#ride home or something. i'm sure there's other options too... decisions decisions.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notiddygothgf · 1 month ago

Text

xiv

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ I'm sorry.❞

★ c.w.: situationship-typical confusion, smut, cunnilingus, poorly timed confessions, phone sex, so much yearning and so much angst, oh my god.

★ a/n: oh my god. this chapter was such a MONSTER TO WRITE!!! i will say, it's like 70% angst. BUT!!! we get to see some majorrrr development. Honestly, i'm a little nervous about posting this, as I'm not very confident, but i think that's only because it takes such a bold turn. I'm gonna HOPE it translates well lol... i don't wanna say too much (other than to keep on dropping those beautiful comments that make me giggle), but... strap in lol. it's a ride.

★ w.c: 12.4k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU HAD ALWAYS wanted to be a nurse – white uniform, slicked-back hair, the whole nine yards. You had gone as far as first aid training before the reality of your situation kicked in, of course. Realistically speaking, you had no way of financing such an endeavor. Your father passed when you were young, leaving the financial burden of raising a child alone to your mother. You wished you could say that she did the best she could, but that would be a lie. In reality, your mother spent much of her time spending what little spare money she did have on maintaining her social life. Nights at bars and parties that bled early into the morning – some days, she would be coming home and kicking her shoes off with that tipsy grin of hers just as you were getting ready for school.

So, when the two of you had a big argument and she yelled at you to ��take your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” you weren’t exactly leaving much behind. Freshly 18 and completely overwhelmed by possibilities, you didn’t have the means – financially or emotionally – to build yourself the future you had always wanted. It was there that you approached the first decision that led you here – the decision to join Public Safety.

You were far too frail for the military. No, bootcamp didn’t sound appealing at all. Not only that, but you weren’t all too crazy about the principle of killing people for money.

So, your only other option – the only other way you would be able to afford college – was Public Safety. If you worked for them for at least a year, they would pay for your college. The best part of all? There would be no human blood on your hands.

At least, that was the idea.

You had it all planned out. Hell, you even had a little binder… one that had your transcripts, hopes, and dreams contained within. One that had been collecting dust for the past few years of your career as a Public Safety officer. Year after year, those application deadlines would roll past, and year after year, your dreams drifted further and further away from you. Before you knew it, you seemed to have forgotten about it entirely.

Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe you lost your resolve. Either way, you sure as hell weren’t a nurse.

Two paths diverged into a yellow wood, or whatever the hell it was that Robert Frost said – and you sure as hell took the road less traveled by. Decision after decision had led you to your position. Similarly, it was through a series of truly unfortunate decisions that you found yourself where you were today.

That is, of course, running away the moment you made eye contact with your superior, Aki Hayakawa. You had seen him walking up the same hallway he always did – the one on the second floor, somewhere between his office and Makima’s.

Truthfully, you had been avoiding him for two days now – you hadn’t answered either of his phone calls, and you certainly hadn’t answered his “Are you up?” text. Yesterday hadn’t been hard, but today was office day. That meant that the chance of you running into him was a hell of a lot higher.

He was walking toward you, his long strides easy, effortless—just like they always were. Hair tied neatly, coat slung over one arm, and head tilted slightly toward the colleague beside him. He was saying something, probably about a mission. You couldn’t hear it. Didn’t need to.

The moment you saw him, something in your chest lurched. Not in a cute, fluttery kind of way—but more like your organs suddenly wanted to evacuate your body.

You winced. Immediately.

Then you did what any emotionally stable adult would do: you veered.

Hard left.

The breakroom door opened under your hand with a faint creak and closed behind you just as quickly. You pressed your back to it for a second, exhaling slow. Relief bloomed through your chest like something warm.

That was a close one.

Safe.

Or so you thought.

The door clicked again.

You froze.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The click of it shutting gently. The hush of movement behind you. You could feel him…calm, still, and watching.

“Good morning,” you said, after a beat.

Your voice sounded even, maybe too even. Like you weren’t currently regretting every life decision that led to this very moment.

Aki’s voice followed close behind, low and measured. “You’re avoiding me.”

No shit.

You turned around, meeting his eyes. He looked like he always did, clean lines, sharp gaze, emotion held just behind the eyes. But something else was there too. Curiosity. Concern. Maybe a bit of frustration.

Maybe he’s overthinking, too.

“No, I’m not,” you replied quickly, lifting your mug like some kind of deflective totem.

His expression didn’t change. “You literally just took off running when you saw me.”

Dammit.

You winced again. “…Okay. Maybe I didn’t wanna interrupt your conversation.”

Aki raised a brow. Slowly.

“You haven’t answered my calls,” he said. “Or my texts. Not even the one where I asked if you were up. Something’s wrong.”

You hated how direct he was. Always had. It made it impossible to brush things under the rug.

You hesitated, glancing to the side like the coffee machine might offer you divine intervention.

He was still watching you.

Still waiting.

You took a breath and set your mug down on the counter with a quiet clink. “Do you really wanna do this here?”

The words came out more tired than defensive. A quiet admission.

Aki didn’t move. But you saw the faint shift in his expression, something soft threading its way into the angles of his face. His eyes dropped briefly to the floor, then back up to you.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Unless there’s… some reason we shouldn’t.”

There was a pause. A thick, stretched silence that seemed to fill every inch of the tiny breakroom. You looked down at your hands.

“It’s stupid,” you said.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how small the room was. How close he was. And how tired you were of trying to pretend.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” He went on, “Something’s wrong.”

God, I hate how self-aware he is.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to hold yourself together. “I didn’t know how to talk to you after… the night at my apartment.”

He blinked. Just once. “That’s it?”

“The hell do you mean, ‘That’s it’?” You hissed back, fingers gripping the mug a little tighter.

“I mean,” He sighed, walking over to the breakroom counter and leaning up against it like he owned the damn thing. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because I spent the night?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, eyes trained on the floor tiles.

“Jesus, Aki.” You shook your head. “I really don’t wanna do this here.”

“Why not?” he asked, and he didn’t sound smug—he sounded genuinely confused. Like he hadn’t realized just how deep that night had burrowed itself into your chest.

You glanced up at him sharply. “Because this is the breakroom,” you said, voice low and tight. “Because there are cameras in the hallway and people two doors down who love to gossip. Because I’m barely keeping it together and I’m not interested in becoming office entertainment for the day.”

His brows pulled together at that, his gaze softening, but you saw the way his jaw flexed. He wasn’t going to let this go.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to give yourself something to do with your body that didn’t involve reaching for him.

He was about to say something, something serious by the look in his eyes, when the breakroom door creaked open behind you.

You both turned.

It was Fujioka from Records – mid-thirties, always a little too cheerful in the mornings, and unfortunately, incredibly observant. He walked in holding a chipped white mug and blinked at the two of you standing just a little too close in the corner by the counter.

“Morning,” he said with a polite little nod, but his tone held a hint of curiosity, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was trying to piece together what he’d just walked in on.

You instantly stepped back, putting a little space between yourself and Aki, suddenly very interested in the stale coffee pot behind you.

“Morning,” you mumbled, reaching for a paper cup you didn’t actually need.

Aki nodded too, a little stiffly. “Hey.”

Fujioka moved around the room casually, but you could feel the change in the air—how the tension still clung to the walls even as everyone tried to pretend otherwise. You focused on fixing your nonexistent coffee, stirring an empty cup just to avoid looking at anyone.

Fujioka cleared his throat as he poured himself a mug, the sound of liquid hitting ceramic loud in the painfully quiet room. He lingered by the sugar packets longer than necessary, as if waiting for someone to resume conversation. No one did.

Eventually, mercifully, he gave up.

“Well… see you two around,” he said, lifting his mug in a lazy salute before strolling back out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud.

The moment he was gone, the spell broke.

You hissed under your breath, spinning on your heel to face Aki again. “I can’t keep doing this– this… push and pull thing. I can’t.”

“So your solution is to just pretend I’m not here?” He asked. “Instead of, I don’t know, maybe telling me that?”

Damn, he’s good.

Why does he actually sound… worried? He had the nerve to stand in front of you and actually give a shit about you.

Folding your arms protectively over your chest, you tried your best to not let it show how much his tone affected you. He was scolding you again – in that way only he could… subtly, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and… fuck, okay, maybe ignoring you wasn’t really fair, but I… I needed space to think.”

When he didn’t reply, merely crossing his own arms in response, you added, “Distance.”

“...Distance,” He repeated back, the words sounding a whole lot stupider now that you were hearing them coming from someone else’s mouth.

“I don’t… We shouldn’t be doing this, Aki,” You sighed. “It’s not healthy. For either of us.”

His silence was fucking deafening.

“So,” he finally said, voice careful, “You want to break it off. If that’s what you want, I completely understand.”

It wasn’t a question.

Then his voice dipped even quieter, something raw at the edges. “That is what you want, right?”

Say yes.

Dammit, say yes.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Because it wasn’t what you wanted – and, by the looks of it, it wasn’t what he wanted, either. You couldn’t even nod. You just stood there, swallowing down the lump in your throat, knowing your silence was all the answer he needed.

Aki held your gaze for a beat longer. He didn’t ask again. Didn't press. But something in his expression faltered. Subtle, barely there, like a hairline crack in ice.

He stepped past you slowly, deliberately. His shoulder brushed yours, and he lingered just a second longer than he had to. Not long enough to be noticed. Just long enough to be felt.

“When you make up your mind, give me a call,” he said as he reached the door. His hand paused on the handle. “If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then he left.

No parting look. No sigh. Just the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

And then it was just you.

The hum of the old vending machine filled the quiet. The smell of burnt coffee lingered like something gone stale. You exhaled, but it didn’t make you feel any lighter. If anything, the weight in your chest settled deeper, a kind of ache that made it hard to stand still, but harder to move.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You stared at the counter, at the same cup of untouched coffee you’d been pretending to drink.

What do I want?

The next few days at work dragged like a bad dream you kept waking up inside of. Everything was functional, fine, normal—which somehow made it worse. No one noticed the shift but you, because the shift wasn’t in the air. It was in him.

Aki didn’t avoid you. Not exactly.

He said hi when he passed you in the hallway. Nodded politely when you sat in on briefings. Never once cut his eyes toward you longer than necessary. And it was that restraint—measured, precise—that killed you the most. The way he’d returned to the version of himself you used to know before all this, before the apartment, before the softness. The version that kept things clean. Professional. Cold.

You used to admire that about him.

Now, it just made your chest feel hollow.

The week stretched out like an endless gray horizon, every day bleeding into the next without ceremony or relief. You told yourself silence would help. That stepping back, shutting down, giving space, was the only way to protect what was left, maybe even save something.

But it didn’t. Not really.

It started with the same hollow knot twisting in your stomach that you’d been trying to ignore since the break room confrontation. You showed up early, trying to drown out the unease with the routine – filing reports, restocking supplies, moving through the motions like a ghost.

You caught yourself glancing toward the hallway, expecting maybe, just maybe, Aki would be there. Maybe he’d say something, anything. But he wasn’t.

He greeted the team when he walked in, clipped and professional, but the moment his eyes found you, they flicked away like you were a shadow best avoided. It wasn’t cold exactly, but it was… distant. Like a radio that had lost signal, static filling the space where connection used to be.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself it was fine. That you were fine. That this was how it had to be.

The next day was worse.

The office was busier, and the tension was thicker. He passed you in the hall with a nod that didn’t quite reach his eyes. During the briefing, you sat close enough to hear the sharpness in his voice as he gave orders, precise and clipped.

You remembered the night at your apartment – how he had held you like he meant it – and the ache that still lingered under your ribs. Now, all of that softness felt like a fragile illusion, shattered and left behind in the past. You hated how badly you missed it. Hated how much you wanted to call him, to hear that same low, satiny voice.

Thursday’s mission day was the worst.

You woke up with that familiar churn of anxiety twisting your stomach, a knot tighter than the day before. There was no room for confusion on missions, no space for hesitation or doubt. You had to be sharp.

But, fuck, every time you caught Aki’s eye across the briefing room, you saw the same cold, unreadable mask he wore in the field.

He was professional, all business. No cracks. No softness. No trace of the man who had whispered “I’ve never had this before. Otherwise, I think I’d know how to handle it,” in your apartment just days ago.

He gave commands like a machine, precise and unyielding. When he passed you, there was a nod. No warmth, no recognition. You could have been a fucking stranger. A ghost haunting the edges of his focus.

He was putting up walls again. You could feel them being built, brick by brick, every time his gaze slid past you. Every time his voice dropped into something carefully neutral when you entered the room. And the worst part? You were the one who’d started it. You’d handed him the bricks.

That is what you want, right?

By the time Friday night rolled around, the question was buzzing around inside of your head.

You told yourself you were going to have a self care night. All of the week’s situationship drama had you at your wit’s end. You wanted nothing more than to sink into a nice, warm bubble bath, to clean the troubles away from your face, to snuggle up into freshly cleaned sheets in your favorite pajamas.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You scrubbed at your face until it felt dry – aching to rid yourself of some of the week’s tension. You tied your hair back and settled into bed at the ripe hour of nine thirty.

The radio played a gentle tune, low and steady, like a soft breath in a room full of too much noise. You had your book open, but you weren’t reading shit. The words spilled past your eyes, blurry and meaningless, lost beneath the weight of everything you couldn’t shake.

No, instead, your mind kept looping back to him, replaying snippets of conversations past like a fucking broken record.

“I’ve never had this before,”

“You missed me that much?”

“You did so good for me,”

“When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You thought of how fucking cold he had been to you all week. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before. No, you wished you could say that he was being petty and taking it out on you. That’s just the thing, though – he wasn’t. For the most part, things had returned to the way they used to be.

It seemed that you were the only one who couldn’t.

You were the one who was falling apart, which was crazy, because you had been the one to call for a break in the first place. You were the one who had insisted that distance would help to clear up some of the congestion in your mind, and what did you have to show? A few sleepless nights? A boatload of stress?

God, I bet he’s not even stressing about this, you thought – briefly. Then, your mind wandered right on back to the argument in the breakroom. The way he had stopped just before leaving, eyes glancing over you like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to let you go, either, uttering those damn words that you had been thinking about all fucking week.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then, the memory of his lips lingered on your spine – warm and hot and tender, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“You did so good for me. I should give you a reward, hmm?”

The quiet always brought him back. The memory of his hands tracing slow, reverent paths over your body like he was trying to map out every scar, every soft part of you, like he wanted to memorize all of it. The way he hovered just above you for a moment, just breathing you in, like he couldn’t believe he had you beneath him again. Like he didn’t want to rush it.

"Tap my thigh three times if you want me to stop."

Your thoughts dipped lower, slower – his mouth, warm and open at your neck, dragging over your shoulder, his breath skimming the curve of your spine. The way his voice dropped when he issued a command, quiet and aching, like it meant something different when he said it in the dark.

“You feel me, Baby?”

“You’re such a good girl for me.”

He had always touched you like he wanted to prove something. Like no one else had ever touched you right before. And you let him, because maybe that was the only place the two of you ever made any damn sense…

Skin to skin, breathless and tangled in the half-light.

The memory pulled tight in your gut, sudden and sharp, the ache curling low in your belly. Your thighs pressed together without thinking. Fuck.

You swallowed and squeezed your eyes shut.

Because it wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was what he did when that look shifted, when the tension cracked and gave way to hunger. That unspoken give it to me. That fierce, unrelenting pull between his control and the way he unraveled when he had you underneath him. The way he’d pin your wrists down with one hand, his mouth dragging down your collarbone with the other, low and hot and wanting.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

He always knew how to draw it out of you—how to get you trembling and soaked and desperate before he ever even got inside. He took his damn time. He liked watching you fall apart. Liked the way you said his name in pieces.

“You’ve probably fucked this pretty pussy to the thought of it, haven’t you?”

And you were remembering it now a little too vividly. The way his voice dropped an octave when he whispered in your ear, telling you not to look away. The drag of his hips against yours, slow and firm, like he wanted you to feel everything. The way he tasted on your tongue. The way he grunted when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have no… fucking idea how I feel when you call me that.”

You could practically hear him now… rough and low and barely coherent, right at the edge, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how close he was. His fingers digging into your thigh. The heat of his skin pressed flush to yours.

“Do you have… any clue… What you fucking do to me?”

Your hand twitched where it rested on your stomach.

You were turned on. Ridiculously.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just the sex that was wrecking you. It was the way he held you after. The way he tucked his face into your neck and breathed you in. The way his thumb brushed soft circles into your hip like he couldn’t stop touching you even after it was over. The way his voice went quiet, honest, like things slipped out he didn’t mean to say.

Things like “I’ve never had this before.”

And now you were alone in your bedroom, hand inching down your stomach, chest rising and falling too fast, flushed and aching and stupid with want for a man you said you needed space from.

God, space didn’t feel like the clarity you needed – it felt like fucking torture.

You’d told yourself it was about relief, about easing the pressure in your chest, in your gut, the kind that had been building all week. But it wasn’t just about that. Not really.

Because the second your eyes slipped closed, your mind brought him back. His eyes, his lips, the way he’d made love to you only a week earlier, patient and tender and far too careful for someone who claimed not to feel shit.

Your hand moved lower, and you tried to chase the ghost of that night, the way his breath had caught, the sound he made when you pulled him closer. But it was no good. Your skin didn’t burn the way it did when he touched you. Your pulse didn’t stutter the same way. You were too aware of the absence, too aware of the space between then and now.

Your fingers slid down between your folds, collecting slick onto the tips. Slowly, carefully, you found your clit and began rolling the digits over the little nub in circles. A little faster, then, as you kept on thinking about how he’d felt, how he’d kissed you.

It wasn’t scratching the itch. It wasn’t even fucking close.

Before you knew it, the frustration crept back in. Nothing’s working.

Your eyes found your phone on the nightstand almost instantaneously. It was folded shut, sitting aimlessly atop the wooden surface, but it glared back at you.

He was just one call away, after all.

No, stop it.

You sat up, dragging a hand down your face like that might scrub the thought away, like that would ground you in something rational. Your chest felt too tight. You could still hear his voice in your head—low, steady, the way it used to sound when he was whispering things against your neck like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

God, what the hell am I doing?

And then you were spiraling again. Remembering the weight of him. The way he looked at you like he was trying not to fall. Like he already had.

Your eyes flicked to the phone again.

No.You clenched your jaw, swung your legs off the bed. Maybe some water. Maybe cold air. Maybe anything else.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, breathing too hard, fingers paused on your clit like you were holding yourself back from something reckless.

God, what the hell am I doing?

You reached for the phone anyway. With the other hand, you continued to rub yourself up and down, side to side – slowly, tentatively.

And, dammit, you were weak. You knew you were weak because it wasn’t sex you thought about in your time of need. No, it was him – nothing casual about that.

I’m so sexually frustrated right now, I don’t even care.

Then, his words, a cruel echo in your mind, “When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Still, you couldn’t help the way you shifted your hips to get a better angle, thumb flicking through the contacts until you found that damn name at the top.

Aki Hayakawa.

Fuck it.

You clicked the dial button, and let it ring. Once, twice…

Then the line clicked.

“Hey,” He answered, voice deep and groggy, thick with sleep, “Something wrong?”

I knew he would answer, you thought. Still, it was uncanny, the way relief blanketed you. You were so relieved, in fact, that your heart wasn’t the only thing that twitched at the sound of his voice.

Whoops.

“I… No, I…” You trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words now that you finally got him on the line.

God, what do I even say? Hey, you know how we’ve been ignoring each other for a week? Yeah, I want to fuck. Ridiculous.

God, this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” You admitted, hand pausing its movements over your clit for just a moment because, fuck it all, you were nervous.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the shifting of fabric, like he was in bed when you’d called. “My voice?” He asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Everything okay?”

It’s like I can’t stay mad at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Was all you said, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Bad dream?” He grumbled.

Fuck, his voice is so hot, You thought.

“No, just… thoughts,” You replied, waving your hand around like he could see it. “Won’t shut up.”

Only a partial lie.

“...What kind of thoughts?” He asked, and your heart fucking dropped – suddenly, his tone shifted, and you weren’t so confident about your little mission any longer.

I’m a fucking idiot.

Oh well.

Quietly, you breathed out the answer, like you were scared of it, “About you.”

Another pause, and this time, your heart was racing against your ribs. Your pulse thrummed in your veins, electric. You couldn’t take the words back now that they were out there – you’d officially thrown in the white flag.

Then, he replied, suddenly a lot more breathy, “Yeah?”

Fuck, you thought. Slowly, you resumed your ministrations, touching yourself to the sound of his voice even though you knew it was wrong.

I’m going to hell, anyways. Might as well go out with a bang.

Before you could control it, a wanton whimper slipped out from your lips. Fuck.

“What are you doing right now?” He asked. The words were a silky, devilish croon, sweet like they’d been dipped in chocolate.

I’ve been caught red-handed.

Rather than answering him like you probably should have done, you stayed quiet, too ashamed of the situation to speak – which was arguably a whole lot worse.

“I was… trying to get off ‘n…” You huffed out, rolling your hips down into the bed, fingers drawing shapes and circles over the most sensitive part of you and, fuck, it wasn’t nearly enough. Arching your back, you sighed, “Get my mind off of you.”

He replied, “Did it work?”

You answered with a soft, breathless laugh, “Clearly not.”

“Needy baby,” he said, voice dipping just low enough to graze your spine, and you nearly moaned at the mere sound of it. There was a pause on his end, weighted, knowing, before he added, quieter this time, “Put the phone on speaker.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the device, pressing the button with more hesitation than you cared to admit. A soft click, then the room filled with him. That damned voice. That voice that had whispered against your neck, your shoulder, your chest, now flooding the silence of your bedroom like it belonged there.

Like you hadn’t spent the past week hating his guts.

“Can you hear me?”

You swallowed, heart stammering against your ribs. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I hear you.”

And God, did you. You heard the rough edge to his voice, still heavy with sleep. You heard the warmth threading through it despite the hour, the kind of warmth that made your stomach flutter and your chest tighten in the same breath. You felt it in your fingertips, in the back of your throat.

You heard him and, somehow, you knew he’d missed you as much as you had missed him.

“Good,” He answered, “Let me take care of you. Where are your fingers?”

Oh my god, you thought, I’m really doing this, right now?

I’m really about to have phone sex with my fucking Captain.

And you confessed, “Rubbing… circles–”

You could almost see him – seated on the edge of his bed, one hand raking through his hair, jaw clenched, brows knit with something he wasn’t letting himself say.

“Aw… poor thing. Can’t get off without being told what to do, hm?”

Your throat tightened. He sounded like he was teasing, but there was something else woven into it. That deep, domineering tone – the one that made you want to give yourself up to him entirely.

And, just like that, you were wrapped around his finger all over again.

“Bring those fingers up to your mouth, pretty,” He said after a beat passed. “Get them nice and wet for me.”

Mindlessly, you followed his command. You pulled your fingers away from your needy pussy, out of your pajama pants, and brought the two digits up to your parted mouth. Then, slowly, you wrapped your lips around them, sucking them clean, getting them wet with your spit. You could taste yourself on your own tongue, tangy and sweet.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel stupid. No, for the first time in a week, you felt sexy, wanted, desired.

“Are you in bed?”

“Mhm,” You hummed back, the sound muffled by your fingers. The wet digits came out of your mouth with a quiet pop. You couldn’t help but yearn for him – wish that he could have been there in person instead of over the phone, wish that it could have been his fingers, pressing down on your tongue, thick and long.

“Put the phone down next to you,” He told you.

You followed again, hand shaking slightly as you laid the phone down on the bed beside you.

God, this is so depraved, but I don’t even care.

“Good girl,” His voice was warm, low… almost reverent. You would do anything for him so long as he kept on calling you that. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the sound of his voice, to picture him.

“I want you to reach under your shirt,” He continued, “And tease yourself. Lightly. Just enough to work yourself up.”

Feeling an awful lot like you were blindly following his commands, you slipped your other hand up beneath the hem of your cami. You weren’t wearing a bra – because why the hell would you – so it didn’t take much at all for you to get a handful of your own breast. The skin was warm, soft, malleable beneath your touch. You gave it a tender squeeze, then massaged the flesh in your palm like you had all fucking night.

A blissful little sigh slipped out as your thumb skittered across your nipple. The skin perked up beneath your fingertips, forming a stiffened peak. Then, as you repeated the gesture – intentionally, this time – another.

“You sound so pretty, Baby,” He commented, and, fuck, it was enough to send warmth fluttering through your chest, your veins. You felt like you were fucking melting. “What are you wearing?”

The classic line.

“A– A cami and…” You whined, “‘n some pink shorts. No panties.”

It was true. You had planned on getting off tonight (one way or another), and had decided to ditch the panties in an effort to make things easier.

Of course, you hadn’t banked on calling the man you’d been avoiding to get off, and you sure as hell hadn’t banked on him actually picking up.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” His breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you pull those shorts to the side for me, then, and use your fingers to get off, hm?”

Shaking, you reached down between your thighs. Your fingers grazed the lacy hem of the pink shorts you had on. Then, without questioning where he was going, you pulled the crotch to the side and put your fingers back where they had been only a few moments prior.

You moaned, then – quietly, but it was loud enough that he heard it. The skin between your thighs was gooey, slick, coated in your own arousal. The effect he had on you was absurd. He’d just picked up the phone, and you were already soaked.

“Just like that. Nice and slow,” He hummed. “Now, tell me about those thoughts you were having.”

You swallowed, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising with the weight of the words stuck somewhere between your ribs. Your fingers found your clit once more – like muscle memory – and rolled over the bud in tight, narrow circles.

“Was thinking about what I’d do if I saw you again,” you said softly. “Thinking about – fuck – about how good you feel inside of me.”

Well, this call went 0-100 very quickly, didn’ t it?

“I miss your hands,” you went on, “On my body, on my neck… Fuck, your fingers always feel… so good. Mine don’t feel the same.”

You heard him exhale, a sound like a quiet wind through the receiver.

“Don’t tempt me,” He replied. “Go a little faster now, pretty.”

“I keep thinking about the last time,” you confessed. “How you punished me. How you fucked me.”

Another pause. Then, his voice, softer now. “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, lips parting. “I’m literally fucking myself to the sound of your voice, and you want to talk about dirty?”

