mixed with cum that you hadn’t realized was there, then he slowly pushed his finger into your mouth. Take every drop…

“That’s it,” he cooed at you tiredly.

After you finished sucking his thumb clean, Mark rolled his desk chair back in order to give him room to readjust his pants momentarily before reaching out to help you off the ground.

“Come here.”

He welcomed you so easily into his arms and onto his lap. He hugged you close, kissing your lips desperately despite the fact that you tasted like his cum— Or perhaps because of that.

“I’m sorry I got lost in my work.” He pecked your cheek. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Better make it good,” you replied teasingly.

Mark chuckled. “Oh, I will.”

Carefully, he lifted you off his lap and navigated you towards the bed. There was a little more than twenty four hours until your flight home… Yeah, there’d be plenty of time for him to make it up to you and keep his full attention on you in the meantime.

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