“Never denied it. Keep playing with your chest, Baby,” He continued, “And slip a finger into that pretty pussy for me. Wouldn’t wanna keep her waiting.”

“They’re not as big as yours,” You remarked. Still, you took your hand away from your clit, drawing shapes around your aching entrance. “They won’t feel the same.”

“I know,” He sighed, like he wished he could come through the phone and feel you for himself, “But pretend for a moment. Push it all the way in, then crook it up for me.”

You did exactly that. Your finger caught on that place nestled oh-so deep inside of your cunt, that mushy spot that sent electricity flying up and down your spine. The movement caused another cry to slip out, one of his name, “Aki.”

“I’m here,” He replied. “Feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” You breathed out. You moved the finger back and forth, caressing your walls, pulling more of those noises out of you – the ones he seemed to love so much.

“Add another finger,” Was his next command, “Let me hear you.”

You swallowed, heart thudding so loud it nearly drowned him out. The silence in your room was too soft, too full of want and everything you hadn’t said. Still, you obeyed, shifting where you lay, skin warm beneath the sheets. The second digit breached your entrance, stretching you open, filling you out just right.

A quiet sound escaped you – breath catching as your body answered before your mouth could.

“There you go,” he murmured, gentler now. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” You answered in kind, sliding the two fingers in, out, in again… You were still so tight, so much so that your wrists burned with the strain of moving your knuckles. Still, your fingers found that spot again – over and over, and it was enough to have your jaw dropping, sinful noises pouring from your lips like he was actually here. “Wish it were your fingers instead– Oh my God, Aki.”

And then, you heard it. The quietest sound on the other end of the line. A shift. A breath. A high-pitched, muffled whimper. Your lips parted.

“…Aki?” You asked, your voice gentle, curious. “Are you…?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice had changed – rougher around the edges, deeper. “Keep going, Baby.”

Oh my god.

He’s doing it, too.

He’s getting off to the sound of my voice.

At the mere thought – the mere image of him laying down with a hand down his pants, stroking himself languidly to the sound of your moans, your words – you tilted your head back, exposing the column of your neck, and breathed, “God, fuck– I need… I wanna feel you moving, throbbing– wanna hear you tell me how good I am for you.”

“You’re always so good for me,” He exhaled, a shuddery, airy sound, followed by a deep, velvety moan, “And you feel so fucking good, too– every time, it feels like the first. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You giggled – yes, really giggled – and plunged your fingers in a little deeper, until your vision was hazy. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, “Should’ve just told me. Instead of ignoring each other, we could have been fucking each other.”

“You’re the one who said you needed space,” He retorted.

Touché.

Continuing, he added, “But no one else can make you feel the way I can, huh?”

No, you thought, You have no fucking idea.

“No one– ngh,” You breathed. “Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fuck anyone else.” Arching your back, you let out another moan – long, drawn out, and debauched. “Fuck, Aki, I need you.”

You had been stupid to believe otherwise – stupid to believe that you could possibly have stayed away from him.

No, you were addicted.

“Scissor those fingers, stretch that pussy open for me,” He uttered. “Mmh– bet you look so perfect right now, fucking yourself on your fingers like that. Wish I could see you.”

With a laugh, you teased, “Get your ass over here, then– mhm, shit–” Another arch, another shift of your hips, and your eyes were fluttering shut, “Aki-i.”

“You keep saying my name like that and I just might,” He laughed breathlessly.

A spark lit inside you – dangerous, reckless. “Please. I’ll be good, promise. I’ll make you feel so good.” The words slipped out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent.

“I know you will. You always do,” he said, the softness in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please,” you begged, voice barely a whisper.

“Use your words,” he teased, but there was something steady in his tone. “You want me to come over there and make you feel better?”

You hesitated, reality pressing in. It was late, too late for this. “Probably not a good idea. It’s two in the morning.”

“Fuck, it is,” he laughed, the sound warm and rough. “But I would do it if you asked me. I’d take good care of you, too.” The promise in his voice was almost enough to make you say yes.

Hell, with a voice like that, he could make a nun peel her clothes off.

“Really?” You held your breath, the thought of him closing the distance between you sending heat rushing through your veins.

“Of course,” he said simply. “Why, you thinking about it?”

Your mind raced. The loneliness, the ache for him… it was loud, relentless. But, fuck, if you didn’t get him inside of you by the end of the night, you were going to blow your fucking brains out.

He laughed again, low and teasing, like he was reveling in the sound of you begging for him, “God, you’re so bad. You want me, baby?”

You knew this was a terrible idea. You just told him you needed space—that this had to stop—and yet here you were, heart pounding, breath shallow, daring to ask him to come over.

Shit, what am I doing? The question burned in your chest, but it was drowned out by the ache deeper down, the one that made your skin tingle and your stomach twist in desperate knots. You’d been holding it in all week—those unspoken words and half-remembered touches—but tonight, the distance was unbearable. He was the only thing that could soothe the fire that had been growing inside you.

“I need you,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please come over.”

There was a pause, a soft exhale on the other end. “I shouldn’t,” he said, the weight of hesitation heavy in his voice. You could almost hear the struggle behind it.

Then the unmistakable jingle of keys being grabbed. Your heart surged.

“Think you can wait ten minutes?” he asked, a thread of something unreadable – Concern? Longing? –underneath the words.

You closed your eyes, swallowing down the part of your brain still screaming Don’t do this.

You’d already come this far.

“I’ve been waiting a whole week,” you said, voice low and shaky but honest. “Just come over and fuck me, Hayakawa.”

There it was. The name on your lips sent a shiver racing down your spine.

He laughed – soft, breathy, a sound that felt like a warm caress through the phone. “I’m coming. I’m coming, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t leave my favorite girl waiting,” he added, and that simple sentence made your heart feel impossibly full.

I’m his favorite girl.

He hung up before you could say more, leaving your thoughts spinning.

Your hands trembled as you jumped up, rushing to straighten your apartment like it would make a difference. You wiped the faintest traces of your day off your skin, trying to erase the evidence of any debauchery.

But you didn’t want to disappear – not tonight. Not when he was coming.

You barely recognized your own apartment as you hurried through it, your heart thudding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Every surface got a quick wipe down – the coffee table, cluttered with scattered papers and half-empty mugs, was cleared and polished until it caught the light just right. You shoved laundry into the hamper, smoothed out the rumpled blankets on the couch, and flicked off the harsh overhead light, switching on a small lamp to cast a soft, warm glow across the room.

Your bedroom wasn’t much better, but you did your best to make it look less like the chaos of your week and more like a sanctuary. You plumped the pillows, pulled the sheets tight over the mattress, and folded back the blanket just so. The faint scent of lavender from the linen spray mingled with your own perfume, a hint of something sweet and familiar.

Then you caught your reflection in the mirror and paused. You were still in the same soft, worn pajamas you’d been wearing all night – comfortable but nothing special.

You tugged at the loose fabric of the pajama top, smoothing it over your curves. With a slow, deliberate motion, you loosened the top few buttons, revealing a sliver of skin at your collarbone. You ran your fingers over the silky material, adjusting it until it clung in just the right places – soft, but… probably sexy.

You hoped.

Your hair was a mess from the day, so you took a moment to run your fingers through it, pushing strands back behind your ears and letting the rest fall in loose waves. You traced the line of your neck, feeling the familiar ache of want settle deeper inside you.

A quick swipe of lip balm, a not-so-subtle douse of perfume and body mist – just enough to make you feel like you were somewhat presentable.

And then, after eleven minutes (yes, you had been anxiously watching the time), a knock sounded at the front door of your apartment.

Your breath hitched, and your hand shook as you moved to answer it.

When you opened the door, there he was – a great deal taller than you, looking like something straight out of a wet dream. He had on a form-fitting black tee – one that hugged his muscular arms and narrow waist, illuminating his broad chest and shoulders – and a pair of loose-fitting gray sweatpants. His hair was down, a little frizzy, and he smelled like a fresh spritz of that cologne you wished you knew the name of. Most importantly, his eyes, wild and blown full of lust, were on you.

He came. And, from the looks of it, he wasn’t in the mood to bring up old grievances, either.

His gaze swept over you, slow and steady — from your tousled hair to the sliver of skin at your midriff your pajama shirt didn’t quite cover. There was hunger in his eyes, sure. But there was something softer too. Like he’d been thinking about this. About you.

“Missed me?” He teased you, shining that crooked grin and, fuck, you couldn’t care less about what the two of you had said in the break room nearly a week earlier.

He was here, in front of you, and all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to your level, “Shut up.”

His mouth met yours before you could second-guess yourself. Heat, pressure, the familiar curl of want. Your back hit the door as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands bracing against the wood beside your head, the other sliding down to rest at your waist like he was holding back. Like if he let go, he’d lose control.

You didn’t want him to hold back.

Somewhere between breaths and half-formed words, you stumbled backward together – his hand finding yours, your laugh caught in your throat as you bumped into the hallway wall, then the other. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, warm against your hip, and the way he touched you – not rushed, not rough, just like he knew exactly where you needed him – made you shiver.

“You look good,” he murmured, voice low as his lips grazed your jaw. “These yours?”

You blinked, confused.

“The pajamas,” he clarified, fingers brushing over the fabric at your hip.

I knew he would like it, you thought with a smug little grin.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Didn’t exactly have time to change.”

He huffed a soft laugh, lips brushing your ear. “Good. I like you like this.”

“You came all this way to say that?” you teased.

“Nope,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look you over, thumb brushing your cheek. “Came here to do this–”

He bent slightly and, without warning, scooped you up in his arms, throwing your legs around his waist with very little effort.

You yelped – and he laughed harder, stumbling a little as he adjusted your weight. Your arms looped around his neck, faces brushing close again, and you were kissing him before he even made it halfway down the hall.

It was clumsy. Dizzy, but fuck, it was hot.

You felt your shoulder bump a wall, and he muttered “shit” between kisses, trying not to trip over his own feet – but neither of you could stop laughing.

Or kissing. Or touching, for that matter.

You were pressed so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his skin through that tight black shirt. Close enough that your lips slid together like fucking puzzle pieces, tongues slipping against one another like you were fighting for dominance.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at it, and when you whispered, “Need you to fuck me, Aki,” he groaned – just loud enough to make your stomach twist.

“Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to drop you,” he warned, voice gravel-soft, teasing, lips brushing your neck now as he made it through your bedroom door.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again – slower this time, deeper –and the world around you spun just a little.

Oh, you were so screwed.

By the time he reached your bed, you were breathless. Your fingers tugged at the back of his shirt. His mouth was at your jaw. You felt like you were burning alive in the best possible way.

He leaned down, pressing you gently to the mattress like you were something fragile. Like he wasn’t about to break you.

He hovered over you for a moment, gazing down like he was trying to piece together something he didn’t have the words for. Then he leaned in again, brushing his lips across your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Not rushed. Like he was trying to linger in every second before it slipped away. You tilted your head, welcoming him closer, a shaky breath leaving you when his mouth found the base of your throat.

He sighed against your skin – long, slow, and pretty – like this was the one place in the world he wanted to be.

Your fingers drifted up the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of his head, needing more of him, needing to feel all the places where he was warm and solid and real. You weren’t even sure what you were chasing anymore.

“I missed this,” you whispered without really meaning to.

He didn’t answer with words. Just exhaled softly, the sound muffled against your collarbone. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he sat back on his knees and reached behind his head, gathering his hair to tie it. The motion was efficient, practiced, but there was something about it that made your stomach turn over. A kind of anticipation that curled low and deep.

Oh, he’s about to get to work.

His pretty blue eyes flicked up to meet yours once he finished, like he wanted to make sure you really wanted this. Then, he smiled.

Still, he reached for you again, hands steady, gaze lingering on your face like he was trying to read you. You spread your thighs for him instinctively, welcoming, open – and he didn’t need words to understand.

No, the moment before his head dipped, before his mouth met your skin again, you knew he understood. Nothing else mattered – not the conversations, not the arguments, not the consequences.

Just him. Just now.

“Oh my God,” You gasped out, feeling his tongue ghost over your sodden slit, parting the folds and gathering slick into his mouth.

He sucked on you with the most satisfied moan, like you were a fresh-baked dessert, melting on his tongue. Then, without a word of warning, he gripped the back of your thighs with two strong hands and got to work making a mess out of you.

His mouth was hot, warm, everything your fingers couldn’t be. And, shit, he was on a mission to devour you. He dragged his tongue up and down, up and down, until the tip of it caught on your clit. Then, like he was trying to finish the job you had started, he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and licked over it.

Over and fucking over again.

You leaned back, all the way back, and arched up, lifting your stomach off of the bed. You weren’t even trying to hide it – the way your body reached for him, the way you gasped softly every time his mouth skimmed over a new inch of your skin.

God, you needed this. You needed him, all along.

He lowered his head again, lips barely grazing the skin of your stomach, each touch feather-light and slow, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. The warmth of his breath against your cunt sent shivers rippling through you, igniting a fire deep inside that spread with every little lick. His mouth moved with an urgency, practiced and insistent.

Your body responded immediately, arching into his touch, the small of your back lifting higher off the bed.. The tension you’d been holding onto – the ache, the longing, the frustration – started to melt under the heat of his mouth.

Fuck, he knew how to make you forget.

Every suck, every kitten lick was a whisper of desire, slow and deliberate, pulling you deeper into a place you hadn’t been since the last time he was with you.

Holy shit, you thought, Why is he so good at that? It’s unfair.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing lazy, intimate patterns across your ribs and along your waist while he dove in deeper, shifting his head to the side to get a better angle into your needy pussy. The contrast between his cool fingertips and the heat of your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him.

He moved with a speed that was almost unbearable, lips exploring, tasting, worshipping the apex of your pleasure.

Then, he slipped two fingers into your hole – right where yours had been only half an hour earlier – and began to move them around.

You felt your body begin to unravel beneath him, nerves alight and skin humming with pleasure from his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently as if to pull him closer, to keep him where you could feel him – close enough to burn.

“Oh my fucking god,” You pleaded, “Please– Fuck, don’t stop.”

His tongue drew expert shapes over your clit, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses that made your breath shudder. At the same time, his fingers crooked up, easily finding your G-spot like he knew your body better than you did.

The ache in your belly deepened, a delicious tension tightening in your core. You pressed into him, arching higher, wanting more of the way he made you feel – wanted, alive, undone. The room shrank around you, fading until all that mattered was the warmth of his lips on your heat and the steady rhythm of his mouth, the way your moans tangled together in the thick air.

At the curve of your hip, he paused, lips pressing a tender kiss that made your entire body pulse with need. Then, as if savoring the moment, he licked a stripe from the bottom to the top, then back down again – sucking you into his mouth again and again until you were seeing fucking stars.

A raunchy moan escaped you, breath ragged and trembling, as the sensation built inside like a wave about to crash.

His hands roamed higher now, tracing the sensitive skin just below your ribs, fingers splayed as though to hold you together even as you fell apart. You were burning alive in the best way, consumed by the torment of his touch.

But even as the fire inside you blazed, a part of your mind whispered warning, reminding you of the promises made, the lines drawn, the distance you’d sworn to keep. The tangled mix of desire and caution pulled at you, making your breath shallow, heart hammering in your chest.

You wanted to surrender completely, to fall into the heat of the moment and forget everything else, but a flicker of doubt held you back.

“Fuck!” You cried out, “So good, just like that–”

Still, the pull of him was too strong. Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails digging gently into his scalp, urging him closer. Your body arched instinctively, craving the fullness of him, the weight of him pressed against you. The ache in your stomach was no longer just frustration – it was need. Raw, undeniable need.

His eyes lifted to meet yours briefly, dark and searching, filled with something you couldn’t name but recognized deep in your bones. For a heartbeat, the world stood still – just the two of you, caught between the pull of what was right and what felt inevitable.

Breaking away to gasp for air, he spoke gruffly, “Look at me. You close?”

“Mhm!” Was all you managed to get out. While his mouth had broken away, his fingers hadn’t slowed down one bit. No, they kept on massaging that spot inside of you, pulling the strings of your orgasm apart bit by fucking bit.

God, you were so fucking close.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” He groaned.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his lips back to your pussy, trailing kisses down your neck, each one a soft promise, a whispered plea. Your breath hitched again, body trembling under the weight of sensation. The sound you made was quiet but full of everything you were holding back: longing, desperation, the ache of missing him more than you could say.

You let your fingers drift lower, exploring the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, needing to feel every part of him close. The heat of his touch, the softness of his lips against your skin, it all made your head spin.

You told him you needed a break.

And yet, here you were, unraveling on his face, unable to resist.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ cum,” You gasped out, clawing at the sheets with one hand, tugging at his ponytail with the other, “Fuck, don’t stop–”

With a small, breathless sigh, you finally let go. The walls you’d built around yourself crumbled, piece by piece, as you surrendered to the moment. Your body melted beneath him, every nerve ending alive and aching for more. The tension that had coiled inside you snapped free, leaving you trembling and undone.

You came hard. His hands held you steady, grounding you as you gave in completely. You arched into him, lost to the sensation, to the feeling of being seen and wanted and held. It was messy, raw, and beautiful all at once.

You rode out the waves of it, hips jumping against his face, smearing an obscene mix of your juices and his spit all over his face.

You came down slowly, the heat inside you fading into a delicious ache that spread through your limbs and settled deep in your bones. Your breath was ragged, chest rising and falling unevenly, your skin slick with sweat, every nerve ending humming with aftershocks. That desperate, raw craving that had driven you moments ago still lingered, like a spark waiting to ignite again.

It was only then that he broke away.

Aki’s breathing was heavy too, rough and uneven, his chest rising and falling. His hair was wild, tousled in all the right ways, bangs falling over his forehead, sticky with sweat. His eyes caught yours, wild and hungry, like he was burning from the inside out, like he couldn’t get enough.

He pushed himself up, slow and sure. Then, with the bottom half of his face still dripping wet, he leaned in and kissed you – with a hell of a lot of tongue, like he wanted you to see how you tasted.

I need more, You thought.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid over his chest, fingertips dragging lightly across hot skin, as you pushed him down onto the bed with a slow, fierce smile. Your hips settled onto his, straddling him, the heat between your bodies scorching through the thin fabric of your clothes. Like they were personally at fault for the fact that he wasn’t buried inside of you at the moment, you wiggled out of your shorts and cast them to the side.

Your next mission? To get Aki out of those damn sweatpants and into your guts.

Your hands slid down to the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling just a little as you pulled them down, slow and deliberate. The cool air kissed the skin it revealed, sending goosebumps racing along his hips. That pretty dick of his bounced free, hard as hell and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.

Without hesitation, you shifted forward, pressing your warmth against it, grinding slowly at first, testing the reaction. Then, once you looked down at him and saw the need in his eyes, you lined up with him and sank the rest of the way down

His breath hitched on a moan – a low, ragged sound that vibrated through your chest – and you felt it in your own throat.

“God,” he hissed.

“Fucking hell,” You gasped out, reveling in the feeling of him splitting you open from this angle.

Your movements grew bolder, more urgent, hips rolling with more intent as the heat between you flared higher. You braced your hands on his chest, fucking back onto his dick over and over again like you were on a fucking mission. You could hear the soft, desperate noises slipping past your lips, the rough sound of his breathing quickening.

God, I missed this.

You were both flushed, your skin slick with heat, breaths uneven and voices tangled in quiet need. Your heart pounded like a drum in your ears, the air thick with tension that wrapped around you both like a second skin. Every time he bottomed out inside of you, your nerves burned so deliciously that you couldn’t help but moan, whine, cry out for him like you didn’t have neighbors.

He shifted beneath you, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you, steady you. In tandem, you shifted your weight onto the balls of your feet, adjusting your hands on his chest to give you enough leverage to start bouncing a little harder, pressing your body flush to his, feeling the tight coil of desire building between you. You could feel how much he wanted you – not just the wild hunger in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, and the tremble in his breath, but in the way he fucking throbbed inside of you, filling you out like you were molded to the shape of him.

Your moans mingled, quiet and needy, filling the space between you like a secret language only you two understood.

Aki’s eyes were still on you, wild and storm-colored, lashes low and damp from the heat of the moment. His hair was a mess, falling into his boyish face in loose strands, some of it clinging to his cheek, others caught behind his ear.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, not even if you tried. Not from the way he looked at you. Not from the way his hands settled at your hips.

And God, the way he exhaled. A sound so low and shaky you felt it in your throat.

“You look good on top of me,” He noted with a hum.

"You're… ridiculous," you murmured, but there was no venom behind it. Just breathlessness.

"Yeah?" His voice was raspy, fingers twitching slightly on your hips. “You look like you’re about to pass out and still won’t slow down.”

"I can't," you admitted. “Feels too good.”

His hands shifted, gliding from your hips to your thighs, squeezing once – slow and grounding – and you shivered. Every inch of your skin was alive, electric with how close you were. How warm his abs felt under you, how his every breath moved you with it. His sweatpants had ridden low on his hips, just enough for you to be able to fuck him without wasting time on getting them off.

You moved again, faster this time. Testing. Letting the friction build in small, incremental waves. And when your breath hitched, he breathed out a curse, gripping your thighs just a little tighter.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So desperate for it. You’re squeezing me, Baby.”

You rolled your hips again in response, slow, deliberate. “Like you’re any better,” you whispered.

His hands slid up to your waist again, holding you steady now as your rhythm faltered from how sensitive you’d become. You tried to say something smart, something teasing, but all that came out was a stuttering moan when he guided your hips up, down, up, down.

“Doing so good for me,” he said softly, just beneath his breath, like he couldn’t fucking believe it. “Shit, this pussy was made for me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, half-choked by the way your legs were starting to tremble. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“Why?” He hummed, the sound of it low and amused, but warm. “You gonna fall apart on me again?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

You were too busy fucking his brains out.

Everything was getting fuzzy. Your hands slid up his chest, over the curve of his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him. Your body moved without thought now, chasing the high, chasing the warmth of his voice and the press of his fingers and the way he let you use him without question.

You were wetter than you had been moments ago. In fact, every time you bounced up and down, the most sinful sounds came from your bodies – squelching, moaning, fucking.

And Aki looked like he was about to break.

He watched your mouth fall open. Watched your lashes flutter. Watched your head tip back and your fingers clench and your rhythm stutter. You clenched down around him like you would die if he slipped out, even for a moment.

“Come here,” he whispered, sitting up just enough to press his forehead to yours.

You let your arms wrap around him, forehead pressed back to his. Your nose brushed his, your breaths tangled, and he held you like you were something fragile again. Like this wasn’t just a release, but something more. Something heavier.

And when your thighs finally started to give out—when your body gave that last little twitch of exhaustion—he didn’t hesitate.

He caught you. Picked you up. Shifted you back without a word and guided you against him, moving you in his lap with an urgency that made your eyes sting.

You let him. And, somehow, he slid even deeper in.

“Oh my god,” You gasped out.

Let him take over, let him hold you, guide you, let him breathe your name in that low, reverent way that always turned your bones to ash.

You weren’t thinking straight. Not about the breakroom, not about the space you’d asked for. Not about how complicated everything had gotten between you.

Right now, there was only him.

Only Aki, fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

Only the warmth of his skin and the rasp of his voice and the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together you swore there was nothing left between you. Just tension. Just longing. Just heat.

And when he finally let go, when you felt the tremble of it in his body, the quiet gasps against your collarbone, the way he pulled you in closer.

You knew.

You could lie to yourself all you wanted about needing distance, about making clean breaks. But deep down, you were already his.

“Aki–” You cried out, fucking back onto his dick while he moved you up and down. “‘M gonna fucking cum.”

“I’ve got you,” Aki murmured, voice low and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around your back. One hand slid to your spine, fingers splayed there, grounding you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Your breath caught, staggered, stuck in your throat like a sob. You couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore.

A tremor ran through your limbs, and then you gasped, sharply, while the world tilted on axis. You came for the second time that night, and it was glorious. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, his chest, your thighs trembled, and you burst like a bubble on top of him.

You collapsed onto him a moment later.

Your chest pressed flush to his, your forehead landing clumsily against the curve of his neck. Your hands found his shoulders, warm and solid and shaking just slightly beneath your fingers, and clung there, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

But it was hard. Everything was spinning.

Your eyes fluttered open, catching his wild gaze. For a moment, everything slowed down. The tension, the chaos, the confusion all melted away, leaving just the two of you.

And then it hit you – like a spark igniting a fire you hadn’t dared admit before.

You realized, really fucking realized, just how deep this went.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you pressed your forehead to his neck. The words tumbled out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent, carried on the heat of the moment.

“I love you,” you gasped, voice breaking.

His breath hitched too, a sharp intake just as his body tensed beneath you. His fingers clenched at your back, and you felt the pulse of him deep inside of you as he finally came, sending shockwaves up your spine. He finished with the prettiest, most velvety moan you’d ever heard, eyes and head rolling back while he reached his peak, spilling heat into your guts.

He was breathing hard, too – quick, uneven exhales. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your thighs, the warmth of his skin, the steady drum of his heart.

Then, like he just processed what you’d said, he looked at you, “What?”

Your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. “I… I love you.”

There was a pause, long and heavy, but he didn’t say it back. You hadn’t expected him to.

But, fuck, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I…” He trailed off.

You lay on him after, your breath still shaky, the weight of your confession hanging in the quiet between you. Your fingers traced faint circles on his chest as you tried to steady yourself, as he pulled his pants back up over his hips.

Breathe.

“You don’t have to say it back, but…” you whispered. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He stayed silent for a moment.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you continued, voice soft but steady. “And… I think this has to be the last time. The last time we’re like this.”

“Okay,” he finally said, still sounding out of it.

“Okay?” Your voice cracked with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? After everything?”

“What more do you want me to say?” His voice was low, tired. “I can’t ask you to stay. It would be unfair.” He sighed deeply. “My heart can’t be in it. You deserve something better than that.”

You searched his face, desperate for something real. “Is it, though? Is your heart in it? Because one minute, you don’t give a shit, but the next, you’re asking to see me, telling me you care, that I’m your favorite girl. I think you’re bullshitting me.” Your voice broke, the ache coming to the surface. “I can’t keep doing this – the back and forth, the waiting. It’s messing with my head.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than I probably should. But this job… it doesn’t leave any room for that. Getting close like this – it’s dangerous. There’s no place for love in Public Safety,” He opened his eyes again, meeting your gaze with raw honesty. “Besides, you deserve more than half of me. I can’t… be what you need.”

He was breaking your fucking heart. The worst part? You couldn’t even hate him for it.

No, he was right.

There was no place for love in your line of work.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Aki. I need you to be real.” You searched his face, desperate to find some flicker of what you knew was there beneath the walls he put up. “It’s more than just Public Safety… You say you don’t feel anything, that you can’t. But the way you act– the way you look at me sometimes – tells me otherwise. Make up your fucking mind!”

He looked at you then, that usual armor faltering for just a second. He was at a loss for words, and for once, you saw the man beneath the surface – the one caught between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.

“I meant what I said,” You continued, “But, God, you’re such a fucking dick sometimes.”

“I told you from the start that this would be a bad idea,” He retorted, furrowing his brows. “Don’t act like you didn’t beg me to do it anyway– like you weren’t the one who begged me to come over here tonight. Yeah, maybe I’m a dick, but you’re just as guilty as I am.”

The sting of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, the accusation wrapped in truth. You had pushed, pressed, begged for moments like this even though the consequences loomed large. You’d been the one to open the door, to invite chaos in, and now it was crashing down around you.

You couldn’t even blame him.

You felt the ache settle deep inside – the hurt of being called out but also the frustration of the tangled mess you both had created.

He sighed, the fight draining from him. The tension in his shoulders softened, his voice dropping to something quieter, almost remorseful. “That was mean. I’m sorry. Look, I think we should talk–”

Your heart hammered in your chest, raw and aching, but your voice was firm, trembling with the weight of everything you couldn’t say aloud. “I don’t want to talk.”

“But, I–”

“I think you should leave,” you cut him off, the anger simmering just beneath your words. “You were right. This won’t work.”

“Maybe I should,” he said back, voice low, heavy with a weight you could almost see pressing down on him. He looked as if he was about to say something else, something that could change everything, but the words got stuck, lost somewhere between his heart and his mind. Instead, he simply looked at you, conflicted, torn.

He slid out of bed slowly, like he was trying to avoid the inevitable.

He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, the fabric slipping over his skin like a barrier between the two of you. You watched him, your chest tightening, every second feeling like you were fucking dying inside.

He paused by the door, turning to face you one last time. His eyes were dark and serious, but there was something softer there too – regret, perhaps.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered quietly, the apology so heavy it seemed to fill the room with silence.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but it echoed through your chest, louder than anything else had ever been before. You sat there frozen for a moment, the quiet swallowing you whole.

And then the dam broke.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, sliding down your cheeks, burning your skin. Your whole body shook as you sank into the mattress, overwhelmed by the weight of everything – the love you couldn’t hold, the future you’d lost, the man you wanted so desperately but couldn’t keep.

You cried until there was nothing left but the memory of his face – dejected, words on the tip of his tongue – when you had sent him away.

Had he been about to say it back? You thought. No, don’t be ridiculous.

You slapped the pillow over your face, groaning into it.

If I’m doing the right thing, then why does it feel so wrong?

All you knew was that you'd sent him away, and it felt like you'd just fired a gun through your chest.

a/n: how are yall? im sorry lol. as i said over on tumblr, we're going to see more glimpses into aki's mind as the story progresses to its conclusion. will that be a good thing? stay tuned ;) as always, feel free to say hi or drop a comment telling me what you thought (if you hate me, thats okay too, feel free to let it out. this is a safe space lMKFAOAOAO). love you all!! x (dont worry, i'll do some damage control. trust the process.)

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#prnstar •#are they lovers? worse #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut #aki fluff

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xamiah · 24 days ago

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐀 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

___

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

'𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.'

___

There have been plenty of times in my eighteen fucked up years on this planet when I've realised - too late - that I was completely, hopelessly fucked.

One of those 'Oh Shit!' moments when it hits you that nothing you do or say will change what's coming next. When all you can do is stand there, frozen, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole.

This is one of those moments.

Except this time, I know I'll be stuck for a while.

Trees. Trees. And more fucking trees.

For years, all I wanted was to get out of Hawkins. To put that place in my rearview and never look back. And now that I have? It feels like some kind of sick joke. There's nothing out here - just an endless smear of green outside the window, mile after mile of sameness. I don't know what I expected. Something different, at least. Something more.

I pictured myself tearing down the highway in some swish muscle car, music blaring, wind ripping through my hair. Instead, I'm crammed into a rust-bucket of a bus, rattling down some nameless road with a bunch of other screw-ups, heading toward a fate I didn't choose.

A deep pothole jolts the seat, rattling my spine, but I barely react. I'm used to rides like this. Bumpy. Uncomfortable. Leading to places I don't want to be.

There's a kind of silence that comes with knowing you're out of options. Not real silence - this bus is filled with an all familiar rowdiness of laughter and shouting - but an internal stillness. The kind that settles in your bones when you realize there's no running, no talking your way out of this.

I've been here before. Different place, same feeling.

When you grow up like I did, the world makes its decision about you early on. You're someone else's problem to solve. Another name in a file, passed from one set of hands to the next. I've seen enough foster homes to know the pattern. At first, it's all careful smiles and empty reassurances, like they're trying to convince themselves they actually give a shit. But it never lasts. Give it a few months, and suddenly, everything about you is wrong. The way you talk. The way you act. The way you dress. How you breathe too loudly and get in the way when they're already having a bad day.

And then eventually, you're back in the system. Back in some caseworker's stale-smelling office while they flip through your file like you're a list of problems they have to fix.

Sometimes, they found me a new home before I had time to process the last one. Sometimes, they didn't. I've spent nights curled up in bus stations, hiding in laundromats, walking streets I didn't belong in. I've stolen when I had to. Drank when I could. Fought when I had no other choice. It never mattered - the system always caught up with me in the end.

And this time, instead of juvie, I'm here.

Hawkins Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, made sure of that.

He sat across from me in that cramped office I'd been in a million times before, looking at me with those same old sympathetic eyes. Like he wanted to believe I could be more than what my file said I was. I could've laughed in his face. I don't need his sympathy. I don't need his support. He wasn't the first person to try and steer me onto some so-called better path - though I guess he is the most persistent. Unlike the others, he didn't waste his breath on lectures or empty threats. He just laid it out, plain and simple: this 'program', or juvie.

As if there was ever a real choice.

I don't even know what they're calling this place. A camp? A program? Some last-ditch attempt to turn kids like me into something society can stomach. A few months out in the woods, under the watchful eye of staff who probably hate us before we even get there.

Apparently, it's better than a jail cell.

I'm not so sure.

You'd think turning eighteen would mean freedom. A fresh start. But think again. Jim Hopper? He doesn't give up that easily.

I glance around at the bus, taking in the state of it. Every scratch on the faded seats, every lump of dried gum clinging to the fabric, every crack in the windows feels like proof of just how forgotten this place - and we - really are.

The whole thing is a mess. This bus, this program, this whole goddamn life.

The bus jerks violently... again. Its engine growls as it slams into another pothole. The sudden lurch sending another fresh jolt of pain through my spine, rattling my bones like the whole thing might shake apart. A loud curse erupts from somewhere up front, followed by a round of obnoxious complaints.

I clench my jaw.

The other kids are loud. Rowdy. A couple of them had been throwing punches earlier, just to kill time, while the rest egged them on like it was entertainment. One guy has spent the last hour banging his head against the window in a mind-numbing rhythm, and the two girls behind me haven't stopped whispering and snickering since we got on.

It's exhausting.

I'm not here to make friends.

I learned a long time ago that friendships - real ones - aren't for people like me. The closest I ever came was falling in with the wrong crowds, the kinds of people who didn't ask questions as long as you played along. I knew how to blend in when I had to. I could fight when I needed to. And I had, plenty of times - at school, in parking lots, behind convenience stores when the wrong person looked at me sideways. But none of it had ever mattered.

No matter how hard I hit, the world always hits back harder.

The bus squeaks as it slows. Gravel crunches beneath the tires as we pull off the road, the entire vehicle shuddering in protest before finally grinding to a stop.

For a moment, I don't move.

The others surge forward, shoving their way to the front, tripping over each other like they actually think this place might be better than what they left behind. I feel no such urgency.

This isn't freedom. It's just another kind of cage. And yet, as I sit there, something stirs. A flicker of something close to rebellion. For the first time, Hawkins isn't weighing me down, isn't trapping me in its suffocating grip. The town, with all its dead ends and disappointments, is finally behind me. And maybe - just maybe - this is my chance. Not to change. Not to be saved. But to escape.

I just have to be smart this time. Careful.

Reckless mistakes landed me here. Another one may just get me sent somewhere worse.

Taking a breath, I finally force myself to stand. The bus door creaks open, the thick heat of the afternoon pressing in as I step onto solid ground. Dust swirls around my boots, kicked up by the others as they spread out, taking in the sight before us.

It's just as miserable as I'd imagined - an ugly sprawl of weathered wooden cabins, boxed in by dense, uncaring woods. The faded letters and peeling paint spoke of decades of neglect, like no one had bothered to care in a long time. And yet, right in the center of it all, is a lake - calm, glassy, catching the sunlight just right. It's the only thing here that doesn't look like death.

I didn't expected much, but this?

This is a prison with trees and kayaks.

A tall metal sign looms overhead, hanging between two large logs, its paint cracked and peeling, exposing the orange rust beneath.

'CAMP NIGHTWING'.

___

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝟏,𝟐𝟓𝟔

___

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 - 𝐌𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞

#stranger things #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #enemies to lovers #slow burn #forbidden love #slow burn romance #billy hargove smut #billy hargove imagine #angst with feelings #angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fandom #oc #fanfiction

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verdemoun · 11 months ago

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i'm sorry i have to ask for more Callander boys stuff in the timewarp au please and thank you

yes i am a little in love with them

kieran is convinced the magic of friendship would have meant him and mac would have been friends even in canon era due to their love of horses and general complimentary personalities

mac would laugh at this suggestion. he had been the one to suggest the gelding tongs as an intimidation tactic, and if he had been there when they captured kieran it wouldn't have been just a threat. part of bill's enthusiasm to use them was to be able to tell mac the story afterwards (but mac never came home)

it really threw the gang that mac was the one who was able to settle down out of the two. davey had always seemed like the more level-headed, and sort of his brother's keeper. davey only had to say the word and mac would snuff out whatever red-tinted spree of violence he was on

the difference is, when mac was asked 'what are you good at other than robbing, smoking, shooting and killing', he admitted he didn't know. davey insisted that was all he was good at, and it was all he wanted to be good at.

mac had a very normal childhood. the callanders parents both worked, his mom was a seamstress, his dad worked at the general store. mac went to school. he wasn't a good student, wasn't a bad student. he had the perfect, average, nuclear 1870s life.

their father was crushed by a wagon in a freak accident, and their mother passed away of illness shortly after (she had turned to prostitution to keep her boys fed, which is something mac did not know. following her death, mac would react violently whenever someone mentioned it)

mac was raising davey from the time he was 10, and davey was only 4. mac would have done anything to give his brother a normal life - if davey had ever wanted a normal life. but when mac was insisting he would teach davey how to read and ride a horse, davey was asking how to shoot a gun, how mac steals things from stores without getting caught.

yes davey was too young to remember any different and yes maybe davey could have been a different person if he actually experienced a stable life but by the time he timewarped he didn't have the desire to. it was too alien. davey was a willfully lost cause

despite being brothers they just had insanely different mindsets based on their experiences despite sharing them. mac is capable of choosing good, but situations where he sees violence as the only option is most situations because he will catastrophic think into how it could be a threat to himself or davey's life so readily

davey, however, would always choose violence. people would rather rob with mac because sure there's a 90% chance of it becoming a shoot out but if a coach had women and children in it? mac would walk away. davey would argue that it just meant it was an easy target but because he could be reasoned with, unlike mac who would make a decision and stick with it, none of the gang saw it as a red flag

when mac was learning how to be a functioning adult post-prison in timewarp someone as a joke got him a bright 'nervous rescue give me space' shirt and it is unironically one of the comfiest things he owns so he wears it constantly

lenny never liked davey and this only worsens as post release. sean immediately offers to take davey out to a casino which becomes a regular thing because they were similarly reckless pals back in the day. except davey hasn't changed at all and sean loses hundreds if not thousands of dollars in poker before lenny puts his foot down

#rdr2 timewarp au #mac callander #davey callander

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amarantine-amirite · 1 year ago

Text

Hotel Pools

The pool at the Four Seasons has this ice cube wall separating the pool area from the corridor, blue and pink lights in the water, and a large bay window overlooking the city. It's the perfect place for a nice paddle.

I shouldn't be here. I'm a freshman who hitched a ride on a trip meant for the senior class. I have no clue about the nature of this trip, but it feels suffocating. The group seems to spend most of their time arguing with each other. Escaping to the pool was a much-needed respite from all their drama.

I thought I had the place to myself, but no. An irritated blonde woman sitting in one of the pool chairs facing out the window stopped typing on her laptop to raise her voice at me. "Can you not splash so much?" she remarked disapprovingly, "I don't want my laptop to get water damage."

I'd been spotted. Now, I would have attempted to convince her that she saw nothing, but I couldn't fathom how the splashing would affect her laptop. Her seat didn't even face the pool. More importantly, I found her decision to temporarily set up an office beside the pool quite perplexing. "Why do you have your laptop on the pool deck?" I asked.

"A fire recently damaged our offices," she sighed, a weariness etched on her face, "This pool deck was the only space we could get."

I couldn't help but express how baffled I was. "You don't want me to splash...in a pool?" I chuckled, "Surely you could set up shop somewhere other than a pool deck."

"We don't have a choice," a brunette chimed in with a stern tone, she seemed desperate to get back to her work. "Michelle told you about the fire, right?"

"She did, but working from home is a perfectly good option these days," I nodded, "You don't need to set up an office on a pool deck."

"Just stop splashing so much."

Being told not to slosh water around on the deck seems to make the problem worse, and I'm not really sure why. The potentially waterlogged computers are their problem, not mine. I just ignored them and went back to what I was doing.

After doing a few laps of butterfly, I looked up and saw Michelle left to charge her battery and the brunette came back with the spa manager. Seeing the spa manager make his way into the pool deck made me jump. What if he rats me out?

"I'm trying to do my work and this kid keeps splashing too much while swimming." She said, pointing at me as she talked to the spa manager. "Can you tell her to splash less?"

The spa manager took one look at the laptop in her hands and replied, "Did you really think asking somebody to stop splashing because people are working on laptops by the pool was going to work?"

"No, but it could make for a funny story," I laughed, "I mean, why set up laptops next to a pool in the first place?"

The spa manager sighed, "Listen, lady, what did you think was going to happen at the pool?"

The brunette blinked. "My point exactly," I said. I really didn't expect this to break my way.

The brunette scoffed, rolled her eyes, and stormed out. The spa manager went back to the main entrance, mumbling something about how he should have been an air traffic controller because they don't have to deal with stupid people.

Now, you can compare me to someone who seemingly put effort into sloshing gallons of water onto the deck and pulled a hissy fit when asked to be more aware of how much water they dumped outside of the pool. But the truth of the matter is that electronics don't belong near pools.

@write-it-motherfuckers

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #short stories #short fiction #flash fiction #flash fic friday

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years ago

Note

I’m still for team JK but as said he needs to grovel, hurt and suffer before he even gets a chance back with OC. A little Tae and Yoongles pampering wouldn’t hurt either.

Man… we are invested in this mess aren’t we? 😂

We surely are, but I'm not complaining dw

---

"You really seem to like car rides." Taehyung offers, while you enjoy the fresh air and scenery passing by, nodding. Your hybrid tags chime a little bit as they clatter against one another from the force of the breeze. You close your eyes.

He's realized after Yoongi had spoken to him about it that you become quiet when you're happy. Both men are not sure why, but they just assume that you're someone who enjoys certain things in a more silent way than others would - and that's totally fine.

"We can get some food later, eat it at home. Tannie is surely waiting." He says, and you nod. The small dog and you have connected well- it confused him at first how Taehyung managed to treat you so differently and yet still include you both in everyday activities, but by now it's gotten easy.

You realize that you're not the same as either- Taehyung or Tannie- and that's fine. You're simply something different.

The singer has rules set to make life easier and keep everything balanced at home, for both you and the tiny full blooded dog. They're not the same, but some of them have similarities; like no biting, no unnecessary yelling, or no stealing food. It gives you a sense of security knowing the clear guidelines of how to behave, it reassures you that even when things get hectic you can still be sure that if Taehyung gets irritated it's not your fault.

It's nice.

Obviously, it's not the same as it was with Jungkook.

You miss home and how it was before everything changed. You sometimes dream of home back in that state, just to wake up disappointed that reality isn't what it used to be back then. It leads to feeling guilty, because both Taehyung and Yoongi try hard to make everything easy on you.

You wonder what Jungkook is doing these days.

He asks about you, you know that. He visits, too, but Taehyung and Yoongi both told you that that's not good for either of you because you both just get upset by it. You, because you crave home with him, and him, because he's still trying to sort everything out. He's trying hard.

One thing that surprised you was how yesterday, Jungkook had openly apologized to you. Over a small takeout meal with Yoongi and Tae present, he'd admitted to having rushed the decision to adopt Bam - that he didn't think that he just did what he thought was a good thing. He didn't attempt to justify lile he usually would - he just apologized. Just stated that he was sorry.

It made things awkward for a second, but it also gave you hope.

When asked about the big puppy, Jungkook had explained that he was now staying at his parent's home. His dad really liked the dog, and Jungkook felt a bit better knowing that they had a somewhat guard dog now. Of course, he had admitted that it felt wrong to just.. push him aside like that- but 'just giving him back wasn't an option. It would've been unfair- and by doing this, he's still part of the family and happy.', he'd explained.

It made you rest a bit easier, knowing that Bam didn't have to suffer any true consequences. That he was still there.

You really would've hated yourself if he had had to leave.

"Sleepy?" Taehyung chuckles, running a hand over your head. You shake your head, though it's clear that the eventful day had taken a good chunk of energy from you. Shopping bags in the back a result from picking up some designer items the singer had requested for. Collars and hybrid-friendly clothing that you had told him you liked, as well as stuffed toys and other things like treats and snacks contained in the various colored bags filling the back seat. You'd felt a bit bad at first, but by now, you've accepted it as something he willingly offered. There was no reason to feel like you didn't deserve it.

Still, you held onto the oddly shaped cat-plush at night, stuffed animal still holding the scent of Jungkook's apartment. Of home, after all.

You hope everything will sort itself out soon.

Days with Tae are sometimes happy, sometimes eventful, and sometimes simply quiet and calm- and you're glad you get to spend time with him. He's a great owner and friend, but at the end of the day, home is where your heart is.

And maybe you've simply forgotten it at Jungkooks place.

Maybe you'll have to go and pick it up yourself.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #taehyung imagine #hybrid imagine

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wafflesetc · 2 years ago

Note

""... I’ve got my own thoughts on that whole thing, but that’s for another post. At the end of the day, I think we’ll get more by the end of the season. I just don’t know what, or if we’ll like it. But time will tell. ""

Can't wait to see that post, I would love to hear your thoughts. I totally agree with you I think what happens to Hailey and Jay will really depend on what Tracy does. And I don't think we will like the outcome if she stays but I really don't want Tracy to leave as well. So many conflicting thoughts. What Tracy said in that interview to Emily is always in the back of my head so I am just going to prepare for the worst and if anything else happens it will be a positive surprise. On the other hand if they were going to separate I still don't understand why they just couldn't do it at the beginning, it would have changed nothing in this Hailey story line.

Hi, I am sorry this has taken a few days to answer. Life got a little hectic. I am going to start by saying - this is all purely speculation and my own ideas.

Ultimately, I am not going to be completely shocked whether she decides to go or if she decides to stay. She has something special with PD. It's a great cast, great crew, on a long time running procedural drama. It's stability in a sense for an actor, so is that something she wants to give up. She's got something that some actors search for a long time for and she's only been there for five years, where everyone else has been there just about a decade. I could see how that might be something she's not ready to give up yet.

However, I can see where she may be itching to start branching out. Her article with Michigan Ave last year she talked about writing and producing. Then as you mentioned, her interview with Emily. (I am not Emily's biggest fan - soI don't take much credibility in that article, but still, I do count it to a small extent). I also see what they are doing to Hailey this season. They are putting her through the wringer, since her husband has left. On a professional level, that has to be exhausting, constantly taking Hailey to these emotional, physical depths has at some point start to get exhausting. On a personal level, her best friend, screen partner of nearly five years is gone too - the entire day at work looks different. So she's adjusting to a whole new personal level of set while also dealing with Hailey finding a new normal. It's got to be taxing. So the end of the day, which one wins?

I'm not sure, and I can't really tell yet. But like I said, either way, I don't think I will be fully surprised.

The thing with Upstead for me is this: they didn't have to do this, but they did. They could have chosen to transfer him within the CPD, they could have separated them at the beginning, etc. It would still make this hard for her no matter what.

I think if Tracy stays, things will probably go in a way we don't like. If she doesn't stay, well I could see them riding of into the sunset. (There is also the third option, the more hail Mary move I'd argue, where she does stay, somehow he comes home off camera and they stay together - but given how they are already handling him being gone, I just don't really see this option right now….But they could fool us. )

So yes, that's more or less my thoughts on Tracy right now.

Personally, I want her to stay because I love Hailey. I also want her to go because I'd love to see her spread her wings. Regardless of all of that, I hope she does chose what she wants to do.

I’d say that whatever the decision is, would probably be made by now, or there’s a general consensus between her and the writers on where she is headed/leaning towards so that they have the time to *properly* write her off if she is leaving.

#Ask Waffs

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usermischief · 4 years ago

Text

Perfect on Paper

♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Lori Rohr ♜Warnings: / ♜Words: 9318 ♜ Writing Prompt: “It’s cold. You should take my jacket.”

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"Don’t worry about it," Lori announces, curling next to him into the limited space the armchair has to offer. "He's been stressing out for the past three months." Her grin is bright when Stiles scoots over to make room for her. Coming from a very human-like pack, it took Stiles quite some time to adapt to how tactile the Ito pack is. The younger ones are most likely to climb all over him, and even Lori with her fifteen years has zero qualms about squeezing herself into an armchair that's clearly made for only one person. Despite taking a bit of time to adjust, Stiles can’t think of any other way to hang out with them. Sure, he could’ve chosen the Deaton route and kept his distance to the pack he’s working with, but Stiles isn’t a fan of that idea. He’s more of a hands on person. And so far, everyone seems to have been okay with it… and everything else.

Until now, that is. "I'm not worried." Stiles is very worried. There’s still the risk that perhaps this is the weekend Brett realizes she’s made the wrong decision. There are better choices for an emissary than Stiles. To be honest, he’s still not sure why Brett asked him in the first place. With a renowned alpha like Satomi, Brett had so many people to choose from. So many better options, easier options. There must’ve been a bunch of people who have so much more experience than him.

Lori kicks her legs up on the coffee table with a quiet huff. "Just because you keep your heart steady doesn't mean I can't tell that you're lying."

"I'm not—" Stiles cuts himself off and shoots her a look. "I'm just confused." About a lot of things, but mostly Brett completely ignoring him. He’d asked him multiple times if Brett is sure about Stiles joining him on this trip. It’s not like he had to be here. This is mostly about Brett officially becoming Satomi’s successor. They could’ve introduced Stiles as his emissary on any other day. But Brett told him it’s fine every time. Now, it doesn’t seem to be fine at all — and Stiles has no clue what changed between them leaving this noon to now. They talked normally during the car ride. They checked out the hotel… then the meeting between the alphas happened.

"I think you mean irritated."

"Lori."

She laughs despite knowing full well how much Stiles hates being monitored. It's not even about keeping secrets from the pack, but about not wanting to talk about his feelings. Like that one time, Brett went home with somebody a month or so after Stiles agreed to become his emissary. The pack knew something was up, Stiles could see it in the way they scrunched their noses and turned their heads to look at him, brows drawn together. Nobody asked besides Brett, and Stiles wondered if the other werewolves could tell why Stiles felt like shit. He still wonders if Brett knew exactly what was going on and simply decided to be polite — or pretend he didn’t see what’s probably super obvious at this point.

After enjoying herself for far too long, Lori pats his leg. “As I said, he’s been freaking out for a while now.”

"He never seemed that worried." Stiles cuts his gaze back to Brett, who's been hanging out with a group of beta werewolves. He doesn’t even have a reason to be worried. Why should he be? Satomi is a highly respected alpha, he already has his emissary, and he’s a born wolf. All of that should relax him. Unless he’s worried about Stiles being his emissary. But he wouldn’t have asked him, and Satomi certainly wouldn’t have agreed, if there had been any doubts.

Lori tips her head back. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Brett laughs, twisting a dart between his fingers. It’s hard to imagine Brett hiding anything. He’s always comfortable in his skin. He’s always on top of everything. When they drove to San Francisco, he looked out of the window, sunlight dancing on his stupidly handsome face, and a strange glint in his eyes as he talked Stiles through a few rules he should abide by to make it easier on all of them. One of the most important ones was to keep a polite distance from the other packs and especially the alphas — just in case. And Stiles understands why. Precautions or no precautions, slipping up is easy. A second of inattention and Stiles could put himself in an awkward situation. However, the thing is, Stiles didn't expect that keeping his distance from the alphas meant keeping his distance from Brett as well.

“Do you know what they spoke about?”

“Who?” Lori shifts on the chair, furrowing her brows.

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to look away from Brett and the other werewolves. “The meeting with the alphas… what do you think they talked about?” Although Stiles knew that the meeting was happening shortly after they arrived, he never really bothered to ask what it would be about. But now that Brett is being so distant, he regrets not asking.

“Oh.” Lori scratches the side of her nose. “The usual, I guess.”

“The usual? What’s the usual?” Stiles can’t tell if he simply doesn’t know enough about the world of werewolves, or if Lori and the pack keep forgetting that he’s been introduced to the supernatural not even two years ago.

Lori crosses her legs. “Well, they probably asked Satomi if she’s sure because Brett is so young. They will talk about Brett’s training, what his plans for the future pack are, when he will become alpha, if he has an emissary.” She pulls her shoulders up into a half-hearted shrug. “That’s usually how these conversations go.”

Great. The alphas most likely already asked Brett about him. Maybe that’s why he’s acting so distant. Maybe they already sowed some doubts. It’s likely a few of the alphas voiced their opinions on such a young and completely inexperienced emissary. Sure, Satomi agreed, but in the end, it is Brett’s choice, and it’s possible that even someone as stubborn as Brett Talbot might lose confidence in his decision if he’s met with too much skepticism. He should probably ask Brett. Just to make sure.

Lori nudges him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles lets out a long breath and glances at Lori. “You wanna watch a movie?” Sitting here, doing nothing, and staring at Brett is not going to take his mind off things. A crappy movie might work wonders. It usually does.

“Oh, hell yeah.” She slips from the chair, stretching her small body comfortably. “I’m not made for these meetings.” Scowling a little, she gestures in the general direction of Brett and his companions. “It’s a jock fest.” Grinning brightly again, she spins on her heels and looks at Stiles. “I’ll ask Tierney and Jiang as well, okay?”

“Sure.” Stiles nods and gets to his feet, watching Lori bounce through the room. He pulls out his phone, massaging his brow. There’s a headache building. He can feel it. Despite having been in stressful situations for almost two years straight, he’s really not made for stress. Not even a little bit. So watching a trashy movie might not be his favorite free-time activity, it at the very least helps him to relax a little. Plus, hanging out with the pack calms him down as well. He checks his phone, sighing at his dad demanding an update. Although he doesn’t say it, Stiles is pretty sure his dad only wants to make sure Stiles hasn’t been mauled to death yet; which is fair. Even without the obvious problem, there’s the possibility that Stiles said the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person. Werewolves aren’t exactly known for their rationality or patience.

Stiles texts his dad back quickly. Pushing his phone back in the pocket of his jeans, Stiles glances in Brett’s direction one last time. To his surprise, he's already looking back at him. Part of him hopes that Brett would call him or at the very least come over and talk to him. But he’s not. Despite looking at him, Brett is cracking a joke. Whatever he said, the two guys right next to him are now laughing hysterically.

Brett smiles at him, small and soft and gentle and private. Stiles hates that his heart aches. He wants to be mad at Brett — he really does — but he’s not. Instead, he’s worried.

Nodding briefly, Stiles turns his back on Brett and hurries out of the room.

—————

“So, what’s up with you?” Brett twirls Stiles’ pen between his fingers. The journal lies closed on the cushion next to him. Right where Stiles left it before he went to the shower. Although the journal isn’t exactly filled with his deepest desires and wildest dreams, the thought of someone reading it doesn’t sit entirely right with him. Nobody needs to read about what’s going on in his head in detail. They all know enough about him as it is. He's allowed to keep a few things to himself — especially those involving Brett. The whole thing is already complicated enough, he doesn’t have to make it worse.

Stiles folds his arms over his chest, feeling awfully naked all of the sudden which is ridiculous seeing that Brett has seen Stiles naked on multiple occasions already. "What are you doing in my room?” The last time he checked, Stiles had his own hotel room. So why is Brett in here? How did he even get in here?

"Checking on you." Brett places the pen next to him, smirking in the least subtle way possible.

“How considerate of you.” Stiles reaches out his hand, beckoning him over. “Key.” The absolute last thing he needs is Brett popping in and out of his room whenever he wants to. Besides, the whole having two separate rooms thing was Brett’s idea in the first place. He set the ground rules, so he better stick to them. “And I’m fine.”

“You’re moody,” Brett informs him, flicking the key card onto the nightstand without getting up from the bed. Someone is clearly not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Stiles most definitely doesn’t want to deal with any of this. At all. Neither tonight nor this weekend. It's a topic for when they're back home. Stiles doesn't want to make a scene here. It's a way too important event. He promised himself to make the best out of this weekend. Brett isn’t the only one who’s stressed out or being assessed by every fucking werewolf in the vicinity. Stiles knows they’re looking at him too, wondering how he ended up becoming Brett’s emissary, wondering what’s wrong with him. Even though he agreed to come here, Stiles expected the werewolves to be wary of him. Thing is, he also expected Brett to talk to him. Stiles doesn't care about what the others think, not really, it still would be nice if Brett had his back. Instead, he's pulling away when other people are around, and now he's pretending as if nothing's wrong. "Why do you have the key to my room?"

Brett chuckles. "Easier access.”

“Easier—” Stiles cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Am I here as your emissary or your booty call?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Brett leans back on his elbows.

Stiles scoffs. “Sure as hell sounded like it.” He moves away from the bathroom, turning his back on Brett. This doesn’t affect him. It doesn’t hurt. And it definitely doesn’t matter. They’re friends. They’re pack. That’s all there is, and even if there’s more, Stiles is used to pining from a distance. He never struggled this much with Lydia. It never hurt that bad. So, why does his heart ache? Probably because they’re fucking. He should’ve stopped this the second he caught feelings. Maybe he’s jumped the gun on the whole emissary situation.

Fuck. Fuck.

Stiles shakes his head. He’s overreacting. That’s all. Brett is an idiot, and Stiles is tired. No need to be dramatic.

“Listen, I don’t mean it like that... really.” The bed squeaks quietly as Brett shifts around on the mattress. “I got this room so we’d have a place for… us, I guess.”

Stiles’ heart jumps into his throat. This doesn’t— what? He either misunderstood, or Brett didn’t make any fucking sense. Grinding his teeth, he swallows it back down again. No. “You’re sharing a room with Jiang.” Stiles grabs his sweatpants, tossing his towel in the general direction of the bed. If Brett wanted a place for them to be intimate — because that’s clearly what this is about — then it would’ve made so much more sense if they shared a room. This is just ridiculous and overly complicated. Sighing, he slips into his sweatpants and yanks his shirt over his head. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if we shared a room?”

Brett is silent for a moment. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course.” Stiles kicks his suitcase shut, rolling his eyes. “It’s never easy with you wolves.”

“With us wolves?”

Stiles grabs the remote from the dresser. “That’s not what I meant.”

Brett shoots him a look.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Being petty isn’t going to make his situation any better, but it makes him feel better. At least for half a minute. “How did the meeting go?” Stiles asks, climbing onto the mattress. Arguing with Brett is not exactly going to convince him to spend time with him. So, he’s going to try the peaceful approach. Besides, he’s actually interested in what the alphas have spoken about. After all, something must’ve changed Brett’s attitude. Right? Or is he just imagining things? It’s not like Brett has to spend every second of every day with him.

“Ugh.” Brett kicks off his shoes and pushes himself further onto the bed. “The usual.”

Stiles sighs. “How informative.”

Huffing, Brett uses Stiles’ lap as a pillow — most likely not aware what he’s putting his poor heart through with that. “They grilled Satomi for most of the time. ‘Are you sure? He’s so young’.” Brett scowls, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist, and taps a finger against the small of his back. “They may or may not have mentioned my temper… which is ridiculous.”

“Right.” Stiles runs his fingers through Brett’s hair, unable to stop the smile from curling around his lips as his blue eyes flutter shut. “Are they worried you’re too zen to become an alpha?”

Brett pokes him in the ribs. “I am very calm.” He blinks his eyes open again, raising his brows almost in a challenge.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

A second passes, then another. Before Stiles knows it, Brett has moved and pinned him to the bed. “You’re getting way too confident.” He leans down, close enough to kiss but not kissing him.

Yet.

Stiles licks his lips. “What else did you talk about?”

Brett quirks a brow. “You really wanna talk about the meeting?”

“Yup.” No, not at all. Stiles would love to do something entirely different, but he’s trying to make a point, and he will make that point if it’s the last thing he does.

Again, Brett is silent for a moment, studying his face. For a second, Stiles is sure he’s going to kiss him anyway. But he doesn’t. Instead, he drops onto the mattress next to him and folds his arms under his head. “Lot’s of talking. Not enough interesting input.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “They didn’t like you.”

“It’s not that they didn’t like me.” Brett rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his arms. “They’re doubting me. They tried to figure out how I was trained. These fuckers are looking for a reason to deny Satomi’s request. They want someone ‘who upholds the traditions’.”

“Traditions?”

“It’s bullshit,” Brett continues, and he’s sitting up again, eyes narrowing. “Satomi isn’t upholding the traditions either, but they never said anything to her. Now I’m her successor, and suddenly they’re passionate about the traditions.”

Stiles sits up as well, shifting into a cross-legged position. “What type of traditions?”

Brett looks at him, and Stiles can see the wheels turning in his head. He blinks then huffs out a breath, almost chuckling to himself. “Boring outdated traditions about pack hierarchy and territory and whatnot.” Shrugging, he waves a hand.

And whatnot. Why does Stiles get the weird feeling that Brett is hiding something from him? He’s been pissed off just a second ago, and now that Stiles is asking questions, suddenly his mood completely changes? That’s not usually how Brett operates. If he’s worked up, he is worked up, and it stays that way for a while. Stiles has also never met someone who can hold a grudge as long as Brett does. It’s insane. So, this? Something about this is more than just a little fishy.

“Why have I never heard of these traditions before?”

“Because Satomi doesn’t care about them,” Brett says, scooting closer to Stiles, fingers resting on his calves. “Neither do I. So, don’t worry about it.”

Some part of Stiles is more than just a little worried about it. However, Brett is cupping his cheek and leaning closer and kisses the left corner of his mouth, then the right corner of his mouth— yeah, not worrying about it sounds like a wonderful idea.

———

“What the hell?” Stiles wraps the soft towel around his shoulders and down the short hallway. It’s cool and quiet in the hotel, and Brett punching another werewolf at half-past six in the morning really doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day… or the whole trip.

Lori whips around, staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. There’s a sudden frantic panic in her movements as she’s moving her head left and right, mouth opening and closing as if she’s trying to say something but suddenly forgot words. Then she snaps her attention back to Stiles and steps in front of the glass door, looking almost a little too calm for Stiles’ liking. “My idiot brother got himself into a fight.”

Stiles can see that very clearly. But that’s not even the question. Why is Brett fighting the guy? Just last night, he was laughing with him. It’s wild. “What?” So much for Brett being calm. Stiles held out hope for him having gotten a handle on his emotions. Maybe he is more agitated by yesterday’s meeting than he let on. “Why is he— what happened?” The last time Brett lost his nerve, he ran over Liam during a lacrosse game. After the Deadpool, he’s been pretty calm, and he got even better with time. This? He’s not seen Brett like this in months.

“How would I know?” Lora looks back at Brett and rubs her hands together. If one thing is for sure, neither Talbot sibling can lie. Probably because they don’t usually do that. Even if Lori isn’t as blunt as her brother, she usually tells the truth. It’s probably a werewolf thing, and even if it is not, Stiles can tell that Lori is lying. She never plays with her hair. Never. And now she’s twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, looking more than a little conflicted. This really isn’t a good sign.

Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Should we get involved?”

“No,” Lori says almost a bit too quickly. Something is going on. Something is happening Brett did not tell him about. Stiles had the same feeling last night, and now it comes back with a vengeance. Lori looks from her brother pinning the werewolf against the wall to Stiles. “It’s fine. He’s fine.” No. Nothing’s fine here. If everything were fine, Lori wouldn’t block the door to the meeting room.

“Lori—”

“Stiles,” Lori interrupts, trying her best to sound relaxed, “it’s just a small fight.”

Small? Brett is currently pinning the other guy to the wall with his forearm to the throat. This does not look like a small fight. Not even in the slightest. Just last night, Brett was annoyed that the alphas doubted Satomi’s decision because he’s too young and too easily angered. All he does right now is prove them right. Satomi is not going to be happy if she learns that Brett got involved in a fight on the second day of this convention. “I’m going to put a stop to this.” After all, Satomi ordered him to keep an eye on Brett. She asked him to keep him in check. Maybe she expected Brett to get in a fight. Even more reason to stop him before things escalate.

And judging by the wild grin on the other guy’s features, things are going to escalate very soon.

Lori steps in his way, shaking her head. “You don’t wanna get involved.”

That’s easy for her to say. Right now, Stiles wants to be involved. Very much so. Keeping Brett from doing something stupid is part of his future job anyway. It’s most likely a smart idea to start early. The more practice he has, the easier it’s going to be when the situation is dire. Not that he’s thrilled to get involved.

“Usually, I’d let you jump headfirst into this,” she says, her grip tightening further, “but I really can’t let you do that right now.”

Stiles furrows his brows. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t want to get involved with Simon.” What? That’s one of the worst excuses Stiles has ever heard — and he’s come up with a lot of bullshit himself.

“Why are they fighting?”

Her lips curl into a disapproving line. “It’s not you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It’s not you.

Right.

Stiles scoffs. If there’s one way to make sure he knows that this fight has everything to do with him, it’s that one little sentence. It’s not you. God, Lori has absolutely no idea how to lie, does she? Maybe he should teach her. It’s for Stiles’ good. If she ever finds out that Stiles has developed a crush on her big brother, he’s fucked. Then again, he’d probably be fucked anyway because these two don’t keep any secrets from each other. There’s nothing Brett wouldn’t tell Lori. So, she knows exactly what’s going on inside of that meeting room, and the only reason she is trying to lie her ass off is that Brett asked her too, or she is aware that Brett would never want anybody to know the reason behind this fight.

A crash from inside the room yanks Lori’s attention away from Stiles. By the looks of it, Brett has thrown Simon across the room, who ended up landing in the chairs stacked by the wall.

Without hesitation, Stiles slips past Lori and pushes the door open. “Brett,” he says in a low voice.

Brett turns to look at him, eyes narrowed dangerously. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Stiles gestures in Simon’s general direction, furrowing his brows. Yes, he’s aware that Brett isn’t exactly the nicest guy on the planet, or the guy who avoids every conflict, or even the one who chooses diplomacy over violence, but this? He’s stayed out of trouble for months, and now he’s losing his shit while everyone’s scrutinizing him to figure out if he’ll make a good alpha in the future.

Simon pushes to his feet. “Oh, you belong with him.” Chuckling, he smoothes out his clothes and struts over to them. “I saw you at the pool today.” His gaze flicks back to Brett, who immediately steps between Simon and Stiles. “All by yourself.” The guy looks exactly like someone he doesn’t want to mess with. There’s a smirk and then there’s the expression this guy is wearing. It looks like trouble — and not the fun kind. He looks like that type of guy your parents tell you to avoid. There’s just something evil in his face. Well, not the Matt kind of evil. Overall, Stiles gets why Brett had the urge to punch.

“And you are?”

Brett shoots him a look. “On his way out.”

Simon doesn’t look like he’s agreeing with that. Smirking, he pushes his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Curious.”

“You’re pretty confident for a guy who just got his ass kicked.”

“Stiles.” Brett turns to him. “I can handle him. Go.”

“Oh, no. B, come one,” Simon drawls, grinning in a way that makes Stiles’ skin crawl. “We just met. The very least you can do is introduce us to each other.”

Brett clenches his jaw, a clear sign that his patience is running very thin all over again. “Let’s go.” He grabs Stiles’ upper arm. His grip isn’t tight yet insistent, and he’s leading him towards the door without further comment. Well, this didn’t go as well as he wanted, but at the very least Brett has stopped throwing Simon around like a rag doll.

“Who’s that guy?” Stiles asks, glancing over his shoulder, and narrows his eyes as Simon waves at him.

Brett shakes his head. “Nobody.”

“Nobody riled you up a lot.”

“Just…” Brett sighs and lets go of Stiles. “Go, please. We’ll talk about this later.”

Stiles presses his lips into a thin line. They won’t talk about this. Just like they didn’t talk about yesterday’s meeting or about the werewolf traditions or why Brett is so fucking nervous about the whole conventions. Even if the other alphas don’t like that he’ll be Satomi’s successor, it’s not going to change anything. Satomi won’t change her mind, and with the nemeton, the alpha pack, and the other werewolves in Beacon Hills, Brett isn’t even really depending on the other pack. These meetings are a courtesy. Satomi made that very clear.

Huffing out a breath, Stiles turns on his heels. “Have fun during your meetings.”

“Brett…” Lori sighs, and if her brother replies something, Stiles doesn’t hear it.

———

“The point of you giving me my key is that you don’t waltz in here unannounced,” Stiles mutters, without looking up from his phone. Not that he has to. The only person who would come into his room without an invitation is Brett. The rest of the pack, albeit terrible with personal space, knows better than to intrude on his privacy without being asked to.

Brett makes a non-committal sound and tosses the key card on the nightstand. “You skipped lunch and dinner.”

“Yes, because I didn’t want to see your stupid face.” Even if Stiles asked him a million times, Brett Talbot does what Brett Talbot wants. It is an endless, infuriating story — one Brett loves to make so much more complicated every single day.

A moment later, the mattress shifts under his weight, the blanket is moved, and Brett ducks underneath Stiles’ arm to hide his face in the crook of his neck.

“Okay?” This is new, very new, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he likes it. Not that he hates it. It’s just… he’s not very good with new things that come without any sort of warning. Stiles licks his lips, swallows, and continues talking once he’s sure his voice isn’t going to betray him. “Who hurt your ego?”

Huffing, Brett pokes him in the ribs. “My ego is untouchable,” he mutters against his skin.

Stiles wants to scream. He forces a chuckle instead. “Give me a few seconds, I’ll find a— hey!” But Brett has already tossed his phone to the other side of the bed. Rolling his eyes, Stiles flicks his forehead. “You’re such an attention whore.”

“I enjoy your attention,” Brett says, brushing his lips over the curve of Stiles’ neck. This is not going in the direction Stiles’ would like it to go. Because he's still pissed about what happened earlier today and about Brett not talking to him and about Brett and Lori keeping a secret that has something to do with him, but Stiles is also really bad at saying no. Like, really bad. Especially when Brett is working on his throat with teeth and tongue and— fuck. Stiles sighs breathlessly then squeezes his eyes together. No. No no. Nope. Not happening. There’s no way he’s going to give in tonight.

Squirming a little, Stiles shoves at Brett’s shoulder. “Off,” he says, lacking exactly every bit of force he should have put behind his words in the first place. “Get off. Brett.” He pushes him again, and this time Brett does what he’s told — not without being pissed about it.

“What?” His tone is a lot sharper than it has any right to be. There’s stress and then there is behaving like a giant piece of shit.

Stiles purses his lips. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Narrowing his eyes, Brett pushes himself up until kneeling over Stiles’ thighs. There’s a slight curl to his lips, and he studies him for all but a few seconds. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Stiles props himself up on his elbows, quirking a brow. “Listen, I don’t need you to pour your heart out to me. You can dump your emotional turmoil on your sister, that’s all fine with me.” It’s not. Not at all. Especially not when Stiles knows exactly that something is going on that involves him. Brett is keeping a secret, and he’s trying everything so Stiles doesn’t figure it out. It could be everything, for all he knows. They’re not yet alpha and emissary. They can keep shit from each other. Stiles doesn’t think it’s a smart thing to do, but he’s not going to tell Brett off for being secretive. “But this?” Stiles gestures back and forth between them. “This isn’t gonna work.” Brett opens his mouth, but Stiles isn’t going to interrupt him until he’s finished. “I’m not your booty-call. I don’t want roses. I don’t even need compliments. But you don’t talk to me all day, and then you come here at night and expect me to be down to fuck?” Huffing out a breath, Stiles sits up and pulls his legs to his chest. “That’s not what I came here for.”

Brett flops onto his back, index fingers tapping onto his sternum in an irregular rhythm. “That’s not why I asked you to come.”

Stiles wraps his arms around his legs. “Why am I here?”

“You’re gonna be my emissary. People need to get to know you… that’s how this works.”

“But I’m supposed to stay away from people.” Stiles presses his lips together, narrowing his eyes. He hates that Brett doesn’t look at him. Although he’s got his face under control, Stiles can tell if he’s lying or how he’s feeling by little things. It’s in the way his lips curls ever so slightly. It’s in his eyes. Brett is very expressive if you know where to look. Stiles knows exactly where to look, and Brett knows that he knows. That’s why he’s turned his face away, and Brett won’t face him again until he’s worked through whatever is going through his head right now. “You’re still sure about this, right?”

Brett sighs. “Stop doubting my decision.”

“I didn’t doubt it until you started ignoring me while hanging out with your werewolf buddies,” Stiles mutters, getting off the bed. This is not the type of conversation he can have while sitting down.

“It’s complicated.”

“You keep saying that, yet somehow you can never tell me why.” Stiles runs his hands over his face and walks over to the mini-fridge. He needs something to eat or drink. Something to drink would be nice. Very nice. He’s so over this bullshit.

The bedding rustles as Brett moves around. “Because werewolf traditions are boring and outdated.”

Cold air sweeps over Stiles’ naked feet, and he shudders, studying the contents of the fridge. Water, lemonade, cans over energy drinks. Oh, to be twenty-one. “I have to learn them at one point.” Stiles grabs an energy drink and kicks the fridge shut with his foot.

“Not tonight.”

“Brett—”

“Stiles,” Brett cuts in, “I will tell you everything you wanna know once we’re back in Beacon Hills.”

They both know this is a lie because Brett is never going to tell him, and he made sure the rest of the pack is keeping his stupid little secret safe and sound. At this point, Stiles is pretty sure it’s not even about the werewolf traditions. Something else is going on with Brett, something he’s not ready to talk about, and that’s why he keeps making these empty promises, probably hoping that one day Stiles will forget about it, but that’s not gonna happen. “Does this has something to do with—”

“No,” Brett snaps predictably irritated, “this has nothing to do with that.” There are only a handful of things that cause him to instantly lose his cool, and Stiles being insecure about his nature is one of them. “Don’t be an idiot.” That’s easier said than done. Brett sighs again. “I just don’t want things to get any more complicated while we’re here. That’s all.”

Any more complicated implies that things are already complicated, something Stiles has not been aware of. It’s not exactly reassuring. Besides, Stiles has absolutely no idea how his knowing about the werewolf tradition could make things more complicated in any shape or form. To be honest, he’d be much more understanding if he knew what the fuck is going on, or at the very least why Brett is acting the way he does. “It’s a no.” He lets out a breath. “And I’m still mad at you.”

“I’ll get it,” Brett says, and he sits up, patting the mattress next to him. “I’m a dick.”

“A fault confessed is half redressed,” Stiles smirks, dropping onto the bed like a dead weight. He's not going to be mad at Brett forever. Maybe it's stupid. Maybe he should be annoyed for a little while longer, but this is an apology. Stiles will be pretty, yes, he's still not going to make it hard on Brett — not when he knows that this convention is stressing him out as well.

Brett folds his arms over his thighs. "I just don't want them to get too close."

"What?" Stiles quirks a brow, twisting the pull tab of the can. Too close? "Oh… oh wait, aren't the runes—"

Brett takes the can out of his hand, studying the label intently. "No, they work."

That… doesn't make any sense. Stiles squints at Brett. If the runes are working, then there’s no need to be all that careful. They were worried that something in his scent gives it away, but if Brett doesn’t even notice it… then what’s the big issue? Why does Brett want him to keep a distance if they don’t have to be worried about Stiles’ secret coming out? “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.”

“So, you’re not going to fill me in?” Stiles snatches the can out of Brett’s hands.

Chuckling, Brett elbows him in the ribs. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” He gets to his feet, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Stiles should let him go. He should say goodnight, should let him leave, and sleep in the room he’s supposed to sleep. But Stiles is weak. He’s well aware of that. “No,” he says because fuck it. Brett apologized — more or less — holding a grudge is tiring, and sleeping alone sucks. Despite himself and every single alarm bell sounding off in his head, Stiles grabs Brett’s hand. “Stay.”

Brett turns around, gaze flicking from Stiles’ face to their hands and back again. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Okay.”

———

“Maybe I should introduce Stiles as my emissary,” Brett muses, tapping his index finger against his left cheek in contemplation.

Satomi stirs her tea. “Perhaps that would have been smart from the beginning.” Looks like Stiles isn’t the only one who doesn’t understand why Brett decided to keep his decision a secret. An emissary and an alpha being trained together is supposedly a good thing.

Stiles guessed that it has a lot to do with his inexperience. He thought he knew a lot about the supernatural world after those two eventful and terrifying years, but the more time he spends with Marin, Satomi, and the rest of the pack, the more he realizes that that’s so not the case. There are so many things he’s never heard anything about — the best example being the werewolf traditions. There are more supernatural creatures Stiles has never heard of. As an emissary, he’s able to do things he wasn’t even aware of. Which is exciting. And scary.

Marin dips her brush into the black ink, motioning for Stiles to turn. “Why haven’t you told anybody? The runes are working.” She almost sounds offended by the assumption that they might not be as effective as they should be. She’s not, Stiles has learned that much, however, she enjoys messing with people in her own way.

Stiles shudders as the cold ink touches his skin. This is something he will never get used to, and honestly, Stiles enjoys it a lot more when he doesn’t have to run around with various runes plastered onto his body.

“Because the alphas are judgemental assholes.” Brett leans onto his elbows, gaze fixed on Stiles’ chest.

It makes him strangely uncomfortable. Although Brett has seen him naked more than enough times — and he isn’t even naked right now — having him look at him like that in front of Marin and Satomi makes his skin itch. Could he be any more obvious? Then again, Satomi most likely knows exactly what’s going on between her dear foster son and Stiles. There’s no way she doesn’t. They spend almost a little too much time with each other and the amount of times Stiles stays the night is probably more than a little suspicious.

Marin chuckles. “I can hardly argue with that.”

Sipping on her tea, Satomi studies her and Stiles for a few seconds. “They enjoy their traditions.

“What kind of traditions?” Stiles asks, ignoring the look of utter betrayal Brett shoots his way. It’s not like Stiles didn’t give him the chance to explain, but he refused, and, to be frank, he’s not interested in badgering Brett about it for the rest of eternity.

“Boring and outdated ones,” Brett says, almost a little too sharply, “I told you that already.”

“No need to be so defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.”

Stiles raises his brows. Right. Brett is not defensive at all. Why would he be? It's not like he's been trying to hide something from Stiles for the past couple of days. "Good, so you don't mind me asking then, right?"

Brett presses his lips into a thin line. He minds. So much. "Of course not." He'd never try to bullshit his way out of this in front of Satomi. Good.

"If you introduce Stiles as your emissary, he should probably be informed about the alphas trying to talk you into choosing a mate." Satomi folds her hands on the table, an almost serene smile on her lips.

Marin puts her brush on the table. "We're done."

"A mate?" Stiles draws his eyebrows together and fishes for his shirt. "Why?"

"Because these idiots think a pack should be led by a male and a female alpha." Brett rolls his eyes. His annoyance at the traditions makes a bit more sense now. Brett and relationships don't really go together. That's what makes their current one so painful.

Stiles sits down next to Marin, trying to keep his wits about himself. "That's-"

"Outdated?"

Stiles glares at Brett. "Why'd they want that?"

"A young alpha can be controlled," Satomi explains, and for the first time, Stiles spots sheer disdain in her features. "They would like Brett to choose a female partner and absorb our pack."

"Shouldn't they be happy you chose Brett then? Because he said the other alphas disliked your decision." If that's true. Then again, Brett sucks at lying.

"You know Brett," Marin says, "he's not someone to be controlled."

"Is that why you don’t want to introduce me? Because you’re worried they could influence me?” Brett may be stubborn, but he has absolutely nothing on Stiles — everyone in the room knows that. “Or is it because I’m part fox?”

Brett sits up. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Are you sure? Because I understand—”

“Stop worrying about this, for fuck’s sake.” Brett gets to his feet, unsurprisingly angry about the same old story. Maybe he’s pushing it. Maybe he isn’t. “I said we’ll talk about this when we’re back in Beacon Hills. So, please, just drop it.” He runs his fingers through his hair and turns to the window. His reflection stares angrily back at him.

For a long moment, nobody says a word. The silence is heavy, too heavy, and Stiles has the urge to rush out of the room to escape everything. Brett is keeping something from him. As bad as a liar as he is, he’s great at omitting things. That’s probably what you have to learn if you want to keep a fraction of privacy in a house full of werewolves.

Brett sighs. “We’re done here, right?”

“Yes,” Marin says, crossing her legs.

Stiles takes a breath. “I’m not going to do this again.” He doesn’t look at Brett, focusing his attention on the mark on the carpet, and bounces his leg.

“What?” Brett asks.

“I’m not going to cover myself in runes again just because you don’t want to tell the other alphas the truth.” Swallowing, Stiles flicks his gaze up and meets narrowed blue eyes. “You either tell them the truth, or I’m going to step down as your emissary.” Seconds ago, this thought hadn’t crossed his mind, and now that he said it out loud, he does feel bad about it. Still, Stiles stands behind what he said. Despite what the nogitsune did to his body, he’s never felt uncomfortable with the Ito pack. He’s never felt different or wrong. Not until Brett asked him to hide his scent and aura. Yes, it’s a safety measure. Stiles is aware that foxes and wolves don’t usually get along, but he’s not going to hide part of himself every single time they’re going to one of these stupid conventions.

“I told you this is not what this is about.” Brett works his fingers through his hair.

Stiles gets to his feet. He’s so done with this topic. “Then what’s this about?” What else could it be about if it’s not about the fact the other alphas won’t be happy about a fox being the emissary of an alpha? What else could worry Brett so much?

“Not here.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles swallows around the anger bubbling up. “I need some fucking air.”

“Stiles—”

“No!” He whips around, finger raised. “I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” Although he hates showing his emotions so freely in front of not only werewolves, but also someone like Satomi, Stiles is fed up with Brett’s bullshit, and he needs a break or he will break something. “Leave me alone.” Maybe he should just go home. After all, being here isn’t helping anybody.

Shaking his head, Stiles slips out of the door and slams it shut behind.

___

"How long are you planning on passive-aggressively walking around a city you’ve never been to?"

"I'm not walking around passive-aggressively," Stiles mutters, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold wind picks up. "Pretty sure that's not even a thing. And I’m at the beach.” Glaring at the ocean, he makes a point by kicking sand up in the air. Which doesn’t help his frustration. “Nobody gets fucking lost at the beach.” He shouldn’t be angry. Not even a little bit. It’s his own fault for being an idiot. That much he realized after walking around aimlessly for the past three hours. He agreed to something he’s passionate about without even thinking about the consequences. Twice. He didn’t get into this relationship expecting to get feelings because of it. Brett isn’t exactly the person anyone would develop feelings for. Not that he isn’t a great guy, but he’s distant. Emotionally. Then again, seeing that he had a crush on Lydia and Derek, it looks like emotional unavailability is one of his kinks.

God, how could he be so stupid?

Brett sighs. “I’m not going to run after you.”

“Then don’t!” Stiles curls his hands into fists and continues wading through the cool sand. He probably should’ve grabbed his shoes. This trip is not going the way he thought it would. Fuck this convention. Fuck everything. But especially Brett.

He’s such an idiot. How could he be such an idiot? How many warning signs did he ignore before he came here? Hundreds? A thousand? So many. Fuck. Fuck. The fact that he thought this could work out. He’s such an idiot. Taking a deep breath, Stiles curls his hands into tight fights. He swallows the lump in his throat, blinks away the tears. No. No. He is not going to cry, or so help him—

“Stiles!”

Something in Brett’s voice forces him to stop. It’s clear why he’s Satomi’s successor. He may be a mess of a teenager now, but there’s something else about him; something that shows Brett has been trained to become an alpha from a very young age. He’s not impervious to the power he has, and Satomi is right to put him in his place whenever he crosses a line. Stiles needs to become resistant to Brett’s everything, preferably yesterday, if this relationship should continue in any way. But maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe it can’t. He’s had a crush on Lydia for years. He can’t do this again. Not with sex involved. Even if there’s no sex involved, they’re too close. Way too close. He’s going to choke on his feelings before long. And what’s going to happen then? Because this isn’t just about him. It’s about the pack as well. If he leaves…

Stiles folds his arms over his chest. "You wish?"

"Don't give me that tone."

"Or what?"

Brett comes to a stop in front of him, letting out a breath. “Why did you run off?”

“Why did you follow me?” Stiles presses his lips into a thin line, glancing up at Brett for a moment then back at the sea. It’s nice here, with the sun slowly setting in the distance. Too bad nothing about what’s happening right now fits that mood.

“I didn’t follow you,” Brett says, shrugging off his jacket. “The bonfire, remember?” Right. Yeah. The bonfire. Everyone’s there. Everyone’s having fun. How delightful. And he ran right into that without even noticing. “It’s cold. You should take my jacket.”

Stiles folds his arms tighter around his chest. “I’m pissed at you and your… everything.”

“You can be pissed and warm,” Brett tells him, placing his jacket around Stiles’ shoulders. It’s soft and warm and it smells like Brett’s stupid aftershave.

Stiles hates it, but he slips his arms into it anyway and collapses into the sand. “You’re lying to me.” It’s not a question. They’re way past that, and they both know it.

“I know.” Brett sits down next to him, leaning back onto his elbows.

This feels like one of those conversations. He vividly remembers having it with Malia, moments before he told her they can’t be together because it’s not right, and Stiles doesn’t love her the way she loves him. It feels like the conversation he had with Scott when he told him that he would leave the McCall pack to join Satomi. But for the first time, he’s on the receiving end of bad news. Swallowing drily, Stiles pushes his feet underneath the cold sand. “Why?” It’s a loaded question, and Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer.

“You know I’m supposed to look for a mate, right?”

That’s not the reply Stiles expected. “What?” he asks, turning to look at him. For some reason, Brett smiles, and Stiles doesn’t understand why. Nothing about this situation is funny. This whole mate business… sure, yes, usually two alphas lead the pack, or in cases like Satomi’s, an alpha and a second in command. It’s not the most common pack structure, but it’s not unheard of either. So, this whole mate business… It's bullshit. Brett doesn’t need a mate. He doesn’t even want one.

Stiles doesn’t want him to want one.

“The relationship between an emissary and an alpha is complicated.” Brett sits up, brushing sand off his elbows. This doesn’t have anything to do with what Brett said seconds ago. What the hell is he talking about? “They’re not supposed to fuck. They’re not even supposed to be friends.”

But Satomi and Marin are friends. The words, however, get lodged in his throat. Stiles can’t speak. He can’t even think straight. Is that what this is about? This distance by day, having sex by night thing? Does Brett think they can pretend like they aren’t actually friends? Like they don’t have sex? Maybe he’s having second thoughts. It would explain the runes. It would explain why Stiles is supposed to hide his scent when they all know good and well that what the nogitsune did to his body can’t be spotted by smelling him. What the other wolves could smell are the things they’re doing at night. Stiles is careful. He showers, goes swimming every morning, but despite that, Brett insisted.

Brett curls his hands into fists. “They’re especially not supposed to be lovers.”

“Wha—”

But Brett kisses him before Stiles has the chance to form a response. His hands move to cup Stiles’ jaw and neck, and there’s something desperate in the way he kisses him, something soft and hesitant, and— Stiles closes his eyes. Fuck. He curls his fingers into Brett’s shirt, pulling him close and closer. Fuck fuck fuck. Brett makes a sound in the back of his throat. His left hand glides down Stiles’ side, and he grabs his thigh. Stiles moves immediately, shifting from the sand onto Brett’s lap and fuck. He shudders even though he’s not cold any longer. Brett’s fingers tangle in his hair, and he parts his lips, and his breath tastes like that stupid punch he loves to drink.

They never kissed in public. Not like this. Not at all. They never brought their relationship outside of the four walls that are hiding them from reality. It was easier that way. Perhaps bringing it to this hotel changed things.

“I wanted to wait,” Brett whispers, breath hot against Stiles’ lips and chin, “until we’re back in Beacon Hills, but you—” he captures his lips again, grip hard and tight and almost a little painful around Stiles’ hips “—but you fucking stubborn…” Shaking his head, Brett leans back onto his elbows again and studies him for a little while. There’s something different in his expression.

Stiles sits back on his heels, hooking a finger underneath Brett’s shirt. “What?”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Don’t pretend you hate it.”

Brett catches his hand, intertwining their fingers loosely. It’s new. It’s strange, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat as Brett brushes his thumb over his knuckles. “I don’t,” he agrees, gaze flicking up to meet his, “that’s the problem.”

Stiles draws his brows together. “I don’t get it… and what does any of this have to do with you lying to me?”

For a moment, Brett is silently contemplating their intertwined fingers. “Do you know why alphas and emissaries aren’t supposed to be lovers?”

The way he says supposed instead of forbidden makes the whole thing less tense. Still, Stiles doesn’t like the sound of it. He lets go of Brett’s hand and sits down next to him again, pulling the jacket tightly around him. Yeah. Right. As great as kissing Brett is, and as odd as it was that it happened outside, Stiles is still none the wiser. “I hope you’re going to tell me.”

“Do you know the myth of Lycaon?”

“Brett!”

“Okay, okay…” Brett sits up and shifts into a cross-legged position. “Technically, not everyone can be an emissary. While every pack has one, a lot of the emissaries you’ll meet are going to be more like… advisors. They’re just human.” He scrunches up his face at his own words, but it’s hard to tell why exactly. “Emissaries are different. That’s why they used to be Druids. They can use magic and…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Well, an emissary’s strength doesn’t come from the size of the pack. It comes from their connection to the pack… and the alpha.” Without looking at him, Brett traces one of the runes in the sand. The one that hides Stiles’ aura from the surrounding wolves. He pulls a face then destroys it before tracing it again.

Stiles blinks.

Oh.

“So, the closer I am to you…”

Brett looks up, poking the rune in the sand, and pulls his shoulders up. “And now imagine those tradition-loving idiots figure out that you’re part fox.” He sighs, running both his hands through his hair. “I should’ve told you that before we came here, but…”

“But?” Stiles quirks a brow.

“I lost my nerve.”

What? Brett. Brett Talbot lost his nerve to tell Stiles that their current relationship might affect his powers when Brett becomes an alpha? That… “Why?” Stiles asks because he really doesn’t understand it. “I would’ve loved to know why you kept snubbing me the whole weekend beforehand. If I had known, I wouldn—”

Rolling his eyes, Brett leans over and kisses him again, effectively cutting Stiles off. This time, there’s a smile on his lips when he pulls away. “I’ve never seen a better example of balance than you.”

Stiles quirks a brow. “Thanks?”

“You’re exceptionally smart and so, so stupid.”

“Hey!” Stiles boxes Brett’s arm.

Or rather, he tries to because Brett catches his hand and pulls him close again, kissing the left corner of his mouth, then the right, and then, to Stiles’ utter surprise, his forehead. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters against his forehead, and his fingers tighten their grip ever so slightly.

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah, right back at— wait.”

“And the penny dropped.”

This time, Stiles manages to box Brett’s side before pulling away. “You love me?”

“Don't look at me, I'm as surprised as you are.” Brett quirks a brow, but his face softens only a few moments later. “I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t even realize until Lori mentioned it, I think. Listen, I really wanted to tell you, but—”

This time, Stiles cuts Brett off by crashing their mouths together quite awkwardly. His fingers tremble slightly as he wraps his arms around Brett’s neck. It feels right, somehow, better than ever before. As if saying it out loud filled in the little gaps that were missing before. But now, now… Stiles closes his eyes, smiling into the kiss when Brett cups his left cheek again while his other slips underneath his shirt ever so innocently.

Chuckling, Stiles pulls away. “I’m going to be so powerful.”

Brett quirks a brow and flicks his nose. “Insufferable is what you’re gonna be, fox.”

Scowling, Stiles rubs his nose with the ball of his hand. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

“Right.” Brett gets to his feet, pulling Stiles up alongside him. “I think they’re about to make some marshmallows.” He intertwines their fingers again, and it feels normal and right and awfully perfect. “But… Stiles…”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles says, grinning up at Brett. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:briles

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prettyvampiress96 · 4 years ago

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The Malfoy Secret - Chapter 3

Since the traumatic death of her last living relative, Anna had since been a guest in the Malfoy manor . Although she was by now a little more than a guest. Her aunt was peacefully laid to rest and throughout the whole ordeal the Malfoys were her absolute anchor to reality. Anna however still couldn't put her thoughts in order at the situation. On one hand Anna had wanted to go home but on the other hand she rather enjoyed the company of the Malfoys. Anna had previously attempted to return home twice. The first time Anna had gone to return home , Draco begged her not to leave claiming he wanted to make the most of her company before his return to his last term of third year next week.. The second time Cissa began fretting about her wellbeing. Her being worried about Anna all alone in that big house. So Anna agreed to stay to ease Cissa's conscience but did say that she would return before her first day of work at the Ministry. What Anastasia didn't know was that she would be the right hand assistant to Lucius himself. The letter enclosing said information remained unopened in the Rosier mansion.

The following week Narcissa and Lucius bid Draco farewell at kings cross station whilst Anna was already in the Ministry of Magic for her first day along with another student from her year . Anastasia now knew that she would be working with Lucius , she was relieved at least it was someone who wouldn't judge her by her name. Though the thought of being in such a confined space with the white haired man had butterflies filling the pit of her stomach. Lucius strutted into his office in the department of Magical Law Enforcement, halting in his footsteps at the sight of his darling Anna stretching on the tips of her feet to reach a book higher up on the shelf, Lucius held back a laugh as he took in just how miniature she was even in a pair of heels. Even though he adored that about her , he couldn't help picture in absolutely nothing but those heels all stretched out for him and for cissa of course. Anna hadn't yet realised he had entered the room she was too caught up in finding the book Mr. Crouch had requested. Lucius took this as his moment . He walked as quietly as he could towards her . When Anna was in his reach, his large hands held her hips , his long fingers digging in slightly. Anna's back pressed flush against his broad chest. Leaning down to her ear. "You want my help with that darling ?" He whispered pressing himself further into the girl. Anna blushed at the feeling of his hardened member making itself known. Easily reaching for the book , his hand could reach without him even trying. "By all means you can say no and I shall just sit back and watch as that little skirt rides up more and more. Its taking I have not to throw you over my desk and worship you right here babygirl" Lucius smirked as Anastasia let out a squeak at the pet name he called her. Lucius brought the book down to Anna's eyesight, offering it out to her , Anna still pressed against the overly large shelf. Before Anna could respond in walked Narcissa. Narcissa drank in the scene in front of her , the sight of her husband and hopefully her soon to be princess. Anastasia's face flushed a deep red as she resisted the urge to run into Cissa's arms. " My darling how lovely of you to join us isn't that right princess?" Lucius turned to face cissa while slipping a wink to Anna. "I .. Uh..you...I should get this book to Mr. Crouch " she said shyly unsure of how to respond , after all neither of them had spoken since her and cissa kissed. Anna couldn't help wondering is Narcissa regretted it. Bowing her head Anna moved to rush from the room. "WAIT, STOP" Narcissa called after her smiling as annas feet immediately come to a halt." Hurry back darling there's something we should all talk about". Anna nodded in response quickly exiting the room. Anastasia walked with the book in her arms just down the hall, knocking respectively , Anna awaited permission before entering. " Mr Crouch I'm terribly sorry if I am interrupting I'm just bringing the book you requested from Mr Malfoy" Anastasia informed showing the book as if she needed the proof. "Ah right yes, good good I do believe you may have just missed crossing paths with our young Mr Weasley. He took it upon himself to retrieve that book . A good boy he is . If that is all Miss Rosier I am rather busy I'm afraid" Mr Crouch, the minister of Magic himself said without raising so much as his head. Anna walked back to Lucius's office , the sound of her heels clacking with every step, when suddenly body blocks her way. "You know you'd think the slimy Slytherin's would crawl back into their holes rather than working for the Ministry . Your father was a blind fool to follow the dark lord . Tell me what would daddy think of his daughter now. Oh no thats right he got himself killed before you could wipe the drool from your chin? " Percy Weasley sneered at her . Anastasia's blood fuelled an inferno of rage and Percy was about to get a taste of the fire. Passer's by began to stop and watch while office doors seemed to open for the fellow workers to do the same. Annas eyes glazed over and she smiled a

sweet smile. " Don't you ever speak of my family in that way do you hear me ? You want to know what my 'daddy' thinks , insult me again and you'll be finding out" Anna threatened in a low voice her wand drawn and pressed into the younger Weasleys throat. Lucius Malfoy was the first to intervene , his hand pushing anna's armed one down. He ushered the furious girl into the office and she slowly began following. " Enjoy freedom while you can I'm sure they've got a cell in Azkaban with your family's name on call it an heirloom. As cold, dark narcissistic murderers run in your family dont they. When you slip up Rosier and you will . I will be the one to put you there myself" Percy shouted at her back. Taken off guard Percy hadn't expected Anna to throw 'stupefy at him knocking him down the hall by a few good feet . " Funny that if I'm to go to Azkaban it'll be for killing you. You're a no good blood traitor and yet you think you actually have the audacity to think you stand a chance against me. I know spells your mother couldnt even dream of mastering . You think you can talk about my family when you know absolutely nothing . I'll escort myself to Azkaban right now once I've sent your cold body to your mother. That dark enough for you saint Percy? Anna fumed her wand raised . Arthur Weasley emerged from the crowd , his wand drawn protecting his son. Lucius drew his wand and stood directly in front of Anastasia.

"Princess go, back to the office head held high cissy is there and I'll be right behind you "Lucius whispers so low only Anastasia could hear it. Anna nods confirming she had indeed heard his words but she was reluctant to walk away. When Lucius firmly commands her once again to go as she reaches the offices, she can already feel the tears fill her eyes and the burning sensation in her chest. Anna just wanted to scream . Instead she shuts the door and walks to her desk with her head down. Realisation hitting her like a tonne of bricks Anna slides down the nearest wall. Narcissa immediately running to the sobbing girl sitting next to her , Cissa cradled anna against her chest, rocking slightly whilst rubbing a hand soothingly on the black haired girls back.

"I'm not a bad person I've followed every rule. I've never put a foot wrong yet I'm still painted with the same brush as my father am I destined to be alone. Perhaps Azkaban is the best place for someone with a name like mine". Lucius having now dealt with the pathetic Weasleys returns just as Anna sobs those words. Seeing her so broken and seeing his wife so affected at those words only tempted Lucius to go back and seriously damage the disrespectful boy. Weighing his options, nothing was more important than his family and as of that his girls needed him. Narcissa who was still holding Anna raised her head to look at her husband , she tilted her head to the side silently asking what had happened out there.

He ushered Narcissa over to him which she does hesitantly. Torn between leaving Anna and finding out what had occurred . Narcissa's curiosity got the best of her. "Anna I'll be right back darling" Narcissa whispered assuringly. Lucius explains in a hushed whisper briefly what happened. Narcissa can't believe what she's heard. How could someone say something so cruel about her baby girl. Lucius made his way over to Anna and bent down, lifting her chin up to face him. " Don't you ever let me hear say that about yourself . We would never allow you to be put in that wretched place. A name does not define you. That boy knows nothing. He is nothing. You are my everything. Our everything " he would say pulling cissa to him as she steps nearer not wanting to scare Anna . "I'm yours. Like both of you?" Anna questioned back , her green eyes wide and her pink lips pouted in slight confusion. " Why don't we all go back home a discuss this over a drink hmm?" Cissa hinted holding her hand out for her husband and Anna to take .

They arrive back at Malfoy Manor and Anna takes a seat on the sofa in the front room with Cissa sitting on one side of her and Lucius on the other side. Lucius gently takes one of Anna’s hands in his and with the other hand gently turns her head to face him “Anna I meant what I said earlier you are our everything and I want to discuss you becoming apart of our relationship” He nods at Cissa before continuing “There is no pressure Anna, you can say no and we’ll respect your decision. It won’t affect our working relationship either.” Anna doesn’t respond straight away, feeling a little shocked at his offer. “Should you agree to be with us boundaries would be set in place, which leads me to my next question. What are your boundaries Anna?” Lucius’ voice soft as he looks into her eyes.

“I don’t have any boundaries as I’ve never done this before” Anna answers honestly as she holds his gaze for a moment before looking down at her lap, a look of confusion washes over his face “Anna had never been kissed before I kissed her two weeks ago” Cissa explained. Lucius places his fingers under Anna’s chin lifting her head up “Just to confirm Anna, you are a virgin?” She nods at him and feels her cheeks heat in a light blush. “We’ll take things nice and slow; we’ll go at a pace that suits you…if you agree to be ours that is.” Lucius tells her with a smile on his lips and Anna couldn’t help herself, she looked down at his mouth and licked her lips. Cissa nods agreeing with her husband “We will look after you. You will be safe with us…always” Cissa took hold of Anna’s other hand in hers and begun rubbing small soothing circles on the back of her hand with her thumbs.

Anna looks between Cissa and Lucius before speaking “I’d like to be yours, both of yours but I’m worried I cannot offer you much in return” Cissa turns Anna’s head so she is looking at her “Just by agreeing to be with us is giving us more than you can imagine. All we want to do is to make you feel loved, safe and of course pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams” Cissa smiles and leans forward pressing her lips to Anna’s in a quick but sweet kiss.

“If we overstep a boundary or you start to feel uneasy or anything just tell us. In fact, to be sure we are all comfortable with this arrangement I recommend we use safe words” Lucius said softly, his breath warm against her ear “Safe words?” Anna asked shyly and he chuckled lightly “Ahh so innocent my sweet girl” His fingers brushing her hair aside as he placed a soft kiss to her neck before continuing “Each of us picks a word that once spoken the others know enough is enough. The moment the word is spoken everything stops…straight away, no questions or explanations needed” Anna turned her head slightly so she was looking at him over her shoulder “I’d like to be yours, both of yours” He smiled at her before capturing her lips with his.

Lucius and Narcissa both hand in hand with Anastasia began escorting her up the winding black marble case not stopping until they reached the door to the master bedroom. Both Malfoys stood watching Anna's reaction as Lucius twisted the handle of the door pushing it open , allowing Anna the first step inside. Anastasia was in awe at the decoration. With a flick of his wrist Lucius had set candles alight causing a rather romantic atmosphere. Anna's hand was still laced with Cissa's, she was reminded off that when Narcissa squeezed her hand. " What do you think babygirl?" Cissa asked brushing a loose strand of Anna's hair from her face, leaning in she placed a soft kiss on Anna's lips . "It's beautiful Cissy . It really is" Anna breathed looking behind her for Lucius. When Anastasia noticed him still stood by the door only now minus his dress shirt , she reached her hand towards him wanting to touch . Lucius noticed Anna's hesitation and stepped into her reach, taking her hands he placed them on the centre of his broad chest. Anna's hands ran up over his bare shoulders and linked around his neck attempting to pull him down to her level due to the height difference. Anna could feel his intoxicating scent overwhelm her and she took the plunge pressing her lips to his . His kiss was different to that of Cissa's it was rougher and more dominant . Lucius's hands reached over the curves of Anna's ass and lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked them to the bed . A naked Narcissa joined the pair , running her fingers up anna's bare legs causing anna gasp allowing Lucius access to her tongue . Anastasia pulled back from her make out session , glancing at Narcissa, her eyes tracing over the perky nipples of her breasts. Anna's mouth ran dry . She had no idea what she wanted but god that woman was it. " Remember Darling we can stop whenever you like , tonight is all about you my pretty babygirl , mommy and daddy will make you feel so good I promise princess you just have to trust us" Narcissa spoke softly tapping her finger on the top button of anna's shirt. " Can mummy take this off baby " Cissa cooed , anna nodded and proceeded to remove the shirt herself only for cissa to stop her. "Let mommy do it angel please" Cissa asked again this time Anna nodded and allowed cissa to removed her top. Narcissa dropped the shirt to the floor her eyes never looking away from Annas full breasts, leaning forward cissa placed a wet kiss to the tops of her breasts. Ana in response arched her back unaware that her hips had rocked against the very non discreet package in Lucius's trousers. Narcissa's hands travelled lower and lower until they reached the waistband of the very tight skirt Anna had on. Cissa's fingers hooked into the band but waited for permission from Anna . "Princess Mommy's waiting for you "Lucius whispered in Anna's ear. Anastasia nodded fervently glancing down and the sight of a naked Narcissa between her thighs . Anna couldnt peel her eyes away. In a split second her skirt and panties were removed , Anna's core now slick and bare to Cissa who licked her lips in delight at the prize in front of her . "We can stop if you want to little princess, you just have to say and we promise we wont be disappointed in the slightest or should mommy continue" Lucius reminded . " No please Don't stop please dont stop "Anna pleaded . Her pleas were music to their ears. Lucius interlocked his fingers with Anna's , watching over anna's shoulder as his wife's head leant even closer to Annas blazing sex. Narcissa hummed as she dragged a finger through Anna's wet folds, shivering at the breathless gasp she made in response. Narcissa placed a soft kiss to either side of Anastasias inner thigh before connecting her warm tongue to her wet pussy. Anna's hips rose from the emerald sheets , her head thrown back into the crook of Lucius's neck and her grip on his hands getting tighter. " Is mummy making you feel good baby girl ? Let us hear those beautiful noises of yours petal" Lucius teased in advance. Anna mewled , feeling

an unfamiliar weight in the pit of her stomach. Narcissa continued flicking the sensitive bud while she introduced a single finger into Anna's tight hole preparing to stretch her out for Lucius. Slowly and gently Cissa began thrusting that finger in and out in time with the flicking of the bud . With her fingers getting so slick from Anna's running juices , cissa added a second finger and with every thrust in began spreading them apart . Anna's walls began to clench around Cissa's fingers locking them in place and her thighs tightening pulling cissa closer than she was. " Oh Oh Oh " Anna screamed as she rode her first ever climax down on Narcissa .Anna felt shifting from behind her as Lucius moved himself from the bed taking Cissa's place between Anna's thighs. Climbing above her Cissa placed a kiss to Anna's lips. "You did so well darling mummy's so proud of you. Does Daddy want a taste do you think? " Narcissa beamed down at her baby all glistening in sweat , glancing to her husband smirking. Lucius's hand reached across grabbing cissa at the chin, passionately kissing his wife all the while tasting the sweet nectar of his princess on her tongue. At some point during the exchange Lucius had removed his remaining clothing. Lucius tapped on Anna's thighs grabbing her attention. Narcissa sat near Annas head now it was her turn to watch the faces her baby pulled whilst screaming from the pleasure she was receiving. " Princess you need to listen just for a minute okay? Are you sure this is what you want? I won't lie to you my girl it might be a little uncomfortable at first but that passes. Are you absolutely sure?" Lucius needed to make her aware he'd never forgive himself if he hurt her . " Please I trust you Daddy I'd like to try. Help me try" Anna begged her voice sounding like a whine. Lucius wrapped his hand around his painfully hard cock swiping the pre-cum from the swollen head to lubricate it slightly. The combination of that and Anna's cum should be just enough.

As he slowly began to ease into her, Anna's walls clenched around him as a pained groan leaves her throat. Digging her nails into his shoulders as she squeezes her eyes shut tight, Anna's body tenses against his when he comes to a stop. His body trembling as he fights the lust inside him to thrust into his pretty little princess .When the pain starts to subside Anastasia slowly moves her hips .

"Please " was all Anna could muster out. Lucius takes her thigh and places it on his hip as he starts to slowly move against her . Quickly finding a steady rhythm, as his hips roll against hers both moving in perfect harmony , Anna could feel every thrust against her walls. Her nails leave red half-moon crescents on biceps. Narcissa sat back observing couldnt help but reach down and began circling her own clit. His name falls from Anastasia's mouth like a prayer when he finds that specific spot inside of her . "Fuck, Princess , you feel so good around Daddy" he moans as he thrust faster into her , pleasure invaded her senses as her vision begins to cloud , with her head thrown back Anna can no longer keep the moans inside of her . An inferno rages inside of her , Her hands fall from his arms to grasp at the sheets with such a force her knuckles began turning white. "Papi, I'm..." she moans out. " Let it go baby I'm here Daddy's here" Lucius coaxed. Anastasias walls enclosed around Lucius's cock , her nectar coating his manhood. With a last thrust into her Lucius emptied his load filling his princess up to the brim. Gently removing himself from inside her , Lucius laid to the right of Anna enclosing her in his arms, Narcissa laid to the left of Anna . "Our princess did absolutely perfect wouldn't you say so dear?" Narcissa asked Lucius. "Oh i couldn't agree more darling. How are you feeling Princess?" Lucius asked Anna. The three of them an entanglement of limbs. Until Narcissa rose from the bed and into the large bathroom followed by the sound of running water. " Come on Darling let us clean you up and put you in something comfy before you fall asleep" Narcissa commented. Anna however was quite tired and comfy as she mumbled incoherent words from where she was. Lucius scooped her up into his arms and took her into the bathroom himself. Narcissa already in the bath, held her arms out as he lowered his princess down into her lap. A scent of lavender and camomile filled their senses. Lucius lathered up a sponge and glided it over every inch of Anastasias body. Anastasia snapped from her dazed state smiling at both Lucius and Narcissa. Before putting her head down and playing with her fingers , a sign they had already noticed when she was nervous or embarrassed. " Princess Is everything alright darling? Are you hurt or in pain?" Cissa asked concerned she may be hurt . " No no nothing like that I was urm well I just wondered could I stay with you two tonight?" Anna asked so quietly that if they had been any further away they wouldn't have caught it. "Of Course you sweet girl you were always going to sleep in with us . We wouldn't have it any other way. Now why dont you let mommy wash your hair whilst daddy gets out and fetches you something comfy eh?" Narcissa said softly to Anna pulling her in for a cuddle in the warm water. With the girls dressed in Narcissa's nightgowns , Lucius had made a mental note to have cissa and anna go shopping soon. Lucius had already pulled back the covers and slid in, waiting for his girls to come out. "Which side should I sleep?" Anna asked Narcissa. They hadn't discussed that yet. " Why dont you sleep in the middle darling so that way we can both hold you" Lucius offered. Anna scrambled into bed followed by Cissa. Cissa took hold of Annas hand and kissed the knuckles.

"I'm so happy you agreed to be ours our darling girl "Narcissa expressed. Lucius turned on his side facing Anna and Cissa draping his arm across the both of them in a protective manner. " I love you both my precious girls" Lucius said lovingly. The three slept in each others embrace for the rest of the night.

#lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #narcissamalfoy #lucius malfoy smut #lucius malfoy x reader

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talkfantasytome · 4 years ago

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Going to delete ask posts that directly linked other people's posts, based on this feedback and suggestion (which I thoroughly appreciate!), as I'm not trying to point fingers at anyone or directly tell a specific person they're wrong. I'll repost the general content, with a summary of what was asked, starting with this post.

Anon Ask: Some people are saying that SJM has confirmed Vassien by saying that she'd like to do retellings of firebird legends, swan lake, and Vasilisa the Beautiful, using some shots of her comments. What are your thoughts on this? And the time on facebook that Sarah said E\ain and Lucien have a lot of "tension, growth, and healing to be found (together)".

The most important thing to consider here is timeline. Both of the twitter shown were made in April of 2015. The first one is, honestly, fairly irrelevant. First of all, she's just saying fairy tales she might like to retell. And, for the record, she has also said she'd like to do a retelling of The Little Mermaid, yet often people disregard that as an argument for Gwynriel. So, either her comments on what she'd like to do a retelling of matter, or they don't.

And, if they're saying that those comments are foreshadowing a Vassa + Lucien book, then clearly The Little Mermaid comments are foreshadowing a Gwynriel book. And then...where's E\ain's?

E\ain is getting a book, so which fairy tale gets the short straw?

Or, maybe, the story won't be exactly like the fairy tale.

I do think that both of those comments are important, but Sarah said she wants to do a retelling.

That could literally mean anything. All that tells us is that she will take themes and ideas from the story. I'm not saying Vassa won't be important in a later book, but Sarah can retell the story any way. She could have Vassa betray E\ain, get Koschei to transfer the curse over to the middle Archeron, and now E\ain is the swan on the lake (cause, come on, E\ain's def. a bit swan-like), and Lucien has to rescue her. Or, maybe Jurian is the one that rescues Vassa while Lucien and E\ain deal with Koschei?

There are so many options in a retelling that to say SJM telling us she wants to do a retelling of these stories is a clear sign that Vassa + Lucien are endgame is, honestly, not a very critical analysis.

I'm going to address this tweet next:

This twitter exchange happed April 30, 2015. ACOMAF was published in May of 2016. This post can not be used as foreshadowing of Vassa + Lucien, because it happened before we found out E\ain and Lucien are mates. That "at some point further down the road" literally means "any time after book 1".

People keep using this tweet and presenting it as if Sarah's response came recently. They're spreading misinformation - it may not be purposeful, they may not have seen or noticed the date, but this twitter exchange can't be used as proof that Lucien's person has to be someone other than E\ain, because when it was made we did not know about the Lucien and E\ain possibility.

That doesn't mean it definitely is talking about E\ain, but my point is that this is not proof of Vassa + Lucien, of someone else + Lucien, because of when it was posted.

As for other comments on retellings Sarah would like to do - it's the same argument as the first one. Sarah said she wants to do a retelling of the firebird and swan like. We all know this. It's not new information. People who are saying Vassa + Lucien won't happen aren't ignorant of this fact. We're well aware, and we're also well aware of every other thing Sarah has said, mentioned, foreshadowed, and we're tying it all together. Focusing solely on stories Sarah has mentioned she'd like to retell - not confirmed she will retell - and ignoring everything else doesn't provide a solid analysis. You have to weave how those stories would fit into the grander scheme, and look at the other surrounding factors as well.

And, again, we need to remember that Sarah can do whatever the hell she wants in terms of the story and how she chooses to retell a fairy tale. I mean, how often is Little Red Riding Hood turned into a werewolf story? And sometimes even Red is the wolf?

Writers use fairy tales as a base, a foundation, but then they make it their own. No writer is going to tell the fairy tale exactly how it first was. They're going to adjust it...a lot...to make it their own story.

I'd also like to point out that both times she mentions Vasilisa, she says "Vasilisa the Beautiful". The first time she also said 'the Brave', but the second, solely 'Beautiful'. Vassa is beautiful, of course, but one of E\ain's defining characteristics is her beauty. Even in ACOSF it was again mentioned, discussed, about how her beauty made others hate her.

Could Vassa be Vasilisa...of course. However, I think people are a bit blinded by the similarities in names. Remember, Vasilisa the Beautiful wasn't the firebird - those are different stories. And, honestly, after doing a bit of research into the tale, I'm starting to get more and more sure of the thought that the character who would portray Vasilisa is E\ain.

I think I'm going to do a post on it...

In the later comment on retellings she'd like to do - which we know came after the first as the first came out in August 2015 and that story she's telling was given after the second set of books was confirmed - I also find it interesting that she said Vasilisa the Beautiful (specifically) and Swan Lake, subbing out the firebird.

Why would she do that? Perhaps because she's already brought in the firebird pieces she planned to bring in. We already know that retelling, and how it's come to play. Vassa is a firebird by the curse.

I'm not saying it couldn't end in a Swan Lake thing, as that is what the curse reminds me of. But, personally, I think the fact that she's saying Swan Lake now is also symbolic of something more, possibly another character getting trapped by Koschei.

As for the other piece you asked about, I don't have much to say about it, because it feels like the closest we'll come to an elucien confirmation.

That was also posted a while ago, back when ACOMAF came out. So, it's not like this is recent information Sarah is providing us. However, we know that Sarah can sometimes end up choosing endgame based on gut and things that just hit her. Cassian and Nesta - literally didn't know about them until she wrote them on the same page and was like "oh shit". So Sarah saying that she and Lucien didn't see E\ain coming...I'm sorry, but that feels almost more telling than even the next part of the sentence - where she says they have growing and healing to do together.

That's so huge. And we haven't seen that yet. We've only really seen the tension.

Sarah said this back when ACOMAF came out. And it was around writing or publishing ACOWAR that she got the okay for the second set of books (I think?). Which means she was likely thinking about the longer-term stories before that. Which would explain why we didn't get that growth and healing in ACOWAR.

Instead, she left them in a spot where it seemed like a possibility, and then for the later books has just added more tension. But that journey is still there. She's had it planned for so long. And yes, maybe she could change her mind, but we only know of two cases where she did just that:

Az and Mor

Nesta and Lucien

For Az and Mor it was because she decided to make Mor bisexual and unable to be in an emotional relationship with a male. This was due to complaints over diversity. It's the closest Sarah's probably come to 'fanservice' - except, admittedly, this is so not fanservice. Fanservice is doing something like, say, having Voldemort and Bellatrix have a secret love child despite the fact that Voldy never once came off as having any form of romantic or sexual feelings for her or anyone, ever. (Seriously, that guy was asexual and that is a hill I'll die on.)

Adjusting a character due to legitimate complaints and concerns on diversity, not just fanservice. It's more a full on social service, really, to try and provide that representation better. Yes, it wasn't done in the best way, but she did make an attempt.

The second one - Nesta and Lucien. That was her general plan, until she put Nesta and Cassian on page together. Then it all went out the window. Just like all of Nesta's thoughts when she saw Cassian. Just like Cassian's entire brain when he saw Nesta. 👀

And we get it, because we see it too.

So, while Sarah could have changed her mind about E\ain and Lucien, the only reasons she'd do that don't yet apply. She's already made a change for the diversity complaints, and I don't see her doing that with these two. As for finding out they actually belong with someone else when she sees them on page - well, that hasn't happened yet. She made the E\ain + Lucien decision after we see E\ain and Azriel interact, so clearly Az is not that for E\ain. And we've seen Lucien and Vassa on page together. There's nothing there except Lucien being pained about her curse - which, yeah, she's his friend. How often is one IC member described as looking pained for another? Or thinks about how much it hurt them to see their friend hurt?

But we know what it looks like when the chemistry is so undeniable it will adjust Sarah's plans. And if you're not sure - go back and read all the Nessian scenes in ACOMAF. And then see the one scene where Lucien and Vassa are on page together - I think you'll find there's another male there that, with Vassa, rings closer to the Nessian home.

There was no on page chemistry between Vassa and Lucien, and certainly not enough to change Sarah's mind. Which would also mean E\ain already wasn't meant for Az, which is likely why no one arguing for Vassa + Lucien seems to care as much about that, because most people who ship them are already dead set on E\ain + Azriel.

So, there you have it, my point of view/rant on those two pieces. But it's always important to look at the context of a post, and especially the "source material" people use to provide proof. It's why I tend to stick to the text where I can, and only use SJM statements that don't have an expiration date to their importance. SJM saying something about how she loves happily ever afters, for example, no expiration date. SJM telling us in 2015 that there is someone special for Lucien down the road - an expiration date after the first sign of a possible love interest for Lucien. Once E\ain was declared to be his mate, that statement became irrelevant, because regardless of whether it will be E\ain or not, you can no longer state that it's clearly hinting at someone else, since E\ain is a love interest for Lucien.

#ask box #acotar #acotar thoughts #acotar theory #elucien #antielriel #anti elriel #anti vassien #elain archeron #elain and lucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #gwynriel

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fangirl-ramblings · 5 years ago

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Pairing: Arthur x gn!reader

Characters: Reader, Simon Pearson, Mary Linton, Arthur Morgan

Word count: 3306

Summary: You and Arthur have recently made your relationship official by moving into his tent...but is he really into you...or is he still holding onto his past?

Notes: SFW, Angst leading to fluff

After requesting several wonderful stories from one of my favourite writers and people, I was super honoured to have the chance to be able to write something for the super talented and lovely @littlestarofthewest - Merry Christmas from your secret santa 😘😘

Also a huge thank you to @horsegirl1h (who helped me plot this out) @verai-marcel (for wrangling in all my stupid grammatical mistakes) & @mileycyprus-hill who took a quick look over this and gave me a much better character note on how to improve Arthur's feelings in this story and give me a far better title I could ever think of myself. Thank you all 😘

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

The First Shall Be Forgotten

You slowly opened your eyes, only to find the cot next to you still empty. It was fairly late when you'd finally taken yourself off to bed last night, but you had found yourself unable to keep your eyes open as you'd sat around the scout fire. Your hope of Arthur riding back into camp and joining you in lying down for the night had turned into a wishful dream of waking up with his strong arms wrapped around you, but it turns out it was just that - merely a pleasant dream.

It was only a few months since you'd started dating, with most of that time spent being inseparable, but lately you noticed that Arthur was staying away from camp longer and longer. Yes - the events of Blackwater had changed the gang's luck and the likes of Dutch and Strauss kept giving Arthur more and more tasks to do, but you'd felt like that most of these jobs could be done well before nightfall. Surely Arthur wasn't avoiding you because he was bored of you already….could he?

You sat upright, shaking your head free of any more of those nasty thoughts, quickly making the decision that you should get dressed and help out around camp before Miss Grimshaw marched over to berate you for wasting so much time idling about.

There was a chill floating in the air this morning in camp and so you found yourself shivering as you looked around for your light jacket. Opening your shared trunk, you proceeded to pile a mixture of both yours and Arthur's clothes on to the cot in your quest to find your missing coat. Though you soon found yourself distracted as you lifted one of Arthur's shirts up, tutting to yourself as you saw just how worn and dirt stained they all were. You swore that that man would wear these offending items until they fell apart on him...and some were close to doing so, judging by how often they'd been patched up.

"Ah, there you are," Pearson's cheerful voice booming from behind you, making you jump out of your skin, "I need a helping hand gathering supplies in town and was wondering if you could come along with me for the ride"

"Me? Surely there's someone more capable about?" Although Valentine was only a short ride away, the idea of being Mr. Pearson's captive audience for that short length of time was not high on your list of priorities for the day.

"Well, I don't know if you noticed but we are stretched a little thin on the ground right now," his hands gesturing to the almost empty camp area in front of you, "Mr. Smith & Mr. Escuella are yet to return from Blackwater with young Sean and, as you well know, Mr. Morgan is still yet to return from wherever he has took himself off to. As for the girls..." you tried to stifle a chuckle as he trailed off to glance nervously over at where Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen were currently sitting at their wagon, making sure they couldn't hear this conversation, "...I'd rather not ask them. Uncle told me of the trouble they got up to on their last visit into Valentine."

You couldn't help but burst out laughing at Pearson's fear of trying to keep three excited young women from creating chaos. "Sorry, sorry," you apologised, wiping your eyes as he looked at you with confusion, "Well...since you have no other options, I'll join you. I've been wanting to pick Arthur up a new shirt anyways." Spotting your jacket at the bottom of the truck, you quickly threw it on, leaving all the other clothes heaped on the bed, "Shall we go now then?"

"Goddamit, why does there have to be a train in the station?" you grumbled as Pearson pulled the horses to a stop at the crossing, which was blocked by one of the carriages belonging to the offending train. After being waylaid by the shop boy slowly loading the wagon with all the goods Pearson had chosen for camp - not that any of these ingredients would do much to improve his cooking, you cruelly thought to yourself - your head was starting to ache from listening to Pearson's constant tall tales. All you had wanted to do was get back to camp and sleep off your headache, but that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon, thanks to this stupid train.

"I know what you mean, I was hoping to get back and make a start on preparing supper," Pearson sighed before suddenly cheering up, "But, hey, at least it gives me more time to tell you about my time at sea. There was this other time..."

Internally, you found yourself groaning, trying to zone out the older man as he recounted yet another story, that this time seemed to involve him somehow, inexplicably fighting a walrus - single-handedly - to save his crew.

You glanced around, finding yourself admiring all the different horses hitched up around the station...until a familiar sight caught your eye.

"Hey isn't that Brutus?" you interrupted Pearson mid-sentence, gesturing towards the big, black Shire horse that Hosea had gifted Arthur a few weeks ago. Arthur had rarely named his horses after losing his beloved Boudicca in Blackwater and was more than content to just refer to this one as "Boy", but after overhearing Hosea called this giant a brute, you'd jokingly suggested the name Brutus, a name that had tickled Arthur and agreed it was the perfect name for this beast.

Put out a little by the fact you had rudely interrupted him just as the story was getting good, Pearson grudgingly glanced over to the direction in which you were pointing.

"Er, it does look like it. So anyway after I killed the Walrus with nothing but my bare hands…"

'So this is where you've gotten to Morgan,' you thought to yourself, once again not listening to Pearson's story. 'Here's hoping you're on your way home too.'

Smiling to yourself that your lover would hopefully be by your side once more, you absent-mindedly found yourself scanning the crowd of people that was starting to thin out as they slowly stepped onto the carriages...until you saw him standing with his back to you.

A smile started to creep over your face as you recognised Arthur's dirty blond hair, broad frame and filthy blue shirt. Just the fact you could see how dirty it was from this distance made you glad that you'd made the decision to buy him a new one now, as that one needed throwing out, never mind a good wash. Anybody would think that man spent most of his time rolling around in the mud than riding a horse around.

With his hands on his gun belt, he shifted his weight to one side and the smile on your face was replaced with a look of confusion as a young lady was revealed to be standing next to him, deep in an intimate conversation.

Unconsciously scowling at her, you were unable to shake the feeling that you've seen her somewhere before, but for the life of you, you couldn't quite place where.

You squinted your eyes to try and focus your vision on her delicate features before a feeling of rage bubbled up from your stomach as she kissed Arthur's cheek, in a way that suggested more than just friendship.

"And I'll tell you - I used that walrus meat to feed a crew of 50...and not one of them complained the way you and the rest of camp do about my cooking" Pearson waffled on down your ear, distracting you from your thoughts about this mysterious woman and how you wanted to jump down and throttle her. Instead you suddenly had the urge to wrap your hands around the cook's neck.

Turning to face him, you barked, "Maybe being at sea for weeks at end with no food makes people more appreciative of the slop you always manage to serve up - no matter the ingredients."

You instantly felt regret as the words left your mouth and you saw the hurt in the older man's eyes.

"Christ, I'm sorry Mr. Pearson. I didn’t mean to take it out on you..." You paused, thinking about telling him about what you just saw, but you doubted this old sea dog would give a damn about your love life and so explained "I just have a real bad headache and it's put me in a bad mood."

He nodded softly and turned away so you wouldn't see him wipe the sting of the tears from his eyes.

Feeling guilty from the hurt you just caused, you looked away to the source of your own pain, only to find Arthur had disappeared from the platform and the train was now pulling out the station. Had he gotten on board with his mystery woman? Gone off to start a new life with her and left you and the outlaw life behind him? These thoughts rattled around your head as Pearson told the horses to giddy up and the pair of you headed back to camp in an awkward silence.

Jumping down from the wagon, you helped Pearson unload the wagon - still with an uneasy tension in the air, before you tried to broker the peace between you both by offering to help prepare the next meal as a peace offering.

"No, it's quite okay," Pearson patted you shoulder to show there was no hard feelings, "You go sleep off that sore head of yours"

You nodded appreciatively, finding yourself thanking him and apologising once more as you picked up the wrapped parcel containing Arthur's new shirt, and headed back to your tent.

As you walked over, you rolled your eyes in annoyance at yourself as you caught sight of the mess you'd left behind this morning. Picking the mountain of clothes up, you threw them in straight at the trunk at the end of the cot, surprising yourself as you heard a loud clatter of something hitting the side of the chest and then dropping onto the floor.

Peering over, you saw that a few shirts and a pair of trousers had missed their target and were now scattered over the floor... alongside a wooden photoframe, laying face down on the ground, that definitely wasn't there before.

Picking it up, you recognised the image of a younger, but still very handsome version of Arthur standing on the left.

'You've always been a good-looking bastard haven't you?' half smiling as you took in his handsome features, 'No wonder you have a long list of admirers to spend all your time instead of me.'

Well before you and Arthur had started dating, you had seen this photograph before. You recalled picking it up from his bedside table back then too, in order to get a closer look of how attractive Arthur's always been.

But sometime between then and making your relationship official, Arthur must have removed it and hidden it out of sight from you. Just as you were about to ask yourself why, you spotted who else was in the picture.

'No…no it can't be,' you thought to yourself as you stared at the beautiful, dark haired woman standing next to him in the image. But, as much as you didn’t want it to be, it certainly was. Looking straight back at you was a younger version of the same woman from the train station…the same woman who had ripped Arthur's heart out and tore it into a million pieces all those years ago when she called off their engagement - Mary.

Time seemed to slow down as your mind went into overdrive. Did he simply remove the picture as a thoughtful gesture so you wouldn't wake up to a younger Arthur and his ex-fiancee looking at you…or did he hide it because he still loved her and her alone? Were you just a stopgap - something to fill the emptiness in his heart until she came back to him? Is that the real reason Arthur had hidden the picture and not gotten rid of it completely? So once he had managed to win her back, he could toss you aside and place it once more on his bedside to stare lovingly at while he held her in his arms?

You hadn’t realise you were crying or just how hard you were gripping the frame until you heard the sudden sound of glass cracking and a mix of your blood and tears began to streak all over her stupid, perfect face. Standing frozen to the spot, you stared and stared at her image, slowly disappearing under the physical manifestations of your hurt and betrayal, until you heard Arthur bellow out your name as he rode back into camp.

"Hey you. Boy, did I sure miss you while I was gone," he cheerfully greeted you as he strode towards you, "I tell you, there's some strange sights out there that I've been dyin' to tell you all 'bout."

"Tell me?" you snarled, acting the wounded animal you currently felt like, "Don't you have other people you'd rather spend your time with?"

"What? What's got into you?"

Your heart panged as you saw the hurt cross his face as he saw how upset you were.

"Listen, if this 'bout me spendin' so much time from camp recently, then I am sorry - but I did miss you somethin' fierce y'know" he assured you, placing his arms around your waist.

"Just like you've missed Mary for all these years?" Just saying her name out loud felt like you had tasted venom on your lips and needed to quickly spit it out.

"Mary? Where's all this comin' from?" He flustered, averting his eyes downwards as not to meet your steely gaze. Upon seeing you holding the photograph, he exclaimed, "Christ alive, you're bleedin'. Here lemme fix you up."

"I'm fine," you snapped at him, pulling your hand away from his gentle touch. Any other time, this small act of affection - the big mean outlaw gently cradling your hand in his - would have made you melt on the spot, but today your inner rage wasn't having any of it. Instead you blurted out, "I saw you. At the train station…with her."

Realising he had been caught out and couldn't bluff his way out of this sorry mess, he sat down on the cot and tried to explain.

"Okay, yeah, I was at the train station with her, but it really ain't what you think…"

"I saw her kiss you."

"You mean when she kissed my cheek? That was her sayin' goodbye. Her and her brother are headin' back East to find their father."

You sat next to him, the photograph still in your hands.

"Still doesn't explain why you were with her in the first place."

"No it doesn't, does it." He sighed, running his hand down his face. "I was on my way back to camp, ridin' through Valentine when I thought I'd check and see if there was any post. Lo' and behold there was just the one - a letter from Mary askin' if I could help with a small problem of hers."

"So you must have been in contact with her if she knew you were in town."

He shook his head. "No. No, she'd recognised the girls after their last trip into town and wrote to me on the off-chance I was also in the area."

"Why?"

"Her kid brother, Jamie, he'd gone and got himself mixed up in this weird cult up in Cumberland Forest. Christ, you shoulda seen them all listenin' on as this lunatic spouted some nonsense about turtles or somethin'," laughing, he patted his leg until he saw your stony expression still waiting for the answer to your question.

"Get to the point please, Arthur."

"You're right, sorry," he said as he nodded, "Jamie was the only one in her family who stood up for me and I owed it to *him*, not Mary, him - to help get him away from those crazy fools."

You fidgeted slightly next to him. You wanted to believe him, but he seemed to be avoiding the main topic of conversation.

"So say I believe you about your reasonings for helping her…why did you keep a picture of her?"

Silence filled the air for a second before he simply answered. "I shoved it in there so you wouldn't have to keep lookin' at it when we lay together...and I guess I forgot all 'bout it."

You looked away as more tears fell down your cheeks. Gently placing his hand under your chin, Arthur turned your face to face his, looking deep into your eyes he told you,

"You’re overthinking – I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”

"Prove it." You pleaded.

"Okay then...this should show you she's nothin' to me now." He took the broken frame from your grasp and carefully removed the picture from the frame, lingering for a moment before crumpling it up in his hand and walking towards the campfire.

Though his stride was purposeful, you couldn't help but feel he faltered once more as he looked at the flames, but those fears disappeared as he turned to look back at you with a warmth in his eyes and a smile stretching wide across his face. Looking straight at you, his hand opened and the picture fell into the flames, where it lay for a few moments as it slowly rendered into nothing but a pile of ashes.

Making his way back over to you, he picked you up and spun you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

Bonus scene: Arthur's POV

He slowly removed the picture from the frame, partly being careful not to cut himself on broken shards of glass and partly because he wanted to make sure he was making the right decision. He was convinced that after Mary called it all off between them, he'd never smile, let alone love again. But then you'd walked into his life and brought light back into the darkness he'd found himself in.

But maybe there was a reason he'd held on to this photograph for all this time - a reminder of the good times that existed between them. Heartbreak has a funny way of erasing those memories, but seeing the woman you once considered the love of your life in person has an equally funny way of making those feelings rush back.

But no, the heartache he'd felt for all these years outweighed the fleeting moments of happiness he'd felt with Mary. And that kiss on the cheek to say goodbye that she'd given him at the train station? It certainly didn't give him butterflies like it used too. Looking at her image one last time, he crumpled it up and walked over to the campfire.

Though he had confidently strode over to flames, he once more had doubts he was right to finally let Mary go. Turning to face you, everything suddenly became very clear in Arthur's mind. Everything he ever wanted: someone who loved the group of people he considered family, as well as loving him for the man he was - despite his faults, someone who was willing to stick with him through thick and thin, make him laugh when he was down, and never fail to make him smile, that special someone he wanted to grow old with with...he already had that with you.

Without thinking, he opened his hand and let the battered photograph waft downwards, enveloped by the flames and turning to nothingness as he made his way back over to you, picking you up and spinning you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #merry christmas #(i hope this copied over correctly 🙈🤣)#rdr secret santa 2020 #secret santa gift

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impaladolan · 4 years ago

Text

Capture - Grayson Dolan [8/-]

summary: y/n is quick to plot revenge.. but does she get away with it..?

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, and smut :)

a/n: i seriously love you

Anonymous said:

Ooohoohohoh I’m excited for her to steal his Rolex haha omg maybe she wears it and doesn’t give him it back when he asks for it OMG u know what would be cute!! if one day she goes snooping in his bedroom and tries on his chain necklace n rings and he walks out the shower n he’s like ummmm ok ily

Anonymous said:

i want y/n to ride gray’s thigh in his office, like he’s just got in still fully in his suite w his gun on his belt and she just walks in and strips 👀👀

Anonymous said:

I have an idea hehe!! WhYi f y/n gets drunk like she f inds alcohol in graysons office or kitchen or something and shes being really bratty but it’s so cute and she’s giving him nose kissies and hugging up and telling him stuff and he’s just listening and loving her

Relaxation.

That's how you'd explain the certain state of euphoria I'm embezzled within. Young love is a treacherous trap that can either end in favor, or be torn to shreds in only mere moments. To feel so passionate and fervently invested in someone you've only ever known and loved is such a thrill, and you could never forget those memories embedded in your mind.

Like right now, laying in bed while the sun's first shine leaks through the window and gleams down upon the two of us, nuzzled under the covers. His leg was wrapped over mine and his arms hung loosely around my hips, sheltering me from ever possibly leaving his grasp. I was the first to wake, but I dared not to move an inch.

The world around me was motionless, so peaceful and calm. Nothing could bother or disrupt the atmosphere around me. Everything felt so perfect, embraced by the one I love and the man I admire. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever unsettle me in this moment.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself...

A darkness warped over my newly sunken eyes, shielding the world around me. I called out his name, but nothing came out. The warmth I once felt upon my body, vanished into the air and seemed like it'd never return. The world became cold and useless, all the positivity and tranquility that once surrounded me was blown away and now, I sit in darkness;

All by myself.

Him.

It seemed too early in the morning to be awake at such an hour, but you had crashed shortly after making it back to your room last night. You were so mortified and embarrassed, for all those men to see you so vulnerable and being punished. Though, the crazy inside you kind of liked it, but still, it pushed boundaries.

Initially, you had wanted to sleep in all day, and hopefully never leave your room ever again. Although, today's forecast decided otherwise. A ground shaking rumble of thunder made you awaken and the shoestring lighting bolts strung across the darkened sky had drawn you in. Since you essentially have no concept of time, whatsoever, you had to believe it was early in the morning, unless you really had slept in all day...

It's been presumably an hour or so since you first fluttered your eyes open. By now, you had plotted a sickening revenge to his outrageous acts he had committed only a day ago. Of course, you had created horribly ill plans that even you could never pull off. Such as vandalizing his expensive vehicles or even trashing the entire house. You had even gone as far as to planning an "accidental" fire in the kitchen.

But something inside you had put a halt to those thoughts.

Other than not wanting to be known as a malicious arsonist, you had some sort of pull towards him— but what that pull was, you couldn't figure out. The phrase; " Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me," has been left in your mind ever since the words first left his mouth. You couldn't possibly help but wonder what that even meant. You felt like you've known him from a past life somehow, and that could potentially explain the affection you have towards him. All of that aside, you have to remember that he isn't who your brain morphs him in to be. He's a felon who's abducted you and has pulled you away from society and everything you've ever been a part of.

For some reason, that's hard for you to mentally consider.

Aside from criminalizing yourself too by creating a fire or becoming a vandalizer, the best option is to state your assertiveness and trespass the "laws" that he has forbidden you ro break. Unlike yesterday's escapades of you ruining the dining room table, today you were up for higher anticipated endeavours. You had it all planned out and you knew what you'd do in order to complete your vengeances.

And he's not going to be very happy...

The atmosphere above and around you still rumbles with the loud, crackling thunder and the strikes of lightning flooding certain increments of light through the surrounding windows pave your path to the daunting door. You were still dressed in the white shirt that could barely pass as acceptable in the public eye, and your feet were frozen at the first touch of the wooden floor. You kept on like you have done in the previous times you have left your room for mischievous reasons. You silently open the door, leaving it wide open as you crept out of your assigned room and into the hallway. You knew that the very first place you would go would be the kitchen. No, you aren't creating a fire or any of the sort, but you were going to raid the fridge and have your fill with what it has to offer.

You walk straight past the opening and right into the glorious establishment of cookware, like it was your very own home and you were just up for a midnight snack. In all honesty, you could get used to living here.

If only it weren't forced onto you, that is.

Your fingertips soon collide with the long, frigid handle of the refrigerator door and pull it wide open, marveling at the large display of different beverages and foods strategically set up. Of course, it was mainly veggies and several healthy-looking meal options. Which didn't surprise you whatsoever.

He has a nice physique for a reason...

You couldn't find anything that made your stomach growl with hunger, until you opened up the freezer drawer and spotted a nice looking ice cream container. Still, it looked healthy and it'd make you all the more frozen, but it would manage to subside your aching sweet tooth for now. You pop open the lid and fish around the drawers for a utensil. With a content sigh, you plunge a huge spoonful of the solid liquid and empty it into your mouth, savoring every last flavor like it would be the last time you'd ever eat the sugary treat again. It was delicious, the absolute best ice cream you've ever devoured in the entirety of your life.

You almost ate half the jar until you decided you were parched and needed a nice drink to soothe your throat. Luckily this time you were familiar with where the glasses were kept and already had your hand wrapped around a large wine glass that was a little bit higher up than the rest of the glassware. You set it down quietly, trailing your eyes upon the clean and prim counter.

A tall, fancy upscale bottle of what looked to be whiskey was settled in the corner, nicely organized with the other alcoholic beverages that were of the same importance.

Now, you weren't exactly a "drink-whiskey-out-of-a-wine-glass" type of gal, but as they say; desperate times call for desperate measures— and you were on the search of something to loosen you up a bit, and that was that.

You brought the glass over to where you had stationed your cup, not even flinching when you uncork the liquor and pour its contents out. With improper proportioning of the said liquid, you put the whiskey back how it was.

"Fuck, here we go." You inaudibly groan to yourself, just knowing that you'll regret every decision you've made in the near future. Raising up the plum-full glass, you tip it back into your mouth and down a whole gulp.

Nasty.

It's definitely an acquired taste, but the barely detectable taste of vanilla made it hardly feasible. You dared to not put the glass down until you were finished with it and had that sour taste submitted through your fiery throat.

The least you could say was that it's pretty smooth, but not something you'd drink in your free time.

In your head, you knew you'd feel a bit wonky, considering your nearly empty stomach and your abstinence from alcohol for the last month or so. It'd be easy to feel the side effects and overall feel much better, like you were aiming for.

Once you drained the glass of every last drop, you held your breath and rushed to the sink. The overwhelming want to just regurgitate what you ingested had drawn upon you, but you refrained from doing so. Waiting out the sickly feeling, you run a bit of cold water over your hand and press it against your forehead for a moment. Everything became hot, even with the freezing temperatures, you felt like breaking a sweat.

All just the side effects of alcohol, I'm sure.

Within the passing minutes, the faintness flew away and the sounds of the thunderstorm filled your ears. A large banging of the clouds above frightened you and you knocked over the glass you had just rested your lips on.

You didn't even feel bad about all the shattered pieces on the floor, it actually brought a smile to your face and you were ready to begin the fully planned extravaganza.

First stop; his room.

You skipped back the hallway, still quiet but not as careful as before. You weren't afraid of any consequences and whatever he was going to do to you wouldn't be too harsh. It's not like he's embarrassed you enough already anyway.

You easily find his door, pushing the handle down as slow as possible, just in case he was asleep in his room. His door didn't creak as you opened it, and nor did his floorboards as you walked straight into his marvelous bedroom. It was extravagant, but yet it still felt homely. You check the bed, no sign of him or anyone for the matter. He probably at a meeting, or something.

Not that you care..

You continue your stroll, glancing around his room for anything that could spark your immediate attention, considerably his desk. It held a lot of his more—fashionably inclined belongings. Such as his masculine jewelry and expensive watches. There was even a small, purple ring that reminded you of something you had worn a long time ago. You brush that off, it brings up sore wounds from a time where you were a lot happier and everything was simpler.

I wish I could say that now..

You began to pick up the neatly placed objects, slipping a couple of heavy necklaces around your neck and the large rings upon your fingers. You laugh at the size difference of your hand and how they barely stay on your fingers.

The stationary mirror attached to the desk caught your eyes, and you begin to make funny faces at it. Which sends you into a hushed giggle fest that makes you double over in your seat. Still caught up in your laughter, you take off all of the rings, just leaving a couple on the desk and tossing a few over to his bed. You do the same with the necklaces, except for the two that you threw into one of the drawers.

That’s when your eyes caught the nice watches, stuffed in clear pouches with the brand labeled across them. Rolex is the first you saw, and the first one you picked up. You weren’t thinking clearly. Hence the reason you tore it out of it’s protective packaging and brought it up above your head, throwing it down to the ground and watching the tiny glass fragments splatter everywhere.

It’s not like he can’t buy a new one, right?

Feeling content and a little less frustrated, you left the messy scene and followed your footsteps back into the hallway. He didn't seem to hear you, so the determination to find out his name came across your mind and you became dead set on finding it, so you basically sprinted into his ominous office and delved into his comfy chair without care.

Your motor skills were altered and it seemed to take for ever to lift yourself out of the chair and tap on the computer keyboard for it to wake up. While it began its process of turning on, you led your hand down to the drawers and pulled at them. And that’s when you found the very first locked up thing in this house.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing in here darling?” His alluring voice blasted through your ears and made you leap upward. “It’s not been a day and you’re already back to being a brat?” You couldn’t see what he looked like, but his silhouette looked suited and enticing.

Very enticing, actually...

“M’trying to find out your name, Daddy.” You spoke before you could think, crossing your arms over your chest while your lips form a pout. His body leaves from the doorway, and you’re barely able to see him as he strides over towards you. Suddenly, a light flips on and you’re met with his beautiful frame, a smile daunting his face as he looks down at your innocence.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He moves closer, wrapping his hand under your chin while his other has his blazer hung on his finger and thrown towards his back. He looks cute in a smile, until it forms into a confused frown.

“Have you been drinking, Y/N?” Your eyes widen and you quickly nod. You knew you’d be in trouble with him anyway, so might as well be honest now. “I c-couldn’t sleep and I- I just wanted a sip of somethin’.” You shrug, looking downward as you give him an okayish explanation.

“You know what helps me sleep?” He lets your chin go, dropping his jacket and beginning to roll up his dress-shirt’s sleeves. You shake your head, chewing your bottom lip as you take in his appearance. “A nice cocksucking does.” Thunder crackles loudly outside as his husky voice deepens and makes a cool wind run down your spine.

“Then let me help you..” You wrap your arms around his neck, twisting him around and forcefully pushing him down in the chair you were once sitting in. You were about to fall to your knees to “help” him, but he pulls your hips towards him and sets you on his lap. You replace your hands around his neck, sinking your fingertips into his hair and massaging the silky softness of it. He sweetly sighs, readjusting the leg you were sat upon.

And that’s when you feel the sensation you’ve been craving for however long you’ve been here.. you think..

“M’hm, do that again..” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He actually obliges, his brows furrowed as he watches your face contort. “Like riding my thigh, huh?” He asks as he placed his large hands around your waist. You nod, moving your hips in the same direction. You eyes shut, your head falling back a little as you smoothly move against his muscled thigh.

It felt so good, everything felt so good actually. He somehow looked so much more attractive, the beard dotting his face and his hair styled nicely. Even what he was wearing had you wanting more.

You open your eyes for a moment, watching his pleased expression as he watches you needingly thrust yourself upon his warm, clothed thigh. He even steadily lifted his knee in the correct places, aiding in the pleasure that him alone could bring you. Your eyesight seemed foggy but visible enough to see the gun at his waist side, and you almost froze when you saw it. Even in your intoxicated state of mind, you knew that just the weapon could possibly help you escape and make it back to your own home.

You didn't think it through thoroughly..

You lean in, your lips next to his ear as you practically collapse upon him, though your movements to further yourself towards releasing didn't halt. You slipped your left hand down to his waist band, sensually gliding it over his tented groin. He shutters under your touch, clearing his throat as his heads falls back slightly. As quick as your body would let you, you grab for the handle of the gun and raise it up towards his forehead, stopping all your movements and gaining his attention.

"Y/N—" He starts, gliding his hands up your bare thighs.

"Don't fucking move, or I'll— I'll shoot you." You sounded clear as day in your head, but your words became slurred as they left your mouth, and he smirked at your innocence. Just as quickly as you pulled the gun, he took it away.

He grabbed the barrel and snatched it from your grip, placing it back into its holster at his side. You yelp as he grabs your wrists, twisting them around your back and slamming you into the table with an evil chuckle. "Better keep those hands pretty little hands to yourself, princess. You're too innocent to commit murder anyway." He continues his hoarse chuckles, licking a stripe up his hand before striking your slick pussy. "D-Ahh!" You hiccup, pressing your legs as close together as you can.

“Better fuckin’ pray that you can walk tomorrow, darling...”

to be continued...

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

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Run run run....

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Going Dark - Part 1

Chapter 23 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Going Dark - Part 2

John "Soap" MacTavish

London, United Kingdom

Soap never knew that the bloody guy would pull that trick off his sleeve. He's been sick of the same ringing he first experienced when they went out with Francine.

So he did what he could and quickly got up to his feet as soon as he saw Alex attempt to halt the hostage on his tracks. That bastard's going to pay for stomping on Alex like that.

With comms down once again, he had to act fast, stomping down the stairs, never leaving sight of the runner. He could sense someone following him and assumed it's any of Roach, Price or Jack. And it looked like Ghost caught wind of what happened too.

"Oi! Let's flank him!" Soap roared across the empty streets as Ghost and Roach split ways and ran toward their target.

They're not kidding when they said the Shadow Company is at par with the 141, the guy ran like a horse which Soap never expected from his build. He could see Ghost and Roach sprinting from his sides, one wrong turn and he's done for, but he still had one last trick.

He raced to the emergency stairs as his heavy feet clanged against the metal. Soap followed, optimizing the steps on edges to gain on him. Going up the rooftops was his biggest mistake.

"Bollocks, he's still running!" he announced as he felt his ears crackling.

"Well…. st….by…. do….airs.." His earpiece crackled through the static. It's recovering but they're already far off MacMillan's truck where their line connected.

He leaped. Soap almost stopped in his tracks as the runner courageously leapt across the huge gap and rolled on to the next building. He braced himself and continued dashing across the roof and did a mighty leap, his arms circled like he was swimming and he carefully placed his feet to perform a proper land and rolled.

That's going to hurt as soon as the adrenaline fades, but he quickly got up and made use of his remaining burst of energy.

The runner stopped in his tracks as soon as Roach emerged from the opposite fire escape, raising a pistol pointed straight at him as he raised his hand in surrender.

"Nowhere to run now." Roach said, cautiously walking near him. He's aware that his phone is still inside his pocket and that they had no idea when it'll go off again.

He didn't talk, but he looked panicked. He was sweating all over and his face was beyond recognizable. It looked like he's out of options.

"Tell us Where Shepherd is…" Gary pointed the loaded gun on his head, the desperation in Gary's eyes were obvious.

"There's an abandoned plane graveyard near Afghanistan…" he whimpered. His voice was shaky enough to warrant the truth.

"What's he doing there?" Soap added.

"He's trading the blueprints for the I.P. Address… Please that's all I know" he begged and they quickly left the place, walking back to MacMillan's car.

"You got something?" Ghost asked as soon as Roach's feet landed on the dark alley.

"A place. In Afghanistan." Roach answered.

"And he also had the I.P. Address.." Soap added.

"But that's impossible… didn't Samantha already forget about it?" Ghost asked but there was a quiet pause. Their brains almost looked like working together.

"Holy Crap." Roach finally broke the silence.

And from that moment they realized the other reason behind Samantha's memory returning. One way or another, her memories were once again toyed with.

"So how was it?" Price asked the team that ran off to chase the runner.

"We got an address. An abandoned plane yard in Afghanistan." Roach replied. Soap turned to Alex as he sat at the back of the jeep tending to his wound.

"You okay mate?" he asked walking close to his ally, who was wincing in pain.

"The guy's boots are heavy." He chuckled and so did Soap.

"Listen, Alex. We heard that Shepherd has the I P. address, did Samantha tell you anything about remembering it?" Soap asked as the whole team fell silent and turned to the two.

"Not really. What's bothered me is that she remembers everything except after when Shepherd explained his plans to her… Could it be that…" Alex trailed.

"She remembered because they undid their operation on her…" Jack continued. The whole group stood in silence.

Price's phone rang and delivered them with more bad news. It looked like while chasing the runner, Shepherd had caught wind of their activity and had some of London police scour the nearby streets for them.

"Da, It's time to go, my comrades." Nikolai announced as soon as Price relayed the message. Their ride home was compromised.

"Where to?" He asked.

"I know a place." Soap said.

TRAIN STATION

It looked like Soap's hunch was right. None of the people onboard to Scotland mind about the faces of the fugitives flashed on the news recently.

Their day packs had reserved clothes and they opted to change to something more civilian. Soap could smell the fabric conditioner France used to wash his newly bought clothes and couldn't help but miss her. If they weren't on a rush, Soap could've topped up for international calls.

"How long is this trip? 7 hours?" Price asked a civilian with surprised expressions.

"Wow. It's like a plane ride, but I'm still in the same country!" Jack cackled at the idea. He does have a different sense of humor. Just as Alex described him.

The rest of the team took this time to rest, they sat on the emptiest part of the train, away from the people that might recognize them and report their presence.

"I've contacted Samantha. It looks like they're having a small problem over there." Alex said.

"Someone saw one of us fugitives and tried to get inside the house to claim his bounty. At first they just talked him off but he's persistent now. So they decided to fly to our location and regroup there. And Soap, where exactly are we going?" Alex asked. Soap took a careful look around his team and felt nervous about his decision.

"Our old house. In Scotland. It's far off civilization. I think no one would look for us there." he muttered, gaining a nod from Price and Jack. Soap sighed in relief as soon as they thought of it as a good idea. Roach actually felt excited despite having to go there by train for seven hours. He immediately made that decision a few minutes ago without anyone's approval, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Hey, you three… Thanks for chasing that runner while we were out. Go catch some sleep. We'll watch over this train. It's going to be a long trip." Price nudged and Jack nodded. Soap gave a pair of earbuds to Price, the old man immediately looked at him with question.

"What's this? A hearing aid?" Price asked.

"Our runner wore that so it might be the reason he wasn't affected by his own blast." He muttered before crossing his arms.

"Thanks, mate. I'll let someone have a look at this." Price nodded and Jack immediately inserted with a suggestion.

"I know someone near Glasgow. A close friend of mine."

"That's great. He's closer." Price agreed and Soap slowly drifted himself asleep, trying to rest his tired legs all while also trying not to worry about Francine.

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

The never shifting scenery of the road home sent John MacTavish into a little nostalgia trip. The sound of trains screeching across the station reminded him of so many things from the past. The road they're walking along now was the same road he's walked on everyday of his life, and now after a lot of years, he can't believe he's back.

"I don't see anything nearby, are you sure we're not lost Soap?" Roach asked.

"We aren't. The house is just obstructed by the trees. They've grown taller since I last left." he replied enthusiastically. He looked obviously excited to see his home.

As soon as they reached the short curve, a huge cream-painted house greeted them from the distance. He could hear Alex and Roach's collective oohs and aahs every step they took closer.

"When you said old, I was really expecting it to be abandoned." Roach mused.

"It is, actually. My parents are off… somewhere else." he replied leading the way inside the house. The pool was already dirty and most weeds already outgrew the fences.

Soap pushed the huge wooden double door open and was greeted by the same visage of their entrance way back when he was a kid. Same pictures hung on the walls of his adventures as a kid up to the recent photo of his graduation. His mom was always proud of him no matter what, but he couldn't forget the way she looked at him once he chose to enlist to the riskiest job ever.

The rest of the team helped themselves to discovering the inside of the house, looking at photos, sitting on the couches and grabbing a glass of water. Soap quickly gave them a tour of the house and that they're free to pick a guest room of their choice. It was appropriate that they'd feel comfortable after a tough day.

"Nice place you got here, comrade. Why'd you give this all up for a life that's always hanging on the ledge?" Nikolai asked, tapping his shoulder.

"I don't even know." he muttered and Nikolai chuckled, making his way to the living room. The team was quick to adapt to the place. Roach and Ghost already chose their rooms and he assumed they already attempted to recover while the three older men gathered around the television and watched the news. Alex was by the telephone, probably contacting Samantha. He wanted to check on France himself, so he planned to go to his room and make a call.

"The New York attack stopped." Price discussed with Nikolai and Jack, the three began speculating about a lot of things. Soap would love to join in the conversation but he decided to update on Francine first.

His room looked the same as when he left, the same shade of blue wallpaper, the same color sheets that were changed weekly and the same things on top of his bedside drawer.

Dialing her number, which he subconsciously memorized, he immediately placed the receiver on his ear and anxiously waited for her to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" her voice sounded different over the phone, but it still sent shivers across his spine as soon as he heard it.

"Hey. It's me." he replied.

"Angelo?" she asked, her voice almost sounded like she's fighting herself not to laugh.

"It's John."

"I know, silly. Who would mistake you for anyone else with that accent." she retorted.

"Do ya like it?" he teased, making sure he emphasized his Scottish accent well.

"Why'd you call?" She changed the topic. She wasn't budging on his teasing, but he knew she's already blushing on the other side of the line.

"Did Price give you the landing coordinates?" he asked.

"Yeah. Maxine looked it up on the map. It looks like a shady house in the middle of nowhere. Who are you?" she joked.

"Great. I'll see you here. I-" he hesitated. He wanted to tell her how much he misses her. But even with his oozing confidence, he felt like chickening out this time.

"Yeah. We're on our way. Take care out there John." She said and dropped the call. Soap sighed and plopped himself on his bed, deeply sighing at his actions. This girl was making him crazy… and the funny thing is he's all fine with it.

Next Chapter : Going Dark - Part 3

Notification Squad my Beloved

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @beemybee @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

#horrayfic #codmw #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1 #gary roach sanderson #whateverittakes

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freebooter4ever · 4 years ago

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Ahahahahaha there IS a rami under the hat! anyway shitty quick sledgefu fic under the cut bc that was some brilliant inspiration right there - no beta or re-reads so this is rough lol. It's RIDICULOUS IMSOSORRY

Being a hipster in Orange County is exhausting. It's so hard to find good quality antique furniture these days. There's plenty of options, you can't cross town without coming across another vintage shop. And yet Eugene goes through three different shops with no luck. Here in sunny California, the odds of finding antiques are good, but the goods are odd.

Obviously a tried and true technique to weed out the good stuff is to observe fellow antiquing hipsters around you. And Gene's been watching the smartly dressed man at the end of the aisle for almost ten minutes. This man looks pretentious as hell, but he seems to know what he's doing. Unlike Gene, who couldn't tell an authentic colonial from a cheap pottery barn knockoff. Does Pottery Barn even make colonials? What is a colonial anyway? He thinks his mother brought it up in conversation once. Antiques are about the only safe discussion topic nowadays.

Anyway this smartly dressed man is examining something at the end of the row of shelves intensely. Eugene can't see what the guy is looking at, but it drives his curiosity insane. The guy even climbs onto a ladder so he can get a view of the object from above.

Eugene skirts his way around another row of shelves and casually steps closer and closer - coming at it so it appears unintentional.

Of course, the hipster guy on the ladder sees right through Gene. He turns his head arrogantly down towards Eugene and cocks it. Somehow, despite the odd angle, the guy's Madeline style hat stays on as if it's glued to his head.

"I gotta see it from all angles," the man announces, as if this were the answer to a question Eugene desperately needed answering.

"Huh," Eugene says.

The man smiles. It grows on his face like the Cheshire cat. And Eugene is fairly certain under the sunglasses his eyes are shrewd.

"Snaf get down from the ladder, the last thing we need is to be banned from another antique shop," a second man comes up to them carrying an old pair of boots. He glances at Gene and nods, "Hey. I'm Burgie...that man up there is Snafu."

Snafu slithers down from the ladder and lightly lands across from Eugene in the aisle.

"Nice to meet you," Eugene holds his hand out, "Eugene Sledge."

Burgie shakes his hand, "Pleasure." He then turns to Snafu and kicks the boots at his shoulder, "C'mon, I found what I needed, let's head out."

"Wait a sec, I haven't decided if I want this mod shelf for my records or not," Snafu gestures to the thing he'd been amiring.

"Okay," Burgie sighs, "But don't take too long, Im checking out." He takes his vintage boots and goes.

Eugene turns to get a good look at the thing Snafu was considering. And suddenly the heavens open up, god rays come down, light shines like a halo,and Eugene swears he hears a choir. This is it. This is the end piece he was looking for. This is exactly the kind of thing he needs for the "TV" nook in his apartment that will never hold a TV (he has a 24 inch laptop and like ALL the streaming services but he is SO above having a TV like some rich bourgeoisie).

"It's perfect, isn't it," Snafu says, noticing Eugene's sudden awe.

Shit. He noticed. That means Snafu's going to take it. Number one rule of climbing the hipster ladder: if someone else finds value in something you better get it first.

"I'm not sure, I think my mom has almost the exact same shelf system back home," Eugene shrugs, "She got it from, like, Ikea ten years ago or something. It was a whole thing. Super popular...'retro'...you know how it goes."

"Yeah," Snafu says. He sounds like he might eat Eugene up.

Eugene clears his throat awkwardly.

Snafu throws his head back and switches into appraiser mode, "You're wrong though. You can tell this is authentic by the wood paneling, and the 60s era joints, and this cantilevered bit right here."

Eugene's never wanted someone so much so suddenly right there.

"It'd be perfect for my record collection... It'll even look good from my lofted bed..." Snafu continues.

"I want it," Eugene states quickly and firmly.

Snafu's eyebrows raise at Eugene's audacity. "Well..." Snafu says. He slowly lifts his Janis Joplin sunglasses and eyes Eugene, "I was going to take the shelf but..." he grins "... I'll take you instead."

"What?" Eugene asks incredulously.

"Go on a date with me and I'll give it to you," Snafu demands, "Hell, I'll even buy it for you."

"I..." Eugene stutters. He can feel a blush already forming on his cheeks.

"Better say yes before I change my mind..." Snafu warns in an obnoxiously self-assured tone of voice.

"Yes!" Eugene blurts without hesitance.

The grin Snafu gives him outshines the glory halo from earlier.

Eugene blushes down to his toes. Maybe he should have...played it more casual or acted disinterested. He's not actually very good at this hipster thing.

On the other hand, he does end up getting a free shelf out of the deal. The only thing Snafu makes him do is give Snafu his number, carry the shelf out to his own car, and give Snafu a ride home.

"Burgie texted me, said he's already moved on to the next shop, but don't worry our apartment's real close by," Snafu explains.

"This shelf is insanely heavy," Eugene grumbles under the weight. He's questioning his purchase decisions.

"That's how you know it's real wood," Snafu scolds him.

"Can't you at least take a corner? Lighten the load a tiny bit?" Eugene asks.

"Naw," Snafu sits on the hood of Eugene's 1946 Chevy and smiles, "I like to watch the posers sweat."

Eugene rolls his eyes, "I'm getting an authentic 1960's shelf, and you're getting a date with a fake hipster. I think you got the raw end of the deal here."

"No way," Snafu assures him. He hops off the car and finally helps by opening the door and guiding the shelf onto the back seat, "I see this as an investment."

"An investment?" Eugene echoes.

"Yeah," Snafu says. He bumps the car door shut with his hip and gets into Eugene's space, swaggering a little, "The way I see it... In two... No.. One month... I'll have joint custody over this shelf. It'll be as good as mine. I just gotta wait patiently."

"You mean... You think..." Eugene stammer, ".... You think I will..."

Snafu's smirk widens and he leans in closer, and closer, as if he's gonna lay a kiss on Gene right then and there.

But he's interrupted by Burgie come running out the door, "Hey! Shelton, what the hell you charged that shelf to my account!"

"C'mon, time to go!" Snafu tells Eugene excitedly. He opens the driver door, grabs Eugene's elbow and manhandles him in. Snafu then vaults the car's hood and hops in through the open passenger window. "Drive!"

"Snafu, I'm never giving you any of Florence's homemade pop tarts ever again!" Burgie yells as Eugene's car peels away.

#Sledgefu #Bad germs

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liliplayschoices · 5 years ago

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Friday nights (Noah Harris x mc)

rating: not really any, gonna say 15+ as a basis

warnings: I’d say hurt/comfort and fluff :) also, MC’s dad is a jerk but what else is new?

word count: 1,5 k

author’s note: Tthis is my first time writing for this so please tell me what ypu think!

tagging @averysheart-raleighsdick

I am so angry when I leave the house, slamming the door behind me, that I walk for about twenty minutes without even knowing where I'm headed.

Dad and I fought again. It started as something stupid, like it always does, And then he ended up bringing up mom again, and I snapped.

So now here I am, at almost midnight, walking aimlessly and trying to calm down the best I can.

I feel bad for leaving Mackenzie alone with Dad, but she was already asleep. I'll text her in a while, once I know where to spend the night.

Except that for now I'm alone in the street, with no idea where to go. I refuse to go back home and face him right now. Ava and I still aren't talking, so I don't want to call her out of the blue. I think about calling Mason and taking him up on the offer to sleep in his guest bedroom, but then I remember he's out of town for the weekend, visiting colleges in Connecticut, so he's not an option.

That leaves me Noah. Noah, who always told me to call him if I ever needed help. Noah, who picked us up from the police station without judgement. Noah, who told me he'd rather get me home than knowing I was walking alone at night.

I get my phone out of my pocket and look for his number. He picks up quickly, his voice groggy as if he was sleeping.

"Ana Lucia? What's up?"

He sounds concerned, and I immediately feel better from hearing his voice.

"Hey. Were you sleeping? I'm sorry, I…" I trail off, not knowing what to say.

"Not really, I dozed off while studying. Everything okay?"

I hesitate one last time, but I really don't want to go back home, and now that I'm hearing him, all I want is to be with him.

"Not really, no. I had a big fight with my dad. I'm… I left and now I don't know where to go."

I feel ridiculous saying it, as if I'm overreacting, but he's answering before I have time to dwell on this.

"Where are you?"

I give him the name of the street and he hangs up after telling me to wait for him. I sit down on a bench, already regretting going out without a jacket, and wait.

Maybe I shouldn't have gotten this angry. Dad hasn't been the best these last few months, but I haven't been the perfect daughter, either.

But… bringing up Mom is a cheap shot. He knows that as long as he's saying that she would be disappointed in me, he's got the high ground, and he always, always does this.

I don't even know who I am becoming anymore, and all he cares about is how I live up to his expectations.

I don't have time to dwell on this more as I hear a motorcycle approaching, and get up to meet Noah on the road. He doesn't take off his helmet, just hands me a second one and waits for me to climb on behind him.

Soon enough, we're riding through the city at high speed, towards a district I don't know very well. I let myself hold on to him, the warmth of his body already calming, despite the noise and the wind around us.

Finally, we make it to a quiet street, And he stops in front of a decrepit house, with a small front yard and a porch.

We climb down and he takes the helmet back, until finally, we're standing together in the quiet street, no noise apart from the distant sound of a tv coming from another house. I look up at him, and as I take in the look of concern in his eyes, I suddenly feel exhausted.

He must feel it, because he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms, not saying anything, just holding me. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, and I slip my hands around his neck to tighten our embrace.

I don't know how long we stay like this, but when he gently lets go, I feel much better than before.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

I suddenly realize that his family is probably here.

"Are you sure I'm not… imposing?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "My sister's at a sleepover, and my mom is working nights. You're not imposing, and you wouldn't be imposing even if they were here. Now come on before you freeze to death out here without a jacket."

He takes my hand and I let him lead me inside, watching as he closes the front door. We're standing in the living room, and I can see Noah's school books scattered across the coffee table. He closes them up and piles them up in a corner of the table, before we sit down on the couch.

I lean against his shoulder and he slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. After all the yelling at home, I'm grateful for the silence wrapping itself around us, and I let myself get lost in it.

"It might help to talk about it," he whispers against me, and I only realize I closed my eyes once I have to open them to look up at him.

I don't think I'll ever get over the softness in his eyes when he looks at me, the way his presence always seems to bring me back to the ground when I think I've lost my footing.

"It was just a stupid fight. We were talking about college applications, and my dad got mad when I told him I didn't want to make a decision about my major now. But then it somehow landed on how my behavior with the cheer squad was 'unacceptable' and i said that maybe I didn't want to be in the cheer squad anymore, so he brought up my mom and I just… i snapped. I was so mad at him for using her just to get me to do what he wanted, I couldn't take it anymore. So I told him to stop trying to control my life and I left."

It seems silly now, like I overreacted, like I bothered him for nothing. But he just holds me tighter, brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and says:

"I'm sorry this happened. I wish there was more I could do to help."

I chuckle. "You mean, apart from picking me up on a Friday night and letting me crash on your couch? You're already doing more than enough."

He raises an eyebrow at that.

"Crash on my couch? Do you really think I'm letting you sleep on my couch? You're sleeping in my bed."

"Noah, you don't need to -"

"I know I don't. Come on."

He pushes me away just enough to get up, and I follow after him in the small corridor. We reach the last door and he opens it, letting me into his bedroom. It's a foreign place, but it's also so clearly Noah's that I immediately feel at ease. A football in the corner, his leather jacket hanging out of a closet, a few mechanic magazines on the nightstand, a few photos taped on the wall,... it's all familiar, despite it being the first time I'm setting foot in here. He lets go of my hand and I sit on the bed as he rummages through the closet, until he finds a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants to hand to me.

"I thought this might be more comfortable to sleep in than tight jeans." He looks me over with a smirk. "Not that I don't appreciate the view."

I snort and go to the bathroom. His clothes are much too big for me, but they're comforting, too. They smell like him, they're soft, and they feel like home.

When I come back to the bedroom, Noah has gathered a blanket and a pillow in his arms, and he's about to leave.

But as I watch him, this boy who has done so much for me, I realize that I don't want to be away from him just yet. So I lay a hand on his arm.

"Stay?"

He bites his lip slightly, but nods and drops the blanket at the foot of the bed.

And soon enough, we are cuddling under the blankets, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, our fingers interlaced.

We don't speak, but I know he's not sleeping either, I know he's enjoying the peace of the night, just as I am. And as I feel the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling against me, I wonder how it's possible for him to have taken such a large place in my heart so quickly. I realize that I would be content to spend all my other nights wrapped in his embrace.

And as I start to drift off to sleep, I can't help but think, maybe this is what they call love.

#choices #my two first loves #choices fanfic #noah harris #noah harris x mc #playchoices #my writing

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lovemychoices · 5 years ago

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The Lost Prince - TRR AU [Liam x MC] Mini Series Chapter 3

After being married for three years and unable to produce an heir, Liam and Riley are about to give up when Liam gets an unexpected news that changes his life forever.

Genre : Romance, Drama

*THIS SERIES PRACTICALLY THROWS CANON OUT THE WINDOW* YEET!YEET!

Characters except my OCs belong to Pixelberry, I am just borrowing them

Word count : 3038

Chapter Summary: Eventually the truth comes out one way or another.

A/N : Sorry I’m posting via mobile plus I don’t have a laptop with me at the moment so the read more options isn’t available. Grammatical errors everywhere, I’m one of those people who only checks their work once and post.

Warning : I’m rating this PG18 cause there will probably be PG18 stuff that’s going to happen in future chapters. So if you read this series you acknowledge that you are 18 and above.

Catch up with the series HERE

Liam called Leo up the day after arriving in LA, sparing him the details about Theon, he just gave Leo the address where they should meet.

Leo had moved to Malibu with his wife Amara, who he met shortly after he signed on for his motocross career. She was his manager and PR rep, after a year of working together they started dating, eventually got married and had twins not long after. The ride from his place to where Liam wanted to meet was merely an hour and a half away.

He stops his motorbike in front of the victorian style house and slowly removes his helmet raising an eyebrow. “Curiouser?” He murmurs to himself. As he hops off his bike, Liam opens the front door ready to meet him. “Leo!” Liam greets with a smile pulling his brother into a bear hug as he steps onto the front porch. “It’s good to see you too little brother.” A few seconds later they pull apart. “So Liam, what’s all this?” He gestures at the surrounding of the house giving a questioning look. “You and Riley aren’t thinking of leaving the courtly life and moving into this suburban home are you?”

Liam snorts and shakes his head. “No it’s nothing like that. I…There’s something you should know.” His face quickly turns serious. “Maybe we should go inside.” Leo nods wondering what is going on, why is Liam acting all ominous, he steps inside the house and follows him towards the living area. “Wait here.” Liam said returning a few minutes later holding Theon’s hand.

Leo's eyes go wide open when he sees the little boy, he steps closer towards him and crouched down so he can meet him eye to eye. One look at the boy and he knew what was going on. “Leo, I’d like to meet Theon. He is my son.”

“Hello Theon, I’m Leo. It’s very nice to meet you.” He puts on his best smiles offering an outstretched hand. Theon looks up at Liam as if waiting for his approval, when Liam nods he turns back to Leo and shakes his hand giving a soft smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Liam clears his throat. “Theon maybe you’d like to show Leah the new castle we finished building yesterday.” Theon gives a nod and brings Leah to accompany him to his room, as soon as they are an earshot away Leo turns to Liam. “Care to explain what’s going on brother?” He gives a pointed look. “I'm assuming since Riley isn’t here she doesn’t know about Theon?”

Liam shakes his head regretfully. “Maybe I should offer you a drink first. “Scotch on the rocks?” After handing Leo his drink, he then explains the whole situation about what happened the night in LA and who Theon’s mother was, also why he didn’t tell Riley about it yet. “She’s been through so much lately, I just couldn’t. But I’ll come clean about everything once I have the DNA test done and get the results.”

“You mean you haven’t had the test done?”

“No… That is why I need your help brother. I don’t want to risk the paparazzi spotting me here in LA.”

“And you’re sure that he is your son?”

“Without a doubt, I can feel it Leo. You saw him with your own eyes, he looks exactly like me when I was younger. Will you help me brother?”

Leo gives a rueful nod. As much as he didn’t agree with Liam’s decision to keep the truth about Theon from Riley, he also knew it wasn’t his secret to tell. He just hoped this secret won’t come back and bite his brother in the ass.

************************************************

It has been more than a week since Liam left for the states, what was supposed to be a few days trip turned longer than expected.

Riley waited on the other line for Liam to answer her facetime call. The first time she called he didn’t answer, which was unlikely because he usually answer after a few rings and it was around 11pm where Liam was so he shouldn’t be in any meetings. After a few more tries he finally answers.

“Hey you.. you almost gave me a scare there. I’ve been calling for half an hour.”

“Sorry love, I was in the bath and left my phone in the bedroom.”

“A bath huh? But isn’t it almost midnight over there?”

“I’ve had a long day. Apologies love, I’ve been going on about my day I forgot to ask about yours. Is everything okay in Cordonia?”

“Well.. Maxwell hasn’t accidentally blown anything up yet so I guess everything is still fine.” She jokingly said but it was as if Liam was paying attention. “Liam? Are you okay?” He shakes his head giving Riley a weak smile. “Yes, everything is fine. I just had a lot to think about lately.”

“You know you can tell me anything right? We’re in this together.” Liam nodded without replying, there was this moment of awkward silence between them. Riley clears her throat. “So I can’t wait till you get back tomorrow, Madeleine already scheduled an appointment to interview the potential surrogates.”

“Oh I… I completely forgot about that. I’m sorry Riley but it seems I have to extend my stay in the states for a few more days.” He lied, the truth was that he had gotten the result for Theon’s DNA test and he was indeed his son. The news brought him such joy when he found out but was quickly overcome by the guilt of lying to his wife.

“Liam it’s been more than a week what possible reason could there be? You know how important this interview was to us..”

“I know.. I know.. And I promise to make it up to you. Have Madeleine reschedule the interview for next week I promise I’ll be back by then. I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to cut our conversation short, I have an early morning tomorrow. Goodnight Riley, I love you.” He said and hang up before she got a chance to respond.

After Liam hangs up, Riley had a gut feeling like something was wrong. Ever since Liam got to the states he has been acting differently, they usually talk for hours when he is finished with his day but for the past week he would sometimes find an excuse to leave or just text her and say he can’t talk.

************************************************

Drake and Maxwell were at the parlor having some drinks after a day attending meetings with the rest of the council when Riley suddenly barges in.

“I think Liam is cheating on me!” She belts in an exaggerated manner as she enters the room then plops down on one of the couches.

Both Drake and Maxwell gives each other a questionable look before turning back to her with their eyebrows raised.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“Riley the last thing Liam would do is cheat on you. Now what’s this all about?”

Riley explains everything that has happened over the past week about Liam’s behavior after he left for the states and that she told him she wanted them to have a child via surrogacy.

“What if that’s the reason he is cheating on me? I’m already failing him as a wife and queen by not being able to get pregnant?”

Drake and Maxwell takes a seat next to her, Drake placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He is not cheating on you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. I’m sure he’s just had a lot to deal with those diplomats don’t make it easy for him.”

“Drake’s right, don’t you worry little blossom.” Maxwell reassures her then wipes a tear from her cheeks. “Hey I know why don’t you go to New York and surprise him instead? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled!”

Riley stifles a cry. “I wish I could but I have tons of upcoming meetings that require my attention.”

“Then give us your schedule and well take it from here. No but’s…” Drake said firmly.

Riley hesitates at first but she knew there was no going against the two when they joined forces. She smiles and gives both Drake and Maxwell a grateful hug. “Thank you.”

After that the three headed to Liam’s office where his assistant Nicholas was sitting in the front desk just outside. When Riley ask about Liam schedule for the rest of the week he gives her a puzzled look. He explained that there was a meeting in New York but it ended a few days ago and Liam didn’t attend but Hakim did instead.

“HE WHAT?!” She snaps, now she definitely thinks he is cheating on her. How could he do this?

“Mam, I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Oh there’s gonna be an explanation alright!” She turns on her heels and stomps out, Drake and Maxwell follows after her all the way to her office where she paces back and forth, frustration written all over her face.

“Riley wait!” She shushes them with her finger while she dials a number on her phone. “Hey, I need your help.”

************************************************

After finding out that Liam had lied about what he was doing in the states Riley had Olivia help track his cell for his whereabouts, she knew that Bastien wouldn’t help her because he was obviously helping Liam. It took a few hours but they finally managed to track his cell all the way to LA.

“Isn’t Leo living in LA? Maybe he is there visiting Leo?” Drake said trying to convince Riley not to jump to any conclusion until there is proof.

“Then why would he feel the need to hide it from me?” No!” She waves her hand dismissively. “Something is not right.” Riley knew what she had to do she would have to go to LA, find her husband and get the truth once and for all.

*************************************************

Riley asked another favor from Olivia to borrow her private jet instead of using the Royal jet, thinking if she did Bastien would find out and tell Liam and she didn’t want him to know what she had coming for him.

She made Drake and Maxwell to swear and keep their mouth shut.

“I’m going to LA to find Liam and I’ll be flying with The Nevrakis jet to avoid suspicion from Bastien. No one must know of this and if they ask you will tell the staff and the royal guard that the queen is away with duchess Olivia on a short spa trip and does not wish to be disturbed. I’m leaving the two of you to keep things in check while I’m away and I need the two of you to swear not to breathe a word of this to Liam are we clear?” She said in a stern voice pointing at both the men who gave each other a look then nods. “Say you swear it on your balls so much as if you break your promise you’ll lose them.”

“What? Riley I’m not gonna swear on my…”

“Swear it Drake!”

“Geez! ok fine! I swear to lose my balls if I so much so say even one word about this to Liam and anybody” Riley smiled trying to hide a giggle then turns to Maxwell pointedly with her hands on her hips. “You too agent breakdance.”

Maxwell chuckles “Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. I like my balls where they currently are, attached to me and fully functional.”

“Good then I’ll see the two of you in a day or two.” She closes her suitcase and turns on her heels towards the door, looking over her shoulder before she leaves. “Try not to burn anything while I’m away.”

“Heard that Drake, she was talking about you.”

Drake gives Maxwell a sarcastic eye roll. “Sure she was.”

*************************************************

Riley stepped on to the front porch of the Victorian home where one of Olivia’s spies managed to track Liam down, she could feel her hands tremble feeling a bit hesitant to give the doorbell ring. What if she didn’t like what was behind those doors? Why was her husband her in a house she didn’t know existed until now? Better yet why did he feel the need to lie about where he really was? She sucks in a deep breath and exhaling calmly before finally having the courage to press that golden plated button.

She felt like she was holding her breath forever when the door opens up and a petite young woman with dark hair and tanned skin stood in front of her. “I’m sorry miss are you looking for someone?” The woman asked with a confused look on her face.

“I uh…” I must have the wrong address? She thought but just then a familiar face steps behind the woman. “Leah, is something wrong?” Liam asked when he sees Riley standing at the threshold,his eyes go wide open. Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrowing at him while her fist curl into a ball of fury. “Riley love, I can explain it’s not what it seems.” He sputters and takes a step back holding his hands up defensively.

“After everything we’ve been through, how could you?!” She barges in with her voice raised, she pushes Liam so hard he almost stumbles back. “I gave you everything and you go behind my back and cheat on me with some other woman!”

“Cheat? Riley no I would never! Leah is just a friend there’s more to this I swear if you just listen…” SMACK! Riley’s hands immediately connects to Liam’s cheeks before he could finish his sentence.

“Daddy what’s going on?” Theon walks into the foyer after hearing the commotion, he looks frightened and confused. “Daddy who is this?”

Daddy? Riley glances at the boy, who looks exactly like a younger version of her husband. Suddenly she could feel her heart beating rapidly and her head spinning. It was like she way losing the oxygen in her lungs and couldn’t breathe soon after she falls to the floor and everything turns pitch black.

*************************************************

Riley’s eyes slowly fluttered open with a ringing pain in her head. Was it all a dream? A terrible nightmare that she just woke up from? She presses her hand on her forehead and let out a soft groan, she turns to her right a sees a blurry shape of her husbands figure in front of her. “Liam?”

“Riley, love. How had a slight fall and hit your head on the floor.”

“Liam, I had this bad dream. I caught you cheating then we fought and there was this little boy who looked just like you.” She stops when she notices the expression on her husbands face, then it made her realize. “It wasn’t a dream was it?” Her voice starts cracking. “My love, please let me explain.” He pleads reaching for her hand but she swipes it away looking the other way. She couldn’t stand to see him, not if he cheated not if he was going to lie to her again.

“Riley, I didn’t cheat on you. But I have been keeping a secret from you and I’ll explain everything if you’d just look at me and listen.” He said in a tired voice. Riley finally meets his eye looking at him pointedly with her arms crossed. “Then explain and tell me the truth, is that boy your son?”

“Yes he is. Leo had the DNA test done and we had the result yesterday.”

“Leo knew? Who else? Bastien?”

“No. Just Leo.” Liam finally tell Riley the truth about everything that’s been going on, about how he met Theon’s mother a few years before he met her. How she kept Theon a secret from him all those years and that he only found out about him when she passed. He told her why he had to keep the secret from her until he was truly sure what to do with the situation. Riley quietly listen not saying anything after, her expression unreadable. “Love, please say something. I understand if your mad and I don’t expect you to forgive me but I had no choice.”

Riley closes her eyes trying to gather her thoughts before she finally opens them and speaks. “I’m not mad that you had a one night stand all those years ago before we met or that you have a son because of that night. I’m just disappointed and hurt that you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me all of this from the beginning. Did you really think that if I knew about your son that I would ask you to abandon him? Do you really think that low me?”

“Off course not, I think is would never think that of you.” He answers taking her hand in his. “I was just worried about how you would feel, you’ve already been through enough with the press and the whole thing about being unable to produce an heir. I just didn’t want to add to the stress.”

“I’m a grown woman Liam, I can take care of myself and I certainly can handle any truth you throw at me. Yes this information is a lot to process considering how I found out about it.” Never in a million years did she ever think the two of them would be in this position. “But no matter what we’ll get through this together like we always do. Just promise next time no more secrets.”

Liam leans in and kisses Riley on the forehead a slight feeling of relief. “I promise, so where do we go from here?”

“We go back to Cordonia and bring Theon with us.” She answers with a soft smile and Liam’s expression is somewhere between surprised and relieved at the same time. “Are you sure?”

Rileys gives him an assuring nod taking his hand in hers. “Theon deserves to be with his father, he deserves to be with family. With us.”

“Have I ever told you that you are the best wife ever?” He smiles.

Rileys chuckles. “You have but it never gets old. Now, I believe it’s time you introduce me to someone?

*************************************************

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